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It’s the second time in the same hour that Chaeryeong’s pencil flinches, chicken scratch on her notebook pages, after a bark of too-loud laughter followed by too-late hushing. She sighs, voice raising in punctuation and, “Excuse me, can you keep it down, please?”
Chaeryeong’s manning the front desk of the university library, seat next to her unoccupied this late in the evening. Midnight makes her eyelids heavy and blunts the professional edge of her voice, shapes it into something more ‘please, midterms are killing me, too.’
“Sorry,” they chime. The empathy nets her quiet for another twenty odd minutes. Clock strikes one. Two hours until she can crash face first into her bed but there’s a third burst of laughter. Her concentration snags on the noise, and the paragraph she’s reread for the fourth time is incomprehensible.
Her pencil slams against the wooden desk, loud enough to alert the nearby table.
“Guys.” She smiles. It doesn’t reach her eyes. “Shut the fuck up.”
There. Finally. Nearly all of them: sheepish, cowed, with comma-curled shoulders and voices dropping to inaudible. Except for the one with silver hair; new to the table, and Chaeryeong hadn’t seen her come in.
Familiarity sparks in the woman’s eyes, same as Chaeryeong when their eyes meet. The other woman looks away first, frowning.
Hwang Yeji: perpetually five minutes late to the art history class they share together. Coffee always in hand, yet she still falls asleep thirty minutes into lectures. Every single time on the dot, waking up twenty minutes later for questions about their weekly pop quiz or discussion board. Chaeryeong watches her doodle little stickmen in the margins of her notebook from a few seats away, somehow still keeping up with the material.
Chaeryeong complained to Ryujin, once, “Of course she’s a comp sci major,” after she stumbled in with, in Chaeryeong’s opinion, a tacky university shirt straight from the department itself, though her usual state of dress was nothing to write home about either.
“Isn’t it a little stereotypical for humanity students to hate the STEM-inclined?” Ryujin said, bored, from her corner of her dorm room, hand tapping absentmindedly on Chaeryeong’s knee. “And you complain about this class literally every week.”
“I complain about the discussion boards. The class itself is fine,” Chaeryeong corrected, taking a break from her own work. Ryujin rolled her eyes.
Comp sci favoritism lended itself to ridiculous funding, whereas the humanities were squished into damp classrooms and old buildings, with art supplies eating right through her semester wallet.
She allotted herself to one boba per two weeks with Ryujin and friends. Even that slice of decadence made her squirm with guilt until the next hang-out. She was stingy and tired and eyed Yeji’s coffee with envy every Monday and Wednesday at ass o’clock in the morning.
She was allowed to be a hater.
“Petty rivalry keeps my blood flowing,” Chaeryeong said, and Ryujin laughed in her face.
“If you want to talk to her, just talk to her, idiot.”
A hand knocks against her front desk. Chaeryeong looks up. Yeji smiles at her. A touch nervous.
“Hi,” Yeji says. She’s a slab of all-black, head to toe in hoodie and sweats, a charcoal thumbprint against the dark blue backdrop of the library, until she rolls up her sleeves and reveals the colorful, small doodles scribbling up and down the length of her arms.
“... Hello.” Chaeryeong flicks her eyes away from Yeji’s tattoos, crosses her own arms on top of her desk. Entirely bare skin. “Did you need help with something?”
“Ah, no, not really.” She busies herself with aligning the little library placard on the desk. Nearly reaches for the wooden puzzle from a previous co-worker, but pushes up her glasses instead. “We were kind of loud, sorry for disrupting your work.”
Chaeryeong slides a glance to the table — the rest of Yeji’s company turns to their monitors, like they were never disruptive — and back to the woman in front of her. The tribute for the evening.
“It’s fine. Try and keep it down so you don’t bother everyone else.”
Yeji casts a look across their area. Slightly incredulous. Chaeryeong knows it’s deserted, tables and couches alike empty.
“Me,” Chaeryeong says. “I’m ‘everyone else.’”
(Startled, stifled laughter a distance away.)
She continues, “If you wanted to talk to each other, you should have reserved a room on the fourth and fifth floors.”
Yeji’s brows pinch inward. “People… use those to… to…” The words hang in the air.
Chaeryeong feels the corner of her mouth pull up against her will. “Less students would use them as hook-up spots if they were actually used.”
Yeji’s nose scrunches up, mouth pursed. Like she’d rather do anything but be the guinea pig in that idea. It’s the same expression as when their professor says something that leaps three points ahead in connections, but in a completely foreign context. “We’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
(“What is she talking about —”)
Chaeryeong smothers a grin into her hand. Yeji would be awful at poker. “Is that it, then?”
“Um — one more thing. You’re in my art class, right?” Yeji goes for the wooden puzzle as she speaks. “How’d you do on the midterm? The term identities and last essay portion killed me.”
Chaeryeong raises a brow. Not just a tribute, then. “So the entire exam.”
Yeji flushes, but a small giggle escapes. “I — yes, but I don’t think I’m studying correctly or understanding the material. A study partner would help.”
“What do I stand to gain?”
The wooden puzzle comes apart, solved, pieces aligning themselves next to the placard. “Well. I got an A in calculus last year, and know the theory like the back of my hand.” She taps the counter with a block, just below where Chaeryeong has her massive textbook open. “I can give you a few pointers, and rummage for my old notes.”
Chaeryeong glances down at her work — she’s not making much progress. Her decision is made. “Throw in a coffee and you’ve got a deal.”
Yeji beams. The sketch of her in Chaeryeong’s mind becomes fuller, more outlined, more real. “Consider it done.”
It begrudges Chaeryeong to say that Yeji is a phenomenal teacher, explaining the material well to even the most math-disinclined; she feels like she knows more than she did a week ago. Shockingly thorough for someone who passes out during art history.
“I work as a tutor on campus. Most of the work comes straight from the students, but you’re much more preferable than my freshman,” Yeji says with a handsome grin. It tugs at something in Chaeryeong, a little; a touch of static, strange, as she takes a slow sip of her drink, savoring the caffeine, its warmth, how alert she feels — must be the coffee.
“You break the theory down to its component parts. It helps. Professor Park Jihyo is a great lecturer when I understand the material she’s blitzing through.”
Yeji winces in sympathetic understanding. “No wonder, she makes a point to avoid hand holding. Read a little ahead before each lecture, you’ll be better off. And don’t take office hours or your TA for granted.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Chaeryeong takes another sip, sighing. Everything is right in the world. She doesn’t realize Yeji is watching her until she hears a snort from the other side of the library table.
“It’s good, right? I always grab a cup since it’s a few minutes away from the apartment complexes. I have a good intuition when it comes to picking drinks. You look like the oatmilk type.”
Chaeryeong’s ears tinge red. “I appreciate your lame superpower.” Yeji whines, childish, nudging one of Chaeryeong’s feet underneath the table, and she tries not to laugh. “How’s art history?”
Yeji purses her lips in concentration, looking over both their midterms in tandem. “I still don’t get it,” she admits a few minutes later, fingers drumming against her cup. “I only partially see where I’m going wrong.”
Leaning over, Chaeryeong hums. The amount of information Yeji wrote down was the critical difference between a potential C and her final B. However.
“Your biggest issue is that you didn’t fully connect the ideas. Art generally interacts with some larger, historical background; you don’t have to explain the entire era long as you have one clean-cut pattern.” She taps a pencil against one of the terms Yeji identified. “If you look at western romanticism, for example.
“During the 1800’s, nature, artist originality, and artist emotionality reigned supreme, arguably as a direct response to the classicism of the era prior. And since tattoos are a natural symbol of your affection for another person and how you perceive them…”
Yeji visibly looks like she’s trying to tie together the hints that Chaeryeong gave her, parsing through her old answer, and finding what’s missing. “Tattoo depiction in art increased, right? This is also the turning point where tattoos began their first major shift in aesthetic, turning brighter in color, instead of muddied or black and white.”
Yeji trails off, realizing she’s gone off on a tangent. At Chaeryeong’s amused but encouraging nod, she refocuses, still speaking slowly. “Though tattoos existed in the previous era, depicting them was a matter of realism. Rationality. So the meaning and aesthetic shifted in romanticism?”
Chaeryeong’s smile blooms. “You’re getting there.”
Yeji’s eyes spark with realization. The logic is starting to click.
“Tattoos demonstrate the emotional vulnerability of an artist,” Chaeryeong says. “The less tattoos you have, the less passionate you are. How could you portray love and affection in your work if you have yet to experience it for yourself?”
Chaeryeong’s arms, bare in the library light. Yeji’s skin, vibrant with all the colors of the rainbow. Chaeryeong meets Yeji’s eyes when Yeji looks up from her staring.
“That belief still impacts some of our culture today,” Chaeryeong says, resting her chin on the back of her hand. “Tattoos do represent vulnerability, and it’s the norm to have a few by a certain age.”
Chaeryeong would know. Her previous relationships, eyes scraping over skin, defeated when they find no proof of love.
“Only a few,” Yeji says, jarring her out of her thoughts.
“Pardon?”
“Only a few,” Yeji repeats, thinking, distant. “Too many and it’s a liability. Especially in certain fields of study.”
Chaeryeong pauses. Long. Enough to draw out two sips of her coffee and empty it, before setting it down. “I apologize.”
Yeji blinks, startled. “For what?”
“Tattoos are out of your control. Other people have no business to judge you for it,” Chaeryeong says. Like she had done when she first saw the other woman. It grates on her skin. “But it can still hurt. I’m sorry.”
Yeji slowly breaks into a smile. “I don’t think anyone’s ever told me that before,” she says, laughing softly. “Thank you.”
The tug is back. Stronger, warm, coiling, catching on Yeji’s sweet smile. “It’s the truth,” Chaeryeong replies, looking back down at her notes to signal the end of the conversation.
“And for the record,” Yeji says, after a beat. “I think you’re plenty passionate. I’ve never seen someone dissect someone’s discussion boards so thoroughly.”
Chaeryeong’s ears burn. “Focus on your work.”
“Yes, professor.”
Things change gradually, a month at a time, as autumn leaves tide over to winter’s snow.
Yeji sits next to her now. Arrives on time at Chaeryeong’s behest, whining first about the early wake-up times, then the cold, then the expenses of paying for two coffees.
(“I asked you to buy me coffee once,” Chaeryeong points out. “Either stop buying me drinks or stop refusing my money.”
Yeji pouts. “A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice. I walk all the way here from the other side of campus —“
“Thank you, you big baby.”)
Yeji’s grade climbs in art history. Calculus starts making sense. And an assortment of other tiny tidbits about Yeji that Chaeryeong keeps note of, coloring in Yeji’s outlines.
She’s in her second year: a computer science major with a game development focus. Black is her favorite color. She has a dog at home, and it’s never laundry day. (“What’s wrong with the way I dress? It’s comfortable!” Yeji asks, indignant, and the bickering begins all over again. She starts dressing above the bare minimum, anyways.) Her favorite coffee flavors are the autumn and winter exclusives, or oat milk with chai. An adoration for the Legend of Zelda series — but she sucks at the puzzles. Favorites: N64, Ocarina of Time. Gamecube, Twilight Princess. Quick reflexes but never quite grasped platformers. Blindfolded, she could pick every single chip flavor and brand apart.
She watches speedruns in her spare time and her Youtube algorithm is a hotpot of game development logs, cooking, and conspiracy videos. Make-up, dance choreographies, k-pop, and art timelapses enter her feed after Chaeryeong. Cuddly in the cold months; will still start snow fights if prompted, or unprompted. She smells like laundry detergent. Her eyes sparkle when she solves difficult codes, and her smile puts the stars to shame. Chaeryeong wonders what kissing her would taste like, and how the world would rearrange itself if she ever finds out.
And — she already has a crush on Minju, her barista. Go figure.
Chaeryeong grinds the emotions down, from molten glass to marble, a tiny bead that could fit into the palm of her hand — manageable and pocket sized, something not completely overwhelming.
“She makes classes more bearable.” It’s the most she wants to admit out loud.
Ryujin looks at her in wonder, made even softer in the dim lighting of their nearby ice cream diner. “Congratulations, I’m happy for you.”
Chaeryeong’s mouth feels numb from her own dessert. “Thanks. But I kind of wanted you to tell me this isn’t a big deal.”
“Historically speaking, when have I ever been helpful to you?” Ryujin smiles until her dimples show.
Chaeryeong smiles right back. “You’re not funny.” The older girl would take a bullet for her, and they both know it.
(Then again, Chaeryeong is the type to shoot back, disproportionate and triple-fold.)
Ryujin laughs and pats her hand. “You like her so much it makes me want to gag. But this isn’t serious, Chaeryeong.”
Chaeryeong considers this as she scoops from Ryujin’s mint choco ice cream; it tastes like toothpaste. She quickly returns to her strawberry. “Let’s hope law school turns you into a better liar.”
“See.” Ryujin points her spoon at Chaeryeong’s nose. “Even if I say it, you don’t believe me.”
“I needed you to believe it. Or make me believe you believe it.” Because even when she doesn’t have faith in herself, she could always, always trust Ryujin.
“Are there any new tattoos anywhere?” Ryujin asks. Chaeryeong shakes her head. “Then there’s your answer, it’s just a crush. My opinion shouldn’t mean anything for something like this.”
“That’s so subjective and inconclusive,” she complains. “So what if it isn’t a tattoo?”
Ryujin reaches out with a finger and taps Chaeryeong twice against her knee, shockingly warm even through clothes, right over her anchor tattoo. Still hasn’t faded, not a bit since it stamped on her skin in grade nine.
There’s a flash of a matching tattoo on Ryujin’s wrist as she scoops up another spoonful. “Don’t be silly. It’s because you care. And I think we’d both know if you couldn’t develop anything.”
Ryujin winks at her, sly. Nothing within Chaeryeong tugs or snares, but she makes a kissy face back all the same.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s only a crush,” Chaeryeong says.
“Why don’t you want it to be anything else?”
“I like where we are now. I like being her friend, and being in her company. There’s nothing else to it.” Her voice trails off at the end as she distracts herself with her ice cream, nearly finished.
Ryujin squints at her, but returns to her ice cream. “You’re lucky it’s exam time. Otherwise I’d put you on the witness stand and wring it out of you.”
Rolling her eyes, Chaeryeong says, “Pass all of your criminology exams first and then we’ll talk.”
Two knocks on the library’s front counter.
Chaeryeong looks up, positions herself over the dumb doodles she had been drawing in her notebook. It’s not even two in the afternoon. “You’re supposed to be in class.”
“Hello to you, too,” Yeji says, grinning. Catches herself before she hops up onto the counter at Ryeong’s shiftmate’s pointed stare. “Guess whose professor got stuck in traffic today.”
Chaeryeong raises a dubious brow. “Should you really be celebrating with finals around the corner?”
Yeji groans, sinking into the countertop. “Don’t remind me, the pre-exam nerves are already kicking in. But, wait. You never worry about math or art history, either.”
Chaeryeong shrugs. “The only thing I can control is how well I prepare. Stressing beyond that is pointless.”
“Are you real? Are you even a real person?” Yeji reaches out to touch her arm. To verify. The beating in Chaeryeong’s chest pauses. And resumes.
“There’s nothing to worry about when I have you to study with.”
“I’m honored to be of service.” Yeji laughs and pulls away, and breathing comes easier. “You get off of work soon, right? Did you want to do something together?”
Chaeryeong blinks. “You can grab a table in the back, I’ll be off in 15.”
Yeji raises a brow.
Yeji’s apartment and room is much nicer than Chaeryeong would have thought. It’s the first time she’s been to the other woman’s quarters — if they spend time together, it’s to study, to eat, or to check out nearby hotspots: arcade, theaters, whatever strikes Yeji’s fancy — she shys away from visiting alone.
There’s a large projector screen pressed against the left wall, and a projector that Chaeryeong can spot from Yeji’s desk, underneath her lofted bed, and red-blue-green hues for the lights hung around the room.
“There wasn’t enough space for this in the dorms,” Yeji explains. “That, and I heard the headboards against the walls like clockwork, every Friday night. Feel free to take a seat on the bed while I get set up.”
“To be honest, I thought you’d have a mattress with no bed sheets on the floor, or something.”
“Please think higher of me, I’m begging you.” She tosses her hoodie from her bed to her closet and peeks her head over to Chaeryeong, hair fussed up from taking the sweater off, rainbow colors on her arms. Pats the space next to her, like coaxing a puppy.
Chaeryeong huffs a laugh through her dull, kickdrum pulse. Gingerly, she sets her bag down at the corner of Yeji’s desk. “When I sleep over at Ryujin’s dorm we can hear the screaming from five doors down during movie nights. Where are your housemates?”
“Think Jimin’s out with Minjeong, and Jungeun might be in class or passed out? It’s hard to tell with her class schedule.” The projector turns on. “Here’s what we have for games…”
“I should keep this short,” Chaeryeong says. “Because of the finals.” Stalling, nervous. Ridiculous — it’s just Yeji. She’s shared a bed with Ryujin countless times.
Yeji leans over the bed with wide eyes, shoulders curling in. “You don’t want to spend time with me? Your favorite classmate? Your best senior?”
Her resolve crumbles. “You’re evil.”
Yeji throws her head back and laughs. “I’m kidding. Stay as long as you want. The comp sci tutoring office gets packed with students during exam month, so I won’t be able to see you anymore. And! I want to see you game!!”
Fishhook snare on her ribs, a tug more frequent the longer she’s with Yeji.
She imagines mint choco on her tongue and it steels her, Ryujin’s voice in her head — this means nothing. Finally climbs up the ladder, but settles on the bed a respectable distance away, smoothing a hand down her skirt.
“You pick the poison. All of your game jargon means the same to me.”
Yeji grins. “Breath of the Wild it is.”
It takes only an hour for Chaeryeong to sink into the bed, blankets draped over her shoulders to fend off the cold, chip bags torn open to fend off hunger (Yeji feeds her — “Do not get grease on the controllers,” — thumb grazes against Chaeryeong’s bottom lip, once, and the touch burns.) then the hours pass seamlessly. Yeji’s boisterous laughter fades from full-belly to quiet giggling.
Chaeryeong pumps a fist, finally, after killing off one of the harder mobs. Yeji cheers from beside her, and that’s when she notices how the sunlight had vanished, the only light source coming from the screen — it’s so much darker in the evenings now. “I should start heading out. Thanks for being a generous host.”
“Thank you for being a welcome distraction.” Yeji stretches out. Hand cups a yawn. “I’m not looking forward to my group projects…” One arm pulls above her head, a flash of cloudy blue on abdomen when her shirt rides up. “... Chaeryeong?”
The pause menu had deafened the music. Her pulse thumps. Loud.
“You have a lot of tattoos.” Scoops the panic out of her voice for a believable excuse. Mercifully, Yeji takes the bout of silence between them in stride.
“Yeah. Do you have any?" She moves closer to show her arms; vulnerabilities and past memories revealed so easily, glimmering starlike in the light. Chaeryeong wants to touch.
Instead, she moves a leg — flinching, from pins and needles — pulling down her stocking, before she could overthink. There’s her anchor, encompassing her entire knee.
“This was from high school, from Ryujin. You two have met.”
Yeji searches her face, testing the waters. “Can I ask how you got it?”
There’s no usual thread of annoyance when people prod at her for answers. The intimacy of this, sitting in Yeji’s room in the dark, lowers her defenses.
“Ryujin and I’ve known each other since we were kids, but we didn’t start talking until high school.” Chaeryeong laughs a little. “We hated each other’s guts.”
They got along like a matchstick and an oil spill, squabbling, arguing, at each other’s throats constantly, and in that regard, were inseparable. A begrudging, mutual respect forged in forced group projects and orbiting friend circles.
Chaeryeong had a faulty knee. It buckled underneath the strain of dance. Ryujin found her with lips bitten bloody in a stowaway corner of an art classroom, and tugged Chaeryeong into a shoulder, until everything felt okay again. Inseparable since.
“I’m sorry about your knee,” Yeji murmurs, eyes flicking to Chaeryeong’s leg, patting it gently. Heat fans underneath Chaeryeong’s collar. “I’m glad Ryujin was there for you.”
Chaeryeong smiles, genuine. “I’m happy where I am now.” Her passion reignited with art, and the pang of envy and what-if had long since faded. “What about you?”
She holds her arms out further. Stars, music notes, tennis rackets, meteors; Chaeryeong aches for a notebook and pencil.
“I fall in love pretty easily, romantically and platonically.” Yeji laughs, eyes bright. “Ask away, I think I owe you a story after yours.”
“What’s the most memorable one?”
Yeji tilts her head to the ceiling, recollecting. Then, she rotates her arms, pointing to a sloth tangled up in a microphone on her inner arm. “This is for Jisu. Knew each other since middle school, and dated all throughout the last two years of high school before she left for university, and we broke up because of the distance.
“She’s so talented, could make an entire room stop and stare when she starts singing. And so bubbly and ambitious that it rubs off on you — I’m in game dev because of her. The two of us still chasing dreams like dumb kids.” Yeji runs along the tattoo with a thumb. Her soft, adoring grin makes a home inside Chaeryeong’s chest.
Oh. She’s melting. Like a snowbank in spring.
“All of my tattoos are memorable, but… Jisu is special.”
“They don’t lose meaning to you?”
Yeji shakes her head, holds a hand over her heart. “I carry a part of everyone with me,” she says. “Every time I fall for someone, I mean it. No matter how long it’s been. They’re important to me. I don’t want to hide that.”
Chaeryeong wears long pants stockings in blistering summer heat, because she can’t stand the fact that someone could see her vulnerability on display. Classmates and previous lovers thought her unemotional, unfeeling for the longest time, and she’d be damned if she paraded that intimate moment around to prove them wrong.
Chaeryeong wields her vulnerability like a knife. Yeji wields hers like armor. The world becomes brighter, clearer, more kind with the revelation. Like returning to a familiar, old sketch and re-inventing it.
Love sunbursts on her shoulder, kisses from a thousand tiny cigarettes static spark-jumping across her skin. It bundles her nerves up in her throat.
Her shoulder burns.
Yeji looks concerned, reaching out. “Are — are you alright? You look —”
Chaeryeong flinches away from her— not subtly enough. Yeji pulls back immediately, and then the lights flick on and throws Yeji’s worry into stark relief.
“You are an absolute gremlin, always sitting around in the dark,” Jimin complains. “I need to ask you about the — oh, hi Chaeryeong!”
“Hi I think I need to go do something like right now at this moment haha,” Chaeryeong says, one hand clasped firm against her shoulder. “A final project due at midnight tonight and some homework maybe?”
“You can stay to work on it if you like, I really don’t mind,” Yeji says, squinting in the deep crimson red of her RGB lights. Chaeryeong is already clamoring out of her bed. “Or I can walk you out —”
“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be okay.” Her toe stubs against one of the ladder rungs — ow, shit, entire structure rattles — bag hoisted up, bunny hopping on one leg to her shoes by the door.
“Thanks for the company,” Chaeryeong says quickly, slinging her bag up further on her unwounded shoulder. Her other one is still singing. “I’ll — I’ll see you in class.”
“Good luck on the midterm!” Yeji calls out, muffled as Chaeryeong heads outside of the dorm — doubles back for the bathroom on the ground floor instead: sets her backpack on the counter. Tugs up her sleeve. Not high enough, yanks down her collar, tries to see it from the back.
Stain of dark ink on top of angry, red skin, roiling heat.
Fuck.
In one fluid motion she slugs Ryujin in the arm the next time they meet.
Ryujin yelps, turning to look at Chaeryeong, incredulous. “What was that for? Minjeong, do you see this?”
“You probably deserved it,” Minjeong says, waving at Chaeryeong from her bed with a grin. Impeccably untouched by the student miasma of finals’ stress.
“This is your fault,” Chaeryeong accuses, before dropping her backpack, tugging down the collar of her shirt and turning around to show the tattoo.
Minjeong makes an interesting, strangled sort of noise underneath Ryujin’s low whistle. “Not a small crush anymore, huh,” Ryujin says.
When Chaeryeong turns back around, Minjeong’s peeking at her through the gaps in her fingers. “Oh my god. Please warn people next time.”
Ignoring her, Chaeryeong sinks into Ryujin’s bed and presses her fingers to her forehead. “It’s growing.” She’d caught sight of it in the shower that morning: the tattoo is a projector, and has a ‘light’ shining from its lens that wasn’t there a week ago. “If your stupid mouth hadn’t mentioned the tattoos —”
“I think you’re just mad because I sped up the process. Anyone with eyes could see you had it bad, but —”
“You’re not going to have eyes in a second.”
Ryujin parrots her voice back in a higher pitch. Chaeryeong beams one of her pillows at her face.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of this,” Minjeong declares. “As Jimin’s confidant and Yeji’s second-in-confidant I’m maintaining plausible deniability.” And promptly shoves in her headphones.
She hugs one of Ryujin’s pillows to her chest. “What… what do I do now?”
“What do you want to do?” Ryujin asks.
Quite frankly, Chaeryeong thought there was something fundamentally broken within her when she felt nothing more than passing aesthetic interest during her high school flings. No romantic spark, no candle lick of emotion painting stripes along her skin. Her boyfriends’ crestfallen expressions haunt her, neon glowing on their skin.
She felt a little bit like clay in human clothing. Molded into the right form but lacking the component parts.
“I still think I’m faking it,” Chaeryeong whispers. “Or over exaggerating it. I don’t know. Maybe I don’t like her like that.”
Ryujin stares at her. “Dude. I didn’t point out the tattoo thing for you to start moving the goalpost. This is as real as you can get.”
“I need more time to think,” Chaeryeong says. “To, to make sure. It’s almost break. After this semester the feelings might die down, and she might not even feel the same way.”
“Ugh, so cautious. Just make out with her and deal with the consequences.”
Chaeryeong makes a face. “Shut up. How’s Yuna been doing?”
Professor Kang takes mercy on them for the art history exam; Yeji and Chaeryeong finish with thirty minutes to spare.
“I’m so glad that’s over,” Yeji says, groaning. Chaeryeong’s accompanying her back to her dorm to kill some time before her library shift. “One more exam and I’m in the clear.”
“I only have calculus left and some last minute portfolio work. Both should be fine.” She might sacrifice some study time to polish off her art — is the excuse. Her brain feels fried from both school and examining her feelings under a microscope.
“It’s a shame I never got to see much of your art,” Yeji’s brow raises in suggestion.
Chaeryeong’s palms sweat. So many sketchbook pages, dedicated to Yeji’s side profile and nose bridge.
“Maybe next semester,” she says, deflecting. “I’m full up on art classes, I’ll show you pieces I’m especially proud of.”
Yeji brightens. “I’m holding you to that.”
They stretch the walk from a brisk 10 minutes to 20, talking about all manner of tangential things, until Chaeryeong’s nose is numb from frigid air, and her cheeks hurt from laughing, all the way up to Yeji’s dorm building.
“You know, I thought about dropping out of the class after that first midterm, but I’m glad I didn’t.” Yeji leans against the building, her ears, nose, cheeks, cherry red, scuffing at the snow with a foot. “You made the semester really fun.”
Hedgehog pinpricks down her shoulder, warm like a projector screen heat. “Hold on, I have a Christmas present for you. Don’t get your hopes up,” Chaeryeong warns, when Yeji’s eyes go wide. “It’s something small.”
She reaches into her bag, and hands Yeji the gift — a box of expensive instant coffee after she unwraps the present, wrapping paper shoved into her pocket. And the other woman still cradles it like it’s something as precious as gold, gripping it tight to her chest.
“Now you can stop spending so much money at the cafe,” Chaeryeong hides her nerves by shoving her hands into her pockets. “I know you do it to visit your morning barista, but this is in case you want something closer to home.”
There’s a quicksilver flash of an adoring and wry smile on Yeji’s face, so fast Chaeryeong thinks she imagines it, as she rubs an arm to ward off the chill. “I — thank you. But I didn’t get you anything.”
“Think of it as reimbursement for all the drinks you didn’t let me pay for. Don’t think too much into it,” Chaeryeong says dryly. “You should head in before you catch a cold.”
Yeji stalls, shifting from one foot to the other. “You’re always welcome to stay at my place, Ryeong. Any time, ever, just give me a call, okay?”
“Don’t tempt me. I’ll take full-advantage of your hospitality.”
Yeji huffs. “I’m offering.” She’s still rubbing at her arm.
“Yes, yes, I get it, go inside already,” she says, exasperated.
Yeji pouts, but dutifully listens. Once inside, she presses her forehead to the glass door, unaware of the people shooting her strange looks from the inside, and waves her off.
Chaeryeong exhales clouds. Already colder without someone by her side.
Break is fine.
She spends most of her time with Yuna and Ryujin, catching up on the months that they’ve spent away from the town and each other. They pick right back where they left off, though she steps back and gives the long-distance couple time to themselves. Like now, when she’s helping her mom cook in the kitchen, while the other two fuss over each other in her living room.
Of course, even with domestic distractions and packed activities, she still spends an embarrassing amount of time daydreaming about Yeji. Of course, she still doodles the other woman in her sketchbooks. Of course, she still orders Yeji’s regular oat milk and chai drink at her local coffee shop. Of course, she stares at Yeji’s number and texts, wondering if she’s being annoying by calling for hours on end, carving out time to chat a little every day.
The tattoo overtakes her shoulder, beginning its crawl down the rest of her back, past the ridges of her spine. The tip of a sword, an unfinished triangle, the beginnings of a geometric wolf, Pacman ghosts along her neck, coffee spills, and a smattering of other swirling references.
“You have like a one in a million tattoo,” Ryujin says, after they eat dinner, bellies stuffed, lying prone on the ground. “What the fuck. I didn’t think they could look like that naturally.” But Ryujin has an entire sleeve dedicated to Yuna. It’s not much different.
Yuna gasps as they scroll through Yeji’s instagram, and the various candid photos Chaeryeong took of her. “You could have done so much worse. Wow. And she’s single? She’s so…” She fans herself.
“Hello, you have a hot girlfriend right here,” Ryujin says, faux-indignant, poking at Yuna’s leg with her foot.
“And I love her very much,” Yuna says, making obnoxious and loud kissing sounds and smothering Ryujin in kisses.
Chaeryeong rolls her eyes at their antics. “I’m getting some fresh air.”
The chill from outside is a welcome change from the heat of her house, though Chaeryeong imagines it won’t feel like that for long.
Ten minutes away from the turn of the hour. She finds herself dialing a familiar number before she could think about the consequences. The phone rings only once.
“Chaeryeong?” Yeji’s voice cups around a laugh. “Hi. Should I feel flattered you’re calling me tonight?”
“Pucker up. You’re my double date with Ryujin and Yuna for New Years.” There’s a loud rush of noise and laughter on Yeji’s end, rendering her words inaudible. “Unless I’m calling at a bad time.”
“Hold on, let me —” Yeji’s voice muffles. Relocating, the noise diluting with the sound of a door opening and sliding shut. “It’s family. They’re a little drunk. Are you third wheeling? Jimin and Minjeong couldn’t keep their hands off each other when they first got together, it was terrible.”
“I don’t mind giving them space, but it’s hard not to feel left out, sometimes.”
“Aww. So you called me? You’re so sweet.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“No! Wait! I’m sorry, stay with me. I want to talk to you too. My family’s been teasing me non-stop about this —” She stops speaking. “Think I’m more tipsy than I thought.”
“What were you going to say?”
“This, um.” An extended stretch of silence. “This new tattoo. It’s… it’s pretty big.”
Chaeryeong straightens up. Her heart: sinks, and pounds, and sinks. “Is this a recent development? For who?”
“Well.” Yeji sounds nervous, voice wavering. “You know her.”
A moment of clarity. Disappointment presses heavy down on her shoulders. “Did you finally talk to your barista?”
“You have such high expectations. Now I really am flattered. But no, not her.”
Chaeryeong furrows a brow. “Then who?”
Yeji hums, shuffles a bit, noise ruffling. “She’s… determined. Super stubborn. Really funny, and so smart. When she trusts me with her secrets it feels like I don’t deserve it, but it still makes me want to protect her.” Yeji laughs quietly. “She looks at all of my parts and accepts them all. She sees me for me.”
“I asked for a name,” Chaeryeong says. Less sarcastic than she intended, feelings twisting themselves into a knot. Her brain works through a list of candidates, but she’s not sure any of them fit the bill.
The New Years countdown starts inside the house.
Seventy! Sixty-nine! Sixty-eight!
“You did.” Yeji’s voice trembles. “I, I have a picture of her. If you want to — she’s one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen.”
Chaeryeong feels like a wet candle wick. She doesn’t want to see the girl that Yeji is head over heels for, but that’s hardly supportive. “If you’d like.” And she waits. And waits.
“Sorry, my hands are shaking really bad,” Yeji mumbles. “I — okay. There it is.”
Chaeryeong takes a deep breath, steeling herself. Opens the text, and. Air, stalling, in her lungs.
“This… this is just a picture of me.” Of her on Yeji’s bed, illuminated by a projector screen, winking at the camera. Pulse roaring. She can’t hear her own voice over it.
Twenty-three! Twenty-two! Twenty-one!
Yeji clears her throat, choking down a giggling fit, and it squeezes Chaeryeong around the midsection. “Surprise.”
“You — you like me?” Chaeryeong’s shaking. Processing so slowly, like her heart took off in a gallop and it’s the only thing propelling her forward, but, it’s only now her brain catches on the words Yeji said a moment prior, her face surging into flame.
“Yeah. I guess I should probably say it, officially.”
The last few seconds hang, hinge on Yeji’s intake of breath, and Chaeryeong could see it, Yeji’s cheeks burning, hoodie drawstrings drawn tight, face bright red from alcohol, staring out at the same sky and moon.
Three! Two! One!
“I like you.”
Fireworks ignite along Chaeryeong’s back, same as the sky, as Yeji lets out a laugh, carefree and bright.
“...Oh,” Chaeryeong says.
“Oh,” Yeji repeats, and it sets her off all over again.
“I need you to shut up.” She’s scrambling, can barely string together words over the blaze of heat along her back and the boom of the fireworks. “But what about the coffees? And the — you wore jeans to class.”
“I — I don’t know. I liked seeing you smile. I was trying to impress you…”
“Oh my god. I need a moment.” Chaeryeong presses a palm to her forehead. The world has shifted, reoriented, reconfigured. She can’t think.
“You don’t have to say anything back.” There’s a sound of someone knocking, raising their voice, Yeji calling back, then returning to the call: “Wait, I’m sorry, I have to go. Family stuff.”
“Unnie, I still don’t know how to respond.”
“I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate you, okay?” Yeji says, softly. “No strings attached. I’m perfectly happy as long as we’re still friends.”
“Alright,” Chaeryeong says. “Okay. I’ll talk to you when school starts.”
“I’ll see you then.” The phone clicks off.
The meeting gets delayed from a day to a week to a month and a half. Chaeryeong grapples with getting back into the school rhythm, same as Yeji, so their schedules are as misaligned as shear stress — though there’s no time to think about it when she’s piled high with required freshman courses and portfolio work.
Yeji is sympathetic. Ryujin is less so.
“You need to stop leading people on,” Ryujin says, disapproving. “Make time for her. No making excuses, she deserves a proper response.”
But her tattoo has stopped its descent, and the snow has long since melted. Yeji may no longer feel the same way.
“What did I just say.”
Guilt gnaws. “I have one last portfolio piece. I’ll talk to her soon.”
“I don’t even understand what the issue is! You both like each other! Why are you hesitating?! I might actually strangle you!”
Chaeryeong hangs up.
‘Soon’ comes in the form of: pressure mounting (exhaustion, lanyard tossed on the kitchen table) a string of late-night studying and course materials, (tablet left plugged in on her desk) all culminating in her waking up on the brink of missing a bus, frazzled, sleep-deprived, hungry.
She doesn’t have a tablet for an assignment due at midnight. Neither Minjeong or Ryujin are home until late, so borrowing is out of the question.
Yeji’s invitation from last semester still lingers fresh in her mind. When Chaeryeong sends an impulsive text, she doesn’t expect a response.
“What assignment did you say this was?” Yeji asks. Chaeryeong is caught by the door, eyes glued to the waistcoat, collar, and black pantsuit Yeji adorns. She’s fumbling with a tie in the mirror, bringing the entire outfit together.
It’s like they picked up right where they left off. It’s enough to lure Chaeryeong into security. “‘Re-imagine any location near or on campus as a different environment.’ I’m turning the math building into a dystopian dungeon, I just need to finalize a few details.”
Yeji snorts. She’s still fighting with the cloth, biting her lip as she concentrates. “Jungeun really enjoyed that class, said that she preferred having some direction on the assignments instead of just portfolio after portfolio…”
She stops talking to concentrate. The mirror is a detriment. She has no idea what she’s doing.
“Come here,” Chaeryeong says with a huff of laughter. “You’re looping the wrong part.”
Chaeryeong unwinds the pretzel that Yeji had tied it into. From there, muscle memory takes over, having done the action for Ryujin countless times — is she wearing cologne? “Dressed to the nines for once. What’s the occasion?”
“A few tech and game companies are hosting showcases for internships later today. Have to make a good first impression, right?”
Her mouth tugs into a smile. “You look good.” Then, out of habit, she smooths out the wrinkles in Yeji’s outfit, at the shoulders, over the waistcoat, taps her wrist at the sleeve. “Make sure you button these up…” Chaeryeong trails off. Yeji’s eyes are trained at a spot on the ceiling, face painted crimson.
Chaeryeong steps away like she’s been burned. Red kisses her ears. “I’m sorry.”
Yeji moves to push her glasses up — gone, in place of contacts. She flushes deeper. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Or impose. You needed space.”
Chaeryeong rubs a brow. “Ryujin says I have a problem with leading people on.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Yeji still can’t look at her. “I think you’re just easy to fall for.”
Her stomach flutters, butterflies taking flight. Chaeryeong’s hand cards through her hair, shifts on her feet. “I should have said something sooner.”
“Maybe. For a second, I thought you only needed me for the tablet.” Yeji slides her eyes from the window to Chaeryeong, teasing, a hint of truth coiled in the words, and careful, like trying to approach a cautious animal. “But you’re here now.”
“I’m sorry.” The trust Yeji has for her feels misplaced. Somewhat terrifying. She tries, and fails, to withhold the anxiety, averts her gaze towards Yeji’s desk instead. “I shouldn’t keep you. Where did you say your tablet was?”
Out of the corner of Chaeryeong’s eye, she sees Yeji. Subdued. A little. “On the table. Underneath the textbooks, next to the —”
“I see it.”
Yeji straightens up. “Feel free to stay as long as you need. We have the kitchen area for snacks and drinks. I’m taking a tutoring shift for the evening, so I won’t be back until late.”
“Good luck,” Chaeryeong calls, once Yeji has all her belongings collected. And the other woman musters up a fond smile.
“Thanks.”
Chaeryeong finishes with more time to spare than she thought she would. Enough time to scrutinize and polish up the details before submitting the piece and calling it done. She pulls her fingers back from her palm to shake sensation back into her hand and wrist.
Yeji has yet to return. Judging from her previous text, it should take another half hour to clock out.
Chaeryeong spins around in the chair. The cramped room is packed with piles and piles of memorabilia, clothes, posters, figurines. Alone, it feels like a much bigger space without Yeji’s presence encompassing the entire room.
It’s a similar sensation as when she stays at Minjeong and Ryujin’s dorm: she doesn’t belong.
The thought of leaving nips at her. To pack her bags and go, and leave the conversation to another time. Hardly mature. The impulse exists nonetheless.
Chaeryeong wrings at her hands, scrolls aimlessly through her phone. Turns on the RGB lights and flickers through the color options. Tries watching the latest music comebacks.
Trepidation, anxiety, makes the time crawl painstaking and incremental, second by second forward.
Groaning, she gives up on the phone and decides to make a drink.
She steps into the kitchen area like a wary cat, and when she isn’t accosted by a confused housemate, some of the tension leaves. She resolves to finish as quickly as possible, but… there.
The instant coffee that Chaeryeong gifted her, sitting in one of the cabinets in want of a mug. Half-empty from the weight of it, snug in a ziplock bag.
And she can imagine it: Yeji would pour water into the kettle from the tap. And she would wait for the water to boil, impatient, as she prepares her cup. (Chaeryeong takes a guess here, picks up a Snorlax mug with one of its ears missing) And Yeji would haphazardly dump in three or four spoonfuls, coffee grains spilling out of the bag and into the ziplock, but Chaeryeong makes do with one careful spoonful, spilling not a drop.
And Yeji would open the fridge, find the creamer — nearly empty — and pour in as much as she needed to balance out the bitterness.
Chaeryeong takes a seat back at Yeji’s desk, taking careful sips of the burning cup. Just as sweet as she’d like it.
She feels no less like a stranger inhabiting Yeji’s space.
And then the door opens. Yellow hallway lights breathing into the ocean-wash blue. Yeji’s sloped form standing in the doorway, tie undone around her shoulders. And her eyes light up, slow and steady. Glowing as lanterns. As sunrise, together with her smile.
Chaeryeong’s chest goes tight. Much harder to breathe.
“You’re still here.” Her laugh sounds a little disbelieving. “I thought —”
You’d be gone by now.
“I told you I’d take full advantage of your hospitality,” Chaeryeong says. And all her thoughts about being a stranger escapes from her mind. “The water’s still hot if you want something to drink.”
Yeji looks torn between passing out in her bed and the idea of a hot drink. She stares longingly down the hallway.
“I’ll make something for you. Coffee?”
“Please. And thank you.”
Chaeryeong returns a few minutes later, Yeji’s sat in her bean bag chair, clothes swapped for a hoodie and pajamas. She waits until the hard angles in Yeji’s shoulders loosen, sinking into the cushion, and asks, “Are you okay?”
Yeji smiles, tired but grateful. “Made the mistake of rolling up my sleeves during tutoring. Midterm study rush and ignorant students.”
“Ah.” Chaeryeong grips her cup tighter. “I hope they fail.”
Yeji snorts. “I want to keep my job. But the thought is appreciated.”
Chaeryeong hums, and they fall back into silence. She’s still trying to figure out how to broach the topic when Yeji speaks, “Do you want to watch a movie? She looks small with her mug between her knees and oversized hoodie. “I could use some company.”
Chaeryeong softens. “Pick anything you want.”
Chaeryeong’s stopped paying attention half-way through the second episode of some Netflix reality dating series, bored enough that she’s started typing up an essay outline on her phone with one hand, since her other arm has Yeji leaning into it, full weight, dozing off — Chaeryeong’s pulse drums as steady as a drumbeat in her ears.
She exhales, rotating her wrist, flexing it. Doesn’t think she jostles Yeji, but Yeji shifts, mumbling. “What’s wrong?”
“Trying to prevent carpal tunnel.” With all of her art classes for the semester, she’s been taking precaution with religious wrist exercises. Though she forgets when she stresses.
Yeji says something incomprehensible, patting at Chaeryeong’s arm until she realizes that Yeji is asking for her hand. “Stretches. Every hour. Set alarms.”
Yeji’s hand is cool in hers. Gently, she massages Chaeryeong’s hand, rubbing at her wrist, fingers. A casual reverence that brings a lump to Chaeryeong’s throat.
It’s just a hand massage, but it’s always been the small things. Like coffee before class, like walking her through calculus problems, humoring her through her library shifts, starting snow fights and stealing food. Like familiar weight leaning against her, like sharing body heat on a bed. Like a blinding smile when she notices that Chaeryeong stayed.
It’s just a hand massage but warmth blooms in her chest. Air catches in her lungs. And heat pierces across the canvas of her back, down her spine, a crescent moon pattern crawl of cigarette burns across her back, larger than any of the additions prior.
Chaeryeong yelps loudly, and Yeji springs her hands off in an instant, eyes wide. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
(Actions were never enough. Lovers wanted proof of affection. Now she has it, On her back. But the fear remains, she realizes, and all her hesitation clicks into place. She thought she wasn’t enough.)
“I didn’t think I could give you as much as you can give me.” Disbelief flares, turns to recklessness, turns to adrenaline pumping through her veins as she says it. She thought she had gotten over other people’s expectations of her. What the fuck. Yeji confessed to her first!
Yeji slowly takes her in. “You made me coffee. You stayed and watched a movie with me. You’re so much kinder than you give yourself credit for. You still look upset. I don’t think I’m saying the right thing here.” She almost scoots away, giving her space to breathe, like always, but Chaeryeong’s grip on her arm halts her.
(Isn’t that what attracted Chaeryeong to Yeji in the first place? Yeji’s firm adherence to her principles, to display her tattoos as easy as breathing? Love surges.)
Of course, what comes out of Chaeryeong’s mouth is: “Thank god you’re easy to impress.” Chaeryeong cups her hands on Yeji’s face and neck, keeping her still. There’s a butterfly pulse running rampant underneath her palm — Chaeryeong almost mistakes it for hers — Yeji’s hands gripped tight in her sheets. Her eyes are blown.
“It’s not a bad thing.” Her voice trembles. “Are you going to do something about it?” Chaeryeong watches her mouth shape the words, curiously swipes a thumb across her bottom lip, pushing Yeji’s hair behind her ears — she shakes underneath her, like a leaf.
“No.” Chaeryeong moves with intent, with purpose, tugging herself closer. “I like you better like this.” And heat flares down her spine as their lips meet.
It spurns Yeji into action, hands at Chaeryeong’s waist, yielding to Chaeryeong’s weight and pressure. Her teeth catch deliberately on Yeji’s bottom lip, only pulling away when Yeji gasps into her.
Her lips are swollen when she swipes her tongue over. Yeji’s face is flushed crimson, visible even in the dim lighting. And Chaeryeong feels deeply, deeply satisfied. But greedy. She leans in for more.
A few minutes later, Yeji asks, “This means we’re together now, right?” Chaeryeong kicks her.
Yeji says she developed her tattoo when Chaeryeong handed her the coffee bag gift.
“It looks like water color,” Chaeryeong muses. She runs her fingers along Yeji’s arms, raising goosebumps along in her wake, and smiles innocently when Yeji looks away from her schoolwork to glare at her. There’s a notebook and paintbrush on her shoulder, drawing up her arm and looking like it painted every other one of her tattoos, bright and shockingly vivid when it catches on the lighting.
Yeji cautiously asks if Chaeryeong has a tattoo.
So there Chaeryeong lies in the photo, front pressed against Yeji’s mattress, back and shoulders on full display. Evocative, Chaeryeong thinks, looking over the photos with a critical eye, legs kicking against the bed, now dressed. The projector completes itself with a wolf in the middle, to the backdrop of three triangles and a shield (“Twilight Princess!” Yeji yells, delighted) and the completed, assorted collage of some of the things Chaeryeong associates her with the most. Games, movie characters, music. Shockingly cohesive.
She could absolutely use it as a basis for her art assignment. It’s hard to think beyond that, though, with Yeji still hovering above her, bed dipped under her weight, silence stretching.
“Thanks, baby,” Chaeryeong says, belated, and then there's the weight of a hand resting against her shoulder blade.
“It’s over your entire back,” Yeji whispers, awed. “I didn’t realize it would be so big.”
“It actually stretches lower.”
At the new, sudden bout of silence, Chaeryeong shifts so she could look at Yeji, but instead, she focuses on the glow and ink scrolling down Yeji’s arm. Another extension. Chaeryeong bites her lip to suppress an adoring smile as Yeji’s face turns bright pink.
“I’ll show you another time,” Chaereyong says, laughter spilling out as Yeji whines and shoves against her shoulder, pulling the blankets over them both.
“Another time,” Yeji echoes, before she’s tugging Chaeryeong in for a kiss, and she surrenders to the warmth.