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Jiwoo stood in front of the convenience store's glass door, holding a bottle of mineral water that was no longer cold. Through the thin layer of glass, across the street, Jinsol was pulling up the zipper of Yoona's jacket in front of the coffee shop. The movement was as natural as if she'd done it a thousand times. Yoona looked up and smiled. Jinsol lowered her head. Their shadows overlapped in the afternoon sunlight.
Jiwoo put the mineral water back on the shelf and walked away.
She hadn't meant to see it. It had been four months since the breakup. She thought she could walk past the coffee shop where Jinsol worked without feeling anything, thought her "I'm fine" actually meant fine. But in that moment, her chest still felt like someone had pressed a hand hard against it. It didn't hurt, exactly. It was just heavy. Heavy enough that she wanted to throw something.
When she got back to her apartment, Kyujin was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, opening a recently delivered package. The sound of scissors cutting through tape was crisp and efficient. She looked up at Jiwoo, didn't ask "What's wrong," and simply pushed the cushion beside her over.
Jiwoo didn't sit on the cushion. She collapsed onto the floor next to Kyujin, resting her head on Kyujin's shoulder. Kyujin paused for a moment, then went back to opening the package.
"Kyujin."
"Yeah."
"Have you ever liked someone so much that you felt like you gave them everything, and yet they could still easily love someone else?"
Kyujin pulled the item out of the package. It was a dark gray hoodie. She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she shook the hoodie out, folded it neatly, and placed it into a shopping bag beside her. The movements were slow, as if she wasn't just folding clothes, but sorting through some kind of thought.
"Yes," she said.
Jiwoo waited for a moment, but Kyujin didn't elaborate. "That's it?"
"You asked if I have, and I said yes. What else do you want?" Kyujin's tone was flat, but the corner of her mouth lifted slightly. Not a smile, exactly. More like an unspoken you know I don't want to talk about that.
Jiwoo sat up and looked at her. Kyujin was twenty-one this year, two years younger than Jiwoo, three years younger than Jinsol. But people in their department said Kyujin was like a cat—not the clingy kind, but the kind that watches you first, decides if you're worth approaching. She was a little too quiet when she was being quiet, but when she spoke, it was always just right.
"I need a favor," Jiwoo said.
Kyujin set the shopping bag aside and turned to face her. Half a cushion's distance between them. Not far, not close. "Let's hear it."
"Go out with me."
Kyujin didn't freeze, didn't laugh. She just looked into Jiwoo's eyes for a few seconds, then said, "You want to make Jinsol jealous."
Not a question. Jiwoo sometimes hated how easily Kyujin saw through everything.
"Yes."
"Because she has a new girlfriend."
"Yes."
"And you think if you have someone new too, she'll care."
Jiwoo bit her lower lip. She didn't know if she wanted to hear Kyujin take these words apart one by one and lay them out between them. It felt too raw.
"I know it's childish," Jiwoo said, her voice dropping. "But I don't need you to actually like me. Just... play along. Let her see. I won't make things awkward or put you in a bad position. One month. Maximum one month."
Kyujin looked down at her own fingers. Her hands were beautiful, defined knuckles, neatly trimmed nails, no color. Jiwoo suddenly realized she'd never seen Kyujin wear nail polish.
"Why me?" Kyujin asked.
Because you won't take it seriously. Because you're smart enough to know where the lines are. Because even if I mess up, you won't hate me. The words circled in Jiwoo's head, but she didn't say them. What she said was, "Because you're really pretty. Standing next to you, I wouldn't feel like I've lost."
Kyujin finally smiled. Faint, but yes, she smiled. "Is that a compliment?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."
Jiwoo blinked. "Okay?"
"I said okay. I'll help you." Kyujin stood up, picked up the gray hoodie she'd just taken out of the package, walked over to Jiwoo, and placed it in her lap. "But when this month is over, this hoodie is mine. Consider it my payment."
Jiwoo held the hoodie, smelling the faint scent of new clothes. "You really have to take something from everything."
"Of course. I'm not running a charity."
Kyujin turned and walked toward her room. Before closing the door, she tilted her head and said, "Jiwoo."
"Yeah?"
"If you actually fall for me during this month, I don't do refunds."
The door closed. Jiwoo sat alone in the living room, and the heaviness that had pressed on her chest all afternoon finally loosened a little. She didn't know if it was because she'd finally decided to do something, or because of the way Kyujin had said that last sentence—so casual it sounded like a joke. But maybe it wasn't a joke.
Maybe it was Kyujin's way of reminding her: You think you're using me, but feelings never follow the script.
---
Their first "date" was at a bookstore near campus. Kyujin said a bookstore was good because it didn't require much conversation, wouldn't feel too deliberate and even if someone saw them, they'd just look like two friends who happened to be buying books together. Jiwoo thought that made perfect sense. But she didn't say that she was actually nervous.
She changed three times before settling on a white knit top. She stood in front of the mirror, let her hair down, tied it up, then let it down again. It's just acting, she told herself, but her palms were still sweating.
Kyujin arrived first. She was standing in the magazine section, flipping through a photography book, wearing a simple black long-sleeve shirt with sleeves just long enough to cover half the backs of her hands. She didn't look up when Jiwoo walked in—or rather, she noticed but deliberately didn't lift her head.
Jiwoo walked over and stood beside her. "What are you looking at?"
"Photography." Kyujin turned the book toward her. It was a black-and-white photo of two people sharing an umbrella in the rain. The umbrella was too small; both were soaked, but they were laughing. "This one's good."
"What's good about it?"
"They don't look like they're trying to be happy. They just happened to find it funny in that moment." Kyujin closed the book, put it back on the shelf, and finally looked at Jiwoo. Her gaze paused on Jiwoo's face for a second, then moved to the knit top, then back to her eyes. "You changed clothes."
Jiwoo guiltily looked away. "No, I wear this all the time."
"Yeah, all the time." Kyujin didn't call her out, but her voice carried a faint hint of amusement, like a cat gently placing a paw on your hand—not retracting, not pressing down.
They spent an hour in the bookstore. Kyujin actually read her book. Jiwoo pretended to read hers while actually watching the door and the windows. She didn't know if Jinsol would walk by, but she needed to get used to this first—used to standing next to Kyujin, used to not feeling awkward, used to making this "fake" look real.
At checkout, Kyujin bought the photography book. Jiwoo bought some forgettable novel. When they stepped outside, the sky had darkened, streetlights were on, and there was a slight chill in the air. Kyujin held the photography book against her chest, her pace unhurried.
"Jiwoo."
"Yeah."
"Do you want to hold my hand?"
Jiwoo froze. Not because the request was too much, but because when Kyujin said it, her gaze stayed straight ahead, her tone as casual as if she'd asked Do you want a drink?
"If Jinsol happens to walk by and sees us walking together but not holding hands, how is that different from just being friends?" Kyujin said.
Jiwoo knew she was right. But when she reached out, her fingertips still trembled slightly. Kyujin's hand was dry, cooler than hers. Her fingers lightly laced through Jiwoo's—not tight, not loose. As if she'd done it many times before.
They walked an entire street like that. No one spoke. Jiwoo's heart was pounding, pounding so fast it felt absurd. This is fake, she told herself. This is acting. But her hand honestly held on a little tighter. And Kyujin held back.
That street was short. When they reached the end, Kyujin let go and tucked her hands back into her jacket pockets. "That should be enough. Any longer and my hands would start sweating."
Jiwoo hid her hands behind her back. The warmth of Kyujin's palm still lingered on her fingertips. She wanted to say something to diffuse the subtle awkwardness, but Kyujin spoke first.
"Do you know Jinsol has band practice at the music building tonight?"
"How do you know?"
"Because Yoona posted a photo of the practice room on her story yesterday, tagged the music building. Jinsol will definitely go pick her up." Kyujin tilted her head. "We could walk by there. Don't need to do anything. Just walk past."
Jiwoo looked at her. Under the streetlight, Kyujin's face was cut in half by the light—one side bright, the other in shadow. Her expression was calm, as if she were talking about something completely unrelated to herself. But Jiwoo suddenly realized that while Kyujin was helping her plot this out, she was also making this "script" feel more and more real.
"Kyujin," Jiwoo said. "Do you think I'm pathetic?"
"No."
"Why?"
Kyujin thought for a moment. "Because you just haven't learned how to take someone out of your heart yet. That's not pathetic. That's just slow."
Jiwoo felt her nose sting. She quickly turned away, pretending to look at the convenience store sign across the street. "Let's go. To the music building."
---
When they got to the music building, Jinsol was just walking out the main door. She was wearing a light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows, carrying a bag with two drinks. Yoona followed behind, carrying a large instrument case, her hair tied in a ponytail, revealing a clean, elegant neckline.
Jinsol saw her first. Not Kyujin. Her. Jiwoo knew her expression must not look great right now, because Jinsol's face changed—not guilt, not awkwardness, but something complicated. Something that looked like both relief and the feeling of stumbling over something at the same time.
Then Jinsol saw Kyujin's hand intertwined with hers.
That expression lasted only a second. Jinsol quickly smiled, raised her drink bag slightly, and greeted them in that very Jinsol way: "Jiwoo! Long time no see. You guys here for practice too?"
Jiwoo's heart felt like it was about to leap out of her throat, but she forced herself to smile. "No, we just came from the bookstore. Just walking by."
"Oh," Jinsol's gaze paused on Kyujin. "Kyujin's here too."
"Hi, senior." Kyujin nodded politely but not distantly. Then she did something Jiwoo hadn't expected—she raised her free hand and tucked a strand of hair that the wind had blown onto Jiwoo's cheek behind her ear. The movement was slow. Her fingertips barely touched Jiwoo's skin. But it was that almost touching, the proximity more than the contact itself, that made it feel even more intimate than if she'd actually grabbed her.
Jiwoo's body went rigid. She felt Jinsol's gaze fixed on her face, on that hand. And Kyujin's fingers, as they left the edge of her ear, made her heartbeat so loud she wondered if the people across from her could hear it too.
"Let's go," Kyujin said to her, her voice deliberately soft, as if coaxing a small animal. "Didn't you say you wanted something hot? I know a good place up ahead."
Jiwoo nodded. She didn't look at Jinsol again. She didn't dare.
They walked a good distance until they turned the corner, sure no one was behind them, and Jiwoo stopped. She leaned against the wall, tilted her head up, and stared at the nearly invisible stars in the dark sky. Too many things were colliding inside her chest. She needed a few seconds to push them all down.
"You okay?" Kyujin stood beside her, hands still in her jacket pockets, not touching her.
"That thing earlier," Jiwoo said with her eyes closed. "You didn't tell me you were going to do that."
"What thing?"
"The hair. That hair thing."
"It worked well, didn't it?" Kyujin's voice sounded slightly different, but Jiwoo couldn't pinpoint how. Like the surface of a calm lake, where a fish had flicked its tail just beneath—the ripples too faint to be sure anything had moved at all.
Jiwoo opened her eyes and turned her head. Kyujin was looking back at her. Her eyes were bright—not from tears, but from the streetlight. They were close, close enough that Jiwoo could see a tiny mole at the outer edge of Kyujin's eyebrow. She'd never noticed that mole before.
"You're really good at acting," Jiwoo said.
Kyujin didn't answer. She looked down, nudged a small pebble with the toe of her shoe. After a few nudges, the pebble rolled into a storm drain grate and fell through.
---
Two weeks passed. Jiwoo started getting used to Kyujin's presence. No, not used to. Getting used to something is passive. She was actively waiting for Kyujin's messages, actively thinking would Kyujin like this outfit? before leaving the house, actively reaching for her phone first when she saw something funny.
But she told herself this was all part of "preparation." Preparing to act out this role well. Preparing to make Jinsol believe she'd really moved on.
The problem was, Jinsol started showing up.
They were eating at the campus cafeteria when Jinsol walked over with her tray and asked if she could join them. Jiwoo hadn't even answered yet when Kyujin said, "Sure," and moved her bag from the chair to the floor.
The entire meal was perfectly normal. Jinsol chatted with them about classes, the weather lately, the new coffee beans at the café where she worked. She talked to Kyujin as naturally as if they'd always been friends. And Kyujin responded just as naturally, occasionally throwing in a harmless joke.
Jiwoo sat between them, her chopsticks holding a piece of kimchi, when a ridiculous feeling washed over her—she'd asked Kyujin to make Jinsol jealous, but now the two of them were chatting happily in front of her, and she was the one who felt like the extra.
And she noticed something. The way Jinsol looked at Kyujin wasn't anything special—just the way you'd look at a junior. But the way Kyujin looked at Jinsol—
No, that wasn't right. Kyujin wasn't looking at Jinsol at all. She was looking at Jiwoo.
When Jinsol looked down to eat. When Jinsol laughed at her own joke before finishing it. When Jinsol had a piece of carrot on her tray that she didn't know what to do with—in all those moments, Kyujin's gaze would turn to Jiwoo. Briefly. Like a camera click. And then withdraw.
Jiwoo wasn't sure what that meant. But she was sure that her stomach tightened in a way it shouldn't have because of those glances.
---
That night, Jiwoo got out of the shower with her hair still wet and sat on the living room floor applying hair oil. Kyujin came out of her room to get water, paused beside her.
"Dry your hair."
"Lazy," Jiwoo said.
Kyujin sighed. Jiwoo heard her set the water glass down on the table, then felt the hair dryer's plug being inserted into the outlet behind her. Warm air blew down from above. One hand moved through her damp hair, fingertips occasionally brushing the back of her neck. Warm.
Jiwoo didn't move. She sat on the floor, hugging her knees, letting Kyujin dry her hair. The living room was filled with the sound of the hair dryer. Loud enough to cover her heartbeat. But not loud enough to cover the warm, aching something rising in her chest.
When the hair dryer turned off, the living room suddenly felt too quiet.
"Done," Kyujin said. Her voice was very close, just above Jiwoo's head.
Jiwoo slowly turned, tilting her face up to look at her. Kyujin's hand still hung beside her shoulder, the hair dryer cord wrapped around her wrist. Their faces were close enough to fit a book between them.
"Kyujin," Jiwoo said, her voice rougher than she'd expected. "This agreement we made..."
"Yeah."
"What if I actually fall for you?"
Kyujin's fingers twitched, but she didn't pull away. She looked down at Jiwoo, silent for a long time. So long that Jiwoo started regretting saying it. So long that she wanted to pretend it was a joke—
Then Kyujin bent down and kissed her.
Very light. Very brief. Just a press of lips, like a butterfly landing on a flower for less than a second before flying away. But Jiwoo closed her eyes. She smelled the laundry detergent on Kyujin, felt her breath brush against the tip of her nose.
When Kyujin pulled back, her face was red. This was the first time Jiwoo had ever seen her blush. Not that faint, barely-there pink—this was red spreading from her neck all the way to the tips of her ears. The kind of blush you can't hide.
"Then no refunds," Kyujin said, her voice a little hoarse.
Jiwoo reached out, grabbed the hem of her shirt, and pulled her back down. This time, she kissed her. Not a butterfly anymore. The weight of an entire spring season.
---
Later, they didn't bring up Jinsol again. The month passed. Jiwoo never said "it's over." Kyujin never came to claim the gray hoodie. That gray hoodie stayed draped over the back of the chair in Jiwoo's room. One morning, Jiwoo woke up and noticed it wasn't on the chair anymore. She walked out of her room and found Kyujin wearing it, standing in the kitchen, frying an egg.
The hood wasn't up, but the sleeves covered the backs of her hands.
Jiwoo walked over and hugged her from behind. Kyujin's body stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. She turned the stove heat down.
"The egg is going to burn," Kyujin said.
"It's okay."
"I don't like burnt eggs."
Jiwoo buried her face in the hair at the nape of Kyujin's neck and laughed.