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“Haewon-ah, tell me what you’re into.”
“Um?” Haewon asks, still winded from the brain-melting orgasm that Yuna gave her, like, two minutes ago. Maybe this is some lesbian aftercare ritual she’s never heard of. No problem. It’s not a difficult question for Haewon, resident horndog and Yuna aficionado. “Your tits—I’m into those.”
Yuna looks unimpressed. “Duh. Also, not what I meant.”
“Your ass?” Haewon tries. She’s sweating now, back damp against the headboard. “I like your eyes too! I love your beautiful eyes and gorgeous smile. Yeah.”
Suddenly, Yuna’s face is very close. Her gaze traces Haewon’s mouth, a blanket pooling around their naked waists. Haewon stops breathing, hyperaware of every textured imperfection in the soft cotton. She listens to traffic noise crackle underneath the Ariana Grande mix Yuna had queued earlier; time slows and turns syrupy.
“Babe,” Yuna says, her pink lips curled.
That fucking word—it sends a shiver of pleasure through Haewon’s belly. Potent. Addictive. She remembers the first time Yuna slipped it into conversation when they were just casual friends, sandwiched between laughter and a hug. Haewon had blushed, speedran multiple stages of gay panic, and promptly excused herself to wash her face in the bathroom. Yuna knows that pet names are lethal when aimed toward Haewon.
“Don’t you have anything you want to explore? Like, kinks or fantasies or roleplay scenarios,” Yuna lists. She pulls away from Haewon, yanking a scrunchie off her wrist with quick teeth and gathering her red hair into ponytail form. It’s absurdly hot. Haewon tries not to stare too long at Yuna’s flexing biceps or her cute brown nipples.
“We haven’t talked about it before. I may give amazing head but I can’t read minds, babe.”
Yuna’s characteristic bluntness makes Haewon feel lowkey frantic. She imagines herself as the alarmed Smiski on Lily’s bookshelf—one modeling “The Scream.” Haewon bites back a hysterical giggle. Their shared dislike of beating around the bush and penchant for honesty is refreshing, usually. It’s a double-edged sword tonight.
“Am I too vanilla for you?” Haewon asks, jokingly. Or at least she tries to make it sound joking.
Has the sex not been good? Should I be taking this as constructive criticism?
Tacit words and worries decorate Haewon’s brevity. That, maybe, is what sets her brand of candidness apart from Yuna’s; Haewon overflows, filling quiet moments with dry humor and wit, but language fails her when it comes to being vulnerable. She would rather catastrophize in private than allow people a look at her deck. Haewon’s body language gives her heart away—red cheeks, shifty eyes, uncontrollable fidgeting.
Yuna, on the other hand, displays cards strategically, vivisecting herself to parcel out preemptive affection. She doesn’t lack warmth, though some might read her shrewd nature as calculative. Haewon understands how Yuna’s bubbly exuberance and biting sarcasm can be honest as well as defensive. It’s the armor she wears too.
Their first and only real fight was over a stupid misunderstanding Haewon pretended didn’t happen and wasn’t resolved until Yuna cornered her in the JYP parking garage. It’s almost funny. Loving Yuna is sometimes like peering into a funhouse mirror, waiting for the braver version of herself to undress and reveal desires Haewon didn’t even know she had.
“Stop overthinking,” Yuna says, not unkindly. “We’re friends who sometimes fuck talking about, y'know, the sex. Modern romance is all about communication.”
Friends. Modern romance?
She brushes a hand up Haewon’s curved spine, fingering the ridges and leaving goosebumps in her wake. “You’ve always been, always will be enough,” Yuna continues. “I just want to make sure we’re not restraining ourselves. That’s the beauty of sleeping with a close friend, isn’t it? Shame is dead in a ditch and we killed it together. We’ve both wasted too much time being ashamed. No point wasting more.”
Embarrassingly, Haewon wants to cry. She thinks about offhand Instagram Live quips, eye contact made across practice rooms, stolen moments in company vans. She thinks about how long it took her to kiss Yuna—years they’ll never get back. She thinks about being ten months older and a hundred times more afraid.
“Babe,” Yuna says, concern evident in her voice. “Talk to me.”
“I—” Haewon croaks. “Can we lay down please?”
“Okay.” Yuna flicks off the bedside lamp, leaving her room blue and murky before she curls up next to Haewon. It’s quiet now, no music to dampen their respective anxieties.
“Shin Yuna,” Haewon says. She reaches over to untangle the scrunchie and let down Yuna’s ponytail.
“Yeah?” Her eyelashes are impossibly perfect, dark and doe-like. Haewon can’t breathe.
“I didn’t know what I wanted for a really long time, so it kind of terrifies me how much I want you. TBH.”
“Same, TBH.” Yuna copies Haewon’s intonation, playful smile gleaming in the dark. “Had no idea how much I could crave strap before meeting you.”
“Seriously though,” Haewon insists, tugging a few wispy red strands of Yuna’s hair through her fingers. “Sometimes I’m worried I’ll scare you off when you realize how much of a desperate, horny freak I am.”
“Babe.” Yuna sounds exasperated. “You won’t. That’s why I asked what you’re into. Not as a gotcha moment, but because I’m genuinely curious and want us to have hot, fulfilling sex.”
“Even if I said I want you to suck my strap in the Inkigayo bathroom?” Haewon asks.
“We can make it happen.”
“Survival show judge/contestant roleplay?”
“Bet.”
“And if I want a threesome?”
“Who should we proposition? I nominate Lily.”
Yuna mentioning her groupmate, her Lily, renders Haewon speechless.
“Did you forget that I’m an even bigger freak than you are?” Yuna laughs.
“Kind of,” Haewon says, a bit awed by her audacity. “Yeah.”
The threads of shame woven into Haewon’s body are unraveling, a tapestry of childhood confusion and adolescent grief razed by hunger. It’s almost funny. How powerful desire can be.
Night deepens and reality fractures—Haewon falls asleep with Yuna cradled in her arms. She doesn’t dream.