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It was the last day of the semester. Seungcheol peeled her naked body off of Jeonghan’s to pull back on her t-shirt. “Class of 2013,” it said on the back, followed by a list of names. Jeonghan found Seungcheol’s easily and dug the nail of her index finger into it.
Hissing, Seungcheol slapped her hand away. “Quit it, I’m ticklish.” A foolish thing to admit; Jeonghan filed it away for later.
“I can’t help it,” she cooed, “You’re too cute to not tease.”
“So mean.” The charming grin Seungcheol tossed Jeonghan fell into a sigh. “I really need to pack for break, but I don’t want to.”
Jeonghan knew a dismissal when she heard one—and even if she was wrong, it was always better to leave early than overstay a welcome.
She began to root around for her own shirt. “Why pack? You live so close.”
Seungcheol frowned at her closet. “I brought everything to school. There’s nothing back home,” she huffed. Then, abandoning her pursuit in favor of Jeonghan, she stepped close and lay a sloppy line of kisses down the column of her neck.
Half-dressed; only one of Jeonghan’s legs had made it into her slacks. She was messy, undone; her wanting, the same. It demanded Seungcheol’s lips abandon her neck and find their way between Jeonghan’s teeth. It demanded Seungcheol crawl back to bed and into Jeonghan’s open mouth.
With practiced control, Jeonghan generously allowed herself one quiet exhale. When Seungcheol pulled back to breathe, Jeonghan pulled up the other leg of her slacks. She zipped the zipper and buttoned the button.
Seungcheol gave her some space and volleyed, all try-hard casual, “So. Are you going home for break?”
“Nah.” What was there to go home to? Jeonghan slipped her belt into the loops.
“Okay. So. Where are you going?”
Jeonghan rolled her socks onto her feet, one after the other. First the left, then the right. “Bali.” She wiggled her toes. “At a five star resort. It has a water slide and everything. All-you-can-eat buffet.”
“Cool.” Seungcheol paused. Jeonghan stepped around her; shoes, next. “Who are you going with? Like, your family?”
Jeonghan gave a non-committal hum. “Oh, you know.” Where had she put her shoes?
A huff. “I don’t, actually.”
They weren’t by the door; she must have kicked them off in a lustful stupor last night. Jeonghan retreated to check around the bed for her sneakers and was confronted with Seungcheol, arms crossed, sour expression. How cute. It made Jeonghan feel the same way she did when an outdoor cat approached to say hello—enamored, flattered, helplessly affectionate despite the risk of teeth and claws.
“Y’know. People,” she teased. “Why, jealous? Should I take you to Bali with me?”
“Who cares about Bali?” Seungcheol scoffed, obviously caring. “You should take me somewhere better.”
Jeonghan mimicked Seungcheol’s crossed arms and defensive posture to see whether it would make the woman in front of her grow self-conscious or double-down. “Okay, princess, where to?”
“Anywhere.” Seungcheol’s arms stayed firmly crossed. She was beginning to look more and more aggrieved; Jeonghan couldn’t figure out why, which was concerning. “You could take me anywhere and it would be better. You could come home with me and it would be better.”
At that, all the hairs on Jeonghan’s arms suddenly stood at attention. To cover the conspicuous pause, she managed to force out, light, “You think your house is better than Bali?“
“Of course it is,“ Seungcheol declared, haughty. Like it was a joke.
“Lucky you.” Jeonghan resumed her search, peeked behind the desk—no luck for her. “You have the new Bali at home. Now I don’t have to take you anywhere.”
“Don’t be lazy, Hani.”
“Who’s lazy? You’re the lazy one. You want me to do all the work for you when it’s your house.”
Where the fuck were Jeonghan’s shoes?
“How am I lazy? I’m not lazy.”
“Sure, Cheol.”
“I’m not! I’m not lazy, I’m— Look, I’ll show you. I’ll take you.”
Jeonghan laughed. “You’ll take me to Bali?”
“No, Jeonghan.”
Then she was in front of Jeonghan with those lovely long eyelashes and devastating pout, looking like a bad dream. Her hand, reaching, curling around Jeonghan’s bicep to anchor, to keep. “I’ll take you home.” Her grip tightened; Jeonghan’s skin would be a bruised peach. “Forget Bali. Forget— forget ‘people.’ Come home. With me.”
“Seungcheol—“ Jeonghan started, then found herself, for once, lacking words. She felt pulpy and overripe. The tips of her fingers had gone cold.
She yanked her arm from Seungcheol’s grip with considerable effort, Seungcheol’s nails leaving behind red marks from their reluctance, and turned to look away.
How lucky. Before her, sitting on the floor of the closet, neatly lined up between Seungcheol’s boots and Seungcheol’s sneakers, were Jeonghan’s shoes.
Seungcheol was still speaking, “I’m serious, Jeonghan, it’s super close, and I’m sure my parents would—“
“Did you move these?”
Seungcheol startled, tripped over her words. “Move what?”
“My shoes.” They peered back at Jeonghan so innocuously. “Did you move them?”
“What? No, why would I?”
Jeonghan didn’t know. That’s what she was curious about—she wouldn’t have moved them either. But there they sat, inexplicably in Seungcheol’s room, in Seungcheol’s closet, in Seungcheol’s life.
Two days later, Jeonghan and her shoes were in Seungcheol’s car. There were no plane tickets to Bali to cancel. Seungcheol drove a nice car—practical, fancy without being flashy. Jeonghan sat in the passenger’s seat and had the quietest panic attack of her life.
They went home.
It wasn’t Bali, but Seungcheol and Jeonghan were in the water all break. The acrid bite of chlorine clung to Jeonghan’s skin; she had never swam so much in her life. She grew up with public pools and loathsome crowds, but Seungcheol’s community had its own private pool. Technically, it had two—one indoors, divided into neat numbered lanes, and one outdoors, a wide rectangle of water. At night, the two of them would scramble up the gate and hop the fence to dive into that rectangle in the chill of the night.
As Jeonghan kicked her feet in the water and chafed her ass on the concrete, her ego couldn’t help itself; she said to Seungcheol, “You seem happy.”
Under water and moonlight, intoxicated by the thrill of the taboo, Seungcheol was radiant. She was excitable and utterly alive, falling over herself, falling over Jeonghan, giggling and shushing like she wasn’t the one making all the noise.
Seungcheol waded through the water to bully her shoulders between Jeonghan’s knees and smooth her palms over skin. Chlorine dripped from her bangs onto Jeonghan’s bare thighs; Seungcheol leaned down and tasted.
“Of course I’m happy, Hani,” she murmured, mouth smeared to Jeonghan’s knee, “I’m here with you.”
Oh, but her tongue really was so talented. Jeonghan hooked her ankles together at the small of Seungcheol’s back and pulled her close. She was twenty and thought the heat of a hand on her waist meant the wearer was in love.
“I used to come here with Jisoo all the time when I was young,” Seungcheol continued. “I was on the diving team.” Her hands wandered. Her chest pressed into the crease of Jeonghan’s hip. Whenever they went swimming, Seungcheol always slung her clothes off without hesitation, which meant she was always wearing a sports bra into the pool, which meant the dip between her tits was always on full display.
Jeonghan only owned one swimsuit, a navy blue one-piece. It never dried in time for their next late night outing, so Jeonghan wore a cold, damp swimsuit every day for the entire break. “Were you any good?”
Seungcheol shrugged. “Maybe. It was more for fun that anything. I didn’t take it that serious.”
Liar. “I doubt that.”
Laughter, all teeth, her chin tilted up. Seungcheol leaned in for a kiss. Her lips were slick with pool water. “No, seriously. I just did it because my mom wanted me to. Jisoo was the one who was intense about it.”
Jisoo, again. “Maybe you should invite Jisoo to the pool,” Jeonghan teased, hot stone in her gut,“since you like her so much.”
“I only mentioned her once!” cried Seungcheol. Not true. Jeonghan had been counting.
“The day we got here, the first thing you pointed out to me was Jisoo’s place.” The day they got here, Seungcheol had told her parents, This is Jeonghan, my best friend.
Jeonghan’s lips twisted into a smile. “I’m starting to think you like Jisoo more than you like me.”
Pouting, Seungcheol leaned up to kiss her again and again. “Don’t say that. Why would you say that? Of course I like you. It’s just that Jisoo is Jisoo, is all.”
Jisoo is Jisoo, but there was no just. Jisoo was pretty and femme and had long, straight hair that plummeted down her back. Jisoo played concert violin and volunteered on the weekends. The only thing Jeonghan had going was her status as The Campus Lesbian, which she hadn’t even wanted—she was just the unlucky bastard that got caught first.
The day after the video had been posted, Jisoo came up to Jeonghan while she was halfway through her meal and asked, with genuine concern, “How are you holding up?” Like they were friends. Then she touched two dainty fingers to the back of Jeonghan’s hand—first her knuckles, then the knobby bone in her wrist.
“I can’t believe you like Jisoo more than me,” Jeonghan continued. “After all the laundry I did for you this year.”
Seungcheol sulked and shrank in on herself. She tried to kick away from the wall, but Jeonghan tensed her legs and locked her ankles, shackled Seungcheol and held her close.
Sharp teeth dug in as punishment. Jeonghan pretended it didn’t hurt.
“I like you!” Seungcheol huffed. “Hani— Jeonghan, I like you so much.” Her eyes were round, imploring; her lower lip looked dewy in the moonlight. “Why are you still on this? Forget about Jisoo! We just grew up together. She’s like, my cousin, or something.”
“But you think she’s pretty,” sighed Jeonghan, with drama.
“No!”
“Oh? So you don’t think she’s pretty?”
“Well of course she’s pretty, she’s–” Seungcheol huffed through her nose. Her sulky expression made Jeonghan giggle. “Hani,” she stretched the vowels out, imploring.
Jeonghan widened her eyes, the picture of innocence. She copied Seungcheol’s tone:“Cheollie—“
And then Seungcheol was kicking away from the wall with a hand on Jeonghan’s ankle and the ground disappeared from under Jeonghan’s ass, bubbles exploding into being around her body, and Jeonghan was underwater, falling, sinking, and everything was very still and dark and quiet.
It was silent enough underwater to feel the absence of sound. The moonlight was an oily layer floating atop the pool’s surface. Somewhere up there, Seungcheol was waiting. If she were to call Jeonghan’s name from up there, would it reach her? Would she be able to hear it? She imagined Seungcheol’s voice, warm and deep and worried, calling out Jeonghan, Jeonghan, Jeonghan, the sound waves getting lost in the water.
Ah. Jeonghan could punish Seungcheol with this. Make her regret her little trick. Make her hurt. Jeonghan wanted Seungcheol to hurt. Jeonghan wanted to hurt Seungcheol, so she let herself sink—
—and she thought about drowning. She thought about staying here forever. She thought about extending her stay in Seungcheol’s mind from a college fling to a permanent presence by becoming a corpse. Floating face down in Seungcheol’s fancy community pool as a way to stay in her life.
An air bubble escaped Jeonghan’s lips and rose to the surface, the traitor. If Seungcheol was calling her name, Jeonghan couldn’t hear it.