Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Yeonji – Age 15

When Yeonji opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the ceiling.  It was the colour of old paper, stained at the edges.  The light flickered softly above her, the hum of the fluorescent tubes blending into the high‑pitched ringing in her ears.

She blinked. Then again, before the smell of the room hit her. Disinfectant.

Her arm throbbed in dull pulses beneath the thin gauze, but it didn’t hurt as much as she expected.  Everything felt distant, almost as if her body was another room she’d locked from the inside.  For a long time, she didn’t move.  The white blanket rose and fell with each shallow breath, as if her lungs weren’t sure they were supposed to keep going.

And as she lay there, the memory of how she ended up here crawled back.

She remembered the school bathroom, the sound the bathroom stall made as she slid the lock closed.  She remembered how empty she felt inside, no longer having the energy to care or try anymore.  She didn't have a reason for wanting to be alive, nor did she have anyone in her life that would care whether she was gone or not.  Then she remembered the sound of the blade slipping through the skin of her wrist, like paper tearing, and the pain that followed.  And then there was the weird sensation of watching her wrist drop blood to the floor, and the silence that followed it.

Then came the moment she felt herself starting to fade, and the strange sense of peace as she did.  

She remembered not being afraid, and that was what terrified her now.  Not death, but how peaceful it had felt and just how okay she was with it.

She squeezed her eyes shut as the ringing in her ears swelled again.  Somewhere nearby, a machine beeped in steady rhythm, keeping time for her heart.  She wondered absently, if anyone had noticed she was gone or If anyone had cared enough to check.  But someone had found her as that was the only reason she was here.

Her fingers curled slightly beneath the blanket. They were cold and her whole body felt like it had been hollowed out and left under water.  More memories returned, crashing against her in broken fragments and echoes of things she would rather forget.

The first time a social worker placed her in a home with people she didn't know.

The echo of doors slamming behind her as she was moved again, and again, and again.

The foster homes that used their hands as weapons.

The foster parents who called her ungrateful for crying herself to sleep.

The bruises.  The silences.  The pain.

The guilt that clawed into her spine and whispered to her that maybe this is just who you are.  Maybe you are the problem.  A problem that nobody wanted to fix.

A quiet knock at the hospital door pulled her out of the spiral.  A nurse peeked in, offering a faint, practiced smile.  “Ah, you’re awake.  That’s good.”

Yeonji didn’t respond.  She had no words for her.

The nurse checked her vitals on the machine that was hooked up to her, before writing something in the chart.  Within a few minutes, she had stepped out, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

Leaving Yeonji alone to her thoughts.  Again.

________________________________________

Kotone

Kotone was grading essays after school when her phone rang.

The classroom was empty, sunlight pooling along the scratched linoleum floor.  Kotone was sitting at her desk, a red pen between her fingers and only half-focused on a student’s flowery overuse of adjectives.

Her phone buzzed against the wood.  Unknown number.  She almost ignored it and let it go to voicemail.

Almost.

But she picked it up, answering with a tentative and slightly weary “Hello?”

“Can I speak to Miss Kamimoto please,” the voice on the other end of the line asked in a clipped but professional tone. 

"Yes, speaking" replied Kotone tentatively.  "Who is this?"

“My name is Nurse Ito, and I'm calling from Tokyo General Hospital."   Kotone felt herself tensing at that, her mind already starting to worry that something had happened to one of her parents or to a friend.

Before she had a chance to ask any questions, the nurse continued speaking.  "You have been listed as the emergency contact for a minor.  Kwak Yeonji.  She was admitted to our Hospital this morning.”

Kotone froze, the pen falling from her fingers on to the desk.  The name crashed into her like a wave of ice.

Yeonji?

She hadn’t heard that name in five years.  Not since the accident that had taken the girl's parents and Yeonji had vanished into the foster system.  She remembered the girl so vividly though.  Her bright eyes, the endless chatter, and a girl with too much energy and laughter that filled every space.  She hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye before the system took her.

Kotone stood abruptly, knocking the pen to the floor.  “What happened to her? Is she okay?"

“She’s stable,” the nurse said gently.  “And she regained consciousness recently.  That’s all I can tell you over the phone.  Can you come to the hospital?”

The nurses words settled heavy in her chest.  Stable.  Regained consciousness.  What on earth had happened to her?  Kotone grabbed her coat without even thinking, her heart thudding painfully hard.

“But... why me?” she asked, struggling to find the words as differing thoughts crashed against each other.  “I haven’t… I didn’t even know she still...  Why would she list me as her contact?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that Miss Kamimoto.  Yours was the only contact that she had on her.”

Kotone didn't understand that, but she was moving regardless.  "Okay," she said, flinging on her coat.  "I'll be there shortly."  By the time she disconnected the call, she was already out the door, her breath hitching in her throat.

Rain had started falling by the time she reached the hospital.  It was a cold and horrible drizzle, the kind that clung to skin and clothing.  She barely remembered how she had even got to the hospital, left instead with a blinding guilt and confused thoughts spinning through her head.

Why her?  Why now?

She hadn’t seen or spoken to Yeonji in years, but she had always felt guilt that she didn't try harder to find out what had happened to the girl.  or to find a way to keep the connection alive after the foster system had scattered them like ash.

She pressed a hand to her chest as she stepped off the elevator and headed to the room the reception desk had given her.  Each step echoed with questions, but when she reached the door she hesitated, her hand hovering half way between her body and the door.

What if Yeonji made a mistake?  What if she doesn't want to see me?  What is she asks me why I haven't reached out in 5 years?

She took a few steadying breaths before she opened the door and stepped into the room. 

There was a girl lying on the bed.  She was still, barely moving, almost drowning under the thin white sheets.  Wires trailed from her finger, whilst an IV line curled down and into her arm.  The girl was facing away from the door, toward the window, but as Kotone entered the room, the girl turned toward her. 

Kotone felt her own heart thunder in her ears.  The girl before her looked exhausted.  Her face was drawn and pale, her cheeks sunken, her eyes heavy with dark circles.  The expression on her face was unreadable, but it was without a doubt Yeonji.

Kotone did a quick calculation in her head, counting that Yeonji should be around fifteen or sixteen years old.  But, the girl in front of her had the eyes of someone way older.

She took another step into the room, and there was a flicker of recognition across Yeonji's face along with something else she couldn't name.  She spoke, a quiet “Hey” that wasn't even acknowledged.

Kotone had a million questions.  And no questions.  She wasn't even sure why she was here, and any other words she wanted to say froze in her throat.

She said nothing, because she didn't know where to begin.  And Yeonji didn’t say anything to her. 

All she did was lay in the hospital bed and stared at her like she couldn’t believe Kotone was actually in the room.

________________________________________

Seconds that felt like minutes passed, the silence between them feeling heavier than the IV drip that ticked in slow, rhythmic drops.  Kotone still stood just inside the hospital room, her coat still damp from the rain, dripping onto the floor of the room.  She hadn’t moved any further inside, as she wasn't sure she was allowed to.  Or, if she even wanted to.

It wasn't helped by the fact that Yeonji didn’t say a word, not even a hello.  She just kept staring, as if the sight of Kotone standing there made no sense.

So, Kotone stayed there.  Half in, half out. Not knowing what she was supposed to say or who she was supposed to be to this girl anymore.

She’d imagined this reunion in countless ways over the years.  But never like this.  Not surrounded by white walls, with gauze wrapped around her wrist.

“…I’m here,” Kotone said quietly, because it was the only thing she could think of that didn’t sound wrong.  Even as she spoke, she kept glancing at the gauze on Yeonji's wrist, dreading the implications of what it meant. 

Yeonji turned her head away, eyes fixed out the window again.  The rain blurred the cityscape into shapes and colours and her expression didn’t change.

Kotone took a breath and stepped past the threshold and sat down in the visitor’s chair, the metal creaking softly beneath her.  On the bedside table beside the bed sat a cup of untouched water.  No flowers.  No cards.  No signs anyone else had come.

“Do you…” she tried, then stopped.  That question had too many wrong directions to go in.  Don’t ask what happened, she told herself.  She doesn’t need that.  Not right now.

Up close, Kotone was able to see the changes in Yeonji.  She looked older and yet younger than she should.  She was so pale, and her cheeks hollowed like she had barely eaten in weeks.  Her eyes looked like she had lived multiple lives, but her body looked like it was barely that of a girl in her teenage years.

Kotone knew what that meant.  She was a teacher, she was trained to look for certain signs in the kids in her classroom.

And the spark Kotone remembered was gone, replaced by something colder. Harder.  A face Kotone didn’t recognize, shaped around a girl she did.

And yet…

________________________________________

Six Years Earlier – Yeonji, Age 9

“Unnie, unnie, look! I drew us as superheroes!”  Kotone looked up from the couch, where she’d been on her phone.  She was over as a guest of Yeonji's parents for dinner, having made friends with her mum through work.

A small missile of energy barrelled into the living room, waving paper like a flag.  Yeonji was wearing a red cape made from a blanket and had clearly gotten into some glitter glue again.

Kotone laughed, taking the crumpled artwork from her hands.  “Is this supposed to be me with laser eyes?” she asked, pointing at one of the figures on the paper.

“Yes! Because you’re the coolest and smartest and you always save the day.”

Kotone smiled and ruffled her hair.  “I save the day huh?  I bet you’ve got pretty cool powers too, kid.”

Yeonji beamed. “I can talk to animals and eat fifteen cookies without getting a stomach-ache! 

Kotone chuckled.  “I thought your power was talking nonstop.”

Yeonji giggled and climbed onto the couch beside her, squishing into her side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The house smelled like dinner cooking. Somewhere down the hall, her parents were laughing about something.  There was music playing — soft jazz, Yeonji’s dad’s favourite.

It had been warm then.  Full of light.  And love.

________________________________________

Present – Hospital Room

That light was gone now, replaced with the cold light of the hospital room. 

Kotone blinked back the memory.  Yeonji still hadn't said a word.  Her body curled slightly toward the window, as though she wanted to disappear into the corner of the room.  The monitor’s steady beeping filled the air.

Before Kotone could find something else to say, the door creaked open.  A nurse stepped in, clipboard in hand and a forced smile on her lips.  She was young, maybe not much older than Kotone.  She gave a brief glance at the visitor’s chair and nodded politely.  “Just checking her IV,” she said, moving quietly to the bedside.

As the nurse approached, Kotone noticed the way that Yeonji's body tensed, as if she was preparing for something to go wrong.

The nurse made notes and adjusted the drip slightly.  With a quick glance at Yeonji, she said “We’ve managed to locate your current foster parents.  We will call them and ask them to come in later today to...”

She never got to finish the sentence, as the reaction from Yeonji was immediate.

Yeonji sat bolt upright in bed, eyes wide with full-body panic.  “No" the word tore out of her.  "No— please don’t...”.  Her voice cracked.  “Please don’t call them.  Please.”

The sheer terror in her voice stopped everything.

“Yeonji...” Kotone stood instinctively, but the girl was already trying to rip the IV from her arm, the heart monitor showing her heart rate increasing rapidly. 

“Don’t let them come!  Please, please, I’ll do anything, just don’t...”

The nurse took a step back, startled at Yeonji's reaction.  “Hey, hey, it’s okay, no one’s here yet...”

But Yeonji wasn’t listening.  Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving in gulps of air.  Kotone moved to the side of the bed, moving into her line of sight but not touching her.  “Yeonji.  Yeonji, look at me.”

Yeonji’s eyes darted wildly, filled with tears and something deeper — pure fear.  “They hurt me,” she whispered in a broken voice, so low it barely registered.  “I can’t go back.  I can’t.  Please don’t make me go back.”

Her entire body was trembling now. Kotone swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, keeping her voice steady.  “Okay.  Okay.  I won’t let them.  You’re not going back.  I promise.”

She turned to the nurse, her voice steady.  “Don’t call them.  Not yet.  You need to get someone from social services.  She’s not safe there.”

The nurse nodded quickly and slipped out, leaving them alone.

Kotone sat carefully on the edge of the bed, close enough for Yeonji to feel but not crowd her.  Yeonji collapsed inward, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, forehead pressed to them. Her breaths hitched, trembling, as she fought back the tears that she was only just holding in.

She  didn’t speak or reach out.  She just stayed as a quiet, steady presence.  The space between them filled with everything neither of them knew how to say.

Chapter Text

Kotone had sat with Yeonji for a long time, before the silence and the steady beep of the monitor became too much.  Her chest was still tight from Yeonji's visceral reaction earlier, so she excused herself quietly before she stepped out the room and into the corridor. 

She closed the door behind her, and pressed her back into the cold wall.  The sterile, chemical scent of antiseptic clung to the hallway.  Oh, how Kotone hated that smell.  Nurses walked past, not even throwing her a glance, their voices kept low.  Somewhere down the corridor, a child was crying. The sound was muffled, but it seemed to echo endlessly.

As she leant against the wall, she closed her eyes, and all Kotone could see was Yeonji’s face.  How pale, empty and terrified it looked.  The way her voice cracked as she begged not to be sent back… it echoed inside Kotone like glass shattering in her chest.

She forced herself to take a breath.  Then, with a weary sigh she walked over to the nurses station to speak to the nurse who was in the room earlier.  She was writing up notes on the giant whiteboard behind the desk, but she glanced around and paused as she heard Kotone approach. 

“Can I speak to you?”  Kotone asked quietly.  “Somewhere private?”

The nurse hesitated, then nodded and led her down the hall to a small office, which smelled stale with old coffee mixed in.  The nurse offered her a glass of water, but Kotone shook her head, she didn’t trust her hands not to spill it.

They sat down in silence for a moment.  Kotone had so many questions but she couldn't get her brain to work.  She didn't even know where to start.  Instead, it was the nurse that spoke first.

“…Sorry, about earlier” the nurse said, softly.  “That was… a lot.”

“She’s terrified,” Kotone murmured.  “Like... truly terrified.  I’ve never seen a child react like that.  What happened to her?”  Kotone didn't know if she was asking about how Yeonji had ended up in hospital, or what had happened to her over the past few years since she had last seen her.  Maybe both. 

The nurse hesitated, then pulled a folder from under her arm and opened it.

“I don’t have the full report.  But here’s what I do know,” she said carefully.  “Yeonji was found in the school bathroom this morning.  A teacher noticed she was missing during last period and they reported it.  They did a sweep of the school. Eventually, the janitor found her.”

The nurse paused for a second, swallowing hard, before she continued.  “She had locked herself in the farthest stall.  She had used a small blade and cut into her left wrist.  She had cut very deep, and the janitor said that there was blood all over the floor.”

Kotone’s stomach turned as her hand shot to her mouth as if she could block the image out, but it was too late. for that.

“The janitor called for an ambulance, and then she was brought here.  The paramedics that brought her in said if she’d been found even a few minutes later…”

The nurse trailed off.  She didn’t need to finish.

Kotone pushed a shaking hand through her hair.  “Why would she... She’s just a kid.”

“Yeah,” the nurse whispered.  “She is.”

There was a beat of silence before Kotone asked, “Why was I listed as her emergency contact?  I haven’t seen Yeonji in five years.”

“She didn’t have a phone on her, and there was nothing in her bag.” the nurse stated.  “But we found this folded in the pocket of her jacket.”  She slid a torn scrap of paper across the desk.  Ink bled slightly at the edges where it had gotten damp.

Kotone took it with trembling fingers.  Her name and number were written in shaky, uneven, almost illegible handwriting.

Kotone stared at the paper, the letters swimming in her vision.  How long had Yeonji held on to this?  How desperate had she been for this to be her only option?

She clutched the paper to her chest, her throat burning.

________________________________________

Flashback – Seven Years Ago

“Unnie, unnie, can you come to my recital this time? You promised!”

Kotone looked up from the couch, the TV humming faintly in the background.  The 8-year-old was standing in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips, like a drama queen, pouting for full effect.

“You're right, I did promise,” Kotone said, amused.  “When is it?”

“This Friday!” Yeonji declared, flopping onto the couch beside her.  “I’m singing a song.  My mom helped me learn it.”

“You’re going to be amazing,” Kotone said, tugging playfully on one of her pigtails.

Yeonji smiled as Kotone tugged on her hair.  “You have to promise that you will clap louder for me than anyone else!”

Kotone laughed then, hooking her pinky with Yeonji's.  “Pinky promise, I'll clap the loudest I have ever clapped in my life for you.”

Yeonji beamed at her like she’d just won an award.

________________________________________

Present Day – Evening, Tokyo General Hospital

It was late evening when someone from Social Services arrived.

A woman in her mid-thirties stepped into the hospital waiting area, a leather folder in her arms and fatigue behind her glasses. She introduced herself as Ms. Yamamoto and shook Kotone’s hand with professional politeness.

They spoke in hushed tones just outside Yeonji’s room.

“I understand you were her emergency contact?” the woman asked, flipping through her files.  “I must say that this is unusual. You’re not immediate family?”

Kotone shook her head.  “We were… I was close with her family when she was younger.  I haven’t seen her in five years.”

“I see,” Ms. Yamamoto nodded.  Her tone was neutral and professional.  “She’s been in the system since her parents passed away when she was ten.  According to her file, she’s been through six foster homes in the last five years.”

Kotone’s stomach twisted.

“Some placements described Yeonji as ‘withdrawn,’ others as ‘defiant; or 'angry'.”  Ms. Yamamoto went on.  “She was labelled difficult and most of the families gave up within months.”

Kotone stayed quiet.

“She’s also Korean,” the woman added quietly.  “Which, unfortunately, makes placement harder.  Trauma, language, cultural differences — these systems aren’t always built for that.”

There was no judgement in her tone.  Just exhaustion and resigned fact.

“I’ll need to speak with her,” Ms. Yamamoto continued.  “We need to determine whether she can return to her current foster placement or if she requires temporary housing.”

Kotone’s breath caught. “She can’t go back there.”

The woman hesitated.  “I can’t make that call until I’ve spoken to her myself.”

________________________________________

Inside the Hospital Room

When they entered the room, Yeonji was sitting against the pillows, motionless.  The IV line ran from her arm, the tape slightly frayed at the edge.  Her fingers twisted in the blanket — small, anxious motions, almost invisible.  She didn’t look up at either of them.  

“Hi, Yeonji,” Ms. Yamamoto said gently, taking the seat Kotone had used earlier. “My name is Ms. Yamamoto.  I'm from social services and I’d like to talk with you, just for a bit. Is that okay?”

Yeonji didn’t move.  Didn't speak.

“I just want to understand what happened,” the woman continued.  “Your file says you’re currently staying with the Sato family.  Is that right?”

At the sound of their name, Yeonji's whole body went rigid, her shoulders tightening and her fingers stopped moving.

“Yeonji?” Ms. Yamamoto prompted softly.  “Can you tell me how things have been at home?”

The silence stretched, before Yeonji's voice cracked through the quiet.  “Don’t make me go back.”

“We’re not making any decisions yet,” Ms. Yamamoto began carefully, “but...”

“Don’t make me go back,” Yeonji snapped, her voice rising in panic.  She sat up too fast, her eyes wild, the heart rate monitor spiking higher every second.

“They locked me in the basement,” Yeonji choked out, the words tripping over themselves. “For hours.  No food.  No light.  They said it was discipline.  Said I should be grateful.  That I was lucky they even kept me.  They... They did things...”  She stopped. The rest lodged somewhere it couldn’t get out.

Tears blurred her eyes.  “If you send me back…” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.  “I’ll kill myself.  And this time, I'll do it right."

The room froze, and even the machines seemed to fall quiet for a second.

Even Ms. Yamamoto looked stunned.

Kotone’s heart dropped out of her chest.  It was the most Yeonji had spoken since she arrived at the hospital, and to suggest she would try and take her own life again...

The room swelled with the sound of Yeonji’s breath, rapid and choking.

Ms. Yamamoto raised both hands slightly, palms open. “Okay.  You’re not going back,” she said gently.  “I promise. We’ll find somewhere else.  You’re safe right now, Yeonji.”

Yeonji was still shaking, her breath stuttering in and out, so Kotone moved closer.  Not touching her, but close enough that Yeonji could feel she wasn’t alone.

“It’s okay,” Kotone murmured.  “You’re safe here Yeonji.  I promise.”

The panic ebbed slowly, and Yeonji slumped forward, her forehead against her knees.

Her voice came out small, broken.  “I told someone before.  No one listened.  They said I was lying.”

The social worker shook her head at that.  "Okay, Yeonji.  Thanks for your time, I'll let you rest for now."

She looked to Kotone and asked her to step out the room with her.

Outside the room, Ms. Yamamoto closed her folder and exhaled.

“You were right,” she said to Kotone. “I can’t in good conscience send her back there. I’ll start the process for an emergency re‑placement.  But it’ll take time.”

Kotone nodded numbly.  “Do… do something, please.  Just don’t let her go back.”

“I won’t,” said Ms. Yamamoto. “Not this time.”

They spoke a little bit more before she took her leave.  Kotone watched her walk away, footsteps echoing in the hospital corridor.

________________________________________

Two days later

Yeonji had barely spoken in the days since.  She ate very little.  Slept even less.  The hospital staff tried, but she curled in on herself like a dying flame.

Kotone was sitting with her in the same small office, its fluorescent lights casting a pale, tired glow on the off-white walls and beige vinyl floors.

Across from her, Ms. Yamamoto sipped from a paper cup, her folder open in front of her.  The silence between them was thick, but it didn’t last.

Ms. Yamamoto spoke first. “I understand the hospital counsellors have tried speaking with her a few times?”

Kotone nodded.  “They’ve tried several times. She shuts down completely. Sometimes she won’t even look at them.”  No matter what the counsellors said, she wouldn’t engage with them, and whatever they thought of that, they kept to themselves.

“She’s been in the system since she was ten,” the care worker said softly, folding her hands.  “Her first placement was with a couple in Kanagawa.  They returned her after five months.  They said she was ‘too quiet,’ and she made their own children uncomfortable.”

Kotone blinked. “Too quiet?  Yeonji was never quiet.” 

One word Kotone would never have used to describe Yeonji when she was younger was quiet.

Ms. Yamamoto gave a tired nod.  “Then she went to a family in Saitama. That one lasted a year. Things were… okay at first, until school problems started showing. Panic attacks. Refusing to speak. Then the anger came. She lashed out at someone in school, started shouting a lot at home.  So they called her violent.  After that... well, you can imagine the kind of families who accept the so-called ‘difficult ones.’”

Kotone felt her throat tightening.

“She’s been through four more placements since then.  Each one shorter than the last.  The reports of them did not have a lot of detail so I looked into them more... and it seems that none of them were safe.  Food restrictions, isolation, violence, abuse...”

“None of them were safe?"  Kotone asked, her voice low and cold with anger.  "Why didn’t anyone stop it?” 

“She never said anything until now,” Ms. Yamamoto said, her voice laced with regret.  “And when she did, no one believed her.  After that she became conditioned not to even try.  Her file is laced with words like trouble, damaged, broken, angry.  They follow her from file to file... and sadly in this line of work, labels like that stick.”

“And the Sato’s?” Kotone asked, even though she already knew.

Ms. Yamamoto’s jaw tensed.  “She isn't going back there.  I have already made sure of that."

"So, what?" asked Kotone.  "Do they all get away with abusing her the way they did?"  She was angry now.  Angry for Yeonji.  Angry at a system that had failed her and there being no consequences for it.  A system that had turned Yeonji into a 15 year old kid who tried to take her own life.

Ms. Yamamoto looked tired and rubbed her eyes.  "I have reported the Sato's and every other family to the police and they are opening an investigation into them.  But Yeonji is refusing to give a statement, and labels... well labels stick.  It's her word as a kid against theirs as adults.  But I will do what I can."

Silence filled the room then, only filled by the faint hum of the air vent.

Kotone shook her head at how unfair it all was.  “And what happens now?” she asked.  “Where does she go?”

“Once she has recovered in hospital, she will need a temporary placement,” the woman said.  “Emergency foster care, just until we can find something more stable.  But given her history…”

She trailed off.  She didn’t need to finish.

Kotone stared at her own cup. It was empty, her fingers clenched so tightly around it the paper had begun to crumple.

She thought of the girl lying in that room. The way her voice had cracked like shattering glass.  How she curled inward like she was trying to make herself invisible.

Then she remembered the little girl from years ago.  Who begged to be spun around in the kitchen and would talk at her for hours non stop.

And then she heard her own voice before she even thought it through.  “She can stay with me.”

Ms. Yamamoto blinked.  “Sorry, what?”

“Just for now.  Until something else is sorted.  I have a spare room.  And I’m not a stranger.”  Kotone’s voice shook, but her eyes didn’t waver.  “At least, not entirely."  She thought of the scrap of paper that had her name and number on it.  "And she had me as an emergency contact, so that has to count for something.”

The social worker hesitated.  “Kotone, this isn’t a light decision.  You can't just decide these things on a whim.”

“I know," Kotone replied.

Ms. Yamamoto studied her for a long moment.  “She won't be the same girl you remember,” she said quietly.  “She may not trust you.  She might not even like you.”

Kotone’s mouth pulled into a tight line.  “I know that and I don’t care.  I’m not going to let her go to another family that will abuse her.  She's been through enough.”

A long pause.  Then, in a softer tone Ms. Yamamoto said “You’ll need to register for emergency foster status. You’ll have to come in for evaluations and interviews.  Home checks.  Character references.  Are you ready for that?”

Kotone nodded her head.  “Yes.”

“And I’ll need to get a judge’s signature.  It will take some time to get everything agreed, but under the circumstances a judge will see the case fairly quickly.”

“I don't care what it takes or how long.  She stays with me,” Kotone said again, her voice determined and steadfast.  “Please.”

For the first time that day, Ms. Yamamoto gave her a real smile.  “OK then.  I’ll get the paperwork started.”  

Kotone sat back in her chair. Her heart still pounded. Her hands shook.  But something inside her, some small, cracked part that had been rusted with guilt for years, settled, just a little.

She had lost contact with Yeonji to the system years ago and now she had made a decision to essentially become a foster home for her.  All she could do is wait and see if she would be allowed to take Yeonji or if the system would be cruel to her all over again. 

She still had to ask Yeonji if this would be something she wanted.

And Kotone didn’t know if she could bear it if the answer was no.

Chapter Text

Kotone was tired.  Exhausted even.  She was 35 years old, had never wanted to have children and yet here she was deciding to care for Yeonji.

It had been just over a week since the social service workers last visit.  In that time, Kotone had filled out form after form, had a home assessment, character references, and done more interviews than she could remember.

And she had just gotten off the phone to Ms. Yamamoto.  The judge had confirmed they were happy to let Kotone become the official foster for Yeonji.  

Kotone expected to feel relief at that news.  Instead, she just felt out of her depth.  And she still hadn't mentioned this to Yeonji or asked her if this would be something she would want.  She had put it off in her own head.  Kept making excuses.  Wait for the next interview.  Wait for the home assessment.  But now that the judge had confirmed it, she had no more excuses left.  She had to tell Yeonji. 

When she entered the hospital room, it was too bright.

The curtains had been drawn back sometime in the morning, and winters light now spilled across the floor. The ever present hospital smell was still sharp in her nose—antiseptic and mechanical odours.

Yeonji was sitting upright in bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, IV line tugging gently with every twitch of her hand.  Her left wrist was still bandaged and wrapped tightly.  

Kotone swallowed before she moved to stand closer to the bed.  Not close but not far.

When she spoke, she tried to keep the nerves out of her voice.  To keep it gentle and friendly.  She knew she was going to tread over difficult ground.

“So, for the last week and a bit, Ms. Yamamoto has been looking for someone to place you with."

At that Yeonji looked at her.  Her eyes narrowed.  She curled further up, trying to make herself smaller.  Unseen.  Kotone barrelled on in a rush, trying to put Yeonji at ease.

"I had asked her if you could stay with me. Until they figure something else out.  And I just heard from her that the judge agreed.  So, if you want to, you can stay with me for now.”

Kotone didn't know how Yeonji would respond.  What she would say.  But all she got was silence.

________________________________________

As soon as the words have left Kotone's mouth, Yeonji couldn't respond.  She didn't blink.  She had held her breath without even noticing.  

Stay.

With Kotone?

She had expected to be placed with another family that wouldn't care and would hurt her.  That was all she ever got from the system.  Her mind swam in echoes. Foster homes, one after the other. Whispers and hands and empty plates. Pain.  Locked doors. Yelling. The weight of silence crushing her chest in the dark.

She hadn't expected it to be with Kotone.  The silence stretched as he mind swam.

And then, after what felt like an eternity of silence...

“No,” Yeonji finally rasped.

Kotone didn’t flinch. “It’s not forever.”

“No.” Sharper this time. “You don’t know me.”

“I used to,” Kotone said gently.

Yeonji turned her face away. “That was before.”

That was before her parents died. Before the screaming. Before she learned how to protect herself from hands and feet. Before people stopped seeing her as a child and started seeing her as a problem or a waste of space.

Kotone didn’t try to argue. She just stood there.

It was worse than yelling.

Yeonji pressed her forehead to her knees. Her voice was trembling now. “Why would you do this?”

“Because someone has to.”

“You don’t have to,” Yeonji snapped, sharper than she meant to, sharper than she could help. “You’re not my mom. You’re not anything or anyone.  Not anymore.”

And there it was. Out in the open.

The ugly truth.

But Kotone didn’t leave.  This.  This she had expected and prepared for.  It was better than silence.

She sat in the chair beside the bed, hands clasped in her lap, and said, “Your right.  I'm not. But I’m someone you used to know and I can try to help you if you let me.”

The words hung there between them.

Let me.

The words felt foreign to Yeonji. Like it was meant for someone else.  She was being given the option to choose.  

Yeonji didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

The last 5 years had been hell.  She learned not to want, not to hope.  Frankly, she was terrified to hope because that only resulted in disappointment.  She was terrified to breathe too deeply in case it shattered.

"You don't need to decide for now" said Kotone.  "Just know that its an option."

Yeonji had no words for that and so silence returned.

________________________________________

After two weeks in hospital, the nurses advised that Yeonji would be free to leave in a few days.  The mental health counsellors at the hospital had tried again to get Yeonji to speak, to her her to open up, but she still refused to talk or engage at all.

Ms. Yamamoto had come by a few more times and tried speaking to Yeonji about what happens next.  Told her that Kotone had put a lot of work in for her application and hoped that she would accept.  If not, she would be placed somewhere else and she would do her best to find her somewhere suitable.

Yeonji didn't trust that.  A lie, because that's what she had been told every other time by every other worker.

And so she thought about what Kotone had asked her.  She hadn't brought it up again and didn't push or demand an answer from her.  Just gave her the space and time to consider it.

She remembered Kotone as a friend of her mums.  She was kind whenever Yeonji was around.  Let her talk about whatever was on her mind.  

Would it be so bad she wondered?

Yes her mind told her.

She didn't reach out after you were placed in a home. 

She didnt save you from them.  

She's just like the others.

She curled herself into a ball as the same thoughts repeated over and over again.

________________________________________

The next morning came, and Yeonji hadn't slept at all.  She had lay there, worrying over and over about what comes next.  She had thought about running.  Just escaping.  Going to the roof.  Ending it.  

But Kotone had barely left her side and didn't push her to talk.  She was just there.  She brought new flowers every day and brought her water whenever she needed it.

Maybe...maybe she could try.  One more time.  And so, with the little that remained of her bravery she decided.

"OK" said Yeonji.  

It was quiet.  Almost non existent to the point Kotone had barely heard her.

"Sorry" Kotone said.  "Did you say something Yeonji?"

She was looking at her with a quiet patience, waiting for her to reply.

"I said OK" replied Yeonji.  A little louder now.  "To staying with you."

Kotone felt the tension of the last few days lift off her shoulders and tried not to cry.

Instead she replied with a simple "OK, lets try."

________________________________________

They left the hospital the next day.

Kotone was armed with several instructions from the Doctors and nurses.  About changing the bandages on Yeonjis left wrist.  About food and nutritionary needs.  About being patient and giving Yeonji the time and space she needed.

When the hospital doors slid open, the cold bit into them.  The sky was grey, threatening rain, and Yeonji’s thin hoodie wasn’t enough for the wind. She didn’t complain. She didn’t speak. She clutched a small backpack with her few belongings—a notebook with nothing inside it but scrawls she’d never show anyone, a phone charger that had no phone to charge and a spare change of clothes.

All her life condensed into that one, small bag.

Kotone tried not to let her heart break.

Neither did she try to fill the silence. She hailed a taxi, held the door open, and sat with her hands flat on her knees the whole ride. The only sound was traffic and the soft clicking of the turn signals.

Yeonji stared out the window.

Tokyo blurred past in glass and steel and people she didn’t know, who didn’t know her. Somewhere out there, another foster home would have meant another room, another set of rules, another person she’d have to pretend not to be broken in front of and try to protect herself from.

Kotone’s apartment was on the fifth floor of a quiet building near the river. No elevator. Yeonji climbed each stair like it might vanish under her feet. She didn’t ask any questions and didn’t look Kotone in the eye once.

When Kotone opened the front door and she entered the home, the warmth surprised her.

The temperature sure, but also...something else.

A warm cream carpet. Bookshelves along one wall. A kettle on the counter. The faint smell of fabric softener and miso. It didn’t feel like a house. It felt like someone lived here.

Yeonji stood inside the doorway, frozen.

“This is it,” Kotone said quietly. “Bathrooms down the hall. The spare room’s small, but it’s yours.”

Yours.

Yeonji stepped inside slowly, like she was trespassing and didn't belong here.  

She didn’t know how to exist in this space. She didn’t know what to say or do. She didn’t even know what to feel.

A part of her still didn’t believe it was real.

Kotone didn’t push her.  

Yeonji blinked. Something hot stung behind her eyes.

She said nothing, but she did let the door close softly behind her.

________________________________________

The day before

Kotone stood in the centre of her small living room, surrounded by the quiet hum of the apartment.

Her hands trembled slightly.  What the hell had she agreed to?

Looking after A teenager.

A traumatized teenager.

She turned in a slow circle, scanning the room. Everything suddenly felt too bright. Too fragile. Too not ready.

She sat down on the sofa and buried her face in her hands.

Yeonji wasn’t just angry or depressed. Yeonji had tried to take her own life. She had scars and shadows behind her eyes. Walls so thick and so high Kotone wasn’t sure anything or anyone could scale them.

Kotone’s chest ached at the thought.

She wasn’t a parent and had never wanted to be one. She wasn’t a therapist. She taught Japanese and Korean to middle schoolers and lived a quiet life most evenings with tea and textbooks. And now she was going to be responsible for someone who had hurt so badly, fallen so deeply, that death felt like the only way out?

God.

She got up and went into the spare room that would now be Yeonji's room.

It was empty except for a small bed, a bookshelf, and a wardrobe she hadn’t opened in years. The walls were white. Blank. Neutral. She considered putting up posters—music, maybe, or landscapes—but something had stopped her.

It wasn’t her space to shape.  It would be Yeonji's to decide on what she wanted.  So instead, she opened the window a crack to let some fresh air slip in. Then she changed the sheets, putting fresh ones on.  She hovered and cleaned.  Twice.   Decided to leave the old lamp on the nightstand for now.

Simple. Not sterile. But not too personal.

She hoped it was the right call.

While she vacuumed the hallway for the second time, her mind wandered back.  A memory of Yeonji when she was 9.

________________________________________

Yeonji was loud, talkative and overflowing with curiosity and confidence. She'd sat on the living room floor, piecing together a jigsaw puzzle and telling Kotone every fact she knew about foxes.

"Foxes can jump three meters!" she’d said proudly, slapping down a corner piece.

Kotone had laughed at that. "Three meters? That’s taller than me!"

“Yup,” Yeonji had beamed. “I mean, you are short unnie so it would be easy for a fox to jump over you!".

She’d had this unstoppable grin, that kind of joy and curiosity that burned so bright it lit the people around her.

That girl, Kotone thought, hands tightening around the vacuum handle was gone.  And she  had no idea of what remained.

________________________________________

On the morning of Yeonji's discharge, Kotone went over everything a final time. Fresh towels. Some of her old clothes she had cleaned and folded on the bed for Yeonji.  She even stocked the fridge with things she thought Yeonji might eat—though she couldn’t be sure what the girl liked anymore.

Was she doing too much? Too little?  She didn’t know, but she left for the hospital regardless.

________________________________________

As they finally arrived home, Kotone’s heart was pounding.

She watched as Yeonji stepped in, eyes flicking everywhere, like she expected the floor to fall through.

Kotone gave a soft smile. “Come on. I’ll show you the room.”

Yeonji didn’t respond. But she followed.

She stood in the doorway of the room without stepping inside. She gripped the strap of her backpack like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

“It’s yours,” Kotone said gently. “You can move anything around. Add what you want.”

Still nothing.

“Is it okay?”

A nod.

Just that.

And yet something in Kotone's chest eased.

________________________________________

Kotone had left her alone for now. 

She stood near the bed for a while, silent, then sat down.  Her eyes scanned the window, the corner of the ceiling, the door, the open space of the room like she was memorizing every possible exit.

Don’t get used to this, her brain hissed. It’s temporary. They all are.

She wanted to run. Or curl up. Or disappear again.

But as she sat on the bed, nothing happened.  Kotone didn’t yell. No one slammed a door.  No one told her to smile or stop sulking or be grateful.

It felt unnatural.  It was like waiting for thunder that never came.

Down the hall, Kotone moved around quietly, giving her space.

And Yeonji just sat there in a room she didn’t believe was hers.

In a house she didn’t know she could trust.

In a world that had given her nothing and now offered her—what?

Hope?

She didn’t trust hope. Not yet.  Possibly not ever.  But she didn't run either.

________________________________________

A week, Kotone realises, is a long time.  The first week after Yeonji had moved in had been one of the longest and hardest weeks she had ever experienced.

Day One

Yeonji woke to soft winter sun filtering through curtains that weren’t hers.

Her eyes flickered open — dry, burning. Her body ached from hours curled tight. Her wrist and arm throbbed, dull and sore

Everything was too quiet and that unnerved her.  The fact that there was no yelling. No door slamming. No footsteps echoing down a hallway with intent.

She didn’t trust it.

She sat up slowly and looked around the unfamiliar room—white walls, plain bedding, clean. Too clean. Too quiet.

She sat there, unmoving, for hours. She pulled her knees to her chest, stared at the wardrobe, then outside the window to a world that didn't know her and didn't care for her.

Kotone had been up for hours already, and was sitting at the small kitchen table with untouched coffee.

The silence in the apartment had a weight to it.

She didn’t want to intrude on Yeonji, but she worried every second she didn’t knock on the bedroom door.

So instead, she jotted a note and left it outside Yeonji’s door.

“No pressure. Just wanted to say I’m making rice later if you’re hungry.”

It stayed there all day.

She reheated the rice three times. It was never eaten.

That night, Kotone cried quietly in the bathroom, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, whispering to herself: She'll be OK.  I'll be OK.

________________________________________

Day Three

Yeonji emerged from her room only to drink water. Kotone noticed and just watched her carefully.  In case she needed any help.

When Yeonji turned to head back to her room, Kotone simply said, “Hey.”

Yeonji stopped, frozen like a statue.

Kotone smiled, tired but genuine. “That cup’s yours now. The red one. I thought it looked like something you'd like.”

Yeonji didn’t respond. But the next morning, she used the red cup again.

________________________________________

Day Four

Kotone over-slept for the first time since she had received the call from the hospital.  Exhaustion had gotten the best of her.

She jolted awake, hair a mess, heart racing. She hadn’t even heard Yeonji at all that morning. Was she okay? Still there?

Panic clawed at her as she rushed out her own room to knock on Yeonji's door.

“Yeonji?” she called.

Silence.

“Are you—?”

Then, from behind the door: “I’m fine.”

Kotone closed her eyes.

That voice was hoarse. Soft. But at least it was something.  At least she was there.

She whispered back, “Okay.”

________________________________________

Day Five

Yeonji stood in the kitchen at 3 a.m., staring into the fridge with a blank expression.

She wasn’t hungry. Not really. She just didn’t want to sleep. Sleep brought memories and nightmares.

So she grabbed a yogurt and sat at the table.

Kotone was asleep but startled awake to the sound of a chair moving. She padded out to the kitchen, bleary-eyed.

They stared at each other, caught in the quiet hours.

“…Sorry,” Yeonji muttered, eyes lowering.

Kotone shook her head. “No need. You’re allowed to be here.”

A pause.

“…I can’t sleep.”

Kotone nodded slowly. “Yeah. Me neither, sometimes.”

They didn’t talk more. But they sat at the table together.

Two spoons. Two yogurts.

________________________________________

Day Seven

They passed each other in the hallway.

Yeonji stopped and whispered, “Thanks. For… not making me talk.”

Kotone looked at her with a gentle, quiet sadness.

“That's OK.  And if you do want to talk, I'll be here.”

Yeonji nodded.

It wasn’t a miracle. It wasn’t a breakthrough.  But at least, thought Kotone, Yeonji knew she was there for her if she did want to talk.

________________________________________

Kotone had started the second week of caring for Yeonji with good intentions.

She had made tea — green, her own favourite, the one that always calmed her nerves — and sat across the table, careful, tentative, choosing her words like stepping stones across ice.

“Yeonji,” she began softly, “have you… ever thought about talking to someone?”

Yeonji looked up, eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion, skin pale from too many sleepless nights.

“Talking to someone?” she echoed, voice already guarded.

Kotone nodded, swallowing. “A therapist. Just… someone who knows how to help.”

The silence that followed was slow-burning and loud.

Yeonji’s eyes narrowed.

“You think I’m broken.”

“No. I didn’t say that—”

“You don’t have to,” Yeonji snapped, pushing her chair back. “You’re trying to fix me. You think therapy’s going to make me easier to live with.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You just want me to shut up and smile and eat your food and be normal so you can feel good about yourself for rescuing the poor broken kid—”

“That’s not what this is!” Kotone’s voice rose, too fast, too unpractised, and she instantly regretted it.

Yeonji flinched at the raised voice.

A thick pause. Her hands clenched at her sides. Her voice dropped, venom behind a whisper: “You don’t know anything about what’s wrong with me.”

Then she turned and walked away, slamming her door shut so hard the walls seemed to shake.

Kotone sat alone at the table, head in her hands, the tea now cold. She didn’t cry. Not this time. She just sat there, empty, guilty.

She hadn't meant for it to come out like that.  Didn't mean to raise her voice.

She just… wanted to help.

________________________________________

Over the next few days, they existed like ghosts in the same space.

Yeonji stayed in her room.

Kotone on the other hand, started to read everything she could get her hands on about handling trauma — books, forums, trauma recovery blogs. She watched video after video with specialists explaining panic responses and silent suffering.

She took notes and started carrying some in her pocket like little shields.  She covered the outside of her mirror with post it-notes of things she thought would be helpful.

But none of that helped her with how helpless she felt.

And then came Friday.

Kotone was sleep-deprived, overwhelmed, and running late for her school class.  She couldn’t find her bag, the kitchen was a mess, and she stubbed her toe for the second time that morning.

She was halfway to muttering curses under her breath when Yeonji walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

They locked eyes for the first time in days.

Yeonji’s face was unreadable.

And Kotone—still tense, still frayed—snapped, “Can you just say something? Anything? I feel like I’m living with a ghost!”

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t kind.

But it was too late.

Yeonji’s shoulders stiffened. She froze in place like an animal backed into a corner.

Kotone saw it all happen in real time—how her words struck, how Yeonji’s breath hitched, how the glass trembled slightly in her hand.

And then it dropped, shattering glass and water over the floor. 

Yeonji stood there, shaking.

No words, no breath, no sense of the world around her. Her legs buckled and she crawled and pressed herself into the corner of the kitchen, crouched low, arms wrapped around her knees.

Yeonji tried telling herself.  It’s not the same. It’s not the same. It’s not the same.

But it felt the same.

All the worst parts came roaring back. Raised voices. Slamming doors. The feeling of being small and trapped.

It didn’t matter that Kotone wasn’t like them because her body didn’t know the difference.

Kotone realized she had messed up the second the words had left her mouth.  And when the glass hit the floor and smashed her heart dropped into her stomach.

“No no no—” she whispered.

Yeonji had retreated in the corner of the kitchen, shaking and silent, eyes wide and far away.

“Oh god—Yeonji—”

She didn’t rush over to hold her. She knew better.  Instead, she knelt a few feet away. Voice soft. Quiet as wind.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. That was—wrong of me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Yeonji didn’t answer. But after a while her breathing changed — a bit calmer.

Kotone kept talking, her voice like a thread stretched between them.

“I don’t know what I’m doing” she said. “I didn’t mean to yell. I shouldn’t have done that and I’m so sorry I scared you. That was on me.”

A long silence.

Then a whisper, hoarse and thin:

“…I hate when people yell.”

“I know,” Kotone said, tears rising now. “I know. And I’ll do better.”

“…I don't mean to be a ghost,” Yeonji whispered.  "I'm sorry."

Kotone felt the guilt rising like bile in her throat.  Because Yeonji was apologising to her over nothing.

The two of them sat there, broken glass and water on the floor.  Nothing but silence and the quiet heaves of Yeonji's breathing.

Because trauma is never fixed with a few words and some post it notes.

Chapter Text

After the incident in the kitchen, Kotone had learned to be more careful with her words and how she spoke to Yeonji.  She wasn't perfect, but she at least felt she was doing better in making a safe environment for Yeonji. 

So her first decision had been to take a few weeks off from her work.  She had some leave stored up, called in some favours at the school.  It had taken a lot of work but she had managed to get a month off.  And she planned to use that time as best she could.

And the first thing she wanted to try and achieve with Yeonji was something small. 

In the few weeks that Yeonji had been staying with her, she had not left the house once and Kotone wanted to get Yeonji outside and to go for a walk.  It took a lot of quiet effort and convincing, but eventually Yeonji had agreed to take a walk with her today, and this felt like a small achievement in itself.

It was winter, the sky was a soft grey and a light dusting of snow covered the ground from the night before

Kotone laced up her shoes at the door, hesitant, looking over her shoulder.  Yeonji stood nearby, wrapped in a jacket, hat, scarf and gloves that Kotone had bought for her a few days ago.  She was staring at the floor like it had answers.

“You don’t have to,” Kotone said, keeping her voice light. “We can try another day if you want.”

Yeonji didn’t move before almost too quietly to hear: “No. Let’s just… go.”

The plan itself was simple.  Just a loop around the block, Kotone had said. Ten minutes, tops. Just to get out and breathe air that wasn’t filtered through ceiling fans and air conditioning units.

Yeonji’s legs felt like they were learning how to walk again.

Every step was stiff and her eyes never stopped moving, like she was expecting something to threaten her for every step she took. Her mind was buzzing like a trapped hornet, watching every corner, every face that passed.

It was to loud.  There were to many people.

Even in the quiet part of the neighbourhood, the world felt too much.  It was close to being overwhelming.

But she kept walking.

Because Kotone didn’t rush her and because she didn’t try to fill the silence with small talk or serious questions.

They passed a row of small trees, bare in winter’s reach. A paper sign flapped from a streetlamp about a missing cat. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once and fell silent again.

Kotone glanced over.

Yeonji’s face was pale, but she was still there and still trying.

“…Do you want to head back?" she asked.

Yeonji didn’t answer but she nodded once.  And that was all Kotone needed to start steering them back home.

On the way home, a little boy on a bike whizzed by them on the sidewalk, giggling and laughing. Yeonji flinched hard and stopped walking entirely.

Kotone turned to her, didn't touch her, and just stood beside her giving her space.

“It's OK.  You're OK.”

Yeonji didn’t respond to that but she felt the tension leave her shoulders a little and she was able to start walking again.

By the time they got back home, it had only been around 15 minutes.  Silence filled the space as they removed their shoes.  Kotone poured a glass of water and left it near the couch, where Yeonji sat, head tilted back, eyes closed.

“I know it wasn’t easy,” Kotone said. “But thank you. For trying.”

Yeonji didn’t say anything at first.

But as Kotone turned to go to her room, she heard it:

“…Maybe again. Sometime.”

Kotone smiled at that.  It was a small win, but a win all the same.

________________________________________

Yeonji woke early the next morning.

She hadn’t meant to. She would love to have a long lie, or sleep in peace, but her body still resisted sleep most nights, caught somewhere between exhaustion and dread. But today, the sunlight pushed through the cracks in the curtains with more insistence than usual.

She listened—soft sounds from the kitchen. A kettle boiling. A faint clink of ceramic against wood.

For a while, she just lay there. Blankets pulled to her chest. Afraid to move, afraid to hope. Still unsure and fearing that this new safety would vanish like all the others.

But the scent of something being cooked tugged at something in her: curiosity, maybe.  Or hunger.  Or just the desire not to feel so alone.

In the kitchen, Kotone stood barefoot in pyjamas, hunched over a pan of scrambled eggs. Her hair was in a messy braid, one sock slightly slipping down. She looked... tired.

But when she turned and saw Yeonji lingering silently in the hallway, her surprise turned quickly to a gentle sort of smile.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Yeonji shook her head.

Kotone nodded toward the counter. “I made extra. No pressure.”

Yeonji hesitated. Then padded into the kitchen, as if each step was a test before sitting stiffly at the small table.

Kotone didn’t say anything. Just placed a plate down in front of her, then sat opposite with her own, quietly sipping her usual cup of green tea.

Both of them ate slowly, and as usual Yeonji didn’t finish her food. But she ate more than usual, which Kotone decided to take as a compliment and another win.

After finishing, Yeonji had been staring down at the table before glancing up to find Kotone watching her—not pitying, not prying. Just... watching. With the eyes of someone who cared more than they probably should have.

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” Yeonji murmured suddenly. Her voice was still rough from disuse.

Kotone blinked. “Doing what?”

“This. Being nice. Being here. I’m not—” She stopped. Bit her tongue. Looked down at her half-eaten breakfast.

Kotone didn’t respond right away. She took another sip of tea, thoughtful, finding the right words to say, careful to not upset Yeonji.  She could sense her fragility in the moment.

“I know you’re not okay,” she said finally. “You’re not expected to be.”

Silence again. Then Yeonji pushed her plate slightly forward. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

Kotone smiled again. This time, it reached her eyes.

Later, as Kotone prepared to leave for some groceries, Yeonji stood awkwardly near the door, still in her hoodie and sleep clothes.

“I won’t be gone long.  An hour at most,” Kotone said, slinging her bag over one shoulder. “There’s some food in the fridge and my numbers on the table.  You can use the home phone if you need to call me OK?”

Yeonji didn’t answer.

But as Kotone reached for the doorknob, she heard it—soft and barely audible.

“Be careful.”

Kotone turned, surprised.

Yeonji didn’t look at her. Just stood there, frozen, like she regretted saying anything at all.

But Kotone didn’t push it. She just nodded, voice gentle. “You too.”

________________________________________

22nd February

Kotone was standing in front of her fridge, starting at the calendar she had pinned to it.

There was a date, circled in faint pencil.  February 28th.  Yeonji's birthday. She’d circled the date the moment her foster application was approved.  Since then she had barely thought about it, being to focussed on getting through each day one by one.

Yeonji was turning sixteen, and that number weighed heavy on her chest.  She remembered turning sixteen. The awkwardness, the hope, the sense that the world might begin to open up. She’d had a cake, a quiet dinner, her mother’s too-sweet smile.

And Yeonji?

What had she had for the past few birthdays? Judging by what Kotone knew: scars. Silence. Pain. The careful way she moved, like she was trying not to take up space.

Kotone exhaled slowly, running a hand through her hair.  She didn’t even know what Yeonji's favourite food was.  She didn’t even know if Yeonji liked birthdays, or cake or presents. Or anything.

But still…You only turn sixteen once.

________________________________________

23rd February

Yeonji had noticed what the date was. She always did.  Not because she wanted to but because her body and mind remembered what birthdays meant for her.

They meant disappointment at best. At worst, bruises. Yelling. Cold dinners. No dinners.  Locking the bathroom door and trying not to cry to loud.

The truth was she didn’t want to be sixteen.  The last few years had been horrific, and fifteen had nearly killed her.  Being Sixteen would just be more of the same.

So, she stayed quiet. Quieter than usual. Ate less, slept even less. 

As far as she was concerned she didn’t deserve a birthday anyway.  Didn't deserve anything nice.

________________________________________

Kotone set about trying to figure out what Yeonji liked in the smallest, least invasive way she could manage.

“Hey,” she’d said over breakfast, “do you… like cake?”

Yeonji didn’t look up from her bowl of cereal.  Her answer came quiet, clipped. “Not really.”

Kotone let it drop.

Later that night, she Googled what to get a sixteen year old girl for her birthday.  She got back clickbait lists filled with bath bombs, candles, and inspirational journals.

None of it fit.  Not of it felt like Yeonji or something she would like.

She ended up closing all of the tabs with a frustrated sigh.

She hadn't given up and she was determined to get something for Yeonji's birthday.  Something to show her that she was deserving of a good birthday.

________________________________________

24th February

Kotone had left early that morning to go searching for a gift.  She wandered around the shops aimlessly, hoping for inspiration to strike her.

In a stationary store, she bought Yeonji a Journal that had a plain, soft blue cover. 

She didn't know if Yeonji liked to write or draw.  But it felt right to give her something that would allow Yeonji a space to put her own thoughts.

Later, she was in a clothes store and ended up buying Yeonji a new hoodie.  It was a soft grey, good quality, with no tags or writing.  It was comfortable.  Safe.

She tried not to think on the fact she was buying a size smaller than what Yeonji should be wearing due to how underweight and malnourished she was.

When she got home, she put the hoodie in the gift bag and sat down at her desk, the journal open.  She wanted to write a message at the front for Yeonji.

She spent more hours than was natural trying to decide on what to write.  Spent so long on google her brain hurt.  She didn't want something pretentious.  Wanted it to be right for Yeonji.

In the end, she settled on something simple.  Honest.  She wrote it with careful care before adding the journal to the gift bag, hiding it in the bottom of her cupboard.

________________________________________

26th February

Kotone had woke that morning in a slight panic.  Suddenly unsure that the hoodie and the journal was not enough for a sixteenth birthday.

So, she decided to get something a bit bigger as a present. 

She knew that Yeonji had no mobile phone from the meagre possessions she brought with her from the hospital and she had never said what had happened to her last phone. 

And so, her decision was made.  And it made sense.  Maybe Yeonji could use it to play some games.  And it would also make it easier for her to contact Kotone when needed.  A win win she hoped.

She decided on a Galaxy s23.  Lavender in colour.  She put in the gift bag that night and hoped that Yeonji would like it.

She also had another thought that she couldn't shake.  What if this makes things worse?  What if Yeonji felt like the gifts were putting a bow on her trauma before she had even had a chance to start healing.

________________________________________

Evening of the 27th February

Yeonji didn’t even try to go to sleep that night.  She sat on her bed, knees drawn to her chest, her breath coming too shallow, too fast. Panic curled like smoke in her stomach. Her mind echoed with old voices.

“Ungrateful.”

“Broken.”

“Waste.”

She’d been holding herself together for weeks now with nothing but silence and the fragile safety of Kotone’s kindness. But her birthday tore through all of that. Ripped down the fragile, paper walls she had built up.

At around 3 AM, she found herself standing in front of the front door.  She could leave.  Vanish.  Disappear for good and never be a problem to anyone ever again.  She reached for the handle but stopped just inches from it.

Her breath shuddered.  Kotone had been kind to her.  Gave her space and didn't force her to talk.

So instead, she went back to her room and curled up in the corner of the room.  Silent tears and heaving breath wracking her small frame. 

________________________________________

Yeonji's Birthday.

Kotone made a quiet decision: no cake. No decorations. No loud “Happy Birthday.”

Just… a soft morning.  Quiet.  And maybe some pancakes.  She wasn’t sure why — she just thought Yeonji might like them.

Kotone had left the gift bag inside Yeonji’s door earlier that morning.  Yeonji didn't touch them, just started at the gift bag like it was a live snake about to bite her.

The message Kotone was sending wasn't loud.  It wasn't fake-cheerful nor was it pitying.  It wasn't asking anything of Yeonji at all.

She didn’t touch them. Just stared for ten, fifteen minutes. Her fingers twitched once. Then again.

That made it worse.
And better.
And harder.

She didn’t leave her room all morning.  By the afternoon, she was back in the corner of her room, shaking.

Kotone was worried now.  All of her reading in the past few weeks had told her that birthdays could be hard, and that’s why she wanted to keep it low key.  But Yeonji had not left her room at all yet. 

She went to Yeonji’s door to knock when she heard the sound of a quiet sob and breathing that was too fast, too shallow.

She knocked gently. “Yeonji?”

There was no answer.

She opened the door anyway.  The gift bad was still where she had left it in the morning, and Yeonji was curled up in the corner of the room, arms over her head, not moving.

Kotone didn’t speak, just walked over and sat on the floor beside her, like she had in the hospital a month ago.

A few long minutes passed.

Then Yeonji, in a quiet voice spoke.  “I don’t want to be sixteen.”

The words were choked, half-swallowed.

Kotone blinked hard. “Okay,” she said. “You don’t have to celebrate it. You don’t have to pretend. It’s just a day.”

Yeonji shifted. Her eyes were red. “It’s always bad. Every year. Someone always hurts me.”

“Not this year,” Kotone whispered to her.

Silence again but Yeonji had stopped shaking at least.  

Kotone wasn't sure how long they sat there in silence.  Eventually, she got up to go and make some dinner. 

In her room, Yeonji picked up the gift bag and took the items out.  The journal, the grey hoodie and the phone.  She ran her fingers across the hoodie.  It was soft and felt like it would be cosy.  She liked it. 

She lay it down with care.  She opened the phone next and her breath hitched.  It was one of the newest phones.  She liked the colour of it but felt undeserving of something so big, thought that she should tell Kotone it was to much and she should take it back.

For now, she lay it down beside her hoodie and lifted the journal next.

She flipped through the pages slowly.  All of the pages were empty, apart from the first page where Kotone had left a message for her. 

You don’t have to write anything in here unless you want to.
But if you ever do I want you to know that your thoughts matter. Your voice matters.
Even the messy ones. Especially those.

— Kotone

Yeonji had found herself crying when she finished reading the message and somewhere deep inside, Yeonji hoped that her birthdays would not always feel bad.

Later that night she emerged to have some food.  Whispered a quite thank you to Kotone for the gifts.

Kotone smiled and have her a small nod  “You're Welcome.”  

________________________________________

A week later

The apartment was quiet, cloaked in early dusk.

Kotone was stirring a pot of soup, the scent of miso and seaweed filling the small kitchen. Outside, the wind whispered through the alleyways, brushing past windows like something that didn’t want to be heard.

Yeonji was sitting at the kitchen table, her new phone, a birthday gift from Kotone, sitting beside her.

Kotone placed a bowl of soup down in front of her without a word.

She sat across from her, fingers lightly tapping the side of her tea mug. A few minutes passed. The soup cooled slightly.

Things had been going OK since Yeonji's birthday.  But Kotone had had a call earlier that threatened to shatter everything.  But Yeonji deserved to know what was happening.  And so she sighed and started speaking.

“I had a call earlier,” Kotone said. Quiet. Careful.

Yeonji’s eyes flicked up, wary.

“From your old school,” she continued. “They’re asking when you might be ready to come back.”

The spoon in Yeonji’s hand paused mid-air.

Kotone didn’t fill the silence. She didn’t reach across the table. She just waited, choosing her next words carefully.

“You don’t have to go,” she added gently. “But they’ll keep asking. And if we don’t decide, someone else might.”

The words landed like a pebble dropped into still water — small, but the ripples ran deep.

Yeonji lowered her spoon.

“…Do I have to?” she asked, voice brittle.  

Kotone shook her head. “No. But it’s something we should consider at some point.”

________________________________________

Day Two

Kotone never mentioned school the next day, nor did Yeonji didn’t bring it up at all.

Instead, Yeonji drifted through the day like a shadow. Ate only half a slice of toast. Avoided her phone and journal.

Kotone did pull an old school flyer from her drawer and left it on the counter — not in Yeonji’s face, not in her path. Just… visible.

Yeonji passed by it three times without stopping.

On the fourth, she stood there a moment.

Her fingers hovered just above the paper, then curled away.

Later that Night Yeonji struggled to fall asleep.  The ceiling felt like it was pressing down on her.

When she eventually managed to fall over, she tossed and turned, her body stiff beneath the sheets. Images and memories flickered behind her eyes.

The bathroom floor.
The sound of the blade.
The pain and the silence that followed.
The feeling of relief at it finally being over.

She sat up, breath sharp, hands gripping the blanket, breathing coming fast and painful.

She wasn't in the bathroom.  She knew that. But her chest didn’t.

She slipped out of bed and walked to the kitchen, barefoot, needing to get out of her room.

Kotone was already there, half-asleep at the table, a mug of tea in her hand. Her hair was a mess. She looked like she’d been up worrying.

Again.

Yeonji poured herself some water and they sat in silence for a while.

Then Kotone asked softly, “Nightmare?”

Yeonji nodded once.

Kotone waited.

“…You think it’ll be the same?” Yeonji said eventually, barely above a whisper. “Going back?”

It would be easy to tell a lie.  To tell Yeonji everything would be OK and work out fine.  But Kotone had promised herself that as part of caring for Yeonji, she would always be honest with her. 

So she told her the truth.  “I think it’ll be hard. Really hard.  But I also think it might be worth trying.”

Yeonji didn’t answer that.

She just stared into her water.

“If I said I’d try…” she whispered. “Would you come with me?”

Kotone nodded immediately. “Of course I will.”

________________________________________

Day Three

Nothing happened. No planning. No talking.

Just the heaviness of knowing that something had been said the night before and neither of them knew what to do with it.

Yeonji stayed in her room most of the day.

Kotone gave her space and no pressure, letting her make the decision in her own time.

________________________________________

Day Four 

Kotone sat on the edge of the couch, clutching her phone. She’d spoken to the school earlier — told them Yeonji might be willing to come in for a short visit. Not a full day.  Not even to go to class.  Maybe just to walk around the grounds and the building.

They’d agreed, too quickly, Too cheerfully and that made Kotone feel nervous.

Yeonji was sitting at the other side of the couch, arms folded, hoodie sleeves tugged over her palms. Her shoulders looked like they were trying to collapse in on themselves.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she said quietly.

Kotone didn’t offer a pep talk. Didn’t smile. Instead she said “then we don’t. Not tomorrow and not until you’re ready.”

Yeonji’s jaw clenched.  “But what if I’m never ready?”

“Then we find a different way" said Kotone. She said it like a truth, not a compromise.  

Later that night Yeonji thought it over and over.  It was obvious that Kotone thought it might be a good idea for her to try.  She was hesitant, hated the thought of going back to that place, but neither did she feel like she was letting Kotone down.  

So she decided, that the next day, she would go as far as the gate and then take it from there.

________________________________________

Day Five – The Decision

Kotone was in the kitchen again, hands wrapped around her mug, chewing on her bottom lip as her mind ran through a million scenarios of Yeonji going back to school. She hadn't expected to see Yeonji this early, but there she was, standing at the edge of the kitchen.

Yeonji's hair was still messy from sleep and she was wearing the grey hoodie she got for her birthday.

She didn’t speak at first.  But then, eventually, she spoke in a quiet, strained voice.  “Just to the gate. I’m not going in.”

Kotone nodded. “Just to the gate.”

It took a few minutes for Kotone to get ready and now they were standing at the door.

Yeonji was hesitant to leave, her fists clenched tightly beside her.  Kotone stood with her, not putting pressure on Yeonji to make the decision.  Eventually she gave the faintest of nods, and they left the safety of the home.

And Kotone couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to go terribly wrong.

Chapter Text

Yeonji spent the whole walk to the school building huddled close to Kotone, eyes firmly down towards the pavement.  She could feel the fear and panic slowly building up inside her for every step she took.  Only Kotone's steady presence had kept her from running off.

When they arrived at the school gate, the first thought that came to mind was that the school looked exactly the same.  Grey.  Tall.  Looming.

The school gates hadn’t changed, the same as they’d been the day she walked through them but never walked out.

Yeonji stood frozen just outside them, fingers locked tightly in her sleeves, her head ducked low beneath the weight of her hoodie.  The world around her felt too loud, too bright and far too much.

Students lingered just beyond the gates, laughing, chatting, tossing glances over their shoulders.

Some looked at her.

Recognition.

And then whispers.

She felt them even if she didn’t hear them. The invisible hum of curiosity, cruelty, pity. Like buzzing insects chewing through her skin.

Kotone stood beside her, just a step behind, waiting. She didn't push, but just kept a quiet eye on her, noticing how Yeonji had tensed up.

Yeonji’s eyes never stopped moving, flicking over the crowd before stopping on a face she recognised.

Him.

That boy.  That boy that had led the bullies.

He hadn't changed either. Same dead-eyed smirk. Same whisper-laugh when he saw her looking.  She knew what he was thinking.

“The girl from the bathroom.”

Memories ran through her mind like they were on fast forward.  The torment she had endured at the hands of the bullies.  Her breath hitched and she felt her throat close up.  It was too much.

So she backed away.  First one step.  Then another.  Before she turned and ran.

________________________________________

As soon as Yeonji took off, Kotone didn’t hesitate and ran after her.

She ran through back streets and narrow turns, past small shops and unfamiliar corners. She followed until the buildings thinned and trees grew thicker, until they reached a small, quiet park half-buried in overgrowth.

Yeonji had collapsed onto the edge of a bench, knees pulled to her chest, fingers in her hair, breath ragged and rapid like a drowning swimmer.

She was crying, gasping, trembling. Not making words. Not even trying to stop.  

Kotone approached her slowly and with care.  She didn't speak because there was no words that could help in the moment.  She didn't touch her, because she wanted to give her space and not feel like she was being crowded.  So she just sat down beside her.

And waited.

And slowly, Yeonji’s breath broke apart into harsh hiccups, then sobs. Real sobs. Loud, unfiltered, like something was ripping out of her chest.  Kotone felt something inside her break as she watched Yeonji fall apart in front of her.

“I-I c-can’t—” she choked out. “I can’t—I can’t—go back—I—can’t—”

Kotone nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

“I tried,” Yeonji cried. “I tried. I wanted to. I really— I wanted to be normal.”

“I know.”

“They all saw me. They all knew. They looked at me like I was some kind of—of freak.”

“You’re not.”

“I hate it there,” she whispered, burying her face in her hands. “I hate them. I hate myself.”

Kotone closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them slowly. “Then we don’t go back.”

Yeonji blinked at her through watery lashes. “W-what?”

Kotone looked at her, her voice firmer now. “We don’t go back. That school… it hurt you. And if it’s not safe, if you don't feel safe, then it’s not an option.”

There was a quiet then.  No words, just wind through leaves. The distant hum of traffic in the background and Yeonji’s breath — still heavy, but slowing.

Yeonji looked down at her hands. They were shaking.

“But what now?” she whispered. “What am I even supposed to do?”

Kotone didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she said, “We’ll find somewhere else. Somewhere new.”

Yeonji didn’t respond. She wanted to say thank you, but the words wouldn't come.

And whilst Yeonji slowly stopped sobbing, as her breathing returned to normal, Kotone stayed there with her the whole time.  Not touching, not talking, just being close enough to let Yeonji knew she wasn't alone.

________________________________________

Kotone had spent most of the next few days and nights at the kitchen table, her laptop open, drinking her way through multiple cups of coffee.  Tonight, she was in that same position, looking slightly deranged with her fingers tangled in her hair.

She wasn’t a mother. She’d never wanted to be and she had never thought she would make a good mother.  And yet, here she was — caring for a girl who had known more pain in sixteen years than some people knew over multiple lifetimes.

Her heart ached for Yeonji. The pain was persistent now. A kind of tightness in her chest that never fully went away.

It was becoming obvious to her that Tokyo wasn’t working.  It was the slow build up off things ever since she had agreed to take care of Yeonji.  The way she wouldn't leave the house on her own.  How she would go days without speaking, jumped and flinched at every loud noise or raised voice.  And the park was really the final straw.

The school, the streets, the people — all of it carried ghosts and demons. Invisible weights that crushed down on Yeonji every time she stepped outside the home.  That was no way to live a life.

And Kotone couldn’t fix everything, but maybe she could start by changing the setting. Maybe… just maybe… that would help.

And as that idea took root, it grew to consume her.  First, she considered moving to somewhere different in Tokyo.  It was a massive city, and it would be easy enough to move to the opposite side of the city.  But that wouldn't be enough, because the city itself was to much of a reminder of Yeonji's past.  

So then she thought of moving somewhere else in Japan.  Kyoto, Osaka, Nagoya, Sapporo, Fukuoka.  She looked and looked.  All of them could work, in one form or other, but still none of them felt right.

And that's when it hit her.  They could move to a tiny corner of Japan but still the memories of the country would continue to haunt Yeonji.  No, what she needed was something totally different.  Or maybe, it needed to go back to Yeonji's original home before her parents moved to Japan.

Seoul.

It wasn’t a stretch. It wasn’t impossible.

“Seoul,” she whispered to herself.

It was Yeonji’s hometown before her family moved to Tokyo when she was six.  A place that maybe — maybe — held something other than trauma and ghosts.

Was it running away?

Maybe.

But maybe it was running toward something else.

And with that decision set in her mind, she got to work. First, she spoke to Ms. Yamamoto about moving to a new country.  It could be done, she was told.  But it would take a lot of work.  She would need to apply for a visa for herself, she would need to register with the social services in Korea.  Go through a whole new round of interviews and applications.  She would need to prove she had enough savings and work towards having a home and a job.

It would be a lot of work, Kotone knew that.  But after speaking to Ms. Yamamoto she was even more convinced this was the best decision for Yeonji.  So for every moment she wasn't sleeping she was filling out forms, and doing research into making such a massive change. 

Yeonji noticed something was going on, but never asked and Kotone didn't want to give false hope until she knew 100% that this was going to be an option.

________________________________________

Kotone had lost track of what day of the week it was.  She was due to return back to her job shortly.  The last few days had been particularly hard.  She had been on so many zoom calls with social services in Korea, and had to answer some very difficult questions as to why she was looking to move.  She was way past the point of exhaustion.

It was 11pm and she was staring aimlessly at her email inbox.  Her mind was drifting over everything and nothing, when her laptop pinged to let her know she had a new email.  Then another ping.

As she read over the emails her heart soared and she could feel her eyes watering as she read the email.  Her application had been granted.  Her visa had been granted. 

There was so much more to be done, but now, at last, she felt like there was a way forward.  And now, with these confirmations in hand, she could finally talk to Yeonji to see if she would like to try.

________________________________________

Yeonji

She had known for some time that Kotone was working on something.  She had heard snippets of the conversations that Kotone had on the phone and through her zoom calls.  She wasn't stupid either, she was able to vaguely figure out what Kotone was planning to try and do.

So she knew something was coming, but she hadn’t expected Kotone to knock on her door that morning. She didn’t usually. Most days were quiet - the soft creak of footsteps, the gentle clink of tea cups in the kitchen. A good morning, a good night. Nothing more.

But this time, Kotone asked to come in.

Yeonji sat on the edge of her bed, legs drawn close, hoodie sleeves stretched over her hands.  She was feeling nervous.  Kotone stood at the edge of the bed.  Careful. Cautious. As always.

“There’s something I’ve been working on,” she started gently. “And I wanted to ask what you thought.”

Yeonji blinked at her, silent. Alert.

“I’ve been considering moving,” Kotone said, eyes watching her reaction closely. “To Seoul. Back to where you were born.  To your home.  I could get a job there — I already speak the language.  But mostly, it's because I don't think Tokyo, or Japan, is a safe place for you.  And maybe… moving to Seoul could be a fresh start. For the both of us.”

The air in the room thickened.

Yeonji’s breath hitched slightly, but she didn’t speak.

“I’m not trying to run away,” Kotone added quickly. “But I’m also not going to keep us somewhere that keeps hurting you. I just… I want to give you a chance to breathe again. Even a little.”

Still nothing.

Kotone gave her a small smile. “I won’t decide anything without you. It’s just something to think about.”

And with that, she stood and left the room.

That Night

Yeonji lay in bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

Seoul.

She hadn’t been back some since she was six.  That was before her parents accident. Before the foster homes. Before her whole life crumbled.  

Would it even feel like a home?  Would it feel like starting over — or would it feel like erasing everything?

Her chest tightened. The idea of change was scary enough, but the thought of a change this big was terrifying. She could barely manage now, how could she manage a whole new place?

And yet…

She didn’t want to go to that school again.  She didn’t want to run into them again.  She didn’t want to keep living where everyone knew her as the girl who almost killed herself in the school bathroom.

A tear rolled down her cheek.  

Was this escape?  Maybe it was, but escape wasn’t always wrong.  Maybe it was survival.

It took her a few days to decide.   And then, one night, as Kotone was sitting at the kitchen table she sat down across from her and told her in a small, quiet voice.  "...okay."

________________________________________

Kotone

As soon as Yeonji had sat across from her and said "okay", she got to work. 

She had multiple check lists of things to be done, and now, weeks later, things were entering into the final stages.  She had quit her job, sold her home.  Everything was pretty much in place for the big move.

The last few days had been spent packing and she had stopped for a few minutes to take a breather.  Most of it the packing had been done, and as she looked around she had the sense of how her home felt a lot smaller now that it was nearly empty.

Boxes lined the hallway. Her books were gone from the shelves, the kitchen table cleared of everything bar her trusty kettle.  Pictures she never got around to framing were now packed tightly in a crate. The home she had built — her first true one as an adult — was dissolving around her.

This was such a massive upheaval.  But as she looked at Yeonji, curled into the corner of the sofa with her knees hugged to her chest, oversized hoodie sleeves covering her hands she knew this was the right thing to do.  It had to be.

She was giving up familiarity, stability, and years of hard work. But she was gaining something else.  Something more important — a chance for Yeonji to start getting better.

Still, that didn’t make it easy.  In truth Kotone felt worried and scared over the change.

She thought back to how she had broke the news to her parents a few days ago and her mother had cried when she told her.  Her father was more stoic.  Both struggled to understand the decision as Kotone had not really said much to them about Yeonji.  She didn't want Yeonji to feel suffocated by either of her parents barging into her life and trying to make things better.  No matter how well intentioned they might have been, Yeonji didnt need that in her life right now.

Plus, her own relationship with her parents had been strained over the years.  She loved them both, but when she had come out to them in her early twenties, things had been bad for a while.  The screaming, the accusations followed by several years of no contact.  Eventually, her parents decided that accepting their daughter was gay was better than not having their daughter in their life at all.  But things were still fraught between them, even now, years later.

And then she had told them she was moving to a new country.  To help care for someone that she had briefly known when Yeonji was younger, and was now essentially a full time foster parent.  The rest of that call had been hard for her and for her parents.  They still didn't understand, but Kotone's mind was made up.  Maybe, in time, she could meet them again face to face and do a better job of explaining things to them and why she had to do this.

She remembered telling her friends and work colleagues as well.  Most of them had called her rash. Reckless. One of them — an old friend from university, said softly over the phone “She’s not your responsibility.”

Kotone didn’t argue at the time. She just listened to the silence after that sentence and realized it didn’t matter.  Because it wasn’t just about responsibility.  It was about choice.

How could she explain to any of her friends what it meant to look into the eyes of a sixteen year old girl and see that all of the light had been drained away? And still choose to stay?

She wasn’t leaving on impulse.  She wasn't.  She was leaving because staying felt like betrayal.

________________________________________

Yeonji

Yeonji was sitting on the floor of her bedroom, starting at the items sprawled around her.

A hoodie.   Her journal.  Her phone and phone charger.  Toothbrush.  Some spare clothes and the red cup Kotone had told her to use when she first moved into the home.

All of her sixteen years of life able to fit into one backpack.

Kotone had offered to pack other things for her.  More clothes, spare shoes.  She nodded in agreement, but the items in front of her was all she trusted.  It was the bare minimum. The survival version of herself.

As she sat there, she remembered the first time she arrived in Tokyo. Six years old. Holding her father’s hand, bouncing on her heels at the airport, chattering about whether their new house would have a view.  Her mother had laughed and the world had felt safe then. Big, but safe.

That world was long gone and now she was leaving it behind like smoke through a closing window.

Tokyo had taken her parents and watched her break and barely blinked. 

The thought of getting away from Tokyo didn’t feel like escape but part of her still hurt at the thought of leaving.

She was leaving the ghosts of her parents behind.  And a big part of her kept whispering that she didn’t deserve a fresh start. That she hadn’t earned it and that she would be just as broken in Seoul as she was here.

But Kotone had looked her in the eye and said, “We’ll find somewhere else. Somewhere new.”

And that had stuck with her.  Maybe she wasn't ready for this.  Maybe she never would be ready.  But at least for the first time since her parents had gone it felt like she wouldn't be doing something alone.

________________________________________

Kotone (Later that Night)

It was almost midnight when Kotone taped the last box shut. The kettle had been packed away, and the only thing left was the house keys sitting on the kitchen table.  They would be leaving tomorrow.

Yeonji was sitting at the table in silence, eyes fixated on the keys lying there.

“I keep thinking I forgot something,” Kotone said quietly.

Yeonji didn’t answer, but her mouth twitched faintly. Almost a smile because it was funny considering how Kotone had been working off check lists for weeks now.

“You ready?” Kotone asked, not meaning the bags.

Yeonji looked up from the keys then.

“…No” she said in a small voice.

“Yeah.  Me neither.” she told Yeonji.

Because that was the truth of it,  but they were going anyway.

________________________________________

The morning air in the apartment was too still.

Yeonji sat on the floor, back against the wall, knees tucked to her chest, watching as strangers dismantled the only home since she was 10 that hadn’t tried to break her.

The movers were efficient. Quiet. A practiced kind of impersonal. They didn’t ask questions. Didn’t look too closely at her. Just carried out fragments of Kotone’s life in plastic wrap and tape.

Yeonji’s backpack was already zipped. It sat by her side like a tether — the only thing she controlled.

Kotone stood nearby, signing forms, answering questions, checking inventory. Her smile was tight. Tired. She didn’t look at Yeonji much, but Yeonji could feel her awareness like gravity.

When the door finally clicked shut behind the last mover, the apartment echoed with absence.

“That’s it,” Kotone said softly.

Yeonji didn’t answer. She just stood, slowly, gripping her backpack like it might slip through her fingers.  Instead, she watched as Kotone took a last walk round the home. 

This has been something Kotone had built on her own. Worked and saved hard for.  And now it was ending.  Yeonji stayed quiet, she had no words big enough or good enough that could help Kotone.  Instead, as she watched her walk around, she pretended she didn't see the tears gathering at the corner of Kotone's eyes.

After a few minutes, Kotone stopped walking and raised her sleeves to wipe her eyes.  With one last, final sigh, she turned to look at Yeonji and said "Let's go."

________________________________________

Traffic in Tokyo was always slow. Today it felt glacial.

Yeonji pressed her forehead to the cold window of the taxi, watching buildings blur past like pages she didn’t want to reread.

Kotone sat beside her in silence, fingers tapping her thigh.  Neither of them spoke.

The weight of the decision had already been spoken. The only thing left now was doing it, but the closer they got to the airport, the heavier it felt.

At the final traffic light before the airport entrance, Kotone glanced at her.

“We can still wait, if you want to.”

Yeonji didn’t look away from the window.  Even now, after packing and selling up everything Kotone was still giving her a choice.  To change her mind.  It was to late for that now, and so in a small, cracking voice she replied:

“No. Just… lets just do this.”

________________________________________

Haneda Airport

It was overwhelming the second they stepped inside.

Voices layered over voices. Announcements blaring in multiple languages. Rolling suitcases. Screaming children. Fluorescent lights too bright. Security lines too long. Everything too loud.

Kotone had forgotten all about this.  In her rush to get everything ready she hadn't considered how the airport might affect Yeonji.

She stayed close to Yeonji the whole time.  Whispered to her quiet words of encouragement.  Told her to focus on her and that everything is OK, that shes not in any danger here.

She hoped it helped a little, but even then Yeonji froze three times before they even reached the baggage counter.

Once when a man brushed her shoulder too hard. Once when someone coughed behind her. Once when a child’s balloon popped somewhere behind the glass doors and her entire body jolted like she’d been struck.

Kotone noticed each time and each time shifted slightly, always standing where Yeonji could see her and could anchor to her.

By the time they passed through security, Yeonji’s hands were trembling. Her hoodie sleeves were damp at the cuffs from how tightly she was gripping them.

“Almost there,” Kotone whispered as they reached the gate. “You’re doing so well.”

Yeonji shook her head. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Kotone said. “Believe me.”

And somehow, that was enough to make Yeonji keep walking.

________________________________________

Yeonji

The nightmare noise of the airport was replaced the suffocating feeling of being in the plane cabin.

Her seat felt too small. Her seatbelt too tight. The hum of the engines and background noise of people talking buzzed in her ears like flies she couldn’t swat away.

It was too much. All of it. The airport, the strangers around her now, the pressure in the air, the knowledge that they were leaving Japan—that they were leaving everything behind.

She could feel herself starting to panic, she could feel her mind starting to spiral.

What if Kotone changed her mind?

What if I ruin this too?

What if I’m ruining her life like I ruined mine?

She tried to breathe, slow and steady like Kotone had shown her. But her chest wasn’t moving the way it was supposed to. Her hands trembled, shaking in her lap.

A sharp inhale. Her nails dug into her palms. “I can’t—I can’t—”

Kotone was alert instantly, gently unclipping her seatbelt even though the flight hadn’t taken off. She leaned over, whispering:

“You’re okay. We’re okay. Just breathe with me, alright?”

Yeonji blinked hard, eyes wide and full of fear.

Kotone didn’t touch her—not without permission—but her voice was calm and constant, a tether through the haze.

A cabin steward approached to check if they were OK.  Kotone told her they were fine and sent her away.

It took minutes, long minutes, but Yeonji eventually unclenched her fists and leaned her head slightly to the side—just barely brushing Kotone’s shoulder.

They sat like that for the rest of the flight.

Not speaking. Just one breath in, one breath out.  One after the other. 

________________________________________

Arrival in Seoul

The arrival in Seoul meant having to run another airport gauntlet.

Thankfully they managed to get through arrivals and collect their luggage.  A small mercy at least, and they found themselves outside the airport and breathing in the air of Seoul.

Seoul moved to its own rhythm, distant and constant.

Yeonji stayed close to Kotone as they took a cab from the airport to the small hotel Kotone had reserved for a few weeks. Their bags were few—just enough to carry what they needed until they found somewhere to settle.

The hotel wasn’t big, but the room was clean and quiet. Twin beds, a small balcony, and a desk pushed up to a frosted window.

It wasn’t much.  But right now, it was safe and it was quiet. That mattered more than anything.

Kotone exhaled deeply as she slid her bag down and flopped onto the mattress, one hand draped over her eyes.

Yeonji didn’t say anything, just sat on the edge of the other bed, her gaze fixed on the window.

Outside, the city pulsed gently.

Yeonji was still scared. Still uncertain. Still caught in the grip of self-doubt but she had gotten this far at least.

As both of them sat their in silence, they were unaware that they were sharing the exact same thought.  "I hope this is the right decision."

Chapter Text

Kotone had started looking for an apartment the day after they landed.  She had a list of places to check, places that were in quiet areas.  Safe areas.  Places where there wasn’t a lot of traffic and crowds of people.  Somewhere with a school close by and places she could find a job and still be close to Yeonji if need be.  

When she started her search, she had asked Yeonji if she would like to come with her but she had refused, still feeling too overwhelmed from the last few days of packing and moving.  Kotone let her be, understanding that Yeonji needed time and space.

In the first few days, she had looked at at least 10 different homes and apartments. 

The first home  was all white walls, harsh lights, and windows that looked out onto nothing but concrete. The landlord’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, and the smell of old paint clung to everything.

Kotone left after five minutes.

On the second day, she found an apartment that that seemed to have potential.  It was small, tucked into a small side street.  She almost liked it. But the stairs creaked with every step, and when she was inside there was far to much noise from the neighbours.  She crossed it off.

She was on her fifth day of searching, and so far, everything just didn't feel right.  Apartments with walls too thin.  Places where the air conditioning unit rattled like it was trying to shake itself apart.  Places where the water was too weak, heating that didn't work.  Places to small or areas that had too many people gathering around outside.

She was on her seventh place of the day and could feel her disappointment increasing with every place she checked.  The pressure of needing to find a place was building, but she resisted the temptation to give in to desperation.

But she had a good feeling as soon as she entered this apartment.

It was small—it had two bedrooms, an open plan living room with large windows that let in a soft light.  It connected to a modest, modern kitchen.  And it was quiet.  There was no noise from the neighbours, and only a small amount of noise from the city coming through.  It felt right.  Like a home.

There were small scuffs on the floor that made it feel lived-in but not neglected.  Even better, it had a small balcony with a railing that caught the afternoon sun. It wasn't perfect but there was no pretence. Just warmth.

Kotone stood in the middle of the apartment for a long moment, her hands in her coat pockets, breathing it in.

It was her taste, yes. But more importantly—it felt safe. Soft. Unthreatening. She closed her eyes and imagined Yeonji curled up on the worn sofa by the window.  Imagined the sound of music from her phone playing through the apartment while she cooked.

She couldn't help the small smile that crossed her face.  Yes, this place felt possible so she told the landlord she would come back for a second look tomorrow.

That night, she was back at the small hotel room, when she told Yeonji that she thought she had found a place for them.  They were having a small, simple dinner — instant ramen and boiled eggs from the local Lotte Mart.

“I found a place today,” she said casually, leaning back on her bed. “I think it’s the one.”

Yeonji looked up from her bowl of ramen but didn’t speak.

Kotone waited a beat, then added gently, “I’d like you to come see it with me tomorrow. It doesn’t feel right deciding on something this big without you.”

Yeonji’s fingers tightened slightly around her chopsticks.

“You don’t have to. But… it’s going to be our home. Not just mine.”

Yeonji’s eyes dropped to her food again.

________________________________________

Yeonji

She didn’t know how to say thank you to Kotone at that moment without it tasting bitter.

Because every time Kotone said ours, something inside her pulled away in reflex. Like she couldn’t let herself believe it. Couldn’t want it too much.  She couldn’t risk hoping only to have it taken away again.

She didn’t feel like she deserved or had earned a home. Not this way. Not from someone like Kotone, who was bright and warm and trying so hard. She didn’t know what she had done to deserve this kind of patience and kindness.  It felt fragile.  Breakable, like glass.

But despite that she nodded.  It was barely noticeable, but it was enough for Kotone who gave her a gentle smile before going back to her food.

________________________________________

The Next Day

The next morning dawned, with a typical winter day in Seoul.  It was cold and it was snowing quite heavily.  Kotone made sure that Yeonji was wrapped up warmly before they left to view the apartment.  The taxi ride over was quiet.  The driver didnt speak, but the radio played soft music.  Kotone hummed along softly to the music whilst Yeonji watched the streets blur past.

Seoul was noisy like Tokyo, but Yeonji felt like there was less pressure here. Less weight pushing down on her shoulders. She didn't know if that was the city itself, or if it was just that here, no one knew her name.

When they arrived, she noticed that the apartment was nestled on a quiet side street.  It was above a small flower shop that had a multitude of flowers and colours outside. 

Yeonji didn’t speak as they went up the stairs. Her heart pounded harder the higher they climbed, like every step was a challenge to be overcome.

Kotone chapped on the door and the landlord answered, opening the door for them.  Kotone exchanged some polite greetings, as Yeonji hid herself behind Kotone's back. 

She followed Kotone in, exchanging her shoes at the door for a pair of guest slippers.  As the door closed behind her, she scanned everything—the wood-panelled floor, the soft couch in the corner, the light spilling onto the balcony and through the big window.

It felt… warm.

Her fingers curled into the sleeves of her hoodie as she took in the apartment.  Kotone didn’t say anything, just letting Yeonji walk around and take in the apartment at her own pace.

“It’s not big,” Kotone said eventually, “and it still needs some work. But we can fill it together. With things that make it feel like ours.  Like a home."

Yeonji blinked hard. Her chest tightened.  There was that word again.  Ours.  She couldn’t say yes. Not out loud but she gave a quiet nod.  

That was all Kotone needed.

________________________________________

Yeonji

It took a few weeks before everything was finalised.  Kotone filled out all the relevant applications and after a few days received a call that let her know that everything had been accepted and had an official moving in date.  

Yeonji could sense the relief from Kotone when she found out and didn't want to consider what would have happened if it hadn't been accepted or they never found a place to live.

And before she knew it, it was the moving in date.  Kotone already had the keys, and everything they had with them was packed and ready to go.  Yeonji stood by quietly as Kotone checked them out of the hotel and they got a taxi over to their new home.

It was a grey, cloudy afternoon as they moved in.  To Yeonji, the apartment smelled like fresh paint and dust.  Kotone had arranged for the movers to bring in the boxes and luggage that Kotone had shipped from Tokyo—her books, her clothes, her kettle that Kotone would never admit to missing.  Other than a small suitcase filled with some spare clothes and shoes, Yeonji had nothing else arriving.  Most of what she had was in the backpack she'd carried with her since the hospital all those months ago.

She stayed out of the way, sitting on the floor of the room that was supposed to be her new bedroom, watching strangers bring in Kotone's things and place them gently around like they meant something.

Yeonji felt strange because no one yelled at her as she sat there. No one shoved a box into her arms and told her to "pull her weight" or "stop sulking." No one accused her of ruining everything just by being there.

When the last mover left, Kotone closed the door behind them, leaned against it, and exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for weeks.

They were alone.

Together.

Yeonji stood in the middle of her room. The walls were pale cream. Blank. A soft curtain moved with the breeze from the window she had opened earlier to let air in. There was a small single bed, low to the ground. A small chest of drawers beside the bed.  A wardrobe.  A desk with an old fashioned bronze lamp on top of it.

There was nothing else. No decorations. No colour.

Yeonji didn’t know what she was supposed to feel. It felt… like possibility or like hope, and that was terrifying in its own way.

________________________________________

Kotone

Later that night, Kotone took a break from unpacking and caught Yeonji staring at the the lamp and the small amount of light it let out.  She was staring at it like it might disappear.

Kotone had made hot chocolate for them both from her cherished kettle.  As she sat on the floor beside Yeonji, She folded her legs under her and handed Yeonji her red cup, which she took with a small "thanks." 

Kotone took a sip before she spoke to Yeonji.  “You can change anything you want,” she said softly. “The colours of the wall or the furniture. It’s your space.”

Yeonji didn’t respond but that was OK.  Kotone knew that Yeonji was used to receiving nothing so all of this would be more than overwhelming for her.

The next morning, Kotone woke early.  She was tired but feeling a bit better about things now that she had managed to unpack most of her stuff.  She cooked a simple breakfast—rice, miso soup, egg.  Yeonji padded out her room a little later and she left a plate on the table for her with a quiet, “No pressure.” She left Yeonji to her own space and went to unpack the rest of her books.  She smiled softly when she heard the soft clink of a spoon in a bowl.

Later that night, when she stuck her head into Yeonji’s room to check on her, she noticed that the bronze lamp on the desk was gone, instead it was sitting on the floor beside the door.

In its place was a small wooden duck charm—worn at the edges.  

Kotone had never seen that before and Yeonji had never once mentioned it.  She mused that it must have been tucked away at the bottom of her backpack.  Something that she had kept from her past.

Kotone smiled sadly, realising that it must have been important to Yeonji.  Important enough that she had kept it hidden, even from her, until now.  But it also made her happy, because having it on the desk meant that Yeonji felt safe enough to leave it out.

She looked over and Yeonji was asleep.  Curled up on herself and clinging to the pillow.  Kotone tried not to think of how it looked as if she slept like she was expecting to be taken away at any moment.

With a sad shake of her head she left the room quietly and went to her own room.  As she lay down for the night, she kept that image of that duck charm in her mind and how such a small act might mean that Yeonji was starting to feel safe around her.

________________________________________

Yeonji

Over the next few days Yeonji found herself struggling.  She had left the duck charm out on her desk, trying to tell herself that she was safe and that Kotone wouldn't take it away from her or call her stupid for having the charm. 

Still, every night was a struggle not to dissociate. Every time Kotone said something kind, her brain twisted it into a trap. Every time she saw her own reflection, it reminded her she was just a shadow of what she used to be.

But she also kept trying to tell herself it was different because there were no footsteps outside her room in the middle of the night. No screaming. No silence used as punishment and no need to curl into a ball to protect herself from raised fists.

One evening, Kotone asked if she wanted to choose a curtain colour for her room. Just that.

Yeonji looked up and met her eyes for a second before looking away.

“Blue,” she murmured, barely audible. 

But that was enough, and Kotone beamed like she'd been handed the moon.

________________________________________

Kotone

Now that the hard task of finding a place to live was complete, she started looking for a job.  Not only was it a requirement from social services as part of the move from Tokyo to Seoul, she had also blown through most of her savings to upend both of their lives.  And whilst she still had some left, it wouldn’t last forever.

So, that's how she found herself searching through local job listings online. 

A store clerk? No.  Barista?  No.  Waiting at a local restaurant?  No.

They were jobs sure, but jobs she was overly qualified for and none of them were what she wanted to do.  She was about to give up for the day when she saw a posting that made her heart skip.

Seoul City University — seeking a Japanese instructor, part-time to start, with room for full-time expansion based on student need and teacher performance.

The University was five minutes from the new apartment. Seven if you walked slowly.  It was only part time to start so that wasn't great.  But it was close to their home. Close to Yeonji...and so that made it perfect.

She opened her laptop and read over her CV again and again, hands trembling just slightly.  She knew she was qualified for the role.  She’d taught for ten years in Tokyo and had glowing references. She spoke fluent Korean. She’d prepared lesson plans, syllabi, and a small portfolio of student feedback. She was ready.

She filled out the online application form slowly.  Reading over everything multiple times.  In the final step, she attached her CV and hovered over the 'apply' button.  With a final, deep breath, she closed her eyes before clicking on the mouse.  

Done.

And now, all she could do is wait.

A few days later, she was sitting in the kitchen, going through her emails when she got a notification of a new email.  Her mouth opened in quiet surprise as she read over the email again and again.  She had passed the application stage and she had been scheduled for an interview in four days.

Kotone leaned on her chair and tried to steady her breathing.  She had four days to get ready.  She told herself that she could do this and tried not thinking about what she would do if she didn't.

________________________________________

When she wasn’t preparing for the interview, Kotone was looking at schools for Yeonji.  She was cross-referencing public high schools and she had already bookmarked a school that was just ten minutes further up the road from the university. The school was smaller than her old school in Tokyo and had a modest student population. It had counselling services on-site and their website mentioned strict policies against bullying. Kotone knew that was probably meaningless, all school had bullying.  So the school wasn’t perfect but it had potential.

Kotone remembered Yeonji’s reaction when she tried to return to school in Tokyo.  It was seared into her and she didn't want to Yeonji to feel like she was pushing her into a decision.  So, she approached it slowly by leaving a brochure on the kitchen table.  Yeonji hadn’t said anything at first, but it had disappeared the next morning.

That was enough to keep Kotone trying.

________________________________________

The Interview Day

She had decided on what she would wear the night before.  Simple black trousers and a soft blue blouse and a blazer. Something that made her look capable. She packed her bag the night before with everything she’d need—lesson samples, copies of her credentials, references. She checked over everything again to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything.

As she checked her bag, Yeonji was sitting on the couch in silence, watching as Kotone checked through her bag methodically.  Kotone noticed her watching.

“Do you want me to stay home?” Kotone asked, hesitating.

Yeonji didn’t answer at first, but after a beat, she gave the smallest shake of her head.

“I’ll be okay.”

It was a whisper. But it anchored Kotone’s chest like a weight — a bittersweet one.  But it was time to go.

As she was leaving, she heard a small “Good luck” and she felt a little lighter as she walked towards the University.

________________________________________

At the University

When Kotone arrived, she noticed that the campus was clean and modern, dotted with spring flowers and students walking in soft clusters, their voices a low hum.

She made her way to the interview location and was directed to a seat outside the department office.  The chair was uncomfortable, but Kotone sat straight as she rehearsed her answers to possible questions in her head.  She tried not to think on how much she needed this job.  Not just the income, but the stability, he routine and the proximity to Yeonji.

She couldn’t be an hour away. If something happened, if Yeonji needed her, she needed to be five minutes away. Not because she expected failure, but because she knew trauma didn’t follow schedules.

When her name was eventually called, she stood like she was walking a tightrope.

A few hours later she left the interview feeling drained but satisfied.  She had felt like the interview went well.  They were polite, impressed, warm even. She showed them her materials. Her Korean was complimented. They laughed once — genuine, as she told them a anecdote about how she dealt with some unruly students in her last job.

But she didn’t breathe until she left the building, stepped into the open air, and let the wind cut through the fog of nerves around her.

________________________________________

That Evening

Yeonji looked up from the couch as she came home.  She was in the exact same position as she had been when Kotone had left earlier.  She didn't ask any questions, but Kotone spoke anyway.

“I think it went well.”

Yeonji nodded once and gave a small smile. Then turned back to her book.

Kotone didn’t expect more. But later, as she was making dinner, she heard soft footsteps behind her.

“I hope you get it,” Yeonji said. Quiet. Honest.

Kotone froze for half a second before turning.

“Me too,” she whispered back, her heart feeling a little lighter.  

________________________________________

Kotone

She was food shopping this morning and the produce section of the local supermarket was over-bright and too quiet.  Kotone stared blankly at a head of lettuce in her hand before realizing it was already slightly wilted. She put it back and sighed.

It had been a week since the interview and she still had no call or email.  She knew that universities moved slowly, and that they would be interviewing other people but for every day that passed more and more doubt crept in.

Maybe I talked too fast. Maybe I should have mentioned that summer course I taught. Maybe I wasn’t good enough.

Her shopping list blurred as her thoughts spun, the weight of every uncertain day stretching across her shoulders.

She still hadn’t told Yeonji about her doubts or how scared she was. She didn’t feel as if that would be fair to mention any of her worries. 

Back home, the apartment felt too still.

Yeonji was on the couch, knees pulled up to her chest, reading again. Kotone watched her from the kitchen, unsure how to break the silence. Not because there was tension—but because everything between them felt a bit more fragile since the move. Kotone couldn't help but think it felt like she was walking on eggshells around Yeonji.

Yeonji hadn't left the apartment since they had arrived, and so Kotone thought of something.

“I was thinking,” Kotone said, wiping her hands on a towel. “Would you want to go to the furniture store with me tomorrow? Pick out some things for your room?”

Yeonji’s eyes flicked up from the page, uncertain.

“I know it’s not... a big thing. But I thought maybe you could choose how you want it to look,” Kotone said. “If you’d like.”

Yeonji hesitated. A long, taut pause before whispering a quiet "Okay."

________________________________________

The Next Day

The furniture store smelled like varnish and wood polish. Quiet instrumental music played softly from hidden speakers. The store was quiet as it was just after opening time.  Kotone had planned it that way.

As they walked around the store, Kotone let Yeonji walk and explore at her own pace.

They wandered, wordlessly at first. Kotone kept her distance—near but not hovering. She watched Yeonji pause by a small desk made of soft ash wood, pale and warm in colour. Delicate, with drawers that clicked quietly closed.

Yeonji traced her fingers across the surface, then froze.

Kotone noticed and said nothing at first, simply stood beside her as she looked over the desk.

“You like it?” she asked softly.

Yeonji drew her hand back and her shoulders tensed. There was shame in the way she pulled her arm back.

“It’s dumb,” she muttered in reply.

Kotone shook her head sadly.  “It’s not dumb.”

Yeonji looked down, hair falling over her eyes.

“I just thought it was nice,” she said, quieter. “I don’t know. Forget it.”

Kotone’s heart cracked.

“It’s okay to like things, Yeonji.”

Yeonji flinched like it was a foreign language.  Reacting like being told she was allowed to like something was a crime.

“No one’s going to hurt you for wanting something here,” Kotone continued, gently. “If you want that desk, we’ll get it. If not, we’ll keep looking.”

Yeonji didn’t reply, but she nodded once. Almost invisible. Her hands trembled slightly.

They picked out the desk and continued walking round the store.  Yeonji picked out a small bookcase that she liked and could put along one of the walls. Then a new chest of drawers to go beside the bed.

Later, Yeonji lingered beside a soft chair in a shade of blue.  

When Kotone asked her if she liked the chair, Yeonji told her that she liked the colour.  That was all Kotone needed to hear and it was added along with the desk and bookcase.

At the checkout, Kotone paid for the items and arranged for delivery the next day. 

As they left the store, Yeonji stopped and turned to face Kotone but was unable to meet her eye. 

"Thank you" she whispered in a small, fearful voice.

Kotone gave her a small smile in return.  "You're welcome Yeonji.  Let's go home, yeah?"

They left for home, Kotone feeling like she had done something right for Yeonji.

________________________________________

They had only been home a few minutes when Kotone's phone rang.

Unknown Number.

Her breath hitched, hoping that this was the call she thought it was.

She cleared her throat before she answered with a warm hello.

“Miss Kamimoto?” the voice said on the other end of the line. “It’s Mrs Kwon from the Seoul City Language & Culture University.  Are you OK to talk just now?"

Kotone told her that she was.

"Wonderful.  I wanted to thank you again for your interview.  We were very impressed with you, and to that end we’d like to formally offer you the position.”

Kotone didn’t hear the rest as her knees nearly buckled. She thanked Mrs Kwon—honestly, shakily—and hung up. Her hands were still shaking when she turned toward Yeonji, who had heard enough to know.

Yeonji looked at her for a long second. Then, before either of them could fully process it, she stepped forward and gave Kotone the quickest, most awkward one-armed hug in the history of mankind.

One second. That was all.  

But it meant everything because that was the first time that Yeonji had ever initiated any kind of contact between them.  When Yeonji pulled away, she looked embarrassed but said a quiet "Congratulations".

Kotone felt herself starting to tear up then.  Relief, joy and exhaustion hitting her, and Yeonji initiating a hug was the final straw. 

She couldn't stop the tears and all she could think of was that something had gone right and she was happy.

Chapter Text

Yeonji

The next day, the furniture arrived mid-morning. The delivery men were brisk and polite, unloading boxes with muted efficiency, removing the old furniture from the room that was no longer needed. Kotone thanked them, signed the phone with her signature, and watched as her quiet apartment filled with pieces of Yeonji’s new life.

A desk.

A bookshelf.

New bedside drawers.

And the soft light blue chair.

Yeonji stood a little way off, arms crossed tightly over her chest, saying nothing. She hadn’t looked Kotone in the eye since the truck had pulled up.

Kotone, screwdriver to hand, started by opening the first box, planning to build the furniture for Yeonji.  She started by unpacking the bedside drawers.  Within a few minutes Yeonji kneeled down across from her, helping her unpack everything, working in silence.

Kotone started off building the drawers, asking Yeonji quietly for the next part she needed.  At some point though, Kotone handed Yeonji the screwdriver with a quiet nod and took the instruction manual instead.  She spoke little, telling and showing Yeonji what to do, but letting her build the drawers on her own.  She stayed beside her the whole time, steady and quiet, handing her screws and parts and watching as Yeonji built it bit by bit, with small, careful movements.  She hoped that it would help Yeonji feel a little sense of achievement in building something that was hers.

It took them a couple of hours.

And when it was done, when the desk stood level and the chair was tucked underneath, when the bookshelf was upright and waiting for her books, and the bedside drawer sitting beside her bed…Kotone smiled at her. Gentle. Careful. “Good job Yeonji.”

Yeonji looked up, startled at the praise she hadn't expected to receive.

Kotone left her to get started on dinner, and as she did Yeonji took a slow look around her room before slowly sitting in the new chair.

The room was still. The afternoon sun filtered through the blue curtains they had got a few days before.  She couldn't explain how she was feeling.

It was hers.

That thought pressed down on her chest like a weight.

This is my room and my stuff.  Not borrowed, not shared with anyone else, not filled with someone else's garbage or rules or rage.

Just hers.

Was she happy?  She didn't think that was the right word.  Uneasy was more accurate, because she couldn't quite bring herself to believe that this was real or this was happening.  Her inner voice kept telling her:

She will take it all back. You’ll mess up and say something wrong. You'll disappoint her.

She stood up, desperate to do something to escape her own voice, running her hand along the surface of the desk just to feel something and try and stop her mind from bringing her down.

She breathed, slowly, in and out.  It was OK she told herself.  There was nobody shouting at her.  Nobody telling her she didn't deserve this.   She idly opened the drawers on the desk, both of them empty and waiting for her to fill them with her things.

You don’t get to have things like this. You’re too broken to deserve them.

The thoughts curled around her ribs like wire.  She was restless, and her skin felt too hot, her chest tightening.  Something burned behind her eyes. She wanted to cry but didn’t, but she felt something inside herself curl in on itself.

All she could remember was having to fight day by day just to survive.  She remembered having to brace herself for cruelty or indifference.  She knew about being hated or being invisible.

But what she didn't know what to do was how to receive kindness and not fall apart.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the desk and again she asked herself—was she happy?

Not happiness. Not yet. But maybe something close to it.  She tried to ignore how that something felt alien and untrustworthy.

She moved to sit down on her bed, letting herself feel the softness beneath her. 

This little room, this little corner of the world was hers now.  The desk, the bed, the drawers, the bookcase, the blue chair.  They were her things.  Things she had chosen, and nobody was going to come screaming through the door to take them away from her.

She lay back on the bed and let herself rest.

________________________________________

Kotone

Things had been OK between them for the last week now.  But this morning, Kotone had a pounding headache.  A lack of sleep and the stress of getting ready for her new job taking her toll. 

She was tired — bone-deep tired — staring aimlessly at the clock on the wall while her untouched tea went cold.  Her new job started in two weeks and she had so much to do.  Meetings to prepare for, lesson plans to revise and so much paperwork it made her eyes blur.  And she was doing this all while trying to navigate Yeonji’s delicate rhythm without stepping on landmines.

And despite it not even being 11am yet she’d already stepped on one.  She winced, remembering what had happened.

"Yeonji, can you please just try to eat something? You can’t keep skipping meals—"

She hadn't meant to sound so harsh or tired.  And she did have the best of intentions.  Yeonji was eating a little more than usual, but she couldn't help but worry just how underweight Yeonji was for her age and height.

Yeonji hadn’t answered when she spoke, just turned away and went back to her room, shutting the door like a barrier between them.  Yeonji very rarely shut her door completely and she didn't like how it made her feel like she was locked in a small space.  That she had done so spoke volumes to how she felt in that moment.

________________________________________

Yeonji

In her room, Yeonji sat on her bed and stared at the pale blue chair again, arms wrapped tight around her knees. It should’ve helped. The desk. The books she’d arranged. The faint scent of cedar from the little drawer sachets Kotone had bought.

But all she could feel was dread.

Kotone had been distracted lately. More tired, less present.  And Yeonji knew why.

The job.

Kotone having a new job meant time apart. The new job meant hours of being alone. Alone with her thoughts. Alone in her head. Alone where the whispers got louder and the panic crept in like fog.

She knew this day would come, but she didn’t want to tell Kotone that she was scared either. She already thought Kotone had enough on her plate and didn’t want to burden her further.

But the thought of being left alone was eating at her because she didn’t trust herself. 

And as the feeling ate her up inside, it started coming through in how she acted around Kotone.

The tension that had been building for days ended up cracking in the kitchen a couple of days later.

It happened over something stupid really.  Kotone had forgotten to buy Yeonji’s favourite cereal and tried to substitute it with something else. Something new and unfamiliar.

Yeonji flinched just seeing it on the table.  “I can’t eat that.”

Kotone’s voice came out too sharp, worn thin from everything else. “It’s just food, Yeonji. It’s okay to try something new.”

“It’s not,” Yeonji snapped back, the panic rising like acid in her throat. “Don’t tell me what’s okay when you won’t be here anymore!”

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Kotone looked stunned. Like someone had slapped her, her fingers trembling around the cup she held.

Yeonji stood frozen as soon as the words had left her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say it like that. Hadn’t meant to break anything.

But it was too late, and that night, the apartment was quiet in all the wrong ways.  

Yeonji lay curled up on her bed, staring at the faint shadows on the ceiling.  She felt raw, fragile, like the words she had spoken had set them backwards. Like every step forward had been undone in a single moment.

She hated that and hated herself for saying what she had.

She hated how much she felt like she was failing even when she could see Kotone trying too hard for the both of them.

She hated that she felt so broken that she was scared of being alone.

________________________________________

In the living room, Kotone sat with her head buried into her hands.  She felt like crying, but she was too exhausted for even that.  But the ache in her chest was sharp and lingering.

What now? she thought.  And in that moment, she didn't have the answer, and that scared her.

She had been trying so hard, for both of them, and Yeonji's sharp words suddenly made her feel afraid, that maybe — just maybe — she wasn’t enough to hold this together.

________________________________________

Yeonji hadn't left her room that whole day, and the next morning had passed exactly the same.  In silence — the kind that settles when two people are too full of things they don’t know how to say.

Eventually, Kotone couldn't stand not doing anything.  So, she knocked gently on Yeonji’s door around noon. “I made some soup. You don’t have to eat it now.”

No reply. Just a soft shift of blankets. She turned away and walked back to the kitchen, telling herself it was okay. That healing didn’t always look like affection. Sometimes it looked like soup on the table and a knock at the door to let them know you were there.

Yeonji emerged hours later, quiet and hollow-eyed. She stood by the table for a long time before sitting down. Kotone didn’t speak. Just waited.

The soup was cold, but Yeonji ate it anyway.

Halfway through, she put her spoon down, hands tightening in her lap. “I didn’t mean to yell,” she whispered.

Kotone looked up.

Yeonji still didn’t meet her eyes. “I panicked. I know it wasn’t about the cereal. It’s just..."

She paused there, trying to find the right words to say without making things worse.  

"You've been so busy lately because of the new job and I started thinking—if something happens, what if I’m alone again? What if I get stuck in my head, and there’s no one to help me?”

Kotone’s breath hitched, but she kept her voice steady. “You’re scared it’ll get bad again?”

Yeonji nodded, once.

Kotone let out a long breath, finally understanding why Yeonji had been acting the way she had for the last few days.  And she had been so wrapped up in everything with the new job, getting ready for it, she hadn't stopped to think about Yeonji's feelings on the matter.  And that was on her 100%.

“I get that,” Kotone said gently. “And I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I’ve been so wrapped up in making everything work for me that I forgot to check if it was working for you too.”

Yeonji glanced up, then away again. “It’s not your fault really, I know you have to work”

“Maybe not" Kotone said with a shake of her head.  "But I can still do better.”

She knew what she had to do, and so later that day she picked up her phone and called the University coordinator, Mrs Kwon, and explained a few things.  She went into as little detail as possible, but asked, humbly, if there was any way to reduce her weekly hours. Maybe fewer lectures. Some part-time admin tasks.  Just for the first few weeks until she found a way for it to work for both her and Yeonji.  Mrs Kwon said she would look into it and get back to her.

In truth, Kotone didn’t expect much.  She hadn't even started yet so she knew she was pushing her luck.  But Mrs Kwon came back quickly — and it was kind. They could shuffle things. Keep her mornings free three days a week. Her pay would drop, but not drastically, and if if she wanted to increase her hours again later, there was an opportunity for that.

It was more than she expected, and despite the reduced pay she could still make it work.  But more importantly, she didn’t feel like she was making a mistake.

The next morning, she told Yeonji over breakfast.  “I changed my schedule. It’s a little less money, but I’ll be home more. I want to be.”

Yeonji blinked, halfway through stirring her tea. “But... isn’t that bad?”  Her voice was small, like she feared the answer.

Kotone shook her head. “What’s bad is pretending we’re okay or everything would be OK when it wouldn’t be. If being here more helps even a little, then it’s worth it.”

Yeonji didn’t reply right away. But after a moment, she whispered, “Thank you.”

Not just for the extra time, but for listening to her concerns.  It wasn’t a perfect solution, and there were days where they still moved like strangers, where the air between them was too heavy to breathe easily.

But it was different now, because Yeonji had told her what was bothering her.   Told her what had needed saying and Kotone had listened.  

________________________________________

Yeonji

Yeonji hadn't been completely honest with Kotone.  Yes, being on her own and seeing less of Kotone really scared her.  But it wasn't the only thing troubling her.  Because the other thing on her mind was the brochure that Kotone had left on the table a few weeks ago and they were now talking about.

School.

The word made her stomach twist.

Yeonji was standing at her bedroom window, watching people pass by below. A woman with a stroller. Two students in uniform laughing over something on a phone. The ordinariness of it made her chest ache.

Behind her, Kotone’s voice was talking about the school she had left the brochure for.  “I found a school. It's about fifteen minutes from here.  It looks quieter than your old school.”

Yeonji didn’t turn.  Didn’t pretend that she hadn’t read the brochure 5 times already.

“You don’t have to go yet,” Kotone continued on. “But... would you come with me? Just to see it.  No pressure.”

No pressure. That’s what she always said.  And she meant it, that was the terrifying part.

It took Yeonji days, but she eventually agreed.

Just to look at it she told Kotone.  No more.  No less.

The walk to the school was silent. Kotone didn’t push. She just kept close, not touching but always near enough that Yeonji could feel her presence. It helped. A little.

The school itself wasn’t like the last one.  It wasn’t huge. No towering gates. No massive courtyard. It was smaller — tucked between quiet roads, pale buildings with wide windows. The spring trees lining the walkway were in soft bloom, and some kids were playing basketball on a back court.

Still, Yeonji’s heart wouldn’t settle.  They stopped at the edge of the main walkway, Kotone letting her look without pushing forward.

Yeonji’s fingers twisted in her sleeves. “They’ll know,” she muttered.

Kotone turned. “Who?  What will they know?”  

“Everyone. What I did. What I am. It’ll spread. Rumours always do.”  Yeonji sounded frightened.

Kotone didn’t rush to correct her. Didn’t try to sugar-coat it. Instead, she just looked at her carefully and said, “Maybe.  But it's not likely, and I also think it's possible you’ll meet someone kind. Someone who sees who you are now.”

Yeonji couldn’t believe that and said nothing.  Schools had done nothing but leave her broken and scarred, never mind the repeating nightmares she suffered over knives and school bathrooms.

They continued walking the outer edges of the school, not going inside the building itself. Kotone caught Yeonji peeking through a window once — into a small classroom with soft lighting, and a single teacher writing something in Korean on the board. 

No shouting. No cold eyes. No janitor unlocking the door after hours because she’d hidden in a bathroom stall too long, waiting for everyone else to leave.

Kotone waited as long as she needed before Yeonji asked to go. 

She didn't say anything until they were almost home.  Then, barely above a whisper: “Maybe.”

Kotone blinked for a second. “Maybe?”

Yeonji’s hands were shaking a little. “Maybe I could try. Not yet. But... maybe.”

Kotone smiled, soft and honest.  “That’s all I’m asking.  No pressure, right?”

As they finished their walk home, Yeonji tried thinking about how the school seemed better than her last, whilst doing everything she could to ignore the voice inside her saying "But, what if..."

Chapter Text

It had been days since Yeonji had visited the school, and every day and night she had felt like her insides were curling and twisting.  Her fears ran rampant — worries, doubts, all of it spiralling.

She felt like she had to say yes.  Because it was expected.  Because she was being told what to do and because she could see that Kotone hoped for her to say yes.  And so for the next week, all she could do was think it over and over. 

________________________________________

Day One

The school brochure was still on her desk.  Yeonji didn’t touch it but she didn’t throw it away either.

She sat curled in her chair, legs tucked up beneath her, eyes flicking between the desk and the brochure.

"Maybe."

She had told Kotone maybe, and now it felt like the word echoed and bounced around her chest.

Could she do this?  Did she want to?  

She didn't know.  And so she sat there, staring at nothing and everything.

________________________________________

Day Two

That night, she didn't sleep at all.  Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was old doors and hallways. Uniforms and mocking voices.

They’ll know. They’ll stare. They’ll whisper. They’ll point and laugh.  They’ll bully me.

The same thoughts, over and over, repeating like a cruel mantra.

She tried to imagine herself standing in the middle of the school courtyard, going into the school.  But her mind twisted the thought to something worse.  Something where she stood with hands clenched, the air heavy and sharp. She imagined voices saying her name — not kind or gentle.

Her breath caught and she sat up in the dark, pressing her palms into the side of her head with more force than needed.

"I can’t go back there."

But she wasn’t going back to the place in her mind. This school was new.  Different.  But no matter what she told herself, it couldn't stop the fear rolling over her again and again like a wave crashing against the shore.

________________________________________

Day Three

Today, she found herself typing the school’s name into her phone and looking through the school website.  She clicked through the images carefully, slowly — as if they might bite. Low buildings. Pale walls. Courtyards with benches beneath trees. Photos of students playing sports, playing instruments or drawing in art class.

All of them looked… ordinary.  Normal... and her first instinct was not to trust it.  

She clicked to the staff page and looked through the teachers names.  Some of them looked kind... That didn’t mean anything.

Later that night, she rolled her chair over to her window and watched the streetlights blink on, one by one, snow falling in soft, gentle waves.

She found herself whispering out loud, “What if I said yes?”

________________________________________

Day Four

Today she tried to ignore it.  Ignore the fear, ignore the maybe she had said to Kotone, ignore the way her chest tightened every time Kotone walked past.  Instead, she buried herself in books or in shows with the sound turned off.  Living in the silence.

For her part, Kotone didn’t press.  Instead, she left Yeonji a bowl of rice and miso on her bedside table when Yeonji pretended to nap.

Yeonji didn’t eat it until Kotone had gone, not prepared for the conversation that would happen if she did.

Later that night, she opened her journal and wrote just a few words.

I want to be okay.
But I’m scared of it being the same.

She shut the cover like it might explode.

________________________________________

Day Five

Today she found herself sitting on the floor in her room, her backpack pressed to her chest.  She had opened one of the zipped compartments, looking for something that she had kept hidden since the hospital.  Something she had pretended wasn't there and had never dared pull out or let Kotone know she still had. 

It was her old school ID.

Her fingers went numb as she pulled it out.  The photo on the ID stared back — stiff and unsmiling.  It was a version of herself caught mid-dissociation.

She remembered the way the Japanese teachers would say her name wrong. The way they asked questions she couldn’t answer. The way she flinched when someone laughed too loudly.

She remembered the bathroom…

She shoved the ID back into the bag and zipped it shut, then she whispered, shaky and hoarse, “Not again.”

________________________________________

Day Six

She was sitting at her desk again, journal open.  Morning light coming through her window, slanting across the pages of the journal. 

She wrote something again, feeling like she had to put her thoughts to paper, like it could help settle her mind and help make the decision for her.

If I go, it’s not for them.
Not to prove anything.
Just to see what happens if I try.

They were words she would never show to Kotone or ever say to her out loud.  These were for her and her alone. 

Instead, she found herself back on her phone, bookmarking the school website and checking the school uniform requirements.

She didn’t believe she could do it, but some part of her was preparing anyway.

________________________________________

Day Seven

Yeonji had finally come to a decision, and she left her room she found Kotone making a cup of matcha tea in the kitchen.

Yeonji hovered on the boundary of the kitchen, hoodie sleeves covering her hands.  If she could see herself in that moment, she would see someone small and scared, hiding in the depths of her hoodie.

But then she found herself speaking, barely audible, finding courage and strength she didn't think she had.  “If I said I wanted to try… not now, but maybe next week…”

Kotone turned, startled.  She hadn't heard Yeonji approach.  It took her a few moments to process what Yeonji had said, before she found herself smiling softly.

She didn't rush forward.  Instead, she settled for a quiet “Of course.”

Yeonji didn’t say anything else, just went back to her room and sat at the desk.

She opened the school brochure again, turned to the map of the school grounds.  She traced over the map with her fingers slowly and pretended she wasn’t mapping out the exits and the quickest way to run if needed.

She had found the courage from somewhere to say yes to that maybe.  And even now, she still didn't think she was going to be able to manage.  

But she was prepared to try, and she knew that even a month ago her past self would never have been able to make that decision.

She felt like crying, but instead she closed her eyes and tried telling herself that she could do this.  That she would be OK.

________________________________________

A few days later, Yeonji found herself with Kotone, shopping for school supplies and uniforms.  It was a small place, recommended to Kotone by the school.  Thankfully it was quiet as Yeonji didn't think she could handle anything louder or busier with how she was currently feeling.

Yeonji had forgotten what shopping for school supplies felt like.  She hadn't done it ever since she had lost her parents, and everything in the last 6 years were just a sequence of bad memories, one after the other.

Most of it was marked by whatever her foster home gave her at the time — plastic folders with scraps of old stickers still stuck to them, hand-me-down notebooks already half-used, pens that sometimes worked.

But now?

Now Kotone was asking her what she liked or wanted:

“Do you want the pink pencil case or the blue one?”

“Which kind of notebooks would you prefer?"

“Do you want gel pens or ballpoint?”

"What backpack would you like?"

Yeonji wanted to scream.

Not because of Kotone, but because she didn’t know. She didn’t know how to choose. Why did her opinion matter? What if she picked the wrong thing? What if she liked the wrong thing?

At first she chose the lavender pencil case, before putting it back.  Instead, she settled on a pale pencil case with a small baby blue strip running along the top of it.  She chose it because it was safe and she liked the baby blue strip.  She picked a light pink backpack, then her pens and her notebooks before they ordered her school uniform.

When she got home that night, she took the new supplies out of the plastic bag they were wrapped in and lined them up on the floor.  Just... to look at them. She ran her fingers across the texture of the notebooks. The pencil case with the blue strip. The neat pack of post-it notes in soft pastel.

They were hers.  Not hand me downs.  Hers.  But she didn't feel like she had earned them or deserved them, and yet Kotone had let her choose what she wanted.  That thought kept her up late into the night.

________________________________________

Kotone had let her know a few days ago that she had scheduled a meeting with the school head teacher.  Just so they could talk and get a feel for the school and the syllabus. 

And now, today was the day she was due to meet the head teacher. 

Yeonji felt sick, but somehow she had found herself standing at the gate, Kotone standing close, letting her know she wasn't alone.

She told herself that this place was different.  That the building felt different than the last school, that it was more open and less institutional. 

Kotone led them towards the meeting room and Yeonji tried not to feel like she was being led to the gallows.

The meeting room itself smelled like lemon-scented floor cleaner and fresh paper. A wall of windows let in soft sunlight. None of that stopped her hands trembling in her sleeves.

Yeonji was hiding partially behind Kotone as they were greeted by two woman.  The first of them stepped forward to introduce herself.  

“I’m Oh Haewon,” she said, bowing slightly before shaking Kotone's hand. “It’s nice to meet you both. I’m the head teacher of the school.”  She gestured to her colleague, who also stepped forward with a small bow and a warm smile.  "Hi, I'm Lee Chaeryeong and I'll be Yeonji's homeroom teacher.  It's lovely to meet the both of you."

Kotone bowed and smiled with that polite, professional energy she always seemed to summon when needed. “Thank you for meeting us.  I'm Kotone and this is Yeonji.”

Both of the teachers toward Yeonji then, expecting some kind of response or introduction.  She didn't say anything.  She couldn’t.

If the teachers felt perturbed by that, they didn't show it.  Instead they guided them to their seats.  Yeonji took a moment to look over the both of them.

Both of them seemed to have warm smiles that reached their eyes.  They sounded like they liked what they did, cared about the job.  

Neither of them spoke directly to Yeonji, instead they addressed Kotone and asked questions about Yeonji’s interests, her learning style and any preferences she had.  All things Kotone had prepared for in advance.

In turn, Kotone asked all the right questions in return.

How large are the class sizes?  Do students rotate teachers or stay in homerooms?  What’s your approach to emotional well-being?  And what happens when bullying is reported?

Neither of them flinched at the questions, taking them all in their stride.  Haewon explained the school’s procedures — a part-time counsellor, regular homeroom check-ins, anonymous reporting systems. She spoke gently but confidently.

Kotone had already discussed things with the teachers in advance, letting them know as much as she could without feeling like she was betraying Yeonjis secrets and her past.  

Near the end of the meeting, Chaeryeong looked at Yeonji and addressed her directly.  “Yeonji, it’s okay to be nervous. We’ll take things at your pace OK?”

Yeonji nodded. A tiny motion.

As the meeting came to a close, the two teachers said their goodbyes, Kotone promising she would be in touch.

Yeonji left the meeting feeling like she had been seen. Not exposed — but understood.  Still, the walk home was done in silence. 

The sun was starting to dip beyond the skyline, and the wind carried the promise of early spring blooms.

When they were settled back at the apartment, Kotone spoke to Yeonji.  “You don’t have to decide today,” she said. “But if you want to try... I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Yeonji didn’t answer right away. Her throat was tight. Her body tired.  But that night, long after dinner, after Kotone had gone to her room and the apartment was quiet — Yeonji knocked on Kotone's bedroom door softly.

Kotone opened the door,  hair a mess, looking a little surprised.

Yeonji didn’t meet her eyes, but she spoke quietly.  “I think... I want to try.”

She didn't speak loudly or firmly.  Just honestly.

Kotone didn’t cry. She didn’t gasp or try to hug her. 

Instead she settled for a small smile and said softly “Okay.  Let’s do it together.”

________________________________________

Yeonji

Kotone had let the school know the next day that Yeonji would try, setting a date for Yeonji's first day.

And now it was the night before and the apartment was too quiet.

Yeonji sat on her bed, knees to her chest, school uniform laid out beside her like something unreal. She’d touched it five times. Folded it again. Stared at it like it might bite.

She couldn’t breathe right. Not all the way in.

School.

It was happening.

Tomorrow.

She told herself she wasn’t going to cry. Not tonight. But her heart wouldn’t listen, thudding hard against her ribs, and her stomach twisted in on itself until she had to sit forward and press her forehead to her knees just to feel grounded.

She didn’t want to feel like this.  She wanted to be better, to be okay.

But wanting to be better didn’t erase the memories.

The bathroom tiles.

The cut of a knife.

The pain followed by the silence and crowding darkness.

Right now, she was terrified that she’d find herself back there — cold floor, bleeding wrists, whispering I can’t do this to no one who would listen.

What if she fell again?

What if Kotone couldn’t catch her?

________________________________________

Kotone

In her own room, Kotone was staring at her laptop screen, her lesson plans for the upcoming weeks staring back at her.  She wasn't reading any of it as her mind kept drifting towards Yeonji.

Was Yeonji asleep? Was she panicking? Did she regret saying yes?

She wanted to help. To go to Yeonji, sit beside her, say something that made it better. But what was the right thing to say?

Don’t be scared? That was stupid. Yeonji had every right to be scared.

You’ll be okay? Kotone wanted it to be true. But she didn’t know it would be.

You’re not alone?

That one, maybe.

She turned off her screen before finding herself outside Yeonji's room. The door was slightly ajar, the light from inside spilling into the hallway.

She knocked softly.  There was a short pause before a muffled “Yeah?” came through.

Kotone stepped inside. Yeonji was curled up on the bed, her eyes red and rimmed with shadows.

She had been crying.  Kotone didn’t speak at first, instead deciding to sit on the edge of the bed.  She looked at the floor, hands in her lap, trying to find the right words that Yeonji needed to hear. 

“I know I can’t fix anything,” she said finally. “But I’ll be here when you wake up tomorrow. I’ll walk with you to the school gates. I’ll come pick you up after.  And if you need me, all you need to do is call and I'll be there.”

Yeonji didn’t move or respond, but her fingers curled slightly into the bedsheet.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

Kotone nodded. “That’s OK.  Me too.”

A beat of silence, before Yeonji whispers something that had been plaguing her thoughts ever since she had agreed to go back to school. 

“I’m scared you’ll come home one day and I won’t be here,” Yeonji admitted, her voice so soft it was barely a sound.

It cracked Kotone’s heart.

“And I’m scared I won’t know how to help you" Kotone told her in turn.  "But I’ll keep showing up, every day. Even when I don’t know what to do.”

Yeonji blinked fast, and for a moment Kotone thought she might cry again. But instead, she just nodded, small and shaky.

They sat like that for a while — two people afraid for different reasons, but neither of them alone.

________________________________________

That night, Yeonji didn’t sleep much. But she laid out her uniform again, held the soft pencil case from her supplies.

And she hoped that tomorrow would treat her kindly.

________________________________________

The early morning light was soft and hazy, as if the city itself was still rubbing sleep from its eyes.  Breakfast had been small and quiet, neither of them speaking.  Yeonji looked nervous and scared, and Kotone didn't want to say or do anything that would cause her to retreat and hide.

But now it was time to leave.

Yeonji stood by the door with her bag clutched in both hands like a shield. Her shoulders were tight, hunched, and her eyes kept flicking toward the floor, then the door, then back to the floor again.

Kotone stood beside her, keys in one hand, a thermos of tea in the other. She looked at Yeonji in her uniform.  How it was loose around her shoulders.  How small and fragile she looked.   

She looked underweight...  Better than it was when they had left the hospital months ago but still not right. 

Kotone's heart was rattling around in her chest, brittle and aching but she said nothing and kept her feelings in check.  This wasn’t about her.

Instead, she opened the door and Yeonji followed.

They stepped into the morning light together.

The streets were quiet at this hour. A few distant voices, the occasional hum of a passing car, birds murmuring to the sky above.

Kotone led the way, keeping a steady pace. Not too fast. Not too slow.

Yeonji walked a single pace behind. Her eyes scanned everything — corners, windows, the shadows of alleyways. Every footstep felt heavier than the last.

One step at a time, she told herself.

She thought about the way her shoes felt. The chill of the air. The sounds around her.

Tether yourself. Stay here.

But her mind kept trying to split apart, to fray at the edges, betraying her on repeat with thoughts she didn't want but couldn't stop.

What if the other students looked at her?

What if they knew?

What if someone whispered the word suicide behind her back, and it clung to her again like a ghost?

She swallowed hard and tightened her grip on the strap of her bag. Her fingers ached from clenching.

“Almost there,” Kotone said softly.

Yeonji gave a barely perceptible nod.

The school gates appeared at the end of the street like a threshold between two worlds — one she knew, one she feared. Her legs faltered. Just a half-second.

Kotone noticed.  She slowed, gently bringing them to a stop.

They stood in front of the gates. The building loomed, familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Students were filtering in, some in groups, some alone. Laughter echoed from somewhere — it sounded far away.

Yeonji’s breath was uneven.

Her throat felt tight. I can’t—

Kotone turned to her then, face calm, voice low, speaking exactly when Yeonji needed her to.  “Yeonji.”

Yeonji looked up, startled.

Kotone offered a small smile. “You’re brave.”

Yeonji stared back at her. Shocked.

Kotone didn’t waver. “You’re here and that's brave. And if it gets to be too much — if something doesn’t feel right, if you need to leave — you call me. Any time. You don’t even have to explain. I’ll come get you. No questions, okay?”

Yeonji’s eyes burned.  She didn’t want to cry here — not now — so she blinked hard, swallowing it down.  Her jaw trembled. She gave a tiny nod.

“And…” Kotone added, softer now. “I’m proud of you. No matter what happens today.”

That did it.

Yeonji looked away, unable to stop the tears forming, ashamed as they gathered at the corners of her eyes. But she also felt something loosen in her chest, just a little. Just enough to breathe.

They stood in silence another moment.

Then, slowly, Yeonji stepped forward.

Through the gates.

Kotone watched her until she disappeared inside. Until she was gone from sight.

She didn’t move. Not right away.  Her heart was aching, desperate.  She whispered to the air, to no one in particular — “Be kind to her. Please.”

Chapter Text

Yeonji felt her anxiety grip and take hold as she walked the school halls.  Her shoes were clicking too loudly on the polished school floor.  Shouts and laughter echoed around her.  She felt like each step was being lit by a spotlight, drawing eyes she didn’t want.

They know, she thought. They probably saw me during the tour. The weird girl. The quiet one with the haunted eyes. The one who—

She stopped herself. Not here. Not yet.

Her backpack felt heavier than it should have. Her uniform — freshly pressed, slightly loose at the shoulders — clung to her like paper. Her palms were slick, fingers curled into fists to hide the tremble.  She kept moving the jumper down, making sure her wrists were covered, hiding the scar that would never disappear.

It took her a minute, but she found herself where she was meant to be.  Teachers’ Office — Room 2F.

She raised her hand to knock for stopped half way, the noise from inside the room stopping her.  It was full of voices.  Adult ones. The sounds of paper rustling, a printer humming. The clatter of coffee mugs. Someone laughed — loudly — which made her flinch.

She wanted to turn back and run.  She wanted to knock.  She was stuck halfway between both, her hand hovering, when the door opened in front of her.

“Yeonji?”

A woman was standing in front of her. Mid length dark hair curled gently against her jawline. Simple cardigan. Kind eyes and a kind smile, holding a tablet in her hand. 

She recognised her.  It was Ms Chaeryeong, her homeroom teacher.

She dropped her hand that was still hovering to knock the door and give a small nod in return.  Words got stuck in her throat, too startled by the sudden presence in front of her.

Chaeryeong’s smile was careful, measured — not fake, not overwhelming. Just enough.

“Good morning,” she said. “I was waiting for you.  Shall we head to class?”

In truth, she wanted to scream NO.  No, she didn't want to head to class.  She wanted to run, flee, never step inside another school in her life.  But she said nothing, instead stepping back to give space for Chaeryeong to exit the room.  The teacher stepped out, closing the door behind her, before she motioned for Yeonji to follow her.

She followed the teacher, always staying a step behind.  Chaeryeong didn’t rush. Maybe that was her way of keeping Yeonji from panicking — or maybe it was just how she walked. Yeonji wasn’t sure

She could imagine how she looked to Chaeryeong as she walked beside her.  How stiff her own posture was.  How she was gripping her own bag so tightly as if it was the only thing keeping her afloat.  How she walked with her eyes planted to the floor, avoiding any and all form of contact. 

Chaeryeong tried speaking to her then, but she was only vaguely listening.

“You know,” Chaeryeong had said quietly, “it’s okay to feel nervous or even a little scared, but it will be OK.”

She didn't answer.

They turned the corner toward the stairwell. Voices floated up from classrooms below.

In truth, she wasn't paying attention to Chaeryeong because she was trying to keep herself grounded by replaying something Kotone had said to her that morning, before she entered the school.

“If one second at a time is all you can manage today,” Kotone had said, “then let that be enough. And if you can do ten seconds? That’s something. Then maybe a minute. Then an hour. Do that over and over — until the day is done.”

She repeated it like a mantra, a lifeline keeping her tethered.

They had climbed the stairs and Chaeryeong had stopped at the top, taking a moment to look at her carefully. She said something again.

“If you need to step out at any time, if it’s too much, just tell me. Or leave and call Kotone. No questions and no judgment.”

She looked up then — startled at the hearing Kotone’s name. She hadn’t expected that.

Chaeryeong held her gaze. “Kotone asked me to keep an eye on you today.  Just to make sure you're OK.  I will take that seriously.”

There was silence between them, but it wasn’t heavy. She didn't know Chaeryeong.  Didn't trust her because she had never been given a reason to trust any teacher.  She sounded genuine, and if Kotone had reached out then maybe that showed that she trusted her a little?

Eventually, she gave the faintest nod. Not because she believed her, but because she wanted to try.

It didn't take long before they were outside the classroom.  It was noisy, but not overly loud with the door closed.  With a final look and nod from Chaeryeong, the teacher turned to open the classroom door. 

Light spilled out into the corridor, and she followed Chaeryeong into the classroom.

________________________________________

The classroom was full of chatter — the kind that echoes and multiplies in spaces like this. Laughter bounced off the windows. Chairs scraped against the floor. Someone was showing a small group pictures of something from their phone.

Yeonji had stepped just inside the classroom, but now she stood almost frozen in place, the light above flickering softly as if the classroom itself was unsure of her presence.

Chaeryeong stood by her side, gently clearing her throat. “Everyone — can I have your attention for a moment?”

The chatter died quickly, with the class turning toward her, curious. A few of the students already looked bored. One or two whispered behind cupped hands.  Yeonji had not doubts they were talking about her.

Chaeryeong's voice was calm and steady. “This is Kwak Yeonji" she said, gesturing towards her.  "She’ll be joining our class starting today. Please make her feel welcome and be respectful and give her the space and time to settle in. That’s all.”

A short, clipped introduction. Nothing more.

Yeonji didn’t look up. Her gaze flickered between the floor and the rows of desks. The walls closed in slightly. Everything buzzed around her — fluorescent lights, faraway footsteps, the rustle of paper. Sounds of students whispering words she couldn't quite make out.  It was too much, with too many eyes on her.

Chaeryeong spoke again, quieter now, meant for Yeonji. “There’s a seat by the window, in the back row. You can sit next to Joobin.”

It took a moment before Yeonji was able to move.  She had expected the teacher to ask her to introduce herself.  But she hadn't and Yeonji was silently grateful for that.  She looked up to find what seat the teacher had indicated before she moved, like a wind-up toy. Eyes forward. No expression.

The seat was at the back, last row, right next to the wide glass windows that let in the early spring sun. Outside, the branches of the trees moved, caught in a light breeze.

Eyes followed her to her chair.  She slid into the chair and placed her bag in front of her like a shield. Her hands didn’t stop moving — adjusting the zipper on the bag over and over.  Taking out her pencil case and pens.  Opening and closing the pencil case, realigning her pens like tiny guards.  She felt that if she stopped moving, even for a second, she would run. So she kept her hands busy, on something she could touch.

________________________________________

Joobin

Joobin had listened quietly as the teacher introduced Yeonji and asked her to sit beside her.  She hadn't had a seat mate for a while, the last person who had sat there had left a few months ago to move to a school abroad. 

She noticed how the teacher had not asked Yeonji to introduce herself.  She noticed how tense Yeonji seemed as she walked to her seat.

Joobin wasn’t loud. She wasn’t popular in the typical sense. She had her own friends, but people knew her — She was one of the top ranked students, but she was also known as being calm, quiet and polite.  She had a warm smile and was unfailingly kind to anyone she spoke to.  But if you were not her friend, you wouldn't know the worries she carried or that she was also the type of person who paid attention to details that others would normally miss.

And as Yeonji sat down, she noticed everything.

The way her body curled in slightly, trying to take up less space.
The way she placed her bag down like she was building a wall between her and the class.
The way her fingers twitched every time someone raised their voice.
The way she looked at the window — not like she was daydreaming, but like she would rather be out there than in here.
And the door — how her eyes kept darting back, again and again, like she needed to know the way out.

Her shoes were too clean. Her uniform, barely worn in. Her pencil case — it was decorated with a soft baby blue stripe, and she clutched in her left hand like it was the only thing keeping her in her seat.

Joobin would normally have tried to say hello.  But she said nothing as she could feel the don’t come near me radiating off Yeonji in waves.

Instead, she kept watching her from the corner of her eye.  Something in her kept telling her to pay attention.  Don’t forget this moment.

Chaeryeong took the class attendance, Joobin saying a quiet "here" when her name was called.  Shortly, the class began.  Maths.  Not one of Joobin's favourite classes at the best of times, but now she was barely registering the numbers. Her mind kept drifting, and instead of focussing on the lesson her brain seemed to tune to the quiet scratch of Yeonji’s pen as she took notes.  Or how her breath came slightly too fast, like she was trying not to drown in air.

Halfway through the class, someone dropped their textbook on the floor.

The loud thud made Yeonji flinch so hard she knocked her pen off the desk and it rolled under Joobin’s chair.  Joobin noted how wide her eyes were, how they wouldn't stop moving, like she was searching to see if she was in danger.

So Joobin reached under her chair for the pen and gently slid it towards Yeonji -- quiet, no fuss.

Yeonji looked at her then, startled, their eyes meeting for the first time since Yeonji had entered the classroom.  It lasted no more than a split second — and in that time there was a flicker of something before Yeonji looked away, hiding behind her hair.

But Joobin saw it.  The fear. The exhaustion. The multitude of warning signs.

She just turned back to her notebook, quietly underlining a formula that the teacher was talking about.  She tried to focus, return to the lesson, but a thought stuck in her chest like a whisper that wouldn’t let go.

Why did it feel as if Yeonji was drowning?

Chapter Text

Yeonji's morning had crawled in, with every second feeling like a lifetime.  Thankfully, lunch had arrived, but even that brought its own sense of panic.

As the bell rang too loud, the teacher dismissed the class.  Voices rose in excitement, chairs scraped along the floor, bags rustling open as students stood in casual clusters.  Someone joked too loudly about fried chicken and cafeteria lines.  If anyone wanted to try and speak to Yeonji she didn't give them a chance.  She stood too fast, backpack slung over one shoulder, head down and was out the door before anyone could blink.

The cafeteria was never going to be an option.  Too loud and too many people.  So instead, she escaped the rooftop.

The spring wind curled under her sleeves, cool and sharp. She sat down near the door, knees tucked to her chest, bag beside her like armor.

She breathed slowly.  In for four seconds, then holding for four seconds before breathing out for four seconds.  Over and over.  Just to try and keep herself calm.  After a few minutes of this, she took her phone out of her bag, her hands shaking a little, and typed out a message to Kotone.

Just 5 words.  Simple.  Heavy.

I made it to lunch.

She stared at the message for a long time before hitting send.

________________________________________

Joobin

Joobin had decided to stay in the class when the lunch bell rang.

Most of the rest of the class had gone downstairs to the cafeteria.  A few other students had stayed in the class, taking the opportunity to try and get a quick nap or to study. Joobin would normally join her own friends for lunch, but today she wanted to be alone as she wanted space to think.  So she sent a quick text to her friends' group chat to say something had come up and she couldn’t make it. 

And so she stayed where she was, staring at the desk Yeonji had fled from.'

The silence left space for thought — and Joobin’s mind filled it completely.

Something in the way Yeonji acted and how she didn't speak struck her.  She wasn't loud in her pain but it pulsed off her like heat.

Joobin knew a little of that feeling.  She knew that kind of quiet.

She didn’t know Yeonji’s story, but she recognized some of the shape of it.  It was obvious that Yeonji had built a wall around herself and that she didn’t want company or wasn’t ready for it.  

And maybe it wasn’t Joobin’s place to try and get over or around that wall.  But something twisted in her chest, because Joobin knew how it felt when no one reached out and when silences stayed unbroken.

And she was too kind — too herself — to sit back and pretend she hadn’t seen it.

Still.  You don’t just barge into someone’s storm.

That was the first lesson Joobin had ever learned about dealing with her own anxieties and worries.  Someone barging in without care could do more harm than good.  Sometimes, you need to let others come to the edge first.

So she sat there in the quiet, letting the wind rattle the windows, and thought about what she should or shouldn't do.

When lunch was over and the class began to return, Joobin noticed it right away.  Yeonji was the last to arrive, leaving no room for people to speak to her.

Yeonji sat in her seat, back straight, eyes fixed on her open notebook though she wasn’t writing anything. Her pencil case was perfectly lined up again, her hands always in motion moving or fixing something on her desk.  She didn’t look at anyone, not even her.  Not that she expected Yeonji to look at her.

Joobin watched out of the side of her eye.  The way Yeonji's shoulders tensed when someone laughed across the room. How she flinched when a chair scraped too harshly. How she seemed to breathe only in little pieces.

Yeonji wasn’t okay, that was clear and Joobin had no idea what she should do with that information. 

________________________________________

Kotone

After Kotone had watched Yeonji enter the school, she had stood at the school gates longer than she probably should have. Yeonji had long disappeared past the threshold, swallowed by a sea of uniforms and chattering teenagers. The quiet between them before that—an exchanged glance, a hesitant nod—lingered in Kotone's chest like a held breath. She didn’t want to leave, but she had to. She had promised Yeonji she would trust her to try and that trust had to go both ways.

So she turned, slowly, and walked away, heading towards her University.

Each step felt heavier than it should. The streets of Seoul passed in a soft blur, the usual morning bustle dimmed by the haze of her worry. By the time she reached the university campus, she had already checked her phone four times.

No messages.

Her morning lecture was on intermediate Japanese grammar—a topic she could teach half-asleep on most days. But today, her voice was a little too tight, her smile a little too forced. She kept one eye on the clock, the other on her phone screen tucked between papers on her desk. 

No messages.

During her morning break she imagined Yeonji sitting frozen in her classroom, back pressed against a wall, flinching at sharp voices or loud laughter. She imagined the bathrooms. The memories. The way Yeonji had looked at her that morning—like someone trying to be brave while already halfway broken.

No messages.

By the time her second class ended, Kotone found herself pacing her office instead of eating lunch, ignoring the few glances some of her fellow teachers threw her way.  She scrolled aimlessly through her social media, re-read the grocery list she had made with Yeonji over the weekend, stared at Yeonji’s contact name until it blurred.

And then, finally, a message came through.  Short, only five words.

I made it to lunch.

Her breath caught. She blinked hard, her chest aching in the best and worst way. She stopped pacing and sat down, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, hot and full of everything she’d been holding in.  Five simple words that made her want to scream in joy, cry in relief, call Yeonji and tell her how proud she was of her.

Kotone typed out a reply.

“I’m so proud of you. One second at a time. I’ll be waiting at the gate for you after school.”

And she meant it with every inch of her soul.

The rest of the day passed in a nervous haze, still glancing at her phone every few minutes. She made it through her last class with only one minor misstep—confusing the kanji for “love” and “sorrow.” Her students didn’t catch it, but she did.  She smiled at the irony of it after class had ended.

As the sun dipped lower and school bells rang across the city, Kotone was standing outside at the school gates, waiting for Yeonji.  Her hands were in her coat pockets, phone tucked away. She kept her eyes on the stream of students exiting the building, scanning every face for one she knew so well and yet still barely understood.

She wondered at how Yeonji would look.  Would she look tense?  Hollowed out? Exhausted?

Finally, she spotted her in the crowd.  Small and thin and shadowed, hands tight around her bag.  Kotone felt her heart ache with something fierce and tender.

Yeonji glanced up at her then and their eyes met. She didn’t smile, didn’t speak, but she walked toward her.

And Kotone waited, quietly, just like she’d promised.

________________________________________

The apartment was dim when they returned but neither of them reached for the switch now. The soft evening glow through the windows was enough. Maybe more than enough as harsh light felt wrong.

Yeonji took off her shoes and stood in the entryway a moment longer than needed. Kotone didn’t say anything. She simply waited, her own bag still slung over her shoulder, keys in her hand. She wanted to ask everything—Are you okay? Was it too much? Can you go back?—but the words caught in her throat like thorns. If she pushed too hard now, she’d lose whatever fragile thread of peace Yeonji had managed to carry home with her.

So instead, she said softly, “There’s curry left from last night. I can heat it up if you like?”

Yeonji nodded. Quietly, wordlessly. She moved into the living room, curling up in her corner of the couch like a cat seeking shelter, her sleeves covering her hands.

Kotone busied herself in the kitchen, stealing glances every few minutes. The curry simmered. The rice steamed. The air warmed with the scent of garlic and spice, grounding and familiar. She set two bowls on the table, the clink of ceramic gentle in the silence.

They ate mostly in silence, but somewhere between the second and third bite, Kotone spoke, her voice low, careful.

“I know today must’ve been hard.”

Yeonji’s hand froze for a second, chopsticks hovering in the air. Then she resumed eating, slower.

“I don’t want to push,” Kotone continued. “But… if you want to talk about it. I’m here. And if not… that’s okay too.”

It wasn’t a question. Just an offering.

Yeonji set her chopsticks down. Her shoulders were tight, her eyes staring at her bowl like it held answers. She didn’t look up as she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I hated it.”

Kotone’s breath caught but she kept her face still.

“I hated… the noise. The eyes. The way people laugh and I don’t know if it’s about me. I hated how loud the bell was. And… and I kept pulling my sleeves down because I thought someone might see and say something. Or laugh. Or…” Her voice cracked. “Or worse.”

She paused for a moment before she continued.

“But I want to go again tomorrow.”

Kotone’s head jerked up slightly, surprised. Yeonji was still staring at her bowl, hands shaking slightly.

“I want to go,” she repeated, quieter now. “Because… you said one second at a time. And then ten. And then a minute. And I did it. I made it through a whole day. I hated it. But I didn’t run. And I want to try again.”

Kotone pressed her lips together, fighting back tears. Not because she was sad, because of awe.

“You’re so brave,” she whispered.

Yeonji didn’t respond to that. But for the first time since Kotone had picked her up at the school gate, her shoulders dropped just a little. A small loosening of the tension she wore like a second skin.

They finished their food in silence again. But this time, it was a softer silence. A shared one.

Later, as Yeonji got ready for bed, Kotone lingered by her bedroom door.

“Do you want me to wake you up tomorrow? Same time?”

Yeonji hesitated a second before she nodded. 

“Okay.” Kotone smiled. “We’ll do it all over again, one second at a time.”

Chapter Text

Yeonji.  Early Tuesday AM.

If there was one thing Yeonji knew for certain, it's that making it through a single day at school didn't mean things were suddenly better, or she was fixed.  Her fears and trauma ran deep, and it had ways of coming at you with no warning.

And so it happened to her that night.

She awoke from the nightmare with a quiet scream, her body jerking upright.  Her breath was ragged and her hands clenched the sweat-dampened sheets like they were the only thing keeping her from falling back into that endless dark.  Her chest heaved as her lungs struggled to keep up with the storm still roaring inside her.

She didn’t know what triggered the nightmare.  Maybe it was all of the stress and anxiety that had built up after her first day of school.  Maybe it was the look in someone’s eyes. The too-loud laugh of someone in her class. The sharp ring of the class bell.  Maybe it was the memory of locked bathroom doors. Of whispers and silence and shame.

Her nightmares never showed the same images, but they always ended the same: trapped, alone, breaking apart.  Drowning.

Her bedroom door creaked open a few moments later. 

________________________________________

Kotone

Kotone had heard the sharp intake of breath and small, quiet sob that signalled Yeonji was waking from a nightmare.  Over the months she had grown accustomed to listening out for them, to make sure she was there for Yeonji if needed.  Like every other nightmare she had sat there for, she didn't ask Yeonji if she was okay.  She turned the light on in the hallway and stepped inside, barefoot and gentle, and sat down by the wall with her back pressed against it.  She left the door open just enough to let some light in to the room.

She didn’t say “It was just a dream" because she knew better than that.  Kotone had done enough reading on the matter to know that trauma and PTSD can manifest through nightmares.

Instead, she sat there quietly, as ten, maybe fifteen minutes passed in silence.  

She listened as eventually, Yeonji’s breathing steadied. 

Yeonji spoke then, her voice hoarse from the tears she hadn't even realized had come.  “I’m still going.  To school. Today. I still want to go.”

Kotone nodded at that, before checking if Yeonji was OK to go back to sleep.

Yeonji didn't answer with words, instead just curled herself back under her blanket.  As always, Kotone stayed where she was, unmoving, until Yeonji’s breathing evened out again, slow and real, indicating that she had fell back asleep.  Sometimes she never did fall back asleep and Kotone would sit there all night with her.  Sometimes it took a few hours, but tonight at least, Yeonji had fallen back asleep within around 30 minutes.

She crept back to her own room but sleep never came.  She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, straining for any sound from the other room. Every shift of the sheets. Every breath. Her thoughts tangled and pulled: I shouldn’t have let her go. Maybe she’s not ready. Maybe I pushed too hard. Maybe I just wanted to believe she could do this more than she actually could…

She couldn't help but think that she had pushed Yeonji too much and too far...and yet Yeonji had said she wanted to go again.

________________________________________

Yeonji

Breakfast that morning was quiet.  Just shared tea. Plain toast. School bags. Tired eyes.

Kotone didn’t ask her if she was sure about going to school and Yeonji didn’t say she wasn’t.

When they stepped out the apartment, the air was sharp and crisp.  Yeonji’s shoulders were curled inward, her hands hidden in the depths of her jacket.  Just like the day before, they walked slowly and neither of them tried to fill the silence. 

She noticed Kotone stealing glances at her every few steps. And even though her feet kept moving, her ribs still ached from the nightmare. She hadn’t quite been able to shake it — but she kept walking.

At the gate, they paused again. Students streamed in. The voices felt louder than yesterday, somehow.

Kotone crouched slightly beside her, bringing them eye-level.

“One second at a time, right?” she said.

Yeonji swallowed, then gave a small, stiff nod.

And without another word, she stepped through the gate and into her second day of school.

________________________________________

Kotone watched her go, disappearing into the building just as she had done yesterday.  She hoped that today would be kind to her again.

After a few moments, she finally turned to walk to the university.   Yeonji's nightmare the night before had rattled her slightly, and each step she took away from the school felt harder than the last.

________________________________________

Joobin.  Monday Night at home.

Joobin was in her room, books strewed across her desk.  Her laptop was humming as the fan spun up to help try and cool it down.  She was attempting to do her maths homework but failing desperately because she couldn't focus.  

Her mind kept drifting back to the new girl in class.

Yeonji.

The new girl who flinched when people raised their voice.  The girl who looked like she was holding her breath every time the door opened and looked ready to run at any moment.

She saw it and she recognised some of it.  Part of her remembered being the new girl at school and remembered what it was like when you didn't trust the floor to hold you.

Her musing was broken when one of her mom's called out to her.

“Joobin-ah!” her mom Jiwoo called from the kitchen. “Dinner's ready!”

“Coming!” she called back.

She closed her notebook with a sigh and padded out of her room and into the kitchen.  She was struck with the familiar smell of garlic and pepper.  She looked up to survey the chaos that was the kitchen at dinner time.  Jiwoo was at the stove with her other mom Chaeyeon, the two of them dancing around each other with the kind of easy rhythm long-time partners shared.  There was music playing softly from the portable speaker in the kitchen — some indie track Joobin didn’t know — and everything just fit.

“Dinner smells good,” Joobin said as she slid into her usual seat.

Jiwoo shot her a wink. “It better. I almost burned the tofu trying to stop your other mother from adding chili to the—”

“I measured it this time,” Chaeyeon interrupted with a grin. “Measured. You can’t complain if I measured.”

From the hallway came footsteps, then the soft voice of Sullin, their 18-year-old daughter and Joobin’s older sister.  She slipped into the kitchen, still in her uniform from school.  She dropped into her seat with a yawn and a mutter of, “You guys argue about adding chili to food like it’s a life decision.”

“It is,” both parents said at the same before, before they burst into laughter.

Joobin noticed Sullin shake her head.  But she also noticed the small smile she had on her face, amused at their moms' antics.  It wasn't long before dinner was served.  Dinner was light talk, shared food, easy love.  It was the kind of home Joobin had always known, with nothing expected but to be.

Usually she would join in the conversation.  Talk about her day.  Poke fun at Sullin.  But she was quieter tonight.

Halfway through dinner, she cleared her throat. “Can I… ask you guys something?”

Three heads turned toward her. Curious. Open.

Chaeyeon leaned forward with a teasing glint in her eyes. “Oooh, is this a dating question?”

Jiwoo laughed. “Please say it’s dating. I’ve been waiting for this day.”

Sullin perked up too, smirking, eager to join in on the teasing.  “Who is it? Someone at school?”

Joobin didn’t answer.  She didn't smile or roll her eyes like she normally would when they tried to tease her over something.  And that was enough for them all to stop.

The teasing faded, replaced with real attention. Concern. Space.

Jiwoo reached out to take Joobin's hand.  “Hey. Okay. Not dating. What is it, then?”

“We’re listening,” Chaeyeon added, her eyes full of warmth and concern.

“Take your time,” Sullin murmured, more serious now.

Joobin took a breath, staring at her rice bowl.  Wondering how she would approach talking about Yeonji, when all she was working off of was snuck glances and her own assumptions.

“We got a new girl in our class today.  Her name's Yeonji.  I....don't think she's okay and I don’t know if I should get involved. Or how. Or if I’ll mess it up.”

She paused then, and her family gave her the time to gather her thoughts.  There was no judgement, only knowing that if she was serious about something then that meant it was important.

“I don’t want to scare her off,” Joobin said, softer now. “But I can tell she’s going through something and it feels like she is barely holding it together."  She sighed, deeply and sounded sad as she continued on.  "She flinches at sounds and looks like she wants to run every time someone raises their voice.  And I remember what it was like when everyone left me alone and I don’t want to be that person. But I’m scared I’ll make it worse if I try to help.”

Her voice wavered. “It’s like I can feel it in my own chest — like it’s mine again."

Jiwoo smiled gently at her daughter, as Chaeyeon also reached across the table to take Joobin's other hand into her own.

Chaeyeon spoke first between them.  “You said she looks like she’s barely holding together. That a breeze might shatter her?”

Joobin nodded at her to say yes.

"That's a tough one sweetie.  But you knew how you felt back then.   That what you don't want to do is to pity her or pressure her into something she doesn't feel ready for.”

Jiwoo reached across and tucked some hair behind Joobin’s ear like she used to when Joobin was little. “What did you need, back then?”

Joobin blinked, thinking back to how it felt being the new girl and feeling so alone.  “I needed a friend.  Someone who saw me with demanding anything from me.”

“You wanted kindness” Jiwoo said with a smile.  “Because real kindness doesn’t demand anything from anyone.  It just is.  And your kind Binnie, that's just who you are.  So be kind to her. Be gentle and slowly let her know someone sees her without needing her to talk yet.”

Joobin blinked back something she didn’t name.   

“But what if that's not enough or if I make it worse?” Joobin said, her voice cracking slightly at the end.

“You’re not trying to save her,” Jiwoo said gently. “Just be a soft place to land. That’s enough.”

“Even silence is kindness,” Chaeyeon added. “She's new, and your not trying to fix her Binnie.  It’s just letting her know that you're there and she doesn't need to feel alone when she's at school.”

Joobin’s heart felt full to bursting.  It ached with something deep — the remnants of her own anxiety and past wrapped in the beginnings of someone else’s.  But also with love for her family because they understood and didn't judge her.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll go slow. Just… show up. Let her know I see her.”

Sullin spoke then, a warm smile on her face.  “And if it backfires and she panics?”

“Then I back off and maybe try again later. But I won’t be someone who looks but doesn’t try.”

Jiwoo held her hand again. “That’s our girl.”

The warmth in the room was a quiet thing.  It was a family that cared and was filled with love and dinner finished with tender smiles and laughter.

________________________________________

Joobin.  Tuesday Morning at school.

Joobin was already in her seat when she noticed Yeonji enter.  Just before the bell, no space for conversation.  Just straight to her seat, no looking at anyone.  

Joobin felt the same thing as she did the day before.  Yeonji had her walls up.  Her back was straight and her shoulders tense like she expected to be struck or judged or worse.  

Joobin watched as Yeonji set out her stuff on her desk.  And when she had finally stopped moving, she spoke to her.  Just one, small, steady word. 

“Hi.”

She didn't smile, or say it with any pressure.  It was just a simple offering, a word to say that I see you. 

Yeonji gave no reply, but that was okay, Joobin hadn't expected her to.

Joobin turned her eyes to the front just as the teacher, Chaeryeong, entered the class, calling the class to settle as she began taking attendance.

________________________________________

Yeonji.  Tuesday Lunchtime

Lunch arrived with the familiar sound of the bell, scraping chairs and the hum of hallway chaos. For Yeonji, it was an escape. She slipped out of the classroom like a whisper, barely noticed, and made her way up to the roof—again.

It was quiet there. Cold but safe. Just air and sky and the low hum of the people in the building going about their day.  She sat cross-legged against the wall and let her phone rest on her knees before sending the same message as the day before:

"I made it to lunch."

________________________________________

Joobin.  Tuesday Lunchtime.

When the bell rang, Joobin waited a few minutes before she stepped into the bustling corridor and headed towards the school cafeteria. 

It took her a few minutes, and she was almost there, only to stop short when two taller girls nearly collided into her.

“Ya, Joobin!” Sullin grinned, grabbing her little sister’s shoulders to steady her. Her dark bangs were clipped back with her usual messy attempt at grooming.  Standing beside her, was Sullin's best friend, Lynn.  Lynn was slightly taller than Sullin and was the schools star basketball player.  No matter where she went, she always had a smile on her face.  Sullin brought Lynn over a few times when they were studying or just hanging out, and Joobin liked her immensely.  She was always kind and patient and Sullin seemed to laugh more when she was around.

Lynn reached down to ruffle her hair slightly, her ever present smile on her face.  “Hey Binnie, you good?”

Joobin gave them both a quick smile to reassure them. “Yeah I’m fine, just a little distracted is all.”

Sullin’s eyes scanned her face with what Joobin referred to as her "big sister radar", before she leaned in a little closer.  With a soft voice “If you’re not... you know where to find me, okay?”

Joobin guessed that Sullin thought she was still thinking about Yeonji.

With one last squeeze on her shoulder, both of the older girls gave her a wave and disappeared down the hall toward their own lunch spot—leaving Joobin to brave the chaos that was her friend group.

The cafeteria was already full by the time she arrived.  She spotted her friends instantly and approached the table.  

Even from here, she could hear Soomin's voice as she told an overly dramatic re-enactment of how she tripped on absolutely nothing during gym and almost died—again.

Hayeon was sitting across from her, casually flipping popcorn into the air and missing her mouth entirely before acting like nothing had happened and she hadn't just missed.

Chaewon was sitting beside Hayeon and staring into her pudding cup like it held the secrets of the universe.

Finally, Hyerin was sitting across from Chaewon and beside Soomin.  She was nibbling on some fruit, watching the other three at the table like she was studying a live action animal documentary.

Joobin sat down wordlessly and joined the chaos that was her friends group.

“JOOBIN,” Soomin gasped, eyes wide like she hadn’t seen her in years. “You will not believe what happened—well, maybe you will, because I’m a walking disaster—but like, I almost died in gym! Again!”

“She tripped over her own foot,” Hyerin supplied.  Joobin could feel Hyerin restraining herself from rolling her eyes.

“Both feet,” Hayeon added with a grin. “At the same time.”

“It was the floor’s fault!” Soomin cried.

Joobin blinked. “It was the floor's fault?”

“Exactly!"  shouted Soomin.  "It ambushed me!”

Chaewon finally looked up from her pudding and spoke. “I think the gym floor has it out for Soomin specifically. It’s a very niche conspiracy.”

Joobin just about snorted into her drink at that.

“Thank you, Chaewon. Someone gets it.” Soomin poked at her lunch like it had betrayed her, then went right back to talking. “Anyway, after I almost died, Coach Kim made us do ten laps—ten! I have short legs, Joobin, I’m not built for that kind of oppression!”

Hayeon was grinning when she spoke.  “I was going to say that they aren't that short, but you are the shortest here."  

Soomin turned towards Hayeon, getting ready to argue back when her hand accidentally knocked her cup, spilling her drink over the table.  She gasped like someone had shot her.

“I’ll go get napkins,” Hyerin muttered, already standing.  

Chaewon leaned closer to Soomin, eyeing her with that eerie stillness she had sometimes. “Do you think ghosts trip you? Like we have invisible gym ghosts that just wait for you to run by them?”

Soomin blinked. “...Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Hayeon burst out laughing.

Joobin just sat there, quietly sipping her juice, watching the whirlwind that was her friends unfold around her.  

________________________________________

Yeonji

It had been two weeks since Yeonji had started school.  Ten full days.  Ten days of anxiety so thick it choked her before she even stepped out the door.  Ten sets of trembling hands pulling sleeves over scars.  Ten lunchtimes of escaping to the roof where the sky didn't stare or pass judgement.  

Yeonji sat against the same patch of wall every lunch.  It was covered, so even if it rained she wouldn't get wet.  Since it was spring, it was cold but she preferred it to the cafeteria, to the crowds, to the laughter that felt like it might be aimed at her—even when it wasn’t.

Ten days of sending the same message to Kotone.

"I made it to lunch."

Always the same five words.  No extra emojis or words.  But that was OK, because Kotone never asked for more or demanded that Yeonji send her updates on how she was feeling. 

In return, Kotone would always reply with the same thing.

"I'm so proud of you."

Yeonji was living by a mantra now.  A rhythm of survival.

One second at a time.
Ten seconds at a time.
One minute at a time.
One Hour at a time.
One day at a time.

The roof had become her sanctuary, and even though she was alone, she’d started to realize something: she wasn’t completely lonely.  Kotone existed beyond the school gates, and her words — her warmth — anchored her, even if only by a thread.

She knew that her teachers would find it unhealthy that she wasn't interacting with anyone in class or getting involved in school activities.  But it was hard.  Class was hard. Because it was noise and whispers and chair legs scraping and pens clicking and paper rustling.  But mostly because it was full of people she didn't know and didn't trust. 

But then there was Joobin.

For two whole weeks, Joobin had sat beside her in that same seat — not asking, not prying, not pushing — just offering one small word, consistently.  

“Hi.”

Soft. Unassuming. Once a day, every morning.  Never more.

And Yeonji? She’d never responded at all.  Not with words at least.  Occasionally, she might flick her eyes in Joobin’s direction, or flinch slightly as the "hi" caught her by surprise. 

Today, Joobin sat down and said it again. “Hi.” 

After two weeks now it had become routine. It was expected.

Yeonji had heard the "hi" whilst she was distracted by one of her pens falling out of her pencil case.  So, without thinking, without planning, without even meaning to— she whispered, “Hi” back at her.

Her voice was so small, it almost disappeared between them.  And as soon as she had said it, both girls froze.

Joobin blinked, her mouth parting in a quiet 'oh' of surprise, like she was unsure on how to handle this unexpected development.

She didn’t look at Joobin. Just stared forward like her life depended on it. Her cheeks were burning.

Joobin glanced at her, then away again, not wanting to scare her off.  She wanted to ask so many things, but instead she settled for something safer.  “...I like your bag” she said after a pause, voice low.

Yeonji looked down at it. The light pink bag she had chosen with Kotone all that time ago. 

“…Thanks,” she managed. Her own voice startled her. It felt like dragging her lungs through wet cement.

Then silence again but it didn't feel uncomfortable.

Joobin didn’t push further or try to dive into small talk.  She just opened her book and began underlining sentences, lips moving faintly as she read.

Yeonji sat beside her, still quiet, still curled in on herself. But maybe her hands weren’t shaking quite as much.  Maybe her breathing came a little easier.

Joobin had persisted with a quiet hi every day so far and never pushed her boundaries.  So she didn't trust Joobin.  But maybe, just maybe, trust began with one, simple word.

Chapter Text

Joobin.  Tuesday, after School.

School had finished for the day and Joobin was making her way home.  Her mind kept circling that moment from class earlier.  Yeonji looking down, voice barely louder than a breath, and saying it back. — “Hi.”

And then “thanks” after she mentioned that she liked her bag.

That was it. Just two words.  For most people they were just simple words.  Yet Joobin couldn't help but feel like it had taken Yeonji all that she had just to speak them.

As she stepped into her home, the familiar smells of dinner welcomed her — today it was ginger and soy.  She could hear something sizzling from the frying pan.  She took a moment to take the sounds and smells in, letting it ground her and still her thoughts. 

Chaeyeon looked up from the kitchen and smiled at Joobin. “There’s my favourite student!”

Jiwoo chimed in from the kitchen table without looking up from her tablet. “Biased.”

Joobin let out a tired little laugh as she kicked her shoes off and wandered into the kitchen. Sullin was there too.  She had gotten home earlier than Joobin and she was raiding the rice cooker for a second helping, still in her school uniform with the top few buttons undone like she couldn’t quite be bothered.

“Rough day?” Chaeyeon asked gently as Joobin slid into her seat.

Joobin hesitated, then shrugged. “Kind of. Kind of… not.”

Jiwoo looked up from her tablet, eyebrows raising slightly, sensing something behind Joobin's words.  “You okay?” she asked.

“So I had hi again this morning to Yeonji,” Joobin murmured. “Like always. But this time… she said hi back.”

That stopped everything.  Jiwoo slowly put her tablet down. Chaeyeon's stirring paused mid-air.  Sullin blinked, her spoon frozen, halfway to her mouth.

“I complimented her bag as well and she said thanks.”  Joobin paused for a moment, swallowing, before she continued.  “She looked so frightened after she spoke...like she regretted the words and wanted to take them back.  Or run.”

Jiwoo’s smile was sad and warm all at once. “Sometimes the bravest things hurt the most.”

Chaeyeon came around and kissed Joobin’s temple. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Joobin mumbled, flushing at the sudden affection from her mum.

“No, Binnie.  You kept going, kept letting her know you were there and didn't push her" said Jiwoo. 

“Plus," said Chaeyeon, her voice soft and calm, “she trusted you enough to respond.  Even if it was only two words.  That's progress right?”

Joobin fiddled with her cutlery. “What if she never says anything again?”

Sullin spoke for the first time now.  “Then you say hi again.  And again after that, just like you have been.”

“And if she still doesn’t?”  Joobin asked.

“Then you still say hi,” Chaeyeon said. “Because you’re not doing it to get something back.  You’re doing it to show her that someone’s there.”

Joobin looked at all three of them—her parents and her sister. Their love just was.  Solid, undeniable, always present and it was what had held her up when her own world had crumbled years ago.

Chaeyeon pulled her into a tight, fierce hug.

“We’re proud of you,” Jiwoo said, from across the table.  “No matter what happens.”

________________________________________

Yeonji. Tuesday, after School.

Yeonji had walked home from school with Kotone as she always did.  She was in her room now, quiet, just how she needed it. 

She was lying on her side, hoodie sleeves stretched over her hands, her phone face down beside her.

Her brain replayed that moment in class, even though the school day had ended hours ago. She’d said hi. Out loud.  And thanks.

Why?  Why did she do that?

She pulled a pillow toward her and hugged it like it might help muffle the panic that was wrapping itself round her ribs and lungs.  

She felt sick and her mind just would not stop.

What if Joobin thinks I’m weird now?
What if she only said hi all this time to be polite?
What if I made her uncomfortable?
“What if she tells someone I talked to her? What if they laugh?”
What if she hates me now?

Her chest tightened and her breath hitched.

Speaking felt like a mistake.  Her going to school was a mistake.  Even trying felt like a mistake.

Her brain told her she didn’t deserve kindness. Not from Kotone. Not from Joobin. Not from anyone.

And part of her knew that these thoughts were wrong and made no sense, but she felt like she couldn’t stop them

Thankfully, a soft knock at the door took her attention away from thoughts that threatened to drown her.

Yeonji didn't answer, but the door creaked open gently. Kotone stepped in, holding a mug of warm hot chocolate.  She had placed small marshmallows in the cup because Yeonji had mentioned once that she liked them.  She didn't speak at first, just placed the cup down on her bedside table and took the seat at her desk.  

Yeonji didn’t move, but she let herself glance at Kotone. She wasn’t looking at her, rather she was just sitting there, giving her space. Letting her know she wasn’t alone.

Finally, Yeonji found her voice. Barely.

“I think I ruined everything.”

Kotone looked over.

“I said hi. To Joobin.”

Kotone waited.

“She said it first like always, and I— I said it back.  I wasn't even thinking, I just said it.  But what if that was wrong?  What if she thinks I'm just some weirdo? What if now she—”

“Hey,” Kotone said softly, interrupting Yeonji before she could let her thoughts run and spiral further.

Yeonji stopped, mouth open, her next words frozen as Kotone interrupted her.

“You’re not wrong, Yeonji. You’re not weird..  Saying hi, or wanting a connection with someone is normal.  It's OK to want that."  

Yeonji blinked hard, staring at her hands.  “I’m scared.”

“I know you are" replied Kotone.  

“I don’t think I deserve friends.”  Yeonji's voice was tiny and fragile.  As it always was when she voiced her own fears and worries.

Kotone smiled then, but it was a sad smile.  “You don’t have to believe it yet,” Kotone said. “So I’ll believe it for you until you can.  Because you do deserve friends, Yeonji.   You deserve nothing but the best of everything.”

Yeonji broke then—not loudly, but deeply. Silent tears soaked the corner of her pillow.

Kotone didn’t cross the room.  She stayed where she was. Close but not too close.

After a few minutes, Yeonji reached for her phone and typed, shakily:

“I made it through today. Said hi.”

She sent it to Kotone. The phone buzzed almost immediately in Kotone’s pocket.

Kotone looked down at it and smiled, fighting back her own tears that she could feel building, wishing she could find the words to convey just how proud she was of Yeonji.

________________________________________

Yeonji.  Friday, after school.

The rest of the school week passed by at a slow crawl for Yeonji.  It still felt like a battlefield for her — every hallway a minefield of noise, judgment, uncertainty. But in all of that, one constant had quietly taken root.

Joobin’s “hi.”

Every morning. Every class. Without fail.

But now, something was different.  Because Yeonji was returning the greeting every morning.  Just a whisper of sound, barely more than a breath — but it was there. And for now, that was enough.  It was more than she thought she was capable of even a few weeks ago. 

That evening, the apartment was quiet except for the gentle clatter of dishes as both Yeonji and Kotone sat across from each other at the small kitchen table. A faint breeze stirred the curtains, and the soft, ambient sounds of the city outside filtered through the half-open window.

Yeonji poked at her rice, not really interested in the food.  Her mind was elsewhere and Kotone noticed.  She didn't press, she knew that Yeonji would either keep her counsel or speak when she needed to.  

In truth, since the conversation with Kotone on Tuesday, Yeonji had been thinking over and over what Kotone had said.  That it was OK to want a connection. 

She was conflicted, because part of her knew that Kotone was right, that it was normal to want that.  But the louder part of her brain screamed at her that she didn't deserve it.  That it would only lead to her being hurt.  

But she wanted to try, so eventually, she spoke, her voice low and uncertain.

“I’ve been thinking... about trying to talk to Joobin.”

Kotone looked up, chopsticks pausing mid-air. “Yeah?”

“Not much. Just... not a real conversation.  Just a question?  Maybe.”  Yeonji’s words came slowly, her fingers tightening around her spoon. “But I don’t think I know how to do that anymore.  And... what if she just walks away?  Or she laughs at me?”

Kotone’s face softened.  “She’s been saying hi for weeks now Yeonji.  I think that says something about her.”

Yeonji shook her head. “People are good at pretending. At smiling just before they twist the knife. Maybe I don’t need a friend. Maybe I’m safer like this.”

Her voice trembled slightly near the end. Not crying — just weary. Defensive.  Exhausted.

Kotone set down her chopsticks gently, treading carefully.  That Yeonji was talking about this meant she was wanting to take a big step, and the last thing Kotone wanted was to discourage her or pull her back from that step.  “You’re not wrong to be scared,” she said quietly. “But I don’t think you actually believe you’re safer. I think you just don’t want to get hurt again.”

Silence hung heavy for a moment.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” Yeonji whispered. “Every part of me feels... damaged.”

Kotone didn’t answer right away. Then, slowly, she spoke.  “I know.  But we can figure that out right?  And to be honest...I understand a little of how you feel about making friends.  I haven’t really made friends here either. Not since we moved.”

Yeonji looked up, surprised.  Kotone was always the one to listen to her, but she never really shared her own worries with Yeonji, so this was a rare moment for them both.

“I smile at work. I talk to people. But no one really knows me here. I left everything behind in Tokyo.” Kotone hesitated, her voice growing a little quieter. “Starting over is...well it's hard.”

Yeonji’s stomach twisted, guilt rising.  She couldn't help it.  "That’s… because of me.”

Kotone’s eyes flashed. “No. Stop. Don’t you dare carry that or think that.”

Yeonji tried to protest.  “But you—”

“I chose this,” Kotone said, voice fierce now, but still gentle. “I chose you. Over and over again, I will choose you. Because you are not a problem. You are not a burden. You are my reason. Understand?”

Yeonji’s throat closed up, eyes stinging.

Kotone seemed to deflate a little, worried that she had made things worse now.  “Yeonji.  Your not a problem OK?  All I was trying to say is that I think you’re brave for wanting to speak to Joobin and I know it’s not easy.  I get it.”

They sat in silence again, this time heavier with emotion.

After a while, Kotone spoke again, more quietly this time. “There was someone I used to know in Tokyo. From when I was at university.  We weren’t close-close, but... she was kind. We talked a lot during classes.  I think she said she moved to Seoul a few years ago but we lost touch.”

Yeonji stared into her bowl. Then, without looking up, she murmured, “You should try and find her.  Message her.  Catch up.”

Kotone blinked.

Yeonji added, voice hesitant, “I mean... maybe you’d like to talk to someone. I don’t want you to be as lonely as I feel.”

The words hung there, raw and real — and then Kotone’s hands trembled just slightly as she reached for her water.

That simple suggestion — that gentle, brave extension of concern hurt Kotone in the best ways.  How typical for Yeonji to be worrying about herself and yet still find ways to feel concern for Kotone?

She blinked quickly, swallowing down the emotion that rose like a tide. “Maybe I will,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

________________________________________

Yeonji.  Monday

After her talk with Kotone, Yeonji had spent her whole weekend trying to find a spark of bravery to go further than just a simple hi.

She kept glancing at Joobin's desk the entire morning, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She could feel her heart racing just imagining opening her mouth to say something more than “hi.” Something casual. Something small.

She didn’t.  She couldn’t.

That night, at dinner, Kotone gently asked, “How was school today?”

Yeonji barely touched her food. “I didn’t do it. I wanted to, but… it’s like my brain locks up the second I think about opening my mouth.”

Kotone didn’t push. She just nodded, gave Yeonji a small smile, and reached over to refill her water without a word.

________________________________________

Yeonji.  Tuesday

Yeonji had everything planned out.  Every word rehearsed.  

She’d say, “Hi, Joobin.” And then… How was your weekend?

Easy. Safe. Ordinary.

Yeonji went to class just before the bell rang.  Joobin was already in her seat, notebooks open on her desk.  As Yeonji sat down, it was the usual exchange as Joobin looked at Yeonji with her usual soft smile.  “Hi,” she said.

Yeonji’s mouth moved, but nothing came out. She nodded instead.

That night, she told Kotone, “I chickened out again.”

Kotone raised an eyebrow. “You're trying though.  The words will come in time.”

Yeonji just shook her head.

________________________________________

Joobin.  Wednesday

Joobin could sense that something was going on with Yeonji.  At first, she thought she was imagining it.  For the last few weeks, there was a rhythm to their mornings.  Still fragile, but the normal exchange of "Hi".  But all week, Yeonji felt different.  Not in a bad way. Just off.

She seemed nervous. Restless.

Joobin caught her looking twice during class, each time snapping her gaze away fast enough to give herself whiplash.

She didn’t push. But it lingered in her mind the whole day. She wondered, quietly, is she okay?

At lunch, Joobin debated telling her friends, but ended up staying quiet. It wasn’t her story to tell. Not yet.

________________________________________

Yeonji.  Thursday

Morning bell had just ended.  Yeonji, as always, entered class last.  She was standing behind her chair, backpack still on, staring at Joobin’s back as she scribbled something into her planner.

Today. She’d do it today. Something simple. Anything. A comment or a dumb question about class.

She sat down.

Joobin turned. “Hi.”

Yeonji opened her mouth — the words halfway there.

Poof.
Gone.

“Hi,” she replied. Her voice barely audible. Her throat a knot.

At dinner, Kotone didn’t ask right away. Yeonji answered before she could.

“I almost did it,” she said.  "But then the words just disappeared.  My mind went blank."

Kotone smiled gently. “That means tomorrow you might.”

Yeonji didn’t answer, but for the first time all week, she didn’t look completely defeated.

________________________________________

Yeonji & Joobin.  Friday

Joobin had stopped trying to guess what was going on. Whatever Yeonji was dealing with, she clearly had something on her mind. So Joobin decided the best thing to do was not to pry but just stay steady.

“Hi,” she said as Yeonji slid into her seat.

She watched as Yeonji stared at her desk for a beat too long, before she looked up.  And for the first time since Yeonji had sat at the desk beside her, she met Joobin's eyes on purpose.

And then she spoke.  “Hi,” Yeonji said softly. Then, in a breathy rush, she continued. “I like your pins.”

Joobin blinked, startled by Yeonji's comment. The easy rhythm they’d shared had shifted, and her brain was struggling to keep up.  Instead, all she could find herself saying was an ineloquent “Huh?”

Yeonji’s eyes widened as Joobin spoke, the panic already building.

“The—your bag,” she said, flustered. “The pins. They're cute.”

Joobin looked down at her bag. There were two small enamel pins, Ryan and Choonsik from Kakao friends.   They had been on her bag for months.  No one had ever commented on them and Joobin had almost forgotten they were there.  But Yeonji had noticed them.

She looked back up at Yeonji, who looked like she might faint or bolt from the room.

Joobin smiled. A real one. Gentle and surprised.

“Thanks,” she said. “They were a gift from my sister.”

Yeonji nodded, eyes dropping to her desk. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.

Joobin didn’t say anything else, just watched for a moment.  Yeonji looked like she regretted even asking, so she turned slightly in her seat and went back to her notes.  And even though Yeonji looked like she regretted asking, Joobin couldn't keep the small smile from appearing on her face or stop thinking that she’d just been handed a secret.

In her head, Yeonji’s panic screamed: Why did I say that? I’m so stupid—

But somewhere quieter, deeper down, something else whispered back:

You did it.

Chapter Text

Joobin.  Friday Night.

Joobin was having dinner with her family and she was already half-finished.  The kitchen table was filled with the usual chaos.  Sullin was picking vegetables off her plate and piling them on to Joobin's.  Joobin pretended not to notice as she liked the vegetables.  Chaeyeon was telling a story with dramatic hand gestures and Jiwoo had threatened to confiscate her chopsticks if she didn't stop talking with them.

It was a normal dinner, but she couldn't stop thinking back on her interaction with Yeonji earlier that day and those four words that she had spoken to her.  I like your pins.”

The way Yeonji’s voice had shaken. The way her whole body had tensed like she was bracing for ridicule.

She didn’t know why it hit her so hard until she opened her mouth halfway through dinner and said softly, “She... said something to me.”

The table paused.   Jiwoo blinked. “Who said something, Binnie?”

Joobin looked down at her rice. “Yeonji.”

Sullin stopped mid-chew. Chaeyeon tilted her head, showing she was listening. Joobin swallowed thickly.

“She told me she liked my pins."  She looked at Sullin then.  "The ones you bought for me Unnie.  But when she asked, it looked like she was going to explode.  Like she had made some massive mistake”

And just like that — the tears came.  Quiet tears, tears that came when you were overwhelmed with emotion and couldn’t quite stop.  And maybe it was silly, but Joobin was always had felt the emotions of others quite keenly. 

Chaeyeon was half way to her feet when the tears started, but Joobin's voice stopped her.  “I’m okay,” Joobin sniffled. “I promise. I’m not sad. It’s just… I think it took everything she had to say it."

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her jumper.

Her moms didn’t say anything right away. They didn’t need to. Chaeyeon finished standing up, walking round to Joobin before pulling her into a hug. Jiwoo got up and joined them, pressing a kiss to Joobin’s head. Sullin reached over and covered her hand with hers.

“That must’ve taken everything she had,” Jiwoo said gently.

“And if it did,” Chaeyeon continued, “then she chose you to try with Binnie.  She trusted you and that’s a beautiful thing.”

Sullin just said, “I’m proud of you,” in that blunt, no-nonsense way that still somehow made Joobin tear up all over again.

Later that night, Joobin sat at her desk with a math worksheet sprawled in front of her. It may as well have been Egyptian hieroglyphs. She’d read the same problem four times and still had no clue what it wanted from her.

Instead, she let her mind drift.  Back to Yeonji and her quiet bravery.

And then further back — to years ago.  She was thirteen.  A New school. New town. New everything.

She remembered the hallways that felt like mazes. The eyes that looked too long. The way she barely spoke above a whisper that first week.

She remembered her big sister Sullin.  Fifteen, two years older than Joobin.  Where Joobin was quiet, Sullin was fierce.  Standing with her in that big sister way that made Joobin feel protected even when she was shaking in her shoes.

“If anyone messes with you, I swear I’ll knock their teeth in,” Sullin had muttered in the bathroom mirror the morning of their first day.

Joobin hadn’t laughed then, too anxious, but it did make her feel a little safer.

She remembered the way her hand gripped the back of Sullin’s jacket all the way to school.  How as they entered school for the first time, Joobin clutching her sister’s sleeve.  Sullin walking ahead, like she could take on the whole world if it looked at Joobin wrong…

Remembered how it felt to need someone like that.  Remembered how it felt wanting to have friends.

Now, maybe… it felt like Yeonji needed something like that too.

________________________________________

Joobin.  Two years ago.

Joobin didn't really like the school cafeteria, mostly because it echoed with laughter that didn’t include her.

She used to sit in the corner table with Sullin, tray untouched, eyes fixed on her lap while the world buzzed around her. Sullin always made sure to sit facing outward, protective, alert, like she was ready to body-check anyone who looked at Joobin wrong.

It helped, a little. But it also made her feel even more apart.  She’d watch other girls braid each other’s hair, whisper secrets, swap snacks.  She didn’t hate them but it did hurt because she didn’t know how to ask to be included.

Because no one ever seemed to ask her and after her last school she believed — deep down — that she didn’t deserve it anyway.

The first few weeks at that new school blurred into one long ache. Her anxiety wasn’t loud, but it was relentless. Every hallway felt like a runway, every classroom a spotlight. She kept her voice small, eyes down and her soul tucked deep in her chest like it wasn’t safe to be seen.

But then came English class.

Joobin liked English.  She was good at it and words made more sense than people. Grammar had rules. Sentences didn’t talk behind your back. Stories didn’t laugh at you when you got the answer wrong.

She was reading over her notes — head down, doing what she always did — when a blur of movement slid into the seat beside her.  Not a quiet slide, more of a full-body chaotic, landing.

“Hi. I’m Chaewon,” said the girl.

Joobin was startled by the arrival, taking a moment to recover before she looked at Chaewon.  She had seen her in class before.  She was quite chatty, although most people called her a little weird.  She had long, black hair that cascaded over her shoulders, a small white ribbon tied in her hair.  Joobin noticed that she had large, wide eyes that were currently focussed on her.  Sometimes, Joobin would look over during class and notice that Chaewon was spacing out a little, like her eyes were staring at something only she could see.

Joobin blinked. “Um. Hi?”

“So, I noticed you’re really good at English,” Chaewon said brightly. “Like scary good, better than Shakespeare good!”

Joobin just… stared, a bit taken aback at Chaewon's words.

Chaewon continued on.  “I’m going to get good at English, you know” Chaewon said. “Because I feel like I need to challenge you and take your title of English Queen away from you.”

“English... queen?” Joobin says, clearly perplexed.

“Yep.  You're the best at English, so that makes you the English Queen.  Just letting you know I'm coming for that title.”  And just like that, Chaewon stood up again, gave her a double thumbs up, and walked back to her seat before the teacher even arrived.

Joobin sat frozen for the entire class, wondering if that interaction had even been real.

Three days later, another English class.  Chaewon came in like a comet and dropped her bag beside Joobin’s without asking.

“I moved seats,” she said.

Joobin stared. “You did?”

“Yup. My old seat was cursed and there was to much light above it.  Also, I was bored sitting by myself. Hi again!”

Joobin opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Hi…”

Chaewon grinned and opened her notebook, pointing to something on the page. “Can you help me with these questions? I understand like, two percent of this passage, and one percent of that is just me guessing it’s about a horse.”

“It’s not about a horse,” Joobin said, already scanning the paper.

“See?” Chaewon beamed. “You are the English Queen.”

They worked through the assignment together. Joobin didn’t say much — but Chaewon said enough for both of them.  She was a little weird because she said random things and she mumbled lyrics under her breath and doodled stars on her workbook.  But it was a good weird, not the weird that some of the other students spoke about when they thought Chaewon wasn't listening.

Before Joobin knew it, class was over.  And just as they were packing up to leave, Chaewon paused.

“Hey… do you want to be friends?”

Joobin froze as something cracked inside her chest, soft and quiet, like glass under pressure.  Someone was asking her. Her.  Like she was worth knowing. Like she was… enough.

“Yes,” she whispered, "I'd like to be friends," her voice breaking as she spoke

Chaewon didn’t even blink. “Cool.  Friends it is.”  A smile lights up her face. 

Then with a small cough, she holds out her hand toward Joobin, like she wanted to shake her hand.  "Well let's start over new friend.  It's nice to meet you, I'm Chaewon."

Joobin laughed — a little breathless and stunned.  Maybe even a little teary-eyed — as she shook Chaewon's hand and they left the class together.

________________________________________

Yeonji.  Weekend.

The weekend should have been a relief. No school, no crowded hallways, no pressure to speak, but Yeonji's brain didn’t know how to rest.

Instead, she spent her Saturday curled up on the sofa, knees hugged close, replaying Friday’s moment over and over like it was a crime scene.

“I like your pins.”  Four words. That’s all she’d said to Joobin. Four stupid, terrifying, reckless words.

What if she’d said it weird? What if Joobin only said hi back because she had to? What if she’d looked annoyed? Embarrassed? What if she’d told her friends afterward, “The weird girl in class talked to me today.”

Yeonji pulled the sleeves over her hands and pressed them to her face.

From the kitchen, Kotone had been watching. Not pushing. Just watching. And worrying.

So, on Sunday morning, Kotone leaned against the doorframe and asked, casually, “Want to get out of here for a bit? There’s a new aquarium that's opened and it's not far from here.  I thought maybe... we could go together.”

Yeonji hesitated. Her heart clenched. Crowds. Noise. Strangers.  But Kotone’s voice was soft. Safe.  And maybe it would be fun.

“…Okay,” Yeonji whispered.

It wasn’t busy when they arrived — something Kotone had planned carefully.

Yeonji stood at the entrance for a full minute, unsure how to move. The glass tunnel curved ahead, glowing deep blue, and inside it… life. Shimmering fish, slow-dancing jellyfish, coral that looked like stars.

Yeonji didn’t say much as they walked through.  But her eyes? Wide. And the brightest Kotone had seen them ever since that first day in the hospital.

They paused by the penguin exhibit — Yeonji’s face pressing almost to the glass as the little birds waddled and dove into the pool. 

“You like the penguins?” Kotone asked.

Yeonji surprised her by whispering, “They’re perfect.”

Then came the otters — two of them floating side-by-side, holding hands as they napped. Yeonji stared.

“Do they always… do that?” she asked.

Kotone nodded. “They don’t want to drift apart while they sleep.”

Yeonji said nothing, but her eyes stayed on them for a long time.

The stingray tank came next. A small petting pool, clear signs explaining how to gently touch their wings. Yeonji stood behind the rope at first, arms locked.

But then one swam close.  Slow. Curious. Waiting.

She inched forward.

“Only if you want to,” Kotone said softly.

Yeonji reached out. Her fingertips brushed the velvet-slick wing. A jolt ran through her — not of fear, but of wonder. A second of contact. A moment of courage.

She pulled back and looked up at Kotone, as if to say, did you see me?

Kotone’s heart nearly burst.

Later, as they sat near the dolphin pool, sharing a drink and watching the show from a distance, Yeonji let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“I never thought I’d ever… go to places like this.”

Kotone turned toward her.

“One of my foster families,” Yeonji continued, quiet and distant, “used to take their kids to places like this. Not me. I wasn’t allowed. I had to stay home.”

Kotone looked at her, really looked, and saw the sadness that pooled in her eyes. 

“You do deserve it,” Kotone said. “You deserve every single thing that makes you smile.”

And then Yeonji did smile. Small. Shy. But also very real

________________________________________

Yeonji.  Monday.

Monday came faster than Yeonji was ready for.  Despite the soft joy of the weekend trip to the aquarium — the stingray, the penguins and the otters— that familiar dread had returned. A weight on her chest. A war in her head.

You said something on Friday.
You messed up. You shouldn’t have.
She’s going to think you’re weird. She probably already does.
Don’t say anything. Don’t be seen. Don’t ruin it.

For once Yeonji had arrived early, too distracted by her own thoughts to realise that she was earlier than usual.  As she sat at her desk, she had her head down and clenched one of her pens so tight it was turning her knuckles white.

The classroom filled slowly. Chatter. Laughter. The scuffle of chairs. Yeonji barely breathed, hoping nobody would speak to her.

And then Joobin arrived. Quiet steps and a familiar scent of strawberry shampoo and something citrus. She slid into her seat like always. Calm. Warm.

“Hi,” she said gently, like she always did.

Yeonji froze. The voices in her head screamed. But underneath them — a whisper.

Try.

“…Hi,” she said back, after a beat. Then another.

Joobin turned her head slightly. She waited — just a second. Then another. Hopeful. Patient.

But Yeonji’s mouth wouldn’t open again. Her thoughts had clawed up her throat, freezing her still.

So Joobin turned toward the front of the room instead and pulled out her notebooks and pens.

Then, gently, as if tossing a feather into the air, she said:

“The little duck keyring on your bag is cute.”

Yeonji blinked. Her fingers moved toward her bag automatically.  It was something Kotone had bought her from the aquarium gift shop on the way out.  Yeonji had lingered by the keyring section for quite a while, clearly reluctant to ask Kotone for one.  And Kotone noticed, asked which one she preferred and bought her it.  It was a small thing, not expensive, but Yeonji really liked it. 

“Oh… um. Th-thank you,” she whispered.

It wasn’t a conversation, but Joobin didn’t need it to be.

And for Yeonji — still gripping her pen, felt grateful that Joobin had spoken and had been kind enough to notice the new keyring.

________________________________________

Tuesday

The classroom buzzed as usual.

Yeonji sat in her seat, her stomach twisting as always, but her body knew what to expect now. A routine.

Joobin arrived, sat down beside her, and offered her gentle, familiar greeting.

“Hi.”

Yeonji turned slightly. Her voice was quiet, but present. “Hi.”

Joobin smiled — not too big, not overwhelming. Just soft, enough to say: I see you.

And now the routine was complete and Joobin would go back to studying her own work and...

"Your handwriting’s really neat.”

Yeonji blinked, caught completely off guard, unable to answer.  That wasn't routine.  That was different.  What was she supposed to say to that?  Was she supposed to compliment Joobin's much neater handwriting in return?

She managed a small nod in thanks.  Barely noticeable.  Joobin didn’t push any further, instead turning her gaze forward.

________________________________________

Wednesday

“Hi.”

“…Hi.”

Then, Joobin broke routine again, offhandedly saying, “This class is always freezing in the morning.”

Yeonji didn’t respond — but she did glance at her own sleeves, pulled long over her hands.   Spring was in full swing, but it was still cold in the mornings.

Yeonji could only nod again.

________________________________________

Thursday

“Hi.”

“…Hi.”

Joobin placed a small carton banana milk on her desk. Not to give it to Yeonji — just putting it down.  With a small sigh she spoke, sounding slightly sad. “For some reason I always buy a banana milk, but I always forget I hate it until I drink it.”

Yeonji’s eyes flickered toward the drink. She didn’t say anything, but a small breath left her like she might’ve laughed — almost.

Joobin caught it and smiled, her work done for the day.

________________________________________

Friday

It was the same as every other morning that week.

The classroom filled slowly with students and noise — laughter, backpacks slamming onto desks, chairs scraping across the floor. Yeonji sat, still and silent at her desk, hands curled tightly around her pencil case as usual.  She had arrived a little earlier than Joobin again, and her chest felt like it was full of stones.

Joobin arrived a few moments later, taking her seat, not hurried, not loud. Just… Joobin. Gentle and steady. As if nothing about this moment was difficult or fragile, even though it was.

“Hi,” Joobin said, just like she always did.

Yeonji swallowed. Blinked. Then managed a soft “Hi” back.

A small pause settled between them.

Yeonji tensed then, waiting for what she knew was coming.  It had been obvious the whole week that Joobin had changed things a little, pushing a little more.  Not forceful, never that.  But just asking a little bit more from Yeonji.  She was offering the beginning of something if Yeonji wanted to take it.  

Joobin glanced sideways at the pencil case that was currently in Yeonji’s grip and smiled softly. “I really like your pencil case,” she said. “The colour of the strip is really pretty.”

Yeonji startled just slightly. She looked down at the case with the baby blue strip, fingers loosening their grip a little.

“…Thank you,” she whispered, almost too soft to hear. Then, after a moment of hesitation — her voice barely there — she added, “Blue...it’s my favourite colour.”

Joobin blinked. Something in her chest quietly squeezed.

She didn’t say anything else, didn’t gush or ask more questions. She just gave Yeonji a small nod, like she’d been handed something sacred and she knew how to hold it.

Yeonji turned her gaze back to the front of the class. Her shoulders were still tense, but maybe not as much.  Without thinking, Yeonji had offered a small piece of herself.  She had told Joobin something most people would consider inconsequential, but it was something Joobin would never forget.

Chapter Text

Yeonji and Kotone.  Saturday 

The weekend started like any other.  Over the last few months, Kotone and Yeonji had slowly learned how to navigate around each other and things had been going well.  And maybe that should have been the first warning sign.

Saturday morning light poured in warm and soft, but Kotone felt like she hadn’t slept in weeks. She was drained.  Her week had been long — exams were coming up, and that meant grading a seemingly endless amount of papers and pre exams, dealing with parents emailing in demanding information and navigating around stressed colleagues.  On top of that, she was feeling ill, having caught a cold a few days before.  She had a headache that wouldn't leave, and her chest hurt from coughing so much. 

All she really wanted to do was to stay in bed, so to say she was off would be an understatement.  And Yeonji noticed, because being hyper vigilant was hard coded into her now.  She didn’t say anything or ask if Kotone was okay.  Instead, she tried to make things easier for her by walking quieter around the apartment, cleaning up dishes, folding clothes.  She slipped around like a ghost and tried not to be a burden.

She was trying to be considerate, and somehow that haunted Kotone more than anything. 

So, she didn’t mean to snap, but she was unable to stop herself.

She had come out of the bathroom and found Yeonji folding laundry — again, for the third time this week — something small and stupid broke open in her.

“You don’t have to do that!” Kotone said, sharper than she meant to. “You don’t have to act like you owe me every second of the day or look after me.  You're just a kid Yeonji, so just go be like one."

She hadn’t yelled. Not really. Because even in her current state and mood she knew not to.  But her words were harsh and sharp. 

And they cut.  Because all Yeonji was trying to do was help and Kotone had told her not to.  And in Yeonji's brain, that was the equivalent of telling her she was useless.

So when Kotone spoke, Yeonji froze mid-fold, the colour draining from her face like a switch had been flipped.  Her arms stiffened, and then — before Kotone could try and apologise or take the words back — she dropped the shirt, turned, put her shoes on and walked out the apartment.

She didn’t slam the door.  She didn’t say a word.  She was just gone.

Kotone didn’t panic at first, her annoyance still lingering.  She knew what she had said to Yeonji was wrong, and sometimes when they had these moments Yeonji needed her own space.  But usually, she would go to her room because she still wouldn't go outside on her own without Kotone.

She stood there for a few minutes, before her tired and cold addled mind caught up with what had just happened. 

Yeonji had gone out on her own. 

And that was when she felt the panic starting to rise.  She found her phone on the sofa, picked it up and called Yeonji's number.  To apologise.  To ask her to come back to the apartment.  Her heart sank when she heard Yeonji's phone ring from her own room.  As she opened Yeonji's bedroom door, there the phone was, sitting on her bed along with her bag.

Kotone tried to tell herself to relax. That Yeonji was fine. That she was just looking around the flower shop, or walking the block and she would be back in a few minutes. 

But she didn't really believe that.

And with each minute that passed without the front door opening, the panic inside Kotone kept building. 

What if she ran away?  What if she got lost?  What if she got hurt?  What if she has tried... 

She hated that her mind went there.  

She had waited for an hour and couldn't wait any longer,  so she threw on a jacket and was out the door, tearing through the streets like she’d lost her mind.  She checked the roof of the building, the stairwells, the flower shop underneath their apartment.  She checked the bus stops, the small book store Yeonji liked to wander round.  She ran round the block, walked all the way to the school, even went all the way to the aquarium, just in case.

Nothing.  

She had been searching for hours, and desperation, fear and panic clawed at her chest. She knew what she’d done. Knew her voice had hit some wire buried deep inside Yeonji and yanked it, unthinking.  She had said something that had triggered something inside Yeonji and it was her fault.

She had made her feel unsafe.

And that realization nearly broke her in two.

She was back home, just about ready to call the Police and file a missing persons report, when the front door beeped and opened.  Kotone was on her feet instantly, running to the door.

It was Yeonji.  She had come home.

Kotone wanted to ask her where she had went.  What she had done.  Tell her how much she had scared her by running away.  Instead, she took a moment to look her over, to make sure she was OK and wasn't hurt.

God she looked so small, thought Kotone.  She had gone out in nothing but a pair of joggers and a hoodie so she was shaking with the cold.  She noticed that her eyes were red and bloodshot, so she had been crying.  Worse, she looked as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible as she stood there. 

In that beat of silence, Yeonji didn't speak.  Instead she just took her shoes off, walked past Kotone without looking and went to her room, closing the door shut behind her. 

She didn't need to speak, her actions said enough.  You hurt me.  Leave me alone.

________________________________________

Yeonji stayed in her room for the whole weekend.  Kotone couldn't get her to speak or to eat.  Yeonji just remained silent, and Kotone could only tell she was still there by the small rustling sounds from her bed.

Kotone sat outside Yeonji's room on Sunday night, her forehead resting gently against the door.

“I’m so sorry Yeonji,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t safe.”

Silence.

And then more silence.

The weight of that silence had sunk fully into her bones. The fear that she had set them back — not just a little, but weeks' worth — was a constant churn in her stomach.

Healing wasn’t linear. She knew that, everything she had read had told her as much.  But that didn't make it hurt any less, especially since she was the reason for it.

She didn’t know how she was going to fix it. But she would try.

God, she would try.

________________________________________

Yeonji.  Monday Morning

When her usual morning alarm went off, she didn’t get up.  She didn't move when the apartment stirred to life and Kotone got up.  She stayed curled under her blanket like the silence could protect her from everything — the world, her thoughts, herself.

Her body was still. But her mind was a storm.  Why did Kotone say that?  Why didn’t she speak?  To try and explain she was only trying to help?  Why did she run?

And most of all — why had she thought, for one single second, that she deserved to be safe here?

Kotone hadn’t even yelled, but the sharpness in her voice had cracked something open, and all Yeonji could feel was the old weight — of being being unwanted, of being told she was useless, of being a mistake someone couldn’t take back.

She thought she’d been doing better.  Maybe she wasn’t and maybe she never would.

So she stayed where it was quiet. Even if it hurt.

________________________________________

Joobin.  Monday Morning.

Joobin's weekend had been good, and she was looking forward to seeing Yeonji. 

But Yeonji wasn’t at school today.  There was no quiet shuffling into the seat beside her, no nervous glance or whispered “hi.”  Just an empty chair.

All day, she caught herself glancing sideways, expecting something. A glimpse. A word. Anything.

She chewed her pencil in math until it splintered.  And in English, she kept twisting her fingers under her desk until her knuckles ached.

Was Yeonji okay?  She thought back to Friday and wondered if she had said or did something wrong?  Did she scare her away? 

After school, Joobin felt a little empty.  She couldn't even text Yeonji as she didn't have her number.  They weren't close enough for that.  So she walked home slower than usual. Dragged her feet. Wondered what she could do.

She wished she knew what was going on behind that silence.

________________________________________

Kotone.  Monday.

When Kotone's alarm went off, she could barely get herself out of bed.  She was still feeling sick, was still worried about Yeonji, so she called in sick.

In truth, she couldn’t sit in a classroom today and pretend to care about exams and pop quizzes when Yeonji hadn’t spoken to her in almost 48 hours.

She forced herself up and made herself a light breakfast before cleaning the kitchen. Then re-cleaned it. 

She folded laundry. Then unfolded it and folded it again. 

She hovered outside Yeonji’s door more times than she could count.

But she didn’t knock... because she couldn't.

She had broken something... the trust that had taken months to build — slowly, gently, moment by moment — had cracked in a single second. And she couldn’t fix it with apologies shouted through a door.

So she did the only thing she could do.  Wait.

She left a cup of warm hot chocolate by the door. A sandwich with Yeonji's favourite toppings, wrapped in cling film. Little offerings. Not to be forgiven, but to be seen.

She sat on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, eyes burning.

And all she could think was that she had failed Yeonji.

________________________________________

Monday Night

The clock ticked past eleven when Kotone finally gave up trying to pretend to sleep.

She got up from her bed, and went to the living room to sit on the couch, a blanket around her shoulders.  She was sitting there for a few minutes, when she heard a small creak as Yeonji's bedroom door opened.  

She found herself holding her breath and didn’t move from the couch.  

From the hallway, there was soft footsteps before Yeonji appeared.

She looked pale. Hollow-eyed. Exhausted.

Kotone prepared herself for more silence.  For being ignored again.  She expected Yeonji to get herself a drink and leave.  So she was surprised when Yeonji walked towards her.

She stopped a few feet from her, and then in a voice so quiet that Kotone almost missed it, she spoke.  “I’m sorry I ran.”

Oh.  

Yeonji was apologising to her.  

Kotone sat up slowly, careful not to move too fast, not wanting to startle or spook Yeonji.

She looked at Yeonji.  “I’m sorry I scared you,” she said.

They stared at each other.

“I thought—” Yeonji’s voice cracked. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

“Yeonji,” Kotone said, eyes stinging again, “I want you.  Always. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Yeonji’s arms were crossed. Her fingers gripped her sleeves so tightly her knuckles were white. “But I messed up.”

“No,” Kotone said. “You didn't mess up Yeonji, I did.  You were trying to help me and I snapped because I was tired and felt sick."

Silence again.

And then — slowly, softly — Yeonji sat on the other end of the couch. Not close enough to touch. Just close enough to exist in the same space.

“I was scared,” she whispered. “It felt like... before.”

Kotone nodded. “I know.”

“I felt like it was before... being told I was useless" said Yeonji, her voice small and breaking.  "I don’t want to feel like that again.”

Kotone felt her stomach churn and guilt rising.  She had done that.  She had made Yeonji feel like that.   

She didn't know if she could find the right words but she tried.  “I don’t want to make you feel like that again.  Ever.  I can't promise I won't make mistakes but I can promise that I will try not to.  And I will never not want you Yeonji."

She could feel herself crying, and she laughed a little through a choked-up sob, swiping her sleeve across her face.  "You're stuck with me no matter what.” Kotone said.

And that was enough for Yeonji, because tears slipped down her face before she could stop them.

Kotone didn’t reach out to try and wipe the tears.  But the two of them sat their together in each other's company, thing's not quite fixed between them, but at least it was the start of it.

________________________________________

Joobin.  Tuesday Morning.

Joobin was already in her seat, eyes anxiously going to the door every few seconds hoping to see Yeonji walk through.  The bell was just about to go, when Yeonji arrived and took her seat.

A wave of relief washed over her — she'd spent the Monday night quietly worrying, trying not to let it consume her. She’s here. She came back.

But Joobin could see it almost straight away — something was wrong.

Yeonji looked more tired than usual.  Her eyes were swollen, like she had spent days crying.  Her shoulders were hunched inward, like she was trying to disappear into herself and she clutched her pencil case to her chest — tight, desperate.

Joobin wasn't close enough to Yeonji to ask, are you okay?  Instead, she thought the best thing to do was to keep to their routine.  Something normal that Yeonji would expect.

“Hi,” she offered, gently.

Yeonji didn’t respond.

Not even a flicker of recognition. Her eyes didn’t move. She just stayed still... like a statue.

Joobin didn’t try again. Her heart dipped low into her stomach.

It felt like the past few weeks — the delicate progress, the shared softness — had all crumbled and she had no idea why.

________________________________________

Wednesday Morning

Wednesday was no different.  Another quiet classroom and another unreadable expression on Yeonji’s face.

Joobin didn’t push beyond her usual hi.  And it hurt.  Of course it hurt.

She knew enough not to take it personally — not really — but still, her anxiety couldn’t help wonder: Did I do something wrong? Was I too much? Not enough?

The silence between them was heavy, just as it had been when Yeonji first sat beside her in class.  But it was worse now, because now she knew what Yeonji’s voice sounded like when she said hi and thank you. She knew her favourite colour. 

And now... nothing.

________________________________________

Wednesday Lunch

The cafeteria buzzed like always — trays clattering, conversations bouncing between tables. Joobin sat at her usual spot, surrounded by her friends.  She was half listening to their conversation, feeling like she was watching everything through glass.

Soomin was already deep into a story, and somehow managing to talk without having to take a breath in 30 seconds.  It was something about the school vending machine hating her and trying to steal her money.

“I swear it growled at me,” she declared, poking a chopstick at her rice like it had betrayed her too.

Chaewon looked up from her food, nodding in agreement with Soomin.  “It growled at me once before too.  I am never going near it ever again” 

"HAH.  You probably scared it in that case" piped in Hayeon, a grin on her face.  

“How very dare you" said Soomin in mock outrage, "I am not scary, I radiate nothing but charm!" 

“You radiate something,” Hayeon added, deadpan, as she stole a slice of sausage from Chaewon’s tray.  “Probably static electricity from those abominations you call socks.”

“Hey! Hey!  I like my socks.  My socks are cool.  If my washing machine didn't eat all my other socks I wouldn't have to wear them, but here I am.  Did you know that Cavemen used to wear socks?  Did I ever tell you about how one time I was trying to find a pair of socks and then...”

"Oh my god, someone please stop her," Hyerin said dryly, her face in her palms.  She was clearly not ready for another of Soomin's 5 minute rants about socks.

Hayeon was laughing then.  “Let her talk about the socks, I want to hear this!”

Joobin smiled faintly at the chaos, but it didn’t hold.

She’d barely touched her food. Her chopsticks hadn’t even separated yet.

“You good?” Hyerin asked, finally catching on.  Other than Joobin herself, Hyerin was always the more observant one.  “You’re quieter than Chaewon when she’s asleep and that’s saying something.”

Joobin gave a tight shrug.

Hyerin’s eyes narrowed slightly at that.  “School stuff?” she asked, probing Joobin further, inviting her to speak.

Joobin hesitated.   Not because she didn't want to speak, but because she didn’t want to say too much — it wasn’t her story to tell.  But her chest was heavy, and she needed to let something out.

"So you know how there’s a new girl in my class who sits next to me?  Yeonji?"  Her friends nodded at that.  Most of the year had heard there was a new girl, but nobody had really spoken to her other than Joobin, and Joobin... well Joobin wouldn't say anything either, always keeping silent or changing the subject when Yeonji came up.   

Joobin carried on.  "We’d been... kind of getting somewhere. Not friends exactly, but... something. And this week it’s like everything disappeared. She won’t even look at me now.”

The table quieted. A beat passed before someone spoke.

“Sounds like something happened,” Hyerin said, carefully.

“Yeah,” Hayeon nodded. “Maybe something at the weekend or at home.”

“She’s not mad at you?” Soomin asked.

Joobin shook her head. “I don’t think so. But it’s hard not to feel like maybe I— I dunno. Messed it up somehow.”

Chaewon was quiet for longer than usual. When she finally spoke, her voice had dropped its usual playful hum.  “Sometimes people shut down,” she said softly, eyes on her tray. “It’s not because of you. It’s because of what’s behind them. What they’re dragging.”

Joobin looked over, eyes widening.  The rest of the table doing the same.  Chaewon was prone to saying silly things, or the odd deep reflection now and then, but that statement felt a little different.... like it was more personal.  And Chaewon wasn’t smiling, not even a little.

“You were kind, right?” Chaewon asked, still not meeting Joobin’s gaze.

Joobin nodded, before she whispered "yeah" in reply.

“Then that’s what matters. She’ll remember that.”

Joobin looked around the table. Chaewon, quiet and distant in the moment. Hyerin, still watching carefully. Hayeon, gently nudging her bread roll toward Chaewon without saying anything. Soomin, fidgeting with her straw wrapper but leaning closer.

Her friends weren’t perfect. They were cracked and messy and loud and sharp-edged but they always helped and they made her feel a little better about things.

________________________________________

The rest of lunch passed quietly, the bell ringing loud and sharp to indicate that it had ended. 

Chairs scraped back, trays were lifted and rubbish clattered into bins. Students flowed out of the cafeteria like lazy waves.

Hyerin gave her a pat on the shoulder before drifting off toward her class, Soomin beside her, back to talking about the Vending machine and its possible plans for a revolution.  Chaewon was just behind them, in her own little world.  Hayeon turned to give Joobin a small wave, a grin on her face, before turning back to whisper something to Chaewon.  Whatever it was made Chaewon laugh and relax a little, as she punched Hayeon's shoulder lightly.

Joobin lingered for a second longer and was left standing alone with her tray and her thoughts.

That conversation — brief as it was — meant more than she could say.

They always had a way of making her feel better. They didn't push her to talk about Yeonji, and didn't add to the stories and rumours that were slowly moving around school about the girl.  

She watched the back of her friends exit the cafeteria, and she found her mind drifting back to a few years ago.

At first it had just been her on her own or with her sister. 

But then came English, so it then became her and Chaewon.

And then... her, Chaewon, and Hayeon.

________________________________________

Joobin.  Two Years ago.

It had been just a few weeks after Chaewon sat beside her in English class, full of strange metaphors and misquoted Shakespeare and endless questions. Somehow, they'd clicked. it was a strange kind of bond and friendship.  Full of all the awkward moments that came with two people getting to know each other.  But it was always warm and full of laughter.

But two people didn't make a group.

It happened in the middle of spring — Joobin remembered because the trees outside were blossoming like they were showing off.  She and Chaewon were sitting together on the field at lunch, legs crossed, a half-open bag of crisps between them.  Somehow Chaewon had them debating which planet would be best to move to if Earth got too annoying.

“I'd pick Venus,” Chaewon declared. “Toxic, deadly, way too hot. Perfect for drama.”

“You’d die in one second,"  Joobin replied deadpan, now more used to Chaewon's antics and ways of thinking.

“That’s the point Joobin-ah. I'd go out fashionably.”

Joobin was laughing when she noticed someone standing in front of them, her shadow spreading over the two of them.  The new person was quite tall, her black hair pulled back in a high ponytail.  She had a leather jacket on (not exactly school standard mused Joobin) and was wearing the smuggest smirk Joobin had ever seen.

“Do you two always sit out here being weird?”

Chaewon blinked.  Joobin noticed the tell tale sign of her folding inward a little, becoming a bit more defensive, trying not to let the word weird sting as much as it did.  Still, Chaewon replied to her.  “Is that supposed to be an insult or are you looking for an invitation?”

In response, the girl squatted down without waiting for permission, tossing her bag beside her like she owned the grass.

“Hayeon,” she said in way of greeting. “I’ve seen the two of you around."  She pointed at Joobin first.  "You're Joobin right?  The genius from our year at English?” 

Joobin blinked. “Uh... I guess?” 

Hayeon continued on, pointing at Chaewon now.  “And you’re the chaos goblin who argued with the math teacher Mr Kim about fractions.”

Chaewon beamed at that. “He was wrong and the numbers were speaking to me.”

“Right,” Hayeon nodded. “I like it.”

Joobin didn’t know what to say.  Hayeon was... a lot.  She'd heard of her of course.  Hayeon had a.... reputation at school.  Loud. Confident. Flippant. Flirty.  Would pick fights occasionally.  Talked to everyone but never really looked like she had close friends.  Now, she was sitting beside them, leaning back on her hands like she didn’t have a single worry in the world.

But reputations didn't make a person, and Joobin noticed the way Hayeon's eyes flicked too quickly between them, like she was trying to measure her place. Like she wasn’t actually as chill as she acted.

“So, you joining us?” Chaewon asked, tone casual but eyes sharp, still a little wary.

There was a pause then, before Hayeon spoke, the ever present smile slipping slightly.  “Maybe,” Hayeon shrugged, before the smile returned.  “If you don’t mind.”

Joobin looked at her. At the smirk. At the cocky posture. At the flicker of nervousness just beneath.

Joobin looked at Chaewon then, who gave her a small nod.  And then, she said “Okay.”

From then on, two had become three.

And Hayeon never said why she sat with them that day. Never explained the way her face sometimes fell when she thought no one was looking, or why she picked fights in gym class with some people.

But she stayed.

She always stayed.

Over the years, Joobin learned quickly that Hayeon’s cockiness was armor. That underneath it she was someone aching to be needed. To protect.

Back in the present, Joobin dropped the rubbish from her tray into the bin and headed to class.

She didn’t know what would happen tomorrow with Yeonji. Whether she’d get another silent morning or maybe — just maybe — a nod or a whisper of a word.

But today, her friends reminded her why she could keep trying.

Because once, she was alone.  And then someone walked up to her and called her an English Queen.  Then another with a smirk and leather jacket, sitting down like she had always been there.

Chapter Text

Kotone.  Tuesday.  

Kotone didn’t sleep much on Monday night.

Even after Yeonji had eventually went back to her bed, Kotone had sat awake long after.  There was an apology between them last night, even tears, but it still felt fragile.  Brittle even.  And Kotone couldn't help but still feel guilty.  She had told herself they’d moved past it but she wasn’t sure she believed that.

She eventually dragged herself to bed, only being able to sleep due to exhaustion.  And when morning came, she was still feeling ill and guilty, so she didn't even bother getting ready for work, calling in sick instead.  She didn’t have the energy to face rows of students and their faces when all she could see was Yeonji’s — frightened and retreating.

She eventually dragged herself out her room to go to the kitchen to get some painkillers and was surprised to see Yeonji awake, dressed in her school uniform and eating a bowl of cereal at the kitchen table.  She had expected Yeonji to stay home for another day or two.  She looked like she hadn't slept, which wasn't surprising all things considered.  And even through her own guilt, she couldn't stop the warm swell of pride she felt at Yeonji's courage.

Which just made her guilt lay heavier on her.  Yeonji was brave enough to go to school and she didn't have the courage to face work...

They didn't talk much at the kitchen table or on the walk to school.  Despite feeling ill Kotone was adamant of walking Yeonji to school, even if the silence weighed on both of them all the way to the school gate. 

As they reached the gate, Kotone was unwilling to let Yeonji leave with nothing but silence, so she looked at Yeonji, telling her “have a good day" in a quiet voice.  Yeonji looked up at and studied her for a moment, before whispering a small "you too" in reply.

That was something at least.

When she got back to the apartment, Kotone tried to clean, half-heartedly dusting and wiping counters.  She reorganized her bookshelf.  Then undid it and reorganized it again.  The kettle clicked on. Clicked off. She sat on the couch and stared at nothing.

Eventually she stood, pulled on her coat, and decided that if she stayed in here any longer, she’d go mad.

She didn’t know where she was going, just that she needed out. Out of the apartment where the air felt heavy with her own guilt. 

The late-morning air was cool, the streets quieter now that the rush hour was over. She wandered without much aim, hands shoved in her pockets, letting the city decide where she ended up.

The city bustled as usual.  Scooters and cars zipping by, people rushing about their day.  Cafes were busy with couples and friends spending time together.  Eventually, Kotone turned away from the main road and wandered through smaller streets. Back alleys.  Kotone always liked doing this when she was back in Tokyo, liked finding the small boutique stores hidden away from the crowds.

Her steps slowed when she passed a crooked little building wedged between a record shop and a quirky clothes store.  There was a small chalkboard out front, the handwriting bubbly and bright:

"GOOD COFFEE. BAD DANCING. OR MAYBE THE OTHER WAY AROUND."

Kotone stopped, despite herself.

She glanced at the window — warm light spilling through fogged glass.  There was a smell of coffee and something sweet and rich drifting from the shop and into the street.

Something pulled her towards the door, and the bell above the door gave a cheerful jingle as she stepped inside.

Warmth wrapped around her instantly — the smell of fresh espresso coming through. The space was small but alive: shelves lined with books and plants, mismatched chairs, a wall covered in postcards and polaroid photos.  There was music playing in the background, a jazzy instrumental track that suited the mood of the coffee shop.  Other than herself, there were no other customers present.

She was too absorbed in looking round the store, that she jumped when a voice spoke out.

“Oooh! A new customer! The day’s looking up!”

Kotone looked up to where the voice had come from, seeing a woman standing behind the counter. 

She was wearing an apron with cartoon cats.  Her hair was black, short and cut into a slightly tousled bob that framed her face.  She had a grin wide enough to belong to someone who didn’t care about first impressions.  And her eyes... they were sharp and catlike, but playful, watching her like she was the most interesting thing to walk in all morning.

“Uh,” Kotone said, blinking. “Hi?”

“Welcome, welcome!"  The woman paused as she looks over Kotone for a few seconds.  Then with a grin, she said "You look like someone who orders a plain coffee and then regrets it halfway through.”

Kotone was a bit taken aback at how forward the woman was, but couldn’t help the short laugh she let out. “I... yeah. Maybe.”

“Well, not today.” The woman winked. “I’m Kaede, the owner of this little establishment.  I’m giving you something better than plain.”

Kaede was disarming — casual, almost teasing, but with a sharpness underneath, like she noticed more than she let on.  Kotone found herself sitting at the counter instead of a table, watching as Kaede moved with easy precision, like she had done this a thousand times before and could do it in her sleep.

A few minutes later, Kaede placed a warm mug in front of her.

"It's my special house blend" she said.  "A light dusting of cinnamon to add a little warmth."  Then with a smile she added "And if you want to ruin it, feel free to add some sugar." 

Kaede's smile was infectious and Kotone couldn't help herself smile in return.  She took a sip, and the coffee was smooth, deep, and exactly what she needed.  And as Kaede predicted, no sugar required.

Kaede watched as she took a sip, awaiting her verdict.  

"That's... yeah that is good.  You must be a mind reader."

The smile on Kaede's face grew even larger at that.  “Good.  And I totally read your mind the second you stepped through the door."  Then with a playful tone she added "Oh, and this one is on the house.  You looked like you needed a little kindness.”

That surprised Kotone, and she was going to argue that she would be happy to pay, but something about the look on Kaede's face stopped her.   

Instead she murmured a quiet reply back.  “...Thanks.  I really did.”

Kaede's face softened a little then, her smile changing from the cheeky grin to something a little gentler and kinder.  

“Don’t mention it,” she said. “You can sit here as long as you like. And if you want to talk, I’m almost a good at listening as I am at making coffee!”

Kotone didn’t talk much, but she stayed long enough to finish her coffee.  Long enough to just let herself rest.  No papers to mark, no schedules, no quiet, watchful teenager in the next room. Just the hum of the coffee machine and jazz music.

It was exactly what she needed.

________________________________________

Yeonji.  Thursday

The morning air was warm, the sky clear and bright blue.  

She was walking to school slowly, Kotone beside her as always.  Everything still felt a little off between them, even though they had apologised to each other.  Tuesday and Wednesday had passed in a blur.  Kotone had given her space but they hadn’t really spoken since the weekend. 

They were both tiptoeing around each other.  Around the memory of that awful Saturday. Around the guilt. Around the scar it left.

Yeonji wanted to tell Kotone that she was OK.  And she was OK for the most part.  She had forgiven Kotone, but her mind and body were disconnected.  Even though she didn't mean to, her hands still shook a little if Kotone entered a room too fast.  Her mind whispering cruel thoughts she knew wasn't true.  

The school gates loomed ahead.  She had been to school the last two days, but no matter how often she did this she never felt ready.  Not for the people, or for the noise.

And now there was something else she wasn't ready for - Joobin's disappointment.

Because Joobin had still been saying hi as usual, but Yeonji had closed up both days, not even saying hi in return.  And Yeonji had caught the look of sadness, on Joobin's face. 

Kotone had her hurt sure, but to protect herself Yeonji had retreated a little, and that meant protecting herself even from Joobin's quiet hi.  Even if Joobin had done nothing to hurt her. 

She was trying, but trying didn’t make it easy.

________________________________________

Kotone seen her off at the school gate as always, and she made her way to class mechanically, one foot in front of the other. 

She entered class just before the bell as usual.  And as usual, Joobin was already in her seat.

As Yeonji sat down, Joobin looked up from her notebook and gave a small smile.

"Hi," she said, as she always did.

Yeonji’s throat closed for a second. Fear told her not to speak. That by not saying anything for the last two days she’d ruined it.  That her silence had said more than words ever could.

But she was trying to be braver.

And so, after a pause, Yeonji forced herself to speak.  Her voice dry and rough.  "...Hi."

Joobin didn’t say anything else. She just turned back to her book.

But Yeonji caught the smallest curve at the corner of her mouth, and that made trying worth it.

________________________________________

The rest of her classes moved around her like fog.

Yeonji sat stiffly at her desk, barely hearing the lessons. She kept her pen in her hand, her notebook open, so it looked like she was writing. But her notes were sparse, fragments of words and half-finished sentences.

She was on edge, and every sound, no matter how small, made her flinch.  Her mind and body bracing for things that weren’t coming.

And through it all part of her wanted to run.  To go home, to her room, where it was safe and she couldn't get hurt.  But instead, she stayed and tried telling herself that counted for something.

Every now and then, her eyes drifted sideways. Joobin was working away, writing a lot more notes than what Yeonji had managed.  She was steady, and as always she never pried.

That morning, Yeonji had managed to say hi back.  A two letter word, so small.  Pathetic even. 

But she had managed it.

She still felt a little guilty.  About the weekend and how she had shut down again, refusing to even say hi for two days.  About Kotone, who’d been walking on eggshells since.

Yeonji thought she’d ruined things with Kotone.  And then she thought she had ruined things with Joobin.

But Kotone had told her to have a good day and Joobin had smiled a little when she said hi, so maybe she hadn't ruined things as much as she thought she had...

________________________________________

Kotone.  Thursday Morning.

After Kotone had dropped off Yeonji at school, she had went home and called in sick again.  Now she was sitting on the sofa, a half finished cup of coffee on the table and a book - 'The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma', opened in front of her.

Like a book could give her all the answers to her problems...

When she called in sick, she’d told herself it was just to catch her breath.  But in truth, she was still trying to come to terms with the weekend prior.

She had hurt Yeonji and that had caused her to run.  She didn't mean it, but she had done it all the same.  And all she could see when she closed her eyes was the look on Yeonji’s face.  The wide eyes, followed by a flinch.  And then the way her face twisted as if she had been told she wasn't welcome. 

She had run.

Kotone had broken the fragile trust that had built up between them in those few months.  She had set them back weeks.

She wasn’t angry at Yeonji, but she was disappointed in herself.  Because what kind of guardian hurts a kid like that? Even if she hadn’t meant to. She should’ve known.   And she knew she was being to hard on herself, but the situation with Yeonji was hardly normal and she felt that if she wasn't hard on herself then that meant she was more likely to fail Yeonji again.

And she hated feeling like she had failed.  

She took a shaky breath and looked at her phone, hoping for a text message she knew wouldn't be there.  It had been three days now, and no text from Yeonji telling her she had made it to lunch. 

Kotone tried not to take that as another sign that she had failed.

________________________________________

Yeonji.  Thursday After school.

By the end of the day, her head was heavy.

When the final bell rang, she moved on auto pilot.  She packed her things and slipped her pencil case back into her bag — the one Joobin had said she liked.  She still remembered Joobin’s voice when she said it. Still remembered the quiet moment of connection when Yeonji had whispered, "It’s my favourite colour."

Blue.

As she left the school building she looked for Kotone at the gate.  Part of her whispered that Kotone wouldn't be there.  That she wasn't worth the effort.

But, Kotone was standing in the same spot she always was, waiting patiently for her. 

________________________________________

Thursday Night.

Kotone had prepared them stir-fry for dinner.  As they were eating, Kotone was the first to break the silence, her voice low and careful. 

"I know I apologised for Saturday, but I wanted to say it again.  I want you to know I mean it.  I’m sorry, Yeonji. For Saturday. For making you feel…”  She trailed off, shaking her head as if the words weren’t enough.

Yeonji’s hands tightened around the edge of the table a little before she relaxed.  “I know you didn’t mean it,” she murmured. “I’m sorry too. For… running.”

They went back to eating.  The apologies had helped make the crack between them a little smaller, and that was enough for now.

________________________________________

Yeonji.  Friday Morning,

When Yeonji woke on Friday, she was feeling a little better.  There had been more apologies on Thursday night.  From both of them.  Enough to make things a little lighter between them.

The walk to school was quiet again, but after the night before it wasn't as bad as the last few days.  Kotone was humming some song as they walked, and Yeonji listened to every sound, grateful for something more than silence that morning. 

In her own mind, she was replaying the mantra she and Kotone had made, preparing herself for the day ahead.  

One second at a time. Ten seconds at a time. One minute. One hour. One day.

At the school gate, Kotone had a smile on her face, telling Yeonji that she hoped she had a good day at school.  And as Kotone smiled, Yeonji felt herself smile a little, relaxing a little more.

Stupid unnie and her stupid smile she thought to herself.

When she got to class, Joobin was already there.  They had their usual small exchange of hi's.

After Yeonji had said hi, Joobin had already gone back to preparing her work for the day, expecting that was the end of the conversation.  And normally it would be.  But Yeonji was feeling braver this morning.  Maybe it was because of the apologies from the night before.  Or maybe it was because Kotone smiled that morning as she left her at the gate.  

She clutched her own pencil case with both hands.  She hadn't prepared anything, and her fingers trembled a little, but she wanted to speak to Joobin.  Because she wanted to apologise for the last few day's but couldn't explain why she had shut off for those two days.

She found her voice then.  “I like your pencil case,” she said, almost too quietly to hear.

Joobin blinked at that.  Her pencil case?

It was green and covered in funny stickers that Chaewon had insisted added aesthetic value and "good vibes."

“Oh?” Joobin replied, a smile creeping up before she could stop it. “Thanks. I know the stickers are kind of silly, but I like it too.”

Yeonji hesitated again, before she replied with a whispered “It’s my second favourite colour.”

And then, just like that, the moment was over. Yeonji turned back to her desk, the words said, the weight of them still lingering in the air.

Joobin didn’t say anything else. She didn’t want to ruin it. But inside her chest, something bloomed as she filed that piece of information away.

________________________________________

Yeonji.  Lunch time.

As the lunch bell rang, Yeonji was out the classroom door and on the rooftop within a few minutes.  Alone as usual. 

She leaned against the railing, looking out over the school.  Students milling around, a game of football happening on the playing field.  Friends laughing and sharing stories and food.

As she watched, she took her phone from her pocket.  She hadn’t texted Kotone all week. Not since… everything. Her thumbs hovered above the screen, unsure if she should send anything.

But today... well Kotone had smiled this morning.  And then she had spoken to Joobin.

So she typed out and sent her usual message.

I made it to lunch.

She just about put her phone back in her pocket, but something stopped her.

She couldn't put a name to the feeling.  But Kotone had apologised twice now, and Yeonji could see how hard she was trying.  But she had also given her space... didnt crowd her or pester her.  

So before she lost her nerve, she sent another message.

Thank you for giving me space.

________________________________________

Kotone

The buzz of her phone against the staffroom desk startled her.   Kotone had went back to work today, her cold finally gone and her nerves more settled after the last few days.  She should have been eating her lunch, but instead she was halfway through marking a pile of assignments, trying to catch up with what she had missed by being off.

She glanced quickly at the screen.  They were messages from Yeonji.  

Her heart clenched as she stopped what she was doing and concentrated on the phone.  She opened the message, expecting the usual. 

And there it was, the usual message.  But this time, there was something added under it.  Something new. 

I made it to lunch.
Thank you for giving me space.

Kotone stared at it for a long time.

A quiet breath escaped her lips. Her shoulders sagged and her eyes stung.

She typed out a reply.

I’m proud of you.
And you're welcome.  

As she put the phone down, she felt better than she had all week.  Maybe the apology between them wasn’t so brittle after all.  Maybe she wasn’t as much of a failure as she’d feared

Chapter Text

Joobin

Joobin headed to lunch feeling lighter than she had in days, fighting the smile that threatened to keep appearing on her face.  Walking through the bustling school corridors, she adjusted the strap of her bag, its weight pushing down into her shoulder.  Sometimes she wondered if the teachers really needed the students to have all these books, or if it was just some twisted perverse physical punishment.  A joke they liked to play on the students.

As she weaved through the crowds, Yeonji's voice and words from earlier kept playing over.  It’s my second favourite colour.”

Yeonji had offered her something else and now she knew that Yeonji liked blue and green.  She shouldn't feel so... happy at knowing something so simple.  But the more Joobin thought about it, the more it felt like being handed a pebble from someone else’s secret garden.  Something small and simple, but equally precious. 

She made her way toward the school field.  It was a nice day and she and her friends had agreed to eat their lunch outside.  It wasn't hard to spot her friends.  It never was really. 

Soomin was waving her chopsticks around like she was dual-wielding swords again, animated and always in motion in a way Joobin could never replicate.  For some reason, Hayeon was dramatically shielding Hyerin’s bento box with her whole body.  She didn't need to see Hyerin's face to know that she was probably somewhere between rolling her eyes and questioning her life decisions.  And Chaewon.. she was trying to feed a pigeon a piece of tofu.

She shook her head, smiling in fondness at the scene in front of her.  Yeah, everything was normal.  As she sat down with her friends, Soomin was in full flow.

"... and then I told him, ‘That’s not your pen, that’s my eyeliner!’ and he still kept writing with it like nothing was wrong!” Soomin's voice was getting louder as she relayed the story, her eyes wide with the kind of disbelief only she could summon.  “Like, what kind of person just — oh hi, Joobin — just commits to that level of theft?”

The group burst into laughter as Soomin finished her story.  Joobin was half tempted to ask her what had happened, but decided that keeping quiet was probably the best for her ears and her sanity.  As she took out her own lunch, Soomin cheekily threw a grape at Hayeon’s forehead for no other reason than because she felt like it.

“Hey!” Hayeon squawked, “Do I look like a fruit bowl to you?!”

Chaewon had grown bored of trying to feed the pigeon, and had turned back to face the rest of the group.  “Actually,” Chaewon said, poking at her kimchi with a chopstick, “if I look at you at just the right angle, your head is kind of shaped like a watermelon."  The smile on her face took the string out of her words, clearly just poking fun at Hayeon.

“Well, I will be the sexiest watermelon shaped head girl in school in that case" replied Hayeon, her trademark grin in place.  

Joobin snorted at that.  Hayeon was never short of confidence, that was for sure.

Hyerin rolled her eyes for what was probably the twentieth time in 5 minutes, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.  “God help me, you people are unwell.”

Joobin laughed quietly at that, unwrapping her sandwich.

For maybe for the first time all week, the weight in her chest didn’t feel so suffocating. 

Hyerin leaned closer to her.  “You seem lighter today,” she said softly, quiet enough that the others wouldn’t notice. “Everything okay?”

Joobin blinked, startled by how perceptive she could be when she wasn’t pretending to be annoyed with everyone.

She nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

Hyerin didn’t push, just taking what Joobin said at face value.  

Lunch passed quickly, full of laughter and silly jokes.  By the end of lunch, Chaewon was pretending her chopsticks were fangs and growling like a vampire.  Soomin was talking too fast, her words tripping over each other as she tried to tell two stories at the same time.  Hayeon was pretending not to watch Chaewon, but was very clearly watching.  And Hyerin was finishing her rice like she was the only sane one present.

Joobin smiled again.  For a moment, her usual fears, her self-doubt, the worries about Yeonji, faded into the background.

And as she sat there, smiling and laughing at her friends, she remembered how her group of three, became a group of five.

________________________________________

Two years ago.

Two years ago, Joobin had been outside eating lunch.  It was just the three of them - Chaewon, Hayeon and herself.  They had been orbiting each other slowly and awkwardly for a few weeks now.  Slowly building up trust and friendships as they got to know each other and how they all ticked.

And then, one Tuesday after school… boom. Three became Five.

It started with a loud thud.

Joobin remembered the moment clearly. Chaewon was pacing a slow circle on the grass, holding her milk carton like it was a piece of damning evidence.  Joobin and Hayeon were sitting quietly, following Chaewon with their eyes as she paced around.

“She stole my milk,” Chaewon said, completely serious. “Made eye contact while doing it. That’s… predator behaviour.”

Joobin blinked. “But you left it on her desk...”

Chaewon tilted her head. “It was right next to my lunch. That’s like..” she paused, searching for the right comparison, “like stealing someone’s diary because it was on the same table as a pencil you wanted to borrow.”

Joobin stared, whilst Hayeon just laughed. “That’s… not the same thing at all." said Joobin, still trying to wrap her head around the comparison.

“It is in my heart,” Chaewon said, taking a solemn sip from the empty carton before realising it was, in fact, still empty.

That’s when a blur of limbs, hair, and sound slammed directly into Chaewon from behind, both of them going down in a heap of tangled arms and confused yelling.

“AHHH I’M SORRY I WASN’T LOOKING I WAS TRYING TO CATCH UP I SWEAR I’M NOT A MENACE I’M JUST BUILT WRONG AND MY LEGS ARE SHORT AND DON'T WORK AND I'M SO SORRY AND..”

Chaewon groaned from under the chaos and loud voice. “Ow.  Who gave the tornado legs and a megaphone?”

Joobin and Hayeon ran over, half-concerned, half-confused.

From the tangle emerged a girl Joobin didn’t recognize — petite, with wide, startled brown eyes and a high ponytail that had half-fallen loose in the collision. A few wisps of hair curled against her cheeks, and her flushed face made her look like she’d just sprinted a marathon. She was still talking

“OH NO DID I BREAK SOMETHING?! OR SOMEONE?! Is this what gets me expelled?! I knew I shouldn’t have had that second juice box...”

“I’m alive,” Chaewon muttered. “Barely.”

“Oh thank god.” The girl rolled off Chaewon and jumped to her feet in one motion. “Hi! I’m Soomin! I was chasing Hyerin but then I got distracted by this squirrel and then I was trying to catch up again and then BANG — gravity and my legs said no! I talk a lot. Sorry.”

Joobin blinked. Hayeon blinked.  Soomin blinked back.

“Hi,” Joobin said slowly, then turned to Chaewon who was dusting herself off.

“I like her,” Chaewon said, smiling now that she had checked for broken bones.  “She’s like a live firecracker with no fuse.”

And then, another voice cut through the air.

“Kim Soomin, I swear to god...”

The girl storming toward them looked done.  Her straight black hair swung neatly over her shoulders, her fringe just brushing her brows. Her uniform was immaculate — crisp shirt, tie perfectly knotted — like she’d stepped right out of a school brochure. But her expression? Total deadpan exasperation, the kind that suggested this wasn’t the first time she’d had to clean up Soomin’s chaos.

“I told you not to run" Hyerin said, approaching the now very confused group.

“But that squirrel was doing a dance!” whined Soomin in reply.

“What the...  Soomin, that wasn't a squirrel, you were chasing after a plastic bag!”

Joobin and Hayeon exchanged looks.  Hayeon was grinning. “Oh I like this one already.”

The new girl turned to them with a polite nod. “I’m Hyerin. Sorry for the chaos.” She gestured toward Soomin, who was still catching her breath. “She does this sometimes.”

“I’m Hayeon,” Hayeon replied, giving a lazy salute like they’d just been formally introduced at a military parade.

Joobin opened her mouth to say something — anything — but her brain was still trying to process the whirlwind that had just landed in the middle of her quiet afternoon.

Chaewon, entirely unfazed by the situation now, had already pulled a bag of sweets from her bag  She popped one into her mouth before offering the bag around. “So if there are five of us now, does that make us a cult?”

Joobin blinked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“A cult of pretty girls,” Hayeon said with a grin.

Soomin lit up instantly. “I brought stickers.”

Hyerin sighed, dropped down cross-legged onto the grass, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “I give up.”

And just like that, the group of three friends had become a group of five friends.

She didn’t know exactly how.  None of them did.  But it happened anyway.

________________________________________

Friday.  Present Day.

Joobin’s chopsticks hovered halfway to her mouth as Hayeon burst out laughing at something Soomin had just said.

It was strange, Joobin thought, how life just… happened. How people who were never supposed to meet could end up tangled together in the same orbit.

Her gaze drifted across the school field, her thoughts turning back to Yeonji.  She wondered if Yeonji had enjoyed her lunch.  Wondered if she would ever be able to eat with her and her friends here in the field, or in the school cafeteria. 

Would it help her if she sat with them?  Or would it hurt her?  Would sitting at a cafeteria table, with all of its noise and mess and the chaotic beauty of her friends swallow her whole?

Joobin set her chopsticks down. “Can I ask you guys something?”

Four heads turned to her.

“It’s about Yeonji.  She’s… not ready.  Not for this.  But she’s trying.  And I keep thinking… should I ask her to join us?  Someday?” Joobin hesitated, fingers curling against the edge of her blazer.  “Or maybe that would be too much?  Maybe we’re too much...”

“We’re definitely too much,” Hayeon said, smirking — but softer than usual.

“She doesn’t really talk to you yet, right?” Soomin asked, unusually gentle.

“Just little things,” Joobin said. “A comment here, a question there.  it's like she is building herself up bit by bit and I don’t want to scare her.”

There was silence for a while, before Chaewon finally broke it.  “If she’s anything like I was,” she said softly, “being alone feels safer. Even when you hate it.”

Joobin met her eyes, startled at the words.   Chaewon didn’t elaborate further, and Joobin was unsure if that was because she couldn't or wouldn't. 

But there was something to that comment.  Something deeper and more meaningful. 

And as she wrestled with that thought, that's when another struck her.

None of them, her or her friends, really talked about the deep stuff.  Sure they would laugh and joke and talk about school and their favourite TV program that week.  But beyond the usual small talk and playful banter, the truth was that the five of them didn't really know much about each other.  

And that actually made Joobin sad, and as she contemplated that she accidentally caught Hyerin's eyes.  Hyerin could be hard to read at times, but there was something raw and hurt in their depths.  Like something Chaewon had said had struck a nerve and that she was thinking the same thoughts as Joobin was.

But before she could spend more time thinking on Hyerin's reaction, or on Chaewon's words, the silence was broken with the lunch bell ringing.  

It was like the bell released the tension that had suddenly appeared, and the group got to their feet, getting ready to head towards their next class.

Soomin nearly left her bag behind, Hayeon making a joke about charging her a storage fee.  Hyerin handed the bag over, whilst Chaewon brushed some crumbs off of her blazer.

Joobin stood slowly, following after her friends. The thought of Yeonji joining them for lunch still felt far away.  Maybe, one day, she could make a space for herself at their table.  And as for the deeper sadness she felt at her sudden realisation... that was something she would have to face up to another day. 

________________________________________

Joobin walked back into the school building with her friends, her mind not really on her surroundings.

There was quiet chatter between Soomin, Hayeon and Chaewon.  Something to do with 45 minutes not being long enough for lunch, and how it was all some way of making students suffer.  Hyerin had earbuds loosely hanging around her neck, not really listening.  And then, Soomin —

“LYNNNNNNN!” Soomin bolted off like she had just been shot from a cannon.

Joobin turned, smiling despite herself.

There, near the lockers just inside the main hall, stood two familiar figures.  Her sister Sullin was standing with her best friend Lynn, who was also Soomin's older sister.  The two of them unmistakable, even from across the hallway.

Lynn looked up as she heard her name being screamed, barely having time to react before Soomin slammed into her in a half-hug, half-collision.

“Okay okay okay listen,” Soomin babbled, words tumbling out like marbles on tile, “so earlier, in class right, someone thought my eye liner was a pen and used it to write in their notebook.  And then at lunch, Chaewon said Hayeon had a watermelon head, but Hayeon said watermelon heads are sexy.  And that made Hyerin call all of us idiots, not Joobin though, and she actually threatened to stop being my friend.  And I said she would NEVER because she couldn't live without me and...”

Lynn blinked, then reached up to give Soomin’s hair a couple of light pats — part fondness, part attempt to calm the tornado currently hanging off her. She couldn’t help laughing. “That’s… a lot.”

“I know right!” Soomin said, beaming up at her much taller older sister.

Hyerin muttered, “I don't really know how I put up with them all.”

Chaewon just gave a proud thumbs up and a grin.

Sullin was leaning against the wall nearby, smiling at the two sisters antics.  She turned to Joobin, flicking her forehead as she walked past.

“Hey, Captain Broody.  You look like you are planning a PowerPoint presentation on the meaning of life.”

Joobin rolled her eyes in fondness.  “I was thinking.  That’s allowed.”

“Thinking and brooding are not the same" laughed Sullin.  "You looked suspiciously broody.”

“I can’t have one serious moment without being teased?"  Joobin mumbled.

“Absolutely not,” said Lynn, chipping in.  She was all sunshine and sincerity, Soomin still clinging on to her.  “You’re the little sister. It’s a law.  Big sisters get to tease their little sisters whenever they like.”

Joobin huffed in response, but her smile was real.

Chaewon leaned in and whispered loudly, “Wait… Are we surrounded by older siblings?”

“We’re not ‘older,’ we’re refined,” Sullin said, flicking her hair dramatically.

“Yeah,” Lynn added with a wink. “And way cooler than you, obviously.”

They lingered for a moment longer, catching up, before the group began drifting off toward class.

Joobin walked a little slower than usual, letting her friends move ahead.  She turned back just once, catching Sullin’s eyes for a split second.  Her sister was watching her, quietly protective as she always was.  She smiled and waved before turning back towards class.

________________________________________

Sullin.  Earlier That Day

Sullin was currently in the process of trying to balance a piece of fried tofu on her chopsticks like a basketball and failing dramatically.  Lynn flicked her forehead fondly.  

“Eat it, idiot.”

They were seated under the half-shade of a tree behind the gym — their usual spot, where Lynn always brought two bento boxes.  One was always spare because Soomin still forgot hers half of the time. 

Sullin offered Lynn half of  her drink because as she said, Lynn “needed electrolytes.”

They were sitting across from each other now, legs stretched out in front of them, shoes nearly touching.

Sullin kept a casual eye through the open courtyard beyond, where younger students wandered past, laughing and shrieking.  She spotted Joobin, who was on her own and heading over to where her friends were currently sitting.

She couldn't help but be the big sister as she watched Joobin.  She looked tired... but not as sunken or as sad as she had earlier in the week.

“She looks better today,” Sullin said quietly.

Lynn looked up to follow where Sullin was looking, noticing Joobin.  “Your sister?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Mmm" Sullin hummed in response.  "She's less... less folded-in, you know?"

Lynn leaned forward, chewing thoughtfully. “She’s got good people around her.”

“Yeah.  She does" replied Sullin, a small smile on her face.

“Do you still want to adopt her entire friend group?”

Sullin grinned at that. “Maybe.  Or maybe just Chaewon.”

Lynn laughed at that.  “You mean the chaos goblin that's currently trying to feed a pigeon some of her tofu?”

Sullin turned to Lynn, smiling even wider.  “Yes!  Look at her! How can you not love that kind of energy?"

They both laughed as they watched Chaewon try to find ever more inventive ways to feed the pigeon. 

Sullin and Lynn spent the rest of their lunch chatting and watching their sisters and the rest of their friends — a little island of noise and laughter on the busy school field.  It struck them both, in that easy, unspoken way siblings share, that whatever came next, their sisters were in good hands.

Chapter Text

Kotone.  Friday Night

The glow of the television washed over the living room, filling it with shifting colours that played across the walls and the couch. 

Yeonji was curled up at one end of the couch, her knees tucked under her chin, half-hidden behind the throw blanket she always reached for when she felt like she needed comfort or some semblance of safety.  Kotone was at the other end, legs crossed, remote loosely in hand as the end credits of some variety show finished up, and adverts started playing.

In truth, neither of them was really watching the TV.  Their minds were elsewhere, but they were also happy enough just to be in each others company.  Kotone would take whatever small wins she could get. 

It had been a strange week.  Tense, fragile and far too much silence with little to no explanations at times.  There had been apologies, and stuttering conversations.  A slow climb back to what their version of normal was.

And then earlier today, Yeonji had finally sent a text after a week of silence.

I made it to lunch. Thank you for giving me space.

And then tonight, they had eaten dinner together.  It was quiet and slow, but they were eating together at least.

And afterwards, instead of retreating to her room as she had done all week, Yeonji had joined her on the couch to watch TV.  A small act, but one Kotone was happy to see.  It meant that Yeonji trusted her enough again to want to be in her company. 

Kotone stole a glance across the couch.  Yeonji's eyes were open, fixed on the TV, but Kotone could see how tired she looked.  Not just in the way her body was curled under the throw blanket, but in that heaviness that weighed in her eyes.

Kotone was about to ask Yeonji if she had been sleeping any better, when a commercial played in the background.  

Bright music. Soft pastels.

The words “Animal Crossing: New Horizons” chirped cheerfully across the screen.  Animated villagers danced under cherry blossoms.  Little characters fished by the river.  Built homes.  Planted flowers.

Yeonji didn’t say anything, but Kotone seen every thing.

The way Yeonji's eyes widened.  The way her shoulders lifted.  The way she leaned a little closer to the TV.

Kotone watched it all happen in the space of thirty seconds.  Was it wonder?  Or maybe it was....longing.

It passed almost as quickly as it appeared.  The ad ended, and Yeonji went back to her previous position.  Throughout it all, she hadn't spoken.  

Neither did Kotone.  But she filed that look, that small moment, away for later.

________________________________________

Saturday Afternoon

Kotone was standing near the front door of their apartment, tucking her purse into her bag.  

“I’ll only be gone a few hours,” she said to Yeonji, looking up as she spoke.

Yeonji was on the couch and nodded, dressed in one of her oversized hoodies, curled into herself like she hadn’t moved since breakfast.

“I left some soup for you in the fridge if you get hungry,” Kotone added. “Plus, if you want some, there’s melon bread and snacks on the counter.”

Yeonji nodded again.  She still hadn't spoken, but her eyes had never left Kotone either.  

Kotone turned to leave, but hesitated a second before she turned back to Yeonji again.

"If you need me, need to call about anything, don't hesitate OK?  I won't be too far away, and you can call me for anything, you know that right?" 

She watched as Yeonji lowered her head a little, like she was too ashamed to acknowledge what had just been said.  She hadn't really expected any sort of response from Yeonji, so she turned to leave the room, when she heard Yeonji speak.

"Thank You.  I will"  said Yeonji, voice so faint it was hard to make out.

But Kotone had heard it, and couldn't mask the small smile as she opened the apartment door.

________________________________________

Out in the City

Kotone wandered with no particular goal or destination in mind.  She just wanted to get out of the apartment for a while and get some fresh air.  The crowds were light today, the wind gentle and the air warm with the promise of summer that was coming round quicker than Kotone had realised. 

She let herself drift through familiar streets and alleyways and checked a few shops as she went.

Browsed books she didn’t plan on reading.

Bought some flowers that she wanted to put in a vase in the living room.

And as she wandered, she kept thinking about last night.  

How it had taken so long for Yeonji to share the couch and want to be in the same space as Kotone and to send the text that she had on Friday.  Such a silly, small thing thought Kotone.  But it was also something that meant so much more.

And then there was the look Yeonji had given the TV when the Animal Crossing advert came on.  The wonder and the longing on her face.  

Thirty seconds — just a flicker of a moment in time.  

She played it over and over, trying to come to a decision on what to do with that when she found herself standing outside a familiar coffee shop.

Kaede’s.

Just as it had the first time, the windows glowed softly from the inside.  Warm lights and the smell of coffee.  She faintly noted that the chalkboard writing seemed different from her first visit.  Someone had drawn a badly doodled cat and written "Try our cinnamon roll or suffer!!!" underneath.

A smile tugged at her lips.  A cinnamon roll sounded good about now.

So, she tightened her grip around the strap of her bag and opened the door to the coffee shop. 

________________________________________

The bell above the café door gave the same gentle chime as it had the first time Kotone stepped inside.

It was warmer than she remembered.  Not the heat that you would expect from a coffee shop — but the feeling that she was coming back to a place that felt... nice.  Comfortable.  Like stepping into a tucked away memory she hadn't meant to keep.

The smell of coffee, of baked sugar and cinnamon, wrapped around her, the quiet hum of jazz music playing through the speakers, unhurried and calm.

From behind the counter, Kaede looked up, smiling after a few seconds like some memory clicked into place.  

“You came back,” she said, her voice light and steady. “Thought I had maybe scared you off after your first visit.”

Kotone blinked, unsure what to say. She didn’t want to admit that it startled her — that Kaede had remembered her face in what must be a sea of strangers. She settled for something simple.  “Well as you can see, you didn’t.”

Kaede's smile widened even further at that.  “Damn,” she said.   “Guess I’ll have to try harder then.  What can I get you today?”

Despite herself, Kotone gave a tired laugh after Kaede's words, and approached the counter.   She took a few seconds to look over the menu, before deciding.  “A Matcha green tea and a Cinnamon roll please.  And this time I will pay for it." 

Kaede rolled her eyes good naturedly.  The last time Kotone had been here, Kaede had given her a drink on the house.  She rang up the order and Kotone tapped her card to pay for it.

"Take a seat and I'll bring it over when its ready" said Kaede, as she got to work on making the drink.

Kotone gravitated to the small corner table, letting the quiet hum of the coffee shop surround her. A moment later, the backroom door swung open and a girl stepped out balancing a tray piled high with steaming muffins and cookies.

The girl that stepped out looked quite young.  Her apron was crisp, her bangs neat, her movements precise but not stiff. There was a brightness in her wide eyes, and a kind of easy confidence in the way she slid the tray onto the counter without breaking stride.

Kotone watched as Kaede wiped down a tray and handed it off.  She heard her say "For the customer in the corner table" before the girl picked it up and carried it across the café with the balance of someone twice her age.

“Here you go,” she said as she placed the drink and plate in front of Kotone.  Her smile was polite but genuine, the kind that reached her eyes.  “If Kaede gets your order wrong, don’t worry, I’ll make sure she fixes it.”

“Hey,” Kaede called from behind the counter, mock-offended.

The girl only smirked before turning back.  Kotone caught the name stitched neatly into her badge.

Seoah.

“Thank you,” Kotone said, a little surprised by the playful jab at Kaede.

“Of course,” Seoah replied easily, already moving back behind the counter to restock the display case with muffins and cookies.

Kotone found herself watching a second longer than she meant to.  The girl seemed confident. Attentive.  

She looked about Yeonji’s age, but the contrast between them was sharp enough to sting. Seoah seemed at ease in her own skin, bright and self-assured in a way Kotone could barely picture Yeonji being.

Kotone shut the thought down before it could go further, lifting her tea instead. The first sip was bracing — that natural bitterness she liked, grounding her in the present.  She leaned back, letting herself relax for the first time in days.  The tea was good.  Better than good.  It reminded her of the ones she’d had back in Japan, and she hadn’t found anything close to that here until now.

The cinnamon roll was next, warm and spiced, pulling a small hum of approval from her as she savoured it.

It was strange, Kotone thought. She hadn’t planned to come here today. But maybe her feet had carried her to exactly where she needed to be, even if only for a little while.

A few minutes later, Kaede appeared at her table, sliding into the seat opposite with the kind of ease that made it seem like she belonged there. She nodded toward the counter, where Seoah was restocking trays with quick, precise movements.

“She’s good, right?” Kaede said.

Kotone followed her gaze. “Yeah. Efficient. Professional.”

“She’s a menace at full volume,” Kaede replied, amused. “But she reins it in when she’s working… most of the time.”

Kotone nodded, then surprised herself by asking, “Is she your daughter?”

For a beat, Kaede just stared. Then she burst out laughing — a full, bright sound that carried across the coffee shop. “Oh my god, no! Do I look that old? I’m only twenty-eight, thanks.”

Heat rose in Kotone’s face. What a stupid thing to ask.  Kaede must think she was an idiot.

Kaede continued on though, enjoying the moment, grinning as she leaned an elbow on the table.  “Seoah is my.... part time weekend hurricane.  She helps out for a little money, but mostly because she liked the free drinks and cakes."  The grin on Kaede's face settled into something softer then.  "I’ve got a soft spot for her.”

“Hurricane?" asked Kotone.  "She seems quite calm from here.”

Kaede raised a brow and snorted. “That’s her coffee shop persona.  Polite and efficient, but don’t let it fool you.  Wait until she starts arguing about who gets the last cookie...”

Kotone’s mouth twitched into the beginnings of a smile. “Sounds like she’d keep you on your toes.”

Kaede grinned. “Constantly. She’s the kind of endearing that makes you want to strangle her and hug her within the same five minutes.”

Seoah shot Kaede a sidelong glance then — something between suspicion and amusement — before resuming her work with practiced ease.

Kotone watched her for a moment, then returned her gaze to her tea. Her shoulders had lowered without her noticing. The coffee shop, the banter, even the embarrassment of her earlier question — they’d all taken the edge off.

She drained the last of her cup, folded the napkin neatly onto the empty plate, and stood. Kaede glanced up from the counter.

“Heading out already?”

Kotone nodded. “Yeah. But… thank you. For the tea and the cinnamon roll.”

Kaede’s grin flickered softer. “Anytime. Try not to wait too long before coming back, okay?”

Kotone didn’t quite answer. She just dipped her head in a small nod and slipped toward the door, the bell above it chiming as she stepped outside.

She took a few seconds, breathing in the air, realising that she felt a lot better than she had earlier that day. 

________________________________________

Kotone’s shoulders had lost some of their stiffness. Her mind felt clearer than it had all week. Maybe it was the tea. Maybe it was Kaede’s kindness. Maybe it was just having thirty uninterrupted minutes of silence and laughter where she didn’t feel like she was walking on eggshells.

Like earlier, she started walking, no plan in mind as she did.  Seoul’s streets bustled around her, and she slipped into the rhythm of it: eyes forward, step after step.

But her mind started drifting again.  Back to that flicker of light on a TV screen and the tiny shift in Yeonji’s eyes.

She hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t asked. But that wide-eyed moment, where she looked curious, almost wistful, had clearly imprinted itself on Kotone’s brain. It was the smallest clue that Yeonji wanted something, and that was incredibly rare because Yeonji never asked for anything.

And the longer she thought about it, the more she talked herself into it.  Maybe... maybe something like a Nintendo Switch and a game where you build soft, gentle worlds, would give Yeonji a breath of peace she didn’t yet know how to ask for.

Her mind made up, she turned in a different direction and started walking, and within a few minutes she was where she wanted to be.

A large electronics store loomed ahead of her, lit in artificial warmth and glowing displays. After a few seconds of staring at the garish and pulsing lights, she found herself pushing the glass door open, greeted by a blast of air conditioning and far too loud pop music.

She was only in the store a few moments, before an employee approached her.

"Can I help you find something?" the upbeat and slightly overbearing employee asked.

Kotone blinked. Then, before she could think any further or talk herself out of out she replied.  "Uhm.  Yes.  I would like to get a Nintendo Switch and Animal Crossing: New Horizons. Please."

She held her breath for a beat. That was the easiest part.

The employee smiled and asked her to follow him to the counter.  He disappeared behind into a stock room behind the counter, returning after a few moments with both of her requests tucked neatly in his arms.

"Here you go maam.  Would you like me to gift wrap these for you?"

"Yes, thank you" she said immediately.  "That would be nice."

He nodded, reaching for a silver bag.  As he started wrapping, he made small talk, as store employees will when they are working.  "Is this a gift for yourself or for your child?"

As soon as the question was asked, she froze. Not because it was an offensive question, but because she didn’t know how to answer it.

Yeonji was... she was a teenage girl with too many scars and carrying too much pain that nobody at 16 should need to carry.  A girl who could barely look Kotone in the eye most days.  A girl who hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences at once all week.  Who had once asked her, so softly it wrenched Kotone's heart asunder, if Kotone regretted taking her in.

No.  Yeonji wasn’t her daughter. The legal documents named her as her guardian.  But such a word could never encompass what either of them were to each other,

"No," she said finally, not quite meeting the clerk’s eyes. "Not exactly."  The words felt clumsy, like she’d left too much unsaid, but it was the only answer she could manage.

Kotone's pause before answering meant he didn't press any further.  Instead, he wrapped the gift in silver paper, tying it with a blue ribbon.  He put the whole package in a gift bag, and waited as Kotone presented her card to pay.  

Then, with the payment made, Kotone accepted the bag with a small thank you and left the store.

________________________________________

The question followed her all of the way home. 

Is this a gift for yourself or for your child?

Months ago, she had rushed to the hospital, unsure of what she would find, barely remembering the girl that Yeonji used to be.  And then, after the nurse told her everything, she had to watch Yeonji sleep with IV lines in her arms and cry in her sleep.  She moved cities for Yeonji.  Changed her life completely. Opened her quiet house to an even quieter girl.

The only thing Kotone could say for certain is that she cared.  She cared so much and she just hoped she would be enough.

And all of that had led her here.  

To a new city, carrying a Nintendo Switch and Animal Crossing wrapped in a gift bag.

A thought crossed her mind then.  Would Yeonji think this was some kind of... bribe?  A way of trying to buy forgiveness?  She hoped not, because that wasn't her intention at all.  

She had seen the way Yeonji had watched the advert and wanted to do something nice.  To give something freely, without any pre conditions attached.

She reached the apartment building before she realised it.   She paused for a few moments at the bottom of the stairs, looking up but not moving. 

It wasn't a bribe.  It wasn't to seek forgiveness.  It was just a gift she wanted to give because she wanted Yeonji to have it.

So, with a deep breath, she took the stairs, up to her front door, and reached for her keys.

________________________________________

The key clicked in the lock like it always did, the door swinging open as she turned the door handle.  She hesitated on the threshold, fingers curled around the handle, heart suddenly thudding in her chest with a ridiculous weight. Her mind was a storm of what-ifs.

What if she’d overstepped?  What if Yeonji hadn’t even liked the advert? What if she was just zoning out and Kotone had built it all up in her head? What if Yeonji thought she was trying to buy forgiveness for the weekend before, for the silence that had stretched too long and too sharp between them?

That last one stung more than she cared to admit.  Even though it wasn't true, she didn't know how Yeonji would take it.

Instead, she trusted the flicker of awe she'd seen in Yeonji’s eyes.

So she stepped inside.

“I’m home,” she called, soft but clear, slipping off her shoes and closing the door behind her. The familiar scent of the apartment greeted her.  Laundry detergent, and the smell of soup she had made earlier.  

She stepped from the hallway into the main room.

________________________________________

Yeonji.  A few minutes before Kotone comes home.

Yeonji had barely moved from the couch all day.

The throw was bunched around her shoulders, the TV playing in the background.  She had been watching an episode of Running Man.  Had even laughed at one of the moments on screen, before it got too much and she had muted the sound, watching the rest of the program in silence with subtitles.  

When Kotone had left earlier, she had welcomed the empty apartment. It was a moment to breathe, to just be alone and be in her own mind and thoughts. 

But then the minutes kept ticking, and now three hours had passed.

She told herself that Kotone was just out shopping, that she’d left food in the fridge and snacks on the table.  But when one hour became two, the creeping voice in the back of Yeonji’s mind started.

What if she wasn’t coming back?

What if she got tired of her and left her like everyone else?

What if she had to go back to a home with raised voices and raised fists?

Part of her knew that her mind was wrong.  That Kotone would be back, and everything was OK.  But that didn't stop her chest from tightening and her breathing become shallower.

What if.  What if.  What if.

Over and over her mind played.  With trembling hands, she reached for her phone, looking at the only contact name she had saved.  Kotone's name was right there, and her finger hovered over the call button.

To do what?  Ask where she was?  When she would be back?  Have you abandoned me?

Just as she was about to press the call button, she heard the front door beep, and then a few seconds later Kotone's voice say “I’m home.”

It was just two words, but they hit like a rope thrown to someone slipping under the waves, something solid to cling to in the dark water.

Yeonji froze, blinking fast. Her hand dropped from her phone to her lap as her whole body sagged with something like relief.

Kotone was back.

She always came back.

Yeonji tucked her face into the blanket, trying to hide the way her eyes were burning.

It was okay for now. She was okay.

________________________________________

Kotone

For some bizarre reason, Kotone felt nervous.  Her hands were sweating.

It was ridiculous. She’d stood in front of hundreds of people giving lectures at universities.  Once, she had helped break up a fight between two drunk men outside her old apartment in Tokyo. But this?

This was terrifying.

Yeonji had given her a quiet hi when she stepped into the living room.  It was nothing more than a whisper, soft and brittle.  And Kotone had meant to reply.  She had.  But her throat locked up, nerves hijacking her entire body, and instead she had just nodded tightly and walked further in and towards the kitchen.

She set her keys, the flowers she had bought earlier and the gift bag down on the table, before shrugging off her jacket and hanging it over the back of a chair.  She moved slower than normal, everything a delaying tactic to try and stop the nerves she felt.

She stared at the gift bag sitting there, innocuous and ordinary.

It may as well have been a ticking timebomb.

________________________________________

Yeonji

Something was wrong.

After Kotone had entered the apartment, Yeonji had given her a small, quiet hi, to which Kotone had only nodded. 

Yeonji watched as she moved in to the kitchen, her senses picking up the changes.  She was moving differently...slower than usual.  She was stalling, like she was trying to hide something or avoid a topic of conversation.  

Yeonji didn’t know what it meant, but old patterns and fears reared up fast, like being slammed with a tidal wave.

Did I do something? Did I miss something?

Her eyes scanned the room as if it might explain things for her. And then she saw the gift bag on the table.

Her gaze flinched away almost immediately. She knew it wasn't for her.  That it couldn't be for her.  Things like that never were unless it was some cruel prank.  That had happened more times than she cared to remember.

She curled tighter into the couch and pulled the throw around herself again, bracing for whatever this was.

________________________________________

Kotone

Okay.

Okay. She was an adult and a big girl, she could do this.

She picked up the gift bag, her fingers brushing the blue ribbon as she did.  Finally turning to face Yeonji, she walked the few short steps over to the couch like it was the longest walk in the world.

“Hey,” she said softly. Her voice cracked a little, but Yeonji looked up. Those dark, wide eyes locked onto her.

“I... have something for you.”

Yeonji didn’t move, but her eyes widened further, darting fast between Kotone and the bag.  Kotone noticed how Yeonji tensed, like she was preparing for something bad. She pressed on, not wanting Yeonji to worry any further.

“I saw you watching the advert last night,” Kotone continued, voice low. “You didn’t say anything, but today when I was out... well I just thought you might like this.”

She held the bag out with both hands.

________________________________________

Yeonji

No.

No, this couldn’t be what it looked like.  This couldn't be for her.

She stared at the bag like it was some kind of wild beast, her heart thudding so loudly it made her ribs ache. She didn’t reach for it, because she couldn't.

Because this had to be a mistake.

It’s not for me her mind whispered.

It was probably for someone else. A friend of Kotone’s. Maybe a relative. Maybe she was just showing Yeonji the wrong bag. Maybe —

“It’s for you,” Kotone said gently, not moving. “Go on, take it.”

Yeonji’s hands moved before her mind did. She took the bag, slow and unsure, still watching Kotone for a sign — any sign — that this was some kind of test or joke.

The bag wasn't heavy, but it wasn't light either.  She stared at it for a moment before Kotone's "go ahead and open it" pulled her mind back. 

With trembling, careful fingers she pulled the ribbon from the box.  She pulled the gift paper back slowly and carefully, unwilling just to tear it open. 

As she did, and the wrapped gift was revealed, her breath caught.

It was a Nintendo Switch.  

And on top of it was a box for a game.  Animal Crossing: New Horizons.

She blinked fast, her throat went dry and her chest started to ache.  This couldn’t be real.  She hadn’t asked for this.  She never asked for anything and people didn’t just... give her things. Not unless they wanted something from her or did it as a joke so they could take it back.

“Is... is this a joke?” she whispered. Her voice quiet and strained.

She wasn't looking at Kotone, so she missed the look of sadness that crossed her face before she managed to school it back to normal.  Instead, Kotone knelt down in front of her, her expression soft now. “No joke Yeonji. No strings. It’s just for you.”

Yeonji’s hands began to tremble.

“But... I didn’t ask for it.  I didn't do anything to deserve this.”

Kotone shook her head slightly, before answering quietly.  “You don’t have to Yeonji.  I saw you watch the advert, so I just wanted you to have it.  That's all.”

Yeonji looked at the box in her lap, the plastic sheen catching the warm glow of the living room light. She remembered the advert from last night.  The little island.  The way the characters ran around planting flowers and fishing and building homes.  It looked safe and warm.

Tears pricked at her eyes before she could stop them.

She tried to blink them away. Tried to push the feelings down into some safe part of herself. But the box was still in her lap. Kotone was still there. And the words It’s just for you kept playing over in her mind.

She looked at Kotone again, not able to find her voice or to trust it without breaking down.  Instead she hoped, genuinely hoped, that the look she gave Kotone was enough to tell her everything she felt.  To say thank you for something she still really didn't feel like she deserved.

Kotone smiled when she looked at her.  A smile that said I understand and you're welcome.

________________________________________

The moment between the two of them remained frozen.  A few minutes had gone by, slow and quiet, the weight of everything still hovering between them.  Kotone had moved to sit on the edge of the couch, watching Yeonji cradle the box in her lap like it was something fragile and sacred. And as Kotone watched the emotions play out across Yeonji's face, she truly felt like she had done something right.

Maybe not perfectly, but enough that it felt real and that it mattered.

Across from her, Yeonji finally lifted her head.

“...Thank you,” she whispered.

Kotone smiled, heart tight in her chest. “You don’t have to...”

“Thank you,” Yeonji said again. Stronger this time.

Then a third time. Stronger than the second time.

Kotone’s throat went warm. She reached for words, anything that didn’t come out too full of emotion. “It’s fine,” she said softly. “I just hope you like it.”

Yeonji nodded, still holding the box like it might vanish if she let go. Then, after a long pause:

“Could you… maybe help me set it up?”

The question was tentative. Cautious. Like, even after all of this, she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to ask.

Kotone moved closer to Yeonji on the couch. “Of course I can.”

They were sitting side by side as Yeonji opened the Switch box with a soft rustle of plastic and cardboard.  She pulled the contents free one careful piece at a time, handling each of them like they were a glass sculpture that could break with the slightest amount of pressure.  Her fingers hovered over buttons, the console itself, even the instruction leaflet.

No conversation passed between them.  There was no need for it at that moment.

Kotone connected the dock, scanned the instructions, watched as Yeonji fumbled twice before she got the joy-cons clicked in.  Kotone set up a profile for her, connecting it to the apartment Wi-Fi.

They sat in silence as the Animal Crossing download percentage climbed slowly upward. 

And then after what felt like an age, the start screen appeared.  It was all bright colours and soft music.  The Press A  prompt at the bottom middle of the page.

Yeonji didn’t blink as she looked in wonder.

It was her screen.

Her game.

Her Switch.

Kotone glanced sideways, ready to give Yeonji space to enjoy the moment.  But before she could even move, Yeonji's voice halted her in her tracks.

“Would you…” Yeonji’s voice cracked halfway through the sentence, and she paused before continuing. “Would you watch me play for a few minutes? I mean, you don’t have to. It’s dumb. Never mind. It’s fine, I can...”

She was already pulling back, already bracing for the rejection.

But Kotone cut in quickly gently saying "Of course I will.”

Yeonji stopped moving. Her eyes flicked to Kotone’s, unsure if she had heard her right.

Kotone gave a small reassuring smile. “Honestly Yeonji, I’d love to watch you.”

The smile that captured Yeonji's face then could have lit up Seoul for a week.  It was wide and infectious and the first smile that Kotone had ever seen Yeonji make where she looked truly, happy.

And that was when it hit her.

Because this wasn't just a game.  It was far, far more than that.  This was a sixteen-year-old girl asking — hesitantly and nervously — for someone to sit beside her while she played because no one ever had. Because no one ever cared enough or stayed long enough to be there when it mattered.  It wasn't something you’d expect from a sixteen-year-old.  And yet, the simplicity of the request and just being asked, was almost too much for Kotone to bear.

Kotone didn’t say any of that aloud. But her heart both ached and soared. 

Because Yeonji wanted her to watch.  Trusted her enough to share this moment.

So Kotone stayed, settled on the couch with her. Not touching, or hovering, just close enough.

And when the game began, with its gentle music and soft island breeze, Kotone couldn't stop looking at Yeonji as she played.  The way her face looked at peace.  The wonder in her eyes. 

Yeah, thought Kotone.  I really did something right.

Chapter Text

Kotone.  Monday Morning.

Chapter Text

Joobin

School ended with the usual shuffle of bags, chairs scraping, and someone in the back yelling about having too much homework.  Joobin stepped out of the school and into the grey filled sky.  It was warm and humid, but the rain that had been threatening all day had somehow stayed away.  Joobin hoped it would last long enough for her to walk home and not get soaked. 

It had been a good day.  Not perfect, but sometimes, good was more than enough.

She’d learned something new about Yeonji —small, almost invisible, but important.

Joobin had heard her humming the Animal Crossing theme song and she had recognised it instantly.  She had blurted out her question about playing the game without thinking, her inner excitement at potentially finding something that they shared and liked overriding the caution and patience she usually took with Yeonji.

She worried she’d overstepped, straying into territory she had no right to.

But Yeonji had said yes.

And when Joobin had said it was her favourite game… Yeonji replied with a quiet, yet sure, “Yeah.  Mine too.”

It had stayed with her all afternoon.

But that was tempered by the fact that Soomin’s comment at lunch had lingered the rest of the day.

Joobin knew that Soomin wasn’t trying to hurt her or anyone else at the table.  Soomin was just like that sometimes, her words running faster than her brain, loud and messy and not always coherent.  But even so… Joobin noticed how everyone at the table had shifted a little.  Flinched or frozen, almost unnoticeable if you weren’t paying attention.

But the thing is, Joobin always paid attention.

And so, she saw all of it.

They’d been friends for two years now. Two whole years. And yet... she realized with a twist in her gut that she didn’t know if any of them liked weekends with her family or dreaded them.  The only thing she knew was something Chaewon once said, offhandedly last year sometime, that she hated the smell of hospitals, before she quickly steered the conversation to a different subject.

They talked about everything.  Clothes, makeup, films, dramas and dance.  The had silly debates such as who would win in a fight between a T-Rex and ten Dire Wolves.  Or whether mint chocolate was actually good or if it was just edible toothpaste (that debate was still unresolved).

But they never spoke about their families or their past. 

Those topics were just avoided or ignored.  And the weird thing was that all five of them were the same, with nobody crossing the invisible line they had all drawn around those parts of themselves.

And maybe that was okay.  Maybe some people didn’t want to talk about those things. But Joobin felt that familiar sense of guilt starting to wind itself around her chest like a too-tight sweater.

Had she ever asked?  Had she made space for them to tell her?

She didn't think so.  And if that was the case, What kind of friend does that make me she thought.

________________________________________

Those thoughts followed her all the way home.  As she arrived, she dug her house keys out of her pocket, the familiar clink of metal and wood against her palm bringing her out of her thoughts and back to the moment.

As she entered, she was greeted with the sound of music.  Light, jazzy, and upbeat — something her mom Jiwoo loved to play when she was in a good mood.  Joobin slipped off her shoes and peeked into the living room.

There they were.

Her moms.

Jiwoo, tall and barefoot in a pair of sweats and a sleeveless tee, was spinning Chaeyeon around like they were on a dancefloor instead of standing between the coffee table and the TV.  Jiwoo’s long hair flowed as her other mom spun her around.  Chaeyeon laughed — loud and bright, as Jiwoo lowered her into a dip, her cropped cardigan fluttering as she stumbled into Jiwoo’s arms.

It was absurd.

It was sweet.

It was so them.

As Joobin watched them dance she didn’t know whether to roll her eyes, smile, or fake gag.

So, she did the only thing that made sense and did all three. “You know we have windows, right?  People could walk past and actually see you.”

Jiwoo grinned over Chaeyeon’s shoulder, waggling her eyebrows up and down in exaggerated fashion.  “Who cares!  Let them see what real romance looks like.”

Chaeyeon poked Jiwoo in the ribs. “Joobin honey, you’re home.  Come here and save me from this giant stepping on my toes again.”

Jiwoo poked her back in mock outrage.  “Babe, I may be a giant, but I am grace incarnate when I dance.”  She spun Chaeyeon around again, before grinning at them both.  “Binnie, don’t you think we look cool when we dance?”

“No,” said Joobin with the most deadpan voice she could manage.  “You are both deeply uncool.  That’s like… your brand.”

Chaeyeon laughed at the pout on Jiwoo’s face, slapping her arm with affection.  “Don’t pout honey.  If Binnie say’s we are uncool, then we can be uncool together.”

Chaeyeon stretched her arms out to Joobin, looking for a hug.  “You okay Binnie?  How was school?”

Joobin hesitated. She wanted to say “Yeah, I’m fine”. That’s what she could have said… what she almost did say.

But she didn’t.

Because she’d been raised by two women who taught her that being honest about your feelings didn’t make you weak.  It made you strong and it made you heard.  They taught her to never be ashamed of her feelings and that she could always come to them — no matter how big or small the issue was.

She crossed the room, settling into her mom Chaeyeon’s arms with a contented sigh.  They were soon joined by Jiwoo, wrapping her arms around both.  A moment of peace before Joobin wormed her way out from between them, Chaeyeon whining as she did.

She took a moment to look at them both before speaking. “Something… something kind of bugged me at school today.”

Chaeyeon sat on the couch, pulling Joobin down to sit with her.  Jiwoo sitting at the other side of Joobin when they had both settled. 

“Maybe bugged is the wrong word to use” started Joobin, fidgeting with a loose thread on her jumper sleeve.   “I was showing my friends pictures from Lotte World, and they loved them.  Said that it looked like we had a lot of fun.  But then after that, Soomin said ‘You’re lucky your moms do stuff like this with you.’”

Both of her moms were watching Joobin carefully, neither of them speaking as they let Joobin speak what was on her mind. 

Joobin continued, eyes fixed on her knees now. “She didn’t say it in a mean way.  But it made everyone react… like they were hurt.”  She looked up then.  “And I realized... again… that I just don’t know anything about their lives outside of school.  None of them talk about it.  And I’ve never asked.  I just talk about you two all the time.”

Jiwoo leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “And now you’re wondering if you’ve been a bad friend.”

Joobin nodded.

Chaeyeon reached over to run a hand over Joobin’s hair.  “Oh Sweetheart. That feeling that you have. That guilt? I know it may not seem like it, but it comes from a good place because it means you care.”

“But” Joobin whispered, “shouldn’t I know more?  Shouldn’t I be asking them about these things?”

“Maybe,” Jiwoo said. “But you’re not a mind-reader Binnie, and you can’t force people to open up.  Sometimes… people aren’t ready to talk or to share.  Or maybe they don’t even know how to.”

Chaeyeon added, “And you talk about us because you love us. That’s not something you should feel bad about.”

“But…” Joobin tried to interrupt, falling silent as Chaeyeon kept speaking.

“Let me finish,” Chaeyeon said gently. “You noticed something today and that’s important because it means you’re aware and can do something about it.  Maybe that could be you being a little more curious.  Or by trying to let them know there’s space for them to talk.”  Chaeyeon took Joobin’s hands then, making sure Joobin was really listening to her words.  “And if they don’t Binnie, that’s okay too. You’re already being the kind of friend they need, just by caring this much.”

Joobin blinked hard.

Jiwoo reached over and messed up her hair.  “Also, you’re sixteen, Binnie. You don’t have to have everything figured out.”

Joobin swatted at her hand, trying to get her to stop messing up her hair. “Stop being wise and annoying at the same time.”

Jiwoo laughed then.  “Never.  It’s all this deeply uncool mom can be good at.”

“Oh my god...” groaned Joobin, responding to her mom Jiwoo’s antics.

The three of them sat like that for a little while, the music playing in the background. As they did, Joobin thought of Yeonji’s quiet humming from earlier. Of Hayeon’s cheesy jokes and effortless flirting. How Chaewon’s quirks were never really strange, just endearing. How Soomin’s voice filled every space with chatter and laughter. And Hyerin’s stillness — always watching, always paying attention to her friends

She promised herself she’d try and listen better and pay closer attention.  Because her friends deserved that much from her.

________________________________________

Lynn

As Lynn finished packing her equipment, she noticed just how much the gym smelled like sweat and dust and cheap air freshener.  She felt like the smell was going to cling to her no matter how long she showered tonight. 

She left the gym behind without a backward glance, heading out of the building and towards the grass field where the track team were doing their last few cooldown laps.  She leaned on one of the railings, looking out at the group of runners that were closely packed together, laughing and joking as they went.  She spotted Sullin easily, at the head of the group, a smile on her face as she laughed with one of the girls beside her. 

Her stomach rumbled loud enough the track team across the field probably heard.

Basketball practice had kicked her butt — again — and all she could think about was the bubbling pot of malatang that was hopefully only half an hour away.  Her legs ached, her calves were tight, and her lungs still hadn’t forgiven her for the last round of sprints she had done. 

The extra work was being done because the basketball season was coming to a close and she and the rest of the team was preparing hard for the final few games.

They were in the quarter-finals, with most people calling them the favourites.  She knew they were good, but avoided those conversations whenever she could.  Lynn always believed that results came from not just talent, but the hard work done on the practice court.  She took nothing for granted.

But despite being tired and hungry, she waited for Sullin to finish her practice, because Sullin always waited for her.  Them waiting for each other had become their thing.  Their tradition.  

And if she was being honest with herself, waiting for Sullin never felt like a chore.  Being with Sullin meant being able to smile and laugh and forget about sore legs or the pressure of winning the championship.  Lynn would wait for hours for Sullin, if it meant being able to spend time in her company.

Sullin finally finished her warm down.  After a few words with her coach, she waved goodbye to her team, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail, sweat darkening her collar. She caught Lynn’s eye with a grin that was too big for someone who’d just finished running laps for the last two hours.

Lynn felt her own smile tug up in response. Dumbass. Beautiful, bright, funny but completely oblivious dumbass.

That was the one thing Lynn wasn’t honest with herself about.  She had been friends with Sullin for years now, and somewhere along the line that friendship had grown and changed into something more.  She liked Sullin so much but she could never tell Sullin that, not wanting to run the risk ruining their friendship.

She was able to let that thought go, at least for a while, as Sullin bounced to a stop beside her.

“Let’s go!” Sullin said, slinging her bag over one shoulder. “I’m dying and If I don’t eat malatang in ten minutes I’ll either punch a tree or starve to death.”

“Let’s not punch trees,” Lynn said with a smile as she pushed off the railing. “They didn’t do anything to you.”

Sullin looked at her like she was clueless.  “Trees are suspicious Lynn-ah.  They stand around all day, just watching.  They see things…”

Lynn snorted. “I worry about your brain sometimes.”

Sullin beamed. “Only sometimes?”

They fell into step, heading toward the main gate.  Despite practice running late, it was still light outside as they creeped ever closer to summer. 

As they walked, their hands brushed — twice — and neither of them said anything.  If Sullin looked over then, she would see the tips of Lynn’s ears turning red.

It was easy like this. It always had been.  They talked about everything and nothing.  About each of their coach’s dramatic motivational speeches that sounded like they were leading their team's to war.  Or the the time a first-year tried to copy Sullin’s stretches and fell over into a puddle.  Sullin laughed as she told the story, and Lynn just shook her head, smiling despite herself.

Sometimes they talked about their families and their sisters.  Whenever Sullin talked about Joobin, her whole face would light up with nothing but pride, and Lynn could only smile with fondness as she listened to Sullin talk.  Lately, Sullin’s favourite Joobin topic was all about how she was crushing all her recent test scores, and how Sullin was convinced that Joobin was going to be Korea’s future president.

Lynn had always adored Sullin and Joobin’s relationship.  It was so full of affection and dumb jokes.  But there was also a fierce, bone-deep love that couldn’t be shaken.  Sullin was incredibly protective of Joobin, in ways that spoke of things that had happened in the past that had caused her to be that way.

It was the one thing that she and Sullin never spoke about.  She respected that, and if and when Sullin ever wanted to talk about it, she would be there to listen.

________________________________________

They had been walking and talking for a while, and as they turned the corner to the alley that housed the malatang shop, Lynn found her mind drifting.

To Soomin.

Lynn adored Soomin so much, even when she had to listen to Soomin talk non-stop for over an hour.  But lately, she had noticed changes in the way Soomin acted around her.  How her laughs felt a little more hollow, and how when she spoke it all felt a little more forced. 

She knew that what Sullin had with Joobin, she had with Soomin. Or at least, she thought she had.  But lately, it felt like her younger sister was slipping and pulling away from her, like trying to hold on to sand as it slipped through your fingers.

She didn’t even know when it started.

Maybe it had always been there, hidden under Soomin’s noise — in the way she talked too much, smiled too wide, joked a little too hard.  Maybe Lynn had just stopped noticing because she was too wrapped up in basketball, in school, in trying to live up to the star athlete moniker.

If Sullin noticed Lynn getting a little quieter, she didn’t say anything.  Instead, Lynn followed her into the Malatang restaurant, staying quiet as Sullin got them a table and led her to it.

They placed their orders, and a few minutes later their food arrived.  Lynn’s stomach rumbled loud enough to make Sullin laugh, only for Sullin's stomach to rumble right after.  Lynn laughed as she slid her chopsticks through the spicy broth, watching tofu and bean sprouts swirl around.

Somehow, Sullin was already on her third bite, making the happy food noises of someone whose soul was returning via hot soup.

Lynn took a breath. 

“I think something’s up with Soomin,” she said.

Sullin paused mid-slurp.

“She’s still loud,” Lynn continued. “Still... Soomin.  But it’s strange…how she is lately.  Like she’s trying harder than before, you know?  Like all the noise is covering something up.”  She sighed hard.  “Maybe I’m imagining it Sullin-ie, but I feel like I’m losing her, and she won’t let me catch up.”

Sullin wiped her mouth, frowning in a way Lynn didn’t see often. “Have you tried talking to her?”

Lynn nodded slowly.  “I’ve tried, but she just jokes around or changes the subject.  Like I’m not supposed to notice.”

“She’s your sister,” Sullin said. “It makes sense that you’d notice.  Doesn’t mean she wants to talk about it. Doesn’t mean she can. You know?”  There was a pause of a few moments, before she continued to speak.  “What if she has to be loud…. Like being loud is the only thing keeping the quiet from catching up?”

Lynn went still.

“You’re a good sister,” Sullin said. “And I think... maybe Soomin needs you to just keep being that. Even if she’s not ready to talk. Stay close.  Don’t stop asking and don’t ever let her push you away just because it’s easier for her.”

Lynn nodded.  There was something deeper to Sullin’s words.  Something personal that tugged at her.  The way Sullin’s jaw clenched at the end… like she was reliving the past.

Lynn got what Sullin was saying.  She really did, but it didn’t change how she felt.

“I was thinking about asking my moms,” she said quietly. “But I don’t want to break her trust.  What if it made things worse?”

Sullin leaned back, looking thoughtful.  “You asking for help isn’t betraying her. You love her, Lynn. That’s not something to feel bad about.”

Lynn blinked.

Sometimes, Sullin had a way of saying things that hit hard, even when they weren’t meant to.

Sullin grinned suddenly. “And if Soomin starts taping her mouth shut, you’ll know you pushed too far.”

Lynn laughed — a real one this time.

“You’re such an idiot,” she said, fondness showing in her tone.

“Yeah, maybe, but I’m your idiot,” Sullin said, wagging her eyebrows.

Lynn choked on her noodles, her heart leaping into her throat. 

If only Sullin knew how her words, said in jest and friendship, made her heart skip and flutter.

They ate until their bowls were empty, the spice from the malatang numbing their mouths. They argued about who should pay for a bit, Lynn winning by being able to hand over her card before Sullin got a chance to get her card out.

Lynn stuck her tongue out at Sullin playfully, making Sullin shake her head in fond exasperation. 

“Fine, fine.  You win this time, but I am paying the next time.  No arguments” said Sullin.

Lynn hummed in agreement.  “If you say so Sullin-ie, if you say so.”

After paying for the food and thanking the staff for the meal, they left the Malatang place and walked toward the bus stop, darkness finally falling over Seoul.  

As they took a seat to wait for the bus, Sullin nudged her shoulder lightly.

“Hey.  If you ever need backup for Soomin stuff,” she said. “I got you.”

Lynn looked at her and smiled.  “I know.  And thank you.”

Sullin smiled and leaned her head on Lynn’s shoulder.  And, as they waited for the bus, Lynn sat in quiet contentment, doing her best to ignore the butterflies taking flight in her chest

________________________________________

Sullin

Track practice had left her soaked in sweat and her legs feeling like jelly.  Her ponytail was sticking to her neck, and she gave it an irritated yank as she finished her second to last warm down lap.  Her coach had gone harder than usual today as their track season was starting to ramp up towards the final meet of the year.

Sullin was a long-distance runner for the school, doing both the 1500m and the 3000m distances.  Sullin enjoyed running.  There was something about the rhythm of it — the steady inhale and exhale of her breath, the thudding of her heartbeat as she ran.  The way her shoes struck the track as it stretched ahead of her, her body moving in time with each breath and beat of her heart.  The world narrowed to nothing but those moments.  It made her feel like things made sense, at least while she was running.

She was on her last cooldown lap, eager to finish as she had malatang waiting. 

Well, Lynn first. Then malatang.

She spotted her best friend leaning on the railing at the side of the track.  The casual way that Lynn leaned, the way her head followed Sullin’s progress around the track – she just looked calm and cool.  She always looked cool and Sullin sometimes felt like a walking bumbling middle schooler next to her.  

But as she finished her warm down and approached Lynn, she gave her a grin that spoke a million things at once.  She caught the small smile Lynn gave in return, and just like that, Sullin felt like she could run another 20 laps easily.   

“I’m dying and If I don’t eat malatang in ten minutes I’ll either punch a tree or starve to death,” she said the second they were side by side.

“Let’s not punch trees,” Lynn said with a smile as she pushed off the railing. “They didn’t do anything to you.”

Sullin looked at Lynn funny then.  “Trees are suspicious Lynn-ah.  They stand around all day, just watching.  They see things…”

Lynn gave a small laugh, and the two of them fell into step.  Their bags thumped against their sides and backs.  As they walked to the Malatang shop, it was just them and their quiet chatter and dumb jokes.

After a while they were seated and their food served, each of them laughing as their stomachs rumbled in hunger.  Sullin didn’t waste any time diving in to her bowl, exhaling a quiet hum of satisfaction at the first bite.

She really did like Malatang, especially from this place they had found.

As she took her second, then her third bite, she kept one eye on Lynn as she had been getting quieter and quieter since they reached the restaurant. 

So, when Lynn started talking about her sister Soomin, she let her talk.  And she listened — really listened — the way Jiwoo and Chaeyeon had taught her to when she was younger.

Listen first and speak second.  And don’t be afraid of your feelings when you do. 

And as she listened to Lynn, there were parts of what she said that felt so achingly familiar it hurt.  Because it made her remember times when Joobin would curl up in her bed and not speak or eat.  Watched, as her bright, brilliant sister shrunk and crumbled under the weight of invisible hands.

She remembered how the kids at their old school had been cruel — whispering slurs, mocking her clothes, picking apart her kindness like it was weakness.

Sullin had punched one of those boys. Hard.  Enough that it broke his nose.

But whilst it had made her feel better in the moment, it hadn’t fixed anything.

And after their moms had removed them from that school, Sullin had been terrified that Joobin’s silence might stretch forever.

She never told Lynn.  Never told anyone.  That pain was Joobin’s to share, not hers.  But every day since then, Joobin's pain still lived in her — the quiet, sharp memory of watching her sister disappear inch by inch had taken root deep inside Sullin and had never let go.

So, she understood Lynn more than Lynn would ever know.

“She’s your sister,” Sullin said, after hearing her out. “It makes sense that you’d notice.  Doesn’t mean she wants to talk about it. Doesn’t mean she can. You know?  What if she has to be loud…. Like being loud is the only thing keeping the quiet from catching up?”

She watched as Lynn went still across from her.

“You’re a good sister,” Sullin said, quieter now.  “And I think... maybe Soomin needs you to just keep being that. Even if she’s not ready to talk. Stay close.  Don’t stop asking and don’t ever let her push you away just because it’s easier for her.”

Lynn nodded before speaking again.  “I was thinking about asking my moms,” she said quietly. “But I don’t want to break her trust.  What if it made things worse?”

Sullin leaned back at that, a thoughtful look crossing her face.  “You asking for help isn’t betraying her. You love her, Lynn. That’s not something to feel bad about.”

They kept talking for a while, finishing their bowls of food.  Throughout it all, Sullin took note of Lynn’s worries and concerns and promised herself she would keep checking in with Lynn on how things were going.  She might not be able to help in any meaningful way, but she would be there for her no matter what. 

On the walk home, Sullin thought some more on Lynn’s worries about Soomin and how so much of it resembled things that had happened with Joobin in the past. 

And she realised then, that there was more she could do.  More she should try to do.  Sullin was the jokester, the one that helped lighten the mood.  But, even though she had been brought up by two amazing moms who taught her that showing emotions was never a weakness, she was never one to put her feelings into words. Instead, she relied on small gestures and acts of kindness.

Maybe it was time to try using words, too.

So, under the streetlights of Seoul, she decided she would start with Lynn.  “Hey, I’m really glad we’re friends.”

Lynn raised an eyebrow, a faint pink dusting her cheeks, caught off guard by Sullin’s sudden confession. “Huh? Where did that come from, you cheese ball?”

Sullin shrugged before grinning.  “Just saying it, because I don’t say it enough.”

She knew Lynn didn’t know the hidden meaning behind her words — the memories she carried, the fear, the way she used to lie awake listening for Joobin’s breathing.  Or how Lynn’s friendship had gotten her through some of her hardest moments when she felt she was failing Joobin.

She decided that when she got home tonight, she was going to hug her sister.  Hard. Maybe even say I love you, dumbass, out loud, just to make sure it stuck.

Oh, her moms would tease her, for sure.  Jiwoo would make a whole dramatic show of it and Chaeyeon would probably act fake-wounded and demand to be loved equally.

The joke would be on them though. She’d just tell them she loved them too, but maybe just not as much as she loved Joobin.

Chapter Text

Sullin

She and Lynn got off at their usual stop.  After a few minutes of walking and slow banter, they parted ways at their usual place — under the signboard with the busted 'n' of the 7-eleven convenience store. They didn’t need big goodbyes.  Just a shoulder bump, a quiet “see you tomorrow,” and Lynn’s familiar smile before she jogged off toward her own home.

Sullin watched her go for a few seconds before turning toward her own home.  The air was getting a little colder now, sending a shiver across her body.  She picked up the pace, ignoring the way her legs ached and protested from her earlier practise.

But the ache in her legs was nothing compared to the ache in her heart.

Lynn’s words, her fears about Soomin, clung to her ribs.  Lynn was her best friend and someone she cared for dearly, but she didn’t know how just much Sullin understood her concerns.  Nor did she know that their earlier conversation had brought something up inside her.  Something old and quiet, that she had let rest for a long time.

As she walked, she thought back to her own journey that had led her here.  To when she was six years old. 

Back to when she was a small girl sitting in a small plastic chair, in a too white, too bright children’s home room.  Her feet dangling off the edge of the chair, not understanding a single word being said around her. 

When she tried to remember her real mum and dad, she could only remember fragments — a loud voice, the smell of sweat and the echo of tears.

She’d been born in Thailand, lived there until her sixth birthday.  She remembered there was a plane.  “We're going on a trip” one of her parents had told her.  She supposed she felt excited at the time, but she couldn’t really remember.

What she did remember was getting left behind in a country she didn’t know, with people speaking a language that didn’t belong to her.  

She was scared and isolated.  What parents do that to a six-year-old?

When she got older, she found out that her “parents”, and she used that word loosely, had never registered her birth and she was essentially a ghost in the system.

And even now, at eighteen, she never did find out why her parents had brought her to Korea, or what caused them to abandon her there.

She supposed Jiwoo and Chaeyeon might know, but she had never asked.  She wasn’t sure why.  Maybe it was because she was happy now and didn’t want to revisit that point in her life.  Or maybe it was because she was afraid of what she would find out if she did.

Either way it no longer mattered.

What she did remember, vividly, was the first time she met Chaeyeon at the children's home.  How she had sat with her one day and spoke quietly but with big gestures.  How she helped her colour in a colouring book.

And she remembered when Jiwoo and Chaeyeon came together to visit her at the home.  She didn’t know what was happening, only that they both looked kind.  She remembered how tall Jiwoo looked, and how she had tripped over her own feet trying to crouch down to Sullin’s level.  She remembered how Chaeyeon had held out a stuffed penguin that squeaked when she hugged it.

Neither of them spoke Thai and she didn’t speak Korean.

But the both of them smiled and tried to communicate through gestures. 

The second visit was even more vivid in Sullin’s memory.  This time, Chaeyeon had brought some flash cards and had practiced a few clumsy words of Thai. “Sawasdee ka, chan chue Chaeyeon."  She remembered Jiwoo introducing herself as well, except her pronunciation was so bad that it made Sullin laugh.

Neither of them knew that was the first time Sullin had really laughed in a long time.

For the third visit, they brought a half Thai, half Korean picture book.  They sat beside her, pointing to various words.  Together, they taught her how to say “mother,” “home,” “family.”

She got most of them wrong, butchering the words just like Jiwoo had with her own introduction.  Neither of them laughed at her when she did, rather they would clap at every attempt she made.  Sullin remembered those claps and the way it made her chest swell with happiness.

And then the fourth visit happened.  The one Sullin really remembered.

Because this time, they brought someone else with them.

A tiny whirlwind of curls and curiosity, her eyes bright, a shy, pleasant smile on her face.

Jiwoo and Chaeyeon introduced her as Joobin.  They held up four fingers for her age.  Pointed to the word daughter in their picture book and flash cards. 

Sullin had watched Joobin stumble over a simple Thai greeting, her tongue tripping but her eyes earnest.  She remembered looking at the little girl and feeling something inside her crack open, like sunlight through shutters.

She didn’t know what it meant then, and even now she would struggle to explain the feeling that took over her in that moment. 

There were more visits.  Sometimes just Chaeyeon.  Sometimes Jiwoo.  Mostly they came together, and occasionally they would bring Joobin.

Even though she didn't mind the visits, she still didn't know what was happening and she didn't have the language skills to be able to ask.  That was, until the ninth visit.

The one Sullin would never forget and would carry with her to her dying day.  The visit where Jiwoo and Chaeyeon gently asked her through a translator and with trembling voices — “Would you like to come home and live with us?”

Sullin had said nothing, instead she just burst into tears.

She cried so hard that Jiwoo and Chaeyeon thought she was scared.  But she wasn’t.  She was crying because she was happy.  She cried because someone wanted her.

And when she came home — really home — she cried again.  On the first night.  The next day.  And the next.  But they never rushed her and never ever made her feel wrong when she did cry.   

In time, Jiwoo’s laughter became a balm.  Chaeyeon’s silly bedtime songs in awkward Thai made her feel safe.  And Joobin?  Joobin was the piece that made her whole.

Sullin had made a promise to herself back then.

No matter what, I’ll protect this. I’ll love this.

Now, walking up the steps to their home, keys jingling in her hand, she thought of that promise again.

As she opened the door, the sound of her home washed over her like a gentle, warm, breeze.

Laughter.  Music.  Joobin’s voice, slightly off-key.  Chaeyeon was in the middle of a dramatic attempt to teach Joobin some ridiculous TikTok dance.  Jiwoo was wheezing with laughter in the background.

Sullin stood in the entryway, her throat tight, just watching it unfold for a moment.

Joobin flailed through some dance move, yelping when Chaeyeon tried to spin her.

“Okay, okay! I give up!” Joobin cried, breathless.

“You cannot give up!” Chaeyeon scolded dramatically. “The dance must go on!”

“Oh my god,” Jiwoo said, wiping tears from her eyes. “You’re both disasters.”

Then they noticed Sullin and Joobin was the first to speak. “Hey! You’re back!”

Sullin didn't reply, instead she just stared at them for a moment.  Staring at her ridiculous, loud, loving family.  

Hers.

A family that wanted her and chose her. 

Then she crossed the room in a few strides, wrapping her arms around all three of them, fierce and tight and trembling just a little.

“I love you,” she said. “I love you all so much.”

There was silence for a beat before the chaos erupted.

Chaeyeon gasped like she’d just been stabbed. “What is this?  Who are you? Where is our sarcastic gremlin daughter and what have you done with her?”

Jiwoo, laughing through new tears now, hugged her harder. “Did you hit your head during track practice or something?”

Joobin just beamed. “I love you too, dummy.”

Sullin buried her face in Jiwoo’s shoulder and let herself cry.  Not the lost tears of a six-year-old girl that had been abandoned, but the full ones of an eighteen-year-old who knew what she had and would never ever take it for granted.

________________________________________

Jiwoo and Chaeyeon

The house was still, wrapped in the quiet hush that only came when their girls were asleep.  A lamp cast soft golden light across the living room, and in the middle of it sat Jiwoo and Chaeyeon, each with a half-full glass of wine, their feet curled under them on the couch.

Laughter still lingered faintly in the air.  Chaeyeon’s mascara was slightly smudged from all the tears — laughing ones, this time — and Jiwoo was rubbing her thumb over the rim of her glass, watching the shadows on the wall dance.

Neither of them said anything for a long time.  The quiet didn't bother them, they knew each other’s rhythms like second heartbeats.

Eventually, Chaeyeon broke it, her voice a soft murmur.  “She told us she loved us.”

Jiwoo looked up from her wine glass then, looking fondly at her wife.

“Sullin. Just… out of nowhere.” Chaeyeon sniffed, half-laughing. “I thought she was going to ask us for a new pair running shoes or something.”

Jiwoo smiled, but there was that same quiet emotion behind her eyes. “I know.”

They both chuckled softly, glancing toward the hallway, where the bedrooms sat quiet and still.

“She’s growing up so fast,” Jiwoo added after a moment. “And so is Joobin.  The way she talked about her friends earlier.  The way she speaks about Yeonji...”

Chaeyeon nodded, humming in agreement. “She’s so careful with her friends.  Like she’s always paying attention, you know?”

“She is. She always was.” Jiwoo leaned back into the couch, sighing. “It makes me think of when they first met.”

Chaeyeon tilted her head, a small smile on her lips.  “Yeah.  That was something.”

Jiwoo was smiling at her then.  "Do you remember the first day?  You came rushing home from work, yelling about a girl named Sullin?”

Chaeyeon gasped, placing a dramatic hand over her chest. “Excuse me. I did not rush home.  I just came home at a faster pace than usual.  And I didn't yell... I was enthusiastic.”

“You tripped over the umbrella stand when you came through the front door” laughed Jiwoo.

Chaeyeon put a hand to her face, mildly embarrassed by the memory.  “…okay maybe I was a little too enthusiastic.”

The memory of those days washed over both of them like warm rain.

________________________________________

Chaeyeon.  Twelve years ago.

It had been raining heavily when Chaeyeon first learned about the little girl.

She had been volunteering at the children's home for a few months by then.  She would go in and help read the kids stories, or help clean up after they had turned the playroom into a disaster zone.  Maybe, help them to laugh or smile, just for a while.

When she had first started volunteering, it was something small.  A little promise to herself that she would do an hour every now and then.  But after a while, she had found herself coming back every Tuesday without fail, no matter how tired she was after work.  She told Jiwoo it was the kids, that she just liked being around them and helping.

But it was more than that.

The home was a place that tried to be gentle and kind, but was more often difficult and unfair.  A place where staff were told that kindness was a necessity, not a luxury.  A place where children sat with hearts far too old for their bodies, whilst adults tried to mend something they didn’t break.

She had arrived later than usual that day.  Her shoes were soaked from the rain and her hair frizzed under her hood.  One of the older volunteers, Mrs Kang, had waved her over, handing her a cup of freshly brewed coffee and a worryingly thin file folder.

“We have a new arrival,” Mrs Kang said gently.  “Just yesterday.  It’s… a lot.”

Chaeyeon took the folder, flipping it open absently, noting with sadness how bare it was.

There was no birth certificate.  No family details.  The girl wasn't even Korean, she was Thai.

Not even a name.   Just an age.  Six.

Just six years old and left behind in a city she didn’t know.  A child without a language, a record, or anyone coming to claim her.

Chaeyeon’s breath caught in her throat.

The staff had given her a temporary name.  Something to fill the empty space on the form in front of her.  Sullin.  

When she peeked into the playroom, she saw her.

A little girl in an oversized yellow hoodie, legs dangling off the edge of a plastic chair with her fingers curled tightly around a toy that didn’t even work anymore.  The way she looked around the room like nothing made sense and how her face scowled when she heard word's but didn't understand their meaning.

Chaeyeon felt something shift in her chest.

She didn’t approach right away.  Just watched from a distance for ten minutes.

In that whole time, the girl didn't speak or play.  Just looked around the room, clutching the broken toy.  

Even when another kid accidentally bumped into her, she barely reacted.  Just looked at them until they moved away.

Later, Chaeyeon tried to get her to play with her but Sullin just looked at her in silent judgement.

Chaeyeon was persistent though, and kept trying.  And, by the end of the day, Sullin was colouring in a yellow sun, her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth in quiet concentration as she tried not to go over the lines.

Chaeyeon could only smile, her heart pulling at her a millions of different ways.  She was reminded of Joobin, and how she would sit at the kitchen table, tongue sticking out, colouring in her own colouring book.  

How could any adult... any parent leave their kid alone if a different country?   It was unthinkable and broke her heart.

The rest of her day passed in a daze, thoughts clouded with thoughts of the little Thai girl.  Her heart ached for her and she just wanted to crawl into a cupboard and cry.  

But later, after the kids had gone to sleep and she had cleaned down the plastic seats she made a decision.

Saying her goodbyes to the Home staff, she rushed home in the rain.  She was soaked to the bone, her heart heavy in a way she didn’t have words for. 

When she got home, she opened the door in a rush, tripping over the umbrella holder.

Jiwoo was cooking in the kitchen, wearing sweats and one of Chaeyeon's favourite hoodies, humming to herself.    She looked up in fond amusement, smiling as she always did.  "Welcome home honey.  And I knew you would trip over that, you klutz."

Chaeyeon vaguely remembered hanging her wet jacket on the coat stand, rushing over to hug her wife.  They stood there for a few moments, just them, before Chaeyeon pulled back, hands on Jiwoo's.   

"Where's our Binnie?“ she asked, a tender smile on her face.

Jiwoo pointed to her room.  "In her room.  Either sleeping or reading about dinosaurs again.  Tell her dinner will be ready in 20 minutes for me."  She gave Chaeyeon a quick peck on the cheek, turning back to stirring the dinner.

Chaeyeon went to say hi to Joobin, giving her a huge hug and telling her how much she missed her today.  She sat with her for a while, before telling her about dinner and not to make a fuss because she wasn't getting her favourite Dino Nuggets tonight.

She went back to the kitchen, giving a back hug to her wife, mumbling into her shoulder "I met a little girl today."

________________________________________

Jiwoo.  Twelve years ago.

It had been twelve years ago and Jiwoo still remembered how the kitchen smelled of mint as she prepared dinner for the evening.  Chaeyeon had come home breathless, tripping over the umbrella stand, her eyes lit up like stars. 

There was no hello.  No how was your day.  The first thing she said was "Where's our Binnie?"

And then later, when she had hugged her, how she had spoken into her shoulder words she would never forget.  "I met a little girl today."

She listened as Chaeyeon spoke about her day at the home.  After every shift, without fail she would relay everything that had happened that day.  Every funny story or how she had cried over something one of the kids had done that day. 

And whilst Jiwoo would tease her every time she mentioned crying, she not so secretly loved listening to her talk because Chaeyeon looked so alive when she spoke.

But this time felt a little different because Chaeyeon was talking a mile a minute about one specific girl she had met that night.  A little Thai girl with big eyes and no family.

“I think I love her already,” Chaeyeon said. “She looked at me and she stuck her tongue out when she coloured the same way our Binnie does and I just... Jiwoo, I felt it. I really felt it.”

And Jiwoo — ever the steadier and composed one of them knew exactly where Chaeyeon was going with this.  So she smiled, took her wife's hand and said something that she knew already had an end point.  "Let’s take it one step at a time.”

________________________________________

The thing is, they had never discussed having a second child.  Jiwoo had carried Joobin, and after the birth the both of them had been so content in their lives it had barely came up.  

They would talk a bit here and there, mentioning how it would be nice to give Joobin a sibling to play with.  But there was never really any depth to it at that time.

And yet, there they were visiting the home together a week later.

Sullin was sitting on a chair, her posture stiff and wary.  She had barely said a word in the week since Chaeyeon had first met her, but Jiwoo could see the quiet fear behind her eyes.  She watched as Sullin took the stuffed penguin Chaeyeon handed her, hugging it to her chest, her eyes wide and searching for something she couldn't say.  

They couldn't communicate, but Jiwoo watched her wife work miracles, somehow getting Sullin to help her colour in another page of a colouring book.  She just watched them both, colouring in the same page, snickering a little when Sullin pulled a colouring pencil out Chaeyeon's hand, only to hand her a different colour to use.

God she loved Chaeyeon so much. 

In the car home, Chaeyeon cried and Jiwoo didn't have it in her to tease her this time because she felt like crying herself.

________________________________________

On the second visit, they were a little more prepared, as they had had a dozen Thai phrases scribbled on flashcards.  Jiwoo spent two straight days learning how to introduce herself in Thai.  

She got pronunciation horribly wrong, but Sullin had laughed and it was the second most magical sound Jiwoo had heard other than Joobin's laughter.

On the way home this time, Chaeyeon didn't cry.  Instead she couldn't stop talking about how Sullin had laughed.  "She laughed, Jiwoo.  Like really laughed” she said.

Jiwoo didn't need Chaeyeon to say it.  She could hear in her voice that her mind was already made up.  She didn't say anything either, as memories of Sullin's laughter had already made the decision for her.

________________________________________

Before the third visit, Jiwoo had hunted high and low for a picture book that had both Thai and Korean words and phrases on it.  None of the stores had what she wanted but she eventually found a seller online selling exactly what she was looking for.  She over paid but didn't really mind. 

They sat with Sullin, the book open, teaching her words they hoped would help convey why they were there.  Mother.  Home.  Family.

Even when her pronunciation was bad, they would clap for her every time she tried and it took everything Jiwoo had not to burst into tears when Sullin looked so happy when they clapped.

Towards the end of the visit, Sullin had reached for Chaeyeon's hand without being asked and Jiwoo had to excuse herself rather than turning into a bawling mess in front of them.

That night, they sat side by side on the couch and said the words they both already knew.  They wanted her.  Not out of charity, not to save her, but because she belonged with them.

And with that decision made they had to tell Joobin.

To Jiwoo it felt like Joobin was four coming on twenty four.  So smart and clever even then.  They talked to her about Sullin, showing her pictures.  Said she might be a big sister for her if she wanted to.

Joobin blinked, her face scrunching up in deep though, before asking “Will she like dinosaurs?”

Chaeyeon laughed and hugged her. 

“She might,” Jiwoo said with a smile, tousling her hair as she did.

Joobin nodded from Chaeyeon's arms. “Okay.  Having a big sister will be fun.”

________________________________________

For the fourth visit, they brought Joobin with them.  

They’d already started the adoption conversations, but everyone was feeling nervous, unsure of how Sullin would react to meeting Joobin.  But they needn't have worried as the moment Joobin entered the room and introduced herself — in the best, most adorable Thai they’d ever heard — Sullin’s entire face lit up like someone had handed her the moon as a present.

They played together. Laughed.  Drew their favourite dinosaurs side by side.

When they got home later Joobin told them in the most serious voice she could "I want her to be my big sister.”

That was all they needed to hear.  They started working on the paperwork and legalities of it right away, and in the meantime, there were more visits, more awkward Thai phrases and more laughter.

And then, on the ninth visit, with everything confirmed and done, they asked Sullin.

Jiwoo was more nervous than she had been on her wedding day.

Sullin beamed up at them as they entered, running over to grab Jiwoo and Chaeyeon's hands in her own.  

She remembered as they sat down, and in the kindest voices possible asked Sullin a question.  The translator they had asked to be present, helping so Sullin could understand.  "Would you like to come home and live with us?"

As the question they had been holding on to for weeks was asked, Jiwoo’s heart felt like it would break open from the pressure.

And when Sullin burst into tears, Jiwoo thought they had made a horrible, terrible mistake.  

But after the tears subsided, the translator, through her own tears, told them that Sullin was crying because she was happy someone wanted her.

Jiwoo could barely sign the paperwork through her own tears. Chaeyeon didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t crying.

________________________________________

Present Day

Chaeyeon leaned her head on Jiwoo’s shoulder, her smile small but luminous.

“I still remember her clinging to Joobin’s hand the first night at home, crying.  Like she was scared we’d take Joobin away from her and take her back to the home.”

“She didn’t let go until morning,” Jiwoo said softly.

A quiet wrapped around the two of them.  One that spoke of happiness and gratitude.

“She’s ours,” Chaeyeon murmured. “They both are. And they’re amazing.”

“They are,” Jiwoo agreed. “Even when they’re chaos.”

“Especially then" smiled Chaeyeon.

In the quiet warmth of their home, they sat close and still, letting the love they had built, chosen and fought for, fill the room.

________________________________________

A little later, their wine glasses sat empty and forgotten.  There was faint music on the background.  A 60's playlist that Chaeyeon liked to put on every now and then.

Chaeyeon’s hand was curled loosely into Jiwoo’s as she learned against her, and the late-night hush held the room like a lullaby.  Only the occasional car passing on the street reminded them time was moving forward at all.  But in their home, in this quiet moment, it felt like it had paused — just long enough to look back.

“She really said it so suddenly,” Chaeyeon said, still smiling. “Like she’d been holding it in all day.  I wonder what caused it...”

Jiwoo nodded. “You know Sullin... it could have been something serious or because she seen a leaf that reminded her of Joobin.”

Chaeyeon didn’t reply at first, her eyes softening.  She understood what Jiwoo meant.  That Sullin cared so much, even if she didn't always say the words out loud.

“She always means it when she says it,” she murmured. “Even when she was little. Remember the first week?”

Jiwoo just hummed in agreement, knowing exactly what Chaeyeon was talking about.

________________________________________

Twelve years ago.

Sullin had clung to Joobin’s hand that first night, crying and watching everything like she expected it to disappear. Their home, so normal and lived-in, had felt like a like a dream come true to Sullin.

Over the next few days, Sullin hadn’t spoken much, but her eyes never stopped searching.  Her small voice barely whispered the Korean words she was trying to learn.  Joobin, only four, had taken the lead by pointing to random things in the house, saying them slowly and patiently in Korean whilst Sullin would shyly try saying the words back to her. 

Cup.  Spoon.  Bed.  Television.

Every time Sullin got a word right, Jiwoo would cheer and Chaeyeon would grab her hands and dance around with her.  And Sullin would just laugh and smile, letting herself feel happy in those moments.

She’d started drawing almost right away.  First scribbles, then small shapes.  She and Joobin would lie side by side on the living room floor, doodling fish and stars, saying new words with each one.

And yet, it was the quiet things that really struck Jiwoo and Chaeyeon.  How carefully Sullin folded her socks or how she would check three times that her backpack was zipped.  Or worse, how Sullin would sit ramrod straight at the dinner table, almost like if she made one wrong move she might not get to stay.

________________________________________

Present Day

"Do you remember how every time Joobin laughed, Sullin would smile like she had won a prize?" Jiwoo whispered.

Back in the living room, the silence stretched again.  Jiwoo leaned her head against Chaeyeon, gently tracing shapes in her hands. 

“She’s come so far from that little girl we first saw" whispered Chaeyeon. 

“They both have" Jiwoo replied.

There was a pause then, before Chaeyeon’s tone shifted.  A little quieter and uncertain. 

“Do you think Joobin wants to help Yeonji because…”  She hesitated then, a little frightened to give voice to a memory they both hated.  “Because she still sees herself as broken?”

Jiwoo was quiet for a long moment but answering softly "I've wondered that sometimes..."

________________________________________

Three Years Ago

Both Jiwoo and Chaeyeon had been out shopping for groceries when they received a call from the school.  Chaeyeon had answered, laughing at Jiwoo's disastrous attempts at trying to steer a shopping trolley with a broken wheel, before the laughter faded and her face shifted with concern.

Something had happened at school the person on the other line had said.  There had been a fight.  

The shopping trolley was abandoned and they rushed to the school, worry and questions they had no answers for rolling around their minds.

They knew that Joobin had been quieter and less engaging of late.  Usually she would be open and talk about her concerns with her mom's, but now she was pulling away and retreating from them.  So they figured that it might be related to that somehow.

They arrived and were met by a teacher who led them down a hallway that felt too quiet. Outside the head teacher’s office, a boy sat on a bench with a nurse pressing an ice pack to his bloodied nose. Inside, Sullin — fifteen, tall and trembling with fury — stood rigid in front of the principal’s desk, fists clenched so tight her knuckles were white.  Joobin was curled in a chair nearby, staring at the floor like she couldn’t lift her head.  She didn’t move or speak when they entered the room.  

“Sullin-ie? Binnie?” Chaeyeon’s voice broke the silence. “Are you okay?”

Jiwoo would never forget the way Sullin turned to them and the storm in her eyes that said she was ready to burn the world down around her.

“What happened?” Jiwoo asked, her voice low but sharp.  “Someone tell us what’s going on.”

The head teacher tried to smooth things over, voice filled with hollow professionalism and vague phrases about school conduct. But Sullin didn’t let him finish.

“That jerk outside said something about Joobin,” she snapped, every word shaking with rage. “Something disgusting. So I hit him and broke his nose.”

The head teacher tried talking about ‘disciplinary procedures’ but neither Jiwoo or Chaeyeon was having any of it.  

More students were brought in.  Quiet voices.  Shifting eyes.  And a pattern emerged.

Joobin had been the target of bullies for months now and had been suffering in silence. 

They took their girls home early and Joobin barely said a word the whole ride.

As soon as they got home, she curled into herself on the couch, arms hugging her knees, eyes blank and distant.  Nothing or nobody could reach her.

Jiwoo had never felt so angry in her life.  Anger at the kids who thought it was okay to bully her child.  Anger at the teachers who let it happen or didn't see the signs.

Usually, Chaeyeon would be the one to calm her down when she was angry like that.  But Chaeyeon was just as angry, and was ranting about idiot teachers and burning the school to the ground.  Jiwoo would happily provide the petrol for her if she was serious.

Later that night, Joobin had gone to bed without eating.  The lights in the house were off, and they were ready to go to bed when they heard a small whimper from Sullin's room.  As they knocked gently and entered, they found Sullin sitting on her bed and crying — biting her knuckles to stop herself from making noise.

Sullin was distraught.  “I should’ve known,” she sobbed. “I should’ve seen it.  I should’ve...”

Jiwoo had wrapped her in a hug and held her tight, whispering, “This is not your fault Sullin.  None of this is your fault.”

Neither Jiwoo or Chaeyeon said anything about the guilt they felt at not knowing this had been happening.

________________________________________

As the weeks went on, Joobin withdrew a little more each day.  Her sparkle dimmed, she stopped smiling and her hands would tremble when she thought no one was looking.  And then she stopped talking and started sleeping with the lights on again.

Day by day they watched their daughter disappear in front of them, like pages being torn from a book.

They tried everything.  Books, music, games, therapy.  Sullin started sleeping on the floor in Joobin's room and would whisper silly stories in Thai to try and make her laugh.  Jiwoo and Chaeyeon would take turns sitting beside her in silence until she was ready to speak again.

The therapist told them that Joobin's response to the bullying had been like a trauma response.  They spoke about Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and how bullying — especially to sensitive or empathetic individuals — could carve wounds that lingered deep inside the nervous system.

Jiwoo tried to listen and understand, she really did.  But her whole world had just been pulled out from under her and all she could think was how did we miss it?  How did we not see it?

Joobin would eat, barely, but very rarely engaged with anyone.  Sometimes she would reach out and take their hand, or just hug them.  But there were no words.

But the family hung on to these moments, knowing that Joobin was still fighting to come back to them.

And then, one night, out of nowhere — Joobin laughed.

Real laughter.  Loud and unexpected, at a cartoon on TV she hadn’t even been watching.

The whole house went still for a moment.  And then Jiwoo started crying. Then Chaeyeon. Sullin burst into the room demanding to know what was wrong and joined in because, apparently, laughing and crying are contagious.

That night, they all slept in the living room in a nest of pillows and soft blankets. 

________________________________________

The healing process was slow and patchy.  Joobin wasn't just magically fixed but she did slowly get better and learn to deal with what had happened to her.

She started eating more, talking more.  Laughing more.

And one night, she told her parents she loved them, climbed into bed, turned the light off, and went to sleep.

That was when both of them really thought that their baby girl would be okay.

________________________________________

Present Day

Jiwoo wiped her eyes as they let go of the memories.

“I’m not worried about her helping Yeonji,” she said softly.  “She doesn’t think Yeonji is broken.  She sees her carrying something and she doesn't want to let her carry it alone.”

Chaeyeon didn’t answer right away.  Just breathed in deep and slow.

“She’s the best of us,” she said at last.  “She really is.  She notices things.  She listens.  And she cares so much about everything and everyone."

Jiwoo smiled, heart aching with love.

“She’s still healing,” she said.  “And that's why she wants to help because she remembers what it felt like to be carry something heavy, alone."

Chaeyeon leaned her head against Jiwoo’s shoulder.  “We raised good girls.”

“We did,” Jiwoo said. “And I love them more than I know how to say.”

They sat together like that, warmth between them like a second blanket, their daughters asleep in the rooms beyond the hallway.

Chapter Text

Kotone.  Monday After school

Kotone was waiting for Yeonji at the school gates so they could walk home together.  It had become routine by now.  Almost normal, if such a thing existed in their lives.

They didn’t talk much on the way home but she could tell something was on Yeonji's mind by the way she gripped at her sleeves and glanced at her every few seconds.   

Like always, she didn’t push for answers.  Instead, she gave Yeonji the space needed to develop her thoughts without feeling rushed.

When they got home, Kotone did what she always did — opened the door, dropped her bag, and went straight to the kitchen.  The lights were soft and the windows slightly fogged.  She switched on one of her Spotify playlists – a low, wordless piano playlist just to fill the space.

Yeonji followed her into the kitchen wordlessly, sitting at the table with her arms folded and chin resting on top of them.  Yeonji's eyes followed Kotone as she pulled out pots and pans.

Kotone cooked something simple and easy.  Kimchi, Tteokbokki and fried egg.  Not exactly fancy, but something that felt warm and comforting when you need it after a tough day.

Yeonji eventually spoke, her voice quiet and uncertain.  “Joobin caught me humming the Animal Crossing song today.  In class.”

Kotone looked over at her gently, letting her talk.

“She asked if I played it,” Yeonji continued.  “And I almost panicked.  I thought... I thought she was going to ask why I had it.  Like I didn’t deserve to.  Or that it was a stupid game.  Or laugh at me because it was childish…”

As Yeonji spoke, Kotone's brain was added its own thoughts... the words Yeonji wasn't saying but what she really meant.  Because I didn’t earn it.  Because I don't deserve it.  

“And did she?” Kotone asked softly.

There was a small pause and inhale of breath before Yeonji replied.

“No.”  Another beat.  Another pause.  “I told her it was my favourite game.  I don’t even know why I said that.” 

Yeonji was staring at her plate and she looked lost.  Like she couldn’t explain why she was feeling the way she was and why she had said the things she did. 

Kotone took a breath. “You thought she was going to make you feel small for liking something.  But she didn’t.”

Yeonji nodded, barely.

“That kind of surprise,” Kotone continued, voice soft but steady, “it can be hard to deal with.  Especially when you're used to people making you feel wrong for the things you love.”

Yeonji picked at her food again, not answering, but Kotone saw the way her shoulders dropped just slightly.

“I’m glad you told her the truth,” Kotone said.  “Even if you didn’t plan to and even if it scared you.”

Yeonji blinked — not crying, just startled.  Like it hadn’t occurred to her that telling the truth was something someone might be proud of.

Kotone offered a small smile. “You’re allowed to like things, Yeonji.  Soft things. Silly things. Things that make you feel safe.”

Yeonji gave the tiniest nod, so small that you would miss it if you weren't looking directly at her. 

They didn’t talk much after that and most of the food went lukewarm.  Kotone adjusted the playlist and Yeonji stayed at the table.

They just sat together.  There was no further explanations or pressure to speak further.  Just the comfort of knowing that there was space to exist.

________________________________________

Dahyun and Shion.  Tuesday Afternoon.

The afternoon sun had just begun to filter through the school windows, casting slanted shadows across the hallway floors.  Inside the school, Dahyun and Shion walked side by side, their steps matching in their own, familiar rhythm.

"Dahyun-ah, I'm telling you, this coffee shop had the best croissants I've ever had.  Like — ever" Shion said, voice a little breathy, her excitement obvious.  “They had that perfect crackle — like, you bite in and the outside just shatters."

Dahyun grinned, forever amused at Shion's ongoing love of anything bread.  “That does sound good.  What’s the place called again?”

“Kaede’s.  It's only been open for a while, and the place is tiny, but it’s so good" replied Shion.

Dahyun gave an approving nod.  “Let’s go this weekend then.  You, me, and as many croissants as we can eat!”

Shion’s whole face lit up, and Dahyun just watched her from the corner of her eye.  She didn’t know why, but that smile of Shion's always made her chest feel like it had a song stuck inside it.

They turned the corner toward the stairs, chatting about a new drama that they had both started watching.  An absurdly romantic slow burn that involved far too many lingering glances and scenes that had the lead actor and actress standing in the rain. 

Shion was ranting about the last episode’s cliff-hanger when they passed by a group of six boys leaning against the wall in the corridor.  Dahyun was going to ignore them, she really was, but the group deliberately spoke louder so the words would carry to the two girls.  

“…the girl in Class 3-B is pretty hot.  You know, the one that sings and has the light brown hair and straight bangs" said one of them.  "Dahyun, I think her name is."

"No but what about that new girl in 1-A.  You know the one that doesn't speak to anyone and hides during lunch?  Shes pretty but what an absolute weirdo.  Bet you I could get her to sit with us at lunch though."  said the tallest of the group.  He tapped his chin like he was trying to remember her name.  "Yoona… Yeonha... No, Yeonji!  That's her name."

Dahyun could see the smirk on one of the other's face before they spoke.  “Yeah, but what about that other girl in 3-B.  Shion?  She’s cute but her voice is so weird.  It's like she's pretending to be an anime character or something.”

Shion froze mid-step.  She heard the words because they meant for her to hear them.

Dahyun stopped too, eyes flicking to her friend.  Shion had gone still, with her shoulders pulled tight like she was trying to disappear.  Her head was dipped and her eyes fixed on the floor — like the words had found the exact place she was weakest, and hit her there.

Dahyun felt anger and fury grip her and her expression darkened.  Without thinking, she grabbed Shion’s hand, gently but firmly, and turned on her heel to confront the boys on their horrible words. 

But she didn’t get the chance.

Because from the other side of the hall, two figures were already approaching like a slow-moving thunder storm.

It was Sullin and Lynn.

Both of them where in the same year as Dahyun and Shion and they even shared a few classes.  Sometimes they would exchange greetings, and make some small talk, but that was about it really.  

But now they were walking straight up to the group of boys. Six of them and only two of them.

Sullin stopped just short of the boy who had said Shion’s name.  She wasn't much taller than him, but the way she carried herself made her seem much bigger than she was.

“Say that again,” she said, her voice clipped and cold like winter death had spoken.

He stared up dumbly, blinking in confusion.  “What?"

“You heard me.  Say what you just said again,” Sullin said, stepping closer.  “But this time say it loud enough so I can make sure you know how horrible it sounds.”

The boy looked to his friends, half-laughing. “Calm down, it was just a joke —”

“No,” Lynn said, stepping in now, arms folded, eyes sharp.  She was taller than most of them, and she used that to her advantage.  “It wasn’t a joke.  Everything you just said was mean and it was gross.  Apologise.”

There was something about the way she looked at them — cool, unbothered, but razor edged, that made them shrink back a little.  

The boy muttered an apology in Shion’s direction, but he couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.  Another boy mumbled something that could’ve been “sorry” too.

“Louder,” Sullin snapped, visibly angry now.

The boys mumbled again, clearly ready to bolt.

“Now run along,” Lynn said, voice like velvet hiding knives.  “We have lunch to get to.”

And just like that, the group of them scattered.

Sullin turned, letting a breath out and dusting off her hands like she’d just taken out the recycling.  She met Shion’s eyes first.  “Hey. You two okay?”

Shion gave the smallest of nods.

Dahyun blinked, still a little confused and startled at what had just happened.  “Yeah. Um.  We're okay but thanks though.  I was about to say something to them too, but... why did you..."  

Sullin shrugged. “We heard what they said.  It was vile and it was wrong so we said something.”

Lynn was smiling now, no longer looking scary like she had a few seconds ago.  “It’s really that simple” she said, her voice gentle.

It wasn’t that simple, not entirely.  What Dahyun and Shion didn’t know was that Sullin had seen Joobin cry herself to sleep once over a boy who had mocked her.  And Lynn had seen the way Soomin used to flinch when people whispered behind her back.  Both of them knew how fast a cruel comment could take hold in someone and how long it took to heal.

And Sullin had heard one of them mention Yeonji.  And even though she didn't know Yeonji, she knew Joobin was in her class and she had heard Joobin speak about her worries over Yeonji.  So, even if they hadn't said anything about Dahyun or Shion, she still would have approached them about what they had said.

Plus, neither of them were very good at pretending not to care.

“Besides,” Sullin added with a grin, “Dahyun looked like she was about to throw hands.  We figured we should step in before she committed violence against them.”

Shion blinked, before she turned to Dahyun, a little startled.  Her voice was small and quiet when she spoke.  “You were?”

Dahyun shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing on the planet.  “Of course I was.”

Shion’s eyes went wide and glossy and her voice was grateful when she spoke.  “Thank you.  You didn't need to do that, but thank you.”

As the two of them spoke, Sullin and Lynn exchanged a look.  That silent, best-friend kind of look that didn’t really need words.

“You two want to get lunch with us?” Lynn asked, already walking backwards toward the cafeteria.

Shion hesitated a little, but Dahyun, who was still holding on to her hand, didn’t.  She gave Shion's hand a squeeze, just enough to say, it will be OK.  “Yeah.  We'd love to.”

The four of them fell into step, side by side, as they walked towards the cafeteria. 

Shion took a breath as she walked, trying to calm her heart.  Two people she barely knew had stepped up to defend her. 

She looked at Dahyun's face and then down at their still joined hands, staring at them in both fascination and curiosity.  Dahyun... who was her best friend and someone she had known most of her life, had been ready to fight for her. 

And maybe it wasn't a big thing, but for Shion, whose heart was still beating fast and her hand warm as Dahyun held on to it — it felt like safety.  

And for Dahyun — there was something about the way Shion had looked at her. Like she wasn’t just grateful but she trusted her and that she felt safe.

________________________________________

When they arrived at the cafeteria, it was its usual midday chaos.  Laughter bounced off the walls, the clatter of trays and cutlery echoed.  There was always that same vague hum of gossip and energy — but somehow, at the small table in the corner near the windows, everything felt quieter.

Dahyun sat next to Shion, who hadn’t let go of her tray since she had sat down.  Across from them, Sullin and Lynn had settled in like they belonged there. 

But there was that flicker of something tentative in the air, the one you get when you first meet someone and are judging whether they are going to be a friend or just an acquaintance.

So the air was a little tense and uncertain, waiting for someone to start talking.

“So Uh,” Dahyun started, giving the most cautious of smiles, “thanks again.  For earlier.”

Sullin waved her off.  “Seriously, it's no big deal.”

“It was though,” Shion said quietly, voice soft but steady now.  It was the first thing Shion had said since they sat down.  And the way her voice shook just slightly made Dahyun want to hold her hand again.  “They were horrible, and you didn’t have to say anything.  You could have just walked past or pretended you never heard anything, but you didn't.”

Lynn offered her a small smile.  “Some people think mocking someone or picking on them makes them strong.  It doesn't.  It just makes them cowards.”

That surprised Shion a little, but she nodded along in agreement.

They fell into another short, awkward silence as forks scraped plates and drinks were unwrapped.

“So,” Dahyun said eventually, clearly unable to go a few minutes in silence.  She pulled something out of her bag to put it on the table.  “I know this is kind of random, but do any of you like bread?”

She had placed a chocolate chip croissant on the table, still in its wrapper.  She had meant to give it to Shion, but she wanted to say thank you for the help earlier.

As she set it on the table, the two of them eyed it with quiet intensity.  Lynn blinked slowly, while Sullin tilted her head like a bird of prey spotting its next meal.  Shion made a tiny, strangled noise of disbelief because Dahyun was willingly offering bread… to someone who wasn’t her

“Do we like bread?” said Lynn, sitting up straighter, eyes practically sparkling. “Are you kidding me?”

"We're both athletes" mumbled Sullin, eyes never leaving the croissant.  "Trying to sneak bites of bread between reps is a sport in itself for us..."

Dahyun snorted, but looked pleased.  “Then in that case, if you ever need advice on bread, Shion here is a bit of a bread expert,” she said, pointing a thumb to Shion.

“I’ve been to almost every bakery in Seoul,” Shion said seriously, the nervousness fading from her voice as she spoke on something she felt comfortable with.  “I could make a whole ranking list.  Actually no, I have made one and I update it quarterly.”

Sullin laughed, genuinely, like someone had just handed her a gold nugget.  “I love that.  Okay, but now I have to know — what’s number one on your list?”

Shion's eyes went wide and bright, like Sullin had asked the right question.  She learned forward in excitement, elbows and palms on the table.  “There’s this tiny spot in Hongdae.  The bakery only opens on odd days and they make a rosemary focaccia that basically makes me want to cry every time I eat it.”

“Bread that makes you cry?” Lynn said, raising an eyebrow. “Now that I can respect.”

“Do they do sweet stuff too?” Sullin asked, now visibly invested.

Shion nodded eagerly.  “Their red bean buns are quite honestly life-changing.”

They talked bread for another ten minutes straight.  It was ridiculous as it was perfect.

From there, the conversation shifted and flowed easier.  The spoke about their favourite songs, groups, and memories of first concerts.  Shion lit up when they discovered they all said they liked the same underrated girl group.  Lynn even told a story that made them laugh, about how she attended a fan signing event for the group and made a fool of herself in front of her favourite member. 

The conversation didn't flow perfectly.  It was still awkward sometimes — moments when someone spoke and no one knew how to follow, or where they overlapped trying to talk at once.  But no one pulled away and no one gave up on the effort.  

As the bell rang and lunch ended, they all stood slowly, trays in hand.  Sullin glanced at Dahyun and Shion with a small smile.  “Lunch again tomorrow?”

The question was light, but there was something sincere behind it.  The offering of an outstretched hand, if they were willing to take it.  

Dahyun looked to Shion.  Shion looked to her. And they both nodded.

“Definitely,” Dahyun said.

“Same time then?” Lynn added.

“Same time,” Shion echoed.

They parted then, as Sullin and Lynn headed toward gym, already elbowing each other about who was doing to win at Dodgeball.  Dahyun and Shion turned and headed toward the music building.

And as they walked, Dahyun and Shion carried the quiet weight of something new, something not quite defined but beginning to take shape.

For Dahyun, it was the way that Sullin's words had encouraged Shion out of her shell.  Or the way in which Lynn had made her laugh when she told her story about the event.  Or the look in Shion’s eyes when she talked about her bread ranking like it was sacred.

And for Shion? It was how she walked a little lighter. Because two strangers and her best friend had defended her without hesitation.  Because they wanted to sit beside her again tomorrow.  Not out of pity and not because they had to.  Just because

Chapter Text

Being traumatized means continuing to organize your life as if the trauma were still going on—unchanged and immutable—as every new encounter or event is contaminated by the past - Bessel van der Kolk.

Trauma responses are triggered automatically, without conscious choice, when reminders, sensations, or cues resembling the original danger are present - Janina Fisher

Long after the trauma-inducing events are over, the body continues to respond as if the original threat is present - Janina Fisher.

Yeonji.  Wednesday Morning.

Yeonji had never really been a fan of mornings, and when she awoke on Wednesday, it was safe to say that she had never hated mornings more than she did now. 

To her, weekday mornings were the start of another day where she had to face school.  School meant people and crowds and noise and the constant feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. 

But now there was a new layer, because going to school meant Joobin.  And in particular, today meant.... questions.  At least two of them but hopefully more if she thought she could manage. 

It had all sounded so easy in her head last night when she came up with the idea.  She wanted to try and be brave and to try and reach out a little more to Joobin, so she came up with a simple plan.  She knew Joobin liked Animal Crossing, so she was going to try and ask two harmless, low-stakes questions.  They weren't particularly deep question.  Nothing like, when did you get your switch Joobin, or how long have you been playing Animal Crossing Joobin.  No, something simpler and more casual like which starter villager did you get?  Or maybe do you like Isabelle or Tom Nook more?

She had sat in her room all night practising saying them aloud.  She tried it with different pauses, speeds and tones.  She even tried adding in smiles to try and look normal.

Whatever that meant.

But no matter how much she tried to play it off, nothing about it felt normal. Asking questions like that should be such a small, simple thing to achieve.  And yet when she had woken up that morning she felt her stomach rolling at the thought.

She got up, got dressed and half-heartedly brushed her hair.  Later, she tried to eat her breakfast, but she was too worried about the questions, so she ended up picking at her toast and cereal in little bits.  Eventually, it was bad enough that Kotone noticed.  After 5 minutes of watching in silence, Kotone eventually sat down across from her.  "You’re worrying about something," Kotone said gently.

Yeonji didn’t deny it.  Kotone had gotten better at reading her, and it wasn't exactly anything she wanted to hide from her either.  "It’s stupid.  I’m stupid.  I just... I just want to ask Joobin some questions.  I want to try but why does it feel so hard?  What if she doesn’t...”  She trails off, not wanting to finish the sentence. 

Kotone shook her head.  "Wanting to reach out to Joobin isn't stupid at all.  You want to be her friend, right?"

Yeonji thought that over.  Did she want to be friends with Joobin?  She seemed to be nice, and never said or did anything that would hurt her.  If anything, she had been really patient and kind, even when there were days Yeonji could barely scrape a simple hi past her throat.  But friendship meant opening yourself to others, to trust them with a part of yourself, and she wasn't really sure she wanted that.  She had buried so much of her past inside her... the homes... the beatings and abuse.... the knife and the school bathroom.  Not even Kotone, the only person Yeonji trusted at all, knew everything about what had happened.  

So maybe it wasn't friendship.  At least not for now.  And yet.... "Maybe" murmured Yeonji.  "Maybe not right away... but later?  But she seems nice and I wanted to try..."  She trailed off wordlessly, picking at her cereal again.

Kotone hummed before responding.  "Then, it is definitely not stupid.  And I think the fact you want to try asking her something is very brave.”

Yeonji let out a slow breath, her voice tight and small and laced with worry.  “But what if it goes wrong or she looks at me like I'm an idiot?  What if she laughs at me or...”

Kotone interrupted her gently.  “It won't go wrong.  From everything you've told me, Joobin doesn't seem like that kind of person.  And even if it does go wrong, you’ll still have me and you’ll still have tomorrow where you can try again.”

As much as Yeonji wanted to believe Kotone, she couldn't.  Not fully.  But she nodded at the words because it helped to hear them, if even just a little.

Despite that, she worried about it all the way to school, and by the time she reached her classroom, her anxiety had spiked into a roar.  She sat down, exchanged her usual hi's, but that was as far as she got.  It was like her throat closed up and the anxiety pushed in on her in ways that made it impossible to speak. 

After the exchange of hi's, Joobin had given her a window to speak.  But after waiting a few moments with no other words being spoken, she looked down at her notes, whilst Yeonji could only look at her own hands. 

She tried telling herself that she could do this, that it was only two questions.  She opened her mouth like she was going to, before snapping it closed.  The words just wouldn’t come.

You’re so stupid her mind whispered in a sibilant, mocking tone.  What made you think you could do this?

She forced the voice away, replacing it with Kotone’s softer, more kinder voice.

It’s okay if you try and it’s okay if you don’t.  You can always try again tomorrow.

She made it to lunch without saying anything else to Joobin.  On the rooftop, she texted Kotone as she always did.  I made it to lunch.

Kotone replied not even a minute later.  That’s more than enough.  Then another text shortly after.  You're doing great today already. 

Yeonji smiled, barely.

________________________________________

Yeonji.  Thursday

Her Thursday morning passed exactly as Wednesday had.  She had told herself she today she would definitely ask but only got as far as saying "hi".  

She hated that something so simple was so hard.  She tried to remain positive and tell herself that she would do it on Friday, no if's or buts.  

So, the rest of the morning class passed in its usual slow rhythm.

Until it didn’t.

________________________________________

There were raised voices from two boys at the other side of the class.  She didn't even know their names, but they were shouting at each other.  Something about their phones, or something equally stupid, but the raised voices washed over her like a tsunami taking everything with it.  As soon as she heard them, her back straightened like she had been struck.

From that moment, everything happened too fast for her to process.  

Chairs were scraped back with a horrible screech, and a desk hit the floor with a crash.  The voices got louder with anger and fury, mixed in with the shouts of her other classmates.

Then there was the sound of fists hitting flesh.

As soon as she heard that noise, it was like her vision blurred.  Her chest seized up and her hands went ice-cold before her body started shaking and her breath becoming ragged. 

The sound in the classroom swelled into chaos, and suddenly everything was too loud, too fast, too much.

Her heartbeat slammed in her ears like war drums.  Someone was on their feet close by, the sound of their footsteps echoing like they were coming straight for her.  Just as they had in the past.  

Her mind was screaming at her. Get out. Get out. Get out.

She didn’t think.  There was no room for thought.  Her body was moving before her brain could register what was happening.  One moment she was in her seat, the next she was gone, her books, bag and phone forgotten.  She was out the classroom door and she was running.  

There was no plan or destination in mind when she started running.  She fled through one hallway, then another and all she could think of is that she had to get somewhere safe, where nobody could find her or hurt her.

She was struggling with her breathing.  It was becoming difficult, and more like gasping than normal breathing.  It was almost like she was being suffocated by the air itself.  Her lungs burned and her heart pounded in her chest like fists against a locked door.

As she ran, she crashed into a wall and didn’t even feel it.   She just kept moving.  Her throat made a sound — a sob or a breath or a scream.  She didn’t know which.

Somewhere in her mind, old memories that were sharp and loud broke loose.   Hands. Shadows. Fists.  Words and cruelty she couldn’t unhear or forget.  The weight of all her fear wrapped itself around her body like barbed wire, tearing into her tighter and tighter.

She ran until she found herself in a small alcove in a corridor that was barely used during class time.  She collapsed to the floor, trembling and gasping, with memories that wouldn't leave her alone.

Useless girl.  Pathetic.  You really thought you could be part of our family?  Don't make me laugh.

THIS IS YOUR FAULT.  YOUR PARENTS ARE PROBABLY GLAD THEY DIED SO THEY DIDN'T HAVE TO DEAL WITH YOU ANYMORE.

Bitch.  You took it didn't you?  You took the money.  I KNOW YOU DID.  Give it back. 

Useless girl.  Bitch.  Thief.  This is your fault.  They’re glad they’re dead.  You ruin everything you touch.

Every one of the memories were accompanied with pain.  The back of a hand across a cheek.  Fists and feet striking over and over as she lay curled on the floor crying for forgiveness and help that never came.

In that alcove, she curled herself into the corner, her arms wrapped around her head.  Her breath came in jagged stabs as her body was wracked with sobs.  Somewhere deep down, she knew she needed to get out of the building and to try and get home.  Or to phone Kotone and tell her she needed her. 

But even if part of her knew that, she couldn't move.  Her body was locked and frozen, and her mind making her go over everything she had worked so hard to try and forget.

________________________________________

Joobin

Joobin was concentrating on the lesson when it started.  The teacher had left the classroom for a few minutes, and as if that was permission to begin, the argument started.  It was loud enough to cut through the usual murmur of the class.

Joobin didn’t look up straight away.  Arguments in school were a common enough thing that she learned to ignore them when they happened.  She vaguely heard someone shouting about a phone, a typical argument that was not that serious.  Boys got loud sometimes when they were bored.

But then a chair scraped hard across the floor and the voices got louder.  Joobin stopped what she was doing then and looked toward the source of the noise, just in time to see one of the boys stand up, his face tight with anger.

And then — the fight started and punches were swung.  Some kids in the class gasped, whilst others tried to get their phone out to record it.  A couple of them even laughed, like this was some kind of entertainment.

She wasn't sure what drew her eyes from the fight and toward Yeonji then.  But she did, and as she looked at Yeonji's face and body, everything else in the room dropped away and she felt something in her chest move like it had been hit with a hammer. 

Because Yeonji looked terrified. 

Her face had gone pale and eyes wide.  Her posture was rigid and her hands were clenching the edge of her desk like it was the only thing keeping her from falling to the floor.

And her breathing...

Joobin’s heart stuttered again.  Yeonji’s eyes weren’t on the fight.  They were somewhere else entirely, somewhere further away and far more terrifying.

Joobin was going to ask her if she was okay, but Yeonji was suddenly running out the class, leaving her books scattered on her desk and her bag at the side of her chair.

She didn’t look at anyone, she just bolted.  Joobin froze as it happened, her mind lagging and trying desperately to catch up with what she had seen.

No one else in the class even noticed as they were too busy watching the fight.  For some reason, she dropped her gaze to the abandoned bag, and then to the chair that was still half-pushed out.

And without giving it much more thought, she stood quietly, reaching over to Yeonji's desk and putting her books in her bag.  And then, she slipped it over her shoulder and went out the same door Yeonji had ran from.

She thought she may have heard someone whispering or asking where she was going, but she paid them no attention. 

If someone ran like that... then it meant they were really scared, so as soon as she was out of the class and into the corridor she picked up her pace.

Her first guess was that Yeonji would have ran to the roof, but when she got there it was empty.  So, she tried other likely places like empty bathrooms or empty classrooms.  But everywhere she checked came up empty.

She was almost ready to give up, assuming that Yeonji had left the school grounds all together.  She was walking through a hall that nobody really used during class time when she heard a small noise.  She stopped and listened closer - it was the sound of someone gasping, like they were struggling to breathe.  

Joobin moved toward it cautiously, her footsteps barely making a sound.  As she turned the corner, her heart felt like it went cold.

Yeonji was on the floor, curled tight against the wall like she was trying to disappear.  Her arms were over her head, her whole body trembling, breaths shallow and broken.  She kept shaking her head like she was trying to force something out of her mind, and couldn’t.

Joobin stood frozen for a moment — unsure of what she should do or say and a sense of familiarity of knowing all too well what a panic attack looked like.

And then Yeonji looked up, her eyes wild and glassy with panic.

________________________________________

Yeonji

Yeonji wasn't really in the alcove.  Sure, her body was actually there, but her mind was elsewhere, dragged back to places she never wanted to go.  The past screamed in her ears. Her chest hurt from how fast she was breathing.  Everything felt sharp, like even the air was trying to cut her.  And it would most likely have stayed like that until she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps of someone approaching.

She flinched, curling tighter, expecting another hand, another voice yelling at her.  But instead, all she heard was the quietest voice.  A voice that was familiar.  Calm.  Gentle.  

“Yeonji…”  She looked up to find Joobin a few steps away, holding her schoolbag.  Yeonji glances at her face and she wasn't smiling or frowning.  If anything, her face looked... soft.  Her eyes were steady - not afraid, not judgemental.  Just… watching her carefully like she was afraid the wrong word might make everything worse.

She vaguely noted Joobin take a breath before she spoke.  “I just… I wanted to check if you were okay,” Joobin said.  Her voice was low and cautious.  Each word chosen with care, as if she knew exactly how fragile this moment was.

Yeonji couldn't answer.  Her body had locked itself down.  Her throat wouldn’t work.  Her fingers were numb.  Her heart was thundering.  Her vision swam and her breath came too fast, too shallow.  Her body was caught between running again and folding into herself completely.

But Joobin didn’t come closer.  She didn’t crouch down or try to touch her or ask any questions.  She just sat slowly on the floor, leaving space between them and placing Yeonji’s bag gently in the middle, like a quiet offering.

She didn't speak, and the only noise between them the panicked inhale and exhale of Yeonji's breathing.  Then, after a few moments, she spoke softly, almost like she was speaking to herself.  “I know you must be scared.  But... if you can... could you try and copy me for a second?”

Her tone wasn’t coaxing. It wasn’t even hopeful.  She was just offering something to her if she wanted to accept it.

Yeonji watched as Joobin inhaled a slow, steady breath in through the nose.  She held it for a few seconds, before letting out a longer breath through her mouth.  

Then she did it again.  And again.  A slow, steady rhythm of breathing in and out. 

Yeonji didn’t move at first, but her eyes locked onto Joobin’s like a drowning girl spotting land in the distance.  That breathing... that rhythm… in that moment it was the only thing in the world that made sense to her.

She tried to follow along and failed as her lungs stuttered and her chest spasmed.

But she kept trying to follow Joobin, who kept breathing quietly and patiently, not reacting to the shakiness in Yeonji's breaths or her failures.

Yeonji’s eyes slipped shut and the next breath came a little easier.  It wasn’t perfect and her hands still trembled.  But she tried.  Because Joobin wasn’t pushing her or trying to fix her.  She was just there.

“I used to do this for myself when I got overwhelmed" Joobin murmured.  She offered it into the space between them, hoping that Yeonji would know, somehow, that she understood a little of what she was currently feeling.

She matched the next breaths, and slowly, but not completely, her heart began to slow.  Enough to pull her out of the worst of it. and to remind her where she was.  That she wasn’t back there.

They stayed like that — a quiet, fragile stillness between them, tucked into a little alcove between classes and panic.

Eventually, Yeonji opened her eyes again.

She wanted to speak, to say... something.  Maybe to say thank you.  But part of her also wanted to ask her to help call Kotone because she wasn't sure she could do that on her own.

But her voice wouldn’t come.  Her throat was still locked tight and her chest sore.  All she could do was try and breathe the way Joobin had shown her — shaky, uneven — and reach, with trembling fingers, into her bag to look for her phone.

She fumbled with the zips before managing to find it and pull it out with two hands.  Her fingers felt clumsy and weak as her thumb missed the unlock pattern twice.  When she finally got to the contacts screen, her vision blurred again.

There was only one contact saved, but she couldn't find the call button as her hands were shaking too hard.  So she gave up.

Then, with a soft, accidental gasp, the phone slipped from her grip and hit the floor with a quiet, brittle crack.

The screen fractured — a tiny hairline split running diagonally across it, like a wound just opened.

Yeonji stared at it for a moment before her face crumbled.  The phone that Kotone had bought for her on her birthday... she had broken it because she was useless.  Because she was broken...

She reached for it slowly — and then just… stopped.  Her fingers hovered above the cracked glass but went no further.  She stared at the cracked glass, and she could feel her body starting to tremble, tears threatening to overtake her. 

Joobin watched all of this happen before she moved slowly and picked up the phone gently, her fingers brushing over the damaged screen.  She didn’t say anything about it, rather she just held it out with both hands for Yeonji to take.  

But she didn't reach out to take it.  Her eyes were wide, scared and pleading.  A million words and none at all being said as she looked at Joobin.  Please.  Please help.

Joobin swallowed before looking down at the screen where the contact list was already open.  There was only one name.

Just one.

Kotone.

Joobin felt the sudden urge to cry at the weight of it  — not just the name, but the fact that there was no one else.  The loneliness of it.  The way the phone felt heavier in her hand now, like she was holding a secret.

She looked at Yeonji then, and in a quiet voice asked her.  "Do you want me to call Kotone for you?" 

Yeonji nodded her head slightly to say yes.

So, with the utmost care, Joobin tapped the contact and brought the phone to her ear.

________________________________________

Joobin

The phone started ringing and Joobin wiped a palm against her skirt because her hand was sweating.

She had no idea what she was going to say to Kotone when she answered.  Who was she?  Who was she to Yeonji?  A mom?  A sister?  A friend?  All she knew was that Yeonji was still shaking, still not speaking, and she couldn’t just leave her like this.

On the second ring, the call connected.

“Yeonji?”

The voice answered with a warm, familiar tone, with an undercurrent of uncertainty.  Like she was happy to hear from Yeonji but curious as to why she was calling.   

Joobin’s throat tightened, and she hesitated just long enough to hear the voice speak again, this time sounding more alert.  “Yeonji?  Are you there?”

“Um…” Joobin cleared her throat, gently.  “Sorry.  This isn’t Yeonji.  Uhm... my name is Joobin and I’m Yeonji's..."  She almost said friend, but that wasn't really the case so she settled for something closer to the truth.  "I'm in her class.”

The silence that followed was sharp and sudden.

Joobin carried on in a rush, words spilling forth.  “Something happened at school. A fight broke out in class and she… she ran.  I think it triggered something because she is struggling to breathe and talk.  I followed her to make sure she was okay and found her in one of the corridors.  I stayed with her and… she gave me her phone.” 

She didn’t realise she was gripping the phone so tightly until her knuckles hurt.

On the other end, Joobin heard Kotone exhale hard.  There was noise in the background like she was already on her feet and moving.  There was a moment of silence, as if she had covered the phone with her hand.  Mumbled voices in the background, before she came back.  “Where are you exactly?" 

Joobin looked around for a moment, just to make sure she gave the right location.  “We're in our school.  On the second floor, at the end of the hallway past class 2-F.”

“Okay.  I'm leaving now and I'll be there in about ten minutes,” Kotone said immediately.  Her voice sounded calm, but there was an edge of urgency underneath it.  Then, in a softer voice she asked, “Is Yeonji still with you?”

Joobin looked across at Yeonji.  She was still curled in place, her breath unsteady, her eyes still locked on her.  “Yes,” Joobin said. “She’s right here beside me.”

There was the smallest of pauses, like Kotone was debating to ask the next question.  “Can... can you put me on speaker for a bit?”

Joobin blinked.  “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, of course.”  She fumbled with the screen a little, before she found and tapped the speaker button.  

“Kotone” she said, gently.  “You’re on speaker now.”

There was the briefest pause, and another slow careful breath.

“Yeonji?” Kotone’s voice came through.  Joobin felt like crying again because the tone was so full of warmth and care and gentleness.  “It’s me.  I’m coming.  I’m already on my way, okay?  Just hold on for me.  You don’t have to do anything.  Just stay where you are because I’m coming to get you.”

Joobin didn’t dare look away.

Yeonji didn’t answer, but her fingers twitched, and her chin dipped in the smallest, faintest response — like she heard her.  Like she believed her.

Joobin swallowed.  “She heard you,” she said, softly.

There was a pause on the line and Joobin could hear the low rush of traffic and the muffled clatter of Kotone moving, the unmistakable sound of someone already on their way.

“Joobin,” Kotone said gently, “if it's not too much to ask, would you mind staying with her?  Just until I get there?”

Joobin didn’t hesitate. “Of course,” she said.

“Thank you,” Kotone murmured.  And then, after a breath she said “Keep the call going.  Leave it on speaker and I’ll keep talking.  Even if she doesn’t respond, even if it seems like she’s not listening — she can still hear me and that might help a little.”

Joobin responded with a small okay, before placing the phone down carefully between them, close enough for Yeonji to hear without feeling crowded.

Yeonji still hadn't reached for the phone, but her eyes that were once locked on Joobin had now shifted to the phone.  Joobin couldn't even begin to describe the look she seen on Yeonji's face.  Desperation.  Fear.  Panic.  Need.  All of it present, desperately looking at the phone like Kotone's voice was the only solid ground she knew.

Kotone’s voice came through again.  Soft, steady and warm, like sunlight through fog.

“You’re doing great, Yeonji.  I’m on my way, okay?  You’re not in trouble.  You’re not alone.  Just breathe slowly as best you can.  Just hold on a little longer.”

Yeonji didn’t move. But Joobin could see it — the tiniest flex of her fingers.  Her breathing steadying a little further.  The sound of Kotone’s voice reaching some part of her that was still there beneath the fear.

A few seconds passed, and then Kotone’s voice again, just a little quieter.  “You’re okay.  You’re safe.  You’re safe now.”

Joobin sat beside her, still and quiet, desperately trying not to cry as the call stayed open.

Part of her felt like she was intruding on something she hadn't earned the right to.  That really, this should just be Kotone's voice - steady, warm, anchoring, a tether between panic and safety - and Yeonji.  

But she had promised she would stay, so she did.  Kotone’s voice kept filling the air every minute or so.  “You’re doing great, Yeonji."  "I’m almost there.”  “You’re not alone.”

And every single time, Joobin felt her heart shatter just that little bit further.

________________________________________

Kotone

Kotone was in the staffroom, waiting for her green tea to steep.  She stirred it absently, watching the steam from her cup curl upward.  Her bag was slung over one shoulder and she had lesson notes tucked under her arm.  She had about ten minutes to herself before she was due to take her next class.

She was tired, but getting ten minutes of peace and quiet was nothing to be sniffed at.  Her mind idly ran through the structure of her next class when her phone buzzed to indicate an incoming call.  

She blinked, frowning slightly as she pulled it from her pocket.  Then she saw the name on the screen - Yeonji.

She tried not to worry, but at this time of the morning she would normally be in class.  So why was she calling?  She answered with a small smile in her voice. “Yeonji?”

There was silence on the other end of the line, which made her worry deepen.  “Yeonji?  Are you there?”

There was another pause before a voice that decidedly wasn't Yeonji's answered.  Now she was fully alert.

“Uhm... sorry.  This isn’t Yeonji.  Uhm... my name is Joobin and I’m Yeonji's... I'm in her class.”

Kotone froze.  Joobin... she knew who Joobin was because Yeonji had mentioned her several times.  She was the girl that she sat beside and the one she was tentatively trying to build a friendship with.  From everything Yeonji had said, she seemed like a nice person.  But there was something in the girl’s voice — not panicked, but careful.  Measured.  Like she was trying not to scare her.

The girl spoke again, and that’s when her stomach dropped.  “Something happened at school. A fight broke out in class and she… she ran.  I think it triggered something because she is struggling to breathe and talk.  I followed her to make sure she was okay and found her in one of the corridors.  I stayed with her and… she gave me her phone.” 

Everything went quiet in Kotone’s head.  The background noise of the staffroom faded and the steam from her tea curled unnoticed into the air. 

She looked around the staffroom, spotting one of her teacher.  She covered the phone with her other hand, mentioning something about having to go for a family emergency.

She took her hand off the phone and spoke to Joobin again.  “Where are you exactly?" she said, already moving — her voice steady in a way her heart was not.

“We're in our school.  On the second floor, at the end of the hallway past class 2-F," Joobin replied

“Okay.  I'm leaving now and I'll be there in about ten minutes,” Kotone said, and meant it.  She abandoned the lesson notes beside her green tea, and was already out the staffroom door.  She walked fast and didn’t look back.

She tried to keep calm.  Not for herself, but for Yeonji.  The last thing she needed right now is for Kotone to start panicking and making things worse.  “Is Yeonji still with you?” she managed to ask, leaving the front door of the University.

“Yes,” Joobin replied. “She’s right here beside me.”

Her immediate thought was to hang up and run.  But she needed to check on Yeonji and let her know she was on her way.  But she hesitated a little.  Joobin was still with her, and she knew that Yeonji hadn't told her anything so she didn't want to say anything that Yeonji wasn't ready to share.  Still, she could manage something more general.  “Can... can you put me on speaker for a bit?”

Joobin replied straight away.  “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, of course.”  There was a short pause as she looked for the speaker button, before saying “Kotone?  You’re on speaker now.”

Kotone took a breath — not for herself, but for Yeonji.  Calm Kotone.  Yeonji needs you to be calm right now.

“Yeonji?  It’s me.  I’m coming.  I’m already on my way, okay?  Just hold on for me.  You don’t have to do anything.  Just stay where you are because I’m coming to get you.”

She asked Joobin to stay with Yeonji and keep the speaker on as she jogged down the campus steps, her bag thumping against her side with every step.  

When she reached the main road, she turned right.  There were no taxis, and she didn't have time to wait and hope for one to come.  So, she walked faster, then jogged, then started running.

“You’re doing great, Yeonji.  I’m on my way, okay," she said again, breath slightly catching.  "You’re not in trouble.  You’re not alone.  Just breathe slowly as best you can.  Just hold on a little longer.”

A few people looked at her funny as she ran past, but she didn't care.  The city blurred around her — students and traffic and distant voices.  But none of it mattered.  The only thing that mattered was getting to Yeonji, and her voice on the phone acting as a fragile tether, trying to hold Yeonji steady until she could get there.

“You’re okay,” she murmured.  "You’re safe.  You’re safe now.”

By the time she reached the school gates, her legs were burning.  Her breathing was ragged, and her bag felt like it had gained ten kilos.

But she didn’t stop.

She waved past the office staff, didn’t answer questions, didn’t explain.  Just kept moving.

She took the stairs two at a time, up to the second floor.  Into the corridor and down past class 2F.  

And then — she saw them.

They were in a quiet alcove, tucked out of sight.  She noticed a girl that she had never seen before first.  She assumed this was Joobin, and she was sitting on the floor.  As she turned the corner, she seen Yeonji curled in the corner and her phone, still on speaker, sitting between them.

She approached slowly and dropped to her knees beside Yeonji. 

One thing she had learned about Yeonji over the last few months she had become her guardian, was that Yeonji wanted space.  She did not like being touched without giving approval.  But Kotone couldn't stop herself.  Yeonji just looked so... small and broken.  So, she reached out gently, with the greatest of care, and brushed some strands of Yeonji’s hair back from her face.

“Yeonji.  It's me.  I’m here,” she said softly.  “It’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Yeonji’s body shook, and Kotone’s heart ached in her chest.

She looked up toward Joobin then, meeting her eyes.  "You're Joobin?"  she asked in a careful tone.  

Joobin got to her feet, before replying with a small  "yes" and bowing her head in a respectful manner.

“Thank you,” Kotone whispered.  “Thank you for staying with her.”

Joobin just nodded — quiet and serious, and Kotone turned back to Yeonji, and reached down to disconnect the call.  

________________________________________

Joobin

Joobin waited with Yeonji as Kotone had asked, and as promised she arrived within ten minutes.  She watched as Yeonji leaned toward that familiar voice, even if her body was still shaking.

Joobin had never met Kotone before today.  But the way she moved — calm, steady, without panic or hesitation — made something in Joobin’s chest loosen.  She watched as Kotone brushed a hand gently through Yeonji’s hair, murmuring quiet reassurances that weren’t meant for anyone else to hear.

After Kotone had thanked her, she brushed off her skirt before speaking softly.  “I’ll uh... let our teacher know Yeonji wasn’t feeling well and that she had to go to the nurse’s office before going home.”

Kotone looked up at her then, eyes full.

“Thank you again,” she said again, this time with weight behind it. “For staying with her.  For calling me.  Just... for all of it.”

Joobin replied with slow "That's okay.  I hope I helped a little."

She didn’t really have the words for anything else.  In truth, she didn't feel like she had done much or had been of any help.  But she knew how it felt to sit on the floor alone, gasping for air that wouldn't come, so maybe that was enough.

She turned to leave, but just as she stepped back into the corridor, she caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye.

Yeonji’s hand — trembling, tentative — reaching out. Fingers curling into the sleeve of Kotone’s cardigan.

Joobin paused.

Something about that small, quiet gesture — not a word, not even a sound — just the need to hold on to something… it cracked something open inside her.

She felt her eyes burn as tears formed.  She swallowed hard, then turned away again, walking back down the corridor without another word.

________________________________________

Kotone

Kotone noticed Joobin turn to leave but couldn't say anything further because she was startled by Yeonji's hands reaching out to hold on to her sleeve like it was the only thing holding her together.

It was such a small gesture, but it just about unmade her there and then in that little alcove.  Yeonji was still breathing erratically, though it had calmed down a lot since she had gotten there.  She didn’t try to ask questions or ask what happened.  She just stayed, looking at the small hands holding on to her sleeve. 

Eventually, Yeonji’s head tilted up to look at her.  The first time she had done so since she arrived.  Yeonji didn't need to say anything, her face and her eyes saying enough.

Kotone said what needed to be said.  “Let’s go home Yeonji.”

Yeonji didn’t answer, but her grip on Kotone’s sleeve tightened, and that was answer enough.

Carefully, Kotone shifted to her feet, grabbing Yeonji's phone and bag.  Yeonji swayed a little as she got to her feet, and Kotone offered her an arm to lean on, to help her find her balance. “I’ve got you,” was all she said.

They moved slowly through the school corridors and Kotone was grateful that they were empty.  She kept her steps steady and slow, at a pace Yeonji could keep up with. 

Through every corridor, out to the front gate, Yeonji never said a word and never looked up.  But she never let go of Kotone's sleeve either.

By the time they reached the front gates, Kotone could feel Yeonji starting to tremble again, so she paused.  In a quiet space between school and street, she turned slightly toward Yeonji before speaking.  “We’re going straight home,” she said gently.  “You can go to your room, where it's safe okay?  I'll make you whatever you like whenever you're ready.”

Yeonji didn’t reply to that, but she nodded once.  

They resumed walking at a slow pace, following the same route they always took so there was nothing unexpected or different that could spook Yeonji further. 

The walk would normally take around ten minutes.  Today it took around thirty.  But that was okay, there wasn't any reason to rush. 

When they reached the front door, Kotone unlocked it with one hand, her other arm at her side so Yeonji could still hold on to her sleeve.  

As they stepped inside, Yeonji stopped in the entryway.  She started taking off her shoes mechanically, with her gaze fixed on nothing.

Kotone reached up and flicked on the hallway light. The soft glow of home spilled across the floor.

“It’s okay now,” she said, her voice quieter than ever.  “We’re home.”

And like that was a trigger, Yeonji’s body exhaled.  Not a sound.  Not a word.  Just a slow collapse like every wall that had been holding her up to this point was gone and no longer needed.

________________________________________

Trauma creates change you DON'T choose.  Healing is about creating change you DO choose - Michelle Rosenthall

Chapter Text

Yeonji.  Friday

The panic didn’t end when she got home on the Thursday.  Rather, it just changed shape into something more internalised.  She had spent Thursday locked in her room, only venturing out to use the bathroom.  She didn’t eat and didn’t even try talking to Kotone, because she needed time alone, in a safe space, to try and process what had happened.

Sleep came in fits and starts, so Yeonji woke late and not particularly rested on the Friday.  Her sheets and pillows were damp from sweat and her throat hurt like she had spent the night screaming in fear.  She could already feel that her eyes were puffy and swollen.

She lay there for a while, letting the noise from the rest of the home come to her.  Kotone was moving around the kitchen as she could hear the soft sound of the kettle boiling mixed with the sounds of cupboards opening and closing.  There was the soft chink of a spoon in a cup.  It was comforting, listening to the regular rhythm of Kotone and how she moved the way she did on purpose.  No sudden noises or slammed doors.  Quiet and purposeful, designed not to startle Yeonji. 

She listened as Kotone’s footsteps approached her door, stopping outside.  There was a pause, as if Kotone was trying to decide if she should go any further.  Then she knocked, two soft knocks on her door. 

“Yeonji.  Just letting you know that I have already called the school and told them you won’t be in today,” Kotone said through the door.  “So, take all the time that you need, okay?”  There was a small pause before she continued.  “I have left some rice and soup outside your door.  It’s still warm if you want to eat something.”   

Yeonji didn’t reply, not really trusting her throat to work properly, but her stomach rumbled in almost comedic timing.  She was hungry as she hadn’t had anything since breakfast on Thursday morning.  She waited in the quiet until she heard Kotone’s steps retreat, before she opened the door a hand’s width and dragged the tray inside.  She noticed the light smell of salt and soy and garlic; smells she started associating with Kotone and home. 

She sat on the floor at the bottom of her bed and took two slow spoonful’s of the soup, and then one of the rice.  She waited a few minutes then did the same again, eating slowly to make sure she kept the food down.  That she managed that almost felt like a victory, which then made her feel ridiculous, because what kind of person needs congratulations for swallowing and keeping food down?

As she ate, part of her recognised how much she was on alert, even in the quiet of her safe space.  A scooter backfiring somewhere on the street made her ribs clamp. Shouts of people walking by outside, stopping by the flower shop on the ground floor almost caused her lungs to close.  She could already feel her body starting to tense and her breathing getting shallower, as if she was getting ready to run again. 

She tried taking her mind off it, and she remembered something Kotone had taught her just weeks after they had moved in.  Kotone had called it the 5-4-3-2-1 grounding technique, explaining that it could be used to try and help keep her calm when she felt herself panicking or growing anxious.  She had thought it was stupid at the time, but as she felt her breathing get shallower, she had nothing else to lose.

She remembered Kotone’s words from the lesson.  “First, find five things you can see around you.  Anything at all and then name them out loud.”  She looked around the room, calling out things as she did.  “Chair.”  “Desk.”  “Bed.”  “Curtains.”  “Lamp.” 

Kotone’s voice came again, patient and calm as she explained the next step of the technique to Yeonji.  “After you do that, close your eyes and listen to the noise around you.  Just normal, everyday noises and name them out loud again.”  So, Yeonji closed her eyes and let herself listen to the noises.  “There is the sound of people talking outside.”  She let the noise wash over her a little more.  “There’s a car that just drove past.”  “The sound of the air conditioner working.”  She listened a little more and almost smiled at the next one.  “The sound of Kotone making tea.”

She felt a bit silly doing this, but then she imagined Kotone telling her that she was doing well, and to keep going, so she did. 

“After that, open your eyes and name three things you can feel.  Reach out and touch something and say what you feel when you do.”  She placed her hand on the soup bowl first.  “It’s smooth…but warm because of the soup.”  Then she placed a hand on the floor.  “Solid.  Steady.  But cold.”   She thought for a moment on what to do next, before she ran her hand across the fabric of her hoodie.  The one that Kotone had bought for her birthday.  “Soft… warm.  Comforting.  Safe.”

She took some deep breaths, helping to ground her a little, as she felt the panic that had been growing subside.  The ghost of Kotone’s voice in her memory came again.  “Now.  Once you finish that, take a deep breath and identify two smells around you.  Anything at all.”  She inhaled through her nose, and just about smiled again.  “Garlic and salt.”  Nice smells.  Comforting smells.

“Lastly,” Kotone’s voice echoed.  “Name one thing you can taste.”  She closed her eyes again and lingered on the taste of the soup.  The subtle hint of Soy through the rice.  Hallmarks of Kotone’s cooking.  The taste of home and comfort and safety.

As she finished, she felt a little calmer than before, disbelieving a little that what she had thought was nonsense actually seemed to work.  But a win was a win, so she took another spoonful of her rice, savouring the taste a little more.

Her phone lay face down on the rug, so without thinking she turned it over, before freezing.  The crack from the day before ran from corner to corner like a fault line.  A horrible reminder of what happened at school.  She hated that it felt like the crack was proof of something rotten or broken inside her.  You’re as broken as this screen her mind told her.  She put it face down on the floor again, trying to ignore the crack and the whispered words her own mind conjured up.

Later in the day, there was another gentle knock on the door.  “I’ve left you some omelette for dinner Yeonji.  And some strawberries as well,” Kotone said softly.

This time Yeonji did respond.  A small “Okay,” followed by “Thank you.”  The words felt like gravel on her tongue and throat.   

She ate more of the strawberries than the omelette, enjoying the sweetness of them.   Later, when she brushed her teeth, her reflection in the mirror startled her.  The girl staring back at her had dark puffy eyes and a fixed mouth.  Her hair was a mess, out of control and looking slightly greasy and unkempt.  “Broken, broken, broken” the reflection seemed to say.  She went back to her bed, changing into a different hoodie.  One that Kotone had just washed and still smelled of the detergent that Kotone liked to use.  That was also the smell of home, and she hoped that it would make her dreams a little better that night.   

She woke once from a nightmare.  A weird, horrible nightmare not filled with people or screaming words, but the sound of footsteps coming toward her at speed.  She lay there for what felt like for hours, before managing to drift back to sleep.  At least, for the rest of that night, she didn't have any more nightmares..

________________________________________

Saturday

Yeonji wasn’t sure if she felt any more rested today than she had the day before.  Yet, when she woke up that morning, she remembered the vision of the girl staring back at her in the mirror and decided she should at least shower.  She let the water heat up, watching as the bathroom filled with steam.  Afterwards, she at least felt clean compared to how she had when she woke up. 

She managed breakfast, two slices of toast with too much butter.  She ate standing up in her room, trying to remain calm and in the moment. 

By the afternoon, part of her wanted to lie in bed and do nothing, whilst another part of her was sick and tired of staring at the same four walls.  Eventually, she dragged herself up and walked a little.  First across the bedroom, and then out to the living room and back, six times, bare feet on warm boards.  Kotone was sitting on the end of the couch, laptop open, working on something.  She never said anything or even looked at her strangely.  She just… gave her space and let her be.

On the sixth rotation of the home, she sat on the opposite end of the couch from Kotone, knees to her chest and leaning her head against the fabric.  Kotone looked up then, gave her a smile that said, “You’re safe here” and “no pressure.”  And then, she was looking back at her laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard. 

Yeonji finally felt… safe enough to go back over what had happened.  And the same thought kept circling back around - I ran. 

Which felt strange, because she would have thought I had a panic attack would have been the main thought.  But no, I ran was the one that she kept coming back to.  She almost felt embarrassed and ashamed by it and her actions, but she didn’t let that thought take hold. 

The truth was, under that embarrassment and shame, there was truth and honesty and something reasonable.  Her body had remembered raised voices and the sound of fists hitting flesh and had acted.  It was survival dressed as flight, and that was nothing to be ashamed of.

I ran because my body thought I was in danger.

But telling yourself one thing and believing it wasn’t always so easy.

And then there was something else that she wasn’t ready to deal with.  Or more specifically, a person.  Joobin.

Because she remembered how Joobin had looked at her when she first came across her in that alcove.  There wasn’t pity or panic or fear.  There was understanding.  And that should make her feel better about it, but it didn’t, because Joobin had seen her at her most vulnerable.  She had seen something Yeonji hadn’t invited her to, even though her intentions were kind and had actually helped. 

Everything she had seen of Joobin told her she was kind and warm.  But kindness didn’t erase what had happened.  And there was that part of her that always flinched because she expected pity, or worse, someone using it for crueller, harsher purposes.  And she also wondered if Joobin would act differently the next time they sat together in class.  Was she being nice because she wanted to be, or was it because she felt pity for the poor girl that had a panic attack?

Unconsciously, she held the wrist that still carried the scar from where she had cut through it with a knife.  Relief vs fear warred within her chest, which made her feel angry at herself, which then made her feel tired.  So, she closed her eyes and listened to the sound of Kotone typing on her keyboard instead.

That night, she left the hoodie on the chair.  But when a horn blared loud outside, she put it back on.  She didn’t blame herself for it this time.

________________________________________

Sunday

The rain that had been threatening for days finally came, making their little balcony smell like wet soil and metal.

Yeonji woke with the kind of headache you get after crying in your sleep.  She was still fuzzy after coming out of sleep, when she heard a soft tap at her door.  It opened slightly, as Kotone left a mug in the threshold.  It was Yuzu tea, yellow and warm and filling her room with a soft, citrus smell.  Beside it was a small note, written in Kotone’s typical neat, teacher print. 

No pressure again today.  Take as long as you need. 

Yeonji brought the tea in and drank it by her window whilst it was still hot.  She watched as the rain blurred the city into softer shapes, letting the sound of rain on the window and the warmth of the tea relax her.   

She ventured out into living room afterwords, and Kotone was there, hair in a loose tie, laptop closed, watching something on the TV.  Yeonji vaguely remembered it was the latest drama Kotone had been watching.  The name escaped her for a bit before she remembered – Lovely Runner.

She took a seat on the couch, as Kotone angled the remote so Yeonji could take it if she wanted.  There wasn’t anything in particular she wanted to watch, so she settled down to watch the show, even though she had no idea who was who, or what was going on. 

About halfway through, she reached for the blanket Kotone always kept on the couch for her to use, wrapping it around her for warmth and for comfort.  She relaxed a little further.   

She surprised both of them by speaking.  “I’m not ready to speak about it.  Not yet at least.”

“Okay,” Kotone replied.  Then, after a breath, “I’ll be here, whenever you do.” 

That was it.  She didn’t demand answers or explanations, just left it there for Yeonji to go at her own pace when she was ready to.  

She dozed off without meaning to, and when she woke, the show was gone and replaced with a quiet cooking show.  Kotone had left a plate of sliced apples on the couch near her knee.  She ate all of them with slow, careful bites.   

Later, she stood at the balcony door and watched rain string from the railing.  The panic inside her wasn’t gone.  Maybe it never would be.  But for now, she was in charge of her body, not the panic. 

She pulled out her phone again, eyes running across the cracked screen.  She tried telling herself that it wasn’t some metaphor of her being broken.  Instead, she thought of it as an x-ray image – a fracture that you might see on a bone.   You could see where it had been broken, but you could also see how it healed and how the bones held together. 

When she went to bed that night, she listened as Kotone moved around her own room.  She did the breathing technique that Joobin had taught her in the midst of her panic attack.  In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. 

She practised it several times, finding her eyes getting heavier with sleep.  Her door was cracked open a little, enough to let some of the hallway light into her room and chase the darkness away.

When sleep came, she didn’t have any nightmares.

________________________________________

Kotone

Thursday night

After they had got home, the apartment was quiet.  Kotone didn’t steer Yeonji or ask questions.  Instead, minutes after they had arrived she spoke quietly to try and help ground Yeonji in the now, rather than the past where she had been trapped all morning. 

“Yeonji.”  There was no reaction at first.  So, in a quieter voice she tried again.  “Hey.  Yeonji you’re safe now, okay?  We’re home, and your safe.”  There was a small nod, signalling that she had heard her.  “I’m going to put the kettle on, and I’ll leave something warm outside your door,” she said, keeping her voice level and slow.  “You can stay in your room as long as you need to.  Take your time.”

Yeonji shuffled into her room, pushing the door closed behind her.  In the kitchen she rinsed her hands under hot water longer than she needed, hoping that the heat from the water would calm her nerves that were still on edge.   She set the speakers to a low, wordless piano playlist and made tea.  She knocked the door quietly, just to let Yeonji know it was there.  A few minutes later she heard the door open and close quickly.  Enough to let the pressure in her chest ease slightly.

There were other, more practical things that needed taking care of.  She called the school to let them know that Yeonji would be off the rest of today and tomorrow, and likely next week as well.  She caller her own work to rearrange somethings, letting them know she had some family issues to take care of.  Some lessons would be pre-recorded, other by zoom for the week.  As she cancelled and rearranged any face-to-face meetings she had plan, she gave silent thanks that her work was so understanding and able to accommodate her. 

She didn’t make dinner, remembering that Yeonji tended to have no appetite when she was having bad days.  Before going to bed, she left the hallway light on low, just so there wasn’t pure darkness if Yeonji had to go to the bathroom during the night.  She left her own bedroom door open with the smallest of cracks, just so she could listen in case Yeonji had a bad nightmare or needed her. 

She hated how much it resembled the first few weeks and months after she had taken Yeonji in. 

________________________________________

Friday

Friday morning found her moving in small, predictable steps.  She boiled the kettle, opened the curtains and left rice and soup by Yeonji’s door, letting her know it was there.  She listened for the sound of the door opening and closing, exhaling in relief as it did.

Kotone kept a mental track of what Yeonji ate and how much.  After the early episode when she had snapped at Yeonji for being so picky with her food, she learned not to push.  Still, even months after she had taken Yeonji in, she was still underweight.  She was doing better than she was, and her appetite was much better, but it didn’t stop her worrying about it, or about her.  Food had been used as a weapon against Yeonji in the past, and Kotone knew that her appetite came and went depending on how she was feeling or how her day went.

She hated that she had to keep a mental diary of it. 

She didn’t expect to see Yeonji at all today, but she shifted the apartment toward gentler settings just in case.  The volume of the TV and music was kept at a gentle hum; she made sure the volume on her mobile phone ringer was on its lowest setting.  Even the intercom volume was put on low. 

She passed her day by working.  She answered student emails, marked some assessments and planned out future lessons.  Outside the window, trees swayed lazily in the early summer wind.

In the evening, she made omelette and cut fresh strawberries, leaving it outside Yeonji’s bedroom door.  She was surprised when Yeonji replied with a small “okay” and “thank you.”  Three simple words, but she felt a little better after hearing them.

Again, she left her door open at night, just in case.

________________________________________

Saturday

Kotone was up early, pottering around the house.  She listened as Yeonji moved around after waking up, and as the shower ran for longer than usual. 

She made her toast, with a little more butter so it wasn't dry when Yeonji decided to eat it. 

With nothing else to do, she sat on the couch and opened her work laptop, sending work back to her class.  In the afternoon, she was startled a little as Yeonji left her room.  She didn’t speak, but she was… pacing the home.  Bedroom, hallway, living room.  Once, twice, five times. 

Kotone let her be.  This was just Yeonji’s way of escaping her room for a while, and in truth she was happy to see her moving around and not just lying on her bed.

On the sixth trip into the living room, Yeonji stopped and took a seat on the other side of the couch.  She smiled at Yeonji then, grateful and pleased that she had come out of her room at all.  Neither of them spoke, there was no need for it at that point.  Yeonji would come to her when she was ready and pushing her would make things worse, not better.

She noted how fidgety Yeonji was.  Filed away how, whether Yeonji meant to or not, she kept holding the wrist that she had cut. 

By night, Kotone found herself at the table writing in her notebook and diary that she kept.  It was full of words and phrases and things she put down to try and remind herself on how to treat Yeonji.  To help her do the best that she could… and maybe tell herself that was she was doing a good job.  Today’s entry was short.

Don’t push and don’t quiz.  That will push her away, not pull her closer. 

Be there without pushing. 

Let her choose how and when she decides to talk.  It’s her terms and her time. 

________________________________________

Sunday

Rain finally came and gentled the world into blurred edges. Kotone left yuzu tea and a note by the door and took her own shower, letting the hot water run long enough to take away some her stress and concerns.

In the morning, she exchanged some texts with her parents to let them know she was okay and doing well.  There were vague promises of coming to visit, something she knew she would never be able to do for a long time. 

Yeonji was her priority, so she didn’t even feel that bad about lying.  She wondered if that made her a bad person or not.

By afternoon, she was catching up with her favourite drama of late, Lovely Runner, when Yeonji joined her on the couch again.  Around halfway through, she pulled her blanket around her, startling Kotone slightly by speaking.

“I’m not ready to speak about it.  Not yet at least” Yeonji said. 

Kotone hadn’t asked for anything, so Yeonji had offered this on her own.  That made Kotone happy, because it meant Yeonji had been aware enough to know that Kotone wanted to talk, but wasn’t pushing her. 

It had taken months for them to find and build that kind of understanding, so it delighted her to know that Yeonji hadn’t been set back in every way.

“Okay,” Kotone replied.  “I’ll be here, whenever you do.” 

She was slightly amused as she watched Yeonji try to fight falling asleep, her head falling and shooting back up before she eventually drifted off. 

Yeonji had left her phone on the sofa face down, so Kotone picked it up, noticing the cracked screen again.  Taking out her own phone, she went into her notes app to add something to her list that she had been creating over the last few days. 

Get the screen on Yeonji’s phone repaired.  In brackets, she added no “it’s fine” allowed.  Because she knew Yeonji would tell her that it was fine.  That she dropped it, and it was her mistake. 

But in Kotone’s mind, that didn’t matter.  She didn’t want the cracked screen to be a visual reminder of that school alcove every time she looked at it. 

She glanced over the other things that she had added:

• Let school know Yeonji would be off.
• Let work know I will be off.
• Keep our mornings simple and don’t change routines because of what happened.
• Try to find a way to thank Joobin.

She had added the last one in a rush on Thursday, something that was on her mind and didn’t want to forget.  Joobin had been helpful, and despite not knowing the reasons for Yeonji’s episode, she had stayed and helped Yeonji call Kotone. 

She had said thank you at the time… but that didn’t feel enough.  She would deal with that next week somehow.

Toward evening, Kotone made them a light dinner, pleased that Yeonji ate most of it.  Before bed, she checked the hallway light to make sure it was on the lowest setting. 

Again, she left her door cracked and fell asleep to the round of rain on the window. 

She couldn’t protect Yeonji from everything. But she could offer this: safety, structure, presence. The rest would take time

________________________________________

Joobin.  Thursday.

After Kotone arrived, Joobin didn’t linger.

She had stayed with Yeonji until Kotone had arrived.  Kotone had asked her to, but she would have stayed with Yeonji even if she hadn’t.  Leaving her alone was never an option. 

Still, something about the way in which Yeonji had reached out with trembling fingers, curling into the fabric of Kotone’s cardigan like it was the only thing holding her together, stayed with her.  An image she couldn’t shake.

She walked slowly back to class, dazed and not quite able to process what had happened or why.  She had walked this corridor every day.  The same horrible squeaky floor, the same posters peeling off the walls, the ugly yellowish white lighting.  But for some reason it felt different, like this was her first time walking this corridor. 

By the time she got back to class, the fight had already been broken up.

The two boys involved had been dragged off by another teacher, and the rest of the class had mostly gone back to pretending nothing had happened.  A few of her classmates were still whispering about the fight, whilst another was texting someone from under the desk.  One kid was doing a dramatic enactment of the first punch in slow motion.

She quietly let the teacher know that Yeonji had been ill and went to the nurse, getting a quiet nod and a thank you for letting me know in return.  When she took her seat, it felt emptier than usual not having Yeonji beside her. 

Nobody asked her where Yeonji had gone or how she was, and everything about that felt wrong.

She opened her notebook and stared at the sentence she'd been writing before the fight had broken out.  It might as well have been written by someone else.

At lunch, she didn’t meet her friends as usual. She needed space to breathe and to think.  To try and stop the image of Yeonji curled on the floor replaying itself over and over again in her head.

So, she sent a quick text to the group chat saying she had something else on and instead climbed the stairs to the rooftop and sat with her knees pulled up, her lunch sitting beside her untouched.

This is where Yeonji comes every day for lunch, she idly thought to herself.  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it would feel like to sit alone here every day — to carry all that silence around like a second skin.

She was feeling conflicted in ways she couldn’t place.  It wasn’t guilt, but there was a weight in her chest that she couldn’t shake.  It pressed in like she was holding something too delicate, and she didn’t know how to carry it without hurting it.

She thought about Yeonji’s eyes when she handed her the phone.  She thought about the crack across the screen.  She thought about her contact list having only one contact on it. 

Only one contact.  Only one person in the world that she had saved on her phone.

That was the thing that really stuck with her, even more than the image of Yeonji being curled up the way she had been.

And she kept coming back to something else.  She had known something had happened to Yeonji.  Not just in the alcove today, but something far deeper and older.  She had known it from the first day Yeonji had sat down beside her. 

And sure, Yeonji hadn’t offered anything to her, but could she have done more?  Asked more questions?  Tried to get Yeonji to open up more?   

She just… didn’t know.  Could have.  Should have.  The same, familiar feeling she had with her own friends.

In truth, her emotions were all over the place.  She didn’t know Yeonji, and yet whatever she was feeling, it wouldn’t go away.  All she knew was that it was something she didn’t want to feel or get wrong again.

After school, she checked her group chat.  There were messages from her friends making sure she was okay.  She replied with a quick Emoji in response to let them know she had seen their messages, before tucking her phone away.  She walked home slowly, stopping to run her fingers along the bridge railing that led to her neighbourhood.  She took a few seconds just to listen to the traffic passing by, as well as the sound of the river below her.    

When Joobin got home, the house was its usual kind of warm.  There was the sound of pan-fried dumplings sizzling in the skillet and the rice cooker ticking like a small heartbeat.  Jiwoo was at the stove with her chopsticks poised like precision tools, whilst Chaeyeon was at the table, chin in palm, watching her wife like a surgeon about to declare time of dumpling.

“I’m home,” Joobin called, dropping her bag.

“Hey, Binnie,” Jiwoo said, eyes still on the pan. “Did school treat you nice today?”

Joobin paused in the doorway. “Not… really.  It was a weird day.”

That pulled both of them around. Jiwoo flicked the flame off and slid the dumplings on to a plate.  Chaeyeon was already half out of her chair, then stopped herself, reading Joobin’s face, and patted the chair beside her instead.

“Come sit,” Chaeyeon said, softer. “You okay? Did something happen to you?”

“I’m okay,” Joobin said quickly, easing down. “Nothing happened to me. It’s just…” She chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment. “Well I can’t tell you everything. It’s not my story.”

“Then don’t,” Jiwoo said simply, setting the plate in front of them and nudging a glass of water to Joobin’s hand. “Just tell us what you can.”

Joobin breathed. “There was a fight in class.  Two idiots arguing over a phone or something.  It got loud and Yeonji… ran.  Like, she stood up and ran from the class.  The look on her face before she ran… she looked terrified moms.”

Chaeyeon’s fingers curled on the table, then flattened.  “Okay,” she said, keeping her voice level. “And what happened next?”

“I followed her.  I found her in one of the empty halls.  She was…” Joobin’s voice thinned.  “Having a panic attack. She couldn't breathe properly and she was curled up in the corner.  I didn’t know what to do for a second, and then I just… sat and tried to help her with her breathing.  Like you taught me.  I asked if I could call someone and she… gave me her phone.”  She swallowed.  “There was only one contact on her phone moms... someone called Kotone.  I called and she stayed on the line the whole time as she came to get Yeonji.   I waited till she got there, and then I left.”

For a beat, all you could hear was the rice cooker and the far-off sound of a neighbour’s music playing.

Chaeyeon blew out a breath she’d been holding and rubbed her sternum like she was smoothing down her own heartbeat.  “First of all Joobin, I am very proud of you.  We both are.  Second: if any teacher tells me no one saw that fight starting, I will personally...”  She felt Jiwoo’s look and dialled it back with a small, sheepish tilt of her head.  "...write a strongly worded email.  With bullet points.”

Jiwoo hid a smile and topped up Joobin’s water. “You did the right things, Binnie. You stayed and helped.  You called the person she trusts.  You did everything right.”

“I keep thinking,” Joobin said, staring at her hands, “what if I hadn’t gone after her?”

“But you did,” Jiwoo said, not unkindly.  “And because you did, she wasn’t alone.”

“It felt like I was holding someone else’s heart,” Joobin whispered.  “Like if I squeezed too hard it would break.”

Chaeyeon’s face went soft in that way it only did for her family.  “Oh Binnie.  That’s exactly what it was,” she said. “And you held it just right.”

Jiwoo slid the plate of dumplings a little closer. “Eat one. Salt and starch are allowed after the day you had.”

Joobin huffed a tiny laugh and took a dumpling. 

“You don’t have to manage this by yourself,” Chaeyeon added, gentler now.  “If you want one of us to talk to the school about the fight stuff, we can.  We can double team them.  I'll do the calm adult, and Jiwoo can do the scarier calm adult.”

“No, it's okay,” Joobin said.  “Fights happen at school, and it's probably better to leave it for Kotone to deal with.  And I think… I think what Yeonji needs is to know people won’t make it worse.”

“Then just keep doing what you have been,” Jiwoo said.  “Small.  Quiet.  Consistent.  Just what she needs, yeah?"

Chaeyeon pointed a chopstick at her, mock-stern.  “And if your chest feels tight later, you come find us.  We’ll sit on the floor and breathe in a triangle like weirdos.”

“We are weirdos,” Jiwoo said mildly, refilling everyone’s water like it was a ritual.  "Especially you, honey" she added with a teasing lint.

“That it your brand mom” Joobin muttered, but she was had a smile on her face that reached her eyes.

“I would like you both to know,” Chaeyeon started, “That I am mortally offended by your accusations.”

Joobin laughed along with Jiwoo at Chaeyeon's attempts at convincing them that she was not the biggest weirdo in the family.  As she did, she exhaled a slow, steady, breath, to ease the tension between her shoulder blades.  She took another dumpling, and let it's warmth and the voices of her mums do the rest.

________________________________________

Kotone.  Monday

Kotone didn’t go to work this morning as planned.  She didn’t like taking time off, especially since she had already had so much time off in such a short space of time.  But neither could she just leave Yeonji.  So, as much as she hated being off, she knew this was the best thing for Yeonji. 

Like the last few days, Yeonji didn’t say much. She hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words since Thursday, and Kotone didn’t push or hover.  She just made sure she was available and nearby if needed.

That morning, she made breakfast and noted that Yeonji ate a little more than she had in the last few days.  Another small thing she added in to her mental win column. 

Later, Yeonji curled on her spot on the couch, her Nintendo Switch in hand, playing Animal Crossing.

Kotone didn’t say a word, but she did smile. 

By afternoon, there was a soft stream of sunlight coming through the curtains, which helped add to the ease in the air that had been absent since Thursday.  

Kotone thought this was a good as time as any to bring up her idea of personally thanking Joobin for helping on Thursday.  Because even though she had added the note on Sunday, she would never actually follow through with it before speaking to Yeonji and getting her acceptance.

Yeonji had barely moved since taking her seat earlier, the soft sounds of Animal Crossing drifting across the room as she played.  She approached and took her spot on the couch, waiting a few breaths before speaking.  “Yeonji,” she said gently. “Could you pause the game for a second so I can ask you something?”

Yeonji looked up hesitantly, blinking slowly before she paused her game and put it down.  There were no words, but a small nod was enough to let her know she could ask. 

Kotone hesitated, choosing her words with care. “I wanted to run this by you before I do anything.  I was going to try and thank Joobin for her help on Thursday.  And maybe her parents as well.”

Yeonji went completely still at that. 

Kotone kept her voice steady.  “It would just be to say thanks for how she stayed with you and for calling me.  But also, for being so calm and kind in the middle of something scary.”

Yeonji didn’t speak, but her eyes stayed on Kotone now.  Watching.  Waiting.  Judging.

“I don’t have a plan yet,” Kotone admitted. “I haven’t really thought it through.  But I was hoping to say thank you in person.”

There was quiet then, and the silence stretched a little further.  Yeonji still hadn’t say anything, so Kotone softened her tone and tried to reassure her further.  “I wouldn’t tell them anything specific.  I wouldn’t give them any details, or explain what I know.  That’s yours to hold or share, and I’ll protect it with everything I’ve got.”

Yeonji shifted then, pulling her knees closer.  Her voice, when it came, was small but steady. “She saw me have the panic attack, but she doesn’t know why.”

“And that part stays between us,” Kotone said.  “Always. I just want to say thank you. That’s it.”

Yeonji considered it for a while, before replying quietly.  "If you think that's best, then you can.”

“You’re sure?” asked Kotone.

Yeonji nodded. “You’re not saying what it was.  Just that it… happened.  And she helped.”

Kotone gave her a small, warm smile. “Exactly that.”

Yeonji tugged her sleeves down a little more. “Her parents too?”

“I think so,” Kotone said. “I don’t know them at all, but I want to thank them for raising someone who did the right thing and knew how to be kind in a moment that needed it.”

Yeonji considered that for a long moment.  “Only if you don’t say it was, like… brave or heroic or something.”

Kotone smiled then, the tension in her shoulders leaving.  “I promise, there will be no speeches of heroism.  Just a thank you.”

There was a pause before Yeonji spoke in a voice almost too low to hear.  “She saw me like that.  I didn’t want or ask her to, but she did.”

Kotone nodded, understanding where Yeonji was coming from.  She settled for a small “I know,” in reply.

“But” continued Yeonji.  “She was also kind and helped.  I don’t think I would have been able to phone you without her.”  Her voice trailed off towards the end of the sentence.

Kotone’s voice was gentle in return. “I know that too.”

There was a pause before Yeonji spoke in a voice almost too low to hear, “I want to thank her too.  I just… don’t know how yet.”

Kotone’s smile softened. “You don’t have to know yet. You’ll know when it’s time.”

Yeonji looked down at her tea. “Yeah.”

“I’ll let you know before I say anything,” Kotone added. “And I’ll only go ahead if you’re still okay with it.  If you change you mind at any point before that, I won’t do it.”

“Okay,” Yeonji whispered.

And with that, the conversation passed like a held breath released.  Kotone didn’t press further.  She reached over, adjusted the blanket draped over the couch, and let the rest of the day drift into its quiet rhythm.

________________________________________

Tuesday Morning

With Yeonji’s agreement in place, Kotone needed to do figure out how she was going to actually go through with being able to thank Joobin and her parents. 

She stood at the kitchen counter, her phone unlocked in her hand, debating on what to say.   

She had no idea how to explain what she wanted.  It wasn’t like she could just say, “Hi, can you give me the home address of one of Yeonji’s classmates?”

That was an immediate no in any system that followed basic privacy rules.

But Kotone wasn’t just a guardian.  She was a teacher herself, so she knows how these things worked.  But she also knew that the headteacher was at least partly familiar with Yeonji’s situation.  So, she wasn’t really trying to break the rules.  More like… bend them slightly. 

She scrolled through her contacts.  Found the name she needed.

Oh Haewon – the school’s principal, who had been part of the guardianship meeting when Yeonji first enrolled.  She was empathetic to Yeonji’s situation and not just a paper pusher. 

She sighed.  With no other ideas coming to mind, she pressed the call button and was surprised when the call connected after two rings. 

“Hello, Principal Oh speaking.”

“Hello, Ms Oh.  This is Kamimoto Kotone.  I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Yeonji’s guardian.”

There was a short pause, as if she was searching through her memory.  And then, a warm familiar tone, different from the professional tone used when she answered the call.  “Ah, Ms Kamimoto.  Of course I remember you.  How are you?”

“I’m good, thank you for asking.”  She decided to barrel straight in and get to the point.

“I was wondering if I could speak to you for a moment about Yeonji and her current absence?”

“Ah, yes.  I heard something had happened on Thursday in her class.  I believe there was a fight, and she went home ill later.  Is Yeonji okay?” 

“Yes. She’s doing better,” Kotone replied, warmth in her voice.   “But I am going to keep her home for the rest of this week, and I thought it best to speak with you directly, since you were involved in her initial enrolment.”

“I understand” came Haewon’s voice.  “Is there anything you need from me or the school that can help?”

Kotone paused.  It was now or never.

“Actually… yes.  I know this might be a strange request.  I don’t want to share the details, but after the fight a classmate of Yeonji’s named Joobin helped her through something and stayed with her until I managed to get to school.”

“Joobin…”  replied Haewon, searching through her memory for the face to match the name.  “Oh of course.  Joobin is the girl that sits beside Yeonji in her classes.  She is a very kind, very bright girl.  One of our best students.”

Kotone smiled a little at Haewon’s description.  It seemed that even the principal seemed to know what kind of person Joobin was, which spoke volumes about her and her character.  “Yes, that’s her.  She… she really did help, and I don’t think Yeonji would have made it through without her.  And I’d like to thank her and her parents if I could.” 

Haewon was silent for a moment.  “I understand your intent,” she said. “Am I right in thinking you would like her address?”

“Yes” replied Kotone, her voice a little stiffer.  “I know I shouldn’t really be asking, but I really do want to thank them.”

There was a long sigh on the other end of the line before Haewon replied.  “Miss Kamimoto, I understand, I really, genuinely do.  But you know I can’t give out her address.  That’s a privacy issue.”

Kotone’s head dropped when she heard that.  She knew that would be the response, and she felt stupid for asking.  “Yeah I know,” Kotone said quietly. “I know that’s the case… I just had to try something.”  She steadied her voice.  “Thank you for your time Ms Oh, I am sorry to bother you with something like this.”

The principals voice came over a little softer then.  “I really am sorry.  I know you have good intentions, and if I could, I would.  I hope you understand.”

The call ended after their goodbyes, and Kotone hung her head back as she leaned back into the chair.

“Okay” she mumbled to herself and to the apartment.  “That was a failure.  Now I need to think of something else…”

________________________________________

Tuesday Afternoon

Kotone had come up with a plan B, and had left the house for a while.  Outside, the sidewalks were damp, as the puddles reflected strips of neon from buildings and car lights.  

In hindsight, this was probably not the best idea that Kotone had ever come up with in her life.  But, with no better solutions presenting themself, she resorted to the basic plan of camping outside the school gate and hoping she would see Joobin as she left school.  She always waited here for Yeonji anyway, so it wasn’t that unusual.  Only she was waiting for Joobin, hopefully, instead of Yeonji.  And Yeonji wasn’t at school.  Totally normal behaviour…

By the time the final bell rang, Kotone was already standing a little off to the side of the main gate, hands tucked into her coat sleeves, pretending to read the bus timetable on a bent sign.  Students spilled out in small currents, laughter and screaming bouncing through the air.  Bodies ran past, rushing to catch a bus or going to wherever they needed to be.  Kotone scanned the faces of the students quickly, a skill that came from years of teaching to large classes. 

More students came out and soon passed to a trickle.  Kotone slumped internally.  It was a stupid idea, and Joobin could easily have left earlier, or by another gate.  She considered leaving, when she spotted her coming down the hill towards the gate.  Her long brown hair caught by the wind, walking carefully to avoid the puddles and other people. 

 “Joobin,” Kotone called as she got closer, her voice gentle but clear.

The girl turned.  She looked confused for a moment, before recognition flickered across her face.  “Ms… Kotone?”  She corrected herself with a small, respectful bow.  “Kotone-ssi.”

Kotone stepped forward, stopping at a respectable distance from Joobin.  “Joobin.  Hi.  I am sorry to approach you like this, and if you like you can walk away at any time.  I… I just wanted to thank you again.  For calling me on Thursday and for staying with Yeonji until I arrived.”

Joobin shook her head too quickly.  “No…no.  That’s okay.  I didn’t really do anything. She…”  She cut herself off, aware of the line she shouldn’t cross. “I just… stayed.”

“Joobin.  Listen to me.  I can’t tell you just how much what you did mattered,” Kotone said. “It mattered a lot.  To me, and to Yeonji.”

Wind lifted the edge of Joobin’s collar. She looked like she wanted to argue with the compliment and didn’t quite know how.

There were a few beats of silence as Kotone wondered how appropriate it was to ask a student for their address.  The simple answer to that was, not very.  But Yeonji was a shared connection between them, so she hoped Joobin would be okay with her asking.  And if she said no, or if she hesitated even slightly, then she would back off. 

“I was hoping,” Kotone continued, voice softer, “to thank your parents as well.  Not to intrude.  Just… to say it properly, to them and to you.  But only if you’re comfortable sharing your address.  Please don’t feel like you need to.”

Joobin’s mouth tugged sideways in a I-didn’t-do-much reflex. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to,” Kotone said. “I want to.”

Joobin hesitated, thinking to herself whether this was a good idea, before she nodded.  She took out a small notebook and pen from her backpack, the edges of the notebook soft from use, and wrote her address in small, neat print.  She tore it from the page, and even that was done with care. 

“My moms will be home after six most nights,” she said, offering the paper with both hands. “They’re… they’re nice.”  Then with a small smile she added “They’ll probably make you sit down and feed you.”

Kotone paused for a second at that.  Joobin had used moms.  Not mom and dad.  Moms.  She didn’t expect that, as it wasn’t exactly common in Korea.  And yet Joobin had said it matter of factly, and something about the way she had put Kotone at ease.

Kotone accepted the note with the same care and a smile.  “Thank you.  I’ll come by tomorrow early evening, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah.  That would be fine, both of them should be home then.”  Joobin tucked her pen and notebook away.  She stopped then, visibly conflicted, unsure whether to ask what was on her mind.  She decided she wanted to know, so asked. “Is… Is Yeonji feeling better?”

In all her years teaching, Kotone had seen plenty of kind students.  She had also seen her fair share of students that were the exact opposite of kind.  But something about the way Joobin asked — like it mattered — made her throat tighten.  “Yeah.  Yeah, she is,” she managed to reply

A small grin escaped Joobin then, brief and bright.  “Good.  That’s good.”  Then, realising she was going to miss her bus, her eyes widened, and she bowed at ninety-degree angle.  “Oh, I need to go, or I am going to miss my bus.”  She stepped back a half pace, ready to turn and run for her bus, but paused for a heartbeat.  “Could you tell Yeonji that I asked for her?  And that… I hoped today was a little easier and kinder?”

Warmth bloomed in Kotone’s chest.  “I will.”

They exchanged small bows again, before Joobin turned and jogged toward the bus stop.  Kotone stood a moment longer at the gate, the address warm in her palm, the sky darkening overhead threatening rain again.

She had managed to get what she was looking for.  She had a way of being able to thank them properly.  Now, all she had to do was figure out what to tell them or bring them as a gift of thanks. 

But that was a problem for tomorrow.  She put the address in her bag and started heading home. 

Oh Yeonji, she thought to herself.  You really have picked the right person to try and make friends with. 

________________________________________

Yeonji.  Tuesday Night.

Kotone had come back, and Yeonji was already curled into her corner of the sofa, Switch on her lap, Animal Crossing still running though her character had stopped moving after Kotone had come in the front door.

Kotone didn’t say anything at first.  She just shook off her umbrella at the door and padded into the kitchen to put away her bag and hang up her jacket.  She moved a little slower than usual, like her thoughts were still catching up with her feet.

Yeonji was following her carefully, her eyes fixed on each of Kotone’s small movements.  “So,” Kotone said eventually, voice light but quieter than usual, “I did manage to find Joobin after school.”

Yeonji's heart kicked once, fast and small.  She kept her eyes on Kotone. “Oh.”

“I told her thank you.  Just like we talked about.  Nothing more than that.”

Yeonji gave a tiny nod. She hadn’t been sure if Kotone would find her.  She didn’t even know if she’d wanted her to.  But the relief landed anyway, low and steady.

“She asked if you were feeling better,” Kotone added. “Said she hoped today was a little easier.  And kinder.”

Yeonji’s throat went tight.  That… that was nice.  And it seemed typical for Joobin.  But part of her thought it was wrong for someone who didn’t really know her to hope she was feeling better.  Not for her at least. 

She nodded again, slower this time, and whispered, “Okay.”

Kotone sat down nearby but didn’t crowd her.  Just enough presence to be felt.

“She gave me her address,” she said after a moment. “Her parents should be home tomorrow evening.  So, my plan is to go and thank them properly, but not tell them any specifics, just like I promised.”

Yeonji didn’t answer right away. But eventually she shifted, just slightly.  “She didn’t have to ask,” Yeonji murmured, more to herself than anyone.  “About how I was feeling.”

“No,” Kotone agreed softly. “But she did.” Then, because she thought it was important for Yeonji to hear.  “I think you’re right about her Yeonji.  Joobin seems like she’s really kind and... I think you can trust your instincts on that.”

Yeonji looked down at the screen for a moment, before looking back up.  If Kotone thought that, then maybe she was right wanting to get to know Joobin better.  But even if she was right, that wouldn’t make facing her after Thursday any easier.  She still didn’t know how she was going to approach that.

Outside, the rain kept falling, tapping against the window in a steady rhythm.

________________________________________

Kotone.  Wednesday.

Kotone hadn’t really thought this through.  She had the address, and before leaving earlier, she had checked one last time with Yeonji to make sure she was okay with her doing this.  Yeonji had given her a small nod and quiet yeah.

She had left the apartment in the early afternoon, to try and decide what would be a suitable thank you gift.  And she didn’t have the first clue.  She didn’t know Joobin’s parents.  Hell, she didn’t even know their names. 

So, she was stuck.  And that’s how she found herself outside Kaede’s coffee shop.  She had to stop herself from laughing at today’s sign.
TODAY’S SPECIAL: COFFEE SO STRONG IT COULD LIFT YOUR SPIRITS (AND THE PAINT FROM YOUR WALL).

She entered the coffee shop, taking in the smell of butter and espresso.  There was the quiet sounds of people talking in low voices.  Music playing just loud enough to hear, but not enough to force people to talk louder over it.  The coffee machine whirred in the background. 

Kaede herself was behind the counter, her hair tied messily and sleeves rolled up.  She was casually drawing a leaf in pale foam like it was the most natural thing in the world.  She handed over the order with a smile and a “here you are.”  That was when she looked up and spotted Kotone.  Her eyes brightened, a huge smile taking over her face.  “Hey! It’s you,” Kaede said, grinning. “It’s been a while since you were here, I was going to file a missing person’s report if I didn’t see you by the end of the week.”

“That would be tragic,” Kotone deadpanned.  “I’d have made the news for all the wrong reasons.”

Kaede’s grin got larger, if that was even possible.  “So, what can I get for you today?”

“Hmmm, Kotone said, tapping her chin with a finger in thought.  “Matcha Latte, please.   And…” She glanced at the display case full of cakes and decided she deserved one of them.  “A slice of the fluffy cheesecake, please.”

“Excellent choices,” Kaede said.  “Take a seat and I’ll bring it over in a few minutes”.

Kotone was about to turn and take a seat, when she realised she hadn’t paid yet.  “Wait, I still need to…”

With a playful wink, Kaede cut her off.  “On the house again.  Call it a thank you for not having to file the missing person’s report.”  With that, she dipped behind the counter to start making the order, not giving Kotone a chance to reply. 

She took a table near the counter, watching Kaede work.  She moved quick and nimble, confident and comfortable and completely in her element.  A few minutes later, she put the tea and cake on the table, dusting her hands with a small smile of satisfaction. 

Kotone expected her to go back behind the counter, but there were no customers waiting to be served, so Kaede asked her “Mind if I sit and bother you for a few minutes?”

“Not at all,” replied Kotone, thankful for once for the company.

There were a few beats of silence as Kaede took her seat, elbow on the table, chin resting in her hand.  “You know, it’s just occurred to me” started Kaede, the ghost of a smile on her face, “that this is now your third visit and I still don’t know your name.”  

Kotone blinked back at Kaede.  Right.  Of course.  They had spoken both times that Kotone had been in, but Kaede was right, she had never actually given her name for an order or introduced herself.  “Oh my god” she said, a slight pink tinge taking her ears, embarrassed that she hadn't actually given Kaede her name before now.  “I’m Kotone.” 

Kaede’s head tilted, her eyebrows raising a little in surprise.  “Kotone.  That’s a Japanese name.  Wait.  You’re Japanese too?  All this time I thought you were Korean!” 

Kotone nodded, smiling a little, despite her ears still being a little pink.  “No, no.  Born and raised in Tokyo.  I only moved to Seoul in March this year.”

“Oh!” Kaede brightened, delighted at this new information.  She switched language mid-breath, warm and effortless.  “I’m from Toyama.  I haven’t been able to speak to anyone in Japanese for so long, I thought I was forgetting my own language!”

Kotone huffed a quiet laugh.  “I know the feeling!  Other than phoning back home, I don’t get to speak Japanese very often.”

“Yeah,” Kaede agreed, “My whole life of late has been Korean and varying doses of sarcasm.”

They let this new information and shared language sit between them like a small, surprising gift.  

“So, what brought you to Seoul?” Kaede asked, her tone light, not prying.  “If it’s okay to ask.”

“I’m a teacher,” Kotone said. “Japanese and Korean.  I moved to the local University to take up a position there.”  She tried not to wince at the half-truth, half-lie behind that.

Kaede placed a hand over her heart in mock awe.  “Wow.  So, you speak two languages and teach others.  You’re smart, then.”  

“I’m not sure about that,” Kotone said, trying to wave off the compliment, even as the corner of her mouth turned up in a smile. 

“You know, I don’t have many Japanese friends here,” Kaede said, before stopping to correct herself.  “No, scratch that.  I don’t have any Japanese friends here”.  Her voice changed to something a little more tentative from her usual confident tone.   “Would you maybe want to hang out sometime?  No pressure.  Just two people, coffee that I don’t have to make, and getting to know each other a little more?”

The invitation sat between them.  Part of Kotone wanted to say no, that it wouldn’t be a good idea because she didn’t know how much of a friend she could be whilst caring for Yeonji.  And yet, part of her wanted something for herself.  A friend with whom she could be something else other than a guardian to Yeonji.  So, she surprised herself by answering with an affirmative.  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Kaede’s grin returned, brighter now and edged with something hopeful.  “Great.  We can start with coffee and escalate to pastry crimes if it goes well!”

Kaede had to jump away for a moment to serve another customer, which gave Kotone a chance to finish her drink and her cheesecake.  When Kaede took the seat across from her again, Kotone figured she had nothing to lose by asking for her advice on what she should gift Joobin’s parents when she turned up later. 

“Could I ask for your advice on something?”  She tried to keep her tone light, as if she was just asking a normal, totally not loaded question.

“You can ask” grinned Kaede.  “But unless you’re asking about coffee or cakes, I can’t promise my advice will be any good!”

Kotone rolled her eyes good naturedly, before choosing her words with care.  Careful not to give too much away.  “Someone I care about had a hard day last week.  A girl in her class helped her through it, and I would like to thank the girl, and her parents properly.  Only… I don’t really know them.  I have their address, and I am due to visit them tonight.  I just don’t know what to bring with me or how to do it with without making it… heavy.  You know?” 

Kaede sat back in her chair, giving the question some serious thought.  “If you don’t know them, I would say stick with something simple yet sincere.  The more you overthink it, the harder it will be.  Bring something small, yet considerate.”

Kotone nodded.  With a slight teasing tone, she added “Wow, you really are capable of something more than caffeinated sarcasm.”

Kaede laughed at that.  “Hey now, I’ll have you know I contain multitudes.”

“But seriously” asked Kotone.  “Any thoughts on what constitutes a small yet considerate gift?”

“Yes!”  replied Kaede.  “Two things,” she went on, counting on her fingers.  “First, go for something simple like flowers.  Not the usual run of the mill flowers you get from a Seven-Eleven.  Get something, handpicked.”

Kotone nodded, because that was actually a good idea.

“Second, and I promise this isn’t a sales technique” grinned Kaede, “get them a selection box of cakes.  I have a good selection, so I am sure we can come up with something that will suit them.  We can cut them into smaller sample sizes, so they have a good range to choose from.  I’ll even pack them for you.”   

“Wow” drawled Kotone.  “You’re really here trying to sell me your cakes, huh.”

Kaede grinned at Kotone then, throwing her a playful wink as well.  “Well, I was going to give you them on the house as well, but for your cheek I should probably charge you double.”

“Hey wait, no,"  started Kotone.  "You really don’t need to give them for free.  Please let me pay for them, you already gave me a free drink and cake already…”

Kaede shook her head.  “OK how about this.  We can choose a selection together, and I will let you pay for half of them.”   

They argued back and forward a little before Kotone gave in.  Kaede, it seemed, could be hard-headed when she wanted to be.  “All right. Thank you.”

Kaede rose, smiling in victory.  She lifted Kotone’s empty cup and plate, gesturing with her head to follow her.  “Let’s take a look at the cakes and see what we can come up with.”

After some debate, Kaede boxed a selection with a care that felt almost ceremonial.  She packaged the box, before handing it over to Kotone with both hands.   

Kaede, however,  wasn’t quite finished.  “There’s a florist about 200 metres that way” she pointed to her left.  “It’s called SNOWFOX.  If you tell them I sent you, she’ll complain for a bit, but give you a good discount.” 

Kotone looked at Kaede then with gratitude.  “Thank you so much.  You have been a total life saver today.”

“Anytime.” Kaede said, wiping an imaginary crumb from the counter.  She looked back at Kotone, a little shy under the playfulness.  “So… can I get your number so we can set up that coffee?”

Kotone placed the selection of cakes on the counter, pulling out her phone.  They exchanged numbers.  Kotone rolled her eyes as Kaede saved her contact as ‘The Smarty Teacher’.  She was going to save Kaede’s as just her name but added coffee menace in brackets after it.   

Kotone picked up the box again, ready to leave.  Before she did, she spoke again.  “Thank you again.  For everything.” 

Kaede waved her off with a smile.  “It was nothing.” Kaede said. “I’m just happy I made a friend today.”

The warmth of that comment took root in the space between them.  For Kotone, she felt something inside soften ever so slightly.  It had been a while since anyone called her a friend. 

“I’ll message you” said Kotone, turning to leave. 

Kaede, back to her normal self, grinned and said, “I’ll be waiting.”

Outside, the air had cooled. Kotone turned toward the florist; her steps lighter than they had been since Thursday.  She carried the selection box of cakes with care.  In her bag, she had the address for Joobin’s parents, and her phone a new contact for someone that might become a new friend. 

Small and considerate, she thought.

She could do that.

________________________________________

Kotone.  Wednesday.  Sometime after 6pm.

Kotone stood on the landing with the florist’s hand made bouquet in one hand and the selection box of cakes in the other.  The hallway smelled faintly of dish soap and someone’s dinner.  

Well.  It was now or never.  She moved the flowers to her other hand and breathed in once, slow and steady, and knocked the door with three raps of her knuckles. 

There was a moment of quiet before she heard footsteps approaching, followed by the sound of the door handle being pressed down. 

The door swung open to reveal a tall woman, her dark hair loose and flowing down her back.  Her expression was open and curious.

“Good evening,” Kotone said, bowing slightly. “I’m Kotone.  I’m sorry to bother you, but I was hoping I could speak to you about Joobin”.

The woman’s face brightened in recognition of the name.  “Of course.  I’m Jiwoo, one of Joobin’s moms.  She mentioned that you would be stopping by tonight.”   She stepped aside, gesturing a come in motion with her hand.  “Please, come in.”

Kotone entered and Jiwoo closed the door behind her.  Jiwoo had stepped a little further into the home, calling out.  “Chaeyeon, honey.  We have a guest.”  She turned back to Kotone, a wry smile on her face.  “Chaeyeon is my wife.  She can be a little loud at times, but she really is the sweetest.”

A second later, she appeared.  Shorter than Jiwoo, her hair tied back and her cardigan askew.  She smiled pleasantly as she approached to stand beside her wife.

“I would say don’t listen to Jiwoo, but she was accurate in how she described me.  I’m Chaeyeon, it’s nice to meet you…”  She trailed off, giving Kotone the space to introduce herself again.

She bowed again in greeting.  “Good evening Chaeyeon-ssi, I’m Kotone.” 

“Please, just call me Chaeyeon, you’ll make me feel old otherwise.  Please, come on through.”  Kotone slipped her shoes off at the door, lining them up neatly, before following both into their home.  She was struck by how warm it felt.  The open kitchen smelled of a mixture of herbs, whilst the living room was done in warm tones and lighting.  There were picture frames on the shelves – of Jiwoo and Chaeyeon, or others with Jiwoo, Chaeyeon, Joobin and a taller, older girl she didn’t recognise.

As they entered the living room, she held out the gifts, feeling a little awkward and embarrassed.  “I uh… brought these for you.  They aren’t much, but I wanted you to have them.”

Chaeyeon took the bouquet with a squeal.  “Oh, these are beautiful.  Let me put these in a vase.”  She took them and headed to the kitchen, looking for a vase.  Jiwoo took the selection box of cakes, opened it, her eyes widening in delight. 

“Kotone-ssi, you really didn’t have to.  These look incredible.  Did you make these?”

Kotone’s mouth tugged into a small, startled smile.  “No, no.  I’m not much of a baker.  They’re from a coffee shop near where I live.  The owner is…”  She paused for a second to consider how to explain that.  She had met Kaede three times, and each time she had been warm and welcoming.  And now she had her number.  So, she wasn’t a friend, at least not yet.  But she felt like she would be, and friend felt like a good as word as any to describe her.  “She’s a new friend of mine.  She’s a great baker and she helped me choose them.” 

Chaeyeon came back and Jiwoo showed her the selection in the box.  “Kotone-ssi, I think we are going to have to adopt you and make you our friend after this!  These are lovely.”   She gestured to the chair.  “Please, please.  Take a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you” Kotone replied, taking a seat.  “And please, Kotone is just fine.”

“Kotone then” said Jiwoo with a smile.  “Can I get you anything to drink?  Tea?  Coffee?  Water? 

“A tea would be perfect,” Kotone replied.

Jiwoo nodded, taking the selection box with her, placing it on the kitchen table.  She put the kettle on, laying out three cups.  “How do you take your tea?”  She called out from the kitchen, her tone easy and open, like she had known Kotone her whole life and this wasn’t their first meeting.

“Milk and four sugars,” shouted Chaeyeon back, a grin on her face.

Kotone swore she almost heard the sound of Jiwoo rolling her eyes from the kitchen.  “Not you, honey - sadly I know how you take a cup of sugar with some tea mixed in…”

Chaeyeon shrugged her shoulders good naturedly.  Kotone couldn’t help but notice the ease in the way they both bantered.  Normal, familiar, full of warmth and playfulness.  She looked up to find Chaeyeon watching her with quiet interest, and Jiwoo waiting patiently in the kitchen.

She had been so lost in thought, she had forgotten to reply, and her ears went pink in mild embarrassment.  “Uh…milk please, one sugar is fine.”

Jiwoo nodded and went back to making the tea, throwing a comment to Chaeyeon over her shoulder.  “See, Kotone here gets it.  You’re supposed to enjoy your tea, not drown it in sugar.”

“Hmph” replied Chaeyeon, tossing her hair back over her shoulder.  “I like what I like.  You married me regardless of my tea choices.”

After a few minutes, Jiwoo returned, placing a cup down in front of Kotone, before she took a seat beside her wife.  Kotone took a sip, letting the warmth ground and calm her.  It was made just right, the perfect blend of strength and milk.  Enough time to gather her thoughts, so she could say what she wanted to say.

“Thank you.  And thank you again for seeing me, I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.”

Jiwoo waved that away with a smile.  “Please, we have nothing else on tonight.”  There was a shared glance between her and her wife.  A silent communication that decided Jiwoo would take the lead for now.

“So, Kotone.  Joobin did say you would call.  Am I right in saying that your Yeonji’s guardian?  The girl in Joobin’s class?”

Ah.  Straight to business.  That was good, it left less time for her to overthink her words.

“Yes, that’s correct.  Yeonji is… well.  She came into my care in February this year.”

Chaeyeon took a sip of her own tea, smiling at Kotone.  “You know, before we begin, I think we should be a little honest with you.  As parent’s, we have always encouraged our daughters to be open with us.  So, we check in with her about school, and Yeonji comes up on occasion.  And… she spoke to us about what happened on Thursday, which I presume is why you are here.”

Kotone felt herself stiffen a little at that, her protective instincts raising in the prospect of having to defend Yeonji.

Jiwoo and Chaeyeon must have noticed, because they immediately tried to soothe her.  “Oh god, that came out wrong” said Chaeyeon.  “She tells us about her interactions with Yeonji, but I promise you it’s nothing bad or presumptive.”

“That’s the truth Kotone” said Jiwoo, jumping in.  “She will tell us about her day, or the interactions she had with Yeonji.  She will ask for advice on what she should do or say, but she never presumes anything.”

Kotone felt her hackles drop a little, feeling a little more at ease at their words.  “Oh…okay yeah.  That’s… that’s good.” 

“Our Binnie…” said Chaeyeon, her voice dropping lower.  “She’s the type of person that cares, yeah?  I think she wants to get to know Yeonji better and be her friend if she can.”

Kotone nodded, taking a deep breath before speaking.  “I see.  Then, before I say anything else, is Joobin here?  I would like her to hear this as well.”

Jiwoo smiled, getting to her feet and disappearing towards the bedrooms.  A few seconds later, she came back out, trailed by Joobin.  Her hair was in a ponytail, her eyes a little wide.  She bowed at Kotone when she saw her, greeting her with the same polite tone she had when Kotone had approached her at the school gate.

Joobin took a seat between her parents, and Kotone felt strangely awkward as three sets of eyes looked at her. 

Nevertheless, she had been through a lot harder things in the last few months, and the three people looking at her now was the reason she had come here in the first place.

Kotone cleared her throat before she started talking.  “The reason I wanted to come here today is because I wanted to thank Joobin and the both of you as her parents personally.”  She stopped, searching for the next words carefully, aware that she was walking a fine line between saying just enough and giving away too many things Yeonji would want kept quiet. 

“Thursday…”  She trailed off, her voice dropping a little, before she carried on, finding the words.  “Thursday was hard for Yeonji.  She went through something that was incredibly difficult and challenging, and your daughter Joobin was helpful and kind.”

Joobin’s ears went pink. “I didn’t do much,” she mumbled, eyes fixed on her socks.

“That’s not true” said Kotone, her tone making it clear she wasn’t going to accept Joobin’s attempt at deflection.  “I really can’t say much without breaking Yeonji’s trust, but you helped her through something that was really painful for her.”

Kotone could feel her emotions rising, remembering the phone call, the words said through the speaker to try and anchor Yeonji, the way she held her sleeve like a lost child needing help.  “Yeonji has had… a hard life.  And ever since her first day at school, you have been nothing but patient and kind with her.” 

“You… you know that?”  whispered Joobin.

Kotone nodded in reply, before smiling sadly.  “Yeah.  Yeonji… every now and then, she’ll mention you.  She tells me that your kind and warm and don’t push her.  She appreciates that.  I appreciate that.”

“Oh” said Joobin, her eyes dropping to her knees to hide the build-up of wetness in them.  Chaeyeon took her hand, pride swimming in her eyes.

Kotone continued on.  “And on Thursday… you could have left her or walked away or been really horrible about it.  Instead, you stayed with her and phoned me, despite not knowing me.”  Kotone squared her shoulders, determined to finish this, even as her own emotions threatened to get the better of her.  “You kept her safe and made it so I could get to her when she needed me.  So, no Joobin, don’t think you didn’t help because you really, really did.  Thank you.”

Joobin looked back up, her eyes glistening, and nodded faintly.  Chaeyeon still held her hand, and both her and Jiwoo looked at Joobin with care and love and pride.  “That’s okay” whispered Joobin.  “I’m glad I helped and I’m glad she’s okay.”

Kotone smiled at her, grateful for all that Joobin had done.  Then she turned to Jiwoo and Chaeyeon.   “I also wanted to thank you both.  Children are often a reflection of how they are brought up, and you have both raised a wonderful daughter.  So, for that, I am truly grateful.” 

Jiwoo’s expression was full of warmth.  “Thank you for saying that.”

“We’re glad Joobin could help,” Chaeyeon added.  “She really does pay attention to others around her.”  Then because she was a mom, and because she could, she teased her daughter a little.  “Especially to Yeonji of late.”

Joobin went fully crimson at that.  “Moooom.”

Kotone actually let out a laugh at Chaeyeon’s gentle teasing of Joobin.  “Yeah, it shows,” Kotone replied.

Jiwoo shifted her weight on the couch, drawing the attention back to her.  “Kotone, if you ever need any help with the school, or with anything else, please let us know.  Me and Chaeyeon… we’ve had… practice.”

Kotone’s mouth pressed into a grateful line, considering the words.  There was something hidden and buried underneath that last line.  Something unspoken that carried its own pain.  “That’s kind of you.  I’m letting Yeonji rest for now and I’ll maybe speak to the school about it later.”  She hesitated, the tiniest fissure in her composure opening.  “It’s just… a lot.  I’m trying my best for her.”

Jiwoo’s eyes softened at that small confession.  “Are you doing it with anyone?  Any family or friends that can help?”

The answer slipped out before Kotone could coat it. “No.”  There was a small inhale, before she went on.  “We moved from Tokyo to Seoul in March, so it’s only really been me and her.”

When Chaeyeon heard that, she glanced at Jiwoo for a moment, who gave her a short nod.  She disappeared into the kitchen for a few moments, and came back, handing over a sheet of paper.  On it, were her and Jiwoo’s names and their telephone numbers. 

“Here” she said, as she handed over the paper with two hands.  This has our numbers.  There’s no pressure or expectations, so don’t feel like you need to, but if you ever need help with anything, any advice, or just a friendly ear to listen you can call or text either of us.”

Kotone stared at the paper a half second longer than necessary, throat working around a quiet swallow.  “I… thank you,” she said, and this time the words carried weight.  She tucked the note away as if it were fragile.  “That’s… very kind of you both.”

“It’s nothing,” Chaeyeon corrected, almost brisk to spare her the sentiment.  “Raising a kid is hard enough.  Raising one on your own?  Even harder.” 

Kotone set her cup down. “Thank you again.”  She felt like it was time to go, that she had intruded enough on their evening.  “I should go.  I didn’t want to intrude; I just wanted to thank you all for what Joobin did.”

At that, everyone got to their feet.  Jiwoo pointed towards the flowers and the selection box in the kitchen.  “No thank you.  You brought us something lovely.  I hope you can let us repay you.  Why don’t you come for dinner one day?” 

“Yes!”  Jumped in Chaeyeon.  “Plus, I like making new friends, so please do.  Jiwoo is a chef, so I promise you that she at least won’t poison you!”

Jiwoo swatted at her wife’s arm, whilst Kotone smiled at the banter.  Something about the way they were and acted just put her at ease.  Both of them were clearly in love with each other and had raised Joobin to be a good person.  And they were offering her a chance at friendship.  Her second such offer today.   

Kotone bowed slightly. “That sounds… nice.  Thank you.” 

She put her shoes on, turning again to say her goodbyes to the family.  She took one last opportunity to turn to Joobin and say, “thank you, again.”

Joobin’s answer was small but sure.  “You’re welcome.”

She left the three of them then, the door closing softly behind her.  She stood for a beat, breathing in the quiet corridor, one hand pressed over the note in her pocket like a compass.  Then she started down the stairs, back to her own home, where Yeonji would be waiting for her.

________________________________________

Kotone.  Wednesday Evening.

It was well after 7pm by the time she got home.  The apartment was hushed, the only light coming from the lamp in the living room.  Yeonji wasn’t there, but the glow of the light under her bedroom door told Kotone where she was. 

Kotone would tell Yeonji word for word everything that had been said at Joobin’s house.  She had promised that she would, and she meant to keep that promise.  She set her bag down, hanging up her jacket, before taking a seat at the kitchen table.  Her phone was in her hand, and there were a few quick things she wanted to do before calling on Yeonji. 

She looked at the paper with Jiwoo and Chaeyeon’s numbers, saving them both into her contacts.  She sent them both a quick message. 

Thank you again for your time and kindness tonight.  I appreciated you giving me your time and the tea.

Then, because it felt right, she added a second message afterwards.

Please tell Joobin she really did help.  You’ve raised a wonderful daughter. 

She didn’t expect a reply soon, but she got one almost immediately from Chaeyeon. 

We will, and you are welcome.  The offer of dinner stands, just let us know.

Jiwoo followed up with her own reply seconds later.

Anytime.  And we meant it. Take care of yourself tonight too.

Kotone’s mouth tipped into the smallest smile.  It was easy to see why Joobin had grown in the young woman that she had.

She opened up another new message, this time to Kaede (coffee menace), on her contacts. 

Hey. It’s Kotone. 

From the coffee shop. 

Wait, you already saved my contact. 

Forget I said that. 

I just wanted to let you know that your gift ideas worked.  They liked the flowers and the really liked the cake selection. 

And I’ll let you know soon about the coffee.   

Kotone watched as the dots appeared to show Kaede was replying.  She left a 😂 emoji under the Wait, you already saved my contact comment. 

Yes, I already saved your number.  You’re so silly.

And I knew my ideas were good, but glad it worked out for you. 

The coffee sounds perfect.  Just let me know when is best for you 😊

She shook her head once, amused despite the time of day, and tucked her phone into her pocket.

Yeonji’s door was slightly ajar, so Kotone knocked softly on the frame instead of stepping in.  “I’m back,” she said.  “Can I come in?”

Yeonji replied with a small “Mm”, which was enough to let Kotone step into the room.  Yeonji was propped against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of her.  The lamp was on, casting a warm yellow light across the room.  Yeonji had a book in her hand, which she carefully marked the page of before closing it with care and putting it down beside her, so she could give her full attention to Kotone. 

Kotone stepped fully into the room, and took a seat on the bottom edge of the bed, turning to face Yeonji.  “I just wanted to let you know how it went” she said. 

Yeonji nodded her assent, followed by a shallow “Okay.”

Kotone gave herself a few moments to think of the right words before speaking.  “Well, I met Joobin’s parents.  She has two moms.  Jiwoo and Chaeyeon, and I thanked Joobin, and them, just as we discussed.  They didn’t ask for or demand any details from me, and I never gave them anything, just as I promised.” 

Yeonji absorbed that for a moment before responding.  “Were they… nice?”  Yeonji asked, barely above a whisper, like the word was fragile.

“Yes,” Kotone replied with straight honesty. “They really were.  I think I can see why Joobin is such a nice girl.”

Yeonji’s chin dipped.  “Okay.”

Kotone ran through everything that had been said, almost word for word, searching Yeonji's face for any sign that she had said to much.

After finishing, Kotone got back to her feet.  “Do you want something to eat?  I have some nachos that I can make for us.”

“Yes please.”  Yeonji said.  “Nachos sound good.”

Kotone smiled, getting ready to leave.  Just before she did, she turned back to look at Yeonji, one hand on the door.  “I’ll shout you when they are ready.  And Yeonji, for what its worth?  I think you can trust Joobin and your instincts about wanting to get closer to her.” 

Yeonji’s mouthed form a small ‘o’ shape, stuck between replying and not being sure what she wanted to say.

“You don’t need to rush anything with her.  Just go at your own pace, and I think you’ll find she will match whatever pace is good for you.  Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Yeonji said.  Because it did make sense, even if she still worried a little on how to handle seeing her after everything.

Kotone left to start making the food, and as she did her phone buzzed to let her know she had a new message.  It was from Kaede.

Just so you know, I close the shop at 7pm, so coffee any time after that is good.

Just let me know so I know not to have any coffee that day.  You wouldn’t want to see the hyper caffeinated version of me😉

Kotone exhaled — something between a laugh and a sigh — and typed back:

Thanks for the warning.  You’re hard enough to deal with as it is 🙄.

Then she set the phone face down and turned back to making the nachos. 

Today had been a good day. She had thanked Joobin and her parents for something they likely didn’t even realise was as important as it was — to both her and Yeonji.  And she had possibly made three new friends. 

It’s funny, thought Kotone.  How life gives you these moments, even when you’re going through moments of struggle. 

Chapter Text

Thursday.  After School

When the school bell rang, students surged out toward the exits, desperate to escape the confines of the classroom, even if only for a few hours.  Most of them were headed home, whilst others were already racing off to cram school.

Hyerin was standing by the front gate, her hands stuffed into the sleeves of a hoodie two sizes too big for her.  The sky hung heavy with thick, dark grey clouds, promising rain that never quite arrived, whilst the wind was strong enough to tug at her ponytail.

She was waiting for Soomin, Chaewon, and Hayeon as they had made plans to go to the arcade today.  Hyerin remembered the way that Soomin had very loudly declared during lunch that going to the arcade was “a requirement so they could get rid of so much stress.”  She also remembered that there was some very dramatic flailing, as if Soomin was in the midst of some Shakespearean play.

Whilst she waited, she flicked through the group chat, frowning as she reread the messages that Joobin had sent earlier, about not being able to join them for lunch as she had other plans.

Hyerin had seen enough over the years to know when someone was quietly lying.  Or if not lying… then avoiding the truth.

Hyerin, like everyone else at school, had heard about the fight in Joobin’s class this morning.  Two idiots fighting over something stupid.  She knew that Joobin hadn’t been involved and she was okay, but suddenly making an excuse not to join them for lunch on the same day as the fight had happened?

Hyerin knew deep down that something else had happened.  Something that Joobin couldn’t or wouldn’t speak about.  And that was okay, Hyerin knew Joobin sometimes needed her own space to work through things. 

She looked down at where her own hands were swallowed by her hoodie. 

It’s not like she didn’t have her own secrets.

She just wished it didn’t have to be that way.

She kept flicking through the group chat, where everyone had sent messages hoping Joobin was okay, and to let them know if they could help.  The truth was, any of them would be ready to do anything for Joobin if she asked for it.  In so many ways, she was the glue that held the wildly different group of people together. 

And yet, Joobin had left everything on read, until just a few seconds ago where she responded with a ❤️ to everyone’s message, letting them know she had seen the messages. 

That was unusual for Joobin, as normally she would send a quick message to say that she was okay.  Hyerin hoped that she was, and made a mental note to check in with her later.

________________________________________

It didn’t take long for the rest of her friends to arrive.  Hayeon had her leather jacket flung over her shoulder like a model from the cover of Teen Vogue.  Chaewon was beside her, eyes looking at the clouds like they had personally offended her by being there.  Soomin was the other side of Chaewon, face stuffed with melon bread, her cheeks full and puffed out like a hamster storing food.

After chatting for a few seconds, they started walking in the direction of the arcade, the silence between them lasting all of ten seconds before Soomin had to speak.

“Look, I know that the claw machines hate me in general, but really I think they hate me for some specific reason.  Like, they are totally fixed and are just out to get me.  So, I swear, if that claw machine robs me again today, I’m taking it personally,” Soomin huffed.

Chaewon grinned, kicking at a stray pebble.  “Soomin, it robbed you last week, and the week before that, and the week before that.  You might need to accept that the problem isn’t the claw machine.”

Soomin gasped, as if Chaewon had personally betrayed her.  “Are you implying that I am the problem?” Soomin shot back.  “That just isn’t true!  It’s a simple fact that the claw machines and whatever god they answer to hates me.”

“You say that about inanimate objects a lot,” Hayeon said dryly, her hands clenching and unclenching like she was warming up for a fight.  “Don’t you have an ongoing beef with the school vending machine for, and I quote, Betraying your trust?”

“Hayeon, it did betray me.  It ate my 100-won coin just last week,” Soomin muttered, indignant.  “And then, when it did accept my money, it gave me the wrong thing!  That has to be some kind of hate crime.  Right?  Chaewon?  Hyerin?”

That got a laugh out of Chaewon and even a small huff of amusement from Hyerin, who’d been quietly walking beside them with her headphones slung around her neck.

“I agree with Soomin,” declared Chaewon.  That school vending machine definitely has favourites.

Meanwhile, Hyerin rolled her eyes at Soomin’s antics, mumbling something about Soomin probably pressing the wrong button on the machine.

Soomin’s hands shot to her chest, faking as if she had been shot.  “Betrayed by my best friend.  The vending machine has taken her from me Chaewon.”

The banter between them continued, with Hyerin content to listen over talking.  She watched the three of them with an expression somewhere between fondness, quiet endurance and mild concern for their wellbeing.

She was so lost in observing them, that she had almost tuned out the conversation, until Hayeon nudged her gently.  “You okay back there?  I’m starting to think you’re a silent film protagonist”

Hyerin blinked, coming back to her senses, half-smiling, half rolling her eyes.  “Just listening.  You guys are loud enough for ten people.”

“You mean Soomin is loud enough for ten people,” quipped Hayeon in return.

“Hmph” replied Soomin, eloquent as ever.

They stopped at a crossing, the red man on the light glaring down at them.  Soomin leaned her head back and groaned.  “Why are red lights always longer when you’re excited to go somewhere?”

“It’s because of you Soomin,” Chaewon said solemnly. “Your inanimate object curse has even followed you here.”

“Great” deadpanned Soomin.  “Something else in my life I need to keep an eye on.”

It didn’t take that long for the light to change from red to green, and they started moving again.  For a moment, the conversation ebbed.  The hum of traffic filled the space instead. Hyerin looked sideways at the others, wondering if anyone else felt the strange quiet that followed moments like these.

It was if the silence drew them all to the missing person that would normally be with them.  Then Hyerin, unable to keep the thoughts in any further, slowed a little and said, “Hey, did you guys notice how Joobin didn’t respond to our messages earlier?  I know there was a fight in her class earlier… do you think she’s okay?”

The others looked at her, their faces scrunching up in thought.

Soomin was the first to reply.  “She did respond with the emojis after school.  Maybe she was a little spooked after the fight?”

Hyerin replied with a non-committal “mmm”, not quite sure that was the reason for it.

“You know Joobin,” Soomin added quickly.  “I don’t think she was being rude or anything by not replying to us.  It just felt like she didn’t want to talk about it is all.”

Chaewon had her eyes on the ground, with her right hand clenching her left arm.  “I don’t like talking about people when they’re not here,” Chaewon said, voice soft but firm.  “Especially if it’s Joobin.”

And Hyerin noticed how Hayeon, normally so confident, loud, a bit of a flirt, and looked tough and ready to fight on a moment’s notice reached out to quickly grab Chaewon’s hand and give it a squeeze.  “We’re not gossiping about her Chaewon,” she said, gently.  “We are just worrying a bit, that’s all.”

Hayeon really was a softie wrapped in a leather jacket thought Hyerin.  But her words had stilled them again for a moment, and she let her gaze wander to the empty sidewalk behind them.

Joobin hadn’t joined them for lunch and didn’t respond to the messages.  Whatever was on her mind, it was clear she just needed some time to deal with it on her own. 

“Let’s just keep an eye on her,” Hyerin said quietly.  “Just over the next few days.  If she wants to tell us what’s going on, she will.” 

The others nodded in agreement, silence falling over them all.  Hyerin did her best to ignore her own inner voice saying will she though?  None of you ever talk about anything important...

Soomin, noticing the silence enveloping the group, slung an arm over Hyerin and Chaewon’s shoulders.  “Okay, the rule for tonight,” she said, “is just to have fun.  We deserve a little fun every now and then.”

“Define fun,” Hayeon said.

“Winning,” Chaewon replied instantly, a Cheshire grin spreading on her face.  “Preferably against Soomin.”

“Hey!” Soomin protested. “I can win games.  I’ve won before.”

“Against who?” Hayeon asked, her eyes squinting as if she was very much doubting Soomin’s words.

“Myself,” Soomin said with full conviction.  “And honestly?  It was inspiring.”

They reached the glowing entrance then, the hum of machines spilling out through the open door - the chime of coins, the shriek of victory music, the electric heartbeat of other people’s joy.  For a moment, all four just stood there, the light painting their faces in candy-coloured stripes.

Hayeon turned to the rest of the group, a grin full of mischief on her face.  “Okay.  Since Soomin is so confident, how about a bet?  Loser buys everyone ice-cream later?”

Soomin lifted her chin.  “Oh, you’re in for it now.  I hope your wallet is ready, because I am going to order triple scoops!”

“What game are we playing first?” asked Chaewon, bouncing up and down on her feet in excitement.

“Not the claw machine first, let’s leave Soomin’s pain until the end of the day” said Hayeon, throwing a cheeky grin over at Soomin as she did.

“Like you’re much better” snorted Hyerin.

Hayeon held up her hands. “Hey now.  I’m better than Soomin.  And Joobin is the one that usually wins all the claw machine plushies for us.”

Soomin tilted her head.  “So… you’re admitting you’re not the golden handed queen you claim to be?”

“I am still a queen,” Hayeon said, flipping her hair dramatically.  “I just delegate, as a queen should.”

Chaewon snorted. “Well, guess what, your majesty?  No Joobin means no backup today.  We’re going to find out what your win rate really is.”

Hyerin muttered, “Five percent.  At best.”

“Lies and slander,” said Hayeon.  “And that would still be four percent better than Soomin.”

“How about DDR to start with?”  Chaewon asked. 

Soomin’s eyes brightened immediately!  “YES!  I call first round!”

“You always call first round,” Hayeon grinned.

“That’s because I’m the only one who can actually combo ‘MAX 300’ on expert,” Soomin declared, dramatically stretching her legs like she was about to run a race.

“That's a lie.  You did not combo.  You flailed your way through it last time,” Hyerin said, her voice dry.

“It was interpretive flailing,” Soomin shot back.

“Let’s do this,” said Hayeon, her fist pumping in the air as she stepped through the doorway.

Hyerin followed, the corner of her mouth lifting just a little, as the noise swallowed them whole

________________________________________

The second the group crossed the threshold, they were hit with a wave of noise.  8-bit music, machine chimes, the thrum of the air hockey tables and the screams of other kids mixed together to create something only heard in these kind of spaces.  The whole space pulsed with an energy that screamed joy and happiness.

Soomin’s eyes widened and gasped like she’d just stepped into heaven.  “Oh, this is paradise,” she whispered dramatically, spinning in place.

Hyerin snorted, brushing past her toward the coin machine.  “You said that about the 7-Eleven last week.”

“Yeah, well, they had honey-butter chips” declared Soomin.  “That 7-Eleven was a spiritual experience.”

Chaewon was already halfway to the rhythm games, her hands twitching like a pianist before a concert.  “Come on, the DDR game is free.”

The four of them crowded around the machine. Hyerin, ever the observer, was content to watch at first.

Soomin was stretching like she was about to enter the Olympics, whilst Chaewon cracked her knuckles. “You’re going down.”

“In your dreams, Chaewon,” Soomin grinned.

The machine whirred to life, lights flashing, as Soomin chose ‘BeForU Chikara’ as the song.  It was an aggressively cheerful J-pop number, and before they knew it the floor lit up, and the arrows were flying.  Soomin flailed with all the drama of a girl who thought they had rhythm but really didn’t.  Chaewon, in contrast, was a blur of precision and grinning arrogance.

Hayeon hollered almost useless instructions from the side.  “LEFT.  LEFT.  DOWN.  SOOMIN HOW ARE YOU MISSING DOWN?!”

“I’M DOING THE DANCE OF MY PEOPLE,” Soomin shouted, completely offbeat, but grinning like a lunatic all the same.

Hyerin couldn’t help it and burst out laughing.  Loud, actual laughter, the kind that hurt a little in the chest because she wasn’t used to letting it out.

When the song ended, the scores flashed on screen.  Chaewon, who had crushed Soomin completely, was panting, red-faced and triumphant.  “I win.  You may bow before me.”

Soomin collapsed dramatically onto the floor.  “I have been slain.”

“Slain by your own feet,” Hayeon said, offering her a hand.

“I regret nothing,” Soomin wheezed in reply, taking Hayeon’s hand to help her to her feet.

Hayeon then turned to Hyerin, a wicked smile on her face.  “Let’s do it Hyerin.  You vs. me!”

Hyerin could only shake her head in resigned amusement.  Hayeon was never short of confidence, but Hyerin was an actual dancer, and probably held some of the top 10 scores on DDR.

“Oh no,” Chaewon said, stepping back like a sports commentator giving space. “We’re about to witness the birth of a massacre.”

“I’ll go easy on you,” Hyerin teased, stepping onto the pad.

“I don’t need easy,” Hayeon said, grinning. “I’m powered by my own ego and the belief that no matter how bad I am, Soomin is always going to be worse than me.”

Soomin let out a quiet, indignant "hey", still too out of breath to mount a proper defence.

And just like that, the next song began.  Panic Holic.  One of the fastest songs that bordered the impossible.  Hayeon started strong, competitive to her core, but it only took twenty seconds before Hyerin was effortlessly hitting perfect after perfect, her movements fluid, graceful, precise.

“HOW?” Hayeon gasped, tripping over her own feet as Hyerin spun lightly on the spot.

“It’s called rhythm,” Soomin yelled. “You should try it sometime!”

Chaewon clapped her hands like a proud coach.  “Look at Hyerin go!”

By the final chorus, Hayeon was laughing too hard to even keep up, both of them finishing the song breathless and grinning. The screen flashed their scores - Hyerin with a near perfect score whilst Hayeon was a mile behind.

“HAH,” said Hayeon, hands on her knees, catching her breath. “Humbled by Hyerin, but I still scored better than Soomin.  Ice cream’s on you Sooms!”

Soomin threw her arms in the air. “Fine!  But I’m choosing the flavour!  And nobody gets to judge me for picking mint chocolate chip again!”

Chaewon groaned theatrically.  “Noooo.  Mint chocolate tastes like toothpaste.”

“It tastes like joy,” Soomin countered.  “And victory.”

“You literally lost at DDR,” Hayeon said, smirking.

“Details,” Soomin sniffed.  “Winners are defined by attitude, not points.”

“Then you’re world champion,” Hyerin said, smiling so softly that none of them noticed how warm her voice had gone.

________________________________________

When they finally caught their breath, Chaewon spotted the racing game section and pointed like a general spotting a battlefield. “New mission!  All four of us at the same time and the loser has to buy corn dogs.”

“Why does all our missions involve food?” asked Hyerin.

“Because we’re growing teenagers, and this is our fuel,” Chaewon said solemnly, already sliding into a driver’s seat.  She glanced at the others. “Well?”

Hayeon cracked her knuckles and took the seat beside Chaewon.  “Oh, you’re on”

Soomin and Hyerin took the other spare seats, and the four of them loaded into the same track. 

“Prepare to be crushed” stated Hayeon, confident again after her humbling at DDR.

The game started, and the four friends were lost to a world of laughter and smiles.

________________________________________

The next hour blurred in a carousel of ridiculous competitiveness.

At the basketball machine, Hayeon proved deadly accurate, sinking shot after shot with a snarl of determination.  “You are not beating me at this,” she muttered, even though no one was trying to.

Soomin, wanting to try and claim back some of what remained of her pride, got stuck in a dance battle with a six-year-old who absolutely destroyed her, prompting a full dramatic speech to the “arcade gods” asking for mercy.

Hyerin, surprisingly, dominated at the zombie shooting game. “You’ve been quiet,” Hayeon said, watching as Hyerin calmly headshotted three enemies in a row. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

“It’s therapeutic,” Hyerin replied, eyes still locked on the screen.

Eventually, they wandered over to the claw machines. Soomin paused like she was standing before an old rival.

“I’ll win you today,” she whispered to a giant banana plushie.  “I swear it.”

Chaewon trailed after her, hands in her pockets, the faintest smirk on her lips. “You know, at this point, the claw machine has more of your allowance than your savings account.”

Soomin squinted at her. “That’s because it’s an investment.”

“In heartbreak?” Hayeon said, deadpan.

“No! In perseverance!” Soomin shot back, already feeding coins into the slot.

Chaewon leaned in, whispering to Hyerin, “Ten seconds before she yells at it.”

Hyerin smiled slightly. “Five.”

Right on cue, Soomin’s voice echoed across the arcade. “No! Don’t drop it, don’t drop… YOU DROPPED IT!  You stupid game, just admit you hate me and be done with it!”

Chaewon collapsed against Hyerin’s shoulder laughing, while Hayeon pressed both hands to her face. “We are going to get banned from here.”

“They can’t ban passion,” Soomin declared, already adding more coins to the machine. 

________________________________________

Later, they found a corner booth with sticky plastic seats, whilst Soomin bought everyone ice cream as she promised.  The noise of the arcade buzzed in the background, but for a moment, the four of them were just… still.

Chaewon sipped her drink. “This was good.”

Soomin kicked her foot against Chaewon's under the table. “Told you all we needed it.”

Hyerin leaned back, her drink straw idly spinning between her fingers. She looked at her friends — one slumped like she’d run a marathon, one sipping smugly, one pretending she wasn’t grinning.

And her heart felt… lighter.

Some of the ache she was so used to was still there.  So was the silence they hadn’t filled and so was the empty space where Joobin would be.

But this?  This helped.  Even if only for a while.

________________________________________

It was evening by the time they wandered out the arcade, tired and content.

Hyerin walked slightly behind again, steady and watching the group as always. Chaewon was trying to balance a soda can on her head.  She was terrible at it, which naturally made her narrate it like she was hosting a cooking show on national TV

“Here we see the endangered Chaewon in her natural habitat,” she said in a dramatic whisper. “Attempting to balance the sacred cola of destiny...”

Not even a second later, the can clattered to the ground.

“Aaaaand it’s dead,” Soomin declared, skipping ahead and almost tripping over it before she picked it up and handed it to Chaewon.

“I swear if you cracked it open and now it explodes when I open it, you’re paying for my laundry,” Chaewon muttered.

“You wear the same three hoodies every week, don’t lie,” Hayeon teased, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her leather jacket, that signature grin just barely playing on her lips.

“That’s slander,” Chaewon sniffed. “I rotate them. Occasionally.”

The banter was familiar, a script they all knew by heart.  For Hyerin, something felt different.

She still felt that low ache in her chest from earlier, when they spoke about Joobin.  She was reminded how far she kept everyone from her, even them.  She’d never told them about her family.  Her past. About the ache that still came sometimes at night.

As she listened to her friends chat, she couldn't help but wonder why Soomin never really mentioned her family unless she was talking about Lynn.  Or why Chaewon, who always joked or said something silly, never invited anyone over.  And why Hayeon, who was normally so confident, would clench her jaw too tightly when people asked about her parents. 

All of them were so hard to read at times, even for someone as observant as Hyerin. 

With Soomin, it was the way she talked fast and loud, like she was afraid she wouldn’t get another chance to speak if she stopped.

With Chaewon, it was how her laughter never quite reached her eyes, or how she’d drift somewhere else mid-conversation

And Hayeon... well beneath the bluster and the flirting, Hyerin saw a girl that was angry at something, but never said what.

She knew they were close.  But they didn’t know each other in ways that mattered.

Hyerin didn’t blame them.  It was easier to joke. To play.  To pretend.

None of them were ready to say the real things out loud. 

________________________________________

Friday Lunch.  Joobin

Joobin arrived first to lunch.  After speaking to her moms the night before, she was feeling a little better with how she had handled everything with Yeonji yesterday, but there was still a swirl of Did I do enough? and I didn’t really help at all, looping in her mind like background noise.

She was drawn out of her thoughts when the first whirlwind arrived.

“DID YOU KNOW,” Soomin announced, slamming her tray onto the table with enough force to nearly send her chopsticks flying, “that if you eat three boiled eggs a day for a week, your skin apparently becomes like glass?”

Hyerin took her seat with Soomin, and Joobin could tell that she had already listened to Soomin tell this supposed fact multiple times already.

Joobin blinked. “That doesn’t seem… medically accurate?”

“Probably not, but I’m trying it!” Soomin grinned, cracking open her can of juice. “Starting tomorrow.  Nothing but eggs and the best skin even an idol would die for!”

Hayeon and Chaewon slid in at the tail end of Soomin’s statement.  Hayeon was somehow already halfway through her kimbap, and Chaewon… had chopsticks tucked into her messy bun like they were a decorative hairpiece. 

“Should we be worried?” asked Hayeon.  “The last time you tried some fad diet, you nearly passed out during PE.”

“That was one time!” protested Soomin, trying not to think of that class and how embarrassing it was when she had to pretend to be sick to the teacher instead of telling them she had nearly fainted because she had eaten nothing but cabbage soup for a week.

“Also, remember that one time you tried to make the soup in the microwave and set off the fire alarm,” Chaewon added cheerfully.  Then in a more sombre tone she added, “That smell still haunts me.”

Soomin gasped.  “YA!.  Why is everyone attacking me?  Is it pick on Soomin day?  I’m a delicate flower!”

“More like a chaotic weed,” Hyerin muttered, taking a bite of chicken off her own tray.   

“HEY!  Not you as well Hyerin.  Joobin, you’re not going to attack my choices, are you?” asked Soomin, batting her eyelashes as she spoke.

Joobin chuckled softly into her drink.  “No judgement from me…”

She couldn’t help how nice this felt.  And after everything that had happened yesterday, she felt a little guilty about feeling that way.  The table was full of energy, nonsense, and warmth.  Soomin was half-pouting, half-ranting about how no one took her skincare journey seriously.  Chaewon and Hyerin were eating their lunch, whilst Hayeon was texting with one hand and eating with the other, occasionally jumping in to throw in one-liners that had Soomin fake gasping in betrayal.

It was the kind of chaos Joobin liked about her friends.  Enough to take her mind off of yesterday, and Yeonji’s panic attack.

She asked about the arcade trip, and laughed when they told her how Hyerin had destroyed them all at DDR.  Laughed at how Soomin and Hayeon were doomed at the claw machine without Joobin there to win for them.

“We missed you yesterday, Joobs” said Hayeon.  It was a blunt statement, said as a fact and with no malice or hidden meaning.

Despite herself, Joobin felt her cheeks warming at the statement.  She had to admit, it felt... good to feel missed.  That her friends had wanted her there. 

And yet, she couldn't help why did it felt so strange that none of them were asking her why she wasn’t there?  Had they collectively decided to not talk about it?  To not ask her? 

She was so lost in those thoughts, she missed how Hyerin watched her, keeping a careful eye on how she reacted to Hayeon's words.

________________________________________

Friday Lunch.  Hyerin

Hyerin considered herself observant.  Outside of Joobin, she was the most attuned to when things were off with her friends.

Joobin was in some ways like her.  Generally quiet and observant.  But where Hyerin herself tended to be quite similar in any situation, Joobin had a way of moulding herself to the people she was with.  If the situation was chaotic and loud (which, with Soomin, Chaewon, and Hayeon tended to be frequently), Joobin would rise to the chaos a little.

But even then, Joobin still had things that remained constant.  The way she knew when to talk or when to listen.  The way she gave space to others without intruding.  She was the friend, that any of them could just sit and be with, and never feel pressured to be anything more than themselves in that moment.

To an outsider, Joobin seemed to be normal.  She laughed, watched the banter between her friends, inserted comments at the right moment.  But not to Hyerin.  She noticed the little differences in how Joobin’s laugh never quite reached her eyes.  Or how she would seem to hold back a little, before snapping back with a smile.

Hyerin saw all this but couldn’t find the words to ask her about it.  At least not here, where asking how she felt could sound more like an accusation than concern. 

So, Hyerin didn’t press or dive into questions.  She did what she told the rest of the group to do at the arcade.  She watched her and if she wanted to open up, hopefully she would. 

And if she didn’t… then she would find a moment next week to either text her or pull her aside and ask her if she was okay.

Any further thoughts were taken from her when Soomin launched into another five-minute rant about why “egg whites are better for your skin than moisturiser.”

“Oh no.  Not again…” muttered Hyerin.  This was her third time hearing Soomin rant about this today.  She resisted the temptation to face plant into the table. 

Lovingly, of course.

________________________________________

Friday lunch.  Sullin.

Across the other side of the school cafeteria, a new routine was forming, as Sullin and Lynn joined Dahyun and Shion for lunch.  By now, their friendship was growing, and warmth and humour had started to replace the awkward silences that came with the start of new friendships.  They hadn’t disappeared entirely, but they had shrunk enough that they could talk without second-guessing every word.

They sat at their table, four trays between them, a chorus of clinking spoons and idle chatter around them from other groups.  Sullin leaned back in her chair, balancing it dangerously on two legs as she spooned rice into her mouth with casual grace, listening as Lynn prepared another passionate rant about Lovely Runner.

“I’m just saying,” Lynn declared, pointing her chopsticks for emphasis, “if they kill off the grandmother or do anything to hurt her, I am going to riot.  I will lead a riot against tvN, and you won’t be able to stop me!”

Sullin grinned.  “Lynn, you threaten to riot for every drama you watch.  And yet here you are, still watching, and not rioting!”

“She’s loyal,” Dahyun said, stirring her soup, a kind smile on her face. “To her fictional characters and to her heartbreak.  It’s a noble trait, honestly.”

Sullin watched Dahyun as she spoke.  After everything that had gone down with the group of boys, Sullin found it funny how Dahyun was both one of the kindest people she had ever met, but also ready to throw hands to defend Shion. 

It was one of the reasons she had grown to like her a lot.

“I’m emotionally invested,” Lynn replied, mock-offended.  “How can they justify breaking my heart in every episode?  It’s not right, I’m telling you.”

“But” Shion cut in, her voice soft, almost musical, “did anyone notice that the bakery just outside the school had added Shokupan to their menu this morning?”

Shion had a funny way of injecting food and bread into almost every conversation.  She did it sometimes, even when the conversation wasn’t even about food to start with.

Sullin had asked Dahyun once about it, and Dahyun shook her head.  “Sometimes… Shion’s mind isn’t always focussed on the conversation.  She gets lost in thoughts about stuff, and blurts it out without thinking.”  A fond smile took over her face then.  “She doesn’t mean anything bad by it.  In fact, I think its cute the way she does it sometimes.”

At that, Sullin just nodded and accepted it, whilst pretending not to see the quiet blush that took over Dahyun’s face when she said she thought it was cute.

Shion was quirky, and Sullin loved quirky people.  She was quirky herself, so she knew that sometimes the best thing for someone like Shion was just to let her be herself without fear of being judged for it.

Sullin had figured from how protective Dahyun was, and the odd comment that Dahyun or Shion herself made, that Shion had likely been judged for being quirky, so she promised herself that she would never be someone that would judge her.

And, if she realised that Dahyun may or may not have a crush on Shion?  Well, she would keep that to herself until Dahyun was ready to do something about it.

But, whilst that ran through Sullin’s mind in the blink of an eye, her eyes, along with two other sets of eyes turned to Shion.

“I mean…” Shion flushed, already pulling up a photo on her phone.  “I took a picture of them, and look at them.  They are soft.  Like really soft.  And fluffy.  It’s like… hugging a warm pillow, but the pillow happens to be edible.  And bread.”

Sullin tilted her head, grinning.  “Okay, I don’t even know what Shokupan is, but after that description and those pictures, I want three.”

“Make it four,” Dahyun said with a cheeky smile.

Even though Sullin didn’t think it was possible, Shion lit up further, like a Christmas tree being switched on for the first time.  “You’ll love it.  I’ll bring everyone a piece on Monday.”

Lynn raised an eyebrow.  “Wait.  Are you trying to bribe my friendship with bread Shion?”

“No,” Shion said, almost too quickly.  Then she smiled, realising that Lynn was only poking fun at her and not being serious.  “...Yes.”

The group burst into light laughter.

It was easier now between them.  Still cautious at times, like the four of them were each testing the edges of a new language, trying to figure out the dialect of each other's hearts.  But the main thing was that they were getting there.

Lynn nudged Shion with her elbow.  “I have to ask.  What made you fall in love with bread anyway?  Was it fate?  A calling from the bread god?”

Shion rested her cheek against her hand, dreamily.  “My earliest memory of bread is of the most amazing Melon bread in Busan.  It was love at first bite.”

Then she pointed at Dahyun and herself.  “After we became friends, I met Dahyun’s mom who is a pastry chef.  And she makes the best bread and desserts.  I practically live there now, and she inspired me to want to become a chef and open my own bakery someday.”

She said it like a statement of fact.  In her mind, it wasn’t a dream — it was just waiting for time to catch up.  And Sullin believed her, whilst also filing away the little nugget of information that Shion had met Dahyun’s parents and was there often.

That was interesting.  Very, very interesting indeed. 

“I think we need to add ‘poetic’ to her list of qualities,” Lynn murmured to Sullin.

“She already has ‘dangerous’ on mine,” Sullin whispered back.

“Well, for what it’s worth Shion, I’m starving now and I think you would make a great baker.  Just make sure you give the three of us staff discounts when you do open your own bakery,” Sullin grinned cheekily at her.

As their banter carried on, light and bright, Sullin’s eyes flickered across the hall, toward another table not far away.

Joobin was there, her head bent slightly as she listened to her friends talk.  She noticed how Joobin moved her chopsticks slowly, and how her posture seemed a little more curled in and defensive. 

Joobin was hurting a little, that much was obvious.  Sullin had heard there was a fight in her class the night before, and even though she finished track practise late last night, she could tell something else had happened by the way her mom’s acted when she got home. 

She had sat herself down on Joobin’s bed later and listened to her sister tell her everything that had happened with Yeonji.  Their moms had always encouraged them to be open, especially with each other.  And after everything that happened at their old school… the bullying… the way Joobin shut down… well she always made sure to check in with her.

So, she sat and listened to Joobin spill everything out.  What she had done, what she had wished she had done.  Why she felt like it wasn’t enough.

And Sullin just hugged her.  Because fuck, she loved her sister, and she had never been more proud of her.  Joobin had a habit of thinking she was never doing enough, but god she was so wrong.  Joobin was the kindest, best person she knew, and the way she had handled everything with Yeonji.  She had been enough.  More than enough.

For now, she let herself laugh again as Lynn tried to explain why this drama actor was absolutely cursed by fate, and why Shion should open a bakery next to their school.

________________________________________

Hayeon.  Friday, After School.

Hayeon kicked off her sneakers at the door, dropping her schoolbag with a tired thud. The apartment was quiet, except for the low hum of the air conditioner unit and the muffled city sounds outside their fourth-floor window.  A pair of heels were neatly tucked by the shoe rack, signalling that her mom Nien was home earlier than usual.

She padded into the kitchen, stopping short as she found her mother at the stove, still in her work blouse, sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a pot.

“Hey Kid,” Nien said without looking up. “Welcome home.”

Hayeon leaned against the counter, arms folded, eyes on the slow swirl of soup in the pot. “You didn’t say you’d be home early today.”

“My meeting ended early.” Nien smiled softly.  “So, I thought I’d try to cook something that didn’t come out of a box or need to be delivered.”

Hayeon managed a small laugh. “Is it edible?”

“Don’t jinx it,” murmured Nien.

This was their usual banter.  The kind they’d fallen into over the past few years, after the silences stopped being so heavy.  After the nights of tiptoeing around broken glass and the long months where neither of them quite knew how to speak without accidentally reopening something raw.

Hayeon sat at the small kitchen table, watching her mom with that same quiet ache, and soft anger, she always carried. 

“How was school?” Nien asked, ladling soup into two bowls.

Hayeon snorted a little at that.  School was school, dull and only bearable because of her friends.  She didn’t say that though, instead answering with a quieter “It was okay.”

“That’s not a word you usually use,” Nien mused.

Hayeon shrugged.  “I just… had lunch with my friends.  We laughed. It was nice.”

Nien hummed and then asked “And how were your friends?”

Hayeon hesitated, as that was a tricker question to answer.  “They seemed...OK.  I guess.”

Nien placed the bowls down and sat across from her.  Studied the way her daughter sat, with her shoulders slumped.  The ever-present grin absent from her face.  “You look like something is on your mind.  Wanna spill?”

Hayeon toyed with the spoon for a bit. “It’s… I don’t know.  Weird, I guess.  I feel like there are things bothering them.  Things they don’t say and I don’t ask about.”

Nien hummed again before responding, her tone thoughtful.  “Any reason why you don’t ask?  You’re always so brave.  Doesn’t feel like something you would keep quiet about.”

Hayeon looked up then, meeting her mother’s gaze.

“I know,” she said. “It’s just… there’s something about it.  It’s like, everyone is carrying something and anytime I think I want to ask them, I no longer feel brave and so I don’t ask.  But later, I feel useless because I didn’t ask.”  Then she sighed, a long and drawn out sigh that spoke volumes.

Nien reached over, touching her hand.  “Honey, you’re not useless.  You’re sixteen and your worried for your friends.”

The silence stretched.  Comfortable, but heavy underneath.

“Mom.  Do you ever think…” Hayeon began, voice quieter, “that if I had been… easier, back then… maybe he wouldn’t have left?”

Nien’s face changed, her eyes sharpening and leaning towards anger.  Not anger at Hayeon, but at the thought that Hayeon blamed herself for what happened.  “No,” she answered.  The word was firm, with no room for argument.  “Don’t ever think that.”

“But I was always so loud and angry all the time.  Always acting out," said Hayeon in return.

“Because you were hurting.”  Nien’s voice trembled slightly.  “And none of that — none of that — was the reason he left.  He made his choices, and I made mine.  You were a child, Hayeon.  You still are.  Don’t ever think any of what happened was your fault.”

Hayeon looked down at her bowl.  “I don’t always feel like one.  A kid, I mean.  I haven't for a long time.”

“I know,” Nien said softly.  “That’s the part that breaks my heart the most.”

They sat like that for a while, soup going cold. Two people trying, in their own ways, to love and be loved without hurting each other by mistake.

Eventually, Nien smiled, trying to lighten the mood.  “So… should I start making dinner every night now?  Be a proper domestic goddess?”

Hayeon snorted. “Well, I give this effort a solid six out of ten, so I suppose as long as you promise not to poison me, I’d be okay with that.”

“No promises.”  Nien grinned.

“No promises to the cooking or the poisoning?”  queried Hayeon.

“Yes,” laughed Nien, not bothering to explain what question she was answering.

The moment passed, not forgotten, but placed carefully between them.  One of many they’d keep building.  Brick by brick.  Trying to make something new from everything they’d lost.

________________________________________

Hayeon.  Friday Evening

After dinner, Hayeon had helped her mom with the dishes in silence, both pretending their conversation hadn’t cracked something open between them.  When the plates were dry and the kitchen quiet again, she’d retreated to her room without another word.

She closed the door behind her with more force than she meant to.

She could feel the ache inside as the anger built up again.  The conversation earlier had kicked down a door she usually kept firmly locked.

She kicked her schoolbag under the desk and dropped onto her bed.  She searched through her playlists on her Spotify account, eventually settling on an old Motown playlist that helped pick away at the anger.

The anger sat with her, like a slow burning fire that refused to dim or be put out.  She didn’t always know where the anger came from, all she knew is that it always came back, no matter how much she wished it wouldn’t. 

Her fingers curled into the blanket as her throat tightened.  She exhaled in a sharp breath, frustration bubbling under the surface.

She felt the urge to do something, anything, before the anger really took root, so she stood suddenly and yanked open the top drawer of her drawers, and began rummaging through it with more force than necessary.

She wasn’t searching for anything in particular, it was just something to keep her moving.  Just… to do something.

And that’s when she saw it.  A white bottle. 

Fluoxetine.

Her hand stilled as she stared dead eyed at the bottle like it had just insulted her.

She picked it up, turning it over slowly in her palm. The sound of the pills rattling was soft — almost mocking.  it was nearly full, having been untouched for weeks.

The Doctor told her she was supposed to take one every day.  She had been since she was eleven.

The doctor had told her mom that she had Major Depressive Disorder.  Or maybe it was Disruptive Mood Dysregulation Disorder.  Either way, it meant she was angry, and no one really knew why.

She was eleven when she started the pills.  Told they would help her feel better, like an eleven-year-old would understand any of that.

Her mom, Nien, thought she was still taking them, but she didn’t.  Not anymore.  Not unless it got really bad.

She hated taking them because she felt worse.  Sometimes it would cause her to be nauseous, or cause her not to sleep or have weird dreams.  Mostly, it’s because it made every other emotion along with her anger feel blunted.   Like someone had put a sheet of glass between her and the world and the volume got turned down on everything — not just the pain.

She really hated that feeling, because when she wasn’t angry, she liked to laugh and joke.  So, she stopped taking them because she wanted to feel.  Even if it hurt or made her too much or made her angry.

She gripped the bottle harder and heard the pills rattle.  Then, with a sharp exhale, she threw it back into the drawer and slammed it shut.

She needed to do something.  To get out of her room and her house before she exploded and took it out on her mom who wouldn’t deserve that.  She changed quickly into a pair of loose joggers, a black t-shirt and hoodie, and tied her hair back in a rough ponytail.  She grabbed her phone, a pair of fingerless gloves and a pair of earphones, stuck on a pair of trainers and slipped out the door with a quick "I'll be back later," to her mom.

She put music on her phone, stuck the earphones in, and she started running. 

No warm-up.  No stretching.  She just ran.

Down the four flights of stairs in her building and out onto the street.  She ran past the smell of food and traffic and garbage and kept going until her breath felt ragged and her feet stung against the soles of her shoes.

Eventually, she reached the park.  Her park, she thought to herself.  A safe place.

It had a small gym setup in the corner — a metal frame with pull-up bars and a few machines that the older neighbours tended to use for exercise.  But the best part was, it had a worn, weather-stained punching bag hanging from a rusted hook.

Years ago, her mom had suggested that she could try a sport to try and give her an outlet for some of what she was feeling.  She tried lots of different things over a year.  Karate, Taekwondo, Football. 

And eventually boxing.

Boxing she had stuck with for a while, and she had only recently given it up due to school swallowing her time.  There was something about the rhythm of boxing that helped.  The steady thud of glove against canvas, the sharp breath before each strike.  It made sense to her.  And it wasn’t about hurting anything or anyone.  No, it was about containing it.  Every punch was a way to drag the anger out of her chest and give it shape, if only for a few minutes at a time

Taking a breath, she pulled on her fingerless gloves and stepped up to the bag.

She started slow.

One-two.

One-two.

After a few hits like that, she picked up the pace and the rhythm of the blows as she struck the punching bag.

One-two-three. One-two-three-four.

There was fire behind her strikes now, anger fuelling each hit as she used it to let it out of her system. 

Every blow against the punch bag was for every stupid reason she felt angry. 

It was her dad, who left her and her mom without saying a word.

It was her mom, who didn’t leave, any by staying had become the focal point of her anger.

It was for herself, because she was loud and angry and hard to love.

One-two-three-four.  One-two-three-four.

Because why else, she thought, would her dad have left, if not because his daughter was so angry all the time?

She picked up the pace again, flowing in to the easy steps she knew off by heart.  Each blow hitting with a clarion bell of emotion she kept buried.

Another punch.  This one for not being enough for her dad to stay and fight for her.

The next punch.  Because she didn’t have the right words to say what was in her heart and on her mind.

Another.  For not being brave enough to ask her friends “do you want to talk about it?”

Another.  Because she was a coward, knowing that if she asked that then she would have to explain the bottle of pills and the anger.

Another.  For pretending everything was fine because it was easier than hearing the truth.

One-two. One-two. One-two.

Her shoulders were burning, her breathing coming heavier and her knuckles stung with the force of the blows.  Eventually, as she felt her arms getting heavy, she slammed two more punches, before stopping. 

She leaned against the bag, her head down.  Sweat covered her forehead, and her hoodie was damp with the exertion.  The anger wasn’t gone, but it had it’s release, and that was better than it was an hour ago. 

She took a few more breaths, tapped the punching bad a few times like it was an old friend, and turned back to her home.

________________________________________

Nien

After dinner, the apartment had fallen still.  The dishes had been washed and Hayeon had retreated to her room.  She heard the way her daughter slammed the door shut a little harder than usual, and rubbed a hand across her face.  She listened in silence, until she heard the Motown music start up, and she smiled a little at that.  The irony wasn’t lost on her; Hayeon always teased her for playing “old people music,” yet somehow it was the same songs her daughter turned to when she needed comfort.

Nien leaned against the kitchen counter, hands still damp from washing up, and stared at the hallway light.  These moments of silence felt alien to her.  She didn’t do silence very well, and that was something Hayeon had gotten from her.

But the last few years had been hard, and the silences had become more common.  And neither of them liked it or knew what to do about it.    

The truth was that Hayeon had been off lately.  Not like it had been a few years ago, where her anger burned bright and caused her to lash out, never quite understanding what was going on inside her own body.  Now it was more like a slow frustration that frayed at the edges of her.  There was an edge in her voice at times and a certain tension in her shoulders.

She noticed how her daughter smiled as she always did – bright, cocky, careless – like she really didn’t have a care in the world.  And she seen how she let it drop when she thought no one was watching.

It frustrated Nien.  Not because she blamed her daughter.  God, never that.  No, the frustration was because wasn’t always sure how to reach her.

She loved her daughter with her whole soul, and she would do anything for her.  But that didn’t change the fact that Hayeon had built walls around herself, and carried each day like she was in a suit of armour, whilst embracing her more casual flirt and deflect persona. 

Nien understood it all too well.  Hayeon was far to like her at times, it was almost as if she was looking at a younger version of herself. 

She wasn't surprised when she heard Hayeon opening her bedroom door, and leaving with a quick "I'll be back later."  She knew where Hayeon was going, so she wasn't concerned.  She poured herself a glass of water and sat down on the couch, flipping through her phone without really seeing it.  Half her chats were unread.  The group one from her co-workers.  An unopened message from Hayeon's dad.

She sighed, locking the screen.

It was hard sometimes, being the one who stayed.  The one who tried to hold all the pieces together.

But when it felt hard, she would remember how Hayeon’s laughter still filled a room. How she'd rant about school drama with a fire in her eyes.  How she once defended a stranger on the subway because “no one messes with people when I’m around, mom.”

She just needed time.  Support.  Space to rage and to be held.

And Nien would be there.  Even when she wasn’t sure how.  Even when the silence scared her.

Chapter Text

Chaewon.  Friday, After School.

Chaewon didn’t say anything as she slipped through the front door.  She just stepped inside and let it shut behind her with a soft click.  Her hoodie still smelled faintly of the strawberry latte she had spilled down the front of it on the way home.  That, and everything else of late, just kind of made her want to disappear into the floor.

She kicked her shoes off at the entrance, too tired to line them up properly, and she padded quietly down the hall in mismatched socks.  Today, one of them was white with little strawberries, the other a plain black.  She really didn’t care if they matched or not, since matching socks were never high on her list of priorities.

The apartment was warm, cozy and lived in.  It was a home of chaos vs calm, mess vs neatness.  It was the kind of home where cushions never stayed in their rightful spots, and mugs would go missing for days. 

The television was on, casting glows across the floor and framed photos on the shelves.  Photos from vacations, and other random days.  A few were just her moms, but most of them had Chaewon in them.  Her favourite photo was the one from her last birthday, where she was squished between both her moms, with frosting on her nose and her grin caught in the blur between laughter and tears.

Her mom Jiyeon was lying dramatically across the couch in a way that defied the rules of spine health.  One leg was draped over the backrest, the other off the edge of the couch, whilst her hair was styled in a messy pony-tail.   

“Ah!  Our daughter returns,” she declared in a mock serious tone.  “Guess what I made for dinner?  It's got carbs.  It’s got cheese.  And I only burned half of it this time, so I mark that as a fifty percent success rate!”

Chaewon raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching toward a smile. 

Jiyeon rolled off the couch with all the grace of a toddler and swept over to envelop her in a hug that was half-dramatic flourish, half-koala cling.  She kissed the top of Chaewon’s head between sentences, like punctuation.

“Also,” she murmured into her hair, “I did vacuum.  But don’t look under the couch.”

From the kitchen, Seoyeon emerged with a plate in her hands and her expression somewhere between warm and tired, and her old SNU hoodie hung loose at the neck.

“Welcome home, Chaewon-ah,” she said simply, offering the plate with both hands.  She nodded toward Jiyeon with a slight smirk on her face.  “What your other mom is trying to say is that she attempted mac and cheese.  And somehow didn’t set off the smoke alarm.  She calls it fifty percent success rate, but I’ll settle for calling it progress.”

Jiyeon stuck her tongue out, still attached to Chaewon’s side like she might never let go.

Chaewon muttered a quiet thanks and slipped into her chair at the kitchen table, setting the plate down gently in front of her.  She didn’t start eating right away.  Instead, she poked at the food with the edge of her fork, ignoring the slightly burned edges and stirred the mac and cheese around like she was trying to find the best bits and not just buying time.

The silence stretched, broken only by the gentle hum of the fridge and the soft clatter of Jiyeon spinning herself into the seat beside her.  Her legs bumped gently into Chaewon’s under the table, her feet nudging hers in a quiet rhythm.

“You okay, bug?” Jiyeon asked, her voice softer now, and stripped of the earlier drama.

Chaewon shrugged.  “Yeah.”

Jiyeon tilted her head. “Liar,” she said, but there was no accusation in it.  Just an easy, practiced read of her daughter’s energy.  “You’ve got that vibe when something’s off and you don’t want to talk about it.”

Chaewon didn’t respond.  Her fork slowed, then stilled completely.  Jiyeon leaned over with her own fork to steal a bit of the food, chewing it like she was sampling food from a three-star Michelin restaurant.  “You know,” she said around it, “this is shockingly edible.”

A faint sound, not quite a laugh, but something close, puffed out of Chaewon’s nose.

“I’m not really hungry,” she said after a while, though she kept nibbling.  “It’s just been a long day.”

Seoyeon joined them then, drying her hands on a towel before she took a seat across from them.  Her posture was straight, like she didn’t know how to sit any other way, but her hands were relaxed in her lap.

“School?” she asked, her voice even.

Chaewon nodded slowly, then winced.  “Everyone’s been weird lately.  I don’t know. It’s like my friends are dealing with something and won’t say what.”

Jiyeon tilted her head.  “And that makes you feel…?” she asked, her tone soft, but probing for a response.

Chaewon expected that question, but she wasn’t sure how to answer it.  How did she feel about it?  Really?  As she contemplated that, her expression twisted for a second, brief, but visible, almost as if she had just swallowed something sharp.

“Left out,” she said finally.  “Useless.  Worried.  Like… like I’m a bad friend.”

“You’re not any of those things,” Seoyeon said, her tone quiet but firm.

Chaewon blinked, a little surprised that it was her mom Seoyeon that had spoken first.  It wasn’t that she avoided these topics, or never spoke about them, but it was usually her mom Jiyeon who jumped in first and reached out and to fill the empty spaces.

Jiyeon glanced between them and gave a small, crooked smile.  “For the record bug, being a good friend doesn’t mean you always know what to say or what to do.  Sometimes it means just being there and being yourself.”

Chaewon huffed a soft laugh.  “Even if being myself means being weird?”

“Especially when you’re weird,” Jiyeon smiled, bumping her shoulder playfully.  “That’s when you’re at your best.  When you're being yourself.”   

Seoyeon’s lips twitched into a small smile.  “Your mom’s right.”  Then dropping her tone like she was sharing in a conspiracy, she added “Though don’t tell her I said that.”

“I heard that,” Jiyeon said, grinning wide.

The three of them sat like that for a while.  Just existing in the same space, like a warm, imperfect little triangle of quiet love.  There was always something unspoken between them.  Invisible threads that were fragile but bound them together tight. 

After a long stretch of silence, Seoyeon spoke.   Her voice was careful, quiet and heavy with things unsaid but all of them understood.  “You’ve come a long way, you know.  Even if it doesn’t always feel like it.  I just wanted to say that I’m so proud of you.  We’re both so proud of you.”

The words hit Chaewon, and suddenly she was fighting the urge to cry at the dinner table.  It wasn’t helped when Jiyeon leaned her head against Chaewon’s shoulder, closing her eyes and adding a quick “Every single day.”

Chaewon blinked fast to stop the tears.  In truth, she wasn’t sure how much she agreed with the both of her mom’s.  “I don’t feel like I’ve come that far.”

Jiyeon reached out and gently flicked her on the forehead, before wrapping an arm around her.  “I know bug.  But that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Chaewon didn’t look up, preferring to keep her eyes on her plate.  But, as Jiyeon's arm wrapped itself around her, she felt herself relax into the grip and letting the tension that had settled in her shoulder blades loosen a little. 

“Thanks, moms” she whispered to them. 

It was just two words.  Two, simple little words, that covered and meant so much more to the three of them than anyone could ever grasp.

________________________________________

Seoyeon and Jiyeon.  Later That Night

Later that night, everyone had gone to bed and quietness had fallen over their apartment.  The lights in Chaewon’s room had gone out an hour ago, though neither Seoyeon nor Jiyeon believed she had fallen asleep. 

At least not right away. 

Nights were the hardest time for the two of them, because they knew that sometimes Chaewon would lay awake for hours, unable to fall asleep due the thoughts in her mind.  For the longest time, they took turns checking in on her, only stopping when Chaewon had told them that she was fine and that she hated the noise her door made when it opened during the night.

That was something else only the three of them really understood.

So, instead of checking on her, they did the only thing they could.  They listened and hoped and trusted that their daughter was okay. 

In their bedroom, a low instrumental playlist full of slow piano and soft rain sounds was on.  Jiyeon said it helped her relax before sleep, though Seoyeon always suspected that it was partly because Jiyeon couldn’t stand silences anymore.

Seoyeon completely understood that feeling.

Seoyeon herself was propped up on her pillows, with one hand absently flipping through a veterinary journal that she wasn’t reading.  She’d read the same paragraph three times without processing a single word.  Something about post-operative swelling in elderly dogs.

Jiyeon emerged from their ensuite bathroom in her usual bedtime attire.  An oversized t-shirt that said Without dance, what’s the pointe? and a pair of worn pyjama shorts.  She didn’t say anything right away.  She just crossed the room and climbed into bed beside her wife, before she looped her arms around Seoyeon’s waist and rested her cheek on her shoulder.

After a few seconds of just holding her, Jiyeon spoke, just as Seoyeon knew she would.  “I’m worried Seoyeon.  Chaewon’s carrying something,” Jiyeon murmured.  “You can see it in her eyes.”

Seoyeon didn’t answer straight away, instead she took a moment to close the journal slowly, resting it on her nightstand with careful fingers.  Her shoulders were tense, the way they always were when she felt helpless.  “I know,” she said finally.  “She looked tired today.  Not just physically.  Like… she’s trying so hard to feel okay, and it’s wearing her down.”

Jiyeon’s arms tightened around Seoyeon.  “You were good with her tonight, y’know?”

Seoyeon sighed.  “I felt like I was fumbling through every sentence.”

Jiyeon smiled into her shoulder.  “Maybe a little.  But you said the right things, honey.”

Seoyeon snorted under her breath, turning to face her wife and snuggling in beside her.  “I just wish I could do something more.  To fix things for her so she never has to feel like that again.”  She sighed, deeply, almost forlornly.  “But it’s like... she’s climbing this mountain, and I’m stuck at the bottom yelling encouragement she can’t hear.”

“I think she can,” Jiyeon said quietly.  “She’s still learning how to yell back is all.”

They were both quiet for a long moment, and Seoyeon’s eyes turned toward the darkened window.  The glass reflected her face back at her, older and more tired than she remembered.

“She used to hum when she was nervous,” she said quietly.  “Back when we first brought her home.  She’d sit at the kitchen table, trying to look invisible, and just hum under her breath like it could protect her.”

“She still does,” Jiyeon replied.  “But only when she thinks she’s alone.”

Seoyeon swallowed. “Do you think she’s really okay?”

Jiyeon’s answer came without hesitation.  “No.  But she’s trying.”

Seoyeon pressed a kiss to Jiyeon’s forehead.  “I’m glad she has you.  You get her in ways I don’t.”

“That’s not true,” Jiyeon said, kissing her wife’s forehead in return.  “She’s like you in so many ways.  She has your grit and your fighting spirit.  You both just… have a different language for love.”

Seoyeon went quiet again, before adding “Do you think she knows how much I love her?  How much we love her?”

“I think,” Jiyeon said softly, “that she’s still learning that love doesn’t have to mean pain.  She just doesn’t have the words to describe it, at least not yet, but she knows.”

Seoyeon blinked slowly.  “I just want her to know and believe she’s safe here.  Not conditionally.  Not until the next storm.  Just know that she’s safe and loved.”

“She’ll get there.  We’ll make sure of it,” Jiyeon replied, her voice a little sleepy as Seoyeon’s warmth seeped into her.

“I just worry Jiyeon,” Seoyeon yawned.  “You know me, I just want to be able to fix things.”

“You always worry,” she mumbled into Seoyeon’s cheek.  “That’s just who you are.  But just remember, she’s still here, still fighting, and that’s all we can ask from her.”

Seoyeon kissed her wife one last time, murmuring a faint “Yeah, our baby girl is still here,” before she closed her eyes, letting herself drift off to sleep.

________________________________________

Soomin.  Friday, After School.

Soomin stepped into her home, and the front door gave a soft beep as it locked behind her.  Usually, she announced herself to the home, yelling something ridiculous down the hallway like “Your favourite daughter has arrived!”  But tonight, there was nothing, just the soft shuffle of her socks against the wooden floor, and the familiar creak of the floor as she tread its well-worn planks.  Her schoolbag slipped from her shoulder and hit the ground with a dull, unbothered thud. 

Soomin heard the faint, steady clinking of dishes from the kitchen.  That would be Mayu. It was always Mayu at this hour — moving with a quiet, practiced energy, cleaning like the house might fall apart if she didn’t keep touching every corner of it.  Soomin imagined her at the sink, her sleeves rolled up, and a soft hum in her throat as she rinsed out a mug that no one had asked her to clean.

In the living room, Lynn was stretched across the couch like a queen, with socked feet up on one end, a hoodie tangled around her middle and earbuds tucked in.  The screen of her phone reflected faint blue light over her face.  She glanced up as Soomin passed and gave a lazy half-smile, lifting one hand in a peace sign.  She pulled an earbud out, mouthing a "hey," as she did.

Soomin offered a vague nod in return but kept moving and not stopping to say hi or speak in return.  She wasn’t feeling up to it, nor could she stop the sudden urge that made her feel like a guest in her own home.  Like someone arriving late to a movie that didn’t pause for her.

Mayu looked up from the kitchen counter and smiled.  She was exactly as Soomin had pictured her, at the sink and washing dishes.  Her voice was warm and light.  “Welcome home, sweetheart.  I made those rice balls you like.  Would you like some?”

“I’m not hungry,” Soomin said, her voice barely above a whisper.

But Mayu heard her anyway.  “That’s okay. I’ll keep them for later.”

There was no disappointment in her voice.  Just the same warm care that was always there.  It was the kind of response that usually comforted Soomin.  Today, it just made the guilt sit heavier in her stomach.

She ducked into her room, leaving the door cracked open just enough.  Inside, the light from the window pooled across the floor, casting soft shadows on the posters on her walls.  Her desk was a quiet disaster.  Notebooks were scattered haphazardly, and a collection of pens and pencils littered the desk beside a cracked phone stand.  The chair was buried under jackets that had never made it to the closet.

She collapsed onto the bed, landing face down in the sheets she hadn’t bothered to make that morning.  Her body sunk into the mattress, but her thoughts kept floating.

At school, she was the loud one.  The talker, the whirlwind, the motor-mouthed chaos machine with jokes for days.  She made people laugh.  That’s what she was good at. That’s what people expected.

But at home… she wasn’t sure who she was supposed to be.

Her family was brilliant.  Undeniably, intimidatingly brilliant.  Lynn, the golden child of the basketball court, who somehow managed to be both hilarious and effortlessly kind.

Her mom Yooyeon, who could explain cell division and DNA like it was a bedtime story, who read academic journals for fun and never forgot a single thing.

And Mayu, equally brilliant, who knew numbers the same way some people knew how to breathe.  Mayu, who was fluent in two languages, in emotions, and always knowing when something was wrong even before anyone else had figured it out.

And then there was her.

The girl who talked too much and talked even more when she was nervous.  A girl who forgot test dates, spilled her drinks constantly, and tripped over her own feet.  A girl who felt like a background character in her own home, that was never good enough for the family she loved.

She was drawn from her thoughts by her phone buzzing.  It was a message from Lynn.

"You okay?"

Soomin stared at it, not really sure if she wanted to respond, or if she did respond, if she should respond honestly. 

Because if she did respond honestly, then she would reply with a no, not really.  But she didn’t get the chance, as another buzz followed a few seconds later.

"Want me to leave you alone or come bother you? 😝"

A small smile tugged at her mouth.  She could never really refuse Lynn anything, so she sighed and typed a reply.

"Come bother me, idiot. 🙄"

It only took a few seconds before there was a knock on her door.  “Permission to enter the lair of the one and only Queen Soomin,” came Lynn’s voice from the other side of the door.

The door swung open, revealing Lynn, and Soomin snorted. “You’re such a nerd.”

Lynn was holding up a bag of shrimp crisps like a sacred offering.  “I might be a nerd, but I’m a nerd who comes bearing snacks.”

Soomin scooted to the side to make room and Lynn flopped down beside her with the grace of a falling sofa cushion.  She didn’t say anything, opting to just open the crisps and offer the bag to Soomin.  They munched in the quiet, Lynn occasionally passing the bag over to Soomin without looking. 

There didn’t need to be words between them, as their actions said enough.  You don’t need to talk if you don’t want to.

Eventually, Soomin broke the silence, whispering “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Lynn didn’t pretend to have answers.  She just nudged her gently with her shoulder. “Neither do I sometimes Soom’s.  And that’s okay, because that’s why I have you, or if I’m really desperate, snacks.” 

Soomin laughed at that.  Lynn’s presence always had a way of making her feel a little like herself again.

Outside the door, Mayu stood in the hallway, one hand wrapped around a mug of ginger tea she planned to give to Soomin.  She had stopped when she heard Soomin speak, her head tilting slightly to listen to her daughters, smiling faintly at the sound of Soomin’s laughter at the end. 

Yooyeon passed behind her, holding a tablet and a half-open folder of notes.  She brushed a gentle hand along Mayu’s arm in passing.  “Everything okay?” she mumbled, her voice quiet as it always was.

Mayu whispered in return.  “Yeah. They’re okay for now.”

Yooyeon nodded, leaned in briefly, stealing a quick kiss into Mayu’s cheek, before they both went back to the kitchen, leaving their two daughters in peace and quiet.

________________________________________

Mayu.  Later that night.

A little later that night, Yooyeon had retreated to their shared room, leaving Mayu in the kitchen on her own.  She was sitting with her elbows on the table, her phone beside her and her tea had gone cold.  Their home was quiet, and Mayu smiled to herself.

It had been just under twenty years ago when she first moved to Korea.  Fresh from Meiji University, one suitcase, her degree, an award for having the highest grades in her year, and a brain full of economic theories she couldn’t wait to argue about.  She’d told herself she was moving for the work, that she needed a challenge and something new after spending years buried in numbers.  But if she was honest, it was because she was running a little.  Or searching for something that she hadn’t been able to find in Japan.  

Maybe it was a little of both.

And then came Yooyeon.

The first time Mayu saw Kim Yooyeon, it was at a mutual friend’s birthday dinner.  It was a crowded rooftop event, full of smart people that laughed too loud and were trying to prove they were the smartest in the room.  Yooyeon had been tucked away at the far end of the long table, sitting alone, sipping at a glass of soju whilst eating tteokbokki in near-silence.

She barely looked up from her plate the whole night and said only a few words.  But when she did…

Oh.  Her voice.

It was soft, and measured, like she was thinking carefully over her words before letting them free from her chest.  It was the kind of voice that made you lean closer without realizing it.  

Once Mayu heard one sentence from Yooyeon, she knew she had to hear more.  So, she tried making conversation as much as she could.  Yooyeon though, was shy, and maybe a little stubborn, so Mayu managed to only get a little more out of her the whole night.  It was only near the end of the night she was able to find out that they actually worked for the same company.

She spent the entire subway ride home replaying every word Yooyeon had spoken.

Beautiful was never big enough to describe Yooyeon’s looks.  Yooyeon had the kind of face that made people stop midsentence, the kind that earned whispers in lecture halls and too many glances on quiet streets.  Her features were delicate but defined, with high cheekbones that softened when she smiled, full lips that rarely spoke more than necessary, and long, dark lashes that gave her the look of someone pulled from a vintage film still.

There was a serenity to her.  An unspoken calm in the way she moved, almost like she existed just slightly out of reach.  Her beauty wasn’t loud or deliberate, it just was.  Completely natural and undeniable.

A friend once told Mayu that back in university, Yooyeon was called the “Ewha Goddess.”  Yooyeon cringed whenever she heard that nickname, but it wasn’t hard to see why it had stuck. 

For the most part, Yooyeon went about her days like she had no idea about her own beauty.  Or, if she did, she pretended not to.

And so of course, Mayu had been helpless.  Mayu was many things, but she was a disaster for smart women who didn’t know how beautiful they were.

It took multiple more “accidental” meetings, a team retreat, and a joint science expo before Yooyeon agreed to a single coffee date.

That first date was in a tiny café near the Han River.  Mayu stressed for hours on what to wear, whilst Yooyeon was effortless in a white blouse, jacket and black trousers.  She was fifteen minutes late and spent just as long apologising for it, because she accidentally got on the wrong train. 

Mayu pretended not to melt on the spot.

What was meant to be an hour-long afternoon coffee stretched well into the evening.  And by the end of the night, they were sitting on the curb outside, sharing a Bungeoppang and talking about mitochondrial DNA vs fiscal reform like it was foreplay.

Which for them, it kind of was.

They moved in together a year later.  Yooyeon’s books overtook the shelves, whilst Mayu’s Japanese tea collection took over the kitchen cabinets.  They fought about dish sponges and thermostat settings.  They learned how to say I’m sorry in different languages and built a life that had them both content.

And it was in those moments that Mayu got to see more than the beauty others saw. It was the way Yooyeon looked when she was attempting to cook in her old hoodie, or when she laughed too hard at a terrible pun.  It was the moments no one else noticed, like the quiet glances, the thoughtful pauses, and the way she loved with her whole heart even if she didn’t always know how to say it.

And one quiet night, years later, with rain tapping the windows, they decided they wanted more.

They wanted a family.

Neither of them had grown up imagining this life — two women, a cosy apartment, and the kind of love that made space instead of taking it.  But by then, it was undeniable. They wanted more than just the two of them.  They wanted messy mornings.  Tiny socks in the laundry.  Loud, chaotic love made louder by little feet on hardwood floors.

They fought and debated for weeks over who would go first.  Mayu still calls that “debate” the “Great Baby Negotiation”.  It was a war of logic and loopholes.  Mayu eventually won by sheer stubbornness — and the fact that Yooyeon, when she was really in love, became a world-class pushover.

And so, Lynn was born on a stormy spring morning, quiet and gurgling in a way that had the nurses say they had never seen a more peaceful baby. 

Mayu swore she’d never felt anything like it.  Holding that tiny, squishy life in her arms, she looked at Yooyeon standing at her side in the delivery room, with tears in her eyes, and knew with bone-deep certainty that this was the best thing they had ever done.

Two years later, it was Yooyeon’s turn.

It was a quiet autumn night when Soomin arrived.  She was the exact opposite of Lynn, screaming her way into the world like she already had opinions.  Yooyeon cried when she first held her, whispering apologies into her daughter’s hair for things that hadn’t even happened yet.

She whispered promises, too. 

They both did.

There was no “my daughter” or “your daughter.”  There was only “our daughters.”

Their two girls grew up to be completely different. 

Lynn was tall, calm and so unfailing kind that Mayu worried that her kindness would cause her pain.

Soomin was loud, bright and talkative.  A spark that lit up every room, and a spark that Lynn grabbed onto tight and promised to protect forever. 

Even now, Mayu never stopped marvelling at how of her children carried pieces of both parents.  Lynn had Mayu’s easy charm and Yooyeon’s competitive streak.  Soomin had Yooyeon’s quiet intensity and Mayu’s outgoing nature. 

They were a family now. The four of them.  And even when things cracked, when things hurt, that didn’t change.

She remembered the first time she saw Yooyeon holding Soomin.  The way she had looked so terrified, so overwhelmed, and so utterly smitten.

She still looked at them that way.

In the kitchen now, two decades later, the scent of tea had replaced soju and tteokbokki.  And still, she loved Yooyeon with the same quiet awe as the woman on that rooftop she had first met.

________________________________________

Lynn.  Later that night.

Lynn stayed on Soomin’s bed long after the shrimp crisps were gone.

Lynn didn’t need a full breakdown to know when her sister was hurting because she'd always been able to tell.  It was in the way Soomin’s eyes darted too quickly or her smile came too fast.  It was the way she talked a little louder when she was scared of being forgotten.

Neither of them spoke much after the joke, but Soomin had leaned into her shoulder just a little.  Enough to say thank you without saying it aloud.  Her breathing had evened out. The restless energy inside her had gone still, like dust settling after a storm.

Lynn slipped out once she was sure it would stay that way.  She closed the door gently behind her and walked into the kitchen.

Mayu was there, leaning over the counter with a crossword book and a half-chewed pencil.  One slipper dangled from her foot like it was holding on for dear life.

“I made you tea, if you want some,” she said without looking up.

“Thanks, Okaachan,” Lynn murmured, speaking in Japanese as she pulled herself onto the counter beside her.

Mayu handed her a still-warm mug, then leaned back against the opposite counter, studying her daughter in that quietly perceptive way only moms could.  “Did she fall asleep?” she asked softly.

Lynn nodded. “Yeah.”

Mayu didn’t ask anything else right away.  Just let the steam rise between them for a few moments, letting Lynn find her words when she was ready.

“She’s... trying really hard to seem okay,” Lynn said eventually, eyes fixed on the swirl of tea.  “She’s still Soomin.  Loud.  Joking.  Always talking.  But lately it’s like... she’s doing it to stop anyone from looking too closely.”

Mayu’s expression didn’t change, but Lynn saw her throat tighten ever so slightly.

“I've asked her,” Lynn went on.  “A few times.  But she just deflects when I do.  Like I’m not supposed to notice.”

“You noticed,” Mayu said. “Because you’re her sister.”

“I don’t want to mess it up,” Lynn admitted. “I already talked to Sullin about it and she said... just stay close.  Don’t stop asking.  Don’t let her push me away.  And I get that.  I do.”

Mayu watched her daughter with quiet care. “But?”

“But what if staying close isn’t enough?” Lynn said quietly.  “What if I’m already too late?  What if she needed me before and I didn’t see it?”

Mayu didn’t answer right away.  She just stepped closer, her hand brushing back a piece of hair from Lynn’s face — the way she used to when she was little and upset but trying to hide it.

“You always see her,” Mayu said gently.  “Your doing everything you need to do honey.  Soomin knows that as well.”

Lynn stared into her mug, fingers tightening slightly around it. “I keep thinking if I say the right thing, ask the right way... she’ll let me in.”

“And maybe one day she will,” Mayu replied. “Maybe she just needs to figure things out on her own first.  And when she does, you'll be the first person she comes to.  You always are.”

Lynn blinked hard, then gave a small, uneven laugh. “Yeah.  I hope so Okaachan.”

From the hallway came a soft rustling of feet, then Yooyeon emerged, her hair slightly mussed from a nap, with the scent of lemongrass hand cream still faint on her skin.  She took in the scene — Lynn on the counter, Mayu nearby, two untouched mugs between them — and blinked once, slowly.

“Are we having a family meeting?” she asked, voice still sleep-soft.  “Did I miss the memo?”

“No mom,” Lynn said, managing a crooked smile.  “I'm just having a high-functioning breakdown is all.”

Yooyeon walked over to rest a hand lightly on Lynn’s arm.  “You did good with her tonight.”

Lynn looked over, surprised.  “You were listening?”

Yooyeon gave a small shrug.  “Not on purpose.  But I check in.  I worry too.”

“I’m the older sister,” Lynn muttered. “It’s my job to look out for her.”

“And we’re your moms,” Yooyeon said, nudging her gently.  “So it’s ours to look out for you.”

Mayu gave her a soft smile, brushing a finger along the rim of her mug.  “You don’t have to carry it all, love.  That’s what we’re here for.”

Silence settled between them like a blanket, familiar and comforting.

Then Yooyeon added, perfectly deadpan, “Also, while we’re sharing difficult truths... I accidentally bought sugar-free soy sauce in bulk.  Again.  So now we own six bottles of something no one likes”

Lynn burst into laughter, sharp but not exactly surprised, as Mayu groaned and dropped her head to the counter with a dramatic thud.  “Not again,” she mumbled into the wood.

Later, alone in her room, Lynn sat on the edge of her bed, scrolling through old photos. A candid photo from last year caught her attention.  One where a family friend had caught the four of them mid-laugh.  

It was blurry and perfect, and she stared at it for a long time.

Lynn tapped the screen and let her head fall back against the pillow.

She didn’t have all the answers, but she did know one thing for certain.  That no matter what, when Soomin was ready to talk, she would be there to listen.

________________________________________

Hyerin.  Friday, After School.

By the time Hyerin reached the third‑floor landing, she could already hear music.  Something loud, thumping, and vaguely chaotic was leaking through her apartment door, followed by a muffled crash and her mother’s voice shouting, “I meant to do that!”

The sound made something in her chest loosen, just a fraction, easing some of the tension that had settled.  She slipped her key into the lock and stepped inside.

The apartment greeted her like it always did.  It was lived-in, cluttered, warm, and smelled faintly of curry and lemon floor cleaner.  There was also a hint of her mom’s favourite perfume. 

“Hyerin‑ah?” Nakyoung’s voice floated from the kitchen, bright and unfiltered. A beat later came the dull thud of impact. “Ow—stupid laundry basket—! I’m fine! Totally fine!”

Hyerin’s lips curved despite herself.  Her mother never changed.

Nakyoung, as usual, was halfway between a whirlwind and a walking hazard sign.  It still amazed Hyerin how the same woman who could command a dance studio with swagger and precision, who could teach a room full of kids how to pop, lock, and body roll, could somehow trip over her own laundry.  On a daily basis.  Or how she could lose something she had in her hand just a few minutes before.

Hyerin slipped off her shoes and padded into the apartment, already unbuttoning her cardigan with tired fingers. The music changed tracks in the background to something older, funkier, with the kind of rhythm that probably came from one of Nakyoung’s throwback playlists titled something like "Beats to Burn Rice To."

Nakyoung appeared a moment later, apron half‑tied, and hair tied up messily.  She had a dusting of flour streaked across her cheek.  A rogue sock clung to the hem of her leggings as if refusing eviction.

“Oh good, you're home!” she said, as if Hyerin’s arrival were a surprise every time. “Dance class ran long, so dinner’s a little late.  One of the kids brought a lizard to class today.  A lizard, Hyerin.  Do you know how fast those things are?  I almost died.  But never mind that.  Are you hungry?”

“Maybe a little,” Hyerin murmured.

Nakyoung’s gaze flicked to her daughter’s face, noticing the faint shadows under her eyes and the way she tugged her sleeves down before answering.  She didn’t ask anything; she’d learned not to corner her daughter’s grief with questions.  Instead, she just reached out and brushed a hand through Hyerin’s hair, gentle as if testing the weather.

“Well, good,” she said brightly.  “Because I’m making curry, and there’s definitely enough for two… or one person with no self‑control.”

Hyerin followed her mom.  Their apartment wasn’t big, not like their old place that haunted both of their memories.  It was a compact two-bedroom with creaky drawers and one temperamental light switch that only worked half of the time.  But it was home.  Lived in.  Loved.  It was filled to the brim with colour.  Bright throw pillows on the couch, with a pair of beat-up high-top sneakers sitting under the coffee table like they lived there permanently.  The fridge had magnets shaped like tiny ballerinas and discount coupons her mom kept forgetting to use.  A photo of Hyerin at age six — all bangs and clothes that were to big for her — sat slightly crooked in the hallway frame.

They sat together at the small table by the window.

Nakyoung always sat cross-legged on the chair, a habit that her mom had since forever.  The table was scattered with signs of the day her mom had had.  Half-open mail, a vase of wilting daisies, and a notebook where she’d scribbled new choreography ideas between grocery lists.

The curry tasted good, and it was warm and comforting, which is exactly what Hyerin needed.  It filled the silence with steam and spice.

For a while, they just ate like that, two people sharing air, whilst the hum of the refrigerator filled in the words that didn’t need to be spoken yet.

“Was today hard?” Nakyoung eventually asked, her voice careful, as if she was testing the waters.

Hyerin rolled the spoon between her fingers. “Not really.  Just… been thinking about Joobin.”

“Joobin’s the quiet one, right?” asked Nakyoung.  She always made an effort to remember the names of Hyerin’s friends from school.

“She’s not that quiet,” Hyerin said.  “Just careful.  A little like me, I guess.”  She paused for a moment, before continuing.  “Something happened in her class yesterday, and she hasn’t said anything about it.”

“How do you mean?” asked Nakyoung, curious.

“Well...  It’s just strange ,right?  There was a fight in her class, and then something else happened after it that she hasn’t said anything about.  I know I'm not entitled to her secrets…”  Hyerin sighed, struggling to put her tumbled thoughts into words.  “I don’t know mom.  I guess I’m a little worried about her, that’s all.”

Nakyoung watched her daughter’s hands tighten around the spoon. She moved around the table and wrapped her arms lightly across Hyerin’s shoulders, chin resting atop her head.

“You care for her, sweetheart,” she said gently.  “That’s what friends do.”

“I know.” Hyerin’s voice cracked, barely audible.  “It’s just… I see parts of myself in her. And that scares me.”

Nakyoung kissed the crown of her head. “You’re not where you were, Rin-ah,” she said simply.

The words landed soft but heavy.  Hyerin didn’t answer, but she let herself lean back into her mother’s arms. Outside, the last of the sunlight spilled across the table, turning the curry’s surface to gold.

When she finally retreated to her room, the world had gone quiet.  She lay back on her bed, scrolling idly through her phone until her thumb paused over a picture — the one from the arcade.  She was smiling in it, caught mid-laugh beside her friends.  Her eyes looked bright. 

Alive. 

She studied the photo for a while.  The way her smile looked real.  The way her friends smiles looked real.  It was a nice photo.  No.  It was a great photo.  Everyone looked happy, in the way that teenagers should look.

She did her best to ignore how her sleeves in the photo drowned her hands, along with the way her stomach twisted when her brain whispered that her smile was actually fake.

________________________________________

Nakyoung

The laundry buzzer went off just as Nakyoung dropped a spoon.

“Of course,” Nakyoung sighed, stepping carefully over the spoon as though it were radioactive.  She darted to the laundry nook, yanked open the machine, and scooped out the warm, damp clothes into her arms.

She pressed the warm clothes to her chest, breathing in detergent, faint lemongrass, and something unmistakably Hyerin.

Among the clothes was an old t-shirt from Hyerin’s first dance recital. The logo had faded to ghostly white, the fabric soft from years of wear. Nakyoung held it for a long moment, her fingers tracing the worn edges.

The memory that followed was one she didn’t want but could never quite stop.

Water on tile, red against white, the sound she never stopped hearing in her dreams. She exhaled sharply, as if that could banish it.  She’d promised herself not to let those ghosts live where Hyerin could see them, but the images came at odd times.  When she was sorting mail.  When she was brushing her teeth.  When she was standing in her studio, watching other people's daughters smile and spin.

When she did get them, she had to remind herself she’d been lucky enough to get another chance.

She never told Hyerin any of that.  She could not and would not load her daughter with that guilt.  So, Nakyoung carried it quietly, the same way she carried the joy, the hope, and the grief.

And it wasn’t just the guilt for what had happened.  No.  It was for everything that came before it. It was for choosing a man who faded like mist.  For missing the signs.  For not being enough.  For trying too hard.  For maybe not trying hard enough.

Hyerin was laughing again now.  Not always, and not fully, but sometimes. Which was more than the nothing that they lived through for years.  She spoke to Nakyoung about her friends and would smile at her phone when messaging them.

Each smile, each small, ordinary thing, felt like a miracle she didn’t dare name.

But she didn’t fool herself into thinking everything was okay.  She knew healing wasn't a straight line that ran from hurt to fixed.

She folded the shirt, smoothing the fabric with careful fingers, then padded to Hyerin’s doorway, peeking in.  Her daughter lay on her bed, headphones in, one hand hanging off the edge.

Hyerin was safe.  She was here.  And that’s all that mattered.  Nakyoung leaned her head against the doorframe and mouthed a quiet thank‑you to the universe, or to no one at all.

Tomorrow might be another mountain.  Or it might just be breakfast and spilled coffee and burnt rice again.

She would take either, because that still meant her girl was with her.

________________________________________

Shion

The sun had slipped low behind the rooftops, washing the streets in soft amber and melting the edges of things into long, lazy shadows. It was the kind of early evening that signalled summer was on its way.

Shion walked beside Dahyun with her sleeves pulled down over her hands, the hem of her cardigan swaying gently with each step. Her gaze wasn’t fixed on anything in particular — more like she was watching the space around her rather than through it.  A girl made of stillness, and thought, and soft-weather days.

They didn’t speak for a while, but it wasn’t awkward.  With Dahyun, it never was.  Their silences had rhythm.  A kind of practiced quiet that meant there was no need to fill every gap.  Today it was just soft footsteps, the occasional wind through the trees, and the hush of a car passing in the distance.

Dahyun broke the silence first, grinning.  “You’re thinking about that red bean roll from last week, aren’t you?”

Shion blinked like she’d been pulled from a dream.  “That roll was perfect,” she said, with the solemnity of someone discussing a sacred relic.

Dahyun laughed.  “You said that about the Shokupan at lunch today.  And about the cinnamon roll you had the day before.”

“And I will continue to do so,” Shion replied, utterly unbothered.  “Because each of them was perfect.  Just as bread should be.”

Dahyun laughed fondly, forever amused at Shion’s love of bread.  “You’re hopeless.”

“Correction,” Shion said, holding up a finger.  “I am full of hope.  For bread.”

They turned the corner and stepped into the courtyard of Dahyun’s apartment complex.  It was a squat, cheerful building with mismatched potted plants by every door and faded chalk drawings along the pavement.  Someone’s bike was parked lopsided near the stairs.  A wind chime tinkled faintly above them.

The front door of the unit was already ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling out onto the welcome mat.  Shion could smell it before they even stepped inside — vanilla, lemon, and that cozy, flour-heavy warmth that only came from a kitchen at magic hour.

It smelled, to put it bluntly, like heaven.

As soon as they stepped through, a familiar voice rang out.  “Is that my girls?  Just so you know.  The lemon loaf was whole when I left it alone, but then Sooyoung came home.”

There was an indignant noise from the living room.  “Not my fault it was so good.  And I left a slice!  That counts as restraint!”

Shion removed her shoes and padded inside, slipping into the home like it belonged to her.  And in a way, it almost did.

Dahyun’s mom Haseul was at the counter, apron still tied, her hands dusted lightly with powdered sugar.  Her hair was clipped up in a tidy bun, and she wielded a wooden spoon like a flag in victory.  She looked up and smiled so wide it made her cheeks lift.

“The daughter I wish I had returns.”

Shion flushed, bowing slightly.  “Only because you feed me.”

“And love you unconditionally,” Haseul added, already slicing the loaf.

Sooyoung appeared in the doorway behind them, barefoot and clutching a sudoku book like it had personally offended her.  “No, she comes for me.  Right, Shion?”

Shion didn’t even blink. “No comment.”

“Objection sustained,” Sooyoung muttered, flicking a pencil toward her. It missed by half a metre.

“Hey,” said Dahyun in mock outrage.  “Why are you welcoming Shion and not your actual daughter?  Do you love her more than me?”  She was pouting.  Which, Shion thought, should be illegal.  Because she was pretty sure she would commit a crime to protect that pout. 

Sooyoung just responded to that with a snort and a quick “Maybe.”

There was laughter then.  The kind that came from being comfortable and relaxed with people that cared for you. 

Shion found her usual spot at the kitchen table, legs tucked up on the chair, cardigan sleeves dangling.  She watched as Dahyun moved around the kitchen with her mom, sleeves rolled up, hands deftly drying dishes.  They passed things back and forth in easy choreography.  No words needed.

The space was loud in the best way.  The kettle starting up, the clatter of forks, Sooyoung grumbling that Haseul had sabotaged the crossword clues again.  It always felt like a second home to Shion.  They made her feel welcome.  Safe.  Like Dahyun did.

Dahyun caught her starting off into space and smiled gently.  She nudged a small plate of sliced lemon loaf toward her. “Here. Mom saved it for you.”

On the plate was a perfect slice of lemon loaf, steam still curling faintly from the edges.

Shion looked at it like it was holy, before looking up at Haseul.  “I would die for you,” she said simply.

Sooyoung and Dahyun laughed, whilst Haseul had the good grace to blush a little.  “Dahyun, I think I do love Shion more than you.  She appreciates my baking more than you do.”

Dahyun just rolled her eyes but smiled.  Seeing Shion happy, seeing her smile.  That was good enough for her, even if she did have to fight her for her mom’s affection.

________________________________________

Dahyun

Shion left after about thirty minutes, clutching a second slice of lemon loaf that was tucked reverently in a napkin like it was treasure.  She gave a bow so serious it made Haseul laugh, muttered a grave “See you tomorrow Dahyun-ah,” and then was gone, cardigan sleeves flapping as she disappeared down the hallway and out the door.

And then came the quiet.

Dahyun leaned back against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest, still watching the door like she was waiting for a ghost to reappear.  Then she smiled.  A small, private, incredibly fond smile.  “She’s going to message me in five minutes asking for the recipe.”

Haseul’s voice floated from the kitchen.  “She messages me directly now, actually.”

Dahyun snorted and pushed herself off the wall, padding barefoot through the apartment. The floor was warm underfoot, and the whole place smelled like sugar and citrus and a bit of whatever candle Sooyoung had burned this morning — probably something ridiculous like “Midnight Law Office” or “Corporate Lavender.”

Haseul was at the sink, her sleeves pushed up, a strand of hair falling loose near her temple.  She hummed softly, some old folk song that was full of nostalgia, but she could never remember the name of.  The kitchen window was cracked just enough to let in the evening breeze, fluttering the curtain like a sigh.

“You want tea, baby?” Haseul asked without turning, already reaching for the kettle.

“Only if it’s that weird flower one again,” Dahyun said, sliding onto the arm of the couch.

Sooyoung, sprawled across the cushions like a lounge lizard, passed her a sudoku book with a long-suffering grunt.  “Page six is cursed.  Burn it.”

“I thought you said you passed the bar on your first try?” Dahyun teased.

“Law is about arguing.  Numbers are violence.”

You married a baker,” Dahyun pointed out.

“And it’s the best legal decision I ever made.”

From the kitchen, Haseul rolled her eyes. “She once tried to microwave eggs, Dahyun. Microwave.”

“I was experimenting!” Sooyoung shouted, clearly unashamed.  “Science requires bold innovation.”

“Your innovation exploded in my Tupperware.”

Dahyun smiled as she watched them.  Her quiet mom and her chaotic one.  Sooyoung gestured wildly with a pen, arguing about logic puzzles, while Haseul dried teacups with the same care she gave to frosting layer cakes.  They were so different it was almost hilarious.

And somehow, it worked.

Dahyun sometimes wondered who she took after more.  But the truth was that she was a little of both. 

Haseul had given Dahyun her love of music and singing and taught her the quiet joy in loving something just for the sake of loving it.  She learned to accept warmth and kindness, and how to give the same in return. 

Sooyoung, despite being a high-flying lawyer, was more tender than she let on.  From her, Dahyun gained her protectiveness.  The spirit to fight and die for the ones she cared about most.  Sooyoung would set the world on fire to protect her family, and Dahyun would provide the match.

Shortly after Shion had left, the front door creaked open again, and a familiar voice rang out.  It was loud, dramatic, and deeply unnecessary.

“I hope someone remembered they have a hot, starving daughter who deserves food and praise!”

Dahyun didn’t even glance up.  “Brace yourself.”

A second later, her older sister, Heejin, stepped into the apartment like she owned the place.  Which, technically, she didn’t, but she absolutely acted like she did.  Heejin was twenty-six, a part-time musician and a full-time menace.  Her sister had always been equal parts cool older sister and a complete, and total loser.  She was the kind of person who could command a stage, forget her own phone number, and charm their moms into forgiving anything with a single grin.

She was also, unfortunately, Dahyun’s entire childhood in human form — loud, messy, irreplaceable.

“You’re twenty-six,” Sooyoung said flatly from the couch. “Go forage.  Or buy your own food.  Do we look like a food charity shop?”

“I am foraging,” Heejin replied.  “For validation and the love of my family.”

She kicked off her boots with theatrical flair and appeared in the living room doorway wearing a hoodie that may not have been hers and jeans with more rips than denim. Her guitar case was slung haphazardly across her back like a reluctant accessory.

Dahyun didn’t look up, sniffing slightly as she did.  “You smell like beer and crushed dreams.”

“Perfect.  That’s the scent I was going for,” Heejin replied, striding into the room like she’d been announced by trumpet.

Haseul wiped her hands and pulled Heejin into a hug anyway, smoothing her hair back like she was still seven years old and full of scraped knees and unfinished homework.  Heejin never once protested when she did. 

“You look tired,” Haseul said, her tone fond but laced with the worry only a mother could have.

“I am tired,” Heejin mumbled into her shoulder.  “But I played a set with Hyejoo and Gowon, and people actually seemed to like it, so we’re calling it a win.”

She hugged her mom a little longer, before flopping down next to Dahyun on the couch, grabbing a throw pillow and holding it like it was a trophy.  “So, my adoring public.  How are we this evening?”

Dahyun didn’t even blink.  “I muted you the second you came home.”

Heejin gasped dramatically. “My own sister.  My blood.  Betrayed in my hour of triumph.”

Dahyun leaned slightly into her sister.  “Yeah, yeah.  You’ll survive.”

Heejin let her lean, sighing almost contentedly.  “You would have loved the set today sis.  It was your kind of vibe.”

Dahyun hummed in response as Haseul brought mugs of steaming tea balanced expertly in her hands, setting each one down like it was an offering.  The floral scent of chrysanthemum and honey filled the air.

“Drink this and tell us about your set,” she said to Heejin, who took the mug like it might save her life.

Sooyoung had already pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and tossed it over all of them with practiced precision.  Haseul sat on the edge of the coffee table, fingers gently tugging at the blanket to cover Dahyun’s feet.

And for a while, that was it.

Just the four of them.  Steam rising from mugs.  Heejin talking about music and open mic disasters.  Sooyoung grumbling about her sudoku nemesis.  Haseul resting her chin in her hand as she listened.  Dahyun nestled in her spot on the couch, listening to her sister talk.

As she did, her phone buzzed.  A message from Shion, just as she had expected.

I messaged your mom, and she won’t give me the recipe 😔 😤

Dahyun replied, unable to stop the corners of her mouth creeping up.

You didn’t even wait 5 mins before asking her.

The reply came back within seconds.

But my love for that lemon loaf is immediate.  Please ask her for me? 🥺 🙏 🥺

Dahyun snorted, placing her phone down for a second.  There was no need to ask her mom to send Shion the recipe.  She knew Haseul was just messing with Shion a little.  In a few minutes, she would send the recipe along with step-by-step instructions on how to make the loaf.

Meanwhile, the room around her was made of familiar noises and comfortable silences. It was the clink of teacups.  The scratch of pencils. The weight of a blanket shared by people who always made room for each other.

It was home.

And Dahyun — who rarely said things like “I love you” or “I need this” — didn’t need to.

They already knew.

________________________________________

Shion

The front gate gave a soft metallic click as Shion closed it behind her, the evening air still clinging to her cardigan.  She took her time walking up the stone path, breathing in the subtle mix of ocean wind and something stewing on the stove.  The scents were warm and familiar, which always meant Jinsoul was home early.

She pushed the front door open gently with her shoulder.  It creaked — like always — and she slipped off her shoes with a soft thud against the tiles, toes curling against the cool floor.  The quiet hum of life filtered in from deeper inside the house.  There was the faint sound of something bubbling in a pot, the clicking of a pen, and somewhere, the telltale wheeze of one of their cats snoring.

Shion wandered into the living room and paused. 

Jinsoul was seated cross-legged at the low table, a thick marine biology textbook open in front of her, and her glasses slightly askew on the bridge of her nose.  Her expression was unreadable, eyes tracking a page on coral bleaching, whilst she tapped a pen lightly beside her mug.  Their other cat was curled up against her thigh like a sleepy comma.

“Hi mom,” Shion said softly.

Jinsoul didn’t look up immediately.  “You’re early.”  Her voice was calm and low, a melody that never rose or fell too sharply.  She marked her page with a pen, then lifted her gaze.  “Everything okay?”

Shion hesitated, the word okay wobbling somewhere behind her teeth.  She folded her arms into the sleeves of her cardigan before she nodded.  “Yeah. Just felt like coming home a little earlier today.”

“Mmm.” Jinsoul flipped a page, then paused again — the way she always did when she heard something that didn’t quite fit.  She looked at her daughter over the rim of her glasses.  “You sure?”

Shion hesitated again, then nodded. "I'm okay.  Just... school was a lot."

That was true enough.  Sometimes it wasn’t even the noise that got her.  It was the way people’s laughter could turn sharp, how whispers behind your back could carve deep even when no names were said aloud.  She knew her voice was still used as a punchline in some corners of her school.  Too high, too weird, too “cartoonish.”

But she didn’t tell Jinsoul that.  She didn’t need to.  Her mom had that gift of understanding without prying.

“Alright,” Jinsoul said simply, closing her book.  “Then sit.  We’ll be quiet together.”   She didn’t press and Shion loved that about her.  Her quiet, grounded, dork of a mom who could list twenty species of jellyfish but would never demand answers her daughter wasn’t ready to give.

Shion sank down beside her.  The cat, Jubu, blinked awake long enough to make an annoyed noise before curling tighter against Jinsoul’s leg.

They stayed like that for a few minutes — Jinsoul scribbling notes, Shion absently tracing shapes in the rug with her finger, the house breathing around them.

Then the peace broke as the front door slammed open like it had been hit by a hurricane, followed by the thudding of shoes and the unmistakable sound of chaos arriving on cue.

“WE HAVE RETURNED!” came a triumphant yell from the hallway.  “VICTORY IS OURS! MCNUGGETS FOR THE MASSES!”

Jinsoul sighed, smiling despite herself.  “Your sisters are home.”

That much was obvious, judging by the sheer noise that was coming from their front door.

The first to appear was Hyunjin, her arms overloaded with McDonalds bags.  Hyunjin, her older sister and Yerim’s twin, was three minutes older — a fact she never let Yerim forget.  She was loud, a free spirit that marched to the beat of her own drum and loved sports, which is how she ended up as a trainer at their local sports centre.  She loved bread almost as much as Shion.  She once entered a bread-eating contest just to “scout the competition.”

She was probably the weirdest person Shion knew. 

But Shion adored her.  With everything she had.  She could talk to Hyunjin for hours about bread — the best flavours, the top ranked places to buy bread, the politics of splitting a slice of cake between two people.  Hyunjin would never get bored and would debate just as hard as Shion. 

Shion knew she was weird. And that was okay, because Hyunjin was even weirder.

“Don’t drop them this time!” Yerim shouted behind her, breezing in like a sunbeam in human form.

Yerim was the younger twin by technicality, but she was no less chaotic.  Yerim was undeniably the most joyful, happiest person that Shion knew.  She always had a smile on her face, and her joy and laughter were infectious, spreading to anyone that spent more than ten seconds in her company. 

Yerim was the most “normal” of the family, and she loved her moms, Hyunjin, fashion, her friends, and coffee.  And she loved Shion, to an almost embarrassing degree.   She’d listen to Shion talk about the perfect amount of caramel required for a caramel slice for hours and still ask follow-up questions.

Both twins were wildly different, yet so similar.  They had that twin thing going on, where they could communicate without having to speak.  They could talk and argue through a shared look, raised eyebrows and the occasional grunt. 

And both of them were locked in a year-long “Who Loves Shion More” competition that Shion pretended to be bothered by.

She really wasn't though.

Yerim’s laugh rang out bright and unbothered as she swatted Hyunjin’s elbow.  “No promises!” Hyunjin grinned, nearly tripping over their other cat Haneul, who had woken up and ran to greet Hyunjin.  Cats always seemed to like Hyunjin, which Shion thought was a little unfair.  Why couldn’t they love her just as much? 

Hyunjin dropped the bags on the table.  “Shion! I got you a McFlurry.  I stared at the guy until he put extra Oreos in.”

Jungeun entered last, closing the door with a quiet sigh. Their other mom was probably the quietest in the family, thoughtful, and always just a little bit sleepy.  She was balancing a cardboard drink tray with precision.  Her hoodie had “Producer Mode” written across the front.  She smiled when she saw Shion and passed her a straw and a plastic spoon without a word.

“There’s stew on the stove,” Jinsoul said dryly, watching her wife with raised eyebrows as fries were passed around like contraband.

Jungeun, still balancing the cardboard drink tray with all the elegance of someone trying not to spill a single drop, gave a sheepish shrug.  “Hyunjin said she was starving.  Yerim said she was enabling.  I was outvoted.”

“I didn’t realise our household was a democracy,” Jinsoul murmured, sipping her tea.

“It’s not,” Jungeun said, brushing a strand of hair from her face and placing the drinks down. “But the twins unionised.  There was a chant.  I got scared.”

Jinsoul stared at her for a beat.

Jungeun added helpfully, “I brought you an apple pie?”

There was a pause.  “...You’re forgiven,” Jinsoul said, taking it without hesitation.

“We can have stew and fries mom,” Yerim chirped.  “Redefining the family dinner in our own way!”

The living room descended into beautiful nonsense, as wrappers went flying, drinks were shuffled around, all whilst their cats darted between legs.  Yerim, as always, was trying to convince Hyunjin not to eat ten nuggets in one bite.

Shion sat cross-legged on the couch, Yerim already curled around her like a human blanket.  Yerim was a hugger, and her presence was bright and overwhelming, but never suffocating.

Hyunjin perched on the armrest like some kind of gremlin, gesturing wildly with a half-eaten burger.  “Shion.  Listen.  I have a very important announcement.  I’m declaring a contest between me and you.  Whoever finds the best croissant in Seoul wins.”

“And the loser?” Jinsoul asked, already sipping her tea like this was perfectly normal dinner conversation.

“Buys all of the winner’s bread for a month.”

“I feel like this is just a way for you to get free bread,” Jungeun mumbled.

“It’s not just that,” Hyunjin said, deeply offended.

Shion didn’t say anything. She just smiled.

This was her family.  Her whirlwind of weird and love and chaos.  Her heart swelled in that quiet, grounding way when she realized just how much this place had healed her.

When she was younger, after classmates made fun of her high, bright voice and turned her laughter into something she was ashamed of, she’d gone quiet and stopped going out.  She stopped answering questions in class and started skipping meals.  Even the sound of her own voice made her flinch.

Her sisters were eight years older, and because of that they were never in school to protect her.  But at home, they did everything they could. 

Hyunjin would sit with her and list every bread in the world she wanted to try.  She would point to cities on a map and tell Shion they would visit them all to try their bread.  She would make silly little songs out of bread names that would make her laugh.

Yerim was much more direct in helping Shion.  She would just say "Your voice is my favourite sound.  I Love you."  And then hug her and refuse to let go.

Her mom’s were just as supportive.

Jinsoul would casually mention things at the dinner table like “People who mock what they don’t understand are always the least interesting people in the room.”

And Jungeun would add “You don’t need to change the way you speak. Just change the people who listen.”

They spoke to the school.  Frequently.

Later, much later, Shion learned that Hyunjin and Yerim had waited outside of the school for some of her bullies and made it crystal clear what would happen to them if they even thought about looking in her direction ever again.

That was kind of embarrassing, but she adored them for it regardless.

Her family helped bring her laughter back, stopped her from flinching at her own voice and helped her embrace who she was. 

Hyunjin, who didn’t care what anyone thought and lived like every day was a sports anime.

Yerim, who cried at dog commercials and was more than willing to throw hands if someone ever insulted Shion’s voice.

Jinsoul, who dissected squid by day and taught Shion how to braid her hair by night.

And Jungeun, who wrote music into her phone notes and always had a cup of milk tea ready before Shion even asked.

And sure, something similar happened at school again.  Some jerks, ready to taunt her over her voice.  But she had friends at school now, friends that were like her own family. 

Dahyun, almost as small as Shion was, but always ready to defend her.

And even more recently, there was Sullin and Lynn.  Neither of whom looked at her strangely for her voice or made faces when she talked about bread.  No, they did what Hyunjin and Yerim had done for her before. 

They joined in and they listened.  Because they had big hearts, cared, and were probably just a little strange themselves.

So yeah, Shion had had a hard few weeks at school. 

But as she sat in the middle of her loud, messy and beautifully ridiculous family, the truth was that here, in this space, she was never too much, and never too strange.

Chapter Text

Thursday. Kotone

Kotone had decided that today was the day that she would go and get the cracked screen on Yeonji’s phone fixed. It had been on her mind constantly, fixating on it because it was something she could actually do. A physical way of helping.

She saw the cracks anytime Yeonji had her phone out. Which wasn’t often, as she had been avoiding looking at her phone unless she had to. But when she did, when it was lying on the chair when she was playing her Switch, or when it was sitting at the kitchen table as she ate, Kotone noticed the crack. It was almost magnetic, the way her eyes were drawn to them.

It had, she realised, stopped being about getting the screen fixed and more about how the crack had become a reminder of Yeonji’s panic attack. A reminder of the school corridor, the panic, the fear. And if it was reminding Kotone of that day, then what must it be doing to Yeonji?

She hated the idea that Yeonji had a physical reminder of that day. Hated that even glancing at her phone could be enough to take her back to that school alcove.

She couldn't fix what had happened but she could fix this.

“Hey,” she said softly.

Yeonji looked up from the couch. After their conversation on the Wednesday night about how her meeting with Joobin’s parents had gone, she knew that it would take some time for Yeonji to process everything.  She didn’t expect anything from Yeonji other than to feel safe, but it was nice to see her go to the couch first, without Kotone having to be present.

Yeonji’s hair was loose, still tangled from sleep and her hoodie sleeves were covering her hands. She’d been scrolling half-heartedly through TV channels with the remote but hadn’t settled on anything.

“I’m going to take your phone to get the screen repaired,” Kotone said, trying to sound casual. “There’s a shop that I’ve found, and they should be able to fix it for me within a few hours.”

Yeonji's face went from neutral to instantly worried, and Kotone had an idea of what Yeonji was going to say next. “It’s okay," Yeonji said. You don’t need to fix it,” her voice getting quieter with every word.

Kotone smiled faintly. Yeonji had reacted exactly as she expected. That she would try and brush it off or live with the crack because she didn’t want to feel like she was being a bother. “Yeonji. It’s okay. Really. It won’t take long.”

“It’s just a crack,” Yeonji murmured, eyes dropping to the phone sitting on the blanket that was pooled around her knees. “I can still use it.”

“You could,” Kotone replied, keeping her tone soft. “But you don’t have to. It was an accident, these things happen.”

Yeonji’s fingers twisted in the fabric of her sleeve. “It was my fault though. I dropped it when… when I was having a panic attack. And it was a birthday present from you. You already gave me so much and…”

Ah, Kotone thought. Yeonji felt guilty over the cracked screen. She blamed herself for it, and because it had been a gift from Kotone, the guilt weighed even heavier. “Yeonji. You were scared and dropped it by mistake. It’s okay, I promise you.”

Yeonji didn’t answer, but her shoulders sank, like she wanted to disappear into the couch.

“I want to get it fixed,” Kotone continued. “So when you look at it, it’s just a phone again. Not a reminder.”

Yeonji frowned slightly. “You don’t have to spend money on me.”

“I know I don’t. But I want to.”

Yeonji glanced up, uncertain, even now, like she couldn’t quite believe someone meant that. She hesitated a little, before giving the tiniest of nods. “Okay.”

Yeonji handed her phone to Kotone. She turned the cracked screen over in her hands, thumb brushing the splintered edge of the screen. The light caught the crack in the screen, thin and deep, and Kotone hated that it felt like a wound that refused to close.

She shook that thought off, and smiled at Yeonji again, trying to reassure her. “Thank you. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, no more. There’s food in the fridge if you get hungry, and you can play Animal Crossing if you want. Just… rest, okay?”

Yeonji nodded at that, but Kotone could see the question forming in her mind. “What if…” Yeonji started, before mumbling “never mind, it’s stupid.”

Kotone knelt in front of Yeonji then, so she wasn’t looking down on her. “Hey, look at me. It’s not stupid, okay? Whatever it is, it’s not stupid I promise. Tell me what you were going to say.”

She could see Yeonji clenching her first under her sleeves, and the way her eyes were wide meant that Yeonji was worried over something. “It’s just…" Yeonji started. "I won’t have a phone. What… what if I need to get in touch with you?”

Oh, realised Kotone. She hadn’t thought about that. She couldn’t ask Yeonji to go to a neighbour for help, or down to the flower shop on the ground floor, as she knew Yeonji wouldn’t be capable of that, especially if she felt like she was starting to panic. She was just about to call the whole thing off, before an idea hit her.

“Hold on a second,” Kotone said, standing quickly as the realisation hit her. She ducked into her room, pushing open the drawer of her desk where she kept old chargers and spare cables. She tossed a few things out and onto her bed haphazardly as she looked for it, until eventually, there, tucked beneath a pile of old clothes, was her old phone.

It wasn’t anything fancy. The screen had a faint scratch, the battery only held about 70% of its charge these days, but it still worked perfectly over Wi-Fi. She’d kept it around for emergencies, or in case her current phone ever broke. She hadn’t really thought much about it until now.

Kotone powered it on, fingers moving fast. She connected it to the apartment Wi-Fi before wiping all of the apps, but leaving Kakao talk.

When she returned to the living room, Yeonji was still curled on the couch, and her eyes lifted when Kotone approached.

“I forgot I still had this,” Kotone said gently, holding out the phone. “It’s my old one. It doesn’t have a SIM card, but it works on Wi-Fi. You can sign in to your Kakao talk account on it, and use it to call or message me if you need to, okay?”

Yeonji blinked at the phone like she didn’t quite understand.

Kotone sat back down on the edge of the coffee table, keeping her tone light. “I saved my number at the top of the contacts. There are no other contacts on there, just me. And I’ll keep my phone close, I promise.”

For a moment, Yeonji didn’t move. Then, carefully, she reached out and took it from her. Her hands were slow, almost hesitant, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to accept it.

“It’s just for today,” Kotone added. “But… I didn’t want you to feel like you couldn’t reach me if you needed to.”

Yeonji gave the smallest of nods.

And with that, Kotone felt the knot in her chest loosen just a little.

She spent the next few minutes getting ready, putting on a light jacket and making sure Yeonji’s phone was safe in her bag. As Kotone turned to leave, pausing at the door to slip on her shoes, she repeated “I will only be a few hours, I promise.”

Yeonji looked guilty again, so Kotone quickly added, “It’s fine, Yeonji. I promise.”

She stepped outside before she could second-guess herself. When she got down to the ground floor, the morning air was cool, heavy with the smell of rain that hadn’t started yet. Kotone tightened her coat, adjusted the strap of her bag, and started walking toward the repair shop, her bag bumping gently against her hip.

The streets weren’t that busy. Most students were already at school, and office workers had already been in the office for hours by this point. Seoul moved on like always, ordinary and unfazed, which somehow made the strange pressure in her chest feel sharper by contrast.

Yeonji had the spare phone now. She could message if she needed to. Call, even. Kotone had double-checked that before she left. She had even showed her where the call icon was, made her send a test Kakao message, even though Yeonji had barely spoken a word.

So, she should have felt at ease.

But she didn’t.

As she kept walking, she found herself checking her own phone every few minutes anyway. Just in case.

________________________________________

The repair shop was tucked down one of those narrow side streets that never quite saw full daylight and was squeezed between a stationery store and a fried chicken place that Kotone liked to order from every now and then. That was the only reason she knew the repair shop even existed. But she wasn’t stupid, she had done some checking and the reviews for the place were actually pretty good. She approached the door, her thoughts still halfway between the cracked phone in her bag and the apartment she’d left behind. It wasn’t like she’d gone far. Twenty minutes at most. But the distance felt bigger than that.

She was about to reach for the door handle when a familiar voice called her name.

“Kotone?”

Kotone turned, blinking in surprise.

Kaede was standing a few steps away, balancing a large paper bag filled with coffee beans and a smaller tote slung over one shoulder. A few curls of her hair had escaped her usual bun, and there was a faint smudge of flour on her sleeve, probably from one of the café’s pastries. She was dressed casually in a pair of jeans, with a loose white shirt, oversized black puffer jacket and a pair of plain trainers. Kotone was hit with the strange thought that it made her look different from how she looked behind the counter in the coffee shop. Softer… cuter even.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Kaede said, grinning. “I didn’t expect to find you out here. I thought you only existed between the classroom and my coffee counter.”

Kotone huffed softly, caught between amusement and embarrassment. “Kaede. Hi. You make me sound like a ghost.”

“A very punctual ghost,” Kaede teased. “What brings you to this part of town?” She squinted her eyes at Kotone then, as if judging her guilty of a crime. “Wait. Don’t tell me you’re cheating on my coffee with another café.”

Kotone snorted, half amused, half tempted to roll her eyes. “No cheating today. I’m just running an errand. Nothing exciting.”

Kaede’s eyes narrowed in exaggerated suspicion even further. “No cheating today huh? So, you do cheat on me. Unbelievable Kamimoto-Shi.” Then she smiled, laughing a little to take the sting out of her words. “I’m joking. Kind of. What kind of errand you running?”

Kotone did roll her eyes this time. Keeping up with Kaede felt like getting whiplash sometimes, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling afterward. Kaede just had a way of getting under her skin, taking her out of her comfort zone and making her feel relaxed at the same time.

And she seemingly did it so easily, which made it even more annoying. But despite that, her question about the errand made her hesitate a little before answering. Kotone had been extremely vague in their last conversation about needing a gift for someone she cared for having a hard time. She never mentioned Yeonji by name, and she felt as if even telling Kaede Yeonji’s name would feel like a betrayal of sorts.

But she didn’t want to lie either. She was in truth, an awful liar, and anytime she tried it showed on her face. She answered with the truth, all be it with a hint of hesitation in her voice. “Just getting a cracked screen repaired. it's been bothering me for a while and I finally had the time to get it fixed.”

There. Not a lie, and not the whole truth either.

“Ohhh.” Kaede leaned closer, lowering her voice as if sharing something conspiratorial. “You mean you’re trusting this mysterious back-alley phone shop with your precious technology? Dangerous stuff.”

Kotone gave her a look that was almost panicky. “I checked the reviews on this place, and…”

She didn’t get to finish as Kaede burst into laughter. “Relax Kotone, I’m just joking. I know the owner and Mr Kim is great at what he does.”

Kotone sighed in relief. “Oh. That’s good,” she added dumbly, still thrown a little by Kaede.

“Have you handed in the phone yet?” Kaede asked.

“Not yet. I was just about to before you interrupted me…”

“Rude,” Kaede replied, adjusting her tote and a grin spreading on her face. “I’ve closed the shop today, so if you don’t mind the company, I could tag along whilst you get it repaired. Mr Kim is great, but he does like to work precise so he can be a bit slow.”

Kotone blinked, her brain trying to catch up with Kaede’s offer. She had planned to leave Yeonji, go to the shop, get the screen fixed, go home. She hadn’t planned on bumping into a chaotic coffee shop owner or getting an invitation to spend time in her company.

She realised she had taken too long to reply, as the grin on Kaede’s face slipped. “Don’t you have something you were doing?” she asked, pointing at the paper bag of coffee beans?

“These?” Kaede replied, holding up the bag. "I was picking up some new beans from my supplier. Trying out an Ethiopian blend this time." Then before Kotone knew what was happening, Kaede had pushed the bag of beans in front of her nose. “Here, smell them. Don’t they smell amazing?”

Kotone had to admit they did smell good. “Yeah… they’re nice.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” said Kaede, before tapping her toes against the ground. “So, you okay with some company? If not, it’s fine.” Kotone could see the way Kaede was trying to keep her face neutral, as if she was okay if Kotone didn’t want her company but actually did want to spend time with her.

"No," Kotone said quickly. Too quickly, as she felt her ears warm slightly. "I mean... company would be nice."

The grin returned again, which made her stomach do little somersaults that she put down to Kaede being a new friend, rather than anything to do with how pretty the smile was. And it would be nice to have some company whilst she waited.

“Good.” Kaede had already taken up station beside her, the bag of coffee beans rustling as she did. “Let’s go convince Mr Kim to fix your screen as a priority. Then we can decide where to go whilst we wait.” She gestured toward the door of the repair shop. “Ladies first.”

Kotone shook her head, unable to stop a quiet laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” Kaede grinned, entirely serious.

________________________________________

Inside the shop, the air smelled faintly of solder and citrus cleaner. An older man, somewhere in his early sixties, was behind the counter. Kotone bowed as she entered, but Kaede just bounced over to him with her ever-present cheeky smile on her face.

“Mr Kim! I swear every time I come in here you’re in that exact same position. Do you ever move from there?”

The man, Mr Kim, looked up. “Oh. It’s you,” he replied, his voice gruff. If not for the fond look in his eyes, Kotone would have thought he didn’t like Kaede.

“That’s no way to greet the woman that gives you free coffee and cake every Monday morning,” Kaede replied, as she leaned up against the counter to look at what Mr Kim was working on.

“Yamada, you’re a giant pain in my backside. What do you want, other than trying to drive this old man to an early grave.”

Kaede laughed at that. “What do you mean? You’ll live longer than me, Mr Kim,” to which the man scoffed. “But I am here for a reason. My friend here has a broken phone screen. She’s in a bit of a rush, could you take a look at it for me? Please?” She said the word please as she blinked her eyelashes at Mr Kim.

The man put down what he was working on, holding out his hand toward Kotone. “Always pushing my buttons Yamada. You’re lucky your cakes are good, or I’d chase you out of here with a broom.”

Kotone, for her part, was blinking furiously, trying to keep up with what was going on. She could see the man getting impatient, as he held out his hand and Kotone stared at it dumbly.

“Anytime today, young lady,” Mr Kim snapped.

Kotone jumped a little, before coming to her senses, reaching into her bag for Yeonji’s broken phone. “S… Sorry,” she stuttered, before handing the phone over with two hands.

Mr Kim took it off her, and despite his gruff attitude, turned the phone over in his hands with the practiced care of someone who took pride in their work. “Hrmph,” he said after a few seconds. “I can fix this. The crack is surface level only. Should be fixed in a couple of hours. Come back then.” He placed the phone down on his counter, before returning to what he was working on when they had arrived.

Kaede left her bag of coffee beans on the counter with a quick “I’ll be back for these later Mr Kim.” Kotone for her part, could only reply with a dumb “thank you…” before Kaede grabbed her by the arm and led her out the store, throwing a “See you soon old man” behind her as she did.

When they stepped back outside, the sky had deepened into a washed-out silver. Kaede stretched her arms over her head. “Don’t worry about Mr Kim. He comes across as some old grump, but he’s really very nice. He looked out for me when I first opened my store, and I’ve repaid him ever since. You can trust him.”

Kotone still felt a little whiplashed, wondering how it was possible for Kaede to have that easy sort of friendliness that made her approachable and easy to talk to. Probably a required skill, considering her profession. She could only nod a little at Kaede’s words.

Kaede seemed to pick up on Kotone’s sense of dizziness and tilted her head slightly as she spoke. “Honestly, don’t worry. Come on, we have a couple of hours to kill so what’s our plan?”

“Huh,” Kotone said, confused all over again. “You’re going to stay with me for the whole two hours? I was just planning to wait here and…”

“Pffft.” Kaede replied, looking a little scandalized and a lot amused. “Sit in there breathing in plastic fumes and dealing with Mr Kim’s shining personality for two hours? No thank you. No offence Kotone-san, but your plan sucks.” She smiled that same smile again, the same one that gave Kotone butterflies. “Come on, there’s a bookstore around the corner. Let’s start there and see where our feet take us.”

“Okay,” replied Kotone, falling in to step with Kaede, only realising that Kaede had called her Kotone-san a few seconds later. “Please don’t call me Kotone-san. I already feel old enough, and I think we are way past being that polite.” Then, because she wanted to try and even the odds a little, she added “Besides, what makes you think I’m the oldest between us? You could be older than me…”

The laugh Kaede let out then did something to Kotone’s chest she’d rather not think about. “Okay, Kotone,” she replied, her voice emphasising the Kotone with a hint of sarcasm. “For your information, I’m thirty. How about you?”

Dammit, Kotone thought. She’s younger than me, so I can’t even get that over her. “I’m Thirty-Five,” Kotone grumbled in return, which caused Kaede to do that laugh again.

“Would you prefer that I call you unnie, since we’re in Korea?” Kaede teased.

“Whatever,” said Kotone, picking up the pace to walk away from Kaede, Kaede’s delighted laugh following behind her.

________________________________________

The bookstore was small and half-empty, the kind of place that smelled like dust and rainy afternoons. This, Kotone decided, was heaven, her feet drifting toward the education section out of instinct before realizing Kaede was watching her with a grin.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” Kaede said, leaning against a shelf. “Surrounded by fiction, poetry, art books and you go straight for ‘Effective Classroom Management.’”

Kotone raised an eyebrow, pretending to be insulted. “Excuse you. I just like being good at my job.”

“That’s not a personality trait,” Kaede said, plucking a thin poetry book from the display table. “Here. Try this. It’s got pictures.”

Kotone took it from her, flipping a few pages while trying not to smile. “You’re insufferable,” she replied, switching to Japanese.

“I am,” Kaede replied, clearly delighted, replying in Japanese as well. “And you like it, even if you try to pretend otherwise.”

Kotone gave a small, reluctant laugh. “Whatever, Yamada,” she said, taking a leaf out of Mr Kim’s book. “Maybe I’m just being polite, you ever consider that?”

Kaede pretended to consider Kotone’s words for all of three seconds. “Nah, I think you just secretly like me.”

Kotone froze for just a second. She knew that Kaede was only joking. She felt like she understood a little of Kaede’s personality by now, how she liked to joke around, how she was direct and forward and a little strange. All of that made being around Kaede easy, so she tried not to let herself react to the words whilst pretending that her heart did not flutter, embarrassingly, like she was in her twenties again. She settled for rolling her eyes. “You have too much confidence.”

“I have just enough,” Kaede said. “Confidence is like coffee — strong, necessary, and best consumed daily.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Kotone asked, but her tone was softer now.

“Not really. Maybe if the other person is interesting,” Kaede replied, then quickly smiled to lighten the air. “So far, odds are fifty-fifty.”

Kotone blinked, caught off guard again by Kaede’s easy banter.  She looked away, pretending to examine a stack of notebooks just to give herself a chance to think and breathe.

________________________________________

They paid for the poetry book — Kaede insisted — and wandered to the nearby convenience store. Kaede bought a canned coffee and two seasonal pastries that looked suspiciously… experimental.

“Try it,” Kaede said, tearing one open and handing it over. “It’s peach yoghurt cream. Like someone stuffed a heatwave into a bun.”

Kotone took a careful bite, then made a small, dignified face of disapproval. “That’s… certainly a choice.”

“Translation. You hate it,” Kaede said, laughing.

“I said it was something,” Kotone corrected, dabbing some filling from her lip. “That’s neutral.”

“Neutral is just polite honesty,” Kaede said. “You’re terrible at lying.”

“I’m a teacher,” Kotone said. “It’s part of the job description.”

There were a few beats of silence, as Kaede cradled her canned coffee in both hands. Kotone watched as Kaede’s face changed, scrunching up a little as if she was thinking about something she wanted to ask but wasn’t sure she should. Eventually, she did speak. “Kotone,” Kaede’s asked, tentatively. “Was the cracked screen you’re getting fixed. Was it for you, or was it for the person you mentioned that you cared about?”

Kotone bit her lip, unsure of how she should answer. She didn’t want to start a new friendship by lying, but she would never break Yeonji’s trust by sharing anything without her explicit permission first.

“It’s for the person I mentioned. Something… happened. And I’m just doing them a favour by getting it fixed.”

“Ah,” Kaede replied. She was looking at Kotone now, and for the life of her Kotone couldn’t grasp the meaning behind the look. “I guess it’s not something you can or want to talk about?”

Kotone shook her head slightly. “Both, really.”

Kaede let out a soft little hum before taking another drink. “Fair enough. Just… sometimes you look sad unnie, you know? And what I’m trying to say, is that I know we’ve only just met, but if you ever want to talk, my door is always open. Yeah?”

“Oh,” Kotone let out, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes at the unfiltered invitation Kaede had given her. “Thank you. I’ll bear that in mind.”

Sensing the mood had lowered a little, Kaede tried to lift it back up. “Or you could always come by the coffee shop and give me your hard-earned money and listen to me ramble.”

Kaede was grinning again, and Kotone was thankful for the change to safer ground. “Oh my god Kaede. Shut up already.”

Kaede tilted her head back and laughed. “What? I want my business to do well. Sue me!”

Kotone didn’t answer, only shaking her head in amusement. The words from earlier still sat between them, warm and uncomfortable in equal measure, as Seoul went about its business outside the window.

________________________________________

After leaving the convenience store, just over an hour had passed. When they stepped back onto the street, the sun was breaking through the clouds, spilling warm light across the pavement and the glass-fronted buildings. It turned Kaede’s hair copper at the edges, her expression touched with warmth.

Kotone took a few moments to pull out her phone, sending a quick Kakao message to her old phone that Yeonji had, just to let her know how much longer she would be. Yeonji replied almost instantly, just a short “okay”. Kotone just felt relief that Yeonji had read it and replied.

She’s okay, she thought. She’s okay.

Kotone and Kaede wandered aimlessly for a while, talking and getting to know each other a little better, the words from the convenience store fading into the background for now. Kaede shifted the conversation constantly, breezing between talking about the newest coffee blend she was going to try (“terrible name, but it tastes like winter mornings”), how Toyama winters were cold, windy and annoying, and telling a story about the time she’d once gotten snowed in at a guesthouse in Sapporo and ended up playing Karuta with a family of seven.

It crossed Kotone’s mind again; just how easy it was to talk to Kaede. She had such vivacity and energy about her, and Kotone realised that she hadn’t had anyone like that, friend or otherwise, in her life for a long time. Even before Yeonji, she had found it hard connecting with people on some level. But with Kaede… it was simple. Straightforward. Kaede was direct, funny, to the point.

An open book basically.

She was listening to Kaede start another story, when she stopped outside of a small store that was selling phone cases. She remembered the cracked screen again, the horrible hairline fracture that had across it, and she wanted to make sure that it never happened again.

Kaede had kept walking for a little, before realising Kotone had stopped walking beside her. She turned her head quizzically, before she saw where Kotone was looking. “You want to get a case for the phone?” she asked.

Kotone nodded and headed into the store. It was a small, independent shop, with a slightly faded sign out front and a tinkling bell that chimed as the door swung open. Inside, the air smelled faintly of plastic packaging and lemon-scented cleaning spray, with just a trace of something older, like dust settled into the corners of the wooden floorboards.

Dozens of phone cases lined the walls on wire racks, displayed in uneven rows. Some were glittery, some minimalist, others shaped like cartoon animals or vintage cameras. The low hum of a fan filled the quiet, and from a small radio behind the counter, a tinny ballad from ten years ago played softly. There was a feeling here of time passing slowly. Like the shop hadn’t changed much in years and didn’t really need to.

Kotone searched the rack of phone cases slowly, taking her time over each one. Normally, she didn’t have the patience for this kind of thing. There were too many colours, too many designs and patterns to choose from. Normally, she would pick the simplest one she could find and that would be enough.

But this was for Yeonji, and she was suddenly filled with a sensation of wanting to get this right.

If Yeonji was a normal sixteen-year-old, she would be tempted to buy something bold or bright. Something that stood out or had a character on it that helped showcase her personality. But the last thing Yeonji would want, or need is something that would draw attention to her, even indirectly through a phone.

“Why are there so many options,” grumbled Kotone, as she put down a bright red case covered in plastic jewels on the back.

Kaede, had been following along quietly, pausing occasionally to pick up a case before putting it down. She chuckled at Kotone’s evident frustration. “Why don’t you tell me what it is you’re looking for and let me help.”

Kotone sighed. “I want something… simple. Not flashy, but not boring either. Something that’s blue, or green or lavender maybe.”

“The phone colour was lavender, wasn’t it?” Kaede asked.

“That’s right,” Kotone replied, a little surprised that Kaede had remembered such a detail.

Kaede wandered off after that, whilst Kotone kept searching. It’s just a phone case, she tried telling herself, knowing full well that it wasn’t just a phone case. It would be a gift for Yeonji, and she wanted it to be right. She picked up a bright yellow case with cartoon stars. Something a normal sixteen-year-old might choose. Something carefree. But Yeonji wasn't carefree, and Kotone wouldn't pretend she was. She set it back down

Thinking of Yeonji, she pulled out her phone again, just to check for any messages. Nothing. That’s good. She’s okay.

A few moments later, Kaede reappeared, a soft lavender case in hand. “How about this one,” Kaede asked, handing it over. It was clean and unassuming. Something that wouldn’t draw attention and most importantly, something that Yeonji would like.

“It’s… perfect,” Kotone said, her throat suddenly tight. She expected a funny remark from Kaede. Instead, she saw Kaede’s face soften, her eyes looking at her with that look she didn’t understand.

“This is important to you, huh?” Kaede said, her voice low and gentle.

“Yeah,” Kotone told her. “It is.”

Kaede reached up to take Kotone’s arm and guide her to the checkout.  “Let’s get a screen protector as well. They have some behind the counter.”

Kotone could only nod and follow along, suddenly emotional over Kaede’s kindness, only startled out of it when Kaede tried to pay for the case and the screen protector.

“Wait… no. You can’t pay, you already bought the book and the convenience store food, I can’t ask you to…”

Kaede raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t ask. I’m offering. There's a difference.”

Kotone folded her arms. “Still. I can’t let you keep doing that, it’s too much.”

They went back and forth, muttering half-hearted protests as the man behind the counter watched them with confusion written all over his face. It was Kaede that brought the protest to an end.

“Kotone,” Kaede said, her voice serious. “I want to, okay? I’m buying my new friend a gift, so let me do this.”

New friend? She considers us friends already? thought Kotone, feeling her emotions swell again.

New friend. The words landed somewhere soft in Kotone's chest. When was the last time someone had called her that? When was the last time she'd let someone in enough to earn it?

Kaede really was something, that was for sure.

“F… Fine. You win this time Yamada,” she let out, trying to sound annoyed, but failing because of the delighted look on Kaede’s face.

The cashier put both in a small bag, before they headed back outside.

Outside, the rain-heavy clouds had broken apart at last. Sunlight poured down in soft gold, turning the wet pavement into mirrors and casting long shadows that danced as they walked. The buildings around them caught the light like glass mosaics, and Kaede’s hair — already tousled from the breeze — gleamed like polished copper at the edges. Her whole face was lit with something warmer than sunlight.

Not that Kotone was looking...

________________________________________

By the time they had finished choosing a case, it was time to head back to the repair shop. The conversation flowed between them, with mostly Kaede talking and Kotone listening. As they entered the repair shop, Kaede greeted Mr Kim, who just grunted in return. He disappeared into the office for a moment, before coming back and handing over the phone to Kotone with two hands.

It was fixed. The screen smooth and unbroken, the reminder of that horrible day finally gone.  Kotone exhaled without realizing she’d been holding her breath.

She paid before Kaede got any ideas, and thanked Mr Kim profusely, enough that even the old man seemed to soften just a tad.

Outside, Kotone tucked the newly repaired phone and case into her bag. The sun had disappeared again, and the air carried the scent of rain. She turned to Kaede with a genuine smile on her face. “Thanks for coming with me,” she said, meaning it completely. “I had… fun. Surprisingly.”

Kaede raised an eyebrow in mock anger. “An actual compliment, unnie? I need to write this down before you take it back.”

Kotone looked at her, somewhere between exasperation and warmth. “Don’t push it Kaede, or I’ll take it back and cheat on your coffee again.”

“No, no,” Kaede said, waving her hands. “No cheating allowed. You’ve now entered a committed relationship with my coffee shop, so you can’t cheat.”

Kotone snorted, feeling her cheeks warm a little before looking up at the sky. She had been away for over two hours, and it was time to head back home. She didn’t want to make Yeonji worry any more than she already knew she would be. “I need to go but thank you again. For the book, the food, the case… everything.”

There was a small pause, the kind that hovered on the edge of something unspoken. Then Kaede broke it with a grin. “That’s okay. But don’t forget unnie, you still owe me that coffee. Today doesn’t count toward that.”

Kotone smiled faintly, shaking her head. “Unbelievable… Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. I’ll text you about it.”

“Good. I’m holding you to it. Jaa, mata ne, Kotone”

Kaede gave a mock salute and stepped away, turning down the opposite street. Kotone watched her go until she disappeared, then finally exhaled. For the first time in days, her chest felt lighter.

________________________________________

By the time Kotone reached the apartment, the drizzle had started falling, turning the air into a wet mist. The rain clung to her hair and coat, and she paused at the door for a moment, steadying her breath, before she slid the key into the lock.

“I’m home,” she called out, as she closed the door behind her.

Yeonji was on the couch when she stepped into the living room, with a blanket around her shoulders. Her Switch was in her lap, with Animal Crossing frozen on the screen. Her character stood in front of her little house, unmoving, the in-game clock quietly ticking away. Yeonji was sitting very straight, back not quite touching the cushions, like she’d been trying to look casual and ran out of energy halfway through. Their eyes met as soon as Kotone stepped in, and she felt her heart lurch as she watched relief flood Yeonji’s face, before she schooled it back to neutrality.

She must have been worried, Kotone realised, since she was gone a little longer than expected. She tried to force her voice to sound and feel a little lighter. “Hey. Sorry I took a little longer than planned.”

Yeonji shook her head, small and quick. “It’s… okay.”

Kotone hung her jacket up, before removing the phone from her bag, as well as the small carrier bag holding the case and screen protector. She moved over to Yeonji, taking a seat on the couch close to her, before placing both down in the space between them. “The phone is fixed, good as new,” she said softly. “No more cracks.”

Yeonji leaned forward, almost hesitantly, before she picked the phone up, turning it over slowly in her hands. She watched Yeonji's shoulders loosen, the tension she'd been holding finally draining away.

“I also picked up something extra,” she said, indicating the bag. “It’s nothing fancy, just a screen protector and a case. I thought you might like it, but if you don’t like it, we can go back and pick something else….” She had to stop herself, as she was almost rambling by the end, suddenly nervous over a gift so small, hating how afraid she was that even as something as simple as a phone case could be the wrong call.

Kotone watched as Yeonji eyed the carrier bag suspiciously, feeling sad that Yeonji looked to her for permission to even touch it. She loathed that Yeonji had ever been made to feel like she wasn't deserving of anything, that any gift given came with a clause.

Kotone gave her a small nod, which was enough for Yeonji to reach out and take the bag. She removed the screen protector first, then the case. Her eyes widened as she held it, as if she couldn’t believe this was for her. “You bought this for me?”

“I did.”

“You didn’t have to, I never…”

Kotone interrupted Yeonji gently. “I know. You didn’t ask for it, but I wanted to get you one. But if you don’t like it, or the colour, we can go back some time and…”

This time it was Yeonji that interrupted. “I like it,” she said, her voice tiny. “Really.”

Relief warmed Kotone’s chest at that. “Good. That’s good”

Yeonji kept running her thumb along the edge of the case, tracing the colour and the shape. She didn’t look up when she said, barely above a whisper: “Thank you.”

Kotone finally let herself smile. “You don’t need to thank me,” she said. “I wanted to.”

Yeonji only replied with a nod, but that was more than enough for Kotone.

________________________________________

Yeonji

Yeonji had spent most of the afternoon trying not to think about how much bigger the space felt without Kotone in it. Yeonji knew that didn’t make sense. After all, the walls didn’t move, and the rooms were the same size they’d been yesterday. But the second the door had clicked shut behind Kotone, something inside her had stretched too far, like an elastic band pulled just shy of snapping.

She tried to tell herself it was fine. That she was fine. That she could go a few hours without Kotone being there. So, she opened her Switch, hoping that it would distract her from… everything. She walked circles around her island. Moved a fence. Picked a few flowers, talked to a few villagers.

But every few minutes her gaze drifted toward the door. Kotone had said she’d be back soon. But time seemed to go strange, as her brain twisted and changed things out of perspective. It seemed to drag, heavy and slow, as “soon” seemed to stretch and stretch.

And Yeonji hated how quickly her brain went to worst-case places. What if something happened to her? What if she got into an accident? What if she doesn’t come back? What if I’m too much trouble?

She knew these thoughts weren’t fair. Not to Kotone. But they came anyway.

So, when the lock finally turned and Kotone’s voice floated down the hallway, calling “I’m home”, the relief she felt was so sharp it almost hurt.

She tried to look… normal. Whatever normal was supposed to look like, before Kotone stepped into the living room. Her eyes locked on to Kotone though when she appeared, relief flowing through her as she noticed that Kotone’s coat and hair looked a little damp.

Yeonji hadn’t even realised it had started raining at some point, getting to lost in her own thoughts. She felt guilty all of a sudden at how tired Kotone looked. Your fault, her brain supplied automatically. She fought that thought down, because Kotone had come back. A little later than she said, but she had come back.

Which was enough that Yeonji felt the whole tight coil in her chest unwind just a little.

She watched as Kotone took off her jacket, as she took a seat on the couch, and placed her phone and a carrier bag between them.

“The phone is fixed, good as new. No more cracks,” she heard Kotone say.

Yeonji ignored the bag for now, reaching out to take the phone. The crack was gone. Kotone had kept her promise of getting it fixed, and she had to fight down the urge not to cry.

The memory of how it happened would always be there, but the physical reminder of the panic, the helplessness and dropping the phone because her hands were shaking too much, that was gone and no longer staring back at her.

As she held the phone, Kotone started speaking again. “I also picked up something extra. It’s nothing fancy, just a screen protector and a case. I thought you might like it, but if you don’t like it, we can go back and pick something else….”

She eyed the bag like it was a live snake. Although Kotone gave her gifts and always told her that she did it because she wanted to, she still had to fight the urge not to panic or flee. Gifts, from experience, always came with pre-conditions, or were done as a cruel joke. She looked up at Kotone, her eyes asking for silent permission.

Is this for me? Really for me? You mean it?

Kotone nodded at her, so she reached out to take the bag. She removed the screen protector, followed by the case.

It was soft, lavender in colour to match the colour of her phone. It didn’t have any other decorations on it. Just a simple, safe, purple case. It was perfect, and Kotone had thought of her when she bought it.

“You bought this for me?” she asked, still unbelieving that Kotone had gotten her it.

“I did.”

Yeonji knew, deep down, that people bought gifts for others all the time. But knowing that, and accepting that, were two different things. She wondered if she’d ever be able to accept a gift, without thinking it was just a form of hidden cruelty. “You didn’t have to, I never…”

“I know.” Kotone interrupted her. “You didn’t ask for it, but I wanted to get you one. But if you don’t like it, or the colour, we can go back some time and…”

Yeonji interrupted her, because she really did like the case, and she didn’t want Kotone to think she didn’t, or she was ungrateful. “I like it,” she said, her voice tiny. “Really.”

“Good. That’s good”

Yeonji ran her hands over the case. She bought this for me. She wanted me to have this. She didn’t have to but she did.  

She fitted the case onto the phone carefully, her movements slow and deliberate, like she was handling something that might break. When she was done, she held it up, turning it in the light. The lavender caught the light from the window. Perfect. The case was perfect.

She wished she could say so much more to Kotone, to tell her how grateful she was for the gift. But for now, all she could do was settle for a tiny “thank you.”

They didn’t talk much after that. They didn’t need to. The quiet between them wasn’t heavy — not like it had been before — but soft, companionable. Yeonji stayed curled on one side of the couch, blanket tucked around her like a cocoon, fingers resting on her phone as if anchoring herself to the moment. Kotone sat nearby, sipping a cup of tea she’d barely touched, letting the stillness settle around them.

Outside, the rain tapped faintly against the windows.

Eventually, Kotone glanced over. Yeonji had tilted her head back, eyes half-closed, the faintest ghost of a smile playing at her lips. The lavender case peeked out from her hands.

Kotone let out a relieved breath. This quiet, little moment of peace, at least for now, was all either of them needed.

________________________________________

Friday Afternoon. Kotone

The apartment had settled into that soft, late-afternoon quiet that had become common over the last week. Peaceful, calm, and quiet, but with a hint of tension still simmering underneath.

Kotone was at the kitchen table with her laptop open in front of her and a half-finished PowerPoint on the screen. Despite not being at her university teaching, she still had work to do. But she had been staring at the same slide for fifteen minutes, and the words in front of her had blurred into shapes. Instead, she watched the way the light slipped through the curtains and pooled in warm squares on the floor.

Yeonji was in her room, and she could hear the faint, familiar sounds of Animal Crossing drifting through her open door and into the rest of the home. Leaving her bedroom door open was something new, a consequence of her panic attack at school.

Kotone had read about it. So many different sources online, telling her in so many different ways that it was likely a safety related response. That keeping the door open allowed Yeonji to be “on guard” for potential threats and have a quick exit if she felt the need to run. Kotone also thought it might be that the thought of an enclosed space would be too much for her to handle.

None of that mattered, so long as Yeonji felt safe. So, if she wanted to keep the door open, she could keep the door open. She realised that as she listened to the sound of little footsteps, chimes, the soft thump of a shovel hitting pretend soil, the quiet click of buttons, that she had grown quite fond of listening to those sounds.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t worried, though.

Sure, Yeonji had been eating a little more, and was spending more time in the living room and in her company, than in her room alone. Every time Yeonji would sit on the couch with her felt like progress. And it was progress. Important progress. But every time Kotone looked at the front door, she felt a little twist of worry.

At some point, Yeonji would have to step beyond the apartment again.

She knew better than to rush it, that forcing Yeonji to go out would send her tumbling three steps back. But it had been a week now since what happened at school, and she hadn’t moved much further than her bedroom, the bathroom or the living room.

Maybe it was the way a thin slice of city noise and warm air drifted in through the open window, or just the way the sunlight hit the floor, but the idea of going for a walk, even a short one, felt like a good idea.

It wasn’t like the power point couldn’t wait a little longer.

She glanced back at her laptop, saved her work with a defeated sigh, then closed it with a soft click. Okay, she thought, all I can do is ask her and see what she says.

And if she says no, that’s okay. No matter what, don’t push or force it.

Kotone stood, stretching her arms overhead until her shoulders popped, then walked over towards Yeonji’s room. She paused at the door for a moment, before giving it a soft knock. “Yeonji?” she called out gently.

She heard rustling, as the game was paused, followed a few seconds later by a small “Yeah?”

“Can I come in for a minute?” Kotone asked, keeping her voice neutral.

Yeonji replied with a small okay, and Kotone stepped in to the room. Yeonji was on her bed, cross-legged, with her Switch in her lap. She was wearing the hoodie Kotone had gotten for her birthday, and her hair was slightly tousled from where she’d been leaning against the wall.

Kotone smiled, at her, trying to ease the tension without making Yeonji feel like she was about to be interrogated. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Yeonji murmured back, her eyes focussed on Kotone’s now.

Kotone shifted her weight, searching for the right words. “I was thinking…” she started. “I need to get out of the house for a bit. Just… to stretch my legs. And I wondered if you might like to come with me.”

She rushed to add the important part. “It would just be a short walk, but if you don’t want to, that’s completely fine. I just wanted to ask.”

Yeonji went very still, and Kotone watched as Yeonji’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the Switch. Her gaze dropped to her lap, lashes lowering as she chewed on the inside of her cheek.

Kotone waited, letting Yeonji think about it in her own time.

Yeonji swallowed. “Outside?” she asked, voice thin.

“We can head towards the park,” Kotone said gently. “We can avoid the main roads, and the shops. And if at any point you want to turn back, we turn back.”

Kotone watched the conflict flicker across Yeonji’s face. It would be easy to just say “don’t worry about it, stay here.” To take the weight of choice from Yeonji, but she also knew that it was important to give Yeonji the choice to say yes or no.

She pictured what Yeonji might be thinking. That staying inside was safe, whereas outside is loud and dangerous and unpredictable. She could see all of that cross Yeonji’s face, but underneath that, something else moved. A small, tired bravery that had not entirely gone out.

“I…” Yeonji started, then stopped. “I’d like to,” Yeonji said finally, her voice surprisingly firm. “If it’s… just for a little bit.”

Kotone beamed at that, her heart soaring a little at Yeonji’s bravery. She was about to ask another question, when Yeonji looked up and spoke again.

“…Will you walk beside me?” she whispered, her voice so tiny and vulnerable Kotone’s heart went from soaring to sinking in the blink of an eye.

It hit Kotone how much trust was wrapped up in that one small request; Yeonji wasn’t only agreeing to go outside, she was asking her not to let go. Kotone felt the weight of it settle in her chest like something precious she needed to carry carefully

Kotone’s “Of course” came without hesitation. “I’ll be right next to you the whole time,” she added, steady and sure, like a promise she had every intention of keeping.

She was looking at Yeonji the whole time, wanting to get across through her eyes and her tone that she meant every word, plus every other word she didn’t say.

You can do this. You’re so brave.

“I’ll get my keys,” Kotone said, rising. “Take your time. I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready to leave, okay?”

She waited until Yeonji gave her a small nod, before stepping away to give Yeonji time to get ready. As she did, she heard the faint sound of the Switch being set down, and the rustle of fabric as Yeonji slowly shifted to stand.

Kotone moved to the kitchen, giving Yeonji space but staying close enough so she could listen. She checked that her keys were in her pocket and that she had her phone and her purse in her bag.

She glanced toward Yeonji's room, listening for any sign that Yeonji had changed her mind. But there was only the quiet sound of movement. A drawer opening, footsteps padding across the floor.

In the kitchen, Kotone opened a cupboard she didn’t need anything from, just to give her hands something to do while her chest unclenched around the quiet, astonishing fact that Yeonji had chosen to try.

________________________________________

Yeonji

Kotone had left to give her space to get ready, and Yeonji had found herself standing in front of her closet for almost ten minutes. She knew, because she'd checked her phone at least three times since standing up. She was staring at her tiny selection of hoodies and she could feel her heart racing, like a frantic drumbeat against her ribs that made her feel dizzy and off balance.

They hadn’t even left the apartment yet, and she was already feeling the panic rising.

Outside, she thought. Kotone asked me to go for a walk and I said yes.

The thought sat heavy in her chest, pressing against her ribs from the inside. She hadn't been outside since her attack at school. The logical part of her brain told her that going outside shouldn’t be hard, that people went outside every single day. They walked to work, to school, to meet friends. They moved through the world without their chests constricting, without their vision narrowing, without the constant calculation of exits and escape routes.

But ever since last Thursday, outside felt like a place where something bad could happen. With noises to loud, where you were exposed and vulnerable and everyone could see exactly how broken you were. Inside was safe, as it had walls and locked doors and Kotone, who never raised her voice, who moved predictably, who wouldn't hurt her.

Just thinking about all of that made her hands shake.

Pathetic, her mind whispered.

Her phone sat on the desk, the new lavender case that Kotone had bought for her now on the phone. It’s nice, her mind supplied. Before it followed up with Too nice for you. Yeonji hated that it felt like the phone and case belonged to someone else. Not some broken mess of a person who didn’t deserve nice things.

Stop it, she told herself.

She picked up the phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned it over. No crack. Smooth glass. Fixed. Kotone had fixed it, just like she had promised. The phone went into her pocket, then came back out, before going back in again, and staying there.

In the end, she decided not to bother changing her hoodie, sticking with the one she was already wearing. She moved the bathroom afterwords, running a brush through her hair half-heartedly, without really caring about how it looked. She tugged the sleeves down past her wrists until only her fingertips showed, as her reflection in the mirror looked back, like a ghost version of herself. Pale, eyes shadowed, drowning in cotton.

You don’t have to go, part of her said. Tell Kotone you changed your mind. You could say your head hurts. Your stomach. Anything. She’d understand.

But she fought that part down, as the part of her that that had nodded, that had said I’d like to, didn’t want to take it back.

She headed out of the bathroom and into the living room before she could overthink it to death. Kotone was waiting in the kitchen, wearing a light sweater with her handbag over her shoulder. She was scrolling idly through her phone in that way she did when she was giving Yeonji space and looked up with a small smile when Yeonji entered the room.

“Ready?” Kotone asked softly.

No, Yeonji’s mind wanted to scream.

But she didn’t. She let out a small “Yeah,” because she was trying to listen to the braver part.

They went to the front door to put their shoes on, and Yeonji fumbled with her laces twice before eventually managing to tie them. Rising to her feet, she took a deep breath, gave Kotone a small nod, and they stepped out the front door.

________________________________________

The hallway outside the apartment was dim and familiar, which helped a little. They were the same scuffed walls, with the same faint smell of the neighbour’s fabric softener. Her heart gave a few loud thuds as she locked the door behind them, but her breathing stayed mostly steady.

This is okay, she told herself. I can do this.

She was okay as they went down the stairs, but when they hit the front entrance of the building, things changed. The glass door showed the street outside in bright splashes of colour as the sound of a city alive with people washed over her. Cars passed in the distance, and the sound of its engine crawled up her spine. There were people milling around the flower shop on the ground floor of their building, looking at the early summer blooms. One of them laughed, and her whole body flinched, shoulders pulling up, making herself smaller, always smaller, because smaller meant safer, smaller meant maybe they wouldn't notice her.

Too loud, she thought. Why is it too loud? She could already feel her breathing hitch, her body tensing as a sense of dread started clawing in the pit of her stomach. I can’t do this. I need to go back and…

Her thoughts were cut off as Kotone’s quiet voice washed over her. “You’re doing well Yeonji,” she said. “We made it to the front door, and you’ve already been so brave. We can go back if you want, or we can try taking a short walk. I’ll be beside you the whole way.”

The expression on her face was gentle, full of kindness and with no expectations. Just open and warm, letting Yeonji decide what she wanted to do.

“Just… just a short walk. It’s loud… but I want to try.”

“Okay,” Kotone smiled. “Let’s go this way first,” she indicated to the right. “It’s quieter, and away from the main road, yeah?”

Yeonji nodded, hesitating slightly before she followed Kotone. She put her hoodie hood up as she did. It made her feel a little safer, as if the world was easier to face when you could hide from it, when you could pretend you weren't really there.

As they walked, Yeonji fixed her eyes on the ground, looking at each crack or stone in the pavement as if it could keep her grounded and tethered. A woman walked past them, her heels clicking sharp against the concrete. She was talking loudly into her phone, so loudly that it carried down the whole street. Yeonji noted vaguely that she was complaining about some who had messed up a report at work. But her voice was too loud, and Yeonji's body moved without permission, stepping closer to Kotone, close enough that their sleeves almost touched.

Too close. She'll think you're weird. She'll think you're clingy.

But Kotone didn't move away. Just adjusted her pace, slowing down a fraction to match Yeonji's stumbling rhythm.

Her eyes were on the ground again, focussed on Kotone’s shoes as if they were the only thing that could keep her own feet moving. After a few more steps they stopped, and Yeonji looked up a little confused.

They were at the end of the street, and Kotone was looking at her again with those eyes that seemed to hold nothing but patience and warmth.

“Which way would you like to go?”

Kotone was asking her. Giving her the choice to decide to continue on, or to go back. They had probably only managed two hundred metres so far, and as much as her mind was screaming at her to go back home, the smaller, braver part of her wanted to go a little further. “I don’t know…” she admitted, worried about making a wrong decision.

If Kotone was bothered by that, she didn’t show it. Kotone nodded toward the left path. “Well, that way takes you out towards a busy shopping area. It’s quicker to the park, but a lot noisier and busier. Or, if we take the path to the right, it’s longer to the park but it should be a lot quieter.”

Just the thought of a busy shopping area, the people and noise, made her stomach clench. “The… right path,” she said quickly. “Please.”

“Right path it is,” Kotone said, and they started walking again, the pace slow and comfortable.

This trend continued, with Kotone pausing every few minutes, giving Yeonji the choice on which way they wanted to go. Each time she did, Yeonji could feel herself relax a little more, as Kotone gave her the power to choose and make the decision for them. After ten minutes of this, they stopped again and Kotone was looking at her carefully.

“We’re almost at the park Yeonji. You’re doing so well. It’s just a minute’s walk from here, but we are going to have to cross a road. It’s a little busy, but I’ll be with you. You don’t need to do it; it’s totally up to you.” Kotone’s tone was easy and kind as she spoke, doing her best to put Yeonji at ease.

She hated the idea of crossing a busy street, but they had come this far, and Yeonji wanted to make the effort to go to the park. For herself, but also for Kotone. To show her that she could do this. “O…okay,” her voice said, a little shaky and hesitant. “I… I can try.”

Kotone was about to reply, when a bicycle bell rang out behind them. RING RING. The sound felt sharp like breaking glass. It was sudden and unexpected, and it caused Yeonji’s body to lock up, her feet rooted to the pavement as her hands curled into fists so tight her nails bit into her palms.

The bicycle whizzed pass. Of course it did, her mind tried telling her. It was just someone going somewhere, living their life, not even noticing the girl frozen on the sidewalk like a broken wind-up toy.

"You're okay," Kotone said softly, noticing the change in Yeonji’s posture immediately. She didn’t say it's okay, because it wasn't, they both knew it wasn't, but you're okay. “Just take a breath, nice and slow, okay?”

As Kotone said the words, she started breathing in through her nose, and out through her mouth. Yeonji nodded, before following along. She took a breath. Then another. In and out, slowly, trying to get herself to calm down, following Kotone’s rhythm. She did that for a few minutes and it felt like hours. But eventually, she was breathing steadier again. “Thank you,” she managed to let out.

“That’s okay. Do you want to keep going or turn back?” Kotone asked, giving her the choice again.

Part of Yeonji’s chest felt like someone was sitting on it. Like the air had turned thick, like she was breathing through honey, sweet and suffocating. But she still wanted to do this, to reach the park, because anything else would feel like a failure, even if she was sweating and terrified. “Let’s… let’s keep going.”

The smile Kotone gave her then was so big and bright that Yeonji felt her own chest warm at it. “You really are so brave Yeonji,” Kotone said. “I’m really proud of you. Stay close to me, okay?”

Yeonji nodded, her chest and face warming a little. Part of her didn’t feel like she deserved that kind of praise. It was just a walk. Just one road. Just a normal afternoon for anyone else. And she didn’t feel brave. Brave was for people who ran toward things, not away from them. She wanted to tell Kotone that she was just scared and stubborn and didn’t want to disappoint her.

But Kotone looked at her like she was proud. And not the kind of proud that was patronising or empty. The kind of proud that made Yeonji feel like she could believe it. Maybe. Just a little.

They approached the crossing together. Cars passed steadily, some going too fast, all of them too loud. The light hadn’t changed yet, and the sound of a motorbike revving nearby made Yeonji flinch. She shifted closer to Kotone, her steps small and uncertain.

And then…

Without really deciding to, Yeonji’s hand edged out of her sleeve, quietly and full of hesitation. Her fingers found the fabric of Kotone’s cardigan near the wrist and curled into it, just enough to feel the knit under her palm. Not a full-on grab, just a small, desperate hook. An anchor.

Kotone’s step hitched for half a second. Yeonji felt it through the sleeve, a tiny stutter in the rhythm of her walk, like something inside her had tripped. Then Kotone adjusted, angling her arm so Yeonji’s grip didn’t slip, not looking down or making a sound about it. When she spoke, her voice was even softer than before.

“The light’s changing,” she murmured. “We’ll go on this one, nice and slow. Just stay with me, okay?”

Yeonji tightened her fingers once in answer. The green man blinked on. Together, with the roar of cars on either side and her heart thumping high in her throat, she walked across the road, matching her steps to Kotone’s.

Yeonji didn’t know it, but inside Kotone, her heart lurched. A fragile, overwhelming ache blooming behind her ribs. Because Yeonji never initiated things like this. Never reached out unless she absolutely needed to. And this time, she hadn’t needed to. Not really.
But she had anyway.

Yeonji kept her head down as they walked, and by the time they stepped onto the other side of the street, Yeonji felt like she could breathe again.

The park opened up ahead of them, wide and quiet, the trees rustling gently in the wind, a child’s laughter rising somewhere in the distance. There was still noise, still the pulse of the city behind them… but somehow, it felt softer here. Quieter. More distant.

She let go of Kotone’s sleeve, but only when she was sure her feet wouldn’t fail her. Kotone didn’t say a word about it and Yeonji was grateful for that, too.

________________________________________

When they reached the park, the took a gentle and slow lap around it. Yeonji noticed that it was quieter in the park than she expected, as the trees helped mask the overwhelming sounds of the city. Yeonji didn’t speak as she was concentrated on her breathing and keeping herself calm. Kotone was content to let her be.

Halfway round the park, Kotone’s voice broke the silence between them. "There's an ice cream stand up ahead," Kotone said, her voice casual, like she was just noticing it and not like she'd probably spotted it five minutes ago and had been waiting for the right moment to mention it. "Want to stop and get some?"

Yeonji's immediate response sat ready on her tongue. No.

No was safe. No was easy. No meant not having to interact with strangers, not having to make decisions, not having to pretend to be a functional human being who could do something as simple as buy ice cream.

But then she looked up, just for a second, and saw the stand. It was small, painted yellow that had faded to almost cream, with a hand-drawn sign that said Best Ice Cream in Seoul in Korean and slightly crooked English underneath. An elderly man sat beside it on a folding chair that had seen better days, reading a newspaper through thick glasses.

There was no line or crowd. Just him and his ice cream and his newspaper.

"I'm not hungry," she said automatically.

"That's okay,” Kotone replied. “We can just keep walking if you want."

They took a few more steps, and something twisted in Yeonji's chest. Not fear this time. Something else. Something that felt uncomfortably like guilt. She thought about all the times she’d watched other kids get cones on hot days. All the times she didn’t ask because asking for something was dangerous and led to raised voices or raised fists...

But that was then, and this was now. And Kotone wasn’t like that. Kotone had gotten her phone fixed. Had asked her to come outside for a walk but said they could turn back anytime. She had walked the quiet streets without complaint, matching her stuttering pace, filled with an endless patience that Yeonji felt undeserving of. And Yeonji couldn't even say yes to ice cream.

She's trying so hard, and you're giving her nothing.

"Actually," she said, the word catching in her throat, "I’d like an ice-cream. If that’s okay with you?"

Kotone's smile was small and careful, like anything bigger might scare Yeonji back into her shell. "Of course it is. Let’s go."

________________________________________

The elderly man looked up from his newspaper as they approached, his face creasing into lines that spoke of decades of smiling. Yeonji stayed half a step behind Kotone, tucked in behind her like it was a safe place.  

The chalkboard menu might as well have been written in ancient Greek. Too many choices. Strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, green tea, mango, mint chocolate, cookies and cream, red bean…

"What can I get for you ladies?” the old man asked. But Yeonji didn’t quite catch that. Her ears were buzzing, and her mind went white. Static. Nothing.

Kotone turned to her without pressure. “What flavour would you like?”

Yeonji didn’t know. Just pick one, she thought. Any of them. It doesn't matter. Go for something safe.

"Vanilla," she said, her voice tiny.

The man nodded and reached for the vanilla container, but as soon as he did Yeonji felt regret. She didn't want vanilla. Vanilla was safe. Vanilla was what you picked when you didn't want to admit you wanted something.

In truth, she wanted chocolate. She always wanted chocolate. But she'd already said vanilla. The man was already scooping. To change now would be…

Difficult. Annoying. Too much trouble. He’ll shout at you. Call you a problem.

All words she was used to. But… she wanted chocolate, and Kotone was beside her, patient and quiet, and the old man's hands moved slowly, like he had all the time in the world.

"Actually," she said, the word rushing out before she could swallow it back. "Could I… have chocolate instead? Please?"

The man paused, the scoop poised above the cone, and for one horrible second, Yeonji thought he'd be angry, or roll his eyes. Make that tsk sound with his teeth that meant you're being difficult.

Instead, he smiled wider. "Of course. Chocolate is the better choice anyway. Good decision.”

A sound escaped her. Not quite a laugh, just air pushing out in surprise. The old man winked at her and started scooping chocolate instead, generous scoops that threatened to topple over.

Kotone ordered green tea after her, and they moved to a bench under one of the trees. The wood was old, paint peeling in places, and someone had carved initials into the armrest — SS + KS — surrounded by a lopsided heart.

Yeonji took a small bite of her ice cream. It wasn’t amazing. It was fine. It was sweet, and it was hers.

Which meant it was perfect.

Because it was exactly what she'd wanted, what she'd almost denied herself because asking felt too hard, because changing her mind felt too difficult, because asking caused pain and she'd had to much of that in her life.

But she had done it. I asked for what I wanted, she thought.

That thought sat strange in her head. Part of her felt guilty. Like she didn’t deserve even something as simple as a chocolate ice-cream. But Kotone had asked and even smiled when she changed her mind from vanilla to chocolate. And that made the guilt inside flow away.

________________________________________

The shade from the tree made patterns on the ground. Light and shadow dancing as the leaves moved in a breeze she couldn't really feel. It was almost pretty, in a broken sort of way.

A family walked by. A mom and dad with a young kid, around four or five. The kid was clutching a cone piled ridiculously high with what looked like strawberry ice cream. He was practically running, his father calling after him to slow down, be careful, watch where you’re...

The inevitable happened. The ice cream tilted, wobbled, and fell, hitting the pavement with a wet splat. As it did, Yeonji felt her whole body tense. History had taught her what comes next.

Yelling. Why can't you be more careful. You are so useless. This is why we don’t buy you anything. Never again.

Or sometimes something worse. A raised hand. Raised feet. Anything that came to hand…

But none of that happened, as the mother just knelt down, pulled a tissue from her bag. “It’s okay,” the mother said. “Accidents happen.”

The boy's face was crumpling, tears already starting, and his mother pulled him into a quick hug, not caring that his sticky hands were getting ice cream on her nice blouse. "Should we get another one?" she asked. "Or maybe we try a cup this time?"

The boy nodded, sniffling, and his father ruffled his hair. "Cup sounds smart. I dropped mine last week too and made an even bigger mess than you."

They walked back to the stand, the boy's tears already drying, his parents flanking him like nothing had happened. Like dropping ice cream wasn't the end of the world. Like mistakes could just be... mistakes.

Accidents happen.

Yeonji took another bite of her chocolate ice cream, and this time it tasted like more than just chocolate. It tasted like choosing. Like asking. Like maybe the world wouldn't end if she wasn't perfect, if she changed her mind, if she took up space.

And without planning to, a corner of her mouth twitched. Just the tiniest pull. Not a full smile. But a movement toward one. A suggestion. It disappeared as quickly as it formed, but it had happened.

Kotone noticed, but she didn’t call it out. She didn’t say there it is! or you smiled! or see, I knew you could feel better.

She just sat and let it be. And Yeonji was grateful. So grateful she didn’t know how to say it. Not with words, or with looks.

She took another bite of chocolate, and that was the best one yet.

"You okay?" Kotone asked softly.

Yeonji nodded. "Yeah. I'm..." She paused, testing the word before she said it, making sure it wasn't a complete lie. "I'm okay."

________________________________________

They finished their ice cream, with Kotone making small talk, or the occasional comment of someone walking by. Nothing serious, just enough to fill the silence and give Yeonji something to focus on that wasn’t her own mind whispering horrible thoughts.

The walk back was... different. Not easier exactly, but different. The streets were the same, the noises were the same, the people were the same. But something in Yeonji's chest had shifted, just a degree or two. Like a door that had been rusted shut had cracked open, just enough to let in a sliver of light.

She still walked close to Kotone, still flinched when a motorcycle roared past, still stared at Kotone’s shoes as she walked as if they were lighting her path forward.

But, somewhere between the ice cream stand and their home, without really meaning to, without really thinking about it, her hand came up and pushed her hood back. The air hit her neck, her ears, the back of her head where sweat had gathered under the fabric. It felt exposed. Vulnerable. Like everyone could see her now, really see her.

But… it also felt like breathing. That she didn’t feel quite as vulnerable or as scared as she was an hour ago.

________________________________________

Inside the apartment, the familiar quiet wrapped around her, embracing her with the feelings that she had started associating with this home. Safe, warm, hers. She automatically started walking to her room, but something made her stop for a second, before she turned to face Kotone.

"Thank you," she said, the words small but real. "For today."

Kotone smiled, and it was different from her usual smiles. Less careful. More... proud, maybe? "Thank you for coming with me and being so brave."

Yeonji nodded and retreated to her room, the compliment following her with every step she took, still feeling undeserving of any sort of praise, especially for something as simple as taking a walk.

When she went into her room, she lay on her bed and let out a long breath.

Today had been hard. Exhausting. Terrifying in ways that would sound ridiculous if she tried to explain them. I went outside and bought ice cream wasn't the kind of thing people wrote stories about.

But.

She'd gone outside. She'd changed her mind about the ice cream, and the world hadn't ended. She'd pushed her hood back and let the world see her, just for a few blocks, just for a few minutes.

Tomorrow she might not be able to do it again. Tomorrow the fear might win and might keep her locked in this room staring at ceiling.

But today had happened. Today was real and today was hers. And that was nothing, and maybe everything.

________________________________________

Yeonji. Saturday

Rain tapped against the window in an uneven rhythm; each drop a small percussion against the glass. The sunlight from yesterday was gone, replaced by heavy grey clouds that turned the world outside into something muted and soft-edged.

Yeonji lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows shift as the rain slid down the window. She'd been awake for a while now. Long enough that the light had changed from the dim grey of early morning to the slightly brighter grey of mid-morning, but she hadn't moved apart from changing position to get comfortable.

Kotone had left tea and toast on her desk before leaving for a quick run to the convenience store. The tea would be cold by now, the toast hard at the edges. Yeonji knew she should eat it anyway, but the thought of getting up felt difficult.

Because right now, her mind was too full of thoughts and internal arguments.

Her mind kept replaying the walk from yesterday. The sound of cars and people. The bicycle bell that sliced through her like glass. The way her body had locked up, useless and stiff and shaking on the pavement.

You’re okay, Kotone had said. Not it’s okay. You’re okay.

She’d clung to her sleeve like a child when crossing the road. Something you would do as a young child, not at sixteen. She had felt so proud yesterday, making it to the park. But now, her mind was telling her that it was pathetic, that she was nothing more than a scared and scarred child who couldn’t cross a street without almost falling apart.

That part warred with the part that felt proud. Because she had made it to the park. The way she changed her mind from vanilla to chocolate and was brave enough to say so.

And then came the next thought that had been circling and growing heavier with each loop.

Monday is two days away.

Because Monday meant school. School meant fluorescent lights humming too loudly, hallways stretching in every direction, footsteps echoing, lockers slamming, voices overlapping. Too many eyes, too many people. And people meant noise and stares and the constant, exhausting work of trying to be invisible and surviving second from second, minute to minute.

Yeonji knew that if she wanted to, she could stay off. Kotone would give her as long as she needed to recover. And part of her wanted to just never go back. To stay away forever, hide in her room and never have to worry about raised voices and raised fists ever again.

But equally, part of her wanted to go back. She liked some of her lessons. Art, languages, sciences. They were fun and a distraction from her own brain and a past she didn’t want to think about.

Besides, Kotone had that certain look that just screamed pride every time Yeonji left for school in the morning and she didn’t want to feel like she was letting Kotone, or herself, down.

But school also meant seeing Joobin again, and her stomach clenched at the thought.

When she thought about it, she didn't know what scared her more. The idea that Joobin would ignore her, pretend that Thursday had never happened, act like Yeonji was just another classmate she barely knew. Or the idea that Joobin would look at her differently now, with pity or discomfort. Or with that careful kindness people used when they thought you were broken and needed to be handled gently.

Or worse, that she would laugh and use it against her. It wouldn’t be the first time.

She knew that Joobin wouldn’t. Everything about Joobin spoke of kindness and understanding and patience. A little like Kotone actually. And Kotone had told her that Joobin’s parents were really nice. She had said I think I can see why Joobin is such a nice girl, and I think you can trust Joobin and your instincts about wanting to get closer to her.”

If Kotone thought that, then surely it would be okay. She rolled onto her side, pulling her blanket tighter around herself, and stared at the wall instead of the ceiling.

But doubt didn’t care about reason. Doubt was a creature with teeth. I can't go back, the creature whispered.

The thought was immediate and absolute, rising up from somewhere deep in her chest where all her fear lived. She couldn't walk back into that building, couldn't sit in that classroom, couldn't face the place where she'd fallen apart so completely that she'd had to run.

Everyone saw. Everyone knows. They will laugh and taunt and use it against me and I’ll…

Her mind conjured images to match the thoughts with cruel efficiency. Classmates whispering and laughing behind their hands, teachers looking at her with concern or annoyance, Joobin's careful distance as she tried to figure out how to sit next to someone who'd had a panic attack in an alcove.

What if it happens again?

That was the part that really worried her. It had happened once, and the fear that she'd walk into class and the noise would hit her wrong, or someone would shout, or something would remind her body of danger even when there wasn't any but would still cause her to panic and run again.

All it would prove, to everyone, even herself, that she was too broken to function in the world.

________________________________________

The rain kept falling, steady and relentless, and Yeonji wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Kotone had come back from her quick trip to the shop, calling out to let Yeonji know she was back. Yeonji called back with a small okay.

Now, she was staring back at the ceiling, with her eyes closed, and trying to breathe through the tightness in her chest.

But if I don't go back...

That thought was quieter, more hesitant, but persistent. If she didn't go back, what would she do? Stay in this apartment forever? Hide in her room until Kotone gave up on her? Prove to herself that she was exactly as weak as her mind kept telling her she was?

I went outside yesterday, she told herself. I managed to go back to school once… I can do it again.

She had made a choice then, to face school, even though it was terrifying and scared her every day. But she had done it and somehow got through each day. And she had chosen to try and speak to Joobin, to share some information with her.

Small choices. Nothing that would matter to anyone else, but they'd been hers. Yeonji opened her eyes and stared at the rain-streaked window.

What if I chose to go back?

The question made her stomach twist with anxiety so sharp it was almost painful. But underneath the fear was something else. Something smaller and more fragile, but present. Going back wouldn’t be easy. It would be hard, and she might not be able to get through a whole day.

But for herself, and for Kotone who had been nothing but generous and trusting, maybe she deserved to give it a chance.

She thought back to her time at the school in Seoul, and memories came without warning, slipping into her mind like water through cracks.

Kotone telling her she was proud of her when she stepped through the school gates for the first time.

Joobin, sitting beside her in class, greeting her in the morning with a soft “Hi” and not expecting anything in return.

Joobin telling her she liked her bag. That she liked her pencil case. The look on Joobin's face when she told her favourite colour, as if she was storing it away and saying thank you for trusting me with this.

Joobin asking "Do you play Animal Crossing?" when she caught her humming the theme song under her voice in class.

“Uhm...yeah,” she had replied. “I just started playing on Saturday.”

Joobin had smiled then. “Oh. It’s my favourite game,” she had told Yeonji.

"Yeah. Mine too," Yeonji had told her.

Joobin had been the only person outside of her teachers that she had spoken to in school and she seemed genuinely interested in what Yeonji liked, not because she wanted something from her, but just because.

The memory shifted, became more recent, more painful.

She was going to ask Joobin about Animal Crossing that week. Then came the panic attack. The alcove. Joobin's sitting across from her, giving Yeonji space even while offering help. "I know you must be scared.  But... if you can... could you try and copy me for a second."

Joobin's voice, steady and calm, walking her through the breathing technique like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like Yeonji wasn't a mess on the floor. Like she wasn't pathetic or broken or too much.

"I used to do this for myself when I got overwhelmed," she had told Yeonji.

Yeonji had followed Joobin's breathing, and it helped, just a little, anchor her when it felt like she was about to be lost to the tsunami of thoughts and fears that had enveloped her like a crashing wave.

Joobin had stayed. She had called Kotone for her. Stayed until Kotone arrived, even when she could have left.

Yeonji's throat tightened with something that wasn't quite crying but close.

Maybe this was the part that worried her the most. Even more than returning to school, and facing it all over again, having to build herself up stone by stone, brick by brick, every day, just to get through a day at school. It was that Joobin had seen her at her worst. Had seen the parts of Yeonji that she never wanted anyone to see, that had seen her panic and fear and inability to function like a normal person. Parts she didn't want Kotone to see, and certainly not a girl in her class who only shared a few words with her.

She helped me though.

The thought was simple and undeniable, but it didn't make it less complicated.

Because Joobin had seen her like that. She had seen something Yeonji hadn't invited her to witness, hadn't chosen to share. And now there was this... thing between them. This knowledge, this power that Joobin had that Yeonji couldn't take back.

What would… what do I even say to her?

She couldn't tell her the truth. She hadn’t told anyone the truth. Not the psychologists at the hospital, not Kotone. The foster homes, the abuse, the scar on her wrist that had brought her to Kotone.  

Would Joobin even ask though?  She didn’t think she would. She knew, deep down, that Joobin would never ask for details, or an explanation. She’d probably sit beside her, say “Hi” and leave it at that. Could Joobin really pretend it hadn't happened and act like that Thursday was just a normal day where nothing had gone wrong?

________________________________________

Later, Yeonji sat up slowly, the blanket falling away from her shoulders. Her room was dim, the grey light from outside barely reaching the corners. The cold tea and toast were still sitting on her desk, both untouched. Her school bag leaned against the wall where Kotone had left it after everything had fallen apart.

She hadn’t touched it since then, and as she stared at it she could feel her heart beating too fast. She got out of bed, her legs stiff from lying so long and she walked slowly over to the bag and reached out with shaking hands.

You don't have to do this, she thought.

But she did. Not because anyone was making her. Not because Kotone expected it or because the school required it. But because she wanted to.

So, before she could talk herself out of it, she placed her bag on her bed, her fingers finding the zipper and pulled it open slowly, the sound of it like an earthquake in the quiet room.

Inside was everything she'd left on Thursday. Everything that Joobin had packed away before coming to find her. Her textbooks. Her notebooks. Her pencil case, shoved into the front pocket where it always lived.

She pulled it out carefully, holding it in both hands like it might break.

It was just a pencil case. Just fabric and zippers and pens and pencils and the eraser she'd bought because it smelled like strawberries.

But it was also more than that. It was a choice. It was a pencil case that she had chosen, yes, but it was a bigger choice. She could put it back in the bag. Zip everything up, tell Kotone she wasn't ready and stay home where it was safe and quiet and nothing could hurt her.

Or she could keep it out, prepare, and choose to try.

A tiny war played out under her ribs. Fear on one side, shame on the other, a small, tired spark of wanting-to-try somewhere in between trying not to get crushed. Her fingers tightened around the fabric, and she stood up slowly, moving to her desk. She set the pencil case down beside the cold tea and forgotten toast. The words came quietly, barely more than a breath, speaking them out loud as if to give them extra strength. "I want to try."

She said them again, a little louder this time, testing how they felt in her mouth.

"I want to try."

The words scared her. Going back was terrifying. Monday would be terrifying and horrible. People would stare; people might laugh… But she wanted to go, even then. Because the part of her that was stubborn, that hadn't been completely crushed by everything she'd been through wanted to keep going.

So, with the pencil case sitting on her desk, she decided.

She was going tot try and go back to school on Monday.

________________________________________

Sunday. Kotone

Sunday mornings were usually slow, gentle affairs in their apartment. The heavy rain from Saturday had thinned to a light drizzle that made the balcony rail look slick and silver.

Breakfast was quiet that morning, with Kotone deciding to make a simple dish of rice and miso soup. The scent filled the apartment, and Kotone hummed a nameless tune as she listened to the weather forecast on the radio promising clearing skies by afternoon.

Yeonji emerged from her room wearing a large, oversized hoodie that positively drowned her small frame. Kotone idly noted that Yeonji tended to wear that hoodie when she felt like she needed an extra layer of protection. She took her seat at the kitchen table with a quiet “morning,” as Kotone put her food down, offering her own quiet “morning, Yeonji” in return.

Yeonji ate slowly, with her eyes fixed on her bowl like she was reading something important in the grains of rice. Kotone didn't push conversation. She'd learned by now when Yeonji needed silence to organise her thoughts and when she needed the sound of another person’s voice to fill the space.

So, none of this was new. But what was new was the way Yeonji's fingers kept fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. The way she'd open her mouth like she was about to speak, then close it again and take another bite instead. The way her shoulders were tense, and her forehead furrowed in concentration.

She has something on her mind, thought Kotone.

She could ask, but she knew that doing so would likely result in Yeonji closing up, so Kotone finished her own breakfast and started clearing the dishes, moving quietly around the kitchen. She washed her bowls and cutlery and set them in the drying rack, wiped down the counter and refilled the kettle even though neither of them had asked for tea. Yeonji had stayed at the table instead of retreating back to her room, her empty bowl pushed slightly to the side, her hands now twisted together in her lap.

"Did you want to do anything today?" Kotone asked gently, keeping her tone light. "We could watch something. Or I could make those dumplings you like for lunch."

Yeonji nodded but didn't say anything.

“Dumplings it is” Kotone said, as she dried her hands on a towel. She moved to the living room, giving Yeonji space, not wanting her to feel like Kotone was leaning over her, pushing her to speak.

Whatever Yeonji was trying to say, if she felt pressured, then she would shrink away and not speak. But if she gave her space… well. Space would let Yeonji bloom when she was ready.

________________________________________

Lunch came and went, the dumplings were made and eaten, mostly in comfortable silence punctuated by small comments about the filling being just right and Yeonji offering to help with the dishes.

The rain had stopped by then, just as the forecast had promised. The sky was still dark grey, threatening more early summer rain, but it stayed away for now.

They moved to the living room after cleaning up, Kotone returning to her laptop while Yeonji curled into her corner of the couch with her Switch. Animal Crossing music played softly, mixing with the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the city beyond their walls.

Kotone was focussed on her work, reviewing student submissions, making notes in the margins, when Yeonji's voice cut through the quiet. "I think I want to go back to school."

Yeonji’s words came out in a rush, blurted rather than carefully stated, like she had shoved them out before she could swallow them back down. As she heard the words, Kotone's hands stilled on her keyboard and she looked up slowly, her heart suddenly beating faster.

Yeonji wasn't looking at her as her eyes were fixed on her Switch screen, but Kotone noticed how tightly she was gripping the joy cons.

"On Monday," Yeonji added, her voice quieter now. "I want to try."

For a moment, Kotone couldn't speak or move. In fact, she could barely breathe at all.

Yeonji hadn’t said I should go back to school, or I need to go back to school.

She had said I want to.

She'd known this conversation would come eventually. She had hoped for it, even. But she had expected that she would have to be the one to broach it. That it would take weeks, maybe even months to get to that point. So hearing Yeonji say she wanted to try, that she had decided this on her own, hit Kotone with a force she hadn't prepared for.

Her throat tightened and she felt her eyes burning with tears that she absolutely could not let fall right now, because Yeonji was still not looking at her and if Kotone started crying, she wouldn’t be able to stop. And it would make this into something bigger and heavier than Yeonji needed it to be.

"Oh," Kotone managed, her voice slightly unsteady. "Okay. That's... I think that's really brave, Yeonji."

Yeonji set the Switch down in her lap, before clasping her hands together tightly. "Brave? I don’t feel brave. I feel scared," she admitted quietly.

"I know," Kotone said, and she had to swallow hard before continuing. "It's okay to be scared. You can be scared and still be brave for wanting to try."

Yeonji’s voice dropped even lower. “I might not… make it through the whole day,” she said in a rush. “I might… have to leave. Or I might… freeze. Or…” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I just… want to try.”

“That’s okay,” Kotone replied. “If you can only go for ten minutes, that’s enough. You can leave whenever you need to, okay?”

Yeonji nodded, still not looking up. "Will you..." she started, then stopped, taking a breath before trying again. "Will you walk to school with me? If that's okay?"

Kotone felt something crack open in her chest. Yeonji looked and sounded so vulnerable when she asked, almost like she was asking for something that she shouldn’t. But Kotone had walked Yeonji to school every day since they'd moved to Seoul. Because Kotone wanted to make sure that Yeonji didn't have to walk into that building alone.

But despite that, Yeonji was asking her like it wasn't already a given. Like even now, Kotone might say no.

And Kotone hated that Yeonji felt that way. She understood it but hated that what had been done to Yeonji had made her feel like even this was something she shouldn’t be asking for.

“You… you don’t have to. I know you’re probably busy and it’s too much to ask, but…”

Kotone cut in, her voice unsteady but not prepared to let Yeonji finish that sentence. Because she wanted her to know that she would do that. "Of course I will," Kotone said, her voice definitely unsteady now. "I'll walk with you. And I'll wait for you when school ends. Just like always."

I would walk you anywhere in the world if you asked, Kotone realised.

Yeonji finally looked up, and her expression was so vulnerable, so uncertain, so filled with relief, that Kotone had to press her lips together to keep the tears from spilling over.

"Okay," Yeonji said softly. "Thank you."

Kotone nodded, not trusting herself to speak. They sat like that for a moment, the room filled with silence, and Kotone’s chest a storm of emotions.

Yeonji, who was terrified and traumatised, was going back to school.

Yeonji, the impossibly brave girl, was going to walk back into the place that had broken her just days ago.

And Kotone was so proud she could barely stand it.

________________________________________

Kotone. Evening

Later that night, after Yeonji had retreated to her room and the apartment had settled into its evening quiet, Kotone sat at her desk with her laptop open in front of her. The desk lamp cast a warm circle of light across the scattered papers and half-graded assignments, and her tea had gone cold in its mug beside her, untouched for the past hour.

She should be working. She should be finishing the lesson plans she'd abandoned earlier or responding to the emails piling up in her inbox. Doing any of the thousand small tasks that came with being a teacher.

Instead, she just sat there, staring at the screen without seeing it, Yeonji’s words replaying in her mind over and over, each repetition hitting her chest with the same overwhelming mix of pride and fear and love.

I think I want to go back to school. On Monday. I want to try.

She thought about the first time she'd seen Yeonji. About a girl who once decided in a school bathroom that the world didn’t need her.

She remembered rushing to the hospital in Tokyo for a girl she had lost contact with five years prior. That horrible, sterile room with its fluorescent lights and the constant beeping of machines. Yeonji lying in the bed with bandages wrapped around her wrist, her face so pale, her body so tiny and hollow she'd looked like a ghost.

She thought about that stupid small room, with a social worker telling her about the suicide attempt, the foster home abuse, listening to her own heart breaking with every new piece of information.

Back then, she had never wanted children, and she had spent most of her entire adult life actively avoiding parenthood. Ever since she’d come out to her parents, she’d had too many difficult conversations with her own parents about their expectations, the need to have children, while being gay in a country as unaccepting of it as Japan was. Kotone had built a life that was carefully constructed around her independence and her career and her certainty that she wasn't cut out to be anyone's mother.

But as she listened to the social worker, and looked at the broken, terrified girl in the hospital bed, she couldn't walk away.

She wondered sometimes, on late nights like this, if her decision was driven purely by guilt. Yeonji's mum had been her colleague and her friend. They'd worked together, had coffee together, and Kotone had even babysat for Yeonji to give her parents time on their own.

But when they died, Kotone had lost track of Yeonji to the system. She had failed to check on the daughter of the woman who'd been so kind to her.

So, maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was something deeper. And despite never wanting kids, she said that she would look after Yeonji. Would be her guardian. She signed the papers, rearranged her entire life and moved to a new country because staying in Tokyo felt impossible with all its ghosts and memories.

And it had been hard. God, it had been so hard.

The first weeks had been a nightmare of silence and careful distance and Yeonji flinching away from every kindness like it might turn into cruelty. Small victories were measured in bites of food eaten, or the number of hours Yeonji slept without a nightmare.

She memorised the sound of Yeonji’s footsteps in the hallway. Learned which knock on her door meant I’m going to the bathroom and which meant I had a nightmare, are you awake?

And Kotone doubted herself constantly. She still did. She wondered if she was doing more harm than good, if Yeonji would be better off with someone who actually knew what they were doing, if her own inexperience and uncertainty were making everything worse. Even when Yeonji had started talking a little more, when she started to trust Kotone a little, she still doubted.

And it was then, as Kotone thought back on where they came from, and where they were, that it struck her. Something terrifying and wonderful and more than she ever expected. She had grown to love Yeonji.

Not in some obligatory way, or because she felt she had to or because it was the right thing to do. But genuinely, fiercely, with a protective intensity that shocked her with its strength.

She realised that she would fight for Yeonji. That she would stand between her and anything that tried to hurt her. That she would move mountains if it meant keeping her safe. That she’d burn her own life down and rebuild it around Yeonji’s safety and healing. Which was apt, because in so many ways she already had.

And as she thought about Yeonji gathering the courage to go back to school, thinking about how far she'd come from that hollow-eyed girl in the hospital bed…

Her vision blurred with the tears she'd been holding back ever since Yeonji had said she wanted to try.

She wants to go back to school.

The girl who could barely speak in January. The girl that couldn’t make eye contact, that flinched at the sound of loud noise, the girl who'd ran from her classroom in terror just days ago. That girl was choosing — actively choosing — to try again.

And Kotone got to be part of that. Got to walk her to school and wait for her and be there when she came home. Got to witness this impossible, beautiful bravery.

I never wanted kids, but now…

She wanted Yeonji. She wanted to be there for her morning routines and her nightmares and her tiny victories. She wanted to make her tea and buy her hoodies and fix her phone screens. She wanted to be the person Yeonji turned to when the world felt too big and scary.

She knew she could never replace her parents. That’s not what this was. But she wanted to be someone that Yeonji could consider family. Or a trusted friend. Something. Anything.  

Kotone wiped her eyes and took a shaky breath. If Yeonji was going to go to school tomorrow, then she’d need to plan.

She needed to make sure that Yeonji had a clean uniform. She would get up a little earlier, just to make sure that breakfast was ready for her even though she probably wouldn’t be able to eat much due to nerves. She checked the weather for tomorrow to see if Yeonji would need an umbrella at school.

She’d do that. She’d do that over and over again, being the anchor or whatever Yeonji needed to get through the days and weeks ahead.

She would do that for this girl who'd somehow become the most important person in her life. This brave, trying-so-hard girl who deserved everything good the world had to offer.

Kotone closed her laptop and stood up, turning off the desk lamp. The apartment was dark and quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant murmur of traffic outside.

She got up to go to the kitchen and paused outside Yeonji's open door to listen. There were no sounds of distress, no nightmares, just the steady breathing of someone fast asleep.

Good. That was good.

She stepped into the kitchen, then towards the small laundry room, checking on the uniform to make sure it was ready for Yeonji.

And when they headed to school tomorrow, Kotone would be right there beside her, every step of the way.

________________________________________

Kotone.  Monday Morning

Kotone’s alarm went off at six-thirty, but she had been lying awake for over an hour already, listening as the apartment woke around her. The groan of pipes as a neighbour showered, the distant rumble of traffic building on the streets below, the soft creak of floorboards that meant Yeonji was awake too.

Kotone had fought the urge to get up and check on her, to make sure she was okay. But she'd forced herself to wait, wanting to give Yeonji space to face the morning on her own terms and her own pace.

When she finally did get up, she moved quietly through her morning routine. Brushed her teeth. Washed her face. Got dressed in the simple blouse and slacks she usually wore for teaching days, even though she wasn't going to campus today. Today, she would teach via Zoom, already changing her schedule to make sure she could walk Yeonji to and from school that day.

The kitchen was still dim when she entered, the early morning light just beginning to filter through the windows. Kotone turned on the small lamp above the stove and started preparing breakfast with careful, deliberate movements. Her hands were steady, but her chest wasn’t.

She warmed some rice in the rice cooker, fried some eggs, made a green tea for herself and a cup of fresh juice for Yeonji.

She heard Yeonji’s door open fully, followed by the soft shuffle of feet as Yeonji approached before stopping in the entrance of the kitchen.

Yeonji was already dressed in her uniform, the skirt and blouse pressed and neat. Her hair was still a little damp from her earlier shower, but it was brushed and pulled back into a light ponytail. She was wearing an oversized lavender zip up hoodie over the top of it, the sleeves drowning her arms, which made her seem smaller than usual.

At first glance, Yeonji looked ready for school, just like a thousand other kids did in the morning. But her face was pale, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion and fear, and her hands were twisted together in front of her like she didn't know what else to do with them.

“Good morning,” Kotone said gently.

Yeonji nodded, replying with a small, thin “morning,” before sitting at the table. Kotone placed the food to the table, setting everything down with care. She poured juice for Yeonji after, hoping that the familiar ritual would help settle her nerves, if only a little.

And Kotone could see the signs of Yeonji’s nerves. The way she poked at her egg, only taking small careful bites, like she was forcing the food past the anxiety lodged in her throat. The way her breathing was shallower than usual. Kotone didn't push her to eat more or force her to talk. She just kept her own movements calm and steady, a quiet presence across the table.

They ate in near silence. Or rather, Yeonji tried. Two bites of rice, a sip of juice, then her hand stilled halfway to her mouth. Her eyes lowered to her plate, the way they did when her thoughts turned against her.

Kotone watched as Yeonji’s shoulders began to curl inward. "What if I can't do it?" Yeonji asked, her voice barely audible. "What if I get to the gate and I can't go in?"

Kotone's chest tightened, but her answer came without hesitation. “Then we turn around,” she said, calm and certain. “We go home. No disappointment. Just home. And we try again another day. Or not. Whatever you need.”

Yeonji looked up, her eyes searching Kotone's face like she was trying to determine if that was really true.

"I mean it," Kotone added softly. "This is your choice, Yeonji. All of it. Going to school, coming home, trying again… it's all your choice. And whatever you choose, I'll be right there with you."

Yeonji swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “You won’t be… mad?”

“Never,” Kotone said. And she meant it in a way she hoped Yeonji could feel down to her bones.

For a moment, neither of them moved, before Yeonji finally drew a long, shaky inhale. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

"You're so brave," Kotone said quietly. "Do you know that?"

Yeonji shook her head, her eyes dropping back to her plate.

"You are," Kotone insisted. "You’re scared, but you’re doing it anyway. That's what brave is."

Yeonji didn't argue, but she didn't look like she believed it either.

They finished the rest of their breakfast in quiet, and when Kotone cleared the dishes, Yeonji retreated to the bathroom to brush her teeth. When she emerged, she was carrying her school bag. Kotone knew it was already prepared. She had heard Yeonji organise it, and reorganise it multiple times in the early morning, the quiet sounds of zippers and rustling paper filtering from one room to the next.

Kotone grabbed her own jacket and her bag, checking one more time that she had her phone, her keys, everything she might need. At the door, Yeonji stared down at her shoes like they were the hardest thing in the world to put on.

“We’ll go together,” Kotone said, trying to help calm Yeonji down. “At your pace. And if at any point you say stop, we stop.”

Yeonji nodded again, this time with her eyes closed, as if gathering strength.

When Yeonji slid her shoes on, she still looked scared. She still looked small. But she wasn’t retreating or hiding, she was still going forward.

"Ready?" Kotone asked gently.

Yeonji took a shaky breath. "No. But... let's go anyway."

Kotone's heart swelled with fierce, protective pride, and she opened the door, and they stepped out into the morning, together.

________________________________________

Yeonji

The morning air was already warm, carrying the first hints of the summer heat that would settle over Seoul by midday. The sky was clear and bright, almost aggressively cheerful, like the world had decided today should be easy and pleasant even though nothing about it felt that way.

They walked in silence, Kotone just beside her, close enough to catch her if needed, far enough to let her walk at her own pace.

Yeonji kept her hands buried deep in her hoodie pockets despite the warmth, her shoulders hunched forward. She focussed on the ground in front of her, watching the cracks in the sidewalk pass beneath her feet. Each one felt like a question she didn't know how to answer.

Can I do this?

What if I panic again?

What will Joobin say?

What will everyone think?

Will they laugh at me?

The school came into view too quickly. One moment it was still blocks away, and the next they were turning the corner and there it was. The gates, the courtyard, the building where everything had fallen apart just ten days ago.

Yeonji's feet slowed, then stopped completely.

She stood at the edge of the school grounds, staring at the gate like it was the mouth of an ancient beast that might swallow her whole. Students streamed past her, chatting and laughing, none of them aware of the war happening inside her chest.

Her breath started getting shallower and faster, and her hands were clenched into fists inside her pockets.

I can't do this, she thought.

"Yeonji." Kotone's voice was quiet, gentle. Yeonji turned to look at her, and Kotone stepped closer, positioning herself so they were eye to eye.

"You don't have to prove anything today," Kotone said, her voice steady and sure. "Not to me. Not to anyone. Just do what you can, and that will be enough."

Yeonji stared at her, throat tight, and unable to speak.

Kotone waited, patient and solid, not pushing or pulling or demanding anything, just letting Yeonji decide on her terms. She looked at Kotone, her eyes desperate and terrified.

"I'll be right here when you're done," Kotone said softly. "Right here. Waiting for you. And if you need to leave early, just leave. Call me and I’ll be here within ten minutes, okay?"

Kotone paused for a moment, before continuing. “Remember what we spoke about on the first day? One second at a time. Then ten seconds at a time. Then a minute. Then ten minutes. Then an hour. Okay?”

Yeonji took a breath, taking in every word of the old mantra they had used to get her through school all those months ago. “Okay,” Yeonji said.

“Okay,” repeated Kotone back to her, giving a small nod of encouragement. And like that was the final catalyst she needed, Yeonji took a step forward. Then another. Through the gate, into the school courtyard, before finally through the front door of the school.

________________________________________

The hallway was too loud.

The sounds of the school pressed in from all sides. Students clustered in groups outside classrooms, their voices overlapping in a cacophony that pressed against Yeonji's ears like physical pressure. Lockers slamming. Someone laughing too loudly. The rhythmic thud of feet on stairs. A teacher calling out instructions about an assignment due next period.

Yeonji kept her head down, her hood still up despite the warmth, and moved through it all like she was walking underwater. Each step felt deliberate and difficult, like she had to remind her legs how to function. Students brushed past her in the crowded hallway, and each time someone came too close, her shoulders hunched higher, her body bracing for impact even when none came.

Just get to the classroom, she thought. Just get there.

She reached the stairs and climbed them slowly, one hand gripping the railing like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Each floor brought her closer, and with each floor the urge to turn around and run grew stronger.

When she reached her floor, she paused at the top of the stairs, pressing her back against the wall to let other students pass. She closed her eyes briefly, doing the breathing technique. In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight.

You don't have to prove anything today. Kotone's words. Steady and sure. Just do what you can.

Yeonji opened her eyes and started walking again. The door to her classroom loomed ahead, and through the small window she could see movement inside. People were already there. Already settled. The world had kept turning while she'd been gone, and now she had to step back into it like nothing had happened.

Her hand reached for the door handle. Her fingers were shaking so badly she almost couldn't grip it properly.

Just open it. Just walk in.

She took one more breath, pushed down the hood of her hoodie with her free hand, a small gesture of bravery she barely registered, and opened the door.

________________________________________

The room was already buzzing with pre-class noise when Yeonji stepped in. Conversations overlapping, punctuated by laughter and the scrape of chairs being moved. The morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting long rectangles of light across the floor.

The door clicked shut behind her, and heads turned instinctively. Not all of them. Not everyone. But enough that Yeonji felt the weight of those gazes like hands pressing against her skin.

They're staring. They all remember. They all know what happened.

She didn’t look at anyone. Just like she had on her first day, she kept her eyes on the floor and forced herself towards her desk. The buzzing around her started to fade as students turned back to their own conversations. But her heart was still racing like she'd run a marathon.

She was almost at her desk, when Joobin looked up from her notebook and froze.

For just a second, Joobin’s eyes widened in surprise, something unreadable flashing across her face. Shock maybe. Or concern. Or something else Yeonji couldn't name because her own panic was too loud in her head.

Then Joobin's expression softened. A quiet calm settled into her posture, and she watched from the side of her eyes as Yeonji took her seat.

Yeonji sat down without a word, her movements stiff but deliberate. Her bag hit the floor with a soft thud that sounded too loud in her own ears. Her hands moved through the motions on autopilot, removing her notebooks and finally her pencil case. She opened, closed, then opened the pencil case, before removing some pens and lining them up on her desk. Anything to give her hands something to do besides shake.

She could feel Joobin beside her, a quiet presence that was somehow both comforting and terrifying. Joobin had seen her. Had seen her at her absolute worst, curled up on the floor of that alcove, unable to breathe or think or function. And if she looked, what would she see on her face? Pity? Discomfort? Or that careful kindness that would somehow be worse than either?

What does she think of me now?

The noise of the classroom continued around her, but Yeonji felt separate from it, like she was watching everything through a pane of glass that kept her apart from the normal world where people could just exist without falling apart.

Then she saw some peripheral movement in her vision, and she tensed up as Joobin reached into her own bag. She rummaged around for a second, before she pulled out a small packet of strawberry candies, the kind you could buy at any convenience store for 500 won and gently nudged it across the shared space between their desks with gentle fingers, until it stopped right beside Yeonji's hand.

Yeonji stared at it, her breath catching in a throat that felt too tight. She didn't know what this meant, didn't know if it was pity or kindness or just Joobin trying to make things less awkward.

She didn't touch it, but then Joobin spoke.

"Hi," Joobin said quietly. The same, usual greeting she always gave. Normal. Like Thursday hadn't happened. Like Yeonji hadn't run from this classroom in a panic. There was a pause then, where Yeonji expected Joobin to go back to her work. But she didn’t, she added something else on, her voice dropping even quieter and softer than it was. The words only intended for Yeonji to hear. "I'm glad you're back."

Not I'm glad to see you. Not Are you okay?

Just I'm glad you're back.

Simple. Honest. Without expectation. Just... Joobin being kind and steady and herself. Four words that hit Yeonji deep in her chest, somewhere that had been braced for rejection or pity or awkwardness.

Joobin let the silence sit for a moment, giving Yeonji space to respond if she wanted to, but not demanding it. Yeonji didn’t think she could speak then, so Joobin turned back to her notebook, studying it with the same quiet focus she always had in the minutes before class started.

Yeonji's fingers slowly closed around the packet of candies. She held it for a long moment, feeling the crinkle of plastic under her thumb, the slight weight of it in her palm, before sliding them into her pocket.

Joobin stayed, Yeonji’s mind supplied. She helped me. She didn't run away.

And now Joobin was sitting beside Yeonji like nothing had changed, offering her strawberry candies and a small hi like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Yeonji suddenly felt the need to say something. To acknowledge what Joobin had done for her, even if the words felt impossible to find.

She surprised even herself when she spoke, her voice coming out so quiet she wasn't sure Joobin would even hear it.

"I wanted to say..." She paused, her fingers curling tighter around the pen in her hand. "...to say thank you. For the other day."

Another breath. Shallower this time. "Your... breathing thing. It helped."

The words felt inadequate, too small to carry the weight of what she actually meant. You saved me. You stayed when you could have left. You were kind when I didn't deserve kindness.

There was a horrible few seconds of silence after she spoke. Enough to fill her mind up with thoughts of regret and fear and shame for speaking. But they evaporated when she noticed Joobin smiling. When her next words filled the silence. "...It's okay," Joobin said softly. "I'm really glad it helped."

There was so much more that Yeonji could say. Wanted to say. But she knew that was a bridge too far, and went back to staring at her notebook, tired, still on alert, but feeling a little better because Joobin didn’t make a big deal out of it.

________________________________________

Joobin.  Monday Morning

Joobin was in class, focussed on her work in front of her, getting ready for the class ahead. She had arrived early that morning, deciding to walk with Sullin who wanted to arrive earlier to get some early runs in before school. With nothing better to do, Joobin had tagged along with her sister.

She had heard her classmates arrive throughout the morning, some of them throwing the occasional greeting her way. So, when the door opened again, she thought nothing of it, and just kept reading through her notes.

She was startled when a person walked past her desk, and when she looked up, she froze.

Yeonji.

Yeonji was here.

Of all the things she’d expected this morning, that hadn’t been one of them.

Of course, Joobin had hoped that Yeonji would come back to class, but she never really expected it so soon. And yet, despite everything that had happened that day, Yeonji had come back, braver than ever, attempting to face another day at school.

Joobin had passed her thoughts over to Kotone when she had visited her moms, and since then there were times she wished she had Yeonji’s number. Just to check in, to say that she was thinking about her.

She didn’t have her number though, and the image of Yeonji’s phone only having a single contact in it, still swam in her thoughts like a great sea serpent ploughing the oceans.

She thought about asking one of her moms for Kotone’s number, so she could check in herself. Or to even ask Kotone for Yeonji’s number. But something about that didn’t feel right or appropriate. So she never asked, and continued on with her life, hoping that Yeonji would come back to class someday.

And now Yeonji was here.

She watched from the corner of her eye as Yeonji sat down, her movements careful and deliberate, like each action required conscious thought. Her bag hit the floor with a soft thud, and then her hands were moving. Pulling out notebooks, organizing pens, opening and closing her pencil case in that repetitive way that spoke of anxiety looking for an outlet.

Joobin's chest tightened.

She wanted to say something, wanted to bridge the gap between them, but she didn't know how. Every word she could think of felt wrong, as if it was too much and too intrusive.

Should I mention Thursday? No, that was too direct and not something that Yeonji would likely want to talk about at all. Are you doing okay? Not that either. She wasn’t sure she had the right to ask that question.

Then a little light bulb went off in her head, and she reached into her bag, her hand closing around the small packet of strawberry candies she'd bought at the convenience store that morning on her way to school with Sullin.

She'd gotten them on impulse, because she had some spare coins in her pocket. She wasn’t even sure if Yeonji liked them, but before she could overthink it to death, she pulled them out and nudged them gently across the shared space between their desks, stopping it right next to Yeonji’s hand.

Joobin watched as Yeonji stared at them, and her stomach twisted with worry. Was this too much? Too presumptuous? What if Yeonji thought she was pitying her? But she'd already done it, so Joobin spoke before she could second-guess any further. "Hi," she said quietly, keeping her voice to their usual morning greeting. Something that Yeonji would maybe expect and wouldn’t come as a surprise.

She paused, considering if she should say anything else. Joobin was happy that Yeonji had come back to class. They weren’t friends, at least not yet, but Joobin had felt like Yeonji was clawing towards that with every small hi she gave in the morning. And because she wanted Yeonji to know she was happy to see her back, she added "I'm glad you're back."

Four simple words.

Four simple truthful words.

Because she was. She was so glad that Yeonji had walked through that door, had chosen to come back despite everything.

Joobin let the silence sit between them, giving Yeonji space to respond if she wanted to, but not demanding it. Joobin thought she knew enough about Yeonji by now to know that silence was safer than words, that sometimes what she needed was someone to just acknowledge her without expecting anything in return.

So, she wasn’t surprised when Yeonji didn’t reply. Most of the time she didn’t, so she turned back to her notebook like she always did in the minutes before class started, and attempted to study her notes with the same quiet focus she always had. But studying was near impossible, as her awareness was almost entirely focussed on Yeonji beside her.

She watched as Yeonji's fingers slowly closed around the packet of candies, watched as she held them for a long moment before sliding them carefully into her pocket.

Something warm bloomed in Joobin's chest. It was such a small gesture, accepting those candies, but it felt like more. Like Yeonji was accepting the olive branch Joobin was offering.

Then Yeonji spoke, her voice so quiet Joobin almost missed it, startling Joobin so much she almost dropped her pen.

"I wanted to say..."

Joobin's pen stilled on her notebook. She didn't turn to look at Yeonji, not willing to add any more pressure to the girl, but every part of her attention focussed on the words she spoke.

There was a pause then, and she could hear Yeonji's breath, shallow and uncertain.

"...to say thank you. For the other day," she continued.

Another breath, even shallower.

"Your... breathing thing. It helped," Yeonji managed to finish.

For a moment, Joobin couldn't breathe at all, stunned into silence because of a few short words. Not just any words, but Yeonji herself talking about that Thursday, and saying thank you for it. Joobin was unsure of what to do with the sudden warmth that bloomed in her chest, spreading outward until it felt like her whole body was filled with it. She wasn't used to being the reason someone felt okay, and she didn't want to ruin this fragile moment between them.

So, she kept it simple and honest.

"...It's okay," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm really glad it helped."

She let herself smile then, just a small one, barely even there, because she couldn't help it. Because Yeonji was here and talking to her and trusting her with these small, precious words.

Yeonji didn't respond, just turned back to her notebook, and Joobin could see the exhaustion in the set of her shoulders, the tension that still lived in every line of her body. But there was something else too… something that looked almost like relief.

Joobin turned back to her own notes, but she couldn’t really focus on them. Because Yeonji was back. Yeonji was sitting beside her. And Yeonji had said thank you.

Yeonji didn’t speak for the rest of the morning. Again, nothing unexpected. Yeonji never really spoke after they exchanged morning greetings. As they worked through their class, listening to their teacher speak, she kept stealing glances at Yeonji from the corner of her eye, or listening to the sound of pen on paper that had been absent for over a week.

She didn't know what would happen next. She didn’t expect Yeonji to suddenly explain her panic attack. She didn’t even know if Yeonji would want to even say hi moving forward. But she remembered something her moms told her months ago, just after Yeonji had joined the class.

Just be a soft place to land. That’s enough.

That… that she could do.

________________________________________

Yeonji. Monday Afternoon

When the lunch bell rang, Yeonji didn't wait.

She had her books packed before the teacher even finished dismissing them, her bag already slung over one shoulder. The moment the words "you're dismissed" left his mouth, she was moving, slipping out of her seat and heading for the door while most of the class was still stretching and gathering their things.

She wove through the hallway crowd like smoke, doing her best to avoid the noise and the lunch hour chaos. She climbed the stairs to the roof quickly, her hand gripping the railing more out of habit than necessity now. The door to the roof was heavy, requiring both hands to push it open, and then she was through, stepping out into open air and blessed quiet.

The rooftop was the only place at school that still felt like hers. Where there were no eyes watching her, no expectations pressing down on her shoulders, no chance of someone getting too close or too loud or worse.

The air was cooler up here, away from the closed corridors and packed classrooms. The wind tugged gently at the stray wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail, and the sky stretched out above her, wide and blue and infinite.

Yeonji moved to her usual spot without thinking, back against the far wall where she could see the door but felt protected by the concrete behind her. She sat down slowly, drawing her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees.

For a moment, she just breathed.

Her morning had been... hard. Exhausting. Every moment in that classroom had required energy she didn't have, as every sound and movement pulled at her already-frayed nerves.

But she'd done it. She had lasted longer than she thought and made it to lunch. She even surprised herself by talking to Joobin. The thought still felt surreal, like something that had happened to someone else. But it had been her. She'd said thank you and forced the words out past the anxiety and fear and watched as Joobin had smiled and said she was glad it helped.

Yeonji pulled out her phone, the lavender case smooth but still a little unfamiliar in her hands. She unlocked it and opened her messages, staring at the only conversation thread she had on her phone.

Kotone.

Her thumb hovered over the screen for a second, her mind running through a dozen different ways to express what she wanted to say. Ways that wouldn't sound stupid or needy or like she was asking for praise she didn't deserve. She sent what she always sent, just to let Kotone know she was okay.

I made it to lunch.

She stared at the message for a moment. There was more she wanted to say, so much more, so she added something else, before her courage had the chance to vanish completely.

I told Joobin thank you… for when she helped me.

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, then tucked the phone into her lap and stared up at the sky above her.

While she waited for a reply from Kotone, there was a small sense of satisfaction in sending the message… being able to share a small victory… with the one person who would understand what it cost.

The wind picked up slightly, cooling the back of her neck, and Yeonji closed her eyes. She was tired. So tired. But she was here. She had made it to lunch. And for today, that was enough.

________________________________________

Kotone

Kotone was sitting at the kitchen table, her laptop open in front of her with a half-graded assignment displayed on screen. The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional sound of traffic filtering up from the street below.

She was currently trying to mark one of her students’ latest attempts at Japanese prose, and she could feel the tension in her head rise as they were still making the same Kanji errors that she had pointed out in their last exam.

Working from home had its benefits, but she still found herself missing the interactions with her students. Or being able to correct an issue there and then and not have to do it via email or Zoom where most of the time the students looked bored or distracted.

She was due to go back to teaching at her university later in the week, and she was looking forward to it. But for today at least, she persevered. Because being available for Yeonji, especially today of all days, was way more important. If Yeonji had to leave early, or if God forbid, something went wrong at school, she didn’t want to have to deal with excusing herself from her lessons and cause any more issues.

She wanted to be close. Needed to be close.

Even as she attempted to grade the paper, her mind wasn’t really on the job. It kept drifting to Yeonji.

Is she okay? Is she managing? Should I text her? Should I check in with the Principal again?

She had sent a very long message to the Principal, Oh Haewon, after dropping Yeonji off that morning, just to explain that she had come back to school today. Haewon, understanding as always, sent a very kind reply back and said that she would make sure that one of her teachers, Chaeryeong, kept an eye on her just in case she needed.

Kotone knew she was lucky to have at least two people at the school that were compassionate to Yeonji’s situation. Even so, she glanced at her phone for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, checking for messages even though she knew Yeonji wouldn't text during class. Yeonji barely texted at all, really. Their message history was sparse, with mostly just Kotone sending reminders about appointments or asking what Yeonji wanted for dinner.

Or the daily I made it to lunch text.

Which should be due any time now… hopefully.

She stared at her phone, willing it to buzz with a message, and when it did her hand moved so fast she nearly knocked it off the table. She picked it up, thumb swiping to unlock the screen, and opened the message from Yeonji.

I made it to lunch.

Kotone's breath caught in her chest. She read it once, then again, her eyes tracking over the simple words like they held some hidden meaning she might miss if she wasn't careful.

Yeonji had made it to lunch, she thought. She'd sat through her morning classes and survived the noise and the stares and the weight of being back in that building.

It meant she hadn't run.

Kotone's throat tightened, and she was about to type a response when a second message came through.

I told Joobin thank you… for when she helped me.

This time, Kotone couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. It was a silly and surprised smile, utterly soft, the kind of smile that made her cheeks ache because she couldn't seem to make it smaller even if she tried.

Kotone set the phone down carefully on the table and pressed both hands against her mouth, blinking hard against the sudden burn of tears in her eyes.

This morning, Yeonji had been so scared. She had stood at those school gates looking like she might shatter at any moment. Had asked the night before, in that tiny, vulnerable voice if Kotone would walk to school with her, like she didn't already know the answer would always be yes.

And now she was texting. Telling Kotone about her morning. Sharing this small, monumental victory. Not just about making it to lunch. But that she had found the courage to tell Joobin thank you. Even after all her worries and anxiety over it, she had still done it. That brave, impossible, incredible girl, had done it. Kotone had never felt more proud of anything in her life than she did in that moment.

She took a breath before picking up her phone again to send a reply. She didn't want to type too much and overwhelm Yeonji with praise that might feel too heavy or expectations that might feel too high. She just wanted Yeonji to know she'd got the message. That what she did was so incredibly brave.

That Kotone was so proud, she might explode.

Her fingers moved across the screen slowly, carefully.

That's amazing. I'm so proud of you.

She hit send and set the phone down again, staring at it like she could will a response into existence through sheer force of wanting.

The screen stayed dark, but that was okay. She didn’t need Yeonji to respond. She was probably eating lunch now, sitting in whatever quiet space she'd found for herself, just... being.

She got up from the kitchen table, and away from her work laptop. Because really, everything she was looking at was meaningless and couldn’t hold her attention. She was filled with too many emotions to do anything else.

Yeonji had walked back into the place that had broken her. She had found the courage to speak to the girl who'd helped her.

Tonight, she decided, she’d make some of Yeonji's favourite food for dinner. Tteokbokki, egg rolls, and rice. Nothing elaborate, just comfort food, made with care. Her way of saying You did so well today, and I am so incredibly proud of you.

In a few more hours, she’d leave a little earlier to get what she needed for dinner, and be waiting for Yeonji at the gate as promised. Yeonji would probably be exhausted and not want to talk much at all. But none of that mattered. Because Kotone would be there through it all regardless. Just like she promised. Just, she realised, as she always would be.

________________________________________

Yeonji. After School

When the bell rang, indicating the end of the school day, Yeonji was on her feet ready to go. She had already packed everything away a few minutes beforehand. As it went off, her classmates erupted into their usual end-of-day chaos, with chairs scraping, voices rising, plans being made for after school. Yeonji tuned it all out and focussed on getting out.

Joobin was still at her desk, organizing her work slowly. She looked up as Yeonji stood, and their eyes met for just a second, and she startled Yeonji by adding something new to their routine. "See you tomorrow," Joobin said softly.

Yeonji hadn’t planned for that, and she was unable to think of a reply fast enough, so she could only manage a small nod in return. The words see you tomorrow echoing in her head as she turned and bolted for the door.

Tomorrow. She'd have to do this all over again tomorrow.

The thought was exhausting and terrifying in equal measure, but she pushed it aside as she navigated the crowded hallways one more time. Down the stairs, through the main corridor, past groups of students and out through the front door and into the late afternoon air. It was warm and slightly humid, carrying the smell of asphalt and summer approaching. Students streamed past her toward the gates, and Yeonji let herself be carried along in the current, her eyes scanning ahead, her shoulders hunched to avoid touching or bumping into anyone.

Anxiety clawed at her as she approached the gate. She knew it was unreasonable, but she couldn’t help her mind twisting in directions she didn’t want it to go. What if Kotone isn’t there? she thought. What if she forgot me? Or just didn’t want to come or…

And then she saw her, and the anxiety floated away in the humid air.

Kotone was standing just outside the gate in the same spot she always waited, her bag slung over one shoulder and a bag of groceries in the other. She looked up as if sensing Yeonji's gaze, and her face broke into a wide smile, warm and genuine and so full of pride that Yeonji felt something shift in her chest, followed by relief that flooded through her so suddenly it almost made her stumble.

She's here. She came.

Yeonji knew Kotone would be there. She'd promised, and Kotone, unlike everyone else in her life so far, always kept her promises. But seeing her, actually seeing her standing there waiting made something loosen in Yeonji's shoulders that had been tight since she'd walked through these gates that morning.

She made her way to Kotone, weaving through the last clusters of students, and when she reached her, Kotone's smile softened into something quieter, more gentle.

"Hi," Kotone said.

"Hi," Yeonji replied, her voice rough from disuse.

That was all. Kotone didn't ask how the day was, didn't press for details or demand a recap. Just a hi. Kotone started walking and Yeonji fell into step with her, Kotone’s presence steady and solid beside her.

The streets were busy with the late afternoon crowd. Full of people heading home from work, students in groups or on their own heading onto their next plans. Kotone guided them through quieter side streets without being asked, just to give Yeonji space to breathe.

"I'm making tteokbokki for dinner," Kotone said after a few minutes. "And egg rolls with some rice. If you're hungry."

Yeonji's stomach responded before her brain could, a small rumble that reminded her she'd barely eaten at lunch. "Okay," she said quietly. "Thank you."

They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, and when their apartment building came into view, Yeonji felt something in her chest finally begin to unclench. The apartment was exactly as it was when she had left that morning. Quiet, familiar and safe. Yeonji stepped inside and immediately pulled off her shoes, dropping her bag by the door with more force than she'd intended.

The weight of the day hit her all at once.

Her shoulders sagged, the tension that had been holding her upright for the past eight hours finally releasing. She felt simultaneously exhausted and wired, her body not quite sure how to process the fact that she'd survived.

Kotone moved past her toward the kitchen, already pulling out pots and ingredients with practiced efficiency. "Go change if you want," she said over her shoulder. "Dinner won't be ready for a bit."

Yeonji nodded and retreated to her room, leaving the door open before collapsing onto her bed.

She'd done it.

She'd gone back to school, sat through classes, made it to lunch, made it through the afternoon to the end of the day. She had even talked to Joobin.

She'd done all of that.

Yeonji changed out of her uniform slowly, pulling on sweatpants and the grey hoodie that felt like armour even when she wasn't outside. She sat back on her bed, pulled her knees up to her chest, and let herself just... exist for a moment.

She sat there for around twenty minutes, listening to the sounds of Kotone cooking in the kitchen. The sizzle of oil in a pan, the soft clatter of utensils, the hum of the exhaust fan. Normal sounds. Home sounds. She sighed heavily. Tomorrow, she'd have to do it all again. She would have to walk through those gates, sit in that classroom and survive another day.

It terrified her.

But tonight, she was home. She was safe. And Kotone was making her favourite food.

Tonight, that was enough.

Yeonji took a deep breath, in for four, hold for seven, out for eight, before she stood up and padded back out to the kitchen, where Kotone was stirring the tteokbokki with focussed concentration.

Kotone looked up and smiled as she did. "Almost ready," she said. “Take a seat.”

Yeonji nodded and slid into her usual seat at the table. Tomorrow would come, and she’d face it just like she had done today. She had shown herself that she could do one day, so why not two?

But that was a problem for tomorrow. For now, she could relax and just let herself be, knowing that for the next few hours, she was safe.

________________________________________

Yeonji.  Tuesday Morning

Tuesday came around faster than Yeonji expected and hoped. Like the day before, Kotone had prepared breakfast, and she went through the whole routine again of mentally preparing herself for the day ahead.

Now she was walking to school, the morning air carrying the weight of early summer. Warm, not yet stifling, but promising to be exactly that by mid-afternoon. Kotone was walking beside her as always, her pace steady and matching Yeonji’s slow, shuffling steps.

She liked that Kotone didn’t demand conversation from her. It was enough that her presence was there, like a quiet safety net if needed.

Her hands were tight around the strap of her bag, knuckles bone-white against the fabric. Her mind was a carousel of anxiety, spinning through the same thoughts it had circled all night: School. Classroom. Joobin.

Because somewhere between the exhaustion of Monday, the restless half-sleep of last night, and dealing with the anxiety and terror of facing another day at school this morning, her brain had latched onto an idea. A terrifying, impossible idea that had taken root and refused to let go.

She wanted to talk to Joobin.

Just like she had been trying to build herself up to before the panic attack struck her. Not just the simple exchange of hi’s, but to ask a question. Something about Animal Crossing. About one or two of the villagers and islands and the safe, pixelated world they both liked.

She'd rehearsed the question in her room last night, whispering the words into the darkness like incantations. Do you have a favourite villager? Simple and direct. A question with an easy answer. She'd said it aloud once. Twice. Twelve times, until the words started to lose meaning and her voice cracked with the effort of trying to sound normal.

Each time, the words had felt wrong in her mouth. They were too casual, or too presumptuous, or too much like she was asking something she didn't deserve an answer to. The whole time, her brain was whispering insidious, creeping thoughts.

You’re not normal. You’re damaged. You’re broken. You’re a freak. Joobin will laugh at you. 

She’d done her best to fight those thoughts away, even if they still lingered on the edges of her mind like the fragments of a half-forgotten dream.

Because she wanted to try.

They reached the school gates quicker than expected, and Kotone slowed before turning to face her, a warm smile on her face. "If you need me, just call. Same deal as yesterday, yeah? And I’ll be waiting right here for you once the day is done, okay?"

Yeonji managed a small nod, her mind too heavy and her throat too tight for words. But her eyes held everything else.

Thank you. I'm scared. Please don't leave. Please let me do this alone.

Kotone's expression softened a little, before Yeonji turned to walk through the gates and into school, to face another day.

________________________________________

Morning light streamed through the classroom windows in golden bands, painting everything in warm, honeyed tones. The air was heavy with clashing perfumes and deodorants, mixed in with the lingering sweetness of someone's convenience store pastry.

As always, Joobin was seated at their shared desk, her head bent over her notebook. She was reading something, and her lips moved in silence, as she followed the words on her page. She looked across at Yeonji as she took her seat, their eyes meeting for just a heartbeat before Yeonji's gaze skittered away.

"Hi," Joobin said, her voice was gentle and undemanding as always.

"Hi," Yeonji replied, the word coming out more uncertain.

She pulled out her notebooks and pencil case, grabbing on to it like it was her anchor, her lifeline. Her brain had already begun turning against itself, as she tried to build up the courage to do something that should come as naturally as breathing.

Just ask, she tried telling herself. It’s just one question. Just ask.

But her throat felt like it was closing, her breath coming shallow and fast as her brain buzzed with too many what-ifs, each one louder than the last.

What if Joobin thinks it's weird? What if she doesn't answer? What if she laughs? What if this ruins everything?

She didn't know what would be worse: Joobin laughing at her, or the weight of having ruined whatever fragile thing was forming between them. Both were equally as terrifying in their own way. Yeonji had been laughed at too many times in the past. She knew the pain that comes with laughter, as it pierced her ribs like needles each time.

And it had taken almost everything she had just to get to class. To say hi. Maybe that was enough. Maybe that was all Joobin expected. Maybe she didn’t want to have to deal with the weird kid beside her that barely spoke and…

She stopped herself there. Because underneath the fear, there was a quiet but insistent voice that said I want to try.

Yeonji stared at the edge of Joobin's sleeve where it rested against the desk. At the neat, methodical handwriting in her open notebook. At the space between them… no wider than a school desk, no smaller than a canyon.

Her fingers tightened around her pencil case until the plastic bit into her palm.

Just say it. Just ask.

So she did. She took a leap of faith across the canyon that sat between them.

“Do you…" Her voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. She swallowed hard, taking a moment, before she tried again. "Do you… have a favourite villager? In Animal Crossing?"

Joobin had turned to face Yeonji as she started speaking, and when she finished, Joobin’s mouth formed a little “oh,” like she was caught off guard. But, even with that, Yeonji’s words hung in the air between them like something fragile and newly born.

The silence stretched. One second. Two seconds. Too long… way too long.

Yeonji's shoulders tensed, with each second that passed, pulling up towards her ears as her entire body braced for disappointment, for rejection, for the voice in her head that said stupid, stupid, stupid… for the voice to be proven right.

I shouldn’t have asked. This was a mistake. I should have just stayed quiet like I always do…

Then Joobin seemed to jolt, like she'd been startled out of her thoughts, realising quickly that she had been silent for too long.

"Um… yes," she said quickly, almost stumbling over her words in her rush to fill the silence. "Yes. Ketchup. The duck. She's tiny and red and always excited to see me and overreacts at everything. I love her."

The relief didn't crash over Yeonji like a wave. It came like the first breath after holding your head underwater. Slow and shaky and life-giving.

Ketchup.

She knew Ketchup. She liked Ketchup. She had a photo of Ketchup on the wall in her own game, the little red duck with her bright smile and enthusiastic energy.

That felt… good.

Yeonji dared to look up then, just a little, just enough to see Joobin's face. There was a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth, surprised but pleased, and something in Yeonji's chest loosened just slightly.

There was a beat of silence, but it was comfortable now rather than suffocating silence of a few seconds ago. And before fear could catch up, before her brain could list all the reasons that she shouldn’t, Yeonji heard herself asking another question.

"Did you… ever get Raymond?" The words came out in a rush, running together. "I tried but… I never could."

Joobin blinked again, clearly surprised at Yeonji’s follow up question. A small laugh escaped her. Not loud or mocking, but warm and genuine and so unexpected that Yeonji's breath caught. "No," Joobin said, her smile widening. "I think Raymond hates me. I spent weeks trying. I think he's secretly a snob who decided I wasn't cool enough for him to grace my island.”

She laughed, Yeonji thought, warmth filling her chest. She smiled. This is… this is okay. I’m okay. She didn’t laugh.

And that was it. Not a long conversation. Not even a deep one. Just two full sentences. And a laugh. And a smile.

They didn't say anything else as other students filtered in, as the classroom filled with the usual pre-class noise. But Yeonji sat a little straighter, her grip on her pencil case loosening fraction by fraction, wondering where the confidence to ask the second question had come from.

________________________________________

Joobin

Joobin had arrived at school early again this morning, walking with Sullin who wanted to grab some breakfast on the way to school. It had been nice, the quiet walk through still-sleepy streets, Sullin's easy chatter filling the silence, the way the morning light painted everything in shades of gold and pink.

The breakfast had been light, warm and filling, and she laughed as Sullin managed to spill some of it on the floor with a dramatic wail and pout. Sullin always had the gift of making things feel lighter.

Her mind kept circling around yesterday and Yeonji’s unexpected return. Normally, she would have shared the news with her moms, but she had kept it to herself, just for the day, not wanting to jinx anything by mentioning it too soon. Maybe if Yeonji came back again today, then she’d tell her moms.

Joobin was at her desk, flipping through her notes without really looking. She was too focussed on the door, waiting and hoping that Yeonji would arrive. It was strange really, waiting and hoping to see someone that she hardly knew and rarely spoke with.

But when Yeonji finally slid the classroom door open, Joobin's heart did a stupid little skip of joy. She noticed that Yeonji looked tired. Her shoulders were hunched, and she had her hood up again, even though the morning was warm.

But she was here.

She watched as Yeonji took her seat, before saying hi as usual. It was a little funny how Joobin was always the one to say hi first. It had become a pattern. A simple, easy rhythm that she hoped was helpful to Yeonji.

She waited in that brief moment for a reply, which came with Yeonji’s simple hi in return. That hi always felt important to Joobin.  Important that Yeonji answered. 

Joobin went back to her notebook, giving Yeonji space to settle, to breathe, to exist without the pressure of being watched. But she was aware of every small movement beside her. The way Yeonji's bag hit the floor. The way her hands immediately found her pencil case, clutching it tightly in her grip.

Her thoughts spun in soft, anxious circles. Yeonji was here again. Trying. Joobin knew she could never fully grasp the courage it took for Yeonji to come back to school, the same way she hadn’t been able to let go of the way Yeonji had run from class. She told herself not to expect anything more today. Yeonji had already said hi, and that was more than enough and…

She was startled out of her train of thoughts by Yeonji’s quiet, halting voice. “Do you… have a favourite villager? In… Animal Crossing?"

It took Joobin's brain a full three seconds to process the question. She's speaking to me. Not a greeting. Not a necessary exchange. A real, actual question.

About Animal Crossing. About something Yeonji cared about and enjoyed. Joobin's response got stuck somewhere between her brain and her mouth, and the silence stretched just a beat too long. She saw Yeonji's shoulders tense, saw the way her fingers tightened around her pencil case.

Say something, you idiot, she scolded herself. Don't make her regret asking.

"Um... yes," she managed to blurt out, the words tumbling over themselves in her rush. “Yes. Ketchup. The duck. She's tiny and red and always excited to see me and over-reacts at everything. I love her."

She watched Yeonji carefully, studying every shift in her face and posture. She noticed the way Yeonji’s shoulders dropped slightly, and the way her face softened just a little. Relief, Joobin realised. She was scared I wouldn't answer…

And then, impossibly, Yeonji surprised her, and herself, judging by her wide eyes, even further by asking another question.

"Did you… ever get Raymond? I tried but… I never could."

This time, Joobin couldn't help it. She laughed. Just a small sound, surprised and delighted. Not at the question — though it was adorable — but because Yeonji had reached inside herself to find the courage to ask.

To ask her.

This time she didn’t need to wait three seconds to respond. “No. I think Raymond hates me. I spent weeks trying. I think he's secretly a snob who decided I wasn't cool enough for him to grace my island.”

Yeonji almost smiled at that. Not quite, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward before she caught it. And suddenly Joobin's heart felt too big for her chest.

Two questions. She asked me two questions.

She turned back to her notebook, trying to give Yeonji space, trying not to overwhelm her with attention or expectations. She noticed how Yeonji seemed to sit a little straighter. How the grip on her pencil case, that had been vicelike a few seconds ago, loosened just enough that her knuckles were no longer white with the strain.

And inside Joobin, something glowed with happiness.

________________________________________

Courage doesn’t always mean facing great odds or giant expressions of bravery.  Sometimes, it’s found in the small things.  Like a girl asking a question.

________________________________________

Yeonji.

A minute had passed since Yeonji had asked her second question. Maybe two. Two minutes since Joobin had answered both of them. Since she had smiled. Since she had laughed.

Those two questions were supposed to be it. The limit of her bravery, the outer edge of what she could handle.

And yet, something in her wasn’t done. Words kept wanting to press forward, gathering behind her tongue like waves against a dam. They were at war with her mind, which was telling her don't. Don't ask. You've already done enough. Don't push it.

But she wanted to ask another question. To keep that tiny, fragile moment alive before all courage escaped her for another day.

And so she opened her mouth to ask something else. But somewhere in her panic, in her confusion, fighting against the dam in her throat and the storm in her mind, something got twisted and confused. She meant to ask a perfectly normal question like what’s your island like? Or what’s the name of your island?

Instead, the words tumbled out, stuttering and hesitant, and saying something she really hadn’t meant to or planned to. “…would you maybe… want to…” Her voice faltered, suddenly caught on the enormity of what she was about to say. But she'd started, and now she had to finish, so she forced the rest of the words out, even though she wasn’t sure she wanted to. It spilled out like a secret told in the dark, broken and mumbled and barely coherent. She rushed to finish before she lost her nerve entirely. “…come visit my island…? In the game. I mean. Not now. Just… sometime. If you want. You don’t have to…”

Yeonji stopped talking, and then there was silence. Absolute, deafening silence.

Oh no, she thought, as her stomach folded in on itself, her entire body going rigid with instant regret. Stupid, she thought. That was so stupid. Why did you say that? She’s going to think you’re weird. Or desperate. Or clingy. Now she’s going to…

Yeonji couldn't breathe or move. She was frozen to her seat, waiting for the rejection she knew was coming. But then she heard it. A breath. Sharp and surprised. A quiet “oh” that sounded almost… awed.

When she finally dared to glance sideways, barely, just the corner of her vision… Joobin was smiling. Not a polite smile. Not a pitying one. But one that was wide and soft and completely stunned, like someone had just handed her something precious she hadn't known she was allowed to want.

“Yeonji,” Joobin said, voice low and amazed. “I’d love to.”

Yeonji blinked, before her brain short-circuited for a moment. What, she thought.

That wasn't… she hadn't… this wasn't the answer she thought she would get. Laughter and mockery yes, but not this. Even if she prepared for this a hundred times over, this would never have been in her script.

But even as she was thinking that, Joobin was already moving, her hands fumbling through her notebook with sudden purpose. She flipped past formulas and half-solved equations, past neat diagrams and colour-coded notes, until she found a blank page near the back. She tore out a page, neatly and precisely, taking care not to leave ragged edges, and uncapped her pen.

Yeonji watched, fingers still clutching her pencil case like a shield.

Joobin wrote something in tidy handwriting, each character formed with delicate care. Then she folded the paper twice and held it out to Yeonji with both hands. Not pushing it into Yeonji's space or forcing it on her. Just… offering it, like something precious being passed between careful hands.

"My Nintendo ID," Joobin said gently. "You can add me. If you want. No pressure."

Yeonji stared at the paper, before slowly and carefully reaching for it, before holding it in her hands like it might turn to dust.

"…thank you," she managed to whisper, the words barely audible to herself, never mind Joobin who was sitting next to her. But it must have been loud enough, because Joobin nodded, still smiling that soft, wondering smile, before she replied with, "No. Thank you for asking me."

Thank you for asking me. Not that's okay. Not sure, whatever. Thank you.

Like Yeonji had given her something instead of the other way around. They sat in silence after that, but it was the good kind again. The kind that didn't need filling. Yeonji kept the paper in her palm, feeling the warmth of it seep into her skin. She didn't unfold it. Just knowing it was there, knowing what it represented, was enough.

She said yes.

She wants to visit my island.

She thanked me for asking.

The classroom began to fill around them as more students arrived, but Yeonji barely noticed. Her entire world had narrowed to the folded paper in her hand and the impossible, wonderful reality of what she'd just done.

She'd asked. She'd been terrified and she'd asked anyway.

And Joobin had said yes.

________________________________________

Joobin

Joobin had turned back to her notebook after answering Yeonji's second question, giving her space like she always did. She was trying to focus on the formulas in front of her, but her mind kept replaying the last few minutes instead.

Two questions. Yeonji asked me two actual questions. Her heart was still doing happy little flips when Yeonji spoke again.

"…would you maybe… want to…"

Joobin's pen stilled mid-stroke. Her heart did something complicated in her chest. A skip, a stutter, a sudden acceleration all at once.

She's speaking again, she thought.

The words came out halting and broken, like each one cost Yeonji something dear. "…come visit my island…? In the game. I mean. Not now. Just… sometime. If you want. You don't have to…"

For a moment, Joobin couldn't process what she'd just heard. The words registered individually. Visit, island, if you want... but her brain couldn't quite assemble them into meaning. But eventually she did, and it hit her all at once.

Yeonji just invited me to her island.

She didn't ask about another villager. Or make small talk. She'd invited Joobin into her space. Her world.

Joobin's breath caught. Her mouth opened slightly in surprise, forming a small "oh" she didn't mean to make out loud.

She couldn't help it and turned to look at Yeonji. She wanted to her her face... and what she saw made her chest ache.

Yeonji looked terrified. Her shoulders were rigid, her hands clutching that pencil case like it was the only thing keeping her anchored. She wasn't looking at Joobin, her gaze fixed somewhere on the desk between them, and there was something in her expression that looked almost like regret.

Oh no. She thinks I'm going to say no. She thinks...

"Yeonji," Joobin said, and the name came out softer than she intended, full of wonder she couldn't quite hide. "I'd love to."

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then Joobin's hands were already reaching for her notebook, flipping through pages with sudden urgency. She needed to give Yeonji something tangible, something real, proof that she meant it.

Her fingers found a blank page near the back, and she tore it out carefully. Neatly, with no ragged edges, before uncapping her pen. Her hand moved across the paper, forming each character with deliberate care.

Bubblebloom

She'd chosen that username years ago, back when she was twelve and thought it sounded pretty. She'd always been a little embarrassed by how cutesy it was, but now, writing it out for Yeonji, it felt right somehow. Soft and safe. Like maybe that was exactly what Yeonji needed.

Joobin folded the paper twice, creasing it carefully, then held it out with both hands. An offering. A promise.

"My Nintendo ID," she said gently. "You can add me. If you want. No pressure."

She watched Yeonji reach for it, slow and careful, like the paper might dissolve, and when she took it, Joobin felt the significance of the moment settle into her bones.

She didn’t look at Yeonji again, but her brain was currently in the process of feeling like it was doing cartwheels. When she had replied with "I'd love to,” she meant it with every fibre of her being.

Yeonji had been brave beyond words and had asked her to visit her island and now she was desperately trying not to smile like an idiot five-year-old child that just got picked first in gym class.

Outwardly, she was trying to act calm, but her insides were blazing like a sunburst.

She asked me.

Two questions and an invitation. A real, actual, brave invitation.

She asked me to visit her island.

Yeonji had given her an invitation to her space. Her world. A place she'd built and decorated and hidden in when the real world became too much.

She trusts me that much.

She knew that trust wasn't something Yeonji handed out freely. Joobin had seen that from the very first day they'd sat together, had felt it in the careful distance Yeonji maintained, the way she kept herself small and hidden, like making herself invisible might keep her safe.

Joobin understood that this wasn't just about a game or pixels on a screen. This was Yeonji saying I trust you.

And God, Joobin wanted to be worthy of that trust

The teacher arrived then, but their voice was background noise, meaningless sound washing over her while her mind spun with plans. What outfit she'd wear in the game. What gift she might bring. How she could show Yeonji that this mattered to her too.

She turned back to her notes, tried to underline something important, but the words swam together on the page. Calm down, she told herself. You're not twelve.

But even as she thought it, she couldn't stop the smile that kept threatening to break across her face.

Yeonji had invited her to her island.

And Joobin would treat that invitation exactly like what it was. A gift, precious and rare, offered by someone who didn't give such things lightly, if ever.

________________________________________

Quiet courage comes in many forms. Waking up. Showing up. Staying present, even when it’s hard. Sometimes, it’s an invitation you didn’t mean to ask.

________________________________________

Chapter Text

Trigger warning for bullying (physical and mental) and strong language. Please do not read if these make you uncomfortable.

Seoah Tuesday Morning

Seoah woke to her mom’s off-key singing echoing from the bathroom and her other mother's laughter spiraling up from the kitchen. For the thirty seconds between sleep and consciousness, she let herself believe today might be different.

Until she opened her eyes and saw the box.

It was sitting in the corner of her room like an accusation, packing tape still sealing it shut, her own handwriting stark across the cardboard: Books & Stuff. It had been almost five months since they'd moved here. Five months since her moms had sat her down with serious faces and even more serious voices to promise that this time they were staying. “This time, baobei, we swear.  No more moving.”

Yet despite that promise, the box remained packed because Seoah had learned something across ten plus schools in six years. The ones who travel light leave fastest. There was a heavier, worse thought that she didn’t unpack. My moms have said this before. This time won’t be any different.

She sat up slowly, her ribs announcing themselves as she did.  A deep, spreading ache from where Jia had shoved her into the gym wall yesterday. None of them were broken at least. Seoah knew the difference; Shanghai had taught her that. They were just bruised, which meant she could hide it under loose clothing and careful breathing and the practiced art of not flinching when someone touched her.

She picked up her phone and groaned at the time. 06:47. She buried her head into her pillow, letting out a slow breath. It was yet another day of doing everything possible to make herself invisible, punctuated by moments when Jia, Minji, and Haeun decided she wasn't invisible enough.

Outside her window, Seoul was already humming with morning traffic. Inside, her room was a picture of perfect, careful neutrality.  She had stopped decorating somewhere between her third and fourth school. After all, she thought, why bother decorating a temporary space? It contained the necessities of existing without the evidence of it being “her room.” A bed, desk, and just enough clothes in the closet to let her pick something in a rush. Despite her… doubts about the permanence of this move, the rest of the apartment had bloomed over the past months. Her moms had painted the walls in deliberate colours instead of leaving them with the corporate beige that screamed “gone in a few months.” Actual artwork decorated the walls, and their furniture was actually bought and assembled, not the usual assortment that was already present when they moved in. The kitchen was the last room to be finished, now a warm and committed terracotta. Throughout the apartment, plants crowded the windowsills. That was her mom Xinyu's doing. The growing collection of plants all required tending, which required staying in one place long enough to watch them grow and bloom.

See? the apartment seemed to say. We're not going anywhere.

Seoah wanted to believe it. God, she wanted to believe it.

Her gaze drifted to the photographs on her desk.  The only concession that she'd made to making this room hers was pictures of Sohyun and Xinyu and her across continents. Los Angeles with palm trees stark against the blue sky. Shanghai's Bund at night, the city lights reflecting in the water. There were two pictures from Tokyo — one near Shibuya Crossing, the other outside the apartment they'd left after only four months when Sohyun's project ended abruptly. Pictures from New York, Paris, London, Beijing, Singapore amongst countless others. Well over ten schools in six years. Seoah wasn’t sure anymore, she had stopped counting after the eighth. It was a childhood of her parents' careers requiring flexibility, requiring motion, requiring their daughter to learn that people were temporary and places were provisional and the only constant was knowing you'd leave eventually.

Xinyu’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Seoah! Breakfast! Come see what I've managed not to completely destroy!" Her voice carried the kind of theatrical projection that came from twenty-plus years of modelling.

Despite everything, Seoah smiled. Her mothers were the one constant in a life of variables, their love the only permanent thing she'd ever known. Even when their ambitions pulled them across oceans, even when their choices cost her everything she tried or wanted to build…

She cut the thought off and moved to her closet.

She got dressed in her uniform carefully, her ribs making it tough to move. She wore a long-sleeved cardigan, despite the summer heat, as the sleeves asked fewer questions than the fingerprint bruises on her upper arms. She went through the motions in distant autopilot. After all, she'd assembled this outfit in multiple continents and made the exact same calculations of sleeve length vs awkward conversations in multiple languages.

Regardless of any of that… the mechanics of survival didn't require translation.

Her reflection in the closet mirror would have shocked her once. Now they showed a fourteen-year-old exhausted beyond her years. Makeup couldn’t really hide the flat expression of someone who'd learned that caring about anything temporary only meant it hurt more when you lost it. Even Xinyu, with her years of modelling, couldn’t work enough magic with her makeup techniques to hide that.

She used to be different. The thought came unbidden and unwelcome. Once, before the schools started blurring together, before she learned that friendships had an expiration date, she'd been the girl who asked too many questions in class, who collected interesting shells from the beach and actually believed in pen pal promises. Bold enough to try out for school plays and brave enough to invite kids to her birthday parties even when she knew she'd be gone before theirs. The girl who'd drag her mothers to museums and pepper them with questions about everything, who'd learned "hello" in eight languages just because she could, and who'd believed that being kind and curious and trying hard was enough.

That girl still existed somewhere, Seoah supposed. She saw flickers of her around her mothers. In the quiet moments when Xinyu made her laugh or when Sohyun asked about her day and listened to every word. She showed up at the coffee shop sometimes, when Kaede unnie asked about her opinions on the new menu items or taught her latte art, treating her like someone whose thoughts mattered. But at school? That girl had learned to stay hidden. Because bold girls got noticed, and getting noticed meant becoming a target. Because curiosity looked like weakness and kindness was a currency she couldn't afford to spend on people who'd be gone, or she'd be gone from, in six months anyway.

The girl that stared back at her in the mirror now looked unremarkable. Forgettable.

Mission accomplished, she thought.

Seoah took a breath before opening her bedroom door and stepping into the kitchen. The kitchen was, to put it politely, controlled chaos in the best possible way. Xinyu stood at the stove in silk pyjamas that probably cost more than most people's rent, her hair twisted into an artfully messy bun, wielding a spatula like a conductor's baton while she explained something to Sohyun with animated gestures. Her mom Xinyu was… a character. Tall, radiant, gorgeous, and absolutely convinced the galaxy orbited her cheekbones. She waved a spatula around in a way that could make you understand how she'd stayed relevant and popular in an industry that devoured youth and threw women aside the second they were past the age of twenty-five.

Seoah arrived at the end of, judging by her other mom’s amused smile, a long emotional monologue that Xinyu was fond of. “Sohyun. Honey. Darling. Light of my life. You’re smiling, but I’m telling you, the creative director had the audacity, the absolute audacity, to suggest I wasn't conveying enough emotion with my eyes, as if I haven't been doing this since before he learned to shave…" She spun as she heard Seoah arrive, her whole face rearranging itself from fake annoyance to something warm and loving. "Baobei, good morning. Come see what I've created. It's either breakfast or a cry for help, I'm not entirely sure which."

Seoah took a seat at the table, and Sohyun joined her. As usual, her hands wrapped around a coffee mug like it was the essence of life itself.  She was already dressed in soft grey slacks and a cream sweater. It was an understated elegance that made her somehow more noticeable than Xinyu's drama. It was funny how different both of her moms were. Sohyun was shorter, and her hair was currently cut short, not even reaching her shoulders. It had been done on a whim, a few weeks after arriving in Seoul. Sohyun said she wasn’t sure she liked it, but Seoah knew that was a lie. She’d seen the way Xinyu turned into a squishy mess the first time she had seen the new haircut. Sohyun was soft spoken, deep, intelligent, leaning more toward handsome than beautiful. Her eyes tracked Seoah's face with the same careful attention she gave to rough mixes in the studio, looking for the off notes, the places where something wasn't quite right. Her mom was the kind of person whose presence felt like a hand smoothing down ruffled feathers.

Her mom Sohyun was a sought-after music producer, and anyone who was anyone in the music industry wanted to work with her They paid well to have her on their projects, which sadly meant spending a lot of time in different locations, which was the reason they moved so often.

"Did you sleep okay, sweetheart?" Sohyun asked. The simplicity of the question, the tenderness behind the words, made it harder to lie.

"Some," Seoah said, which was technically true. She'd slept in fragments between wincing anytime she turned onto her sore ribs and calculating which hallways would be safest during lunch and wondering if Jia’s promise about "next time" would come today or tomorrow.

Xinyu placed a plate in front of her with a flourish that couldn't quite hide the anxiety underneath. It was French toast, burnt on one side. "This, darling, is breakfast à la Xinyu… which means it's beautiful in concept even if the execution needs work. I also unplugged the smoke alarm so I wouldn’t wake you up."

Seoah snorted a little. Xinyu was many things, but a chef she was not. But she tried, and that counted for a lot.

"So, what you’re telling us that the French toast is you in food form," Sohyun murmured, earning her a dish towel thrown at her head and a burst of laughter that Seoah had heard across countries. It was the sound of her mom’s loving each other across time zones and temporary housing and the guilt they carried about what their choices had cost their daughter. She zoned out a little, preferring to listen to her two moms bicker good-naturedly.

"Dear. Darling. Honey. I know you’re not comparing this…” She flipped her hair like she was in one of her photoshoots. “… to some burnt French toast.” She glared at Sohyun, which Seoah thought, might have been effective if Sohyun hadn’t become immune to it at least twenty years ago.

"I don’t know,” Sohyun murmured, the edges of her mouth turning up as she tried to fight a smile. She was playing with fire, and she went on anyways. “You're a little burnt around the edges," Sohyun finished. Her eyes were dancing with affection as she spoke, and Xinyu let out a high-pitched shriek as she searched for another dish towel to throw.

Seoah watched them bicker, the familiar rhythm of their love playing out in teasing words and soft glances and tried to ignore the way her throat was tightening. This… this warmth, this safety, this ridiculous perfect morning… was what she left behind every day when she walked out that door. And every day, she came home and pretended everything was fine, because how could she bring the ugliness of school into this?

She couldn't. And she wouldn't.

Seoah was too zoned out to stop Xinyu striding across the kitchen and cupping her cheeks in her hands. She squinted at her face like she was evaluating a photoshoot contact sheet. "You look tired. Are you eating enough? Is school draining your life force? Blink twice if you want me to sue someone."

“I’m fine, Mama.  Still trying to wake up, that’s all.” She stood to get orange juice from the fridge, and before she could sit back down, Xinyu was there, holding her at arm's length and giving her a once-over with the critical eye of someone who'd spent decades having other people inspect her.

"Hmm." She clicked her tongue. "You are far too cute, Baobei. The boys and girls will fall in love and fight over you. That will be a disaster. I refuse to let anyone but the best near our daughter."

"Mama, please don't say things like that," Seoah said, face heating. "And no one is falling in love with me. Relax."

"You say that now," Xinyu replied, already swiping a thumb over a wrinkle in Seoah's blazer. The gesture was gentle, the kind of small adjustment that spoke of years of caring. "But soon people will leave anonymous love letters in your locker." She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and sighed dramatically. "My baby is growing up."

"Leave her alone," Sohyun said mildly without looking up from her coffee. "She just woke up. Let her have at least one bite before you traumatize her with romance."

Seoah slipped back into her chair, orange juice in hand, trying not to think about her locker, which stayed empty, which no one ever left notes in, which existed in the same lonely vacuum as the rest of her school life. She smiled wide enough to pretend like she was okay, knowing neither of her moms would believe it, before taking a sip and picking up her chopsticks to take another bite. The parts that weren’t burnt actually tasted quite good, but that didn’t stop her from feeling like it may as well have tasted like paper in her mouth. She forced herself to chew and to perform normally for the two women who were trying so desperately to build her a life they'd spent years systematically dismantling.

"I have a shoot at ten," Xinyu said, scrolling through her phone as she leaned on the kitchen counter. "I should wrap by three. I could pick you up after school. We could go get bubble tea, or…"

"I have work tonight," Seoah interrupted, gently, because she didn’t want to upset her mom "Kaede asked me to help out from four thirty till seven tonight.” Whilst that was true, she didn’t say the other reasons she didn’t want her mom to pick her up. I don't want you to see me walking out alone. I don't want you to see that I don’t have any friends. I don’t want you to see Jia because then you might ask questions I can't answer.

Seoah felt something that wasn’t her ribs ache at the flash of disappointment that crossed Xinyu’s face.  Her mom, bless her, had the height and face of a model, with the heart of a softy. "Oh. Right. Of course.”

Desperate to not make her mom feel bad, Seoah added “But. You could pick me up and take me to work if you like? And if we have time, grab a bubble tea before it?”

Xinyu’s face transformed from disappointment to joy in the blink of an eye, so fast, that Seoah sometimes wondered if her mom should have been an actress instead of a model.

“Thank you baobei. I’ll be there at three, I promise.” Seoah didn’t want to say that she had heard that before. Her mom’s shoots had a habit of running longer than usual. Such was the industry she worked in.

“How is the job?” asked Sohyun, taking a sip of her coffee. “Is Kaede treating you well?”

Seoah knew that both of her moms were a little worried about her taking on a part time job. School work could be brutal enough, never mind having to find time to work as well.  It’s not like she needed the money either. "It's fine,” she said. I just make coffee and serve customers. And Kaede unnie is really nice." What she didn’t say was This is the first part-time job I've ever bothered getting because usually I'm not anywhere long enough. It’s a job that lets me escape from school and is mine…

"I think it's wonderful," Xinyu said. But the brightness in her voice held that desperate edge that came from trying to compensate for years of instability with present-tense enthusiasm. "That you're building something here and making connections. Putting down roots."

Roots. The word that twisted and wound its way through her chest. As if the last five months erased six years. As if working at a coffee shop meant Seoah trusted either of her moms that they were staying. As if anything they said could override the truth. That permanence was a lie people told themselves to feel better about inevitable departure.

Xinyu's dramatic sigh suggested she had more thoughts on the matter. “But are you sure you’re not working too much? You worked both days last weekend. We want to see your face sometime, you know.”

“Mama, you saw my face plenty,” Seoah protested lightly. “You even filmed me making ramyeon and put it on your Instagram story.”

“That was for the world,” Xinyu said, turning and swooping over to envelop her in a hug. “I want time just for us.”

Seoah tried to duck away with a small huff, but didn’t get very far because she was sitting at the table. Not that she would have refused the hug. She loved getting hugs from her moms. And she loved that being dramatic and clingy was just how her second mom breathed. If Xinyu ever woke up and wasn’t like this, that would be the thing that meant something was seriously wrong.

Sohyun had moved to the window in the meantime, her coffee mug leaving rings on the sill where she'd set it down. She had a fond smile on her face, but when she spoke, her voice was carefully casual in the way that meant she'd been thinking about this for a while. "I was thinking we could finally paint your room this weekend. Whatever colour you want. Make it really yours."

That perked Xinyu up. "We could do it next weekend," Xinyu added, joining her wife at the window, their shoulders touching in that unconscious way long-married people had. "Make a whole project of it. Oh. We could put some plants in as well and maybe get a nice rug for the floor.”

There it was. Make it yours. She’d heard that phrase so often in the last few months, said like an incantation, like if they said it enough times, Seoah would unpack that last box and believe they were really staying.

Seoah sighed. Loud enough for her own ears, quiet enough so her moms wouldn’t hear it. “Mama… the wall is fine as it is.”

Well, Seoah realised, that was the wrong thing to say, because Xinyu gasped like she was mortally offended. “Baobei. I love you but that poor white box of your room hurts me. I’m a visual person, you know. I suffer every time I walk past it.”

“It’s fine,” Seoah said. “It’s just a room.”

“Just a room?” Xinyu gasped, clutching her chest. “Listen to this child. This is clearly my failure as a mother.”

“You’re not a failure,” Sohyun said mildly, reaching for her coffee. “You’re just dramatic.”

“Baobei, please. If you won’t let me paint the walls, at least let me paint a giant dragon on the wall.”

Seoah laughed at that, whilst Sohyun snorted into her coffee cup. Seoah knew fine well, that if left to her own devices, her mom would paint a dragon on the wall. “Mama, you are not painting a dragon on my wall.”

Xinyu’s dramatics aside, she knew her moms were trying. That much was obvious in the tone of their voices and the worried looks they shared when they thought Seoah wasn’t paying attention. She wasn’t ready to believe them. She wasn’t sure she would believe them even if they were in this apartment years later. But they were trying. So she gave something back in return. “But maybe," Seoah heard herself say. "I'll think about it."

The glance her moms exchanged was quick, but she caught it anyway. Worry and guilt, mixed with the particular pain that came from knowing you'd broken something in your child and not knowing how to fix it. Both of her moms were busy, but they weren’t neglectful. Seoah could tell that they knew something was wrong. They might not know about Jia or Minji or Haeun, or the bruises, or the way Seoah had learned to make herself invisible enough to almost everyone apart from the hunters that still found her, but they knew their bright, curious daughter had dimmed from a bright sun to a dying star somewhere between Los Angeles and Seoul.

That glance was exactly why she couldn't tell them about the bullying at school. If she told Sohyun, her quiet, steady mum would march into the principal’s office and speak in that cool, precise voice she only used in meetings when someone tried to walk all over her. If she told Xinyu, it would be even worse. She would arrive at school in six-inch heels and a trench coat and burn the entire student body to the ground with her glare. And telling them might mean they decide that she had to move schools, again. Or worse still, that Seoul wasn’t working and that maybe they should try somewhere else. Anything to avoid them thinking that the solution was to move again instead of staying still.

Both of them loved her, she knew that, but telling them about the bullying would be like adding to the guilt they already wore like penance.

She would handle this herself. She could survive the rest of the year until the bullies graduated or got bored or until her mothers' promise of staying finally broke like all the others and at least she could say that she wasn’t the reason for any of their moves.

She finished the rest of the toast, burnt bits an all, as Sohyun moved to the sink to rinse her mug with the kind of meditative focus she brought to all things. “You don’t need to decide about the walls until you’re ready.  I know you have doubts about this being your home sweetheart. But we really are here to stay.”

“Sure,” she said, unable to stop her bitterness from spilling over. “Until the next amazing opportunity in New York or Berlin or the moon or whatever.”

That was enough to suck the life out of the room. She had gone a little too far and hadn’t meant to boil over. “Hey.” Sohyun’s voice was still soft, but there was a thread of something firmer under it. She reached out, lightly touching Seoah’s wrist with her fingers. Seoah didn’t pull away. “I know it’s been tough sweetheart.  I know you don’t believe it, but we mean it. Really. We aren’t moving again.”

Xinyu nodded vigorously, backing up her wife. “We meant what we said, baobei. No more moving, no more six-month schools. You will get to graduate from here. Make friends. Hate your teachers. Sneak out to concerts. Have a boring, stable teenage rebellion.”

“I don’t sneak out,” Seoah muttered, though the corner of her mouth twitched again, appreciating her moms attempt at trying to lighten the mood.

“And the two of us appreciate that,” Xinyu replied. “It gives me less grey hair.”

“You don’t have any grey hair,” Seoah said, rolling her eyes. She could just imagine the dramatics that would unfold if Xinyu ever found a grey hair.

“That’s because I am perfect,” Xinyu replied smoothly, and deadly serious. “And because of my stylist. But don’t change the subject. And let’s paint your room.”

Seoah could feel the sincerity in both of their words and tones. Sohyun wasn’t a good liar, and that tone was reserved for when she wanted to make it clear she was speaking honestly and from her heart. And Xinyu, behind all the light heartedness, was serious as well. She wanted to believe her moms, but her own heart was whispering the word liars on repeat. “I know, mom. I’ll think about it, I promise.”

And she would think about it. She’d stand in the doorway and imagine the wall green, or purple, or whatever ridiculous colour Xinyu proposed next. She’d imagine putting shelves up, and posters on the wall, and getting rid of the packing box in the corner of her room.

Sohyun let out a quiet hum in response, content to let it sit for now. She walked over and placed a kiss on the top of Seoah’s head, a typical show of affection that followed them across the world. "I need to go get ready for work but have a good day at school sweetheart." And because Sohyun was to observant in some things, she added "You know you can call either of us if you need anything. Right?"

"I know, Eomma. I will." The words felt bitter in her throat, because she did know. But I won't, she thought. Because you need to believe you've finally given me what I needed. Because I can't be the reason this fails too.

Xinyu walked over and pulled them both into a hug. Mostly because giving affection in the household that didn’t include her was categorically not allowed. "We love you, baobei," Xinyu said. Seoah caught the faint smell of her mom’s expensive perfume. It mixed with their good intentions, and she forced herself not to cry out as her ribs screamed in silent protest at the contact.

"Love you too, Mama." The words came out automatically, but they were true. Despite everything, despite the constant upheaval, she loved both of her moms with the kind of fierce protectiveness that came from being the only constant in their lives while they tried to build her one in return. She hated that she loved them enough that lying seemed like the only gift she had left to give.

Seoah grabbed her bag that was already packed with everything she might need, because school lockers were for people who trusted things to stay where they left them, and were a good spot to leave yourself open as a target. Xinyu was on the phone as she called out her goodbyes. Sohyun gave her a gentle “Love you sweetheart,” whilst Xinyu, covering her phone speaker with one hand, returned with a typically dramatic “Goodbye baobei. Remember that I love you and I’ll pick you up at three.”

In the hallway, she paused. Through the gap in the door, she could see her mothers in the living room and hear the last of Xinyu’s conversation.

“No, I cannot do a swimsuit shoot on a rooftop in November, have you lost your mind?” she was saying into her phone in rapid Mandarin. “My bones get cold. Yes, my bones. I’m over forty now, I will die.”

She watched as Xinyu settled onto the couch beside Sohyun, her head finding Sohyun's shoulder with the ease of two decades together, both absorbed in their phones in their own way, but both of them touching, connected, and present.

They'd given up so much to try to give her this, so the least she could do was not ruin it by revealing how badly it was failing.

She closed the door softly and started down the stairs.

________________________________________

Seoah. Walking to School.

The stairwell was cool and dim, her footsteps echoing in the concrete silence. Each step took her further from warmth and safety, closer to the thing she'd been dreading since she opened her eyes.

Outside, Seoul's morning pressed against her. Traffic noise and food cart smoke and humanity compressed into too little space. The walk to school took fifteen minutes, and Seoah knew it the same way she'd known multiple other routes in multiple other cities. One map, amongst a multitude of maps, drawn in her head. Left at the entrance to her building, down the street and past the convenience store where she'd stop to buy some snacks and drinks. Straight through the intersection with the broken streetlight that never got fixed, down to the end of the street where the ground floor flower shop sat at the corner. At this time, it was just opening, the owner arranging buckets of blooms on the sidewalk. Roses and chrysanthemums and something purple she didn't know the name of. Seoah had noticed the flower shop in the first week after she arrived in Seoul. Every time she passed it, she had the same thought. About how nice it would be to live somewhere long enough to watch the flowers change with seasons. Summer blooms to autumn colours to winter evergreens to spring bulbs.

A full cycle. A full year.

Five months in, that thought still felt dangerously close to hope.

Buses rumbled by, filled with teenagers pressed against the windows, most of them in the same uniform as hers. Other students began appearing as she got closer to the school, coalescing into groups and pairs. Friends who'd known each other since elementary school, probably. People who'd grown up in the same neighbourhoods and would attend the same universities and stay friends for the rest of their lives. Seoah had dreamt of that for herself once, wondering what it would be like to stay somewhere long enough to have people she could call friends, and not a passing acquaintance. She wasn’t sure when the dream had been replaced with the cold reality of a life that never stayed still for longer than six months at a time. It was probably somewhere on a plane forty thousand feet in the air, where she realised that caring about people who were temporary only meant carrying their ghosts longer.

No, she thought. It’s better to be alone by choice than by circumstance. It’s better to keep moving through crowds without touching anyone than to build connections that would hurt when they ended. She'd learned that lesson in four different languages, each school an opportunity to perfect it into an art form that kept her safe from attachment and vulnerable to everything else.

The school gates appeared ahead, and Seoah's stomach twisted in ways that shouldn’t for someone her age. Whilst her stomach tightened, dropped and prepared for hours of hypervigilance, her mind spun through her day like a shuffling deck of cards, trying to predict where she would be safest. First period was safe because the teacher actually paid attention. Second period… mostly safe, though the classroom was close to where the seniors had their class. Lunch was the most dangerous. And after lunch completely depended on whether they'd gotten what they wanted or were still hungry for more.

It had been four months since Jia and her cronies had first cornered her behind the gym with honeyed words, faux promises of friendship, and a twisted smile that promised violence.

The only thing that surprised her was that it had taken one month for them to find her. One month to identify her as a target. One month to find out who her parents were and to induct her into the casual cruelty that seemed to follow her between countries like a passport stamp.

It was always the same. At 156cm, she was small for her age, which already made her an easy target in the eyes of some. But it was usually when they found out who her moms were that it started. Tokyo for example had been subtle. Exclusion and rumours, leading to the slow erasure of any attempt at a connection with anyone. New York and LA had been more direct. Shoves, food thrown and drinks spilled becoming the physical vocabulary of dominance. Shanghai was a combination, made worse by her imperfect Mandarin, giving them ammunition for mockery. She never could quite grasp the language, despite her mom’s patient teaching. But she learned enough words to know the insults being flung her way.

Not every school was the same. London and Paris, for example, had been fine. But Seoul… Seoul was the worst. They’d identified her isolation within two weeks, tested her boundaries within three, and established their routine by four.

Money on Tuesdays and Fridays. Other days was to take what they felt like dishing out. Endure to the end of the day. Rinse and repeat all over again the next day.

She wasn’t the only target, but that didn’t make things any easier. The bullies were rich and well-connected, which meant they got away with things because a lot of teachers turned a blind eye. Sure, the principal had lofty ambitions and anti-bullying schemes, but what could she do when so many were willing to turn their backs?

And one thing Seoah had learned across continents and languages was that fighting back only made it worse. That telling adults only meant pitying looks and interventions that escalated everything. That the only way through this was to outlast them. Wait for them to graduate, wait for her circumstances to change, wait for the inevitable move that reset everything back to square one.

Except this time, her parents had promised they were staying. Which meant this time, she had three more years ahead of her instead of three more months.

The thought was crushing. But what alternative did she have?

The school came into view too soon and not soon enough. It was a nice school, all things considered, but Seoah had seen so many schools in six years that they all looked the same to her. Students were already filtering through the gates, their voices rising in a cacophony that made Seoah's shoulders tense.

She was about to step through the gate when her phone buzzed in her pocket twice in quick succession.  She pulled it out and found a message from each of her moms in their group chat.

Mom 1 💿: Send your other mom a selfie for proof of life or she will bug you all day.

Mom 2 💄: What your other mom said. And because I want proof of your jawline.

A tiny smile cracked through the tension in her chest. She flipped the camera, took a quick, slightly blurry shot of her face and examined the picture before sending it. Her hair was tied back, her expression neutral and tired-looking. Her moms were forever telling her how pretty she was but staring at the photo she couldn’t see it. All she saw was a tired fourteen-year-old struggling to get through each day.  She sighed and sent it with a quick message.

Seoah ☀️: I’m alive.

Three dots popped up almost instantly, but she slipped the phone back into her pocket without looking at the reply. She’d check it later. Seoah took a breath, tasting exhaustion and fear in equal measure, and walked through the gates alone. She merged into the crowd of uniforms and backpacks and teenage noise, disappeared into the building. She did her best to blend in like a ghost passing through other people's permanence, trying not to leave marks that would hurt when she was gone.

Even if this time she might not be going anywhere.

Even if that terrified her more than leaving ever had.

________________________________________

Seoah. Tuesday Lunch

Her morning classes passed slowly, as if she was dragging an anchor through sludge. Her seat was near the front of the class, where it was safest. She knew a few people around her. There was that one girl who always borrowed a pen and never gave it back. The boy who kept asking her where she was “really from” three times in one conversation. Seoah couldn’t decide if he was ignorant or trying to flirt with her. She imagined Xinyu’s horrified face if she were to introduce him...

Apart from that, she kept her head down, took neat notes and existed in that practiced state of managed invisibility she'd perfected and turned into an art form. First period was Korean Literature with Mr. Park, who actually cared about teaching. She absorbed nothing about Yi Mun-yol’s Our Twisted Hero except that the protagonist's suffering felt familiar in ways she didn't want to examine. The seat beside her remained empty, as always. She’d stopped wondering if that was coincidence or intention.

Second period was Mathematics with Mrs. Kim, whose strict intolerance for disruption made her classroom a temporary sanctuary. Numbers, at least, behaved the same in every language. Equations and fractions didn't care about your history, and Seoah worked through them with mechanical precision, her handwriting careful and small, taking up as little space on the page as she did in the world.

Between classes, she navigated the hallways with the hyperawareness of prey in hunting territory. She had memorised the seniors’ timetable, knowing which classes and hallways to avoid at which times. Other places like the bathroom near the gym were a complete no-go. The second-floor east corridor was where Jia’s locker was, and that meant taking the long way around even if it made her late for class. All other corridors were an acceptable risk if she stayed to the edges, kept moving, and never ever made eye contact.

Third and fourth period passed without incident; each one a small victory counted in minutes survived.

Then the lunch bell rang.

The sound cut through the classroom like a blade, and Seoah's stomach dropped with the familiar plummeting sensation of knowing something terrible was coming and being powerless to stop it. Around her, students erupted into motion, voices rising with the energy that came from the temporary freedom lunch provided, bags zipping and chairs scraping, followed by the mass exodus toward food and friends and normalcy.

Seoah packed her things slowly, trying to buy time she didn't have. Her hands moved through her normal routine. Her notebook into her bag, pens into her pencil case, pencil case into bag. As she worked, her mind spun through options that all led to the same inevitable conclusion.

She could skip lunch entirely. Try hiding in a bathroom stall until lunch ended. But she'd tried that before, and it made things so much worse. They'd found her after school instead, angrier at being made to wait.

She could go to the cafeteria, stay in the crowd, and hope that witnesses would keep things civil. But that only helped a little. Far too many people were willing to turn their backs, happy that someone else holding the attention of Jia and her gang. Seoah sometimes hoped for the same, that they’d target someone else, and the guilt of that sat like a stain on her conscience even as she couldn't quite regret the thought

She even thought about running. Leaving the building, going home and telling her moms she felt sick. But that would require explaining, and explaining would mean lying, and lying to Sohyun's perceptive eyes and Xinyu's desperate hope felt like the worst kind of betrayal.

No. There was no good option. There was only endurance.

Seoah sighed heavily before shouldering her bag carefully, doing her best to avoid her bruised ribs. As she stepped into the hallway, the lunch rush was in full swing, a river of bodies flowing toward the cafeteria, a universal act that played out in every school on every continent. Seoah let herself be carried along with the current, anonymous in the crowd, trying to be just another uniform in the sea of people.

She made it halfway to the cafeteria before she saw them.

Lee Jia was leaning against the wall near the bathroom entrance, phone in hand, the picture of casual disinterest. But Seoah knew that posture, knew the way Jia's eyes tracked movement without seeming to. Seoah made the mistake of meeting her eyes across the crowded hallway, and Jia's mouth curved into something that might have been a smile if smiles weren't supposed to convey warmth.

Seoah's heart kicked into overdrive, adrenaline flooding her system before conscious thought could catch up. I can still run, she thought in panic.  Take a different route. I could… Her thoughts died as Jia pushed off the wall, already moving toward her, the crowd parting for her like a shark through a shoal of fish.

She thought about running, but running only made it worse. It always made it worse. But even that option was taken from her, as Jia approached. "Seoah-yah," Jia said, her voice carrying that false friendliness that made Seoah's skin crawl. "Perfect timing. We need to talk to you about something."

It wasn't a request.

Where Jia went, her two shadows followed. Both took instructions from her, both equally cruel as her. Park Minji appeared to Seoah's left, cutting off that escape route with practiced efficiency. Kim Haeun materialized on her right, completing the triangle."

It was only the three of them today. Sometimes it was the full group of six. Once upon a time that might have felt like a small mercy to Seoah. Not anymore.

"The bathroom," Jia said, jerking her head toward the door. "Now."

Seoah's mouth was too dry for words. She nodded and felt her legs carry her forward like they belonged to someone else. The bathroom door swung shut behind them with a sound like a period at the end of a sentence. Final. Definitive. The noise from the hallway immediately muted, leaving just the four of them in a space that smelled of industrial cleaner and something sour underneath.

Kim Haeun moved to the door, positioning herself as lookout. Park Minji leaned against the sink, arms crossed, smirking at the thought of what was to come. And Lee Jia stood directly in front of Seoah, close enough that she could see the perfect application of her eyeliner and smell her expensive perfume.

"So," Jia said, examining her nails with affected boredom. "You know what I want."

It wasn't a question, but Seoah found herself nodding anyway.

"Good. That saves time." Jia looked up, and the boredom dropped away to be replaced by something harder. "Money. Now."

Seoah's hands shook as she reached for her purse, fumbling with the zipper on her bag. She'd brought what she could. A paltry seven thousand won from her last paycheck at Kaede's. It was money she needed for her own lunch, for the small financial autonomy that made her feel slightly less helpless.

"Seven thousand," she said in a quiet, shaky voice, pulling out the bills. "It's all I have."

Minji’s laugh was sharp and ugly as she stepped away from the sink to tower over Seoah. "Seven thousand? Are you serious right now?"

"I don’t have any more until…"

"Until what?" Jia interrupted, snatching the bills from Seoah's hand. "Until your rich producer and model moms give you an allowance? Or until you get a wage from that shit little coffee shop you work at on weekends?”

Jia’s voice dripped casual condescension and cruelty like it was hardwired into her. Each word stung worse than the ache in her ribs. The casual mention of her family, of Kaede's shop, made Seoah's stomach turn. They knew all about her family. They even knew where she worked. How much had they been watching her?

"This is insulting," Jia continued, pocketing the money before turning her full attention on Seoah. "You think we're some kind of charity? That we'll just accept whatever scraps you feel like bringing?"

"I'll bring more next time," Seoah tried, hating how her voice shook and how small she sounded. "I just need a few days…"

"You need to learn your place," Minji cut in. "That's what you need."

She moved fast. Faster than Seoah could react. One moment Minji was standing still, the next her hand was in Seoah's hair, yanking hard enough to make Seoah's eyes water, forcing her head back at an angle that made her neck scream.

"Your place," Minji repeated, her face inches from Seoah's, "is to give us what we want when we want it. Not to make excuses. Not to waste our time. Understand?"

"Yes," Seoah gasped out, her scalp burning. "Yes, I understand…"

Minji let go of her hair at a nod from Jia, and the slap came without warning. Jia's open palm connected with Seoah's cheek with enough force to snap her head to the side. The sound echoed off the bathroom tiles, sharp and final, and pain bloomed across her face in a spreading heat.

For a moment, Seoah couldn't breathe or think. Her world was reduced to the sting on her cheek and the ringing in her ears that might have been the impact or might have been her own blood pounding. "That's for wasting our time," Jia said, her voice conversational, like she was discussing the weather and hadn’t just struck her. "Next time you bring us seven thousand won like it's some kind of generous offering, you'll get a lot worse than a slap."

Minji shoved Seoah, sending her stumbling back against the wall. The impact drove fresh pain through her already-bruised ribs, and Seoah bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. She hoped that they were done. That they would take their money and leave and…

"Empty your bag," Jia ordered.

Seoah’s stomach sank further. "What? No, I don't have anything…"

"I said. Empty it.” Jia’s voice was ice cold, leaving no room for debate. Seoah's hands shook as she upended her bag, the contents scattering across the bathroom floor in a humiliating display of her life's portable contents. Textbooks. Notebooks with careful notes nobody would ever see. Her pencil case, her empty wallet, a chocolate bar from the convenience store that morning, a hair tie, and her phone.

Jia crouched down, sifting through the wreckage with clinical detachment. She picked up the phone to examine it, and for a horrible moment Seoah thought she'd take it. Her phone held photos from her moms, and the one friend she had made in LA, Kya. If Jia took that…

But Jia just sneered and tossed it back onto the pile. "This is pathetic," she laughed. "This is what you've got? A four-year-old phone and some textbooks?"

"I told you, I don't have anything else."

Jia scoffed as Seoah frantically put everything back in her bag, praying that Jia was bored enough to let it rest. As she got back to her feet, she saw Jia give Minji a silent nod. Just enough of a warning to prepare herself for what came next.

Minji’s kick caught her in the shin, and Haeun laughed from the door. It wasn’t hard enough to break anything, but it sent a wave of pain shooting up her leg. Her knee buckled and she caught herself against the wall. She could feel her vision blurring with tears she would not give them the satisfaction of letting fall.

"Don't talk back," Minji said, her voice low and dangerous. "Don't make excuses. Don't act like you're the victim here. You come to our school, you play by our rules. And our rules say you bring us twenty thousand won every Tuesday and Friday. Not seven. Not ten. Twenty. Got it?"

"I can't…" Seoah started but was unable to finish. Jia's fist connected with her ribs, hitting the exact spot that was still bruised from the last time. She doubled over with a cry, as her ribs screamed in red hot agony at the fresh assault.

"You can't?" Jia's voice was silk over steel. "Then I guess you'll have to figure it out. Get another job. Ask your rich parents for more. Steal it for all I care.” She crouched down to Seoah’s level, pushing her palm against her cheek over and over. “But this Friday, you bring twenty thousand won or today will seem like a gentle stroll in the park compared to what comes next."

Seoah could barely speak or breathe. The pain in her ribs was all encompassing, her leg hurt, and her cheek throbbed from the earlier blow. Everything hurt. Everything was pain and humiliation and the crushing weight of knowing this was her life now, this was what the next year of her school life looked like. There was no escape, no way out, no…

"Someone's coming," came Haeun's voice from the door, sharp and urgent. The effect was immediate. Jia and Minji stepped away from Seoah, both of them shifting into casual poses that would give any actress a run for their money. For exactly three seconds, their attention was on the door. On whoever might be about to enter. Not on Seoah.

Three seconds.

Seoah's body moved before her brain registered the decision. Her hand shot out, grabbing her bag off the floor. Then she was on her feet, adrenaline overriding the pain, and she was running toward the door. She crashed into the side of Haeun, sending her stumbling back. Enough of a gap at least, to open the door and get out.

"Ya! You bitch!" Haeun’s shout echoed off the tiles. "Get back here!"

But Seoah was already pulling the door open with trembling hands, her feet carrying her into the hall. She stumbled as fresh pain shot through her ribs and shin, Haeun’s leg catching her at the same time, and she fell. For a moment it felt like she was flying. Like the world had dropped out from under her and she was suspended in a moment between consequence and impact.

Then she hit the floor, landing hard on her shoulder, a fresh wave of pain exploding through her body. Move, she told herself. Get up and move. Fresh adrenaline surged as she heard the door slam open behind her. She got to her feet and started running. Behind her, she heard multiple sets of footsteps. Heard Jia's voice, sharp with fury saying "Get her."

Seoah ran through the pain.

Through the corridors, pushing through crowds of people turning to look at what was causing the commotion. For once, her small height helped her out, allowing her to dodge between people more easily, as the ever-growing crowds made it harder for Jia, Minji and Haeun to get to her. She was out the main door and running toward the side gate. If she could just get out, just get to somewhere busy, then she could hide or be safe. Her legs felt like they were weighted with concrete, her lungs were burning, and her ribs agony with every gasping breath. But she didn't stop, because stopping meant something worse than the current pain.

She could hear them behind her now. Close and getting closer. But the gate was closer. If she could just get through it. If she could just get into the streets then she would have a chance to get away. She chanced a look back, to see the three bullies in close pursuit. Tears pricked at her eyes as she ran, her vision tunnelling, and her world reducing to each gasp of breath, each shot of pain lancing in her side.

She had hoped that they wouldn’t bother chasing her, but they were following her out of the school and toward the gate like a nightmare made manifest. Her breath was coming in sobs now, her legs shaking with exhaustion and adrenaline, her mind a white noise of terror and desperate calculation. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. All she knew is that she had to try and get away, to anywhere that wasn't here.

But then she was at the gate, and she turned toward a side street without looking, running blind and on pure survival instinct… only to crash full-force into someone coming the opposite direction.

The impact was total and immediate, as two bodies collided and gravity asserted itself with casual cruelty. Seoah heard the shriek from the other girl at the impact, before she felt both of them go down. There was a fresh wave of pain as the concrete scraped her knees open, her palms burning as they hit the ground, followed by a wave of agony in her ribs that stole her breath. She vaguely heard the crash of multiple objects hitting the pavement at the same time. Drinks, she thought. The person she had run into had been carrying drinks.

For a moment, everything was just noise and pain and confusion. Followed by a sharp, incredulous voice filled with anger. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?!"

Seoah's vision cleared enough to process what was in front of her. She was on her knees on the sidewalk, surrounded by carnage. Juice boxes and sports drinks and expensive-looking iced coffees, all of them now creating a sickening-coloured puddle on the concrete. In front of her, also on the ground, was a girl around her age or maybe a year older. She oozed confidence, even whilst sprawled on the pavement and trying to pick herself up.  Seoah noticed that the girl was… striking. In a way that would have made her nervous even without the current disaster. Her dark hair was pulled back in a high ponytail that somehow looked effortlessly cool. She was wearing a black leather jacket over her uniform that was definitely not school regulation. Everything about the girl screamed that she walked through hallways like she owned them and didn’t take shit from anyone.

It crossed her mind then that the girl was vaguely familiar. Like she had seen her around school somewhere. She probably had; the leather jacket did kind of stand out. But to Seoah, right now, she looked like another Jia in a leather jacket. The kind of girl Seoah had learned to avoid making eye contact with at countless schools across the world. And Seoah had just crashed into her at full speed and destroyed what looked like at least twenty thousand won worth of drinks.

For a heartbeat, Seoah could only stare, her brain too scrambled to form coherent thought. The girl was staring at the carnage with an expression of genuine disbelief, her mouth slightly open, like her brain was still trying to process what had just happened. Then reality crashed back in. The bullies, the chase, the fact that she'd just destroyed a stranger's drinks and some had spilled on the girl’s skirt and made everything infinitely worse…

"I'm sorry," she choked out, tears building as she spoke, the words automatic and desperate. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you, I wasn't looking, I'm sorry. Please…"

She tried to stand whilst trying to help the stranger to her feet as well. Anything that might help make this whole situation marginally less catastrophic. But her legs wouldn't cooperate, her hands were shaking so badly she could barely form fists, whilst her breath was coming in ragged gasps that sounded too much like sobs.

“Oh my god, are you blind?” the older girl snapped, finally coming to her senses. “Do you know,” she said, her voice slow and threatening, “how much they cost me? How much this skirt cost me?” When her eyes landed on Seoah’s face, she felt a pinprick of fear shoot through her. For a horrible, desperate moment, Seoah thought she was done for, resigning herself to the pain she knew would certainly follow.

Time seemed to dilate into this small, micro moment between one breath and the next. She watched the girl’s eyes track from the spilled drinks, to her skirt, then to Seoah’s face. Watched it twist from shock to seething anger. Watched how quickly the anger came, and then went, as her face changed to something else that almost resembled concern, as she really took in Seoah and her current state. The tear-streaked cheeks. The red mark on Seoah's face. The way Seoah was cradling her ribs. The torn knees. The terror written so clearly across her features that it might as well have been subtitled.

"Oh," the girl said, the anger draining from her voice just as it had from her face. "Oh, shit."

Time seemed to snap back to its normal rhythm as she heard voices shouting her name, getting closer with every breath. No, no, no, no… she thought. "I have to go," Seoah gasped, trying again to stand, her vision blurring with fresh panic. "I'm sorry about the drinks, I'll pay you back, I just… I have to…"

"Hey. Whoa. Wait a second," the older girl said, pushing herself up. “Are you okay?”

But Seoah's legs finally decided to cooperate, and she was stumbling to her feet, her bag somehow still on her shoulder, her whole world narrowed to the thought of running. Until three sets of footsteps came to a stop a few feet behind her.

"There she is," she heard Jia’s ice-cold voice from behind her.

That was when the exhaustion and pain and terror combined, slamming into her with a weight too heavy for her slight frame to carry.  She gasped for a breath that wouldn't come. This was it. This was where it ended. They'd caught her and she had nowhere left to run.

"There you are," she heard Jia say, her voice dripping false concern. "We were worried about you, running off like that. You could have gotten hurt."

Seoah watched as the girl turned to face Jia and her cronies. She watched her posture change, her shoulders squaring as her eyes went flat in a way that had nothing to do with the fallen drinks and everything to do with a recognition of something and a fuse being lit. She watched her take a step forward, then two, casually placing herself in between Seoah and the three older girls.

“What,” the girl said, her voice like flint striking steel, “the fuck is going on here?”

________________________________________

Hayeon. Tuesday Lunch

Hayeon was having a good day, which should have been her first warning that the universe was about to fuck with her.

Lunch was approaching, and somehow she had ended up with the good fortune of a free period with her other friends. Apart from Joobin, who had no such luck. She sprawled on the grass outside the school building with the kind of careless confidence that came from genuinely not caring what anyone thought about her posture or her reputation or the leather jacket she wore despite it being seventy percent humidity and against the school dress code. The jacket was armour. The sprawling was a statement. And if Principal Haewon had a problem with it, then she could take it up with her middle finger.

"You're going to get heatstroke in that thing," Soomin said, poking Hayeon's shoulder with more force than strictly necessary. "Seriously. It’s roasting out here, and you look like you're cosplaying as a delinquent."

"I am a delinquent," Hayeon said without opening her eyes, one arm thrown over her face to block the sun, a smirk on her face. "It's not cosplay if it's accurate."

"You got a ninety-two on the last Korean lit exam," Chaewon pointed out from somewhere to her left, her voice a little distant but carrying her own brand of amusement that meant she was smiling without actually smiling. "Delinquents don't score in the top ten percent."

Hayeon snorted. "Chaewon-ah. That's discrimination against delinquents. We're a diverse community with varied academic achievements."

Hyerin snorted. "You're so full of it," she said, her voice laden with sarcasm.

Hayeon replied with her own heavily sarcastic words. "Why thank you, I try."

This was good. This was easy. Her friends spread out on the grass like they owned the spot. Which they kind of did. At least in Hayeon’s mind. This was the same place that she had sat down to introduce herself to Joobin and Chaewon when they first met, and she and the others defended it through the sheer force of her personality and Hyerin's ability to stare people into oblivion. When the weather was nice, this was their spot. Their space.

Hayeon had her arm over her face because the sun was bright and because she hadn't slept well. Because if she kept her eyes closed, nobody could see the way her eyes wanted to track every movement, which would probably force her to open and close her fists like she was getting ready to enter a boxing ring.

Okay. So today was a good day, but that didn’t mean it was perfect. The anger was bubbling under the surface, so she’d probably have to hit the park gym again tonight and work up a sweat hitting the punching bag.

She told herself that was her way of working on it. Kind of. Not really. Technically she should be taking the pills that were supposed to help stop the anger. She thought of that tiny bottle, sitting full in her top drawer and wondered how her life had started revolving around whether she thought she could go another day without taking one. She had stopped taking them because they made everything feel muffled, like someone had wrapped her emotions in cotton wool. And she'd long since decided that she’d rather feel too much than feel nothing at all.

"I'm hungry and thirsty," Soomin announced, bouncing on the grass with the same energy she brought to every conversation. "Like, totally starving and thirsty. I could even die guys. Right here. What a terrible way to go."

"You literally ate two kimbap rolls twenty minutes ago," Hyerin said. And Hayeon could have sworn she heard her eyes roll as they did.

Soomin gasped in outrage. "Hyerin! That was twenty minutes ago! Do you know how fast my metabolism works? I'm a growing teenager with nutritional needs..."

"You're the world’s biggest chatterbox," Hayeon interrupted, grinning under her arm. "You talk that much you probably burn a million calories every hour."

“Hmph,” replied Soomin. "Rude. Accurate, but rude."

Chaewon shifted slightly, and Hayeon heard the rustle of her moving closer. "I agree with Soomin. About the food. Not that she’s growing. She’s going to be tiny forever.”

Soomin gasped. “Chaewon. My soul mate. The person that is supposed to understand me the most. You wound me.”

Chaewon smiled, tearing some grass out and flinging it into the air without a care in the world. “We could go to the store and get some food and drink before afternoon classes."

"Or," Hayeon said, finally moving her arm and squinting against the sunlight, "I could go to the convenience store and bring back sustenance for my starving, ungrateful friends. Since I'm such a generous and kind person."

"You just don't want to move and you're hoping one of us will offer to go instead," Soomin said, narrowing her eyes in suspicion at the offer.

"Lies and slander,” declared Hayeon. “I'm offering to go out of the kindness of my heart."

"You don't have a heart,” declared Soomin, her chin resting on her palm. “You have beef jerky for a heart."

Hayeon grinned at Soomin’s words, seeing the smile on her face that told Hayeon she was only joking with her. To prove her point, Hayeon sat up, stretching her arms over her head until her shoulders popped. "Okay, I can’t handle all this rudeness. I'm going to the store out of spite now. And I'm not getting you anything."

"Yes, you will," Hyerin said with absolute confidence.

"Yeah, probably," Hayeon admitted, standing and brushing grass off her skirt. The leather jacket stayed on because taking it off would mean admitting Soomin was right about the heat, and Hayeon would rather die than admit Soomin was right. "Who wants what. Get your orders in."

"Iced coffee," Hyerin said immediately. "The expensive kind with the gold label."

Hayeon snorted. "Of course you want the expensive one."

"I have refined taste," declared Hyerin.

"You have expensive taste. There's a difference." Hayeon looked at Chaewon, who was watching them with that slight smile she got when they were being ridiculous, which was basically always. "Chaewon-ah?"

"Just water is fine."

"Water is not fine. Water is boring. I'm getting you one of those yogurt drinks you like and you're going to drink it and enjoy it."

"I didn't say I wanted…”

"Too late. Already decided." Hayeon turned her attention back to Soomin, who was looking up at her with exaggerated hope. "And you're getting... let me think... nothing, because you called me heartless."

"I said you had beef jerky for a heart! That's totally different! That's basically a compliment! Beef jerky is delicious and preserved and…"

"Fine. Sports drink. The blue kind."

"Thank you Hayeon, my kindest and dearest friend who I love and adore. You're my favourite person in the entire world."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," Hayeon said, waving off the compliments, trying not to let the grin take over her face. This was really nice, being like this. This was the version of herself she liked best. The one who joked and teased and took care of her friends without making it weird or heavy. The one who didn't think about the bottle of pills hidden in her desk drawer or the lies she told to her mom’s tired eyes that she was taking them and that they were helpful.

"I'll be back in fifteen," Hayeon said, already walking backward toward the gate. "Try not to die of starvation or thirst while I'm gone."

"No promises!" Chaewon called after her.

The walk to the convenience store took about five minutes at a normal pace, but Hayeon stretched it to seven because she wasn't actually in a hurry and the afternoon air was thick enough to swim through. The leather jacket was genuinely stupid in this heat, but it made her feel like she had some kind of barrier between herself and the world, and that was worth the sweat.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard the school bell ring to indicate lunch had started. But she was more focussed on how the store was blessedly air-conditioned, almost cold after stepping in from the humid afternoon. Hayeon went straight for the drinks section, methodically collecting the items she'd agreed to buy. Iced coffee with the gold label for Hyerin. Yogurt drink for Chaewon. Blue sports drink for Soomin. And for herself… She grabbed an iced Americano and a juice box because she was secretly still five years old at heart. Then, because she hadn’t forgotten about Joobin, she picked up an extra yogurt drink because she knew Joobin liked them almost as much as Chaewon did. Then she added some melon bread because her stomach rumbled at the wrong moment.

The ajumma at the counter rang her up without comment, which Hayeon appreciated. No small talk meant no questions about school or why she wasn't in class or whether that jacket was regulation, like it was any of her business to start with. It was just the transaction, a cup carrier, and within a few minutes Hayeon was back outside into the wall of heat and heading to school.

She’d absolutely meant to share the melon bread with everyone, but she had been unable to resist temptation and had already taken a bite out of it. “None of them better say I don’t contribute to this friendship,” she muttered to herself, kicking a pebble as she kept walking. She'd made it maybe half a block from the store when her phone buzzed. Soomin, naturally, with a text that just said "I'M DYING" followed by approximately fifteen skull emojis.

Hayeon sent back an appropriate sarcastic reply and was almost at the school gate. The noise of hundreds of kids heading to lunch washed over her, but there was something else that she heard. Footsteps approaching fast. Whoever it was, the person was running. She had all of a few seconds to consider it when a tiny blur in uniform and dark hair burst round the gate and headed straight for her.  

There was no time to step aside or shout out a warning. The impact was immediate and total. One second Hayeon was standing with an arm full of drinks, the next she was going down hard, the other person crashing into her with enough force that they both hit the pavement in a tangle of limbs and spilling liquids and Hayeon's surprised yelp.

The drinks exploded. That was her first coherent thought as she hit the concrete. That all those carefully selected beverages were now creating an abstract art piece on the sidewalk. The iced coffees. The yogurt drinks. Soomin's blue sports drink. All of them bleeding across the pavement like colour leaking from a ruined painting.

The next reaction was anger. Hot and absolute, the words coming out before Hayeon could stop them. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?!" Her fury and disbelief and the jarring shock of the unexpected impact all combined into pure outrage.

She pushed herself up on her elbows, staring at the carnage. At least twenty thousand won worth of drinks gone in the blink of an eye. Spilled across concrete like some kind of tragic still life. Her skirt a mess and smelling of iced coffee and Soomin’s blue fucking sports drink. She heard the girl speak, babbling and filled with something that sounded close to desperation. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you, I wasn't looking, I'm sorry. Please…"

The person, whoever she was, was trying to help her to her feet, trying to do something to fix the situation even though she was clearly in no state to help anyone, and Hayeon vaguely registered that her breathing sounded more like crying than actual breaths. Her anger was still too white-hot to fully register that though. “Oh my god, are you blind?” she snapped. Then she dropped her voice to something more threatening, something promising violence that she felt building inside. “Do you know how much they cost me? How much this skirt cost me?”

An idle thought struck her then, that maybe she should have taken a pill this morning. That her searing anger was too much for what was only a few spilled drinks. That was when she looked at the person who’d crashed into her.

It was a girl. Tiny. Even smaller than Soomin, she realised. Probably younger than me, she thought. Then she noticed how the girl’s knees and hands were scraped and bleeding.

And her anger, which had flared hot and immediate, flickered and died, evaporating like the humidity of the day had sucked it right out of her.  

The girl had been crying, she thought. No, scrap that. She was still crying, she realised, as tears streaked down her cheeks. She had been crying before she ran into Hayeon. But that wasn't what made Hayeon's anger drain away like someone had pulled a plug.

It was the bruise blooming across the girl's cheekbone. Fresh. Recent. The kind of mark that came from an open-handed slap. It was the way she was holding her ribs; one arm wrapped protectively around her middle like something there hurt badly enough that she couldn't straighten up. It was the expression on her face. Not just upset, not just embarrassment about the collision, but genuine, absolute terror. The kind of terror that came from being hunted.

Time seemed to slow down, that weird dilation that happened sometimes when Hayeon's brain was processing too much information at once. She watched the girl's expression shift through about six different emotions in the space of a heartbeat — shock, fear, desperation, apology, more fear, and something that looked almost like resignation.

The girl's eyes met hers, and Hayeon watched in that stretched-out moment as the fear intensified. Watched the girl look at her, look at Hayeon's leather jacket and her reputation and whatever impression she gave off, and clearly expect violence.

That hit different. That made something in Hayeon's chest twist hard and mean. Yes, she had a reputation. Yes, she had anger issues. But she would never, ever want someone to look at her like this girl was doing now.

"Oh," she said, and heard her voice come out different than before. Softer. Gentler. "Oh, shit."

Then she heard it. Multiple voices, calling a name — "Seoah!" — with the kind of anger that confirmed every suspicion forming in Hayeon's brain. The girl, who Hayeon now guessed was Seoah, heard it too, and Hayeon watched the colour drain from her face.

"I have to go," the girl gasped, trying again to stand, her vision clearly unfocused with panic. "I'm sorry about the drinks, I'll pay you back, I just… I have to…"

"Hey. Whoa. Wait a second," Hayeon said, pushing herself fully upright now. “Are you okay?”

But the girl had finally found her feet and looked to be on the verge of running again when three girls approached them.

"There she is," said one of them. The voice ice cold. That was all Hayeon needed to know and see. She knew these three girls. Everyone at school did. Jia, Minji and Haeun had a reputation. None of them had messed with Hayeon or her friends, mostly because they were smart enough to not mess with Sullin and Lynn’s sisters. 

In the moment between one breath and the next, Hayeon's entire assessment of the situation crystallized in an instant. They came to a stop a few feet away, breathing hard from the chase, and Hayeon watched their expressions shift as they took in the scene. The spilled drinks. Seoah frozen between them like a deer in headlights.

Jia, tall and pretty in a cold way, with eyes that looked cruel, smiled. And Hayeon realised that regardless of how pretty she was, the smile was ugly and wretched. "There you are," she said, her voice dripping false concern. "We were worried about you, running off like that. You could have gotten hurt."

The threat in those words was unmistakable. Hayeon took one final look at the girl, before turning to face the three bullies. She took a few steps, placing herself between Seoah and them. With each step, she could feel the anger she had let go building back up, as if she was pulling it in from the air itself. Her brain had fully and finally caught up to what her body had already understood. This girl had been hurt and bullied by these three and they were planning to hurt her more.

She looked at the school side gate, and somehow her three friends were coming toward her. Maybe they had grown bored waiting for her, or maybe they had seen the three girls chasing the other girl and had gotten up to check on her.

Oh, she thought distantly. Why are they here? I don’t want them to see this. To see this part of me.

Because Hayeon had been careful. Careful that none of her friends got to see the part of her that she never talked about. The part that only she and her mom Nien knew about. The part she wasn’t ready to explain. But she didn’t have the luxury of a different choice. So she focussed on the three girls in front of her. She knew she was a couple of years younger than them, that she was smaller, that they had a reputation for violence… but when her anger was as white-hot as it was now… well. She wasn’t about to turn around and leave the girl alone.

After all. She never had been good at walking away from a fight.

She sighed before speaking, letting her voice carry the edge that she usually tried to suppress. The one that the pills stole from her. The one that came from anger management issues and a childhood learning that sometimes violence was the only language people understood. “What the fuck is going on here?”

________________________________________

Chaewon

The grass was warm beneath Chaewon's palm, each blade a small green sentence she couldn't quite read. She had this habit of noticing things like textures and temperatures that most people didn’t give a second thought. Jiyeon and Seoyeon said it meant she was present in her body. Which she supposed was a good thing. It was progress. It meant not spending time disappearing into her own head to fight… No, she thought. I’m not thinking about that. Not today.

Chaewon started to hum, a nameless tune she made up on the spot, trying to redirect her thoughts before they went somewhere dark. Things like how not being in her own head as much meant she could pay attention to things most people ignored. Like now, and the way Soomin was talking about being hungry but kept glancing at her phone like she was expecting a message. Or the way Hyerin was pretending to read but her eyes hadn't moved across the page in three minutes, which normally meant she was thinking about something else entirely.

"Do you think Hayeon actually went to the store or did she just leave to avoid Soomin's complaining?" Hyerin asked, finally giving up on pretending to read her book.

"Both can be true," Chaewon said, picking up a fallen leaf beside her. She examined it curiously, noticing how delicate and intricate it looked, how the little veins spread out the same way that her anxiety and fear spread through her chest on bad days. "She's multitalented like that."

"Pfft," Soomin said, but she was grinning. "I'm a delight to be around."

"You're something," Hyerin agreed, which could have meant anything if not for the fond look in her eyes.

This felt nice. She wished Joobin was here to share the moment with them, but the lunch bell had just rung, so she knew Joobin would arrive soon enough. She had sent a message to her earlier, letting her know where to find them. Then she thought about sending Hayeon a message telling her to get Joobin a drink, but she let that thought go as quickly as it arrived.

Hayeon was off being Hayeon, striding off toward the convenience store with that particular swagger, leather jacket, cocky grin, and that loose-limbed confidence that would have fooled anyone who didn't know how to look for the cracks underneath. But Chaewon knew how to look for cracks. She had spent enough time living her life in the depths of her own cracks to see the signs. But even with the cracks, Hayeon was still who she was. Which also meant taking care of everyone whilst pretending she didn’t care, all sharp edges with a soft center that she would insist never existed. So Chaewon didn’t text her asking her to get a drink for Joobin because she knew Hayeon would get one for her regardless.

Chaewon liked these moments when her mind was quiet enough to just be. When the monster that sometimes whispered unwanted, horrible things lay dormant. It meant she could focus on the here and now. The grass and the sunlight and her friends bickering… instead of things she wished she could lock in the deepest, darkest hole she could find and never have to see or think about it again.

Stay present, she told herself. Stay present. As she did, she wondered idly how many times she told herself those exact same words.  Thousands. Tens of thousands?

"I'm going to text her," Soomin announced. "Ask her if she got lost between here and the convenience store. Wait no, I’ll tell her that I’m dying." Chaewon laughed as she watched Soomin type into the group chat.