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Jiwoo was fourteen when she met Yoona.
She wasn't particularly fond of summer. Not when she was the only child on this street with no real way of getting out of what she deemed Countryside from Hell. Instead, she wallowed inside; tried to keep entertained as the heat melted away whatever resolve she had. Lonely, but routine.
That was, until the neighbors next-door moved in.
Jiwoo didn't expect much. They've had new move-in's before—all elderly couples—and they'll probably end up being the same. The bar was non-existent, her expectations close to none. It was only through eavesdropping that she managed to learn that their new arrivals defied her initial inklings.
"They have children," her father had said to her mother, both too enthralled by conversation to notice she had sneaked out of bed, hiding just at the top of the stairs. "One around Jiwoo's age, too."
A noise of approval came from her mother, further adding, "It'll be good for her to finally have friends."
Finally? Jiwoo couldn't help but huff. I have plenty of friends here, she thought to herself, though she couldn't confidently name them aloud. Maybe back at the old house, entangled amidst the city skylines and subways, she'd be more solid. But that was years ago, and she was sure her memories of what she used to know, brought up with, have begun to fade. Bittersweet, but as her parents had said time and time again, "there's no point in remembering that old place."
She failed to take their advice often.
It was better there, really, and Jiwoo couldn't help but yearn to be back where she truly considered home. This place was simply walls with an overhead covering. Dull, it was. It lacked the warmth and comfort and familiarity of her old city home where everything was better. Things were better there; it was all so much simpler, straight forward.
And, for what a fourteen-year-old could conclude, she'd like to believe it shaped a big part of the barely-teen she was now—a little naive, quiet, dress style that her parents batted an eye at more times than she could count.
Would having a friend really make that much of a difference? The quiet was something Jiwoo has managed to adapt to by now. It came naturally with how she barely managed to integrate into the new school, keeping almost entirely to herself then, and subsequently, now. Easier, really. And regardless, it was nice to be left to her own devices sometimes (even if that happened to be all the time).
The conversation in the living room lulled to quiet and Jiwoo scurried back off to bed. The last thing she remembered before drifting off into sleep was to not get her hopes up about the new girl.
—
It was only after her sixteenth birthday that she'd properly define Yoona as her friend.
It was slow. They danced around each other for close to a year—even when they found themselves pushed together by guardian figures to "go play" whilst they "had adult conversations" at half-assed lavish parties—but eventually bloomed into something quiet, theirs. Yoona didn't talk much. Jiwoo filled whatever gaps she could. It became the norm. They didn't need a lot to keep things going between them.
After all, they only had each other in this damn place.
A place where, regardless of how much Yoona did help to ease the boredom of it all, Jiwoo loathed in its entirety. Her opinions haven't changed much: it still sucked. Utterly. And frankly, Jiwoo finds herself almost counting the years and months down until she could free herself from this abysmal countryside town.
Yoona herself was… Jiwoo wasn't quite sure how to pin-point Yoona. Sure, there were the obvious things, like how she was a year older or that she was taller than Jiwoo, but there's more to her than just physical attributes. She was well-spoken, and carried herself like the world was on the verge of collapsing around her if she didn't keep up appearances. Oddly mechanical, were Jiwoo's initial thoughts. Every move precise; every interaction meticulously planned out in advance like it were life and death. And yet, somehow, they managed to get on perfectly despite their differences.
Jiwoo didn't see a point in keeping up idealistic appearances. She'll act how she wants, dress how she wants. No one around her, despite her parents best efforts, could change those things about her. It's what she was best at: living to be who she wanted to be. At least tried to be with the limitations at hand. Conformity was a current she was constantly pushing against, even when she would find herself battling for air from being pulled under.
Yoona was a change of pace. Having no one else to compare Yoona to and being only familiar with her own strides, the presence of a contrasting figure was enough to challenge Jiwoo's own convoluted thoughts. Nice. It was nice.
Much to Jiwoo's own surprise, she found herself more magnetized to Yoona than she thought she would.
This summer was different from the others: she was finally allowed out later. Strict curfews became looser, phone calls regarding location became infrequent. Jiwoo thought this was what freedom finally felt like. Or, as close to it when you're surrounded by what feels like never-ending greenery. But this was only a small snippet of freedom. There were still plenty of restrictions; her parents would argue as much.
She found herself staying around Yoona's house often. It was nicer than her own, for one, and it provided temporary distraction from whatever pointed comments her parents decided to jab at her that day. And with how they had been getting along recently—voices threatening to raise, tears welling up around the corners of eyes—it was no surprise Jiwoo found herself in for another night at Yoona's rather than her own.
Even during the evenings, the heat continued to barrel on, almost rendering Yoona's cheap fan useless against the never-ending temperature. Jiwoo lied on her make-shift bed—a mess of whatever blankets and pillows Yoona could nab from her parents—and groaned about the heat, mumbling, "I'd kill for something cold right now."
"We could go out," said Yoona from above her. It made Jiwoo sit up, craning her neck to see how Yoona sat by her headboard, a book placed in her lap. "It's still early."
Jiwoo let out a faux whine. "Is it even worth it?"
Instead of responding normally, Yoona crawled over to the edge of the bed. "Why not?"
She's close. Way closer than either of them had ever been in proximity to one another before. Jiwoo's throat runs dry. Yoona's arms held her up from the bed, face leaned way too close into Jiwoo's personal space. They're close enough that Jiwoo felt Yoona's exhale from her nose, completely unfazed. Something about Yoona being this close was overwhelming, senses overridden by any and all forms of Yoona her body could pick up on.
This wasn't like the Yoona she was familiar with—this was impulse. Planned, but an outcome uncounted for. Of what to make of that Jiwoo wasn't sure.
"So?" asked Yoona, awaiting Jiwoo's response casually.
"I guess it isn't that late," is all Jiwoo could murmur, feeling how heat had flushed over the skin of her cheeks. She pulled back as soon as she could, stumbling to her feet to find wherever she had thrown her hoodie.
If Yoona noticed the blush, she didn't comment. She simply followed suit with getting ready, mumbling about a certain ice cream she'd like to buy.
Looking back, maybe it was now—sixteen, the weight of the world slowly falling into her hands—that Jiwoo would argue her feelings for Yoona started. It was a sluggish thing; the realization. For weeks, she had no idea what that silly feeling in her chest was whenever Yoona looked at her a certain way, tender and soft. Little things that were never significant turned major, stolen glances became normal, and unbeknownst to herself, Jiwoo couldn't figure out what rabbit hole she had dug herself into.
Weeks turned into months, and by then, and only then, did Jiwoo develop an inclination to what it was.
A crush.
—
At seventeen, she couldn't quite help but notice that something was off.
Not about her parents, not about school—not even about Yoona, surprisingly. At least not this time. No. It was more complex than that. Like she was tipped off her axis every time she found herself looking in the mirror. The world slanted, her face skewered, and she couldn't quite place a finger on why her own reflection felt foreign. Unfamiliar. But gradually, she began to notice it in other places.
What was once just her face extended to her neck, then shoulders, and right down the length of her torso. The most accurate depiction of how she felt would equate to looking in one of those fun-house distortion mirrors. But instead of something fun or wacky being reflected back, it was things Jiwoo's never noticed before, almost highlighted. Why does my jaw look like that, she'd wonder, pulling the skin back on her face to no avail.
It was the most minute details, the most unnoticeable traits to anyone but herself.
At school, it was worse.
Envy. Something her parents had taught her strongly against. "It's sinful," they'd say, despite not being devoted to faith. But where her envy happened to lie would sure be enough for them to search for a saving grace. Where the, albeit few, girls in her grade would gossip and stir whatever relevant drama there was related to the boys, staring with underlying motives, she was staring for other reasons. What if I looked like that, she'd think to herself, brows furrowed as her mind sent her spiraling into a minefield of what-ifs.
Progressively, she'd even entertain the idea of being born a boy jokingly, making shitty jokes to Yoona in the process.
("Do you think I'd look good bald?"
"What—no. Please don't go bald."
Jiwoo grumbled, before getting an idea. "Short hair?" She moved to collect her hair back in a ponytail, bunching it up at the back.
Yoona's eyes swept over her, and she shrugged. "Maybe.")
The jokes were supposed to be just jokes. Simple, humorous one-liners born from her own inconsistent stream of thoughts. But the lines were starting to blur, and she isn't sure whether her 'jokes' are materializing into reality. What would that make her? That wasn't right. It wasn't what she knew. Jealously, maybe. Stupidity, likely.
She wasn't normal. And she wasn't entirely sure what to do with that.
"Do you ever get weird thoughts?" Jiwoo had asked one night. Yoona and herself were in the older's car—something she had gotten a few weeks prior—two towns over, sharing take-out balanced atop of the dash.
"Weird thoughts, as in?" Yoona inquired further, not sparing her attention away from her fries.
"Like wanting to look like someone else?"
This time, Yoona's attention was caught. "I mean, kind of. Yeah. Who do you want to look like?"
Yoona was probably expecting her to say a celebrity, those of a notable variety that come bearing a picture-perfect image. But in truth, it was closer to some Frankenstein-ed version of herself—shorter hair, maybe dyed; wider shoulders, harsher features—that she would want to look like. In her head, it felt right. Comfortable. Yet the idea of being perceived as monstrous alarmed her far more than it should have.
So instead, Jiwoo panicked. "Oh—doesn't matter."
"Why'd you ask?" Yoona's tone wasn't accusatory like her parents, just waiting for her to make the tiniest slip-up, but rather, just curious. It was much nicer than what she's used to.
Maybe there was room to be vulnerable. "No—I just… My hair bothers me," Jiwoo confessed, almost hoping Yoona wouldn't hear her.
Unsurprisingly, she did. "Your hair looks fine. What's wrong with it?"
A lot of things, Jiwoo would like to say. Though she had a feeling Yoona wouldn't be able to understand. They're different, always have been, but this goes beyond just basic differences. She doubted Yoona found herself gravitating towards the idea of stealing something from her father's closet, or eyeing up the local barber shop in the hope that, one day, she too would resemble their display pictures.
And that was fine, really. Yoona was her own person and likely didn't suffer with the same grievances she did. But it made trying to convey her reasoning all the lot harder than it needed to be.
Jiwoo settled on something easier. "It's annoying." Not a lie, but doesn't manage to parse the full truth either.
"You should cut it," answered Yoona, like it was obvious. She paused. "It would suit you."
Something about the way she said it made Jiwoo feel unsure. Would she suit it? And also, would people be okay with it? It wasn't exactly an uncommon thing—but here, where rumors and questionable narratives spread faster than wildfire, Jiwoo couldn't help but worry. She wouldn't dare to bear thought to what her parents might say.
And there was something about that which weighed heavily in Jiwoo's chest. Was it really worth it to face the double-edged sword that would bear her autonomous freedom she was so desperate for, while nurturing the brewing hatred that would inevitably come from her parents? Everything about it was too much to comprehend. At least not here, inside Yoona's car of all places.
So, she sighed. "Maybe in the future."
It wasn't a promise, but she wished it was.
—
Jiwoo was eighteen when she had her first kiss.
The memory of it all was one that, to this day, managed to remain uncomfortably persistent. Out of everything, everything from her teenage years, this was the one thing that she still found herself crawling back to in random daydreams and wandering thoughts.
The stupid kiss with Yoona.
Yoona was moving soon. The first between them to be free of the place they had finally grown comfortable with. In the months building up to then, they had been doing everything they could together—more than they already do, which was saying a lot. Jiwoo found herself rarely around home. Not like she wanted to be there much, anyway—her parents had gotten worse, for whatever reason. It wasn't something she could pin-point with how they always managed to find something new to ridicule her about.
And for what Yoona was about to do, Jiwoo knew that whatever thread that kept their already rough relationship together was about to snap.
They were inside Yoona's bathroom. Jiwoo sat on top of a stool, knee bouncing rapidly on the foot rest as she fully contemplated the gravity of the situation she was in.
Yoona wanted to cut her hair.
Now: Yoona wasn't dumb. Far from it. Nor was she completely oblivious, like Jiwoo had thought. And maybe Jiwoo was a tiny bit naive for thinking that she could keep all of her…issues completely under the radar. She tried to hide it to the best of her abilities, but she's unintentionally reckless, and tripped over her own feet more times than she'd like to count. Perhaps the bald jokes were a giveaway.
To say that agreeing to this was only to cut her hair would be a lie. Jiwoo didn't want Yoona to move. It made sense why Yoona would; with her gap year finished and college on the horizon, it was inevitable. Yet Jiwoo worried she'll never see her again. So if another last ditch effort to spend time with Yoona was getting her hair trimmed off and likely severing whatever semi-neutral connection she had with her parents, so be it.
"Are you sure I should do this?" asked Jiwoo absentmindedly. She caught Yoona's gaze through the mirror, eyes trained on the scissors she wielded in her hands.
"It's bothering you, no?" questioned Yoona, one of her hands taking a hold of Jiwoo's shoulder.
"Yes, but—"
"So we're doing it."
Yoona said it like it was easy. Like this should have just been clear to Jiwoo months ago. But it was harder than that—there were a lot of complications. It was something Yoona couldn't fully understand. "It's just a haircut," she had said earlier, confused as to why Jiwoo had made such a fuss about it. Because it was more than that; it came with consequences.
And it too came with, to a certain extent, freedom.
"My parents will be mad," said Jiwoo, matter-of-factly, bottom lip worried between her teeth.
"It'll grow back."
Jiwoo dug her palms into her eyes. "It's not that easy."
The clatter of scissors against the sink startled Jiwoo. Without much warning, Yoona slung both of her arms around Jiwoo's shoulders. Her chin landed by the crook of her neck. Jiwoo bit back the startled noise attempting to escape her throat.
"What are you?" questioned Yoona, tightening her grip around Jiwoo's shoulder.
Jiwoo felt the blood drain out of her face. No, she thought, not here. "I—what?"
"Do you want to be a guy?" Yoona rephrased, this time with a bluntness that was enough to knock her front teeth out.
It hit Jiwoo: What does it mean to be a guy? What does that hold? In theory, it should feel right. That was why she was like this: she wanted to be a guy. But as much as the realization should be a no-brainer, something doesn't feel right. There's no doubt in her mind that she did want her hair to be shorter, and she did want to dress more masculine, and she didn't want to be perceived as some feminine figure—yet the idea of being called a male felt…off.
So—what did that make her? She wasn't entirely sure. And she was worried she never will.
"Not quite," answered Jiwoo, timid, "but being a girl is…" she trailed off, the feeling of bile in her throat biting back the rest of her words.
"Awkward?" Yoona filled in. It wasn't an exact match to what she was feeling, but it worked—for now. She didn't have it in her to go into the full complexity of it all.
"Yeah." Jiwoo breathed out. It was the first time she had admitted it aloud. "Awkward."
A hum of acknowledgement came from Yoona. She stands from where she was leaning, and Jiwoo can't help but miss the warmth of having Yoona that close to her. The scissors are back in her hands, her phone is propped by the sink with a reference image on screen.
"Ready?" asked Yoona, brushing past their conversation just moments prior.
All Jiwoo could do was give a hesitant nod.
It was quiet among the two of them. Yoona worked carefully through what was essentially balding him, trimming through sections of hair and ensuring everything is even. Jiwoo was surprised she was capable of doing any of this in the first place. By the time she was done, the floor was littered with hair and some of it itched down Jiwoo's back. But, it was shorter. Way shorter than Jiwoo was expecting.
"How is it?" Yoona pushed a hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly.
Jiwoo didn't respond. She couldn't respond—she's starstruck by her own reflection. By no means was it a professional haircut—it was Yoona bearing the scissors here—but it was enough that something snapped into place inside of her consciousness. That, yes, this is what she wanted to look like. This is what she wanted to be.
"Great. I like it a lot," Jiwoo beamed. She copied Yoona, messily threading both of her hands through her hair, loose strays fall in the process.
"It looks good," said Yoona, sounding overconfident in her hair cutting abilities. Jiwoo found herself wanting to clap back at Yoona's smugness, but before she could, Yoona mumbled, "You look good." The words sound like they were never supposed to be spoken aloud. Jiwoo caught Yoona's eyes going wide in the mirror. She turns, looking up at her expectantly.
There was something about the way Yoona looked down at her; she wanted something. Jiwoo couldn't help but feel small from her gaze above.
Jiwoo swallowed, barely managing to ask, "Is there something wrong—"
But her sentence never finished as Yoona leaned down, her hand found Jiwoo's jaw and pulled her gently into a kiss. It took Jiwoo completely by surprise, not expecting Yoona to one, kiss her generally, or two, be the one to initiate it—not Jiwoo. The kiss lasts longer than either of them expect could have anticipated, Yoona being the one to pull back.
Jiwoo was, for lack of a better term, fucking gobsmacked. Her lips remained parted, eyes boring a hole straight into Yoona's own. But Yoona's line of sight remained elsewhere, refusing to look down at her. Jiwoo watched how she stared off into the window behind them, not failing to miss the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
She can't believe it—Yoona kissed her.
"Want to go get ice cream?" asked Yoona, abruptly. She didn't give time for Jiwoo to answer, already starting to clean up some of the hair scattered around the floor with her shoe. She expected Yoona to address it, even at least acknowledge it. It would be too much not to.
But she didn't. Frankly, Yoona refused to look at her at all.
The adrenaline and dopamine that once filled Jiwoo's chest fizzled out, leaving a grim puncture to where Yoona had just shattered something. "Yeah"—she coughed in her sleeve—"Yeah, let's—let's do that."
—
At twenty, Jiwoo is, well, no longer Jiwoo.
It's been weird. Two years isn't a long time, but to Jiwoo—now formally Jiwook—it feels like he's lived several lives in the time span. The name, primarily, being the main driving force of the weird feeling he's been having recently.
Names are, obviously, an important asset to a person. It brings autonomy, identification of an individual. It's how you differentiate yourself from others and keep track of those around you. It's personal. Names are, inherently, personal. And when you find yourself in a position where you can't help but want to change your name—something so rooted in your own identity—it can't help but be a little daunting.
The change from Jiwoo to Jiwook isn't a lot. It's a singular character. A change in pronunciation. You might miss it if you glance too quickly. But it means something; it holds a different, more personal origin. It's the start of something new. He's had the name in the back of his mind for over a year now, but only put it into practice after moving. Being back in the city after years of disappearance means he's nobody to anyone.
He's simply Jiwook, and nothing less.
The move back to the city was bliss, away from that godforsaken hellhole that he was subjected to for years. Instead, he's here: inside of Yoona's apartment, words he knows he'll never let slip sitting on the tip of his tongue
Much to his own misfortune, the crush never really went away. He thought that, with the change of identity, of presentation, he'd be released from his undeniable attraction to his best friend. But apparently not. Because it's never really that simple. Sexuality is a fickle thing. Mix in gender identity and it's an even more mind-numbing whirlpool of things to understand.
As the evening slips further away, the ceiling fan in Yoona's bedroom spins in earnest. Jiwook's eyes lazily trace the rotations, feeling ready doze off directly on top of Yoona's sheets. But he should've gone home an hour ago; he's got work the following morning and Yoona's already gotten herself washed up.
"You can stay if you want," she announces, as if reading his mind. He sits up enough to look at Yoona across the room. "I don't mind," she further adds.
And in truth, he would really, really like to stay. Everything since moving back into the city is oddly reminiscent of how they used to be as teenagers. It was easier then. Jiwook's apartment isn't great, his roommates are worse. Yoona's place provides the solitude and comfort and safety of actually staying somewhere nice.
"I should probably get going anyway." But he doesn't let himself settle too deep into the feeling of comfort. It's dangerous, he knows. Dangerous, in the sense that he might trick himself into doing something stupid, uncalculated. He can't do that to himself. Yoona is still one of the only people he has left.
He rises from the mattress, stretching in the process. He ignores how he feels Yoona's eyes on him, smoothing out his shirt and grabbing his phone from the nightstand. It's raining out and he doesn't have a hood. Whatever. The walk isn't that far.
"Want me to drive?" offers Yoona, already half-way off her chair and turning away from her desk.
He waves her off. "It's fine." Jiwook finds himself half-way out of Yoona's bedroom before she calls out to him.
"Jiwook." Her voice edges on urgency. He jerks to a stop, pivots on his heel to look at her without thinking. It's things like this that get to him—she gets to him. He's been used to hearing people call him Jiwook for months now, yet there's something about the way Yoona says it, almost sweeter, working to put back together the puncture she once ripped open, that makes him want to dive head first into that dangerous pit of his own yearning.
She continues. "You still okay for dinner tomorrow?"
He only nods. It's enough of an answer to suffice for Yoona.
And that's all there is to it. He makes his way out, calling out a quiet bye to Yoona from down the hallway. By the time he's home, he's soaked, and his roommates still haven't done their dishes from two days ago. Frustrating, yes, but he'd rather deal with this than let himself fester in the feeling of what having Yoona could feel like.
One day, things will fade out, and he'll finally be able to get a grip of himself.
—
Eight months. That's how long it takes for Jiwook to get his shit together.
He's moved out again. This time, with much better roommates. This part of the city is further from Yoona's than he would've liked, but he couldn't argue against the offer of having competent roommates with cheap rent. Oh—and he's now blond, too.
Going to college was never in the cards for him as much as he wanted to. The strict no-contact rule he set for himself from his parents has yet to be broken. As much as this is ideal for his own sake, the difficulty of trying to balance everything alone with no real backing support is a lot.
But he's curated his life to what he wants—or at least tries—it to be. He works a semi-enjoyable job, he's managed to collect a (small) circle of friends, and he's managed to keep Yoona in his life the whole time despite the ups and downs he's been through. It's good. Everything, for the most part, is good.
(It could be better, of course—he could be dating Yoona, but he'll continue to push that feeling down until it either subsides, or overtakes him completely. He's hoping it'll be the former.)
The morning is dull and the pounding in his head is duller. He's almost sure the cereal he's eating has gone out of date and Kyujin wont stop staring at him from the other side of the kitchen. Why she's awake so early on a Tuesday of all days is unknown to him, but something about the way she watches gives him the incentive that she's going to instigate something. She's been doing that a lot lately. He is yet to figure out why.
"When are you going to tell that friend of yours you like her?"
Jiwook chokes on his cereal, startled by his roommate's directness. So this is why she was staring: she was observing him. He would have preferred a much nicer morning greeting.
He clears his throat. "I have no idea what you are talking about."
"Oh my God"—she moves to sit across the table from him—"what's her name, again—Yoona?"
Kyujin is a good roommate. Mostly. She makes up one of three people living in the apartment, she happens to also be his co-worker, and she's been paying far too much attention to who she calls 'the mysterious pretty woman' that comes into work to see him sometimes.
"What about her?" he questions, feigning his own innocence.
"You're starting to piss me off with how useless you are."
"Wh—Wow. Thanks."
She rolls her eyes. "I'm serious. The way you stare at her whenever she comes into work is sickening."
"That—is not true," he flubs on his own words, embarrassment pouring out of him. "We are just good friends."
"Oh, I'm sure," Kyujin deadpans. He kicks her shin from under the table, eliciting a small groan from the latter. She continues anyway. "What is stopping you, exactly? Is she…y'know?"
It doesn't take much to understand what Kyujin means by 'y'know', the hesitation making it apparent. Yoona is a private person. Beyond the conversation he had at eighteen with her of his 'coming out', they've never mentioned anything related between them afterwards. It was never relevant to Jiwook's knowledge. And knowing Yoona's sexuality is probably none of his business, anyway.
"No idea."
She pulls a face of surprise, completely drawn back at how he somehow doesn't know this. "How do you not know? Have you not talked about this before?"
They haven't. "No."
Kyujin squints, almost desperate to figure this out. "But she knows you're trans."
"Yes."
"So in theory—"
Jiwook does not want to have this realization this early in the morning. Because, in a way, Kyujin does have a point. In theory, Yoona could still like him back—but the caveat of him not being a guy-guy makes everything a lot harder to understand. He's not even sure if Yoona's grasped the concept fully (he also barely has, but he's working on it).
He interrupts her before she can finish. "It's—I don't think it works like that."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't think she's gay?" He's not even sure if what he's saying makes sense in this context. Would it make her inherently queer to be dating him? Or does it make her straight? Trying to break all of it down threatens the pounding in his skull to worsen.
"You think, or you know?" The smugness on Kyujin's face makes Jiwook want to kick her again.
He gets up to discard his cereal bowl, sighing. "Are you done?"
"Not really. But here's a suggestion, maybe: ask her."
He hums out something that sounds like acknowledgement, not having the willpower to deal with Kyujin's pressing matters. Though he can't help but wonder what a conversation between Yoona and himself would look like if he were to ask her. And, now that he thinks of it, he can't exactly recall Yoona dating anyone in recent years—or even, bringing up liking someone. As much as it would have probably bothered him, if Yoona did show interest to someone in the past it would make his life considerably easier.
But instead, his roommate, of all people, is the one to point out his incompetence and the seemingly gaping hole in their friendship.
Texting Yoona to hangout later isn't a terrible idea, he thinks.
—
This was not how Jiwook expected his night to go. If anything, this is the opposite of what he wanted to happen.
Instead of Yoona and himself doing the usual—going to her place because she doesn't live with anyone—they're in his apartment. Receiving the text earlier that evening saying they couldn't go to hers because she had relatives over and then further asking if she can go to his instead made him want to evaporate on the spot. But it's fine. Totally cool.
Or, it would have been fine, if his roommates weren't trying to make his life a living hell.
One way or another, Kyujin had managed to coax the both of them out of Jiwook's bedroom and into the living room. Their other roommate, Haewon, had little to no knowledge of who Yoona was, but seemed to just go along with whatever Kyujin was doing. He wouldn't be surprised if Kyujin has already filled Haewon in with Yoona and his entire history. To whether Haewon actually cares is something he's more curious about.
For what it's worth, Yoona at least seems to get along with them. That was one of his main worries about her coming over. And thankfully, Kyujin has yet to say anything weird.
"Yoona," Kyujin starts, and Jiwook is already bracing himself for whatever she goes to say next, "are you seeing anyone?"
There it is, he mentally mopes. The question catches both Yoona and himself by surprise. Yoona's eyes go wide and she fumbles with her phone in her lap, eyes flickering between Kyujin and Jiwook.
Jiwook wonders whether he's gotten a case of whiplash with how fast he snapped his head around towards her. "Kyujin—" but he doesn't get very far with his scolding before Kyujin interrupts him.
She throws her arms up in defense. "What? Can't I be a little curious?"
Yoona clears her through, and everyone turns to look at her. "Not currently, no."
"Any before?" Kyujin questions further, and Jiwook feels about ready to rip her head off.
"Couldn't say I have, no."
Kyujin hums. Jiwook is unsure whether she's actually pleased with Yoona's answer or not, but the fact she doesn't continue to push further is somewhat of a relief. They go back to how they were, everyone's attention diverted back to the show playing on the T.V.
Jiwook's attention, however, remains on the warmth of Yoona pressed into his side on the couch. It's not often they're like this—but currently, they don't really have a choice. Haewon had already the armchair at the other side of the living room and Kyujin—intentionally or not Jiwook isn't sure—had sat herself down on the far side of their coach. Which left Yoona to sit in the middle and Jiwook slipping in beside her.
It wouldn't be that big of a deal if Yoona wasn't essentially curled into his side. Jiwook tries to not let it get to his head. It does, and he can't help but, for a moment, let himself enjoy the feeling. His mind betrays him more often than he'd like, leading him astray to thoughts that border on delusion and false hopes. This doesn't mean anything, he tries to reassure himself, but his weak affirmations struggle to hold against the weight of a four-year crush.
Yoona's phone buzzes awake, a caller who Jiwook assumes to be her relative lighting up the screen. "I'll be just a minute," says Yoona, untangling herself from Jiwook's side and walking elsewhere in the apartment to take the call.
Jiwook ignores the smug glare Kyujin shoots in his direction after she walks away.
—
A person's living space tends to reflect them as a person. In Jiwook's eyes, this applies to Yoona perfectly.
There's something about the place that draws Jiwook in. Curls around and wraps him in a sense of security he can't find anywhere else other than under the covers of his own sheets. It's a lived-in place; Yoona's been here ever since the day she formally moved away (though Jiwook tries to not think about that day often). Traces of identity and specks of memorabilia are scattered around the apartment, all holding sentiment to Yoona one way or another. Some things Jiwook knows the history of, others continue to remain completely foreign, just a pleasant visual to his eyes. Yoona prides herself on how she keeps her apartment. Jiwook wishes he could say the same about his own.
His own apartment—more so bedroom—lacks the same depth Yoona's does. Devoid of a proper sense of belonging and baron. As a teenager, his bedroom was much livelier, merchandise of interests and posters alike co-existed in the small attic bedroom he had to himself. His room now feels more like a lived-in hotel room more than anything. In his defense, he argues that he only moved in recently and that he has yet to 'decorate' the place.
("If I didn't know any better, I'd assume the last person who lived here died," Haewon deadpanned.
Jiwook looked up from his laptop to see her standing by the doorframe, steam curling from the mug held in her hands. He rolled his eyes. "Haewon—"
"Just stating what I see." She walked away before Jiwook could question further what she meant.)
"Sorry about leaving early yesterday," Yoona apologizes, toeing off her shoes by the door. "Sister nearly burned my kitchen down."
Jiwook lets out a weak snort, shrugging his outer jacket off his shoulders. "Kyujin was getting on my nerves, anyway."
Yoona shoots him an amused glance, asking, "Is she always like that?
"Most of the time."
They move around each other wordlessly after that. They've done this so many times before anything different would probably feel unnatural. He's not entirely sure when they even established this standard between them. It's one of those things that happened naturally and that neither party directly addresses, just falling into it with a level of acceptance. Jiwook plops himself down on the coach and Yoona temporarily disappears to her bedroom to drop off her bags. Nothing is out of the ordinary. He's about to rest his legs on Yoona's coffee table until something catches his eye. Something that is not ordinary.
A photo frame. Even from where he sits, he can tell it looks old. An old metallic thing, surface dulled from what he could only assume to be years of handling. It's probably either something thrift-ed or some kind of family heirloom, for whatever reason.
"Oh. That," Yoona says flatly as she enters the room. The couch dips as she sits next to him, taking the frame into her hands. "My sister brought it up for me. Still don't really know why my parents wanted me to have it."
Jiwook turns, getting a slightly better look at the frame. Yoona holds it in her hands like it means nothing—it could be a paperweight, for all she seems to care. "Is it special, or something?"
"No idea." Yoona shrugs, placing it back onto the table. "It's something from their house, at least."
That house. He associates it with all of the semi-positive memories that he has of that town. But it's a love-hate relationship, pulling and pushing on the idea that it should have been his home, that anything else would have been less. He holds it closer to himself; the only incentive he'll ever bargain with to head back to that town. It's probably the only thing he'd say he misses.
Yoona straightens her posture, turns to fully look at him and asks, "You haven't been back there in years, right?"
"Two," he corrects her, "but yeah." He tries not to like resentment slip through his words, stating it as simply fact.
"Sometimes I miss it. " She pauses. "Mm—Maybe not the town, but at least what we used to do."
"We didn't do that much."
Yoona reaches out for the T.V. remote. "I mean like, just doing stuff together out there."
Something Jiwook's chest threatens to tighten. Yoona having such fondness over a time period that he constantly tries to drown out, push down until the bubbles stop surfacing, makes him feel ill. But he can't really blame Yoona for her way of thinking. Her happier memories consisting of the moments spent with him almost balance out said ill feeling. Almost. But it's not really that simple, especially since he's almost certain that, between them, they have entirely different views of each other in the time period.
The remote in Yoona's hand is suddenly placed back down on the table, her attention suddenly elsewhere. "You know how Kyujin asked me whether I'm seeing anyone?" she asks instead.
"Mm-hm?"
"You've never told me if you ever have."
—
For a summer evening, it was surprisingly cold.
It wasn't actually, but the cold shoulder Yoona had been subtly giving her since they had started walking ran an iciness through her veins. Or maybe it was the breeze. Jiwoo couldn't tell.
She knew Yoona could be quiet—but not this quiet. There was something more to it, Jiwoo could tell, from how she carried herself lightly, as if wanting to slip away and disappear from being in her presence. Frankly, Jiwoo didn't get it; for being someone so composed, careful about intentions, an abrupt kiss with no real warning—that she initiated—was nothing like Yoona. How did a stupid haircut, of all things, manage to break through the walls that Yoona had so cautiously set up?
The air between them was suffocating. They still had a relatively far walk to go until they reached the store, and Jiwoo didn't know how she'd manage to muster the courage for the rest of the journey. If it were literally any other day or situation, Jiwoo would usually mindlessly air out any thoughts she had regardless of whether Yoona was actually aware of what she was talking about or not. Just how things usually were. But this was not how things usually were—this was something Jiwoo had no idea how to navigate.
"Do you plan to move away?" Yoona blurted out randomly. Jiwoo looked over, expecting Yoona to be looking back at her, but she isn't; her gaze looked ahead, almost forcefully, like she couldn't bare the idea of facing Jiwoo with such a question.
"Probably—when I can." Jiwoo didn't add how she wasn't confident when that would be, if that would be.
"If you do," Yoona started, and Jiwoo barely caught the wobble in her voice, "keep in touch. Please."
Please. The word ricocheted around her thick skull, causing collateral damage as it did. There's something about the way she said, practically pleading, that, for a moment, made Jiwoo want to bring up what happened earlier. If she was so eager to keep in touch, why let the thing that was tearing Jiwoo apart to remain unanswered between them.
Oh—whatever. Fuck it.
"Why did you k—"
A droplet of rain. It hit the back of her neck, somewhere she wouldn't have normally felt rain before. But what was a singular droplet quickly multiplied into a shower, and soon after, a whole downpour. After one panicked sprint to the store, they spent the rest of the evening camping out inside of the place.
Jiwoo didn't bother trying to repeat her question.
—
"You've never told me if you have."
Jiwook runs his hands through his hair, a nervous habit. "I—um, no. I have not." It's embarrassing to admit, but it's true. He's tried, sure—drunken bar encounters and a handful of setups by Kyujin, though unwillingly—but they never manage to settle into something more, something real. There's a hollowness to it all; the only person who's ever came close to filling it is Yoona.
Yoona's expression blows in disbelief. "Really?"
"Mm," he sounds out with a nod. "Just, not something I'm concerned with, I guess."
"Why?"
The question feels reminiscent of past conversations he's had with Kyujin. When answering with her, dancing around the actual answer is what his usual go-to tends to be. Yet while these answers do remain true to an extent, he never elaborates further on what's holding him back; Kyujin doesn't need to know how he's helplessly holding back in the hopes that Yoona will come to him first, set things straight whether that be a yes or a no.
But for Yoona, his answer will still fall in line with something he'd tell Kyujin: "It's easier not to."
His answer seems to displease Yoona, the frown now developed on her face being proof of that, but she doesn't press further. She gets back to turning on the TV, flicking on whatever show they were last watching.
As much as he tries to pay attention to the screen across the room, he can't help but let his focus drift, eyes wandering towards Yoona's direction as he thinks: Is this how it's always going to be? Surely he can't keep this up forever, living in a false sense of confidence that Yoona might approach him first. It's only a matter of time until she inevitably finds someone.
He can't keep this up anymore. And unlike before, there's nothing whatsoever that can interrupt him.
"Why did you kiss me after cutting my hair two years ago?" Jiwook doesn't offer a prerequisite to the question, simply asking it as directly as he can.
It definitely works with how Yoona can only sputter for an answer, turning her head in the opposite direction for a moment.
"I…sort of hoped you'd forget about that," Yoona finally admits, shuffling how she sits to face him.
"What—Why?"
She sighs, defeated. "I overstepped—and it didn't mean anything at the time."
Another retort is ready to roll off his tongue, but he stops right as he digests her words properly. At the time. If that didn't mean anything then, would that mean anything now?
"At the time?" Jiwook echoes back, heart feeling ready to lurch straight out of his chest. He takes a second to collect himself, asking, "What does that mean now?"
Yoona looks straight at him, cheeks dusted a light pink and a gentle smile on her face. "I wouldn't mind it again."
—
For having such a brooding hatred of summer as a teenager, it comes to Jiwook now as something that he can't help but look forward to. It's nicer now compared to then, obviously—he isn't confined to the restrictions of being a teenager, he's in the city, and most importantly, he's with Yoona now. A very important detail, he might add.
What hasn't changed since moving however, is the heat. It still continues to claw at his skin, make him want to tear off his top layer of skin in a half-ditched attempt to relieve the blaze. At least Yoona—more like he—invested in a new fan for them. Much better than that old thing Yoona used to own.
The apartment is all much the same from how it was when it was just Yoona living here—same layout, same furniture, same sense of serenity Jiwook used to associate with the place. But maybe it's a little different now, pieces of himself scattered around through various decorations or the fact Yoona and himself both share the same bedroom.
From where he lays on the couch now, forearm slung over his eyes and fan pointed accordingly in his direction, he hears Yoona padding into the room, setting something down onto the coffee table nearby.
He sits up, eyes straining as they adjust to the light in the room. By the time they do adjust, he realizes what Yoona had placed down: the same old photo-frame her parents had given her awhile back, but instead of being empty, it's got two Polaroids of both of them shoved poorly into the opening.
"Didn't think you'd keep that," he says, eyeing Yoona as she sits next to him.
"Found it while cleaning," she answers plainly. "It's cute, isn't it?"
And maybe it's now that, through years of change, of negligence of feelings, that he's finally where he wants to be—and with who he wants to be with. The Polaroids stare back at him, two photos of them together while out for New Years, with a feeling he's sure that he wants to hold onto forever.
"Yeah, it is."