Work Text:
Taepung Girl’s High School is exactly as Jihye remembers it. The classrooms, the broadcasting station, the athletics field.
The people, though.
On Wednesday, Seolhyun offers her snacks before class. Jihye shared a desk with her the previous semester, so she knows that Seolhyun has a habit of spending half of her weekly allowance on vending machine snacks every morning. Gummy bears on Monday, chocolate candy bars on Tuesday, goldfish crackers on Wednesday. The plastic crinkles in Seolhyun’s hand. “Want some?”
Jihye reaches for it, cradles the packet in her palm. Looks up, and Seolhyun’s eyes widen just a fraction —
Her brain splatters against the whiteboard. Blood pools in her shoes, soaking her white uniform socks iron red. When her body slumps to the floor the math formulas on the board, the ones Jihye had ignored in favor of doodling an unflattering caricature of Bori’s older sister on her notebook, snickering the whole time at the thought of her reaction, leave a blue stain on Seolhyun’s sleeves.
Jihye blinks.
“Just take the whole packet, then. You seem sleepy-hungry this morning.”
“Thank you,” Jihye says, automatically. Such luxuries were no longer available by the time she learned how to pack the most calories in the shortest amount of time.
Seolhyun pulls out her textbooks and sighs. “It’s only Wednesday, but I totally get how you feel. Have you studied for this afternoon’s exam? Last night I read my notes until my eyes turned dry.”
Was life really this simple back then? Jihye can’t even open her mouth to respond. All around her, life was going on with crushing normalcy. She wants to scream at the sky until its belly splits open with the blood of the monsters she slayed. The clouds were gray and dark this morning. The goldfish crackers slide down her throat like a knife.
The Lee Jihye from before would have tugged on Bori’s sleeve and whined about the papercut she got from flipping through their history textbook. High school is going to kill me one day. You’re seeing this, right?
It was easy to think of herself as a warrior, or even a hero, back when she wielded a sword that could cut through skin, muscle, sinew, and bone in one smooth arc. Disciple of her master, survivor of reality’s cruel games. The kid whose blood sang with the spirit of a legendary naval commander.
This Lee Jihye has, pathetically, forgotten how to write.
Bori laughs when she sees Jihye’s workbook. “I was going to copy from you, but I think I’ll have better luck closing my eyes and writing whatever comes to mind.”
Jihye had trembled with fury last night when she realized that her hand that had grown used to gripping the handle of a sword could no longer hold a pencil correctly.
“Sorry,” she says, hoarsely. Her hands haven’t stopped trembling.
She plays her pop punk playlist during her shift at the broadcasting station. She rolls her uniform socks all the way up to her knees and sharpens her pencil loudly to annoy Choi Hwayoung, who sits next to the supplies desk. She wears her old life like a second skin and performs a memory of the Lee Jihye who was an average student with a tendency to whisper too loudly during class and a habit of forgetting her textbooks at home. Stupid, inane rituals. She sweeps the classroom floor with the hands of a killer. Chats with her classmates with the knowledge of their violent deaths.
She watches Na Bori run around the athletics field in a white shirt and PE shorts, her short hair tied back in a ponytail, running shoes dirty and scuffed from years of use. Watches the rise and fall of Bori’s chest, the sweat running down her temple, the hair caught behind her ear, the red flush of her cheeks, the pattern of Bori’s bra against her damp shirt. The pulse of her neck as she breathes in and out, in and out, in, out, in, out.
What a sight. Jihye lowers her head to her knees and clenches her fists until she stops feeling anything at all. Her emotional outbursts could no longer be solved by driving a knife into a monster’s gut, or lowering her guard long enough for someone’s fist to make contact with her face.
“Jihye-yah,” Bori whispers. “Have you thought about which university you might apply to?”
“University?” Jihye whispers back, shuffling to face Bori on the bed. “Not really. Don’t you think we’re too young to be thinking about things like that?”
Bori rolls her eyes. “It’s next year.”
“That’s still a lifetime away. Anyway, who cares about that stuff. I didn’t agree to a sleepover so we could talk about school.”
“I’m serious,” Bori presses. “If we both apply to the same college, or at least ones in the same city, we could stay close to each other. We could even live together after moving out of the dorms. I’d always be around to make sure you don’t eat garbage snacks all the time, and you’d always be around to carry me to bed after track practice. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
The pajamas she’s borrowing from Bori feels too flimsy on her skin. The bed too soft, nothing like the cold, dirty floors of Chungmuro Station. Jihye tugs on the collar of her shirt and says, “You have such academic aspirations, Na Bori.”
Something glimmers in Bori’s eyes. “You’re avoiding the question.”
The truth threatens to cleave her tongue in half.
“I know,” Jihye admits. “I’m just a coward like that.”
Bori sighs. “You always say these things.”
“Let’s just watch a movie,” Jihye offers, already pulling the too-hot covers away. “I’ll even let you pick, this time.”
Bori presses a palm to Jihye’s forehead. “Do you have a fever?” she jokes. "You hate my taste in movies.”
“I still think the historical stuff you like is boring,” Jihye responds, flushing from the contact. “But I just like you that much, so I’m willing to let it slide this time.”
“How generous of you.”
As expected, Bori picks a historical romance film. It’s the exact type of movie Jihye would typically grumble about, just to pretend she didn’t like it when Bori hid her face in the crook of Jihye’s neck during emotional confession scenes.
When it ends, Jihye is surprised to find her cheeks wet.
“Crybaby,” Bori teases, though her eyes are gleaming as well. “Just admit it. You like watching these films with me.”
Perhaps she still hasn’t learned how to conceal her emotions, after all this time. Or maybe that was just Bori’s innate attribute. To have one person in the world who knows you by heart is both a blessing and a curse.
Bori pokes her on the cheek. “Just go to sleep now, loser.”
“I don’t want to grow up,” Jihye admits, unbidden. “I just want to stay in school and sit next to you forever.”
The truth is Jihye herself doesn’t know what her own sincerity means, to be a teenage girl again with the same overflowing heart, capable of stomaching the murder of her best friend and watching movies with her in the dark like none of it had happened, like Na Bori hadn’t lived on during the scenarios in Jihye’s dreams. I couldn’t betray you a second time. I had to force myself to live. But she’s here now, isn’t she? Rescuing her best friend, keeping her promise. Shouldn’t that be enough?
“Jihye,” Bori says gently. She’s so close. In the cut of the moonlight all Jihye can see is the pale expanse of her slender neck. The last time she was this close to Bori —
“Sorry.” Jihye grits her teeth. “Never mind.”
Bori pats her on the shoulder. “Go to sleep. I’ll make you tangsuyuk tomorrow and we can spend the entire day reading manhwas and not do any of our homework, okay?”
“Okay,” Jihye murmurs. A nice, simple, boring day with her friend. Already she’s halfway to a blissful dream. “Good night, Bori.”