tag(s): coming of age, 80’s au, non-idol au, coming of age, slow burn, trip to nowhere, those fics where nothing really happens, forbidden love, mutual pining, summer feels, best friends to ???, they live in a small town, wlw (women losing women), pregnancy trope, no part 2’s, no happy ending
synopsis: in the sticky haze of a korean summer in the 1980s, two girls—both beloved, envied, and quietly aching—spend their final weeks before adulthood chasing freedom in the only ways they know how. beneath the thrill of late-night drives, lake swims, and stolen glances lies something softer, heavier, and far more dangerous. one night changes everything. and by morning, nothing will ever be the same.
word count: 7.6k
warning(s): swearing, cheating, implied sexual content but nothing major
present day – summer night, a quiet house somewhere that used to feel like home
the kitchen light flickers for the third time tonight. a weak yellow glow buzzes overhead, casting long shadows across the chipped linoleum floor. the wallpaper peels in the corners, curling like paper left too close to fire. outside, the wind whistles through the trees, brushing against the windows like a ghost looking for a way in.
everything smells like dust, like old coffee grounds and stale air, like something that’s been forgotten for too long.
yu jimin sits at the table with a glass of whiskey and a cigarette she hasn’t lit. the ashtray is full, but she doesn’t remember when she last smoked. maybe last night.
maybe a week ago. time blurs now — not in the way it used to during summer nights, but in that slow, suffocating way that comes with years you never meant to live.
her husband is snoring in the living room, sprawled across the couch with a beer bottle dangling from his fingers.
he doesn’t wake up when she shifts in her chair, doesn’t stir when she sighs. they haven’t spoken properly in three days. not since the fight about the kids. not since he asked her if she even loved him at all and she couldn’t find a single word to say back.
she reaches for the locket around her neck, the same one she’s worn since she was seventeen. the gold is dulled now, the chain slightly tarnished, the clasp loose from years of use. her fingers know the motion by heart — thumb on the clasp, a gentle twist, and it opens like a wound.
inside is a photo, faded from time, edges frayed and curling, but still intact. still there.
her smile stares back at jimin, all sun-kissed and alive, hair wind-blown, eyes half-squinting from laughter. her back was against the jeep that day — doors off, engine still running, music blasting from the radio. jimin had taken the photo herself, swearing she was only going to test the camera, not actually use it. she’d lied. she wanted to keep a piece of her, something real, something still and quiet, unlike the way everything else always felt too fast when she was around.
she runs her thumb over the image, careful, like the memory might flinch under her touch. there’s a pull in her chest, deep and sharp and familiar. it’s always like this when she looks at the photo — like something just beneath her ribs is cracking open. she used to think it was guilt. now she knows it’s grief. the kind that lingers even when no one has died.
sometimes, jimin thinks she might as well have died. it would’ve been easier that way. easier than knowing she’s probably out there somewhere, alive, well, untouched by this version of jimin — the bitter wife, the absent mother, the girl who never left but still managed to lose everything.
she imagines her in another city, another life, still wearing cut-off jeans and beating the summer heat with that impossible smile. she tries not to wonder if she ever looks back.
the locket hangs heavy against her chest. she closes it gently, but not before pressing her lips to the surface like it’s some kind of prayer. she used to believe in prayers. not anymore. now she only believes in choices, and the long, slow consequences of the wrong ones.
regret, she’s learned, isn’t loud. it doesn’t scream or crash or knock the wind out of you. it creeps in quietly, sits in the corners of your life, and waits. waits for the nights when the kids don’t come home, for the mornings when you can’t look yourself in the mirror. waits until you’re old and tired and wondering why the only thing that ever felt like love was the one thing you were too afraid to fight for.
she doesn’t cry. not anymore. not for a long time. the tears dried up years ago, sometime between her second pregnancy and her first affair, both of which left her feeling just as empty. now she just drinks, watches the ice melt, and listens to the silence.
and sometimes — like tonight — she talks to ghosts. not out loud. not in words. just with the way her hands hold the photo, the way her eyes soften, the way her body remembers what it was like to be held without shame.
it’s summer again. she can smell it in the air — thick and wet and alive. it used to mean something. it used to be hers. theirs.
and now it’s just a season.
outside, the crickets sing the same song they did back then. the wind rustles the same trees. nothing has changed, except her. and maybe that’s the worst part of it all.
she thinks of that last summer, the heat, the secret glances, the lies they told everyone — especially themselves. jimin remembers the way she looked at her in the rearview mirror of that jeep, like she already knew it wouldn’t last. jimin had smiled back anyway. she always smiled back.
the kitchen light flickers one last time. this time, it stays off.
she doesn’t move.
she just sits there, alone with the weight of memory, and wishes — more than anything — that she had been brave.
1984 — somewhere in the summer of south korea
the sun hadn’t even burned through the haze when y/n pulled up outside his house.
the neighborhood was still — no cars, no kids, just long driveways and shutters drawn tight against the heat. the jeep idled beneath a jacaranda tree, cicadas already shrilling, already impatient. y/n drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. waited.
the front door cracked open a few minutes later.
jimin stepped out barefoot, heels dangling from one hand, hair tangled, lips bitten pink. she looked like a secret. skin glowing in places that shouldn’t be glowing. red marks blooming across her collarbone like spilled paint.
“it’s 4pm.” she mumbled, sliding into the passenger seat. “you’re late.”
“you didn’t say a time,” y/n said, barely looking at her. “i’m doing this out of pity.”
“you’re doing this because you love me.”
jimin popped the visor down and peered at herself in the mirror, face half-shadowed. she pulled a compact from her bag and started dabbing powder along her neck, her jaw, the edge of her chest.
“i told my mom i was at yours last night,” she added, casually. “you’ll back me up, yeah?”
“you’re unbelievable.”
“i know.”
y/n sighed. “what if she calls my house?”
“she won’t.” jimin paused. “and even if she does, your mom loves me. she thinks i’m sweet.”
“you’re not sweet.”
“not to you,” jimin said with a grin, blotting her mouth with a tissue.
they were quiet for a moment after that. not an awkward silence — just a lull, like they both knew it had to come eventually. the air was thick, cloying. y/n kept her eyes on the road even though they weren’t moving.
“you could’ve at least changed your shirt,” y/n said after a beat, voice low. “it’s not exactly believable sleepover attire.”
jimin shrugged. “i didn’t bring any extra clothes.”
“no shit.”
and yet, there was no judgment in it. not really.
they talked like that often — back and forth, pushing, retreating. toeing the line between humor and hurt. it wasn’t that serious. it never was.
until it was.
y/n turned her head. just for a second.
jimin was looking at her.
not in that usual, careless way — not the teasing glint or the smug tilt of her head. no, this was something different. still. open. like she’d just remembered something important and didn’t know if she should say it out loud.
y/n felt it in her throat. in her ribs. in that space behind her eyes where old feelings lived.
“what?” she asked, soft.
“nothing.” jimin blinked, looked away too quickly. “drive.”
and so she did.
the engine hummed back to life. the breeze whipped through their hair. neither of them said another word, but something had already shifted.
something small. quiet. irreversible.
the windows were down, warm wind pouring in as the jeep rolled past the edge of town, tires crunching softly over the gravel road. it smelled like dust and sunburnt grass, like summer before it got cruel.
jimin had her head tilted back now, one bare foot pressed to the dash, the other knee drawn up close. her lipstick was smudged, mascara faint beneath her lashes like bruises. she looked tired — or maybe just full of something she wasn’t ready to spill.
y/n glanced over, eyes flicking toward the side of jimin’s throat where the powder didn’t quite reach. she didn’t say anything.
“god,” jimin muttered, stretching her arms out with a groan, “i’m starving.”
“check the glove box,” y/n said, not looking at her. “i think there’s a granola bar.”
“you keep snacks in your glove box like a soccer mom?”
“it’s for emergencies.”
“this is not an emergency,” jimin said, though she opened it anyway and pulled out the sad, slightly squashed bar. she peeled it back with two fingers like it might bite her.
“if i die,” she started dramatically, “bury me in your passenger seat.”
“you wish.”
jimin took a bite anyway. chewed. swallowed.
“this tastes like cardboard.”
“you’re welcome.”
the jeep curved around a bend, trees flickering past them like film reel stills. the light caught jimin’s wrist, made the bangles she wore glint gold. she was always wearing too many accessories — rings, layered necklaces, something delicate behind her ear like a secret.
“so,” jimin said, brushing crumbs off her lap, “aeri’ sleeping with that guy from the record store.”
y/n lets out a dramatic gasp, taking her eyes off the road to look at jimin with disbelief for a hot moment. “no she’s not.”
“yes, she is.” jimin confirmed with an amused laugh escaping her lips. “minjeong saw him drop her off at 3 a.m. and yizhuo swore she had his flannel tied around her waist yesterday.”
y/n raised a brow. “you all need hobbies.”
“this is my hobby.”
“you’re like a walking tabloid.”
“thank you.” jimin only replied, proudly.
y/n smiled despite herself. there was something comforting in the rhythm of it — the gossip, the teasing, the ridiculous ease. even when they hadn’t spoken in a few days, it always picked up like no time had passed. like this was the only version of themselves that ever really mattered — alone, window down, nowhere to be.
“… what about you?” she asked after a pause, keeping her tone light. “is it serious? with jaewook?”
jimin paused.
she leaned back into the seat, letting her head lull to the side. her fingers tapped lightly against her thigh, a nervous beat masked as boredom.
“he wants it to be.”
y/n glanced at her. “what does that mean?”
“means he’s been talking,” jimin said, voice thinner now. “about after graduation. getting a place. settling down.”
“seriously?”
“mhm.”
jimin didn’t look at her. just kept her gaze fixed on the windshield, her reflection faint in the glass.
“he wants to marry me,” she added, too flatly to be real. “thinks i’ll make a good wife. stay home, raise the kids, make dinner before he gets back from work.”
y/n held back a laugh, pressing her lips into a thin line and blinked. “you burn toast.”
“right?”
they both laughed — short, dry.
but then it faded.
jimin leaned forward and plucked a hair tie off the gearshift, twisting her hair into a loose bun. there was something in her shoulders now — something pulled tight, like a string being tugged from the inside.
“he told me he wants two kids. a boy and a girl. already picked out the names,” she said quietly. “he said he wants a normal life.”
y/n’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
“and what do you want?”
it was a simple question, but the air changed the moment it left her lips.
jimin turned to her slowly, the corner of her mouth twitching like she might smirk — but didn’t.
instead, she tugged her sunglasses down just enough to meet y/n’s gaze, really meet it.
it wasn’t a look friends gave each other. it wasn’t safe, or soft, or silly.
it was heavy.
there was longing in it. and maybe resentment. and maybe something that had lived between them for years and never found a name.
she looked at y/n like she already knew the answer.
and y/n did, too.
jimin held it for a beat longer — lips slightly parted, lashes casting shadows across her cheek.
then she turned away again.
adjusted her seatbelt. tucked her hair behind her ear. breathed.
“i don’t know,” she answered, like a whisper. like a promise broken in advance.
the sky was bleeding orange by the time they reached the top of the hill. it wasn’t a real spot — just a place they ended up sometimes, when they didn’t feel like going home. dry grass crunched beneath their sneakers. wrappers blew against the tires.
“this town’s getting boring,” jimin sighed, leaning back on her hands. her cherry lollipop bobbed between her lips. “we should do something stupid.”
“like?” y/n unwrapped her sandwich lazily, one leg dangling off the hood of the jeep. “dye our hair with kool-aid? steal a mailbox?”
“ugh,” jimin groaned out. “that’s so ning of you.”
y/n laughed, half a mouthful of bread. “what does that even mean?”
“you know.” jimin twirled the lollipop stick between her fingers. “unhinged. chaotic. kind of hot, but in a terrifying way.”
“you’re literally describing yourself.”
“wrong. i’m hot and terrifying in a controlled way. big difference.”
y/n rolled her eyes, but she didn’t argue. she bit into her sandwich and let the silence stretch. the wind blew light through jimin’s hair, catching it like gold threads.
“she’s sleeping with that college guy, by the way,” jimin said suddenly, breaking the quiet like it was nothing. “the one with the bad sideburns.”
y/n blinked. “wait, what?”
“aeri told me.” jimin sounded bored, like she’d already lived a whole life since hearing it. “they hook up in his car behind the auto shop.”
“that’s disgusting.”
“i know. he drives a ford escort.”
y/n snorted. “priorities.”
“i just don’t get it,” jimin muttered, biting her lip. “yizhuo could literally have anyone. what is it with girls like us falling for guys who peak in high school?”
“so you admit jaewook peaked.”
“ugh,” she groaned out, dragging her hand across her face. “don’t even bring him into this.”
they both broke into laughter. it was sharp, teenage, the kind that made your chest hurt if you weren’t careful.
y/n finished the last bite of her sandwich, brushing crumbs off her lap. jimin stared at the horizon, lollipop now forgotten in her hand.
“you ever think about leaving?” y/n asked after a minute. “like—actually leaving. somewhere no one knows us. no one expects anything.”
jimin didn’t answer right away. she tilted her head, considering.
“sometimes,” she said quietly. “but then i think… who am i if i’m not her?”
“who?”
“the girl everyone looks at. the girl with the boyfriend and the parties and the perfect hair. if i leave, i lose that. and then what?”
y/n looked at her. really looked.
“maybe you find out.”
jimin didn’t look back, but the corner of her mouth tugged into something unreadable.
“you always say things like that,” she murmured. “like they’re simple.”
“maybe they are.”
the wind picked up again. this time, jimin leaned into it. and then leaned into y/n, her shoulder brushing hers like it was casual. but it lingered. just long enough.
it was past five when they reached the lake. the sky was a bruised violet, soft clouds melting into the edges of gold. no one else was there — not on a tuesday — and the quiet felt earned. like the world was giving them a break.
the water rippled gently, disturbed only by the occasional flicker of fish near the surface. y/n kicked her shoes off first, letting her feet sink into the mud. jimin followed, a little slower, peeling her socks off and grimacing.
“this better not give me some country girl toe disease.”
“you’re so annoying,” y/n laughed, already walking in.
the water was cold, but not unpleasant. it slid up y/n’s calves like silk, pulled at her legs like it wanted to keep her. behind her, she could hear jimin swearing softly, stepping in like it hurt.
they didn’t go deep — just enough so the water reached their thighs, skirts floating up, fingers brushing against the surface. jimin splashed y/n half-heartedly. y/n retaliated by dunking her whole hand in and flicking it at her like a wave.
“don’t—” jimin shrieked as water hit her face. “my makeup!”
“you’re literally swimming.”
“this isn’t swimming,” she huffed, wiping her cheeks. “this is… aesthetic wading.”
y/n shook her head and smiled. “god, you’re hopeless.”
they waded in silence after that, the kind that only comes when you know someone too well to fill it. frogs croaked in the reeds. a mosquito buzzed past. y/n let her eyes close for a second, just to feel the way the wind touched her skin.
“do you think it’s always gonna be like this?” jimin asked suddenly.
y/n opened her eyes. “like what?”
“us,” jimin said, voice low. “this town. the lake. the jeep. cherry coke and lies to our parents and fake laughs with boys we don’t really like.”
y/n looked at her then, really looked. jimin was standing with her arms folded, water licking at her hips, hair curling slightly from the humidity.
“you sound sad.”
“i’m not,” jimin said quickly. “i’m just thinking.”
y/n wanted to say something. she wasn’t sure what. but before she could find the words, jimin turned away and sank down into the water until only her chin and lips were above the surface.
“…jaewook doesn’t know i’m here, by the way,” she said.
“yeah?” y/n murmured.
“i told him i couldn’t stay the night again and i wanted to go home early. but then i just… didn’t. i called you instead.”
y/n didn’t respond. she didn’t need to.
jimin floated closer. not quite swimming, just drifting, until she was in front of y/n — too close. their knees bumped. jimin’s fingers brushed against y/n’s as she reached for balance, barely touching, then resting there.
the moment stretched.
“you’re staring,” jimin whispered.
y/n didn’t deny it.
jimin smiled — soft, unreadable. “why do you always look at me like that?”
“like what?”
“like i’m about to disappear.”
y/n didn’t know what to say. she didn’t even know what she felt.
and then, jimin dropped her hand, turned away again, and headed back toward the shore like nothing happened.
y/n followed her out of the water in silence.
by the time they got out of the water, the sun had dipped completely below the horizon. what remained was the afterglow — soft blue bleeding into gray, stars just beginning to burn through the dark.
they were dripping wet, shoes forgotten near the edge of the grass. jimin wrung her shirt out without shame, letting it cling to her skin like second nature. y/n kept her eyes forward, pretending not to notice. pretending she wasn’t noticing everything.
they didn’t talk as they grabbed a blanket from the back of the jeep and laid it out on the grass. didn’t talk as they sat close enough for their thighs to touch. didn’t talk as the silence stretched and stretched and stretched—until it didn’t feel like silence at all, but something heavy. something loud.
finally, jimin broke it. voice low, casual, but not really.
“you remember that sleepover at minjeong’s in sophomore year?”
y/n blinked. “the one where aeri snuck vodka into the lemonade?”
jimin smiled faintly. “no, before that. way before that. we all made a pact. remember?”
“the marriage pact?”
“mhm.”
y/n leaned back on her elbows. “you said you’d marry me if we were both single by twenty-five.”
“twenty-four,” jimin corrected. “i had standards.”
they both laughed — but it didn’t last. the night was too soft for real humor. too still.
“you were so serious about it,” y/n said after a pause. “made me pinky promise.”
“i was a serious child.”
y/n turned her head. jimin was staring up at the sky, lashes dark and wet from the lake, lips parted just slightly. she looked young. not in the usual way — not pretty and powerful and unbothered — but young. like a girl caught between something she couldn’t name and something she couldn’t stop.
“what if we did leave?” y/n asked quietly. “what if we packed the jeep and drove until we ran out of gas?”
“we’d starve,” jimin muttered. “you can’t cook.”
“neither can you.”
“exactly.”
they both smiled, but neither of them meant it. not really.
then jimin turned her head, and y/n’s breath caught.
because jimin was looking at her the way she only did when she forgot to be afraid. the way she only did when it was dark out and no one was watching. like y/n was something important. something she’d been trying not to want.
“do you ever think about us?” jimin asked, voice barely above a whisper.
the question sat between them like static.
y/n didn’t answer right away. didn’t trust her own voice. didn’t trust anything except the pounding in her chest.
“yeah,” she replied eventually. “all the time.”
which was the truth.
jimin blinked once, slowly. and then, like it was nothing at all, she leaned in. her shoulder brushed y/n’s. her hair tickled her cheek. her lips were so close they might’ve already been touching.
but they weren’t.
instead, she just rested her head on y/n’s shoulder.
and they stayed like that — two silhouettes on a blanket, lake behind them, town below them, whole lives ahead they hadn’t figured out how to want.
they didn’t speak much after that.
just stayed there, still and quiet on the blanket, listening to the breeze curl through the grass and the water lap softly against the shore. jimin’s head on y/n’s shoulder. the kind of silence that felt like it might break if you breathed too hard.
but eventually, jimin sat up.
“i don’t want to go back,” she said, brushing damp hair off her face. “not yet.”
y/n didn’t ask what she meant — didn’t ask if she was talking about home, or her boyfriend, or the version of herself she always wore like armor.
instead, she just stood. “then don’t.”
jimin looked up at her. “seriously?”
“come on,” y/n said, already moving toward the jeep. “we’ll drive till we hit the ocean. or at least a waffle house.”
“what about your curfew?” jimin teased, but she was already trailing after her, bare feet sinking into the grass.
y/n smirked. “i’ll tell my mom i got kidnapped by my one and only best friend who wanted to run away.”
“she’d believe it.”
they climbed into the jeep — wet, barefoot, reckless — and peeled out of the field like they were being chased by something. maybe they were.
the road opened up in front of them like a promise. headlights slicing through the dark, the hum of tires on asphalt. jimin sat cross-legged on the passenger seat, arms out the window, wind tugging at her damp shirt. she looked younger like that. softer. undone.
y/n turned the dial on the old stereo and music crackled through the speakers — one of those scratched-up cds that had been passed around friend groups for years. girls screaming lyrics into the void. something about heartbreak and freedom. something about wanting.
they played it loud.
jimin screamed the chorus like her lungs could take it, like her voice didn’t belong to anyone but her tonight. y/n shouted right back, voice hoarse, throat raw from laughter. they slapped the dashboard in rhythm, stomped their feet, shouted nonsense to the stars.
“this is so dumb!” jimin cried, but she was laughing — really laughing, the kind that made her nose scrunch and her eyes crinkle.
“you’re dumb!” y/n yelled over the music, foot pressing harder on the gas.
they were driving too fast. the trees blurred past. the wind was vicious. but for once, jimin didn’t care. didn’t ask to slow down. didn’t try to fix her hair.
she just leaned back, eyes closed, lips parted like she was breathing for the first time in years.
and then — as if on cue — the sky cracked open.
not a drizzle. not a soft warning.
a downpour.
“shit!” y/n gasped, jerking the wheel as rain poured through the open top. “oh my god—!”
“you don’t have a roof?!” jimin shrieked, trying to curl into herself. “are you insane?”
“it flew off last year, dumbass!”
“what?”
“you don’t remember?!”
they were soaked within seconds. jimin’s hair plastered to her cheeks, y/n’s shirt stuck to her back. the seats squelched beneath them. everything was wet and cold and completely ridiculous.
“we’re gonna get pneumonia and die,” jimin wailed dramatically, kicking water off the floorboards.
“death by hot girl road trip,” y/n blurted out, voice cracking through laughter. “tell my mom i died cool.”
eventually, y/n squinted through the blur of rain and turned the wipers on — they groaned uselessly across the windshield, barely helping.
“we need to pull over,” she muttered, slowing down. “i can’t see shit.”
“i can’t feel my spine.”
they rounded a bend, the road narrowing into cracked pavement and trees. jimin wiped a hand across the foggy window. “there’s something—look!”
and then, through the rain: a glow. faint, flickering, a sign blinking through the mist.
eden.
“should we…?”
“it’s either that or freezing to death.”
y/n turned into the gravel lot. the rain thudded against the hood like a warning.
they parked.
killed the engine.
sat in the silence for a second, water dripping from their hair, their clothes, their skin.
then jimin opened her door.
the wind hit her first — then the sound.
bass. faint, but steady. muffled through the walls.
they stepped into the glow of the porch light, blinking rain from their eyes, shivering as they crossed toward the entrance.
that’s when they noticed.
rainbow flags in the fogged-up window.
a handmade pride sticker curled on the glass.
a poster half-torn and faded, reading ladies’ night — free cover.
chalk on the sidewalk, slightly smeared: love is love.
jimin stopped walking.
so did y/n.
their bodies were still dripping. their fingers were trembling from the cold. their lungs were too full of air, or not full enough.
neither of them said anything.
they just stared at the door.
inside, a song was playing. something synthy. feminine vocals layered over a soft electronic beat. the kind of music you danced to without looking around to see who was watching.
“is this—?” jimin started, but her voice cracked. she cleared her throat, tried again. “is this… what i think it is?”
y/n nodded slowly. “yeah.”
a beat passed.
then another.
a gay bar.
rain dripped from the edge of the awning.
jimin wrapped her arms around herself, not from the cold — or maybe not just the cold.
y/n looked at her. studied the outline of her in the neon light. her damp lashes. her bitten lip.
she looked like she was deciding something.
“we don’t have to go in,” y/n assured gently.
jimin didn’t answer.
just kept looking at the door.
the music kept playing. someone inside laughed — a loud, belly-deep laugh, the kind that made you wish you were part of it.
jimin blinked once. then twice.
“it’s fine,” she said, brushing water off her bare arms like that could wipe away the hesitation. “we’re soaked and freezing. it’s not like we’re here for the nightlife.”
y/n nodded. “right. yeah. totally.”
they pushed the door open.
heat swallowed them whole.
the air inside was humid with sweat, perfume, and the faintest trace of cigarettes. the lights were low — reds and purples melting into one another — and the music blasted through the floorboards, shaking something loose in their ribs.
men danced with other men. shirtless, laughing, bold. women kissed women openly in shadowy corners, eyeliner smudged and hands gripping hips, mouths moving with the kind of urgency that only came with long-held secrets finally given space to breathe.
no one looked ashamed.
no one looked afraid.
just… alive.
y/n swallowed hard and tried to play it cool.
they made their way to the bar — jimin tossing her wet hair over one shoulder, y/n adjusting her shirt to make it cling less. they didn’t talk. didn’t need to. their silence had become a language of its own.
but then y/n noticed it — a group of girls lounging on one of the low velvet couches, drinks in hand and eyes glittering. their stares were direct. confident. predatory in the prettiest way.
one of them tilted her head, mouth curving into a slow, amused smile.
her gaze slid down y/n’s body, unapologetic.
y/n froze.
her stomach flipped. heat crawled up her neck. something about being seen like that — not just looked at, but seen — made her breath catch in her throat. made her heart stutter, unsure if it was flattered or terrified.
and then —
a hand on her arm.
tight. urgent.
jimin.
“come on,” she said. her voice was sharp. too sharp.
“what are you—?”
but jimin was already pulling her, dragging her away from the couches, from the women, from the lingering stares and flushed cheeks. straight toward the dance floor.
the lights shifted as they stepped into the crowd — a pulse of blue, then red, then violet. bodies pressed close, heat rising in waves, music swallowing conversation.
“jimin,” y/n called, breathless, “what the hell was that?”
she didn’t even look at her.
jimin just shrugged again. “thought you wanted to dance.”
“since when?”
jimin didn’t answer. just pulled her in, fingers slipping down y/n’s arm until they reached her wrist — and held. not tight, not hard. just there.
and then, the music shifted.
the synth faded. the lights dimmed further, dipping the room in a red-soaked haze.
guitar notes trickled in, soft and slow, like a confession whispered too late.
“oh— thinkin’ about all our younger years
there was only you and me
we were young and wild and free”
y/n’s breath hitched.
jimin’s hand slipped to her waist. they stood close now — closer than before. their bodies lined up in the thrum of the bass, their breathing synced without trying.
they didn’t say anything. not at first.
“now nothin’ can take you away from me
we’ve been down that road before
but that’s over now
you keep me comin’ back for more”
the first lyrics hit like a wound.
young and wild and free.
wasn’t that what they were chasing tonight? in the lake, in the jeep, in the downpour that soaked them to the bone — wasn’t that what they wanted? freedom?
jimin’s fingers curled slightly at y/n’s waist. grounding her.
y/n’s hands found her shoulders, hesitant, but real.
they moved together, swaying. not dancing in the way the others were, but slow. intimate. like something raw was unraveling in real time.
y/n felt it in her chest. her throat. her spine.
the way jimin was holding her — like she meant it. like it meant everything.
“baby you’re all that i want
when you’re lyin’ here in my arms
i’m findin’ it hard to believe
we’re in heaven”
and suddenly, it was too much.
not in the overwhelming way.
in the honest way.
this wasn’t a joke anymore. it wasn’t a whim or a secret thrill or a sleepover memory in the dark. this was jimin, inches away, singing under her breath, mouthing the words without looking at y/n.
“and love is all that i need
and i found it there in your heart
it isn’t too hard to see
we’re in heaven”
she was mouthing them to her.
y/n blinked, stunned.
jimin still wouldn’t look directly at her. not yet. but her hand tightened at y/n’s waist. her jaw tensed like she wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t.
y/n leaned in. just enough to speak.
“jimin,” she whispered.
that did it.
jimin looked up.
and for the first time all night — maybe for the first time ever — she looked like she’d stopped running. no masks. no walls. no sharp retorts or jokes or sideways glances.
just jimin.
raw. wide-eyed. soft.
“and baby you’re all that i want”
they didn’t kiss.
not yet.
but god — they could’ve.
and maybe they would.
but for now, they just kept moving. hands tight. hearts louder than the music.
two girls in the middle of nowhere, swaying in a bar that wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan.
and yet — somehow — felt exactly like home.
jimin’s hand slid from y/n’s waist to the small of her back, anchoring her. they were swaying now, not quite to the beat, but to each other. like muscle memory — like this was something they’d always known how to do.
the music faded out around them. not in volume, but in presence. people danced, laughed, kissed under colored lights, but y/n couldn’t hear any of it. not really. all she could hear was the song, and jimin’s breath, and her own heart slamming against her ribcage like it wanted to get out.
“i’ve been waitin’ for so long
for somethin’ to arrive
for love to come along”
a flash of light caught the side of jimin’s face — a warm pink glow from the neon sign overhead. it softened her jawline, made her eyes glimmer. made her look a little less like the girl everyone wanted, and a little more like the girl only she knew.
“now our dreams are comin’ true
through the good times and the bad
yeah, i’ll be standin’ there by you”
y/n swallowed. her fingers tightened against jimin’s shoulder without meaning to.
this was dangerous.
not because of the place. not even because someone could see.
but because y/n didn’t want to let go.
and maybe that was the scariest part.
not being caught — but being seen.
“baby, you’re all that i want
when you’re lyin’ here in my arms”
jimin leaned in, just slightly, just enough that her forehead brushed against y/n’s.
barely touching. still pretending. but the tension cracked like glass between them — too fragile to fake, too loud to ignore.
“why’d you pull me away from her?” y/n asked, her voice small.
jimin didn’t flinch. didn’t pull back.
“she was looking at you like she owned you,” she said. “i didn’t like it.”
y/n blinked. “so what? you had to come mark your territory?”
jimin exhaled a laugh. short. breathy. too close to a sigh.
“no,” she said. “i just… wanted to be the one holding you.”
the words landed like a punch to the gut.
y/n’s eyes fluttered closed for a second, like she needed to breathe through it — to stay steady. but jimin’s hand was still on her back. and her forehead was still touching hers. and the music, god, the music wouldn’t stop.
“it isn’t too hard to see
we’re in heaven”
that lyric again.
like a promise.
or a cruel joke.
the kind of thing you say when you know it can’t last.
jimin pulled back half an inch — just enough to see her. to really look at her.
“do you want me to let go?” she asked. low. serious.
y/n didn’t answer right away.
her heart was too loud.
her throat was too full.
and jimin… jimin looked at her like she’d been holding in that question for years.
“we’re in heaven…”
“no,” y/n said finally, quietly, honestly. “don’t.”
and she didn’t.
they kept dancing.
if you could even call it that.
moving in place. two bodies pressed close in a room that wasn’t made for them, in a world that wouldn’t let them have this — not really.
but right now, just for a few minutes, they pretended.
and in the middle of all the noise, it felt like the only thing that was real.
the world blurred at the edges, soft and unfocused like a half-remembered dream. jimin was still holding her—barely, fingertips brushing against the small of her back like she might disappear if she pressed too hard.
y/n hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even breathed properly, terrified that the fragile tension between them would collapse under the weight of reality.
their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the scant space between them. lips parted, close enough to taste the maybe of it all. then—a shift. jimin tilted her head, just slightly. y/n mirrored her without thinking. it wasn’t planned, wasn’t some grand romantic gesture. just gravity, inevitable and quiet.
their noses bumped first, clumsy and sweet. lips brushed—once, twice—before hesitation pulled them back. just a fraction, just enough to question. a beat passed. a breath held. then their eyes met in the dim light, and something unlocked between them, slow and aching. not dramatic, not earth-shattering. just a quiet click, like a door finally giving way after years of pushing.
jimin’s shoulders relaxed first, the tension draining from her like water. y/n’s fingers uncurled from where they’d been clutching at her waist, the electric hum between them softening into something warmer, something safer. their hearts slowed. their breathing evened. foreheads pressed together again, this time with purpose.
and then—they kissed.
slow. careful. like they had all the time in the world and still couldn’t risk wasting a second of it. jimin’s lips were warm, and y/n’s hands cradled her face like something precious, and it was nothing like either of them had ever experienced before.
this wasn’t hunger or impulse or rebellion. it was confession. it was truth. it was every unspoken thing between them since they were too young to understand what any of it meant.
y/n's fingers slid gently up into jimin's hair, nails scraping lightly across her scalp as the kiss deepened, their bodies swaying together effortlessly.
every brush of their lips burned with longing, and yet something in the way jimin surrendered herself to y/n felt like coming home. y/n's thumb traced a gentle path across jimin's cheek, the touch as delicate as it was electrifying. they were two souls meeting in the middle, two hearts finding their way back to each other through the only language they knew how to speak.
when they broke apart, it was only far enough to breathe. and that’s when y/n saw it—a single tear tracing its way down jimin’s cheek. she opened her mouth like she might explain, might apologize, but no words came. just silence, just vulnerability laid bare between them.
y/n’s vision blurred in answer, tears slipping free before she could stop them. but she didn’t pull away. instead, she kissed her again. and again. not like they were running out of time, but like they’d finally found it.
somewhere at the edge of the room, an older woman watched them over the rim of her glass, her smile tinged with something wistful. maybe she’d been them once. maybe she’d never gotten the chance. but the look in her eyes was clear—soft, proud, aching with the kind of recognition that only comes from knowing exactly how much courage it takes to love like that, openly and without armor.
and under the low lights, between the music and the murmurs of the crowd, jimin and y/n kept kissing. no more hesitation. no more pretending. just this—just them—finally, finally real.
morning came slow.
it crept in on quiet feet, folding over the horizon like a secret, bleeding pale amber through the grimy motel blinds. the light slashed across the bed in soft, broken lines — golden on the white sheets, warm against skin that still burned with last night’s memory.
outside, the world had not yet stirred. the birds hadn’t started, and the roads were still empty, the motel parking lot a graveyard of old cars and forgotten names.
inside the room, there was only stillness. breath and weight and heat.
the air smelled like rain and sleep and perfume rubbed off on cotton. the kind of scent that lingered. the kind that stayed.
y/n was still asleep, her face half-buried in the motel pillow, hair messy and curling from dried lakewater and sweat.
her body was tangled in the scratchy blanket, bare shoulders just visible where it had slipped low on her back. her mouth parted in her dreams, chest rising slow, content. peaceful in a way that made something in jimin ache.
because jimin was already awake.
had been for hours, in fact.
she sat at the edge of the bed, hunched over with her elbows resting on her knees, long fingers woven together tightly. her nails dug into the backs of her hands. her legs were still bare, skin marked faintly where y/n had held her too close last night, kissed too deep.
the room echoed with ghosts now — her own heartbeat loud in her ears, the taste of y/n still heavy on her tongue.
last night had been something out of time. something forbidden and burning and too fucking real to be anything else.
but now, there was only morning. and morning never lied.
she stood, legs a little unsteady, the weight of what she was carrying heavier than she ever imagined it would be.
the floor was cold beneath her feet. she stepped over the mess they’d left behind — y/n’s tank top flung over the chair, jimin’s underwear by the foot of the bed, a damp towel they never used balled up near the door. lipstick stains on a glass of tap water. everything chaotic and unmade, like them.
the bathroom door creaked as it shut behind her. the light flickered twice before settling into a low, ugly buzz.
she didn’t need to look at the mirror. she already knew what she’d see — swollen eyes from crying on and off since 4 a.m., hair wild from both the rain and y/n’s hands, skin too pale, too marked. not like her. not like the jimin everyone else saw.
she looked anyway.
then she looked at the sink.
the test was still there.
white plastic. two pink lines. a verdict. a sentence. a future.
positive.
the word rang in her head like a bell. not because she hadn’t believed it the first time. but because seeing it again made it feel more permanent. like it was written in ink now. like her whole life was already on the page, and there was no erasing it.
she let herself breathe. slow and shaky. in, out. again.
then, with shaking hands, she wrapped the test in motel tissue and dropped it into the tiny silver trash bin. she didn’t look at it after. couldn’t.
she turned on the faucet instead, splashing water on her face, hoping it would wake her up or rewind time or wipe away what she already knew. but it didn’t. it just made her colder. more aware of her body and all the ways it was changing without her permission.
when she stepped out of the bathroom, the motel room looked the same.
but y/n hadn’t moved.
she was still asleep, curled toward the spot jimin had left, like she knew jimin had been there, and like she was waiting for her to come back.
jimin just stood there for a moment, bare feet on the old carpet, towel still clutched between her fingers like a shield. her eyes traced y/n’s sleeping face — the slope of her nose, the soft curve of her lips, the way she furrowed her brows just a little, even in rest. god, she looked beautiful. and jimin hated that. hated that the only time they could be like this — soft and real and without fear — was in a place like this. in a night like that.
she walked over quietly, like her bones might crack beneath the weight of it all. crouched beside the bed and reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind y/n’s ear with the gentlest touch she could manage.
her fingers lingered on her cheek. she leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. it was light, careful, but it said everything.
i’m sorry.
i can’t stay.
i l—
a tear threatened to fall, and she swallowed it down. she backed away slowly, heart pounding, breath caught in her chest like a scream she couldn’t let out.
her hands hovered over the telephone before she touched it. she stared at the buttons of the numbers for what felt like hours. not because she didn’t remember them. she did. she always had. but pressing them meant something. it meant shifting the world back into place — the one she had never wanted to belong to, but had never been allowed to leave.
she closed her eyes and let her fingers dial.
the telephone rang once. twice. she couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in her ears.
“… karina?”
a voice on the other end — groggy. confused. familiar.
I stumbled across this corner of Tiktok the other day - people claiming that "their" chatGPT is "awakened" and telling them about the nature of the universe, consciousness, spirituality, etc, and I had to turn my phone off and go lay down for a while. What the fuck.
AI LLMs are NOT fucking CONSCIOUS or SENTIENT, y'all. They don't *know* or *understand* ANYTHING. They can't even tell you anything NEW!!! ChatGPT and its ilk simply spit out likely combinations of text based on what's been scraped from existing data. It does not have unique thoughts or a personality. It either regurgitates existing things or hallucinates garbage.
Here I thought people having AI girlfriends/boyfriends and students using it to outsource thinking for them was the pinnacle of fucked up, but I was wrong.
Not only are we outsourcing human livelihoods, creativity, the development of critical thinking skills, and human romance to this Mindless Shit Machine, we're now hanging our faith on it like some kind of religious oracle??? And we're burning up the only fucking planet we can live on at FRIGHTENING speed to do it.
The depths of human stupidity continue to horrify me.
Author's note: This is inspired by a snippet of a K-Drama. I came across it on ig but I couldn't find the clip again, and sadly I don't know the name of the show. If you do know it, pls do let me know. The title is inspired by James Blake's song of the same name. I recommend you give it a listen when you're in a quiet environment. It's an amazing song. Oh also, the reader is a loser with tattoos (like me :p )
P.S. I know I can't make a Tumblr header to save my life. I tried okay?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Having just gotten out of lectures, you wanted to wind down as soon as possible, so you hightail it to the dorms. The early morning lectures took years off your precious twenties. The previous nights' late shift at the coffee house adding an extra strain on your tired body.
After a brief walk from your campus, you arrive at the subway and walk up to the terminal. Maybe it's because of the unusual time to catch a train, but the terminal is nearly empty. Only occupied by two girls who have their backs turned to you, sitting at a bench waiting for their train. Having heard your footsteps, they turn their heads and you catch their eyes. You almost let out an audible gasp. Both girls were beautiful. One had long pink hair and the other.. the girl with raven hair, she was absolutely stunning. The dark, wavy hair, the pale skin with pink dusted cheeks, the cat eyes and perfect nose. And to make matters worse she was dressed in a cute white sundress.
It was so difficult not to stare. You manage to not let your jaw drop and looked away upon meeting the raven headed girls eyes, trying to hide the pink hue dusting your cheeks. You realise they look unnerved as they size you up. You're used to the stares you get, though they usually come from older people. But now you feel conscious of the various tattos, and piercings that adorn your body, and your boots and all-black get-up wasn't helping your case either. You wished you wore longer sleeves, or white or.. or something-anything that didn't make them look at you like that.
You take another glance once she looks away, her dress is paired with cute sandals, and a light brown tote hangs from her shoulder. Upon closer inspection you see that there's Shin Chan badges adorning her tote. That's adorable. You think to yourself. Her wavy hair had a brown tinge to it. She was so beautiful and you felt an odd soothing in her presence. It felt like you were feeling the sunshine on a Sunday morning while laying in grass. You found yourself wishing you didn't look so unnerving. Then maybe you would've at least considered approaching them, but alas, their train pulls into the terminal and they enter the train.
~2 days later~
You feel absolutely ridiculous. This might be a new low, even by your standards. Dressed in a white shirt covering your tattoos, slacks on your feet and a casual denim on your legs, with your piercings taken out, and your usually unruly hair combed into an unusual tidyness, you stand at the same terminal.
Yes. You changed your style in hopes of running into that same raven haired beauty again. And this time you will somehow summon the courage to speak to her. She won't be put off by your appearance this time, or so you hope.
It's the second day since you embarked on your grand quest and there's still no sign of her. What were you expecting? It's a big city, thus the chances of running into her again are so very slim.
Frustrated with your own stupidity, you mutter "This is fatherless behaviour" to yourself as you kick at the floor with your brand new slacks. (Yes, you had to buy them and most of your new ensemble as they're not the usual pieces from your wardrobe)
From your peripheral vision you see someone walking up and stand next to you on the terminal. You slightly turn your head. You did a double take that almost gave you whiplash.
Black boots, fishnet stockings, leather skirt, black top, and dark makeup. It was her. The raven haired beauty. She's looking at you and you're gaping at her like you've never a seen a girl before. Well, you've never really seen one as beautiful as her. She lets out a little chuckle that had your knees shaking.
With a smirk adorning her face she asks, "Changed your style?" her voice was rough yet smooth, deeper than you expected, with a just touch of cockiness which made her that much more attractive.
You gulp, "I-um, well, yes." Wow. Great going doofus. All that planning just to fumble this bad. "I-I see you changed yours too." You say in an attempt to rescue the conversation you almost drowned.
"Yeah, thought I'd try something new. Do you like it?" she said, gesturing her hands over her black ensemble. "You look amazing." You say truthfully.
"Really? I gotta say, your new look shows a completely different side of you …?". "Y/N. It's Y/N." Before she could respond, the intercom comes alive with an announcement and the train pulls in. "Well Y/N, I'll see you around." she responds while walking away.
You absolutely love the sound of her voice, her personality matches her features perfectly and she oozes charisma. How completely unfair. If you look like the reincarnation of Aphrodite, you should at least have the common decency to have a bad personality. (You make a mental note to find out if she's bad at Math.)
But she was only annoyingly and undeniably loveable. You're thinking all of this after just a few words between you? You better get her name at least. You're in a stupor as your eyes have been following her figure as she walks towards the doors. Failing to notice that she was getting into the train.
"Wait!" you finally shout out. But she's almost inside the train and doesn't seem to hear you through the busy crowd. "Wait! wait!" you shout as you run towards her but lose sight of her through the crowd. You try to push through the crowd but the warning sound beeps and the train doors close. The train pushes away from the terminal and speeds off into the city.
baratheonpilled
stormborns
vaporwave
prguitarman
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kianamaiart
