Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s four in the morning.

The air smells musty. Yuna’s bare legs shift underneath the blankets across her lap, too heavy for her own liking, but if she doesn’t have the heavy blankets then her knee tends to bounce, bounce, bounce. And eventually her leg will ache from all the bouncing, and then she’ll have to rub balm on it to make it feel better, but the balm is more pungent than the musty air and will make her hands greasy when she tries to type on her keyboard.

Everything likes to be tedious, Yuna thinks with a sigh.

She closes her computer with a soft click , plunging herself into darkness, and immediately misses the light of the screen. She likes its nice ghostly white glow. It makes her feel theatrical, like she’s bigger than herself.

She kicks the blankets off. Stands up. Walks around her room, massaging the cricks out of her neck with practiced fingers. Today is the day, The Day, and she reminded herself a million times that she’s supposed to get at least eight hours of sleep tonight—but here she is, her breath gross from typical all-nighter dehydration, her eyes sticky from staring at her computer too long, and her brain dry from wringing out so many words nonstop. 

“Yuna, you’re hopeless,” she mutters. She needs to sleep.

She doesn’t sleep. She lies on her bed and plays Crossy Road.

By the time she’s done getting in her daily gaming fix, morning birds are chirping outside her window. She squints at the wobbly orange star (yes, star) (not a fireball, mind you) dragging itself up off the horizon.

What a knockoff. Yuna is the only true sunshine around here.

She calls Chaeryeong, knowing she’ll be awake. Both of them have fucked sleep schedules.

“Hi.”

“ Hey, Shinna. ” Chaeryeong sounds tired, but in a plain sort of way. Yuna wishes she could be that plain, too. “You asleep? ”

“Am I—Mhm. Yeah. Asleep.”

A pause. “ Hold on .”

“Wow, big brain,” Yuna says.

“ Fuck off, ” Chaeryeong says offhandedly.

This is them. Yuna finds their interactions incredibly funny. Right now she is sleepy from no sleep, and Chaeryeong is sleepy from too much sleep, and so they are both too sleepy to laugh right now, but Yuna internally thanks the gods for her best friend. The only tangible person who has ever shared a sense of humor similar to Yuna.

Tangible things about Chaeryeong that Yuna appreciates:

1. She looks like a doll, acts like a doll, wears trendy dresses and pink acrylic nails like a doll, but swears like a bitter sailor who’s lost her mother, her hamster, and her three pet dogs.
2. Chaeryeong is confident. She can laze around the house for days on end, napping at all odd hours and eating Cheez-Its out of the box every meal, but unlike Yuna, she never doubts her own ability to feel happy doing nothing. Chaeryeong is confident even when doing nothing.
3. Chaeryeong wears hair tinsel. It’s pretty and silver and tied delicately into her fluffy brown hair and Yuna wishes she could be that pretty but she would never tell Chaeryeong about it because she would probably beat her up with a broomstick for hating on her own face yet once more.

“ I literally just peeled my eyeballs open ,” Chaeryeong complains presently. “ I have no idea how you pull this shit day after day. How many words did you get down? ”

“Oh . . . hmm, about four thousand?” Yuna peeks open her laptop, just to check, then nods at her phone even though no one can see her. “Just shy of four thousand. I think we can expect a new chapter on time this week; I know I’ve been getting sloppy with the deadlines.”

Chaeryeong snort-laughs. “ It really doesn’t have to be a deadline. ”

But it does. It does, or else Yuna would never get her work out in a timely fashion and she’d end up like those fanfiction writers who promise to update weekly but end up disappearing off the face of the planet (a.k.a Archive Of Our Own), never to be seen again. 

Yuna calls it self-scheduled organization. Chaeryeong calls it self-inflicted suffering. Yuna just doesn’t want her WIPs to feel abandoned.

Chaeryeong speaks up. “ I’m sure your followers wouldn’t mind even if you dropped a two-hundred worder on them. Hey, that’d be kind of hot, wouldn’t it? Mysterious, and stuff? ”

Yuna sniffs. “Um, two hundred words isn’t even a proper amount for a chapter? That’s like, a paragraph. That’s flash.” 

“ But it’d be sexy! ”

“My shirt has ketchup stains, my nose is breaking out, and my grades this semester are incredibly unsexy. I have no business being sexy.”

Chaeryeong pouts. “ Fuck, fine. ” 

Both of them get lost in thought. By the time Chaeryeong speaks up again, Yuna is dozing off.

“ So . . . I have to tell you something. You wouldn’t mind if our party of two became a party of three tonight, would you?”

Yuna pops her eyes open. “What do you mean?”

They’ve got The Day scheduled today. It’s what they’ve been waiting for for the past four months, ever since that time in Chaeryeong’s bathroom where they huddled on the floor side by side with their phones and laptops, clicking furiously through Ticketmaster with bated breaths.

That day, Yuna almost accidentally dropped her phone in the toilet, but, well, the wifi in Chaeryeong’s apartment was best in the bathroom. And they couldn’t afford slow wifi. Not with something this big at stake.

“ I’m saying, I invited someone to join us for tonight, at least for the ride to the venue. She’s lovely. And she’s got a car, and she needs the carpool lane, and — well, we need a car and we can offer her access to the carpool lane! It’s a win-win for everyone. We can split up once we get there.”

“I mean . . ." Yuna trails off. "Well, how do you know this girl?”

“ She’s my lab partner in biochem. She’s really sweet, I promise."

An outsider. She’s an outsider. This is supposed to be Chaeryeong and Yuna time, not Chaeryeong and Yuna and Outsider time. 

“Okay, I guess,” is what Yuna says.

“ Great! Okay, bye, babe. See you at 3.”

When the call is over, Yuna drifts off to sleep, but not without a frown on her face. 

Because today’s her Day, The Day, the momentous occasion in which she is finally going to see SuperM in concert, and she’s going to have to put up with the company of a stranger the entire time.

***

Yuna dresses up in knee-high socks, a crinkly vest, a ruffled skirt, and a bomber jacket, all in an atrocious shade of lime green. Even the laces of her tall boots are the same color. She ties her long blonde hair up in two high space buns, securing them off with scrunchies, and then grabs some dark lipstick, eyeliner, and hoop earrings to complete the look.

Begone, saggy eye bags and dehydrated skin. Meet concert Yuna, a changed woman.

By the time she shows up at the meeting address, Chaeryeong and the third (the outsider, Yuna thinks to herself) are already ready and waiting. Chaeryeong stands out like a sore thumb—she’s wearing a fuzzy lime green sweater, as well as fishnet stockings under a tiny pair of jean shorts. She turns when Yuna shouts her name.

“Hey bitch,” Chaeryeong exclaims, running to her and embracing her messily. Her hair, tinsel and all, gets in Yuna’s mouth. “You look so fucking good, oh my God.”

The third girl (the outsider) clears her throat from the side. Yuna takes her in. A pink dinosaur onesie . . . short bob cut . . . floppy hood . . . whisker smile . . .

Oh lord, it’s Ryujin Shin.

Campus sweetheart. Valedictorian. Everyone’s dream girlfriend. Ryujin Shin. 

“ You’re a K-pop fan?” Yuna blurts without thinking. It’s not her fault. She has never once thought of Ryujin as anything but basic. 

Ryujin blinks. “Sure am,” she says, in her naturally low-pitched voice.

Chaeryeong steps back. “Wait, you two know each other?”

“I mean, yeah,” Yuna sputters. “Ryujin is basic.” 

Ryujin puts a hand to her chest in mock hurt and looks down at her outfit. “Are you hating on my clothes? This is the pinkest thing I own! Isn’t the SuperM fandom color pink?”

She continues to inspect her onesie, while Yuna hurries to correct herself. “Wait, sorry, I mean, no, I didn’t mean to say you’re basic. I meant to say you’re pretty. Pretty basic. No , basically pretty. Wait. No! Ugh.”

“You’ve gotta excuse her,” Chaeryeong pipes up to Ryujin. “She’s too gay to function.”

Yuna groans. The best way to clear this up and save her ass is to tell the truth. “Fine, okay? Sorry, Ryujin, I meant to say that of course I know you because you’re like . . . you're every person’s crush. It’s just basic knowledge. That’s what I meant.”

Ryujin looks up. The kitten whiskers are there again, in the dimples of her smile. “What’s your name?”

“Yuna. Yuna Shin.”

They get in the car, Ryujin in the driver’s seat, Chaeryeong in the passenger’s, and Yuna in the back. From this spot she has a perfect look at Ryujin’s side profile, the slope of her jaw and the brush of her soft dark hair against her chin.

Yuna swallows her gayness. She is not checking her out.

They start off.

***

The concert is amazing.

The three of them end up sticking together the whole night. In the jam-packed minutes before the show starts, Ryujin treats them all to corn dogs and nachos, and Chaeryeong snatches a dozen of the fan project posters that they’re handing out at the venue entrance. (Chaeryeong is a collector.) Yuna takes two and passes one to Ryujin, who wipes her mouth on a napkin and sets down her food to peer at the poster with a furrowed brow.

“What’s wrong?” Yuna says.

Ryujin lays a finger on the Korean letters arching across the paper. “What does it say?”

It’s just a short love letter to Super M that some fan mass-produced. Yuna translates it for Ryujin, who thanks her and goes back to her corn dog. It’s her second corn dog. Ryujin seems to eat a lot. (When they were in the car Yuna spotted a stash of Lunchables and Doritos stuffed under the car seat.)

It’s not Yuna’s first time at a concert. All the same, when the lights dim down and the boys come out on stage, she screams her lungs out. The night is a blur of performances, fireworks, bass-boosted rap tracks, and the classic spraying-the-crowd-with-the-water-bottle thing that K-pop idols always treat their floor seat fans to. Seeing the boys’ faces up close (technically, on a screen broadcasted from the on-stage cameras, but whatever) is surreal.

Even though she promised herself not to, Yuna cries when they perform her favorite song.

It’s a slow ballad with honey vocals and gentle rap verses. Yuna closes her eyes. All of the times she’s listened to this song by herself on the bus after a long hard day of school, desolate and hoping to find some comfort. Right now, she feels so in touch with all of herself—her past selves, her future selves who will look back on this moment fondly, and her present self. She is here. 

She is present.

Tears leak out onto her cheeks. She sways back and forth, with the gentle movement of the rest of the crowd’s pretty lightsticks. The night is so pretty. The song is so pretty. Everything, pretty. Yuna feels like she belongs here, because with her ridiculous hair buns and too-flashy neon shirt, she blends right in. From beside her, Chaeryeong grasps her hand. Their fingers lock. Together, they sing, their voices melding with the thousands of other people present tonight. 

This is why Yuna is a fan.

***

It started years ago.

Her story is like the rest of the K-pop fans. They are intrigued. They check out a music video. They fall down the rabbit hole. Usually they stay for a while, until something else catches their interest or they just get tired of it and leave.

But Yuna doesn’t think she’ll leave.

She’s only a college student; she’s barely an adult. She doesn’t really know what love is. But she thinks that if she ever loved anything, it’s her hobby of being a writer, and K-pop gives her that. It gives her that outlet and creative opportunity, day in and day out. Who says that fanfiction isn’t real writing? Yuna will fight them. And their mother. Fanfiction is real writing.

***

On the ride back home, they are all still fuzzy from the post-concert high. Chaeryeong is giggly, hugging her fan posters and singing under her breath to her favorite Super M song. Ryujin’s smile hasn’t left her face all night.

The road is quiet and dark. Yuna harmonizes with Chaeryeong for a little while before the other falls asleep and then there’s no one to harmonize with. And Yuna’s too shy to sing by herself so she doesn’t.

Eventually Ryujin breaks the silence.

“You an NCT fan?”

Yuna takes her elbow off the armrest in surprise at the sudden question. “Yeah?” she says. “Yeah, I am.” She could probably tell by the ferocious green outfit she’s wearing.

“That’s cool. Me, too. Seeing those NCT members today in concert . . . it was life-changing. I think a lot of people forget that idols are real humans, you know? Like, sometimes, people take the whole pedestal thing a little too far.”

Yuna gulps. Maybe it’s just her, but this sounds like an indirect to people who write real person fanfiction about idols.

Guess Ryujin can’t be trusted with Yuna’s secret fic life. Oh, well. 

“Seeing them in person makes me feel closer to them,” Ryujin adds. “What about you?”  

From there, they talk about their biases, chat a little about school, and eventually Yuna’s writing her phone number down on a piece of paper as per Ryujin’s request. Ryujin says she wants to learn how to speak Korean, and Yuna has experience as a Korean tutor, so they make plans to maybe one day meet up. Yuna doesn’t expect it to actually happen, because Yuna is not Special and whoever hangs out with Ryujin is widely considered to be Special, but Ryujin at least seems to be making a genuine effort to come across as nice. 

“Thank you for the ride,” Yuna says, after they drop Chaeryeong off and Ryujin is pulling up to Yuna’s dorm.

“No problem.” It’s deep night right now, but Ryujin’s awake eyes are bright. And big. And she’s pretty.

Really pretty.

“Wanna go grab something to eat?” Yuna asks.

As soon as the words come out of her mouth she’s inwardly kicking herself. Why? Why? She’s not even hungry. She’s still full from the sheer happiness she’d consumed at the concert. She needs to go home. She wants to write. She’s tired.

Eh, she’s not really that tired. And she’s already written 4k today. She doesn’t need to go home right now.

And, somewhere, deep inside of her, she knows that even though she’s not hungry, she does have an appetite. Metaphorical, or whatever. How does that work? She doesn’t have a clue. She ought to stop thinking in metaphors. 

Ryujin’s smile is really pretty.

“I would love to go get something to eat, Yuna.”

***

They spend the whole night together.

It’s the most fun Yuna’s had in a long time.

Ryujin is funny. And sweet. And lively. She’s so easy, so rare , like a breath of fresh air in the circus that is Yuna’s life. It’s in the way she furrows her brow that shows she’s listening hard to what Yuna’s saying, it’s the way her tone is always playful and gentle, the way she takes zero offense at all of the things Yuna says no matter how initially clumsy or awkward it comes across.

She is, in every sense of the word, an angel.

She’s just an extrovert. It’s not your first time meeting an extrovert. Chill.

But she can’t. Can’t chill. Her knee is bouncing the whole time they sit at the booth at a small 24/7 cafe. Her knee keeps bouncing the whole time they eat their midnight snacks. It’s mini donuts and instant coffee.

“—and that’s how I learned that you don’t call the police just for seeing a dead squirrel on the road,” Ryujin finishes. “I guess I just freaked out and didn’t know what else to do. It was late at night and all the local animal control phone lines were closed!” Ryujin shivers. “The voice of the 911 phone operator still haunts me to this day—she sounded so done with me, you know? I felt so guilty for wasting her time.”

“What happened to the squirrel?” Yuna asks.

“Eventually animal control came by and picked it up. But that isn’t the point! Yuna, I still cringe whenever I see squirrels. I immediately go into self-hate mode and inwardly cry over my sad mistake.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Yuna tries to console her, even though she understands that it probably really was that bad. Especially for someone with anxiety. Who knew Ryujin Shin had anxieties?

She racks her mind to say something comforting. What comes to mind is a wise saying that one of her old, old friends once told her. A friend who isn’t Chaeryeong; Chaeryeong isn’t wise. 

It’s someone else. Someone Yuna carries close to her heart.

And in her back jeans pocket, most of the time.

“If you’re married to the past you’ll always be a widow,” she says. “So let’s just flirt with the future and enjoy our long-term relationship with the present. It’s all we can really do.”

Ryujin is silent.

The cafe is quiet. They’re the only two customers there.

“Also,” Yuna says quickly, unnerved by the unprecedented brightness in the other’s eyes, “poor you, but also, like, poor squirrel . Got flattened out of nowhere. That’s mad sad.”

Ryujin holds up her mini donut. It’s powdered white. “To the squirrel. A mad sad friend.”

Yuna taps her donut against Ryujin’s. “To all the mad sads.”

Later, when she gets home, she writes that line into her fic.

***

Twitter is, to say the least, a minefield.

Fancam spam, cancel culture, rumors that spread like wildfires . . . Yuna tries to keep her timeline light, because if she doesn’t then at the end of the day she’s only going to make herself tired trying to be everything. She doesn’t have to be everything. She just wants her K-pop stan account to be safe and soft.

For a writer who’s decently popular on ao3, Yuna doesn’t have that many followers on Twitter. To be honest, she doesn’t really mind. Quality, not quantity, and all.

She mainly uses Twitter to connect with an online friend. (Read: soulmate.) Their name?

@Mullitfish0417. The love of Yuna’s life.

Well, not really. But maybe. Like, probably.

Tonight, Yuna sits at her laptop, dressed in a threadbare blue hoodie and a pair of boxers. Her heart skips a beat when she opens her feed. @Mullitfish0417 (username Mully) (pronouns she/they) has left her a message.

Mully

I love this fic @husseyounaw oh god I’m so in love with this fic

it has killed me and resurrected me like 32484 times markhyuck assassins hurt/comfort au?

Yes yes YES i have been fed my heart is happy thank you

Yuna giggles and begins typing out a response. She makes sure to put plenty of heart emojis, partly because she doesn’t want to come across as monotone, but also because Mully’s texts just make her want to type heart emojis.

Hussey, replying to Mully

Thank you so much askdfjdksaj! !! TT Keep an eye out for the next update,

it’s coming soon and i made sure to include extra markhyuck just for uuuuu <333

While waiting for a response, she scrolls through her timeline and absently likes some of the newest posts from the accounts she follows. She is used to waiting long amounts of time for Mully to reply. Usually, the way it works is that the other will spam furiously for a few minutes, then go offline for several hours at a time, returning at around 7 pm and then staying online for an hour or two before, presumably, going to sleep. 

Yes, Yuna knows all of this. But she’s not a stalker. She’s not!

She made a list to convince herself.

Reasons why Yuna Shin (me) is not a stalker

• I have been online friends with Mully for years
• Also, Mully is my favorite fic writer and I am their fan. And it’s normal for fans to keep up with their favorite writers. I am normal

• I’m sure they’re familiar with my usual tweeting schedule, too. We’re each others’ favorite mutuals, after all

• I asked Mully once if being interacting with them on the daily was ok and they said “hell yeah im always looking to make new friends, just dont be creepy or anything”

• I am not creepy, therefore I am qualified to be Mully’s friend

Yuna sometimes refers back to this list to remind herself that despite the infamous pitfalls of the Internet, Yuna is a responsible netizen and so is Mully. They are not some haggard old man at a crappy computer preying on children—they are a real person, just like Yuna, somewhere else in the world, maybe even here in the US. Neither of them have done a face reveal, mostly because it’s just not necessary—and also because Yuna is shy.

Mully is a brilliant writer, and they have repeatedly commented on Yuna’s works, cheered her on over countless DMs, and dedicated their own fics to her, all to express to her that they think she is a brilliant fic writer.

Yuna remembers a specific conversation between the two of them. It was basically that one meme? The one with the two bad cartoons relentlessly hitting a tennis ball back and forth. In it, Yuna and Mully got into an extravagant argument, using caps lock to hurl compliments at each other. Relentlessly trading the love. When Yuna started to border on self-deprecation, Mully went back to lowercase. 

Mully

Please bb Huss you’re incredible and important and who cares if your 

stats aren’t as impressive as some of the other fic writers you are still

the most original and hardworking writer i have ever come across

your work belongs in the national legend archives amen angry face

Mully has a lot of typos in their texts (a stark contrast to their fanfic content). Also, they tend not to use emojis, substituting them for descriptions of the emoji instead—like kissy face, or sad face, or pouty face, et cetera. Yuna finds it quirky.

Also, they call Yuna “Huss,” a nickname for the alias in her bio. Which is. Super cute.

Hussey

Nooo ur too nice to me srsly >:0 what if i get an inflated ego

Mully

yes!!! Get an inflated ego!!! You deserve one

Hussey

You wont think that when I actually dO manifest a big ass ego

and end up becoming the dictator of the world skdfjds im cri

Mully

Please you never even write angst you would not be a 

good dictator at all

Hussey

I am offended,,,,,,.... You have hurt me how does my angst

capacity have anything to do with my ability to run this world

Mully

It just do

After that, Yuna learned to stop writing self-deprecating author’s notes. She stopped apologizing to her readers for having a late update or for not replying to their comments in a timely manner. Because Mully told her she doesn’t need to apologize; she’s a talented writer who’s producing laborious content for people who are reading it, free of charge.

Still, self-deprecation is a hard habit to shake. Self-hate is even harder.

Yuna is trying her best. Mully is helping. Always.

***

“ Shinna! ” Chaeryeong sings. “ How many words you got? ”

“Three thousand,” Yuna says. She’s at the library, with her earbuds in and her phone volume turned down to the lowest setting, yet she’s half convinced the entire building can hear Chaeryeong’s loudness. “Can you lower your voice a little? I’m trying to pretend like I’m working.”

“ Are you gonna post it today? Are you gonna?”

“Yeah.” The concert last weekend really helped boost Yuna’s spirits, giving her the final push of inspiration she needed to hammer out this week’s fic update. The chapter is a handsome size, almost 80 pages long double-spaced, and her followers will eat it up . “This chapter’s a game-changer.”

“ Are they gonna kiss? Please tell me they’ll fucking kiss.”

The characters in Yuna’s fanfiction have been dancing around each other, flirting but not committing, their dynamic set a tantalizingly slow pace. They’ve almost kissed twice. The breakneck danger of this being a mafia alternate universe gives it extra spice in how Yuna can play with the classic roles of forbidden, high-risk, I-Like-You-So-Much-I’m-Scared-Of-My-Own Feelings romance that perpetuate in practically every dystopian novel. Yuna enjoys messing with her readers. Her characters are tricky, bossy, unreliable. They’re wild. She likes them.

“Of course they’re going to kiss,” Yuna says, rolling her eyes. “I mean. Probably. You’ll have to wait until Thursday to see.”

Chaeryeong scoffs. “ What happened to the good old beta years? ”

There’s a reason why Yuna put Chaeryeong out of commission for beta-reader duties long ago. All Chaeryeong ever did was thirst for fluff. And fluff is important, of course, but sometimes it needs to take a backseat for the juicier action to take the wheel. 

Yuna ends the call without saying good-bye. Chaeryeong doesn’t deserve one and most of the time she doesn’t give Yuna one anyway. Humming to herself, Yuna opens her computer again and switches to her social media window.

Mully strikes again. This post of them is an aesthetic photo of a bookshelf, accompanied by a punny caption that reads commissions are all booked sorry smiley face . Already the post has a ton of likes and replies, mostly just fans lamenting that they weren’t fast enough to book one of Mully’s commissions. There really weren’t that many slots.

Yuna sends Mully a quick DM.

Hussey

$5 for a 1k fic? broooo

Surprisingly, they respond fairly quickly.

Mully

yes i know i know im capitalist & cruel but i have 

bills to pay and weekly supply of macarons to buy...

Hussey

Imagine how rich I’d be if I were paid to 

write my mafia fic asdfkjds I’d be like. A money goddess

Mully

You are already a goddess Huss

I identify as a Huss fanatic 

Huss fan ducklings follow me follow the leader

Yuna giggles and sends a gif of ducklings toddling after their parent duck.

“It’s Shinna!”

Yuna’s head snaps up. She closes her computer.

There’s a squad of two girls standing at her table, and both of them look like they walked out of a Barbie magazine. Miniskirts, high heels, pretty eye makeup . . . One of them, a girl with delicate blond hair dyed streaks of rainbow, is smiling at her.

It looks predatory.

Shinna is a nickname that follows Yuna around everywhere she goes. It’s derived from how Yuna’s Korean name sounds similar to the Korean word for excitement, which is pronounced like Shinna. It’s cute when Chaeryeong uses it, but otherwise Yuna sees it as a callback to her hyper-pimply middle school days when she tried too hard to be everything. Happy, productive, socially active . . . the whole deal. 

Yuna is still nice. She’s still happy, or as much as she can afford to be. But she isn’t everything anymore. She is not patient. And she isn’t good with names.

“Hey,” she says, nodding coolly like these girls aren’t utter strangers to her. That’s what cool people do, right? Act casual with strangers?

“I’m Yeji Hwang!” says rainbow girl. “And this is Jisu Choi and—hey, where’d Ryujin go?”

Yuna’s heart skips a beat. She hasn’t talked with Ryujin since the concert.

“She’s probably still taking photographs,” Jisu yawns. “Hey, Yuna. Remember me? We have a lecture together, with Professor Kim.”

“Right,” Yuna says. She doesn’t remember Jisu at all. “Are you guys . . . Ryujin’s friends?”

“Oh yeah.” Yeji leans in like a shark. “We sure are. We’ve heard about you.”

“Stop, you’re gonna scare her,” says Jisu.

Yuna pokes her head around to try and see if she can spot Ryujin. She pouts when she can’t, then gets up and starts packing her things away so she can go search for her. The coincidence of the two of them here together in the library is too good to pass up. Yuna needs to see her again.

“Yuna! Hey! Are you leaving!”

There she is. 

Walking out from the bookshelves with a novel clasped to her chest and her skirt swishing around her thighs, Ryujin Shin looks good. Especially good. Like, she’s glowing. For all of a night, Yuna got used to seeing her in a floppy pink dinosaur onesie, so she’s forgotten what Ryujin looks like in real clothes. The pretty is amplified by a thousand. Ryujin is an exponential function; the more Yuna looks at her, the more she likes her. Is that shallow?

“Hi,” Yuna croaks. “I was just gonna go look for you.”

Yeji quickly slings an arm around Ryujin’s shoulders. “We were gonna go hang out and maybe buy some bubble tea. Wanna tag along, Yuna?”

“You don’t have to if you’re busy,” Ryujin jumps in. Does she sound nervous? “If you’ve been studying or working on something here at the library, we wouldn’t wanna bother you.”

Jisu elbows Ryujin. Her eyes communicate a meaningful glare. Yuna knows that look. It’s the Stop-Sabotaging-Your-Own-Love-Life look.

Her heart beats just a little faster. 

“Hmm. Well. I was just . . . um, writing something.”

A book. She was writing a book. Her fanfiction is basically a legitimate novel. Sometimes she’ll throw in a fandom reference or a cameo from another group, but otherwise it’s pretty solid standalone fiction. So she wishes she didn’t feel like she has to hide her fic life from every irl person she meets—she wishes she could speak proudly about her writing. She wishes there wasn’t a social stigma around fan made content. She wishes Yeji and Jisu weren’t so intimidating. And she wishes Ryujin weren’t opposed to real person fanfiction.

“So?” Ryujin prompts. “You in?”

Yuna wishes for a lot of things but the biggest thing she wishes for is Ryujin.

And so she shoots her her biggest smile, the one that shows her gums and makes her eyes disappear into half-moons, and she says, “I’d love to tag along.”

***

The girls aren’t as scary as Yuna thought they were. Yeji’s sharky smile is actually just a side effect of her earnesty; she’s actually more like an eager bumbling guppy. And Jisu is sweet and her lashes are sparkly and she’s effortlessly funny, in a timeless sort of way. It’s hard to explain. Yuna is fascinated.

She watches Jisu and Yeji simultaneously offer their own milk teas to each other at the same time. The synchronization does not seem to be an uncommon occurrence.

“Here.” Ryujin comes up to Yuna’s side. She tears the paper wrapping off her straw, sticks it in the cup, and offers it to Yuna. “Wanna try?”

Yuna drinks. It’s taro-flavored, sweet and thick in her mouth, and she smiles through a mouthful of chewy boba. Ryujin giggles and reaches up to—oh my God is she going to wipe her lip? Pinch her cheek? Tuck her hair behind her ear—?

None of it happens.

Instead she grabs Yuna’s drink and turns away to suck up approximately half of Yuna’s lychee jellies. 

“Hey!”

“Thish ish really good.”

“You put your mouth all over my straw,” Yuna complains.

She shrugs. “Quid pro quo.”

“You offered me your drink first!”

“Snoozers losers!”

“That doesn’t even apply—”

“Quick,” Yeji snaps, back to shark mode. Both the girls startle at her sudden appearance. “Love shot. Now.”

Yuna and Ryujin trade a confused look.

“You two! Love shot! Now. We’ve got a creep at two o’clock.”

And Yuna understands. Quickly she links her elbow with Ryujin’s, raising her cup to her lips and sucking up another mouthful of the taro-flavored milk tea. Ryujin copies her. Their eyes lock.

Yuna’s eyes slide down to Ryujin’s glossy mauve lips, wrapped around the tip of the straw. She chokes, barely managing to tear away before coughing up a storm and spitting her mouthful of tea all over the floor.

Ryujin pounds her back. Yuna gasps for air.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry—”

“Why are you apologizing? Focus on not dying,” Ryujin scolds.

Yuna’s lungs burn. She hacks out an unintelligible sentence and straightens up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. There are people nearby ogling her, including the boba shop’s janitor, who has just finished mopping the floors down. He stares at Yuna with the purest kind of  hate in his eyes.

Yuna is furiously bowing in apology to everyone she sees when Jisu hustles her and the rest of the girls out of the shop. The entrance bell clangs on their way out. 

They start off down the street, Yuna still trying to gather her bearings.

“Bruh, what was that all about?” Ryujin asks Yeji, who makes a face.

“There was a perv staring at your ass. I had to cause a diversion. Show that you were taken, or something. Yuna did a great job! Especially with all the choking, and everything!”

“Well, um, glad to help,” Yuna mumbles.

Jisu muses as she scans Ryujin up and down. “Maybe your skirt was too short today?”

Ryujin huffs. “What? It’s not my fault that that person had filthy eyes.”

She’s right, and they all know it. They walk in silence.

The bad mood doesn’t last for long. Yeji makes everyone laugh by spontaneously erupting into dance (which she does often, according to Jisu), showing off her knowledge of Exo’s choreography for Love Shot. Ryujin joins in and—oh lord. Yuna hides her face behind her cup so no one sees the massive blush spreading across her cheeks at the sight of Ryujin doing a body roll.

Jisu teases her. Ryujin cackles. Yuna runs away. It becomes a chase. They all get side cramps from running too soon after consuming so much tea, but everyone’s too happy to complain.

***

Mully

stolen jellies taste better than their law abiding counterparts

Hussey

you pirate

Mully

Arr matey gimme the booty

Hussey

*peach emoji*

Mully

Ew not what i asked for

zero out of ten

Hussey

*sad emoji*

Mully

Nope

***

The first time Yuna realized she was pan was in high school, and it was all because of Chaeryeong.

They were at some honor roll dinner together, eating a chicken dish that had too much chicken and too little sauce. While the valedictorian of the class, Yedam, prattled on about important, boring stuff, Yuna chewed dutifully on her vegetable kimchi. 

Halfway through the dinner, when they were getting up to take class photos, Chaeryeong elbowed her. Yuna elbowed her back absently and Chaeryeong hissed, “No, no, you dummy, there’s spinach in your teeth.”

“Really? Where?”

“Here, let me—” 

By the time they were assembled with the rest of the students in rows for the class photo, she still hadn’t managed to extract the spinach out. The cameraman gestured for everyone to stand still and smile.

“Chae, Chae, Chae,” Yuna whispered urgently.

“I’m trying! I’m—” Chaeryeong pressed closer and gripped Yuna’s chin. Her fingernail scraped against Yuna’s canine and Yuna made a squeak, which caused Chaeryeong to snort.

“Stop laughing!”

“It’s funny!”

“Everyone say kimchi,” the cameraman said boredly.

“Kimchi,” the class sang.

Yuna quickly hid her face against Chaeryeong’s to save herself from mortification. Their noses bumped and she could smell Chaeryeong’s breath. Later, when the yearbook was printed and people saw the photo, rumors began to circulate that she and Chaeryeong were dating—and, surprisingly enough, Yuna found that she didn’t really mind the rumors. So what if people thought she was gay?

“Well, are you gay?” Chaeryeong asked.

Yuna thought about it. 

“I think so,” she said, and it felt right. “You?”

“Yeah, me too.”

They looked at each other. Contemplating.

“So . . . should we date or something?” Yuna asked hesitantly. It seemed like the natural progression of things. What was one supposed to do with a sexuality, anyway?

Chaeryeong gagged. “Um, not even if you paid me.”

Turns out, not all gay people are attracted to each other simply for being gay.

Afterwards, Chaeryeong cut out and framed the honor roll class photo from that night, adding a caption that said Our Gay Awakening . To this day they still snicker at it. In the picture, they’re laughing, two young girls with their foreheads pressed together and their eyes curved into pretty crescents and Yuna’s spinach tooth only partially obscured by Chaeryeong’s palm against her cheek.

***

Yuna’s usual in-between lecture activities include using the bathroom, checking Twitter, and trying her best to relax her skinny brain so it doesn’t combust before the end of the day. Lately she’s been hanging out a lot with Ryujin, Yeji, and Jisu—they’ve become sort of a unit, ever since that one boba date—but today she just needs some time to herself. Introverts gonna introvert.

She flushes the toilet and goes to the sink, but when she turns on the faucet it shrieks at her and starts spewing water like a fire hydrant all over the place. She jams the faucet knob off but it’s too late and her shirt is already soaked, the thin fabric sticking to her front.

Ugh. She should’ve known it was a bad idea to wear a colorful bra underneath a white shirt. It’s not the first time the campus bathroom sinks have gone haywire, either.

With a sigh she yanks the dripping shirt up over her head, then sticks it underneath the automatic hand dryer, which roars to life.

While waiting, she takes out her phone and scrolls through her Twitter feed. It’s the fourth-year debut anniversary for one of her favorite K-pop soloists and the timeline is going absolutely nuts; people in the fandom are posting adorable fan-made edits left and right, bragging about their fan projects, or showing off their mountains of glittering 4 Years With Chungha merch. (Yuna is too broke to buy merchandise, since she splurged all her money on the Super M concert, but sometimes she likes looking at the merch video hauls anyway.)

She scrolls until she finds a fancam from the soloist’s latest performance. She clicks play, then she looks away to check on the recovery of her shirt. It’s still damp.

When she looks back at her phone, it’s no longer a fancam.

Yuna’s eyes widen.

The roar of the hand dryer drowns out most of the noise from the video, but Yuna can still hear it. There’s an awful sound. A gunshot. A scream. What? What? What’s going on? What—

She drops the phone. It lands on her toe and then clatters to the floor, face-up. The video is still rolling.

She stumbles, clutching the edge of the closest sink for balance. Her hand slips and she crashes to the floor, the impact knocking the breath out of her chest. She’s still staring at the video. It’s still going. It’s still going. When will it stop? Will it stop? With a choked scream she grabs her damp white shirt and throws it on top of the cell phone.

The bathroom is silent.

She stays there, under the sink, her too-long legs folded all clumsy beneath her. 

She doesn’t go to class.

Five things she sees. Four things she feels. Three things she hears, two that she smells, and one that she can taste in her mouth.

She wants to throw up but there’s nothing in her stomach because she didn’t have breakfast. She wishes she could pass out. If she holds her breath long enough will she pass out? It’s worth a shot.

She squeezes her eyes shut and pinches her nose and—

“Hello? What the—Yuna?”

It’s Ryujin. Dammit, of course it’s Ryujin who has to see Yuna half-naked shivering and hiding under the sink like she’s some kind of toddler. And her bra is an ugly stripey orange and her eyes are swollen because she’s been crying and Ryujin will never ever think she’s attractive after this—

The other drops her backpack with a clunk and gets to her knees in front of her. “What’s wrong?” Ryujin asks. Urgent.

Yuna raises a finger. Ryujin follows her gaze and reaches to pull the shirt off the phone. Her eyes widen.

“Oh my God.” She grabs the phone and turns it off, then stuffs it in her back pocket. “One of those fucking gore fancams. I can’t believe people do that shit. Yuna, are you okay?”

No, no, no, no, no she’s not. No she’s not. No she’s not.

“I wanna cry,” she whispers.

“Go ahead, baby, go ahead,” Ryujin says, and pulls her in for a hug.

Yuna’s ugly sobs echo off the walls of the bathroom. Ryujin holds her tight to her chest, her chin tucked on top of Yuna’s shoulder as she rubs her back with steady fingers.

“R-Ryujin,” she sobs.

“I’m here.”

“It was s-so awful. So awful.”

“I know. I know.” Ryujin’s voice is comforting. “Once, I saw one too. I know.”

“And there was b-blood and scr-screaming—”

“Shh, Yuna, baby, shh. I know. Just let it out. Let it all out.”

***

They ditch class. Ryujin gives her her jacket. It’s a plaid flannel, dark green and with square-shaped buttons, and Yuna likes the warmth of it, the gentle scratch of the well-worn wrist cuffs against her skin, the sweet coconut aroma around the flannel collar. Must be Ryujin’s brand of shampoo.

“I spy,” Yuna sniffles, as they’re walking outside, taking loops around campus to get some fresh air.

“What?”

“Let’s play I spy,” she says. The game is a grounding exercise for her. Always has been.

“Okay.” Ryujin rolls with it. “I spy a purple tree.”

A few meters away is the said jacaranda tree, laden with floppy periwinkle flowers that flutter off their branches ever so often. The path is already littered with the blossoms. Yuna thinks it’s pretty, in a messy way. It’s not the type of pretty that appeals to everyone, though. Metaphors, metaphors. “I spy a squirrel.”

“Squirrels,” Ryujin shivers. Dramatic, to ease the tension that ensued after her basically pulling Yuna out of a mental breakdown. “Just like that one unspeakable event of mine.”

It takes Yuna a moment to remember. She gives a laugh and is pleased that it’s not as weak as she expected it to be.

“I spy a quarter, tails up.” Ryujin reaches down and scoops up the silver coin. “Hey, now I'm twenty five cents richer!”

The game continues, and they wander around campus continuing to point out the things they see. It’s not boring, because Ryujin makes it interesting. She really is a rare sort of person. Yuna never feels so at home with someone like this.

There’s a flock of birds crowded around near the foot of a bench, pecking at what must be bread crumbs. Ryujin points at one. “I spy a crow.”

“I spy a pigeon.” Yuna pulls the jacket tighter around herself and adds as an afterthought, “Sometimes I just feel like a plain little pigeon. No one likes pigeons."

She doesn’t realize how self-deprecating that sounds until Ryujin makes an offended noise.

“Hey, I fucking love pigeons. They’re cute. The way they hop around all cheerful and carefree? That’s an aesthetic. Not to mention, they coo like doves. They’re the doves’ underrated cousins. And also they have that iridescent section of feathers near their neck, which is really charming and underappreciated by the mass populations of this city who treat pigeons like the scum of the earth, so yeah—pigeons are great. Love yourself, Yuna! Own the aesthetic!"

Yuna blinks.

It’s the first time she’s ever heard Ryujin speak so passionately.

“Can I steal that? For my novel?” she says.

Ryujin giggles. Cat whiskers again. “I mean, sure. You’re writing a novel?”

Yuna is all of the sudden overwhelmed with the urge to tell her it’s fanfiction; it’s on the tip of her tongue. Yeah, I do. You might like it! You should read it sometime.

What the fuck? Since when does Yuna open up like this to people? 

Well, Ryujin is persistent. And—well, Yuna has a crush.

“I write sometimes,” she concedes.

“Oh, me, too. I don’t tell many people about it though.”

Same same I write fanfic I write fanfic I write fanfic .

Yuna takes a deep breath and gazes off in the distance, at the trees with sweeping purple branches and the glimmer of sun that slip-slides between the clouds. Out of nowhere, Ryujin takes her hand. 

She startles and turns to see she’s already looking at her.

Her lips are curled up in a smirk. “I spy a pretty person.”

Yuna immediately flushes. She pulls her hand back, but Ryujin won’t let go.

“I’m—I’m not a mirror, you know.”

Ryujin grins. “Oho! Two can play at this game, baby.”

Baby . She pronounces it like BB. Like the two letters. It’s nice. Spontaneously Yuna thinks of Mully, of their compliment argument they once had, and of the way Mully calls her bb. 

Ryujin snaps her fingers. “When I was little, I wanted to be an astronaut, but nowadays I think NASA is overrated.”

“. . . NASA?”

“Yeah. Of course the solar system is interesting and all . . . but the universe in your eyes—it's much bigger. It’s deeper. Like the universe!”

Ryujin leans in, standing on her toes and cupping either side of Yuna’s face. Yuna’s entire face, chest, and ears blush hot. She pulls away, unable to handle the proximity. Ryujin tut-tuts and tugs her back, fingers gripping the fold of her collar.

It’s an intimate position. They’re in the middle of the sidewalk. Yuna’s heart pounds inside her mouth.

“You are one pretty pigeon,” Ryujin says softly.

Yuna’s legs literally give out. She tilts to one side, prepared to die happy, and all of the snacks that were stuffed inside her flannel pocket come spilling out onto the floor. One of the chip bags is open—as soon as the contents fall to the floor, a horde of pigeons has already descended, beaks hammering at the ground like the world depends on it. Ryujin laughs; Yuna yelps. It’s a sea of birds, all around them. Pecking and pecking away. Iridescent necks and all. 

Ryujin takes her hand again and they run, dozens of birds scattering only to settle back down again. They keep running, breathless and cheerful and carefree.

***

Mully

Hey you know you remind me a lot of one of my irl friends

Hussey

Omg wait same here

Like, there’s someone ik who seems like she’d be You

Mully

Side eye emoji

You ever think we could one day meet up together

like in the physical dimension

Hussey

Hmm maybe? I’ve thought about it but

.I dont wanna ask where u live cuz

y’know, that might sound stalkery or stuff (-_-;)

Mully

Right right

But still it makes me sad to think that we might never meet each other irl

Hussey

What’s your time zone?

Mully

Ooh getting risky are we

I’m PST what about you

Hussey

Me, too

Aksdfjdsa Mully its in my bio, do u have no interest in me or??

Mully

I have so much interest in you

I even have a playlist for you

Hussey

!!!!!!!!

Oh my god wait actually?

Ahhhhh im blushinggggg T^T

Mully

Yeah I listen to it when I write it’s really nice

here I’ll send you the link

[attached file]

Smiley face listen to it when you get the chance

***

Yuna and Ryujin meet up to study Korean together.

Originally, Jisu and Yeji beg to come along, under explanation of needing to photograph Ryujin’s budding romantic adventures (?) in action, but Ryujin tells them she wants one-on-one time with Yuna. And so, on a dusky evening, the two of them settle into a bookstore, their steaming lattes in front of them while they squish themselves both into the same bean bag. Yuna pulls out her old battered notebook that she used back in middle school to study Korean grammar.

“This is how you say I like you . 좋아하다.” Yuna points at the section, highlighted in nauseously bright pink. “There’s ways you can indicate your mood and emotion based on the way you conjugate the verb ending.”

Ryujin squints at the paper. “Emotion? Say what now?”

“Hmm, it’s like . . .   좋아해 is just straight-up I like you , whereas 좋아하잖아 has a connotation of like, duh, I like you . And then 좋아하네 has more of a meaning like— oh, wow, I like you. You know?”

“I see,” Ryujin says. “So which one would you use for me?”

Yuna pauses. “Huh?”

Ryujin’s eyes sparkle. “You heard me.”

Yuna takes a moment to collect her wits; she is internally sobbing. “What—uh, what do you—” She coughs. “Ahem. I’d, uh, I’d probably use 좋아하지. Kind of means . . . yeah, of course I like you. You knew that already ”

“Oh?” Ryujin sidles closer. The two of them are flush side-by-side, their legs pressed together from hip to knee. There is no heterosexual explanation for this. “Do you like me more than your K-pop girls?”

“No.”

Ryujin laughs and asks her to read to her one of the Korean story books they’ve selected. Yuna picks one and does it, because Ryujin is dyslexic and has trouble deciphering the Korean alphabet. Also, Yuna finds the act of reading aloud just so intrinsically aesthetic. Maybe she’s just nerdy.

Halfway through the story—it’s a fairy tale—Ryujin links her fingers with Yuna’s. Yuna stops reading.

“Is this okay?” Ryujin asks.

Yuna doesn’t trust herself to speak coherently.  “Yes. Very. Very okay.” She swallows. “Keep—keep it up.”

“Okay.” Ryujin nuzzles in, melding herself further against Yuna’s side. Who would’ve known she was so cuddly? Maybe it’s the cozy bookshop atmosphere.

Yuna makes a mental note to start planning the framework of a bookshop au sometime—she gets the feeling Mully would love it.

***

It’s four in the morning again.

Yuna is listening to the playlist that Mully compiled for her, and she’s enjoying it more than anything should ever be enjoyed. There’s over thirty songs and so it has carried her through the past couple hours, although she might’ve accidentally put it on loop and not noticed—she doesn’t mind either way.

With a yawn she switches between windows on her computer, idly checking her email, Twitter, YouTube subscriptions, and Pinterest boards. (She cycles through the same 5 websites every day, yes. It’s a comfortable life.)

When she checks her ao3 page, she finds a new comment. She perks up and pauses Mully’s playlist.

As she begins to read, though, her heart sinks.

Anonymous has left a comment on Husseyounaw’s Fanfiction

So this is the mafia fic that everyone’s been hyping up to be a classic? I’m disappointed :/ i usually do enjoy slow burn but this?? this is just ridiculous??? We’re this far in the story and they haven’t even acknowledged their feelings for each other yet? Literally queerbaiting what the fuck.

The comment goes on.

And on.

She finally reaches the end. 

. . . and also ur awful at writing mafia and ur chapters are skimpy and you never even update. I’m out. i hope everyone else gains a brain cell and drops this fic too. Bye

She lowers the phone. Her eyes sting. 

What the fuck?

Without the playlist, the silence of her bedroom is suffocating, and she feels as if her chest hollowed out, as if she’s just eaten something awful and thrown it all back up so that the only thing left is her stringy, pulsing heart. She slowly climbs out of her seat, letting the blanket fall to the floor, and trudges over to the wifi router, where she crouches down and gently pulls it out of the socket.

She spends a little while crouching there, not fully mentally present, staring at the empty wifi socket. Then she gets up to wander around her bedroom, straightening picture frames and dusting off her dresser drawers. Eventually she crawls into bed. She doesn’t want to stay up. Even though it’s already morning, she doesn’t want to be awake.

At least the commenter didn’t tell her to kill herself?

Well, that’s setting the bar pretty low. Even for her standards.

***

Yuna eventually plugs the wifi router back in, because it’s not really possible to survive in this day and age without proper Internet access for her homework and classes, but under Chaeryeong’s insistence she does delete Twitter. And she logs off of ao3. She’ll come back when she’s ready. Whenever that is.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Chaeryeong asks softly. “Here, have some more chocolate.”

Yuna obediently stuffs a handful of Hershey's Kisses into her mouth. She’s supposed to be on a diet but she’s not going to refuse a direct order from her best friend, now is she?

“Why are some people so mean?” she mumbles. “Fuck them all.”

“I will. For you,” Chaeryeong says seriously.

Yuna plucks a Hershey’s Kiss paper slip out from her mouth. It’s gross, covered in saliva and half-chewn chocolate. Ugh. Isn’t paper edible anyway? Because there’s no trash can in sight, she sighs and puts the paper back in her mouth, chewing dutifully before swallowing.

Maybe she is the trash can, she thinks morosely.

She knows she shouldn’t let this get to her. She knows that anonymous hater dumbo is just a dumb person who thinks they can get away with all their hateful dumbness just because they’ve got a dumb anonymous account where they can never be held accountable.

Just dumb anons, being dumb all over the place.

Yuna wishes she could pause time for a little while. Pause her classes, her fic obligations, all of her deadlines and responsibilities just so that she has a little time to get herself back on track. It’s as if all this time she’s been jogging, in high heels in a single-file line with all the rest of her classmates, with a tall stack of papers and knicknacks balanced precariously atop her head. And so far she’s miraculously been able to keep her pace. But seeing the hate comment was like one of her high heels just snapped and oof , she’s on the floor. Bruised knees, papers scattered all around. Everything in shambles. Balance lost. The single file line closes without her, and the rest of the students march on.

Life doesn’t wait for Yuna. 

What makes it worse is that she can’t help but feel like a sitting duck. This morning, Mully posted the first of their commission pieces—it’s a handsome 10k enemies-to-lovers fic with stats that are already shooting through the roof. The whole time Yuna read the fic, she couldn’t stop thinking about how Mully is clearly a well-adjusted person whereas Yuna could never. 

Could she ever? Has she ever been cut out for this?

“Maybe you need a mental health break,” Chaeryeong suggests. “You can’t go on like this. You look like a zombie.”

Yuna buries her face in her hands. “Just like the zombies in my fic,” she whispers. She’s not even joking. The bloated, dirty-breathed dead people in her fic have better luck than she does. At least they get a merciful author to write them, someone who won’t play with their feelings and make them all sad. Why is the author of Yuna’s life purposefully trying to make her sad? Just why?

“It’s because you’re trying to do so much at once. You have to take it one thing at a time. Maybe you have to put your fic on hiatus?”

Yuna snaps out of her trance. She rears up and seizes Chaeryeong’s forearm. “No! I can’t!”

“Well . . . okay, then,” Chaeryeong mumbles, patting her until she moves away.

Yuna hunches back over her work, her senseless eyes roving over the paper. Her knee is bouncing. Her eye is twitching. Her mind feels bone-dry.

Life doesn’t stop.

***

Mully

hey is everything ok

you’ve been uncharacteristically inactive lately and im worried

Hussey

hi

Idk ...  lately i feel like just .. really tired?

sorry...

Mully

i see

better times are coming i promise

hang in there

***

It’s the ass-crack of dawn.

This is the tenth night Yuna has stayed up so late. Her wrists and back hurt, but she just needs to write, and then she’ll get back into the swing of things. Writing is a balm for all her wounds.

She just needs to write.

But why isn’t it working? Why aren’t the words coming? She’s been staring at this Google Doc for far too long by now. Even her special K-pop playlist reserved for writing emergencies isn’t giving her any juice. She can’t stop debating over the plot.

Even worse, it’s a kiss scene right now. The entire fic is riding off this. Should she have the characters kiss inside a speeding train? Maybe on top of a speeding train? No, scrap the train. Maybe they should kiss in an alleyway? While hunting zombies? That’s basic. What about a kiss in the rose gardens? That’s romantic, isn’t it?

How am I supposed to write romance when I’m heartbroken, Yuna thinks.

She goes with the kiss in the alleyway. She writes two hundred words exactly, proofreads it once, presses post. She gets in bed and plays games on her phone until she passes out.

***

Mully

hey i know you’re taking a mental health break but i just had to ask you what you think of the latest super m track

excited emoji

Mully

Huss?

It’s been a week since you deactivated and I really miss you

Mully

Um ok so good night sleep well

Talk to you later maybe

***

Soon enough, Yuna’s wrists begin to ache and tingle with a special kind of fury she didn’t think was possible. Maybe it’s that she’s spending too much time at the computer, or maybe it’s that she plays an inordinate amount of Candy Crush while in bed with her phone on vertical screen lock.

Anyhow, she’s got carpal tunnel syndrome.

Great.

She can barely even use her phone anymore; it hurts too much to hold the phone upright. The computer is out of the question. At lectures she forces herself to take notes, because that’s the only way she properly retains the information, but it’s also what’s making her wrists ache even worse. 

The two hundred word fic updates become a regular thing now. Her readers are aghast. They complain in the comments so viciously that Yuna knows that her Twitter notifications must be going berserk right now. Everyone’s trying to reach her. 

The only person who gets through is Mully, who has her email address, because they’d traded them a while back just in case their accounts ever get suspended on Twitter. Mully’s tone is worried. They keep asking if something’s wrong. Leave it to them to know that this isn’t her style—to know that she’s having serious trouble.

She swipes Read on their messages without reading them. Her eyes ache so bad she’s not even sure she has the ability to read anymore. How is it that she once was able to use contact lenses? She feels like now if she put a lense on her eye, she’d lose her vision entirely—it hurts to look at light, hurts to think about light, hurts to think about thinking and hurts to think about stopping.

She squishes her cheek into her pillow and tries to sleep.

***

Maybe she should just quit fic writing.

***

Chaeryeong’s ringtone is ear splitting. Yuna groans as she fumbles around in her sheets to grasp her buzzing cell phone and pick up the call. The phone is at 3%.

“Okay, bitch. Get off your ass. Come on, we’re going shopping.”

“I’m broke,” Yuna says hoarsely. “I can’t.”

“You need to get out and see the world, get back in the swing of things. You can’t stay passed out in your dorm room forever!”

“It’s not so bad, Chae.” Yuna’s hair and her pillow are in a relationship of osmosis in terms of how greasy each of them can get. 

“ Everyone’s worried about you. There are these chicks named . . . Jisu and Yeji? Hitting up my phone, demanding to know if you’re okay. They said you haven’t been responding to their texts. My question is, since when do you have friends?”

Gee, thanks. “Just fuck off, okay, Chaeryeong?” she mutters. “I’m not in the mood to hang out.”

Chaeryeong is silent.

Yuna immediately feels like shit. She mumbles out something incoherent that might be an apology, then hangs up.

***

In her dreams, there’s Ryujin, dressed in a onesie and feeding pigeons from her hand. She notices Yuna and stands up. She’s not smiling.

“Hi, Ryujin," Yuna whispers.

She says nothing.

"My wrists hurt."

Silence.

“And . . . and I can’t write.”

More silence.

“Ryujin, I can’t write.” Her voice breaks. She sinks to her knees, shoulders shaking. “I can’t write. I can’t do it. My wrists hurt too much.” 

“Wake up!” Ryujin snaps.

Yuna jerks. The next thing she knows, she’s on the floor, her cheek pressed into the carpet and her blankets tangled hopelessly around her. She groans and wriggles about until she’s on her back. Ryujin is kneeling beside her.

“Oh, so you were real,” Yuna says, dazed.

“What? Were you dreaming about me, or something?” Ryujin scoops her up and deposits her back on the bed. “I came to check on you. Your friend Chaeryeong gave me her spare key to your dorm.”

“She what?” Yuna is immediately conscious of the gross state of her bedroom and her body. She should’ve showered. Why didn’t Ryujin text her to say she’d be coming over? Oh, right, because Yuna’s phone is dead.

“Yuna, you look so . . . exhausted . Seriously what’s wrong?” Ryujin asks. 

“Well.” Yuna swallows. “I was cancelled on Twitter. Kind of. And then carpal tunnel syndrome crippled me.”

Ryujin winces. “Ah. CT, huh? I got that once, too.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean, cancelled on Twitter? What did you do?”

“Not even anything,” Yuna says. “I didn’t even do anything. Remember when I told you I was a writer? Well, I post my work online, and one of my readers decided to be really mean to me, so that made me sad. And then I got crippled. And then I got cancelled. In that order.”

Ryujin sits down on the bed beside her. It’s weird to have her in her bedroom, but for some reason she doesn’t feel like a stranger. It feels like Yuna’s always known her, like they’ve always been friends. “I think it’s cool that you post your work,” she says.

“Yes, and I work so hard on it. So hard.”

Ugh, you’re so dramatic, it’s not even a big deal , whispers a reedy voice in the back of her mind. What kind of self-respecting adult has a breakdown over one hate comment?

Yuna’s eyes fill with tears. She slaps the little voice away. Her feelings are important. Her feelings are a big deal.

“Are you mad?” Ryujin asks softly, eyes on Yuna’s trembling lower lip.

“No. Yes.” Yuna smears the tears away. “I’m sad. And mad. I’m . . . I’m . . . .”

“Mad sad,” Ryujin suggests.

“No. Past that. I’m . . . smad .”

“Well.” Ryujin fluffs her hair up. “Good for you, I know exactly how to deal with a case of the smad.”

And so it begins. She helps unravel Yuna from her blanket cocoon, then gets up and starts to collect all the broken pencils, empty water bottles, and candy wrappers off of Yuna’s floor. Yuna protests, saying that she doesn’t have to do that, but Ryujin just tells her to go to the restroom and wash her face and hair or whatever it is that was making her smell so badly. And after Yuna’s done taking a short shower and brushing her teeth, she is forced to admit that she feels much better—not to mention, it’s surprisingly satisfying to change into a soft, clean pair of clothes.

She returns to her dorm to find her room already half-cleaned and her bed stripped, bedsheets and pillowcase dumped in a pile that Ryujin orders Yuna to march down to the laundry room. She does it. 

When she comes back again, her room is pristine. Her textbooks are organized. Her phone is charging. Her desk has been swept of its dust and stray hairs that have been populating it for the past few weeks. Ryujin stands with her hands on her hips, surveying her work.

Yuna stands still in the doorway, shocked at her bedroom’s transformation. Ryujin catches her eye and gives her the kitten smile. 

For the first time in weeks, Yuna smiles back.

She understands now. The difference between being in love and being in like.

She likes her K-pop idols. She likes them a lot. She would probably lay down her life for them, if they asked politely.

But she loves Ryujin. She would definitely lay down her life for her. Even if she didn’t ask, even if she asked her not to. 

That’s the differentiating factor. 

Yuna treats Ryujin to dinner. It’s only fair.

The place they go to is an all-you-can-eat sushi bar, meaning that it’s basically Ryujin’s paradise. She flits from section to section, snagging all sorts of exquisite-looking rolls and piling her plate high with goodies. Yuna eats, too, but most of the time she’s just looking at Ryujin. Marvelling at her. What did Yuna do to deserve such a person like her in her life?

It seems as if Ryujin has separate stomachs for each food type that she consumes. She eats a plateful of various desserts with the same appetite that she’d tackled the main course with—it’s frankly incredible. She is incredible. Yuna thinks she loves her.

“Say ahh,” Ryujin says, lifting a forkful of chocolate cake to Yuna’s mouth.

Yuna doesn’t even like chocolate, but she accepts the cake and beams at Ryujin.

Ryujin beams back. “ There’s your gummy smile! I missed that.”

Warmth floods Yuna’s limbs. “Allibnew,” she says through a full mouth. I love you .

Ryujin giggles and goes back to eating. “Allibnew too, BB.”

***

From there, things get better.

Yuna officially puts her fic on hiatus, reactivating Twitter only to announce that she’ll be semi-IA until further notice. Turns out, more people are concerned about her wellbeing than she thought—and far less people are bent on cancelling her than she expected. Her mind distorted the issue past recognition. 

“Hey, Chae, I’m sorry for what I said to you,” Yuna says, when she and Chaeryeong finally meet up again. “You were just trying to be nice and I was a bitch.”

Chaeryeong sniffs. “Got that right, bitch. I expect monetary compensation.”

She’s only half-joking, and normally this is where Yuna will laugh and they’ll change the subject, but this time Yuna takes her seriously just to show how apologetic she is. “I’ll buy you Super M’s new album.”

Chaeryeong side-eyes her. Her hair tinsel glitters. “No cap?”

“None,” Yuna agrees.

They shake on it.

Ryujin somehow gets her hands on Yuna’s class schedule and starts showing up at the end of Yuna’s lectures, waiting for her to be done so that they can hang out at some nearby cafe before the next lecture starts. In turn, Yuna bikes to Ryujin’s dance studio at 7 pm every day so that she’s there when Ryujin’s done with practice. They get each others’ phone numbers and send each other memes, selfies, and enthusiastic gifs, especially when it’s exam season.

It’s so achingly perfect. Yuna is lovestruck.

She begins writing fic again, if for no other reason than to project her feelings onto her characters. The breakneck mafia storyline mellows out into something sweeter, just as action-packed but with romance more prevalent. It has nothing to do with what the hate comment said about her work; Yuna just wants to write fluff, to have an outlet to express all the fluffy feelings inside of her. Also, she feels bad for her characters for making them suffer so badly thus far in her story. Sometimes, even fictional people need a break.

“So. Are you dating?” Chaeryeong asks one day at lunch. “Because I think you should tell her about the fic stuff, if you’re dating. She’s bound to start questioning why you sometimes ditch your dates with her. Does she know that you sneak off to write slash?”

Yuna scowls. “I’m sure she’ll accept me.”

“Hey, there’s no shame in fic. Just tell her so she doesn’t think you’re cheating on her or anything.”

“We’re not even together!” Yuna says. “Nothing is official.”

“You two are practically glued to each other. Have you made out yet?”

“What? No!” Yuna will not allow herself to think about making out with Ryujin. Her poor heart is not ready for that yet.

As if on cue, her phone lights up. It’s Ryujin, asking her if she wants to hang out later. Yuna blushes down at the screen and Chaeryeong scoffs.

“Not dating my ass.”

A second later, another notification comes in, this one from Twitter. It’s Mully. They asked if there are any good movies playing in theaters that Yuna would recommend.

Lately, Mully has seemed really happy, at least from what Yuna can tell from the online-friend standpoint. They’re always chipper, writing out commission pieces with a newfound vigor. Perhaps they’ve started dating someone? It certainly seems like they’re in the honeymoon stage of a new relationship.

For some reason, a fist inside Yuna’s stomach clenches.

“I can’t,” she whispers.

“Can’t what?” Chaeryeong chomps on an apple slice and wipes the juice off her chin with the back of her hand. “You just can’t, in general?”

“I can’t like two people at once.”

Chaeryeong lobs her half-bitten apple slice at her. “Polyamory is valid, dumbass.”

“Yes but why do I feel so uneasy?” Yuna hugs her middle.

Does she have a crush on Mully? No, she just likes getting notifications from them. And DMing them. And emailing them. And writing fluffy fics with them in mind. But she doesn’t like them, no no. She just wants to meet up with them and watch movies with them and get to know them better—because yes, they’ve been online friends since forever, and Mully will always have an incredibly important space in Yuna’s life, but with Ryujin in the picture now, Yuna can’t help but realize that there’s so much about friendship that she’s missing out on when it’s confined to the digital sphere. She can’t hug Mully like she does with Ryujin, can’t hold their hand like she does with Ryujin, can’t lay her head in their lap or listen to the sound of their laughter or take stupid selfies with them or be theirs the same way she is Ryujin’s.

In a lot of important ways, Yuna and Mully haven’t even met.

Resolve tightens in Yuna. She needs to meet them. Before she can figure out what to do with Ryujin, she needs to see Mully. She’ll take a plane to wherever they live, if she has to.

She unlocks her phone and begins typing out a message. Her wrists still throb a little from the carpal tunnel, but it’s bearable.

Hussey

Hi … Mully?

I kind of want to meet you

Mully responds fast.

Mully

What do you mean by that

Hussey

I mean I want to get to see you in person, ye divine friend of mine

Mully

Right of course but what’s with the sudden motivation

Just curious

We could probably arrange some way to meet up I’m not sure where you live but we’re in the same time zone so we can make it work

Hussey

Great

And as to the motivation … 

Mully

Mhm

Hussey

I . . . um, I . . .

. ...

Mully

Say it

Hussey

I think I have feelings for you

askdfjadskfjdsa.

*hides*

Mully

I knew it

Thrilled emoji

Hussey

I’m not done!!

Yeah so i think i have a crush on you and it’s killing me because I know i knOW a relationship like that isn’t entirely feasible between us but ,,, but i’m seeing this awesome girl lately and i feel like i need to meet with you face to face? so i can get closure before I can take things further with her? Idk it's just that this is important to me...

Mully

Okay

And it’s that easy. Mully DMs her their address. Yuna stares down at the phone, her heart swelling. The fact that Mully trusts her with their home’s address means so much to her.

But as she’s reading the text, her heart almost stops in her chest.

Mully . . . lives in the same town as she does.

A thousand thrills rocket through her body and she sends her address back, with a dozen keyboard smashes and hyper emojis to show her excitement, and Mully freaks out similarly, and soon enough the two of them are setting up a time and place to meet. She can’t fucking believe Mully was so close to her all this time. 

Mully

Wait but

Who’s the girl

Winky face

Maybe I’ll impress you so much that you’ll forget about her and run away into the sunset with me question mark

Hussey

O - o   Question mark indeed.

Mully

I’m actually seeing someone too lately and i've been feeling guilty for some reason that I think has to do with you

Isn’t it funny that you and I feel this way about each other

Huss have we been dating this whole time and just not known it

It’s such an interesting question.

What does dating mean? What does love mean? Yuna says I Love You to Mully almost every night before she logs off of Twitter, but is that enough to express her affection for them?

Probably not. She’ll express it when they come face-to-face. That’ll be better.

***

8 pm. This Thursday. The local amusement park. 

That’s when she’ll meet them.

It’s not actually an amusement park, more like an old outdoor arcade, one that’s not good for anything other than riding the Ferris wheel and taking aesthetic photos in front of the merry-go-round that doesn’t work anymore. The Ferris wheel isn’t even that big, either. It’s a place where little kids go when they’re bored, although no one’s here tonight. Probably because it’s a school night, Yuna guesses. Good thing that school nights don’t really apply to kids in college.

She walks to the park by herself, too nervous to think straight. Her thoughts are bouncing all over the place.

She’s going to see Mully. See them, in real life. How is it that they live in the same city as her? What if they’ve seen each other before, in person, and just not known it? Does Mully know who she is? What kind of person will they expect? What if Yuna doesn’t measure up to their expectations? What if they stop being friends after this? What if—

She nears the gates of the amusement park. There’s someone standing there, on their phone, their figure illuminated by the low glow of a nearby street lamp.

Her heart leaps. She raises her hand and waves. “Hey—!”

The figure turns.

Kitten whiskers.

Yuna trails off. Her hand comes down to her side.

Ryujin lowers her phone. The two girls stare at each other, only a meter apart.

“What are you doing here?” they say at the same time.

Ryujin’s wearing lipstick that’s a shade darker than her normal mauve, she’s wearing eyeliner, and at her neck is the dark glitter of a choker necklace. Her slim build is accentuated by a small, casual black dress, hugging her curves. Since when does Ryujin wear dresses? And chokers? And eyeliner?

The sight of her erupts butterflies in Yuna’s stomach. She kind of feels bad for Mully for having this gorgeous girl as their competition.

Very few people can hold a candle to Ryujin Shin.

“I’m . . . I’m just, uh, waiting for someone,” Ryujin says.

“Oh.” Is she . . . dating someone? Someone that’s not Yuna? “Me, too.”

Insanely awkward silence ensues. Yuna goes to wait beside Ryujin. She self-consciously scratches the back of her neck and winces at the loud jingle of her bracelet cuff—she usually doesn’t wear accessories unless she’s going to a concert, and she’s pretty sure it looks gaudy. Ryujin keeps staring at her.

They stand side by side in front of the gates. 

That’s odd.

“Yuna,” Ryujin says, breaking the silence. Her voice has something hopeful in it.

Yuna whirls to her, all of the sudden breathless. “Ryujin—”

“Are you—”

“You wouldn’t be—”

They both fall silent. And stare at each other some more.

“Yuna,” Ryujin finally breathes.

Yuna’s heart is racing a mile a minute. 

Mully. Mully always DMs her after 7 pm, which is the exact time Ryujin’s dance practice ends.

Mully’s texts never have any punctuation marks, because they dictate their texts the way a person with a reading disability might do. And—and Ryujin has dyslexia.

Yuna digs into her pocket. Pulls out her phone. Her hands are shaking. She opens Twitter. 

Yuna sends a direct message to Mully, and Ryujin’s phone lights up.

“I knew it,” Ryujin says, taking a step forward so they’re toe-to-toe. She’s smiling that beautiful, brilliant smile up at her. She knows. She knows .

“I am an idiot,” Yuna manages.

Ryujin’s eyes sparkle. “Can I kiss you now, Huss?”

Yuna lets out a noise that’s halfway between a sob and a laugh. “Yes. Yes .”

Ryujin pulls her in, and their lips crash together as if they’ve been meant to meet all this time. It’s messy, and imperfect, and Yuna would never ever write a fanfiction kiss like this, but she doesn’t even care because Ryujin Ryujin Ryujin.

Yuna leans in, softening the kiss, adding tongue. Ryujin lets out a low, pretty noise that might be a moan (holy fuck), her hands coming up to grasp either side of Yuna’s face. Her fingers tangle in her hair. 

They kiss and kiss and kiss, under the streetlight in front of the amusement park.

Mully Ryujin Mully Ryujin Mully.

Ryujin = Mully.

Mully = Ryujin.

Yuna = starstruck.

They’re the only two people on the Ferris wheel tonight. The operator of the wheel seems happy that someone gets to enjoy it. They slide into a pink passenger car and cuddle up next to each other, with Yuna’s head tucked into the crook of Ryujin’s shoulder. Their hands are linked. The intimacy is not new, but at the same time it is. Everything feels new.

They don’t say anything as their passenger car begins to rise. It’s a slow ride.

“What are you thinking about?” Ryujin murmurs.

“You,” Yuna says. Duh.

Her chest is so full, so warm. She hums.

“How long have you known?”

“Mmm . . . .” Ryujin considers the question. “I’ve kind of had my suspicions for a while by now. Ever since the concert.”

Yuna blinks. The long-ago memory floats back into the forefront of her mind, that one night she’d had mini donuts with Ryujin.

If you’re married to the past you’ll always be a widow. So let’s just flirt with the future and enjoy our long-term relationship with the present .

That had been Mully’s own words to her, verbatim.

“Oh my God I recited to you your own advice,” Yuna squeaked. 

“Yeah, I was pretty shook. But I didn’t want to get my hopes up, so I decided to lay low, you know? As time went on I started wondering if I was just seeing what I wanted to see. Maybe it was all in my head. I didn’t want to scare you.”

They’re nearing the top of the Ferris wheel. Yuna can see the whole city, its small gleaming yellow lights looking like fairies from so far away.

“Dummy,” Yuna says fondly. “You could never scare me.”

Ryujin’s voice turns mischievous. “Anyway, who was that girl that you were talking to Mully about? The one you called awesome?”

“Oh—” Yuna fidgets. “Come on.”

“Come on what?”

“You know who I was talking to you about.”

“I want you to say it though,” Ryujin says with a lilt in her voice. “Was it me? Was it me who you think is awesome?”

Yuna gives an exaggerated eye roll. “Yes. You.” Then she adds for good measure, “I am in love with you.”

The L-word. It’s a heavy hitter, but so are most truths.

Ryujin’s lips part.

They’re at the top of the wheel. The dark, endless night sky yawns above them, glittering with pinpricks of stars, reminding Yuna of the way Ryujin once said her eyes were like a universe in their own right. Wide and wondrous.

“I think I love you too,” Ryujin says, soft.

Yuna pulls her eyes away from the sky to see Ryujin, whose eyes are bright, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her lips curved up. Yuna kisses that pretty smile of hers.

Making out on a Ferris wheel really is the best.

***

Chaeryeong cackles out a fucking finally and slaps her on the back when Yuna updates her on her relationship status (it’s official now!) with Ryujin. Jisu and Yeji give her celebratory flowers, an enormous bouquet of plump red peonies with a bouquet tag that reads, we like you but if you hurt Ryujin Shin we’ll end you :) . It’s all very touching.

Ryujin laughs, tilting her head back, her shiny black hair spilling over her shoulders. “You know that red peonies symbolize good luck, right? Those bastards. Trying to play the tough wingmen when they’re literally presidents of the Ryuna fan club.”

“Ryuna?” Yuna asks, typing away. They’re in her bedroom, sitting in the middle of her bed with a shared laptop resting on their thighs. They’re co-writing a fic together; Yuna does the brainstorming and the typing, while Ryujin helps draft the story out loud sentence by sentence for Yuna to transcribe. It’s an experience.

“Yeah! Ryuna,” Ryujin says. “You know, our ship name.”

She says it so casually, obviously unaware of the way it makes Yuna’s heart skip a beat. She will never get used to being Ryujin’s girlfriend. She never wants to get used to it. Every day is new, fresh. Every day with Ryujin. The love of her life.

She doesn’t notice that she’s typing out her thoughts until Ryujin reads it aloud and giggles. “Ryujin the love of my life I love you. Gosh, baby, getting sentimental, aren’t we?”

Yuna squeaks and shuts the computer out of reflex, then covers her face with her hands and slowly topples backward onto the bed. Ryujin laughs, belly-deep, then crawls up next to her and peels her sweater paws away from her face. 

“Aww, don’t be shy. Look at me!”

Yuna makes a small peep and burrows under the blankets. Ryujin follows her, fighting her way through the many stuffed animals and finally sitting up underneath the comforter, which musses her hair up into a halo. She’s grinning, looking gorgeous and young and happy and everything Yuna loves about her.

“Ryujin,” Yuna whispers.

“Yes?” Ryujin says. Teasing.

Then Yuna sits up. She’s taller than Ryujin so her head hikes the blanket further upward, making Ryujin look so small and cute smiling there.

They kiss, under the blanket and surrounded by plushies.

After a little while, Ryujin places a hand on her chest to signal for her to stop. Yuna does, a little confused, and watches as Ryujin fishes her phone out from her back pocket, then unlocks it and pulls up Spotify. She’s got a playlist titled Hussey .

Yuna’s breath catches.

“I thought it’d be hot if we made out while listening to this,” Ryujin says, and pray tell, does she sound bashful? “It’s okay if you don’t want—”

“I would love that,” Yuna says.

Ryujin smiles shyly and clicks play. The first song comes on, gentle and soothing, and Yuna can’t help but feel infinitely flattered that Ryujin associates beautiful music like this with her . In Ryujin’s eyes, is she beautiful?

If the careful, passionate way that Ryujin kisses her is anything to go by, then the answer is yes.