Chapter Text
Kyung pushes her glasses up out of habit, a reflex she has never been able to unlearn, even now in college. The room around her is alive with chatter and laughter, a blur of bodies pressed together in the tight, smoky space of the barbecue restaurant. Upperclassmen cheer as freshmen are coaxed into taking shots, their voices rising in drunken camaraderie. The scent of sizzling meat lingers in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of alcohol.
She knows she is more than a little tipsy. The warmth of strawberry soju spreads through her veins, making her limbs feel languid, her mind buzzing just beneath the surface of reason. It is an old, familiar feeling, one she has promised herself she would leave behind, but here she is again. Some habits, it seems, are impossible to shake.
Her fingers twitch at the thought, an old impulse whispering at the edges of her mind. The temptation to slip away into the dingy restroom and quell this restless heat gnaws at her. But no, not here. Not tonight.
Kyung inhales sharply and excuses herself, navigating through the throng of drunken students toward the door. The night air bites at her exposed skin as she steps outside, a stark contrast to the warmth she is trying to escape. She shivers slightly but welcomes the chill. It helps clear her head if only a little.
She grips her phone tighter, fingers hovering over the screen. One name comes to mind before she can rationalize it. It is reckless. Unnecessary. There is no justifiable reason to do this. And yet, the alcohol-infused logic convinces her otherwise.
She dials the number before she can stop herself. The ringing fills the quiet street, and she braces herself against the cold brick wall, barely registering its rough texture against her back. One ring. Two. Three and a half.
“Kyung-ah?”
Her breath hitches. Just hearing that voice, soft and familiar, sends a ripple through her already unstable composure. Her knees threaten to give way, and she lets herself sink slightly against the wall, grounding herself. She needs a moment to collect her thoughts, to reel herself in before she does something truly stupid.
Yeri’s voice is tinged with curiosity, maybe even concern, but Kyung cannot afford to sound vulnerable. Not right now. So she exhales slowly, carefully masking the hesitation in her voice. In the end, she uttered a nonsensical string of words just to break the ice.
“Hey, Yeri… Sup?”
Kyung cringed and recoiled, sliding down against the rough wall. There is a brief pause, then a quiet shuffling sound on the other end. Kyung pictures her probably sitting in a practice room, or given that it's already late, she could already be in her dorm, hair tied back after a long day of training. The thought makes something in her chest tighten.
“ Nothing much …” Yeri murmurs, then hesitates. “ Wait, are you drunk? ”
Kyung presses her lips together, debating how to answer. Admitting it feels like conceding something much larger than just the fact that she had one too many drinks. It would mean exposing the truth behind this call, the yearning, the unspoken weight of all the things she has never said.
And yet, the words sit heavy on the tip of her tongue. Instead of answering, she lets out a small chuckle. “Maybe. Maybe not. But it is nice to hear your voice.”
Yeri sighs on the other end, and Kyung imagines the way she might be rolling her eyes right now. “ You are ridiculous. Should you even be drinking this much? What if you have class tomorrow?”
Kyung grins, tilting her head back against the wall as she stares up at the dimly lit sky. “I will be fine. I just wanted to call you.”
A pause. Then Yeri’s voice softens. “ Why? ”
Kyung swallows, suddenly feeling sober in the worst way. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to hear how you are doing. Are you still practicing late?”
“ Always ,” Yeri replies with a small laugh. “ You know how it is. But I don’t mind. It is kind of nice, in a way.”
Kyung pictures it vividly—the empty practice room, the soft glow of the mirror lights, the sound of Yeri humming to herself as she perfects her routine. It is a world so different from hers, yet one that feels so painfully close.
“You work too hard,” Kyung murmurs.
“ You think too much ,” Yeri counters.
A comfortable silence stretches between them, the kind that only exists between people who have known each other too long to fill every gap with words. Kyung closes her eyes, savoring it.
Then Yeri speaks again, quieter this time. “ Kyung-ah, if you are drunk, you should get home safely. Do you have someone to walk with?”
Kyung hesitates, then sighs. “No, but I will manage.”
Yeri clicks her tongue. “ You are hopeless. ”
Kyung laughs. “And yet, you are still talking to me.”
“ Yeah ,” Yeri admits, voice gentle. “ I am. ”
Something in Kyung’s chest loosens at that. Maybe this call was reckless. Maybe she will regret it in the morning. But right now, with Yeri’s voice in her ear and the cold air grounding her, it does not feel like a mistake at all.
“If you’re not busy, can you talk to me until I’m sober?” Kyung asks, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant. Yeri hums in thought before responding, her voice warm and familiar. “ I guess I can. What do you want to talk about?”
Kyung exhales, relieved by the response. “Anything. Tell me about your day. What did you eat? How was practice?”
Yeri chuckles. “You sound like an old married couple checking in on each other.”
Kyung grins, and before she can stop herself, the words slip out. Sometimes a Freudian slip is faster than reflexes, especially when alcohol is involved. “Maybe I just miss you.”
A pause. It is brief but heavy, enough to make her stomach twist with uncertainty. For a second, she fears Yeri might hang up. But then, just barely, she thinks she hears a soft sigh on the other end.
“Practice was exhausting, as always,” Yeri finally says, her voice quieter. “ I kept messing up a part of the choreography, and the trainer wouldn’t let me leave until I got it right. I think my legs might give out tomorrow.”
The shift in topic is seamless, almost like Yeri is giving her an out; choosing not to acknowledge the weight of Kyung’s words but not dismissing them entirely either. “ But practice is over now, I’m at the dorm, I miss playing the harp. I was terrible at it, but that was much easier than all this.”
Kyung listens intently, picturing Yeri sprawled on her dorm bed, one arm draped over her eyes as she complains about training. It is almost too easy to imagine, too easy to slip into the familiarity of this moment.
“You push yourself too hard,” Kyung murmurs.
“Says the law student pulling all-nighters ,” Yeri counters.
Kyung chuckles. “Fair point.”
The conversation drifts, the topics flowing naturally between them. They talk about Yeri’s trainee life, Kyung’s grueling study sessions, and the ridiculous antics of their old classmates. It is easy, and comforting, like stepping into a warm room after being out in the cold.
Minutes stretch into an hour, and Kyung feels the haze of alcohol gradually lifting. Her head feels clearer, her body less unsteady. More than anything, she feels at peace. Yeri must have noticed the shift in demeanors and replies.
“Feeling sober yet?” Yeri teases.
Kyung breathes out, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. Thanks for staying with me.”
Yeri’s voice softens. “ Anytime. ”
As the call lingers for just a second longer, Kyung knows she will hold onto this moment, long after the night is over.
Suddenly, Yeri shifts the conversation, her voice carrying a deliberate ease as if she has no intention of letting the call end just yet. “ Do you remember the time I worked at that café? ”
Kyung’s lips curl into a smile, warmth unfurling in her chest at the memory. “How could I forget? You were a walking disaster. I swear your manager was five seconds away from firing you every single day.”
Yeri lets out an exaggerated groan. “In my defense, I was underpaid, overworked, and severely undertrained.”
“You barely lasted a month,” Kyung reminds her, teasing.
“I lasted long enough to make you free drinks,” Yeri huffs. “And you always acted so put out whenever I gave you one, but you still drank them all.”
Kyung laughs softly, leaning her head back against the wall. “They were always too sweet.”
“ That’s because you need a little sweetness in your life ,” Yeri quips, her tone playful but undeniably fond.
Kyung chuckles, but the amusement fades when Yeri’s voice shifts, quieter now, tinged with something more reflective. “ You know, if I never worked there, I probably wouldn’t be where I am now.”
Kyung frowns slightly. “What do you mean?”
Yeri hums, as if momentarily lost in the past. “ That was where I got cast. Some talent scout came in one day while I was fighting for my life against the coffee machine. I thought he was just another customer about to complain, but instead, he asked if I had ever considered becoming a celebrity.”
Kyung blinks, the memory slotting into place. “Oh. Right. That was… surreal.”
“ Tell me about it, ” Yeri laughs softly. “ I quit the next day .”
Kyung shakes her head, a fond smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”
Silence settles between them, thick with nostalgia, with things unspoken and things already understood. Then, Yeri exhales, her voice quieter, a touch hesitant. “ Kyung-ah, feeling sober now? ”
Kyung’s heart stutters. She swallows. “Y-yeah.”
Yeri hums in satisfaction. “ Good. Now, go home, idiot. Text me when you get there. ”
Kyung grins, warmth unfurling in her chest. “Yes, ma’am.”
As the call ends, she stares at her phone, the screen glowing softly against the dark night. The cold air still bites at her skin, but somehow, she feels warm inside. Maybe it is the alcohol, or maybe it is something else entirely.
Either way, she does not regret calling Yeri. Not one bit.
What she regrets though is not asking Yeri when she’s free. If they can meet up over the weekend to catch up instead of randomly drunk-calling the other on a Tuesday night. Oddly, there’s not enough alcohol in her system to muster up enough bravado to speak these words.
“Yeah, I’m sober now.” Kyung exhales, shaking her head as if to clear the last remnants of the haze. She gathers her things from the restaurant, the warmth of the night’s events still lingering in her chest. As she steps outside to hail a cab, her thumb hovers over the draft message— ‘ Got home :)’ —waiting to be sent the moment she walks through her door.