Chapter Text
It was snowing again.
Not the cinematic kind of snow either — not the soft, dreamy sort that sparkled like a romcom filter. This was the slushy, ankle-deep, scarf-soaking kind. The kind that turned sidewalks into ankle traps and doorways into puddles.
Still, Minji was humming her happy melody under her nose. Because Bora was coming.
Bora was her longtime friend, once a classmate and university groupmate, now she was a steadily-employed adult woman who lived in the city, wore tailored coats, and texted back with full punctuation, and she was arriving tonight to spend the holidays with Minji’s family.
It wasn’t unusual. Bora had spent every Christmas break with them since college, ever since her parents moved to Canada and she decided flights and jet lag weren’t worth the fake cheer. Minji’s house had become tradition. Familiar. Warm.
At least it had been… until this year.
This year came with a variable.
And that variable’s name was Yoohyeon.
Yoohyeon was Minji’s younger sister. Nineteen years old, sharp as ever, a little taller than she used to be, and still annoyingly good at pretending she didn’t care about anything. She was also very much home for winter break, and very much not prepared for the emotional minefield that was Kim Bora.
Inside the house, warmth bloomed.
The kitchen was alive with the scent of gingerbread, clove, and something citrusy Minji refused to name. A pot of spiced tea steamed gently on the stove, and Bing Crosby crooned low from the Bluetooth speaker she’d set on the windowsill. There were string lights draped around the curtain rods, paper stars hanging from cabinet knobs, and two half-decorated cookie trays spread across the counter.
It was festive. Cozy. A little too curated.
“You’re going to burn a hole in the window if you keep staring like that,” Minji said, not looking up from the vegetables she was chopping.
“I’m not staring,” Yoohyeon said from across the kitchen island. “I’m just… preparing myself.”
Minji looked up then, eyebrow cocked. “What, emotionally?”
“For her voice,” Yoohyeon said.
Minji snorted and shook her head in disbelief. “Oh my God.”
“You don’t remember how loud she is?”
“She’s not loud. Well, maybe a little bit. When she’s drunk.”
“She laughs like she’s trying to win a contest.” Yoohyeon noted from across the island, stirring the honey into her tea. “Maybe you should’ve invited someone less judgmental… and more consistent.”
Minji paused. “You’re referring to Bora?”
“Who else would I be talking about?” Yoohyeon leaned on the counter, arms folded. “She judges everything. Your playlist. My haircut. The political implications of our fridge magnets.”
“She does not.”
“She told me once that my ‘aura was too intense for a Tuesday.’”
Minji laughed despite herself, then quickly masked it. “She’s dramatic. That’s part of her charm.”
“It’s part of her complex,” Yoohyeon muttered. “She also used to call me ‘the goblin child.’”
Minji raised a hand. “To be fair, you did bite her.”
“Once.”
“Twice.”
“Fine. But still.”
Minji wiped her hands, walked over, and poked Yoohyeon’s forehead. “Just try to be normal, okay? She’s only here for a week.”
“ Norm al ?” Yoohyeon scoffed. “You’re telling me to be normal around the woman who taught me how to smoke cloves and then called my hoodie ‘a gender crisis in fabric form’?”
“I’m just saying don’t start a passive-aggressive war before we even finish decorating the tree. Please, be decent at least for tonight.”
“I’m always decent!”
“You threatened to throw a snowball at her three years ago, before she even walked in the door.”
“She started it.”
“She was literally bringing you a Christmas gift.”
“A scented candle that smelled like guilt and lavender.”
“Which you burned. Twice.”
Yoohyeon opened her mouth, closed it, and muttered, “Whatever.”
Minji softened a little. She recognized this version of her sister — defensive, twitchy, hiding behind sarcasm like it was bulletproof glass. She also knew what it meant.
“You’re nervous,” she said gently.
Yoohyeon scoffed. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m annoyed.”
“You’ve reorganized the spice rack three times and you don’t even cook.”
“That was a public service.”
Minji walked around the counter and gently bumped her shoulder. “You’re not sixteen anymore, Yooh. You don’t have to hide in your room every time Bora visits.”
“I never hid.”
“You did. With the dog. And the bag of marshmallows you kept calling dinner.”
Yoohyeon rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She turned back to the tea, fiddling with the edge of the mug. “She just... gets under my skin.”
“She always did.”
“She treats me like I’m still a kid.”
“Because you treat her like a walking debate prompt.”
“Because she is one!”
Minji grinned, then sobered. “Hey. For what it’s worth… she doesn’t see you the way you think she does.”
Yoohyeon looked at her.
“She asked about you last week,” Minji continued. “Said you seem different now. Grown.”
Yoohyeon’s ears pinked. “She would make that sound condescending.”
“It wasn’t. I think she’s curious. That’s all.”
“She can be curious over there.” Yoohyeon waved vaguely in the direction of not here.
The front door opened.
Both sisters froze.
Then — footsteps. The dull clunk of boots on the entryway tile. The metallic scrape of a suitcase wheel hitting the doormat. A gust of icy air chased its way into the house and was just as quickly shut out.
“Oh my god,” came the voice. “Is this cinnamon and dysfunction I smell?”
Yoohyeon flinched.
Minji smiled. “We’re in the kitchen!”
Footsteps. The thunk of a dropped bag. And then…
“Minji-ah,” Bora said, sweeping into the room like she owned it.
She looked exactly the same. Or maybe she didn’t. The coat was new — long, dark gray, cinched at the waist with military buttons. Her hair was longer now, curled a little at the ends. Her boots were worn but well-kept. And her face, same sharp cheekbones, same foxlike smile, lit up as soon as she saw Minji.
They hugged. Loudly. Enthusiastically. Like people who hadn’t hugged in a while but still remembered how.
Yoohyeon hovered behind the counter, pretending to inspect the cookie tray. She watched from the corner of her eye as Bora pulled back, ruffled Minji’s hair, and asked, “So, did you finally kick the landlord out and claim this place for yourself?”
“I am the landlord,” Minji said smugly. “Dad finally caved.”
Bora whistled. “Look at you. All grown up and terrifying.”
Then her gaze slid past Minji.
And landed on Yoohyeon.
She blinked once. Tilted her head. “Is that... Yoohyeon? The goblin child?”
Yoohyeon bristled. “I haven’t been a goblin in years.”
Bora grinned. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Minji snorted. “Bora—”
“Relax. I’m only here to cause mild chaos and steal your good shampoo.”
“Like always.”
Yoohyeon watched the exchange silently. She noted the ease in their banter. The familiarity.
The shorthand. She felt like the background character in someone else’s reunion.
Then Bora turned back to her and said, “Damn. You got tall. Even taller than me and Minji! Wow…”
Yoohyeon blinked.
“And your face got... a bit longer. And you dress like a graphic novel.”
Yoohyeon narrowed her eyes. “You still make weird observations.”
“You still inspire them.”
Minji intervened. “Okay! Cookies. Tea. Let’s pretend we’re normal people for five minutes.”
Bora winked at her. “Five whole minutes? Ambitious.”
She shrugged off her coat, revealing a simple black sweater and jeans. She looked like she hadn’t aged a day. Or maybe she’d aged better than expected. Either way, she filled the room the way she always had — without asking for permission.
Yoohyeon tried not to stare.
The house had quieted. The kind of quiet that hummed underneath the surface — the heater’s faint click, the buzz of lights warming back to life, the distant crinkle of someone settling into old furniture.
It was reflex more than intention. She didn’t even like tea that much — not tonight, not when her hands still felt slightly unsteady and her face refused to cool down. But she needed something to do. Something small. Mundane. Graspable. She opened the cabinet, pulled down the honey, then rummaged through the box of mismatched tea sachets. Most were Minji’s. Some had expiration dates Yoohyeon didn’t want to look at.
She settled on chamomile. There was nothing romantic about chamomile. No drama. Just something warm to sip.
The kettle clicked on.
She leaned against the counter and closed her eyes. She hadn’t expected to feel like this.
It was just Bora. Bora, who had once turned Minji’s birthday into a karaoke war. Who had spent half a summer re-wiring Minji’s old speakers and left them in a semi-permanent state of low reverb. Who called her ‘goblin’ for two years straight and somehow made it feel like both a dig and a nickname.
Just Bora.
Except it wasn’t just.
Not anymore.
Footsteps padded down the hall. Lighter than Minji’s. Slower.
Then the quiet scrape of socked feet on the tile.
Yoohyeon didn’t turn.
“Minji send you in here for recon?” she asked.
A soft breath. “She’s fighting with the tinsel. I think she’s losing.”
Yoohyeon cracked a smile but kept her eyes on the kettle.
Bora stepped farther into the kitchen. The sound of a cupboard opening. A mug placed softly on the counter. She said, “I forgot how cold it gets in this house.”
Yoohyeon glanced at her. Bora’s sleeves were pushed to her elbows now, revealing the watch she always wore too tight. Her hair had dried from the snow. She looked relaxed. Tired, maybe. Older, but only in a way that made Yoohyeon aware of how young she had been the last time they’d really shared space. That rainy night on the porch…
“You want tea?” Yoohyeon asked.
Bora looked up, surprised. “You’re offering?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
That earned the smallest of smiles.
“Sure,” she said. “Whatever you’re having.”
Yoohyeon nodded once. She grabbed another mug from the shelf, her fingers brushing Bora’s wrist as she reached over her.
Neither of them commented on it.
She dropped a sachet into the mug. The kettle clicked off. The water poured in a quiet stream, steam curling between them.
For a moment, it was just the sound of water, the faint crackle of tree lights in the next room, and the ghost of something unnamed in the air.
“Minji told me you were back from uni,” Bora said, leaning against the opposite counter. “Didn’t think I’d actually catch you here.”
“I wasn’t supposed to stay this long,” Yoohyeon admitted. “But my studio got shut down early for break. Water damage.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah. Very glamorous lifestyle.”
Bora chuckled. “Sounds like a lifestyle of a true artist.”
Yoohyeon passed her a mug, then returned to her own on the other side of the kitchen. She leaned against the cold tile, blowing gently across the surface.
She could feel Bora watching her. Not intensely. Not deliberately. Just... aware.
“You look different,” Bora said eventually.
Yoohyeon looked up. “Older?”
“Something like that.”
She waited. But Bora didn’t elaborate.
“Different’s vague.”
“Vague’s safer.”
Yoohyeon arched a brow. “Still allergic to emotional vulnerability?”
Bora smiled, a little ruefully. “More like... out of practice.”
That made Yoohyeon pause.
She looked at Bora properly now — not just her voice, not just the impression of her — but her face. There was something quieter there than she remembered. Not sad. Not even tired. Just... muted.
Like she was turning down her own volume.
Yoohyeon felt a strange flicker in her chest. Not pity. Not attraction, even. Just the odd weight of remembering someone from far away and realizing they weren’t frozen in time after all.
“I used to think you were invincible,” she said without quite meaning to.
Bora blinked. “Me?”
“Yeah. You were loud. Untouchable. Like nothing could knock you over.”
Bora tilted her head. “And now?”
“Now you look like someone who double-checks expiration dates.”
“I do,” That earned a laugh, short and surprised. Bora admitted. “That’s growth.”
They stood in silence again, sipping their tea.
The chamomile wasn’t very strong. But it was warm.
“I didn’t mean to come off so…” Bora paused. “I don’t know. Teasing.”
“You always tease.”
“I used to. When you were a kid.”
Yoohyeon’s expression didn’t shift. “I’m not.”
“I know,” Bora said quietly.
Minji’s voice floated in from the hallway. “If either of you starts quoting philosophical wisdom in there, I’m locking the door.”
Yoohyeon reached for the mugs without looking. “She’s threatened that before.”
“Never followed through,” Bora murmured, close again.
There was a rustle of movement from the other room — the couch creaking, a drawer opening.
“I should help her,” Bora said, pushing off the counter.
Yoohyeon nodded. “She’s not winning against the tinsel.”
Bora reached the door, then paused. Looked back.
“Thanks. For the tea.”
Yoohyeon didn’t look at her, but she did say, “Don’t mention it.”
And when the kitchen was empty again, she exhaled.
Long. Steady. Unsettled.
Her mug was still warm in her hands.
But her skin? Her chest? Buzzing. Like she’d just been handed something too sharp to hold properly.
Yoohyeon sat cross-legged in the corner of the couch, her hoodie sleeves stretched over her hands, one ankle hooked beneath her. A book lay open in her lap, half-read at best and a hot mug of chamomile tea grasped between her fingers. She wasn't paying attention to the words. She was listening — to the fireplace crackling, to Minji muttering to herself over a tangled ribbon, to Bora moving somewhere in the kitchen behind her. The room smelled like cinnamon and pine and dust stirred from old ornaments.
Minji stood from the floor with a soft grunt, dusting glitter off her pajama pants. “Alright, it’s not perfect, but it’s symmetrical enough for the photos I’m going to post and then pretend I didn’t care about. Still, it needs some fixing later.”
Yoohyeon didn’t reply. Minji didn’t expect her to.
Bora wandered in a moment later with two mugs. She handed one mug to Minji, then plopped down onto the couch like she had a moral right to the entire thing.
“I used almond milk,” she said, already curling one leg under the other. “Because I know you’re both delicate, lactose-intolerant disasters.”
Minji beamed. “You do love us.”
“Don’t push it,” Bora muttered, but there was no heat behind it.
Yoohyeon felt the couch shift with Bora’s weight even from where she sat. She didn’t look up immediately — just traced a finger along the edge of her book. The room had gotten warmer. Or maybe that was the cocoa.
Bora took a sip and groaned like the mug held salvation. “Okay, this? This is my Roman Empire.”
Minji snorted into her own drink.
“You’ve been here two hours,” Yoohyeon said without looking over.
“And I’ve already brought peace, cocoa, and minor chaos. You’re welcome.”
Yoohyeon rolled her eyes. “You’re not as charming as you think you are.”
Bora leaned her head against the arm of the couch, eyes flicking toward her. “I never claimed to be charming.”
Minji raised a finger. “You absolutely did. At least twice. Once during my graduation party, and once while drunk in my kitchen in 2020.”
“That was tequila speaking,” Bora said.
Minji sipped. “It sounded a lot like you.”
They all fell quiet for a minute, the kind of quiet that fills a house when the day has finally run out of things to demand.
Bora’s voice was softer now. “This place looks exactly the same.”
Minji gave a hum of agreement. “Mom hasn’t redecorated since forever. I’m pretty sure the tree skirt is older than Yoohyeon.”
Yoohyeon looked up. “It’s not.”
“Barely.”
Bora’s eyes met hers.
Not for long.
But long enough that Yoohyeon had to look back down at her book just to stop thinking about the way it made her feel. She heard Bora shift — the rustle of the blanket being pulled over her legs, the sound of her mug hitting the coaster.
“Hey,” Bora said suddenly, turning toward her again. “Minji said you’re in the art school now?”
Yoohyeon glanced up warily. “Yeah.”
Bora smiled. “That’s cool.”
Yoohyeon blinked. “That’s it? No teasing? No jokes?”
Bora shrugged. “Why would I tease you for that?”
Minji piped up from the floor, where she had settled next to the half-open box of ornaments. “Because she teases everyone for everything. It’s her love language.”
“I’ve evolved,” Bora said. “I’m mature now.”
“You’re in Minji’s socks,” Yoohyeon said.
“I stand by my choices.”
Yoohyeon set her book aside. “You’re actually being... nice. It’s unsettling.”
Bora raised an eyebrow. “Would you prefer I insult your course choices?”
Yoohyeon opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Not exactly.”
“See? Growth.”
Minji let out a dramatic sigh. “I feel like I’m watching some bizarre time-loop therapy session.”
“You invited her,” Yoohyeon reminded her.
“Yeah, because I thought she’d be fun. Not that she’d reprogram my sister’s entire nervous system by breathing in her direction.”
Bora almost choked on her drink.
Yoohyeon stared, eyes wide. “You are incapable of filtering, aren’t you?”
“I call it sibling intuition,” Minji said smugly, flipping through a tangle of mini-lights.
“More like prophecy,” Bora muttered.
The tension dipped. Just a little.
Then returned — subtle but steady, like the hum of lights behind them.
Yoohyeon’s fingers curled around her mug. The heat sank into her palms, grounding.
Bora glanced over again. “So... what kind of stuff do you make? In your program.”
Yoohyeon hesitated. Then: “Mostly short-form visual projects. Some experimental stuff. Still images. Motion graphics. Rather than traditional ways of creating art, I chose digital pathway, but sometimes I still practice the sketching.”
“Sounds intense.”
“It can be.”
“I bet you’re good at it.”
Yoohyeon looked up, surprised.
There was no smirk on Bora’s face. No edge. Just that — soft, genuine, almost absentminded.
A quiet beat passed between them.
Then Minji made a loud groan and tossed a tinsel garland into the air like a war banner. “Okay, I give up. The tree wins. You two, take over. I’m gonna go look for snacks.”
Without waiting, she disappeared into the kitchen, muttering to herself about candy canes and capitalist glitter hell.
The living room fell into a hush.
Yoohyeon exhaled. And realized that now, it really was just the two of them.
The door closed behind them with a soft click.
Yoohyeon flicked on the near standing desk lamp — dim, warm, the only light in the room besides the soft moonspill from the window. The sketchbook was already on the coffee table, a stack of others beneath it. She hesitated for half a second, then picked it up and tossed it onto Bora’s lap.
Bora raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? No dramatic unveiling?”
“You’re lucky I’m showing you anything at all,” Yoohyeon said, crossing her arms.
“You’re really territorial about your secrets.”
“They’re not secrets. They’re… unfinished.”
“Mm. That’s what I used to say about my feelings in therapy.”
Yoohyeon rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re deflecting.”
“And you’re deflecting harder. Come on,” Bora said, perching on the edge of the couch, sketchbook unopened between them. “Let’s see it.”
Yoohyeon hesitated, then dropped back onto the couch. “You’re not allowed to laugh.”
“I don’t laugh,” Bora said seriously. “I appreciate.”
“You laugh constantly.”
Bora opened the sketchbook gently — not teasing, not overplaying it. She flipped a few pages, the paper making a soft sound as it turned.
“...Whoa,” she murmured.
Yoohyeon didn’t move.
“These are incredible,” Bora said. “Like—raw. Intense.”
“Don’t say raw.”
“Why not?”
“It makes it sound like I’m in a teenage breakup montage.”
Bora looked up, grinning. “You kind of are.”
Yoohyeon threw a crumpled tissue at her.
“I’m serious,” Bora said, flipping another page. “This is the kind of work people make when they’re trying to survive something. It’s... sharp. Restless.”
Yoohyeon looked away. “Well. That tracks.”
Silence stretched between them again — not awkward, but not weightless either.
Bora closed the book softly, like it deserved care. “I missed this.”
Yoohyeon raised an eyebrow. “What, this dusty living room?”
“You. Talking to you. Annoying you.”
“You never just annoyed me.”
Bora tilted her head. “No?”
“You—" Yoohyeon started, then stopped. “Forget it.”
“Say it.”
“No.”
“You’re being cryptic.”
“You’re being nosy.”
“It’s part of my charm.”
Yoohyeon stood abruptly. “God, you always do this. You act like everything is a joke.”
Bora blinked, surprised. “What?”
“You flirt, you say things that sound like apologies, and then you throw in a joke and disappear.”
Bora straightened. “I didn’t disappear.”
“Yes, you did!” Yoohyeon snapped, and it came out louder than she meant. “For years. Three fucking years, Bora! You only showed up when you made sure there’s only Minji and not me, and now after all this time you act like nothing happened between us.”
Bora stood now, too. “You were a kid. I didn’t think you even noticed.”
“I wasn’t a kid.”
“You were sixteen.”
“I was sixteen and trying so hard to mean something to you. And you made me feel nothing!”
The room went quiet. Too quiet.
Yoohyeon’s voice cracked a little. “You knew. You knew, and you laughed it off.”
Bora looked stricken — genuinely. “Yoohyeon…”
She turned away, pacing toward the window, back to Bora. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t know how to deal with it,” Bora said quietly.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have flirted with me like it was a game. You shouldn’t have done that unjust action in that rainy night on that Goddamn porch! Ugh, forget it! You told me to pretend it never happened so I do now. But know that you started it first.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did.”
Yoohyeon finally turned around, arms folded tight across her chest, voice trembling from restraint more than anger now. “And now you’re here, acting like we can pick up where we left off, but you’re not saying anything real. You’re just... dancing around it. Like always.”
Bora opened her mouth — then closed it.
She exhaled. “Okay. You’re right.”
Yoohyeon blinked. “What?”
“You’re right,” Bora said again, quieter this time. “I messed up. I kept coming back only when I made sure you weren’t there, avoiding you and now I’m acting like I didn’t leave a mess behind. I told you to act like nothing happened. I left you for three years with no explanation. Okay, I admit it.”
Yoohyeon didn’t respond.
“I did flirt,” Bora continued. “Because it was easy with you. And selfish. And stupid. I played with your feelings…”
Yoohyeon’s shoulders dropped slightly.
“But,” Bora said, stepping closer, “I’m here now. Not to rewrite anything. Just to stay, if you’ll let me.”
Yoohyeon looked up. “And what does that mean?”
Bora’s mouth opened—
But just then, the door opened.
Minji leaned into the living room holding a tin of cookies and a single eyebrow raised.
“Okay, I was going to offer these, but this looks like... something.”
Neither of them moved.
Minji looked between them, frowning faintly. “Did you two break the sketchbook already?”
“We’re fine,” Yoohyeon said, voice too tight.
Minji didn’t believe her, but she also didn’t ask.
Instead, she crossed the room, shoved the tin onto the coffee table, and sat down dramatically on the foot of the couch. “Cool. Well, in case this is a cult summoning or a duel, I’m staying.”
Bora sighed and dropped onto the couch beside her.
Yoohyeon remained standing.
Minji pulled out a cookie. “Honestly, the vibes are weird. But the lighting’s great.”
“Minji,” Yoohyeon started with a deep irritation and headache forming.
“I’m just saying,” Minji replied, biting into the cookie. “If you two want to go back to pretending you hate each other, I can supervise.”
“We don’t hate each other,” Bora muttered. “At least I don’t.”
“Mm-hmm. Okay, let me think of a game that would ease the atmosphere here.”
Another silence full of contemplation.
Yoohyeon sat down — not close, not far. Just enough to share the space without crowding it.
Bora didn’t look at Yoohyeon. And in return Yoohyeon didn’t look at Bora.
The tension returned — not the playful kind this time. Something more fragile. Unspoken.
Unresolved.
Three years ago.
It was raining the way it always did in early winter — like the sky couldn’t quite make up its mind whether to snow or weep. The garden out back had turned to slush. The tree branches leaned, heavy with wet leaves. The wind pressed against the windows like it wanted to listen in.
Yoohyeon stood at the edge of the porch in a too-thin hoodie, arms folded tight over her chest, watching the world blur behind streaks of water. Her breath came in uneven puffs. Her cheeks burned, not from cold, but from something worse — the kind of nervousness that had nowhere left to go.
Behind her, the screen door creaked open.
She didn’t turn around.
“You’ll catch something out here,” came Bora’s voice, half-laughing, half-scolding. “Pneumonia. Romanticism. Take your pick.”
Yoohyeon didn’t move. “You say that like they’re different.”
Bora stepped onto the porch, pulling her sleeves down over her hands. She was wearing an oversized college sweater, and her hair was half-damp, curls sticking out in different directions. She looked older, somehow. Taller. Sharper.
But she still looked like Bora.
Yoohyeon swallowed.
Bora leaned against the railing, not too close. Her gaze flicked toward the rain. “Did you fight with your mom again?”
Yoohyeon shook her head.
“Minji?”
“No.”
Bora glanced at her, brows lifting. “Me?”
Yoohyeon hesitated.
Then: “No.”
It was technically true. They hadn’t fought
Yet.
The silence stretched. Bora shifted her weight, the wooden floor creaking under her feet. “You’re quiet.”
“I have something to say.”
Bora nodded. “Okay.”
Yoohyeon turned her head slightly, eyes still on the garden. “I’ve been meaning to say it for a while.”
Bora didn’t speak, but Yoohyeon felt the way she stilled — the small, involuntary pause that gave her away. She was listening.
Yoohyeon’s throat tightened.
“I think I like you,” she said softly.
The words were plain. Bare. Like standing without an umbrella in the middle of the storm.
Bora didn’t move.
Yoohyeon clenched her fists inside her sleeves. “I know it’s stupid. And I know I’m just—just Minji’s kid sister, and we joke around, and you probably think this is some teenage crush I’ll grow out of, but—” Her voice cracked. “I’ve liked you for a long time. You’re my very first.”
Still, nothing.
The only sound was rain against the tin roof and Yoohyeon’s breath catching in her throat.
Then—
“Yoohyeon,” Bora said quietly.
Yoohyeon finally turned.
Bora was watching her like she was trying to see through glass. Her brows drawn tight, her mouth parted. There was something unreadable in her eyes — like she was already halfway to some decision.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel—” Bora began.
Yoohyeon stepped forward. Just once. Just enough. “I’m not asking you to like me back.”
Her voice wavered, but she stood her ground.
“I just wanted to tell you. Before you leave again. Before I don’t get another chance.”
Bora stared at her.
And then, suddenly, impossibly—
Bora pressed her lips against hers. Yoohyeon froze, only a soft surprised gasp slipped out before the older girl started moving her mouth. Chests pressed together, and Bora landed her arms around the smaller girl, connecting their lips again. And again. And again…
Until they hungrily needed mixing each other’s breath into one.
It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft.
It was real.
Bora’s hands cupped her jaw like she didn’t trust herself to let go. Their lips pressed together like they had already missed years of this. Yoohyeon inhaled sharply, her fingers grabbing at Bora’s sweater to keep herself upright. She was locking her lips with Bora’s repeatedly, barely keeping up with a desperate, passionate, hungry pace of the older girl.
She kissed back like she meant it.
And for one long, dizzy second — it was everything.
Then Bora pulled away.
Her breath hitched. Her hands dropped.
Yoohyeon blinked up at her, heart hammering, lips shamelessly swollen from kissing so much.
Bora stepped back like she’d touched fire.
“Oh god,” she whispered.
Yoohyeon’s stomach dropped.
“Bora?”
Bora looked at her — really looked, then at her hands, at last fingers caressing her own lips in disbelief. Her face was pale. Her mouth trembled.
“I shouldn’t have—” she shook her head. “You’re sixteen. I— shit!”
“It’s not like that—”
“It is,” Bora said, backing further toward the door. “It is exactly like that.”
Yoohyeon took a step toward her. “You kissed me.”
“I know,” she breathed, shaking her head again. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Yoohyeon’s chest ached.
“But I meant all of it, Bora,” she whispered.
Bora winced. “That’s why it’s worse.”
They stood there, the space between them thick and echoing, full of everything that couldn’t be undone.
Then Bora said it.
Soft. Final.
“Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen, okay? You’re so young. I’m sure you’ll find your happiness eventually. But not with me… It’s wrong.”
Yoohyeon flinched like she’d been hit, “No.”
But Bora was already opening the door.
“You can’t just—”
“Please, Yoohyeon. I beg you. Pretend like nothing happened at least for Minji. She will be furious if she finds out. Believe me. So, let us never speak of it.”
Yoohyeon’s voice broke. “You always swore you were different.”
“I am,” Bora said quietly.
“Then prove it. Tell me the truth.”
But Bora said nothing.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
Yoohyeon stood on the porch until the cold made her fingers go numb. She didn’t cry until the rain had already soaked through her sleeves.
Next morning Bora left without a proper farewell or explanation. This was the last time Yoohyeon talked to her in the following three years.