Chapter Text
The dog was at the terminal when they got off the bus.
Minjeong saw him before her shoes had even touched the pavement—a flash of gold near the bench, low to the ground, head resting on his paws—
"Oh my god."
And then she ran.
Jimin, two steps behind her with the folded test admission slip in hand, barely had a second to process before she was sprinting after her too.
“Minjeong, we have eleven minutes—”
Minjeong didn't turn around.
"Jimin. Jimin. Look!"
The dog was a golden retriever. Big and sprawled on his side near the bench, looking completely at home. In front of him sat two ceramic bowls. One filled with water, the other with rice and a few scraps of leftover chicken.
Minjeong dropped into a crouch immediately.
“You’re telling me this bus terminal just comes with a dog? Jimin, look, he has his own bowls.”
"I see them."
"Someone's been feeding him."
"Mm."
“Hi,” Minjeong said to the dog, her school uniform already threatening to collect every bit of dirt from the floor. “Hi, baby.”
The dog wriggled out of his sprawl and sat up. His ears lifted first, then his tail gave a hopeful thump. Minjeong scratched behind his ear, and his eyes melted half shut, like he’d just come to a decision—this human was safe. Not a threat.
Jimin stayed standing. She tilted her wrist to check her watch. They have ten minutes now, give or take. Ten minutes, depending on how fast they could get up the stairs to the test hall. Depending on whether Minjeong stopped trying to befriend every living creature within a ten metre radius.
“Ten minutes,” Jimin said.
“I know.” Still crouched beside the dog, Minjeong unzipped her backpack and started rummaging through it.
“Let’s go, we don’t want to be late. We have our future ahead of us.”
"Mmhmm." Minjeong pulled out her Instax camera and held it out to Jimin. "Take our picture."
"What?"
Minjeong was holding out her Instax without looking up. The little pink one. The one Jimin had told her, several times, was an objectively stupid thing to carry to a university admission exam.
“Here, come on. It’ll be quick!”
"Minjeong, we don't have time for this we have nine—"
"Please?"
"No. We have a test."
"One picture." Minjeong was already positioning herself next to the dog, arm around its neck. "Just click the button!"
Jimin huffed and took the camera. She held it up, looked at the viewfinder—Minjeong's grin, the dog yawning, the ceramic bowls in the foreground—and was about to press the shutter when Minjeong interrupted.
"Wait. No. You have to be in it too."
"I really don't."
"Jimin," Minjeong commanded. "Selfie."
Jimin sighed. She turned the camera around and crouched awkwardly beside Minjeong, trying to fit all three of them into the frame. Minjeong immediately slung an arm around Jimin’s shoulders and tugged her closer.
Too close.
Jimin’s shoulder pressed into Minjeong’s. Minjeong’s hair brushed her cheek.
“Ready?” Minjeong said.
“No.”
Jimin pressed the shutter anyway. The flash burst bright between them, and the photo slid out with a small wheeze.
"Done. Okay up you go."
"Wait, wait."
Minjeong took the photo, shook it, and held it up to the light even though it had barely developed. She smiled for a second before she started rummaging through her bag again, this time for a sharpie.
"What are you doing now?"
Minjeong sat fully on the ground and uncapped the marker. She started writing at the bottom of the photo. "M, J..." She paused. Then she leaned toward the dog, searching through the fur at his neck. No collar. No tag.
“What should we name him?”
Jimin stared at her. “You’re kidding.”
"I'm not." Minjeong looked up. "We can't take a picture with a dog and not name him."
Jimin checked her watch again. "We don't have time to name a dog. We have eight minutes—"
"So plenty of time." Minjeong turned back to the dog. "He's our lucky charm. When we pass this test and come back here as university students we have to remember him. He needs a name."
There was no point arguing when Minjeong got like this. Jimin had learned that a few months ago, parked in front of the koala encounter at the zoo during a school field trip because Minjeong was convinced the koala was “about to wake up.”
(They stood there for forty five minutes. The koala did not budge.)
Jimin closed her eyes for a second. Then she looked at the dog. Its tail thumped once against the ground, tongue lolling out of its mouth.
"Fine. Goldie."
Minjeong stared at her. “Just because it's a golden retriever?"
"Yeah?"
"That is the most uncreative name I have ever heard. That’s almost as bland as naming your dog Boba.”
Jimin scoffed. "You come up with a name, then!"
"What about…" Minjeong tilted her head, sharpie still poised. "Since you're so golden. Rapunzel?"
"Rapunzel doesn't have balls, Minjeong."
"What?"
"Look at this dog. This dog has balls."
Minjeong looked down. "Oh."
Jimin checked her watch again. Seven minutes. She held out a hand and Minjeong took it without looking. Jimin pulled her up out of the crouch in one motion. She'd done this a hundred times before. After assembly, or lunch. Or when Minjeong decided the school lawn was an appropriate place to sit even though the grass was damp.
Minjeong's palm was warm. Jimin let go.
She looked at the dog again. The sun had broken through somewhere, and the gold of his fur had gone slightly translucent at the tips—thin and warm—like the fried tofu skin wrapped around the rice balls Minjeong’s mother likes to pack for lunch. The ones Jimin always ended up stealing bites from.
"Chobap," Jimin said.
Minjeong stopped trying to brush off her skirt. "What?"
“Chobap. Well, Yubuchobap, but that’s too long.” Jimin nodded at the dog, feeling stupid now that she had to explain it. “He looks like it. The golden fur reminds me of the fried tofu skin that wraps around the rice. And he’s big, so it’s like the fur is covering all of him.”
Minjeong blinked.
Then she looked at the dog.
“Chobap,” she said.
The dog’s ears flicked.
“Chobap, Chobap, Chobap.”
At the third one, his tail thumped again.
Minjeong beamed. “That’s a good name. That’s such a good name!”
“Okay, sorted, now can we please—”
“There’s that thing, isn’t it,” Minjeong bent over the photo again, sharpie still in hand. “Where if you name a pet after food, they live longer?”
“Yes, yes, off we go now—"
But Minjeong had already started writing and Jimin had no other choice than to watch her finish the caption.
M J & Chobap 4 ever <3.
The heart at the end was lopsided. The whole thing looked like something a primary school kid would draw on the corner of a friend’s notebook.
"That's so cheesy," Jimin commented. Which was... not what she meant. What she meant was something she couldn’t get to in the six minutes they had left.
Minjeong slid the photo into Jimin’s shirt pocket and patted it flat with her palm. Jimin twitched faintly at the touch against her chest, caught off guard by how casual it was. Then Minjeong waved at the dog with both hands like she was dropping a kid off at daycare.
"Bye, Chobap! Wish us luck!"
Then she grabbed Jimin's hand again and started running.
They made it with three minutes to spare. Both of them breathing hard when they slid into their seats. Minjeong leaned over, cheeks flushed, her hair slightly messy from the run.
"Told you we'd make it."
Jimin didn’t answer.
She was thinking about the way Minjeong’s hand had felt in hers. About the photo tucked safely in her pocket. The sharpie letters drying next to a lopsided heart.
M J & Chobap 4 ever <3.
The invigilator started handing out the test papers. Jimin picked up her pencil and tried to focus on the blank answer sheet in front of her.
But all she could think was—
What did Minjeong even mean by forever when they weren’t even dating?
---
"Chobap!"
Minjeong was off the bus before Jimin had fully stood up. One second she was beside her, the next she was already pulling Jimin by the hand across the terminal. Jimin barely managed to snatch up her bag with her free hand.
"Minjeong, Minjeong, slow down—"
"He's still there, Jimin, he's still there."
He was. Same spot. Same dog, with golden fur that looked like fried tofu wrapper. Lying flat on his side near the bench like he hadn’t moved in four months.
Minjeong dropped to a crouch and Jimin barely caught herself from being yanked down with her.
"Hi, Chobap! Hi, hi. Do you remember me?"
Chobap lifted his head, tongue lolling out as his tail thumped against the ground. Minjeong immediately started patting his head with both hands, a little too enthusiastically.
"Jimin. Jimin, this is him. This is the dog we named."
"I know."
"You named him."
"I remember."
"He's still here."
"Yes, I have eyes."
"It's our first day, Jimin. We met him on admission day and now it's our first day. He's our lucky charm."
"Mmhm."
He did look bigger. A little broader through the chest, maybe. Someone had upgraded the bowls too. The food dish was stainless steel now, rubber-rimmed so it wouldn't slide across the floor.
“Someone’s still looking after him,” Minjeong said.
Jimin looked around the terminal. Chobap seemed to belong there. Not to one person, exactly, but to the terminal itself. To the commuters who passed him scraps, to the aunties who probably scolded him and then fed him anyway, to the students who scratched his ears while waiting for the bus.
Jimin looked back at Minjeong. “Okay. Up. We have orientation.”
"One second."
Jimin sighed, and Minjeong heard it loud and clear—just not enough to make her turn around. Her knees were already on the concrete and she didn’t seem to care that her jeans were picking up the brownish terminal grime that wouldn’t come out in one wash. She leaned in, bringing her face close to Chobap’s. He didn’t move and she loved him for it.
“Hi, Chobap. I want to introduce myself properly.” She scratched under his chin. “I’m Minjeong. I’m one of your mums now, I think.”
He tipped his head slightly, ears angled toward her voice.
"And this—" She reached up and grabbed Jimin's hand without looking, tugging her down half a step closer. "—this is my girlfriend, Jimin."
Minjeong did glance up then. Just for a second to check.
Jimin was looking pointedly at the bus schedule on the far wall. Her ears, which Minjeong had a clear side view of, were pink.
Minjeong filed it away. She didn't smile, didn't say anything. She just turned back to Chobap and gave him one more good scratch behind his ear.
"We have fifteen minutes," Jimin said, though her voice came out a little higher than usual.
"I know."
"To get across campus."
"Yep."
"Minjeong." Jimin let out a long sigh. "Can we not waste our time? We still need to fill out that paperwork."
"Yeah, okay."
She stood up. Jimin was already half-turned toward the university gates, her hand held out at her side.
Minjeong took it.
"Bye, Chobap. See you later!"
They crossed the road and were almost at the gate when Minjeong bumped Jimin's shoulder.
"So, are your ears going to turn pink whenever I call you my girlfriend in public? Or is that only when I say it to a dog?"
Jimin shrugged. "Whatever," she said, but there wasn't any bite to it. Instead, her grip on Minjeong's hand tightened a second later—small and quick enough that she probably thought it would go unnoticed.
Minjeong squeezed back, smiling to herself.
---
On the last day of orientation week, it rained while they walked back to the bus terminal.
It wasn't supposed to. The forecast had said clear, so Jimin had made the very reasonable decision to leave her umbrella at home. Her bag was already heavy enough.
Then again, forecasts these days were never right.
When the first drops hit, Minjeong stopped and dug through her bag. She pulled her umbrella out—the clear one from Daiso, six dollars, slightly bent at one rib from when she'd left it on the bus and someone had stepped on it. Jimin then took it from her hand, opened it, and held it over both of them. Jimin was taller. She always held the umbrella when they shared one.
Minjeong moved in close. Slipped her hand into Jimin's coat pocket because her own cardigan didn't have any and her hand was cold.
The rain came down harder, the air thick with that fresh grass-and-rain smell they both loved. Jimin was holding the umbrella centered over Minjeong’s head, which meant her own left shoulder was getting properly soaked.
"Jimin, your shoulder."
“Hm?” Jimin glanced down at it. “It’s fine.”
“You’re going to be miserable on the bus home. The aircon is going to hit you and you’ll get cold.”
“I’ll just wipe it off with tissues later.”
Minjeong pulled her hand from Jimin’s coat pocket and tugged her gently closer beneath the umbrella. Jimin stumbled half a step inward, shoulder brushing against Minjeong’s. The rain no longer hitting her shoulder quite as hard.
The terminal came into view at the end of the street. They could already see the shape of Chobap at his spot, head up. He always heard them coming.
Minjeong's mind was already running through a checklist—even though she'd only known Chobap for a week. Was he dry? Did he know to move further under the roof when it rained? Did he smell? Would she need to towel him off?
That was when Jimin stopped walking.
Just stopped. In the middle of the pavement. Umbrella still up, rain hitting the fabric like a small applause.
"Jimin, what's wrong?"
Jimin didn’t answer. She looked left, then right, strangely careful, before finally ducking her head down and kissing her.
It was a different kiss. Minjeong had a pretty good sense of Jimin kisses by now—the goodbye one at the door, the slow one in bed, the one she did when she wanted something—and this was none of those. This was Jimin half a block from the terminal in the rain, deciding she couldn't wait until they got home.
Minjeong's hand was back inside Jimin's coat pocket. The umbrella tilted and a drop of cold water ran down the back of her neck. She didn't move.
Jimin pulled back maybe an inch.
“Sorry,” Jimin said. “I just—we saw that movie last week, and you said it was romantic to kiss in the rain, and—”
Minjeong tipped up onto her toes and kissed Jimin a second time, longer, deliberate, because Jimin had started it and Minjeong was not going to let her get away with a one-and-done.
Jimin exhaled shakily into the kiss. The umbrella tilted further. More rain falling down on her neck. She angled herself closer, one hand tightening around the umbrella handle while the other hovered awkwardly between them. Minjeong solved the problem herself by taking her free hand and guiding it to her waist—
Then a bark rang out from the terminal.
They both froze.
Chobap had spotted them from beneath the sheltered roof. Which they both now realised wasn't actually that far away. He stood with his ears perked and tail wagging furiously, looking very interested in whatever Jimin and Minjeong were doing a few metres away.
Jimin tried to pull back. Minjeong didn't let her. She closed her eyes again and leaned up, chasing the kiss.
Then Chobap started howling.
"Oh my god," Jimin said, breaking off. "Chobap, shut the fuck up."
Chobap only got louder. He barked twice more, then howled again, clearly unhappy about being ignored.
Jimin sighed. They'd only known this dog for a week, which wasn't nearly long enough to understand dogs. It was, however, long enough for Jimin to recognise the sound of Hello, I can see both of you. Please pay attention to me and include me in whatever this is.
Which was ridiculous, because Jimin did not want to include a dog in a make-out session. But this damn dog was prepared to scream until a compromise was reached.
Jimin took one step back. "Go say hi to him before he loses his mind."
"You should come too," Minjeong said while laughing into her shoulder.
"In a minute."
Minjeong stepped out from under the umbrella and straight into the rain. She ran the last few metres toward the sheltered roof, and Chobap met her halfway, nearly knocking her over. Behind her, Jimin was still standing in the rain, umbrella raised over no one at all.
Jimin called after her, just loud enough to carry over the rain. “I’m always going to be second to dogs, aren’t I?”
Minjeong buried her face in Chobap’s wet fur and shouted back, “Yeah!”
“Wow.”
“You asked!”
“I was hoping for reassurance.”
Chobap barked.
Minjeong laughed. “He says no.”
Jimin shook her head and started walking towards them.
---
Weeks. Months. The semester moved.
Chobap became a fixture, or they became a fixture in his life, it was hard to tell which.
Minjeong saw him three times a week on the days she had lectures and tutorials. She would sprint off the bus the moment it stopped, dragging Jimin or leaving Jimin to catch up, depending on Jimin's mood.
Minjeong started keeping a separate little stash of cash for dog food. After her last class of the day she'd swing by the convenience store near the gate, pick up a packet of plain dry food, and on the way back she'd top up his bowl before they took the bus home.
Sometimes she lingered, crouching beside Chobap to rub his ears and talk to him like he understood every word.
Sometimes she lingered so long they missed the bus and had to wait twenty minutes for the next one, and Jimin would lean against the pillar and say nothing, just look at her in a way that meant we're talking about this later, and then they would not talk about it later because Minjeong would kiss her at the door of her parents' house and Jimin would forget what she'd been planning to say.
Chobap had also started recognising the buses. He'd lift his head about ten seconds before one pulled in, every time, like he could feel them coming through the concrete. Minjeong was sure he knew which one was theirs. Jimin said all buses sounded the same and Minjeong shouldn't anthropomorphise a stray dog. Minjeong said anthropomorphise was a big word for someone who'd named him after fried tofu skin. Jimin had no comeback for that.
Then Minjeong started introducing Chobap to her friends.
“This is Chobap,” Minjeong said, like she had been waiting all week to say it.
Aeri looked down at the dog. “The bus terminal dog?"
“He has a name.”
“You named the bus terminal dog?”
“Jimin did.”
Aeri turned to Jimin. “You named him Chobap?”
“He looks like one," Jimin said, while adjusting the tote bag digging into her shoulder. "Also, I was under pressure.”
“From Minjeong?”
“And time.”
“Mostly Minjeong,” Minjeong said.
Ningning crouched immediately. “Hi, Chobap.”
Chobap lifted his head, decided Ningning was acceptable, and dropped his chin onto her knee.
“He’s cute,” Ningning exclaimed.
“I know.”
He barked once, like he agreed with them.
Jimin shifted again, the tote bag sliding against her hip. It was heavy with sketchbooks, paint tubes, brushes, and one canvas board she had spent too much money on and was trying very hard not to bend. She took it off her shoulder and set it down by her feet, just for a second.
Because this catch-up with Chobap was getting too long.
Jimin clicked her tongue. "We're going to be late."
"You always say that." Minjeong waved her off without looking.
“Well, because it's true.”
Minjeong sighed, then gave Chobap one last scratch under the chin. Which turned into two, then three.
Jimin opened her mouth to say something else, but Chobap had already noticed the tote bag on the floor. He wandered over and lowered his nose toward it.
“Hey—no. No, bad Chobap!” Jimin yelped, snatching the strap and pulling the bag out of reach.
Chobap ignored her completely. One paw landed squarely on the corner of the canvas tote as he shoved his face inside anyway.
“No, no, you are not eating that.” Jimin tugged the bag back again. “These are expensive.”
“What’s in there?” Ningning asked.
“Brushes, paint, my sketchbooks. Things Chobap can't afford to replace.”
Aeri looked amused. “Maybe he’s an art major too.”
Chobap snuffled deeper into the tote.
“Chobap! Stop it!” Jimin warned.
He ignored her entirely, sniffing around inside the bag like he was searching for treats. Then, suddenly—
Ahchoo.
The sneeze hit the side of the tote.
Jimin froze.
Slowly, she looked down at him. “That better not be paint on your nose.”
Everyone burst out laughing, and Chobap wagged his tail like he’d done something incredibly clever.
---
By the start of second year, the bus rides home had become stupid.
That was the word Jimin used. Stupid.
If Chobap could speak, he'd probably agree. He was there for all of it.
The first time, it had been funny. Running across campus at night, Jimin’s portfolio case smacking against her leg, Minjeong laughing so hard she could barely breathe—and then spotting Chobap through the terminal and shouting, “Bye, Chobap!” over her shoulder without slowing down.
He’d barked back.
They made the bus by seconds.
Then it happened again.
Then it happened in the pouring rain.
Then it happened after Jimin had spent seven hours trapped in the studio and Minjeong had survived two group meetings that accomplished absolutely nothing, and neither of them had eaten dinner.
Every night, Chobap would already be on his feet by the time they reached the terminal, tail wagging because he recognised Minjeong now—recognised the sound of her voice, the rhythm of her footsteps.
And every night, Minjeong would start drifting toward him. Just for a second. Just long enough to crouch beside him and say goodbye properly. But Jimin would catch her before she got too far. Wrist. Elbow. Sleeve. Bag strap. Whatever was closest. Come on, or else we'll miss the last bus. And Minjeong would let herself get pulled away, twisting back over her shoulder to shout one quick goodbye while Chobap stood there watching her leave.
Then there was the night Minjeong had to jump onto the bus while the driver was already reaching for the door. Jimin hauled herself on right after, breathless and furious, with no time left for even a quick goodbye. When Minjeong looked back through the window, Chobap was still by the bench, tail wagging slowly. And all Minjeong could do was press her hand against the glass, whispering a quiet bye as the bus pulled further away.
Eventually, Minjeong got used to waving to him through the bus window instead. He never waved back, obviously, because he was a dog. But he watched the bus until it turned the corner every single time.
That was the worst part.
Not the running. Not the late nights. Not even Jimin’s face the first time they had to spend thirty seven dollars on Uber because they missed the bus entirely. The worst part was watching Chobap wait by the bench while Minjeong waved goodbye through a window instead of kneeling beside him properly.
So after a while, missing the bus stopped being funny. Blowing their weekly lunch budget on Uber rides multiple times a week stopped being funny too.
Which was how they ended up crashing at Aeri and Ningning's place.
Their sharehouse was ten minutes from the bus terminal, fifteen from campus if they walked slowly. The place belonged to Aeri’s aunt, who apparently owned an unreasonable amount of property in the area.
The house itself was a little strange. Two floors, narrow kitchen, small garden out the back, and an oddly huge living room that made all their furniture look like it had been arranged there by accident. The sofa sat too far from the television. The coffee table was always drifting somewhere it shouldn't be. There was an empty corner by the window that could've easily been a study, but instead it just collected Aeri's shopping bags and a coat rack no one used.
“You know,” Ningning said one morning, standing over them with a mug in one hand and TikTok blasting scubaaa from her phone, “at some point, crashing here six times a month and buying us Chinese takeaway might cost the same as just paying rent.”
Jimin opened one eye from where she was squashed against the armrest of the living room sofa, Minjeong half on top of her. “Surely rent is higher than boxes of Chinese takeaway.”
“You sure?” Ningning picked up the receipt from under the stack of plates on the coffee table. “Because two portions of orange chicken, shredded beef, and stir-fried green beans cost you—”
She squinted.
“Eighty-one dollars. Wow. The economy is hard.” Ningning looked from the receipt to Jimin. “Now times that by six, because that’s how many times you’ve crashed here this month.”
"Can we not do maths this early in the morning?"
Aeri, from the kitchen, cut in. "There are two empty rooms upstairs."
Minjeong lifted her head.
Jimin went very still under her.
Nobody said anything for a second.
Then Aeri added, “Just saying. You know my aunt isn’t charging much.”
Ningning dropped the receipt back onto the table. “Rent the two rooms. Doesn’t matter if you end up sleeping in the same one later.”
“Ning,” Jimin groaned.
“What? I’m being practical. There’s no way all your art stuff and Minjeong’s clothes are fitting in one room.”
And somehow, that was it.
Not with some big romantic conversation. Not with candles or a plan or Jimin taking Minjeong’s hands and asking, do you want to live together?
---
Two weeks later, Minjeong was dragging a suitcase off the bus at the terminal.
Or trying to.
The wheel got stuck in the gap between the bus and the curb, and for one terrible second, Minjeong thought she was going to lose the whole thing to public transport infrastructure.
"Lift it up a bit and pull it straight," Jimin said from behind her.
"I am."
"You're pulling it sideways."
"I'm trying!" Minjeong wrestled with it for another second.
Jimin sighed, set her own things down on the ground, and reached around her. She grabbed the suitcase handle and yanked it free with one sharp pull.
The suitcase hit the pavement with a loud clack.
Minjeong gasped. “Jimin! Be gentle!"
“It’s polycarbonate. It’s meant to withstand that.”
“It’s carrying my whole life.”
“More like your two hairdryers and your plushies.”
Jimin stepped back to grab the rest of her own things. One suitcase, one overnight bag, a rolled-up poster tube, and two canvas totes packed so full of art supplies that the straps looked like they were about to break.
By the time she got everything down onto the pavement, the bus was already sighing shut behind them. It pulled away as they started walking toward the terminal.
And there, in his usual spot by the bench, was Chobap.
Of course he was.
He had his head up already, ears perked, watching them like he had been expecting this.
“Chobap!”
Minjeong abandoned her suitcase immediately.
“Minjeong you can't just—”
But Minjeong was already crossing the terminal, half-running, half-tripping over the strap of her backpack. Chobap meanwhile pushed himself up to meet her, tail sweeping across the concrete.
“Hi, baby. Hi, hi, hi.” Minjeong dropped to her knees in front of him and wrapped both arms around his neck. “I have news,” she said, pulling back to hold his face between her hands. “Big news.”
Chobap panted at her.
Jimin came up behind them much more slowly, her own suitcase in one hand, the overnight bag slipping down her wrist, the poster tube tucked badly under one arm. Since Minjeong had abandoned her suitcase in the middle of the walkway, Jimin was also trying to nudge it forward with her knee every few steps.
“We don’t have time for a press conference," Jimin said.
Minjeong ignored her. “We’re moving,” she told Chobap.
Chobap blinked.
“Not far,” she added quickly, pointing toward the road, because it felt important that he knew this. “Just ten minutes away. Near campus. Near here, actually.”
Jimin stopped beside them, slightly out of breath. “Near enough that we should keep walking.”
Minjeong looked up at her. “He needs to know.”
Jimin opened her mouth, then closed it again, probably because arguing with that would take longer than just letting Minjeong finish.
Minjeong turned back to Chobap. “I’m going to live with my girlfriend,” she said, and could not help smiling when she said it.
Jimin made a small sound behind her.
Minjeong did not look back.
“We’re going to live with Aeri and Ningie, and it’s going to be great. The house is kind of old, and Jimin says the living room layout makes no sense, but there are two rooms, and we’re renting both, even though we all know Jimin is probably just going to sleep in my room anyway. There’s a small garden at the back too. I think you’d like it.”
“Minjeong,” Jimin groaned, “why are you telling this dog our bedroom arrangement?”
“I can see you more now,” Minjeong continued, still ignoring Jimin. She scratched behind Chobap’s ears, right where he liked it. “Even on days when I don’t have class. I can just walk here. It’ll take me ten minutes.”
"Twenty if you stop by the convenience store for snacks," Jimin added.
Minjeong smiled into Chobap’s fur. Chobap leaned his weight into her, heavy and warm and trusting.
For a moment, Minjeong imagined it too clearly. Chobap at the sharehouse, sprawled across the living room floor. Stealing socks from the laundry rack. Following her from room to room.
She almost said it.
Wouldn’t it be nice if he came too?
But Jimin was standing behind her with two suitcases and a tote bag full of expensive art supplies, and the house was not really theirs yet, and Chobap had a life here. Bowls. People. A whole terminal that seemed to know him.
So Minjeong swallowed the thought.
She pressed one last kiss to the top of Chobap’s head. “Okay. I have to go before Jimin breaks up with me over luggage.”
“I’m considering it,” Jimin said.
“No, you’re not.”
“I might.”
“You’d have to carry all the bags yourself.”
Jimin looked down at the bags. “Fine. Later.”
Minjeong laughed and stood, brushing dust from her knees before reaching over to take one of the heavier tote bags from Jimin’s arm.
“Bye, Chobap.” She waved both hands at him. “I’ll see you later, okay? Maybe tomorrow. Or tonight. I live nearby now, so you can’t get rid of me.”
Chobap barked once.
Minjeong took it as a promise.
Jimin had already started walking, dragging both suitcases now because she was dramatic and also because she had not given Minjeong enough time to reclaim hers.
“Minjeong, come on,” she called. “These are heavy.”
“I’m coming!”
Minjeong ran back to her, grabbed the handle of her suitcase, and bumped their shoulders together as they headed out from under the terminal roof.
Behind them, Chobap settled back down by his bowls.
Ahead of them, ten minutes away, was the sharehouse. A room that would be theirs, sort of. A strange living room. A small garden. A life close enough to campus that they would not have to run for the last bus anymore.
Close enough to Chobap that Minjeong could come back whenever she wanted too.
"What?" Jimin glanced at her, shifting the tote bag higher on her shoulder.
Minjeong smiled. “Nothing. I just can’t believe we’re moving in together so soon.”
“We’re moving into the same house as two other people, and you know Ningning is nosy as hell.”
“Still counts.”
Jimin looked forward again. For a second, Minjeong braced for an argument. What she got instead was a shoulder bump—light enough to mean something. She bit back her smile and bumped her back.
Then they kept walking, suitcase wheels clattering unevenly behind them.
---
After they moved into the sharehouse, Chobap became part of everyone’s route home.
Not every day. Not officially. But often enough that Aeri started slowing down before they passed the terminal, and Ningning started saying, “Should we say hi to your dog?” even though Minjeong had told her several times that Chobap was not technically her dog.
Jimin said nothing about that.
She still stopped with them, though.
Minjeong started ordering dog biscuits whenever they went on sale online, stacking the boxes beside the front door of the sharehouse so someone could grab one on the way out and leave a few in Chobap’s bowl later.
When they went into the city to watch movies, they started leaving earlier than necessary just to spend ten extra minutes at the bus terminal first.
Aeri, who worked weekend shifts in the city, began stopping by after work to see him before heading home. Sometimes she’d still be in her work shoes, exhausted, crouching beside Chobap while he leaned against her knees like he’d been waiting all day.
Ningning once came home carrying an absurdly expensive packet of human-grade truffle chicken dog food because it had been discounted at a pet shop near their campus.
“He deserves luxury,” she declared.
“He eats scraps off the pavement,” Jimin replied.
“Not anymore.”
Chobap loved it.
Jimin mostly just stood nearby during all of this, hands in her pockets, reminding everyone they were about to miss the bus or end up late to class.
“Five minutes,” she’d say.
Then, five minutes later, “Seriously. We’re leaving.”
And somehow, despite all her complaining, she was always there too—holding Minjeong’s handbag while Minjeong hugged Chobap goodbye, refilling the water bowl if it looked low, or absentmindedly scratching behind Chobap’s ears while waiting for everyone else to finish fussing over him.
---
At first, living together had been easy.
Minjeong liked waking up beside Jimin, because to absolutely nobody’s surprise, Jimin had eventually just started sleeping in Minjeong’s room full-time while her own bedroom slowly turned into storage for canvases, paint tubes, sketchbooks, and piles of clothes she kept insisting she would organise later.
Minjeong loved the way Jimin would mumble something incoherent and tug her closer before actually waking up. Loved kissing her good morning and good night. Loved falling asleep with Jimin’s arms wrapped around her.
She would find Jimin’s doodles everywhere. Tiny cartoons abandoned beside the kettle. Bad drawings of Aeri taped to the fridge. Little notes slipped under her phone or tucked into her backpack before class—discoveries that made her smile before she even realised she was doing it.
Even after a year of dating, Jimin still got shy sometimes. She'd watch Minjeong get dressed for a date and then look away quickly when Minjeong caught her staring, and Minjeong would laugh and say "you can look, you know, I'm your girlfriend" and Jimin would flush and mutter "you look nice" like the words were being dragged out of her.
Minjeong even found it strangely domestic whenever she came downstairs in the morning and found Jimin asleep on the living room sofa in the middle of working. One hand still stained with paint and her sketchbooks splayed open across the coffee table.
She loved the quiet domesticity of it all, intense enough to feel almost embarrassing.
Then the semester got heavier, and both of them became busy all the time.
Jimin especially seemed to exist in a permanent state of being three assignments behind, halfway through an art project, and forgetting at least two important things at any given moment. And somewhere along the way, Minjeong started realising Jimin started slipping a little.
Mostly with small things. Time. Deadlines. Household stuff. Her own brain space.
Eventually, those small things stopped feeling small.
And the arguments that started small got stupid too.
There was the morning Minjeong almost drank a mug of brown paintbrush water thinking it was earl grey. The mug had been sitting on the edge of the kitchen sink overnight, and Minjeong had reached for it half-asleep before her brain caught up with what she was looking at.
She brought it up to Jimin three days later when it happened again. Different mug this time. Ultramarine.
"Jimin."
"Mm?"
"You can't leave the dirty mugs in the kitchen."
"They're just mugs. It's not a big deal."
“What if Aeri grabs it?”
Jimin blinked. “She’s not going to drink it.”
"That's not—"
But Jimin was already half-asleep at the table, head propped on one hand, and Minjeong said forget it and made tea instead.
She leaned against the counter while the kettle boiled, looking at the corner by the window in the living room. The one that used to hold Aeri's shopping bags. It became Jimin's little artsy workspace now—desk, paints, easels, a laptop stand, wacom tablet, sketchbooks stacked in uneven towers.
Minjeong poured the tea and started thinking about whether she was the one being unreasonable.
Then it was the paint supplies.
Jimin would fall asleep without cleaning up. Her brushes still wet, her palette still out, paint tubes uncapped across the coffee table. Minjeong would wake up first and she'd come downstairs to find Jimin asleep on the sofa with her cheek smashed into a cushion, and she would quietly clean everything before Jimin woke up because disoriented-Jimin would inevitably bumped into tables or stepped on tubes of something neon green, and then there would be cursing, and then the whole morning would already feel ruined.
So Minjeong cleaned up. Quietly. Every time.
She brought it up once, gently, on a weekend when they were both well-rested for the first time in weeks. Plus, they were still carrying traces of the night before—the unmistakable glow of two people who'd had a very good night together.
“Babe,” Minjeong said carefully. “Could you at least cap the paint tubes before you sleep?”
Jimin glanced up. “They’re fine.”
“They’re not fine. They’re drying out. When they harden, you’ll get annoyed and complain because you have to buy new ones and it's expensive.”
“I’ll deal with it.”
Minjeong hesitated. “Or maybe just… clean up a little before bed? Move the palette? Just so it’s not all still here in the morning.”
“I don't have time." Jimin exhaled through her nose. "Not when when I’m working until three in the morning, no.”
“I know you’re tired. I’m just saying—”
"And I'm telling you I don't have the energy."
That had stopped Minjeong cold.
She stood there for a second without speaking. Then she said okay, got up to make coffee, and realised that had been the first time the word okay had felt less like an agreement and more like something she was using to leave the room.
And then there was the rest of it.
The groceries. The four of them rotated chores on a roster Aeri kept taped to the fridge, and somehow Minjeong kept doing both hers and Jimin’s. Babe, can you grab pads—I'm at the studio. Can you grab cooking oil—Still working on my installation, won't be home till nine. Can you grab the dog biscuits for Chobap—I forgot, I'm so sorry.
Can you, can you, can you.
Minjeong wanted to say It's your turn, I also have things to do, I'm tired too. Instead, she washed her hands, grabbed her wallet, and told Aeri she would be back soon. On the way home, she stopped at the terminal and emptied the wet food she just bought into Chobap’s bowl.
“Your other mum is useless,” she told him.
Chobap ate happily, blissfully unconcerned by the increasingly uneven household labour distribution among a bunch of stressed twenty-year-olds.
---
One afternoon, the four of them came back from campus together. Jimin had two canvases tucked under one arm and a tote bag full of books and art supplies hanging from the opposite shoulder. She’d been carrying them around since lunch. Minjeong had offered once to help, and Jimin had just said it's fine.
Chobap was by the bench when they passed the bus terminal, stretched out beside his bowls.
“Hi, Chobap,” Ningning said, already crouching.
Chobap lifted his head.
Aeri checked his food bowl. “Someone gave him rice again.”
“Plain rice is okay, right?” Ningning asked.
“Probably,” Jimin said.
“Why do you sound unsure?”
“Dunno, I’m not a vet.”
Minjeong crouched beside Chobap and scratched under his chin. He leaned into her hand right away, eyes half-closing.
“Hi, baby,” she said. “Did you miss me?”
“He saw you yesterday,” Jimin said, while adjusting the canvases under her arm.
“And?”
“That’s not a long time.”
Minjeong ignored her and kept petting Chobap.
Aeri opened the packet of dog biscuits Minjeong had brought from the house and held one out. Chobap took it very politely, then chewed with his mouth open.
“Cute,” Ningning said.
“Disgusting,” Jimin said.
They stayed like that for a while, crouched around him while people walked past. A bus pulled in. A bus pulled out. Someone from one of the stalls called Chobap’s name and Chobap’s tail thumped once against the concrete.
Minjeong watched him.
Then she looked at the others.
“Hey,” she said.
Jimin glanced over. “What?”
Minjeong kept her hand on Chobap's head. "Since we all live together now… what if we took him?"
Aeri looked at her. "Took him?"
"Home. With us."
Ningning's face changed first, brightening like she'd already imagined it. "Wait, actually—"
"No," Jimin said. It was quick. Not loud. Just immediate.
Minjeong's hand slowed in Chobap's fur. "Why not?"
"Because we're busy."
"We can make it work."
"No, Minjeong, we can't."
"We haven't even talked about it."
"What's there to talk about?" Jimin asked seriously, while her hand shot out to stop the canvases from slipping—caught them, but not before a corner clipped her hip. "None of us are home enough for a dog. We have classes, assignments, Aeri has work on weekends, Ningning has labs until late, you're on campus all day half the week, and I'm in the studio whenever I'm not in class." She nodded toward the bags hanging off her shoulders. "We barely manage ourselves some weeks. We're already stretched thin all the time."
"So we take turns."
"Dogs aren't group projects, Minjeong."
Minjeong stared at her.
Jimin kept going before she could interrupt. “What happens if nobody’s home? What if Aeri’s aunt says no pets? What if he destroys something? What if he's unwell?” She glanced down at Chobap briefly before looking away again. "He needs walks every day. Sometimes more than once. Proper food. Baths. Vaccines. A vet if he gets sick."
“Taking care of a pet is expensive. We’re already struggling to keep up with our own lives,” Jimin said, while her grip tightened around the tote strap. Minjeong could see the red mark forming at the base of her neck where the weight had dragged her collar sideways. “I already spend half my money on art supplies. Ningning’s constantly paying lab fees. You literally complained about textbook prices last week.”
Jimin’s voice dropped slightly.
“We’re barely keeping our own lives together. Why would we add more to it?”
Chobap, unbothered by the collapse of his potential future being decided, rolled onto his side and presented his belly. Minjeong put a hand on it automatically.
“He’d be better with us,” she muttered, still rubbing Chobap’s stomach.
"He already has a home." Jimin gestured awkwardly with the hand not holding the canvases. "Here. He knows this place. He knows where to go. People feed him. His bowls are always full. He can move around. Everyone knows him."
A woman with grocery bags crouched down to ruffle his fur as she passed. The security guard near the entrance gave him a small wave. Chobap's tail kept wagging.
See? He's fine, Jimin seemed to be saying, even if she didn't say it. Minjeong hated that she could see the argument. She hated more that Jimin was using it.
"Please," Minjeong said. It came out smaller than she wanted.
Jimin's jaw tightened. "Minjeong—"
"We could just ask Aeri's aunt first. We don't have to decide everything now. We could try. Maybe just for a week, or—"
"No."
Minjeong's hand stilled on Chobap's belly.
Ningning looked at Jimin like she wanted to say something, but Aeri touched her knee lightly, stopping her.
Jimin swallowed. Her grip on the canvases tightened until her knuckles looked pale. "No," she said again, quieter. "We can't."
For a few seconds, nobody moved. Then Chobap sat up and shook himself, fur flying everywhere. Aeri sneezed. Ningning rubbed her nose. Minjeong sighed while Jimin's canvases almost slipped again.
Minjeong bent down and gave Chobap one last scratch under the chin. "Bye, baby," she said, voice bright enough it barely sounded like hers. "See you tomorrow."
Chobap licked her wrist.
Minjeong brushed her hands on her jeans. "Let's go."
Jimin walked ahead first. Aeri and Ningning followed after a moment. Minjeong fell into step last.
Behind them, Chobap stayed by his bowls, golden and fed and loved by everyone. Which, Minjeong thought as they crossed the road toward the sharehouse, wasn't the same thing as being chosen.
---
Somewhere in third year, the arguments turned into fights that got louder by the day.
It happened upstairs, mostly, in Minjeong's bedroom because that was where they slept.
Aeri and Ningning would be downstairs watching television when Jimin's voice cut through the ceiling—Minjeong, I have projects, I don't have time—and Ningning would reach for the remote and quietly raise the volume. Two clicks. Then three. Then five. She'd look at Aeri, and Aeri would keep her eyes on the screen and sigh through her nose. Then Jimin's voice would cut through again—Sorry, okay, my bad, I have deadlines, Minjeong, deadlines—and Ningning would mouth, skill issue, because honestly, Minjeong's patience with Jimin's lack of time management skills deserved scientific study at this point. Aeri would nudge her lightly with one foot because it wasn't their fight.
Eventually Minjeong would come down carrying mugs. Two or three or four of them. And then she'd pick more mugs Jimin had used to clean her brushes in and then left on the coffee table next to the sofa. Minjeong would say sorry, very quickly, on her way past them to the kitchen sink.
"You need a hand?" Aeri would say.
"No, it's fine. These are ours—these are mine to deal with."
She'd run the tap. Scrubbed the dried paint off the rims and watched the water run grey, then green, then mostly clear. Then she would stand there for another second with both hands gripping the edge of the counter, breathing.
Then she'd go back upstairs while the TV downstairs would gradually return to its normal volume.
The fights then started spilling out of the house too.
Chobap was there to witness all of it.
Sometimes they walked home together from wherever they’d ended up that day—usually after something had already gone sideways. A missed text. A forgotten time. An hour spent waiting in the cold that stretched into two.
The bus terminal sat between wherever they’d been and home.
They wouldn’t start arguing immediately. It would build. Footsteps first. Then silence. Then—
“I’m not needy, Jimin. I’m just asking you to—”
Chobap would lift his head from a distance and watch them coming, tail moving slowly.
"I never said you were needy—"
"You implied it—I'm asking you to text me, reply me if you're going to be two hours late, that's not—that's the bare minimum—"
"My phone was on silent—"
"I was waiting in the cold, Jimin, I was waiting outside the restaurant in the cold for two hours, and you didn't even—"
"I said I'm sorry."
"You're always sorry."
By then Chobap's tail had gone still. He was just watching now, head tilted, ears halfback—the way he looked when he could tell something was off but didn't know what. Minjeong saw him and wished that they’d kept their arguments quiet. She walked past him without crouching, because she didn't want him to see her face.
Another evening, Chobap’s tail had already started thumping before they even reached the terminal because he'd heard Minjeong's voice from down the block. The thumping slowed when she got closer.
"—everyone is busy, Jimin. Everyone is busy. I'm busy. Aeri is busy. Ningie is busy. Everyone is busy, and somehow I'm the only one who cleans up your stuff, and somehow I'm the only one who buys the laundry detergent, and somehow—"
"You don't understand, Minjeong—"
"Then explain it to me—"
"It's not the same kind of busy—"
"Oh my god."
Chobap looked at Minjeong as she walked past. She didn't stop again. Just walked through the terminal and out the other side while Jimin followed her, and Chobap put his head back down on his paws and watched them go.
Then there was the anniversary dinner.
They both arrived on time. Everything was fine at first. Then Jimin's phone—the one always on silent—started lighting up every few minutes against the table.
Jimin spent fifty-five minutes of the hour and a half they were at the restaurant on her phone. The last fifteen minutes she spent outside on a call because someone in the installation group couldn't tell the difference between cobalt and cerulean.
When Jimin finally came back inside, the lychee sorbet had already melted into pink soup while Minjeong ate it alone.
And Jimin was still ranting.
"Genuinely. How do you make it to third year of an arts degree and not know the difference between cobalt and cerulean. They're not even close. Cerulean's a sky blue. Cobalt's—cobalt is a deep blue—"
"Jimin."
"—and on top of that, who designs an arts degree like this. Who looks at a cohort of arts students and says yes, let's make them do group projects, what a good idea—"
"Jimin."
"—group projects should be for finance kids, I'm being serious—"
"Do you know what today is?"
Jimin stopped.
"Friday?"
Silence.
"It's our anniversary."
Jimin’s face changed immediately.
"Minjeong, I—"
But Minjeong was already standing.
She grabbed her coat and walked out of the restaurant. Jimin followed after her, and neither of them spoke during the bus ride home.
When they got off at the terminal, Chobap was already sitting upright, ears perked—he’d spotted Minjeong from twenty metres away.
Minjeong went straight to him. She crouched, wrapped both arms around his neck, and let him press his face against hers like he knew something was wrong.
Then the crying came.
Slowly at first, building in her chest before it found its way out—and then her shoulders were shaking and it wasn't slow anymore.
She took a deep breath, stood up, and ran. All ten minutes back to the sharehouse, tears drying cold on her face, not once stopping—and Jimin, wordless, ran after her the whole way.
---
The apology happened at the terminal, a few days later.
Minjeong was crouched in front of Chobap again, both arms around his neck, her chin on the top of his head. Jimin stood behind her.
"I'm sorry," Jimin said quietly. "I won't do it again."
Minjeong kept her face buried in Chobap's fur. "You always say that."
"I mean it this time."
"You meant it last time too. You apologise and said you mean it and then you do it again."
Chobap shifted and sprawled onto his back. Minjeong's arms loosened and she started rubbing his belly instead.
Jimin stood there silently for a moment.
“I know,” she admitted eventually.
She did know. That was the worst part. Jimin knew.
"It's just—everything's been a lot right now," Jimin said. "The installation. The group project. I'm behind and it's not even—"
"I know," Minjeong said.
"I just need more time to—"
"Jimin."
Jimin stopped talking.
Minjeong kept rubbing Chobap's belly. He kicked one leg contentedly.
"I know," Minjeong said again. Quieter this time. "It's fine. Okay."
Fine. Okay.
She had said those two words so many times in the past few months that she'd stopped being able to tell if she meant them anymore.
She leaned down and pressed a kiss against the top of Chobap's head. He smelled like sun and concrete and the fried chicken someone had left in his bowl.
"Bye, baby."
She stood up. Jimin reached over and took her hand, and Minjeong let her. They walked back toward the sharehouse, Jimin's fingers warm around hers.
It was almost the same as a hundred other walks home.
Almost.
---
Third year ended the way it started—fast, and with too much to do. Suddenly, they were less than a year away from finishing university and being pushed straight into the adult world.
Minjeong had plans. Not fully formed yet, but the outlines were there. Her communications degree opened things up—translation work, media, tourism boards, international NGOs if she wanted to go that route. She was fluent in four languages and conversational in a fifth and she'd been quietly bookmarking job listings between classes.
She knew what she wanted. Or at least, she knew the shape of it.
What she didn’t know was whether Jimin saw herself inside that shape too.
Not in some dramatic way. They were about to become fresh graduates, not thirty-year-olds discussing mortgages and retirement funds.
So no, she wasn't asking for a will you marry me, will you open a shared bank account with me, will you sign your name next to mine on anything official.
She just wanted to know what happened next.
What are we doing next year after graduation? Was Jimin still thinking about applying for that one art residency she'd mentioned once and never brought up again? Was she planning to stay in this city, or leave it? Did she want them to find a place together or was the sharehouse the extent of what she'd been imagining? What's our plan?
Minjeong had tried to ask. The answers were always the same.
I don't know yet.
Can we talk about this another time?
Later. I have a submission due in three days.
Not now. I'll get to it when I'm done with this project.
It was not that Jimin said no. It was that Jimin said later and eventually and we'll get to it as if they have all the time in the world and Minjeong had started watching the calendar with the growing unbearable feeling that maybe they didn’t.
---
The party was held in a small exhibition hall in a nearby suburb. The uni had rented the place for two days for one of the department showcases—the exhibition during the day, then a small afterparty the night after. Jimin had mentioned it a few days earlier while Minjeong was cleaning her paintbrushes at the kitchen sink.
"There's a thing after the showcase on Friday," she'd said casually. "You should come."
Minjeong had looked up. "Like… voluntarily?"
Jimin rolled her eyes. "Shut up." Then, quieter, "It'd be nice if you came."
So Minjeong said okay.
She wore a black dress borrowed from Aeri. Jimin noticed the second Minjeong came downstairs. She looked up from tying her boots, paused halfway through the knot, and said, "Oh."
Minjeong leaned against the wall. "Hm?"
Jimin glanced back down at her laces. "You look nice."
It should have been enough.
A year ago, it would have been. Back when Minjeong still knew how to survive on small things.
---
At first, she didn't mind the party. This was Jimin's world, after all. Her classmates. Her lecturers. Her installations leaning against walls.
Minjeong liked watching Jimin in spaces like this sometimes. Liked the version of her that came alive when somebody asked about her work.
People here already knew Minjeong too. Not deeply, but enough. They had seen her waiting outside studio buildings at night holding takeaway containers. Seen her appear during lunch breaks to drop off coffee or food because Jimin forgot to eat again. Seen her asleep in corners during all-night exhibition prep while Jimin painted three metres away. She was not a total stranger to them, which was why the questions started eventually.
“So what are you two doing after graduation?”
Minjeong’s body reacted before her mind did. She turned slightly toward Jimin automatically.
Jimin stood a few feet away holding a plastic cup in one hand, listening to the question. Then she laughed softly. “Oh,” she said. “We haven’t really talked about it.”
Something inside Minjeong went very still.
The girl beside Jimin looked surprised. “Really? After this long?”
Jimin shrugged. “You know, we’re just seeing how it goes.”
Minjeong looked down at her own cup. The beer had gone flat.
Then Jimin spoke again.
Casual. Easy.
“We’re not really there yet.”
Minjeong set her cup carefully on to the snack table.
Then she walked out.
---
They barely spoke on the bus back home.
Minjeong sat by the window. Jimin sat beside her with both hands wrapped tightly around the strap of her tote bag, knees angled stiffly forward. In the reflection of the glass, Minjeong could see Jimin’s face faintly layered over her own. Pale. Tired. Impossible to read.
Jimin glanced at her. "What did I do?"
Minjeong kept looking out the window.
Jimin exhaled. “Okay,” she said.
Minjeong turned immediately. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like I’m being unreasonable before I’ve even said anything.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Jimin’s jaw tightened slightly. “I asked what I did.”
“You know what you did.”
“I really don’t.”
The bus pulled into the terminal before Minjeong could answer. She stood the second the doors opened. Jimin followed after her.
Most of the terminal shops were already closing, shutters halfway down and lights flickering behind the glass. Beside the bench near the centre walkway, Chobap lifted his head.
Of course he was there.
His tail thumped once against the concrete when he saw them, and Minjeong felt something twist painfully in her chest. She didn't go to him—stopped well before she got close, far enough that he wasn't quite part of this yet.
Jimin stopped behind her. “What?”
Minjeong turned around slowly.
“Is that what this is?” she asked evenly. “Almost four years and we’re still just seeing how it goes?”
Jimin stammered. “I didn’t mean it like that—it was small talk—I wasn’t going to get into our relationship with someone I barely know.”
“Then get into it with me.”
"What?"
“Right now.”
Jimin blinked.
Then Minjeong asked quietly, “What are we doing after graduation, Jimin?”
Jimin rubbed at her forehead. “I don’t know.”
Minjeong repeated it back flatly. “You don’t know.”
“I haven’t had time to think about it properly yet.”
Minjeong laughed once under her breath. Humourless. “Right.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Fine,” Minjeong cut in. “Are we staying at the house?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are we moving out?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you applying for that residency?”
“Maybe.”
“Are you staying in the city?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“Minjeong.” Jimin sounded exhausted now. “I don’t have answers right now.”
“You never have answers.”
Jimin pressed her fingers hard against her forehead. “I can’t do this here.”
“Where, then?” Minjeong’s voice sharpened suddenly. “At home? So Aeri and Ningning can turn the TV up again while we fight upstairs?”
Jimin went still.
Somewhere beside them, Chobap barked once. Both of them looked over automatically. He was standing now between the bench and the pavement, tail moving uncertainly, ears perked forward like he was trying to understand why nobody had greeted him yet.
Minjeong swallowed hard.
Jimin looked away from the dog first. “I’m not trying to fight,” she said quietly.
“You never are,” Minjeong replied. “Somehow we always end up here anyway.”
Jimin let out a frustrated breath. “Because you keep pushing.”
Minjeong’s face went completely still. “I keep pushing?”
Jimin closed her eyes immediately. “That came out wrong.”
“No. Go on.”
“Minjeong—”
“What exactly am I pushing for?” Her voice cracked slightly now, anger fraying into hurt. “A reply to my texts? Dinner you actually show up to? You remembering our anniversary before dessert melts in front of me? One week where I’m not fixing something you forgot?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
Jimin said nothing.
Minjeong looked at her and felt her throat tighten. “I’ve been trying to talk to you about this for months,” she said. “Not about a ring. Not about anything huge. Just… what happens next. Whether we’re doing this together. Whether you’ve even thought about it.”
Her eyes burned suddenly.
“And every single time, you say later. Later, later, later.”
Chobap barked again. Sharper this time. His tail had stopped moving entirely now.
“And now apparently to everyone else we’re just seeing how it goes?”
“I just—” Jimin dragged a hand through her hair hard enough to mess it loose. “I can barely get through this week,” she snapped. “I can’t think five years ahead right now!”
“I’m not asking about five years ahead!” Minjeong’s voice rose for the first time. “I’m asking about next year. I’m asking if you want me there!”
“Of course I do!”
“Do you?” The question came out heartbreakingly small. “Because it really doesn’t feel like it.”
“Minjeong, I—" Jimin said, tripping over her words. "Of course I do!”
Chobap barked again. Loud this time. Startled by the shouting.
Jimin turned sharply toward him. “Chobap, shut up!”
The shout cracked through the street louder than anything else had. Silence slammed down immediately afterward.
Chobap froze.
Then he let out a smaller sound—almost a whine—and stepped uncertainly toward Minjeong instead.
Minjeong’s expression broke. She crouched automatically and reached for him. “Chobap, baby, it’s okay.”
Chobap pressed his head against her knees with another soft whining sound, nosing at her hands like he knew something was wrong even if he didn’t understand it.
Minjeong wrapped both arms around his neck for a second before looking back up at Jimin.
“Then answer one thing,” she whispered. “Do you even think about me in your future at all?”
“That’s not fair—”
“Answer the question.”
Jimin hesitated, and when the answer finally came, it was barely audible. "I don't know."
Minjeong felt something inside her cave inward.
Jimin’s face changed instantly, panic arriving too late.
“Minjeong, I didn’t mean—”
“No.” Minjeong wiped at her face quickly, angrily. “No, you meant it.”
“I’m stressed and tired and overwhelmed—”
Minjeong laughed through her tears now, the sound cracked straight down the middle. “You’re stressed and tired so suddenly you don’t want the person who’s been holding your shit together there?”
Jimin’s hands lifted helplessly before falling again. “Maybe,” she said weakly. “Maybe it’s better this way.”
Chobap made a low, unhappy sound and nudged his head harder against Minjeong’s knees.
Minjeong nodded once. "Okay," she said.
She tugged gently at Chobap and led him away without looking back, crossing to one of the benches further down the terminal. When she finally sat, she folded forward around him, arms wrapped around his neck, face buried in his fur.
"I'm sorry," she whispered—she didn't know who she was apologising to—but Chobap stood quietly and let her cry into him anyway.
Across the terminal, Jimin stayed frozen for a long moment, looking at them both like she wanted to say something else and no longer knew how.
Then eventually, slowly, she turned and walked home alone.