Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Soyeon doesn’t have time to calculate her words carefully. 

The girl’s hands are big and calloused, and she holds her acoustic guitar as if she is molded around it, as if the instrument is everything sacred and sweet to her. Her lips look even more plump when they’re forming syllables, when her gravelly voice is drifting through the branches of the trees. Soyeon wishes she was a bird perched on one of them, listening but never understanding, wholeheartedly entranced. She finds herself wishing for a lot.

A thrill tickles her spine and sends her flying forward toward the tall girl, truly bold for the first time. She’d seen the guitarist seated here before and she’d given a kind smile before continuing her trek to the subway station, determined to make it to class, determined to ignore the addictive sound of her voice. She’d seen the girl from her window and observed just how absorbed she was in her music, face stoic and voice lilting.

But today, there is something in the air, something that crackles between them, something that fills Soyeon with confidence. The musician is smiling from her seat on the bench, eyes bright and big with wonder. Despite her obvious reactions to Soyeon’s advancement, her fingers don’t slow at all, a familiar ballad becoming the soundtrack to Soyeon’s racing mind. 

“You’re really good at playing. And singing.” Soyeon wishes she sounded more articulate, less like her impulsive self who blurts out whatever comes to mind. “I used to want to pursue music, but I decided to focus on my major more. I’m glad you’re continuing for yourself.” 

“Is that why you always smile at me while I play? That’s actually cute.” 

Her speaking voice is low and sweet, layer upon layer of depth and warmth, similar to her singing yet clearly distinct. When she sings, this girl is a force of air, gusts of wind that pull Soyeon from place to place, tussle her hair, and leave her dizzy. When she speaks, she is delicate, more ephemeral than a fragile flower, softer than a drop of dew on morning grass.

Whether she is singing or speaking, all that comes to Soyeon’s mind are beautiful things. This girl speaks, and rivers flow. This girl sings, and flowers bloom.

Soyeon wants to fall asleep listening to it, wants to taste the lips that produce it, wants to touch calloused fingers to her own. Maddening, sudden, overwhelming — this girl is something dangerous, and Soyeon likes it. She likes the way their eyes meet, new and familiar at the same time. And, even more so, she likes the way her heart slows to match the chords of her guitar. 

“You’re lucky I’m not a musician anymore,” Soyeon feels herself heating up, a sudden urge to make this girl laugh overpowering her. She wants to see her smile; she wants to make her smile. “They wouldn’t want two sexy girls performing on the same block. It would be too competitive. Overwhelming for the public, honestly.” 

And she does. She laughs so hard that she stops playing abruptly, the ballad ending with a squeal from her lips and a harsh slap on the bench, violent and overjoyed all at once.  Soyeon’s heart stops when the music does. She is enchanted with the way charming this girl feels, riding on a wave of joy from simply getting her attention. 

“Well, this sexy musician is grateful. I would get too distracted by your cheekbones and forget how to play, probably,” she winks, far too exaggerated, a silly gesture that leaves Soyeon in shambles. She’s charming and lovely and Soyeon’s stomach is doing somersaults. “I’m Yuqi, by the way.”

Chapter Text

Soyeon doesn't remember when stopping to talk to Yuqi became part of her daily routine, but she does remember the first time she'd had to lean against the subway station’s cold tile for an extra minute after, composing herself from the puddle of red cheeks she'd become. 

Her own cold, shaky fingertips pinched her cheeks back to life, a frigid reminder to keep it together in public. Her mind couldn't stop replaying Yuqi's eyes dragging down her frame and settling with a confident air on her legs, gaze restrained and hungry.

It was the second or third month after they’d met — a day when Soyeon got too bold, where Yuqi reciprocated it tenfold. A day when Soyeon had wanted nothing more than to feel those hands touch her, to share smiles that meant more than just playful flirting. 

It was always simple jokes and lingering looks before, but this time it felt serious — it felt as though she might actually melt and be absorbed into the pavement.  

Yuqi, a casual musician and self-proclaimed lover of fresh air, had taken to situating herself on a bench midway between the subway station and the park for the last four months.

Each afternoon, Soyeon is greeted by big hands, big ears, and a smile that dazzles. It feels like a routine to see her sprawled out on the bench, slim fingers plucking guitar strings and voice humming softly to whatever comes to mind. Sharing pleasantries and beaming smiles is becoming a routine, too — though Soyeon fears to analyze the exact reason why just yet.

Yuqi's sudden appearance and chatty nature wouldn’t have been an issue, really, if her choice of seating wasn't the same bench that acts as Soyeon’s living-room window view (or if Soyeon had more self-control than to develop a big, fat crush on her).

Yuqi's melodic voice and soft strumming are mesmerizing enough, but of course, she's funny and friendly and perfect to boot. And, of course, she seems to think Soyeon is interesting enough to tease and flirt with. 

It's not good for the shorter's heart, honestly.  

Even with Yuqi's unwavering eyes and coquettish words, Soyeon isn't quite ready to address the way the musician makes her panic and fluster, the way she looks out her window in hopes of memorizing the taller's features from her third-story apartment. 

Today, Soyeon has no excuse to send herself out into the chilly air to catch a glimpse of Yuqi’s talent and beauty. Completely caught up on both groceries, necessities, and class, Soyeon resolves to stay inside the entire day, to preserve her self-pride and avoid seeing the girl for one afternoon. She sat on her couch, wrapped in her softest blanket, and waited for Minnie to show up with their lunch, only slightly peeved at how good Yuqi had looked the last time she’d peeked out the window. 

It takes only ten minutes worth of variety shows before there’s a knock at her door, the pattern that raps against the wood familiar and childlike. She smiles at the thought of her best friend, of having someone else to talk to — namely, someone to help distract her from the way her eyes trail toward the window subconsciously, a tiny part of her absorbed in whatever Yuqi might be doing. This is bad , she thinks. 

“It’s open, Minnie unnie.” 

And then the door really is open. Minnie is marching her way in confidently, cheeks dimpled and dyed pink from the wind. The taller girl does a half-hearted wave with her free hand, raising the other to excitedly shake the paper bag full of takeout. It smells like grease. Soyeon’s stomach rumbles. 

“I brought enough food for six people!” 

Soyeon refocuses on the TV in front of her, fully accustomed to Minnie shuffling around in her kitchen unsupervised.

“Good thing I didn’t have breakfast. I’m hungry enough to actually finish it all.” 

“I don’t think that’s a very good thing, actually,” Soyeon frowns, using the pout that she knows Minnie always softens for, lighting up when Minnie really does melt. “It’s not healthy to go to work and school without proper nutrition. When you wake up, you should at least have some—”

“I know, mom , I know. I should have some water and fruit and maybe some toast. I’ll do better, okay? You don’t have to nag me because you took a health class last semester.” 

The platter of junk food is shoved in front of her, a pile of glorious, glorious calories on the coffee table. Minnie plops down next to her with a sigh and stretches, eyes searching Soyeon’s in greeting, in amused curiosity. 

“Eat up, nutritionist Jeon.” 

“I don’t think nutritionist Jeon would eat this many onion rings, actually. But you can call her receptionist and verify that if you want.” 

Minnie laughs her tiny laugh, sweet and giggly, and snags a handful of fries. Sitting next to her on this couch feels normal, like home — her best friend has always kept her afloat, and has supported her with junk food and movie nights when she needed them most. Sometimes that came when she was considering changing her major, panicked, and cried because she didn't want to be an accountant, not really. And sometimes it’s simply a Saturday night and they’re both free, eyes droopy and company oh-so-familiar. Soyeon decides that, in almost every situation, annoying Minnie is the best option she has. 

“Thanks for coming over,” her hands are quicker than her mind, offering Minnie’s favorite dipping sauce to her without needing to think. She can only be thankful for a moment before Soyeon is poking oily fingertips into her dimple, triumphant. “I missed you. You went and got a job and left me all alone.”

“Ew!” she squirms away, annoyed, and Soyeon takes this as her cue to laugh, completely content for a moment. “You’ll clog my pores. That’s pure evil, Jeon.” 

Soyeon doesn’t respond, heart at ease from the taller person's presence and the food in front of her. Instead, she focuses on the show blaring from the TV, the subpar nutritional value of this meal, and the way the left side of the couch has a Minnie-sized dent in it from years of nights like this. 

Normal — things are normal, and she’s not even thinking about the taller girl outside and just how cute she’d look sitting next to her on this couch, too. She banishes the thought, knowing that she’s being ridiculous for thinking that this mindless flirting could mean anything more than playful glances and shimmering smiles. She takes another bite and wills her mind to stop. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you,” Minnie swallows her food loudly, a sip of water following immediately afterward. Soyeon waits, relishing in the distraction, grateful that Minnie is as gross as always. “I saw your little girlfriend on the way over. She’s nice for a weirdo who sits on benches and serenades people, I guess.” 

Soyeon says nothing and focuses on chewing, a foreign kind of protectiveness washing over her. Then she meets Minnie’s eyes again, overcome with the realization that the taller is waiting for some sort of explanation, any sort of reasoning for their odd relationship. 

“First of all, she’s not a weirdo who serenades people. She’s only a year younger than us and she loves playing the guitar. She works night shifts at the market downtown, so she can only practice music during the day — and she likes being outside. She combined her hobbies. She’s busy, that’s all.” 

“Soyeonie, you sound awfully creepy right now." 

Soyeon sputters and whacks Minnie’s arm with all the strength she can, feeling herself go red. She’s confident, god damn it. She’s loud and outgoing and bubbly, not a blushing mess at the mention of her taking special interest in some girl. Soyeon doesn’t do that — she refuses.

“Oh, stop. She told me that! Once she asked where I always go, and I said university, and she told me she was taking a year off to work and save money and—” Minnie’s eyes are amused, almost smug, and Soyeon rolls hers in return. “You know what? You can go ask her yourself. We’re friends. I see her daily — more than you, even! She’s not a weirdo, and that’s all you need to know.” 

Minnie giggles when she takes her next bite, and Soyeon wants to rub her oily fingers over her face if it makes that smirk fall, if it makes the boiling embarrassment in her veins cool. She can’t be flustered, not when Yuqi is only a flirty acquaintance she sees daily — not when Minnie will tease her endlessly for it. 

“Say what you want, but I’ve known you my entire life,” Minnie stands to refill her cup, jumping away as Soyeon’s hand reaches out to swat at her again, dodging it gracefully. She smiles. “And you have a type. Yuqi is the epitome of your type. You can flirt with her and ogle all you want; I won’t judge.”

Soyeon covers her face with her hands, groaning loudly and ignoring just how clogged her own pores are going to be.