synopsis: after a rare drunken night, y/n wakes up in bed next to the most untouchable girl at yonsei: karina. she’s immediately thrown into a mess she never wanted, torn between her own moral compass and the undeniable pull of something she doesn’t understand. some lines, once crossed, can never be undone.
w/c: 10k+
warnings: heavy cheating, implied sex, alcohol, smoking, just normal uni stuff, swearingggg, slow burn
a/n: so here it is…was a long time coming; i appreciate all of you who stuck around long enough to see the end it. there will be no fics for awhile as i work on editing my older stuff — figured i need to show those a bit of love and polishing too. this series has so much potential to become more, i’ll keep my ears open in the future. always enjoy reading your takes on this chapter, so please let me know how you feel about it :)
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the light wakes you first. not the usual pale grey cast of a seoul morning, but something softer, whiter. your breath is visible in the sliver of air between your duvet and your face.
the heater’s still warming up — typical. you stay curled beneath the covers a few seconds longer, blinking toward the window, where the light presses through the glass differently now.
you already know.
when you sit up, you’re met with the season’s first snowfall. it’s not heavy yet, still a delicate sheet of white layered over the pavement and trees outside.
the world is slower; even the wind is holding its breath.
you get up barefoot, stepping around the pile of laundry near your desk, your laptop still open from last night. giselle flew back to japan last week and yunjin left a post-it note on your side table saying she was grabbing coffee with ryujin. they’ll probably be out for hours.
you should make coffee, maybe start reading that case brief you’ve avoided all week. instead, you stare out the window a while.
the trees outside are really bare now, snow clinging to every branch like a second skin. you reach for your phone and snap a quick photo.
your fingers hover for a moment before sending it to your parents.
first snow of the season! ❄️
they had invited you to join them in switzerland for the holidays; some rental cabin overlooking a frozen lake, something out of a postcard. you told them you had too much to finish here; that much was true.
the reply comes quickly.
from: dad 👨
beautiful! mum says bundle up. she’s already trying to book you a plane ticket despite your answer still being a firm no. 😂
you smile, a little and your screen dims again.
and then it buzzes.
from: sana 🩵
you still like watching the snow fall from windows?
something shifts in your chest as you stare at her name for a moment — warm and uncertain. before you can think about it too hard, you hit call.
she answers before the second ring.
“hi,” you greet, still watching the snowfall.
“hi,” she replies, voice soft and all. she sounds like she’s speaking from under a warm blanket. “you’re up early.”
“snow woke me.”
“hmm,” she hums. “me too, actually.”
you don’t say anything for a second, just listen to her breathing through the speaker because there’s something grounding about it.
“do you want to come over?”
she pauses, then says: “only if we get breakfast first.”
you smile, small and real. “our usual?”
“of course.”
you end the call and move slowly through your morning — brushing your teeth, pulling on layers, rubbing moisturiser into your face with hands that still feel half asleep. you stare at your reflection for a beat too long; there’s colour in your cheeks from the cold and your hair’s a little flat, but you look more like yourself lately.
or someone you recognise, anyway.
as you zip up your coat, you think of sana. how she’s never asked you to call this anything…or make you feel like you owe her certainty you don’t have.
and still — she shows up.
you think about how easy it would be to keep building this quiet version of love, one morning at a time. back then, you thought maybe the whole world would bend if you just stayed still beside her long enough.
you could get used to whatever this is again.
eventually, a car horn honks twice. when you step outside, the snow crunches beneath your boots. she’s already out of the car, walking toward you with a knit beanie pulled low over her ears. her breath clouds in the air.
the first thing she does is reach for your scarf.
“you still don’t know how to do this properly?” she mutters, unwrapping it halfway to re-loop it snug around your neck. “every year, it’s the same issue.”
“you’re just controlling,” you mumble, lips chapped and numb.
“you would freeze to death without me,” she shakes her head, focusing on the knot. her fingers are cold when it brushes against your neck.
there’s snow caught in her lashes and her cheeks are pink from the cold.
her hair is pulled back loosely, a few strands stuck to her collar. and she’s not looking at you. she’s still focused on that damn scarf. you study her face up close; how her brows knit together in concentration and how beautiful she is when she doesn’t know you’re looking.
“you’re pretty.”
she blinks and looks up; the corners of her mouth twitching. “don’t.”
you grin. “just saying.”
“you’re annoying.” she tugs your scarf tighter and gently shoves your shoulder before turning to the car. you follow, heart warmer than your gloves. “come on.”
the drive to itaewon is short and mostly quiet. the windows fog slightly and she draws a little heart in the glass with her knuckle at a red light. she doesn’t look at you when she does it.
“so,” you begin, glancing at her, “you could be in australia right now; drinking cocktails by a pool. why are you here in seoul?”
she glances over with a smile. “i could be.”
“so why aren’t you?”
she exhales through her nose, barely smiling. “because you’re here.”
“right,” you answer, cheeks flushing with warmth. and it’s enough.
that silences you, looking out the window as the snow settles along rooftops. your chest aches a little and it’s not in the way it used to; not with longing, but just with how much space she still takes up, even now.
grazia is tucked between two boutiques, all brick and wood and fogged-up windows. it’s warm and smells like cardamom and coffee inside. the waiter leads you to a quiet table near the back; you end up ordering pancakes and sana gets eggs on toast with extra mushrooms.
you talk about books — what you’ve been reading, what you haven’t had time to. she tells you about a ridiculous rumour she overheard at a party last week: something about taehyung and a chaebol heir (not jennie this time) who may or may not be fake.
it’s ridiculous.
after a pause, she stirs sugar into her coffee and asks. “so…have you decided?”
you look up at her, then down at your plate. “about the job?”
she nods.
“i think i’m gonna take it,” you answer, running your fingers through your hair. “taehyung’s dad offered me a contract starting next month. i’d be handling mid-scale portfolios. nothing glamorous, but…”
“it’s a start,” she finishes.
“yeah…a really good one.”
she smiles. “i’m glad — you’ll do so well.”
she stirs her drink once more, something milky and sweet. she’s dressed down today; soft turtleneck, old jeans, hair tied back with a velvet scrunchie that doesn’t match.
you rest your cheek on your hand and watch her; she looks comfortable.
“you’re staring again,” she chuckles without looking up and the sound makes your head all warm and fuzzy.
you clear your throat. “you’re always stirring your drink for no reason.
she grins. “i’m thinking.”
“about what?”
“you.”
you scoff into your coffee. “try something harder.”
she reaches across the table to steal a piece of your banana bread, doesn’t bother asking. you let her. then, more softly, she adds: “i’m really proud of you.”
“what for?”
“the job,” she mumbles. “with taehyung’s dad. that’s huge…everyone knows the kim family doesn’t let anyone in so easily.”
“it’s honestly just an entry contract.”
“it’s still a big deal,” she insists. “don’t downplay it. you worked hard and earned it.”
you press your hands around your mug and let the silence linger before asking: “and what about you?”
she lifts her gaze as you watch her carefully.
“when are you taking over your empire?”
sana snorts. “don’t call it that.”
“it is that…your family owns half of tokyo and most of osaka.”
“i mean when you put it like that,” she mutters. “it is…a lot.”
you raise a brow. “so? what’s the plan?”
she laughs, soft and brief — but you keep note of how her shoulders tense.
you don’t press, not yet. you just keep your voice even. “you know it’s coming.”
she leans back slightly, her fingers tracing the edge of her cup. “i know. my dad’s been…bringing it up more often lately. the board’s already making decisions ten years from now.”
her eyes lift to meet yours.
you try to sound gentle; encouraging. “so why not?”
she shrugs, looking away now. “because i’d have to be in japan…full-time.”
she hasn’t said it so plainly before.
you let the silence sit long enough, watching the way she presses her lips together, like she’s already prepared herself for this to hurt.
perhaps the part of you that’s been too afraid to name this…whatever this is — has been waiting for this conversation all along.
“it’s not that i don’t want to,” she adds, quieter now. “but i can’t leave you. not like this. not when we just…started again.”
she meets your gaze once more. there’s something in her expression that makes your chest ache. it’s not doubt.
it’s love, stretched thin by time and distance and the inevitability of her life pulling her somewhere you can’t follow — not yet.
and maybe this is what it means to be grown. to sit across from someone you love, knowing love might not be enough to keep things from changing.
“i’d never ask you to stay just because of me.”
“i know you wouldn’t.”
“but i also wouldn’t hold it against you if you needed to go.”
she exhales, blinking down at her hands. “i don’t want to go if it means leaving this.”
“we’re not a place,” you tell her gently. “we’re not a time either. we’re just…us. maybe we’ll always be.”
you reach for her hand across the table and she lets you take it. her fingers are cold but steady, thumb rubbing against the inside of your wrist like she’s trying to remember how to hold on without gripping too tightly.
you think: if this is all we have right now, i’ll take it. and across the table, she looks at you like she’s thinking the same thing.
as you walk back to the car, she slips her hand into your coat pocket; not your hand. just your pocket.
you laugh at her, feeling a bit lighter now. “what are you doing?”
she shrugs, looking forward. “just making sure you’re warm.”
you don’t reply, sliding your hand over hers, not lacing your fingers, just covering them because her palm is cold. you press your thumb into the space between her knuckles and feel her lean a little closer as you walk.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the sound of your door clicking open feels louder than it should. your body aches from sitting too long in the same position, neck stiff, legs heavy and your brain mush after hours of reading case law. you drag yourself into the main living area where the scent of cheap popcorn lingers and twilight is somehow playing again — muted blue and green tones flickering across the television screen.
bella is mid-monologue; the sky is always grey in that fuckass town.
yunjin and ryujin are curled up on opposite ends of the couch, each with a throw blanket and a half-empty bowl of snacks between them. yunjin’s legs are draped over ryujin’s lap and they’re blth eating crispy m&ms (because they’re the best) like it’s the end of the world.
you drop onto the armchair beside them.
“how many times do you guys need to watch this a year?” you ask, voice still rough from not speaking all afternoon.
ryujin doesn’t look away from the screen. “you’re uncultured.”
“she just doesn’t get it,” yunjin agrees, nudging you with her socked foot. “she never got the team jacob to team edward pipeline.”
“i was studying contract law while you two watched vampire melodrama,” you grumble.
“that was your mistake,” ryujin shrugs, refusing to look away from the screen. “and so the lion fell in love with the lamb.”
you sit with them a while, with bits of and pieces of them mimicking lines and a type of silence that only happens when people know each other too well to need to fill it. it’s almost dinner time, you realise. you probably haven’t had a proper meal since breakfast.
yunjin turns to you like she’s reading your thoughts. “so, what do you want to do for dinner?”
you hesitate. “uhh, i’m actually going to sana’s soon.”
ryujin raises her brows without comment. yunjin shifts slightly, pulling her knees to her chest.
“movie night?” she asks, a little teasing, but gentle.
you nod, reaching down to adjust your sock. “yeah, she said she found this old japanese film she wants me to watch.”
“what’s going on with you two anyway?” ryujin looks at you. “it’s been a while now.”
you pause because putting it into words makes it feel more solid.
“we’re…good,” you say slowly. “we don’t talk about what it is. but it’s been really good.”
yunjin hums softly. “and…have you heard from karina?”
her name hits like a stone through still water, your shoulders tensing without meaning to. you haven’t thought about her in ages.
not really, anyway. not since early winter, when snow was just beginning to settle and you were still getting used to the way sana folded your blankets and made you tea before you even asked.
after that dinner scene, jimin just simply vanished. no texts or awkward sightings. not even a whisper from giselle, who always managed to mention her in passing before.
and you didn’t chase it. perhaps you were too tired…or maybe you were finally learning how to let silence be what it was.
still, the name makes something flicker inside your chest. it’s no longer pain, not anymore…just something dull and hasn’t fully left.
“no,” you finally answer. “i haven’t heard anything.”
yunjin fiddles with a popcorn kernel. “well, she’s in seoul, i saw her on ningning’s story last week. she was in the background.”
ryujin says nothing for once, she just reaches for the remote and lowers the volume a bit.
your stomach twists. “really?”
“looked like a rooftop thing. not much though, was just a glimpse.”
you nod, mouth dry. “guess she didn’t end up going to europe with jaewook after all.”
“yeah, guess so,” yunjin smiles at you, the way she always does when she wants to comfort you but doesn’t know the words to say.
you push yourself off the chair and stand. “i should get going though.”
ryujin gives you a slight wave. “tell sana we said hi. and look after yourself. and your heart.”
you pull on your coat, scarf still a mess from how it was folded. your bag’s got a change of clothes stuffed at the bottom and a book you haven’t opened. as you walk out into the cold, your breath clouds in the air and the sky has that faint blue cast of early evening.
sana’s apartment is warm, smells faintly of citrus and something boiling on the stove. she answers the door in a navy jumper and fuzzy socks, her hair damp like she just stepped out of the shower. you blink once and feel your chest ease.
“hi,” she grins, already reaching for your scarf, unravelling it to untie it properly now.
you laugh. “seriously?”
“you’ll thank me later.”
you follow her inside, boots off, bag dropped near the shoe rack. she’s already set up her bedroom —blankets stacked and mismatched pyjamas folded on the edge. you change slowly, the clothes a little big on you, the sleeves brushing your knuckles. she doesn’t say anything when she sees you wearing her shirt, but she smiles like something in her has softened.
you settle into the blankets while she brings over miso ramen and sushi on two trays; simple, warm, comforting.
she really insists on playing an old japanese film she watched once with her mum. it’s black and white and slow-moving, all long glances and quiet music. halfway through, your head finds her shoulder and eventually, her chest.
and somewhere near the end, your eyes start to slip closed. you don’t mean to fall asleep. but sana’s warmth is steady, her breathing’s a weird kind of comfort and her hand has found yours under the blanket.
when you stir awake again, the room is darker. the credits are rolling in soft kanji across the screen. she hasn’t moved.
you lift your head slightly and find her staring at you. “were you watching me?”
she smiles, lazy and unbothered. “a little.”
“creep.”
“you’re peaceful when you sleep.”
you groan and bury your face in her arm. “don’t look at me like that.”
she laughs quietly. “and you’re warm, i didn’t want to move.”
you stay there a while longer, the silence easier now. then something tugs at you. “i’m sorry.”
she doesn’t respond right away. “about what?”
“about how we’re still…like this,” your voice is small. “no labels, no real plan — i really need to fix myself.”
she lifts a hand to push your hair back, thumb brushing your temple. “you don’t need fixing, y/n. not for me. i love you the way you are now. and i’ll still love you when that changes.”
you exhale shakily, not sure if it’s relief or fear that floods your chest.
she squeezes your hand to ground you.
“you know when i was a kid,” she adds after a moment, her fingers gently playing with your hair. “i used to imagine running away.
you look up at her. “why?”
“not because i wanted to disappear,” she says softly. “i just wanted to choose who i came back for.”
you don’t say anything.
you just press your face into her neck, grip tightening around her waist while listening to the rhythm of her breathing until you fall asleep again…because maybe that’s what this is. not the end, not even the beginning.
it’s her coming back. and this time, you’re here to open the door for her.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the suit bag hangs on the edge of your wardrobe, unzipped and half-open, like it’s waiting to be taken seriously. inside are five options. none of which you picked. sana’s stylist had dropped them off earlier that morning, her usual chirpy self making you try on half of them while sana watched from the bed, cup of coffee balanced on her knee.
now it’s dusk and you’ve been through three shirts, three full outfit changes and a minor crisis about the perfect sock colour. the room smells like sandalwood and setting lotion. your window’s open just slightly, letting in the bite of the air, that particular cold that only ever feels sharp in late december.
sana’s standing behind you, hair already done —glossy, parted perfectly with the ends curling. she’s wearing a black suit, white shirt buttoned down enough to make you look twice. or three times. the fabric clings at her waist and loosens again at her hips.
it’s unfair. criminal, even…to look that good.
you’re standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuff of a white shirt that isn’t yours.
“this one’s too tight,” you complain, tugging at the collar. “i look like i’m going to cry at prom.”
“you always look like that,” she replies, flicking through jackets on hangers. “it’s part of your charm.”
you glare at her through the mirror and she laughs at your own expense without bothering to look up.
you’re staring.
of course you are.
“you’re staring at me again,” she says, not even looking up.
“you look ridiculous,” you reply.
“that’s not what your face is saying.” she lifts the black lapel of a suit jacket and gives you a side glance, smug. “should we match, bub?”
you cross the room before you even decide to. she’s still smiling when you reach her, but it drops slightly — just enough to tell you she knows.
you don’t think.
you’re already up before she can finish her sentence. your hand finds her waist, and then her back, and then her mouth. the kiss lands hard and sure, pulling her in until her spine meets the wall beside your wardrobe. she lets out a surprised sound that turns into a low laugh against your lips when your hands grip her tighter than you mean to.
she tastes like spearmint and skin warmed by sunlight. everything else fades — your open window, the hum of the street below, the muted rustle of ryujin and yunjin bickering in the hallway.
your entire world narrows to the sound of her breathing, quick and uneven, her hands slipping beneath your shirt; not greedy, never, just holding you in place.
when you finally pull away, you’re still gently cupping her face as she blinks slowly, breath catching.
“you’re such an ass,” she starts, voice rough. “you’re really going to do that an hour before i introduce you to my entire bloodline?”
“hmm,” you murmur, forehead pressed to hers. “seemed like the right time.”
she exhales a laugh and shoves your shoulder lightly, but she doesn’t move away. her lips are redder now, eyes much darker. you like how she looks like this — just a little undone.
“you’re the one in a suit,” you continue, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face. “this is your fault.”
she kisses you again — just once, before tapping your chest. “grey suit. last one on the rack. wear the white shirt with the pearl buttons.”
you raise an eyebrow. “you sure?”
“you’ll make everyone nervous,” she confirms, unbuttoning the shirt you just complained about. “it’s perfect.”
when you finally walk out of your room — now dressed, hair styled and tie slightly crooked on purpose, ryujin and yunjin are waiting in the living room in matching red dresses that clearly weren’t planned but still managed to look coordinated.
yunjin looks up from her phone. “are you two done making out?”
sana’s behind you, still adjusting your collar from the back. “oh,” she says lightly. “what gave it away?”
they groan in unison, ryujin grabbing a cushion to half-heartedly throw at you. “disgusting.”
“embarrassing,” yunjin adds.
you just roll your eyes, cheeks still warm.
the minatozaki family meet every year in seoul a few days before christmas, no matter how scattered they are across time zones or industries. they are old money, after all, operating like a boardroom with laughter; polite, but rarely without genuine warmth.
it’s all carefully curated holiday cards, biannual art acquisitions and a shared family lawyer who’s probably been with them longer than most cousins have been alive. and they’re big on tradition, binding them like a woven thread across generations.
sana once told you that missing the family holiday party would be a bigger scandal than missing a wedding of the year. no one has ever dared skip it — not even the cousin who got stranded in switzerland one year; he video called in wearing a tux.
the venue this year is a five-star hotel in gangnam; just one of those buildings with glass facades and understated signage. as soon as you walk inside, the ballroom is glowing with golden lights and crystal fixtures, the chandeliers dimmed to a soft glitter. waiters move between clusters of people with trays of champagne and tiny canapés.
she walks beside you, hand in yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you hear ryujin swear while yunjin nervously fidgets around. her other hand rests lightly on your lower back as she steers you through the room, the guests are all family, more or less: great-uncles and cousins and elders you can’t quite place.
everyone already knows. there’s no guessing involved. they all smile at you politely, a few with surprise but no one dares to question your presence.
her mother hugs you as soon as she sees you, still smelling faintly of lavender and expensive tea.
“finally,” she sighs in relief, smiling. “we were starting to think you were imaginary.”
her father smiles approvingly while eyeing your blazer. “you look very sharp, you wear the colour well.”
you thank him, a little awkwardly, and sana leans in to whisper, “he only says that to people he really likes.”
you laugh, brushing her fingers with yours.
throughout the evening, relatives come and go in waves. they ask what you’re doing after graduation, if you’ve thought about law firms abroad, if you would consider working in japan. you answer each one as politely as you can and they nod like they’re taking mental notes.
sana’s grip never wavers. this is the difference.
with her, there’s no hesitation. she doesn’t shrink you and make you feel like something to be hidden. she says: this is y/n like that means something…it has to.
you think about that as the night goes on. how strange and comforting it is, not to be the shadow in someone else’s story. she’s proud. of you. and the whole room knows it.
then, somewhere between dessert and after-dinner drinks, an uncle announces the annual family photo. the photographer’s already setting up near the grand staircase, light stands flaring against the high ceilings.
you start to step back, figuring this part isn’t for you, when she tugs you gently by the wrist.
“and where do you think you’re going?” she asks, an eyebrow raised in that demanding tone too.
you glance at her. “i figured i’d stay out of the frame.”
“don’t be stupid,” she shakes her head, tone now soft, not scolding.
she brings you forward, weaving through her cousins and uncles, until her mother sees you both and waves you in closer. the photographer arranges everyone once again, gesturing toward the centre of the front row.
sana takes your hand and leads you there — right beside her, between her and her mother like you’ve always belonged.
“this okay?” she murmurs.
you nod slowly.
“good,” she fixes your collar, smooths your jacket, then slips her hand into yours again.
her father smiles at you two and her mother wraps an arm around your waist like it’s second nature.
when the photo is taken, sana’s thumb gently brushes against your knuckles. you’ve never felt more seen in your life.
later on, sana excuses herself to the bathroom and you’re suddenly cornered by ryujin and yunjin near the dessert table. they both have shit-eating grins on their faces like they’ve been here before.
“so,” ryujin begins, popping up beside you with a glass of wine, “you’re marrying another heir of a billion-dollar company? what’s this obsession with rich people? when i said ‘eat the rich’, i didn’t mean in a literal sense.”
you nearly choke on a piece of almond tart. “what the hell are you on about this time?”
“we didn’t realise,” yunjin perches in from the other side. “like, you know, she had this vibe of maxed-out platinum card and four overdue bills she refuses to open.”
“i thought that girl was dangerously living beyond her meanest,” ryujin mutters. “like…’it’s crippling, i’m gonna run away eventually’ kind of debt.”
“and giselle used to pray you never had to cover any of her bills,” yunjin laughs. “she was scared for you.”
“you’re all idiots,” you say, but your cheeks are warm. you sip your wine and glance around the room — gold, velvet, soft laughter under chandeliers.
“seriously,” yunjin continues, nudging you. “how does it feel?”
you pause, thinking about it. “honestly? it feels…nice. to belong in the room, be held like this isn’t something anyone’s ashamed of.”
they go quiet.
and then ryujin offers you a mini tart she already bit once. “you earned it.”
you roll your eyes and take it anyway. you’re halfway through your first glass of champagne when nayeon somehow ends up in front of you. ryujin and yunjin shyly greet her before running away to the bar.
“well, well,” she says, appearing at your elbow like a headline. “if it isn’t little top-of-her-class.”
you nearly choke. “hello to you too, nayeon.”
“you didn’t think you’d escape me, did you?” she laughs, pulling you into a hug. she still smells like endless paperwork. “look at you — looking all grown.”
“you’re not still in that securities firm, are you?”
“worse: corporate advisory. mina’s still keeping me sane.”
as if summoned, mina appears beside her, dressed in an ivory pantsuit and the kind of earrings that could probably pay your rent.
“hey,” she smiles, eyes warm. “it’s really good to see you.”
“you too,” you say honestly. “both of you.”
nayeon leans in. “we always knew you and sana were going to find your way back to each other. she was such a mess about you in undergrad.”
they were two of sana’s closest friends at yonsei. both a few years older than you and practically royalty in their own right; effortlessly composed and always surrounded by people who wanted to be close to them — or be them.
you used to see them around often when you and sana were first getting close. they never treated you unkindly…in fact, nayeon always greeted you with a loud “oh, you again?” and mina would smile quietly, handing you a drink like you already belonged. they were your seniors in every way: in age; in experience; in the kinds of heartbreaks and head starts that come with growing up too fast in worlds you barely feel like you belong in.
even now, years later, the sight of them still pulls something warm and nostalgic from your chest. they remind you of a different time — the nights you stood by sana’s side…feeling small but safe, never knowing just how much she would come to mean to you years down the line.
“i was not,” sana says, appearing behind you with two plates of dessert.
“please,” nayeon rolls her eyes. “she used to leave dinners just to call you and then cry about how complicated everything was.”
“used to?” mina murmurs, eyebrow raised. “i think the streak ended, what — last year?”
you give sana a look. “so i’ve heard.”
she hands you a plate and shrugs. “they’re exaggerating.”
“you used to leave parties to sit in stairwells and call her.”
“i was dramatic.”
“you cried.”
she waves them off, then glances at you with a crooked grin. “they’re jealous.”
“of what?”
“that you’re the first person i’ve ever brought here.”
“what?” you blink in disbelief, mouth already full of something sweet and expensive. “no dates before me?”
“not here,” she repeats. “this place is family.”
“so i’m special.”
she rolls her eyes, a teasing smile appearing in the corners of her mouth. “you literally dumped me and i’m still here, so yeah.”
you nudge her, she bumps your shoulder back.
mina watches you both with a quiet smile. “i’m glad you’re here, y/n. you’re both good for each other.”
it takes you a second to absorb that because you do. for the first time in years, maybe ever, you’re in a room full of people who know each other’s names, whose approval isn’t cautious or polite but warm and unconditional — and you’re not being hidden.
it’s late by the time the car rolls through empty streets. the city lights pass like slow waves against the windows. you’re both a little buzzed from wine, shoes kicked off, blazers draped in your laps.
sana’s fingers are still laced with yours, she looks softer now. her voice quieter as she talks to you, like the world is shrinking back to just the two of you.
your hand rests lightly on her thigh, thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of her trousers.
“can i ask you something?” you murmur.
“you’re allowed,” she replies, tilting her head toward you.
“so why have you not brought anyone to this party?”
her brow lifts, leaning her head back against the seat. “honestly?”
you nod.
“you’re the first,” she begins to explain. “because you scare me a little, you never asked to be here — you just…showed up and made space without needing to take any.”
you stare at her, a little breathless.
she turns to look at you fully, her expression is open. “it’s always been you, even when it wasn’t.”
you swallow hard.
the car still moves quietly through the city, lights passing over the windows in slow, golden waves. and you think, for the first time in a long time, that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
it’s christmas day and sana’s family home is lit like something from an old winter painting. the snow clings to the trees and lines the edges of the roof like icing. and there’s warmth in every room inside; everything made out of oak in that traditional japanese sense.
you’ve never had a christmas like this.
there are matching slippers at the door, monogrammed napkins and the kind of table setting that makes you hesitate before sitting down. the candles flicker low between you all, flames catching on the wine glasses as her father lifts his to inspect the pour.
he sits at the head of the table, sleeves rolled, wine glass already half full. “not too much,” he chuckles, topping yours off. “don’t want you falling asleep before dessert.”
“no promises,” you reply, and he laughs louder; shoulders shaking and all
it’s just the four of you. no cousins, no extended family or staff pacing in the background. sana sits beside you, ankles crossed under the table, her hand brushing your thigh every now and then like she’s checking that you’re still here.
“your parents must miss you,” her mum says, spooning rice into her own bowl. “have you called them yet?”
you shake your head. “not yet, i was waiting until things quieted down.”
“call them now,” sana says softly, nudging your foot under the table. “you can put it on speaker.”
you hesitate, but her mum is already nodding. “that would be great, we would love to say hello.”
your phone is in your pocket so you fish it out, glancing at the time — still early evening in switzerland. you press call. the dial tone hums once, then twice and then your mum picks up.
“merry christmas, darling!”
“hi, mum,” you greet, smiling. “you’re on speaker.”
“oh?”
“i’m with sana’s parents,” you explain. “they wanted to say hi.”
sana’s dad leans forward. “merry christmas, hope you’re both having the best time,” he waves, warm and clear.
you can hear the delight in your mother’s voice. “oh, how lovely! thank you for hosting our daughter this year. we were sorry she couldn’t come with us.”
“she’s very welcome here,” her mum adds. “we’re happy to have her.”
sana chimes in next, her voice light. “hi, mr and mrs y/l/n. thanks for raising the most stubborn woman alive.”
your father’s voice comes through faintly in the background. “you’ve got your hands full, then.”
they all laugh and you feel your face warm. it feels good.
“we’ll let you go enjoy dinner,” your mum adds after a minute more of cheerful noise and small talk. “we’ll talk properly tomorrow.”
you hang up and sana squeezes your knee gently beneath the table.
her father’s already mid-sip of his wine when he says, “so, this firm you’re joining — under the kim family?”
“yes, taehyung’s dad offered me a placement earlier in the year.”
he snorts. “sounds about right; that man’s sharp. got his claws into you before the others could.”
you laugh, shaking your head. “he was persuasive.”
“a good sign,” he nods, raising his glass. “people chase talent, it means you’re doing something right if you’ve got one of south korea’s richest men to persuade you.”
you hum and it settles over you: the warmth, the acceptance, the easy rhythm of it all. there’s no tension in your shoulders and you don’t feel the need to read between words or brace yourself for correction — it’s a slow meal with people who see you as someone worth being proud of.
not tolerated nor excused, but welcomed with open arms.
dinner finishes with tea and fruits. sana’s mum brings out small velvet boxes and pushes one toward you. you hesitate, glance at sana, who’s smiling gently.
“we said no gifts.”
“and we ignored it,” her mum replies.
you open it carefully.
inside is a watch; silver and elegant, the weight of it immediately grounding as you glance at the name richard mille.
jesus christ, you thought.
beside it, wrapped in a velvet slip, is a gold pen with your initials carved at the top of it.
you’ve seen something like this pen before. on sana’s desk, in her hand, tucked into her notebook. she mentioned she got it at eighteen.
you look up, words forming slowly. “this is too much.”
“nonsense,” her father groans. “you’re part of our lives now; get used to it.”
you don’t trust your voice enough to speak, so you nod, fingers curling around the velvet like it’ll anchor you.
they don’t need thanks drawn out and scripted; you know their kindness doesn’t ask for anything in return and that’s the part that stings the most. you never knew you could be carried like this without having to earn it.
and when the table’s been cleared and the kitchen grows quiet and her parents disappear up the stairs with soft goodnights and kind glances, it’s just you and sana again — on the living room floor, legs stretched toward the fireplace, two glasses of wine resting on the table between you.
the fire crackles quietly, the only real sound in the room. you can still hear music faintly from the kitchen; jazz, maybe, but the rest of the world has dimmed.
your head leans slightly against her shoulder. she doesn’t move.
you’re full in every sense of the word. full of food, of warmth, of something else you haven’t named yet. and then your phone buzzes.
you feel the vibration in your pocket before the ring even begins.
it’s faint, easily ignorable, except something in your body registers it before your mind does. you shift slightly, ease your hand into your pocket, still curled up beside her in front of the fire.
the screen lights up and her name flashes once.
karina.
the air feels colder all of a sudden. your stomach twists, a quiet clench that catches you off guard. beside you, sana stirs slightly but she doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t need to. she sees the screen.
you stand up, too quickly.
“i’ll just — be a minute,” you murmur.
you stand without a word and she doesn’t look up.
you step out onto the balcony, sliding the door closed behind you. the air is cold against your neck, your breath blooming white in the dark.
and you answer before you can talk yourself out of it. “hello?”
her voice is exactly how you remember it — low, careful, like it’s measuring the silence between your words before they’re even spoken.
“hi, merry christmas, y/n.”
you close your eyes for a moment, let the wind bite at your face. “merry christmas, jimin.”
there’s a pause. you hear the hum of something in the background and neither of you speak for a second.
“i wasn’t sure if i should call, but you crossed my mind. i guess…you still do,” she continues, her voice is so small it barely carries on top of the breeze. “but i didn’t want to let the day pass without…saying it. i know you were excited for christmas.”
your hand curls around the edge of the railing, feeling the ache before it even takes shape. it’s not a painful, but more like the kind that’s been dulled by time but not erased.
“how are you?” you ask, unsure what to say next.
jimin exhales a shaky breath. “i’ve been better, but my parents are still asking if i’ve managed to win you back,” she lets out something close to a laugh, but it doesn’t reach her chest. “they say it like it’s a job — think they really wanted to know you more.”
you let the silence settle for a moment. it’s familiar, but it doesn’t hurt the same way anymore. you didn’t need to know any of that; no longer have the right to.
“how’s…jaewook?”
she’s quiet for a second too long. “umm, yeah, we broke up the day after that night i saw you. i think i knew i couldn’t keep lying to him and myself after that.”
you chew the inside of your cheek, the words settling slowly, heavy but unsurprising.
“i’m sorry,” you croak out.
“don’t be,” she replies. “i should’ve ended it a long time ago.”
the wind whistles faintly between the railing bars. you adjust your weight, heart beating a little harder than you would like.
“are you happy?” she asks; it’s barely more than a whisper. “with her?”
your breath catches with how much weight the questoon carries. you look through the frosted glass, into the house where sana still sits, curled into the couch, waiting patiently — warm and steady.
“yeah,” you reply after a second. “we’re…taking things slow. but it’s real; she’s real.”
she doesn’t reply right away either. when she does, her voice is rougher than before. “good.”
you believe her, mostly, or at least you want to.
“i’m glad,” she continues, though there’s something behind it…like she’s letting go of something without knowing if it’s the last time.
the silence comes back, thicker this time.
“thank you for calling,” you tell her, meaning it. “it’s really good to hear from you.”
you hear her exhale, something like a smile buried in it. “take care of yourself.”
“you too.”
the call ends.
you watch the snow fall for a few more seconds, then slide the phone back into your pocket, letting the cold seep into your skin just to feel everything clearly.
it was kind, that call. necessary, maybe. but you don’t feel unsteady and you don’t feel torn.
it feels…finished.
sana looks up as you return. she doesn’t move, but her face has changed, ever so slightly — like something pulled rigidly just beneath her eyes.
you feel it settle between you like a window left open just a little too long.
“if you ever want to go back to her,” she suddenly voices out, tone sorrowful: “i won’t hold it against you, i knew what i was getting myself into. and you don’t owe me anything at all.”
your heart drops as you stare at the fire for a second longer before you speak. “sana, baby, i want to keep moving with you.”
the words sit between you, unfurling slowly. she nods. once. but you can see how tightly she’s holding herself together.
under the couch, you pull out the small box you had been keeping for her. it’s not wrapped well and the corners are uneven and you had to tape the bottom twice because you suck at wrapping gifts — but you place it on her lap anyway.
“this is for you.”
she looks at you, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. she doesn’t reach for the gift right away. instead, she unwraps it slowly, fingers catching at the tape.
inside is a square canvas — the edges still a little rough where the paint dried too fast. it’s the two of you, sitting on a bench in that quiet park from that night. backs facing the viewer, just two figures with shoulders leaning in, hair caught in a breeze. nothing fancy, but it’s unmistakably you and her.
you wait while she stares at it.
then: “you painted this?”
you nod. your voice shakes a little. “a few weeks ago.”
her eyes flicker up. they’re glossy now and it breaks something open in your chest. she doesn’t speak for a long time, just holding the frame in both hands like she’s afraid it’ll slip.
you shift a little closer.
“i know we didn’t take a photo that day, we were both too drunk,” you explain, a smile on your face. “but i remember it. i remember thinking that if anything in my life ever felt like home again, it would be that moment — us under the stars, quietly figuring ourselves out.”
her breath hitches.
“i’m still scared,” you admit. “i still think i might mess this up. i still wake up sometimes not sure if i deserve any of it. but i want to try. you’re so, so, so important to me, sana, i never want to lose you again.”
the tears spill slowly, she doesn’t even bother hiding them.
“you’re such a jerk,” she mumbles through a soft laugh. “you couldn’t have said all that before the wine?”
you smile, a little helpless. “sorry.”
she puts the painting down carefully and reaches for your hand. “you won’t lose me, not this time.”
you pull her in gently and she lets you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, the painting resting carefully against her side.
“you matter to me,” you whisper. “always.”
“i know,” she says. “i just needed to hear you say it.”
and so you do. again and again.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
you wake to the dull hum of your phone vibrating on the nightstand. you don’t reach for it straight away — your eyes are still adjusting. and sana’s breath is warm against your neck, she shifts slightly, murmuring something in her sleep and her arm curls tighter around your waist.
the screen glows again. this time you blink fully awake and glance over.
but the sound doesn’t stop. it pulses again —persistent. you shift, groggy, reaching toward the nightstand where your phone is lighting up.
karina is calling…
“the fuck?” you let out a quiet sigh through your nose, staring at the screen like maybe, if you’re still enough, it’ll stop ringing.
it doesn’t. the digits blur slightly — 2:31 a.m.
sana stirs behind you. “who is it?” her voice is still caught in sleep, soft and heavy.
“it’s…jimin,” you mumble out in slight disbelief. “she’s calling, should i answer?”
you half expect her to roll away, to go quiet like last time. but instead, she rests her hand against your shoulder and says, gently: “answer it.”
you turn to her. “are you sure?”
she nods; her hair’s messy against the pillow, eyes barely open, but she still offers you a small, understanding smile. “i know what it’s like…to be the one who never gets the call back.”
your heart aches at that, but you nod and slide off the bed quietly, grabbing your hoodie from the chair as you step out into the lounge room.
you swipe to answer. “hello, jimin?”
you’re already halfway down the hallway, bare feet padding softly against the hardwood, heart thumping as you shut the bedroom door behind you.
her voice cracks instantly through the speaker. “you answered…i wasn’t sure.”
it’s messy — slurred, uneven, like her tongue’s too slow to keep up with her mouth. there’s noise in the background. a car maybe, or the wind, it’s nothing solid.
“are you okay?” you ask. “where are you?”
“i don’t know,” she breathes. you can hear her sniffle. “i didn’t want to call, i just — i couldn’t not. fuck, i sound so stupid.”
your brows furrow, concern rising. you drop onto the couch, pressing the phone harder to your ear.
“jimin, what’s going on? are you out?”
“i wanted to see you,” she answers, voice trembling. “i keep wanting to see you. i keep seeing you. it’s like — everything i do reminds me of you and i don’t even know if you care anymore. do you still care?”
you sit down on the couch, rubbing at your temple. “what more do you want from me?”
“you,” she says it so fast like it’s always been waiting behind her teeth. “i want you back.”
you close your eyes. “karina…”
“don’t, don’t say it like that, don’t say it in that tone like you pity me.”
you run a hand through your hair, staring at the dark screen of the tv in front of you. “you’re drunk, can you please send me your location?”
“you still care?” she asks, voice wobbling. “you still care about me, don’t you?”
you don’t answer that. instead, you repeat, firmer this time, “send me your location. please.”
she sniffs, quiet for a moment. then the familiar ping of a map drops into your phone. “you didn’t answer me…”
“stay on the line,” you demand. and she doesn’t argue.
you get up from the couch, walking back toward the bedroom. sana’s sitting up now, pulling her hair back into a bun. the bedside lamp is on, casting soft yellow against the walls. she looks tired, but she’s already pointing at her bag.
“keys are in the front pocket,” she gestures you over with a sleepy, understanding smile.
you lean in, press your mouth to her temple, then her cheek, her skin warm and soft against your lips. “i’m sorry.”
“don’t be,” she cups your jaw gently. “all i want is for you to bring her home safe.”
“i’ll be back soon,” you whisper.
“i know.”
you slip your shoes on at the door, phone still pressed to your ear as you speak quietly to jimin, who’s gone quiet but hasn’t hung up.
“hey,” you say. “i’m coming to get you, okay?”
there’s no response at first. then: “okay.”
the street is cold and quiet, light snow from the previous night still melting in uneven patches along the curb. you get in the car, engine humming to life with your hand tight on the wheel. you glance once at the rearview mirror and try not to think too hard about where this night is headed.
because even now — even with sana asleep in your bed, with your life finally steady, with love that doesn’t hurt — you’re still driving out into the dark when jimin calls and a part of you hates that you always will.
the streets are empty this late. seoul feels softer somehow, the edges dulled by the chill and the quiet. traffic lights flicker through amber and red, casting slow glows against the frost on your windscreen. the heater hums low.
while jimin’s still on the line, she’s quiet now, only the sound of her sniffling breaking through. you don’t say anything. there’s nothing left to say in the silence and yet you stay on the call.
you drive with one hand on the wheel, the other holding the phone to your ear, her breath moving in and out like waves.
the location leads you to a quiet side street near a convenience store. a line of taxis sits idle nearby, lights off, drivers probably asleep. you see her before she sees you — curled up on a bench, knees pulled tight to her chest, hair tousled and damp. her coat’s buttoned wrong and she looks smaller than you remember.
the sight of her like this does something strange to your chest — splits it, gently, like an old wound reopening along its scar line. you hadn’t realised how deeply the memory of her lived in your body.
but you get out anyway.
each step toward her feels like walking underwater. heavy and unreal. it’s not like the movies; there’s no music, no chatter, not even the buzz of the neon bar sign — just the sound of your boots crunching over ice and her small, wracked breaths in the distance.
she looks up; mascara smudged under both eyes, blinking like she’s not sure if you’re really here.
“you came,” she speaks, voice shaking. “you actually came.”
you crouch down beside her. “of course i did.”
it’s not even a sentence, really. her lips part like she wants to speak, but nothing comes out except a new wave of tears. she breaks immediately — no hesitation, no pride left to cling to. she just folds into you like muscle memory, like all those months apart didn’t stretch the distance between your bodies.
her arms lock around your neck, shoulders shaking violently, the kind of crying that comes from somewhere deeper than sadness.
grief, maybe. or realisation.
“you look so much happier now,” she mumbles into your sleeve, voice muffled in between breaths. “with sana. i see it in your face…you never looked at me like that.”
“that’s not true,” you reassure her. “
she puts a slight distance between you two, wiping her face with the sleeve of her coat instead. her eyes are swollen, cheeks red from the cold. “i ruined it. i ruined everything.
you look at her, really take a good look at her. the way her lips are chapped, she looks so tired. you wonder if she’s eaten today.
if she’s still trying to pretend she’s okay to everyone but you.
“maybe,” you say gently. “but that doesn’t mean i hate you.”
she laughs bitterly through her tears. “you should.”
“i don’t,” you say again. “you loved me in the way you could…it just wasn’t enough.”
the words feel cruel even as you say them, but they’re honest. and maybe she needs that more than kindness right now.
you guide her to the car with gentle hands, barely saying a word. she’s compliant but stumbling, half-apologising through her sobs. her coat slips off one shoulder, and you pull it up, fasten the belt for her. the seatbelt clicks into place and you pass her the water bottle from the centre console.
“drink some of this, you need it.”
she obeys. she always does with you, even now. she’s still crying — softly, into the crook of her elbow. you start the car and pull into the road without asking where to go.
you already know.
the han river’s quiet this time of night. empty car park, the kind of silence you used to share like a secret. back then, it felt like the only place in the city where you could breathe together.
no lights except the scattered halos of streetlamps catching on the water. you pull into the spot she used to love — far left corner, facing the ripples.neither of you speak right away.
the engine hums low on the background.
“i used to take you here every time i ran out of things to say,” she whispers. her voice is hoarse. “and somehow you always found more.”
you turn to her. she’s staring out at the river like it holds every answer she was too scared to look for back then. her hands tremble as she sets the water down to her lap.
“why did i do that?” she asks, voice small. “why did i lie to you every time i told you i was choosing you? why did i make you believe that?”
you don’t know how to answer. you’ve asked yourself the same thing, over and over. back then it felt like she was always reaching for you with one hand and holding something else in the other.
you wanted her to choose, you waited for it. but she never did.
“i was so scared,” she admits, eyes glistening again. “not of you. of what it meant to love you that much and the expectations already set out for me in stone.”
you remain quiet because your throat aches with too much of everything. she reaches for your hand, like she’s checking to see if it’s still real.
you watch the water shimmer through the windshield, her reflection blurring next to yours in the glass. “i tried so hard to let you go, but i think i just…folded you into every part of me instead.”
“i hated myself for how i treated you,” jimin continued, her voice cracking again. “i still do.”
“don’t,” you finally look at her. “you were scared. people make stupid choices when they’re scared.”
“you weren’t,” she lets out a pained sob. “you never were. you always chose me, even when it hurt. even when i couldn’t say your name out loud.”
“and you’re punishing yourself for not being ready, but that’s not love, jimin. it’s guilt. and it’s going to eat you alive if you let it.”
you both sit there for a long time, her head resting against the window and her hand still holding yours.
she folds over again, body racked with sobs, and you do what you’ve always done — you hold her. her head lands onto your shoulder this time and she grips your sleeve like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.
at some point, you find tears slipping out of your eyes too. not because you still want her, not in that way. but because once, you really did. and that kind of loss never leaves quietly.
you stroke her hair slowly, the silence stretching around you like a blanket pulled tight. it’s not cold anymore, but you’re both shivering from everything else.
then, your phone buzzes. sana. asking if you’re still there…but it feels like a different question, like it holds another meaning than just there.
“we should go,” you heave out a sigh. “sana’s waiting for me.”
“okay,” she nods quietly. “okay, we can do that.”
she’s quiet when you drive her home. her hand stays in yours the whole ride, resting on the centre console, thumb brushing over your knuckles.
nothing needs to be said now.
when you pull up outside her building, she doesn’t move at first. she just turns to you, eyes full and steady. she hesitates. and then, barely above a whisper: “will you stay with me tonight?”
you pause, heart twisting, then stills. “no,” you say, as gently as you can. “i can’t.”
she nods, like she expected that answer but it still wounds her. “this is goodbye, isn’t it?”
you look over at her. “i…yeah. i think so.”
she reaches out, touches your cheek gently, her fingers cold but still familiar. you shake your head, but she leans in, presses her forehead against yours and keeps going. “if i ever get another chance…i’ll do it right.”
your eyes sting and having her this close again makes your chest ache. “jimin —“
her voice is barely a whisper now, her tears falling on your lap. “if i have to wait a lifetime, i will. if not this one, then the next.”
you don’t promise anything, but you press your forehead to hers for a moment longer and then pull away.
“please go inside,” you whisper, closing your eyes. “goodnight, jimin.”
she nods and steps out of the car — doesn’t look back but you can see the way her shoulders shake. you watch her walk away until she disappears into the building, and only then do you let the tears fall freely.
it’s not love anymore, not quite. but it’s still something. maybe it always will be.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
you don’t mean to make a big deal of it. not really.
the sky’s that bright blue that means late spring is almost over and it’s warm enough that the breeze coming off the han river barely makes a difference.
sana’s leaning back on her elbows, the grass soft beneath the blanket she insisted on bringing. it’s the same one from the last time — the one you two fell asleep under after sneaking snacks into a campus lawn movie night months ago. you’re both stretched out at yeouido park, iced coffee mostly melted between you, the soft hum of people around blending with the low strum of an acoustic busker in the distance.
you should be focused on your book but you’re not. you’ve been reading the same paragraph three times; she keeps tapping your ankle with hers. she’s got sunglasses on, head tilted back like she’s soaking in the last of the coldness before summer pulls it away.
“you’re staring,” she says, not looking at you, her mouth tugged up into the smallest smirk. “i can feel it.”
“i’m not,” you lie, flipping the page like that’ll save you.
she doesn’t push, just keeps tapping your ankle lazily, her foot warm against yours. you want to tell her to stop because it’s driving you mad, the affection of it.
the way she still treats you like someone precious, even when you’ve made her wait all this time.
you glance sideways at her. her lips are soft and she’s wearing your hoodie. she smells like the inside of your pillow. and when she turns her head to face you — sunglasses sliding down a little — you feel it all at once.
every slow moment you’ve spent together since winter. the little things. the movie nights, the long drives, the way she remembers how you take your coffee. how she’s never made you feel like loving her is a countdown to goodbye.
and god, you love her.
you set your book down. “hey, sana.”
she hums.
“can we —” you falter. clear your throat. “can we make this official?”
that gets her. she pushes her sunglasses up onto her head, blinks at you like she didn’t hear you right. “what?”
you sit up straighter, stomach twisting. “i mean…i want to be with you. like, actually with you. if you still want that.”
she’s silent for a second too long, in the way you know she’s replaying your words, making sure they’re real. her smile starts in her eyes before it reaches her lips.
“you’re asking me to be your girlfriend,” she repeats slowly, softly, like she wants to savour it.
you nod, heart thudding. “yeah.”
“finally,” she lets out a breath, practically laughs, and then leans forward, pulling you in by the front of your hoodie and kissing you, full and slow and warm like sunlight. it’s like she’s known it would happen, eventually, and now it has. her hands cradle your face as she pulls away. “took you long enough.”
you smile against her lips, relief blooming in your chest. “sorry.”
“i forgive you,” she grins. “but only because you’re cute.”
you groan, bury your face in her shoulder. “i should’ve asked you when you brought me coffee every morning for a week. or when you stayed up all night helping me with my thesis draft.”
“or when my parents bought you that fancy watch for christmas.”
“okay, yes, that too.”
she plays with the hem of your sleeve. “i would’ve said yes every time.”
you look down at her fingers brushing yours. “i know.”
and you do. you really do…because that’s the difference with sana. with her, there’s no guessing. just quiet loyalty, kindness that doesn’t make you feel small.
you both lie back again, the moment settling into your bones. she squeezes your hand once and doesn’t let go and the grass rustles beside you.
you don’t say anything more. you don’t need to. she knows.
and somewhere, maybe not too far off, you think of jimin — how some things burn out before they ever have the chance to be steady. how sometimes, it’s not about who makes your heart race, but who makes it feel safe to stay.
today, you chose safety. and maybe that’s what love is now. not the ache of almost, but the warmth of finally.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
fuck, you didn’t plan on seeing her.
not today of all days — when you’re feeling light, even content, walking along the street with a brown paper bag in hand, the apricot pastry tucked neatly inside.
sana had texted you earlier, something about being stuck in a last-minute campaign, promising to make it up to you with takeout and terrible reality tv.
but campus is small, specially after graduation. the cafés are familiar and the corners shared.
jimin.
she’s sitting alone outside, cup of americano going cold in front of her, a book she isn’t reading open on her lap. her hair’s even shorter now, blunt around her jaw and she’s dressed in black again, like she’s always bracing for winter, even in the middle of summer.
you think of walking past or turning around, but your feet don’t move fast enough and she looks up like clockwork — and there it is. the recognition and the pause. her eyes soften the second they land on you and she lifts a hand in a small wave.
your feet begin walk over. there’s no ache in your chest now. it’s something softer; nostalgic.
“hey y/n,” she smiles, a bit brighter now.
“jimin!” you sit across from her, slipping the bag onto your lap. your heart isn’t racing like before, now it’s a steady thrum, a quiet reminder of everything you used to feel.
“hey,” she repeats, voice low.
still familiar. still jimin.
“hi, how are you doing?”
“i’m well,” her lips twitch into something like a smile. “you look good.”
you shrug. “so do you. different…i like the short hair, it’s good.”
it’s awkward in a way it always is with exes…or whatever you two were.
she nods slowly, as if she knows. “i feel different.”
you glance at the book on her table — something classic, spine cracked, pages annotated in the way she always used to do when she was trying to understand something deeply. you used to love watching her read like that, as if the words meant everything and they were a map.
“i heard about you and sana,” she adds after a beat. not bitter, just factual. “and graduating top of your class isn’t an easy feat; i’m so proud of you.”
you nod again, it means a lot coming from her. “we’re doing well.”
there’s a pause. then she says: “she’s good to you.”
“she always has been.”
and jimin looks down, eyes on her coffee. her voice is steady when she speaks; “i’ve been thinking a lot. about everything. about how i was with you. with jaewook, with…myself.”
you don’t say anything. just listen.
“after you,” she continues, “i tried to fill the space with noise. with him. with plans that didn’t belong to me. i thought maybe if i pretended hard enough, it’d go away. the guilt and the wanting.”
you watch her hands as she speaks. they’re calmer now. no shaking, no nervous twitching. just open palms, resting on her lap.
“i broke up with jaewook a few weeks after that night at the restaurant. i didn’t tell anyone. i think part of me was still waiting for you to come back.”
your chest tightens — not painfully, but enough to remind you that the past isn’t as far away as you sometimes pretend.
“but you didn’t,” she adds. “and i’m glad you didn’t because it forced me to stop waiting and start…choosing.”
you tilt your head slightly. “choosing?”
“myself. finally,” she lets out a breath. “i’m taking over the family business.”
that makes you blink. “really?”
she nods, chuckling. “yeah, i always thought it was a sentence. something i’d be trapped in. but now it’s…mine. i want to do it right. make something out of it that means something. not because they told me to — but because i want to.”
you can’t help it; you smile. for her; with her, because you can recognise how far she’s come.
“i’m proud of you for deciding on that; jimin, the ceo of yu group — can’t believe i get to say i knew her.”
jimin looks up then, really stares at you. and for a second, you see her as she was when you first fell in love — messy-haired, sharp-tongued, eyes always searching for something to hold onto.
“thank you for loving me the way you did. i was too young to understand it at the time, too scared and stupid.”
you nod slowly, the words settling somewhere deep inside. “i used to wish you’d been braver.”
“i know,” she smiles, a little sad. “i wish i had been too.”
you both sit there for a while, letting the silence do what words can’t. there’s nothing sharp in the air anymore. no what-ifs or if-onlys; just two people who survived each other.
“i miss you,” she admits, finally.
you meet her gaze. “i miss you too, but i don’t miss us.”
it’s gentle, the way you say it, but you can see it hit her — the truth of it. she doesn’t cry and doesn’t reach for you. instead, breathes in then out.
“and thank you for loving me when i didn’t know how to love you back properly.”
you smile, soft at the edges. “you taught me a lot. even in the mess of it.”
she laughs, a little broken, a little healed. “that’s the nicest way anyone’s ever told me i was a total disaster.”
you smile shyly too, brushing imaginary dust off your jeans. “take care of yourself, jimin.”
“you too,” she says. “and y/n?”
you pause.
“if you ever need someone to have your back — even if it’s from far away — it’ll always be me. what i said that night…i meant it. in every lifetime.”
your throat tightens, offering her a small smile. “i know.”
you walk away, heart strangely light. there’s no heaviness, but you carry the knowledge that some people are lessons. and some are homes.
sana’s probably waiting for you back at the apartment now, with her soft playlists and too-large jumpers and the smell of peppermint tea she always forgets to finish, wondering if you remembered the name of the pastry this time.
“you cannot change their perceptions of you, the scopes they choose to see you from, the narratives they falsely create of you, but you can solidify the ideas you have of yourself, finding acceptance for who you are in spite of your flaws and quirks by embracing your uniqueness.”
“september, embolden my essence as i step into newer eras, silence my fears so i can hear my truth more, may i find the love and courage to let go of what no longer serves me so i can make space for whatever is yet to come, may i find growth where stagnancy used to exist.”
2087
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