Two members of the same group, that liked the way things be done, the way they are done, in very different ways.
Sua winks at you mid workout, and you stop your set to look around—the gym is deserted except for the two of you, perfect.
You find Jiu at a secluded staircase, away from the main party, and her soft smile is the invitation, perfect.
"Here?" you ask.
Sua doesn't reply, choosing instead to go to an open bench. She bends over and stretches, breathing in deeply and exhaling as she comes up, her tight and appropriately Bora-colored top heaving. You lean over her, hand on her waist and fingers playing with the hem of her leggings. Down you pull.
Jiu doesn't reply, speaking with her actions instead. She kisses you, slipping you something into your hands—her panties. *Yes, here.* With a knowing smirk she turns around, letting you run your hands down her waist, the tight form-fitting dress doing nothing to hide her curves and everything to enhance them. You get to the edge of her dress quickly—it's so short, stopped so high up her thighs that any higher would make it a top rather than a dress. Up you hike.
"Oh fuck!" You're looming over Sua on the bench, two hands on her hips holding her like a cocktail shaker. Back and forth you go, shaking her vigorously, making her jiggle and bounce if she wasn't so tightly bound by hairband and sports bra. Her legs do shake on every thrust, and when you slap her ass she cries out, loud moan ringing in the deserted gym. The bench creaks as you fuck her harder, and Sua's not idle either—Her nails dig into the leather of the bench, and she's trying to push back against you, ass tilted up, meeting each thrust with a push off the bench. She's dripping sweat and slick on to the equipment, staining it with a stickiness you hope you'll remember to clean up. Fuck she feels good, you speed up.
"Oh fuck..." Jiu breathes, bracing herself on the windowsill—even with her heels on she's pushed on her toes just that little bit more, all to get you deeper in her. Jiu grinds against you, your hands on her hips gently guiding her gyrations. You wrap a hand around her front, feeling her flat tummy twitch when you're hilted inside her. You hold yourself there, feeling her twitches get more violent as you stir your hips a little. You press Jiu further against the windowsill and push in, making her leave her feet and letting gravity pin her womb against your tip. Immediately she begins leaking, stifled moans escaping both of you as she contracts around your cock. You slow down, and Jiu's leaking speeds up—you slow down further.
"Oh fuck me, give it to me!" There are sweat patterns in the shape of Sua's tits as you press her down on the bench. The perfect drink is made from your cock and Sua's tail, juicy cheeks squishing oh so nicely against your hips. She's begging you to fuck her harder, in between feral grunts of pure pleasure, delighting in the violent way you're rutting into her, rattling her frame against the bench with every thrust. You shake and shake, and when you're finally done shaking Sua around your cock there's only one thing to do.
Pour.
"Hnngh! Yessss!" You tip yourself over Sua quite literally and begin pouring your potent drink straight into her babymaking cup. Her legs kick up, her whole body trembling and twitching—it's so hot inside her! She gurgles when you pull out, lower lips wastefully spilling it on to the bench in heavy drops—what a sloppy drinker.
"Oh yes... Give it to me." Jiu's facing you now, half-seated against the window as you grind your hips into her. She follows your movements, gyrating with you, like a drink that's stirring and creating the little cyclone in the center of the glass. Her mouth drops open, letting out tiny yelps as the two of you get sucked into the whirlpool of pleasure. Round and round you stir inside Jiu, and when both of you are close, there's only one step left to finish stirring.
Let go.
Jiu smashes her mouth into yours, whimpering as you drown and drain yourself in her hot grasp. She pulls on your jacket, fingers twisting and clenching on the fabric, a long leg trying to push you deeper into her, wanting as much of you in her as she can. Jiu whines when she feels your combined fluids trickle down her thigh—she could never keep it all down.
Weeks later, you finally hear back from your wild weekend of "drinking".
"Oppa, we have something to tell you."
One happy couple, two tests, a third wheel drained.
Four lines.
A/N: Semi-BFH, something quick after seeing Jiu in that dress and then Sua's vlog. Also saw something about shaken and stirred and drinks or something in discord? So yeah it became a whole thing. Still working on bigger stuff but between Mewgenics and Slay the Spire 2, been spending more time playing games and thinking about smut than writing smut and thinking about games lol. Thanks for reading!
Note: I forgot who requested this, but here's the playgirl Yujin lol. Oh and this is an early Valentine day fic 🫶
Tags: Enemies-to-lovers, angst, fluff
(6.1k words)
Delinquents have their own way to deal with delinquents. They're not that bright, at least.
They bark loud with a posture bigger than they are, and also (hilariously) flinch when you look them in the eye for a second or two. Sure, the term "delinquent" means a young person tending to commit crime, but it means nothing when they themselves understand when to back off, when to lower their voices, and when to stop pushing because of the bigger force in front of them. Ok, bigger force sounds excessive, but you don't need to fight (maybe a few sucker punches here and there). Mainly, you just stand there with back straight, flat expression, and the will of an iron fortress, then they slowly start to fold.
Your school is full of fuckwits like that — infested with rusted lockers, cracked windows, and teachers who are too afraid to speak out. You could've picked any other school applicable with your entrance exam results, but wasting time commuting is not ideal when that wasted 30 mins can be used to finish a math exercise. The boys thought you're an easy target, especially when you join in the middle of the year, but now all you get are whispers and a respectable distance behind you.
(Something along the lines with "Don't fuck with him.", "He's weird", and "How to fuck he doesn’t trip while solving that damn chemistry book?" But hey, it sounds like a compliment if it means you don't get mogged — gotta be the bigger dog in the dog-eat-dog world, right?)
After school, you walk home alone, passing by the prestigious school that is a few blocks down from yours, with clean buildings, open fields, and students in their fancy vests and bags. And as always, you despise the fact that you belong to the former just because you are a few points short in the entrance exam.
Whatever, living with Minji is the consolation prize.
Her place is calm and comfortable in a way that it aligns well with your neat freak. Shoes lined up properly at the entrance, Dishes washed the moment after being used. Coffee smells waffling through the morning air. You like it.
She has been like this since she first found you sitting alone in the library as your upperclassman all the way to being a college student, which apparently grants her the authority to sigh at nothing and still be taken seriously. And you have been living with her long enough that she doesn't even bother knocking your door.
The bedroom is small and modest. The desk pushed against the window for maximum sunlight and vitamin D for morning studies. The lamp positioned just right to not glaring to your eyes for night. You sit there every time, proper posture, and doing mock exams until formulas and exam key notes are ingrained. It's quiet. Orderly. Easy to concentrate. Your future feels achievable here.
Well, maybe not 100%.
Because as usual, your studying comes with the screech of metal on metal. The window across from yours slides open. And here comes the menace that is worse than those delinquents.
It’s Yujin.
You don't even need to see that she's home — you just know when the smoke drifts in (which smells horrible). And the music comes afterwards — loud, bass-heavy, and absolutely disruptive. It rattles the pen on your desk, vibrates through the wood like she's mocking your effort.
And then her damn brazen voice. "Ya, four eyes."
And every damn fucking time, the sigh through your nose is heavy. Worst of all, she takes another drag and exhales deliberately in your direction.
"Sit properly, bookworm. Your back is going to hurt."
"I don’t need your words, chainsmoker."
She taps ash out the window. It falls somewhere between your building, most likely on the bushes.
"Do you ever do anything fun?" she asks. "Or is it just study, sleep, and die from stress?"
"Just be quiet already."
By now, the delinquent boys would've listened and wagged their tails already. But not Yujin — she’s beyond a menace. Instead, she turns up the volume to another notch, and makes the bass punctures through the wall. Of course, she hums along, off-key, like the whole world is her oyster.
You throw your rubber to her window. "Turn it down. It's past ten."
This girl has the audacity to gasp out loud, acting like an idiot. "Oh my gosh. Did you hear that? He knows how to read a clock!"
"An Yujin."
She perks up at that. "And remember my name too? Good job!"
"Unfortunately, we lived here for far too long."
"Aw. You hurt me."
She flicks her cigarette away and folds her arms on the sill, resting her chin on top. And, fucking hell, she smells like smoke and citrus (the worst combo of smell imaginable). Who would actually believe that this same girl with lack of basic decency is on the news — something about 1st place in Women's sprint in High School Competitions. Not once, twice, but three times, a trait she still gets from middle school. Literally kickstart the sports department at her new sparkly pretentious school (or whatever she puffed to your face). No wonder she's still miraculously attending there, because you definitely would've expelled her ass if you're the principal.
Anyway, the grown ups there are a bunch of dumbasses, wagging their tail to a disobedient pup— what are you saying? Ew. What you should say instead is:
"You look ugly when you smoke."
"Weak insult, four eyes."
"Just verbalising my observation, chainsmoker."
"Sheesh, a blizzard over there. No wonder the mutts are scared of you."
"Nah, they just know to leave me alone."
She tilts her head. "You talk quite big for a boy studying at a dead-end school."
"You're talking like an obnoxious rich brat."
"I'm not rich, you know?"
"You don’t even deny that you’re obnoxious." You flip another page to write. "Anyway, don't smoke when I open the window to study."
"I didn't know you're my teacher now."
"So childish."
"And your so boring."
"It's you're. R E. Now shut up."
You…really should've paid attention to the creaking on the stairs until you feel a hard smack to your head. Your hand flies to the back of your head, looking up to see Minji standing there with her arm crossed. She's in an oversized hoodie, loosely tied ponytail, and a calm expression that you know is anything but calm. (And damn, your heart keeps beating irrationally seeing her like this.)
“Did you just tell a girl to shut up?” she asks.
“She’s provoking me,” you say immediately. “Intentionally!”
“And?” “And that makes it justified.”
She smacks your head again. A tad lighter, but still rude.
“You don’t tell girls to shut up.”
“She’s not—” you stop yourself. “She’s Yujin.”
As if summoned, both of you can hear the wheezing across from you. "That's right, listen to Minji-unnie, four eyes! Bleh~"
"I can hear you, Yujin."
That made the mad dog straighten up. Like actually straight back, lips shut, uptight. Hell, she even takes the cigarette off her mouth and lowers the volume. Minji sticks her head out and looks at the younger girl. "It's late, by the way."
"Y-yes, unnie." "And you're blasting music and smoking?"
"It helps with my stress." Minji remains silent, but instead gives her a look that is not angry, just disappointed.
Yujin can only sigh. "…Yes. Ma'am." She flicks the cigarette away, the ember gone in the dark. "Happy?"
You stare. It happens every time the three of you hang out together since middle school. And it still shocks you…somehow.
-
Korea has been in a state of panic, all the way back then all three of you still don’t know what a cigarette is.
Ok, not like a world ending, asteroid-hitting-the-peninsula panic, or anything. Just more like bureaucratic projections of uncertainties about whether we will have a future generation. For a period, everything you see on the news are just graphs after graphs that slope down far too often. Headline? Low birth rate. And a multitude of reasons pile up — current generation's unemployment rate, shitty life expectants, the old model that things will get better if you just hang on.
Solution?
The government calls it Produce 48 — a nationwide matchmaking system backed by genetics, health records, projected longevity, compatibility algorithms, and whatever else sounds scientific enough to justify playing god. The moment you turn eighteen, you're evaluated, paired, and then assigned.
Stupid name aside, social media eats it up so hard, purely by the promise of optimal families. When it was mandated a few years ago, all the kids were already on the list, which is not totalitarian at all.
It doesn’t mean much to you at first. You’re fifteen when the news breaks. You’ve got an English exam the next day, and whether the country survives the next fifty years feels significantly less urgent than whether you’ll lose points on grammar. You focus on studying, as you always do. Although you understand it, objectively at least — for the greater good, necessary sacrifice, all those words adults and boomers love to use when they’re not the ones paying the price.
But since when do you give a shit about the country when you’re the one being dragged into a dating game you never signed up for?
Answer: no one gives a shit until it’s their turn, because the letter arrives on a Wednesday.
You know because Wednesdays are trash days, and you always check the mailbox on your way back from taking the bags down. Most of it is junk, flyers, utility notices, something for Minji that you put it back.
And then you see it.
A beige envelope. Thick paper. Red government seal stamped dead in the middle. And clearly yours with your name labelled in the corner. You open it right there, because there's no point being secretive about it. Inside is a single sheet (duh) — barcodes on the top, percentages scatter throughout the pages. Neutral languages sound very corporate while deciding your future.
…Wait. Wait wait wait, let's close your eyes and open it again. One. Two. Three.
No. Still An Yujin.
…Fuck. Not so promising anymore, crap.
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your hand tightens on the paper so hard it creases. Your pulse spikes loudly in your ears, trying to warn you before your brain even registered. The government must've made a mistake. Surely. Definitely. Maybe. Nah, they fucking do it wrong — statistically, practically, cosmically.
You did an audible gulp. But your next door neighbour playgirl is even louder.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!"
You flinch at the sound and look up just in time to see Yujin leaning against the fence, eyes scanning her own. Honestly, you wish you could enjoy the rare moment that Yujin is annoyed without knowing what is in that letter, because her five stages of grief says it all. Let’s go through it step-by-step.
One. Denial:
She reads it once. Then again. Then flips the paper over like there will be an announcement that says 'SIKE' (It doesn't).
Two. Bargaining:
“Genetic compatibility score… ninety-eight points… no, that’s insane. There’s no way.” She jabs a finger at the page. “This has to be adjustable. Right? Like, appeal process. Retest. I can run another physical. It will be different, I'm sure. How the hell am I compatible with that study freak?!”
Three. Anger:
"This is bullshit!" Yujin crumples the letter in a quick squeeze. "Absolutely dogshit! Who decides the whole damn program anyway? Old fucks in grey suits playing houses?"
Then, inevitably, her glare snaps to you standing in front of your house.
“And I am not going to date—let alone marry—some stiff, socially awkward, notebook-hoarding weirdo with a superiority complex.”
“But I don—” “Shut the fuck up!”
Fair.
Four. Depression. Ok, this one hits you harder than it hits Yujin.
You'd never said it out loud, but a part of you hoped (like, stupidly hoped) that if it's your turn to be matched, the girl would be Minji, who you have been paying ridiculous attention to since you hit puberty. Like come on, she makes so much sense — top grade, college student, kind, pretty, and straight up your ideal type. She never dates (well, from what you assume, but she doesn’t go out as much). But instead it's Yujin.
…fuck, it’s really Yujin, instead.
Then five. Acceptance:
You are stuck with Yujin, and she is stuck with you.
See? Five stages of grief. Lovely.
-
One thing you learned since middle school about An Yujin is that…this bitch is full of spite. To be specific, the one that looks you dead in the eye and does the things that she knows will piss you off, just to show that she can. It’s just the matter of when you will get hit with it.
The official matchmaking letter doesn't mean shit to her. Not even a little.
The first time you see the shitshow, it's a week after you two read the letter. You're walking home like always, with a backpack heavy with books and a head already deep in memorised formulas, when you spot her across the street leaning too casually against a lamppost, her school vest slung low, and fingers hooked into another girl's belt loop like it's another day.
She sees you, because of course she does, and prepares her little show. Her head tilts to the side, giving the girl a sultry smile (well, mainly to you), before leaning it and kisses the girl. Slowly. And exaggeratedly.
You don't know why you stop walking, but you do.
The (unfortunate) girl laughs, probably a different girl from last week, and Yujin wraps her arm around her waist, glancing back at you and checking whether you're still her audience or not. You are. But that's because you were stunned. Totally.
When you finally approach them, your voice comes out flat. "You're just trying to rage bait now, Yujin."
"This? I'm just living my life, no?"
"I am not that dense."
Her hum is borderline mocking. "Looks like you should mind your own business."
"We are literally contractually binded by the government."
"And I literally don't care, four eyes." She flips you off without breaking eye contact.
And this is light in comparison to when she is NOT en-route, because she's doing it next door instead as usual. Just another concoction of loud music, open window, and more laughs from Yujin and another fling of hers, but much, much more deliberate. You're halfway through an English mock exam when the said fling's giggle cuts through the wall, followed by Yujin's smug voice.
Sometimes you hear the bed creak. And sometimes you hear the damn fucking moan (either from the girl or from her).
There was one time you threw a pebble at the window frame. Of course she ignores you. At times the music cuts, and you wish that she just ignores you instead of throwing out more smug comments.
"It's late" you complain. "And you're being a bitch."
"Oooh, jelly, four eyes?"
"I'm trying to make us work."
"You try then. I didn't ask for this."
The worst part is that you do try like you do with exams — study the pamphlets, follow-up emails, looking up past experiences on Facebook for a happy relationship. Hell, you show up to the mandatory counselling sessions with an advisor recommended by the government just to tell how to quote-on-quote "gauge on the metrics"... or whatever that means.
Yujin either shows up 10 minutes before it's done, or doesn't show up at all.
And the worst part? Even worse than the shitshow that Yujin constantly gives?
Minji. Not that she does anything, it's just that she is so close yet so far.
She is always there for you as always — same kitchen, same living room, same mornings where she hands you the coffee and bread the way you want, and same evenings where she listens to your endless rants about Yujin. But this one particular night hurts you the most, with one line from Minji while scrolling through her phone. "You two look great together. I'd assume you're a couple if I just passed by."
Your spoon halts halfway to your mouth, and you can only manage to say "Oh".
And it stings more when she smiles at you, and completely ignores the constant arguing through the window. "Opposite attracts, you know? It's pretty cute."
Cute, huh.
"B-but, we argue like almost every week! You even come up to shut us up!"
"It's a recipe for a cute rom-com, tho." Minji laughs it off. "But you two are so cute together."
Your inside twists. Painfully so. Because Minji is right there. She's everything you ever wanted without trying to be. And you…and you're putting in effort for someone who treats this whole fucking mandates like a game, while the girl you yearn for is cheering you from the sidelines.
And that night you also realise something — Minji is treating you like a child, and you hate it.
So, so much.
Which only makes An Yujin's spite land harder.
-
'Ask those who walk before you' they said. You don’t even get the chance to ask. Minji tells you anyway.
It happens over dinner. Nothing special — rice, vegetables, some meat. The air smells faintly of the soy sauce and steaming rice. Very normal. Very unorthodox. Yet she just spills it out while you're chewing absentmindedly.
"You know you only have to comply for a year right?"
"Comply what?"
"Produce 48."
Your chopsticks pause mid-air. "The fuck what now?"
"Oh. They didn't tell you?" "Tell me what?"
Minji sets her chopsticks down. “After one year, you can file to switch partners, as long as they’re not already paired and both sides consent.”
"Is that allowed?" "Yeah."
"Since when?" "Uh, second revision. I thought you knew."
"No one tells me." "Wow, they are incompetent people."
You both laugh, but then something clicks: “Wait,” you say slowly. “How do you know this?”
"I did it."
You choke on your rice. "You WHAT?"
She reaches over to pat your back, laughing. “Hey. I didn’t like the guy I was matched with. So I complied for the minimum period and switched.”
Switched.
The word follows you all night.
You don’t sleep. Not because you’re anxious, but rather because that single word plants a small, stubborn light somewhere in your chest. You should feel relieved and hopeful. But instead, all you can think about is the way Minji said it so easily. Sometimes she is so composed you forget she’s older than you by only one year. Sometimes you actually forget she’s had more time, more chances, and more people to meet.
No. That’s fucking stupid, you tell yourself. But the doubt spirals.
(Why didn’t she tell you? When did she switch? Who was the previous guy she was mandated with? And who is she see—)
You confront Yujin on a Sunday afternoon.
After half a year of idling over this conscripted love nonsense, you finally barge into her house where she is lounging in her living room and scrolling on her phone. No music. No girls. No audience. Ok, good. You need quiet for this.
"We need to talk."
She doesn't look up. "Pass."
"It's important."
She sighs exaggeratedly, her thumb still moving. "Yeah, you always say that, four eyes."
"Please."
That gets her attention. "Did you jus—" "Yes."
"Wow. Must've been desperate, huh."
"An Yujin."
She turns off her phone and absentmindedly throws it to the corner of the couch. "You got five minutes before I kick you out."
You inhale. "There's an option. After a year."
"Option for what?" "Switching partner."
"Since when?" "Since the revision that I just found out, apparently."
"Ok…and…?" "I need you to stop sabotaging us and just fucking do your job properly."
She lets out a short laugh. "Fuck no."
"I'm not asking you to like me." You say quickly, tumbling your words, and your heart palpitates. "Jus— just cooperate. One year. And that's it. We wasted half a year already."
She tilts her head. “Why would I do that?”
Because you’re exhausted. Because you’re losing ground every day. Because Minji's smile hurts more than Yujin’s cruelty ever could. Instead, you say, “Because it benefits you.”
Her interest sparks. “Go on.”
“You can date whoever you want,” you say. “I won’t interfere. I won’t nag. I won’t—” you hesitate, then force it out. “—care. Just try, at least.”
You don't realise you've moved until your knees hit the ground. It fucking hurts — ground is cold, your knee probably bruised, and your pride is hitting rock bottom.
But her usual smug is gone. "Bro, four eyes, what the fuck are you do—”
You bow your head. "Please."
It feels wrong in your mouth. Begging is never your thing. Not teachers. Not bullies. But now you're kneeling in front of the biggest pain in your life. "Just one fucking year. For both of us, please."
She stares at you. "Get up. You're embarrassing me."
You don't move.
"Fuck, this dam— Fine. I'll comply."
You look up.
"One year, like you said."
Relief crashes into you so hard your vision swims. "Really?"
"Don't get it wrong. I just want to date girls without you bitching around."
"Deal."
-
The deal is…functional.
Ok, it’s not good. And not exactly friendly, either. Just like two co-workers trying to get through till the end of the shift. Yujin gets to the counseling session on time more often now. You scorned her less. In the public eyes, you two are one adequate couple. 60% will be the mark if this is an exam.
You’ve been counting weeks now, not months. So no wonder you didn’t hear murmurs around her school.
“Told you she peaked early.” “Yeah, no shit. Guess all the hype finally caught up to her.”
You catch it by accident.
It’s late afternoon, the sky already washed into that dull orange that means the day is finally done. Your feet ache from the walk home, backpack digging into your shoulders, and you’re cutting past her school like you always do when the voices drift over. You slow down, mainly out of curiosity.
“She hasn’t shown up to training in days. The Sports Coach said ‘injury’, but surely not right?”
“Falling off already? That was fast.”
That… sounds uncomfortably specific. And annoyingly familiar. Surely not. Yujin might be a menace, but she’s not reckless enough to torch her own reputation over something stupid. You both have been doing the obligations normally in front of the officials and in public. She wouldn’t—
You look over and uh….
Cast. White, ugly, and running from just below her knee down to her ankle. The crutches tucked awkwardly under her arms. Her long hair tied up sloppy, barely any makeup, and her tracksuit jacket zipped up all the way to her chin.
Ah, it is Yujin.
She’s standing just inside the gate, laughing at something on her phone. Somewhat like her brazen usual self, but the sound doesn’t match how her smile doesn’t go all the way up.
You tell yourself it’s just concerning your dealmates as you move your feet. And passing through a group of students still talking, your ears perk up to one of them snickers again. “I mean, injuries happen, but An Yujin should’ve have no—”
You turn around. “Finish that sentence.”
They blink. “Huh?”
“I said,” you repeat, deliberately louder, “Finish that sentence, you fuckwit.”
“Who are you supposed to–”
“Someone who doesn’t run their mouth over someone on a bad day.” You snap. “Now shut the fuck up and mind your own business.”
One of them scoffs. “Relax, man. We’re just saying—”
“—that you have peas for brains,” you cut in. “Now shut it.”
They grumble and roll their eyes, but keep walking away. Bunch of spineless fuckwits, these pretentious kids.
“Immediate speculation the moment someone did a hiccup is just lazy,” a calm voice says behind you and Yujin. “And cruel, too.”
You turn to see Minji standing there, arms folded, her expression polite in that way that’s only polite on the surface. She must’ve just gotten back from campus too. She offers the retreating students a gentle smile. “If you’re worried, maybe try supporting your peers instead.”
That makes them run away.
“Kids.” Minji exhales.
Both you and Minji turn back to Yujin, and her smile drops. “What are you looking at?”
“The fuck happened to you?” You point. She follows your finger to the cast and clicks her tongue.
Minji steps closer. “Yujin.”
“It’s nothing,” Yujin mutters. “Just a little trip during the run.”
“That’s not ‘a little’, you fucki–” you sigh. “That’s months!”
Yujin is clearly annoyed with the sudden attention from both of you. “It will heal, the doctor said.”
“Well what are you going to do until then?” Minji asks.
“I wait.”
That’s when you find out her parents are away right at the worst time. Something about an urgent business trip that makes her huge, modern and quiet house even more…huge and quiet. And Yujin is not used to that at all.
So you stay. Well, both of you, just in case this tall bean begins to have weird self-doubting thoughts when she can barely move without knocking something over. Her place slowly rearranges itself around Yujin’s immobility. The couch becomes her bed. Pillows pile up like makeshift barricades. A chair is dragged closer so she can hook her cast over it comfortably (after a few complaints about how the angle is still wrong. Fuck you, Yujin.) Crutches lean uselessly against the wall most days, abandoned the moment she decides it’s too much effort to move at all.
At first, it’s pretty awkward.
Minji comes over in the afternoons straight from campus. She brings over the smell of library air and instant coffee, the cardigan shrugging off her shoulders as she slips her shoes by the door. She cooks just like how she cooks for you, and narrates out of her habit.
“My professor has been getting increasingly cruel to us lately, making us redo our drafts.” Minji rants as she rinses the rice in the sink. “I swear, these old farts think we don’t sleep.”
Yujin lies on the couch and scrolls aimlessly. “Now you make me not want to go to uni.”
“You will one day, kiddo.” Minji laughs.
You sit on the floor with your back against the couch, pretending to read while listening anyway.
Everyday, Minji talks as usual. About classes. About a girl in her seminar who won’t stop asking weird philosophical questions just to hear herself talk. About how the cafeteria food is somehow worse this semester. She’s filling the space on purpose, just to keep Yujin tethered to the world outside these four walls.
Yujin pretends not to care initially, but her phone stays idle at times.
One evening, while Minji is cutting fruit into neat little bite-sized pieces, Yujin asks casually. “Unnie, did you really switch your partners?”
The knife hovers mid-air. “Uh, did he tell you?”
Yujin glances at you reading a book in the other corner of the couch, clearly tensed up, and then back to the older girl. “Uh, maybe.”
Minji glances at you as well before answering: “Mhm, after a year.”
“The guy must have been a piece of work for you of all people to switch.”
Minji laughs. “He kind of was.”
Yujin hums. “Well, who did you switch to?”
The room goes quiet. Minji clears her throat. “Someone I trusted.”
“Booooooo! Boring!”
You threw a sunflower seed shell you have been munching to her head. “Stop it, Yujin. Don’t bother her.”
Yujin groans, and then somehow has an idea, judging by how she flicks her gaze sideways right at you. “What about this four eyes?”
Your stomach drops. “What about me?”
Minji freezes. It’s subtle but unmistakable. You catch the way her shoulders tense. And how she grips the knife a bit too tight. For one horrible second, you think she might actually answer…or slice you into pieces.
You move before your brain catches up (also out of your safety), and immediately clamp over Yujin’s mouth. “Nope. Nope. Conversation over. The injury has clearly affected her brain.”
“Mmph—!” Yujin thrashes, trying to bite you.
“She’s trolling like back then, remember?” you say quickly, too loudly, to Minji. “She’s bored. This is what happens when athletes are put on bed rest.”
The older girl blinks. Once. Twice. Then she exhales, the tension leaving her shoulders. “Gosh, you two are such adorable younger siblings I somehow have.” She comments before getting up to wash the knife.
The moment she leaves, Yujin finally pulls free, scowling. “You’re such a fucking coward.”
“Shut up and eat the fruit.”
She flips you off and complies anyway.
Later, after Minji leaves the place first for her early class tomorrow, only you are there to take care of Yujin. Her house settles into a rare late-night quiet moment where every sound feels louder than the bass Yujin always puts on to annoy you. You stay close to her, adjusting her leg when she gets a bit too uncomfortable.
“You should go home, too.” she mutters.
“After you go to sleep.”
She scoffs. “She could’ve answered.”
“She didn’t want to.”
Yujin stares at the ceiling, her jaw still tight. “Still. She didn’t say no.”
You say nothing. Because you don’t know what scares you more: that Minji didn’t answer, or that Yujin noticed.
-
The timing is cruel in the way only these conscripted love experiments can be.
Three hundred and sixty-something days of teeth-grtting compliance and chaperone. Of learning how to sit next to Yujin without flinching nor snapping back while taking care of the injured girl. Of continuing to pretend that you and Yujin are still that one perfect couple to the officials and then still arguing over the smallest issues the moment none of them are the audience. And of course, counting the days when things are supposed to change…or end…or reset.
But things change the moment Minji texts you one afternoon.
Minji:
Can I tell you something later?
She has been doing that a lot lately (both offline and online). Just little messages about her uni life, the people she meets, and then him. The "crush", she calls him, with his cool cap and whatever, but you deduce it’s the lucky bastard that is paired with her. She always laughs whenever she brings it up nonchalantly like it's not supposed to mean anything, or probably because she never sees you as anything beyond her friend/little brother. Still you nod along for months. Just let her talk and ramble. Pretending it doesn't sink its claws into you every single time and inhaling a big gulp of copium hoping that she sees you as someone romantically.
Yeah, no.
Minji:
He asked me out. I'm thinking about saying yes.
Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You could've asked questions, or teased her like usual; you could congratulate her, be supportive of your long time friend/older sister, be everything you have mentally trained yourself to be.
Instead, your phone slams to the table, face-down.
You don't trust your voice, nor face, and most of all, not your reaction to Minji saying it out loud — how much she likes him, how long she actually does, and how this has been real while you feign ignorance like a little kid.
So you just leave. Bolt straight out of your door. You don't even think where you want to go, but your feet instinctively rush to Yujin's house and bang her door loudly…or is it your heart that is hammering loudly, who the fuck knows.
You let yourself in without knocking. Yujin sprawled on the couch (finally out of cast) and was still in her school uniform — white shirt, red tie, blue skirt. Her legs over the armrest, TV on but muted, phone abandoned on her stomach like she forgot it existed, and a cigarette hanging at the corner of her mouth. She looks up, startled.
“…Wow,” she says. “You look like shit.”
“Hi to you too, chainsmoker.”
She sits up when she hears your voice crack, killing the embers and trying to clear the smoke away. “Hey. What happened?”
You laugh. It comes out wrong and hysterical. "She…might say yes."
"Who?" "Minji."
"…Oh, unnie."
The word breaks you. “I’ve liked her for years,” you blurt out, the confession ripping out of you before you can stop it. “I told myself it was nothing. That it was timing. That I was just being stupid. But I—fuck, Yujin, I really tried not to—”
Your voice shatters.
“I can’t even be mad at her,” you say quietly. “She didn’t do anything wrong. She just… found someone. And I’m still here. Acting and whining like a fucking kid about my damn crush for her.”
Not really sure why you're spilling your deep secret to your sworn enemy, but that time, you're desperate to hear her laughing and scorn at you for whining like a nerd, scoffing, or telling you that karma is a bitch.
She doesn't. She listens. None of the usual banter, not at all.
When you finally stop talking, the silence is suffocating.
“Is that…why you ran here?” she asks.
You nod. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
She exhales slowly, then steps closer. Too close.
“You’re an idiot,” you never know Yujin's voice can be this soft.
"Yeah…"
The room suddenly feels even smaller.
Before you can actually react, she steps into your space and gently places her hand onto your chest. She pushes you gently towards the wall behind you and—
THUD.
You're fully aware of the barrier behind you as she plants her palm next to your face, her body boxing you in. You freeze instinctively, unsure if it is out of fear or…something you don't fucking dare to say.
"An Yujin, you just recov—"
“Just shut up and let me.”
She leans in.
They say that the first kiss meant to be sweet and careful. This one isn’t. Cigarettes are all you can taste, and you can definitely feel how experienced this playgirl is. She crashes her lips against yours unapologetically, feeling all the heat and frustration boils up, and with such hunger. She's making a point, telling you to 'look at her, and only her'.
“Yu—Yujin…” Your mind blanks, yet your hand immediately grabs her tie on instinct, gripping and pulling closer like you’re afraid she’ll disappear if you don’t.
She pulls back enough to look at you. "…are you ok? Is it too much?"
What is too much? The fact that she just boldly manhandled you like you’re no different from her side chicks? The fact that your body responds with a shiver? Or the fact that deep down, buried under all the scoffing and arguing, you’ve always known that…An Yujin is one damn fucking hot playgirl.
You’re not blind (you wear glasses). The damn smug, the grin, the attractive face, the confidence that borders on cruelty, and the way she just invades spaces and owns it. You told yourself that she was just being arrogant, bitchy, and whatever negative connotations you try to come up to justify your hatred for Yujin.
Now that she is this close, knowing exactly which switch of yours she can flip? Yeah, you can’t even answer.
And she fucking knows it.
“Thought so.”
She kisses you again, albeit slower this time. And your thoughts completely dissipated. You stop thinking about whether this means anything to her. Whether you’re just another distraction. Another side note in her long list of girls. You stop thinking about Minji. About her laugh. About the quiet way she’s already moved on. Then you stop thinking about the rules, the day until your conscripted love game is done, and whatever else. They all dissolved into the awareness of Yujin's arm snaking her way behind your back and pushing you closer to her.
And how you are hyper aware of how her tongue coils around yours greedily. With the mixture of that bitter taste of the cigs and the sweet taste of Yujin imprints onto your brain. Your hand did a quick whirl to her tie, making sure she stays right there kissing you.
When you finally loosen your grips to let her pull away, she stays close enough that you can feel her breath against your lips.
"I'll make you forget completely about unnie, starting tonight."
