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The day Jiyeon moves out, Sojung gets a cat.
She goes to the pet store just to look, because she needs to not be in the apartment as anonymous men haul away Jiyeon’s things. Jiyeon isn’t there, too busy with filming, so why should she have to witness the slow, sad division of what had been their life into fragments of mine versus yours.
The kittens in the window are a happier sight. There are a handful of them, in that stage of big enough to have personality but small enough to be adorably clumsy as they figure out how legs plus gravity works. Sojung watches until the hollowness in her heart shrinks down a size, wiping stray tears from her cheeks.
(Yes, she’s crying in public. Breakups are hard when your ex’s face is on a billboard every other block.)
As she resolves to go home and confront the aftermath, a kitten looks up at her. An orange tabby with white chest and paws. He comes closer and meows, the sound tiny and pleading.
Sojung melts. But she knows better than to make big decisions on a day like today, and a kitten is a lot of responsibility, and –
He presses his nose to the glass and meows again.
The companionship will be nice, she thinks in the uber home, engulfed in a sea of cat accessories. And it’s not like this is some spur of the moment whim. She’s wanted a cat forever, has done all the research. It’s one of her favorite procrastination tactics – checking online reviews for vets or reading up on the most environmentally friendly brand of food.
If not for Jiyeon’s allergies, she'd have a cat already.
Now, that’s not a problem.
She makes it out of the car and into the lobby without dropping anything, which is a minor miracle. The newly christened kitten – Arong – hangs in a carrier around her shoulder, and his stuff is piled so high in her arms that she can’t see over it. When she reaches the elevator, she jabs an elbow at a button that might be her floor and hopes for the best.
As the elevator ascends, she realizes the biggest hurdle is yet to come. The movers will be gone by now so she’s going to have to unlock her door, which means extracting the key from her pocket.
Adjusting her grip, she frees one hand to slowly, carefully, reach for it.
A lot of things happen in the next moment. The elevator comes to a stop on the (correct!) floor, a ding announcing its arrival. The sound startles Arong, who jolts from one side of the carrier to the other, upsetting Sojung’s precarious balance. Instinctively, she reaches for the nearest wall to catch herself. Said wall happens to be the elevator door, and it slides open with perfect timing for her to not only drop everything but also crash to the ground herself.
“Fuck the world,” she says into the litter box, which ends up over her face. Arong yowls with what she chooses to interpret as sympathy.
“Are you ok?” comes a voice, in the tone of someone who can tell the answer is no but is trying to be polite about it.
Sojung frees her head to find a neighbor, Nam Dawon, looking down with concern. Despite the fact that they’ve had two real conversations in as many years of sharing a floor, Dawon starts picking up escaped cat toys without being asked. This makes her an angel, in Sojung’s opinion.
“Where’s your partner?” Dawon says, looking around like the question will materialize Jiyeon.
Ok. A short-lived angel.
“She’s gone.”
“Is she coming back soon? This is a lot to handle alone.”
“She moved out earlier today.”
Dawon stops dead, and her horrified expression would be funny if Sojung weren’t immersed in her own sadness. Though the breakup was amicable it still sucks having to say that out loud – that Jiyeon is gone and not coming back.
“Oh. Oh!” Dawon’s arms twitch like they want to reach out but think better of it, full as they are of all the cat things. “Let me, um. Help you with this?”
The offer comes out in a question, and Sojung considers pretending that she’s fine on her own for the sake of everyone’s dignity. Dawon is already lifting the heaviest bag, though, with an ease that makes her remember how long it’s been since she had a regular gym routine.
Dignity wasn’t happening today, anyway.
“If you have a minute, that would be great.”
“Of course!”
Sojung picks herself up, arranging Arong on her shoulder and repacking the one bag Dawon leaves to her. With the lighter load getting into the apartment goes smoothly, but then she has to face all the empty spaces where Jiyeon’s things used to be.
“Where do you want this?” Dawon says.
Sojung points to a corner of the living room, blinking against the burning in her eyes. She will not cry in front of an almost stranger. She’s too cool for that to become her reputation, so she sets Arong down on the floor and opens the carrier.
Both it and he are wet. And smelly.
“You can’t be serious,” Sojung says, to the universe but also Dawon since she’s there.
“What’s wrong?”
“He peed and then rolled around in it.”
Dawon wrinkles her nose but does not magically salvage the situation. It’d be weird if she did, to be honest, but Sojung would like someone else to take charge so that she can just be overwhelmed and pathetic for a while.
She lies down on the floor, flopping backward, but she misjudges the distance and knocks her head against Arong’s bowl. The flash of pain from something so stupid frees the tears that have been building, because the real problem is that she wants comfort from someone who can't offer it anymore. Jiyeon wasn’t a great girlfriend but she was great in moments like this – would ground Sojung, tell her it’s ok and make her believe it.
What if she never finds that again?
“You’re a handsome little guy, aren’t you,” Dawon says, tone disconcertingly cute. “What’s your name?”
“Arong,” Sojung croaks out.
“Arong. That’s a nice name. How about a bath, Arong? I don’t know many cats but I grew up with dogs and that’s what we’d do whenever someone got dirty like you are now.”
Sojung pushes herself up on her elbows to see Dawon crouched by the kitten, scratching the top of his head. When he starts purring Dawon picks him up, holding him against her chest in a way that will definitely ruin the nice white button-down she’s wearing.
“Where’s your bathroom?” Dawon says, still in that coaxing-baby-animals voice.
“Down the hallway.”
Sojung staggers up to lead the way. Even in this state she has too much self-respect to abandon Dawon to the task of cleaning her cat, though it’s a closer call than she’d like to admit. Sojung steps into the tub, and instead of handing Arong over Dawon comes in too, and this is how Sojung ends up sharing a shower with another woman and a fuzzy ball of claws and teeth on the first day of her single era.
She’s only bleeding a little by the end of it.
Once Arong is dry and Sojung is band-aided, Dawon heads for the door. It’s understandable, her wanting to leave. Much more understandable than her willingness to be here in the first place, but all the same Sojung reaches out to stop her: being alone in this space right now is about as appealing as volunteering for a needle in the eye.
“Have dinner with me,” Sojung says, and an odd expression flashes on Dawon’s face. “As thanks, I mean. I’ll order whatever you want. You’ve been so much help that I have to pay you back somehow.”
“I never thought you’d be saying that to me.”
“What?”
“Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” Dawon shivers, covering her chest with her arms. “Can I go change first? I’m a bit. Wet.”
Sojung looks down, and oh. Dawon’s shirt is completely see-through. That can’t be comfortable, but it does afford an excellent view of her abs. With that definition no wonder she can lift things.
“Right! Of course.”
Dawon returns with not just a new shirt (black and form-fitting) but also hair down and makeup retouched. She looks far nicer than Sojung feels, and Sojung thinks maybe she should’ve spent the past few minutes doing something other than lying on the couch and text-yelling at Hyunjung, the supposed best friend who ignored her all day.
(All three of them were close, Sojung and Jiyeon and Hyunjung, and Hyunjung is taking the breakup badly. Which means she's refusing to speak to either of them so that no one can accuse her of playing favorites.)
“Do you like barbecue?” Dawon says, and then gives the name of a place to order from.
Dinner is strange. Not the food itself, which is excellent, but with Arong taking a nap instead of causing trouble it becomes clear how little Sojung and Dawon have to talk about.
“That’s a nice wine collection,” Dawon finally says, after a full minute of silence. Sojung turns to the rack in the corner – the contents were Jiyeon’s, bottles gifted by people trying to impress her, and the fact that it’s still here shows how well that worked.
“Want some?”
“I’d never say no to wine.”
Sojung grabs a bottle at random, has the cork out before she registers Dawon’s alarm.
“Don’t!”
“What’s wrong?”
“That’s a really nice one.”
Sojung looks at it, appraising. It’s a bottle of wine indistinguishable from all the other bottles of wine. The label might be in Spanish. Or Italian? Romance languages all look the same.
“How nice?”
“More than a month’s rent nice.”
“We better enjoy it then.”
Opening a cabinet, she finds that while the wine is here Jiyeon took the nice crystal glasses that sound fancy when you clink them together. She sighs, pulling out coffee mugs instead.
Dawon laughs at the container but swirls the wine anyway, the gesture smooth and practiced. Her whole drinking process has that same aura, like she belongs in an elegant tasting room with an ocean view instead of Sojung’s half-equipped kitchen.
“You must know a lot about wine to recognize this one.”
“Only a little,” Dawon claims, but then proceeds to give a thorough rundown of the vineyard that produced it and the qualities characteristic of these varietals. Sojung has no idea what most of it means but she doesn't mind: when Dawon gets going on a topic her face lights up and her hands swoop around, whole body brimming with expression. It’s kind of charming, how she talks in movement as much as words, and it's definitely better than silence.
“I’m sorry,” Dawon says, when she realizes how long she’s been speaking. “I’m sure that was boring. You should’ve stopped me.”
“Are you kidding? I know what tannins are now.” Sojung smiles to soften the joke, and she gets one back from Dawon. “Thanks for being here today, by the way. I’m not sure why you are, since everyone I know would’ve run from the crazy cat lady who tripped coming out of the elevator. I’m grateful, though. You helped a lot.”
“Anyone would’ve done the same thing.”
Sojung snorts.
“No, they wouldn’t. My own girlfriend wouldn’t. Or ex, I guess. She’s an ex now.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Dawon’s eyes are on her, quiet and sad, and the weight of their sympathy makes Sojung want to cry again.
“I don’t think so. How about this instead – tell me about your love life. You’ve seen firsthand how much of a mess mine is, so give me something to live vicariously through.”
Dawon looks blindsided. Offers a nervous smile.
“There’s nothing to tell. I’ve been single for a while.”
“What about prospects?” Dawon shakes her head, but Sojung presses anyway. Gossip is one of life's great pleasures. “You’re so pretty, there has to be something. Not even an unrequited crush?”
Sojung means this as an innocent comment – Dawon is pretty, all cheekbones and jawline, striking in the way that sticks with you after you see her once. And that’s not even counting her figure: when they first moved in, before learning anyone’s name, Jiyeon dubbed her “that girl with the crazy body.”
Yet Sojung’s words set off some kind of catastrophe. She can only watch the external effects in confusion: Dawon squeaks, goes bright red, and then gulps down an entire glass of wine before pouring herself a second and draining it, too.
“Do you mind if we open another?” Dawon says, looking everywhere but Sojung.
Sojung nods before processing how quickly Dawon downed half a bottle, how high her tolerance seems to be.
“Are you an alcoholic?”
“No but I might be by the end of tonight.”
“What?”
Dawon already has a second bottle picked out, and she pauses with the corkscrew halfway in.
“That question just…I don’t want to talk about my love life, either. If that’s ok.”
“Sure. Totally fair.”
Though now that the topic is off limits, Sojung has to wonder: what’s so traumatizing for Dawon?
Arong saves her from thinking too hard about that, scampering in and trying to climb her pant leg. He’s an easy center of attention, and once they finish dinner they find a purpose in putting together his climbing tower. The instructions don’t make much sense – especially as they get deeper into the wine – but by the end of the night the tower is standing and the sight of a new thing instead of just absence makes breathing a little easier.
At the door, Sojung gives Dawon a hug. She’s stiff at first, maybe with surprise, but after a second she wraps her arms around Sojung, too.
;;
Hyunjung shows up in the morning with bread, which is as close as she comes to an apology.
“You realize this is your favorite, not mine,” Sojung says, eating it anyway.
Hyunjung shrugs.
“It’s the thought that counts.”
“I’m the one who gets to decide that.”
At this point Arong bounds into the room, getting within a meter of Hyunjung before noticing her presence and skittering sideways in alarm. He then sneaks towards her, belly to the ground, pausing every few steps for a pre-pounce wiggle.
“You have a cat.” Hyunjung says, dripping with judgement. “I leave you alone for one day and you turn into a spinster cat lady.”
“You also have a cat.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t get mine to replace an ex-girlfriend. That’s sad, Sojung.”
“Shut up.”
“Really, really sad.”
“Maybe I’m reclaiming being a spinster cat lady. It seems like a good deal, all things considered. I don’t need another person to complete me.”
“You’ve got the delusional part down already.”
Sojung is debating dragging Hyunjung from the apartment – she could do it; Hyunjung has no physical strength to back up insults – when there’s a knock on the door.
“Are you expecting someone?”
“I don’t think so?”
The end of last night got hazy, but Sojung is pretty sure she didn’t order anything weird from the internet. At least not anything that would show up this fast.
She opens the door to find a delivery of sorts: Dawon is there holding a long plastic stick with multicolored feathers at the end.
“This was in the elevator,” Dawon says, handing it to her.
“Oh, thank you! The lady at the store said this kind was his favorite. Can't believe I almost lost it already.”
“How are you doing today?”
Since there’s going to be a conversation, Sojung edges herself into the doorjamb, shutting the door most of the way. This is to keep Arong from escaping, but it has the added benefit of blocking Dawon from Hyunjung’s line of sight. Hyunjung doesn’t speak to new humans on her own behalf, but she absolutely will to mess with Sojung and in virtue of being here yesterday Dawon is too dangerous to let fall into enemy hands.
“I’m fine, more or less. You know how it is.”
There go Dawon’s sympathy eyes again. They look so kind that Sojung has the impulse to tell her everything, to excavate all the hidden truths in her heart.
“Who’s this,” Hyunjung says, and that impulse evaporates. She nudges the door all the way open and throws an arm around Sojung’s shoulders.
The contact is annoying, mostly, but it could also seem possessive, and Dawon looks from the arm to Sojung and back again, eyes wide with drawn conclusions.
“We’re just friends!” Sojung blurts out, imagining her name splashed in accusing headlines. Though she’s not famous enough to justify it, Jiyeon is and the paparazzi would eat up a story about old friends betraying the nation’s sweetheart. Not that Dawon seems the type to call the press, but twenty-four hours ago all Sojung knew about her was name and address.
Hyunjung takes a while to figure out the ‘we’ in that sentence. Once she does, she jerks away, gagging.
“Oh, ew, who would sleep with you. I mean, I guess Jiyeon did but she has terrible taste and I try not to think about it.”
“I’m right here, you know.”
“And I would never talk about you like this behind your back. Only to your face.”
In reply, Sojung shoves Hyunjung hard enough she bounces off the door frame. She clutches her elbow and whimpers, though it's all fake. Hyunjung is uglier when she cries for real.
Dawon backs away, wearing the smile of a civilian who hopes not to be taken hostage.
“I’m going to go now. Have fun not sleeping together.”
“She seems nice!” Hyunjung says once the door closes, as though that was a successful episode of human interaction. “Convenient rebound? Neighbors get messy, though. How attached are you to staying in this building, in case things go bad?”
“I love that you talk like you have experience with any of this.”
“Oh no, girls are terrifying. If Soobinie leaves me I’ll die alone. But she’s way too codependent to ever do that so let’s get back to you and all the things you’re doing wrong with your life.”
;;
It’s not that different, being single.
Sojung’s daily routine is the same: she gets up, has breakfast, scrolls Twitter and Instagram until the vague sense of doom that comes from putting off work forces her to start composing.
She’s used to doing all of that alone. Jiyeon was so busy that, though they lived together on paper, waking up with her was exception rather than rule. Sojung could go a month or more without seeing her in person, and as the days accumulate it’s almost like that time she was filming in a jungle with no reception.
At the same time, there are changes. For one Arong is around, inserting himself between Sojung and her laptop whenever it’s been too long since their last play session. And instead of the usual love songs she’s writing self-empowerment anthems where bass and drums beat out the rhythm of I’m fine on my own. The message starts out more aspiration than fact, but by the time she has a track with polished instrumentals she’s starting to believe it.
She can totally pull off this spinsterhood thing.
The only problem: she misses having a person to pay attention to her. Being able to send random thoughts out into the world and know in advance someone will react. Jiyeon did that even when she was away, and now Sojung finds herself taking endless pictures of Arong without knowing where to send them. Eventually she makes a cat Instagram, and though she enjoys anonymous strangers exclaiming over how cute he is it’s not quite enough in the way of connection.
That’s the downside to a profession where you’re alone most of the time – you have to make an effort to find people.
“Who should I hang out with,” she asks Arong, throwing the jingly ball he likes to chase. He flicks his tail like he might move, then flops on his side and chews a paw instead. “Fine. Be that way.”
Huffing, Sojung goes down to check the mail (gets her daily exercise). Dawon is in the lobby, too, and when she spots Sojung she comes over to say hi.
This might not seem like much, but Sojung loves people who make a first move. She herself can’t: despite tending toward extroversion, she flat out fails every time she tries to work up the nerve to approach someone she's not yet close to. Dawon doing that for her feels like a sign, and Sojung finds herself proposing another dinner the following day.
“I won’t cry this time, I swear.”
“Are you sure? That’s a big promise.”
Dawon’s humor is kinder than the all-out barrage her own friends have trained her to expect: the comment is at her expense, undeniably, but the teasing quirk to Dawon’s lips doesn’t make her want to fight back. It’s just…nice, knowing that she’s amused someone.
“If I break it, you can have a third dinner. Maybe I’ll feed you once a week from now on, in exchange for all the crying I might happen to do.”
Dawon’s smile grows.
“I think I’d be ok with that.”
;;
No one cries at dinner.
It helps that, unlike with the first one, the day of this dinner is not among the worst of Sojung’s life. Instead it’s a normal day, a touch extra productive because she has the reward of a meal with company to look forward to. She even buys new wine glasses in preparation.
“What do you do?” Sojung says as they start eating, delivery again but her choice this time.
“Physical therapy.” It fits Dawon – even without knowing her well Sojung can tell she has the temperament for it, the patience and care to help people recover capacities once taken for granted. “You’re in music, right?”
“How did you know? Production isn’t the glamorous on-stage part.”
“I used to sing. Write, too, a little. It’s been a long time but I still pay attention.” And that’s interesting in a way that makes Sojung want to know more, but before she can pry Dawon beats her to it: “Can I ask what happened with you and Jiyeon? You always seemed happy when I saw you together.”
“Oh. Um.”
Sojung takes a stalling bite. Chews deliberately, deciding she can probably talk about this without dying.
“I get it if you don’t want to answer. It’s not really my business.”
“No, it’s a fair question. You saw enough of the fallout to be curious.”
There’s no easy method to explain Jiyeon, so Sojung talks her way in from the side in long, meandering sentences that have very little substance at first. That changes, though, and as Dawon listens she finds her way to the things that matter.
She explains how Jiyeon is manically devoted to the challenge in front of her, which makes her a great actress but less good at the boring, everyday forms of maintenance that sustain a long-term relationship. To be fair to Jiyeon, she tried to fix things once they hit the crisis point, but by then so much was wrong that she would’ve had to reshape her life to salvage the relationship. Sojung couldn’t ask that from her, because ambition is the bedrock Jiyeon is built on: it’s not in her to make a compromise when the price is her own success.
“So I broke up with her,” Sojung finishes. “And ran into you coming home with my consolation cat.”
Dawon puts down her chopsticks.
“You broke up with her?”
“Why does everyone say that? I know she’s gorgeous and famous but I’m a catch, too, ok.”
Dawon makes a choking sound suspiciously similar to laughter.
“It’s just. You were crying on the floor the last time I was here.”
“Breakups are sad even when you initiate them! We were together for years! I’d have to be a sociopath not to cry!”
There’s no hiding the laughter now, and Dawon raises her hands in surrender.
“Ok, ok! You’re right. I believe you.”
Sojung sulks.
“You’re just saying that. You think she broke up with me like everyone else, because how could the perfect Kim Jiyeon ever get dumped.”
“No, really. I believe you.” Dawon licks her lips, and gravity gathers around her next words. “You are a catch, Sojung. There’s no one out of your league.”
Sojung’s anger deflates, making room for shocked giddiness. She’s never been complimented in this tone before, quiet but heavy with intention, and in response all words desert her. In the ensuing silence Dawon’s eyes linger on her, like they’re committing to memory every part of her reaction.
“How’s writing going these days?” Dawon says after a minute, and Sojung is grateful for the subject change.
“Pretty well. Heartbreak is good inspiration.” A rogue thought occurs. “Hey, do you want to hear something I’m working on?”
“Seriously?”
“Why not?”
Sojung gets out her laptop, loads the latest version of a song she’s tinkering with. Dawon listens with complete attention, then claps and cheers and points out her favorite parts. She showers Sojung with compliments, earnest and easy in her praise, and through them Sojung learns the feel of Dawon’s admiration. It makes her more confident that Dawon was flirting earlier, because this is lovely but doesn't feel like she’s being dissolved from the inside out.
She also learns that Dawon undersold her musical skill.
“I really love that riff,” Dawon says, singing her way through it for emphasis. Even in a brief snippet, her voice is a revelation. It elevates the melody to heights Sojung hadn’t known were possible – like this song was meant for Dawon to sing, and anything else is just an echo of unfulfilled potential.
“Your voice is incredible.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m so out of practice.”
;;
When you work in music, you get curious about voices. Where they come from, what they’ve done, because even with natural talent you don’t sound like Dawon without a lot of cultivation.
So the next time Sojung is wasting an afternoon on YouTube, she types “Nam Dawon” into the search bar. Hesitates, fingers hovering.
“Is this creepy?” she asks Arong, who’s perched atop the kitchen cabinets, looking down on her like a tiny, mostly benevolent god.
He meows back indecipherably.
It might be creepier talking to her cat this much, and Sojung resolves not to add new questionable activities on top of it. She distracts herself with work for a while but the search bar keeps calling, a siren’s song at the back of her mind. Finally she caves, and searching Dawon's name yields a ton of covers, all English language with respectable view counts.
The newest is years old, and clicking into it Sojung is oddly nervous. This shouldn’t matter, so why are her palms starting to sweat?
Then Dawon is singing and everything else falls away. Sojung watches one video after another, only returning to the world when Arong bites her ankle.
Oh, she’s late with his dinner.
There went 3 hours. Weird.
;;
A month after getting Arong, Sojung encounters her first work trip as a cat owner. A studio session in another city, far away enough that she can’t come back nights.
“How can I leave him alone,” she wails on the phone to Hyunjung, firmly entrenched in panic. “What if he misses me. What if he needs me and I’m not there.”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to escape you. I know I would.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Oh, I'm supposed to help? I thought I was just an unwilling witness to your cat lady breakdown. I already said I’d watch him but you hyperventilated and ignored me.”
“Because you’d only come every other day! He needs more attention than that, he’s still a baby!”
“He’d be fine.”
“How can you be so heartless?”
“I’ve had my cat for longer than a month.” Sojung makes indignant protesting noises until Hyunjung sighs. “Why don’t you ask that neighbor? She brought you a cat toy, she’d probably take him in if you wanted and then he wouldn’t have to be alone at all.”
“You’re a genius,” Sojung says and hangs up on her.
She runs out of her apartment and down the hall to Dawon’s, knocking on the door with enthusiasm.
When it opens Dawon looks startled, but she smiles before Sojung can doubt her mission.
“Sojung. What a nice surprise.”
“I have to go out of town next week and I was wondering if – since you’re so good with Arong – you might be willing to watch him for me. I’d pay you.”
“No.” Well, there goes that plan. Noticing Sojung’s disappointment, Dawon shakes her head. “I meant you don’t have to pay me. Of course I’ll do it. Do you want him to come here or for me to visit him at your place?”
“It wouldn’t be too much trouble for him to stay with you?”
“No trouble at all. It’d be fun.”
And just like that, a weight lifts. Maybe Hyunjung has the occasional good idea.
“Awesome. Thank you. But please let me pay.”
“No.”
This grates against Sojung’s sense of justice, especially after the things Dawon has already done, so she searches for acceptable alternatives.
“Then let me take you out somewhere. When I get back. A client recommended this new wine bar, if you’re up for it?”
It’s only after Sojung makes the proposal that she realizes how it sounds: she might’ve just asked Dawon on a date. Without meaning to, unless her subconscious had agendas it’s keeping to itself.
Dawon must hear the implication because her eyes go wide, and when she speaks again her voice is shy.
“Ok. Here, take my number. You can text me the details for Arong, and for whatever else.”
;;
Dawon is the perfect cat sitter.
She sends pictures multiple times a day, not just for proof of life (like Hyunjung offered, the monster) but whenever Arong is being cute. By the last day of the trip Sojung’s phone gallery is full of Arong in Dawon’s apartment, and her background has become an unbearably adorable image of him asleep in Dawon’s bed.
Sojung smiles every time she sees it.
When her phone vibrates during a recording break, she reaches for it eagerly, expecting another cat picture.
What awaits instead is a text from Jiyeon, the contact still labeled DO NOT CALL.
Hey. Filming finished and I’m back in the city. I just wanted to warn you in case we see each other around. Take care of yourself, yeah?
Sojung stares at the message, wishing she could rewind to before she saw it. It’s a nice sentiment, she gets that, but at the same time it forces her to deal with the fact that she's going to have to talk to Jiyeon again. They share too many people to never run into each other, and during the breakup they agreed to attempt friends. However, it’s one thing to know that while Jiyeon is away and another to have her actually show up.
Good mood shattered, Sojung turns melancholy and pensive, mind overfull with the prospect of Jiyeon's return.
Then her phone rings. For a heart-stopping second she thinks it’s Jiyeon, but Dawon is the name on her screen so she tells herself to calm down and takes the call.
“I can’t find Arong,” Dawon says, panic in her voice. “He was here when I got home and I haven’t opened the door again so he has to be here but I can’t find him. I’m so sorry, I don't know what happened.”
Sojung is tempted to panic herself, but she tries to channel Hyunjung and her weird overconfidence that pets will be fine.
“Where have you looked?”
“Everywhere. Under my bed and the couch, in the closets, in the shower. I don’t know what else to check.”
“Have you looked high?”
“What?”
“He likes to be tall. Lord it over the common people. Your apartment has that space over the kitchen cabinets, right? He sleeps there in mine sometimes.”
“…let me go check.”
Dawon puts her on speaker to find a stool and climb up on it.
“There you are!” comes through loud and clear, as does the indignant meow of Arong being moved against his will.
“Sounds like you found him,” Sojung says, relief filling her entire body.
“I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry I worried you for no reason. Of course cats can jump high. I knew that but somehow I didn’t-”
“It’s ok, Dawon. It’s better that you called and we figured it out. I wouldn’t want you to be up all night worrying, either.”
“The idea that I lost him was so scary.”
“You’re not going to lose him. I trust you. Really.”
There’s a moment of silence before Dawon mumbles thanks, and then the recording technician is waving for Sojung to come back in.
“I have to get back but I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?”
When she hangs up Jiyeon’s text is still there, but after that ordeal it feels smaller. Less world-shattering, like she’s discovered a shield against its power.
;;
Sojung isn’t sure whether drinks with Dawon should be a date.
She’s pleased that drinks are happening, but when she tries to pin down the nature of that feeling she runs into signs pointing every which way. Dawon is very dateable, but then just because someone is good in general doesn’t make them good for you. The breakup with Jiyeon wasn’t that long ago, but then they already lived such separate lives that maybe it has been long enough.
Sojung turns the question over in her mind on the walk down the hall, twirling a rose in her hand.
(Yes, a rose is date-coded and also extra, but it vibes with the checked suit and tie she’s wearing. It’s been too long since she got to dress up for someone, and even in the midst of uncertainty Sojung commits to an aesthetic.)
Dawon opens the door before she finishes knocking.
“I could hear you coming,” Dawon says, like this needs an explanation. And maybe it would, but Sojung is too absorbed in staring at her to notice.
Everyday Dawon is approachable hot, whether she’s in the button-downs she wears to work or the gym clothes she lives in the rest of the time. Dawon right now is a goddess, with a long purple dress that runs high at her neck only to expose devastating amounts of skin at her sides and back.
Sojung has to fight off the impulse to kneel at her feet, and even once that passes she wants to pin Dawon against the wall. Or maybe wants Dawon to pin her. The direction isn’t important, just someone should be against the wall and there should be kissing, and Sojung should get to slide her hand under the twist of fabric covering Dawon’s stomach, and –
“Is that for me?” Dawon says, reaching for the rose.
Sojung snaps out of it.
“Yes! I didn’t know what flowers you like so a classic seemed good.”
Dawon takes it. Holds it up to her nose with a pleased little smile, and she makes for such a cute image that attraction gives way to feelings of aw.
“Let me put this in water before we go.”
At the wine bar, Dawon orders for both of them. She tries to let Sojung make her own choices at first, but takes over once it becomes clear Sojung has absolutely no idea what the menu descriptions mean.
“Why’d you suggest this if you don’t like wine?”
“I’m not uninterested, just uneducated. Besides, I thought you’d like it.”
Dawon’s cheeks are pink as she raises her glass.
“To your education then.”
They’ve talked enough by now to be past awkward pauses, but at first Sojung steers them to surface-level topics: her trip, Arong, and the stories behind Dawon’s pictures. It’s for self-preservation: she’s having trouble holding onto thoughts with Dawon to look at. Or, rather, her thoughts keep tending toward things that aren’t fit for polite conversation and she’s worried about what her mouth might reveal.
It’s clear now that she wants Dawon, to a degree that makes a joke of her earlier hesitation. Maybe the want is new, or maybe they’re just finally in a setting where she can admit it exists. In any case, with each sip of wine she discovers something new about Dawon to be attracted to. The splay of her fingers around a glass, the intensity of her eyes when she’s deciding whether she likes a new taste.
It’s overwhelming at first, but as the night progresses Sojung acclimates to the force of her own desire. Making words gets easier, and they slide into talking about deeper things, like childhood dreams and how they drift out of reach.
“I thought I’d end up in music too,” Dawon admits, midway through glass three.
“Why didn’t you?”
“I just didn’t make it, I guess. I spent years trying as hard as I could without getting anywhere, and I could’ve kept on but my dad was against it. He didn’t want me to waste my life fighting for a dream I couldn’t achieve.”
Sojung frowns.
“That’s pretty harsh.”
“He wasn’t wrong. I like what I do now, and anyway it’s too late to go back. Once you’re out of the industry there’s no way in again.”
Sojung chews on her bottom lip. Maybe she’s spent too much time around Jiyeon’s iron will, but she resents the idea of the world beating no into Dawon until she took it as her own truth. It feels wrong, unacceptable even, like a mistake someone should fix.
That gives Sojung an idea. It’s either brilliant or terrible; there's no in-between.
“What if there were a way?” Dawon tilts her head in confusion. “Record the guide for my new song. It wouldn’t be a contract or anything, but you’d get to use your voice.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. I’ve been thinking about it since I heard you sing. You’re exactly what I want for this track.”
“You’ve barely even heard me sing.”
“I still know.” Dawon looks unconvinced, so Sojung reaches across the table to take her hand. Dawon stares at the place where their palms touch. “At least come into the studio with me. I’ll delete everything if you don’t like it.”
When Dawon looks up, the vulnerability in her eyes is breathtaking.
“Promise?”
“I promise. I’ll take care of you.”
Sojung keeps hold of her hand on the way home, all the way to Dawon’s door. There they stop touching but stay close together, and though Dawon finds her keys she doesn’t hurry to use them.
“Thanks for coming out with me,” Sojung says, focused more on Dawon’s proximity than the words.
“I had a nice time,” Dawon says, eyes dropping to Sojung’s mouth.
Sojung would like to say that they kissed then. The moment is right; Dawon is giving her every signal in the book.
She can’t, though, because it doesn’t happen.
She leans forward, intending a kiss, and then just kind of runs out of daring. There’s not even a reason: no dog barks, or neighbor walks by, or stray thought of Jiyeon pops into her mind. With absolutely nothing to break the mood, Sojung can only blame herself for stalling out in the last few centimeters before she reaches Dawon’s lips.
And then running away before Dawon can react.
“I’ll text you about the studio!” she calls back over her shoulder, escaping into her apartment.
Arong trots up to her.
“Don’t look at me like that. I know I should’ve kissed her.”
When she calls Hyunjung for sympathy, Hyunjung laughs so hard she cries.
;;
To Dawon’s credit, she comes to the studio.
Warming up in the recording booth she seems restrained, nervous and smaller than her actual size. It’s hard to tell how much of that is returning to a world that chewed up her aspirations and spat them back at her and how much is Sojung being on the other side of the glass.
They haven’t talked about the kiss that wasn’t. They haven’t talked about anything beyond the invitation for today, because every time Sojung thought about sending a real message she curled up in a ball of shame instead.
“How are you doing?” she says, pressing the button that lets Dawon hear her.
“Honestly? I’m terrified.”
“Do you want to practice some more?”
“No, let’s get it over with.”
Sojung has worked with all kinds of artists, including newbies who need easing into the task of recording.
Dawon is the opposite of that. From the moment she starts to sing, she’s everything Sojung imagined and more. Her voice brings the song to life, alternately vulnerable and sexy and defiant, shifting to become whatever the moment needs. She listens well, too, taking a half-sentence of feedback and turning it into something Sojung wanted but hadn’t known how to ask for.
All in all, it’s the kind of recording experience you spend a career hoping for. When it’s done, Dawon takes off the headphones and looks at Sojung.
“Was that ok?”
Her eyes are tentative, like she’s hoping for praise but expects a blow.
In a trance, Sojung leaves the controls and opens the door to the recording space.
“What are you doing?” Dawon says as she approaches.
She kisses Dawon. This time there are no positive signals – Dawon is leaning away, backing into the wall – but Sojung does it anyway. She’ll regret forever if she doesn’t make a moment to replace the one she let disappear.
She half thinks she’ll get a slap in response, so Dawon kissing back is a pleasant surprise. And it’s not just one kiss – things turn hot and hungry and Dawon grabs at her hard, one hand in her hair and the other tugging her in by the waist. Sojung finds herself being spun, pushed into the wall and blanketed by the heat of Dawon’s body. She can feel Dawon’s muscles working against her and, ok, Sojung likes to imagine that she’s a top but there’s no shame in bottoming if it’s like this.
She grabs Dawon’s ass to press her in tighter, eliminating the last trace of space between them.
Dawon shudders (which is promising) and pulls away (which is not).
“You mean this, right?” Dawon says, still out of breath.
“What?”
“You want more than to fuck me once in a recording booth and forget I exist. Because if all this is the setup for a conquest, I’m going to lose it.”
Up to this point, Sojung is stuck on a loop of more kissing please. But Dawon’s distress jumpstarts her brain, and she puts more space between them to look Dawon in the eye.
“Does it seem like I’m smooth enough to plan a conquest?”
“Well, no. But it wouldn’t be the first time someone said they loved my voice and was after something else.”
With a sinking feeling, Sojung gets the things Dawon leaves unsaid. Producers have a lot of power over singers when they’re starting out, and too often that power is prelude to abuse. It’s a familiar story, and Sojung winces at the way she’s unthinkingly repeated pieces of it: mixing work and desire, implying that opportunities in one are contingent on satisfaction of the other.
She needs to fix that.
“I really do love your voice. I can’t imagine anyone expressing my song better, and I’d want you to record for me again even if we never do…anything else. But I also like you a lot? I’m a mess, I know, so I get it if you can’t like me back but I mean everything I’ve offered you, however clumsy I’ve been about it.”
“If I can’t like you back.” Dawon huffs an incredulous laugh. “Sojung, I’ve had a crush on you for years.”
Sojung blinks, utterly confused.
“We’ve only talked for a couple months.”
“I’m aware of that, yes.”
“But…how?”
“I don’t know if you remember, but we met at the building Christmas party right after you and Jiyeon moved in. I was bored and playing the piano, and you complimented me. We didn’t talk for long, but I knew you by reputation and having someone big in the industry be kind and human was just. Surprising. In a nice way. So I started to like you, but since you were with someone I never planned on doing anything about it.”
Sojung does remember that night, and Dawon too: she’d thought Dawon was hired to play, and was embarrassed to discover they lived on the same hall. That Dawon had such a different experience of the conversation is funny - and flattering - and then Sojung’s stomach drops as she realizes what this means.
“So that first dinner, when I asked you about crushes. I was basically torturing you.”
Dawon grimaces.
“That wasn’t the best moment."
"I was such an idiot. How can you still like me."
"I like you more now that I know you better."
Dawon holds eye contact, bold as the words, like she's making sure Sojung really hears them.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Dawon steps into Sojung. Kisses her soft but sure. “What do you say we get out of here?”
;;
Their first event as a couple is a wedding.
The brides are Dawon’s friends from college, Yeonjung and Juyeon, and she’s adorably shy in asking Sojung to be her date.
“I usually go with Luda” – the best friend, Sojung’s mind supplies – “but she’s dating someone new and wants to bring her, and you and I have been talking about meeting each other’s friends and this would be a good opportunity. And there’s an open bar. And it’d be nice to share this with you.”
Sojung smiles at the last part, which is reason enough in itself.
“You should know in advance that I cry at weddings.”
“You cry at everything.”
The tone is more factual than accusing, but Sojung prepares to be indignant anyway. Then Dawon raises an eyebrow, and in the motion Sojung can hear her reciting the list of things that made Sojung cry in the past week alone. It’s not a short list.
“Yeah, ok. I do cry a lot.
“I’ll bring extra tissues.”
On the day of, they get to the ceremony just before it starts, finding seats in a back row. (Dawon is wearing a suit and it looks great on her, and Sojung lost track of time expressing that.) Sojung has plenty of opportunity to cry, though – at the opening speech, at the vows, at the kiss, and through it all Dawon dabs gently at her eyes to keep her makeup from running.
At the reception, they share a table with Luda and her plus one, who turns out to be Kim Jiyeon. Aka famous actress, aka Sojung’s ex.
Upon discovering this, Sojung, Dawon, and Jiyeon all stare at each other in surprise.
Jiyeon recovers first, offering two thumbs up and a blinding smile.
“You got hot body neighbor! Good for you, Chu Sojung! Way to come back strong after me.”
At this, Luda whacks Jiyeon on the shoulder. She has an impressive amount of rage for a person so small.
“Don’t objectify my best friend like that! She’s not a slab of meat!”
Dawon, in turn, glares at Luda.
“This is why you wouldn’t tell me who your date was. You figured out who they were to each other and wanted to do…this. For some reason.”
“Surprise!” Luda says, throwing jazz hands. “Isn’t it fun?”
“How did you figure it out?”
“You both told me about a person who wears paper bags on her head when she forgets an umbrella. There aren't many people who do that.”
Well. That’s not embarrassing at all, being paper bag lady. Dawon is too kind to accuse so Sojung turns on Jiyeon.
“Is that really something you need to tell people?”
Jiyeon gives an angelic grin. It matches Luda’s in both sweetness and mischief, and Sojung wonders if that makes them a good pair or a threat to the survival of all humanity.
“It came up?” Jiyeon says.
Luda claps.
“This is even better than I imagined.”
Things settle down when dinner comes, though that also leads to a new episode in Sojung’s long-running battle with food. She moves a side plate to the bench beside her to make room. Two minutes later she puts her hand in it, having forgotten its existence.
“Oops,” she says, holding up her dirty hand as the entire table heckles. Jiyeon shakes her head, trained into low expectations but still disappointed. Luda looks at the mess with grotesque curiosity, like Sojung revealed herself to be a cockroach who occasionally assumes human form.
And, most devastating of all, Dawon frowns.
“Are you at least rich?” Luda says, fixing Sojung with a stare.
“Um,” Sojung says, trying to play it off as she cleans her hand.
“No, I’m serious. I need a ballpark on your assets to decide if I can approve of you for Dawon. You look good enough, but money would offset the fact that your personality reminds me of my jobless uncle.”
“Luda!” Dawon scolds, but she’s laughing too much to really mean it.
“Sojung does well,” Jiyeon says.
“How well? I’m not hearing any numbers.”
Jiyeon pats Luda’s head instead of answering, then takes advantage of the resulting confusion to pull Luda into her lap. Luda does some disgruntled squirming but ultimately settles, and then she’s just there on Jiyeon being held.
“Is this weird for you?” Dawon says to Sojung, too quiet for the others to hear.
“A little. But not in a bad way. They’re cute and they seem pretty balanced, by which I mean they’re both terrifying. No offense to Luda.”
“Luda would take that as a compliment.”
“Noted.” Sojung puts a (clean) hand on Dawon’s knee. “Is this weird for you?”
“Absolutely. But as long as you’re here with me I’m good.”
Dancing starts soon after, and the rest of the night passes in flashes.
There’s the moment when Dawon and Luda get pulled away for pictures, and Sojung and Jiyeon reaffirm being friends.
“We could get coffee sometime,” Jiyeon offers.
Sojung nods.
“I’ll see if I can get dirt on Luda out of Dawon before then, as payback for tonight.”
And another when Luda declares she gives Sojung provisional approval, taking the seat beside her to show off Dawon’s most embarrassing texts.
“There were 106 from the night you first had dinner alone. Start here and scroll down, until you get to ‘she’s so cute even when she’s crying.’”
“No!” Dawon yells, lunging for the phone, but Jiyeon grabs her and even distraught Dawon is too polite to fight her way out.
Sojung’s favorite moment is quieter, alone with Dawon on a corner of the dance floor.
They're dancing to a slow song, and Dawon laughs softly out of nowhere.
“What is it?” Sojung says.
She feels Dawon shrug as much as sees it.
“I’m just happy.”
Sojung thinks back to how she got here, from cats and spinsterhood plans to songs about needing no one. It that context it almost feels like a failure, being in someone’s arms again, but swaying with Dawon at the edge of love is impossible to regret.
She’ll just have to write more songs.
“I’m happy, too.”