After years of having more nightmares in a week than not, you’ve gotten used to waking up tired. Your parents tried to quell the subsequent rampant caffeine addiction, but they gave up quickly when they saw how useless you become without it, trudging through the day more or less zombielike.
You may be as used to the terror of the nightmares as someone realistically can be, but you won’t ever be used to the exhaustion.
“Are you listening?” Saebi asks, snapping a finger in front of your face. She’s backlit from the giant art room window, her bunny ears casting a funny shadow that you’d laugh at in any other circumstance. “Y/N. It’s like you’re not even here, what’s going on?”
You groan, and rub a hand down your dry, tired face. “Is it that bad?”
“I don’t think you’ve heard a word I’ve said in twenty minutes.”
“We’ve been here for twenty minutes?”
Saebi shoots you a look of concern. “Are you okay? Like, actually?”
“Sorry,” you bemoan, “I slept so badly last night.”
“Did you have a nightmare?” she asks, but the look of pity tells you she already knows the answer.
You nod, and slump forward onto your desk. With the fake elf ears and crown, it’s difficult to find a comfortable position. “It was really bad, too. More realistic than usual.”
Saebi ruffles your hair, and it’s comforting. “I’m sorry. Can I do anything?”
Maybe a lobotomy, to get rid of the pounding headache. But you don’t want to concern her any further, so you just shake your head. “No. Not unless you have an iced latte with vanilla cold foam hidden somewhere in that fur coat.”
“Try and sleep,” she offers, smiling sympathetically. “I’ll wake you up for lunch.”
Thank god for Jeong Saebi, you think, as you drift off.
👻
After a––thankfully dreamless––nap, your headache is gone, but the bone-deep exhaustion remains. You have no idea how you’re going to make it through world history without any caffeine. You struggle to get through that class on a normal day, much less one where you’re basically non-functioning.
“Y/N,” Ms. Kim says, pointing the end of her ruler at you. “What date was D-Day?”
Your brain short circuits. Honestly, in your current state, you don’t even remember what D-Day is, much less when it is. You sit there for several awkward seconds, mouth opening and closing, struggling to get yourself to say anything, when the door opens.
It smacks against the wall harder than probably intended, going by the quiet mumbling coming from the obstructed doorway.
“Mai,” Ms. Kim says, clearly as surprised as everyone else is to hear that name. “What on Earth are you doing?”
Huh? But Mai is in her usual seat right next to yo––
Nope. In your stupor, you didn’t even notice that your seat partner wasn’t in the room at all. Just embarrassing, really.
“Sorry, miss,” comes a familiar voice from the doorway. “My phone died when I was out getting lunch, and I lost track of time. It won’t happen again, I swear!”
Ms. Kim, flabbergasted, doesn’t even scold her like she usually does for tardiness. She just steps aside, and lets Mai pass to sit in her seat beside you.
Donning a blue gingham dress over a white frilly shirt, with red heels and her hair tied into pigtails, Mai saunters into the room.
She’s Dorothy, your mind supplies after an embarrassingly long time. She looks so cute.
What draws your eye, though, is the distinctly not-Dorothy like iced coffee in the hand not occupied by a basket. Your eyes draw to it like a moth to flame, or like a very, very tired person to an easy metaphor. Or simile. You can’t remember, right now.
“I like your elf costume,” she whispers, sitting down. “You look adorable.”
At the very least, you have enough wits about you to blush. “Thank you, Mai. Dorothy looks good on you, too. You should wear your hair like that more often.”
She smiles into her hand. “What did I miss?”
“Kim terrorizing me,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “You got here just in time. My hero.”
“Well then, “ she says, grinning. “I am definitely going to be your favorite person today.”
She reaches to the table in front of you and grabs the iced coffee, and, like an angel sent from above, she hands it to you.
“Oh my god,” you say, mouth open. “I would die for you.”
“Yeah, well,” she says, leaning into her hand. “I couldn’t help it. Not when you looked so miserable today. I had to do something to make you smile again.”
Your heart flutters. “You didn’t have to do this. Thank you.”
“I wanted to,” is all she says, before she turns back to the lesson.
For a while, you just stare at her stunning side-profile, the loose strands of hair framing her face, taking the time to catalogue which you think are intentional, and which are from her fussing with them all day. The thought makes you smile, brings a warmth to your chest that always appears around her.
She means so much to you. You should say it more often.
“Mai?” You say, before she gets too absorbed in the lesson.
“Yeah?” She says, eyes soft and beautiful. Expectant.
You grab one of her hands in your own. “You’ve always been my favorite person.”
saebi were having a bad day so you decided to bring her outside for a little walk . then you held her hands making that frown turned into a wide smile !
saebi was having a rough day. as her girlfriend, you could tell that something was bothering her. wanting to help, you suggested going on a walk in the park to help clear her mind.
as you walked together, you noticed that saebi looked quite distant and quiet. you wanted to do something to lift her mood, so without even thinking you reached out and gently took her hand in yours.
and immediately, saebi's eyes widened in surprise and a soft blush crept across her cheeks. cutie.
"what are you doing?" she asked, looking down at your entwined hands with curiosity.
"just trying to make your day a little better," you replied with a smile. saebi was silent for a moment, but then a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
"thank you" she muttered while squeezing your hand gently.
as you two continued walking, you noticed that saebi seemed more relaxed than she had been before. her gait was less tense, and she had this soft smile etched on her face the whole time.
"feeling better now?" you asked, glancing over at her. a smile crept up your lips as you noticed saebi’s pink blush.
she nodded slowly, "yeah, thanks to you" she said, a hint of gratitude in her voice.
"good, that's all I wanted" you grinned and giggled softly.
the two of you continued to walk in comfortable silence for a while. then suddenly, saebi spoke up. "can I ask you something?" she said nervously.
"of course, what is it?" you said, looking at her in surprise.
"why did you hold my hand like that?"
you shrugged, trying to play it cool. "i don't know, i just felt like it" you replied with a casual tone.
but really, you knew exactly why you had reached out to hold her hand. it was a small gesture, but one that you hoped would convey your feelings for her.
saebi looked at you, seeming to pick up on the hidden meaning behind your words.
"oh" she mumbled quietly, her cheeks taking a rosy hue.
for a moment, you both walked in silence again, the only sound being the crunching of leaves under your feet. then, almost too quietly to hear, saebi asked, "did you mean it?"
you were confused for a moment. "mean what?" you asked, though you had a feeling you already knew the answer.
saebi stopped walking and turned to face you. she looked at you with wide eyes, a mixture of hope and vulnerability in her gaze.
"that holding my hand means something to you" saebi said in a soft voice.
you smiled gently at her, feeling your heart flutter in your chest. "yes it does" you said sincerely, looking straight into her eyes.
a smile slowly spread across saebi's face, like a ray of sunshine breaking through cloudy skies. "really?" she asked, still searching your face for any sign of deception.
you chuckled softly, "really" you assured her, taking both of her hands in yours now. "it means a lot to me, saebi"
she looked down at your entwined hands, then back up at you with a mixture of shyness and happiness.
Saebi's cheeks flushed a bright rosy hue, but her smile widened further.
"i want the whole world to know you’re mine" she chuckled, squeezing your hand softly again.
you felt a sense of contentment wash over you, as you stood there holding saebi's hands and gazing into her eyes. in that moment, it didn't matter what troubles or worries you had before. all that mattered was the connection you had with her.
tags: friends to lovers, secret pining, happy ending
You and Jeemin, for all the many years you’ve been friends, are still allowed your personal secrets. This isn’t the movies––you don’t have to tell each other absolutely everything, and having secrets isn’t inherently harmful.
Like when you had that hipster blog in middle school where you painstakingly curated a feed of girls in cozy flannels or denim, pictures of beautifully arranged cups of coffee and tea, of tastefully blurry sunflowers with four or five different filters layered on top of each other. Jeemin could never––can never––know about it, because you’d never hear the end of it. She would probably think it’s a cute relic of the past, but then every artisanal coffee shop and infinity scarf you see will come with a pinch on the cheek and a reminder of something you’d like to stay dead and buried, thank you. Fall time would be miserable.
Or that time that you almost crashed your mom’s car trying to drive to the store in the middle of the night before you got a license. Jeemin didn’t need to know where that ice cream came from, not when she looked so excited to suddenly have a pint of cookie dough.
All of this to say, secrets are normal. Healthy, even.
That’s what you’re telling yourself, anyway, since the thought of her figuring out your massive crush on her is life-shatteringly embarrassing.
“Y/N,” She hums, holding up two different blazers in the mirror. “Which of these two would you say is more business formal?”
Heat rushes to your face. “I don’t even know what that means. How is that different from regular business wear?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping you might have a clue, because I was prepared to show up to the interview in that red dress with some kind of cardigan. I mean, I’m glad I saw their message about attire being business formal before I left, but now I feel like I’m overthinking it,” she huffs, dropping down into the desk chair behind her and rolling closer to where you sit on her bed.
The red dress looks amazing on her. You’d hate for a bunch of stuffy office workers to get to see it and not fully appreciate how radiant she looks in it, how that shade of red isn’t too orange or too blue, and how it brings out the warmth in her eyes. Not that you can say any of that.
Instead, you say, “Definitely not the red. Maybe just a blazer over some kind of collared shirt, and a pencil skirt? That’s how all the girls on Suits dress.”
Jeemin giggles into her hand. “Not sure if I should be taking fashion advice from the legal malpractice show.”
“Megan Markle looks so good in it, though.”
“Yeah, but I’m not trying to appeal to any workplace romance fantasies. Just want to do my job, get paid and leave.”
Thank God, you think, stewing with jealousy over just the thought of some random coworker making moves on her. You’re no stranger to watching people flirt with and date Jeemin over the years, and it’s never gotten any easier. Not when so many of them just liked her because she’s pretty, and didn’t take the time to get to know her as a person. Jeemin is so much more than just pretty, and you’re sick of people tossing her to the side once they realize the fantasy of her wasn’t enough to keep them interested. It drives you crazy.
“Y/N?” Jeemin asks, wheeling over and poking you in the thigh. “Are you okay?”
“Hm?” You can feel your cheeks reddening. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just thinking about you having workplace romance. I don’t think you’re the type, honestly.”
“You’re right. I’ve always preferred having a preexisting bond with my partners. Plus, it would be too much, having to see my girlfriend at work and at home. We’d never get a break from each other, it’d be exhausting.”
Are you hearing that right? Since when? Jeemin went on so many blind dates, used the dating apps more than any person you know for years––she only deleted them a few months ago, and that was just because of one too many bad dates. Where is this coming from?
“I didn’t know that,” is what you choose to say, after much deliberation. “I always thought you preferred to keep them separate.”
“Nah,” she says, desk chair spun so she can rest her elbows on the foot on the bed. Her forearm knocks into your thigh. “I’m over that. It took a while, but I realized I would only consider dating someone if they were a friend first.”
You chose a little bit at that. Through what you’re hoped are well-masked coughs, you fight to keep this little nugget of conversation going, hoping to prod further.
“Did something change your mind?”
Her gaze rakes down your body, sending chills up your spine. “Someone, yeah.”
Another cough wracks through you, this one unable to be concealed. You can only hope now that your face isn’t embarrassingly red. “Oh,” you say, through coughs. “Is that so?”
“Mhm,” she says, using your knees as an anchor as she slides the chair to be directly in front of you, leaning forward. Being on the bed, you have a lot of height on her, but it doesn’t matter. This is Bang Jeemin, her very existence can send you into a panic under the right circumstances. “Do you want to ask me who?”
“Do I?” you manage to spit out. You don’t know what to do with your hands.
“Don’t play dumb,” she says. Now she’s getting out of the chair to loom over you, which makes you infinitely more nervous. “Ask me who.”
“Uhh…” you say, dumbstruck. “Who?”
You know the answer. It feels like some kind of fever dream, but you’re not that obtuse.
Instead of an answer, you get a kiss. You’ve spent enough nights dreaming about it to know that her mouth would feel incredibly warm on yours, but her slightly chapped lips take you at first by surprise, but becomes what pulls you in more. The reality of it: the imperfection as you two find your rhythm, mouth gently gliding together like two slightly worn but connected puzzle pieces. It’s amazing, and it’s over too soon.
“You’re terrible at keeping a secret, y/n.” She cups a hand against your warm cheek, noticeably cool. “You always get so red.”
You just laugh, and bury your face in her tank top. “Shut up,” you say, not meaning it.
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