Chapter Text
Yujin, in all her glorious, beautiful, wonderfully pretty, and patience-of-a-saint grandeur—(see, Wonyoung would argue that these things are exactly why she’s still not over her because?? Where and when else would you find such an amazing person, really?) somehow agreed to meet her.
After that whole year of absolutely nothing from each other. Not a single text or call or even any sort of accidental late-night ‘how have you been?’ messages that they could blame on very poor judgement when either one of them has had just one too many teeny tiny glasses of tequila or some other alcohol that eats away at your brain the morning after.
And when Wonyoung says nothing, she means that there was not even a simple stupid fucking birthday greeting, despite Wonyoung having bitterly stared at Yujin's contact for an embarrassingly long time on August 31st. (I mean seriously! Like the 11 years they spent together before the breakup just meant absolute zilch!)
(She retaliated by not greeting the girl on September 1st too, but who even is paying attention to this petty thing she has going on other than herself legit like…girl, go out and touch some grass.)
Going back to the topic at hand! Somehow despite all that, this woman—the love of her life and absolute bane of her existence—had replied to her text in less than 10 minutes.
Ten. Fucking. MINUTES.
Wonyoung spends a whole damn month working up the courage to send that stupidly formal message—you know, at some point she even thought that, gun to her head, she should really just accept her fucked up fate and tell her family the truth.
Unfortunately for future Wonyoung, she chose to pull the fucking trigger!
And on another (frustrated) note! Was this woman not as busy as Santa on the night before Christmas? She was an architectural engineer, for God's sake. Didn't buildings need to be designed? Some 20 blueprints that need to be looked at? Didn't architects—or whatever the fuck her job actually involved now she doesn't know—have meetings and emails and deadlines and important little Bob the builder work things to do?
Honestly, there’s no point in Wonyoung getting all worked up about this entire 10-minute text thing because it is going to last longer than the fucking dinosaurs, so we are moving on because what she REALLY should be focusing on is how the meeting was set for Thursday at 3:30 in the afternoon, at a café roughly ten minutes from Wonyoung's apartment.
Wonyoung had initially insisted on finding somewhere closer to Yujin instead, because hello?? She was the one asking for the favor here and, frankly speaking, it felt rude to make Yujin travel farther when she was already being dragged into what was the most absurd plan Wonyoung had ever conceived in her entire 25 years of existence.
However, in their very short, less than 2-minute conversation, Yujin was somehow able to convince Wonyoung that the café closer to her was fine. (Do not tease her for this. Who was she to say no to a beautiful woman? She knows no one who would ever disagree with this sentiment.)
She thinks it's annoying. Very much so. It is so so very annoying how considerate Yujin continues to be even after breaking both their hearts.
I mean, not that she was bitter about it or anything. She’s so obviously not. She’s like…just saying, you know? Yeah.
So there we have it, right? The meeting, the time, and the place were set.
She even had approximately 48 hours to mentally prepare herself to sit across from the woman who has been the object of her affection for over a decade and ask her to pretend they were still, in fact, 100% no cap all truth very together.
Everything was perfectly under control. I mean she's THE Jang Wonyoung.
...But then she's hit with one fatal flaw in this mentality as she walks into her closet after her shower.
Because uhm haha yeah…so what is she—how do—oh, god bless her beaten-up soul, but she had absolutely no fucking idea what to wear.
She’s going to pull the trigger on that gun a second fucking time at this point.
—
It would be a lie to say that Wonyoung went through her closet just once. Six times would be a far more accurate number to guess.
She went through every emotion clearing out her closets for something to wear. She was hopeful, then determined, then desperation got mixed in at some point as she started pulling out pieces she hadn’t worn in months because maybe there was a reason she hadn’t worn them, and now was the perfect time! (Note: it was not the perfect time.)
If you were to go inside of her apartment right now, it would look like Hurricane Katrina just came by and swept everything out of place. There were clothes on her bed, on the floor, some draped on the back of her chairs; one dress somehow ended up in the kitchen—she doesn’t know how clothes got into these places in her overwhelmed state.
She stood in the middle of the disaster with her hands planted firmly on her hips, staring at the carnage. She had two and a half closets in her apartment. One in her own room, one near the bathroom, and half of the closet in the guest room since she rarely had anyone stay over.
She had enough clothes to dress a small town, and somehow not a single one of them was suitable for seeing An Yujin.
She simply hated everything! All of the clothes she picked up just didn't feel right, and it was definitely wearing her patience thin.
The dress made her look like she was trying to impress Yujin, which was absolutely not the point she wanted to get across. The pink flannel made her look like she was trying not to impress Yujin, which somehow felt even worse. The long sleeves made her look like she was preparing for a formal event rather than meeting her ex-girlfriend at a café, and the skirt was simply out of the question because it was the middle of January, and winter had not exactly been kind to anyone foolish enough to expose their skin to it.
Wonyoung had been trying to choose an outfit for 2 hours now. She was beginning to suspect she had lost the plot.
So naturally, there was only one thing left to do. Call her 4th emergency contact, Kim Jiwon. (She used to be 5th, coming after her parents and sister and Yujin, but well, you know why she got an upgrade.)
Wonyoung grabbed her phone from the bed, scrolled through her contacts, and hit call. The line barely rang twice before it was answered.
“What do you want, loser?”
Wonyoung briefly considered hanging up.
She wished she didn't have to resort to calling Jiwon in the first place, especially knowing the amount of humiliation that was almost certainly waiting for her on the other end of the line. But, as the saying went, losers couldn't be choosers.
“Fuck you, but I need help deciding what to wear. Come over, Jiwon.”
There was a screeching silence on the other end of the call.
“...Excuse me?”
Wonyoung rolled her eyes, already regretting this decision. “I know you heard me perfectly fine. Stop trying to make me repeat it.”
“Aww, come on!” Jiwon's voice came back far too delighted for someone who was supposed to be her best friend. “Let me have my fill. Making fun of you is one of my weekly highlights.”
“Jiwon.”
“I'm sorry—” Wonyoung snorts at the obvious lie, and when Jiwon hears her, she backtracks. “No, I'm really not, but please, do go on.”
Wonyoung glanced at the pile of clothes she'd discarded onto her bed, each one rejected for reasons that had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time and increasingly ridiculous now. “I need help—”
“Oh my God.” Jiwon let out an exaggerated gasp of disbelief.
“Stop making this weird!” Wonyoung bites back.
“I'm not making it weird, you insufferable idiot!” Jiwon was barely holding back her laughter now, and Wonyoung could practically picture the shit-eating grin on her face. “I'm just trying to process the fact that you, of all people, have reached the point where you're calling me for fashion advice.”
Wonyoung pinched the bridge of her nose and started counting to ten before speaking again.
“Can you just come over?”
“Why?” Jiwon singsonged, her amusement only growing. “So I can witness your impending downfall firsthand?”
“I'm going to call someone else—”
“Okay, okay! I'm coming, you can't even take a little jab these days.” There was a rustling sound on the other end, followed by what sounded suspiciously like something being knocked over. “Give me twenty.”
“Ten,” Wonyoung interjects, reaching for the red sweater she'd abandoned at the foot of her bed.
“Girl, I need to put pants on?” Jiwon argues.
Wonyoung takes one look at herself in the mirror before immediately tossing the sweater over her shoulder. Too festive. She looked like she was about to hand someone a candy cane and start singing Christmas carols.
“Then put them on faster.”
Jiwon let out a loud and obnoxious 'Ha!'
“Be meaner," she drawls, practically purring the words in that unbearably sweet voice she knows will get under Wonyoung’s skin, "and I'll move slower just to spite you.”
Wonyoung was dangerously close to seething, but she was also painfully aware that being mean to Jiwon would only encourage her to take even longer. So she chose kindness.
Or, at the very least, the closest approximation of kindness she could manage without committing a felony.
“Please,” she breathes out.
“Fine. Fifteen.”
“Ten.”
“Fifteen.” Jiwon repeats.
“Ten.” Wonyoung repeats even firmer.
“I'm a twenty-minute drive away from you!” Jiwon says, exasperated, the sound of her footsteps getting louder through the phone as though she were already storming around her room. “Do you want me to break the speed limit or something?!”
Wonyoung opens her mouth, already preparing a counterargument because, really, who would she be if she didn't have one? But Jiwon, apparently having known her long enough to anticipate every possible response, beats her to it.
“Ugh, don't respond to that. Arguing with you is just going to make this take even longer.” Wonyoung drops onto the edge of her bed, kicking one of the rejected dresses farther away with her foot. “I'll see you in fifteen, okay? Fifteen, Won, don’t expect anything less. Bye.”
Then the other girl ended the call without waiting for a response.
Wonyoung sighs and lets herself fall backward onto the mattress, raising an arm over her eyes as though blocking out the light might somehow make the problem disappear. She really does hope Jiwon gets here as fast as she can because Wonyoung has exhausted every possible combination of clothes currently in her possession and is beginning to think that she could spend the entire night rearranging the same pieces of fabric and still hate every single one by morning.
She just wants to sleep. So very badly just wants to turn off the lights, lie down, and let her lack of energy take over and bring her to dreamland. (It was actually around 2 in the afternoon, guys. Her clothes have sucked the life out of her and have rendered her USELESS)
But no, she couldn’t do any of that. Not when her meeting with Yujin is tomorrow, and so far, the only thing she has managed to decide on with any degree of certainty is her scarf. (It was her favorite one. A light gray scarf with a red bunny stitched on one end and JWY on the other. A gift from Yujin, of course.)
Any other day, Wonyoung takes delight in planning her outfits. She likes thinking about what look she wants to go for, what colors work together, what sort of impression she wants to leave behind. She could probably put together a decent outfit half-asleep, and if someone asked her to dress them on the spot, she'd have no trouble making it work.
But an outfit to wear around Ahn Yujin?
The very woman whose mere presence in Wonyoung's thoughts could apparently reduce every functioning part of her brain to absolute mush?
You'd best believe that every atom, neuron, and remaining shred of common sense in her body had collectively clocked out.
All they could say and hear and feel was Yujin, Yujin, Yujin, Yujin. Everywhere, constantly. It’s absolutely preposterous. She was an educated woman who could not, for her life, survive the loss of her first love.
It all felt like some elaborate comedic play the world had decided to put on at her expense. And yet, here she was, staring at two sweaters that were so painfully similar she could barely tell them apart, wondering which one would make Yujin look at her and remember that she used to be in love with her.
“God, this is going to be a nightmare.” Wonyoung thinks out loud.
—
The doorbell had barely finished its second chime before Wonyoung practically launched herself off the bed.
She crossed the room in three hurried strides, nearly stepping on one of the seventeen rejected clothing items she'd thrown onto the floor throughout the morning, and reached the front door with absolutely none of the caution a normal person should probably exercise. She doesn't even bother to take the time to look into her door's peephole and just swings the door open.
“Oh, fuc—?”
Jiwon didn't even get the chance to finish before Wonyoung grabbed her wrist and yanked her inside with enough urgency to make the poor girl stumble over the threshold.
“Slow down, Jesus—” Jiwon sputtered out.
The apartment door slammed shut behind them, and Wonyoung looked back to find the pink-haired girl rooted in her place, her jaw hanging open and eyebrows shooting up in shock.
“—Oh my God?”
Understandable first reaction. Anyone would be shocked at the sight, and this was just the open living room. Dresses hung halfway off the sofa, two sweaters had somehow landed on the television stand, a pair of trousers was dangling from the chair at the dining table, and there appeared to be a necktie hanging off the lampshade for some reason Jiwon has yet to figure out.
“Won, what in the ever-loving fuck happened here?”
Jiwon's eyes darted around the apartment, apparently incapable of resting on any single disaster for more than two seconds before finding another. She immediately started moving, briskly picking up whatever piece of clothing happened to fall within reach.
It isn't even entirely out of courtesy; Jiwon has always liked things clean too. She likes things where they're supposed to be, preferably in neat little arrangements that make sense to her brain. (might be the effect of her job in logistics actually) She just doesn't get the opportunity to demonstrate it very often because Wonyoung, unfortunately, has always been a neat freak on an entirely different level.
But even Wonyoung has apparently surrendered today.
“Why is Miu Miu on the floor?” Jiwon mutters, lifting a blouse with two fingers before folding it over her arm. “And these jeans were literally four hundred dollars.”
“Nothing much, really…” Wonyoung says, almost sheepishly.
“Nothing—” Jiwon stops herself, gesturing wildly at the room with the growing pile of clothes in her arms. “It looks like Zara exploded in your living room!”
Wonyoung winces but decides not to defend herself. Instead, she reaches over, takes the clothes from Jiwon's arms before she can add anything else to the growing list of complaints, and immediately starts dragging her toward the bedroom.
“Come on,” she says instead.
“Where are we going?” Jiwon asks while letting herself be dragged along, still looking around for more things to pick up.
Wonyoung purses her lips, hesitantly responding. “My room.”
Which, in hindsight, may not have been the best decision. Because the moment Jiwon steps inside, she stops dead in her tracks once more.
“Holy fucking shit.”
Wonyoung closes her eyes.
Jiwon looks around, then slowly turns in place as if doing so might somehow help her process what she's seeing.
“How is it ten times worse in here?”
She lets out a disbelieving laugh, staring at the mountain of clothes that has practically swallowed the room whole.
“I literally can't even see your desk anymore. Where's your chair? Where's—” Jiwon pauses, squinting into the mess before pointing at a vaguely chair-shaped lump. “Is that the chair, or is that another pile of clothes?”
Jiwon snorts at her own joke before looking around once more. “Seriously, is there even a floor under all of this?”
Wonyoung rolls her eyes, puffing out her cheeks as she tries (and fails) to suppress the pout pulling at her lips.
“Don't even start.”
Naturally, Jiwon takes that as a challenge.
Wonyoung's reactions are always funnier when she's irritated, and after years of friendship, Jiwon has become something of an expert at finding exactly the right buttons to push. She opens her mouth with every intention of making things worse.
“Oh, but I wil—” She pauses. Huh. For the first time since walking through the door, her eyes actually land on Wonyoung.
Huh…
Jiwon's eyebrows climb as her eyes travel over the taller girl, taking in the disheveled raven hair, the wrinkled clothes, and the faint crease between her brows that indicates her exhaustion. “Whoa, what in the world happened to YOU?”
Wonyoung's frown deepens at her tone. Fine, maybe she wasn't exactly in tip-top shape, but she's also fairly certain she doesn't look nearly as terrible as Jiwon is making it out to be.
“Don't even think about laughing right now, Kim Jiwon,” Wonyoung grumbles, folding her arms across her chest as she fixes her with a warning look. (those looks never really do work on her best friend though)
“Pshh.” She waved a hand dismissively before looking away with very suspicious speed if you were to ask Wonyoung. “Whatttt? I'm not even.”
Wonyoung just gives her a flat look. "I can hear the obvious shake in your voice." She leans forward, pointing an accusing finger straight at Jiwon's mouth. “And your dimple is showing because the corners of your lips are rising. Stop it.”
Jiwon's hand immediately flew to her cheek. As if doing so really hides anything.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” she says, feigning ignorance.
“Your face is literally betraying you,” Wonyoung says without skipping a beat.
“My 10/10 gorgeous face? It would never screw me over like that.”
Wonyoung just stares at her. Jiwon holds her gaze for all of half a second before turning around completely, presenting her back to the increasingly irritated woman behind her.
If Wonyoung couldn't see her face, then perhaps she couldn't prove anything. Unfortunately, from where she's standing, Wonyoung basically has a front row view in seeing the unmistakable shake of Jiwon's shoulders.
So yes, she obviously knows the little shit is laughing. Jiwon knows she knows this too. Honestly, with the positively murderous energy coming off Wonyoung, how could she not? The only thing stopping Wonyoung from turning around and strangling her is the fact that murder comes with paperwork, and she hasn't even graduated yet.
Wonyoung simply exhales through her nose and decides that, for now, she has bigger problems than figuring out how to get away with murdering her best friend. She is, after all, still a student of the law; it would be rather embarrassing to commit a crime before she's even learned how to defend herself from it.
She'll save the murder for later. After a little more studying. Maybe even Annalise Keating can help.
“Are you done?” Wonyoung muttered.
Jiwon finally turned around, somehow wearing the straightest face imaginable despite the tiny crease threatening to form beside her mouth. “Wonyoung, this is the messiest I've ever seen you be, and I've known you for seven years.”
“It is not—!” Wonyoung immediately starts, already preparing to defend the state of her apartment.
“Oh, please.” Jiwon interrupts her again. Wonyoung is going to throw her out of the balcony if she does it one more fucking time. “I could literally turn this into a treasure hunt. Whoever finds the most ridiculous piece of clothing in the most ridiculous location wins.”
She takes one step forward, eyes narrowing as she surveys the room.
“Actually, wait. I think I can already see something under—”
Before Jiwon can investigate whatever she has apparently spotted, Wonyoung grabs her and forces her down onto the bed, where she lands awkwardly on the only available patch of mattress—the very edge.
“Stop, stop! Just—yes, whatever, can we just—” Wonyoung frustratedly drags a hand through her already disheveled hair before throwing both hands up. “So what? I was stressed!”
“Well, no fucking shit, girl.” Jiwon snorts, looking around at the disaster with an expression caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “Good luck cleaning all this up later. I'd help, but Rei's making dinner, and there is absolutely no universe in which I'm missing that.”
“You're a terrible friend.”
"And I am terribly aware," she shrugs before gesturing vaguely around the room, “Besides, I'm just here to make fun of you and, apparently, perform the public service of helping you pick an outfit so that your ex-girlfriend finds you pretty.”
Wonyoung's eye twitches.
“Okay.” She takes a deep breath, as if doing so might somehow summon the last remaining scraps of her sanity. “Before you say anything else, I need you to understand that I am genuinely two seconds away from having a fucking breakdown, so can you at least wait until I've successfully chosen an outfit before making fun of me any further?”
Jiwon tilts her head, as if considering some other option.
"What if I don't want to?"
"I'll use my clothes to suffocate you and kill you."
Jiwon immediately raises both hands in surrender, though her lips purse together as she fights another laugh.
It really isn't her fault. Wonyoung is just very, very laughable.
Not in a haha, look at that idiot kind of way. Jiwon simply knows her too well. Knows exactly which buttons to push, exactly what expression will appear when she's annoyed, exactly how she'll react when she's trying very hard not to react. (Jiwon is basically that annoying sister that makes it her personal mission to fuck your brain up.)
So yeah! Wonyoung is basically just her personal laugh button. And Jiwon has absolutely no intention of fixing that.
—
“Okay.” Wonyoung finds herself back in front of her closet after hurriedly cleaning up enough of the clothes scattered around the apartment to make the situation look slightly less catastrophic. Not because she suddenly cared about cleaning, obviously, but because she needed Jiwon to see that she had options, after all. Actual options.
She throws open the closet doors.
“So, seriously. Fuck everything else. What do I wear?”
Jiwon blinks slowly, eyes moving from one end of Wonyoung's closet to the other, taking in the dozens of clothes varying in style, color, and length (and if the labels were anything to go by, price). After a moment, she simply shrugs.
“I don't know, sis. Knowing Yujin, she'd probably think you were pretty in anything.”
Wonyoung's face immediately twists.
“Now is literally not the time to flatter me.” She gestures wildly at the closet, nearly smacking a hanger in the process. “This shit is driving me up a fucking wall! I have two and a half closets in this apartment filled with clothes, and somehow none of them seem to be satisfying me.”
Jiwon tilts her head, fingers absently sliding through the clothes hanging in front of her as she looks from one outfit to the next. She pulls out a dress and holds it against her for a second, squints at it, then looks back at Wonyoung.
“Have you stopped to think why?” Wonyoung makes a face as she takes the dress from her and immediately hangs it back.
“No,” Wonyoung says as Jiwon just reaches for another.
“Why not?” The other girl asks again, making Wonyoung pause as she thinks, then she moves on to the next section of the closet.
“Because I don't want to, nor do I currently have the time to. I just know I need to look drop-dead gorgeous.”
Jiwon snorts. (A voice in her head says what a load of bull and thank God Wonyoung can’t hear it.)
“And for what?” Jiwon turns toward her, one hand still buried among the hangers.
Wonyoung pauses once more. (She does that a lot because she keeps making questionable decisions and the logical parts of her keep wanting her to take a minute and fucking THINK .)
For a brief moment, she genuinely considers whether honesty is the better option here. Her eyes flick toward Jiwon, sees the look she’s sporting, then ultimately turns away again, suddenly very interested in rearranging the hangers in front of her.
“Uhm…” Wonyoung clears her throat and reaches for some long-sleeve shirt, pretending to examine it despite having no interest in it.
“To let her know that it is impossible to resist any request I make,” she lets out in one quick, quiet breath.
Jiwon still hears her perfectly clear though because she has, by now, developed heightened call out wonyoung on her bullshit senses. (like she would actually give Spider-Man a run for his money)
Wonyoung shifts her weight from one leg to the other as Jiwon simply stares at her, saying absolutely nothing for a solid minute. Somehow, the silence feels much more judgmental than anything Jiwon could have said. (Wonyoung’s palms are totally sweaty, but no one needs to know that)
The pink-haired girl forgoes the clothes and crosses her arms, fully facing Wonyoung now because if she doesn’t try to slap some sense into her, who will?
“…You call this a request?” Jiwon starts incredulously.
“Yes.”
"Wonyoung," She lets out a laugh that almost sounds like a scoff, “A request is asking someone to pass you the salt at dinner. What you're about to do is beg your ex-girlfriend to pretend to date you for five days in Greece.”
Wonyoung's expression tightens. “It's not even begging.”
“You're literally going to sit across from the woman you haven't spoken to in over a year and ask her to play pretend girlfriend because you were too scared to tell your family that you broke up.”
“Okay, when you say it like that—”
“That's because that's what you're doing.” Jiwon reaches past her and pulls out a white furry coat, holding it up and tilting her head as if to ask, 'this one?'
“Shut up.” Wonyoung shakes her head and puts the coat back again.
“I'm just trying to make sure we're using the same definition of the word request here,” Jiwon adds, in a tone so matter-of-fact it makes Wonyoung want to hit her with the hanger in her hand.
“Shut up.”
“I'm not the one about to go to war to convince my ex to play dollhouse, bitch.”
“Shut. Up. Seriously, shut up! Oh my god, KYS!" Wonyoung scowls, blood obviously rising as the tips of her ears begin to turn red. "I called you over to help with my outfit, not to bully me!”
“It comes with the helping.”
Wonyoung is going to hit her. She really is. Like, she is actively considering it. Her best friend is about to get hit. Right. Fucking. Now.
Luckily for Jiwon though, she has also developed better senses for recognizing the precise moment at which she should stop pushing her buttons before Wonyoung puts her head on a pike. (She actually just saw how tight Wonyoung's hold was on the hanger and decided that today was definitely not yet her time)
So in the end, she just rolls her eyes and lets it go. “Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll lock the fuck in.”
And that they did! What Jiwon could never have expected, though, was just how fucking long it would take to appease the insatiable fashionista-overthinking-bitchass monster Wonyoung apparently became whenever Yujin was involved.
—
“Wonyoung, you’re overthinking this.”
“Like hell I am?”
“Stop fucking around. We’ve been at it for 5 HOURS,” Jiwon thrusts her phone in Wonyoung’s direction, as if the time displayed on the screen might finally knock some sense into her. “You told me you’d already been rummaging for two hours before I got here, and I’ve spent the other three fucking hours watching you try on the same set of fucking clothes. Won, the sun IS SETTING."
Jiwon drags a hand down her face and looks toward the ceiling like she’s making one final appeal to God. An answer. Or a meteor. At this point, either would work.
A muscle in her jaw twitches. “Okay, you know what, Wonyoung?" She exhales through her nose, "Uninvolve me.”
Wonyoung’s eyebrows shoot up, her hands falling away from the shirt she’d been holding up against herself. “What do you even mean?”
“I mean I’m done.” Jiwon drops the hanger onto the bed and takes a step back. She’s spent the last few hours offering opinions Wonyoung has promptly rejected, reconsidered, and then asked for again, only to hate them in the end. She is spent and has nothing left to give.
"No, you're not." Wonyoung crosses her arms stubbornly.
“Yes, I am.” Jiwon doubles down.
Wonyoung stares at her, scandalized, like Jiwon has just dropped the news that Gojo’s hair is black now and everyone is simply expected to move on. “I am not doing this alone.”
“Then pick a fucking outfit!” Jiwon cries out.
“I am trying!”
“No, you're fucking not!” Jiwon drops dramatically onto the bed (still filled with clothes btw, she just accepts defeat when it swallows her whole) and gestures wildly toward the closet. “That closet is a fucking gold mine! It is a girl’s wet dream! Every single piece in there is amazing, and somehow—some-fucking-how—you've found a reason to reject every single fucking one!”
She is up to her neck in frustration with this brat, literally. She’s not even the one with the problem here, so why is she fucking exhausted? She should be at home watching her wonderful girlfriend cook their wonderful dinner, and yet she’s here watching a woman slowly morph into some sort of deranged creature just for a fucking outfit.
So, with the grim determination of someone who has finally reached the end of her fucking rope, she emerges from the pile of clothes like something possessed and fixes Wonyoung with a look that could kill.
“Pick one.”
Wonyoung opens her mouth, because naturally she has something to say. She always fucking has something to say, but Jiwon raises a finger. “Pick. One.”
“Jiwon—”
“I swear to God, I will burn every single piece of clothing you own.” She spits the words through clenched teeth.
“You wouldn't.”
“Oh, I will.”
“That's arson,” Wonyoung argues weakly.
“Then I'll take the fucking charge.” Jiwon shoots back without missing a beat.
“Jiwon!” Wonyoung gasps (though there’s not an ounce of genuine outrage behind it).
“And when the police ask me why I did it, I’ll tell them the truth. I’ll look that judge dead in the eye and say, ‘Your Honor, she being a bitch, and the only way to shut her up was to burn her shit.’”
(Jiwon is scary like this, Wonyoung notes. She looks like a fox ready to pounce on a bunny. Wonyoung hopes to never see this again...)
Wonyoung puffs out her left cheek, looking pouty for whatever reason. God knows what’s going through her head, and Jiwon doesn’t have it in her to care right now.
"Just—please, while I'm still saying this nicely—go in there and pick a fucking outfit or for the love of god, i am going to destroy every single fucking piece of clothing you have and send you off to see Yujin naked."
And for the first time in the three hours Jiwon had been there, Wonyoung actually shuts herself up. Not a single bratty comment in sight. (Thank God, because Jiwon was genuinely starting to consider that whole arson thing. She could probably get away with calling it an accident, anyway. She’s very persuasive.)
—
The next morning, Wonyoung stood in front of her bedroom mirror and stared at herself. She tilted her head and looked at herself from left to right.
She tugged lightly at the hem of her dark blue sweater, smoothing out a wrinkle that was barely even there to begin with. Her collared shirt sat neatly underneath it, the light blue collar peeking out just enough to break up the dark color, while her gray pants fell cleanly against her legs.
She looks fine! In fact, anyone who saw her would probably go as far as to say she looks really fucking pretty in this outfit. But something—because of course there’s always fucking something—is bothering her about it.
Maybe the sweater is too plain. Or the shirt under it is not the right shade. Maybe the pants don’t go with it. Maybe the whole outfit looks too—
Oh my FUCK I am starting to sound like a lunatic.
She cuts herself off before she can spiral down that particular rabbit hole again. She does not have the time to repeat yesterday’s fiasco, and she definitely doesn’t need Jiwon following through on her threats. At some point, enough is enough, and Wonyoung would very much like to reach that point before Jiwon reaches for the lighter. (Because yes, she didn’t like a single fucking piece of clothing yesterday, but she has spent years of her life building that collection. If her apartment building ever burns down, she is saving her clothes first. There are some things in life one simply cannot leave behind.)
So, Wonyoung sighs instead.
Whatever. This was fine. It was warm. It was comfortable. It looked good enough. It's literally fucking fine. She doesn't know what the fuck her problem is, but she refuses to sacrifice another minute to this.
“Fuck it.” She hesitantly stepped away from the mirror. “This is what we're wearing.”
There. Decision made. She is not backing out of this. What's done is done! She has made her bed, so she's going to fucking lie in it.
She grabs her black coat and gray scarf from the back of the chair and slips both on, checking herself one last time in the mirror. (The one by the door this time. Yes, she has multiple mirrors around her apartment. Sue her for always wanting to make sure she looks put together.)
She gives her bag one final check, making sure her phone, wallet, keys, and favorite lip combo are all inside, before pivoting toward the door, her hand hovering over the handle.
Three-thirty. She was going to see Yujin at three-thirty.
Not in a dream or some fucked up hallucination or one of those half-remembered memories she had clung to long after everything fell apart.
She was going to see her, hear her, be near her again—feel every bit of the woman she had spent all this time longing for since that one Tuesday night.
Wonyoung swallows. Her whole body is already fucking tingling. Does this mean she’s doomed?
No. No, nope, no. She has to believe in herself and her capabilities because, well, fuck, she’s literally pep-talking herself right now! It’s a me, myself, and I situation, and frankly, all three of them need to get their shit together.
If she can survive law school, the bar, and the general fucking nightmare that is becoming an attorney, she can survive one conversation with her ex-girlfriend. This shouldn't even compare.
She slaps both cheeks twice as some sort of pathetic cheer and finally opens the door. Not even one second after stepping outside, however, she immediately steps back in.
She forgot her hand warmers. At this rate, the winter air was going to kill her before she even got the chance to die at the hands of her ex-girlfriend.
—
By the time she finally left her apartment, winter had already settled over Seoul in that quiet, biting way it always did. The cold hit her the moment she stepped outside, slipping beneath the edge of her coat and making her shoulders tense.
Jesus.
She tucked her chin deeper into her collar and started walking. Her breath appeared in soft clouds before her face, and disappeared almost as quickly as they formed.
It was a pretty sight. Very pretty indeed. Almost offensively pretty given the situation she was about to walk into, actually.
The streets were quieter than usual, washed in pale winter sunlight that seemed to do absolutely nothing to provide any actual warmth. It hadn’t snowed in a couple of days, even though it was the middle of January and well into the heart of winter, which meant the usual small piles of snow along the streets had already been cleared. Still, with how cold it was, Wonyoung thought it would probably snow again today.
Cars passed along the road without a rush, while the windows of cafés glowed warmly against the cold outside. It would’ve been romantic. Like a scene straight out of a rom-com.
If only Wonyoung weren't currently walking toward the woman she had loved for seven years to ask her to pretend they were still dating. (In retrospect, that probably should’ve tipped her off. Asking your ex-girlfriend of seven years to fake-date you was, objectively, a pretty fucking hilarious rom-com premise. At the moment, however, she was just way too busy trying not to shit herself.)
She squeezed the hand warmer inside her pocket every few seconds, an old habit from childhood that she had long since abandoned. She stopped needing it once she got used to having a hand in hers instead.
Some habits, apparently, only disappear when you have something—or someone—to replace them with. Which explained why here she was, seemingly having regressed.
Still, her heart continued beating like it had somewhere urgent to be. So she began walking a little faster, only to become suddenly conscious of herself and slow down again. What if someone was watching her? What if they were a people-watcher? Someone who loved people-watching would notice immediately if there was a woman being a fucking weirdo, right? So, she forced herself to settle into the perfectly normal walking pace of a perfectly normal human being.
She passed a shop window, only to stop and check her reflection, fixing her bangs even though there was absolutely nothing wrong with them, before continuing on.
Then she did it again. And again. And, somehow, three more times.
By the fifth window, Wonyoung practically huffed at herself. What the fuck was she doing? This was supposed to be a ten-minute walk, ten! And she had somehow stretched it into twenty with nothing but her nervous tics and she hasn't even reached the cafe yet!
“Stop it, Jang Wonyoung,” She muttered under her breath, mostly to herself. “You're going to see her. You're going to ask her. She's either going to say yes or she's going to say no. That's it.”
It was that simple and 100% easy. Something that should be completely manageable, even for her.
She took another breath.
“And if she says no, maybe the family finds out, everyone is devastated, your sister hates you, your parents cry, Greece becomes a site of mourning and despair, and you spend the rest of your life alone.”
…
Okay, maybe she shouldn't be thinking about that. She's really not fucking helping herself out here. Maybe she should just shut up and keep walking. Yeah, that’s what she’s going to do.
—
Wonyoung was, unsurprisingly, not able to shut up the voices in her head for the rest of the walk to the café. She did finally make it there, though.
Forty minutes early.
She had been too nervous to stay in her apartment, okay? Her anxiety wanted her to get a head start so she had left a little after two. (In hindsight, maybe that had been a little excessive. But whatever. She’s here now.)
The café was warmer than she expected, the little bell above the door chiming softly when she walked in. Warm air immediately brushed against her face, carrying the smell of coffee and something sweet and buttery from the pastry display near the counter.
She liked it. It was cozy and quiet and actually the kind of place she would normally enjoy.
For a moment, she wondered how she had somehow never stumbled upon it, especially when it was barely ten minutes from her apartment. The answer did come almost immediately.
She hadn’t really given herself the chance.
Ever since the breakup, her world had narrowed considerably. Law school had helped with that—there was always another reading to finish, another case to brief, another paper to write, another deadline waiting around the corner and whatever other bullshit professors could think of to pile onto her plate. It had been easy to fill every spare hour with something productive and never have to think about where else she might go.
Even when she did exhaust those options, she had slowly stopped giving herself reasons to wander beyond the places she already knew.
So, yeah. That probably explained it.
Going back to the matter at hand, though, she couldn't fully enjoy the café right now, as she was approximately one bad thought away from crawling underneath one of the tables and waiting for the earth to swallow her whole.
She still managed to look graceful when she approached the cashier, which was frankly impressive considering the state of her fucking nerves.
“Hi. Can I get a grande hot vanilla latte, please?” The words left her mouth softly.
She regretted them straight away because why the fuck did she order a latte?
She didn't even like coffee that much. It made her jittery, which was exactly what she did not need right now, and she preferred tea anyway. But perhaps she needed the extra boost today and apparently her subconscious had decided that a grande hot vanilla latte was the answer.
Great! What an excellent, fantastic decision if she were trying to induce her own fucking panic attack!
Was this where desperate times call for desperate measures came in? She wasn't entirely sure what the proverb actually had to do with this, but one of her professors loved saying it, so she was counting it as applicable.
Plus, she just needed something to do with her hands. Something she could fiddle with. Something she could stare at whenever the urge to look at the door every thirty seconds became too strong.
She stepped aside to glance around the café, looking for a spot to sit in.
There were plenty of tables, but she chose one near the window. (mostly because she wanted to make herself as visible as humanly possible when Yujin arrived)
Her name was called not even five minutes later, signaling that her latte was ready. She rose from her table and made her way to the pick-up counter, offering a quiet ‘thank you’ before turning back. She made it two steps before stopping.
Her eyes flickered back toward the counter as she debated, yet again, whether she should do something that was probably a pretty fucking stupid idea.
Fuck it. She thought to herself.
She had spent the past few months doing nothing but debate with herself—overthinking, second-guessing, talking herself out of things before she even had the chance to want them.
Maybe she was tired of doing that. So, for once, she was just going to do what she wanted.
She walked back to the cashier, phone already in hand as she pulled up the picture.
“Hi, sorry to bother you, but…”
When the barista looked up, Wonyoung turned her phone around to show her the picture.
“If you see this girl walk in,” she said, already feeling incredibly foolish, “could you bring an Americano to our table?”
The barista looked at the photo, and Wonyoung was quietly grateful when she didn’t react strangely at all. Instead, she offered her an easy, friendly smile—warm enough to make Wonyoung feel a little less ridiculous.
“And, um…” Wonyoung hesitated. “A slice of tiramisu, too. I’ll pay for it right now, though. Is that okay?”
The barista simply nodded, still smiling as she tapped away at the register, entering everything Wonyoung had just ordered.
“Of course. For your friend?”
Wonyoung opened her mouth, and yet nothing really came out because, honestly, what was she supposed to say?
No, actually, she’s my ex-girlfriend whom I haven’t spoken to in a while, and I’m about to ask her to pretend to date me for five days in Greece because I never told my family we broke up and now I’ve somehow decided that lying to them for five more days is the best solution.
“Something like that.” Wonyoung offers instead.
The barista gave her a polite little nod before telling her the total. Wonyoung paid, not forgetting to say thank you before hurriedly returning to her table.
She sat down and took a few slow sips of her latte before deciding it was still way too hot to drink. Instead, she kept it between her hands, letting the warmth seep into her fingers.
Her legs bounced beneath the table, another nervous tic she had apparently picked up somewhere along the way, until she finally gave up and checked her phone.
3:04. That was the time staring back at her. Still thirty-six minutes before their agreed-upon time.
“Oh my God,” she whispered to no one in particular, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes.
This was going to be the longest thirty-six minutes of her fucking life.
—
Almost twenty minutes in and Wonyoung was genuinely going insane. She’s never been more scared and nervous and everything in between. This is literally worse than when she was waiting for the results of a life-changing exam.
She had checked her phone probably fifty times in those twenty minutes. She’d checked on her hair and outfit even more than that. Maybe she should check one more tim—
Wonyoung’s head snapped up as soon as she heard the little bell above the door chime. And everything inside her went still.
For one horrifying second, Wonyoung genuinely forgot how to breathe.
Yujin stood just inside the entrance.
The winter wind had left a faint flush across her cheeks, and strands of her long brown hair had fallen slightly out of place from the walk over. She wore a dark coat, one hand still curled around the strap of her bag as she looked around the café, seemingly searching for someone. Searching for her.
Wonyoung's heart gave one hard, painful thud.
She looked almost exactly as Wonyoung remembered her, save for the little changes time had left behind. Her hair had grown longer, now falling in layers around her face, though she'd kept her bangs. It also looked like she'd changed the frames of her glasses, trading the narrow rectangular ones for square frames rounded at the corners.
It shouldn't have made that much of a difference, but it did. Yujin looked softer like this—younger.
Wonyoung stared. Of course she did. She couldn't help it. She had spent so long trying not to picture this exact moment that now, with Yujin actually standing in front of her, she couldn't seem to look away.
And it wasn't even because she didn't want to see her again because God, that was exactly the problem. It always was.
She wanted to see her so badly that, eventually, she had learned how to live with the longing. She learned to keep her distance, to tell herself that maybe it was better for both their hearts. That maybe if she stayed away long enough, this need for her would eventually become something she could live with instead of something that consumed her.
She'd thought that maybe someday, she'd learn to just accept that there was no salvation to the violence of her wanting.
But then Yujin walked through the door, and suddenly, all that distance felt like it had been for nothing.
Yujin's eyes moved across the room. Past the tables and the counter and then—they just found Wonyoung.
She felt her heart give another thud—harder, heavier than the last.
The older girl's expression changed almost imperceptibly.
Her eyebrows lifted first, a flicker of recognition crossing her face. Then the tension and uncertainty in her features softened, and the corners of her lips slowly curved upward.
She smiled and it was small and familiar and so painfully devastating that Wonyoung's chest began to hurt. She still knew the way it softened Yujin's entire face, the way it used to make something in her chest flutter before she'd even realized she was falling.
It was the same exact smile that had made Wonyoung fall in love with her in the first place.
Thus, she was suddenly confronted with one of the many reasons why she'd never been able to move on.
It wasn't because Yujin was perfect. Neither of them had ever been. It wasn't because their seven years together had been some fairytale untouched by the problems that eventually tore them apart.
They had hurt each other. They had made mistakes. They had been young and stupid and sometimes just downright immature.
But none of that changed the fact that, even now, after everything, one smile from Yujin could still make Wonyoung feel seventeen again. When she was just happy and unharmed by the demands of this difficult and unfair world.
Wonyoung was so lost in her thoughts that she failed to notice Yujin approaching, even as her eyes remained fixed on her.
“Hi,” Yujin said gently.
Her real voice. Not the distant, half-faded version that lived in her memories, distorted by time. Yujin was right here, in front of her, and Wonyoung could actually hear her again.
“Sorry,” Yujin continued carefully when Wonyoung didn't answer, pulling out the chair across from her and sitting down. “Am I late?”
“No.” Wonyoung shook her head quickly, still trying to get her thoughts in order. “No,” she repeated, because she was a little fucking out of it. “You're… you're early.”
Which was funny, considering Wonyoung had been sitting there for forty fucking minutes.
“It's three twenty-five,” Yujin says, a tiny hint of amusement in her tone as she briefly glanced at the watch on her wrist.
“Still five minutes early.” Wonyoung tries to sound casual, but even she can hear the nervousness underneath it.
The corners of Yujin's lips twitch. “You've been here for a while, haven't you?”
At this point, Wonyoung has looked at everything but the woman in front of her.
“Not really.” She's basically mumbling at this point.
Wonyoung, PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, WOMAN! WE HAVE A MISSION !
The voices in her head are pretty much screaming at her now. Unfortunately, they are also the same voices that have gotten her into this fucking situation in the first place, so their credibility is questionable at best.
Yujin's smile somehow grows wider. There's something almost teasing in it now, like she's enjoying watching Wonyoung squirm. (which btw?? the fuck?? like they're literally not exes??)
“How long is not really?” she asks lightly, one eyebrow lifting slightly.
Shit. Just because they're exes doesn't mean Wonyoung's eyes have suddenly developed some fucking immunity to the situation because, if it wasn't obvious enough, Yujin is still undeniably attractive. Extremely so. Annoyingly so, actually.
She shifts in her seat, suddenly conscious of every inch of herself, before mumbling again because she's USELESS, “Like… irrelevant, really.”
Yujin shook her head, still smiling even as silence settled between them.
Wonyoung continued staring at her latte, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the cup. Across from her, Yujin took a quiet look around the café before settling more comfortably into her seat.
She rested one elbow on the table, propping her head up with her palm while her other hand drummed a slow, absent rhythm against the tabletop. Every so often, she glanced back at Wonyoung. It was such a familiar sight that Wonyoung almost forgot why they were sitting there in the first place.
“So…” The older girl starts because if she doesn’t, Wonyoung never will. “You said you wanted to talk?”
Wonyoung vaguely hums instead of actually answering, her eyes still fixed on her latte.
Yujin waits for a moment, but when Wonyoung offers nothing else, she continues. “Could you tell me what it’s about? I never really got to ask when we were texting, and I figured I’d just wait until we met.”
“Um…” Wonyoung swallows, mentally begging herself to produce literally any other word because she had rehearsed this. She had spent the entire fucking walk here rehearsing THIS.
“It’s… it’s about my sister,” the raven-haired woman finally manages. “She’s, um…” and her voice trails off again.
Yujin waits. She doesn't fill the silence or try to coax the words out of her. She just sits there, patient as ever.
Of course she does. She'd always been the patient one between them.
Wonyoung took a sip of her now-lukewarm latte, mostly because she needed something to do with her hands. Her fingers drummed nervously against the table as she set the cup back down.
"She's getting married next month." Somehow, she actually got the words out.
Yujin's eyes widened, delight immediately taking over her expression. She'd always been fond of Wonyoung's sister, probably even more so because she'd grown up an only child herself.
“That's amazing!” The older girl was practically lighting up. “I mean, I was expecting it sooner or later, but I'm really happy for unnie,” she then added, the excitement in her voice unmistakably genuine.
Wonyoung knows she means it. That's the thing about Yujin. She always did. Which is exactly why this is beginning to become harder than Wonyoung anticipated. Telling Yujin about her sister's wedding is only the tip of the iceberg, after all.
When the silence stretches on and Wonyoung offers no indication that she's going to continue, Yujin lets out a small breath and speaks for her.
“You know I do love your sister like my own and all…” She pauses, studying Wonyoung's face. “But this isn't all you wanted to tell me, is it?”
Wonyoung's fingers still against the cup.
“I mean, this could've been said over text,” Yujin adds, tilting her head slightly as she continues to tap on the table. “And you're the most practical person I still know.”
Wonyoung can't understand how Yujin can talk to her so easily, as if no time has passed at all. As if they're simply friends catching up on a random, chilly Thursday afternoon.
She can't be the only one this affected, right?
Even if this is pretend, she needs to calm the fuck down and be a little more casual about this. She can do casual. She's perfectly capable of being fucking casual because she is a functioning adult in the 21st century.
So she gathers whatever courage she has left and finally looks at Yujin. And she immediately forgets every single sentence she'd had waiting on the tip of her tongue.
Fantastic. Her mind was blank. Completely and utterly fucking blank.
She had spent much of her life on this exact moment. From working up the courage to text to deciding what to wear, and even the forty minutes she did sitting in this café.
And now that Yujin was actually sitting in front of her, all she could think was—
Pretty. God, she was still so, so pretty.
Yujin had been pretty when Wonyoung first saw her walk through the café door, but that had been from a distance. Now she was sitting right in front of her, close enough for Wonyoung to properly take her in again, and somehow every detail felt unfairly beautiful.
This was a problem. A very big, very fucking inconvenient problem. How was she supposed to even do this, man?
“Wonyoung?” Yujin asked gently.
Wonyoung blinks. “Yeah?” She hopes the answer sounds steadier than she feels because she's doing her absolute best to sound like a normal human being and not someone who had just been struck speechless by her ex-girlfriend's face.
Before Yujin could get another word in, a waiter appeared at their table and placed down the Americano and tiramisu Wonyoung had completely forgotten she'd ordered.
Yujin looked at the coffee, then at Wonyoung. Her eyebrows lift.
“Did you buy two coffees for yourself?” she asks, sounding genuinely surprised. Then, with a small smile, “Have you had a change of heart and suddenly decided you like coffee more than tea?”
Wonyoung's heart practically squeezes itself into a fucking knot at every word that leaves Yujin's mouth. Because she still remembers. Of course! Why wouldn't she remember some tiny, useless preference Wonyoung had probably mentioned a hundred years ago that Yujin had somehow carried with her all this time.
How annoying. How deeply, profoundly, unbelievably fucking annoying of her to still remember details about Wonyoung at times like this.
Wonyoung clears her throat, swallowing all the inconvenient feelings that threaten to give her away. “I ordered it for you, dummy. An Americano is too strong for me. And the tiramisu was in case we wanted something to pair the drinks with.”
Yujin's eyes stay on the drink, but something about her expression changes then. Her eyes soften, the corners of her lips barely lifting, and for a brief second, she looks like the Yujin Wonyoung knows all too well. All soft edges and quiet fondness.
"You're still the most thoughtful person I know." Yujin murmurs.
The words catch Wonyoung completely off guard. Her fingers stop moving against the cup. For one terribly pathetic second, she considers asking what Yujin means by still.
Instead, she takes the coward's way out.
“Did you say something?”
Yujin's expression snaps back to normal so quickly that Wonyoung almost wonders if she'd imagined the whole thing.
“I said thank you.” She nods toward the coffee and tiramisu. “And you should continue what you were planning to say before these came.”
Well, it was now or never, wasn't it? Wonyoung takes a slow, shaky breath. This is it. No more stalling.
This was the part she'd been dreading since the moment she sent that first text. She could keep circling around it, keep talking about her sister and the wedding and anything else that might buy her another minute, but eventually she'd have to say it. I mean, it's one sentence.
One sentence that could potentially ruin her dignity, her (already nonexistent) relationship with Yujin, and possibly her entire fucking life, but still. One sentence.
“Okay. I'm just going to say it,” she starts slowly.
Yujin nods, giving her her full attention.
“Okay. I need you to…” Wonyoung swallows hard.
Her eyes flick briefly to Yujin, who is completely at ease as she hums while taking another sip of her Americano.
“…pretend to be my girlfriend again.” The words finally leave her mouth.
Wonyoung exhales, the relief almost dizzying. She'd spent the entire fucking afternoon working herself up to those seven words, and somehow she'd actually gotten them out.
What she isn't particularly relieved about, however, is Yujin immediately choking on her fucking Americano.
“Yujin!” Wonyoung frantically grabs a stack of napkins and pushes them into her hands. “Oh my God—are you okay?”
Yujin's eyes widen as she coughs into them, clearly just as caught off guard by the whole thing as Wonyoung is.
Wonyoung watches her in a panic. She hadn't actually expected her to choke! That was obviously not part of the plan! The plan did NOT include accidentally murdering her ex-girlfriend with an Americano!
Before she could spiral any further, Wonyoung shot out of her chair and hurried to the counter for a cup of water. She returns moments later, placing it carefully in front of Yujin.
“Here.” She rushes out, hovering around the older girl in worry.
Yujin takes it, still coughing between breaths. Wonyoung's eyes dart between her and the cup.
“I didn't mean for you to choke!” she blurts.
Yujin held up a hand, still coughing lightly as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes were watering, and there was a faint flush across her cheeks that Wonyoung couldn't tell was from choking or embarrassment.
“I—I should've eased you into it,” Wonyoung says, her tone coming out more guilty than she intended.
Yujin stares at her, the strain of catching her breath slowly giving way to disbelief. Her eyebrows lift as she asks, “You think?”
Wonyoung's face scrunches slightly, like she already knew she had chosen the wrong words. “I mean, I—”
“You think that's something you ease someone into?” Yujin asks, unable to keep the incredulous look off her face.
“No, I just—” Wonyoung sighs, dragging a hand down her face. She knows she's being absurd right now, but she's determined to finish whatever explanation she's desperately trying to come up with.
Never mind, she’ll do that in a moment because Wonyoung actually has to cover her face for a second since she's becoming increasingly mortified by the situation herself, and seeing that expression on Yujin's face is doing absolutely nothing to help her recover.
Yujin looked genuinely, completely, spectacularly fucking bewildered. Like she was trying to determine whether she was in a dream where Wonyoung was deadass joking. Or insane. Possibly both. (At least it was one of the scenarios Wonyoung had thought about. Nothing could have prepared her, though, for just how fucking different it would feel to see it happen in person.)
Wonyoung's hands start fidgeting in her lap, fingers nervously twisting together as her mind scrambles to get ahead of Yujin's inevitable questions.
“Okay, before you say anything more—” she begins timidly.
“What could I possibly—” Yujin begins, but Wonyoung cuts her off before she can finish.
“Just—wait. Please?” The words come out softer than Wonyoung intends. When she looks up, there's an unmistakable plea in her eyes that the older girl seems to notice. She blinks at Wonyoung, lips parting slightly before she ultimately decides to stay quiet.
Wonyoung takes that as her go signal and immediately starts talking because if she gives herself even one more second to think about what she's saying, she's probably going to fucking chicken out.
“My parents don't know we broke up—”
Wonyoung sees Yujin's eyebrows shoot up, her eyes widening comically, but she chooses to keep going because she's already nervous enough and stopping now would probably mean never starting again.
“My sister's getting married and the wedding is in Greece, and apparently everyone in my family still thinks we're together because I never told them, and my sister already bought tickets for both of us, and she expects you to come, and I didn't know what else to do because if I tell them now it'll ruin the wedding and—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Yujin cuts her off, both hands raised between them and Wonyoung stops so abruptly that she almost bites her tongue.
The other girl stares at her for a few seconds, visibly struggling to figure out which part of that entire fucking monologue she should address first. In the end, she settles on the most important one.
“Your parents don't know?”
The raven-haired girl winces, her body instinctively curling inward as she slowly sinks deeper into her seat. “No…”
“Wonyoung, we broke up over a year ago.”
“I know.”
“And you never told them?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowing deeper as she stares at her, the situation beginning to fully sink in.
“I was going to,” she says quickly, the defense coming out far meeker than she'd intended.
She hears how fucking weak it sounds the second it leaves her mouth.
“When?” Yujin asks firmly.
Wonyoung opens her mouth, already unsure of what kind of answer could possibly save her. (there is nothing . not a single saving grace out there for her .) “…Eventually?”
Yujin just stares at her. Unblinking.
Wonyoung looks away, resisting the urge to scratch her skin off from sheer shame. She knows she sounds crazy and ridiculous and every other similar descriptive fucking adjective you could think of right now. But as the saying goes, in for a penny, in for a pound.
She's already knee-deep in this fucking mess. Might as well dig six feet deeper and prepare the perfect fucking funeral.
“Okay, that's not the point—” Wonyoung pauses, already realizing she's making a terrible job of explaining herself. “Or at least, that's not what I'm trying to get across. My sister's wedding is in less than two weeks, the tickets are already bought, everyone expects you to be there, and—”
Her voice trails off. She takes a shaky breath, her fingers curling tightly into the fabric of her pants as her leg begins to shake again, an obvious tell of her growing anxiety.
Her heart is pounding so hard she can practically feel it in her throat.
“And that's why I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.”
Yujin is still just fucking staring at her (yoohoo, Earth to Yujin?), so Wonyoung offers her a weak, lopsided smile.
“…For just five days.”
Silence is what greets her after her entire speech. (If you could even call it a speech. That was more of a verbal fucking disaster, to be honest.)
The silence stretches long enough for Wonyoung to become painfully aware of every tiny sound around them—the hiss of the espresso machine, the soft clatter of dishes being cleared away, the low murmur of conversation from the table behind them.
Anything but Yujin's voice. Anything but the answer she's waiting for.
Yujin doesn't move, at least not immediately. (If Wonyoung were to be honest, it felt like a fucking eternity)
And then, completely out of fucking nowhere, Yujin starts laughing. It's soft and utterly disbelieving, the kind of laugh Wonyoung would've found ridiculously cute and wanted to hear under literally any other circumstances.
Unfortunately, this is not literally any other circumstance.
Yujin leans back in her chair, one hand coming up to cover her eyes as she shakes her head, still laughing under her breath as Wonyoung watches her carefully.
“Yujin…”
Yujin doesn't answer her. She just keeps shaking her head, as though doing so might somehow rearrange the information Wonyoung had just dumped into her brain into something that makes sense.
Eventually, she lowers her hand and looks at Wonyoung again.
“I—” She pauses, looking like she’s searching for a response that could adequately encompass the sheer fucking insanity of what she'd just heard.
Nothing comes to her. So she settles for:
“I beg your finest fucking pardon?”