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There was a precise moment Iroha decided that Yunah, a senior majoring in architecture with the smallest face, a jawline that could cut glass and a disposition to match, utterly loathed the ground she walked on.
It hadn’t been a gradual realization. It was a sudden, violent impact, much like the merging of their respective friend groups.
Before the shift, Iroha’s social life was a comfortable, low-stakes ecosystem. It consisted entirely of herself and Moka, a fellow Japanese older than her by a year who was also her best friend since primary school. They were a self-contained unit of two, perfectly content with ordering late-night takeout, overanalyzing digital dissertations and publications, and hiding from the broader campus population.
Then, Moka fell head-over-heels into a whirlwind romance with Wonhee, the chaotic, golden-retriever-energy communications major who was in Iroha’s English class. Wonhee, as it turned out, came attached at the hip to Minju, a cynical computer science major, and… Yunah.
Suddenly, Iroha’s quiet Friday nights were hijacked. She was dragged out of her dorm room and thrust into a noisy, five-person collective.
From day one, Yunah looked at Iroha as if Iroha was a highly inconvenient piece of furniture delivered to the wrong address.
The first official “merge” happened at SUPPER I’LL-EAT, a greasy-spoon diner near campus that smelled permanently of burnt coffee and maple syrup. The five of them squeezed into a vinyl booth that was clearly designed for four. Iroha found herself pressed directly against the wall, with Moka and Wonhee across from her doing that nauseating thing where they fed each other hash browns, and Minju sitting next to Wonhee.
That left Yunah. Who sat directly next to Iroha.
Yunah was intimidating. She wore an oversized, vintage black leather jacket that smelled faintly of expensive cedar and rain. Her dark hair was pushed back with a pair of sunglasses resting on her head, and her eyes—sharp, dark, and utterly unreadable—were fixed on her phone.
Iroha, desperate to break the suffocating silence radiating from the senior, took a deep breath. She picked up the red, shallow basket of shared french fries, offering them to Yunah with a small, tentative smile.
“Do you want some? They’re actually really good while they’re still hot,” Iroha said, her voice dripping with careful, junior-year politeness. She even went as far as to squeezing her tone higher, attempting cuteness.
Yunah didn’t look up immediately. When she did, her gaze slid down to the basket, then up to Iroha’s face. Her expression didn’t thaw a single degree. She pulled her hands back into the sleeves of her jacket, shrinking away from the offering as if Iroha were handing her a basket of live scorpions.
“I don’t eat deep-fried food after seven PM,” Yunah said. Her voice was low, clipped, and devoid of any warmth. “And you’re spilling salt on my sketchbook.”
Iroha froze. She looked down. A single, solitary grain of salt had tumbled from a fry onto the corner of Yunah’s black-bound sketchbook resting on the table.
“Oh. Sorry,” Iroha muttered, her face instantly burning a furious crimson. She snatched the basket back, tucking her arms tight against her chest.
Yunah let out a short, heavy sigh, picked up her sketchbook, blew the microscopic grain of salt away with a sharp puff of air, and went right back to ignoring everyone.
Wow, Iroha thought, her stomach twisting into an uncomfortable knot of secondhand embarrassment and immediate defensiveness.
Okay. Message received. I am a peasant polluting your air.
Two weeks later, Iroha was drowning in her midterms. She had taken over a large oak table in the basement of the university library, surrounded by three different highlighters, a mountain of flashcards, and a laptop that was running dangerously hot.
She was in the middle of a frustrated yawn when a heavy shadow fell over her.
She looked up, heart skipping a beat. Yunah was standing there. She wasn’t wearing her leather jacket today; instead, she had on a soft, cream-colored knit sweater that made her look incredibly attractive—a fact that irritated Iroha to her very core.
Without asking, Yunah pulled out the chair directly across from Iroha and sat down. She didn’t say hello. She just unpacked her laptop, a sleek metal drafting ruler, and a tumbler filled with black coffee.
Iroha swallowed hard. “Hi, Yunah.”
Yunah gave a single, curt nod. “Iroha.”
For forty-five minutes, the silence between them was thick enough to choke on. Iroha couldn’t focus. Every time she typed a sentence, she felt like Yunah’s eyes were boring holes into her forehead. Every time Iroha shuffled her papers, Yunah’s jaw would twitch.
Finally, Iroha reached across the table to grab her copy of ‘The Norton Anthology of English Literature’. As she pulled it toward herself, the heavy textbook caught the edge of her half-empty plastic take-out cup of iced matcha.
The cup tipped. Green, milky liquid began to rapidly puddle across the dark wood table, racing directly toward Yunah’s pristine, expensive architectural blueprints.
“Oh my god!” Iroha gasped, scrambling up.
Before she could even reach for a tissue, Yunah moved with lightning speed. She snatched her blueprints out of harm’s way, standing up so fast her chair screeched against the newly waxed floor, catching the attention of some people nearby.
“Are you incapable of paying attention to your surroundings?” Yunah hissed. It wasn’t a shout—they were in a library—but the venom in her whispered tone made Iroha flinch.
“It was an accident! I’m sorry—”
“You’re a mess,” Yunah interrupted. Her eyes were flashing with something fierce and dark. She grabbed a handful of paper towels from her bag, threw them onto the puddle, and didn’t even bother to help wipe it. Instead, she packed her blueprints, shoved her laptop into her tote bag, and looked down at Iroha with sheer disdain. “I’m going to study somewhere where I don’t have to worry about my work being ruined.”
She walked away, her boots clicking sharply against the floor.
Iroha stood there, a soggy paper towel in her hand, tears of absolute mortification stinging the corners of her eyes. The few other students in the basement were staring at her.
She hates me, Iroha thought, her hands trembling as she wiped up the green stain.
She genuinely, completely despises me.
By the time mid-semesters rolled around, the five-person group was a permanent fixture. Iroha tried her best to avoid Yunah, but campus life was small, and Wonhee was an aggressive event planner.
They found themselves at a crowded, sweaty off-campus house party. Wonhee and Moka were somewhere on the makeshift dance floor, completely lost in each other. Minju was in the kitchen, passionately arguing with someone about some League of Legends character called Katarina.
Iroha was standing by the refreshment table, feeling out of place in a dark red top she had spent an hour choosing. She was nursing a lukewarm red solo cup when Yunah walked into the kitchen.
Yunah looked devastatingly gorgeous. She was wearing a tight black turtleneck and silver chain necklaces that caught the cheap strobe lights filtering in from the living room. Her hair was tied up, leaving her neck bare and elegant.
Iroha’s heart did a strange, traitorous little flip. She tried to suppress it. Deciding to be the bigger person, she stood her ground as Yunah approached the fridge.
“Hey,” Iroha said, raising her cup slightly. “Nice party, right?”
Yunah paused. She looked at Iroha. Her eyes traveled slowly down Iroha’s red top, then back up to her face. Her expression went completely blank, her lips flattening into a hard line.
Yunah didn’t answer. She opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, closed the door, and turned on her heel to walk out of the kitchen without uttering a single syllable.
Iroha stood frozen, her mouth slightly open.
Not even a ‘hello’. Not even a fake smile.
The utter rejection stung worse than the library incident. It was a direct, deliberate snub. Iroha looked down at her red top, suddenly feeling ridiculous, childish, and entirely unwanted. She spent the rest of the night sitting on the porch steps alone, waiting for Moka to finally be ready to leave.
The breaking point for Iroha’s patience came on a Tuesday afternoon. The sky had completely opened up, dumping a torrential downpour over the campus.
Iroha was standing under the concrete awning of the education and humanities building, staring dismally at the sheets of rain. She didn’t have an umbrella. Her dorm was a fifteen-minute walk away, and she had a laptop in her backpack that couldn’t get wet.
She contemplated on calling her friends then decided not to. Moka was probably on her way to her last class by now. A few minutes ago, Wonhee was complaining in their group chat about filming a broadcast project. And Minju had no classes today, but Iroha was sure that she spent the whole night playing computer games so she's most probably napping at this hour.
“Great. Just perfect,” she muttered to herself, hugging her arms around her chest.
A heavy step sounded behind her. Iroha turned her head and felt her entire body go stiff.
Yunah was walking out of the building. She was carrying a massive, sturdy golf umbrella. She looked perfectly dry, perfectly composed, and of course, perfectly annoyed to see Iroha standing there.
Iroha quickly looked away, staring straight ahead at the rain, pretending Yunah didn’t exist. She couldn’t handle another cold glare today.
Yunah stopped a few feet away. She didn’t say anything for a long, agonizing minute. Iroha could feel the senior’s gaze on the side of her face, heavy and intense.
Suddenly, Yunah took two sharp steps forward. Without a word of warning, she violently shoved the handle of the massive umbrella into Iroha’s chest.
Iroha stumbled back, her hands instinctively flying up to catch the umbrella before it impaled her. “What the fuck—”
“Take it,” Yunah snapped. Her forehead was creased into a deep, angry scowl, her cheeks flushed a strange, dark pink.
“What? No, I don’t want your—”
“I said take it,” Yunah barked, her voice cutting through the sound of the rain like a knife. “I don’t want to hear Moka complaining later that you caught a cold because you’re too stubborn to check the weather forecast.”
Before Iroha could even process the words, Yunah pulled the hood of her black raincoat over her head, stepped out from under the awning, and marched directly into the pouring rain. She walked fast, her shoulders tense, leaving Iroha standing under the awning, holding a giant black umbrella, completely flabbergasted and furious.
Even though she hasn’t been there, Yunah had once mentioned that her dorm was on the same area as hers, just a bit nearer.
She couldn’t even stand the thought of sharing an umbrella with me for ten minutes, Iroha thought, her grip tightening on the handle until her knuckles turned white. She literally preferred to walk in a monsoon than walk next to me.
That was it. Iroha was done trying. Yunah wanted a war? Fine. Iroha would give the cold war she wanted.
The opportunity for open conflict arrived on a rainy Friday night in late November.
Wonhee and Minju shared a spacious, slightly chaotic off-campus apartment, and Wonhee had declared a “mandatory group bonding sleepover.” Iroha had tried desperately to fake a migraine to get out of it, but Moka had used her ultimate weapon: the pouty, puppy-dog eyes.
“Please, Roha? Wonhee’s been working so hard on her midterms, she just wants everyone together. And you’ve been so distant lately,” Moka had pleaded.
And Iroha just can’t find it in her to refuse the older Japanese girl.
So, Iroha found herself sitting on a mountain of oversized pillows on Wonhee and Minju’s living room floor. The apartment was warm, lit by the amber glow of string lights tangled around the curtain rods. Three empty pizza boxes sat on the coffee table, and a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka was being passed around.
Everyone was wearing pajamas. Moka was in a fuzzy cat matching set; Wonhee was in an oversized men’s hoodie; Minju was wearing sweatpants; and Iroha was wearing a pair of baggy flannel pants and an old, faded, black band t-shirt.
And then there was Yunah.
Yunah was sitting on the far end of the sectional sofa, looking frustratingly beautiful in a pair of dark silk pajama pants and a loose grey tank top. Her hair was messy, falling into her eyes, and she had her knees pulled up to her chest, holding a red solo cup.
True to form, Yunah hadn’t spoken a single word directly to Iroha all night. When Iroha had arrived, Yunah had merely glanced up, given her that familiar, cold, unreadable stare, and looked back down at her cup.
Iroha was exhausted. She was tired of the tension, tired of feeling like an intruder in her own friend group, and tired of the way her heart did a stupid, erratic dance every time Yunah shifted her weight on the couch.
“Okay, children!” Wonhee announced suddenly, clapping her hands together with chaotic glee. She was sitting between Moka’s legs, leaning back against her girlfriend’s chest. “The pizza is gone. The alcohol is flowing. It is officially eleven p.m., which means it is time for the ultimate, most dangerous game known to college students.”
Minju groaned from her armchair. “Wonhee, please tell me it’s not Truth or Dare.”
“It is absolutely Truth or Dare!” Wonhee cheered. “But with a twist. You can’t choose ‘Truth’ twice in a row. If you take a dare, you have to do it, or you have to finish whatever is left in your cup.”
Moka laughed, kissing the top of Wonhee’s head. “You’re an agent of chaos, babe.”
“I try,” Wonhee beamed. She grabbed the empty vodka bottle from the table and spun it on the hardwood floor.
The bottle whirled, its green glass glinting under the fairy lights, before slowing down and pointing its neck directly at Minju.
“Ha! Minju, you’re first,” Wonhee cackled. “Truth or Dare?”
“Truth,” Minju said immediately. “I am not doing whatever disgusting dare you have cooked up.”
“Coward,” Wonhee teased. “Okay, truth: Is it true that you cried during the final episode of that reality dating show we watched last week?”
Minju’s face went bright red. She looked around the room, deflating. “The editing was emotional, okay? They had a montage. Yes, I cried. Screw you, Wonhee.”
The room erupted into laughter, even Iroha let out a genuine giggle. She glanced toward the couch, and for a split second, she caught Yunah looking at her. Yunah’s lips were slightly parted, her dark eyes softened by the amber light. But the moment Yunah realized Iroha had caught her, her expression snapped back into its usual frigid mask, and she looked away.
Iroha’s smile vanished. The irritation in her chest flared back to life.
Minju spun the bottle next. It landed on Moka. Moka chose Dare and was forced to do a horribly embarrassing impression of their biology professor while standing on the coffee table, which had Wonhee cheering so loudly the neighbors probably heard.
Moka, flushed and laughing, hopped down and spun the bottle.
The green glass spun rapidly, slowing down, clicking against the floorboards, until the neck pointed squarely at Iroha.
“Ooh, Iroha-yah!” Moka smiled. “Truth or Dare?”
Iroha looked around. She didn’t want to do a dare—she didn’t have the energy. “Truth.”
“Okay, let me think of a good one,” Moka pondered, tapping her chin.
But before Moka could speak, Wonhee leaned forward, her eyes glittering with drunken mischief. “Can I steal this one? Please, please? I have the perfect truth for Iroha.”
Moka shrugged, amused. “Go for it.”
Wonhee leaned across the coffee table, resting her chin in her hands, looking directly at Iroha. “Okay, Iroha. Truth: Who in this room do you find the most intimidating, and why?”
The room went quiet. It wasn’t a horrible question, but the atmosphere shifted.
Iroha felt her breath catch in her throat. She didn’t want to look at the couch, but her body betrayed her. Her eyes slid over to Yunah.
Yunah was staring right back at her. Her red solo cup was held loosely in her hand, her body perfectly still. Her dark eyes were intense, unblinking, tracking Iroha’s every micro-expression.
Iroha felt a sudden, hot surge of annoyance. Why should she keep playing nice? Why should she protect Yunah’s feelings when Yunah had spent months treating her like dirt? The alcohol in her system gave her a sudden, reckless burst of courage.
“Yunah,” Iroha said clearly, her voice cutting through the quiet room.
It was sharp, and for a second, it felt like the world had gone completely still.
Wonhee’s eyes went wide. Minju sat up a little straighter in her chair. Moka looked between them, suddenly looking a bit nervous.
“Oh?” Wonhee grinned, sensing the drama. “Why Yunah?”
Iroha kept her eyes locked on Yunah’s face. “Because she treats me like I’m a virus. Since the day we met, she’s made it completely obvious that she can’t stand to be in the same room as me. It’s pretty intimidating to hang out with someone who looks like they want to launch you into the garbage bin every time you open your mouth.”
A collective, sharp intake of breath echoed in the living room.
Moka winced. Wonhee’s smirk melted away into sudden realization that she had walked into a minefield.
Or maybe created the minefield herself.
Yunah didn’t move. But Iroha saw the muscle in Yunah’s jaw tighten violently. The senior’s knuckles turned white around her plastic cup.
“Is that what you think?” Yunah’s voice was dangerously low, a soft, vibrating growl that made the small strands hair on Iroha’s arms stand up.
“It’s not what I think, Yunah, it’s a fact,” Iroha shot back, her voice rising, the pent-up frustration of the last three months pouring out. “You literally refused to eat a french fry because I touched the basket. You threw a fit in the library because I accidentally spilled a drink. You stared at me like I was disgusting when I wore my favorite red top to that party, and you shoved an umbrella into my chest because you couldn’t bear the thought of sharing a walk with me. You hate me. Just admit it.”
Yunah slowly lowered her legs from the couch, putting her feet flat on the floor. She leaned forward, her dark eyes flashing with a sudden, roaring fire that Iroha had never seen before.
“You are completely delusional,” Yunah said, her voice rising to match Iroha’s.
“Oh, really? Tell me which part of that was a lie!” Iroha challenged, standing up from her pile of pillows. She was tired of looking up at everyone. She stood there, chest heaving, staring down the senior she had been terrified of for months.
Yunah stood up too.
She was taller than Iroha, and in the tight grey tank top, her shoulders looked strong and imposing. She stepped around the coffee table, ignoring Wonhee who was trying to mutter, “Okay, guys, let’s chill, it’s just a game—”
“You want to know the truth?” Yunah shouted, stepping directly into Iroha’s personal space. The cold, distant senior was completely gone, replaced by someone raw, furious, and wildly expressive. “You want to know why I didn’t take the french fries?”
“Yeah, tell me! Was it because my peasant hands contaminated them?” Iroha yelled back, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She was so close she could smell the cedar and rain on Yunah’s skin, mixed with the faint sweetness of whatever she was drinking.
A pause.
A break.
And Yunah actually snapped.
“It was because my hands were shaking so hard because you were sitting so close to me, and I knew if I reached for a fry, you’d see how nervous I was!” Yunah roared, her face flushing a deep, beautiful crimson from her neck up to her ears.
It was Iroha’s turn to take a short breath.
She blinked, her brain completely short-circuiting. “What?”
“You think I hated you when we were inside that damn library?” Yunah stepped closer, her chest practically brushing against Iroha’s. She was breathing heavily, her dark eyes wide and frantic. “I sat at that table for forty-five minutes trying to read the same single paragraph over and over again because I couldn’t focus with you sitting across from me! And when you spilled that drink, I didn’t snap at you because of the blueprints! I snapped because I was terrified I was going to reach out, grab your hands, and do something stupid because you looked so cute when you were flustered!”
The living room went dead silent. Behind them, Minju’s mouth was wide open. Moka looked like she had just witnessed a car crash in slow motion. Wonhee was gripping Moka’s arm so hard her fingers were turning blue.
Iroha stood frozen, her voice trapped in her throat. Her mind was racing, trying to re-contextualize every single interaction she had just listed. Nervous? Flustered? Cute?
“And the party!” Yunah continued, her voice cracking slightly, the anger turning into a desperate, vulnerable shout. “You wore that red top, and you looked so incredibly beautiful that I forgot how to speak English! I literally panicked and walked out of the kitchen because I thought I was going to pass out if I stayed in there with you! I didn’t snub you, Iroha! I was having a literal panic attack because I’m completely, utterly pathetic when it comes to you!”
Oh?
Oh.
Oh.
“Yunah...” Iroha whispered, her anger suddenly evaporating, replaced by a massive, violent swarm of butterflies that erupted in her stomach. Her face was burning hot.
“And the umbrella!” Yunah yelled, tears of frustration finally welling up in her dark eyes. “I didn’t want to share it with you because I knew if we walked under it together, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from putting my arm around you! I would have held you close to keep you dry, and I was terrified you’d feel my heart beating out of my chest and realize how violently in love I am with you! I don’t hate you, you idiot! I am completely obsessed with you, and it’s ruining my life because you’re all I think about!”
Yunah stopped shouting. She stood there, panting, her shoulders shaking, her face completely red. She looked horrified by what had just poured out of her mouth. She looked exposed, vulnerable, and completely raw.
Iroha stared at her. The secondhand embarrassment for Yunah’s explosive breakdown was palpable in the room, but beneath it, the sheer, intoxicating shock of the confession hit Iroha like a physical wave.
All this time. All those cold glares. All those blunt words. It wasn’t hate. It was a defense mechanism. It was a senior architectural major completely losing her mind over a junior.
A heavy, thick silence stretched over the living room. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.
Yunah looked at Iroha’s shocked, silent face, and her expression crumbled into despair. “Great. Awesome. Now I’ve ruined everything,” she muttered, turning around rapidly to grab her boots and her jacket from the entryway. “I’m leaving.”
“Wait!” Iroha yelled.
Before her brain could stop her, before the embarrassment could paralyze her, Iroha lunged forward. She grabbed the back of Yunah’s grey tank top, pulling her back.
Yunah spun around, looking angry and hurt. “What? Do you want to laugh at me? Go ahead—”
“Shut up!” Iroha shouted, her own anger flaring back up, fueled by pure adrenaline and the wild, chaotic racing of her heart. “You don’t get to just shout all of that at me and then walk out the door, you absolute jerk!”
“Then what do you want me to do, Iroha?!” Yunah yelled back, her eyes wide.
“I want you to let me love you back, asshole!” Iroha screamed.
If the room had been quiet before, it was now an absolute vacuum.
Yunah froze. Her entire body went rigid. Her eyes dilated, staring at Iroha as if Iroha had just spoken to her in an ancient language she can’t decipher. “What?” she whispered, her voice cracking completely.
“You heard me!” Iroha shouted, her face so hot she felt like she was standing next to an open furnace. She didn’t care anymore. The seal was broken. The truth was out on the floor, messy and loud. “You’ve been treating me like an annoying stray dog for three months, making me feel like I’m a complete loser, and all this time you were just heavily crushing on me? Do you know how much sleep I lost over you? Do you know how many times I cried because I thought the coolest girl on campus thought I was a piece of garbage?”
“You... you think I’m cool?” Yunah asked blankly. It was a incredibly stupid response, given the circumstances, and it made Iroha want to laugh and shake her at the same time. Or maybe slap the hell out of her.
“Yes, you idiot! I think you’re incredibly cool and beautiful and intimidating! And I’ve been completely miserable because I wanted you to like me so badly!” Iroha’s voice dropped from a shout to a frustrated, breathless confession. “I’ve been into you since the day at the diner. And you’ve been making it impossible for me.”
Yunah stared at her. The anger completely melted from her posture, leaving her looking utterly bewildered, her lips parted, her cheeks still deeply flushed. “You... you like me?”
“Are you deaf?” Iroha huffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, trying to hide how much her hands were shaking. “Yes. I like you. I like you a lot. I’ve liked you for months.”
From the couch, a tiny, strangled squeak escaped Wonhee’s throat. Minju was covering her face with her hands, her shoulders now shaking with silent laughter. Moka was looking at Iroha with a mixture of profound shock and immense pride.
Yunah took a slow, hesitant step forward. The terrifying, unapproachable senior was entirely gone. In her place was a girl who looked completely undone by a junior in flannel pajama pants.
“So...” Yunah swallowed hard, her eyes sliding down to Iroha’s lips, then back up. “When I gave you the umbrella... you weren’t mad that I was being rude?”
“I was furious!” Iroha said, though her voice lacked any real bite now. The butterflies were doing gymnastics in her throat. “I thought you couldn’t stand the sight of me.”
“I just didn’t want you to get wet,” Yunah muttered softly, scratching the back of her neck, looking suddenly very shy. The contrast was dizzying. Iroha felt a massive wave of affection hit her so hard she almost lost her balance.
“You’re an idiot,” Iroha whispered.
“Yeah,” Yunah agreed softly, taking another step closer. Now, there was barely an inch between them. The heat radiating off Yunah’s body was intoxicating. “I really am.”
Yunah reached out. Her hand was tentative, a stark contrast to her usual decisive movements. Her fingers brushed against Iroha’s wrist, light as a feather, checking for permission. Iroha uncrossed her arms, letting her hand drop, and immediately uncurled her fingers to lace them through Yunah’s.
Yunah’s hand was warm, her grip firm and slightly trembling.
“Can I...” Yunah glanced back at the couch, suddenly remembering they had an audience.
Wonhee was practically vibrating. Minju was watching through her fingers. Moka gave an enthusiastic, silent thumbs-up.
Yunah groaned, turning back to Iroha, her face turning even redder, if that was humanly possible. “Can we please go somewhere else?”
Iroha couldn’t help the wide, bright smile that finally broke across her face. The relief was intoxicating. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
Without another word to their friends, Yunah gripped Iroha’s hand tightly and led her down the short hallway toward Wonhee’s guest bedroom. As soon as they stepped inside, Iroha kicked the door shut with her heel, clicked the lock, and turned around.
The guest room was small, lit only by the streetlights filtering through the blinds.
Yunah didn’t wait. The moment the door clicked shut, she let out a shaky breath, reached out with both hands, and cupped Iroha’s face. Her palms were warm against Iroha’s cheeks.
“I can’t believe you liked me,” Yunah whispered, her eyes searching Iroha’s face in the dim light, her voice full of a soft, astounded wonder. “I was so sure I had completely ruined any chance with you.”
“You almost did,” Iroha teased, her voice breathy. She reached up, resting her hands on Yunah’s waist. “You are terrible at flirting, Noh Yunah.”
“I wasn’t flirting, I was surviving,” Yunah murmured.
Then, she leaned down and kissed her.
It wasn’t a tentative kiss, but it wasn’t angry either. It was deep, desperate, and filled with the explosive release of three months of pent-up tension. Yunah’s lips were soft, moving against Iroha’s with an urgency that made Iroha’s knees go completely weak. Iroha whimpered softly into the kiss, pulling Yunah closer by her waist, burying her fingers into the soft fabric of Yunah’s tank top.
Yunah’s hands slid down from Iroha’s cheeks to her neck, her thumb sweeping over Iroha’s racing pulse point. The kiss tasted like the cheap vodka, sweet pizza crust, and the intoxicating, clean scent of Yunah. It was clumsy at first—their teeth clicked slightly because they were both breathing so hard—but then they adjusted, tilting their heads, finding a perfect, melting rhythm.
When Yunah finally pulled back, just an inch, her forehead rested against Iroha’s. They were both panting, their breath warm against each other’s lips.
“Wow,” Iroha breathed, her heart hammering so loudly she was certain Yunah could hear it.
Yunah let out a soft, low chuckle, her eyes crinkling at the corners. It was the most beautiful sound Iroha had ever heard. “Yeah. Wow.”
“So,” Iroha murmured, running her fingers up Yunah’s back, feeling the smooth skin over her shoulder blades. “Does this mean you’ll share your french fries with me next time?”
Yunah smiled, a genuine, dazzling smile that completely transformed her face, making her look younger, happier, and intensely beautiful. “I will buy you your own basket. Every single time we go.”
“And you won’t yell at me if I spill matcha on your blueprints?”
“I’ll let you spill whatever you want on them,” Yunah promised, leaning down to press another soft, lingering kiss to Iroha’s lips. “Just... keep wearing that red top.”
Iroha flushed, burying her face into Yunah’s chest, laughing softly as Yunah’s arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her close against her heart. The butterflies in her stomach had finally settled, replaced by a deep, radiant warmth that made her feel completely safe.
Meanwhile, back in the living room, a loud cheer erupted.
“I KNEW IT!” Wonhee’s voice boomed through the drywall. “YOU OWE ME, MINJU! PAY UP! I TOLD YOU THEY WERE EXPONENTIALLY GAY FOR EACH OTHER!”
In the dark guest room, Yunah and Iroha broke apart, looking at the door, and then at each other. The secondhand embarrassment returned for a fleeting second, but as Yunah reached down to lace their fingers together again, pulling Iroha back toward the small bed, Iroha realized she didn’t care at all.
The cold war was over. And winning it was the best thing that had ever happened to her.