ANNOYING NEIGHBOR NEXT DOOR
Synopsis — you thought the idea of having a new neighbor was nice, everywhere would be peaceful you and the new neighbors would exchange one or two greetings anytime you collided in the hallways but Minjeong makes you view it all differently now
Contains — fluff, strangers to enemies to lovers (in y/n’s head), strangers to lovers (in Minjeongs head), neighbors au , golden retriever x black cat, nickname: princess grumpy and clownjeong, Minjeong is head over heels, y/n thinks Minjeong is annoying at first, kissing (once), mention of a man (y/n goes on a date with a man)
A/N — I just have a thing for when idols are so loser/puppy coded 🙏🙏 had so much fun writing this 😭
You weren’t asking for much just a bit of peace and quiet.
After six long months of enduring your current neighbor’s obsession with playing electric guitar at ungodly hours (always off-key, always with the passion of a man fighting demons), you’d nearly cried when you saw him hauling boxes out of his apartment. “I’m finally free,” you whispered to yourself, forehead pressed against the peephole like you were watching the gates of heaven open.
The day he left, you lit a scented candle, ordered takeout, and played lo-fi music at a responsible volume, basking in the silence like it was a luxury spa. No more screeching solos at 3 a.m., no more mystery smells wafting under your door. You even dreamed of a future where you and your new neighbor might exchange polite nods in the hallway maybe even a friendly wave if things got real wild.
So, of course, the universe decided to spit in your face.
Because that very night, at exactly 12:03 a.m., the bass dropped.
You were jolted awake like someone had thrown you out of a moving car. The walls vibrated. The floor thumped. There was shouting, cheering, even…..and was that a dog barking? You blinked at the ceiling in confusion, wondering if you’d been dropped into an underground club by accident. But no, this was your bed. Your home. Your sanctuary. And whoever had just moved in next door was trying to turn it into Coachella.
Your first instinct was denial. Maybe they were just celebrating. A little housewarming moment. It was their first night, after all who were you to judge?
Then the clock hit 2:37 a.m. And then 4:19 a.m. And then, when the sun was beginning to rise at 6:01 a.m., the music finally stopped, right around the time you had to drag yourself out of bed for work.
You stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, half-asleep with pillow lines etched into your cheek, and said out loud: “I hate her.”
You hadn’t even seen her yet. All you knew was that your new neighbor had the audacity to throw a full-blown rave on a Tuesday night like she was allergic to peace. But it didn’t matter you already hated her.
The next few days were a study in chaos. While you clung to a strict 10 p.m. bedtime and folded your laundry like a normal adult, she lived in a completely different universe. One where music blasted at random hours, someone was always laughing (suspiciously loud and way too attractive), and packages kept piling up outside her door like she was running an online shopping empire.
You finally saw her a week later. And you were prepared to give her a tight-lipped smile, maybe a passive-aggressive “Hey, how’s the soundproofing in your place?” if the opportunity arose.
But the second she stepped into the hallway, your brain short-circuited.
Because she was unfortunately hot.
Like, unfairly hot. Hoodie hanging off one shoulder, damp hair from a shower, iced coffee in hand even though it was cold outside. She looked like she walked straight off the set of a coming-of-age Netflix drama, and your brain decided to betray you by going completely blank.
“Oh hey,” she said, giving you a smile that was way too bright for 8:30 a.m.
“Neighbor, right? I just moved in.” She extended a hand, which you stared at for a second too long before awkwardly shaking.
“Minjeong,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
It wasn’t. But you couldn’t say that out loud.
Minjeong gave you another smile, then walked off humming a song you’d definitely heard through the wall at 2 a.m. the night before. You watched her go, equal parts stunned, annoyed, and deeply concerned by how nice her shampoo smelled.
That’s when you made your first critical mistake: you decided she was the enemy.
You convinced yourself that she was the type who wouldn’t remember your name in a week. That she didn’t care about being a decent neighbor. That her whole vibe, hot, effortlessly charming, chaos incarnate was a personal attack on your carefully constructed life of order and adulting.
Meanwhile, in Minjeong’s head, something very different was happening.
Because from the moment she saw you bedhead, hoodie with your office logo on it, slippers shaped like cats. she was, in her words, “done for.” She talked about you for ten minutes straight to her friend Ningning that afternoon.
“She’s so cute,” she said, dramatically sprawled across her couch. “Like, ‘excuse me’ cute. Like grumpy librarian meets off-duty model. She has these little sleepy eyes and I think she judged my coffee order and it was kind of hot.”
“Did she smile at you?” Ningning asked.
“Kind of. In a way that said, ‘I hate you but I could also fall in love with you if you stopped being annoying.’”
“You’ve known her for five minutes.”
From that day on, Minjeong made it her mission to win you over. She started with greetings. Always cheerful. Always a little too loud. Always with some oddly specific detail about her day you didn’t ask for.
“Hey, Y/N! I got a blender! It’s pink!”
“Morning! You should try this new place downstairs. They make this disgusting matcha latte I can’t stop drinking.”
“Hey, you looked really focused yesterday when you left for work. Like, very serious. Do you do spy stuff?”
You responded with polite nods. Barely-there smiles. The occasional grunt when you were too tired to pretend.
You were convinced she was messing with you. No one could be that cheerful at 7 a.m. Especially not someone who hosted parties with that many screaming people and three separate Spotify playlists labeled “Vibe Only.”
And yet despite your best efforts you found yourself noticing things.
Like how Minjeong always held the elevator door open for you, even when you were at the end of the hall. Or how she complimented your outfits in weirdly specific ways (“That blazer makes you look like you just won a court case and I’m into that”). Or how she never seemed to mind your half-dead zombie face in the morning and even once said, “You’re like… charmingly exhausted. It’s kind of your thing.”
You tried to stay annoyed. You really did.
But the thing about Minjeong was she grew on you. Like mold. Hot, annoyingly persistent mold.
The final straw was when she knocked on your door at 9 p.m. on a Friday with two bowls of ramen and a sheepish smile.
“I may have accidentally broken my stove,” she said. “Do you wanna eat this with me or let me suffer alone?”
You stared at her. Then at the ramen. Then back at her.
You told yourself you were just being polite. That it was a one-time thing. That this didn’t mean anything.
But an hour later, you were laughing at her impression of your building manager, and she was sitting way too close on your couch, and the thought floated into your head uninvited:
You weren’t paranoid. You were just observant.
It started with the elevator. You’d always had a good rhythm going. leave the apartment at exactly 8:37 a.m., elevator arrives by 8:39, and you’re out the lobby doors by 8:42, no interruptions. It was your sacred little ritual. Peaceful. Predictable. Perfect.
Until Minjeong started showing up.
At first, you chalked it up to coincidence. People lived in the same building. Elevator overlap was bound to happen. But then it happened again the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Every single morning, without fail, the doors would slide open and there she’d be: oversized hoodie, iced coffee in hand (yes, still in winter), eyes lighting up like she was happy to see you.
“Morning, Y/N!” she chirped on day five.
You didn’t respond. You just stared at her and shifted to the farthest corner of the elevator, clutching your bag like it could protect you from whatever chaos she radiated.
“You always leave around this time, huh?” she added, like she didn’t already know. “I should’ve guessed. You seem like a very… punctual person.”
That was it. You narrowed your eyes.
She was tracking your schedule.
You didn’t have any proof, not really but deep down, you knew. No one just accidentally showed up that many times in a row. She was either trying to annoy you on purpose or attempting some weird form of social ambush. Either way, you weren’t having it.
So you left earlier the next day. 8:27 a.m. Just to be safe.
You strutted down the hallway feeling smug. Minjeong wouldn’t be expecting that. She’d probably still be in bed, dreaming about whatever hot people dream about. You were halfway to the elevator when—
You stopped in your tracks. Turned. And there she was.
Standing in front of her door. Holding a bag of trash. Looking far too surprised to be innocent.
“Oh! Didn’t think I’d see you this early,” she said, smiling like she hadn’t just given herself away. “Taking the trash out too?”
You glanced at your work tote, your blazer, your very obvious lack of a trash bag.
“No,” you said flatly. “I’m going to work.”
“Oh. Right.” She shifted awkwardly. “Well… have a good day!”
You walked into the elevator without responding, hit the button, and as the doors closed, you muttered under your breath: “Stalker.”
You tried to switch it up even more after that. Left at different times. Took the stairs. Waited until the last possible second. Nothing worked. Minjeong was always there sometimes miraculously appearing just as you were unlocking your door, sometimes already waiting in the lobby “just hanging out.”
And it wasn’t just in the mornings.
She bumped into you at the coffee shop near your building.
“Oh hey! I didn’t know you came here too!” she said on your third visit, as if she wasn’t very clearly sitting at the window watching the door.
You ran into her at the laundry room.
“Wow, same laundry day? That’s so domestic of us,” she said, dropping her basket with a dramatic sigh like you were starring in a sitcom together.
You even saw her at the tiny corner market two blocks down.
“Oh my god,” she gasped, grinning. “Are we… synced?”
You almost dropped your basket.
You weren’t dramatic. You weren’t. But you were convinced Minjeong was following you. No one was that coincidental. No one was that present all the time. You’d never met someone who appeared more often than your own reflection.
Your group chat was torn.
You: she’s stalking me. I’m serious. She’s like a flirty ghost that refuses to be exorcised
Jisoo: …are you sure you’re not just finally making a friend?
Jisoo: this sounds like a Wattpad fic
You: SHE’S INTO ANNOYING ME
But even they had to agree that the coincidence level was suspicious.
It all came to a head the day you went for your usual lunch break walk to clear your head from your hellish job, only to spot Minjeong sitting on your bench. The one you always claimed under the tree, away from all the noise and pigeons and people who breathed too loud.
And she was just… there. Drinking a smoothie. Wearing sunglasses. Waving.
“No way,” you muttered, turning back toward your office building. “I’m hallucinating. I’m under stress. That’s not real.”
“Y/N!” she called. “Hey! Do you wanna sit?”
“How do you know I come here?”
She blinked. “I didn’t! I was just… passing by.”
You stared at her. “You live 20 minutes from here.”
“Exactly. Cardio Tuesdays.”
She finally cracked, giving you a sheepish grin and pulling her sunglasses up onto her head.
“Okay, fine. I might’ve overheard you on the phone once. Saying this was your favorite lunch spot.”
You blinked. “You were listening to my phone calls?”
She winced. “No! I mean. I was coming up the stairs and you were outside your door and talking loudly and I have really good hearing and maybe I just… remembered.”
You just stared. For a long, silent moment.
“…You’re so weird,” you muttered, walking past her and sitting down anyway because you weren’t going to let her take your bench, even if she was wearing stupidly nice sunglasses and had a stupidly cute dimple that showed up whenever she was nervous.
She perked up, scooting over like you hadn’t just insulted her.
“I don’t get it,” you said finally, watching her sip her smoothie. “Why are you always around me?”
She blinked. “You make it sound like I’m haunting you.”
Minjeong looked at you for a long second.
Then shrugged. “I like being around you.”
You turned to her slowly.
“You don’t even know me.”
“Sure I do.” She counted off on her fingers. “You like your coffee black unless it’s a Monday, and then you get it with caramel. You always take the elevator unless you’re mad, then you take the stairs. You hum when you’re concentrating. You say thank you to the mail guy even when he’s grumpy. And you pretend to hate me but I bet you’d miss me if I stopped showing up.”
Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
“You’re insane,” you said.
You scowled and turned away, hiding the warmth rising in your face behind your cup.
You were not falling for her.
You were just… concerned. She was obviously obsessed with you. You were just trying to survive. That was all. Nothing more.
Still, later that night, when she didn’t show up in the hallway like usual, you found yourself staring at your peephole for a suspiciously long time.
You just liked… knowing where she was.
You’d almost convinced yourself it wasn’t going to happen again.
After all, it had been nearly a week since Minjeong’s last impromptu DJ set featuring bass-heavy remixes and the occasional scream-laugh echoing down the hallway. You’d thought naively, so foolishly that maybe she’d grown out of it. That she’d settled into adulthood, learned the sacred unspoken rule of Apartment Peacefulness, and realized normal people didn’t party on weeknights.
But then Friday night rolled around.
And at exactly 11:56 p.m., the music started.
At first, it was just bass. The kind that vibrated through your mattress like a second, more annoying heartbeat. Then came the chorus of voices, shouting, singing, laughing, like a horde of frat boys had possessed her living room.
You stared at your ceiling, dead-eyed. Hands by your side. Mentally writing your resignation letter.
It was louder than the last time.
Somewhere around 2:00 a.m., someone yelled “DO A FLIP” and glass shattered.
You were fully feral by then exhausted, furious, and moments away from snapping. You tried earplugs. Then a white noise app. Then your emergency calming playlist (ironically, it included whale sounds). Nothing worked. The floor trembled every time the bass dropped.
By 3:27 a.m., you were throwing things into your overnight bag like you were escaping a war zone. Which, in a way, you were.
You: coming over. not dead but might commit crime soon.
Jisoo: is it the hot neighbor again?
You: she’s SATAN with lip balm.
Jisoo: door’s open. there’s leftover pizza. bring your rage.
You packed your office clothes, toiletries, charger, and one incredibly petty note you debated sliding under Minjeong’s door on your way out.
You didn’t, though. You were better than that.
You left the building with dark circles under your eyes and a migraine forming behind your left eye, muttering curses with every step as the party raged on behind you.
Sleeping at Jisoo’s was bliss. Silent, pizza-filled bliss.
You got six whole hours of uninterrupted rest, a luxury you hadn’t had in weeks. And the next day, you even managed to survive work without collapsing or snapping at anyone. The anger was still there, buzzing low in your chest, but it was buried beneath a thin veil of exhaustion and iced coffee.
It wasn’t until after work, when you finally trudged back into your building hoping for nothing more than a hot shower and your own bed, thats when you saw her.
Minjeong. Leaning against her door. Holding what looked like a box of cookies.
And her face lit up the second she saw you.
You blinked. Paused. Considered turning around.
“I didn’t see you at all today,” she continued, walking toward you like you were happy to see her. “I thought something happened. Were you okay?”
Then pointed to her apartment. “You mean after your rave last night?”
She winced. “Okay, yeah. That was maybe a bit much.”
“I didn’t think it’d go that late! People just… kept coming.”
“Because you INVITED THEM.”
Minjeong blinked, clearly taken aback. “Whoa. Are you mad?”
“No. I’m exhausted. There’s a difference.”
She hesitated, then held out the box like it was a peace offering. “I brought cookies?”
“I left my own apartment because of you.”
You sighed, shifting your bag onto your shoulder. “I couldn’t sleep. Again. So I packed a bag and stayed at my friend’s. Because I literally couldn’t take another night of… whatever the hell that was.”
Minjeong looked genuinely stunned. She lowered the box slowly. “You… left?”
“Congratulations,” you said dryly. “You threw a party so loud it evicted me.”
Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “Oh my god.”
“I don’t think you get how loud it is. I work. I need sleep. And you treat this place like a musician afterparty venue.”
Minjeong looked like she wanted to melt into the floor. “Y/N, I’m… I didn’t know it was that bad. I thought it was just kind of background noise.”
“You had conga lines in the hallway.”
“…Okay, that might’ve gotten out of hand.”
You let out a breath and leaned against your doorframe, suddenly too tired to keep the full force of your anger alive. The truth was, you didn’t even want to fight. You just wanted her to get it. You wanted her to take something, anything seriously for once.
Minjeong stepped back, rubbing the back of her neck, looking a little smaller now.
“I didn’t mean to drive you away,” she said, voice softer. “That wasn’t… I thought maybe you didn’t mind it anymore. You hadn’t complained in a while.”
“That’s because I was trying to be civil. And delusional, apparently.”
A pause. Then, quieter: “I missed seeing you today.”
She glanced up at you, looking suddenly sheepish. “You’re… always around. Not in a weird way!” she added quickly. “I just… like running into you. Even if you’re grumpy.”
You stared at her, floored by how earnestly stupid that sounded.
“I literally left because of you.”
“I know. I messed up. Big time. But I wasn’t trying to be a bad neighbor. I just…” She hesitated, then shrugged. “Got excited. I haven’t lived alone before. I kind of went overboard. And I didn’t realize how much it was bothering you until now.”
You studied her face. For once, she wasn’t smiling. No smug grin. No flirty wink. Just a slightly panicked, flushed Minjeong, fidgeting with the corner of the cookie box like it held all her regrets.
“…You really didn’t know?”
You crossed your arms. “And?”
“I won’t do it again. Promise. No more parties. Not even a little one. Just quiet Minjeong. Book club Minjeong. Baking show Minjeong.”
“…That last one better not be code for another rave.”
She laughed, weakly. “It’s not. I swear.”
You stared at her. Then, reluctantly, reached for the cookie box.
“I’m only taking these because I’m hungry. Not because I’m forgiving you.”
“Got it. No forgiveness. Just food-based tolerance.”
You turned to unlock your door, but paused when she added softly:
“I really am sorry, Y/N.”
Something about the way she said it made your chest pinch.
You didn’t look back. Just muttered, “You should be,” and closed your door behind you.
Still… the cookies were warm.
And you hated that they were kind of good.
You weren’t planning on inviting her.
Of course you weren’t. Why would you?
Game night was a sacred event. A no-chaos, no-stress, friend-only sanctuary held in the cozy confines of Jisoo’s apartment, complete with snacks, wine, and passive-aggressive Uno wars. It was not for random neighbors who threw parties at ungodly hours and wore smiley socks like a personality trait.
Minjeong. Standing in Jisoo’s doorway, clutching a bag of chips and a six-pack of soda like she belonged there.
You stared at her. She grinned.
You turned slowly to your traitorous friend. “Jisoo.”
Jisoo didn’t even pretend to look sorry. “She was in the hallway, I think she came to visit her friend soooo, I invited her. You said you were trying to be civil.”
“Civil doesn’t mean social,” you hissed.
“She brought chips,” Jisoo replied, entirely unhelpful.
Minjeong held them up. “They’re spicy-flavored. Like your attitude.”
She winked. “It’s a compliment.”
You stared at her. Then at Jisoo. Then back at Minjeong. “You can’t just show up. At my friend’s apartment. During game night.”
“She’s my friend now too,” Jisoo cut in, already leading her to the couch. “We talked about Taylor Swift in the hallway for twenty minutes.”
You looked like you might combust.
“Let her stay,” Nari added, flopped upside down on the floor. “The drama’s fun.”
“I’m not dramatic,” you snapped.
“You stormed into the group chat last week and said you were going to buy noise-canceling grenades,” Nari said. “That’s not drama, that’s war.”
“You also called her a noise goblin,” Jisoo added.
Minjeong gasped in mock offense. “You called me a goblin?”
“A noisy one. And it was accurate.”
She shrugged, plopping down beside Nari. “I accept it. Goblins are kinda cute.”
“Why are you like this?” you muttered, sitting as far from her as possible.
“Genetics. Charm. Possibly divine intervention.”
And much to your dismay, Minjeong wasn’t bad at them. No, she was the worst kind of game night guest, the kind who got overly competitive and overly charming. She made jokes. She got high-fives. She somehow convinced Nari to partner with her in Pictionary even after drawing a “dog” that looked like a loaf of bread.
She kept looking over at you, too. Like you were in on some inside joke you never agreed to be part of.
You ignored her. Or tried to.
Halfway through Uno, Minjeong stacked three “draw fours” on you with a smile that made your blood pressure spike.
“Sorry, Y/N,” she said sweetly. “It’s just the game.”
You slammed your cards down. “You’re enjoying this.”
The room went dead silent.
You blinked. Hard. “What.”
“I meant this. This vibe,” she corrected quickly, cheeks flushing. “You. Us. Uno tension. It’s electric.”
“I will actually fight you.”
“Please do,” she said. “I’d let you win.”
Jisoo made a noise like a dying kettle.
“Okay, hang on,” Nari said. “How are you two not dating?”
You and Minjeong spoke at the same time.
You turned your whole body toward her. “Did you think we were?”
She blinked. “Well. No. But like. Spiritually?”
“What does that even MEAN?”
“You bicker. You storm into hallways. You leave me cupcakes and glare at me in elevators. classic enemies to lovers pipeline,” You looked like you’d swallowed a lemon. “It was ONE cupcake. Out of guilt. And you all need to stop reading fanfiction.”
Nari shrugged. “Can’t help it. You two have the tension of a slow burn.”
“You’re literally vibrating.”
Minjeong smiled. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”
“I’m going home,” you announced.
Jisoo tugged your wrist. “No, no! Y/N, come on, it’s just teasing.”
“I’m not doing this,” you muttered, grabbing your coat. “I came here to play Uno and make fun of Nari’s drawing skills. Not get shipped with the world’s most obnoxious neighbor.”
Minjeong stood too, looking surprisingly serious for once. “Hey—Y/N. Wait.”
You paused. Eyed her warily.
“I’m sorry if I ruined your night,” she said. “I wasn’t trying to make fun of you.”
Your brows furrowed. “Then what were you trying to do?”
Minjeong opened her mouth. Closed it. Shrugged, helpless. “I don’t know. Be near you?”
“Why?” you asked, genuinely confused.
She let out a laugh, soft and slightly exasperated. “Because I like you. Even when you’re mad at me. Even when you call me names and act like being near me is torture.”
You scowled. “You should.”
She smiled. “Then why’d you stay at game night this long?”
“I was trying to be polite.”
“You flipped me off during charades.”
Jisoo groaned loudly from the couch. “Can you two just kiss already?”
Minjeong leaned in suddenly.
You flinched back, eyes wide. “What are you doing?!”
“Nothing!” she said quickly, hands up. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t gonna kiss you. I just—got excited. You looked soft.”
You shoved her shoulder. She laughed.
You hated that it sounded nice.
You left eventually, claiming you had work in the morning (you didn’t). Minjeong didn’t follow, but she waved from the hallway like she hadn’t just publicly embarrassed you and/or sent your brain into chaos.
You walked home feeling… confused. And annoyed. And warm.
Because now your friends thought you liked her.
And worst of all, you couldn’t stop thinking about how her smile had looked when she said she liked you.
You were not falling. You were just… disoriented. Sleep-deprived. Emotionally harassed by Uno.
Blissfully, deeply, finally asleep wearing your ugliest pajama set (neon green shorts and a t-shirt that read “nap queen” in cracked glitter) and drooling into your pillow when the world ended.
Or at least, that’s what your brain assumed when the blaring WEE-OOH WEE-OOH of the building’s fire alarm shredded through your dreams like a chainsaw.
You bolted upright, heart racing.
You flailed for your phone, knocked it off the nightstand, cursed creatively, and finally caught sight of the building text notification: Fire drill. Do not panic. Please exit calmly.
You were in glittery pajamas and bunny slippers.
You grabbed your keys and phone, stomped out of your apartment, and joined the parade of annoyed residents spilling out into the cool night air like sleepy, grumpy zombies.
Minjeong. Dressed like a K-drama lead in joggers and a hoodie, leaning against a tree like she posed for the emergency.
She spotted you immediately. Her smile bloomed like spring.
“No, you don’t get to speak to me right now.”
“I wasn’t the one who caused the fire drill,” she said, eyes crinkling as she tried not to laugh. “Though, if I had known you owned that shirt, I might’ve.”
You looked down at yourself.
You considered dying on the spot.
“Shut up,” you muttered, folding your arms tightly. The wind blew. You shivered slightly. Not enough to be noticeable. Totally manageable. You weren’t cold. Nope.
Minjeong tilted her head. “Are you shivering?”
“I want you to spontaneously combust.”
“That would probably trigger another fire drill.”
You glared. “That’s the goal.”
She grinned anyway. Then, without asking, she started shrugging off her hoodie.
You held up a hand. “Do not.”
“Too late,” she said, stepping forward and gently wrapping it around your shoulders.
It smelled like fabric softener and vanilla and something slightly citrusy and stupidly nice.
You immediately wanted to hurl it into a sewer.
You stiffened. “I don’t want this.”
“You literally just called for me to combust.”
“You’re always dramatic.”
You looked down at the hoodie, oversized and soft and covering the worst of your glowing nap queen shame. You scowled.
“This doesn’t mean I’m cold,” you mumbled.
“Of course not,” Minjeong said, eyes dancing.
“And it doesn’t smell good.”
“It smells… aggressively normal.”
She nodded solemnly. “Totally unremarkable.”
You turned your face away so she wouldn’t see the smile trying to betray you.
She didn’t press further. Just stood next to you, not touching, occasionally glancing your way with a look that made your stomach feel like it was doing cartwheels.
Dumber still was what came next.
“Hey,” she said after a few minutes. “I think I dropped my phone. Can I use yours to call it?”
You blinked. “Uh. Yeah. Sure.”
You unlocked your phone and handed it over without thinking. Because you’re nice. Or at least functional. And she looked genuinely concerned.
And her phone immediately rang inside her hoodie pocket.
She froze for half a second, then slowly pulled it out and smiled sheepishly. “Oh. Wow. Would you look at that?”
You narrowed your eyes. “It was in your pocket the whole time?”
“You’re wearing joggers with no pockets.”
“I have mysterious thighs.”
“Thanks for the help,” she said sweetly, handing your phone back.
You stared at her, but your sleep-deprived brain was too foggy to clock anything suspicious. You just muttered something unintelligible and stuffed your phone away.
The fire drill ended. You returned to your apartment. You shed her hoodie, cursed the part of you that thought it smelled nice again, and threw it over a chair.
And maybe, maybe you washed it the next day.
But only because you were going to give it back.
Definitely not because you kept sniffing it like a lunatic every time you passed it.
At night, after work, you stood in front of her door with the hoodie folded neatly and a small sticky note attached.
You pressed it against the wood, knocked once, and power-walked back to your apartment like the building was on fire for real.
”This is not a thank you.”
She texted you three hours later.
Unknown Number: so it’s not a thank you but it’s clean and smells like flowers?? suspicious.
Who was this? Why did they know about the note? Why did your chest tighten in a weird, fluttery way?
Unknown Number: seriously?
it’s minjeong lol. from last night. pajama queen. remember?
You: how did you get my number?
Minjeong: i got it from you yesterday?
Minjeong: during the fire drill. you called my phone remember?
You stared at the screen, mind blank.
You: YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE?!
Minjeong: i plead the fifth
You almost threw your phone.
You: you manipulative little—
Minjeong: smooth. the word is smooth.
And worse, you were smiling.
You were trying to live a normal life. A peaceful, quiet, normal life. One that did not involve your neighbor appearing at random intervals like a lovesick golden retriever with boundary issues.
But Minjeong did not understand the concept of "normal."
And worse, she had started calling you, God help you…..Princess Grumpy.
It began on a random Tuesday, as most horrors do. You had stepped out to grab your mail, still in your work clothes, hair in disarray and a very visible stress induced coffee stain on your blouse. Minjeong was there, leaning against the wall with her phone in hand like she lived for dramatic entrances.
“Morning, Princess Grumpy.”
“Is this a delayed insult or a head injury?”
Minjeong grinned, unbothered. “Neither. It’s a nickname. It suits you.”
You stared at her. “I don’t need a nickname.”
“But I do,” she said brightly. “I need at least one endearing term to whisper to myself when I’m making breakfast and thinking about you.”
You actually dropped your mail.
“Anyway,” she said, skipping past your impending spiral, “you coming to the building event on Friday? There’s karaoke. I want to see if your singing voice is as angry as your resting face.”
You turned on your heel and walked straight back to your apartment.
That should’ve been the end of it. But no.
She started using it everywhere.
“Morning, Princess Grumpy!” when you passed each other in the hall.
“Looking good, Princess Grumpy,” when you came back from the gym, half-dead and sweating like you’d just fought for your life in a war zone.
“Princess Grumpy, you left your delivery at the front door. Again.”
You tried to fight back once. You called her “Clownjeong.”
She gasped. “Did you just give me a nickname back?”
“Yeah, but like—affectionately.”
“I was going for mild psychological warfare.”
“You’re so cute when you threaten me.”
You blocked her number for ten minutes after that.
Then came the hoodie return. Again.
You’d already given it back once with a note that said “this is not a thank you.” So when she somehow left it outside your door again (this time with a packet of your favorite chips tucked inside), you stormed across the hall and banged on her door.
Minjeong opened it with a smile. “Hey, Princess Grumpy.”
You held out the hoodie. “Stop returning this. I don’t want it.”
She tilted her head. “Then why do you keep washing it so nicely?”
“I have standards, okay?! I wasn’t raised by wolves.”
“Bribery doesn’t work on me.”
You blinked. That shouldn’t have felt like a real question.
You shoved the hoodie into her hands and turned to leave, only for her to call after you: “See you later, Princess G!”
You didn’t slam your door.
But you definitely closed it with emphasis.
You tried not to think about it. About her. About her dumb smile and her dumber nickname and how she seemed to be infecting every part of your day like a very pretty virus.
You still didn’t like her.
She was loud, and chaotic, and annoying.
But the worst part? The absolute worst part?
You noticed when she wasn’t there.
Like on Thursday, when you didn’t run into her in the hallway at all. Not in the morning. Not at night.
No “good morning, Princess Grumpy.”
And you, you, the hater, the indifferent, the emotionally bulletproof missed it.
You sat on your couch that night, hoodie-free and annoyed at how quiet the building felt.
You even opened your door for a second, just to… check.
The next morning, she was back.
With two iced coffees, one of which she held out to you with a sheepish grin. “Got you one. Didn’t see you yesterday.”
You frowned. “Were you looking for me?”
She shrugged. “Only a little.”
You took the coffee. Just so she’d go away.
Not because it was your exact order. Or because the straw was already unwrapped and ready, the way you liked. Or because the corner of the napkin had “for Princess Grumpy <3” scribbled on it in the world’s most offensive cursive handwriting.
You really, really hated her.
That night, you were walking back from the trash chute when you ran into her again.
Minjeong, in pajama pants and a tank top, hair up in a messy bun. She looked sleepier than usual.
“You okay?” she asked, blinking at you.
“You’re making your grumpy face.”
“I always look like this.”
You stared at her for a beat. “Do you really think I’m grumpy?”
“I think you’re adorable,” she said instantly, like she’d been waiting to say it.
“You’re very annoying,” you said, finally.
“And you like me anyway.”
The next time you saw her, she had a bracelet wrapped around her wrist made of little pastel alphabet beads. You spotted it while she was talking to someone outside the building, laughing about something dumb.
The bracelet spelled: P R I N C E S S G
Later that evening, you saw her in the hall and pointed at it accusingly. “Is that about me?!”
She glanced down, deadpan. “You think I have multiple princesses in my life?”
You groaned. “Why are you like this?!”
“Down bad,” she said cheerfully. “Terminal case.”
You were pretty sure you were catching something too.
You didn’t want to name it yet.
That night, you found yourself smiling at your phone when she texted you something dumb.
Minjeong:i just realized you’ve never actually smiled at me. like at me. not once.
You stared at the message for a long time.
You: good. i’d hate to encourage you.
Minjeong: so it’s on purpose?
Minjeong: so you think about me?
And that was the problem.
You’d made that very clear to your sister five times, in five different tones, including one voice note where you pretended to be choking on your own excuses.
“You’ve been single since birth,” she said. “It’s not cute anymore.”
“Thanks, love you too,” you muttered as she shoved the date’s number into your phone and threatened to block Netflix until you followed through.
So now here you were, standing in front of your apartment, dressed in something *date-ish,* trying not to physically cringe every time you adjusted the neckline.
You checked your phone for the tenth time.
And as if summoned by the gods of bad timing, the door across the hall opened.
Her eyes landed on you instantly. She was holding a cup of instant noodles in one hand and a spoon in the other, her hoodie slightly off one shoulder and her hair in a high bun like she’d just rolled out of a Pinterest board.
Then: “Whoa. You look...”
“...like you’re going to a tax-themed gala.”
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Like, very responsible. But also tragic.”
You stared at her. “That’s the worst compliment I’ve ever received.”
She grinned. “You’re welcome.”
You rolled your eyes, adjusting your bag. “I have a date.”
You said it casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it wasn’t specifically said to see how she’d react.
Then she laughed, a little too quickly. “A date? With who? Mr. Responsible Gala?”
“His name is Jason,” you said, hating how defensive you sounded. “He’s a dentist.”
“Sounds thrilling,” she said, with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Will you guys be discussing plaque or...?”
You glared at her. “Not everyone likes karaoke parties at 2am and naming houseplants.”
“Yeah,” she said, “some people like dates with guys who wear button-ups unironically.”
Before you could retort, a horn honked from outside.
Minjeong looked toward the sound. Then back at you.
There was something in her expression, tight, unreadable.
“Well,” she said, taking a bite of her noodles, “have fun.”
You turned and walked down the hallway, ignoring the way her eyes felt like a magnet at your back.
Jason was nice. In the same way white rice is nice. Safe. Bland. Acceptable in emergencies.
He talked about teeth. A lot.
You weren’t sure how molar structure turned into a twenty-minute TED Talk, but somehow, it did. The highlight of the night was when he accidentally knocked over his water and tried to blame the table for “being too slippery.”
By the end of it, your face hurt from all the fake smiling.
When you got back to your building, all you wanted was to rip off your shoes, crawl into bed, and erase the whole night from your brain.
You didn’t expect the knock on your door.
It came twenty minutes after you got in, just as you were wiping off makeup and aggressively texting your sister a strongly-worded “NEVER AGAIN.”
Minjeong stood there in sweats, holding a bag of popcorn in one hand and a DVD of Shrek 2 in the other.
“I come bearing comfort cinema,” she announced.
“Just thought you might need it. After that disaster of a date.”
You crossed your arms. “I had a great time.”
She looked at you. Looked at the ponytail already forming in your hair and the way your mascara had been wiped half off.
Minjeong held up the DVD. “Okay, then you won’t need this iconic healing film.”
You stared at it longingly.
“Okay, wait maybe it was a little boring.”
Minjeong smirked like a cat who just watched a bird fly into a window.
You stepped aside without a word, letting her in. She sauntered to the couch like she owned the place, tossing the popcorn onto the coffee table and flopping down dramatically.
You followed, grabbing a blanket and collapsing next to her with a sigh.
She held out the DVD. “Come on. Donkey’s waiting.”
Halfway through the movie, your head somehow ended up leaning on her shoulder.
You weren’t sure when or how it happened, but there it was your cheek resting against soft cotton, her breath slow and steady beside you.
You told yourself it was just because you were tired.
But then she spoke, voice quiet.
“I’m just asking,” she said innocently.
“Because you’re my favorite source of weekly drama,” she teased. “And because I can’t believe you wasted an outfit on a man who probably say ‘moisturizer is for women.’”
Minjeong smiled, triumphant.
“He did call vegan cheese unnatural,” you admitted.
“I knew it. Dates with men are never the best”
You sighed. “My sister forced me into it.”
“Ah,” she said, “sibling betrayal. The deepest cut.”
You glanced at her. “You really showed up with Shrek because you thought I’d come back sad?”
“No,” she said, and then, after a pause: “Yes. But mostly I just wanted to see you.”
And then, in the softest voice:
“Glad you’re home, Princess Grumpy.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.
Minjeong leaned back, smug.
You let her stay a little longer than necessary when the movie ended.
But that didn’t mean anything.
You fumbled with the keypad like it was a math test you hadn’t studied for.
The numbers glowed mockingly under your finger as you squinted, missed, and cursed softly under your breath.
“Don’t yell,” you whispered, as if the door could hear you. “I’m trying my best…”
Minjeong, standing casually in the hallway, watched the scene unfold like she was at a live comedy show. She hadn’t said anything yet just leaned against the wall in her hoodie and sweats, sipping from a juice box of all things.
Not until you swayed a little too far to the left and almost kissed your welcome mat.
A pair of hands caught you.
Strong, warm, and annoyingly familiar.
“Oh my god,” Minjeong murmured. “You’re so drunk.”
You turned around, blinking up at her like she’d just appeared out of nowhere. “Minjeong?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Why are there two of you?”
She laughed, still holding onto your waist as you tried to balance. “Need help getting in?”
You gestured vaguely at the keypad. “The door hates me.”
You looked at her. Considered. Then blurted, “It’s my cat’s birthday and my childhood address.”
She stared. “That helps me in no way at all.”
You leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered the actual numbers into her ear.
She punched them in with expert calm, like she hadn’t just been given the keys to your kingdom. The lock clicked open. You blinked.
“Wow,” you said. “You’re smart.”
“And you’re really drunk.”
Minjeong guided you inside with gentle hands, closing the door behind you and helping you kick off your shoes. You immediately face-planted onto the couch.
“I was at a bar,” you mumbled into the cushion. “With my sister. She wanted to celebrate… something. I don’t remember. Probably me being alive.”
“Well, I’m glad you are,” she said lightly, moving to the kitchen and grabbing a glass of water.
She returned and handed it to you like she’d done it a hundred times before. “Drink.”
You took it without argument.
“You always take care of people like this?” you asked between sips.
Minjeong shrugged, settling into the armchair across from you. “Only the ones I like.”
Then laid back dramatically, one arm across your eyes. “You’re too nice.”
“I’m literally just giving you water.”
“No, you’re like… a good person. It’s irritating.”
She laughed again, the sound warm and stupidly comforting. “Okay, now you’re just saying things.”
You sat up suddenly, finger pointing at her like you were in a courtroom drama. “You are nice. Too nice. Like, let me help you with your groceries, water your plants, listen to your drunk rambling nice.”
“I am currently doing all of those things.”
There was a beat of silence. You stared at her. She stared back, amused.
Then, with a sigh, you slumped back down.
You mumbled into the pillow, “I think I’m slowly falling for you.”
You didn’t notice. You were too busy groaning at yourself.
“Why are you so… Minjeong-y?” you whined. “You’re like sunshine but also chaos.”
Across from you, Minjeong was frozen.
You lifted your head groggily. “What?”
You frowned. “I said I hate bike lanes. Too narrow.”
You squinted. “I like… popcorn?”
Minjeong stared. Her ears were visibly red.
“You said you were falling for me.”
“Did I say it in a cute way or like, scary?”
Minjeong just stared at you, wide-eyed and pink in the face.
You sat up straighter, suddenly realizing the full weight of what had just come out of your mouth.
“Yeah,” she said, voice soft. “Oh.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
You groaned, covering your face with both hands. “Forget I said that.”
“You literally just told me I smell nice and you’re falling for me. This is my Roman Empire now.”
You peeked at her through your fingers. “Are you laughing at me?”
“I’m blushing because of you,” she said, flustered and very much not meeting your eyes.
You stared. “Wait! you’re flustered?”
“I’m trying not to combust.”
Minjeong buried her face in her hands. “This is worse than when I called you Princess Grumpy.”
“You still call me that!”
She peeked out between her fingers. “And you let me.”
You groaned, flopping onto the couch again. “This is the worst night of my life.”
“No, that was your date with Jason the dentist.”
After a minute of mutual internal crisis, Minjeong said, more quietly now, “You really meant it?”
She nodded, still red, still smiling like someone had just given her a hundred free kittens. “Good to know.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re very smug for someone who’s not supposed to know how I feel.”
She raised both hands. “Hey, you’re the one confessing things on your couch like we’re in a teen rom-com.”
Then you asked, “Do you want to help me learn to ride a bike?”
“I said earlier. I never learned.”
Minjeong laughed. “Oh. I thought you were joking.”
“I joke about a lot of things. Not about wheels.”
There was a pause. Then Minjeong stood.
“Alright, drunk girl,” she said, reaching for a throw blanket and tossing it over you. “Sleep it off. Tomorrow, we’re getting you a helmet.”
You peeked out from under the blanket. “You’re gonna teach me?”
Minjeong gave you a smile, sweet, warm, sincere. “Of course. Princess Grumpy deserves to fly.”
Your heart did something very stupid.
You looked away. “You’re so annoying.”
She leaned down, tucking the blanket around you gently.
“And you’re falling for me.”
But your smile gave you away.
You regretted everything the second you saw the bike.
And a matching helmet that had glitter stars on it.
“This is bullying,” you said flatly, staring at the monstrosity on two wheels.
Minjeong beamed like she’d just unwrapped a present. “You said you never learned. You didn’t say you had standards.”
You gave her a long, pointed look. “I will push you off this thing.”
“You’d have to catch me first.” She patted the seat. “Come on, Princess Grumpy. Time to fly.”
You muttered something not-so-princess-like under your breath but stepped forward anyway. It was early enough in the morning that the park was mostly empty, and the little path she’d chosen was tucked under a line of trees, secluded and shaded.
You didn’t miss how Minjeong was already pulling out her phone.
“Don’t even think about it,” you warned.
She grinned. “Too late. This is historic. First bike. First bruised ego. First scraped knee. First—”
“First time I punch you?”
Minjeong just laughed, lowering her phone and setting it aside. “Okay, okay. We’ll start easy.”
You looked at the bike again. “It has streamers.”
“Bonus style points,” she said cheerfully. “Now, get on. I’ll hold the back.”
“Promise you won’t let go?”
There was something vulnerable in your voice, something that made her expression soften.
“I promise,” she said, voice quieter now. “I’ve got you.”
You nodded once, and she moved behind the bike, one hand gripping the back of the seat, the other hovering near your side. With shaky hands, you got on, feet finding the pedals.
She didn’t laugh when you wobbled.
She didn’t tease when your knees knocked together.
She just stayed close, steady.
“Okay,” she said gently, “start pedaling.”
Minjeong jogged beside you, hand still on the seat. “That’s it! Look at you! Natural disaster!”
“You mean natural talent?”
“Nope. You’re a disaster, but a charming one.”
You laughed, almost losing your balance. “Don’t make me laugh, I’ll fall!”
“I told you I’m chaos and sunshine!”
You got about fifteen feet before your foot slipped and you panicked, skidding sideways into the grass.
Minjeong caught you before you could fully hit the ground, arms wrapping around you in a blur of motion. You ended up half on her, half on the grass, breathing hard and laughing.
“You said you wouldn’t let go,” you mumbled.
“I didn’t,” she said softly. “You just got too fast for me, Tour de France.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t move.
The sun filtered through the trees, dappled and warm on your faces. You were close enough to hear her heartbeat, steady beneath her hoodie. Her hands were still on your arms, and yours were gripping the fabric of her sleeves.
It would’ve been easy to look away.
And then, before you could ruin it with a joke or say something to deflect, Minjeong inhaled deeply.
“Can I tell you something?”
She didn’t let go of you. Just shifted a little so she could see you better.
“I think I’ve liked you since the first time you yelled at me.”
You blinked. “The day you threw a massive party, woke me up and made me evacuate the building?”
Minjeong smiled. “Yeah. You were angry and exhausted, I just started to see you differently”
“I thought you were hot.”
“I did,” she said simply. “Still do. But now I know you’re also stubborn, dramatic, kind of awkward, and you make this scrunchy face when you’re confused. Like now.”
You touched your face. “I do not—”
“You totally do,” she laughed, then looked down, tone softening. “And… I think I really like you. Not in a ‘you’re pretty’ way. But in a ‘you make everything feel a little better’ way. Even when you glare at me. Or insult my socks. Or pretend you hate me.”
“I don’t think I’m falling for you,” you said.
Minjeong’s face faltered for a split second.
“I know I am,” you finished, and her eyes snapped back to yours.
“I’ve just been trying to be sure,” you admitted. “Because I thought maybe I was just getting used to you. Or that you were just really persistent and weird and eventually I’d start tolerating you.”
Minjeong snorted. “Romantic.”
“But then you… remembered my favorite snacks. And gave me your jacket without asking. And showed up with popcorn after my date. And you’re so nice and soft and confusing—”
“Yes,” you said, a little breathless now. “Because I spent so long being annoyed by you and now I kind of want to kiss you.”
Then: “That’s really good timing.”
“Because I kind of want to kiss you too.”
She smiled, all dimples and shy hope.
You leaned forward without really thinking eyes slipping closed, lips brushing hers in the softest, most hesitant way.
It was quiet and warm and slow. Like falling asleep next to someone you trust. Like laughing into someone’s shoulder. Like a promise with no words.
When you pulled away, she looked dazed.
“You’re good at that,” she murmured.
“I learned from watching movies,” you said.
She laughed, and the sound was bright enough to chase the morning chill away.
“Come on,” she said, brushing grass from your elbow. “You’re not done learning.”
“Thought we were having a moment.”
“Oh, we were. But now you have to actually ride the thing.”
Minjeong stood, offering you a hand.
And for the rest of the morning, she didn’t let go.
It all started when you needed to borrow Minjeong’s phone.
Your own had decided to die a dramatic death in the middle of texting your sister. screen frozen, battery dead, everything unresponsive no matter how many times you pressed the power button like that would somehow revive it. So naturally, you stomped your way into Minjeong’s apartment to complain and steal her charger.
“You can use my phone if you need to text someone,” she offered sweetly, holding it out to you. “Just don’t open the ‘Photos’ app.”
That should’ve been your first red flag.
But you were distracted, so you just rolled your eyes and took the phone. Except the second you tapped the home button to unlock it, your entire soul left your body.
There, in all its poorly lit, mid-rant glory, was a photo of you.
Mouth open. Hands flailing. Eyebrows furrowed like you were giving a TED Talk about why pineapple on pizza was a war crime. You recognized the hoodie you were wearing, it was a night you stayed over a few weeks ago after Minjeong begged for “one movie and snacks,” which had turned into four movies, no snacks, and a heated argument about cereal brands.
Minjeong, sipping from her juice box (of course), blinked innocently. “My lock screen.”
“I like to be reminded of your passion.”
You stared at her. She looked pleased.
“This is the ugliest picture I’ve ever seen of myself,” you said, voice strangled.
Minjeong peered over. “Really? I think it’s cute.”
“Like, look at how intense you are. It’s giving presidential campaign speech.”
“You were yelling about how cereal is a capitalist scam, and I was moved.”
You covered your face with your hands.
“I’m breaking up with you.”
“You can’t. You haven’t even officially said we’re dating yet.”
You peeked through your fingers. “…Are we not?”
Minjeong tilted her head. “I mean, I think we are. You kissed me and then made me pancakes.”
You sighed. “Then I am breaking up with you.”
She stood up and pried your hands off your face gently, holding them in hers. “You wouldn’t.”
“You have a very expressive forehead and zero filter when you’re passionate about breakfast food.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re the worst.”
“You’re the prettiest ranting disaster I’ve ever seen.”
You tugged your hands away and turned to the couch with a groan, flopping face-down into a pillow. “I hate you.”
Minjeong sat next to you, patting your back. “No you don’t.”
“I want to delete the evidence!”
“I’ve already backed it up to the cloud.”
You lifted your head and glared. “You’re sick.”
She looked proud. “You’re dating a sick woman. Congratulations.”
You threw a pillow at her. She caught it with a grin.
Later that evening, you were curled up on her couch with one of her hoodies draped over you, scrolling mindlessly through your now-charged phone.
Minjeong was in the kitchen, humming some song that didn’t match the beat while microwaving popcorn. You heard her muttering under her breath, something about “extra butter is the only way to live” and “if she judges me again I’ll just kiss her quiet.”
You pretended not to hear the last part.
When she came back, she tossed a piece of popcorn into your mouth like she was feeding a zoo animal.
“Caught it,” you said triumphantly.
You raised a brow. “Smooth.”
“Thank you. I practice in the mirror.”
You snorted, taking the bowl and shifting so your legs were stretched over her lap. “You’re lucky I like you.”
Minjeong leaned back with a smug smile. “I am very lucky.”
There was a moment of quiet, the kind that always settled between you when things felt soft and good and easy. You hated how natural it felt, hated how your heart skipped a beat when she reached over to tuck your hair behind your ear, like she’d done it a million times.
“You really like that picture?” you asked quietly, half-teasing, half-curious”
Minjeong nodded. “I love it.”
“Exactly. You’re not trying. You’re just being you. Loud. Dramatic. Nerdy. Unfiltered. It’s my favorite version of you.”
“I mean—” she coughed. “I have, like, normal ones too. Cute selfies. Stuff from when you were sleeping.”
“You take pictures of me sleeping?!”
“Occasionally. It’s romantic.”
“I’m in love. That’s a defense.”
Neither of you moved for a second.
You looked at her. “You said you’re in love.”
You sat up a little, the popcorn bowl sliding off your lap.
“I haven’t said that yet,” you whispered.
Minjeong just smiled, like she wasn’t expecting anything, like she was already full just being near you.
You touched her cheek, just a light brush.
“I’m getting there,” you said softly. “I think… I’m really close.”
Minjeong leaned in, pressing your foreheads together.
Jisoo had texted you the most casual invite in the world.
come over. bored. bring your beautiful face and your opinions on whether cereal is soup.
You read it while Minjeong was brushing her hair on your bed.
“They want to argue about food definitions,” you told her, phone still in hand.
“Sounds like my kind of night,” she said, tossing her brush aside.
Minjeong blinked at you. “Excuse me?”
“It’s best friend bonding time. I’m going alone.”
“But I’ve already bonded with them. I’m Jisoo’s soulmate. Nari said she wants me in her will.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“I don’t make sense, and yet here you are. In love with me.”
You groaned into your hands. “Fine. Get in the damn car before I change my mind.”
Minjeong fist-pumped on her way to the door.
The ride was full of Minjeong telling the Uber driver you were mad at her because she stole your last grape (you weren’t even mad), and by the time you rang Jisoo’s doorbell, you were distracted and half-annoyed and definitely not prepared for what was about to happen.
Jisoo opened the door, eyes lit up like usual then froze.
“Uh,” she said, blinking between the two of you. “Why is she here?”
Minjeong smiled innocently. “Surprise.”
“Why are you standing so close to her?”
You blinked. “Because we’re dating.”
Jisoo made a noise like a dying bird.
Minjeong stepped inside casually, brushing past her. “Don’t worry, she’s still grumpy and mean. But now she kisses me.”
You nearly tripped. “Minjeong!”
“What,” she said sweetly. “Too soon?”
Jisoo turned to you, eyes wide. “You brought your girlfriend to hang out like that’s normal?”
“No. Normal would’ve been you telling me you were dating the hallway menace.”
“She’s not—ugh.” You stepped inside too, glaring. “She’s not a menace anymore.”
“I’m reformed,” Minjeong added helpfully. “Ask your game night snacks. I only stole three last time.”
“You’re dating her,” Jisoo repeated, still stunned.
“Is that a problem?” Minjeong asked, and she tilted her head in that way that made her look way too innocent for someone who used to throw midnight parties like it was her life’s purpose.
Jisoo held up both hands. “No! No problem. Just—wow.”
“She’s literally glowing,” Jisoo muttered to you. “She looks like she won a bet.”
“She probably did,” you said under your breath.
Nari arrived twenty minutes later, holding bubble tea and absolutely not prepared.
“Hey, losers,” she greeted. “I brought—wait. Why is Minjeong here?”
You sighed. “Okay, we’re doing this again.”
“We’re dating now,” Minjeong said proudly.
Nari blinked. “Wait, for real?”
Nari looked at Jisoo, who nodded solemnly.
Then she burst out laughing.
“Oh my god,” she wheezed. “I knew it. I knew there was sexual tension during game night.”
“There was not,” you deadpanned.
“There was so much,” Minjeong said at the exact same time.
Jisoo groaned. “You could’ve told us!”
You folded your arms. “You guys liked her too much. I was scared you’d betray me.”
Minjeong gasped. “Betrayal? Me?”
“You’re so dramatic,” Nari said, sitting down next to her like they were already co-conspirators.
“She kissed me first, you know,” Minjeong added, leaning back smugly.
You threw a pillow at her.
It didn’t take long before everything slipped into its usual chaos.
Minjeong had claimed your seat like it was hers, Jisoo had grilled her on her most “annoying girlfriend habits” (there were many), and Nari had pulled out her Notes app like she was taking psychological data.
“And you knew you liked her when?” Nari asked.
“I didn’t know,” you said. “She was just…there. All the time. Loud. Smiling. Feeding me.”
“So you fell in love with her snacks.”
“No,” you muttered. “With her.”
The room went quiet for a beat.
Minjeong turned her head slowly, watching you like she hadn’t expected you to say that in front of anyone.
You didn’t meet her eyes.
Instead, you kicked her foot under the table and mumbled, “Don’t let it go to your head.”
She smiled so wide it almost hurt to look at.
“I won’t,” she whispered. “But thank you for saying it.”
Nari clutched her chest. “I’m going to cry. Who let you guys be real?”
Jisoo blinked. “Wait, is this why she’s been nicer lately? You’re soft now?”
“You just said you fell in love with her.”
Minjeong rested her chin on your shoulder, smug and glowing and warm against your side.
“Wanna tell them how you said you *might* be falling for me when you were drunk and tried to enter your apartment with a grocery store receipt?”
“Or how you asked if I smelled like marshmallows.”
You groaned into your hands.
Nari and Jisoo just laughed.
Later that night, after way too many snacks and way too much teasing, Jisoo pulled you aside while Minjeong was helping Nari clean up the table.
“She really makes you happy, huh?” she said softly.
“…Yeah,” you said eventually. “She does.”
Jisoo smiled. “You better tell her that properly someday.”
“She’s already head over heels, you know.”
You glanced over at Minjeong, who was trying (and failing) to stack cups and accidentally knocked one onto the floor.
She looked up, met your eyes, and grinned like an idiot.
“…Yeah,” you said. “Me too.”
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