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Yoona’s heartbeat hadn’t yet slowed, maybe because of the adrenaline, though the applause from the podium ceremony had just begun to fade from her ears.
Other racers had probably gone back to their respective hotel, but there she was, had to do her additional interview because she won.
Yoona adjusted the collar of her suit and smiled as the cameras focused in.
The interviewer, an unfamiliar man with a voice designed for broadcast, leaned slightly toward her. "Congratulations, Yoona. A brilliant race today, how does it feel to take your first win in Monaco?"
Classic question. She exhaled softly through her nose before answering, microphone close to her lips.
"It's… surreal, honestly." Her tone was… trained. "Winning Monaco is something I dream of since my karting days. The circuit is surely challenging. I don't win here unless everything, car, team, mindset, is perfect. And today, it was."
The audience watching from the side applauded again. Yoona dipped her head in a humble nod.
The interviewer chuckled. "It really was a clean drive. Precise. You've added Monaco to your season's highlights now, alongside your podium in Australia. But I think everyone’s curious about the bigger picture now, especially with how competitive this season has become."
Uh oh. She knew where this was going.
"Let’s talk about your closest rival, Bae Jinsol. She won in Miami and Japan with dominant performances. Do you feel confident heading into the Spanish Grand Prix? Think you’ll maintain the lead?"
There it was. The shift. She kept her posture.
"Jinsol’s a phenomenal driver," she said, "No one's surprised by her wins, she’s aggressive, calculated, and she knows how to exploit any margin. But every race is a new battle. Spain will be a different track, a different rhythm. I trust my team, and I’ll prepare like always. That’s all I can control."
She looked practiced, because she was. When each other’s name would be mentioned at interviews, of course, template answer would come.
The reporter laughed again. "That was very textbook of you, Yoona. But alright, I'll press just a bit more. A lot of fans have been asking, if you had to name one driver on the grid who pushes you to your limit the most, who would it be? Would it be Bae Jinsol, or unexpectedly anyone else?"
She didn’t blink.
"Bae Jinsol."
The name came without hesitation. She glanced toward the camera then, as if addressing the audience directly.
"We’ve raced wheel-to-wheel enough times now. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t study her laps when I train. She keeps me sharp."
“Some might say the tension between you two has been heating up,” the reporter added with a teasing smirk. “No post-race photos together. Not much interaction off-track. Any truth to that rivalry being a little more… personal?”
Yoona smiled. "I think people always want a story," she said. "Especially when two drivers are at the top of their game. But at the end of the day, we’re racers. We speak through lap times."
And that was it. The interview wrapped with polite applause, a few flashes, and Yoona giving one last wave before stepping off the stage.
-
Her driver knew the routine by now, no questions, no stops. Just quiet music and Yoona’s fingers tapping rhythmically on her phone screen as the car slipped through the narrow streets of Monaco, heading back to the hotel where Yoona stayed.
She leaned her head back, scrolling through her gallery. The trophy she won that day, gleaming under the golden haze of the late afternoon sun. She added it to her Instagram draft.
Yoona posted it with a simple caption, “This one's for the team. And for the next one too. #MonacoGP”
She hit post. And waited.
The comments exploded within seconds.
“queen of the track 😭😭😭”
“she’s coming for Spain too 🔥”
“bae jin-who? yoona just cleared the grid 🤭”
“another W for YOONA LET'S GOOOO”
“jinsol better watch out 😬”
Yoona scrolled through them with a neutral expression. Her fingers paused on one comment that read, “these two hate each other so bad lmao tension is unreal”
Her thumb hovered for a second, then kept scrolling.
Somewhere in another hotel, someone else was probably scrolling too. Reading the same comments. Smiling, maybe. Or sulking. Or texting her already.
The phone buzzed.
JINSOL 🐥 [7:11 PM]
Should I let you win in Spain too?
Yoona smirked, fingers already flying.
YOONA 🦌 [7:12 PM]
Bold words for someone who kissed me before quali and still lost the pole. Try again, baby.
She turned off the screen, leaned back into the seat, and closed her eyes.
-
Yoona had only just slipped her card into the reader when she noticed it.
The lights were already on.
Her brows drew together instinctively, and her steps quieted out of habit as she pushed the door open. The curtains were half-drawn, and the city’s twilight could be seen faintly through the fabric.
Someone was inside.
Sitting cross-legged on her bed, flipping lazily through a hotel magazine, was Bae Jinsol.
Wearing joggers and a faded shirt like she owned the place.
Yoona didn’t say anything for a second. She closed the door behind her and set down her keycard slowly.
"...Why are you here?" Her voice was a mixture between surprise and poorly hidden excitement.
Jinsol didn’t even look up at first. She licked her thumb and turned the page before finally glancing at Yoona with a bored expression.
"Can’t I visit my girlfriend," she replied dryly, "especially after she just won a trophy today?"
Yoona rolled her eyes but didn’t bother hiding her smile. She dropped her things, her jacket, phone, cap, even the lanyard still around her neck, onto the couch. Then she crossed the room and leaned down, pressing a firm, sudden kiss against Jinsol’s mouth, catching her off-guard and pushing her back slightly onto the bed.
Jinsol let out a soft "Mmff-" but not resisting, obviously. When Yoona pulled away, she looked a little breathless and a little amused.
Yoona stayed close, "Of course you can," she murmured. "How was your day?"
Jinsol huffed. "I lost the match. Fourth. Can you believe that? Fourth. I swear my tires fell off after lap thirty."
Yoona snorted softly.
"But at least I didn’t get dragged into a media circus like you," Jinsol added, sitting up straighter once Yoona moved beside her. "So I walked around Monaco for a bit while you played princess of the grid."
She reached into the small tote bag by her feet and pulled out a neatly wrapped paper package. “Here. I found what you wanted.”
Yoona’s eyes lit up. “Wait, this is?!”
"Yeah. That stupid shop only opens three days a week. But I got it, ‘old postcards of classic Monaco circuits from a local artisan’, as what you requested."
Yoona took the bag carefully, “Thank you, baby.”
“I had to charm a grandpa who speaks zero English. You owe me.” And that made Yoona burst out laughing.
She leaned into Jinsol’s side and rested her head on her shoulder. For a while, neither of them spoke. It smelled faintly of body wash and Yoona’s perfume.
Eventually, Jinsol moved first. She stretched her arms and stood with a quiet groan. “Alright. I’ll go back to my room. Don’t forget to eat your dinner, okay?”
Yoona didn’t answer right away. She stayed on the bed, arms loosely hugging a pillow, eyes following Jinsol as she walked toward the chair where her hoodie and mask waited.
"...Okay," Yoona said, almost too softly.
She watched as Jinsol pulled the hoodie over her head, tucked her hair in neatly, and slipped the black mask on with practiced ease. Just another ghost slipping through the hotel’s hallways, unnoticed.
Yoona sat up a little. “Text me when you’re back in your room.”
Jinsol nodded as she opened the door. "Always do."
And just before she disappeared into the hallway, she looked back once, "You look extra fine today, by the way," she said casually, "The jacket suits you."
Then she slipped out.
Yoona blinked, momentarily stunned. Her gaze dropped automatically to her jacket.
It was oversized, faded black with Suzuki Yoshimura printed in bold letters across the chest. She hadn’t really thought much about it when she threw it on earlier that morning.
But now?
She tugged the collar up a little, hiding her smile into the fabric.
Later that night, she posted one of her selfies with the jacket, with a caption so ambiguous, “people said i looked good in this. who am i to argue.”
-
Before leaving the hotel to go to the next country, Yoona had a breakfast first.
She was in full celebrity-off-duty disguise, a cap pulled low, oversized sunglasses, hoodie zipped up to her neck. She chose a corner table with the best view of the buffet but farthest from the windows.
She was already halfway through her fruit bowl when a familiar figure walked in like she didn’t look like trouble in black joggers and a smug expression.
Jinsol didn’t glance at her. Not once.
She strolled over to a different table, directly across the room, and plopped down like she was just any other guest. She yawned, waved politely at the waiter, then pulled out her phone.
Yoona’s did the same.
A message lit up her screen.
JINSOL 🐥 [7:28 AM]
your disguise looks like a student on a field trip
it’s giving “my mom packed me grapes”
Yoona stifled a laugh, hiding it behind her cup of coffee.
YOONA 🦌 [7:28 AM]
and yours is giving “gossiping aunt at the hair salon”
fix your hoodie
From across the room, Jinsol subtly tugged her hoodie’s drawstring tighter, overdramatically, until it bunched at her chin.
Yoona smirked. The waiter approached her table to refill her juice, and she nodded politely. When he left, her phone buzzed again.
JINSOL 🐥 [7:30 AM]
saw your ig post
so i’m “people” now? just say you’re obsessed with me
She typed back slowly.
YOONA 🦌 [7:28 AM]
i am
but people don’t have to know
She saw Jinsol glance up briefly at her screen, her lips twitching into the faintest smile. Then, without a word, Jinsol stood, went to the buffet, and, without looking, placed a fresh pain au chocolat on a small plate.
She walked right past Yoona’s table.
And as she passed, she dropped the plate off without stopping, like a waitress, like it was nothing at all.
Yoona looked at it, then back at her phone.
JINSOL 🐥 [7:30 AM]
don’t say i never spoil you
She didn’t look across the room when she took the first bite. But she knew Jinsol was watching.
-
Going back to Korea between the races sounded tempting. Home-cooked meals. No reporters. Real sleep.
But also… a twelve-hour flight, a brutal time zone shift, and a return flight right after. Just imagining the jet lag made Jinsol want to spin out on purpose.
So they agreed, without really agreeing, to fly directly to Spain.
Yoona told her team she needed time to "mentally reset in Europe." Jinsol told hers she wanted to start prepping early.
They didn’t travel together. Obviously.
But they did somehow end up in the same hotel again. Obviously.
Friday morning in Barcelona brought a familiar buzz to the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya. The grandstands were already peppered with fans in caps and sunglasses, squinting for a glimpse of their favorite drivers.
Jinsol stayed in her garage for most of the session, helmet tucked under one arm, half-eaten protein bar in the other. Her team adjusted the rear wing, tested fuel loads, ran diagnostics. Nothing dramatic.
Yoona, on the other hand, was talking, with her engineer, Haewon.
Her radio lit up nearly every few minutes.
"Front end’s still loose through Sector 2."
"Brakes feel soft at Turn 10, can we tighten that up?"
"Copy. Balance is better now, but I’m still getting understeer on the mediums."
To any outsider, she sounded composed. But the truth was, she was bored.
Free Practice (FP)1 was always this way, a technical warm-up, full of numbers and margins and patience. And worse, she hadn’t seen Jinsol all morning. Not even a glimpse.
She pouted behind her visor and ran another clean lap.
And just like that, practice ended, cars rolled back to the garages, and Yoona peeled off her gloves in one smooth motion. She was supposed to stay low-key today.
Instead, a reporter from a Korean motorsport news outlet caught her near the back of the paddock.
“Yoona-ssi, your fans noticed a lot of improvements in Sector 3. Did you work on that part of the track specifically?”
"Ah, yeah," she replied, dabbing her face with a towel. "It’s my weak spot usually, but I studied the data."
The reporter nodded. "Any particular competitor you're learning from?"
Yoona’s brain, absolutely fried from five laps of understeer and tire wear reports, kind of short-circuited.
She meant to say something generic.
Instead, she said, "Yeah. Bae Jinsol. I copy her homework sometimes. She just doesn’t know."
There was a pause.
Yoona realized what she said exactly one second too late.
The reporter blinked, visibly trying not to grin. "So you, admire her racing style?"
Yoona, attempting recovery, "Yeah. In a strictly professional way. I have no emotional attachment to her driving. Zero. Zilch. Nada."
But… it was already too late.
-
The clip hit F1 Twitter like gasoline on flame.
“I copy her homework sometimes. She just doesn’t know.” - Seol Yoona, 2025
🔁 8,431 Retweets
❤️ 56.3k Likes
💬 “NO EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT” girl we are not blind 😭
💬 someone said this is the F1 version of “i watch her stories but i don’t like them”
💬 jinsol better change her lockscreen to this quote
Yoona stared at her phone in horror, a new message popped up.
JINSOL 🐥 [2:46 PM]
so which part of my “homework” do you like best? 😌
Yoona groaned and buried her face. This was going to haunt her forever.
-
The heat in Barcelona had lessened by the time Free Practice 2 began. It started in the evening afterall.
Yoona was already on her third lap. The car felt lighter now, dialed in after the tweaks from FP1. She was pushing, slightly more aggressive, braking a fraction later, trusting the grip through Turn 9.
Haewon’s voice crackled in her ear.
“Try setting up the qualifying sim next lap. DRS open through the straight.”
Yoona replied with a crisp, “Copy.”
She hit Turn 13, and misjudged the entry by a whisper. The car twitched. Rear tires caught a dirty patch. She went wide.
Not into the gravel or wall, ust a quick off, four wheels over the white line, a puff of dust in her wake. The car wobbled but stayed intact.
“You okay?” came the voice immediately.
“Yeah,” she sighed. “Overcooked the braking. Car’s fine. So is my pride… mostly.”
She eased the car back onto the track, brushing it off with the kind of composure only someone used to high-stakes chaos could muster.
But when she returned to the garage, sunglasses already on and helmet in hand, she caught sight of one particular figure sitting on a work stool a few bays over, arms crossed and lips twitching.
Bae Jinsol. Absolutely failing not to laugh.
Yoona sent her a sharp look and mouthed, “Don’t.”
Jinsol simply held up her tablet like a mirror, on it, a slow-mo replay of Yoona’s off with dramatic commentary playing.
Yoona really wanted to hit Jinsol.
Later, as the garages wound down, the two of them crossed paths near the mobile cooling fans behind the pit wall. Not quite close enough for suspicion. Just enough to be noticed.
Yoona was drinking from a bottle, glancing at her telemetry sheet.
Jinsol walked by with her team, laughing at something they said, but when she passed, her hand casually brushed Yoona’s arm, quick, hidden and smooth~
Neither looked at each other.
But they both smiled.
-
Race day came.
Yoona stood in her garage, already zipped into her race suit, helmet off, arms folded tightly against her chest. Mechanics checking tire blankets, engineers bent over laptops, camera crews flashing past.
But Yoona wasn’t seeing any of it.
She kept glancing at her phone, resting facedown on the table.
She picked it up for the fifth time in two minutes, this time, the screen lit up with a message.
JINSOL 🐥 [1:20 PM]
where are you
let’s do the thing
The thing. It referred to their little ritual.
Before every race, no matter the circuit or chaos, they always met somewhere, sometimes just beside the pit wall, sometimes hidden behind tire racks, to exchange a quiet kiss and some encouragements to each other.
But this time, she hesitated. That small mistake in FP2 had been looping in her head like a glitchy replay file. She’d requested last-minute changes in her brake balance, and she still wasn’t sure if it was right.
She typed back,
YOONA 🦌 [1:21 PM]
can’t today
need to talk to haewon before start
sorry
A few seconds passed.
JINSOL 🐥 [1:20 PM]
sure
No dot. No emoji. Just that “sure.”
But it’s not like Yoona had a choice about it. She tried not to think too much about it.
She turned and walked straight to her race engineer.
“Haewon,” she said, trying not to sound breathless, “brake bias adjustment, is it locking me up at T10 still?”
Haewon didn’t even look up. “Already corrected. Left you 0.2% front-biased to compensate. And I softened the front dampers like you asked.”
Yoona exhaled. Right. She should trust her.
Haewon glanced at her, then smiled. “Don’t grip the wheel like it owes you money, okay?”
Yoona gave a weak laugh. “I’m fine.”
-
Engines roared across the paddock. And the countdown began.
Yoona settled into her car, strapped in, visor down. The roar of the world dulled into static, then silence.
"Radio check," Haewon’s voice buzzed in her ear.
"Clear," Yoona replied.
"All systems go. Brake temp looks good. Tire pressure’s green. DRS checked. You’re fine, Yoona. Just drive like you always do."
Yoona nodded slightly to herself.
As the lights went out for the formation lap, she eased the car forward with the rest of the grid, weaving side to side to bring warmth into the tires.
"Focus," Haewon reminded her gently through the radio.
Yoona adjusted her grip.
The cars pulled into their grid slots, tires hot and smoking faintly. Engines idled like beasts behind a cage.
Five red lights blinked to life. Yoona’s pulse synced with them, one, two, three, four, five, then…
Lights out.
And Yoona launched.
Lap 18 of 66.
Bae Jinsol had taken the lead early on, an explosive launch off the line that got her ahead of both front-row starters by Turn 1. She slipped through with the confidence of someone who’d done it a hundred times in her head and twice already in real life.
Her voice came through the team radio, calm as ever.
“Tire degradation’s starting. Rear-left is slipping out of Turn 3.”
“Copy,” her engineer replied. “Box on Lap 21. Still have a 2.3-second gap to P2.”
She flicked on her DRS with one hand, adjusted her brake bias with the other.
Behind her, in fourth position, Yoona was holding her own.
“Balance feels tight in high-speed.”
“Copy. You’re gaining 0.2 per sector on Jinsol. Stay behind for another lap before attempting pass.”
“Understood.”
Lap 24, pit stops cycled through. The track shuffled like cards.
Jinsol came out just barely ahead of Yoona.
Commentators were already losing it.
“These two have been so consistent all season-”
“Absolutely! Remember, Jinsol’s already claimed wins in Japan and Miami, and now Yoona’s threatening to close the gap!”
By Lap 36, Yoona had closed the distance completely.
“Okay, you are within DRS range,” Haewon said. “Push now or wait two more laps?”
Yoona pressed the DRS flap.
“I’m going.”
She dived on the inside of Turn 10, locking wheels with the curbs, barely leaving enough space. Jinsol flicked right, just enough not to block her.
Yoona slipped past.
It was not hostile. Jinsol’s team radio crackled again.
“Okay, she’s through. P3 now. Still a long race.”
Jinsol smirked inside her helmet, not angry, just awake now.
“Not bad,” she muttered.
By Lap 43, the top three had settled:
P1 was a Red Bull.
P2- Seol Yoona.
P3- Bae Jinsol.
Still close enough to pounce. Still breathing down each other’s necks.
Neither one of them spoke again over the radio, not for a few laps. It was as if they had slipped into their own rhythm now, one not even the engineers could touch.
Lap 63 of 66, Yoona was finally in first.
She had no time to breathe, not when the Red Bull driver behind her kept trying to close the gap. Her tires were screaming through every turn, but she held her lead.
Behind the Red Bull driver, Jinsol had been holding off the P4 car like a wall, guarding position.
“Jinsol, telemetry shows instability on the rear-right. Confirm balance?” her engineer asked.
She pressed her radio button. “Feels a bit off. Loose on exits.”
“Copy. Adjust brake bias rearward 0.3 and stabilize into T13.”
She made the adjustment, flicking the toggle with muscle memory.
But then it happened.
As she turned into the sweeping right-hander, she didn’t see the car behind, coming in far too hot.
P4. Overeager. Late on the brakes.
The nose of the other car clipped Jinsol’s left rear tire.
And that was it.
The world turned upside down.
Jinsol didn’t even have time to curse.
Her car spun instantly, tires skidding sideways off the tarmac. Then, like a slingshot, launched backwards, flipping once over the gravel, then again over the tire barrier.
Upside down.
Her halo frame scraped sparks across the fence line before it came to a violent stop, lodged between the barricade and catch fence, upside down, unmoving.
The broadcast cut instantly.
The camera turned away.
Yellow flag.
Then red.
Inside Yoona’s car, she didn’t see it happen.
But she heard it.
Not through the track, but through Haewon.
“Car in Turn 3! Big one, stand by!”
Yoona’s breath caught in her throat.
“Who was it?”
Radio static.
“...That’s Jinsol. It’s Jinsol.”
Yoona’s blood turned ice.
“Is she-? Is she talking? Did she say anything?!”
No reply.
“Red flag. Red flag. Return to the pit lane. Watch for marshals at Turn 3.”
Yoona,” Haewon said again, gentler now, “you need to bring it in carefully, alright? I’ll get you everything I can. Just come in slow. Let’s keep it safe.”
“I can’t- I need to know she’s okay.”
“I know. I’ll find out. Just come in safe.”
The moment Haewon’s voice crackled again, Yoona nearly missed the instruction, too focused on the pounding in her chest.
“Yoona. She’s out of the car. She’s walking.”
Yoona blinked, eyes darting toward the circuit monitors. A faraway angle showed Jinsol, her helmet already off, walking stiffly alongside a marshal, disappearing behind a curtain marked with a red cross. No visible wounds. But the way she moved, slightly tilted, told Yoona more than any camera could.
She didn’t even wait for the car to stop fully in the pit lane. Mechanics barely had time to react as Yoona unbuckled herself and jumped out, ignoring the voices around her. She didn’t go to her garage. She didn’t even glance at her team principal.
She ran. Straight to the other end.
Straight to Jinsol.
Bae Jinsol’s garage was a mess of activity, engineers still debriefing, pit crew frozen in disbelief, wondering if the crash had just ended their championship hopes. All conversation halted the moment Yoona appeared. Someone reached out to stop her.
“She’s in the medical tent,” one of the staff muttered, surprised. “But she’s fine. Mostly shock.”
Yoona didn’t answer. She was already gone.
-
The flap of the medical tent rustled violently as she pushed through.
And there she was.
Bae Jinsol, still in her half-unzipped race suit, sat stiffly in a folding chair. A cold pack rested on one shoulder, fingers clutching it like she was pretending she didn’t need it. A soft cervical collar circled her neck, loose, precautionary. Her collarbone, flushed in deep purples and reds, most likely caused by the imprint of the harness. Her lip was split, just faintly.
She looked up when she heard Yoona’s footsteps.
Yoona stopped, breath caught in her throat. “You!”
“I’m fine.” Jinsol rolled her eyes, her voice too casual. “Don’t make a fuss.”
Yoona stepped closer, looking over her. She was visibly trembling.
“You flipped. You got hit at full speed and flipped! Do you even know what that looked like?”
“I landed, didn’t I?” Jinsol muttered. “HALO worked. The car did its job. I’m here. You should go-”
“No.” Yoona shook her head firmly. “We’re going to the hospital.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
Jinsol sighed. “I just wanted to watch you take the trophy. That’s all. I don’t want to miss it.”
Yoona froze.
Then she knelt down in front of her, not caring about the cameras possibly lurking outside the tent flap, or the staff whispering just out of earshot.
“Then we’re going after the podium, alright?” Her voice cracked slightly. “But you’re getting checked. No arguments.”
Jinsol looked at her for a long beat.
Then finally nodded. “Okay. After.”
Yoona exhaled, closing the distance just enough to press her forehead gently against Jinsol’s good shoulder.
The medical staff glanced at one another, eyes flicking between Yoona and Jinsol like they’d accidentally walked into a romcom scene mid-shoot.
One nurse elbowed another, whispering, “Aren’t they supposed to be rivals?”
The other muttered, “I thought they hated each other.”
Both now silently rooting for them.
Jinsol caught on, of course. She smirked as Yoona helped her into a standing position.
“I think you just outed us,” she murmured.
Yoona looked unbothered. “Good. I was getting tired of acting like I didn’t want to kiss you every time you beat me on the track.”
From the paddock seats, Jinsol sat stiffly with an ice pack tucked beneath her jacket, neck brace still on. She crossed her legs, trying to hide the way her body ached under the adrenaline’s fade.
But her eyes never left the podium.
When Yoona stepped up to the top spot, trophy raised high, the crowd roared, but she didn’t bask in it long. Instead, she stepped forward and asked for the mic from the presenter.
The reporters tensed. So did the teams.
Yoona cleared her throat.
“I’m grateful for today’s race, and I know a lot of you are waiting for interviews.” A brief pause. A sharp inhale. “But I won’t be doing press today,” she said firmly. “I’ve got to take my girlfriend to the hospital.”
There was silence.
Audible silence.
Even the champagne corks seemed to pause in mid-air.
Jinsol covered her face with one hand as the cameras whipped around to find her.
The audience erupted in disbelief and delight. Media teams scrambled to reframe every headline. Commentators on streaming platforms lost their minds trying to process it live.
Twitter exploded.
#YoonaJinsol
#RivalsToReal
#SpainGP
#SheCalledHerGirlfriend
Yoona’s Instagram blew up too. Her last photo, her in the jacket Jinsol had said made her “extra fine”, was now flooded with new comments:
“WAIT. WAS THIS HER JACKET??? OR WHAT? COUPLE JACKET??!”
“okay but i ship it so hard now 😭😭 ”
“i take back every rude thing i said about bae jinsol i swear 😭 she literally gave her lucky jacket 😭 ”
“queen behavior. date the girl and win the race?? insane.”
Even Jinsol’s page saw a surge of unusually sweet messages from fans who had, just days ago, taunted her in comments.
“Sorry for being harsh. You’re amazing, and I’m glad you’re safe 💛 ”
“Yoona’s lucky to have you. Hope you recover well, champ.”
Later that night, while waiting in the hospital hallway for the X-ray results, Jinsol leaned her head against Yoona’s shoulder and whispered, “You didn’t have to say it like that.”
Yoona chuckled, brushing a finger across her knuckles.
“I did. I’ve been waiting to say it for three podiums now.”
Jinsol smiled despite herself.
-
Jinsol lay in bed, finally changed out of her race suit and into one of those plain blue hospital gowns, her hair messy from the earlier chaos. The bruise on her collarbone had bloomed fully, but the scans said nothing was broken. Just sore.
Yoona sat cross-legged on the couch, Jinsol’s phone in one hand, swiping through their mentions with a look of barely-concealed amusement.
“I think someone made a fan edit of your crash in slow motion with sad violin music.”
Jinsol groaned from her bed. “Please delete the internet.”
“No can do. You’re trending. You’re everyone’s favorite ‘cool unbothered girlfriend with a neck brace’ now.”
“You said we’d keep it low-key.”
“You said that. I never agreed.”
Jinsol didn’t even argue. Just rolled her eyes and let Yoona lean her weight gently against her side, careful not to press where it hurt.
After a moment, Yoona said quietly, “I was really scared, you know.”
“I know, I was scared too.” Jinsol’s voice softened.
“I didn’t even care about the trophy. I just wanted to see you walk again. Even if it was with that dorky limp.”
“It’s not dorky,” Jinsol muttered.
Yoona kissed her cheek.
“It’s very dorky. But still cute.”
Their hands found each other, fingers lacing together.
“You know... we’re going to get a million interview requests now.”
“Obviously.”