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Yeonjun is the kind of girl who says “I love you” when she hands you your drink. When she texts “don’t die” instead of “be safe.” She says it constantly, like she’s afraid if she stops, the feeling will rot in her chest.
Soobin isn’t like that. Soobin holds Yeonjun’s bag without asking. She ties Yeonjun’s shoes when they come undone. She kisses the top of Yeonjun’s head when she’s focused on something else—never with fanfare, never loud. It’s just what she does.
They never really talked about it. Until today.
As soon as Yeonjun walks in and sees Soobin, she picks up her pace. She leans her head on the tallers chest, mumbling about how she missed her.
Soobin nods, presses a kiss to her temple, but stays silent.
Yeonjun laughs, then tries again. “No ‘I missed you too?’ Harsh.” She prays that Soobin will see through it.
Soobin just says, “Don’t be dramatic,” and then walks to class.
Yeonjun feels stupid. And small. Smaller than when Soobin’s body covers her own. She says nothing for the rest of the period.
On the bus ride home, she decides to text Soobin. She knows the other girl is driving, that she won’t see it. Part of her kind of hopes Soobin won’t see it. She unlocks her phone anyway.
[3:04 PM] yeonjun 🦐: hey
[3:07 PM] yeonjun 🦐: r you mad at me?
[3:20 PM] soobin 🧃: no
[3:20 PM] soobin 🧃 : why would i be
[3:21 PM] yeonjun 🦐: idk you just feel kinda far
[3:21 PM] soobin 🧃: i’m literally at home
Yeonjun stares at the last message for a solid minute, then locks her phone and stuffs it under her thigh like it offended her.
Her stomach twists. Not in the fun, butterflies way. In the way that makes her throat tight.
The thing is—Yeonjun doesn’t need a huge gesture. She doesn’t need a speech. But sometimes she needs something. A breadcrumb. A sign that Soobin doesn’t just tolerate her being soft and clingy and dramatic—that maybe she likes it. Likes her.
She bites the inside of her cheek and watches the bus roll past flickering streetlights. She tries not to cry. Why would she cry over something so stupid? She’s stronger than this.
Yeonjun gets off the bus, dragging her feet across the ground as she marches to her front door. Her bag is slipping off her shoulder, she unlocks the door and immediately runs to her room.
Soobin hasn’t said anything else, Yeonjun refuses to respond. How would she respond, anyway? She goes through their messages, of better days when Soobin would call her pretty or just talk. Talking is enough.
She decides to text again. It’s not even about any of this, she just misses Soobin— wants to be near her, even if it’s silent. She takes a deep breath, opening her messages again.
[4:25 PM] yeonjun 🦐: can i come over?
[4:27 PM] soobin🧃: sure, front door is unlocked
[4:29 PM] soobin🧃: don’t ask next time
[4:30 PM] Soobin🧃 : just show up
Yeonjun finds herself smiling at the messages, feeling atleast a little bit comforted.
She shows up ten minutes later in her hoodie and pajama pants, holding her DS like a teddy bear. She doesn’t say much. Just nudges Soobin’s shoulder and flops down beside her on the bed.
Soobin insists on doing the laundry.
Yeonjun doesn’t argue. She just trails behind, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves flopping over her hands. Her hair’s tied up messily, the way it always is when she’s anxious. She watches as Soobin yanks open the dryer like it personally offended her and starts dumping in clothes with military precision.
“You know, this is exactly how serial killers start,” Yeonjun says lightly, nudging a basket with her foot. “Laundry. Obsessive behavior. Cold, detached demeanor.”
Soobin doesn’t look up. “You left socks in the sheets again.”
Yeonjun raises a brow. “I like to keep ‘em cozy.”
Still nothing. Soobin’s face is unreadable as she measures out detergent, her jaw set too tight.
Yeonjun tries again. “Okay, but real question: if I put the shrimp pajama pants in with your cheer stuff, would you kill me or just maim me?”
Silence. Soobin slams the washer shut and presses the start button with unnecessary force.
Yeonjun’s smile falters a little. She sinks onto the edge of the dryer, swinging her legs like a bored kid. She fiddles with the drawstrings of her hoodie.
“You’re being weird again,” she says, quieter this time. Not teasing. Not joking. Just trying.
Soobin finally looks at her—but it’s brief. A flick of the eyes. Then she’s back to folding towels like it’s all that matters.
“I’m not being weird,” she says.
“You’re folding towels like they insulted your mom.”
Soobin exhales through her nose. “Not everything is a joke, Unnie.”
Yeonjun flinches like she’s been slapped.
A long silence stretches between them, humming like the washer.
Then: “I know,” Yeonjun murmurs. “I just—I don’t know how else to be when you’re like this.”
That stops Soobin cold.
“I do everything for you,” Soobin says, so quietly it hurts. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do, Jun.”
For some reason, the lack of honorific makes Yeonjun’s heart sting more than anything. Her eyes are already welling up with tears, but her brain screams at her for being so sensitive.
“I know. I know you do. I just… I need to hear it sometimes. Like, out loud. Even if it’s stupid.” She admits slowly, as if she’s analyzing her own words.
Soobin nods. “Okay.”
Beat.
“I missed you,” Soobin says, eyes on her hands. “I always miss you.” Her voice is shaky, like shes scared to admit it.
And Yeonjun breaks into a smile so wide it almost looks painful.