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We should meet in another life, we should meet in air, me and you.
- Sylvia Plath, Lesbos
Yeah, you got some silverware, but really, are you eating though?
- Childish Gambino, Sweatpants IV
Everything is cold and gray the morning they meet for the first time. Fog hangs low over the flat expanse of the landing strip, the airport terminal a mere outline in the mist. Handong wouldn’t call herself a fan of symbolism; it isn’t in her blood. But if she were, she might have taken the weather as a warning.
She adjusts her Burberry scarf and takes a sip of the coffee Yoohyeon handed her in the car. It’s perfect, made exactly how she likes it. Even though it’s all routine by now, Handong shoots Yoohyeon a grateful grin. If she learned anything from her parents, it’s how to identify the people she shouldn’t take for granted. Yoohyeon is a dream of a personal assistant: competent, kind, and (most importantly) tolerable to be around practically every waking hour of the day.
They approach the landing strip, where three figures are waiting in front of the private jet. Two of them Handong recognizes: Lee Yubin and Lee Siyeon, pilot and co-pilot, respectively. Handong hired both of them six months after graduating business school, when her responsibilities at her parents’ company increased and it became clear she would need her own mode of private transport. She liked the idea of an all-female crew, and the company was going for a more progressive image at the time, so her parents and the board agreed.
The third figure isn’t familiar, but her uniform is.
“Good morning, Miss Handong,” Yubin says, bowing. She's always formal, even though she has been flying Handong for almost two years now. “We have a new crew member on board today. This is Kim Bora. She’ll be taking over as your attendant while Jisoo is on maternity leave.”
“Nice to meet you,” Handong says. It’s the perfect opportunity to take in Kim Bora’s appearance: short stature, sharp features, a cold kind of beauty. Handong can’t tell if her sneer is deliberate or if it’s just her face.
“Likewise,” Bora replies. Next to her, Siyeon clears her throat. Bora blinks, before a strangely guarded expression takes over her features. “Miss Handong.”
Handong then introduces Yoohyeon, and they go through the bows again. By the time they board the plane, the clouds have parted slightly. Somehow, the air feels just as cold, if not colder.
It’s Bora’s first time leading the safety demonstration, so for her sake, Handong actually pays attention. She grabs her AirPods case from her purse, but doesn’t open it. Yoohyeon, however, collapses in the back wearing her giant headphones, the way she does every time they fly. Bora doesn’t seem to mind. She unfolds an inflatable life vest and lifts an oxygen mask to her face, not breaking eye contact with Handong the whole time.
Safety demonstrations on private planes usually feel hollow. This feels different. There’s something in Bora’s tone, in her gaze, that makes Handong feel like she’s trapped under a microscope. As if Bora can see through her clothes and the hundred layers of other things that protect her.
Handong is on track to inherit a billion dollar company before she turns thirty. She graduated from business school at the top of her class, despite the majority of her classmates despising her for being a foreigner, a woman, a trust fund kid, or all three. She’s used to people sizing her up, underestimating or not trusting her. But those people are normally fellow billionaires, men in expensive suits, business rivals, jealous socialites. Not the people she hires to work for her.
But the look in Bora’s eyes is clear, and would be clear even if Handong didn’t possess well-honed analytical skills (it’s disdain, as rich as the brown in the irises itself).
Handong has a number of thoughts, a few select things she could say. What’s your problem? or I could fire you right now, for looking at me like that or you don’t even know me. That one is perhaps the most genuine response, feels closest to her gut reaction. But Handong knows well enough that honesty can be dangerous, especially when she wants something. She read The Art of War for the first time at age eight, she knows the power of deception. If she can use it to win over the most powerful chaebol families in Korea, she can use it to win over a flight attendant with an attitude.
So she puts on her most approachable facial expression and leans back a little in her seat. “So, first day on the new job,” she says, causing Bora to look up. “Any plans tonight to celebrate? Drinks with friends?”
As far as she’s aware, it’s a perfectly normal question to ask an employee. But Bora just stares at her with a half-amused, half-annoyed expression. “Maybe on my break,” she says. “I dance at the Chat Noir. I have a shift right after we land back in Seoul.”
Handong has no idea what the Chat Noir is, but she doesn’t ask. Dancing, though...that piques her interest. The flight attendant uniform is stiff, no-frills, and Handong briefly wonders how much of Bora’s electricity it manages to cage in. “You didn’t quit that job when you got this one?”
Bora raises her eyebrows, jutting her chin out slightly. She can’t be taller than five feet, but suddenly it’s Handong who feels small.
This - this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.
“Have you ever considered you know very little about the real world?”
The words are sharp, sudden and loud, lingering in the cabin air. This definitely isn’t how it’s supposed to go. Handong finds herself blinking, at a loss for words. She’s never at a loss for words. Quiet, yes, but always thinking ahead, so not to be caught off-guard. “I know about the world,” Handong says, after too long of a pause.
“Yeah, I bet you think you do,” Bora retorts, voice low.
And Handong is frozen: pinned to her seat by the sharp edges of Bora’s words. The feeling is unfamiliar and curious and not as terrible as Handong might have imagined it to be, which is...concerning, to say the least. She should be playing defense right now. So she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, letting her thoughts fall into line. When she opens her eyes, Bora hasn’t moved. Handong shifts her gaze to the TV screen over Bora’s shoulder, so she won’t stumble over her words.
“May I please have some tea?” Handong asks, putting on her best I-could-buy-your-life voice (only for special occasions). “You’re supposed to offer me a beverage as soon as the seatbelt light is turned off, but it’s your first day, so I won’t hold it against you.”
Handong braces herself for a comeback, but Bora just turns and walks to the minibar. Handong watches her go, feeling the bloom of a small victory in her chest. She was born with the upper hand, she can always get it back.
But as Bora heats up the kettle and starts to arrange dishes on a tray, Handong can’t seem to look away. There’s something hypnotizing in Bora’s movements: a dance, maybe. She works in short, fast bursts of energy, and Handong can’t help but be entertained.
When Bora is finished, she carries the tray over and places it in front of Handong. Handong lifts the teapot, already feeling like herself again. And then Bora speaks.
“Did you also stare at Jisoo like that, or am I just special?”
Handong’s hand stutters, and she misses the cup. Hot tea goes splashing onto the tray. “Yoohyeon!” Handong barks out, a little panicked.
A few seconds later, Yoohyeon is by Handong’s side, big headphones around her neck. “What’s up?”
“Can you go over the details of the meeting with me again? I need a refresher before we land.”
So they move to the back of the plane. Yoohyeon leafs through manila envelopes, reading out information that Handong already has memorized. Handong tries her best to focus on Yoohyeon’s voice, but in her peripheral vision, she can see Bora bent over, cleaning up the spilled tea.
When they land, everything moves fast. One of the many benefits of private planes is the lack of waiting around. Before Handong can fully escape, though, Siyeon pulls her aside.
“Hey, I heard some of that, and I just wanted to say I’m so sorry about Bora. She’s new at this.”
“Obviously,” Handong responds. They step out onto the runway, and she squints in the sunlight. She doesn’t remember Ulsan being this sunny.
“But she’s my roommate, and one of my best friends, and she’ll never say it because she’s way too proud but she really, really needs this.” Siyeon looks nervous, like Handong’s reaction is a bomb she’s trying to diffuse. “I promise she’s a good person. She’s just…touchy. I’ll talk to her, I swear. Please give her another chance.”
Handong has always liked Siyeon. She’s blunt and funny, and sometimes she’ll show up to work with her hair dyed random colors, which keeps things interesting. Handong doesn’t want to be that asshole who fires Siyeon’s best friend.
And then there’s the way Bora’s gaze froze Handong in her seat, which is a whole separate issue. Although spilling her tea was embarrassing, Handong can’t remember the last time an encounter made her feel so off-balance. It’s intriguing. Bora is intriguing. Her quick judgments and bold remarks and that gaze put together feel like a challenge, and Handong was born and bred to take up challenges. There’s nothing she loves more than a win. And if Bora is as worthy an opponent as she seems, this victory could be one to remember.
That’s what Handong tells herself, at least, when she’s tossing in the hotel sheets that night. She can’t seem to get Bora’s eyes, and the way they stared at her like she was everything wrong in the world, out of her head. There’s nothing Handong loves more than a win, but right before she falls asleep, she imagines Bora seizing the upper hand, gaze burning like wildfire.
She wakes up in the morning with a headache.
“You didn’t fire me,” Bora states flatly, a few days later, on the trip back to Seoul. “I thought for sure you were going to fire me.”
“Why?” Handong asks, not looking up from the latest issue of Prestige. She made sure to pack something to read this time, so she wouldn’t get stuck staring at Bora’s face. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Oh, I get it,” Bora says. Her voice seems permanently bitter, like whatever cheap coffee she probably drinks in the morning. “This was to prove a point, huh?”
“Is there a reason you have a problem with me?” Handong asks, because as long as Bora isn’t interested in real answers, Handong isn’t interested in giving them.
In a sudden, surprising turn, Bora moves to sit in the seat beside Handong. Sure, the seat is empty, but flight attendants are supposed to leave them that way. “Let’s see what you’re reading,” Bora says, leaning in a little too close. When Handong put on the silk scoop-neck blouse this morning, she didn’t predict having to deal with Bora’s mouth hovering inches from her neck. “Top Ten Most Eye-Catching Yacht Modifications for Spring! How relatable.”
Handong flushes. When Bora says it out loud, it sounds much worse than it is. “I wasn’t going to buy any of them,” she insists. “I don’t even own a yacht.” Her parents own two, but Bora doesn’t need to know that.
“God, you’re so noble,” Bora says, voice dripping with mockery as she stands up. The hem of her skirt has risen up a couple of inches, and Handong catches a glimpse of the backs of her bare thighs before she tugs it back down. “I researched you when I took this job, you know.”
So has practically everyone Handong has ever met. “And?”
“You’re two years younger than me.” Bora shakes her head, as if the information is so preposterous that her brain refuses to accept it. “You’re younger than me.”
“So?” Handong asks. She thought two-year age differences stopped mattering after she passed her zhongkao.
Bora’s lips press into a thin line. She crosses her arms, which only seems to increase the space between them. “Wow,” Bora says, the word coming out in a humorless snort. “If you can’t see the problem, then there really is no hope for you after all.”
“I can’t help who my family is, or what I was born into,” Handong insists. She considers asking Bora to stop spitting out assumptions, but that would be a blatant show of weakness, so she holds her ground.
“Well, if that’s your logic, then I can’t help feeling a grudge against you,” Bora replies. “And maybe it’s stupid, and maybe it hurts your feelings, but you have everything. You’ll live.”
Not everything, Handong thinks. “Do you ever think before you speak?”
“Why should I?” Bora asks. Her full lips bend into a smirk. “It’s not like you’re gonna fire me.”
Handong has a vision, suddenly, without warning. Kim Bora with that same smug expression on her face, except she’s not wearing that ugly blazer and her uniform shirt has a few buttons missing. They’re the only ones in the cabin, and there’s so much for Handong to prove.
Jesus Christ. No. Not happening. Handong feels sweat beginning to bead at the back of her neck, and she checks her watch. Only a few minutes before they land, thankfully. The cabin is spacious, but any longer in the air with Bora and the walls might close in.
“So, you and the new flight attendant seem to be getting along,” Yoohyeon says in the car.
“I guess,” Handong answers, as she scrolls through her messages. She has important people trying to contact her every second of every day, even when she’s flying. Because she’s an important person. And she should know how to behave-
“She’s pretty,” Yoohyeon continues. “And her ass is amazing, even in that ugly skirt.”
“Yoohyeon, I’ll buy you the new iPhone if you don’t say anything for the rest of the trip.”
“Deal,” Yoohyeon exclaims with a burst of surprised laughter. “But, um, before that rule kicks in, just let me say...well, you know you can talk to me about stuff, right?”
Handong is hit with a sudden burst of affection for her assistant. Yoohyeon is the sweetest person on earth, maybe sweeter than Handong deserves, and Handong briefly considers taking her up on the offer. But there are some things regular, common-born people can’t understand. Crosses only a select few can bear.
Like Handong said to Bora, she can’t help it. But she still feels a little disgusted with herself, all the same.
They’re scheduled to leave for Tokyo at 6 am sharp. At 6:01, there is no sign of Siyeon or Bora. By 6:05, Yoohyeon keeps anxiously glancing at her watch and Yubin is apologizing profusely. “This is obviously so unprofessional, and I promise they will be reprimanded.”
“It’s fine,” Handong says, even though she is running on a tight schedule, since Japanese businessmen all seem to have a thing against tardiness. “These things happen, right?”
“Not to you,” Yoohyeon mutters. Handong pretends she doesn’t hear.
Finally, at 6:20, they spot Siyeon and Bora racing across the taxiway from the direction of the staff parking lot. Siyeon is already stuttering out apologies, but Yubin silences her with one stiff glare. “We have a plane to fly. Let’s get moving.”
Handong settles into her seat, taking in Bora’s appearance as the flight attendant moves about the cabin, preparing for takeoff. There’s something off about her look today. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, instead of being pinned up like usual, and she’s not wearing makeup. She’s still beautiful, of course, but she looks exhausted.
“Rough night?”
“Something like that,” Bora says. For maybe the first time, Handong can’t detect any barb in her voice. It’s unsettling, but not in a bad way.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” Bora replies. But if Handong has learned anything about Kim Bora, it’s that when there’s something on her mind, she can’t stay silent. “Just some dick at work last night who tried to grope me after my performance. Men always think they can touch us just because we dance for them, and so I’m like ‘fuck off,’ and this other guy hears it and punches the first guy in the face. So then a fight breaks out and there’s blood everywhere, and my manager calls the cops, and then I don’t get home until 4 am because I had to file a goddamn witness report.” Bora rubs her eyes with the heels of her palms, and Handong notices dark circles on the delicate skin. “And on top of that, now all my coworkers are mad at me because I cut the night short.”
“But it wasn’t your fault,” Handong protests. “That guy shouldn’t have tried to touch you in the first place, and you couldn’t control the fight breaking out.”
Bora lets out a short breath. “Right. I keep forgetting you don’t get it.”
“Well I’m just making the point that-”
“You don’t get it,” Bora exclaims, so loudly that Handong is surprised it didn’t wake Yoohyeon up. “You don’t know what it’s like to work for tips, so you can’t say shit about my coworkers.”
“I’m on your side,” Handong argues, fighting the urge to stand up so she can challenge Bora head-on. “And I bet you’re annoyed with them too.”
“You’re never on my side,” Bora replies cooly. “I’ll make your tea now.”
She heads to the minibar, and Handong takes a deep breath. Bora can be so frustrating. It’s like talking to a brick wall sometimes, except even a brick wall is soft compared to Bora’s mouth. Bora’s derisive tone is still prickling at Handong’s skin, and her instincts tell her to hit back. Point out just how ridiculous and small-minded Bora is being, make her see that she’s wrong.
But then Handong looks over to where Bora is preparing the tea tray. There’s a sag in her shoulders, a noticeable dim to her usual glow. And as much as Handong wants to be right, she also wants Bora to feel better, or at least act like her normal self again.
“I’m sorry I upset you,” Handong says, as Bora sets the tea tray down.
“Really?”
Handong nods. “I was trying to make you feel better, but I can see how it wasn’t the right approach.” She pours the tea, making sure to keep her hand steady. “I’ll be more sensitive next time.”
“You don’t need to, like...” Bora squeezes her eyes shut, “walk on eggshells around me. I’ll be fine. It’s just all kind of a lot today, you know?”
“I know.”
“Siyeon says I take things out on people. And maybe I was kind of taking last night out on you. AndI’msorry.” Bora stutters out the last three words so fast that Handong almost misses them. The apology (a concept Handong didn’t know Bora was capable of) is less shocking than Handong’s gut reaction to it, which is basically: you can take things out on me anytime.
Fucking hell.
Handong tells herself she’s following Sun Tzu again. “Subdue the enemy without fighting,” etc. But if she’s being honest with herself, she stopped trying to win against Bora some time ago. Every conversation still feels like a competition, but Handong likes the feel of the fight - the sand beneath her feet, the smell of blood in the air - and it’s all too much to bring to an end.
“Can I ask you a question?”
It’s a few weeks later, on a flight to Hong Kong. Handong is still a little taken aback every time Bora initiates the conversation, but she tries not to let it show. “Sure.”
“What would you have done with your life if your parents didn’t hand you a company?”
“I’m surprised you’re interested enough to ask.”
“Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises,” Bora says, shrugging. “And I’m curious.”
“About me?” It’s not what Handong expects, she wouldn’t let herself. And yet it feels...nice.
“People like you,” Bora says.
Oh. That makes more sense.
“Well, I don’t know,” Handong says, recovering quickly. She hasn’t thought about this since she had that miniature identity crisis back in her student days. “I always knew I would inherit the business, so I didn’t really let myself seriously consider any other possibility. And I like business. I’m good at it. I’m good at making deals and getting people on my side.” Except you, Handong thinks to herself, you’re one in a million, and you don’t even know. “But when I was younger...a long time ago...I used to dream about being a singer.”
“You sing?” Bora asks. She tilts her head, like she actually cares, and Handong is tempted to say more. Except Bora doesn’t care, because Bora doesn’t care about Handong, and Handong knows better than to go down that road.
So she changes the topic. “What about you? What was your dream job, when you were a little girl?”
There’s this faraway look in Bora’s eyes, all of a sudden, and it sort of takes Handong’s breath away. “I’ve always wanted to be a dancer. I used to think I would go professional, you know, be in music videos and on TV and everything.”
“I bet you would have been good.”
“Please,” Bora says, soft but also like she’s holding a grudge. “I would have been magnificent.”
I know, Handong thinks. You’re kind of magnificent all the time.
But she can’t bring herself to say it.
Handong was raised to be smart, not bold.
Koreans call her Handong, and she lets them. Let them at the beginning, because her family insisted on doing whatever it took to expand their already-expansive empire into the peninsula, and lets them now because she’d adapted herself so it fit. That’s who she is: adaptable. Cunning. Strategic. She knows when to hold tight to her birthright, and when to let it fade to the background.
But Bora makes her feel like her birthright is a glaring neon sign on her chest, relentless and permanent. Like her last name is all she is, and there’s no point in trying to carve out her own identity. And maybe that’s how it should be. Maybe that’s the price to pay for never going hungry, for always being surrounded by nice things, and constantly having others at your beck and call. But just once, she wants Bora to see her. Handong the real version, whatever she looks like. If she even exists.
“Are we good people?” She asks Gahyeon, at some dinner party-slash-gala fundraiser thing. Over the years, Gahyeon has become Handong’s partner-in-crime at these kinds of events. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, despite the fact that her parents spoiled her as much as parents can spoil a kid.
“Of course,” Gahyeon says, bright-eyed and giggly from all the champagne. “I just saw you, like, donate enough money to fix up the old homeless shelter and build two new ones. If you’re stressed about the last judgment or whatever, don’t be. You’re set.”
“But that’s my family’s money,” Handong points out. “Spending it doesn’t really affect me.”
“Well, what do you want me to say?” Gahyeon asks. “That we’re horrible unless we give every penny away? Look, nobody is going to do that. We all do the best with what we’re given, and if the people in these homeless shelters were in our place, they’d do exactly the same.”
Gahyeon is young, but smart, and probably right in this case, but it only makes Handong feel worse. She drinks too much the rest of the night, and breaks a heel off one of her Jimmy Choos in a mad stumble to the parking lot. On the drive home, she feels a sudden urge to call Bora. But then she remembers she doesn’t have Bora’s number.
Bora would probably just roll her eyes, anyway.
There are thunderstorms in the morning’s forecast, which is perhaps why Yubin is so agitated. It’s obvious that bad weather stresses the pilot out, even though she tries to hide it from her passengers. Handong is washing her hands in the lavatory before takeoff when she hears Yubin’s voice, louder and more brittle than normal.
“You didn’t restock the snack basket. You have to restock it before every flight, Bora.”
“They barely take anything. Why can’t I wait until it’s empty so I don’t have to make multiple trips?”
“It’s a matter of professionalism. There are certain expectations-”
Handong chooses that moment to open the door. “Actually, it’s fine.”
Yubin’s eyes widen, and she takes a step back to make room in the narrow corridor. “Miss Handong, I didn’t know you were...I’m sorry.”
“No worries,” Handong says. “And as always, I appreciate your dedication to professionalism. But Bora’s right. Yoohyeon and I barely take anything, and there’s no need to make Bora do multiple trips.”
Yubin nods, before clearing her throat and heading towards the cockpit. Handong resists the urge to check Bora’s reaction, instead making her way to her own seat. She feels embarrassed, although she doesn’t quite know why. When it comes to Bora, there’s a lot of things she doesn’t know.
She can feel Bora looking at her as the plane takes off, and tries her best to focus on the spreadsheets in front of her. Normally looking over this kind of information was Yoohyeon’s job, but Handong decided to give her a break. She’s been feeling oddly charitable lately.
Once they’re steady in the air, Bora speaks. “Hey. Thanks for sticking up for me.” It’s short and to-the-point, but sincere. Handong can’t help but smile.
“It’s no problem. And I bet Yubin didn’t mean to be so hard on you.” Handong looks out the window, but all she can see is a haze of dark gray. “She was probably just nervous about the storm.”
“Don’t worry, she doesn’t scare me,” Bora says casually. “Or at least, she hasn’t since I accidentally saw her naked.”
“What-how - excuse me? ” Handong sputters.
“I’m Siyeon’s roommate,” Bora says, in a tone that ought to have a “duh” attached. Handong’s face must indicate that she doesn’t catch on. “Oh my god, you really don’t know. They’ve been fucking for months now.”
Handong flushes. These are people with whom she has a professional, working relationship. “I neither want nor need to know this kind of information, Bora.”
“Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re homophobic,” Bora says, as if that’s even close to why Handong might be uncomfortable with this conversation. “I thought you were one of those corporate feminist types.”
The plane encounters some turbulence, suddenly, and Handong’s stomach seems to dip with the freefall. “I’m not homophobic,” she hisses, the last word coming out in a whisper.
“Right,” Bora says. Her eyes are roaming over Handong again, like she’s a lab coat-wearing scientist and Handong is one of her specimens. “You’re not homophobic.”
“Exactly. Glad we’ve established that. Can we talk about something else now?” Handong glances towards the cockpit, hoping to death that Yubin and Siyeon can’t hear them. “Please?”
“Do you like girls, boss?”
The use of the title is new, and it brings a heat to Handong’s cheeks. The question, though, makes her stomach flip, and not in the good way. It’s the question she’s feared for years, the only accusation with any substance that her enemies could use to take her down. She’s always behaved impeccably, dutifully covering her tracks since she was a teenager, and now Bora could ruin everything.
But only if she has proof, Handong reminds herself, which she doesn’t. As long as you don’t give her anything. Handong will just...ignore the question. Easy. Done.
Bora, however, doesn’t want to give it up. “It’s okay if you’re ashamed to admit it. We’ve all been there.”
“Do you ever stop talking?” Handong mumbles. The plane lurches. The storm rages on.
“I see the way you look at me,” Bora says. She leans in close, her lips almost grazing Handong’s ear. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. “You’re not as careful as you think you are.”
After that, Handong develops a real problem.
Bora starts showing up in her dreams, starring in a number of hazy, vaguely pornographic scenarios. Handong wakes up not remembering much, but feeling hot and sweaty under her sheets. It’s…a setback, but she’s fairly certain she can deal with it. Shake off the guilt in the morning and keep herself busy throughout the day. If anything, the fact that her unconscious has a relentless sexual fixation on her flight attendant is making her more productive.
Then, she has a vision so clear that it sticks with her, follows her throughout the day and then the next. And she knows she needs to do something.
The vision: Bora, completely naked, kneeling on Handong’s bed. Fairly normal, as far as her sex dreams about Kim Bora go, except for her expression. Because she’s looking at Handong with the most vicious kind of disgust in her eyes, ten times worse than anything real-life-Bora ever threw Handong’s way. Dream-Bora doesn’t even need to say anything, the message is clear enough. What the fuck is wrong with you.
So, okay. Maybe she needs help. She should probably call one of the many therapists her family has on speed dial.
Instead, she calls Minji.
Handong doesn’t have very many exes. That’s not what the media will say, though: she’s been linked to one prominent Korean businessman and two prominent Korean actors. All three of them are men, meaning the stories have no substance, but Handong is fine with the public thinking otherwise. The more she can assimilate, in their eyes at least, the better.
When it comes to actual exes in Korea, though, she only has one. Kim Minji: model, mom-friend, and advice-giver extraordinaire. They dated for about four months before realizing there wasn’t much romantic chemistry between them, besides them both being beautiful, successful, and interested in women. But there were never any hard feelings - Handong imagines that, to Minji, “hard feelings” are a foreign concept - and they still talk occasionally, especially when Handong needs some fresh perspective.
“This sounds like a real pickle,” Minji says, after Handong spills everything over the phone. Handong didn’t expect to tell Minji about all of it, including the dreams, but once she started talking, she couldn't bring herself to stop.
“I know.” Nannan is curled up on one of Handong’s pillows, and she reaches over to scratch his ears. Her cat always seems to sense when she’s having a crisis, abandoning his sunny spot by the window to join her on the bed.
“Do you think she could be trying to blackmail you? Be honest. Don’t let your feelings get in the way, this is important.”
Handong takes a few minutes to think - really think. Minji hums on the other end of the line. “No,” Handong says finally. There’s plenty of evidence - Siyeon’s insistence that Bora is a good person, Bora’s quickness to come to the defense of her coworkers, “we’ve all been there” - but more powerful than that is Handong’s gut feeling that Bora just wouldn’t. Bora might loathe Handong, but she wouldn’t go that far. “I don’t think she’d blackmail or, like, out me or anything. She’s not the type.”
“But you said she hates you.”
“That doesn’t make her inherently terrible,” Handong says. It’s not easy to admit - takes a good deal of her pride to do so. But it’s the truth. She knows that now.
“I don’t understand this girl,” Minji says, in that wholesome Minji-way. “I mean, how could anybody hate you? You’re just a big, soft sweetheart, underneath all the success and cash and clothes.”
“All she sees is the cash and clothes.”
“But you’re more than that,” Minji insists.
“Not in the ways that matter.” Handong knows she sounds pathetic, and that only makes her feel more low. “I mean, I don’t know who I am if I didn’t have everything that I have, or who I’d be if I wasn’t born into this life. There’s so much I don’t understand, so much I don’t see, and I know that, and I wouldn’t change anything, and that makes it worse.”
Minji sighs across the line. “Well, I’ll tell you this. You are lovable, and you deserve to be appreciated, and neither of you are in the wrong, but…”
“But that’s not enough,” Handong finishes. “What should I do?”
“Honestly? It sounds like you need to get her out of your system,” Minji says. “Because you know this isn’t going to end the way you want it to.”
“Yeah,” Handong says. There’s a lump in her throat. She swallows it down. “I know.”
“I’m sorry, honey.”
“Don’t be.” Handong shakes her head, even though Minji can’t see her. “Don’t be.”
On the flight back from Busan, Handong notices Bora is wearing dark burgundy lipstick. It makes her look even more intimidating than normal, although that might just be the weight of what Handong is planning to do.
She takes a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves in her stomach. She just needs to get Bora out of her system, and then she’ll be fine. This is just another obstacle in Handong’s path, easy to overcome. Of course, a rejection is possible, maybe even likely. But Handong is losing sleep, inching closer to insanity each day, and she needs to try. She needs to know.
It’s a short flight, so she doesn’t have much time. She stands up from her seat, walking towards where Bora is wiping down the counter of the minibar.
“Bora, um, I wanted to ask…” Handong feels a rush of nervousness and glances over to where Yoohyeon is sitting. From the looks of it, Yoohyeon is completely absorbed in some game on her phone, but Handong lowers her voice anyway. “Do you have plans tonight?”
She braces herself for god-knows-what - a slap in the face maybe, or a burst of loud, cruel laughter. Bora has always excelled at the unpredictable. But the flight attendant just takes a step back, raising her eyebrows as if to say so we’re doing this. “Yeah. I have a shift.”
“Oh,” Handong says, trying not to let her disappointment show. “That’s too bad.”
“But you can come visit,” Bora says. Her eyes are closed when she says it, like she can’t even bear to look at Handong, and normally it might sting.
But the invitation - the invitation - is enough to override every other feeling in Handong’s body.
“Do you want to see me dance?” Bora opens her eyes, then, revealing that damn stare. “I’ll dance for you, if that’s what you want.”
Handong considers it for a second. Just the mental picture sets something inside her on fire. But then she remembers reality (it takes too long, but she remembers reality) and chokes on smoke. “I can’t.”
“You can’t?”
“Someone might see.” God, she hates herself. Hates everything, but mostly herself. “There’s a lot of people who want to take me down and...it’s too much of a risk. I can’t risk it. I really wish I could. I’m sorry.”
Bora nods, gaze turning cold. The obstacle in Handong’s path grows sentience and gives Handong the middle finger. Her chance was there, and she couldn’t take it, and now she’ll never get Bora out of her system. The flight attendant will be a cross in her wires every day for the rest of her life.
And then Bora opens her mouth.
“Well that’s too bad. But if you give me your address, I can come over after my shift ends.”
“Really?”
Bora nods, a small, fragile smile on her face. Moving embarrassingly fast, Handong grabs a pen from her briefcase and a napkin from the tea tray. She writes down her address before anyone can see. “I’ll be home all night.”
The antique clock above the fireplace strikes twice for 2 am. Handong lowers her novel; she hadn’t been able to focus, anyway. She should have asked when Bora’s shift would end. Bora could show up any minute, or not at all. As painful as it is to think about, standing Handong up is something Bora would do. That would be the ultimate victory, really, and the most humiliating defeat. Bora would be stupid not to take the chance.
And then the doorbell rings.
It feels a little unreal, opening the door and seeing Bora on the other side. She’s wearing that same burgundy lipstick. Her eyeshadow must have smudged during her shift, because an uneven trail of glitter dusts the apples of her cheeks. Handong has never seen anyone more stunning.
“You’re here,” Handong states, in slight disbelief. “Um, come in.”
She leads Bora to the kitchen, pouring two glasses of water out of habit. Bora runs her hand over one of the marble countertops. “Nice place,” Bora says. She seems smaller, for some reason. It might be her clothes - a simple striped tee shirt and black leggings - and the fact that this is the first time Handong has seen her out of the attendant’s uniform. “I mean, I knew it would be nice, but shit. I’ve never been in a place like this.”
“Well, I like nice things,” Handong says. She has many places to live, but she’s especially proud of the Pyeongchang-dong townhouse, because it’s all her own, decorated entirely to her tastes. “I picked out the carpets from-”
“So are we going to fuck, or not?” Bora interrupts.
Handong is rendered speechless. She probably should have expected this, but if she’s learned anything, it’s that Bora can always catch her off-guard. Bora’s existence is a curveball, crashing through all of Handong’s windows. No matter how hard Handong tries to adapt, she’ll still get stuck sweeping up the broken glass.
“That’s why we’re here, right?” Bora’s eyes are searching, like they’re trying to dig something out of Handong. If only Handong knew what. “Unless there was something else you wanted.”
Handong looks down, avoiding Bora’s gaze. There are a lot of things she wants, but she doesn’t feel safe saying any of them out loud, and she has a mission. An obstacle. It feels dirty, and wrong, but, yes. God, yes. “I just want you, tonight.”
“Then lead the way.”
When they reach the bedroom, Bora kisses her, hot and angry and amazing. She moves from Handong’s lips to her neck at rapidfire speed, and Handong has to remind herself to savor the moment. “Take your hair down,” Handong gasps out, pulling away slightly. “I want to see you.” Bora obeys, undoing her ponytail, and Handong runs her fingers through the raven-colored strands. “You’re beautiful.”
“I know,” Bora says. “Take your top off.”
I’ve had dreams about this, Handong thinks. She wonders if Bora has dreamt about her. It shouldn’t matter, because Bora doesn’t really know her, anyway. She only sees what she wants to see, which isn’t really her fault. There’s nothing either of them can do about it.
“You like that?” “Yes.” “Yeah you do.”
Nothing either of them can do, but this.
The next day, they’re scheduled to fly to Beijing. When Handong and Yoohyeon arrive at the airport, however, they only see Siyeon and Yubin. No Bora.
“She didn’t tell you?” Siyeon asks, when Handong pulls her aside. Handong tries not to read too much into the look in her eyes. “Yesterday was the last day of Jisoo’s maternity leave. So Bora’s not on this assignment anymore.”
As if on cue, the door to the lavatory opens and Jisoo appears wearing Bora’s uniform. “You’re looking well, Miss Handong,” Jisoo says with a friendly, professional smile. “It’s good to see you again.”
Oh.
Well. Wasn’t that convenient timing. Credit to Bora, for doing the unspeakable and then never having to look Handong in the eye again.
“It’s good to see you as well. I hope you got plenty of rest during your maternity leave,” Handong says. If there’s anything Handong can be, it’s professional. Especially since Bora isn’t around anymore to uproot her entire world, make her forget herself and everything she is.
Bora being gone is a good thing, Handong reminds herself, in a number of ways. It doesn’t matter that they slept together, or that they held each other afterwards, or that Bora kissed Handong on the forehead when she left. Handong got Bora out of her system, and if any errors occurred she’ll fix them. This is for the better, actually. Probably. Handong will get over it. She always does.
They never would have made it work. Even if Bora stayed. Even if Handong said everything she wanted. They were like a soap bubble, only possible when suspended in air and dissolving as soon as they make contact with anything tangible.
They were never going to end well. Maybe in another life.
The plane takes off, and Handong lets go.