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The draft from the open kitchen window isn't enough to bother Jinsol at first, but then it bothers Lily right as she returns from her schedule; and by proxy, it now bothers Jinsol.
Lily doesn't tell her to close it. She doesn't say anything to anyone, actually. It's an exaggerated shiver followed by, "it's so cold in here," and shrugging her jacket back onto her shoulders despite initially taking it off.
Her comment doesn't move Yoona, standing at their kitchen island filling some weird human dog-bowl-thing with tomatoes, nor does it even seem to reach Kyujin who's migrating from bedroom to bathroom.
Well. This clearly seems like Jinsol's job then.
She's up on her feet and closing the window before her mind really comprehends what she's doing or why she’s doing it. The window is closed, she's standing momentarily confused what to do with herself next, and Lily is staring right at her.
"Oh," Lily breathes out. A small smile twitches onto her lips. "Thanks, Jinsol." She says it with that sickly sweet, endearing tone that Jinsol thinks, passively, she might melt on the spot. But she can't show that. At least not in the context of closing a window.
There's a joke supposed to be said here; a witty retort of some degree. Just. Anything at all. That's what Jinsol knows—no, is good at. One-liners, things that would break her Lily-unnie into a fit of giggles, maybe even Yoona while she's here too.
Yet nothing comes. Jinsol stares, and Lily stares back equally, because that's just how Lily is. Her gaze is enough to choke out any possible words Jinsol could’ve planned to say.
So Jinsol blinks. Nods her head over-enthusiastically, and hums out something that means, you're welcome.
Lily exhales heavily through her nose, smile shifts into something proper. "Are you free for the next while?"
Every schedule Jinsol has within the next forty-eight hours flash through her head. It's eight P.M. and she has to be up at five the next day. Knowing Lily, this could either be fifteen minutes or consume them both until the early hours of the morning. Not like that matters, because Jinsol agrees before she even knows what she's getting herself into.
It comes as common knowledge that Lily is hard to predict. She's weird and wonderful and wanders off so far in her own direction sometimes that Jinsol wonders whether she'll circle back or not. There are layers and attributes to Lily that Jinsol wholeheartedly believes she might be the greatest person alive.
Maybe that's hyperbolic, but it's easy to understand where she's coming from.
It's almost an hour ago now that Lily had asked her whether she was free. And, miraculously, it has taken them an hour—and counting—to move some boxes and unpack them. I just need a hand taking these boxes from the old dorm into my room, Lily had said, like it was something that should've taken twenty minutes tops. Which it very much should have, but then Lily mentions something that had happened a few days prior, then Lily also brings up why she doesn't collect the Eclipse mint cases, and that sparks a whole discussion on holding sentiment to items and well. They're sidetracked.
To say it's something that annoys Jinsol would be a lie. She's rather fond of it, actually. It's not like she would—rather, could, be mad at the attention Lily gives her. They bounce off each other, in a way; she pokes and prods, drags Lily into whatever whimsical joke or bit she has next, and Lily makes her feel like she's worth something. That she's seen.
Jinsol scans the room as Lily grabs the last item out of one of the boxes. They got there in the end, yes, but it really should not have taken that long. The entire room isn't exactly organized, but Jinsol presumes that's something Lily is far too particular about for her to be also helping with.
Lily yawns. She raises her arms in the process and the bottom of her shirt rides up. Jinsol can't break her stare at her midriff. "Thanks for the help," she says, before turning off the ceiling light.
Jinsol walks out of the bedroom, a cold shiver going down her spine. At least Lily always circles back.