Archive of Our Own

Memory fades, memory adjusts, memory conforms to what we think we remember.

- Joan Didion, Blue Nights

⏹

Jimin takes in the state of her wife — the bruises spreading on one side of her face like spilled ink, the white gauze wrapped around her head, the black shadows under her closed eyes, the paleness of her once bright cheeks. She runs her thumb over her knuckles, carefully not to bump into the infusion pricking the back of her hand. The simple gold band on her finger is icy to the touch, just as cold as her fingertips, and Jimin swallows to stop a sob from escaping her lips. The doctors have no concrete answers when she would wake up. Nor if she would be alright — brain damage is between the cards but Jimin refuses to linger on that. Instead she focuses on the slow but steady beeping of the heart rate monitor.

Reaching out, Jimin sweeps away a stray lock of hair stuck in the fresh gauze. Under there is an angry red slash on the puckered skin closed with black thread, closely shaven hair, and a dent in the skull. The doctor, an older gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair, wire-rimmed glasses and intelligent eyes, told her about MRI scans that showed damage to the hippocampus.

"The memory center of the brain," he explained when Jimin only stared at him, mind raking back high school biology classes. "She might have problems with her memories when she wakes up."

It doesn't matter. Because he said when she wakes up, not if, and Jimin has been holding onto that little flame of hope ever since the accident. Whatever comes next, they can get through it. A car crash won't get to them, won't cut the layers and layers of threads that tie them together. A bump in the road, a big one, but not the finish line. A, so far, 3-day-long interlude in their happy life. Jimin chews on her dry, cracked lip, tears off a piece of skin and the salty, coppery taste of blood sits on her tongue. She tries to ignore the IV, drip drip drip of seconds, monotonously robbing them time.

It's nearing 8pm. Jimin's mom is coming to take over for a bit, until Jimin rushes home, showers and gets into clean clothes. An hour maximum, with heart beating in her throat, and images of Minjeong waking up while she's not here plaguing her mind. A torture of some kind, but necessary to stretch her limbs after being scooped up in the hospital room all day, sleeping curled up in an uncomfortable plastic chair.

Jimin hates sitting in the silence. She fills the room with endless chatter, talking about anything that comes to her mind. She talks about their past, reminiscing about their hateful university years until they got over themselves to admit that the push-and-pull was due to something else than hate, to futures they discussed before, all the dogs, cats and babies and cottages outside of busy cities that makes Jimin want to shake Minjeong awake because — all of this seemed like an arm's length away a few days ago. Now they're all mirages, big question marks. She talks circles around the incident — an icy road, a driver losing control over their car, Minjeong being in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

"I know you've been at the animal shelter. You wanted to get a puppy as a surprise, right?" Jimin asks, recalling the pictures on Minjeong's phone once she got the broken thing back from the police. "An ugly little thing — no teeth, quivering like it could be picked up by a gust of wind. Not necessarily the nicest either. He bites people, the shelter warned. I bet you wanted him because no one else did. Because you're good like that.

"Don't worry. Dust will join our family once you get well enough. Dust is the name you've always wanted to name your puppy, no? He's at mom's place right now, probably getting fat and spoiled, so he'll like us even less when we bring him home. Then it'll be the three of us. Our family is getting bigger. And I'll have to take care of not one, but two puppies. Poor me."

The last words come out as mere whispers, because a sudden wave of emotions tightening its hold around her throat. A family, they've been in the last couple of years, the two of them in an apartment that just started to look like a home finally. Piece by piece they put it together, equally theirs from Jimin's leather-bound diaries to the last pieces of Minjeong's Formula-1 car Lego sets. It's a miracle, having another one joining their little close-knit family. Dust, who already bit Jimin, but it barely hurt because he has no teeth, who yaps at her if she comes close, but snuggles up to her if she's wearing one of Minjeong's hoodies.

They'll get along, Jimin decided, because they like the same person.

Jimin scoots closer with the plastic chair, then rests her cheek against the coarse material of the sharp-smelling sheet. Each time she looks at Minjeong, with tubes going in and out of her nose, her hand prickled with a cannula, tied up to machines, a new tear appears on her heart, bleeding freely. Snuggling to the moveless shape of Minjeong's thigh, she enjoys the warmth of the touch.

Each time she closes her eyes, in the silence between heartbeats, desire and phantasmagoria conjure up pictures so dear, her heart weeps. When she closes her eyes, they're not in the cold artificial fluorescent light of the hospital, but basking in warm daylight; Minjeong is not a marble sculpture but a person made up from laughter, dreams, and love, and her fingertips scrap Jimin's scalp as she drones about being the slave of the corporate world, while something spicy and sweet and homey is boiling in the kitchen, filling their apartment with the warmth of a home-cooked meal. Then she opens her eyes, the harsh reality is a stinging handprint on her cheek, and Minjeong is still as unmoving as ever. The days wrapped in silence have made her heart grow fonder, more concerned. At first, she doesn't notice her eyes blurring, but the hot tracks of tears on her cheeks cool immediately, and her tongue pokes out to taste the salt of her tears.

Under her hands, the bedsheets crumple. She's been patient, she's been trusting towards the doctors saying in any minute she can wake up, she's been naively sitting here, shutting her mouth and bearing her other half being ripped away. She’s been staring at the carbon-copy of the woman she loves and she’s been swallowing back her anger, her guilt until it corroded away her insides.

"I just wish you'd come back to me."

Minjeong’s eyelashes quiver, then flutter open like she only needed the plea, the demand, the outright confession that Jimin indeed needs her. It's like watching a scratched DVD, the picture jumping from one scene to another without any seamlessness, without any sense. One moment she's lying there like a hyperrealistic painting hanging on the wall, then she's a flurry of movements — wincing from pain, one hand flying to the side of her skull where the gash is, the other trying to pull the tubes from her nose and Jimin is suddenly overwhelmed by the sight that she forgoes the strict instructions she received from the nurses, to give them an alert when Minjeong wakes up.

Instead, she gently tugs Minjeong's hands away from her face, then kisses her. Softly, not to justle any tube or injury, she breaths a feather-like kiss on her lips. When she pulls away, Minjeong's eyes are unfocused, hazy, before they zero on her, pupils dilating.

"Welcome back," Jimin whispered, voice croaky and wet. She tries to smile but it comes out wobbly.

Minjeong studies her face in confusion, then her expression rumples into a frown. She starts to look around, trying to sit up, reaching for the cannula to rip out. "What—"

"Don't move! You must be so confused right now. You got into a bad car accident a few days ago. You hurt your head really bad — you had a minor surgery too. I'm calling the nurses, please don't try to sit up—"

Minjeong grabs the front of Jimin's shirt and pulls her closer. Her grip is weak, it would be easy for Jimin to get out of her grasp, but the sudden animosity that spreads across Minjeong's face like a drop of ink in water, freezes her limbs.

"Jimin, right?" Minjeong asks. She spits out the two syllables of Jimin's name like a curse. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Jimin frowns. "What do you mean? I—"

"Like — did you cause the crash and you feel bad? Did I cause the crash and you want to press some money out of me? You could've just contacted me through a lawyer or something. No need to see me in person at a time like this." Her hand drops on the mattress, and a weak sigh leaves her lips. "I don't think it's necessary for you to be here. I'd like you to go now."

A small puff of laughter escapes Jimin's lips, and Minjeong's head whips towards her with a glare. Minjeong blinks away the tears from her eyes, face pale as an onslaught of pain must have washed over her due to the sudden motion, and the mirth on Jimin's mouth slowly dies out. She reaches down to take Minjeong's hand in hers, but Minjeong flinches away from the touch.

The realization hits her like tons of brick. Knees getting weaker with each prolonged second of staring back at the defiance sitting heavy on Minjeong's sweet and broken face, Jimin lets her body plop down on a chair.

"Minjeong," she starts slowly, "I'm here because I'm your wife."

This time, it's Minjeong's turn to laugh. Not knowing how else to prove herself, Jimin grabs Minjeong's hand, ignoring the weak resistance from her, and holds up her hand. Then places her own next to hers, their uniform pale gold bands glittering in the light.

"If you remove it, you have my name engraved inside. I have yours."

Scrambling back from Jimin touch, Minjeong rips off the wedding ring and holds it up to the light. The heart rate monitor picks up a quicker beat, and Jimin thinks this is exactly where the makers of a sitcom would place the laughing track. Because when Minjeong turns back to look at her, her face is even paler than before and astonishment sits in her features.

“You're fucking with me.”

⏮

“Minjeong is a brat,” Jimin said in lieu of a greeting, bumping her backpack on the floor, notebooks toppling out of it, then plopped down on the tacky red faux leather diner booth. She caught Aeri rolling her eyes, but she didn't care. She had a hate manifesto to spread. “She would never let anyone outshine her.”

"Is it again about that presentation?"

"Yes. I just got away from her."

Aeri's mouth wrapped around her straw, taking a long sip from her cherry coke, before saying, "You could ask for another partner, you know. Discuss it with the professor, undermine her while at it. Instead, you’re letting it happen to you and force us to listen to it every single day."

“She's hot, though,” Yizhuo said, pushing a bowl of salad and fries in front of Jimin. "I get why she's holding out hope for her."

"That's her problem," Aeri said, turning full-body towards Yizhuo, locking Jimin out of the conversation. "Minjeong is hot and smart, and she can't be bothered about Jimin."

“She's hot per se,” Jimin said, aloof as she was picking out the cucumbers from her salad, “but whenever I spend more than 2 minutes with her, I feel like I'm participating in a dog fight. At some point, I wouldn't even mind having a pack of strays mauling me — I would still be having a better time than working with her.”

Aeri rolled her eyes so hard again, Jimin could only see the whites of her eyes for a second. Then she reached over the table and snatched a few parmesan fries from her plate. “No one said anything about talking to her. Just a bang-and-go. Everyone would be happier.”

Jimin pushed her plate closer to Aeri. She was rapidly losing appetite anyway.

"Gosh, don't be crude." She wrinkled her nose. "And by the way, she's not interested. She made that very clear."

Yizhuo scooted to the edge of her seat. “What is it all about?”

“Yizhuo, no–”

“Throughout freshman year, we had this back and forth which I, for one, interpreted as flirting. Then came a house party where she just kept making eye contact with me, for which I naively thought was an invitation for something more. When I tried to kiss her, she dumped her beer over my head. Made a whole scene." Jimin let out a long sigh. "Turns out she wasn't flirting all this time, she really just hates me. She's been unbearable ever since."

Sadly, Minjeong had always been a charmer. A gamine little thing with the most neck-prickling grin and the most annoying habit of wanting to be and ultimately always being right. Just how Jimin liked her girls — and Minjeong, being just out of an arm's reach, became more of an obsession than a real crush. Because Minjeong was just a goal to conquer and throw away once having it, for all the shit she made Jimin put up with.

Yizhuo raised her eyebrows, twirling her drink with her straw. "Interesting. Minjeong had a different story."

"She likes to make herself into a victim," Jimin said, then stopped. "I didn't know you were friends."

"It's a new development. We're sharing a class this semester and she's nice. Quite funny actually. She's running an abhorrent smear campaign against you behind your back, it's amazing to witness." Yizhuo almost purred with happiness. The messier, the better. "I tried to put a good word in for you, but she said you would be the last person on earth to go on a date with."

The thing was: Jimin didn't want to hate Minjeong. Whenever she got a glimpse of her true nature, the constant antagonism and stubbornness dressed down, Jimin quite liked her. She was witty and clever and oh-so-charming, but none of these were ever directed towards her — all Jimin got were thundering looks, bullet-like words, and annoyance weighing tons. She didn't like being not liked.

But hell, if she would let Minjeong know.

"I knew that. And I share the sentiment."

⏭

There must be better ways to handle this, but Jimin is unsure what her options are. Diligently, she sits in the medical room, with the same fake-bravado like if she pretends everything is okay, things will settle on their own. But all she receives back to her smiles, her stories, her chatter is Minjeong's untrusting glare, hunched shoulders, or ignorance. Right now, Minjeong is staring out of the window, face turned away from Jimin, while she pretends not to listen to anything Jimin is saying.

"I heard you'll be released soon," Jimin tries to force cheerfulness into her voice. "You must be so relieved to come back home."

"Home?"

It's great that Minjeong is getting out of the hospital. What's less great is the shrugs and endless circles of medical terms that only mean we don't know when she'll get her memories back, if she gets them back at all and it scares Jimin, to drag the stranger in her lover's body back to their little shared place.

This Minjeong, who doesn't remember marrying her, who treats her like a stranger, who studies her from the corner of her eyes when she thinks Jimin is not paying attention. She's concerned about the implications too — bringing her clean slate of memories to the museum of their love.

Every surface is a love letter in their crowded apartment. From the myriads of photos on the walls, to the love notes stuck to the fridge with magnets of their travels. Ugly mugs created on dates fill up the cabinets, their clothes spill over in the same wardrobes, their toothbrushes sit in the same cup. It's been a long while since Jimin wasn't part of a whole but one person alone. And this Minjeong has never been part of the entity they used to be. It's not a home for her.

"Minjeong, I've never asked you — how old are you?" Jimin asks, curiosity eating her from the inside to confirm the hypothesis that has been sitting in the back of her mind ever since Minjeong has woken up.

"Turning twenty next January. Why?"

Jimin stares at her, then a groan leaves her lips. She plants her face between her palms, a dark chuckle escaping her. Jimin is usually not the type to lose her cool — Minjeong used to like teasing her for always knowing what to do and what to say, except when it came to their relationship. Especially now, as her shoulders shake with the unwanted laughter that trembles through her, her shortly cropped hair falling to her face and through the stray strands, Minjeong is looking at her with concern in her eyes, it seems to be true.

Once her laughter dies down, she leans back in the chair.

"Out of our whole journey, it has to be the point you hated my guts? Fucking fantastic."

Minjeong sends her a scathing look. "Not exactly my choice, is it?"

"It's a little funny, though, you can admit it."

"I, for one, haven't known a time when we haven't hated each other." She falls back between the pillows, then winces. The doctors warned her against abrupt movements, but she just ignored them completely. Jimin has a hunch it might be just to irk her more. "For all I know, you're just pulling an elaborate joke on me."

"If you believe I would think this is funny, you really don't know me."

"Isn't that the point?"

The thing is — Jimin remembers this Minjeong too well. Argumentative to the point she had always wanted to crawl out of her skin to escape the endless circles of hell Minjeong forced on everybody who she didn’t like. A headache is building up behind her eyes.

"Doesn't really matter. I'm your emergency contact, and our — my apartment is your registered address. I am, right now, your closest relative. You'll come home with me." On seeing Minjeong opening her mouth to argue, Jimin lets out a long sigh. "We'll figure out the rest as we get there."

Minjeong stares at her for a long time. The black and blue bruises around her temple and eye are better, lingering in an ugly yellow-green mixture. She's lost weight, her cheeks losing their sweet roundness with the three-days-long coma and only picking at her food since waking up, and her skin looks papery, sick. She spends all day, if not torturing Jimin, by staring outside.

The fresh layer of snow makes the whole world outside of the hospital room look glittery. Jimin just focused on not accidentally slipping and dying on the streets as she came to the hospital, but just thinking about the cold bringing back the redness of Minjeong's cheeks now makes her want to get out. She wants her, if only momentarily, to forget about this whole ordeal, to let the wind steal away the scent of disinfectants and sickness, and fill her with life. Little porcupine Minjeong had always been nicer when she could unfurl in the wild.

"Want me to ask the nurses if I can take you out for a bit? It's cold outside, but it's bright and sunny."

Minjeong's eyes are suddenly twin stars in the fluorescent lights, yet she still says, "You don't have to be nice to me."

Jimin chuckles and shakes her head. She stands, grabbing her jacket and the scarf made by Minjeong herself — a little clumpy, a little ugly, but Jimin's favorite clothing article — to get dressed to steal Minjeong away from this room.

"I'm nice to you because I like you," Jimin says, voice wavering on like because hitting her with the word love seemed too much for now. She avoids looking at her, not wanting to see the empty unfamiliarity that cuts down to her heart. In the door, she lingers, then adds, "I know it's rather a new thing for you now. Start getting used to it."

⏸

Convincing the nurses to let Minjeong out took a little more effort than she expected, but Minjeong now sits smugly in a wheelchair under layers and layers of blankets and the jacket Jimin brought in to the hospital in a moment of positivity for the day Minjeong leaves this damned place. The instructions were to not leave the backyard of the hospital, so they lingered in the little garden. They stop at a patch of sunlight, and Minjeong raises her head towards the sun like a sunflower.

"You don't get to be disappointed that I don't remember you," Minjeong mumbles suddenly, hands crossing in front of her chest. "I— It wasn't my choice. It's not nice either, to be robbed from all these memories."

"I'm not."

"Liar. You've always been a liar." She peels one eye open to glance at her. "You always look at me like you expect something from me."

Jimin is not surprised about the attack. Minjeong has been preparing, studying her opponent in the last few days, collecting evidence to put Jimin on the spot.

"I can't help not to. I was your wife. I am your wife. But right now, I'm just an annoying coursemate for you. Even back then, I had no idea how I pissed off you so badly that we ended up hating each other."

"You don't remember, do you? Even though we are apparently married. Typical." Minjeong scoffs. "I was holding a presentation about sustainability, and you asked, in front of the whole group of forty-something people, if what I was wearing wasn't from a fast fashion brand and wouldn't that make me a hypocrite?"

Laughter rips from Jimin's throat as she rounds the wheelchair to squat down in front of Minjeong.

"So sensitive. I always had a hunch I nipped at your pride," she says, wondering how her old Minjeong must've let go of this long ago to the point it never came up between them. This Minjeong, though, stares at her with a pyre burning in her eyes and it takes her back to the university campus, rewinding a long-forgotten tape and Jimin is nineteen again, seeing this girl for the first time again. "Minjeong I was a stupid nineteen-year-old who didn't know how to make her crush like her except with gentle bullying."

This snuffs the fire out of Minjeong's eyes and she turns away.

"Now you're making things up."

"I'm sorry, though. If that matters, you made a point of fact-checking me during our university career and usually you were right. It was humiliating, but maybe a bit well-deserved too."

The sunlight washes away the bruises and paints Minjeong's face golden. Her eyelashes flutter, leaving long shadows over her cheeks and her eyes are lighter brown in this light. Every time Minjeong looks at her, she feels like she's under the microscope, that she's a study for her and she's searching for something that Jimin might've hidden deep inside. The thing is — she knows what Minjeong is looking for. The mutual dislike, the thinly veiled jealousy, and even deeper, the desire for her. Minjeong has always been an untrusting little stray kitten, doubtful with everything because she believes she's smart enough not to make the mistakes others have committed. And right now, Jimin might look like the biggest mistake future-Minjeong might have committed. And she's trying to find a reason for it.

Her scowl lightens a bit.

"You're more different than I thought you would be."

"Good to hear."

"I didn't say it's a good thing, though," Minjeong says defiantly, because what is she if not a prick? "You might be worse."

The more time Jimin spends with her, the more she wants to laugh at her nineteen-year-old self for getting furious at every word that left Minjeong's mouth. She wants to go back and pat her own anger-filled head, tell her things will figure themselves out if she doesn't give up. That life will lead her to the right place, sand down their edges enough to see they're not that different after all. Or even if they are, they're willing to mould themselves just a bit to make more space for each other.

She can't blame Minjeong for having her defenses up. For her, Jimin is unchanged, a nuisance that always lingered just inside of her periphery. But thinking about it, reflecting back to their journey, it was possible for Minjeong to fall in love with her. Would it be so different now? When she knows Minjeong better than anybody on this Earth, when they went through so much to end up here, would it be so hard to have her again?

"I'll still take it."

⏸

"Welcome back!"

Jimin feels her own voice quivering, but she pushes the thought away. She's genuinely happy to have Minjeong out of her hospital room, though she still looks so fragile, so crumpled that it bleeds her heart. Jimin is to deliver her back to the doctor on a weekly basis, and to a physiatrist twice a week. They'll work on getting her memories back, the doctor said with sympathy lacing his tone. Jimin tries not to think too hard about the chances of success.

Minjeong lingers in the doorway. Her clothes hang on her and she's out of breath after a few flights of stairs. Jimin bumps the duffel bags on the floor, then cuts across the room to grab Minjeong's hand and pull her inside. Minjeong's hand is cold and limp inside of hers, and the lack of immediate fight makes her push Minjeong towards the couch.

"Sit, sit. I don't want you to pass out and having to take you back to the hospital."

That has Minjeong waking up. She tears her hand out of Jimin's hold and tucks it into her pocket. She refuses to sit, drawing up to her full height, despite her pale complexion saying otherwise.

"I'm fine."

Instead, she strolls around the living room, fingertips touching the items like the connection would help her remember. She doesn't say anything for a while, takes her time to digest all the things that have accumulated throughout the years — pictures, knicknacks, painfully mundane things they wanted to remember later on, except right now only Jimin bears the flames of this march. She waits patiently for Minjeong to compartmentalize all of it or to throw it back into her face.

Minjeong picks up a frame, scowls at it like she's never seen something so horrible. Jimin's stomach sinks — it's them in New York City, on the top of the Empire State Building, with ruddy cheeks and red noses and crazy hair, and both of them sport red-rimmed eyes and wide smiles because Jimin finally got the courage to pop the question. In the picture, Minjeong settled into Jimin's neck, a lovelorn expression on her face and the shining rock on her fingers. Unconsciously, Minjeong twirls the ring on her finger.

“If you don't mind I don't want to stay here,” she says, then places the picture face down on the table.

“Where else would you go? You're not well. Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

“Yeah,” Minjeong draws out. “But that someone doesn't need to be you. I could go to Yizhuo's.”

Jimin purses her lips into a thin line. "She's back in Harbin. For the better half of the year now, actually."

"Aeri?"

"On a two-year relocation to the States."

"Doesn't matter. I've got a bunch of friends, someone must be available."

Jimin rolls her eyes. She walks up next to Minjeong and takes the picture, rubbing the dust off the frame before standing it up. She tries not to take it to heart, when Minjeong, barely noticeably, draws back a few centimeters.

"Ryujin is on a backpack tour through Europe. Wonyoung is doing catwalks all over the world. Wonbin is touring with a pop band as a backup dancer, Sungchan's got a whole family with an insane amount of kids. Yunjin is doing her PhD in New York. Tell me if I left someone out."

"And—"

Jimin clicks her tongue.

"He's actually homophobic. We invited him to our wedding and he outright burned the invitation in front of us. He thought we were just friends and had a thing for you."

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

Looking around again in the room, Minjeong clears her throat. "I can book a hotel too."

"Look, even if you don't remember, we're not strangers. I've known you since the first freshman party at university. We had better and worse times with each other, but was it ever so bad that you'd rather be alone at times like this than with me so I can take care of you?"

By the end of the sentence, Jimin's shoulders dropped, exhaustion taking over her. It's been a while since she had a good night's sleep; it's not the same without Minjeong. And this Minjeong is a long time off before she would be willing to share a bed to sleep — as of right now, she cannot even bear to stay in the same room as Jimin. She tries to not take it personally.

Minjeong still twirls the gold band around her finger. She's toying with the thought of getting it off, Jimin realizes. It doesn't mean anything to her. Nothing in this apartment means anything to her, especially not Jimin. Still, catching Jimin's eyes on her, she has the decency to drop her hands, wedding ring on and all.

"I—" she tucks her hands into her pockets. "I just don't like the way you look at me. You have all this hope and unabashed love, and — it makes me uncomfortable that I can't reciprocate it. I'm not even sure I want my memories back. It might be another chance from the universe to start anew."

Jimin almost laughs. Minjeong sure knows how to twist a knife in her heart. Jimin drops down on the couch, pulls another failed attempt in knitting from Minjeong into her lap, fingers digging into the soft pillowcase.

"I don't think that's your fault. I don't blame you at all. But I can feel sorry for myself, though." She picks the lint off from the pillowcase, so that she doesn't have to look at Minjeong. Talking to her now feels a lot like trying to not step on a landmine, but she knows Jimin's steps beforehand and places them right in her way. Jimin pulls her legs up, knees close to her chest. "By the way, I'll sleep on the couch, you can take the bedroom."

"No, I'm uh. I'm the guest here."

"Not really." Jimin lets her head rest against the backrest. Slowly, she closes her eyes. "This apartment is as much yours as mine. Also, you need the rest. And privacy."

Minjeong awkwardly lingers by the couch, until suddenly deciding to sit beside Jimin. Not to scare her away, Jimin doesn't move, doesn't open her eyes, but feels as the couch dips beside her, and even just slightly the air warms around them. Hope is a little funny guy, immediately leaping out of bounds after a small offering. With a huff, Minjeong leans back, going out of her way to arrange her limbs not to touch Jimin on the tiny couch.

"You're too nice to me. It freaks me out," she blurts out.

Jimin peers at her. This side of her face, the stitched skin is puckered, her hair cropped close to her skull, little black babyhairs already appearing on her scalp. She's so familiar, yet so strange. It's the same Minjeong, fine lines around her face from all the laughter they have shared throughout the years; same slope of nose she kissed when Minjeong was angry at her to get her smiling; same everything that makes her a natural sun of the microcosmos of their lives, that makes her fit into this still life painting like she's been always part of Jimin's life. But then Minjeong turns towards her, and the brushstrokes and the light source are different, the colours are all wrong — her eyes, ajar to peek if Jimin can be trusted, hold her far away like a stranger.

"I've always been nice, you just refused to give me a chance," she says finally, screwing her eyes closed shut. "And I'm old now. Maybe not wiser, but I've cooled down a lot. I no longer pick fights with teenagers."

"Just because you know you wouldn't win," Minjeong says, and Jimin can hear the smile in her voice. Jimin forgot how nice it is, to hear the laughter hidden in her voice. The cushion sags under Minjeong's weight as she leans back. The distance between them is carefully curated — both by Jimin and Minjeong. In the cramped space of the couch, they leave a sliver of distance between their thighs, and Jimin decides it's better for her as well. Touching Minjeong, even if just barely, would be devastating. "So you really don't mind if I stay here? It must be deliberating, having me here while I— I don't— well, you know."

"Oh my goodness, Kim Minjeong has learnt compassion. Maybe you are a real human being." Jimin fires off a joke just so she doesn't have to face what Minjeong could've possibly meant: don't remember or don't love? Better not knowing. "I would rather have you here, than anywhere else, Mindoongie. I'm not the important one here."

"Uhm, thank you. No nicknames, though. It still freaks me out how familiar you are with me."

"Duly noted."

⏸

So Minjeong stays. And maybe, as Jimin rubs her temples, having run away into the bathroom, just for the sake of eliminating Jimin altogether. Because her initial grace and good mood disappeared bit by bit over the next week, and her bad mood peaked when Jimin ordered them food she knew Minjeong loved, but opening up the takeaway container, Minjeong just deadpanned at the food.

"What's that?"

"Lasagna. I thought you'd like that."

She snapped the container shut. "I hate it. And you know what? I'm not even hungry."

Interestingly, the lasagna disappeared by morning, the container buried under other trash in the garbage can, no words said but an upturned nose. But Jimin knew better than to mention it.

Then, Jimin made breakfast. Made coffee. Made everything the way Minjeong liked. When Minjeong got out of bed, face heavy with bags under her eyes and the sure-sign paleness of someone who had not had a wink of sleep during the night, and sitting down to their small round dining table, Jimin could already see her hackles rising after peering at Minjeong from the rim of her cup.

"Is there a problem?" she asked.

Minjeong stared down her own mug of coffee. She picked it up, swallowed down a big gulp of scorching hot liquid, then shot an accusatory look towards Jimin. She pushed away the mug, coffee splashing out. It used to be Minjeong's favorite mug — a failed attempt of a date night when they were still in their awkward phase, Jimin trying to woo Minjeong with her artistic vision which ended up being a lumpy mug, with unrecognizable Maltese puppies painted on the side. On the bottom, she carved M+J and sealed the deal: Minjeong laughed at the end result, and when Jimin wanted to bump it into the trash, she cradled it close to her chest and took it home. Now, it lingered on the edge of the table, coffee staining the sides and this Minjeong had no idea how much that little piece of ceramics meant to them.

"You can't help rubbing under my nose that you know so damn much about me, right? Getting my favorite food, making my coffee the way I like it, going out of your way just to accommodate me. What are you playing at?"

"I’m not playing at anything,” Jimin deadpans. “You can't help that you forgot about us, but I also can't help remembering. I'll not fuck up your coffee just so I can give you some peace of mind."

Jimin tried not to pick up the fight. Minjeong used to lash out whenever she wasn't sure of something — the best defence has always been an attack. And she also tried to remind herself, that even though this Minjeong in front of her was lovely in her late twenties glory, the person inside of her was nineteen. A nineteen-year-old who lived and breathed agonizing Jimin.

"You think if you keep this up I would start remembering you, right? That somehow if you pretended me away, you can get back your idyllic life. Tough luck. You can't hide behind this nice act and keep wishing I was someone else!"

"Would you rather have me abandoning you? So you can say you were right about me all along?" Jimin bit down the insides of her cheeks until she felt the metallic tang of blood in her mouth. Wished the taste would shock her out of this emotional stupor she had forced herself into, but apathy was hard to remove once taken on. She simply droned on, taking another spoonful of pumpkin porridge, but it tasted ashy and bitter and she forced it down quickly before it turned around. On the other side of the table, Minjeong's shoulders hiked up to her ears, her defense high, ready to give the killing shot. "Also tough luck. I'm not giving up on you so easily."

"You are not a savior of mine."

"You can be mad at me, but that won't stop me from caring about you," Jimin shrugged. A headache was building behind her eyes and it was barely 8 am. Truly a jump back to every interaction she had with Minjeong at nineteen.

Minjeong shot up. For a second she swayed, but then she slapped her hand over the table. The impact of it sent the mug, already tethering over the edge, falling on the hardboard floor and breaking into pieces. Shame flashed through Minjeong's face, but it disappeared just as quickly, her anger built by strong hands taking over.

"I don't know you. So stop pretending you are all I have in this goddamned world. You're not helping!"

And Jimin was good at this. She could navigate with the silent treatment as Minjeong rushed away and shut their bedroom door with a bang. Ten years younger, she would've continued having a fight because she couldn't swallow her pride and would not let Minjeong win. This time, her ears rang with the words that were deliberately chosen to hurt, arrow tips sharpened to pierce through her skin easily. Minjeong bit into her flesh and tore a piece out, hoping and praying that she would be right about the hunch she had — that Jimin couldn’t possibly love her. She didn't know yet how wrong she was.

Crouching down to pick up the pieces of the mug, hoping to get some superglue and save this stepping stone of their relationship, one sharp shard pierced through her skin and blood mixed with the sticky sugary coffee on the floor. Numbly, she left behind the shattered mug and the coffee that would surely stain the wooden floor, to get to the bathroom.

She went on autopilot, cradling her hand close to her chest while hot blood pumped out of the gash, droplets rolling down, leaving a trail of crimson behind her. Now, she holds her hand under the constant spray of water in the sink, looking at the pinkish water, and wondering how everything they've painstakingly built so far, derailed so easily. Now, she still has a wife who hates her and her only plan to get her back was failing on the same principle because — Minjeong refuses to see her for what she is now.

Because the beauty of their relationship used to be that they didn't match exactly. Instead, they went out of their way to make it happen. It never felt daunting to change some parts of herself in order to fit beside the piece Minjeong had prepared right for Jimin. It was a give and take, equally they stood, and the Minjeong of now doesn't know this Jimin. Doesn't know the heart that bleeds for Minjeong because all she had is the insecure youth she wielded like a weapon. She got older, gentler, less edgy. And now, in no shape or form do they match with this Minjeong.

Jimin leans her head against the cool of the mirror. The universe thought up the most excruciating plan to ruin her life.

A slow knock on the door. Then the door to the bathroom opens ajar with a creak. Minjeong peeks inside, then pushes the door open more.

"I wanted to say sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." Her eyes gravitate down to the sink. She winces. "Not physically either. Want some help wrapping that up?"

"You hate blood."

Another flash of anger rushes through Minjeong's face, but she subdues it. She forces nonchalance into her voice. It's a work in progress.

"I'm a big girl. I can be queasy for a bit."

She takes Jimin's hand, the touch featherlight like she's unsure how much and how long she’s allowed to touch her. Looking at the gash on her fingertip, Minjeong's mouth thins into a line, face growing paler. Jimin has a funny story on her lips readily, to pull Minjeong's attention, but she stops herself. Minjeong reaches back to pull a bunch of toilet paper and wrap around the injury. The golden band on her ring finger glitters in the yellow light.

She's unable to stop herself and the question tumbles out of her. "Why do you keep wearing the ring?"

Like it's a surprise to her that the ring is on her finger, Minjeong flexes her hand out.

"I guess it's out of respect for you. I'd been thinking about what you said the other day. It must be hard losing your wife and the life you knew. I don't want to pile on that too. Not consciously, at least. The least I can do is act the part."

"You don't have to wear it if it makes you uncomfortable."

Minjeong tilts her head, looking down at her hand.

"It surprisingly doesn't. I keep forgetting it's on my hand. It's ah, uhm, a nice one. I'd have chosen one like this myself."

"Do I have news for you then—"

"Alright. Touché." She smiles, a toothy grin that makes Jimin's heart pick up at a quicker pace. Minjeong has always had that effect on her. But it dies just as quickly as it bloomed, her thumb twirling the ring around her finger. "I see all these crumbs of a person I know is me because I know I would love these things yet— I don't recognize myself in them. I had, I has all these big plans of travelling, of volunteering, of living and all I see in ten years in the future that I'm — complacent. I got a wife apparently, which is nice of course, but it's not something I wanted for myself. I see this person, and I can't help but be disappointed that this is what she has chosen for herself. Which is not an insult towards you, though I'm kind of curious how we got from A to B because — I couldn't stand being in the same room as you for as long as I do remember."

"So you think I'm pulling this long con to stop you from living your dream?" Jimin tries to joke, but Minjeong refuses to catch her eyes in the mirror. "News flash: I didn't stop you from anything. I didn't want to be the one holding you back from living your life, because I was willing to wait for you. I'm also willing to wait now, if there's a sliver of hope that you'd want me in the future."

A tiny color rises to Minjeong's cheeks. She takes it as a win.

"And I can assure you: you are never complacent. Just last year after getting laid off from your boring office job, you took the time and volunteered in a freaking turtle rescue in Greece! You spend your weekends at the animal shelter, you took your mom to Japan, you pulled off a fundraiser for the schooling of underprivileged youth. Every waking moment, you're working hard to make this world a better place and I don't want you to question if it's enough."

Minjeong opens her mouth, then closes it. Her eyes are shining in the low light of the bathroom as she digs through the cabinet for plasters, throat moving silently. Then she clears her throat, a wet sound, and laughs.

"I'm pretty sure you're too biased to have an objective opinion on this."

"Maybe—" Tears prick the back of her eyes, because: has she ever said these words to Minjeong? "And it might not mean anything, but I'm proud of what you've achieved."

Minjeong's fingers tremble as she places the Snoopy plaster on the cut. The act is fairly intimate, and in the silence, Jimin imagines Minjeong with her memories intact, without the healing cut on her head, without the vitriol she holds out for her. In the gentle actions, she can imagine love and it's enough to clench her thirst for just a few seconds. Only when Minjeong looks up, dark eyes missing the warmth but also missing the barbed wire, she’s back to the present.

Even to have her here, speaking and breathing, is enough.

"Well, thanks. It's not like I have a recollection of any of these, but it's good to hear I'm not just a stay at home wife of a girl I used to hate."

"Used to? Minjeong, you're losing your spark," Jimin teases, and Minjeong swats her on her forearm. Jimin rubs at the reddening skin, the question slipping from her. "Is it that unimaginable that you could like me?"

The bandaging is done now. Her finger throbs under the Snoopy plaster with the rhythm of her heartbeat and Minjeong pulls back, hip resting against the sink. Jimin realizes that she's wearing Jimin's hoodie. It's big on her, so Minjeong has to roll back the sleeves once. To her credit, she doesn't sneer at Jimin, nor does she ignore the question. Thoughtfully, she leans back and thinks for a second, humming under her breath.

"Hard to say. I have these memories of you being so annoying. Like when you tried to convince one of the professors who adored you to drop me from her class because otherwise you would. Or give me notes when I missed a class and they were full of wrong facts so I failed the next test. Or when you deleted the whole part in our presentation at the last minute. Or when—"

"Okay, that's enough, I get it—" Jimin cuts in. Her cheeks feel hot, having to face her failed flirting attempts.

"But then, you're kind of okay now. You look different too — you got this short hair, you no longer have this pinched wicked look, and wear these awfully knitted pieces." She stops for a moment. "I knitted them, didn't I?"

Jimin looks down at the blocky cardigan, somehow too large and too small at the same time, then nods.

"I think she's the one pulling a prank on you, dude."

Pulling the cardigan closer on her frame, Jimin grimaces. "Doesn't really matter. I like them."

That seems to stop Minjeong for a moment, wide eyes staring at Jimin like she's seeing her for the first time. A new perspective in the study of Jimin.

After a thoughtful minute, she asks, "You're really gone for her?"

"She is you."

Minjeong grimaces.

"It's easier to talk about her like she's another person. Because you tell me all these things, but they don't matter to me because I've not lived them. Logically, I know that she must be in love with you too — this fucking apartment is a clear evidence of that. I've been going through her diaries too, so I'm more than aware. I might understand how and why you changed, but I haven't lived it."

Jimin looks down to her hands in her lap. Her thumb plays with the loose end of the plaster — it would be easy to tear it off and bleed all over the place again. It makes sense what Minjeong is saying; Jimin can talk about their memories all day, and that would never mean Minjeong would suddenly, miraculously remember them again. That time might never come. Jimin tries to stay positive, otherwise she'd lose her mind in this situation, but she needs to be serious about it: the Minjeong of now might never remember how they built this life together.

But maybe, just maybe, she can show her.

She jumps up from her seat by the tub. Minjeong lets out a yelp when Jimin marches up to her and takes both of her hands into hers — after days of trying to minimize touching, this is like taking gulps of fresh water after going thirsty for so long. What Jimin expects is for Minjeong to stare her down while trying to tug her hands free. Instead, they're limp in Jimin's hold and Minjeong is staring at a spot over Jimin's shoulder.

"So what if I showed you? You're right, I've been telling you all these things instead of showing them — isn't that one of the rules of writing or something, like show, don't tell? Killing your darlings and all."

"I think the metaphor is getting away from you."

"Nevermind. I think we belong together. So I'm not afraid to put in some work."

If she didn't know better, Jimin would think Minjeong is blushing. It must be the lights in the bathroom that Minjeong asked a million times to change — Jimin takes a note mentally to do it soon.

"You know, you don't have to go out of your way to be nice to me and accommodate me. I'm aware I'm an asshole."

"Teen Jimin would have died happily because of that admission." Jimin laughs, a sharp bark that reverberates from the tiled walls. A small smile hides in the corner of Minjeong's mouth as well. "But the thing is: I'm not doing anything extra. Just as you said, I'm down bad. Even if you can't be mine, I want you to always be taken care of. But — I want to take a chance, if you let me. Reenact some memories with you so you can live them? Would that be alright?"

The words leave her mouth feverishly, cheeks heating up with adrenaline and fatigue. Desperation makes her stupid, and worry starts eating away at her when Minjeong just stares back at her without any reply. Obviously, it's stupid question — why would she be okay playing house and being lovey-dovey with someone she's claiming to hate? Shouldn't Jimin be the grown-up between them, at least temporarily, and she comes up with the grand solution of a toddler? Still, she bites her lip before she could backtrack. Because she can't make this whole situation any worse.

Minjeong grimaces after a while. "So what? You want to take me to New York City to ask for my hand?"

"I thought of something less drastic. Like a few core memories that are less, ugh, outlandish."

"The whole thing is outlandish."

"You're right."

Jimin sags back, the back of her head hitting the tiles. She should've known. She's losing the one person who kept her sane throughout the years, and piece by piece she's turning to dust between her hands. Without the interwoven stories between them, the shared laughter and sorrow, what else rests there that would make Minjeong stay? She got Minjeong because she always felt like she got nothing to lose with her — darling annoying Minjeong, whom she supposedly tried to date for fun? — but now, she got everything on the line and it's holding her back.

Minjeong clicks her tongue, the sharp sound snapping Jimin out of her self-pity.

Then, she steps closer to Jimin, hands wrapping around her wrist to tug her up. Minjeong's cool fingertips dig into her skin, and Jimin's heart is hammering in her throat because — Minjeong pays so much attention not to touch her. She awkwardly shimmies away when they walk too close to each other, she scoots to one corner of the couch to avoid accidentally touching Jimin, tucks her hands deep inside her pockets to keep them away from Jimin's skin. She's weirdly touched by the simplicity of it all: one huge barrier between them cut through like it was nothing.

Once Jimin is standing, they lower their hands but Minjeong doesn't pull away. Her hold lingers, softer and looser than before but there.

"But, alright. Maybe it's more about my morbid curiosity than real interest how you managed to bag her, but let's see. I'm all ready to see the charms that you've hidden so well for so long. Don't go easy on me."

"Okay. Try not to fall in love with me then."

Jimin winces. The words got out of her mouth before her brain would've caught up. Mortified, she peers down at Minjeong who looks back at her with amusement glinting in her eyes. A wicked grin tugs on the corner of her lips and she squeezes Jimin's hands before she lets go.

"Don't say things you don't mean."

⏮

Jimin, for the better half of an hour, had been staring at Minjeong's back while waiting for her date, who now surely stood her up. The good thing was, or at least equally embarrassing, that Minjeong seemed to have the same issue. She absentmindedly whirled the straw in her drink, eyes never leaving the girl she had considered her nemesis over the past few semesters, counting down the minutes until they were in the same category of failures. And maybe Jimin was never as evolved as she liked to think, because she couldn't even pretend not to be overjoyed by the fact that mighty Miss Minjeong was stood up when she slipped in the other side of her booth.

Minjeong, startled, then looked up from the menu she had been studying for the last half an hour with bright eyes, before her expression turned sour. She made a show of holding up the menu, busying herself with it and pretending Jimin away. Jimin rolled her eyes, then reached out to grab the paper out of her hands.

"Want to have dinner together?"

The scowl between Minjeong's brows deepened. She reached over the table to snatch the menu out of Jimin's hands, but she expected this and held it over her head. Minjeong fell back into her seat, crossing her arms over her chest like an angry toddler.

"How about no? I'm waiting for someone. And I don't want to be seen with you in public."

"Ouch, Mindoongie. That hurt. But I think it's high time you accepted that your date is not showing up." She clears her throat. Offering an olive branch felt a lot like swallowing glass. "Mine as well. That's why I know you've been waiting here for a long time — I was in the booth right behind you. And I'm getting embarrassed telling the waitress 'just a few more minutes, please'. She started bringing me free stuff, I'm only seconds away from a pitying pat in the back."

Jimin theatrically shivered. She thought Minjeong would still kick and scream until Jimin, at least, offered to pay for the desserts, but Minjeong just considered her for a long moment before she flagged down the waitress, rattled down her order, then turned back to Jimin. Surprised how easy it had been, she just pointed at the first thing on the menu.

"Eager much? If you wanted to have a date with me, you should've told me sooner," Jimin teased, leaning over with her elbows on the table.

Minjeong ignored her taunt. Instead, she asked, "Who were you to meet with?"

"I didn't think you would want to talk.”

"No, I don't. But I'm curious who would stand you up."

"Hey, that was almost nice!" Jimin laughed. The straight line of Minjeong's back softened. "It happens more than I like to admit. Some girls are brave enough texting, but going on dates? I might actually figure out that they have a boyfriend on the side."

Minjeong hummed, nodding along.

"Better than getting invited to be the third after I paid for dinner," she said softly, and Jimin almost missed amidst the bustling restaurant. But then Minjeong flashed a cheeky glance at her, so awfully unfamiliar that it shook her out of her stupor and a guffaw ripped out of her.

"Did that actually happen?"

Minjeong wrinkled her nose. "Multiple times."

"That's awful!" Jimin scooted closer, leaning over the table a bit more. This time Minjeong didn't move away immediately. "Have you ever said yes, though?"

"What do you expect of me?"

"The worst."

"Touché." Minjeong giggled. Jimin perked up at the noise, something weird happening in her chest. She ignored it. Instead, she focused on the way Minjeong leant forward, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. "But no. I want to have someone, who's only mine."

"Wow." Dazedly, Jimin let her body fall back against the booth. "Kim Minjeong is a romantic. The world is turning on its axis."

Minjeong threw the balled up straw wrapper at her head and missed. "Shut up."

With Minjeong, she didn't need to play any games — she could be as annoying, as obnoxious as she wished because she didn't care for Minjeong and she didn't care for Jimin either. It brought an ease, something that Jimin only felt with her friends, and it was nice not trying to impress someone and just be the same old Jimin. It was also fun to push Minjeong's buttons — stealing bites off her plate and earning a misdirected swat, arguing over why the other should take the bill when Jimin already settled it, lingering at the entrance before Minjeong announced she wanted ice cream.

The more time she spent with Minjeong, the more she saw something concrete in the future. She didn’t let it scare her away.

⏭

Minjeong slips into the booth and unconsciously pulls the beanie lower on her forehead. Jimin catches her from time to time, staring at reflective surfaces with a sad look in her eyes — the mark is still there, less of angry puckering skin than a smooth line that will rest there forever. The smooth baldness of the patch is now growing back in adorably spikiness but Minjeong is self-conscious enough about it to stop Jimin from commenting on it. When she catches Jimin looking, she straightens her back and holds her head up, defences, once again high and tight. It's an unfamiliar territory, after all.

It's still funny to see her, almost thirty-year-old Minjeong with her fine lines and cracked skin on her knuckles mixed with the suspicion of her younger self. Her fingers drum on the table, knees bobbing up and down as she looks around the place. It's after the rush of lunch hours, but before dinner time, so besides a few patrons, the waitresses are engaged in a closed-knit group, exchanging snappy laughters. Minjeong wrinkles her nose.

"What's this place?"

"This was the place of our first date!" Jimin chirps. She's been splitting by the seam to tell her; this kismet of them accidentally ending up at the same place at the same time, miserable to the bone that they made, at first, a short truce — Minjeong has to see that this was meant to be. "At least I always considered it to be. Not you, though. You, of course, thought I was playing with you again."

"I wonder why," Minjeong drily comments. After a beat too long of silence, she raises an eyebrow. "Well, you won't tell the story?"

"We're here exactly so I don't tell you. This is square one of showing I'm not the university bully you think I am."

A short scoff escapes Minjeong's mouth as she leans back, arms folding in front of her chest. "The floor is yours."

"Actually, I've got a bit of a stage fright."

"Sure you do." This time, her laughter is crystal clear as it rings in Jimin's ears, devoid of any malice. "Is the food good, though?"

It eases something in Jimin, a switch that is turned off by the sound and when Minjeong leans forward over the table, skeptically taking the sticky laminated menu in her hands, and the rigid lines of her back give out and she slumps. Dragging her own menu over, she runs through the list of items and finds, finally something, unchanged.

"Not at all! But it's cheap and has a less crappy design than most, and that was what mattered most of the time, during university," she stops. She's sounding like an old person reminiscing about her prime years, when the Minjeong in front of her is stuck in those very same years. "You don't remember coming here at all?"

Minjeong takes a moment to look around. Jimin does the same, trying to see it for the first time. This is a crappy place; tacky red fake leather booths, white walls stuck with neon lights and polaroid pictures of the staff, a big corkboard full of advertising leaflets and job hunters. Jimin silently cringes at the whole thing; it was one thing, accidentally meeting here and entirely another, choosing to bring Minjeong here.

Minjeong shrugs. "I remember getting a serious stomachache from a vanilla shake from here. I seriously thought you were microdosing poison into my food because you were so nice to me that day right after class."

Jimin snorts. "Don't you ever get tired from all those mental jumps?"

"Ask yourself instead how I got to this stage."

Jimin chuckles. She holds her chin up with her hand, leaning over the table just to irk Minjeong a bit. And Minjeong tries to be serious, but the corner of her lips tremble with a smile and Jimin wants to both laugh and cry because — Minjeong enjoys this. She loves the continuous banter, and loves pissing Jimin off. And it's so endearing to see, over the quick bursts of anger she manages to muster out of Jimin, is just how well Minjeong knows her. She knows each button that makes Jimin heated, each word strung into a sentence to make her fully annoyed.

But Jimin can play along. Nip at her wife like a playful puppy, no anger, no teeth.

"Yeah. It's always more viable that I would poison you rather than you being lactose intolerant."

Minjeong stares straightfaced, but her mouth gives away how much she likes this. "Always."

"Do you, by chance, have any other amusing conspiracy theories? Have you also seen me disappear into a manhole to join my good pals, the lizard people?"

Minjeong leans forward, eyes sweeping around to check if anybody's listening. This moment, Jimin holds back her breath — Minjeong is suddenly so close, her warm minty breath curls around Jimin's cheek, and like a stray cat momentarily lowering her guard, Jimin doesn't want to scare her away. Not when twin stars dance around in her devious eyes.

"That one, I kept it a secret until now. You're so very welcome," she stage-whispers. Then, when her jig is up and realizes just how close they are, she leans back. Resting her head on the backrest and peering through her eyelashes at Jimin. Jimin tries not to read too much into the pinkish hue of her cheeks. "Though, I am right about my assumption."

"Of course you are."

"You had that girl, Lee Hyunseo was her name maybe? Who had this massive crush on you and she used to be a waitress here. Can you see my logic here? About crushes, who would do anything to make you notice them by eliminating the sore spot of your life?"

Jimin wants to laugh at how her heart picked up a quicker pace by Minjeong's admission that she had paid attention to her even when they were just petty enemies. Instead, she plays along, setting her features into a blankness that she knows just irks Minjeong.

"Maybe if you ever removed the stick from your butt, you'd have an altogether greater time without being paranoid."

"Oh? Shooting below the bell? Classic Yu Jimin."

"And maybe I was nice to you that day because I saw that you were not well? And I would care? Could that be a possibility?"

"No."

Jimin sighs. "Good to have those lines drawn."

Minjeong opens her mouth, because of course she does: she always has the last word. But a waitress finally notices them and walks towards their table, and Jimin catches Minjeong's shoulders slumping as she tries to make herself smaller in the presence of a stranger. Once again, she absentmindedly starts fiddling with her beanie, so Jimin rattles out everything they want to order in one breath with a tight smile.

She worries her lower lip between her teeth. Should she ask? If she wants to go home, if she's uncomfortable being out so quickly after her incident? Or would Minjeong get all angry about Jimin being in her business again?

She's saved by the waitress returning with their drinks. The fizzy cold coke burns her throat, but once the waitress has her back to them, Minjeong blooms again. The light returns to her eyes once it's just the two of them again. Ready for another round of torture.

"She keeps a diary, did you know?"

"Yeah," Jimin says, a bittersweet smile around the straw. "I got her a few leather-bound notebooks."

"Yes, I know, since you just had to have your monograms carved into the leather, didn't you? Can't help putting your paws on everything. Pissing on everything she likes like a freaking dog, marking your territory?"

"Well, for one, I am also something she likes. So yeah, don't judge me. I'm a romantic person."

Stopping for a moment, Minjeong studies her. "Have you ever read them?"

"No."

Minjeong's face scrunches up. "Liar."

"No, I really haven't! Although, I won't pretend I don't get tempted sometimes, but I respect her privacy." Seeing the doubt still sitting in Minjeong's pretty features, she crosses her heart. "Like, pinky promise or whatever."

Dark eyes map her face like she's scanning for a tell. Jimin stares back, but goosebumps rise on her skin as she's studied. To do something while Minjeong generates a report on her, she sips from her coke and Minjeong's eyes slip down to her lips, snagging there for a moment, before she finds her way back to Jimin's eyes.

Interesting.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

Once again, Minjeong leans forward. In the proximity, she probably finds torturing Jimin easier. "Why haven't you looked into them? What if she confessed cheating on you? Or talks shit about you behind your back? Or if she's planning to escape with a secret lover and get all your money from the bank?"

"Is she, though?" Reluctantly, Minjeong shakes her head. "Well, that's your answer. I trust her completely. I trust her to tell me everything she wants me to know. I know you— uhm, her having the tendency to need some time to tumble thoughts around in her head until they're less sharp; the diaries are good for that. But she'll come to me when she's ready to share them."

"Hm."

"What. Did I pass your test?" Jimin teases when Minjeong's mouth only twists unhappily downwards. She stifles a laugh, because that would basically light the match for a bomb, and hides her mouth behind her hands.

Riding a bit high on the longest conversation they had without anybody storming outside and making a scene, she carefully taps her sneaker against Minjeong's ankle under the table. Minjeong pinks at the touch, pulling her legs under the seat and sending Jimin an unamused glare.

"No, you failed."

"For respecting my wife's privacy?" Jimin rubs a hand over her face.

The blush on Minjeong's cheeks creep down to her neck. She wraps her hand around her glass of water, fingertips betrayingly white. Jimin wants to laugh — this Minjeong is really the Minjeong from back then. With all the barbed wire and serrated edge, she's easy to rile up, easy to blush. Once they got over themselves, it was easy to fall in love. Minjeong drinks big gulps of water, then licks her lips. Jimin can't help but stare, following the motion with heat pooling in her belly, because — she's still human, still in love with her wife. Suddenly, pain blooms in her shin, as Minjeong kicks her under the table.

"For being a righteous asshole about it."

Right. There's still a long way to go.

⏭

The next morning, Jimin isn't sure whether the first date simulation was a success. As a test, she places a cup of coffee in front of Minjeong, made in the exact way she likes it but now in a non-descript mug that only visitors use. When she tastes it, her expression naturally falls into a scowl. But then one finger runs along the shape of the mug, a boring gray one from IKEA, and she stops. It's an art in movement, the way Minjeong grips into the edges of her expression, and settles each feature in careful blankness. Jimin can't tear her eyes away from the counter-reaction as she slips into the seat in front of Minjeong.

"Thank you," Minjeong grunts softly. Shoulders hunched to her ears, she curls over her plate, and picks at the food.

Jimin whistles. "Was that hard?"

"Very. And you're making it even harder."

"Good," Jimin chirps.

Minjeong sends her a dubious look over the table as she shovels food into her mouth so she doesn't have to engage in a morning chit-chat. Jimin doesn't mind, of course. Minjeong has never been a morning person, so she just focuses on a sudoku game on her phone until they both finish their breakfast.

Jimin lingers by the table, trying to figure out her last game, when Minjeong jumps up first. Jimin finds it sweet how she forces herself to eat together with Jimin, even if she spends the rest of the day holed up in her room right after, hiding. She's loading her used cutlery into the dishwasher, when Jimin stands and does the same. Their hands touch for a moment — Jimin pretends not to notice, but Minjeong peers up at her under her eyelashes.

Even though it's been a while, Jimin reckons the steps of this dance. She ignores Minjeong, but at the last second when she passes by her, she pats her shoulder.

"Oh, by the way, I made the coffee with whole milk. Didn't want to give the impression that I care too much, y'know? I'm surprised you didn't notice."

"You fucker—" Minjeong is winding up, but Jimin is already slipping away. She grabs her backpack and keys, opening the entrance door as she hears Minjeong's socked footsteps pitter-pattering behind her.

"Oh, and — we're also running low on toilet paper. Good luck today, buddy."

She closes the door, and the last thing she hears is the clattering of chopsticks against it. She thinks they're getting somewhere.

⏭

Minjeong fiddles with her seatbelt, her other hand holding onto her dear life by gripping on the car door. Jimin is flicking between radio stations, not liking any songs when someone honks right behind them. Looking up, the light is green but the impatient driver is already rounding them. Jimin throws up a middle finger as she slams the car into motion. Minjeong mutters something beside her, but she's not paying attention to that — she's a great driver. Never got a ticket, nor got into an accident. Humming under her breath, she takes a sharp turn to the right.

"It was lactose free milk," Minjeong suddenly says. She peels herself off the car door, sitting up higher in her seat.

"Come again?"

Jimin looks over at her, slightly tilting her head down so she can see her over the rims of her sunglasses.

"Eyes on the road." Minjeong yelps. With a chuckle, Jimin does just that. "You lied. You made my morning coffee yesterday with lactose free milk."

"Oh, shucks. What gave it away? That you didn't spend the rest of your day chained to the toilet?"

"You're an asshole."

"But you l—" Jimin clamps her mouth shut. Love me is perched on her lips, the sweet words tasting like ash on her tongue. She got a little too excited and almost missed a step of this careful dance. "Yeah, no shit. Do you still think I'd hurt you for fun?"

"Well, you said so, so—" she gasps as they lurch ahead when Jimin steps on the brake. "Gosh, drive a little slower, will you?"

"Nope." She pops the p. She waits for the retort, a reignited monster she can't help but poke, but Minjeong stays quiet beside her. Jimin glances at her, and she has a constipated look on her face.

"Did she really willingly choose this life? Eternal torture? Unfunny jokes? Missing death by sheer luck everytime I sit beside you in a car? Seriously, who gave you a driver's license?"

Jimin doesn't want to point out that for a moment, she didn't refer to her past self like another person. But she can't fight the grin on her lips.

"Well, I'm also hot so, you know, something's always gotta give."

Without thinking, Jimin reaches out, letting her hand fall on Minjeong's thigh and squeezes it. A small gasp leaves Minjeong's lips and it's sobering enough for Jimin to pull back like she was burned, murmuring a soft sorry under her breath because it's more mortifying to address it plainly than pretending away the moment.

They got out of the city and the long strip of road in front of them. The scenery is still dusted with snow, and Jimin makes a mental note that despite not remembering about the incident, not to stress Minjeong out with her reckless driving. She slows well under the speed limit and they're cruising through the countryside with pop music filtering through the radio. The sun is slow to come up, the silvery rays just peeking through between the slopes of mountains, just annoying enough to make her eyes water behind her sunglasses.

Minjeong is strangely quiet. Usually she's quiet in a very loud way — not with words, but always moving around, drumming her fingers, tapping her toes, shifting in her seat, sighing constantly just to let her know how unhappy she is with the current situation. But all filters in her ears are the bubblegum pop and the low hum of the engine. She chanced a quick look at Minjeong. Dark eyes are latched onto hers; pupils blown until pitch black eats up the warm brown, and Jimin wants to stop the car or crawl out of her skin.

Minjeong wants her and she can barely hide it. Such a heady feeling.

Jimin quickly looks back at the road. This is going to be a long day.

⏭

"Are you going to murder me?"

Jimin snaps her head back at Minjeong, still holding onto the car door, eyebrows drawn in a pinched look as she takes in the scenery. Minjeong's voice is raspy after staying quiet for almost five hours, pretending to sleep. It was better like that — Jimin knows how to navigate with her wife, and now knows how to navigate with the Minjeong who forgot her. This in-between state, of a woman who doesn't remember her but wants her, sends her off-kilter.

She looks back at the wall of tall, barren trees and thick shrubs. Then a mild annoyance spreads through her veins — Minjeong showed her this place. Her childhood secret haven, a thin trek through the trees to an untouched slip of beach. Maybe her patience is eaten up by the heavy hours trapped in a silent bubble, or maybe she's just annoyed because Minjeong is forcing them back into pretending she didn't slip out of her role.

"Only if you annoy me too much."

Minjeong groans. "God, I'm dead in the next hour."

A white flag. Calling for truce.

"Love it when you're self-aware," Jimin replies, accepting it. She kicks away a rock, and tucks her hands into her pockets to snuff out the sudden urge to reach out to take Minjeong's hand to make her move. She nods towards the woods. "Come on, otherwise we'll miss it."

Slowly, unwillingly, Minjeong closes the door. Any other time, Jimin would find it adorable, the endless fight that resides in Minjeong's body. Now, she's tired from driving almost five hours, the tug-of-war that exhausted her body and mind, the backpack pulling down her spine until she's curving into herself. She's drained from the IV drips of hope rolling into her veins, of seemingly taking one step ahead but still running in one place. And she's angry — at herself, for wanting more than Minjeong could give her, of her patience drawing thin from being unmoored, at the guilt building up in her. It's only human to want the things she can't have, right?

A twig snaps under her boots. She realizes she's alone, and when she glances over her shoulder, Minjeong stands a good few meters back, still lingering by the car. Jimin huffs, hiking her backpack higher on her back.

"Are you not coming?" She yells.

At her voice, a few pigeons fly up from the nearby tree and Jimin yelps. To mask her embarrassment, she pulls her baseball cap lower down her face. She stares ahead until she hears the crunch of gravel following her, and starts walking.

Heat flushes to her cheeks. She's making this awkward. She planned this journey so Minjeong could see and relive moments that are, or were important to them. Instead, she's making a fuss of nothing, already dreading the five hours ride back to Seoul. Somehow she'll need to put her feelings into words, the feelings that make no sense even to her — you're the same yet so different from the person I promised to love and I know you want me but I can't have you because I love you but you don't but would you if I gave in? It sounds like a nightmare of a talk. She's never been good at rationing her love.

A hand slips into the crook of her elbow, and pulls her into a stop.

The touch is so feeble, not even skin to skin, yet the warmth radiating from Minjeong's hand through the padding of her jacket sets something right in her. Something that has been growing into a hungry and shivering beast, but now sits like a docile puppy.

She stops, but she doesn't look at Minjeong. If she did, she's sure Minjeong would know, and if she knew, she might force herself into something she's not ready for. Slowly, Jimin lets out a long exhale that was trapped in her lungs.

"Are you angry at me?" Minjeong asks.

"No, I'm not." Jimin sniffs. It's colder than she thought it would be. Her breath comes out in puffs as she talks. "Not at you, at least."

"But it still feels like you are."

The echo of sadness in her voice makes Jimin look. There again. It's painful to know a person so well. To have spent painstaking minutes and hours studying someone like an artwork, knowing the inner machinations and meanings, after cracking every code by trial and error. Because Minjeong's eyes give her a hint sooner than Minjeong does, and like an alcoholic trembling for a drink, her fingers shake to touch her.

Self-preservation wearing thin, she shakes off Minjeong's hold.

"Trust me, and it's embarrassing to admit, but I could not be angry with you for longer than five seconds," Jimin says. She knows it's not enough to pacify. Not when Minjeong's bottomless pools of eyes keep staring at her, like she already knows what Jimin's problem is but she wants her to say it aloud. "I— I promise I'll talk about it once it makes sense to me too."

She's not ready to light that fire, to blow this up. It has been going so well. It has to be Minjeong, because Jimin, while part of this equation, she's not the answer. She might be a key, a code, a derivative, but Minjeong has to come up with her answer alone.

Jimin forces a smile on her lips and finds it not as hard as she thought it would be. In the tense silence that grows between them, the crashing of waves filters through the air. She can recall a pink-cheeked Minjeong bursting with excitement, holding onto Jimin's hand as they pounded through the small clearing, sand getting into their sneakers and the salt in the air cracking their skin. She remembers mouths full of laughter and each other and careless promises to never part.

Then Minjeong now, still as pink-cheeked as before, looks at her sourly, eyes watering in the stingy cold and once again, Jimin is choked up on the fact that she's still there. The accident could've been fatal, she could've lost her forever, would be standing right here all alone. With an unexplainable urge, she reaches out and hugs Minjeong. Her hand cradles the back of her head, the raised skin of her injury and she hugs her even closer.

Minjeong freezes in her arms. Then unsure hands reach up and grab the back of her jacket. Maybe Minjeong needed this as much as Jimin did. And maybe, they can find the way back to each other if they're not afraid.

"Sorry. Uh," Jimin stops, for once not knowing what to say as she pulls away. Then, awkwardly, she pats Minjeong's cheek. "It's good for you to be outside. Look at you, all pink."

Minjeong scowls and swats her hand away.

"Don't patronize me."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Through the small trek towards the beach, Minjeong keeps close to Jimin. This time, she doesn't linger behind her, but walks by her side, sending her unhappy looks whenever Jimin offers her hand as they climb through fallen trees and does it without help. But when their knuckles graze while they walk, she doesn't pull away. Jimin wants to laugh – somehow this captures their relationship perfectly.

As the vegetation slowly grows thinner, Jimin can smell the salt more in the air. Without noticing, Minjeong started walking faster.

"The beach during wintertime? How original," Minjeong says, but her smile betrays her.

She immediately gravitates towards the water, like a magnet pulling her towards it. And by proxy, Jimin follows her. Pebbles crunch under their boots as they walk, stopping only a few centimeters away from the reach of the waves. A larger wave crashes to the clearing, and Minjeong yelps and jumps back, laughter spilling from her lips. Jimin has learned soon in their relationship that everybody wants Minjeong – people, animals, nature included.

While Minjeong squats down to check the temperature of the freezing water, Jimin shrugs off her backpack and starts setting things out of it. Thermal blankets, snacks, flask full of still somewhat hot barley tea. Minjeong hums with delight seeing the spread, plops down beside Jimin and pops a grape in her mouth that she swallows whole. Jimin’s about to scold her for it, when crystal clear bright eyes flash at her.

"Do we come here often?"

Jimin's attention snags on the pronoun, but she doesn't let it show.

"Every once in a while when life gets too much." Looking around, she finds several high heaps of pebbles and sand and twigs, and snuffs out a chuckle. She points them out to Minjeong. "During last summer a bunch of kids found this place as well, and you have a running bet with them about who can build the highest tower. Those are the remnants."

"Am I winning?"

Jimin cannot help but burst into laughter. "No. You're losing tremendously, engineering degree be damned."

"You could've lied and made me feel good about myself."

Jimin shakes her head. "You wouldn't like that either."

Minjeong grunts but she doesn't contradict.

"This place has always been my refuge."

"Yeah, I know."

Every breath of the cold, salty air makes space in her stuffy head. Every breath makes her more grateful and less guilty, or sad, or adrift. Somehow, throughout the years, this place has become her refuge as well. With Minjeong. She disregards Minjeong's dignified screech as she tugs the thermal blanket over her shoulders, tucking her in as tightly as she can. Of course she's in the right place, when she's with Minjeong.

"So," Minjeong starts, crunching on some chips. She's bouncing her knees and she doesn't pull away when they touch. Jimin turns towards her, but she's staring straight at the water, cheeks and ears pink. "I wanted to say thanks. For doing all these things for me. You've been— nice."

For a moment, Jimin doesn't know what to say. Her mouth is full of a smile, cheeks frozen, and she wants to keep this moment etched into her brain forever. She can't help a giggle slipping through her teeth. Minjeong's head snaps towards her, mouth open to bite into her with poison-coated teeth, but feeling brave, Jimin rests her head on Minjeong's shoulder. It works like magic — Minjeong stops, freezes, recalibrates.

"Gosh, Kim Minjeong. Are you flirting with me?" She fans herself, turning her head so she can look at her face. Minjeong's blush spreads to her neck, then dips under her padded jacket. Suddenly, two surprisingly strong arms shove her off, making her sprawl on the cold sand. "Ouch. I deserved that I guess."

"You did."

Jimin takes a peek at her. Minjeong does too, their eyes meeting momentarily, before she looks away. Shaking the sand off her palms, Jimin straightens up. She has a feeling she's stumbled upon something important.

"But uhm, you're welcome. And thank you as well. And sorry too," she rattles, nervousness pushing words through her lips.

Minjeong scrunches her nose up. "That's confusing."

Jimin nods.

"You're welcome because — it's obvious. But I'm not nice to you just because I want something out of this. I like you, you're a great person to spend time with. But you know that, that's why I married you. Thank you for entertaining me although you didn't have to, I appreciate you coming with me to places like this. And sorry if I ever made you feel like I want more than you can offer." Jimin grimaces. "That was a mouthful."

Minjeong sighs, tucking her legs close to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. Somewhere, the cry of a seagull ends the silence stretching between them.

"It's annoying, not remembering. Sometimes I get the feeling that I'm on the brink of it, that if I follow the silver lining then maybe I could tug one memory out of the Gordian knot of it all, but then I get to it and at the end — there's nothing there. I hold this snapped thread until I find another that I follow obsessively. But it still sits on the tip of my tongue, and it's annoying. I don't even remember getting my university degree! I don't remember getting married, finding a job, supposedly doing what I like with my person. I know the end result of everything, but not how I got there—" she purses her lips into a thin line, brown eyes flashing to Jimin, "so I appreciate you doing this for me. Making these old-new memories with me. It's nice.

"And it's not that I don't want to remember you," Minjeong adds, quickly, like admission would hurt Jimin. Her smile is crooked; beautiful. "I do. I know I said otherwise, but I want to. But I also like to share my own set of memories with you. Maybe it’s selfish but I want you to remember me, the me of now and not just who I used to be."

Minjeong turns back towards her, gazing up at Jimin from under her eyelashes. For a second, Jimin dazedly thinks Minjeong is going to kiss her. Or, fighting the sudden urge with swallowing the lump in her throat, she will. But Minjeong is still tapping out the shape of their relationship, still looks unsure as she wets her lips about what she wants, so Jimin gives her a leeway. If Minjeong is searching for something and kisses Jimin out of curiosity, she'd be ruined. It's better to play safe for now.

Instead, she sags against Minjeong. Cheek squished against Minjeong's shoulder, she feels at peace. Minjeong squirms under her for a second, before she leans her head on Jimin's too.

"I like that," Jimin says softly. She hopes it conveys something else, something more intricate that neither of them are willing to address. These memories are no less precious than the ones Jimin has.

They stay out until, wrapped up in each other's presence until a small drizzle starts. The plans of watching the sun set blow up in their faces, but Jimin can’t bear to be angry about it. She laughs as Minjeong complains, grabbing the blankets and sending dirty looks towards the sky. The rain comes harder when they trek back towards the car, soaking through their puffer jackets, and when they jump into the car, Jimin starts the engine immediately to put on the heating. Teeth rattling, Jimin reaches back into her backpack to pull out all the emergency blankets and throws them on Minjeong.

"What about you?"

"I'm fine," Jimin says flippantly, though she can't stop herself from trembling, "I'm a tough cookie. I'm not some hot house flower like you so I'll be fine."

"Fuck you," Minjeong laughs with no venom, but wrangles one blanket off of herself and throws it around Jimin's shoulders.

This time, the silence between them is nice. The radio only hums, barely audible, because Jimin expects Minjeong to fall asleep soon, like she usually does after a whole day of excitement. She's slack against the seat, propping up her head on her forearm and stares out the window. Jimin feels stupid, smiling alone, just from catching the way Minjeong's head bobs as sleep hijacks her but fights it.

It's nice. The relative peace between them — Minjeong is no longer fighting every word Jimin says, but she's not infatuated with her enough to agree with everything. Being worked up about this in the morning feels stupid. Now, she can't help but take the longer route home because she enjoys basking in Minjeong's satisfaction, before they go back to their apartment, their separate rooms and slip back into the constant stress of the memories haunting them.

They're almost back to Seoul when Minjeong stirs, lazily blinking through the haze of her nap. She looks warm and cozy and cute, and it kills Jimin that she can't park the car and pepper her face with kisses until she squeals and pushes her face away like always. And because she's paying more attention to Minjeong than to the road, she has a first row sight of Minjeong's eyes suddenly rounding into surprise and sitting up higher.

"Wait, stop!"

Jimin steps on the brakes immediately and the car lurches into a stop. Fortunately, nobody's behind them, but with heart beating against her chest and with shaking fingers, she maneuvers the car down the road while looking around what could've caused this ruckus. The road is empty.

"What? Minjeong, you can't just—"

"I— It's—" Minjeong starts, then stops. Throat working around the words, she says, "The accident, it was there."

With furrowed eyebrows, Jimin takes in the scene. She's only seen pictures of the accident, white charcoal lines, dented car door and sand on the asphalt to soak up the blood. But then she spots all the places she used to stare at; the tree that snapped in half from the collision, the indented road sign, bits and pieces of damaged car parts laying in the melting snow. Jimin swallows but it feels like glass shards are stuck in her throat.

"Oh. Right. I—I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought you here." With trembling hands, she restarts the car. Risking a glance at Minjeong, she expects her to be mortified. Hollow. Cheated. All the things Jimin feels, having faced the place everything was taken from them. But what she finds makes her stop the car again.

Contentment shines in those dark brown eyes, excitement filling out the hollow of her cheeks. Minjeong eagerly turns full body towards Jimin.

"I— I remembered something," she announces, a bit afraid that if she said the words aloud the memory would slip from her fingers. Jimin's hands on the wheel tighten until her knuckles ache, hanging on every word that leaves Minjeong's lips. Minjeong nods. "I remember now. I think I lost consciousness upon the collision for a few seconds, but when I woke I wanted to call you, but my phone was out of reach and I was stuck."

Jimin tries to swallow down the gulp in her throat. The police described how they found Minjeong, the doctors described her state. Her eyes flicker to the silvery gash hiding under thick baby hairs, and the mental picture of Minjeong injured and bloodied and scared trying to find her phone to call her brings her to tears. A hot tear rolls down her cheek, and Minjeong looks up at her amused.

Reaching out and with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, she wipes away Jimin's tears.

"I can recall the feeling. That if I could get you on a call, everything would be okay because you always solve every problem." For a moment, Minjeong studies her face, but then closes her eyes. She shakes her head with a wet-sounding laugh. "Did you brainwash me somehow? Right now you'd be the last person I wanted to reach out to in a situation like this. What would you do? Cry? Maybe it's a good thing I got a second chance in this. I have to rethink my emergency contact."

Minjeong babbles, clearly trying to put Jimin's mind off the matter. But all Jimin can focus on is the soft drawl of her voice, the warmth of her body, the feather-light touch of Minjeong's hand on her knee. And the fact that the dam that has kept all their memories out in Minjeong's brain, cracked and let a small rivulet through.

The hungry monster in Jimin roars awake again and this time she doesn't have the mental capacity to keep it caged. She grabs Minjeong's hand from her knee and intertwines her fingers. Absent-mindedly, she caresses the wedding ring on Minjeong's ring finger, enjoying the warm gold under her touch.

"You're a brat, Mindoongie."

Minjeong doesn't have a retort. She doesn't pull her hand away either.

▶

A knock snaps Jimin out of her nightly allocated iPad time and she looks up to find Minjeong lingering in the doorway of their room. She wouldn't need to knock, after all, Jimin is sleeping in the living room and that's a shared place. Her eyes snag on the oversized university T-shirt that belongs to Jimin, the neckline stretched after being washed so many times throughout the years. Now, it gives way to a small peek at Minjeong's collarbone and Jimin feels bad about staring, but she can't help it.

Minjeong clears her throat, although she already has Jimin's full attention.

"Hi."

Minjeong shifts from one leg to another. After their little escapade to the seaside, she has been on a weird equilibrium; sometimes withdrawn and introspective, sometimes brave to put herself in Jimin's space, drawing to touches like a moth to the flame. She hasn't mentioned anything else that might have come back to her, but Jimin has already learnt to wait.

She wiggles until she's sitting up on the couch.

"Hi." When Minjeong makes no move to speak or come closer, Jimin pats the seat beside her. "Wanna sit?"

Minjeong eagerly nods. She makes a beeline towards the couch and plops down beside Jimin, drawing her legs up. The couch is small but neither of them make any effort to create space between them. Sides pressing up each other, shoulder to shoulder, tight to tight, the closeness makes Jimin breath easier.

Despite coming here, Minjeong barely looks at her. She's sitting oddly, her left arm bending behind her back in a way that fires off something in Jimin's mind, the awkwardness draining out of her body as she's facing the chance to tease her. Setting down her iPad, Jimin's unfurling like a snake.

"What have you got there?"

Panicked eyes flash at her. "Nothing."

"Surely it's something," Jimin says, a devious smile growing on her lips.

In the split of a second, she bolts her arm out to grab whatever Minjeong is hiding, but not even the element of surprise helps her. Minjeong's body is pressed close to her as she tries to dig out the thing from behind her, while Minjeong wails and tries to push her off with her legs. Enjoying Minjeong's squirmishness, Jimin leaves a chaste kiss just behind her ear. With a loud squeal, Minjeong finally kicks her off, face growing scarlet, pupils blown wide. Jimin knows she must look the same — disheveled in a dirty kind of way, despite practicing abstinence every single day for the past month.

"You can't go one minute without making my life a literal Hell on Earth, do you?" Minjeong bites, keeping one foot raised in case Jimin comes back for seconds.

Because even statues crumble, and Minjeong's gaze flicks down to her lips before she forces them back up, Jimin circles her fingers around Minjeong's ankle. Flushed to the top of her ears, she doesn't even fight when Jimin pulls her legs on her lap.

"I think you quite enjoyed it," Jimin simpers. "So what can I do for you on this lovely night?"

She starts massaging Minjeong's socked feet like she used to do after long days. A quiet moan slips out from Minjeong. Their eyes connect, faces burn, and Minjeong's quick to wrench away and sit cross-legged. With a storm on her face, she pulls out the thing she's been hiding behind herself.

Cold ceramic hits her palm, and Jimin lets out a quizzical little sound before she takes a better look. White lumps with black beetle eyes stare back at her, tiny Maltese puppies which have always reminded Jimin of Minjeong, though her artistry is debatable at best. Hairwidth cracks run through the mug like thunderbolts.

Minjeong glued the mug back together.

"I— I'm sorry I ruined it," Minjeong mumbles. Her cheeks are burning bright, mouth dropping into a pout. "It wasn't your fault. I lashed out on you because I wanted to be angry with someone. I thought I had a good reason to be angry with you but I really didn't. You've tried your best in a situation that is also new for you, so please forgive me. I— I think the glue will hold, I checked and it's not leaking… if you're not pouring too hot things into it."

Jimin grabs her and pulls her into a hug. She almost kisses Minjeong, and Minjeong stares at her lips at first with fear in her eyes, yet she unconsciously leans closer, mouth parting. But Jimin turns away, keeping herself in with an iron grip and ignores the crestfallen expression spreading on Minjeong's face. She buries her face into the crook of Minjeong's neck and she hugs her back.

"Thank you, Minjeong."

Minjeong's grip on her T-shirt tightens, bunching up the material. To avoid taking notice of the hot pressure building up behind her eyes, Jimin concentrates on the subdued sweetness of Minjeong's shampoo, the soft tips tickling her nose as she buries her face into the crook of her neck. She wants to live there, forever.

Except, Minjeong has other ideas. She disentangles from the embrace and Jimin is ready to let go, because she knows she's always running on borrowed time with Minjeong. Yet, the pure determination on Minjeong's face stops her, hands coming to a rest on her waist. Somehow she knows it before it happens — knows, because she's seen the very same look before, like a dot after a run-on sentence, that Minjeong is going to kiss her. So the clashing on lips doesn't come as a surprise, and still, she can't help but slip a small sound of astonishment out.

Minjeong still tastes the same menthol toothpaste and vanilla chapstick like before. She still nips at her top lip to open up, still hooks her hand behind Jimin's nape to pull her closer, to play with the short strands while they kiss, still crowds into Jimin's space like she needs to be closer closer closer until they're one body, one unit.

What shocks her is the fervor of it all; the gasped breaths not to waste time, the strength in which Minjeong is pulling her closer, the quick rabbitting of her heart like she's running a race. It’s never occurred to Jimin that she's not the only one holding back. But why would she even entertain that thought? Yet, she finds no resentment in herself, never when it comes to Minjeong, and after weeks and weeks of self-restraint, she's willing to be taken wherever Minjeong's taking her.

But then Minjeong's hand slips away from cradling the back of her neck, down her throat, towards her chest, palming her tit through the flimsy material of her T-shirt, and a pang of hunger shakes through her. Risking Minjeong changing her mind, risking seeing something that's not there in this thing between them, risking this momentary goodness between them, she pushes Minjeong away, chest rising and falling as she tries to calm her heart and catch her breath. She can't do this before Minjeong spells it out for her. Before she's sure she's not rushing head-first towards her own ruination.

Jimin's holding onto her shoulder to create space between them, yet Minjeong still tries to dip her head to catch her in another kiss. This softens the grip of despair and doubt that has taken over her, holding onto her neck and making breathing hard, and laughter bubbles up from her lungs. She slips one hand onto the curve of Minjeong's jaw, thumb caressing her face.

"What happened?" Jimin asks, dazed. Not even half an hour ago, she was content with the diminishing distance between them, and now Minjeong crashed into her like a meteor. Seeing apprehension diluting the desire on Minjeong's face, she quickly adds, "Not like I mind it or something."

Minjeong wrinkles her nose. "Can't you just be happy about it and leave it?"

"I could," Jimin muses, a wide smile spreading on her lips. "But then I wouldn't see you squirming with whatever you need to confess. And I'm afraid I'm not that evolved to let it go."

Minjeong grunts, shaking off Jimin's hands from her face, before she flops down next to Jimin on the couch. Feeling brave from the kiss and the cool feeling of the ceramics in her hand, she sneaks an arm over Minjeong's shoulders and she immediately snuggles closer. When Jimin peers down at her, Minjeong is staring at one spot on the ceiling, worrying her lip between her teeth.

"My body, it has always recognized you. From the first moment I opened my eyes in the hospital, my body unconsciously knew you. It longed for you, to be held and be told everything'll be alright." Minjeong rubs her fingertips on the tiny dip in her temple. "I just denied what it wanted. I didn't know you. Not that way at least.

"But I— I got to know you better. And I got tired of denying myself."

"So I'm just a temporary relief?" Jimin half-jokes.

Minjeong looks up at her, lips twisted in a snarl that is telling enough. "Yes. I went on an oddessey with you so you can be a quick fuck."

Without breaking eye contact, Jimin nods. "I was afraid so."

A beat of silence. Then Minjeong pushes herself up, almost toppling over the mug resting on Jimin's lap in the meantime with her elbow, and Jimin is ready to fire off another joke, when Minjeong looks over her shoulder. Hair standing all over the place, cheeks still pink, mouth red from the kissing. And the look itself is enough to silence her.

"Is it too anti-climatic for you? What did you expect, a big revelation of me remembering every single thing? A love confession? Fireworks and doves and renewing our vows?"

"Big no on the doves. Yes to the fireworks. Hundred percent on renewing our vows but I'm still doubtful you wouldn't leave me at the altar. So maybe pause on that for a bit."

"You are a terrible, terrible person."

Jimin giggles. Giddy with the aftertaste of Minjeong and her familiar quips, she quickly sits up and leaves a short kiss on her face. This pacifies Minjeong, even if only shortly. She collapses against Jimin, body fitting next to her like a missing puzzle piece and she doesn't fight it when Jimin gathers her in her arms. It's uncomfortable; Minjeong's boney shoulder sticks into her side, the couch is too small for the two of them, the TV remote is somewhere under Jimin — but she refuses to move. She's waited, patiently, impatiently, praying and hoping for this to return. Now that she's got Minjeong again, she's not ready to let go so easily.

She kisses the crown of Minjeong's head. She catches Minjeong looking at the ring on her finger, and Jimin wonders that maybe in the future she gets to do it all over again. Another surprise trip, another romantic dinner, another sappy confession and engagement, another wedding. Another ring on the top of the previous one.

For the new them. For the love that persevered.

"Maybe it didn't come across right the first time, but I'm happy. I can't even put it into words how happy," she whispers, holding Minjeong closer, until she can feel the warmth of her breath, the heat of her skin, the phantom beat of her heart. Alive, precious.

Minjeong tears her eyes away from the ring, and shifts slightly to look up at her. Then she leaves a quick kiss on the underside of Jimin's jaw.

"I know. You just can't help being you."

"What a nice compliment."

"It really wasn't one."

This happiness that bubbles up in her lungs and throat is hard to contain. She wants to smother Minjeong in kisses, wants to give her the cheesiest, corniest confessions of all times, but they're moving slowly. Baby steps, Jimin reminds herself. They're doing it all again from scratch; their lives, from the top. She finds she doesn't mind re-living everything.

She clears her throat.

"I've got good news," Jimin announces. Minjeong's doubtful face blears at her. "I wanted it to be a surprise, but you caught me here and I want to retaliate. We're picking up your puppy from my mom's tomorrow."

Minjeong's eyes brighten. "Dust?"

Jimin looks at her in surprise.

"You remember?"

"Of course! He has always meant to be part of our—" Minjeong's eyes mist over, mouth pulling into the brightest smile, "family."

"That's right."