Archive of Our Own ^beta

The world was loud outside of Nayeon’s apartment. It used to bother her, the noise that dripped through her ceiling. She didn’t want to know when the upstairs neighbors were dancing, vacuuming, or moving a mysterious piece of furniture that had yet to find its place. Today, there was the added noise of rain and wind. Rainfall so loud it could’ve been mistaken as hail, and wind that whistled as it shook the trees. It was loud inside too, when Momo would turn up the TV to combat the chaos from outside. Furniture dragging, TV blasting, rain, wind, Momo’s chewing. It used to bother her, all the commotion. Sometimes, it still did. Most times, the silence was worse.

“He’s tall.”

“Right.”

“He’s got broad, muscular shoulders.”

“Yep.”

“He’s kind—”

“Very kind.”

“—and rich”

“Mhmm.” 

“So, what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know.” 

There was always something missing for Nayeon when it came to love and relationships. She’d spent a lot of time agonizing and thinking about why any romantic situation always went wrong. From a natural, mutual ghosting to a dramatic, shouting fight, nothing seemed to stick. Accusations of Nayeon not taking the relationship seriously led to her most memorable relationship failure.

“You’re going to spend your one day off with the same people you see every day?”

“They’re important to me.” 

“Then what am I?” 

“You’re great.” Neither of them pretended for a second that she meant it. Nothing, she thought, after he stormed out of her apartment, you’re nothing and I feel nothing. They never spoke again after that. Momo was left reeling after Nayeon explained to her why he wouldn’t be at their album release party.

Momo and Nayeon had had the exact same conversation four times before about four different guys. This most recent break up, Ex #5, was just a face in the crowd for Momo. His name would’ve been relevant if he’d made it to the six month mark, but he fell a week short. Nayeon didn't bother blaming it on her busy life or wanting to focus on her career, she didn't bother hiding behind the excuse of wanting to keep the fans happy. Momo stopped letting her get away with that by the third guy, who she had really hoped would work out, because he was a great cook.  

“Well, when you think about the perfect guy, what does he look like?”

“I don’t see anything, and I don’t think about that. When people talk about what it feels like to be in love, I don’t remember feeling that way about anyone I’ve dated.” She picked at the couch, taking her frustrations out on the fabric pills that’d formed.

“What do you think about then?”

“Hmm,” she sighed, “I feel loved when I get compliments, when I’m called princess, piggy back rides.” Nayeon’s list went on and on: surprise gifts, special nicknames only for her, bringing her foods she liked. “That’s what love is for me.” Momo felt a confusing sense of familiarity as she rambled.

Momo wasn’t dumb, as much as members liked to joke that she didn’t have a lot going on upstairs. Sure, her reaction times were on the slower end, and her responses could sometimes be nonsensical, but it wasn’t that she wasn’t thinking. Momo was constantly thinking a million thoughts a minute, racing from one idea to another, so her thoughts sometimes led her down paths that had seemingly no relevance or connection to the topic at hand, making sense to only herself. Nayeon’s answer, for whatever reason, brought Momo’s mind to a place that shocked even herself. The shock was short-lived, quickly replaced with a curiosity that drove her to investigate.

“Did you see the email?”  Momo asked. Nayeon had become used to Momo’s habit of giving confusing replies, but even this sudden change in topic threw her off. It only had to make sense to Momo, though.

“Right, the email from the company that should have been a phone call?” she rolled her eyes. “What about it?”

“She’s coming back in a week. Go talk to her.”

“She pushed me away, remember? Not the other way around.” She picked at her nails, staring down the rain like it had personally offended her. “It’s Jeongyeon’s specialty, she disappears when things get hard.”

“Nayeon, that’s unfair.” 

“I’m not talking about taking a break from TWICE, I’m talking about us. I’ve tried so hard, you know that.” How many other places can that thing go, Nayeon wondered, the muffled sound of furniture scraping hardwood above her head. 

“Three months, Momo,” her voice fell to a whisper. “Doesn’t she miss me?” 

Momo was torn. That’s how it was when conflicts happened within the group. There were no picking sides, no good guy or bad guy, just a short period of time where the air was thick and an angry buzzing lingered in the background. She knew why Jeongyeon pushed Nayeon away, but she also held and wiped the tears of the oldest member one too many times in the last three months. She’d even taken it upon herself to storm into Jeongyeon’s apartment and attempt to scold her for it, but it only led to a change in the door passcode and an all-consuming guilt for pushing Jeongyeon too hard. After a longer conversation with her old roommate, she realized there wasn’t anything she could do to fix things.

Nayeon felt hopeless. Hopeless and frustrated. She had been trying since the first day. It was another email, sent on the one day they had off, saying that Jeongyeon was going on an indefinite hiatus due to her mental health. In the span of just ten minutes, Nayeon had felt a whirlwind of emotions. She was worried, so she texted Jeongyeon in a panic. Then, Jeongyeon replied with a simple “I’m fine, don’t worry,” and she got angry. She waited for a follow-up text, an explanation, reassurance. As time passed with no other contact from the girl, despite Nayeon’s many efforts, she felt small and sad and some other terrible form of hurt that she didn’t have a word for. 

“You seriously won’t tell me anything?” Nayeon spent a lot of time and energy crafting her confident persona, and confident people didn’t beg. It was rare, Nayeon showing her wounds, begging for a bandage, even with someone as close to her as Momo. She wished she hated Jeongyeon, or even disliked her enough to prioritize her roommate’s peace. She loved them both, much to her dismay, too much to try and stick her foot in the fight.

“I’m telling you to talk to her. That’s all I can say.” Nayeon let out an agitated grunt and stormed to her room. 

She sat at the end of her bed and pouted, staring daggers at the items sitting on her desk. Friday, 6:27 p.m. Normally, at this time, on a Friday night, she’d be out the door, on her way to Jeongyeon’s apartment. She’d get there at 7 p.m., drop off the gift with a note that said something like “I miss you,” “Thinking about you,” or “Can’t wait to see you again,” knock on the door, then run away. The first time she did it, she didn’t run. She had been worried about Jeongyeon’s lack of communication, and decided to take matters into her own hands. With a bag of chocolates and fruit cut into hearts, she had stood at Jeongyeon’s door for 30 minutes waiting to be let in. 

Rejection wasn’t something Nayeon let herself get used to. To say she was angry after that stunt would be an understatement. Her room took the brunt of it, from the slam of the door after she stomped in, to the broken pieces of the candle Jeongyeon had given her “just because” that she’d thrown in a rage. She was embarrassed, heartbroken, confused, and had a dent in her wall, all because Jeongyeon was a runner. When she’d woken up from her rage-induced nap, the shattered candle had been cleaned up.

What really broke her that night was after the tantrum. Over her heavy breathing and through the walls, she heard Momo on the phone. “You know what you’re doing to her, right?” Momo was hardly ever in the position to scold anyone, and Jeongyeon was a runner, but, apparently, only from Nayeon. Every night since then, if she heard Momo on the phone, she’d sit in the corner of her room, ear pressed to the wall, waiting for her to put the phone on speaker. Some nights, Jeongyeon’s laughter would push through the walls and stick to her skin. Those nights would be followed by Momo asking Nayeon why she kept waking up with swollen eyes. She stopped asking after a while. 

Still, something inside her pushed her to keep going, to play Jeongyeon's game instead of giving up. Every Friday since then, she’d left a gift and a note at her door hoping that, eventually, she’d get a call. Or a text, or a visit, or something that made Nayeon feel like she still had her. It wasn’t until she received the email that she realized how long it had been — how long she had let herself be ignored and tossed aside like she wasn’t anything important. The same anger from that first night came rising up, but it was met with resistance from the overwhelming relief that Jeongyeon was okay enough to come back. Jeongyeon is okay. Jeongyeon is coming back. Words she’d repeated to herself over and over, words the members had taken turns repeating to her over and over. Now it was real, and there was no joy about it.

She stared at the gift on her desk, the bottle of barley tea that she brewed with all her love, and thought about pouring it down the drain. Down the toilet for symbolic measure, even though it would go to the same place. Much as she tried to ignore it, that mysterious force shoved its way forward, the one that urged her to not give up. It told her to try one more time. It reminded her of Momo’s useless advice to talk to the girl. How do I talk to someone who’s pretending I don’t exist? She thought about sending a long text, but it felt oddly immature. An email seemed petty, it made her chuckle. Calling wasn’t an option — she’d left too many voicemails as it was. As much as she felt she was allowed some immature and petty behavior, she didn’t want to risk hurting things further. A letter felt best. It was too formal, too cheesy, too much, but it felt right. 

6:39 p.m. 

Nayeon stared at the blank sheet of paper. Too much to say, too angry to make any of it useful. She needed Jeongyeon to know how she’d hurt her, but she didn’t want to scare her away. That’s what she did when things got uncomfortable — she ran and hid, and Nayeon didn’t know how much more chasing she could do. Why couldn’t Nayeon accept that Jeongyeon needed space? Being shut out when she thought Jeongyeon would need her most left a fire that could burn the world down. 

6:48 p.m. 

Nayeon and Jeongyeon were the two oldest members of the group. They took that responsibility very seriously. Their styles of caring for the younger members were different — Nayeon was playful and teasing, Jeongyeon was loud and strict. The girls described them as good cop and bad cop. It hurt the bad cop to hear, but she kept it in. It was the price she paid, she rationalized, hiding behind the rigid facade of hating affection. Many thought the responsibility of the eldest was the most damning — the one who takes care of all but is never cared for. As the oldest daughter in her family and the oldest member of TWICE, who would care for her? Jeongyeon, as the second oldest, made it her responsibility. She wouldn’t let Nayeon want for anything — she wouldn’t let her burn, even to her own detriment. Nayeon, as the oldest, didn’t feel like she needed protecting. 

7:01 p.m.

She blinked and there was a two page letter completed before her. She couldn’t tell you exactly what it said, and she wanted to rip it up and burn it as soon as she was finished, so she sealed it in an envelope before she got the chance. Writing the letter was healing and draining at the same time. All she could do was stare — at the envelope, then the wall, then the mirror of her vanity.

She inspected herself. Every pore and blemish, every line in her skin, searching for whatever it was that made Jeongyeon hate her. She wondered if it was something else about her, her laugh or her voice, the way she walked, the way she chewed. Whatever it was, she wanted it gone. She’d throw it out the window to make space for Jeongyeon. Chest tight, she looked away. She got up and stumbled face first onto her bed, arms dragging across her mattress searching for it. It had been her guilty pleasure the past three months when missing her got bad, when it felt like she was losing her forever. Only in the most desperate times, to preserve its condition, Nayeon found comfort in Jeongyeon’s hoodie. She brought it to her nose and she was taken back to that day. 

That day, four months ago, Jeongyeon visited with a bag of shrimp. Momo loves shrimp — she’d eat it shell and all when she felt particularly lazy. Nobody understood how she enjoyed that. Nayeon likes shrimp, but she doesn’t like food that she has to fight with. For some reason, Jeongyeon only ever brought over shrimp with the shell on. She never went without, though, because Jeongyeon didn’t mind peeling them for her. She did it without being asked, like it was expected of her. That particular day, Jeongyeon had mistakenly worn her favorite white, yellow, and navy blue hoodie. One shrimp managed to slip from her fingers and land on her stomach, right on top of her belly button. Nayeon assured her she had a special remedy from her grandmother that could get out any stain, and took the sweater away, promising to return it stain-free. Her plan was to keep it for as long as she could get away with it, then look up an easy stain-removal hack online. She realized she bit off more than she could chew when nobody on the internet had any advice for getting out shrimp-shaped oil stains.

7:09 p.m. 

Nayeon curled into herself, stained hoodie pressed to her face. For the last three months, it’d been the only way she could feel close to Jeongyeon. It smelled like her shampoo with hints of D.I.Y. stain-remover. She never let herself wear it, too scared it might lose her scent, but tonight was different. Tonight, she needed more. She slipped it over her head and hugged herself tight, recalling the feeling of being in the taller girl’s arms. She wondered when she’d hug her again — if she ever would. 

It wasn’t enough, wrapping herself in Jeongyeon’s hoodie. It was too loose, too pathetic, too embarrassing. The rain was too loud, the wind was too rough. Momo’s drama was too dramatic, the upstairs neighbor’s mysterious furniture was shaking the walls.

7:30 p.m.

Nayeon shoved her face into her pillow and screamed, then she groaned as she rolled around in bed until she hit the floor. 

7:32 p.m.

Nayeon decided that if she stared at the ceiling long enough, she might be able to figure out what the neighbors had been dragging around for the last two hours. A knock at the door interrupted her focus. 

“I’m fine, Momo, don’t worry,” she grumbled. Why is Momo panting?

“You didn’t come.”

It would’ve been hilarious if it wasn’t happening to her, Jeongyeon walking in on her wrapped in the hoodie she’d been looking for, splayed out on the ground. The world went static. A mysterious buzzing started, competing with Jeongyeon breathing as if she just ran from her apartment to Nayeon’s. Her upstairs neighbors finally found a home for the mystery furniture, or maybe they’d left it stranded, halfway to its new destination when they heard Jeongyeon’s voice. Maybe they’d missed it too, ears pressed to the ground, desperate for more — one more taste, one more word — before it was gone again. It was timid, like she thought she had to earn every word. 

Nayeon sat up lazily, “What are you talking about?” 

“It was you the whole time.” She followed Jeongyeon's eyes, the bottle of barley tea and the letter on her desk, “Even when you pull the hoodie over your eyes, I’d know those cheeks anywhere.”

She caught herself about to smile and schooled her face. Despite the very dramatic eye roll, she wasn’t able to stop the blush that spread. A very long silence followed.

“I missed you, Nayeon.”

“Fuck off.”

“I don’t want things to be awkward when I come back.”

“Wouldn’t really be my fault, would it?”

Jeongyeon didn’t have a response, not a good one, at least. Maybe I’m the Avatar, Nayeon chuckled to herself, as the wind seemed to rise along with the fire in her chest. 

She pulled herself off the floor, “I’ll be back,” – she turned before shutting the door behind her – “don’t read the letter.”

Nayeon barged into Momo’s room and found her shoving her keys into her purse. 

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving. I’ll be at–”

“You can’t go! I can’t be alone with her.” Nayeon’s panicked whisper-shouting had always been funny to Momo because it was only considered a whisper to Nayeon’s standards. 

“Isn’t this what you’ve been crying for for the past million days?” she asked.

“Not anymore. I hate her.” Momo rolled her eyes at the childish pout on Nayeon’s face. As much as she loved the oversized baby she had as a best friend, she wasn’t sure how many more times she could spew the same pieces of advice to her. She decided to give it one more go, throwing a new line over her shoulder before she was out the door.

“It’s time to grow up, Nayeon. Both of you.”

Nayeon scoffed at the back of Momo’s head and turned to go back to her room. How is any of this my fault? It didn’t matter who she talked to about the situation, everyone had found a way to insinuate that she had done something wrong. If she wasn’t so busy being angry with Jeongyeon, she’d have more room to be angry with the rest of them. She stomped back to her room. 

“Momo says you need to grow up, by the way.”

Jeongyeon jumped at her voice. If Nayeon hadn’t stormed in with smoke blowing from her ears, she would’ve seen the torn envelope first. Instead, the first things she saw were stunned, red eyes, and a gaping mouth searching for an excuse. Nayeon’s steps were usually loud. Jeongyeon wasn’t sure how she missed them. 

“It has been a long time, hasn’t it?” Jeongyeon sniffled. Her voice was thick. 

“You really never listen.” 

Idiot, you couldn’t wait? She rolled her eyes and stomped over to her bed to mask the pounding in her ears. Fuck, why’d she have to start crying?

“I’m sorry.”

Nayeon wasn’t sure what exactly she was apologizing for. Reading the letter? Coming over unannounced? The last couple months? She didn’t care much to ask because the apology wasn’t even close to acceptable by her standards. She stared at the fidgety girl, unimpressed. Jeongyeon hesitantly approached the bed and sat herself stiffly at the edge. Like a kicked puppy. Nayeon’s chest tightened. She relented.

“I’m still mad at you” — she slid a box of tissues across the bed — “but I can’t be mad at you while you’re sniffling. Stop crying.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Why are you here?” Nayeon asked.

“You didn’t come tonight.” 

“So, what, you want your gift?” 

“No!” She shifted to face her. “Nayeon, I missed you. I miss you. I was going to open the door.” 

“Three months, Jeongyeon.”

“I know.”

“Three months of me begging the girls to tell me anything about you—“

“I know.”

“—looking pathetic in front of the whole team—“

“Nayeon.”

“—and now you’re here to tell me you miss me?” Anger rose through her body, she couldn’t sit still anymore. 

Jeongyeon stood to match her height, getting worked up herself, “Do you think I’ve just been living happily without you in my life the last three months?” 

“I don’t know jack shit about you and the last three months!” 

Nayeon and Jeongyeon had the first official fight within the group shortly after their debut. The early days of TWICE were busy. It was new for all of them, their popularity soared faster than they expected, and it was overwhelming. Jeongyeon was never quick to pick up on new choreography, Nayeon was always impulsive. She had buckled under — unable to carry the weight put on her by the company, the fans, the group, and herself — it was just Jeongyeon’s luck that Nayeon landed onto her. It was hard to call it a fight, though. A fight usually meant two angry parties. What was it called when one yelled and the other hid? No matter how many times Nayeon apologized, Jeongyeon didn’t look her in the eye for three weeks. She didn’t want her apology, she just wanted to be better. 

When things got tough, Jeongyeon ran. If she thought a member was mad at her, she avoided them. When there was family drama, she didn’t visit home until it was over. For the first time, Jeongyeon was running toward the issue, not away from it. She let out a shaky breath, “I couldn’t let you see me like that, Nayeon.” 

A minute ago, their voices had gotten so loud the wind and rainfall seemed peaceful. Now, Jeongyeon’s voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the storm. It made Nayeon ache. She hated herself for screaming at Jeongyeon. She hated Jeongyeon for coming into her room and thinking forgiveness was just around the corner. She hated herself for hating Jeongyeon.

“I was pitiful and weak. I thought you’d be better off not having to worry about me.”

“That’s the stupidest excuse I’ve ever heard. All I did was worry.” 

Nayeon had been dying for an explanation as to why she’d been singled out. Every time the other members would whisper to each other across the room from Nayeon, every time Jeongyeon would call Momo late at night when she thought Nayeon would be asleep, she couldn’t help but think she was the reason for the hiatus. Now she had it, but she didn’t feel better. Jeongyeon had the decency to look ashamed. Nayeon’s voice cracked as she spoke, “Why was it only me?”

“You’re just different.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“But it’s true.”

“Did you go on hiatus because of me?” 

“No!”

“Then why am I different?” Nayeon hated how desperate she sounded, basically begging Jeongyeon to say what she wanted to hear, but she wanted it too much to care. “What makes me different from Jihyo or Momo, the ones you didn’t ignore for three months?” 

“You just are, can we leave it at that?” 

Nayeon knew what she was saying. She knew her too well to pretend she didn’t. “It’s not good enough.” Nayeon was stubborn. “I’m waiting.” 

Jeongyeon froze. I’m waiting. She thought back to the letter she wasn’t supposed to read. I love you, I’m waiting. Nayeon was waiting for her to come back to the team. Nayeon still wanted her on the team. Nayeon loved her.

“I don’t want things to be awkward when I come back, Nayeon.”

“Yeah, you said that,” Nayeon sighed. “So, you come here to make things not awkward, but all you’ve done is cry and make excuses about why you’ve been ignoring me.” 

Nayeon’s patience was creeping closer and closer to empty, Jeongyeon could sense it. Nayeon suddenly heard the familiar sound of furniture squeaking across the floor and wondered when the upstairs neighbors had grown bored of their dramatics. 

“I don’t know what the best option is anymore.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “I also don’t see a world where things don’t change.” Nayeon stared dead on while Jeongyeon looked anywhere else, fingers fidgeting, weight shifting. 

“And if you really really won’t just drop it,” she paused, finally sparing Nayeon a hopeful glance, but only being met with a head shake. “Then, fine. I guess, three months ago, I was going through a lot. And part of it was that, well, I realized some things about myself.” She wanted to be annoyed and yell at her to get to the point, but Jeongyeon was bouncing on her feet like she was getting ready to take off, so she bit her tongue. A small part of her also found her rambling endearing. 

“Okay. You’re different from everyone because I like you. Like” — her fists clenched and unclenched, her fingers went rigid, then she shook them out, pleading for any part of her body to be calm — “like a lot. Not the way I like the other members, obviously. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’s loaded, I know, but it doesn’t have to be awkward.” 

“Jeongyeon.” She tried to speak, but a loud crash and the sound of glass shattering above her head stopped her. It went silent again. Jeongyeon took the silence as an invitation to continue.

“I know you have a boyfriend, I know. I’m not trying to get in between you and your happiness, I just, well.” Jeongyeon kept shaking her head as she spoke, like she couldn’t believe she was actually saying any of this out loud, hoping she’d somehow wake herself up and realize it was all a dream. “I didn’t really want to tell you, but you said my other answer wasn’t good enough, and I came here to make you less mad at me, not more. So, really this is your fault.” 

Nayeon gasped, the tone switch caught her off guard. “My fault?”

“I didn’t know how to handle liking you on top of everything else, so I shut you out. I thought if you saw me like that, there’d be no way in hell that you liked me back. That was a shitty thing to do, and I’m sorry,” she found the courage to look Nayeon in the eyes, “but you should’ve just accepted my first answer. I could’ve moved on without you ever knowing, and it’d be fine, but now you know.”

“Hey—“

“But maybe you always knew. Apparently, I’m not a very subtle person. That’s what Momo told me, but then Jihyo said that you’re kind of slow, so maybe you didn’t know.”

“—Hey!” The distance between them became too much, Nayeon needed to hit her. 

“I didn’t agree with her!” Jeongyeon flinched as Nayeon charged closer, bracing herself. 

“My fault?” Slap “Don’t you think I deserve an explanation after the shit you put me through?” Slap “Do you know what it was like?” 

Nayeon was a cute girl, soft and elegant, but she was stronger than she looked. Jeongyeon’s shoulder would bear the consequences of its owner’s big, stupid mouth. Fifty years into the future, philosophers would argue that she intended to get hit, hoping to walk out with some trace of Nayeon in case things didn’t go well. 

“Of course you do, of course!” She grabbed the shorter girls’ wrist to prevent any more punches and held it awkwardly in the air, unsure of where to put it, only knowing that she couldn’t let go. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how else to say it — I don’t even know how many times I should say it, since I have so much to apologize for.” 

She let out a frustrated sigh and let the words tumble out, waving Nayeon’s arm mindlessly as she spoke, “I shouldn’t have ran away from you. I shouldn’t have waited so long to face you and watch you spend money on stupid gifts every Friday— no, wait, the gifts weren’t stupid, it’s stupid that I got them because I didn’t deserve them. I’m sorry I like you like that. I mean, I didn’t do it on purpose, but it shouldn’t have happened. I don’t want to lose you. But, again, it doesn’t have to be a big deal! And it isn’t, really, because—“

“Are you done yet?” 

“Yeah, but…” she pouted. Nayeon waited for her to finish her sentence, but she just kept opening and closing her mouth.

“But what?” 

“I’m scared to stop talking.” If she hadn’t tuned out the wind and rain long ago, she would’ve missed that last part. Jeongyeon had said a lot, very softly, and Nayeon wasn’t sure where to start. 

“I don’t have a boyfriend. We broke up.” She watched Jeongyeon’s shoulders perk up, ever so slightly. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” it was Nayeon’s turn to feel shy, vulnerable, “I broke up with him after I found out you were coming back.” She’d said so much in just a sentence. It carried a lot of weight, a lot of implications. The long silence brought the sounds from outside the apartment back into focus. Rain. Wind. Furniture.

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry.” Nayeon chuckled. Jeongyeon was a terrible liar. 

“Are you?”  

“Not really,” she shrugged. She had enough decency to look somewhat shameful at the admission. 

“Are you going to ask me why I broke up with him?”

“Do you want me to?” Jeongyeon didn’t care to know about them or their relationship. She liked to pretend he wasn’t real.

“Yeah.” 

“Why?”

“I didn’t love him the way you’re supposed to love someone you’re dating.” Nayeon set her gaze down to where Jeongyeon was still holding her wrist. “I heard you were coming back and, once I got past all the anger I had toward you,” she trailed off, words starting to claw at her throat, begging to stay inside. “He just wasn’t you. He didn’t make me feel like you do, and I didn’t… you know…” 

Wasn’t it always the dilemma, when driving past a car crash on the highway, whether to look out of curiosity, or to look away in fear of seeing something traumatizing? Nayeon chose to look away, laser focused on the hand around her wrist. Jeongyeon chose to look head on, trying to detect any hint of dishonesty. Then, Nayeon found some bravery and looked up, causing the younger girl to look away, switching their roles of onlooker and avoider. It was agonizing, waiting for a response, hoping the dense idiot in front of her understood what she was saying without her having to explicitly say it. She’d bared her chest enough for one night, and she wasn’t sure how much more she had left to offer. 

Nayeon went rigid when she felt a hand on her stomach, right below her belly button. “Grandma’s magical stain remedy didn’t work, huh?” 

She blushed, “You’re not getting this back.”

They stayed like that for a moment, breathing together, Jeongyeon’s right hand still holding Nayeon’s wrist, her other hand with fingers resting softly above the stain on her stomach. The air in the room felt fragile but suffocating, Nayeon could hardly breathe. 

Confessing may have been the easiest part of it all. It’s a question that’s been answered online in articles, forums, and even YouTube tutorials from people all around the world: “How to Confess Your Feelings to Your Best Friend.” Were there any advice pages for what happens after? Who was supposed to speak next? Does the girlfriend title come right after? All the tension that came with the build-up, the heaviness that weighed heavy on their chests, where do they go? 

Jeongyeon had barged into Nayeon’s room like a soldier ready for war, prepared to be rejected and cut off. She had Jihyo cancel her plans for the night in case she needed somewhere to run and drink and cry herself to sleep. She almost chickened out, almost didn’t go, until Momo threatened to drag her by the ear herself. Nayeon hadn’t rejected her, and that wasn’t an outcome she planned for, so she was lost.

Nayeon hadn’t expected Jeongyeon to show up. When she saw her in her doorway, standing like a fish out of water, she began to imagine all the paths the night might take her on. The scenario Nayeon landed on was that they’d fight, Jeongyeon would apologize a hundred times, and Nayeon would toy with her a little before admitting that she had forgiven her after the first apology. She hadn’t imagined a scenario that involved two confessions and awkward hand-holding, so she was lost. She was lost because Jeongyeon was there, giving her the world, but a grudgeful ache in her heart remained. The longer they stood, breathing, waiting, the more it built.  

“You should have come to me about this,” she sighed. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” Jeongyeon let her hands fall. “Are you still mad at me?”

“Of course I’m mad at you” — slap — “I’ve dreamed of this for years, you telling me that you like me, and I can’t even be happy because you were so stupid about it. You made me feel worthless for months, and that’s not going to go away just because you like me.”

“Love you.”

Slap. “Stop trying to distract me from being angry.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Well, that’s what’s happening, so stop talking so I can yell at you!” 

Jeongyeon dropped down to the bed with a plop. Nayeon thought she mimicked a child being scolded. She watched the pouting girl fidget with her fingers and started to miss when they were on her instead. Every time she tried to speak, she’d lose focus. 

“It was hard, you know? Going on stage and performing like a circus monkey with a hole where you should’ve been. Hearing the girls whisper about you when they thought I couldn’t hear and thinking that I was the reason for that empty spot.” Jeongyeon looked up at her with big, watery eyes that made her want to take it all back. “You can’t just avoid me when things get hard, Jeongyeon.” 

“I know.”

“We aren’t kids anymore.”

“I messed up, but I’ll fix it no matter how long it takes,” Jeongyeon said.

She wanted to paint her as the villain, put all the blame on her, and make her grovel, but it wasn’t as simple as bad guy versus good guy. Her bad guy had big, puppy-dog eyes and a sensitive heart and was, above all, just an imperfect human. Jeongyeon hurt her while she was hurting herself, and Nayeon would be a fool to pretend she’d never made that same mistake before. Still, she needed her to understand. She wasn’t meaning to kick the girl while she was down, but all the heartache had to have been for something, even if she didn’t know what. 

“It could take a long time,” Nayeon teased.

“Like, a week?”

“Maybe years.” 

“Okay,” Jeongyeon sighed, pretending to be annoyed but very relieved that she was being given a chance to make up for her poor decisions. “Have you eaten?”

Nayeon looked at the time: 10:21 p.m. With emotions simmering down, she was able to realize that she was very hungry. She shook her head. 

“I’ll buy you dinner. Part one of my road to forgiveness.” 

“Anything I want?”

Jeongyeon groaned, “Can you keep it reasonable? I haven’t worked in three months.” 

“Three months? Yeah. I had a pretty hard three months, too.” She put on her best theatrics, really emphasizing her depressed sighs and sad eyes.

“Fine, fine. Anything you want.” 

Nayeon took the defeated girl’s phone from her pocket with a giggle and jumped onto her bed. 

“Aren’t you going to open the door for me, Jeongyeonnie?” She bumped into Nayeon’s back at the abrupt stop, confusion painted on her face. It took her a moment to realize what she was talking about before she jumped into action, sliding the van door open and using her hand to shield Nayeon’s head from bumping into the roof. 

It was Jeongyeon’s first official day back with the group, and Nayeon had insisted on spending the night, then going in with her the next day. They hadn’t had much contact in the week since their conversation, so Nayeon hadn’t had the chance to use her new powers yet. Open doors, Jeongyeon thought, got it. It was a tame request compared to what Jeongyeon had imagined she’d make her do. Whatever it took, though, Jeongyeon was determined to make things right. 

She opened the car door for Nayeon again when they arrived, and Nayeon didn’t touch another door again until they reached the practice room. She had been walk-texting the entire way, trusting her new butler to make sure she didn’t bump into anything. It was her turn to crash into Jeongyeon’s back. When she looked up from her phone, ready to scold the girl, she bit her tongue. Jeongyeon was staring at the door like it had rusty nails and shards of glass sticking out of the handle. Her hands were bunching up the hem of her shirt, probably sweaty. Very sweaty, Nayeon confirmed after she grabbed one to drag her inside. 

They were the second and third ones there. Only Dahyun had beat them to it, ever so punctual, always spewing some mantra about early is on time and on time is bad, or something like that. Dahyun’s eyes lit up at their entrance, bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement. She skipped over to them with her hands behind her back, stopping right in front of Jeongyeon.

“Unnie,” she smiled, then presented a roasted sweet potato from behind her back, “I made this for you.” 

Jeongyeon laughed at the gesture, then hugged her with stinging eyes. They broke apart at the sound of the door, then a high pitched squeal. She barely had time to turn around before she was knocked to the ground, vanilla and lilac filling her senses. She never realized how much Sana’s light, airy giggles eased the heaviness in her shoulders. 

Nayeon watched from the corner of the room. She watched her trembling hands become still as Sana squeezed her tighter. She watched her walk over to her, a bounce in her step, and settle to her right, eyes painted on the door, excited to see who would arrive next. When the next member would arrive, they’d send the pair a shocked glance before the joy of seeing Jeongyeon again took over. Nayeon knew why they were surprised. It had slipped her mind to tell everyone about their talk. Momo knew, of course, having witnessed part of it, then heard about the rest when she returned home that night. It was a mystery who Jeongyeon told, if anyone at all. It wasn’t a necessity to tell anyone, though. Most of the conflicts within the group ended that way. When the two fighting members suddenly showed up on good terms, it was accepted and forgotten. Things were easier like that.

Rehearsal went on as normal. As normal as it could be — Jeongyeon struggled a little bit trying to get back into things. She was a big girl, though, so Nayeon didn’t stress about it. She was more focused on her own feet. They ached badly. She’d forgotten to bring her dance shoes to Jeongyeon’s house, so she had to borrow a pair that were too big on Jeongyeon but very snug on her. The walk back to the van was sounding less and less enticing by the minute.

“Jeongyeon,” she called. 

“Yeah?”

“My feet hurt.” 

A joke about Nayeon’s feet being too big was on the tip of Jeongyeon’s tongue, it should’ve slipped out the way rain fell from the sky. But Nayeon was staring up at her with expectant eyes, so she had to stop and ask herself why the whining girl’s feet were her concern. 

“Got it!” She felt the same excitement and satisfaction as she did when she found a sneaky lego piece, or when she mastered a new tennis technique, when she realized what Nayeon was hoping for. 

The members stared at them like they’d just stripped naked and ran down the hallways as Jeongyeon strolled past them with Nayeon on her back. The first obstacle came in the form of a closed door and full hands. She almost felt guilty, watching Jeongyeon struggle. The guilt was choked out and thrown off a bridge when Jeongyeon kicked the door open, replaced with something a bit more carnal.

Jeongyeon was exhausted by the time she dropped Nayeon off at her van and settled into her own. Every mistake she made during rehearsal was a hit to her confidence. The choreographer would say her name, then eight sets of eyes would find her before hurriedly looking away, pretending to be interested in their nails or tying their already tied shoes. She should’ve been used to the spotlight, but now it felt more like she was a limping dog that everyone stopped to coo at. Then there was the added question pounding at her skull whenever she talked to Nayeon. She could hold open doors and carry her around for the rest of their lives but the question looming over her head would eat at her. The longer it went unanswered, the longer the tightrope got. She wanted to jump off and find a hole to hide in. The guilt she carried for what she did gnawed her insides before she had time to think about complaining, though, so she pushed those thoughts far away. Instead of jumping and hiding, she decided to sleep. 

The rest of the week went on much like that, same for the next week, and the next week. Mildly uneventful except for one small quip between Jeongyeon and Jihyo one day after practice where Jihyo implied that Nayeon was taking advantage of Jeongyeon’s guilt. 

She snapped back with a “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” and they dropped it.

Jihyo was looking out for her friend, which wasn’t a bad thing, but she wasn’t looking in the right places. As much as Jeongyeon felt like the air in her lungs wasn’t hers to breathe, as much as she felt like she was running on borrowed time, she had moments of respite. Jihyo didn’t see the way Nayeon would hover close when she felt Jeongyeon getting frustrated at herself. She didn’t see how easy it became for Jeongyeon to breathe when Nayeon’s hand was in hers, forcing her attention toward some trivial piece of gossip or random fact she learned about raccoons. All the focus on the balancing act but no attention to the tether, nobody saw Nayeon’s eyes soften at the sound of Jeongyeon trying to catch her breath in between laughs. 

Aside from that, they made it to the end of the month in one piece. The girls didn’t have what a normal person would call a weekend. Full days off were few and far between but, more often than not, Fridays were at least shorter work days. This particular Friday found Nayeon outside of Jeongyeon’s door, knocking incessantly until it opened. 

“Your patience hasn’t grown at all, I see.” 

“Get dressed,” she pushed past Jeongyeon and made a beeline for her closet.“Wait, no, I’ll pick out your outfit.”

“Outfit for what?” 

“Shopping! I’m bored, and I want new clothes.” 

Jeongyeon trailed Nayeon as she searched through her closet, hanging up the shirts that Nayeon would take down and drop to the floor. “Don’t you usually go shopping with Momo?” 

“Yeah, but she’s busy tonight, and I miss you.” 

“You were here last night for dinner.” It wasn’t a complaint, just a statement. 

“Yes! Great memory.” 

Nayeon pushed some clothes into her arms and left her to change. Her next target was the kitchen, hoping to find something to drink and a snack. Before she could find anything, Jeongyeon joined her in the kitchen wearing purple shorts and an oversized white T-shirt with a purple zip-up jacket to go over it. She gave up her search in favor of taking in the sight before her. That was a new development since their conversation, Nayeon’s staring became shameless, and her expression was unreadable. It made Jeongyeon stand a little straighter, fix hairs that didn’t need fixing, and dust off imaginary dirt. If Nayeon was staring to determine if she was worth forgiving, she wanted to look her best. 

“You ready?” she asked, gaze finally breaking from the squirmy girl. Jeongyeon didn’t have time to answer before Nayeon was pushing past her, so she followed in silence, nodding her head to nobody in particular. 

The drive to the mall was easy, Jeongyeon liked driving and listening to Nayeon sing, but then they were at the mall. Jeongyeon didn’t want to complain — she was having fun guiding her distractible friend through the crowd, trying to keep her from getting squished. Every store Nayeon pulled her into meant more opportunity to get her steps in. The more items that Nayeon brought to the changing room, the better, because it gave her more time to sit and rest while she tried them on. She loved telling Nayeon that the second white tank top that had straps half a centimeter wider than the first white tank top looked better on her, then watching Nayeon get neither of them. Her favorite store was the one that let her smell ten different perfumes at once upon entrance — the way it burned her nose gave her a rush. Jeongyeon didn’t want to complain, so she didn’t. She carried Nayeon’s bags with joy and excitement. 

She was rewarded greatly for her bravery when they got back to Nayeon’s apartment. Nayeon had insisted that Jeongyeon walk her to her door, and since “Am I supposed to open my own door?” was a very compelling argument, she complied. 

“Did you have fun today?” Nayeon asked.

Honesty was the best policy, but how much honesty was right? Jeongyeon had fun, except for the parts where she didn’t. She’d always enjoyed spending time with Nayeon, but it was different now. Time together was charged and free, tense and loose, easy and hard. Time with Nayeon, lately, felt like a rollercoaster. Now, she was standing in front of her door, shopping bags indenting her fingers because God forbid Nayeon carry her own bags, with Nayeon looking up at her, head tilted, swaying side to side with her hands behind her back. 

“Yeah,” she breathed, “we should do it again.” 

Nayeon giggled at her answer, knowing full well that Jeongyeon had been annoyed since the fourth store they visited. She took the bags from Jeongyeon’s hands, allowing her to open the door. She set her bags down in the entryway before turning around, pushing up on her toes, and kissing Jeongyeon on the cheek.

“We should,” she smiled, “text me when you get home.” 

She shut the door and ran to her buzzer, switching the screen to view the camera. She almost tripped over her bags in the process, but it was worth it to see a stunned Jeongyeon touching the spot where her lips had just been. The sight gave her heartburn, or maybe it was the corndog from the mall’s food court. Whatever it was was almost enough to push her back out the door and kiss her again.

“Did you buy the whole mall?”

She jumped at Momo’s voice, “You’re home early.”

“I got tired,” she shrugged, “who’d you go shopping with?”

“Jeongyeon.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” Momo’s face was unreadable.

“It does?”

Momo scoffed, “You’re the only person Jeongyeon would cancel her plans for. Other than herself, of course.” 

“She didn’t mention anything about that. What plans?”

“She was supposed to have dinner with Jihyo and I. It was her idea, too, but then she texted about some ‘Emergency’ and asked to reschedule.”

“Shoot, I didn’t know she was going to hang out with you two. I’m sorry.”

“Try not to smile while saying it if you want to convince me you’re sorry,” she teased.

Nayeon hadn’t realized the exposing smile on her face until then. Momo made a gagging noise at the heart eyes she was sporting before rummaging through the many bags on the floor, praying one of them was from a bakery.

Jeongyeon was acting weird. She was jumpy, hot and cold. One minute they’d bicker and tease like old times, then something would scare Jeongyeon back to the doting, docile character she had created. They were standing side by side in Nayeon’s kitchen, one cooking, one watching. It had become a weekly thing, making dinner for Nayeon. 

“When are you going to give me your new code?” 

“I don’t know if giving you the ability to come in my apartment whenever you want is a good idea.”

“You love having me over.”

“Who told you that?” 

Nayeon shoved her shoulder for that one. “No one, I can see it in your eyes,” she teased. Nayeon sighed as Jeongyeon’s smile fell. “You do, right?” she asked.

“Of course,” Jeongyeon replied, “I was just teasing, I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Nayeon should’ve felt reassured, but it was all too polite. Jeongyeon was holding back, she just didn’t know how to get it out of her. 

“Jeongyeon—“

“Nayeon—“

“You go, sorry,” Jeongyeon said.

“No, you go. You haven’t said a lot tonight.” 

Jeongyeon moved the pan to the side and shut the stove off. Her hands shook like they did before she got on stage. “How much longer do I have to do this?”

“Do what?” 

“Holding open doors, piggyback rides, shopping, dinners, letting you kiss me on the cheek in front of everyone.”

Oh. “You don’t want to do any of that?” 

“It’s suffocating, Nayeon.”

Nayeon’s breathing slowed, then stopped. All the air in her lungs shot upward and wrapped around her throat, squeezing. A ringing began in her right ear, then a thud and scraping noise above her head. Weren’t we having fun? Time slowed, —You said you liked me— sped up, —Were you lying?— went backwards, —Say something. Say something. 

“Oh.” Say something else. 

“I know, I know. I said it didn’t matter how long it takes. But all of this, like, begging for forgiveness stuff — it’s kind of killing me, not knowing when or if you’re going to forgive me for everything.”

“Forgive you?”

“Haven’t I earned it yet? God, I feel like I’m disappointing you. I should want to keep trying, and I will. I swear I will,” she ran a hand through her hair, huffed. “Every time things start to feel normal again, I imagine you coming up to me and telling me you can’t forgive me after all. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” 

The ringing stopped. Nayeon felt her lungs fill and the throbbing in her chest settle. “Jeongyeon,” she let out a shaky laugh, “I forgave you a long time ago.” 

The kimchi fried rice in the pan was growing colder by the minute. Jeongyeon didn’t mind eating cold rice. Nayeon needed it piping hot.

“You did?” 

“Yeah, I wasn’t serious about making you work for it forever. That would be mean,” she took her hand. “I know why you did what you did. You know it hurt me. I know you’re sorry. There’s no need to drag it out.” 

A prompt thud from the ceiling provided a momentary distraction. Cheering followed. 

“So, why am I still doing all these things for you?” 

“Ah,” Nayeon became shy, “isn’t it just typical girlfriend stuff?” 

“Girl— what? What girlfriend?”

“You girlfriend,” Nayeon smiled. It was as if she’d just said that grass is green and the sky is blue. 

“Since when? We never talked about that. I never asked!” 

“You said you liked me, I said I liked you. When did you become so old-school?” 

“So, we’ve been, you know, together, for a month now?” 

“I thought so, at least.” 

Nayeon laughed to herself as she watched Jeongyeon, mouth slightly open, try to process what was going on. Somewhere, somehow, there was a vein connecting Nayeon’s heart to her pupils, as all the adoration and love she felt for the idiot before her was pouring out of her eyes. 

“Wait!” — her outburst made Nayeon jump — “we can’t be dating. We haven’t kissed yet.” 

“You’re like a stray cat I’m trying to win over. I’m going at your pace.” 

Neither confusion nor pink cheeks would ever leave Jeongyeon’s face alone. She didn’t know why she felt so off. “I feel like I should still ask you. Officially, to — you know.” 

“Okay, ask me.” Nayeon perched herself up on the counter and waited, patiently. She waited while Jeongyeon’s face switched back and forth from confidence to worry, bravery to doubt. She waited as Jeongyeon paced, bit her lip, chewed on her nails—

“Don’t do that.” 

—took her nails out of her mouth. It was ridiculous but endearing. Nayeon had made it clear that she wanted this, so what was she scared of? 

“Take your time,” she said. After six more laps around the kitchen, Jeongyeon parked herself in front of Nayeon, stopping her legs from swinging.

“Okay. Nayeon—“

“Yes!”

“I didn’t ask yet.” 

“I already know my answer.”

“Nayeon,” she whined. 

“Okay, sorry. Continue.”

“Will you be my girlfriend?” 

Nayeon grinned at the girl in front of her. The girl panting like they’d just finished a performance, sweating like she’d just gotten home from tennis practice. The girl with uneven, chewed up nails and a pimple on her chin. Jeongyeon made her feel giddy. She made bubbles float from her stomach to her head, lifting her up into the clouds. She made the songbirds louder and the fruit sweeter. Jeongyeon was loud, heavy rain and haunting, hostile wind. She made breathing painful and she made pain beautiful. Nayeon’s heart beat more erratically after a second of looking into her eyes than an hour at the gym. Jeongyeon made her feel giddy, warm, and safe. 

“Yeah,” she smiled so hard her cheeks burned, “as long as you’ll be mine.”