Chapter Text
By the time Jisu leaves the hospital, the sky has already given up on pretending to be patient.
Her shift drags in a bone-deep way: one more chart, one more family asking the same question she’s already answered twice, one more monitor that needs silencing. The weight of it settles into her trapezius like it’s trying to become permanent furniture.
She doesn’t mind it. Being busy is easier than being available, anyway.
She checks her phone while waiting for the elevator.
ryujin:
i’m running late
client calls won’t die…
Jisu exhales, fond despite herself. Of course you are.
jisu:
see how i pretended as if we’re both shocked ahahryujin:
lol, through a screen?
no, obviously.
still coming though!
i promise
She stared at the last line longer than necessary. You always promise. And you always show up.
They’ve had dinner plans since last week. Was it? A real one this time, not a vague we should meet sometime that dissolves under schedules and fatigue. They almost always try. Sometimes it even works.
Ryujin, perpetually pulled between cities and deadlines, calm in a way that suggests she’s already solved the problem before anyone else has noticed it exists. Jisu, equally busy in a different direction, life measured in shifts and beeping monitors and muscle memory that doesn’t switch off just because she’s home.
Two very functional adults. Bad at timing. Worse at talking about things that even matter.
Jisu gets home, kicks off her shoes, washes her hands out of habit. She’s halfway through changing when her phone buzzes again. Not Ryujin this time, but a group chat she’s muted for months and never quite escaped.
CHOI FAMILY 🩵
A new message bumps the chat to the top of her phone.
엄마 (mom) :
지수가 혹시 이제야 메시지 볼까 봐 다시 올려. 🤣
(Just bumping this in case Jisu decides to read our messages.)
Jisu stares at the screen. Eyes widening in horror, heart dropping as if she was in the emergency room.
Ah. Yeah. Fuck.
Her aunt reacts with a thumbs-up.
Someone sends a heart.
The invitation photo appears again, pristine and accusing as the first time. Elegant and cream-colored, calligraphy so familiar it feels personal even before she reads the names.
최민호 & 박서연 결혼합니다 💍
(Choi Minho & Park Seoyeon are getting married.)
Choi family wedding… A fucking wedding? How did I even forget about this…
Haha…ah…here we go…
She had several weeks to think about it. She used exactly none of them productively.
Her cousin, close enough that attendance is mandatory, an absence suspicious, and excuses dissected politely over shared dishes.
Her mother follows almost immediately.
엄마 (mom):
당신이 채팅을 읽는 것을 봅니다… 👀
(I see you read the chats)
지수야, 너 오는 거지? 오랜만이야.
(Jisu, you’re coming, right? It’s been a long time.)
Jisu stares at her phone.
Long time no see… This should NOT feel like a felony charge.
A phrase that always sounds like an accusation when her family uses it. Always.
She scrolls.
서아 이모 (aunt seo-ah):
시간 되면 누구랑 같이 와도 돼~
(If you have time, you can bring someone with you~)
지아 (ji-ah):
아이고, 언제 애인 데려올 거야? 😤
(When are you finally bringing your partner?)
Jisu stares at the message, then types before she can overthink it.
지수 (ji-su) :
내가 애인 있는 건 생각 안 해봤어?
(Did you ever think I already have one?)
The chat goes quiet. Suspiciously so. Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Then—
지아 (ji-ah) :
왜 없어?
이쯤 되면 있어야지.
너 의사잖아. 😘
(Why wouldn’t you have one?
At this point, you should have one.
You’re a successful doctor, you know.)
서아 이모 (aunt seo-ah) :
그러니까~ 일도 잘하고 예쁜데 왜 혼자야? 😊
(Exactly~ You’re good at your job and pretty, why are you still single?)
Jisu scrolls, then types, frowning at her screen with her eye twitching.
지수 (ji-su) :
근데 나 RSVP 마감 지난 거 아니야?
(But didn’t the RSVP deadline already pass?)
Then—
엄마 (mom) :
내가 해 놨어. 😊
(I already did it.)
Jisu sits up, frantically.
지수 (ji-su) :
뭐?
(What?)
엄마 (mom) :
너 온다고 체크했어. 🤣
(I checked yes for you.)
Another message, immediately after:
엄마 (mom) :
그리고 동반 1인도. 🤭
(And a plus one.)
Jisu stares at her phone.
Her aunt reacts with a thumbs-up emoji like this is helpful.
서아 이모 (aunt seo-ah) :
잘했네~ 👏
(Good job~)
Jisu laughs once, sharp and disbelieving.
Of course she did.
Of course her mother RSVPed on her behalf like attendance was a personality trait Jisu had forgotten to maintain.
She exhales slowly through her nose, sets her phone face down on the couch like that will stop the commentary.
It does not.
Partner. Right. Fuck fuck fuck. Unbelievable.
She’s still staring at it when a private message from her annoying brother comes through.
짜증나는 준수야 (annoying jun-su) :
엄마가 그러는데, 애인 데려오래.
(Mom says to bring your partner.)
No shit, Sherlock.
짜증나는 준수야 (annoying jun-su) :
남자든 여자든 상관없대.
(She says she doesn’t care if it’s a boyfriend or girlfriend.)
Like that helps.
Jisu types. Deletes. Types again.
지수 (ji-su) :
나 애인 없어.
(I don’t have a partner.)
The reply takes a moment.
짜증나는 준수야 (annoying jun-su) :
진짜로?
(Really?)
지수 (ji-su) :
진짜로.
(Really.)
A pause.
짜증나는 준수야 (annoying jun-su) :
엄마 고집 센 거 알지.
(You know how stubborn Mom is.)
She does. Painfully.
짜증나는 준수야 (annoying jun-su) :
그래서 묻는 건데… 지금이라도 있기는 해?
(So I’m asking… do you have one? Even now?)
Jisu drops her phone onto the couch and leans back, staring at the ceiling like it might offer legal advice.
She thinks of exactly one person.
Shin Ryujin, already on her way over, always steady, always saying yes like it’s nothing.
Which is, objectively, a terrible idea. Does she even have the time? This is a terrible idea. Terrible. She’s going to laugh in my face. Or worse, she’s going to say yes.
Just then, the doorbell rings.
Jisu startles like she’s been caught doing something illegal, which is ridiculous considering that she’s merely sitting on her couch, thinking of another reason to avoid the hot seat she’s been on for years.
She stares at the door, her mind in between completely blank and borderline tweaking.
Then at the glow from her phone that she hopefully wished could blind her, ASAP.
The doorbell rings again with a sound like it was more personally concerned than the person pressing it. Well, maybe also the person who’s waiting for more than a minute behind the door. Unhurried. Very Ryujin.
“Okay…” Jisu mutters to no one, “Okay… it’s fine.”
She stands, smooths down her scrubs out of habit, realizes she changed into a night gown already, and abandons the gesture halfway. When she opens the door, Ryujin is there exactly as promised, with her blazer draped over one shoulder, hair slightly mussed from wind and travel, expression calm in the way that suggests she' s already had a long day and survived it.
“Hey,” Ryujin greets, easy. “Sorry. Client wouldn’t stop talking.”
“That tracks,” Jisu steps aside automatically. “You look fine, don’t worry. Come in.”
Ryujin pauses, then grins. “Is that a compliment or a warning?”
”Sort of… both,” Jisu says, then winces. “Sorry. Long day”
Ryujin just hums, already toeing off her heels like she already belongs here. Which she does. That’s the problem.
“Food?” Ryujin asks. “I also went to the convenience store for your requested makgeolli—”
“Hey, Ryu? Uh… Before that,” Jisu interrupts, and then immediately regrets it. She tilts her head and closes her eyes for half a second, recalibrates. “Actually? Fuck it. Maybe after… Let’s sit?”
Ryujin tilts her head to the side, studies her for a beat longer than necessary, then absent-mindedly nods. “Oh, okay…”
They sit. Opposite ends of the couch at first, like adults who respect personal space and are bad at lying. Ryujin now takes out all of their food from the paper bag she brought, and places it on the coffee table in front of them. Jisu picks at the seam of the cushion, acting like one of her restless patients before knowing their biopsy results.
“Hey,” Jisu says, a little too casually, like she isn’t already building an excuse in her head. “Have you been to your parents’ place these past few months… or years?”
She tries to sound curious. Neutral. Definitely not hopeful in a way that might reveal something about her own prolonged absence from every meaningful family gathering since forever.
Ryujin pauses mid-pour, makgeolli clouding the cups in slow, even circles.
“Hmmm,” she hums, thinking. “I was with them during Chuseok.”
Of course she was.
Ugh. She could’ve said anything else. A work trip. A rain check. A vague “it’s complicated.”
“Ah,” Jisu says instead, eloquent as ever.
Ryujin glances at her over the rim of the bottle, amused. “Why?”
Jisu exhales, leans back against the couch, and finally gives in.
“My family’s being weird.”
Ryujin considers this. “Well, that’s news.”
Jisu sighs and admits, “Yeah, but this time, it’s escalated.”
She reaches for her phone, hesitates, then hands it over like it’s the newest gossip online.
Ryujin scrolls quietly. Her eyebrows lift once. Just once.
”Oh. Your cousin is getting married.” she says.
Jisu groans. “Bingo! You see the problem?”
”I see several.” Ryujin replies, handing the phone back to one frustrated Jisu.
Silence settles. Heavy. In a way that it means different for the both of them. Jisu, confused and contemplative, thinking if it’s a nice idea to even bring anything up after that. Ryujin, on the other hand, is concerned for her dear friend. “If it helps, I sometimes get those messages, too.”
“You see,” Jisu says carefully, “I may have implied something.”
“And what’s that?”
“That I may have a partner for this wedding…”
Ryujin doesn’t react right away, and that’s what made Jisu’s mind do a somersault in the middle of trying to end this heck of a problem.
“Implied how?” she asks gently.
“You know… with words?” Jisu says. “In Korean. In a group chat.”
“I’ve figured. I read it, Jisu. Being sarcastic doesn’t get you anywhere.” Ryujin replies, though Jisu’s sarcasm will always get a small smile from her.
Jisu’s phone buzzes on the couch between them.
She ignores it.
It buzzes again. Louder this time.
Ryujin glances down, then back up at her. “You gonna get that?”
Jisu sighs, already knowing. She picks it up.
짜증나는 준수야 (annoying jun-su):
대답 좀 해, 누나. 🙂
(Answer me, Jisu.)
Another message follows immediately.
짜증나는 준수야 (annoying jun-su):
그래야 네 가망 없는 로맨틱한 인생 위해서 또 핑계 만들어 주지.
(So I know whether I need to come up with another excuse for your hopeless romantic ass.)
Jisu groans and tips her head back against the couch.
“Your brother is mean,” Ryujin observes mildly.
“He loves me,” Jisu says. “In the most hostile way possible.”
Ryujin laughs at Jisu’s remarks.
Jisu looks at her phone again, then at Ryujin. Hesitates.
“Well,” she says, exhaling, “this is my window.”
Ryujin tilts her head. “Your window for…?”
Jisu swallows. “Asking you something incredibly unreasonable.”
Ryujin doesn’t look away. “Try me.”
Jisu groans, “They want to meet this theoretical person… How annoying and insufferable and and and—ugh. I give up.”
“Okay.” Ryujin nods once, like she’s aligning facts at her corporate litigation work.
Jisu blinks, and blinks, then blinks again. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” Ryujin says, calm as ever. “What do you need?”
That’s it. That’s the question that always undoes her.
Jisu looks at her, really looks. At the way Ryujin is already leaning in, already present, already choosing to stay.
She swallows.
“I need,” she says, voice light in the way it gets when she’s terrified, “a very convincing partner. Temporarily.”
Ryujin doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t tease. She just holds Jisu’s gaze.
“For the wedding,” Jisu adds, unnecessarily.
Ryujin nods. “When is it?”
“This weekend.”
“I’ve technically known about the wedding for a month,” Jisu admits. “I just… hoped it would stop being real.”
“Did it work?” Ryujin shots dryly, already knowing the answer to her deprecating question.
“No…”
Another nod. No hesitation.
“I can do weekends.”
Jisu’s breath leaves her in a rush. “You don’t have to— I mean. You have work. I have work. We’re both—” she gestures vaguely between them, “very busy professionals. It’s fine. You really don’t need to mind it.”
The corner of Ryujin’s mouth lifts, just slightly. Not amused. Certain.
“I’ve rearranged worse weekends,” she says. “This one sounds manageable.”
Jisu blinks.
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, Jisu.” Ryujin reaches for her cup, like this isn’t a decision at all. “We’ll figure out the details.”
Oh.
That’s worse.
Shin Ryujin, why do you act like it’s so easy for you to do this?