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In all her twenty years of living, Jiwoo would be hard-pressed to recall a topic that has made her want to pull her hair out quite as much as this one.
“Unnie, I got another letter,” Kyujin says as she slips into her chair. There's a lilt to her tone that makes Jiwoo pause in her seat, unsure of what it could mean. The answer writes itself in the way she sets her bag on the desk a little haphazardly and apologizes with a slight movement of her wrist.
Jiwoo very rarely sees Kyujin distracted, and she takes a moment to wonder if she should feel happy or guilty about indirectly (or directly) being the cause of it this time around.
Quietly, she chooses to be none-the-wiser and tilts her head away to hide the smile blossoming on her face.
“Ohhh,” Jiwoo drawls, raising a hand to her mouth to pick at the skin on her lips. “How many does that make?”
Kyujin shrugs. “I think this is like, the tenth one. They said they like that I have a tendency to yell when I'm having a good time.” While a hint of frustration comes with her words, Kyujin breathes out a laugh that ultimately makes Jiwoo decide that this is the best day she's ever had in her life. “What kind of compliment is that? They've gone past the ‘you’re so pretty and charming, I like you’ stage and just went on to complete nonsense.”
Jiwoo opens her mouth to defend the arguably decent compliment, but Kyujin cuts her off. “Well, considering how many letters they've given me, I guess it makes sense that they've run out of things to say. Right?”
Or maybe they just find a lot of things about Kyujin very pleasing to the eye, as if they’re fond of viewing her through rose-tinted glasses.
Well, at least, that’s what Haewon told her when she caught her scribbling on her notebook last night.
Jiwoo frowns as she adjusts the font size of the essay she needs to submit before the day ends, all while listening to Kyujin’s idle chatter. The urge to refute the other girl's words is strong and very, very tempting, but she presses her lips together, willing her mouth to stay shut—as it should.
Suddenly, Jiwoo feels a breath next to her ear, and her hand freezes mid-click.
“Do you have any idea who it could be?” Kyujin whispers, her voice just a step too close to the one Jiwoo desperately tries to shove into the depths of her mind. “I thought it was Gyehoon-oppa, but when I tried to nudge something out of him and joked that he likes me a little too much, he made a face and said he wasn't into kids. Kids. I'm not even one! I'm already nineteen!” Kyujin whines, pursing her lips as she spins in her chair.
It’s not fair, Jiwoo thinks as she resumes typing on her keyboard.
It’s not fair that her eyes remind Jiwoo of the stray cat she regularly visited as a child, or that her skin always looks like an ancient piece of jade meticulously maintained over the years, or that her lips are as red as the hibiscus flowers that her neighbor carefully tends to everyday–it’s not fair to have her this close and still talking about the possibility of someone else writing her love letters when Jiwoo is right there.
Though, it’s not like she could blame Kyujin for making guesses that range from unlikely to downright ridiculous. She didn't exactly place the letters in Kyujin's locker with the intention of exposing herself.
But still, Jiwoo can't claim that she's the most reasonable person out there either, so while she's happy that the letters she'd painstakingly written in the dead of night occupies this much space in Kyujin's brain, she can't help but feel a little stifled.
Scratching her head, Jiwoo swivels around to face the pouting nineteen-year-old. “He’s twenty-one, you’re nineteen,” she says, unable to keep her exasperation from coating her words, although it isn't exactly the source of her misgivings.
The bark of laughter that slips out of Kyujin’s mouth urges a quick burst of butterflies in Jiwoo's stomach, but she quickly chokes her rising heart rate before it could show on the surface.
“So? That’s just two years.”
Jiwoo can’t stop her eyebrows from furrowing in time, and Kyujin laughs a little more.
“Don’t take it too seriously, unnie. It’s not like I’m actually interested in him. Or anyone, for that matter.” She sticks her tongue out, propping her chin on her palm. “The thing is, no one's ever done something like this for me before, and I just want to find out who it is. I mean, don’t you?”
There’s nothing to find out when Jiwoo could recite those letters like they’re etched on the back of her hand.
Under Kyujin’s expectant gaze, her words crumble before they could reach her throat—as usual.
“Yeah,” Jiwoo says, and when her voice shakes just the tiniest bit, she turns away to face the blinding screen of her monitor. “I do, too.”
When she dares to sneak another glance at Kyujin, the other girl brightens, and Jiwoo swears that the smile on her face makes the fluorescent light look darker in comparison.
“See? You get what I mean!”
Jiwoo nods and turns back to her screen, releasing the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
How could she ever say no to that?
Her incomplete essay stares back at her, as if teasing with a vacant answer, much like the person she had unwittingly fallen in love with.
—---
“You’re such a simp,” Jinsol says flatly in the most idiotic attempt at an Australian accent Jiwoo has ever heard.
Lily giggles, patting Jinsol’s back. “Great job!”
Whether she’s talking about the needlessly frank statement or the accent, Jiwoo doesn’t quite know.
“Well, I haven’t seen you confess,” Jiwoo shoots back, before covering her face in the sheer embarrassment of it all. “I know! You don’t have to say it,” she groans. “It’s just, the words just disappear before I could say them, you know?”
Jinsol makes a face. “You’re such a wimp.” Her words come out in the same godforsaken accent, and Jiwoo responds with a blank stare. Haewon splutters beside her, struggling to keep her coffee in her mouth. Lily tries not to laugh while hiding half of her face behind her fist.
“It’s not my fault,” Jiwoo mumbles through her teeth as she nips at the straw of her empty water bottle.
It really isn't her fault that she fell for someone who just so happens to be Jang Kyujin.
Jang Kyujin, who—by general consensus of the people in their deparment—is the type of person meant to be admired only from afar and never up close. She's a little like a myth in Jiwoo's eyes despite being her childhood friend, with her being stable where Jiwoo had clumsily floundered about. Jang Kyujin has a perfect family, stellar grades, a social circle encompassing pretty much the entire university, and extracurricular activities that have her future set in stone.
Not to mention, the way Kyujin moves and speaks casually holds Jiwoo in a tight grip that serves to keep her securely in one place. Though, she's not really one to complain about it.
Kim Jiwoo has, well, a family, a hit-or-miss record in report cards, a pitiful social circle composed of Kyujin and her boardmates, and a squeaky clean list of achievements.
Blissfully ignoring the last train of thought, Jiwoo rubs the fabric of the sweater Kyujin persistently made her wear in the morning before jogging off to her next class. She feels a slight warmth crawl up to her cheeks.
Maybe she really is a simp.
“Look!” Jinsol cries out, hands gesturing wildly in Jiwoo's direction. “Look at that lovelorn face! Look at that face and tell me that isn't a simp!”
As if under Jinsol's spell, the other two burst into laughter.
“Love - lovelorn,” Lily gasps in between giggles. Haewon pats her back, turning to pull a face at Jiwoo, a cross of emotions toeing the line between touched and mocking.
“I'm - I'm not lovelorn,” Jiwoo stutters, her posture straightening like a bowstring drawn taut. “It's normal to be this way when you like someone!”
Her voice trails off at the exact moment Lily gathers her bearings, and all three of them stare into her soul from the other side of the table.
Jiwoo blinks, and clears her throat. “Right. A couple and someone who has never fallen in love. Got it.”
“Hey! Let's not go there,” Jinsol tuts, leaning closer with narrowed eyes. “The bottom line is that you're in love with someone and you don't have the balls to tell her.”
Jiwoo’s eyes widen in mock offense (and a dash of embarrassment at being caught, but she'd never admit it), and Lily sighs at Jinsol's choice of words.
“I do, too! I write letters,” Jiwoo says, crossing her arms indignantly.
Haewon snorts. “Yeah, letters that came from Gyehoon, apparently.” She pauses for a second to school her expression, only to end up chortling not long after.
“Yeah, yeah, very funny,” Jiwoo mutters, diverting her attention to the mirror beside her and opting to fix her bangs in favor of dealing with her friends’ amusement at her expense.
Courage has never been her strong suit, and while Jiwoo claims to have the nerves to speak her thoughts, she can't exactly guarantee that she’d have the right words to say should the moment carry itself over to her doorstep. Most times, reason would tell Jiwoo to shut the door and keep it bolted until further notice.
Now, however, there's a sense of willfulness bubbling at her core, and a part of her wonders if she could actually take the leap.
An unbidden image of Kyujin holding her hand flashes behind her eyelids when she blinks, and before she realized it, she'd already made a mess of her hair.
She can hear Haewon’s cackle before it arrives.
“Oh my god, look at this dude,” Jinsol grumbles. “Why are you so intent on playing the mysterious secret admirer when you want her this bad? Just make a move! Talk to her! Tell her you've been crushing hard on her for months and you lose sleep just wondering about what to say to her the next day!”
Jiwoo's mouth falls open. “How do you know that!”
It comes out as an exclamation instead of a well-intentioned inquiry, and her face burns when all three of them raise an eyebrow at her, not unlike a fully choreographed scene in a musical.
“Jiwoo, you can just tell her,” Jinsol says, a bit more gently this time. “If it fails, then at least you tried. You can still stay friends. If it succeeds, then I can tell you ‘I told you so’.” She ends her piece with a smug smile and leans back.
Jiwoo rolls her eyes. “You never told me it would go well or anything like that,” she says sullenly.
“I never told you it would go badly, either,” Jinsol replies, shrugging. “That counts as a yes for me.” The stupid faux-Aussie accent makes a comeback, and Jiwoo has half a mind to sew her mouth shut, if only it doesn't look so pretty on her equally pretty face.
“The look on her face says ‘you’re so lucky you have pretty privilege’.” Haewon guffaws some more, and Jiwoo shifts her glare in her direction. “Now it reads ‘you’re all so lucky you have pretty privilege’. Wow, thanks!”
Jiwoo's no longer paying attention by the time Haewon flips her hair over her shoulder, or when Lily absentmindedly nods, in full agreement with Haewon's words.
Against her will, Jinsol's sentiment brews in her chest, silently stoking the fire she'd spent so long trying to put out in fear of being caught in a position too vulnerable for her liking.
Jiwoo's always been patient with herself and her goals, if not a little stubborn. Not quite as patient with the people around her, but she likes to think she can tolerate quite a bit more than others. There's no reason for her to go about her romantic feelings in a different manner. But even someone as stubborn as her can tell that the repeated failure of a singular method could only mean a need to switch strategies.
Maybe the problem is that she doesn't actually know what she wants from Kyujin. Does she want an answer? Does she prefer keeping things as they are, pouring the feelings churning in her chest onto paper without the risk of having all of her bones exposed for the world to see?
She's never thought about it before this, but rather than being unaware, Jiwoo can't shrug off the feeling that she may just have an inclination to dance around the consequences of her actions.
As her friends begin to bicker about an entirely different topic, Jiwoo drifts off into her thoughts and tries to think in the perspective Jinsol has (so graciously) offered.
Thinking back to all the times Kyujin has talked about the letters, Jiwoo figures she doesn't have enough logic in her to predict an outcome. The first time she received one, contrary to what others may expect, Kyujin hadn't shown even a touch of excitement. In place of romantic thrill, Jiwoo had watched her stare at the letter in her hands with a complex look on her face. Kyujin hadn't spoken a word about it in the days following that.
Only after the fifth note did she reach out to Jiwoo to talk about the letters, and consequently, brainstormed all by herself about who it could be or why they did it. Kyujin took to the love letters as easily as fish would to land, and Jiwoo ruminated over her next course of action for a long time. Ultimately, she'd decided to continue and see where it would lead.
Which brings her to this point—a stalemate of sorts that could shift depending on which piece Jiwoo risks to move. It's almost morbidly fascinating how Jiwoo has driven herself into a corner all on her own.
Initially, she'd started writing the letters expecting nothing in return, but the more she hears about Kyujin's thoughts, the more she finds that she just might want something to change.
Change isn't something Jiwoo often finds herself looking forward to, but when it's dangling right in front of her like this, it's a little hard to keep her reason together.
Jiwoo lowers her head into her palms.
Jinsol sure has a knack for convincing people with stupidly phrased arguments.
“Oh, and Haewon's the one who told me about your late-night habits,” Jinsol’s voice cuts into her thoughts.
…And an overdrawn Australian accent, lest Jiwoo forgets.
—-
Jiwoo admits that never has a plan for anything, and often just tosses the reins to whichever deity could take it, praying for things to work the way she wants them to.
This time around, Jiwoo had been determined to ‘make a move’ (as Jinsol had so intelligently put it) for a change, but it seems like whoever took the wheel worked their magic anyway.
“Unnie, can I come over to your place?” Kyujin asks as she plops down on the seat beside Jiwoo. The cafeteria is obnoxiously loud as always, and Kyujin somehow decides that it would be better to lean closer when she speaks instead of talking louder.
Jiwoo flinches (imperceptibly, she hopes), and moves to make more space for Kyujin. “Yeah?” She says, trying to keep her voice steady. “What for?”
The way Kyujin adjusts her position in return and reaches out to fold the cardigan Jiwoo had carelessly abandoned on the seat makes her feel a little tremor in her ribcage. Just a little.
“I just realized I’ve gone to all of my friends’ houses but never yours,” Kyujin says, setting the neatly folded article of clothing in the same spot Jiwoo had originally put it. When she meets Jiwoo’s questioning eyes, there’s a gleam in hers that Jiwoo can’t quite read into. “Why is that?”
In the years they’ve known each other, there are times when Kyujin would ask questions Jiwoo wouldn’t know the answer to, but they’re never the type that makes her scramble for one, and this particular curveball throws her for a loop.
“What? I-I,” Jiwoo stutters, her fork scraping against the plastic material of her plate. “You never asked!”
She’s not sure she would’ve agreed even if Kyujin did ask, but Jiwoo would like to think that that isn’t the point.
Kyujin hums in response, taking a lunchbox out of her bag. She gently lays it on the table with natural ease, and Jiwoo finds herself transfixed for no reason at all. “Really?” Kyujin says with an easy smile, and she looks at Jiwoo for a moment only to continue, “Well, it’s time to change that. I’ll be coming over at 2PM later today. You have free period until, like, 6PM, right?”
Jiwoo inwardly marvels at the novel information that Kyujin keeps track of her schedule and responds distractedly, “Yeah, okay.”
The realization of the consequences her reply would bring hits Jiwoo like a train, but only after Kyujin nods and says, “Got it. 2PM sharp, then.”
Wailing in her head, Jiwoo quietly picks at the hotdog on her plate, and the boiled egg Kyujin offers is completely lost in the shreds of reality she decidedly ignores to retreat into her safe little shell.
Her safe, safe shell that puts forth no semblance of comfort whatsoever at the thought of the hours to come.
“2PM, right?” Jiwoo asks.
Kyujin takes a bite of her salad, nodding. “Mhm.”
“Right.”
Jiwoo checks her phone for the time, and the ridiculously huge 10:42AM returns her gaze, albeit without the same panic she tries to keep at bay.
Getting back to her place after her next class ends at 12 PM would take about ten minutes, Jiwoo thinks. It would take her about ten more to convince her boardmates to shut their traps for the rest of the day, and probably a little over an hour to fix the glorious mess that is her bedroom.
Neat. She has about forty minutes to scream her brains out and make sure she has no brain cells left to fuck up any conversation Kyujin initiates in the three hours they’ll be spending together. In Jiwoo’s room. With her boardmates off to mind their own business.
No big deal.
—--
It is, in fact, a very big deal.
“She’s coming over?” Jinsol asks, her voice an octave higher than usual as she puts on her shoe.
Haewon cheers loudly in the bathroom, probably wrapping up her little half-bath. Meanwhile, Lily gapes at Jiwoo with wonder written all over her face.
“Progress? There’s progress?” Lily exclaims as she watches Jiwoo clamber to fix the wires littered all over the living room, and Jiwoo almost feels guilty for taking minutes off of her precious reading time. “Did you really invite her over?” She asks curiously, peering at Jiwoo from her enviably comfortable spot on the couch.
Jiwoo pauses. “I mean, I was going to do something, but I didn’t have anything like this in mind at all,” she says, groaning as she dramatically lays on the floor. “I can’t do anything this forward! I don’t have the heart for it,” Jiwoo whines and raises an arm, as if to prove a point.
“She doesn’t have the heart nor the balls for it,” Haewon says with a lighthearted bite in her tone as she slips out of the bathroom, in all but a towel wrapped around her.
It’s hilarious how fast Lily snaps her head away from her to stare at Jiwoo’s creative mishmash of wires by her feet. Jiwoo shifts to point at her and laugh at her misery.
“Sorry for thirdwheeling,” Jinsol coos as she stands up to her full height, and Haewon glares at her. “What? I’m the actual thirdwheel here since our precious little Jiwoo is about to have a girlfriend.” She wipes fake tears away. “Mercy for the single dog.”
“It’s because you’re such a useless, hopeless romantic,” Haewon gripes all the way from her room.
Jinsol gasps. “I don’t want to hear that from you!”
Jiwoo sits up and gathers her little pile of wires, ignoring her boardmates’ bickering as she tearfully resigns herself to more cleaning. Why did Kyujin have to be a neat freak? And why did Jiwoo have to nurse a crush big enough to clean just because Kyujin was coming over to hang out at her place? Granted, it’ll be the first time they’ll be getting together in Jiwoo’s humble (and frequently messy) abode, but the extent of her own feelings still comes as a surprise at times.
Her friends bid her goodbye a few moments later, while Jiwoo is hunched over her desk, clearing out all the vials of perfume she’d concocted in her free time. She doesn’t turn to them, only nodding in response.
Jiwoo’s not sure how much time has passed when she plops on her bed, expelling a big sigh that feels like it came straight from the depths of her lungs.
“So much for having time to scream,” she mumbles to herself, closing her eyes, only to see the silly smile Kyujin wears whenever she’s left with enough free time to dance and Jiwoo has enough luck that day to be the sole witness to it.
Even in her tired state, Jiwoo finds that her heart still has enough vigor in it to pump blood faster in her veins.
It’s a little insane, really.
The sound of the doorbell breaks into her reverie, and Jiwoo groans as she pushes herself to stand. The walk to the doorway feels several breaths longer than what she’s used to, and she clumsily tucks both her anxiety and anticipation in the sleeves of her sweater.
Jiwoo opens the door to the biggest smile she’s ever seen on Kyujin’s face.
“Unnie!” The word comes out in a bright burst of energy, and Kyujin casually wraps Jiwoo’s shorter frame in a bear hug, before pulling back to shift into a stupid pose. “Never fear, Kyujin is here!”
Jiwoo rolls her eyes, but she feels her lips stretch into a smile anyway. “Come in, Johnny Bravo.” She steps back to allow Kyujin enough space to walk inside, stretching her arms out theatrically. “Welcome to my humble abode!”
“I have been welcomed!” Kyujin puts her fist up against her chest, in tune with Jiwoo’s dramatic movements. “Woah, you cleaned so much! Good job, Jiwoo-yah!” The same hand that had been pressed on her heart just moments before reaches out to rub Jiwoo’s head into a bird’s nest.
Jiwoo-yah?
Ignoring the furious rhythm of her heartbeat in her ears, Jiwoo swats her hand away. “Don’t do it so harshly! I put some effort on this,” she says, scowling. “And no, I didn’t! It was already clean. Very clean. The cleanest ever.”
It most certainly was not, given the fact that her boardmates consisted of Lily, Jinsol, and Haewon–none of which had a penchant for keeping a living space, well, livable.
Kyujin makes a noise of apprehension as she makes her way to the couch, leaning on it as she meets Jiwoo’s gaze. “Not true. I’ve known you for years, and you always left your stuff everywhere in the classroom in high school. I don’t need to see how you are at home to know you’re not a very neat person,” Kyujin says, shaking her head. “Anyway! You did amazing. Thanks for putting in so much effort, Jiwoo-yah.”
There it is again, that nickname.
Jiwoo huffs. “I’m older than you.”
Kyujin looks up at her with an easy smile. “A year is a lot less than two, Jiwoo-yah.”
“What–” Jiwoo begins, but Kyujin puts a finger to her lips, effectively silencing her voice in lieu of the raging currents in her brain.
“You think too much, unnie,” Kyujin says, allowing the moment to rest a little longer, before pulling back. “Sometimes, you can just do things and not think about them.” She stands back up and hums a tune under her breath, and Jiwoo only has enough sense in her to recognize that Kyujin is headed directly to where her room is, despite never having been here at all.
Jiwoo catches up to her, stuttering, “How did you know which room’s mine?”
Kyujin points at the floor, where a used blotter was lying all alone in the otherwise sparkling clean tiles. “Educated guess,” she says, winking at Jiwoo.
Too many attacks to her frantically beating heart and all within the span of a few minutes, Jiwoo screams internally. She looks down, murmuring her assent, and rubs her cheek with her sleeve.
In the midst of Jiwoo’s panicked silence, Kyujin resumes the melody she’d stopped humming a while ago, opening the door to Jiwoo’s room. Her feet glide over the carpet with quiet ease, almost as if she’s in her own room instead of Jiwoo’s.
“So,” Kyujin starts, looking around as she sets her bag on the floor and takes a seat on the edge of Jiwoo’s bed. “You still make perfumes, huh?”
Jiwoo nods, moving to sit beside her. “Yeah. Sorry, I tried to clean all of them up but I couldn’t throw away most of them, so they’re just kinda stuffed in one corner of my desk.”
Kyujin shakes her head. “No! No, it’s okay, unnie. It’s just me,” she says, grinning at Jiwoo. “I feel like you keep forgetting that lately.”
“What?”
“That it’s just me.” Kyujin leans back and looks up at the ceiling. “I’m just me, Jiwoo-yah.”
Jiwoo falls silent. Kyujin keeps hers and closes her eyes.
The moment stretches further, much like the horizon Jiwoo had seen in her dream the previous night.
“What,” Jiwoo says, and her voice shakes without her permission. “What do you mean?”
Kyujin responds with a chuckle, eyes opening to meet Jiwoo’s. “You know what I mean. I don’t have to say it for you to understand. We’ve known each other a long time, Jiwoo-yah. You know what I’m trying to say even if I don’t speak out loud, and I know what you want to say even when you never open your mouth.”
Jiwoo feels her hand grip the duvet the tiniest bit tighter, and she asks again, hoarsely, “What do you mean?”
The giggle that comes out of Kyujin’s lips is relaxed, and Jiwoo feels almost jealous.
Jang Kyujin, always composed and graceful.
Kim Jiwoo, always fumbling and clueless.
Even with her own feelings she’s fumbling and clueless, Jiwoo sighs inwardly.
She turns to Kyujin, still expecting an answer—a hint—a little clue for the ever clueless Kim Jiwoo.
But Kyujin only looks up at her, with the same infuriatingly calm grin on her face.
In a flash, Jinsol’s words echo in her head, and Jiwoo opens her mouth before she realizes it.
"Kyujinnie," Jiwoo rasps out, and the words come out a little painfully, like they're trying to remain stuck in her throat.
Kyujin, for all it's worth, doesn't take her eyes off of Jiwoo even for a second. She looks at Jiwoo like everything that's happened so far is natural, like there's nothing Kim Jiwoo can't do.
Jiwoo supposes that's the part of Kyujin that made it so she could never get back up after falling so deep.
She inhales, even though it's a little hard to do with her heart banging against her ribs.
“I wrote the letters.”
She said it.
She actually said it.
Just as the world begins to close in on her, Jiwoo feels a warm hand wrap around hers.
“I know,” Kyujin says, sitting up. The smile on her face is gentle, with less of a bite at the edges compared to usual. “See? That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”
Jang Kyujin, always composed and graceful, sits in front of Kim Jiwoo with a serene kind of vulnerability draped upon her shoulders.
Jiwoo fears this brand of warmth just might be a little too addictive.
She’s still reeling from the high when Kyujin inches closer and whispers, “Now, you guess what I’m trying to say without me saying it.”
Jiwoo almost instinctively pulls back, but Kyujin’s hand is on the small of her back before she could even try to move away. “W-Why would I–”
Kyujin pouts, and Jiwoo desperately tries to ignore just how firmly the other girl’s hand rests on her torso. “I’ve played your little guessing game this long! It’s your turn to play mine, unnie.”
“I…” Jiwoo looks at Kyujin, only to find her staring intently at her. It’s that same look in her eyes, the same one Jiwoo couldn’t quite put her finger on. Jiwoo pauses to calculate the chances of being able to escape Kyujin’s hold without having to answer to her little whim, but Kyujin holds her hand tighter, as if fully aware of the thoughts scrambling in her head.
In the end, Jiwoo relents.
(Much as she does with everything related to Jang Kyujin.)
Swallowing her panic, Jiwoo looks away and says, “You think it makes no sense that I did all that and I should’ve just outright told you how I feel.”
Kyujin makes a face, somewhat impressed but also a little frustrated. “That, too, but there’s more.” She gestures for Jiwoo to continue.
“You wanted to hear all those compliments in person?”
“Sure. What else?”
Jiwoo scratches her head with her free hand. “You think that I… should’ve just brought you straight home?”
“What?” Kyujin bursts out laughing. “What, like, to meet the parents? That’s quite far from what I was thinking, unnie, though that is what I’m thinking now. But nuh-uh,” she says, her eyes crinkling at the corners from the wide grin on her face. “There’s something else you’re not saying.”
Kyujin leans forward until the tips of their noses are touching.
“Or is it that you just don’t dare to say it, Jiwoo-yah?”
The heat in Jiwoo’s cheeks rises to a fever pitch and she feels every single coherent thought in her brain explode into bubbles.
“You hate that you had to wait this long and that you like me back,” Jiwoo says in one breath.
With a hum, Kyujin loosens her hold and pats Jiwoo’s head with a pleased smile on her face.
“Bingo! You win the guessing game. Yay!” Kyujin cheers.
Jiwoo collapses on her bed and weakly raises her fist. “Yay…”
“Oh, but I won first,” Kyujin says, moving to hover over Jiwoo. “So!”
Too drained from the sheer amount of cleaning she had to squeeze into just over an hour, along with the emotional rollercoaster that came with whatever the hell just happened, Jiwoo sighs. “So?”
A smirk that isn’t quite so familiar to Jiwoo grows on Kyujin’s face, teasingly slow.
“So,” she drawls. “I get the prize.”
Jiwoo’s heartbeat slams into her chest in full force. “What?”
Kyujin rolls her eyes and lies down on the bed beside Jiwoo. “Really?” She throws her hands up dramatically. “The prize is you! How are you so clueless about this?”
Forcefully stuffing her nerves away, Jiwoo says in the flattest tone she could muster, “That sounds so bad, even with context.”
Kyujin’s eyes grow comically wide. “What? No! I just mean - I just mean I get to be with you! Right? That’s a valid prize, right?” Kyujin covers her face in a rare show of embarrassment. “Ugh. Yoona-unnie said that would be a good line to say in moments like this.”
Jiwoo finds that Kyujin is unexpectedly well-versed in making people’s hearts jump up to their throats, but she gleefully decides against inflating her already oversized ego.
“Yoona-unnie? The upperclassman we had in high school?” Jiwoo turns to lie on her chest, resting her chin on her forearm. “The same one people lined up for everyday?”
Kyujin laughs. “They still do, you know. But yeah, that same Yoona-unnie is currently my roommate.”
“She teaches you how to pick up girls?”
“No,” Kyujin says, grinning. “Just you in particular.”
Jiwoo wonders just how many heart attacks she’d suffer from here on out.
“You’re so…” Jiwoo trails off, burrowing into her pillow.
“Charming?”
“Stupid.”
“But you like it?”
“No.”
“Nah, you like it.”
A pause.
“I do.”
Jiwoo feels Kyujin shift to rest her head on her back.
“So, what do you want to do?”
Jiwoo takes a moment to process Kyujin’s question, but she can’t bring herself to come up with an answer. “I’m not sure. What do you want to do?”
“Put a label on it,” Kyujin says, snickering lightly. “I’m not very patient, unnie, and I don’t really see the point in stuff like talking stages. Besides, we’ve known each other for years. Pretty sure we’ve talked enough.”
Jiwoo nods, lifting a hand to run it through Kyujin’s hair. “Then we put a label on it. What kind?”
“...Jiwoo-yah, are you perhaps an idiot?” The words come out in a horrid example of a British accent.
“What? It’s a valid question,” Jiwoo whines tiredly, finding comfort in the warmth of Kyujin's presence, like she always does.
“It’s not when you pay attention to the entire context! The conversation was–” Kyujin groans. “Forget it. Just be my girlfriend already.”
Jiwoo hides her smile against her pillow. “Wow. You’re so demanding,” she says playfully.
Kyujin gently intertwines their fingers. “I have to be when my girlfriend is an indecisive idiot.”
A soft laugh escapes Jiwoo’s lips. She just knows Jinsol would never let her live this down. As she massages Kyujin’s scalp in slow, careful movements, Jiwoo wonders why she hadn’t simply gone straight to putting her feelings out there, baring her bones for the world to see.
Maybe it’s not so bad to be seen.
—----
“Who the hell would even know,” Yoona says as she takes a sip of her trusty energy drink, “that these two are in a relationship with the way they act around each other?”
Jinsol grumbles an agreement, watching Jiwoo and Kyujin argue about who won in their recent game of Mario Kart. Neither would accept defeat, as per usual. “That’s what you get when you put these two in a relationship, I guess.”
Yoona shifts her stare in Jinsol’s direction. “What about the two of us?”
Jinsol blinks. “What about the two of us?”
“...This is why you’re still single.”
“What?” Jinsol leans back, putting the back of her hand against her forehead. “No mercy for the single dog!”
Speechless, Yoona stares at her with a look of both wonder and exasperation.
“Whatever you say, single dog.”