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Ryujin has always liked New Year’s Eve. She enjoyed it as a kid. Staying up late and playing games in Yuna’s basement with all of their friends, the cheers as the clock struck midnight, the shock and disgust as they all watched their parents kiss each other just a bit deeper than they did on the day-to-day.
She enjoyed it as a teen. That same basement—the ceilings seeming lower than they once did—the handle that Yuna managed to sneak downstairs and the joint her older sister would present with a flourish and a smug grin, the ill-advised amount of perfume they would douse themselves in after smoking said joint and the way their parents pretended they didn’t see through the whole thing.
She enjoyed it during college too. Finally being able to unwind after finals, catching up with people she hardly ever sees, drinking champagne and eating good food with the village that raised her and giving herself over to all of the hope and possibility and relief that surrounds such a night.
She’s a bit of a skeptic in her own way, always has been, but she can’t help but be sentimental as well. She kind of thinks New Year’s resolutions are bullshit, and—on a cosmic level—the transition from December 31st to January 1st doesn’t really mean shit, but it’s always been one of her favorite days of the year.
Ryujin likes New Year’s Eve, she really does, she’s just not sure how to feel about it now that she’s an adult (six months out of college to be exact) and isn’t going to spend it in Yuna’s house doing the things she’s always done with the people she’s always done them with.
She was home for Christmas, of course, and her parents had asked her to stay through the end of December, but she had to be back at work on the 27th, and her job is way too new to be begging off for a week straight. Being busy around the holidays kind of sucks, but Ryujin knew what she was signing up for when she applied exclusively to Production Assistant gigs. A random desk job would probably be a bit cushier, but she didn’t major in film to have a random desk job.
She knows she needs to adjust, knows that New Year’s Eve is all about going out and partying now that she’s in her twenties and living in New York. It’s not really a family holiday unless you’re a kid or have kids (and she’s deeply in between those two phases of her life at the moment). Still, it feels weird, dissonant, like a part of her is yearning for the familiar comfort of years past. Meanwhile, everything she’s been invited to has boiled down to, “hey, do you wanna get wasted at this random bar with a bunch of strangers?”
Well, everything she’s been invited to except for one party.
“Just stop being a baby and come out with me, Ryu,” Chaeryeong sighs from where she’s hard at work in front of her vanity, “I’m gonna feel like the worst roommate in the world if I leave you home alone on New Year’s Eve.”
Ryujin shrugs from where she’s sprawled out on Chaeryeong’s bed. When she realizes her friend can’t see her, she attempts to turn the shrug into a sound, which comes out as a strained ehh. Chaeryeong turns around, eyebrow raised and mascara wand in hand.
“It just feels weird to go to a party with a bunch of people I barely know from college,” Ryujin attempts to actually communicate, “Like, it’s cool that you were invited, but I don’t wanna show up as a plus one and feel awkward.”
It sounds kind of lame when she says it out loud, but it’s the truth. Besides, she knows how to make the most of a night in. She’s got her brother’s Crunchyroll subscription and an edible from the nice dispensary near her parents’ place with her name on it. Also leftover Chinese food. Truly a perfect combination, almost enough to bring a tear to her eye. Chaeryeong sighs, turns back around, and continues applying her makeup.
“Jisu told me to invite you, dumbass. I showed you the text.” She sounds exhausted (probably because Ryujin has seen the text, and they’ve had this exact conversation five times over the past two days). “Can you please just come? We can hang out, it’ll be fun.”
Ryujin picks at a loose thread on Chaeryeong’s pillowcase as she thinks it over one last time. On the one hand, she knows Chaeryeong is lying. No, that’s not fair, she’s not lying on purpose, Ryujin just knows her better than she knows herself sometimes. The party is going to be full of JYPU alumni, which means Somi (Chaeryeong’s on-again, off-again…whatever from college) is probably going to be there. And—if Somi is there and is as single as she was the last time Chaeryeong Instagram stalked her—Ryujin knows exactly how her roomie is going to ring in the new year.
On the other hand, now that it’s 7 PM on December 31st, the thought of literally any social plan is sounding way more appealing than it had just yesterday. That quiet night in will probably hit just as good (or even better) on January 1st, and maybe being home alone on New Year’s Eve is the most depressing thing she could do to herself. She and Jisu did get along well in college, and the text had said, “hey cutie 😉 we’re hosting for nye and u and ryujin should come celebrate w us!!! 🥳🥳🥳,” which is a direct invite as far as these things go.
Maybe she’s just being stubborn because the possibility of going to this party and feeling like shit is a bit higher than zero percent, and maybe having a bad night tonight will do a number on her already fragile twenty-two year-old psyche. Maybe not. Maybe the fear of having a bad time and the need to cling to the past are getting in the way of what could potentially be a fun night. Again, maybe not.
Fuck it. She’s tired of thinking.
“Alright, Ryeong. I’ll come.”
Choi Jisu’s apartment is loud. It’s a fifth-floor unit that they can hear all the way from the third floor, the music, shouted conversation, and laughter like a siren song as they huff and puff their way up the seemingly endless stairs.
“I told you we got lucky finding an elevator building,” Ryujin grumbles.
Chaeryeong ignores her and continues to climb in determined silence. Once they do reach apartment 5D, they take a moment to catch their breath. Her thoughts on New Year’s resolutions aside, Ryujin is a bit tempted to add the classic, “I’m going to work out this year” lie to her nonexistent list.
“Okay.” Chaeryeong unzips her puffer and shrugs it off. “How do I look?”
Ryujin turns to give Chaeryeong her full attention for the final best friend check. She scans her bottom to top: strappy heels, short skirt, crop top, perfect waves in her shiny hair, impeccable makeup. She looks hot as hell, which is nothing new and not even a little bit of a surprise. Ryujin gives a thumbs up and a solemn nod.
“Somi’s gonna eat you alive dude.”
Chaeryeong gets this pleased little smile, her cheeks dusted pink. “Thanks.”
Ryujin spreads her arms wide and grins. “My turn.”
Chaeryeong narrows her eyes as she gives her a reciprocal once-over. Ryujin didn’t do anything special aside from take her hair out of the bun she’d had it in all day and brush it out to an acceptable level of put-togetherness. Leather jacket, crew neck sweatshirt that she stole from her dad’s closet, comfy jeans. She probably could’ve tried harder, but dressing up sucks and she hates it, so…
“You look fine. Come on.”
Ryujin is all too ready to complain about the lackluster response, but Chaeryeong throws the door open a second later and yanks her inside.
The party is surprisingly fine. It doesn’t quite feel like New Year’s Eve the way Ryujin knows it, but the music is good, there’s tons of food, and being surrounded by a combination of complete strangers and vaguely familiar faces is less awkward than she expected it to be. Most of the folks from JYPU that she recognizes graduated a year before her, which makes sense considering Jisu did as well, and she honestly prefers it to the alternative. Seeing people she knows from the dining hall or a random class is much better than seeing people she’s spent the last half a year drifting apart from despite all the “let’s keep in touch!” of graduation day.
The first forty-five minutes AKA the first one and half drinks AKA exactly how long Ryujin expected to spend with Chaeryeong is particularly nice. They find a spot in the living room to lean against a wall and shout/talk over their beers. It feels a bit like being back in college but with the luster of adulthood plastered on top. Again, the only sign of New Year’s comes from the assortments of number shaped balloons, glasses, and sugar cookies scattered about, but it is a pretty nice party. Shouldn’t be a surprise, considering who’s hosting it.
It’s good to see Jisu (the hostess with the mostest) again. The woman is as bright and chatty as ever. She spots them from across the room and greets them both with a hug (plus a kiss on the cheek for a blushing Chaeryeong) before launching into a long-winded monologue about…something that Ryujin can’t quite follow. Despite the incoherence of Jisu’s rambling and the volume of the Dua Lipa song that’s currently blasting, it’s not too hard to settle in and enjoy the moment.
It’s a bit shocking how much seeing Jisu feels like picking up with an old friend, which is a bit silly because that’s exactly it is, isn’t it? Just because they didn’t stay in touch after Jisu graduated doesn’t mean they didn’t spend three years going to the same film club every Tuesday night.
“And then, I told Ye—shit,” Jisu interrupts herself mid-story, “My snickerdoodles! I have to—bye!”
And she’s gone. Ryujin and Chaeryeong watch her scurry off to the kitchen in bemused silence. The crowd parts in her wake, and—if the handful of fond faces following her progress means anything—it seems that Jisu is just as well-loved now as she was in college. It’s nice to see. Some people truly do deserve nice things, and Choi Jisu has always been one of those people.
“Man, she’s a character,” Ryujin chuckles, “I forgot how much she can talk.”
Chaeryeong giggles and takes a sip of her beer. “Right?”
Ryujin opens her mouth to respond when there’s a shift in the air. She can tell Somi is approaching without needing to turn around. It’s the way Chaeryeong’s eyes drift over her shoulder, the way her smile turns a bit coy, the way she sounds just a touch breathless as she says, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“You stole my line,” Somi laughs, and then, “Hey, Ryu!”
“Hey.”
A quick side-hug, and then Somi is sliding over to greet Chaeryeong with a lingering front-hug and a whisper of something Ryujin is glad she can’t hear. They stay standing incredibly close to each other as the three of them chat. Somi is as beautiful, blonde, and charismatic as ever. It’s good to see all five foot eight of her again, and Ryujin would love to catch up for real, but now is definitely not the right time for all that.
Chaeryeong has somehow managed to sweep her hair over one shoulder to perfectly show off her collarbones in the past half a second, and Somi has definitely noticed. They’re both too polite to start making out in front of her, but it’s painfully obvious that that’s all they want to do. After five more minutes of barely functional smalltalk, Ryujin finally calls it.
“Hey, I’m gonna go grab another drink. Either of you want anything?”
Unsurprisingly, neither of them wants anything. Ryujin takes the opportunity to slip away and figure out her next move. She could track down Jisu and those snickerdoodles or maybe even be bold and join in with the group playing Mario Kart on the couch even though she sucks at Mario Kart.
She’s not too bummed about being ditched, since she knew it would happen (there’s a reason she and Chaeryeong didn’t party together that much in college despite being close friends), but she still needs to salvage the night. First step, get something to drink. The need for alcohol was both an escape tactic and an honest truth. She grabs a can of Narragansett from the fridge before being promptly cornered by “Gary! We took stats together? I didn’t know you were in the city!”
Gary, it turns out, is drunk, loud, and incredibly boring. He doesn’t hit on her at all, which is a pleasant surprise, but he does talk ad nauseam about his shockingly boring tech job without letting Ryujin contribute more than an “oh yeah?” or a “no, I had no idea.” Maybe awkwardly watching Chaeryeong and Somi flirt would’ve been more pleasant than whatever fresh hell she’s stumbled into here.
Gary is in the middle of explaining agile development when he’s cut off by a bright, “Ryujin! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
Ryujin and Gary are on the same wavelength for the first time as they turn to stare wide-eyed at the newcomer. She’s wearing an apologetic smile as she strides over. And then—before either of them can react—she’s slinging an arm over Ryujin’s shoulders and leaning into her like they’re old friends.
“Mind if I steal her for a bit?”
Ryujin is being whisked away before Gary can do more than blink, the grip on her wrist firm but not too tight as she’s dragged through the crowded apartment. They don’t stop walking until they’re standing in the hallway by the bathroom. It’s quieter back here, since the music and the bulk of the people are centralized in the living room and kitchen. It’s honestly a bit of a relief, even if the method of transportation was a bit shocking.
“Sorry about that. Gary is a nice guy, but he doesn’t know how to shut up.” Her voice is warm and more familiar than Ryujin expected it to be.
Ryujin genuinely has no idea how to reply. If anyone else were standing in front of her, it would be easy to laugh and say thanks, maybe introduce or re-introduce herself and see what conversation naturally follows. Unfortunately, her knight in shining cargo pants is the one person she’s been avoiding thinking about all night. The one person she kind of stupidly assumed she could avoid if she just hugged the wall and kept her eyes on Chaeryeong. The person currently gazing at her with searching eyes and an almost smile—hand still wrapped around her wrist—is none other than Jisu’s roommate, Hwang Yeji.
She looks good (as always) in a baggy gray flannel and ribbed tank. It’s similar enough to how she dressed by the end of college, but she definitely looks different, more mature even though it really hasn’t been that long. It’s hard not to notice her hair too. She’d always kept it long—usually pulled back in a ponytail, especially if she was dancing—but now it’s cut into a bob that’s so short it doesn’t even brush her shoulders. It suits her. She’s always been handsome and a bit boyish, and the hair really just leans into what she was already working with. She’s also dyed it a bright, golden blonde, which is definitely part of why it took Ryujin so long to process that it was really her and not some angelic hallucination.
A few seconds of awkward silence have already passed, and Ryujin still has no idea what the fuck she’s supposed to say or feel, so she settles on, “I didn’t need saving, but, uh, thanks?”
Yeji smiles a toothy smile, dimple peeking out and sending Ryujin’s heart stuttering. Fuck. This is exactly what she was worried about. It’s been a year and half since she’s seen Yeji in person, and she’s already—
“Is it better or worse if I admit that I only did it because I wanted to talk to you?”
“Maybe a bit better,” Ryujin admits before her brain can catch up with her mouth.
Yeji’s smile grows impossibly wider. “Awesome.”
Fuck again. This is bad. Yeji is radiating the same relaxed confidence that she always has, and Ryujin can’t help but be drawn to it (as she always has been). After a moment, she drops Ryujin’s wrist and crosses her arms loosely in front of her chest, eyebrows raised in a playful way. Ryujin smiles despite herself, despite the way the room starts to fade away and leave her with that all-too-familiar panic that she associates with Hwang Yeji.
Because, you see, she and Yeji weren’t close in college. They could’ve and honestly should’ve been close, but they just weren’t. A full year of Elementary Japanese study groups during Ryujin’s freshman year, a slew of mutual friends, seemingly compatible personalities, all the good stuff, all the stuff that you need for a college connection. Unfortunately, any sort of friendship between them was doomed from the start. Why, you might ask? Oh, just because of the unbearable and impotent crush Ryujin harbored from her first day of classes all the way to last May when Yeji graduated.
It was one of those crushes that hits you like a gut punch and lasts like unchecked internal bleeding. One of those crushes that makes you stumble over your words and overthink every single innocent interaction. One of those crushes that makes a baby bi worried that they’re just as bad as men are because you really shouldn’t be staring at another girl's ass that much. One of those crushes that—
“So, tell me what you’ve been up to. How’s New York treating you?”
Ryujin’s eyes snap up to meet Yeji’s and she feels…fine. She feels totally fine. Yeji is hot, yes (and she still has that disarming smile and low voice and dark eyes), but she’s not scary in the way that she used to be. Maybe it’s the year and a half of distance, or maybe Ryujin really has grown up a bit since graduation. Who’s to say?
Also, it’s just a pleasant surprise that Yeji remembers her—and seems to remember her fondly—when they barely spoke for the majority of college. And no, a polite smile in the dining hall or a quick “hey” at a party doesn’t count.
Ryujin decides to accept the unexpected calm of her brain and lean in. This is maybe the first opportunity she’s ever had to act normal around Yeji, so she may as well make the most of it. She talks about her thesis film, her cross-country move, her PA job and all the chaos that comes with it. Yeji is rapt the entire time, asking follow up questions and nodding and laughing at all the right times. Her cat-like eyes are as intense as ever, but Ryujin feels warm under their attention (or maybe it’s just the third beer making her feel that way).
They stay in their quiet spot in the hallway as they catch up. Yeji leans against the wall, one hand in her pocket and the other holding an empty solo cup (and tap tap tapping the beat of the current song onto the red plastic). She talks about the shenanigans she and Jisu have gotten up to while living in the city together, the dance studio she teaches at, the part time jobs she’s cycled through to pay rent. It’s nice, it’s easy. It’s everything that talking to Yeji never was in college.
As the minutes tick by, Ryujin begins to think that she really is one hundred percent over Yeji. Sure, she’s as handsome and charming as ever, but that doesn’t have to be, like, an issue or anything. Right?
As if to prove her wrong, Yeji’s easy smile tilts into a smirk, her eyes glinting with playful curiosity. Ryujin feels the expression as a swooping sensation in her gut, and she begins to think that she might actually be fucking doomed.
“Do you still smoke?”
Ryujin does her best to not feel too awkward as she stands in the doorway of Yeji’s room and watches her putter about. It’s small and well decorated, the walls covered with a mismatched assortment of art prints, band posters, and family photos. The Full sized bed is neatly made with navy sheets and an off-white comforter. There's a pair of well-loved teddy bears tucked in next to the pillow and a reading lamp clipped to the headboard.
“My room is off-limits when we host parties,” Yeji explains as she digs through her bedside table, “We keep the breakables and good liquor in here mostly. Also Bella’s crate in case she gets overwhelmed.”
Lo and behold, there is a dog crate in the corner. Ryujin has yet to see the dog, but she’s more of a cat person, so she doesn’t really mind. That also explains the assortment of vases and other random shit crowded together on the otherwise neat desk.
“I’m honored to be allowed into the sanctuary,” she responds.
Yeji lets out a delighted laugh and aims that toothy grin her way. Ryujin feels a bit too pleased with the reaction. Her brain starts racing for another way to make Yeji laugh, but she’s cut off by a triumphant aha! and the sight of Yeji holding up a pre-roll like she just found the holy grail. She straightens up with a grunt and slips the plastic tube into one of her many pants pockets.
“Why don’t you grab a bottle for us too?” Yeji gestures at the desk. “What Jisu doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
It takes Ryujin a moment to process what Yeji means. She looks back to the desk and finally notices the liquor bottles scattered among the other stuff that they shoved in here for the party. She hesitates for a moment before finally walking further into the room and letting the door close behind her. It feels a bit like she’s floating, partly because of her buzz and partly because of how surreal this all is.
Like, why is Yeji doing this? Is she so bored at her own party that all she wants to do is hang out one-on-one with a girl she barely knew in college? She can’t deny how easily the conversation has flowed between them, but that doesn’t explain why she’s currently in Yeji’s off-limits room and grabbing a bottle of Jameson from Jisu’s off-limits liquor collection.
She turns away from the desk to let Yeji know she’s made her pick, but the words shrivel up and die before they can make it past her lips. Yeji is facing away from her, flannel discarded in a pile on the floor as she rummages around in her overflowing closet, leaving her in her cargo pants and that tight tank.
There’s something a bit unfair about the dip of her waist and the cut of her shoulders, the slim lines of her arms and the flex of her back muscles. Ryujin thinks that her nineteen year-old self would die to be in her place right now. (Ryujin also thinks that her twenty-two year-old self kind of currently feels like she’s dying. Just a little bit).
Mercifully, it doesn’t take too much more sapphic torture before Yeji finally picks out a hoodie and shrugs it on. It’s baggy and heather gray, sporting a faded JYPU Dragons logo on the front. Their eyes lock, and Yeji ruffles a hand through her short hair as she huffs out a laugh.
“I knew you were a whiskey girl. Jisu owes me ten bucks.”
Before Ryujin can ask why Yeji knew that or why she and Jisu were talking about her or why literally any of this is happening, Yeji is snagging the bottle from her and striding out of the room.
Ryujin follows.
They end up making their way up to the roof. Yeji apparently has a key because she gets on well with the super. She’s cat-sat for him a handful of times, and they’ve bonded over their love of salsa (the dance, she’d specified, not the sauce, though she does love Mexican food as much as the next guy). Ryujin somehow isn’t surprised. Yeji was always the type to endear herself to everyone she crossed paths with. She’s gregarious, kind, and earnest in a way that not many people are. It makes it kind of impossible to resist her whole…thing. (Trust Ryujin, she would know).
It kind of feels like they’re sneaking out even though they’re adults with no one to lie to or disappoint. Yeji keeps the Jameson tucked under her hoodie as they weave their way through the crowded apartment, grinning conspiratorially at Ryujin whenever they lock eyes. Ryujin’s heart rate picks up just a bit each time. By the time they stop by the front door to bundle up—Ryujin in her leather jacket and Yeji in a puffer vest and beanie—Ryujin feels a bit giddy.
The rooftop is one of those unfinished New York City classics. Rugged concrete, empty space, and the whirr of mysterious machinery. They settle down on a couple of empty milk crates that look like they were left there with just that purpose in mind. It’s one of those oddly mild December nights. Somewhere between an apologetic dismount from a tumultuous year and a gentle start to the next.
It’s quiet between them, but the city is electric. Laughter on the streets, music and the hum of conversation emanating from nearby apartments. As Ryujin looks out across this little stretch of Manhattan, she can see dozens and dozens of windows spilling warm light into the December air. Everything feels alive. Ryujin feels alive. She may not be with her family, but the thought of how many people are around her living and loving and celebrating gives her a taste of the togetherness she’s been missing all night.
Of course, no small amount of that togetherness comes from the woman sitting next to her. Yeji is the one sharing this view, sharing this moment. Ryujin feels her eyes get misty but manages to blink back the unexpected threat of tears. Chaeryeong knows what a softie she is, but Yeji definitely doesn’t need to. Except...maybe she kind of already does.
When Ryujin looks over at her, Yeji is already watching her with a delicate, hard to read look on her face. Her eyes are as soft as they are evaluating, glinting in the never-quite-dark New York City night. Ryujin feels that tug that she always did when they ran into each other at a party or walked by each other on the quad. It used to terrify her, but now it feels familiar in an almost comforting way.
Yeji’s lips quirk up into a half smile as she raises the Jameson up in a silent cheers. Ryujin watches the way her lips wrap around the mouth of the bottle, the way her tongue darts out to catch a rogue drop, the way her face scrunches up at the taste. She holds it out to Ryujin, and their fingers brush for the briefest of moments. It’s easy to ignore the spark of electricity because Yeji is talking again, voice low, words measured.
“I like to come up here and think. New York can be lonely for such a big city, and—I dunno—sitting here looking out at everything just makes it all click into place sometimes. Like, there are millions of people out there also just existing, just trying like I am…y’know?”
Ryujin takes a deep sip, relishes the way the whiskey burns all the way down, the warmth that pools in her stomach, the heat of Yeji’s watchful eyes.
“Yeah,” she finally says, “I know what you mean.”
She holds the bottle out, but Yeji shakes her head. Ryujin shrugs and takes another sip as she watches Yeji dig around in her pockets. There’s a cascade of laughter from an open window across the street, and Ryujin is struck with a sudden dissonance. Sitting here feels natural, easy, but she can’t help but be hyper-aware of the way Yeji’s hair falls in her eyes, the way their knees knock together from time to time, the way her warm smell mingles with the sharp winter air. Ryujin finds herself wondering if Yeji feels the same way. If she also feels like this rooftop is simultaneously the first and last place she should be.
The click of a lighter pulls her back into the moment. Her eyes refocus to find Yeji with the joint held between her lips, hand cupped around the delicate flame as she lights up. After a few seconds of focus, she takes a long pull, exhales with a sigh. Everything is impossibly still for a moment as Ryujin watches Yeji watch the tendrils of smoke disperse in the thin night air.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Ryujin says to keep herself from thinking about how perfect Yeji’s profile is.
It’s a bit of a stupid thing to say, but Yeji just looks at her and smiles in response. She smiles like they’re sharing a secret. Like that secret is bigger than a bottle of booze and a private moment.
“There’s lots you don’t know about me, Ryujin.”
Oh.
Oh.
Ryujin feels the words as a thrill down her spine. Yeji’s eyes are darker than they have been all night, and her smile has a new sharpness to it. It's terrifying, it’s exhilarating. It makes Ryujin feel bold.
“Maybe I’d like to find out,” she says.
Yeji lets out a breathless laugh. She holds out the joint, and Ryujin takes it.
“Maybe I’d like to find out about you too.”
Ryujin takes a drag and feels Yeji’s eyes on her all the while. When she passes the joint back, Yeji’s fingers wrap around hers for a second, and it’s much harder to ignore the electricity than it was before.
It’s surprisingly easy to fall back into conversation after that. They go a bit deeper than they did inside. They talk about what it’s like to pursue your passions professionally after college. Film and dance are different, their jobs are different, but Ryujin sees so much of herself in the tired determination in Yeji’s eyes, the passion she holds onto despite thankless hours and late nights. They talk about what it’s like to live in New York as transplants too, how they love the city but feel the need to earn their place there. They reminisce about college. Old friends, shared professors, the beautiful campus, the shit food.
They laugh a lot. They have some quiet moments too. Those moments remind Ryujin of what it was like to walk by Yeji with her head buried in a textbook in the library or sprawled out in the grass on the quad, listening to music and soaking in the sun. It was always so different from her usual bright, vibrant energy. Ryujin likes the duality, the contrast. It was part of what kept her hooked.
Ryujin is glad for the weed and the alcohol humming in her veins. It keeps everything dreamlike and shimmering as the seconds and minutes slip by. She doesn’t think too hard about what she says or how Yeji responds. Doesn’t think about how their thighs are pressed together now. Doesn’t think about how warm Yeji is even through the fabric of their pants.
She forgets about the years of wanting. Forgets about all of the dreams she pretended she didn’t have (soft smiles and hands grasping at sheets, gentle laughter and gasping breaths).
She forgets everything she should be remembering and says, “Damn, it’s a shame we never really hung out in college.”
Yeji stiffens and gets very very still. And, oh my god, Ryujin is a fucking idiot. She needs to double check her diploma and make sure she didn’t major in “killing the vibe” or “putting your fucking foot in your mouth” because apparently she’s a pro at both. Maybe it’s a fine thing to say, but all she can really think about is the fact that the main reason they didn’t get close is because she was so damn weird around Yeji and purposefully avoided her for the better part of three years.
“It really is a shame,” Yeji murmurs, and then, “How do you feel about New Year’s resolutions?”
The question is sudden and unexpected enough to shock Ryujin out of her little regret spiral. She blinks at Yeji who’s just watching her with a look of open curiosity. Okay, nothing wrong with a topic change. Ryujin takes Yeji’s tactful pivot and rolls with it, glad for an excuse to not think about what she just said.
“They’re kind of bullshit,” she starts, “Like, if you want to make a change in your life, why wait until January first to start? It’s so arbitrary, and can you honestly give me an example of a New Year’s resolution you’ve actually fulfilled?”
She knows she sounds like a hater (partly because Yuna always calls her one when they go down this path), but she feels no shame about it. It’s important to hate in earnest sometimes, and no one’s ever been genuinely offended by her stance here. As strong as she’s coming on, it’s really not that deep.
Ryujin expects Yeji to laugh or push back as people usually do, but she does neither. Instead, she just gazes at her with that same unreadable look from earlier. There’s a clamor on the street below, a peal of laughter, an eruption of voices. A distant part of Ryujin’s mind is aware that it’s nearing midnight, but she’s too focused on Yeji to care. She’s clearly about to say something, and Ryujin desperately wants to know what it is.
“Honestly, maybe you’re right,” Yeji muses in her deep voice, “I’ve had the same resolution for the past four years and haven’t done it yet.”
Ryujin grins, feeling needlessly triumphant. It’s not that she’s happy Yeji hasn’t fulfilled whatever random goal she’s been setting for herself. It’s just that she likes when people tell her she’s right. What can she say? She’s a simple gal.
“See?” She tries to not sound too smug. “What’s the resolution?”
Yeji’s sure gaze wavers for the first time all night but steadies in a heartbeat. Ryujin feels almost like she imagined it, just like she’s probably imagining the determined set to Yeji’s jaw and the furrow in her brow.
“To ask you out on a date.”
Ryujin waits for Yeji to laugh, to apologize for the shitty joke, to do anything, but she just sits there, hugging her knee to her chest, flush on her cheeks and heart on her sleeve. And, oh my god. This isn’t a joke. Yeji is looking at her with an open gaze, and waiting. Waiting like whatever Ryujin says next is the most important thing she’s ever going to hear.
The Jameson sits forgotten next to Ryujin’s scuffed up Converse, the joint long-since ground out against the concrete railing. Someone sets off a fire cracker in the alley, the harsh report followed by a mess of yelling and shrieks of laughter.
Ryujin is hit by a sudden and overwhelming clarity. She remembers the way Yeji would plop into the chair next to her in study group every week before doodling and taking notes for the next hour. She remembers how they would run into each other at almost every party. Yeji would always take the time to say hey no matter what friends or random girl she kept waiting. She remembers Yeji’s eyes locking with hers from the stage after the annual dance team showcase, like she’d searched for her in the crowd.
She remembers that random spring day the week before Yeji’s graduation. She’d been half listening to music and half dozing on a bench in front of the library, taking in the sun and the sweet air between classes, when Yeji had approached. Her smile had been as bright as ever, but she’d seemed distracted, almost sad. Ryujin hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Most of the seniors had been wearing a similar look as they collectively sank into nostalgia for a life they still had and people they still knew. Still, just her presence was enough to get Ryujin’s heart beating a bit faster than normal.
She’d popped out her earphones and squinted up at Yeji, waiting for her to speak.
Ten!
Nine!
The asynchronous countdown tumbles into the still night air from various surrounding apartments, joyous, defiant. Ryujin only half hears it, too caught up in the past and the way it bleeds into the present.
“Good luck next year,” one more smile, a wave, and she was gone.
Gone until now.
“It’s not too late,” Ryujin blurts, “The year’s not over yet, I mean.”
Three!
Two!
“Go out with me?”
Ryujin doesn’t quite remember how words work at that moment. She’s unable to say “yes,” unable to say “obviously,” so she does the next best thing. She leans in and captures Yeji’s lips with her own.
Kissing Hwang Yeji is like bootleg fireworks going off in the street. It’s like honking cars and raised voices and years of wondering and wanting. She tastes like weed and whiskey and that indescribable, addictive flavor that you can only find on a pretty girl’s lips.
Ryujin means for the kiss to be quick, a way to buy time, to process, to finally do what she’d thought about on so many sleepless nights. But Yeji is cupping her jaw, sighing against her, easing her tongue past the seam of her lips. There’s no way to resist her—no reason to—so Ryujin doesn’t. Instead, she angles her head, loops her arms around Yeji’s shoulders, and pulls her closer.
It's sweet, it's slow, it's everything Ryujin never let herself imagine it would be.
When they do finally separate, Yeji is beaming at her, eyes crescents, dimple on display. She’s smiling so wide it’s almost goofy, but something tells Ryujin she's no better off.
“So, is that a yes?”
Ryujin is pleasantly surprised to discover that—at this point in her life—there are new things to like about New Year’s Eve. She enjoys slipping back inside to rejoin a party she’d near-forgotten. The way the warmth sinks into her bones and buzzes on her skin.
She enjoys the feeling of Yeji’s long fingers intertwined with her own, their palms pressed together as they maneuver through the room. The way Chaeryeong gawks at her before shaking her head and letting out her bright, tinkling laugh. (The way she melts against Somi who’s looking down at her with a bemused yet affectionate smile).
She enjoys the sweet and slightly tart taste of the snickerdoodles that Jisu set aside. Enjoys it even more when she tastes it again on Yeji’s lips. And again. And one more time.
Sure, their freshly planned first date (coffee and a winter walk in Central Park) isn’t happening for a few days, but Ryujin sees no problem in making up for lost time. And—if the way Yeji smiles against her lips each and every time means anything—it seems they’re finally on the same page.