Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Returning to Seoul felt surreal.

Jeong Hayeon stepped out of Incheon Airport and was struck by the soft dissonance in the air—everything familiar, yet everything changed. The buildings stood the same, the wind still carried that faint hum of distant traffic and old conversations, but the rhythm of the city no longer moved with her steps. It had been ten years. Ten years since her last breath of Korean air. Ten years since she’d let herself remember how it used to feel.

She reached into her coat pocket for her phone, watching as the signal flickered to life. A slow connection, but steady. Finally. The message she typed was simple—Just landed. Where are you? You promised. It went to Soomin, one of the few people whose name in her contacts hadn’t changed through the years. She sent it, then lowered the phone and let her eyes wander across the sea of arrivals and reunions. People embracing. People rushing. People crying. She just sat, her luggage pulled close, feet still and heart unusually quiet.

Her mind began to drift before she could stop it.

There were four of them.
Her.
Soomin.
Hyerin.
And Chaewon.

Back then, they weren’t remarkable. Just four kids trying to survive high school without combusting. Their friendship had started with a botched home economics project—a half-mixed batter, no baking powder because Hyerin forgot it, and missing strawberries because Chaewon had “accidentally” eaten them on the way to class. Chaos. A different group lent them ingredients at the last second, and somehow, they managed to salvage it. Just barely.

And that near-disaster is what stitched them together.

She smiled at the memory—at Hyerin and Chaewon slumped over the table, too guilty to defend themselves while Soomin unleashed a full-scale rant. It had been ridiculous. And funny. And strangely warm. After that, they kept finding excuses to be around each other. Soomin always dragging them to try new cafes, Hyerin persuading them to join her dance club, and Chaewon convincing them that some weird little strawberry festival was worth attending. It actually had been. That surprised all of them.

Hayeon hadn’t realized how deep she'd gone into memory until she noticed someone waving furiously at her from across the terminal.

That smile. That energy. There was no mistaking her.

“Jeong Hayeon!” Soomin’s voice cut through the din like sunlight through fog. She half-ran, half-bounced toward her, wrapping Hayeon in an unceremonious, tight hug that stole the air from her lungs.

Hayeon let out a breathy laugh, arms closing around her old friend.
“Ah… Kim Soomin.” Her voice came out soft, still adjusting to the realness of this moment. “How have you been?”

Soomin pulled back just enough to beam at her. “I’m dying, but I feel so alive right now because of this reunion!”

That was always her—dramatic, expressive, impossible not to smile around.

Hayeon let her talk, let her fill the silence between them like she always had. The years hadn’t dulled her at all. If anything, she burned brighter.

And for the first time since stepping off that plane, Hayeon allowed herself to feel grounded.

Hayeon had told her, clearly and more than once, that she planned to rent a place while staying in Seoul. A small studio, nothing fancy—just enough to sleep, shower, and stay out of everyone’s way. She wanted to keep boundaries. She wanted to respect the space her friends had carved out for themselves with their own sweat and tears.

But Soomin was Soomin.

Which meant that by the end of day two, Hayeon found herself standing in the living room of Soomin’s apartment, watching in stunned silence as her airbnb reservation was cancelled from a phone that wasn’t even hers. The payment was refunded. Soomin had already paid out of her own pocket—non-refundable, of course. The app pinged with a notification, and the deed was done before Hayeon could protest. Again.

She followed Soomin down the hallway, trailing after the woman who now had one of her suitcases in tow.

“Soomin,” Hayeon muttered, exasperated, “Why can’t you just let me be?”

Soomin didn’t stop. She reached the spare room, threw the door open, and rolled the luggage in like it belonged there.

“You literally have this place for you and Hyerin—”

“You know we broke up, Hayeon,” Soomin replied, a quiet sigh flattening her voice. “I’ve told you already.”

There was no bite to it, no raised tone. Just tired truth.

Hayeon stood at the threshold of the room, mouth half-open, words fumbling in her throat. “But she loves you, girl…”

She didn’t know where that came from. Or why it came out in present tense.

“There’s no way she left without—”

“Without wanting to come back?” Soomin’s smile flickered into something sharper. It wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t soft either. Bittersweet, maybe. Hayeon’s words stalled there, left to hang awkwardly between them.

Soomin’s gaze fell briefly to the floor, like she was measuring her strength before she spoke again.

“Don’t think too much about it. Just use the room.” She turned away like that was final, but then paused, turned back around, softer this time. “Also… get some rest. We’ll go out for dinner later.”

Hayeon nodded, the moment fragile in her chest. “Okay…”

She hesitated. “Soomin,” she said quietly, just before the other woman could shut the door.

Soomin froze at the frame, her hand resting on the knob, waiting. Her eyes met Hayeon’s, guarded but open enough for something to pass through.

“I’m sorry,” Hayeon said, gently. “About you and Hyerin…”

For a heartbeat, Soomin didn’t move. Then her lips lifted into a smile—but this time it didn’t reach her eyes. Not really.

“Things happened,” she said. “I’ve loved her for a while. And I guess… it’s time for me to walk a new path. Without her.”

There was something final in the way she said it. Not angry. Not even grieving. Just resigned. Like someone trying to believe their own words.

“It’s—” Hayeon started, unsure of what she was even trying to offer.

“See you in the evening,” Soomin said quickly, cutting her off before she could finish. And then the door closed with a soft click that felt heavier than it should have.

Alone, Hayeon took a slow breath and looked around the room. It was neat, almost untouched. There was a small plant on the windowsill, half-wilted from sunlight, and the sheets were newly laundered but slightly wrinkled, like someone had sat on them recently and left in a hurry.

Ten years. A decade had come and gone. Of course things had changed.

Soomin had changed.
Hyerin had changed.

Had Chaewon changed too?

There was only one way to find out.

Chapter Text

When Soomin had called—voice cracking, words barely forming sentences—Hayeon was waist-deep in her final reports for the case. A string of evidence, witness notes, and timestamped footage blinking across her screen. It had been a long week. But the moment she heard that shiver in Soomin’s voice, everything else faded. She shut her laptop, slid her files into a drawer without care, and held the phone closer, as if proximity could do anything to keep someone from breaking.

She didn’t speak much. Just listened. Let Soomin sob until the silence between her words steadied enough to breathe through. She had questions—about what happened, about why now—but none of them felt urgent. Not compared to the ache that needed room.

Later that evening, the quiet settled in. The kind of quiet that doesn’t hum with peace, but with absence. Hayeon sat on the edge of her bed, phone in her hand, her thumb hovering over the screen like it might burn. Her contacts list felt unfamiliar now, filled with names she hadn’t tapped in years. And then she found one:
Strawberry Princess 🍓

Her heart twitched.

When the line connected, and Chaewon picked up, the first thing Hayeon noticed wasn’t even the words—it was the texture of her voice. Low, worn-in, still effortlessly calm.

“I forgot your voice could be that deep…” Hayeon said before she could stop herself.

A warm laugh answered her. Familiar. Tethering.

“Oh yeah? Did you like my high-pitched voice that much?”

That smile in her voice—God, Hayeon had missed it.

“Are you kidding me? Of course! That voice only came out when I kissed your cheek. How could I not love it?”

“Kissing Monster,” Chaewon teased, just the same. There was a rustle on the other end of the line, like she was shifting on a bed, or pulling a blanket over her legs.

And then, softly—
“So… Soomin and Hyerin…”

“You figured I called to check on Hyerin, didn’t you?” Hayeon leaned back into the sofa, exhaling.

“I was actually about to call you,” Chaewon admitted. “To ask about Soomin. But you beat me to it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—but it wasn’t easy, either. It hung between them like an unfinished sentence.

“They were together for what… five years?” Hayeon said quietly. “I can’t wrap my head around it. They seemed so—”

“Stable?” Chaewon offered.

Hayeon nodded, even though no one could see. “I just can’t fathom what happened. What goes wrong after five years?”

Chaewon didn’t answer right away. There was a soft sigh on her end, the kind that comes from someone searching for words in a place that doesn’t have them.

“We’re not experts at love, Hayeon,” she finally said. “None of us are. Not even Hyerin and Soomin. They didn’t plan for this either… sometimes things just fall apart, even when they’re full of love.”

Hayeon’s fingers curled into her sleeve. “When did it start unraveling…? I should’ve seen something.”

There was another pause. Then, gently, almost like a lullaby:

“I don’t know, Hayeon. Maybe we’re not supposed to know. Maybe the best thing we can do now… is let them go through it. Let them feel it. We can hold space, but we can’t hold them together.”

A beat passed. The silence no longer felt like absence. It felt like understanding.

“Yeah,” Hayeon murmured, closing her eyes, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re right.”

But still… a part of her ached with the helplessness of it all. With the sharp reminder that not even love guarantees staying. And as she listened to the calm rhythm of Chaewon’s breathing through the phone, she wondered how many other things they thought were unbreakable… and weren’t.

When Chaewon used to declare—boldly, with her hands dramatically thrown in the air—that she would one day be a successful strawberry farmer, the others had laughed. Not cruelly, but with the kind of disbelief born from youth. It was hard to imagine anyone trading Seoul’s bright cityscape for soil and sun.

But standing now at the edge of Chaewon’s sprawling countryside property, Hayeon saw it.

The house stood tall, surrounded by rows of carefully cultivated fields that looked like they belonged in a magazine spread. The air smelled faintly of fruit and earth—sweet and real. Somehow, the reality of it all made her chest tighten. She actually did it.

Their reunion was supposed to feel like those old sleepovers. Back when their world was as small as their shared snacks and borrowed hoodies. Before Hyerin became a full-time choreographer and stage director, commanding stages and troupes with a sharp eye and sharper voice. Before Soomin became a podcast host and influencer, unraveling the quiet chaos of adulthood through mics and screens. Before Hayeon traded Korea for Tokyo, building a life in law, her days a blur of courtrooms, stiff suits, and silence.

Back when they still believed nothing would ever change.

But things had changed.

As they stepped inside Chaewon’s house, Hayeon kept her eyes on Soomin and Hyerin. She had worried this would be awkward. That seeing each other again—after the breakup—would fill the room with tension. Instead, she watched them laugh, soft and natural, as they wandered into the kitchen like they’d done it a hundred times.

She stood still. Her feet wouldn’t move. Her heart even less.

What the hell…?

How could they act like nothing happened? The confusion tangled in her chest—relief, suspicion, something else she couldn’t name. Her hand tightened around the strap of her bag, but before she could spiral any further—

“How long are you going to stand there?”

A voice. Warm, teasing. So unmistakably her.

Hayeon didn’t even have to turn around. Her lips curved before she could stop them.

And there she was.

Chaewon.

Time hadn’t stolen the way she looked, but it had refined her. Her smile had a weight to it now—not heavier, but fuller, like someone who had weathered storms and grown in their sunlight. She moved toward Hayeon like she always had, arms out, eyes knowing.

Without a word, she linked their arms, her body familiar against Hayeon’s side. “Aren’t you going to say something? Hm?”

Hayeon laughed, reaching up to pinch her cheek. “Gosh, look at you…” she murmured. “Still as cheeky as ever.”

Chaewon opened her mouth to reply—but didn’t get the chance.

Before she could react, Hayeon leaned in and kissed her cheek, quick and mischievous. The same way she used to.

Chaewon jumped a little, letting out a surprised squeal—her voice flipping into that ridiculous high pitch that only came out when she was startled. Hayeon loved that sound. Still did.

“You should’ve led with that!” Chaewon laughed, eyes crinkling with genuine joy. “I thought years of being an attorney would’ve tamed you.”

Hayeon shrugged, smile curling slow and smug. “How could I ever change the part of me you liked the most?”

Chaewon gave her a look, one that danced somewhere between amused and challenged. “I never said I liked it.”

“Oh, please.” Hayeon rolled her eyes, bumping her shoulder into Chaewon’s. “Don’t start playing hard to get now.”

Behind them, golden hour draped the room in soft amber light. The walls glowed with the sunset, and the laughter echoing from the kitchen added a soundtrack to their moment—like the past had folded itself neatly into the present.

But even beneath the warmth, a quiet thread of unease still curled in Hayeon’s chest. Watching Soomin and Hyerin laugh together, hearing Chaewon’s voice again, feeling how easy it was to fall back into place… It was comforting. It was terrifying.

Because sometimes the things that feel most like home are also the things that hurt the most when you lose them.

And she wasn’t sure—after everything—if they were here to rebuild what they had.

Or just to say goodbye to it properly.

Chapter Text

Kim Chaewon was what Hayeon would call a slow burn. The kind of person who didn’t reveal herself all at once. At first glance, she seemed reserved—quiet, even shy—but just beneath that soft-spoken exterior was someone downright cheeky. Mischievous. The kind of person who loved to poke fun at others but fell apart the moment the teasing was turned back on her.

That was, perhaps, what made her so dangerously easy for Hayeon to adore.

She flushed like clockwork—every time Hayeon leaned in, whispered something playful, or planted one of those deliberately casual kisses on her cheek. It never failed. Chaewon would yelp or squeal, slap her arm half-heartedly, eyes wide with exaggerated betrayal. It was predictable. Comforting. Addictive.

Just like now.

The sky outside had long since turned indigo, the windows catching only the dim shimmer of stars above the fields. Inside, the four of them had sprawled across the living room, half-lounging on throw pillows and mismatched blankets, circling around a coffee table littered with half-finished drinks, lemon slices, and a bottle of vodka that had taken more hits than expected.

Truth or Drink had begun as a joke—just something to make the evening feel like old times—but now, with the alcohol in their systems and the warmth of nostalgia loosening their tongues, the game had turned sharp. Revealing.

Soomin, unsurprisingly, was losing hard. Not because she was bad at lying—but because every question they threw at her seemed to hit the softest, messiest parts of her past. She laughed through it, cheeks flushed, neck warm with drink, but Hayeon could see it. The careful way her eyes flickered toward Hyerin after every shot. The way she overcompensated with jokes.

And Hyerin—stoic, sharp-tongued Hyerin—was riding a steady wave. Calm, controlled. Too controlled. Suspiciously controlled, if Hayeon was honest.

That’s when Chaewon leaned in close, her breath brushing just below Hayeon’s ear. “I bet they’ll wake up next to each other tomorrow morning.”

Her voice was low, conspiratorial, teasing.

Hayeon turned to look at her—and there it was. That smug little smirk. Chaewon was so pleased with herself.

Hayeon’s smile curled in kind. “Undoubtedly,” she whispered back.

Because she knew Hyerin too well. Beneath that edge and fire, she was the softest heart in the room. And Soomin—emotional, stubborn Soomin—was all raw nerves and unfinished sentences. If they ended up wrapped around each other on that very couch by morning, Hayeon wouldn’t bat an eye.

But just as she started imagining the two of them tangled in blankets and unresolved feelings, Hyerin’s voice cut through the haze.

“Your turn, Hayeon.”

Hayeon blinked. “Huh?”

Hyerin leaned forward, lips curving into a wicked smile. “Is there anything you don’t know about Chaewon?”

A beat.

Silence, almost too loud.

Hayeon looked at Chaewon instinctively—who looked very pleased with herself. Her chin was propped lazily in her palm, her eyes lit with mischief. She didn’t say anything. Just watched. Waiting.

It was a trap.

And Hayeon fell right into it.

“What kind of question is that?” she tried, laughing a little too quickly. “Seriously?”

“Oh, come on,” Hyerin said, smug, leaning back into the couch. “You two are basically in each other’s heads. I want to know if there's anything left that still surprises you.”

Soomin, grinning like a devil, picked up the shot glass and filled it without a word.

“You paused,” she sing-songed. “Too long~”

Chaewon chimed in sweetly, “She did.”

Hayeon glared. “This is sabotage.”

“No,” Hyerin replied, all mock-innocence and triumph, “this is the type of question that stumbles the great Jeong Hayeon.”

The others laughed—but Hayeon barely heard them.

Because the truth was, the question lingered longer than it should have.

Was there something she didn’t know about Chaewon?

She thought she did. Every habit, every childhood story, every tell when she was bluffing. She knew how Chaewon hated thunder but loved the sound of rain. She knew her favorite strawberries came from a farm she once visited on a whim. She knew how she laughed hardest when she was nervous and how her voice dropped an octave when she was tired.

But what about now?

Morning didn’t need to arrive for the night to settle into something soft and quiet. Back inside, Soomin and Hyerin had already collapsed onto the couch, curled unconsciously into each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. The game had long ended, the bottles half-full and the glasses forgotten, but the warmth lingered in the air—like the crackle of a fire that had dimmed to gentle embers.

Hayeon stepped out onto the balcony, the cool night air brushing her skin and grounding her as her heart still hummed with leftover adrenaline. She leaned her forearms on the railing, taking in the view. Chaewon’s home sat high enough to offer a glimpse of the distant city lights, but here—away from the noise—everything felt still. Peaceful. The type of peace you earn, not stumble into. And in that quiet, she let herself admire the life Chaewon had built. The woman who once said she'd be a strawberry farmer had really done it. And not halfway, either. This house—this warmth—it was success shaped with gentleness.

Then came the soft sound of a door creaking behind her. Bare feet padding across the wooden floor.

And then, arms. A familiar pair snaked around her waist, and a chin gently settled on her shoulder. Hayeon didn’t have to turn to know. The quiet weight of her felt unmistakable.

“Why are you awake?” Hayeon asked, keeping her voice soft. “I literally brought you to your room already.”

Chaewon mumbled against her shoulder, her words slurred with drowsiness and something close to a pout. “You weren’t there. And Hyerin and Soomin looked all cuddly and cute. It annoyed me.”

Hayeon let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re such a brat when you're sleepy.”

She turned in Chaewon’s arms and gently circled her own around the smaller woman’s waist. Chaewon didn’t resist—just leaned into her, eyes half-lidded, her body warm and pliant with leftover sleep. It would’ve been easy to tease her right then. Hayeon always had the upper hand when Chaewon was like this. But instead, she just looked.

That’s when she noticed.

The earrings, simple and silver, glinting under the balcony light—Hayeon had given them to her during their school years. The delicate necklace that rested just above the collar of her sleep shirt—another gift, one she had given to celebrate Chaewon finally starting her own strawberry farm. And the bracelet around her wrist—brand new, something Hayeon had slipped into her hand earlier that afternoon, just because.

“You really do wear everything I’ve given you,” Hayeon murmured, surprised by the realization.

Chaewon blinked, then smiled gently. “Well, yeah. They’re from you. I’ve got so many now that I could rotate them for a whole month.”

Hayeon found herself laughing under her breath, the sound laced with disbelief and something warmer. “What about the ribbon?”

“The green one? I wear it when I go out to the fields,” Chaewon said. “I’ll wear it tomorrow when we pick strawberries, promise.”

Her arms loosened from around Hayeon’s neck, only to shift—now resting lightly on her shoulders. Her eyes studied her for a moment, quiet and searching.

“You’ve changed,” she said at last, not unkindly.

Hayeon’s brow lifted. “Have I?”

Chaewon nodded. “The good kind of change. You still have your edges, but… they’ve softened in the right places. You feel more grounded now. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.” Her voice softened. “But I like it. I like the person you’ve become. I love having you around.”

That last part sank into the silence between them like a stone dropped into still water.

Hayeon looked into her eyes, uncertain how to reply without unraveling a thread that might lead somewhere neither of them were ready to go.

So she simply asked, “Really?”

And Chaewon, with her arms still loose but sure around her, nodded once more. No hesitation. “Yup.”

And beneath the soft hush of night, with the scent of strawberries still faint on Chaewon’s skin, Hayeon felt something quiet stir in her chest. Something she wasn’t quite ready to name. But it felt a lot like home.

Chapter Text

“Morning, Hyerin.”

“Morning, Hayeon.”

Their voices met in that quiet hush particular to early mornings, when the world was still shaking off sleep and everything felt slightly slowed down. The kitchen was filled with the scent of coffee and toasted bread, warm and grounding. Sunlight poured through the tall windows in soft ribbons, golden and hazy, casting lazy shadows across the wooden floors.

They both sat at the table, fingers curled around steaming mugs like lifelines. Hayeon’s hair was still slightly tousled, Hyerin’s hoodie was a little too big—probably stolen from Soomin sometime during the night.

Soomin herself was a barely-functioning entity in the living room, sunk deep into the couch, cradling her coffee like it held the key to resurrection. Her eyes were hollow, and her soul clearly had not yet returned to her body. Chaewon had gone off somewhere—probably prepping the baskets for their visit to the strawberry fields—but for now, the house was quiet, the world briefly just the two of them.

“So…” Hayeon began, a slow grin tugging at her lips. “You and Soomin looked very cozy last night…”

Hyerin didn’t respond right away, but Hayeon caught the telltale flicker of color blooming at the tips of her ears. That was enough of a confirmation.

She leaned back, smug. “Did you two kiss this morning?”

It was meant to tease—nothing more. Hayeon loved getting under Hyerin’s skin; it had always been easy, and endearingly so. But when Hyerin didn’t immediately answer, when she turned her face slightly away and stared into her coffee like it was about to reveal the secrets of the universe, Hayeon felt her curiosity spark into full flame.

“No way…” Hayeon whispered, leaning in with gleaming eyes. “You kissed her?”

There was a pause—just long enough for tension to coil in the air—and then Hyerin’s voice came out small, barely above a murmur.

“It was more of… making out.”

Hayeon’s jaw dropped, her gasp theatrically loud as she whipped her head toward the living room. Soomin still looked half-dead, unaware she was currently the subject of this morning’s most delicious scandal.

Then Hayeon turned back to Hyerin, eyes wide and alight with laughter. “Girl…”

“Shut up,” Hyerin muttered, hunching her shoulders, but the flush had spread to her cheeks now. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her mug, her expression caught between bashful and annoyed.

“No, but—girl,” Hayeon insisted, grinning like a cat with cream.

“Zip it!” Hyerin snapped, but there was no bite to it. Just heat. Just the weight of a moment that meant more than either of them wanted to admit.

Hayeon finally let herself laugh—too loud, too amused, and exactly what the morning needed. The sound filled the kitchen, warm and infectious, and for a second, everything felt light. Tangled feelings, heartbreaks, reunions—they could wait. Right now, there was only the smell of coffee, the promise of strawberries, and the joy of knowing that something good—something real—might just be blooming again.

And what a way to start the day.

“That would explain why Soomin’s hoodie ended up on Hyerin’s,” Chaewon said with a smirk, crouched low in the sun-drenched rows of her strawberry field. Her gloved fingers delicately plucked a ripe berry, inspecting it like it was a precious gem. “Look at them—cozy as hell. Breakup my ass.”

Hayeon laughed softly, shielding her eyes from the morning sun as she glanced across the field. Sure enough, Hyerin and Soomin were walking side by side a few rows away, baskets in hand, bumping shoulders like it was second nature. Like nothing had ever gone wrong.

“It’s kind of cute,” Hayeon murmured, her smile lingering a little longer than she expected. This place… this day… It felt like something she hadn’t known she missed.

Then Chaewon straightened up beside her, brushing her hand off on her apron and squinting toward Hayeon. “I know you’re smart,” she said, teasing in that way only Chaewon could pull off, “but damn, you really followed through on my instructions.”

She gave Hayeon a thumbs-up, eyes crinkling at the corners with pride and just the faintest bit of mischief.

Hayeon tilted her head, playing along. “So, do I get to be promoted to Kim Chaewon’s official strawberry farmer now?”

Chaewon narrowed her eyes, pretending to consider. “Mmm… nah,” she replied, dragging the word out playfully. “Don’t think I want a Jeong Hayeon roaming around my strawberry field.”

Hayeon raised an eyebrow. “What? I’m doing great here! You just said so—so what’s the problem?”

Chaewon didn’t answer right away. She stepped closer, just enough to close the space between them, and then—without warning—leaned in to press a quick kiss to Hayeon’s cheek.

“That’s why,” she said, pulling back with a grin that made Hayeon’s heart skip. “If I let you stay, I’ll end up giving you a kiss every time you do something right. And we’d never get any work done.”

For a beat, Hayeon just stood there, stunned—cheeks tingling from the warmth of the kiss, but more than that, from the deliberateness of it. From the fact that Chaewon had done it so easily. Like she’d been thinking about it.

She looked at Chaewon’s laughing face, her confident posture, the way her earrings caught the sunlight—gifts from Hayeon, all of them. A thread of something unfamiliar wove into her chest—longing, maybe, or the realization that something old between them had quietly started to shift into something new.

“You’re not going anywhere, Kim Chaewon,” Hayeon said, voice a little quieter than before. A little more sincere.

Chaewon stuck her tongue out, clearly not ready to let the moment grow too serious. “Catch me if you can, Attorney Jeong~” she sang, spinning on her heel and darting down the row.

Hayeon rolled her eyes, but her smile was unstoppable as she took off after her.

The sun had settled into its late morning warmth, casting a golden sheen across the strawberry fields. Hayeon sat on a wooden crate, wiping a smear of dirt off her palm as her gaze wandered—inevitably—toward Chaewon.

There was something almost surreal in watching her like this. Confident. Focused. Steady. The playful, cheeky Chaewon that Hayeon had known for so long—who used to poke her ribs just to get a laugh, who would whine dramatically when teased—was still there, but layered now beneath someone so capable.

She directed her workers with an ease that came from earned trust. She moved from packaging to logistics to field management like she had done it all her life. Hayeon found herself leaning forward slightly without realizing, almost like her body was pulled by the sheer magnetism of how much Chaewon had grown.

Then came a nudge on her shoulder.

Hyerin appeared, handing her a cold drink and flopping down beside her with a tired groan. Her forehead glistened with sweat, but her smile was calm. Proud.

“Goodness,” Hyerin said, watching the same sight Hayeon couldn’t take her eyes off, “I knew she’d grown a lot. But seeing her like this—it still surprises me. She really fought for all this, didn’t she?”

Hayeon took the drink and nodded, still watching Chaewon’s back as she knelt to fix a broken crate. “Yeah,” she murmured. “And you did too. You’ve been booked for three idol groups, Hyerin. That’s insane. You’re really making it.”

Hyerin smiled, soft and humble. “I guess we all changed. Not always smoothly, but enough to get by. Enough to keep trying.”

She gave Hayeon a light smack on the arm. “And you’re flying back into court after this trip, right? Another case. Another win.”

Hayeon raised her drink in mock toast. “Hopefully,” she said with a grin.

A gentle quiet settled between them, the kind that only years of friendship could stretch out so comfortably.

Then Hyerin broke it. Casually. Too casually.

“So when are you going to confess to Chaewon?”

Hayeon choked. She sputtered into her drink, coughing and blinking wildly at Hyerin, who was unfazed—like she’d just asked what time lunch was.

“Excuse me?!” Hayeon finally managed.

Hyerin only shrugged, leaning her elbow on her knee. “Come on. You kissed her all the time back in school. I thought you two were just taking your sweet time before making it official. Honestly, I assumed you’d end up dating before me and Soomin ever figured our mess out.”

Hayeon blinked. “Wait. What...?”

That’s when Hyerin’s eyes widened in slow, amused horror. “You... you seriously didn’t know?” She started laughing, loud and incredulous. “Oh my god, Hayeon. She likes you. She liked you for years. She’s been holding out hope for years.”

Hayeon sat frozen. Her grip on the drink loosened slightly. Her mouth moved but no words came out. Memories began flashing behind her eyes—the way Chaewon always lit up when she entered the room, how she flinched and flushed at every cheek kiss, how she kept every little gift, no matter how small, like it was a treasure.

You dummy, she thought. You absolute idiot.

She had been so wrapped up in their rhythm—playful teasing, easy affection, that constant undercurrent of warmth—that she hadn’t stopped to consider what it all meant to Chaewon. Or to herself. She had just kept dancing in that gray space, not knowing Chaewon was standing there with her heart in her hands the entire time.

Hyerin stretched and stood, cracking her spine as she looked back toward the field. “You should tell her,” she said, not turning around. “Before you go. Before you leave again and she starts thinking it was all one-sided.”

She glanced back over her shoulder, voice gentler now. “No one stays in love with someone for ten years, Hayeon. Not unless they believe—somewhere deep down—that it’s worth it.”

Then she walked off toward Soomin, leaving Hayeon sitting there in stunned silence, her heart suddenly beating too loud for the quiet of the morning.

Chapter Text

Hayeon’s mind raced, each thought crashing into the next, sharp and unrelenting. She paced back and forth in her room, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the cool edge of the desk, the weight of the truth heavy in her chest. Ten years. Ten long years of unspoken feelings, of watching Chaewon silently suffer in the background, all while Hayeon had been oblivious — ignorant of the heartache that had quietly twisted itself around Chaewon’s every smile, every playful tease.

The guilt was suffocating. Hayeon could barely breathe. She had hurt Chaewon, and the thought felt like a weight she couldn’t escape. All this time, Chaewon had been waiting, holding her heart in the quietest, most painful way. And Hayeon? She had been so wrapped up in her own world, too blind to notice. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut, each blow harder than the last. The idea that Chaewon had been watching her, loving her silently for years — believing Hayeon would never feel the same, or worse, that Hayeon was simply playing with her... It was a thought so cruel, so unfair, that Hayeon couldn’t stomach it.

Her heart ached, a physical pain that clung to her ribs, squeezing the air out of her lungs. Why had it taken her this long to realize? Why hadn’t she seen the signs earlier? All those little moments, all those stolen glances, the way Chaewon would laugh just a little too hard at her jokes, the way she’d linger just a second longer than necessary whenever their arms brushed. Had Chaewon always been this vulnerable with her, and Hayeon had just missed it?

Hayeon clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms as if the pain could somehow anchor her to the present, pull her out of this whirlwind of regret. She couldn’t undo the past, couldn’t fix the years she had wasted. And yet, she had to make it right. She had to find a way to tell Chaewon — to let her know, once and for all, that everything Hayeon had been afraid to admit was finally real. She was in love with her. She had been for a long time. And it was only now that she could see it, crystal clear, breaking her open in the most beautiful, terrifying way.

But Chaewon was busy. Always working, always giving, always moving. The image of Chaewon’s focused expression as she handled everything around her, the way she had built her success from the ground up, left Hayeon in awe. Chaewon was a force of nature, and Hayeon couldn’t help but admire her strength. But it also made her feel small. So small in comparison. Chaewon didn’t need her to fix things. She was doing just fine on her own.

Yet, Hayeon couldn’t stand the thought of Chaewon carrying this weight alone for another second. She couldn’t bear to let her think that Hayeon wasn’t here, wasn’t present, wasn’t ready. The guilt was raw, but now something else was rising in her chest — something fierce and undeniable.

Love.

The feeling was as intense as it was overwhelming. It had been there all along, building quietly inside her until it had finally burst through, leaving her breathless. She couldn’t waste any more time. She had to move, had to find Chaewon, to let her know — not just through words, but through actions — that she was done pretending. Done hiding behind walls she had built out of fear. Fear of ruining what they had, of destroying their friendship.

But now? Now she was willing to risk it all.

Hayeon’s heart beat faster, and she took a deep breath, steadying herself. She could feel the urgency in her veins, the need to make things right, to finally let Chaewon know that she had been wrong for so long. It didn’t matter if it was too late. It didn’t matter if she had waited too long. She couldn’t leave things unsaid any longer. Not when it mattered this much.

She turned on her heel, her resolve set. Chaewon wouldn’t wait forever, and Hayeon didn’t have the luxury of time. Not anymore. The guilt still gnawed at her, but it was tempered by a fierceness she hadn’t known she was capable of. This was the turning point.

And she wasn’t going to let it slip through her fingers.

Hayeon sat still, her chest tight, the air in the room thick with everything left unsaid.

She heard the door creak open—footsteps, light but tired, padding softly across the wooden floor. Chaewon returned, wiping her hands on a towel before she headed to the kitchen. The fridge opened. A bottle clinked. A hiss as the drink was cracked open. Then…

Chaewon turned—and froze. Her gaze landed on Hayeon, sitting motionless in the living room like a statue, face unreadable in the dim evening light.

“Oh! Gosh… why are you so still?” she asked, blinking in surprise. Her voice tried to stay light, but there was a tinge of concern beneath it. “Do you want something to drink?”

Hayeon didn’t answer at first. Her throat was dry, her heartbeat loud in her ears. She looked up at her—really looked—and suddenly, all the words she rehearsed fell away.

“Can we talk for a moment?” she asked, quietly.

Chaewon’s face shifted. Confusion first, then a flicker of unease. She slowly walked over, set her drink on the table with a quiet thunk, and sat beside Hayeon. Her knees brushed Hayeon’s. Close. Familiar. And still, something felt terrifyingly new.

“What’s wrong?” she asked gently, her voice low and careful, like she already knew something was about to break.

Hayeon swallowed hard. She could barely meet her eyes. She hated how kind Chaewon sounded. How worried. How soft. God—how could someone who had been hurt so deeply still care so gently?

“Chaewon… I…” Hayeon’s voice wavered. Her lips parted, then closed. She was fumbling inside, looking for the right words—any words that could carry the weight of the past ten years.

But there weren’t any. So she took a breath, her chest aching, and said it anyway.

“I heard from Hyerin… that you’ve had a crush on me for the past ten years.”

Time stopped. It was barely a second, but it felt like the whole world held its breath.

Chaewon’s expression cracked, just slightly. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted, and a tremble passed through her like a ghost.

“How…” she whispered, barely audible.

“How can you survive that long?” Hayeon asked, voice suddenly sharp with emotion, her hands trembling on her lap. She turned to face Chaewon fully now, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “How can you survive that pain without telling me a thing?”

Chaewon didn’t respond. Her breath was shallow. Her fingers were clenched together in her lap. And still, she didn’t speak.

Hayeon’s voice broke, and the tears finally came. “I can’t even imagine the pain you suffered… God, Chaewon… I’m so sorry…”

Chaewon tried to speak, her voice shaking. “Ha-Hayeon… it’s okay…”

But Hayeon reached out, hesitating midair before her fingers barely, barely touched Chaewon’s cheek. Her touch was so light it almost wasn’t real. Her hands were shaking so badly.

“Chaewon…” she whispered. Her voice was barely holding itself together.

And Chaewon—Chaewon was trembling too. Her entire frame was tight with emotion. Fear. Uncertainty. All the years of burying it down were rising now, rushing out in full force.

Hayeon’s hand dropped back, and instead, she gently took Chaewon’s hand in both of hers.

“I’m sorry that it took me so long to realize that I love you too…” she whispered. “I’m sorry for playing with the heart you were willing to give me… since the start. I… I…”

She paused. She saw the way Chaewon’s body stiffened, the way she didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“I don’t want to force you into something you don’t want—”

“I want this, dummy,” Chaewon whispered, and suddenly her voice cracked open like a dam bursting. “I want you.” Her chest heaved. “I’ve waited, and I wanted to give up. If you hadn’t come to this silly reunion, I was ready to let go…”

Her face crumpled as tears streamed down. “But you came. And it broke everything I planned to do. I hate you so much…”

It was like something shattered between them. Something old. Something unspoken.

Hayeon leaned forward slowly, forehead meeting Chaewon’s, and time softened. A fragile, aching stillness stretched between them.

“I’m sorry…” Hayeon whispered, her voice a breath.

Chaewon inhaled shakily. “Stop apologizing…” she said, firmer now, her voice finally grounding itself. “Love me this time… Jeong Hayeon… Love me.”

Hayeon smiled through the tears, her face close, her heart beating violently in her chest. This was everything. All the years. All the waiting. All the words left unsaid. And now, they were here.

“I am,” she whispered. “Are you still…”

“Love you?” Chaewon broke again. “I always have. So please…” she clutched Hayeon’s hand so tightly it hurt, “Don’t break my heart. Or if you do… promise me we’ll fix it together.”

“I will,” Hayeon said. This time, every syllable burned with meaning. “I love you, Chaewon.”

Chaewon smiled through her tears, breathless, fragile, but somehow brighter than Hayeon had ever seen her. “I love you so much, Hayeon…”

“I promise…” Hayeon said again, her voice low, reverent. “I’ll make myself someone worthy of the person who’s waited for me all this time.”

Chaewon nodded, trembling. Hayeon cupped her face again, more sure this time, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Then she paused, gazing into her eyes. Waiting.

Chaewon gave a soft, shy nod.

And Hayeon leaned in, finally, and kissed her lips—just a light press, a promise, a beginning. A tiny squeak escaped Chaewon, and Hayeon laughed softly, breath warm against her skin. She kissed her again. And again.

Laughter and tears melted together as they sat in each other’s arms, kissing like the past could be rewritten one gentle touch at a time.

Jeong Hayeon used to come back to Seoul for her friends.

But now—now she had a new reason.
A reason that had waited patiently, silently, for a decade.
A reason that smiled through pain and still reached for her.

Her reason… was Kim Chaewon.

Her very own Strawberry Princess.