Work Text:
Remind Minjeong to never move apartments during the summer ever again.
And remind her that wearing flannel and denim on the hottest day of the year is a god-awful idea and should be avoided at all costs, even if boyfriend jeans are cute on her and her favorite black checkered flannel seemed like a no-brainer this morning.
She’s been in Jeju for exactly one year. She knows, obviously, because it’s the kind of big life event you remember, but also because today is the last day of her old lease and the first day of her new one. Hence, the move. She honestly never thought of Jeju as a place to live in, maybe because it’s where her father’s from and she’s always associated it with family visits thrice a year, or something. But she applied for a job completely on a whim — the only one she applied for, actually — and was shocked as hell to have even gotten an interview. When they made her a pretty good offer, she didn’t hesitate and accepted it on the spot during that phone call. She travelled in for the interview and tried to picture herself living on the island. She couldn’t, at the time. Now, a year later, moving into a nicer home in a bigger building in a better part of town, she thinks that she might be here for the long run.
She’s thankful for her dad flying in to help her move her things. She had friends who offered, and she was more inclined to accept their help than his. But she thinks, too, that he wanted to hang out with his siblings. He arrived from Yangsan yesterday and stayed with her uncle last night, then came over this morning to help her pack the moving vans and to unload all her belongings at her new place.
She just called out her goodbyes to him at the curb as they unloaded the last of her things from the truck, said she’ll see him for dinner later before his red-eye back to Busan, and she’s got the hand cart they borrowed from the building for moving in next to her by the elevator. The rest will be up to her. The unpacking. “The crap,” her dad had joked. She wants to agree. She knows nothing but the essentials will be done today. Well, not right now at least. She’s overheating and starving, and her first priority is grabbing some water, changing into fresh clothes, and maybe ordering a bowl of cold kongguksu.
The elevator door opens and she walks out, using all her strength to yank the cart onto the corridor. She glances over her shoulder and sees someone leaving the unit two over and across from hers. The girl is locking her door behind her, wearing leather sandals and a sky blue shirtdress. When she turns to walk towards the elevator, Minjeong muses first that she’s really pretty, and then second that she’s quite tall. If she stood on her tiptoes and stretched up her arms, she could probably touch the ceiling.
Third, she notices the way this girl looks her up and down. Okay, she knows she looks like shit right now. Her blonde hair’s piled up haphazardly into a bun on her head, her hands are raw from lugging cardboard, she’s sweating bullets, and there’s not a lick of makeup on her face. She doesn’t necessarily care about any of that, but if someone’s going to check her out, she would usually want to feel like she looks good.
“Sorry,” she mumbles as the girl comes closer.
The girl bows and says, “No worries,” gives her a small smile and walks past her.
As she’s approaching her unit, she wishes she’d introduced herself, or said something else, or…
God, who cares? She goes inside and closes the door, unloads her things off the cart and leans against the wall, looking straight ahead and out her living room windows. The view is gorgeous, with the sun setting over the water and the city lights flickering on. She has no reason to care about some random girl from across the hall.
She treats herself to a set of outrageously pricey ceramic dishes. And new wine glasses. And a bottle of red more expensive than she’d normally buy. She buys herself food from her favorite restaurant to celebrate being fully unpacked, and finally getting rid of the last of the boxes that had been scattered on the floor of her hall closet. Two and a half weeks after her move-in date, she feels good about how things are coming along. There are still things she wants to buy, but nothing that’s needed urgently, and everything else she can piece away at when she spots what she wants online.
She’s settling into her sofa with a Milkis in one hand and the remote in the other so she can continue rewatching The Grand Budapest Hotel for the fourth time. About 15 minutes in, she hears loud music begin to play from somewhere on her floor. She rolls her eyes (this isn’t her first time living in an apartment building, so she knows it’s to be expected), and turns up the volume on her television. It’s not a big deal and she’s not the fun police. She doesn’t know where it’s coming from and it’s not as if she was trying to meditate or something. Anyway, it’s Saturday.
In the morning, when she’s leaving to go have brunch with her cousin, she steps into the hall in some printed shorts and a loose white shirt, hair still drying and left down her back. As she’s about to unlock her door, she hears something from down the hall and looks over just in time to see her neighbor letting some attractive girl out into the hallway. She kisses her cheek like she’s being sweet but doesn’t intend on ever seeing this girl again. The girl turns towards her (towards the elevator, more accurately) and her neighbor catches her eye. She bows a bit and Minjeong doesn’t know how to respond to that, so she just bows back before watching her step back into her place and shut the door.
Minjeong is doing her best not to feel awkward riding the elevator with this girl she knows is trying really hard not to feel ashamed for leaving someone else’s place.
(She’s been there before. It doesn’t feel great, even if you feel fine about the encounter. Hell, even when you’re dating someone, leaving in the morning always makes you think that people would assume it was a one night stand. God, that’s what Minjeong assumed here.)
“Have a nice day,” the girl says as they step out of the elevator, and Minjeong smiles and says, “You, too.”
The girl goes in the same direction Minjeong also needs to go, but she pretends to look up something on her phone to give herself a reason to hang back and put some distance between them. She doesn’t know why she felt the need to do it. Whatever.
She’s had a truly shitty day at work. One of her patients suffered a major setback in progress and because of that is completely unmotivated to do anything that might help him. It’s not something she’s unfamiliar with; it happens pretty regularly. Like, she’s a therapist. She’s used to helping people process their emotions and cope with difficult times. It’s just more of a challenge with some patients than it is with others.
And it’s still hot as hell out, and while she likes that she’s way closer to her office now than she was at her last place, the 12-minute walk from the bus station to her apartment building has sweat running down her back and some beading up on her nose. She wipes it off with the back of her hand before she fobs into the building.
She only checks her mail about once a week unless she’s expecting a package, but it’s been a while so she wanders through the lobby to the mailroom, loving the way the air conditioning is already making her feel so much better.
Pretty girl from down the hall — which is how she’s started thinking about her neighbor — is there, dumping junk mail into the recycling bin she’s kicked over right beneath her mailbox. By the looks of it, she never checks her mail. She’s got a stack of it in her hand and she glances up when she hears Minjeong’s keychain jingle.
“Hi,” the girl says, and for the first time, Minjeong notices a beauty mark below her lip. It’s charming for some reason, and she smiles as she opens her mailbox. “I’m Jimin.”
She’s holding out her hand and Minjeong looks at it for a moment, notices the rosary ring she has on, before reaching across her body with her right hand — she’s taking her mail out with her left — and shakes it.
“Minjeong.” Jimin nods. She finds much of the same junk Jimin’s already ditched, reaches over and sweeps them into the bin. Then, there’s a postcard from her brother in the short stack of actual mail. When she glances over, Jimin looks curious about what’s in her hands. It almost bothers her, but Jungwoo sending her a couple of stupid inside jokes on the back of a gaudy postcard from Hwaseong where he’s enlisted isn’t really anything she needs to hide.
“What do you do?” Jimin asks, and Minjeong raises her brow.
“What do you do?” She’s smiling and is annoyed by how much she likes the look on Jimin’s face. It’s like she enjoys being challenged like this.
But seriously. This girl’s wearing a pantsuit (in late July, no thank you) and her blazer isn’t buttoned and she’s wearing a casual shirt underneath, she still looks like she came from doing something stuffy.
“I’m a designer.” Minjeong chuckles softly. Jimin’s being vague, likely deliberately. Which is her prerogative, and she obviously doesn’t mind. And maybe she says it that way to make it sound more impressive than it is, or something.
Maybe for that same reason, Minjeong says, “I’m a doctor.” (Not that she has any reason to feel like that’s more impressive than saying she’s a psychiatrist.)
She looks her up and down again. What’s with that?
Jimin pushes the recycling bin back over to its original spot as Minjeong closes her mailbox.
Crap. Now they’re gonna have to ride the elevator together.
“My dad was a doctor, for the heart,” Jimin says, and Minjeong has no idea what to say to that. Never does. It’s this weird thing that happens when people hear you’re a doctor; they share that they know other people in the same profession. She can speculate on why people do that, but it’s still kind of amusing.
And she knows about all the ways people talk about family members. Jimin’s use of past tense means, likely, that her dad has passed away. Most people don’t talk about retired people that way.
“Why designing?” she asks, and reaches out to push the elevator button, sees that one is on the 18th floor and another is on the 7th, going up.
“I’m better with clothes than I am with people,” Jimin says, laughing, and Minjeong smiles. She thinks that it’s a cute thing to say, and suspects she’s said it before.
She sort of wants to be a brat and say that she saw a girl leaving her unit that one time and the fact that she’s had people over twice in the short time she’s lived here (that she’s counted, at least) mean that she’s got to be pretty decent with people. But in the spirit of not wanting to be an asshole during their first proper interaction, she holds back her tongue.
“Why medicine?” Jimin asks, and then gestures for her to get on the elevator before her when the doors slide open.
She presses the button for their floor, and thinks about her answer. She shrugs. “Therapy saves lives.”
Jimin doesn’t say anything or indicate at all that she thinks Minjeong was misleading. Instead, she smiles, nods, and says, “That’s true.” When they get to their floor and head towards their apartments, she has her phone and wallet in her hands and Jimin stops with her at her door. “My best friends are hanging out at my place for video games this Saturday. You should come.”
“Oh yeah?” she asks, brow raised. “Why’s that?”
Oh fuck. Is she flirting? She’s not sure she means to.
Jimin takes a couple steps backwards, smiles, and shrugs her shoulders, “Why not?”
Minjeong closes her door behind her before saying anything else, and decides she’s probably not going to go.
Probably.
She makes plans with Yizhuo for Saturday. It’s last minute, and they just go watch a horror movie at the cinema and have a drink after at this cheap chicken and beer place they both like.
She can hear music and people, upbeat R&B and muffled voices, mostly, when she gets home. She considers going over to Jimin’s door and walking in. But maybe she was just asking to be polite. Minjeong’s not sure and she’s definitely not going to risk it.
“Missed seeing you last weekend,” Jimin tells her Wednesday afternoon when she bumps into her at the coffee shop around the block on her way to work.
“Of course you did,” she laughs.
“I told my friends you’d be coming by.”
Minjeong gives her a look and wonders how she sips her tea without it burning her mouth. “I’m sure all those perfect strangers who have no idea who I am were truly disappointed.”
Jimin leans her elbow on the counter while Minjeong stirs oat milk into her coffee. “Maybe just me,” she admits, looking down, and this is so stupid.
Like, this really pretty girl is totally flirting with her while Harry fucking Styles is playing in the background and Minjeong hates how much she loves it.
She has to get to work. She doubts Jimin takes the bus.
“You’re gonna make me late,” she says, pressing the lid onto her reusable tumbler and tapping the other girl’s arm with the back of her hand.
Jimin laughs, pulls a set of keys from her pocket. She notices the car key with the fancy logo on it. Jimin stands upright and says, “See you around, Minjeong.”
“Bye, Jimin.”
Minjeong watches Jimin walk away, sees her hold the door open for an elderly man before she walks out. She really doesn’t know what to make of this girl.
Minjeong really, really doesn’t want to have to do this. Shit.
She’s making Yizhuo a birthday cake, and she had exactly the right number of eggs, and she’s wise enough not to crack them all into the same bowl, but she gets to the last one and when she cracks it, there are specks of blood inside. This has literally never happened to her before, and of course it would happen now, when Yizhuo’s going to be here in an hour, because part of the plan is that she could decorate the cake with her. Yizhuo hates baking, but loves frosting and sprinkles and eating. Minjeong needs to get these pans in the oven so they can be ready to decorate after they watch the movie Yizhuo’s picked. She doesn’t have time to run out and get more. Or rather, she really doesn’t want to have to stuff all this back into the fridge and leave the building, hope the inconsistent convenience store three blocks away has eggs worth purchasing, and sprint all the way back. That feels like a last resort.
She chews her lip when she’s standing in the hallway outside Jimin’s door. Sure, she could literally knock on any door in this hallway and hope to get a positive response, but she’s at least had conversations with her. Everyone else, she’s just smiled at in passing.
When Jimin opens the door after she’s knocked, she looks surprised, then smiles, holds the door open and sort of leans against it.
“Hi,” she says, as if…
No, fuck. Minjeong doesn’t know. Jimin can probably read the terror on her face or something. She needs to chill.
“Can you lend me an egg?” she asks, and the other girl’s brows come together like she’s confused. “I need to borrow an egg.”
“Lend you…” Jimin lets out a little laugh. “Are you sure I’m gonna want it back when you’re done?”
And she thinks Jimin’s joking, but she’s also turning and walking into her place, which feels like an invitation (because she hasn’t asked her to leave) and so she lets the door close behind her and then Jimin’s opening the fridge and pulling a carton of eggs out and…
She panics.
“I’m baking a cake. I’ll save you a slice. As a thank you.”
Jimin smiles, presses a cold egg into her hand. How Jimin manages to give bedroom eyes in absolutely any and every situation is either a ridiculous quirk or a skill Minjeong finds impressive. She’s not sure which one it is yet.
“Totally not necessary, but I’ll take it.” Now that she has what she needs right here in her hand, she feels a little less on edge. Then Jimin’s brows furrow. “What kind of cake?”
Feeling bold, Minjeong locks eyes with her and says, “I’ll surprise you,” and then her hand is on the doorknob as Jimin watches her, impressed or intrigued, or some other thing she likes.
Her cheeks don’t heat up until she’s in the hallway and wondering why the hell she did what she just did, said all that instead of ‘thank you’ like a normal person.
She gets the cake in the oven, and then has a shower and does the dishes, gets dressed in nice enough clothes to have people over, and tidies up the main area of the apartment. She refolds the comforter she keeps on the sofa, and makes sure the sparkling wine is in the fridge. She sets decorations out — the exact color palette Yizhuo had (jokingly, she knows) told her to — and is finishing crushing up some Oreos just as she and Aeri ring up to her place. They’ve been here before, so she doesn’t feel pressure to show them around or anything, but for some reason, she still feels a little nervous having people in. Maybe she just doesn’t quite feel at home yet, or something.
And okay, so maybe there were two bottles of sparkling wine, and maybe Aeri drinks beer instead, and maybe by the time the cake is decorated and they’ve eaten it (and the burgers and fries they ordered) and watched the movie, the sparkling wine is gone as is most of a six-pack. It’s dark out and she’s insisting that Yizhuo take the cake with her, otherwise she’ll just eat it all. But then she cuts off one slice and says she might want it for breakfast, which is an utter lie, but sue her, okay?
It’s way too late but she’s tipsy and foolish, and when she knocks on Jimin’s door, she honestly doesn’t know what she’s going to say.
“Here,” is what comes out, and she holds the plate out for her. Jimin smiles, appraises her as if she’s assessing how drunk she is.
“Wow, not bad.” She holds the plate up so she can look at the cake. “Chocolate with sprinkles and Oreos?”
“Buttercream frosting, too.” Jimin’s brow ticks up. Okay, now she knows she’s drunk.
“Come inside?” It’s an offer, and Minjeong doesn’t want to oblige, but then, “I’ll share,” sounds like enough of an invitation that it feels dangerous and enticing, and before she knows it, she’s already crossing the threshold.
The silverware clangs around in the drawer as Jimin grabs two forks and then leans her elbows on the counter and cuts off a bite for herself. Minjeong’s just waiting for her to taste it. She wants to see her reaction.
Jimin lets out this deep moan and gives her a look, and she smiles proudly and takes a tiny bite — she’s had a piece already and doesn’t need more, but it is good and she won’t deny it.
“You made this?” Jimin asks as Minjeong fiddles with her fork, shrugs one shoulder. “You’re a little drunk, huh?”
She’s always been a lightweight but she wonders what gave it away. “It’s my best friend’s birthday. It’s tradition.”
“To get hammered?” Jimin’s laughing, so she figures she’s teasing, too.
“To bake. When I was eight, I thought I’d make up a cookie recipe for her. It was disgusting. I’ve gotten significantly fancier since then.”
“Yeah,” Jimin breathes around another mouthful of cake. “This is so good.”
“Thanks,” she says with a smile. “Last year, I did tiramisu.” Jimin hums, has another bite. “What’s your favorite dessert?”
“Mmm. Red bean bungeoppang. An elite dessert right there.”
The way Jimin says it so definitively makes Minjeong feel a strange rush of affection for her. There’s just something so genuine about it. In most of their other interactions, she hasn’t been able to really tell if Jimin was being honest or just putting on a show. This feels different.
“Noted.”
She grins. “For my birthday next year, can I get in on this, or…”
Minjeong shakes her head, sets down her fork and leans her elbows on the counter. They’re across from each another, but now their hands are almost touching.
“Reserved only for the most special.”
“Ouch,” Jimin mutters, then takes the final bite of cake and scrapes her fork along the plate to gather up the last of the frosting, licks it clean off. “I’m special.”
Minjeong rolls her eyes, reaches for her plate. “I’m sure you are.” Jimin places her hand on her wrist, strokes her thumb against her skin. Shit, that feels really nice. “You think I bake for just anyone?”
Jimin’s raises her left brow. “You think I share groceries with just anyone?”
She scoffs without intending to, tugs her hand away gently. “You’ve got all the lines, don’t you?”
“Not all,” Jimin mumbles, and then follows her to the door. She puts her hand on the doorknob and turns to her. It feels like earlier today all over again. “Thanks for the cake.”
“Thanks for the egg.”
The look Jimin gives her as she’s leaving has her wanting to stay.
“You know, technically…” Jimin says, sticking her arm in the elevator door to stop it from closing, and flashing her a smile. Minjeong didn’t see her, or she would’ve held it. She thinks that Jimin’s talking to her, but then sees that she’s got her phone in her hand and she’s on a call.
God. She’s glad she saved herself the embarrassment of talking to Jimin, or trying. Awkward as hell. Jimin rolls her eyes at her like she’s annoyed with the call, even as she says something about how she’d need more time on this gown if the client insists on changing the beading on its corset. Minjeong thinks this sounds really ridiculous and quite surreal. Then again, almost every patient she’s ever had has laughed out loud the first time she’s asked how something makes them feel.
Jimin’s still on the phone when they get to the ground floor, and Minjeong gives her a little wave after she holds the door open so Jimin can walk outside.
The girl winks at her and Minjeong loathes herself for the way it makes her feel.
(Really, really good. Desired. Or maybe just desire for Jimin. Crap.)
Minjeong gets slapped with a reality check when she’s leaving to go for a walk three Sundays later and sees a girl heading out of Jimin’s unit. Again. Minjeong laughs to herself, locks her door, and writes off her silly little crush as just her brain enjoying the attention.
She’s scrolling through her Instagram feed while Amazing Saturday drones on in the background, because it’s something that she doesn’t really have to pay super close attention to but it keeps the place from being totally quiet. She has on a pair of sweatpants that are basically pajamas, and this oversized Jeju United jersey her uncle got her because he said she needed one. The last time she went over to their house for dinner, he had it sitting there by the door in a little gift bag. She likes that she’s getting closer to this part of her family now than she ever was when she was younger. And the jersey is comfortable even if it makes it look like she cares about football, which she does, but not that much.
Someone knocks on the door, but no one buzzed her first, which means that whoever it is is from inside the building, and considering she’s really only spoken to one person in all the weeks she’s lived here…
“Hey,” Jimin says when she opens the door. “Got some Japanese food delivered and they doubled my order, for some reason.” She holds up a paper takeout bag and flashes a grin. “You hungry?”
Damn it. She is. She only had a small bowl of kimchi stew leftover from what she cooked last night, and she had that for lunch today. She debated picking something up on the way home from work, but didn’t want to spend the money. Then, by the time she got home, she was sort of too tired and just ended up changing, pouring herself a glass of water, and sitting on the sofa. Her stomach is practically growling at the thought of food, regardless of whatever it is that’s in that bag.
Instead of saying anything, she pulls the door open wider and gestures for Jimin to come in.
“I think I have soju. Maybe peach makgeolli?”
Jimin’s avoiding her eyes and opening the bag. Minjeong can tell from her body language that it’s intentional how she’s not looking at her when she says, “I don’t drink.” Jimin’s not a freaking client, so she’s not going to press that button any harder. “You go ahead, though.”
Minjeong smiles, not wanting her to feel awkward. “I’m good.” She grabs a water glass for her. “Sparkling? Still?”
Jimin looks relieved, pulls containers out and sets them on her counter. “Sparkling.”
It dawns on her that while she’s been inside Jimin’s place a couple times, this is really Jimin’s first time in hers. Their layouts are the same — because units are uniformly boring, and she can admit that even though she loves her place — but Jimin’s feels quite modern and chic with its industrial theme and wooden motifs. Hers is decorated in light greys, whites and blacks. Her accent color is yellow, and is seen really just in some of her picture frames, and little trinkets and accessories here and there.
Minjeong sets some plates down and places a bottle of sparkling water in front of Jimin as she sits next to her at the kitchen island.
“What’ve we got?” she asks, hating how lame it sounds, but wanting to know anyway.
“Gyoza and tonkotsu ramen.” Her mouth waters. Instead of using a plate, Jimin pops the lid off one of the containers of ramen and starts eating straight from it. She doesn’t hate it. Fewer dishes for her. “I like your place.”
Jimin’s talking with her mouth full but somehow doesn’t seem gross doing it. An accomplishment.
Minjeong also can’t tell if she’s being serious or taking note of the fact that it’s the same as her own. She looks around and decides not to say anything about it, really.
“This thing where we feed each other,” she starts, and Jimin laughs around a bite of food. “It’s not the worst.” She wonders where this is from; it’s better than any Japanese food she’s had since she moved in. “Thank you, by the way.” Jimin sort of waves her off. She wonders why this feels weird. Maybe because they haven’t really spoken in weeks. “Tell me more about your work.”
Jimin laughs again. “Basically, I make fancy clothes so that rich people can look better than they really do.”
Minjeong, as a joke, says, “How do you feel about that?”
The other girl smiles at her, which she sort of loves. She wonders if Jimin knows how attractive she is. She must, right? She doesn’t think girls like her go around questioning it.
“Some days, I feel great about it. Some days, I feel like I’ve sold my soul.”
“Any days when it feels somewhere in the middle?”
Jimin presses her lips into a thin line. “Sure.” She shakes her head, then. “Sorry, this makes it seem like I hate what I do. I don’t, it’s great. I love fashion and I’m pretty good at it, plus I get to meet celebrities I really respect.” Minjeong nods. It’s natural for people to feel positive about things they know they excel in. “Also, I feel like I’m overcompensating here because I know you’re a therapist.”
She laughs out loud, covers her mouth and reaches for a napkin and a sip of water. “I’m not psychoanalyzing you.”
“That’s good to know.” There’s a beat of silence, then, “What about you?”
“I applied to this clinic thinking there was no way I’d get the job. The rest is history.”
“No, like…” Jimin pauses, thinks about it. Maybe she’s going to ask something personal or inappropriate and she’s trying to decide if she should. “Why did you want to be a therapist?”
She waffles on how much she wants to share. She could be vague, or she could go hyper-detailed. She’ll probably do something in the middle. The other girl obviously did the same; she didn’t even tell her the name of her boutique.
“I had a really intense childhood,” she shares, and she’s just watching her. Jimin looks worried, or empathetic, or… “Nothing really traumatic, or... “ She shakes her head. “That’s a lie.” Jimin laughs humorlessly, and she knows she’s got to be a little more specific. “My older brother was really sick when we were little. Like, really sick and almost died. I spent a lot of time worrying about him, and also taking a back seat to everything he needed and did.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been really difficult for you.”
Minjeong smiles sadly. “Yeah. I wanted to know how all that ended up shaping my life, and then kind of fell in love with helping other people sort out their own stuff.” She looks at her, tilts her head. “Are you really just good with clothes?”
Jimin grins. “Kinda.”
“Girl of few words. That’s fine.” She gets up, picks up her dish and heads for the sofa. She likes that Jimin follows immediately. When they sit themselves back down, she nudges the remote towards Jimin with her foot. “Pick a movie.”
She puts on Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Minjeong wonders if that’s informed by the fashion thing or if she’s a secret romantic, or something else entirely. She doesn’t mind. She’s never seen this but she’s heard it’s a classic. They sort of chat throughout, too, where they can without feeling like they’re missing out on any dialogue. She pulls the comforter off the back of the sofa, and Jimin reaches over to make sure their feet are covered. Minjeong thinks there’s something seriously adorable about that, but doesn’t say anything, just smiles at her. She gets a little distracted thinking about how her evening went from nothing special whatsoever, to getting a free meal and watching a movie with her pretty neighbor.
God, she’s got to stop thinking about this girl that way.
Minjeong likes the idea of having more friends. She likes that they’re maybe doing something about that. She likes that Jimin gets up and stretches after the movie’s done, helps her tidy up and tells her she’ll see her soon before she leaves. Nothing more than that. She appreciates it.
She flies back to her parents’ home for the long weekend because, frankly, she misses her family and she was able to rearrange some of her appointments. It means she spends way more time at the office on Wednesday and Thursday, but it frees up her Friday so she can head out during the afternoon. She considered asking her aunt to fly with her — she would’ve said yes — but she’s an adult and flying alone is definitely something she is responsible enough to do. So she does, and takes a cab from the airport to Yangsan, and her dad doubles over laughing when he comes out onto the front gate and sees her with her tiny backpack of clothes.
Her mom makes ginseng chicken soup and radish kimchi and they drink somaek and stay up too late talking while the television is running in the background. They FaceTimed with her brother earlier, and as Minjeong falls asleep in her childhood bedroom, which is, for the most part, the same as it’s been ever since she was in high school, she’s thinking about how weird it is to be here as an adult. It always feels weird. And maybe part of this was brought on by a conversation she had recently with one of the other psychiatrists in her clinic. She was talking about how her super-conservative parents make her and her boyfriend sleep in separate rooms even though they can’t be that naïve. She’d asked Minjeong if her parents do the same, and Minjeong realized she’s never, like, brought anyone home. She’s introduced people to her parents, but never for an overnight thing or a holiday or anything like that.
It’s not often she feels lonely. It’s bizarre that she’s feeling lonely the one time she falls asleep in a home that has other people in it, too.
Minjeong seldom thinks that she needs a drink. She obviously knows enough about the reasons and risks that it really doesn’t make sense for her to use alcohol as a personal crutch. And this isn’t that. This is… she can feel the days getting shorter, the weather getting cooler, and she has this thing she does every year where she wants to stretch out the season for as long as possible. So she’s out with Yizhuo at this bistro a few blocks from home, in a summer dress with a denim jacket just in case she gets cold walking home. They’re sharing a pitcher of sangria and eating fried squid and Yizhuo had said that she really loves this tradition, even if it’s only year two of them doing it.
It’s getting busy — there’s a baseball game on and this place has a big screen — and their server hasn’t come by in a while. Minjeong’s not bothered by this, but she does want more drinks. When she gets to the bar and leans her elbows on it, looks to her right for the bartender, who she sees instead is Jimin at a booth right by the front window, with a bunch of folks dressed in business attire. She hasn’t noticed her, and then the bartender calls her darling and asks what he can get her. She walks away with two pints of beer in her hands and is remembering when Jimin mentioned that she didn’t drink, and then… Well, no. She’s not going to judge and she doesn’t think she was lying.
She’s a little buzzed and she’s now thinking that maybe the beer was overkill, but whatever. Actually, she could use more food, too. Damn it.
Jimin spots her when she’s on her way to the washroom, smiles and comes over, slides into the chair next to hers and introduces herself to Yizhuo, who’s just looking at her. It’s like she’s suspicious or at least intrigued and wants to know from Minjeong who the girl is and why she’s so comfortable around her.
“Happy hour,” Jimin tells her.
“It’s 9 P.M.,” she shoots back. Jimin laughs and shrugs. She sips from her pint. It’s too early for her to be this drunk, and she hopes Jimin doesn’t call her out on it. Yizhuo’s just watching the exchange like it’s a tennis match. “My neighbor.” Yizhuo’s brow goes up. “Down the hall.”
Jimin’s grinning. Minjeong can sense it. Jimin sets her hand on the back of her chair and plays with a coaster with her other hand.
“She’s underselling it. We hang out.”
“Have,” Minjeong corrects, because it feels important. She cuts the other girl a look, then turns her attention back to Yizhuo. “We have. We’re not close.”
“Yet,” Jimin says, and laughs when Minjeong glares. She stands, then, and smiles at her, then looks at Yizhuo. “Nice to meet you. See you around, Minjeong.”
She puts her hand in her pockets and Minjeong watches her walk away, and then Yizhuo’s grilling her for information on who the hell that girl is and why she was flirting with her and she doesn’t know, okay?
And, aside from that, she doesn’t know why she was sort of dismissive to Jimin when her best friend was there, when really, what she’s learned is that she quite likes Jimin’s company.
She thought this shit only happened in movies or sitcoms. Certainly, she wishes that were the case. Because she sleeps in her underwear unless she’s at her parents’ place, and she’s woken up by the fire alarm. She’s scared and her breathing is shallow, but she pulls on a pair of joggers and a tank top, and grabs her parka, wallet and phone as she heads out the door. She’s never paid attention to where the fire exits are, because who even does that? But she’s not stupid, so she heads for the stairs, hoping that at least this is all for nothing. If the building’s actually on fire…
She’s still freaking herself out with that thought — like goddamn, everything she owns is in her apartment, and maybe she should’ve grabbed more, and…
“Hey,” Jimin says, and puts her arm casually around her shoulders, squeezes once and lets go. It’s unusually cold out. She almost wishes she hadn’t moved out of Yangsan. “You okay?”
Minjeong nods, then hears sirens and wonders how long they’ll have to be out here. She knows from high school fire drills that first responders have to clear the building. Given that this one is 21 stories high, she’s seriously hoping they don’t have to sweep every floor.
She turns to Jimin, looks her up and down, and asks, “Take me for a drive?”
The grin the other girl gives her can only be described as devious.
They’re walking away from the crowd of their neighbors and she sort of just assumes that Jimin’s car is parked beneath the building. Maybe they won’t even be able to get to it. But they make it into the parking garage with no problems. She rolls her eyes and mutters something about safety first. Jimin holds the door for her, closes it after she’s tucked her legs inside. Minjeong caught her looking, but she’s not surprised by that, either.
Jimin turns on the ignition, and when Minjeong crosses her legs, her parka opens a little. She doesn’t adjust it.
Jimin puts her window down a little bit, and turns right out the gates of the parking garage and away from their building. She thinks maybe this is foolish, because maybe she’s just going to lose sleep for no reason. Maybe their goddamn building is burning down. But if it is, what is she gonna do? Stand there and watch?
She really wants this distraction, and looks over and sees Jimin smiling, one hand on the wheel.
She waits until she can’t see the flashing lights of the sirens in the dark before she turns towards her a little more. She notices that Jimin’s lips twitch gently into a smile when she does it.
“Where’re you taking me?” she asks, hoping it sounds like she’s up for the adventure, not afraid of it.
Jimin hums. “Anywhere and nowhere. Whichever streets look the emptiest.” She likes that. A lot. Being in a nice car with this stunning girl she thinks she knows better than she wants to let on. “Is that okay with you?”
Okay, she likes that even more. That she wants her to be comfortable. Minjeong lays her head back against the leather seat and nods. She’s sort of itching to hold Jimin’s hand, but that’s stupid. She asks if she can put on some music, and Jimin says her phone is paired. Like, Minjeong’s never been in a car where you needed a physical aux cable connected, and for some reason it makes her laugh. Jimin’s rich. Not just comfortable. Not just slightly above well-off like her and her family. She didn’t grow up poor or even anything less than upper middle class, but she’s getting the sense that Jimin could be part of the 1%. And she’s sure this girl’s current career is helping keep that generational wealth going. It just makes her mind buzz with so many questions for her, and she’s quietly thinking through how to ask as few as possible to get as much information as she can.
“What do you want out of life, Jimin?” she asks, and the way Jimin’s eyes slide towards her and how she smirks in amusement have her thinking that maybe her goal of not being too intense wasn’t met.
“Small talk, hmm?” Minjeong laughs a little and turns down the music. She sees that the lock screen on Jimin’s phone is just all blue. She thinks that the girl doesn’t like to give much away.
Jimin doesn’t say anything for at least a minute. Minjeong smiles to herself. “I’m really good with uncomfortable silences, so if you’re waiting for me to forget I asked, think again.”
Jimin laughs out loud. “And I’ve got a ton of experience with therapy, so this doesn’t faze me in the slightest.”
Oh. That does explain a bit about the way Jimin had reacted when she told her what she does.
“Come on. Middle of the night, fire alarm, car ride cage of silence. I’m an excellent listener.”
“I bet you are,” Jimin says quietly, and it makes her think that Jimin’s thought of this before. Of talking with her about something deeper than what they usually do. That thought makes her feel oddly good, actually. “I don’t know. I want the usual stuff, I guess.”
“What’s that?”
Jimin pauses. Minjeong likes that she’s careful with her words. “Someone to be with. A kid, maybe. A summer home in Hawaii.”
Minjeong laughs, watches her smile. “Right. The usual stuff.” Jimin glances her way. She likes the way her doe eyes are shining. “You want kids?”
“One, I think.” Minjeong nods. Jimin takes a breath. “My dad died when I was in middle school and he was the best.” Minjeong’s chest hurts a little, the way it does whenever she hears of anyone who’s lost a parent, but especially so young. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the kind of dad he was.”
“What kind of dad was he?”
“Busy,” She replies. Minjeong watches the way she handles the wheel as she turns left onto some side street. She finds it quite attractive, and she thinks it’s probably in part the action itself, and in part the vulnerability Jimin’s showing right now. “But really present, I guess?” She looks her way, and she nods so she’ll keep talking. “Not just like, attend your dance recitals present, but... around. For everything. And he was smart. He was so unbelievably smart. He worked at a university hospital, and I didn’t realize it when he was alive, but the way he talked to us about stuff was really…” She’s trying to find her words. Minjeong doesn’t want to rush her. “Tender?”
Minjeong nods. Jimin looks glad that she gets what she’s saying. “You have siblings?”
“An older sister.”
“Older brother,” she says, smiling.
“I remember.”
Oh.
“What else?”
Jimin shakes her head, looks at her at a red light. “Your turn.” She rolls her eyes. It’s not that she doesn’t like talking about herself, but… “What do you want?”
“Same things, I guess. A partner, a family of some kind.” She sees Jimin’s brows come together like she wants to know more about that. “I’ve never had aspirations for a vacation property, but now that you’ve mentioned it…” Jimin laughs again. She’s got a great laugh. “I also really want a dog. But I think that fits into the family bucket.”
“Two kids and a dog, kind of person?”
Minjeong takes a breath and thinks about it. Honestly, she’s never wanted more than one kid, either. “One kid,” she corrects. Jimin nods silently. “I love my brother a lot, but growing up with him wasn’t easy. I really love the idea of spoiling the shit out of a child so they never doubt how much I love them.”
Jimin looks like she wants to ask more questions. She gives her space to do it. “You felt that way?”
She shrugs. She’s mostly over it now. Mostly. “It’s complicated. But, I guess I did.”
Jimin’s silent, then smiles sweetly, looking at her, “I really like that,” she says, like a revelation of some kind. Minjeong can’t stand how much she likes it. It feels intense. “I mean, I was kind of spoiled, but… Not that I think my parents didn’t love me, but it didn’t feel like that. There’s something sort of... poignant about the way you said it.” Minjeong knows her cheeks are flaring. Why does she like her so much? “Curses and all.”
“I have a confession to make,” she says after a moment. Jimin grins, the ghost of a dimple on her right cheek, nods for her to continue. “I thought you were just an arrogant bitch at first.”
Jimin chuckles, like it totally isn’t the first time she’s heard this. “I’m full of surprises, Minjeong.”
She bites her lip. Jimin watches her. She likes that she does.
“Why do you project that?”
“Why don’t you tell me, doc?” She rolls her eyes and Jimin accelerates, and she’s thinking that maybe she’s never been so comfortable as a passenger of a car driving just a little too fast. “Pretty classic self-preservation technique, isn’t it?”
She smiles, then presses her lips together. “Is it?”
“If you don’t let people in, they can’t hurt you, right?”
She notes that Jimin keeps finishing her thoughts with a question, like she needs each one validated, or she wants to sound like she hasn’t put as much thought into it as she clearly has. Minjeong doesn’t want to say any of that, because this girl is not a patient and she’s not paying her. Not to make it sound like she should be. Minjeong just wants to be as respectful as possible and not cross any lines.
And, importantly… “You’ve opened up to me pretty easily.”
“I know,” Jimin replies, and her confidence is back. Minjeong finds it really attractive. “You’re quite easy to talk to.”
Smiling, she answers, “Thanks,” because that means a lot to her, actually.
“And... Don’t take this the wrong way, okay?” Minjeong laughs softly, steeling herself. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met and I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Jimin,” she breathes out, her heartbeat thrumming loudly in her ears. For some reason, it makes her want to face away, and god, this is so dumb. They’re driving around in their pajamas and she’s having a better conversation with Jimin than on any date she’s been on in years.
Jimin reaches for her hand before she can. She likes that it’s a bold move and Jimin’s made it anyway. She likes the way their fingers fit together.
“You wanna know what the best kept secret in Jeju is?” she asks, it’s sly and her voice is a little low, and Minjeong was thinking maybe they should start heading back, but what she does instead is nod.
Jimin stops at the side of this really dingy stall, a faded green tarp hanging over some plastic tables and chairs where diners can seat themselves. They hop off the car and order a large tub of rabokki drenched in this comically fluorescent red sauce they call “nuclear waste” that makes her look at Jimin like she’s insane. But then they sit down with their meal and Jimin tells her to try it, and it is legitimately the most delicious thing she’s ever had, and the rice cakes are like, perfect, and she has so many questions about how Jimin knows this place exists and how she knows they’re open 24 hours.
“I have to say, I’m a little flattered you’re sharing this secret with me.”
Jimin smiles, twirls noodles around her chopsticks. “You should be.”
When they’re walking back to the car after they finish — and Minjeong knows she’s coming back to this place again — Jimin asks if she thinks they should go home now. She flushes a little at the way she says ‘home’, as if they share one. It’s an absolutely absurd thought. And she’s figuring they’d see smoke, or something, if their building actually went up in flames. She’s not too concerned. She is concerned about how she’ll feel in the morning. If she’ll be able to go back to sleep. Her alarm is going to go off in three and a half hours. And yet she doesn’t regret this time with Jimin. Ask her later when she’s dragging her ass through the day, but she thinks even then, it might’ve been worth it.
They pull into the building parking garage, and Minjeong zips up her parka as Jimin sets her car’s alarm. Jimin puts her arm around her as they walk to the elevator. Minjeong doesn’t mind it at all, but stops herself from looping hers around the taller girl’s waist. She doesn’t know what’s happening here, but she likes it enough to see what happens. She yawns into her fist in the elevator, and Jimin grins at her, asks if she’s going back to sleep. She shrugs her shoulder, genuinely unsure.
When they get to her door, Minjeong slots in the key to her unit, then turns around and looks at her. Jimin sweeps her long black hair over one shoulder. Minjeong thinks that they both don’t really want to say goodbye, which is a little insane.
“Thanks for the drive. And the midnight snack.” Jimin laughs a little, nods. “‘Night, Jimin.”
“Good night, Minjeong,” she says, and there’s that voice again. Minjeong tries not to show that it affects her. The result is a weird, gnawing silence that makes her feel awkward, which considering what she told her earlier, sort of throws her off kilter. She’s usually fine with quiet. She wonders if the other girl wanted to kiss her. Jimin starts walking backwards down the hall, shyly rubbing the back of her neck as she goes. “Anyways, call me if you need anything. Someone to talk to. Buy groceries with. I don't know, a wife?”
She laughs, but then her breath catches, and she pushes her door open and leans back against it once it’s closed, shuts her eyes tight.
The mistake Minjeong always makes is overthinking what she wants and why she wants it. She doesn’t want to do that right now. She wants Jimin, and there’s nothing wrong with it, and she thinks that they get along too well for her to ignore it.
She leaves her apartment, and as she’s knocking on her door, she thinks this is crazy. This is so unlike her — this is the kind of shit she used to do in college that left her heartbroken. Just recklessly following her feelings. She doesn’t know why this feels different.
Jimin’s smiling softly when she pulls the door open — she knows it’s her — but then her brow furrows and Minjeong realizes her face must be unreadable. Jimin says, “Sorry. I was just kidding. I wasn’t…”
Minjeong leans up on her toes, grabs Jimin’s shirt in her hands at her waist, and kisses her. The way Jimin puts her arm around her, pulls her inside and closes the door… God, it feels every bit as good as she thought it’d be.
Minjeong asks if they can go to the bedroom, and she enjoys the way Jimin nods too quickly.
She’s bone-tired when she slips out of Jimin’s apartment in the morning. She almost wants to laugh at herself for being just like the other people she saw leaving. But she doesn’t feel bad about it. Jimin was still sleeping when her alarm went off, the other girl’s hand sliding up her back as she turned towards her. Minjeong kissed the apple of her cheek, left her number on a post-it on the pillow, and left as quietly as she could. She still doesn’t know if she should’ve woken her. She never hates having patients, but today, she’d really love nothing more than to stay in bed with Jimin and see what she looks like when she’s blinking sleep from her eyes.
She makes a pot of tea before she gets into the shower, does her makeup lighter than she usually does because her eyes are tired and she can’t imagine putting even eyeliner on. She throws on sunscreen and foundation, a little mascara and some blush. She gulps her tea more than sips it so she can refill her mug before she leaves.
Jimin’s walking towards her when she steps into the hall. She blushes, which is silly. God, the girl saw her naked hours ago and at this point, she has nothing to be shy about.
“Love ‘em and leave ‘em type, huh?” Jimin teases as she approaches. Minjeong wants to tell her to be quiet, but there’s no one else around.
“I have patients. I’m sorry.” Jimin shakes her head like she didn’t need the explanation. “You got my note?”
Jimin smirks. “You haven’t checked your phone,” she says, pressing the elevator button. Minjeong’s confused, knowing she’s missed something, and when she opens her phone, the message from an unknown number says ’Already leaving clothes in my apartment?’ with a picture of her parka draped over the back of a couch.
Minjeong cuts Jimin a look as she gestures for her to enter the elevator before her. “You’re the one who took it off me.”
Jimin leans back against the railing as she presses for the ground floor. “I know,” she tells her lowly.
The taller girl chuckles when she takes a deep, steadying breath.
Jimin is winking at her when she says, “Have a great day, Minjeong,” and heads for the coffee shop.
She’s so annoying and Minjeong shouldn’t be into it.
“What are you doing later?” she asks. Jimin raises a brow like she’s entertaining offers, or something. “If you’re lucky, I’ll let you buy me dinner.”
Jimin laughs. Minjeong smiles.
“And if I’m really lucky?”
She rolls her eyes, wiggles her fingers at her, and Jimin says she’ll come by at 7:30.
“Hey, the wife thing…” Jimin’s toying with a lock of her hair, and she’s on her stomach as Jimin leans back against her pillows. “It was just a line, really.”
They’d gone out to eat Italian, which felt silly as soon as they sat down, because she realized that she could’ve been just as happy with cheap takeout and time alone with Jimin. She likes talking to Jimin. It’s so easy.
“You punk, so you don’t want to settle down with me after like, three serious conversations and some spicy rice cakes? How dare you,” she pouts, a playful lilt in her voice. Jimin laughs, watching her hand. She thinks Jimin’s just twirling her hair around her index finger over and over. She doesn’t mind. “It was a good line.”
“Apparently.”
“I bet you use it on all the girls.”
She can tell by the glimmer in Jimin’s eye that she’s about to say something absurd.
“Only the most beautiful ones.” Minjeong shoves at her hip as she laughs, then Jimin reaches for her hand, brings it to her lips and kisses the tips of her fingers. Minjeong lets out a little chuckle. “What?”
“You’re... ridiculously good at this.” Okay, Jimin could at least try not to look so smug about it. “It should be illegal to be this charming.”
“I thought you said I was a bitch!”
She shakes her head, turns over, holding the sheets to her chest, and leans against Jimin’s shoulder. “I’m allowed to change my mind.” Jimin pushes her hair aside, kisses right behind her ear. God. “What did you think of me? First impression.”
“Like, when you were moving in and you were wearing that flannel shirt?” Okay, so, confirmation that Jimin remembers that day as vividly as she does. “I wanted to sleep with you.”
“Don’t lie!” Minjeong laughs and Jimin frowns like she doesn’t know what she wants her to say, because it’s the truth. She’s smiling at her, probably feeling prettier than she’s ever felt before. “Guess you got what you wanted, huh?”
Jimin gently tugs the sheet down, turns so she’s leaning over her a little, impossibly black hair framing her face. “Guess I did.”
Jimin knocks on her door with a pizza box in her hand, her other arm leaning against the frame up by her head. She’s in her work clothes, make-up still fresh on her face.
She looks so fucking good, and the way she smiles at her makes Minjeong want her quite badly. But then Yizhuo’s on the couch, craning her neck to see who it is, and Minjeong closes her eyes and lets out her breath, and Jimin breezes past her into her apartment.
It’s been almost five weeks of them getting closer, sleeping together, talking. She hasn’t mentioned anything to Yizhuo.
She doesn’t have to, apparently, because she can tell by the look on her Yizhuo’s face that her best friend knows exactly what’s going on here.
Jimin lets out a laugh. Minjeong leans up and kisses her cheek.
(Yizhuo totally likes her. She said she seems cool, and smart, and nice, and really into Minjeong.)
When she tells Jimin this, later, it’s because she doesn’t want her thinking that she’s not at least a little serious. Minjeong’s very serious. She’s more serious than she’s been about someone in ages. She’s not going to tell Jimin all that, though.
(She does eventually. One night alone with her in her car. She really loves the way Jimin sounds when she tells her that it’s the same for her.)
By Chuseok, she knows exactly how good they are together, but it feels different — in a very nice way — when there’s a holiday involved. Her parents are flying in for a party at her aunt and uncle’s place this year. Jimin’s met most of her friends but no one in her family, and she doesn’t need to worry about that now, either, because Jimin’s going to visit her mom and sister. Her mom is an ER nurse in Suwon, so she flies out for the weekend and sends Minjeong pictures of her and her sister and all the good food their mom is cooking for them.
Minjeong misses knowing Jimin’s right down the hall.
Well, who is she kidding? They spend almost every night together in one of their beds.
She tells her parents that she’s seeing someone. They want to know all about her. They ask where she is. They think it’s nice she’s with her family. They like that she’s got a good job and makes her happy.
After the holiday, when she relays this all to her, Jimin says she told her mom about her a few weeks ago. She’d apparently asked why Minjeong couldn’t join them. She wonders out loud if this is too fast, too serious. Jimin looks at her like she’s crazy, and she thinks she’s scared her into thinking that she wants to take it slower.
She doesn’t. “I like saying yes to things as long as they feel good,” she assures her.
Jimin says something absolutely filthy that has her pressing her against the counter and tugging at her shirt and very much proving her point when she slips her fingers between Jimin's legs right there in her kitchen.
One of her patients overdoses on Percocet and she gets the call at the crack of dawn when Jimin’s next to her. This has only happened once before, when someone she used to treat, back before she moved to Jeju, was attacked and gave Minjeong’s name at the hospital.
She’s thankful they’re at her place. She reaches for her track pants and a hoodie, and Jimin’s watching, sleepily asking what she’s doing.
“I can’t tell you,” she says, because it’s true. “It’s a patient. I have to go, I’m sorry.” She’s emotional and knows she has to get that under control before she gets to the hospital. Jimin catches her hand before she can pull it away and leave.
“I’ll take you there.”
She smiles a little, sadly. “I can’t,” she replies. It would probably be fine. It’s not like Jimin would figure anything out just by knowing which hospital her patient is in. But she wants to be overly cautious, and also it’s 4:11 A.M., and Jimin should sleep and there’s no need to disrupt that more than she already has. “It’s okay. There’s a spare key in the second drawer in the bathroom. Lock up?”
Jimin nods, sits up and places her hand on the back of her neck, kisses her. “You’re alright?”
Jimin’s thumb strokes the curve of her jaw. She nods.
Later, after a hectic day, when she’s exhausted from all the work she had to do and she’s telling Jimin about it, they’re on her couch. She’s leaning against her and it’s raining a bit outside, Jimin says something about the key, and Minjeong tells her to keep it.
Maybe it’s insane to bring her girlfriend of three months home for the holidays, but she asks Jimin out of the blue if she would want to, and she says yes, so she tells her parents that Jimin’ll be there and the only question they ask is if they would prefer to be picked up from the airport or get home on their own.
Jimin wants to rent a car and drive them home, apparently. Her dad sounds impressed and Minjeong thinks that’s just so predictable.
They avoid the highway the whole drive there, because they both took an extra day off work to make the most of their visit, and they have the time. Jimin pretends to be annoyed with her blasting Christmas songs on repeat, and buys her sikhye at some roadside farm market in the middle of Busan. She’s standing outside the car with the tumbler between her hands — Jimin had gone back for the freshly made hotteok after initially saying she didn’t want one. Jimin’s smiling, looking at her like she’s precious, or something. She had offered to give her the keys to get inside and out of the cold, but she waved her off.
“You’re really cute, puppy,” Jimin tells her, pressing a kiss to her temple over her beanie.
“How’s the hotteok?”
“I saved it so we can share.” Minjeong finds that the sweetest goddamned thing in the world, leans up to kiss her. Jimin’s arms wrap around her waist, the bag she’s carrying pressing into her back through her coat, and her arms snake around Jimin’s nape. “The hotteok lady called you my wife.”
It’s this quiet little thing Jimin says, like she isn’t sure how Minjeong’ll take it or if she should say anything at all.
“You should be so lucky,” Minjeong teases, but her heart is beating hard, too, and their relationship is way too young for this, but they’re far too deep into it to think of anything different.
Jimin kisses her again, and she can feel her smiling against her lips.
(Minjeong thinks Jimin likes it, the way she’s sometimes reminded that the thing that sealed the deal for them was offering, in some ridiculous way, to be her wife. Again — insane to think it’s remotely close to happening or ever will. But Jimin is full of surprises, and one of them is that she’s secretly really, really into domesticity.)
Jimin carries their bags into her parents' foyer, and they fuss over her like she’s their long lost daughter. At one point, she throws Minjeong a look as if to ask if this is as crazy as it feels, and she just presses her lips together to keep herself from laughing too hard. Her dad passes her a glass of water — Minjeong had gently reminded them that Jimin doesn’t drink (and she knows why, but kept her privacy) — and her mom asks if she’s okay with grilled mackerel for dinner tonight.
Minjeong sits on the floor in front of her in the living room after their meal, when things have sort of calmed down. Jimin’s foot brushes up against her shin. She likes that.
When they’re in bed and she can tell Jimin’s wide awake, she turns and moves her hand over the other girl’s stomach.
“They really like me, I think,” Jimin tells her, and Minjeong rolls her eyes even though Jimin can’t see. “I really like them, too.”
“Good.” She yawns, and Jimin’s hand moves up and down her side. It’s a thing she does that Minjeong isn’t even sure she’s conscious of. She loves that. “Planning on keeping you around for a while.”
Jimin chuckles. Minjeong lets her eyes slip closed. “How long’s a while?”
“Mmm. At least for as long as you know how to kiss the way you do.”
Jimin’s body shakes a little as she laughs, and then Minjeong presses her lips to her jaw. She lingers there.
Minjeong thinks that she loves her, and thinks that Jimin wants to say it, too.
She falls asleep with Jimin in her arms, but wakes up alone to cold sheets in the morning. When she goes downstairs, Jimin’s wearing a maroon sweater and a dusky grey apron over it, her hair bundled in a low ponytail, helping her mom make green onion kimchi. She’s never made kimchi before in her life.
Jimin scrunches her nose at her, eyes crinkling into crescents, when she sees her watching them from the bottom of the stairs. Minjeong’s heart races.