curtain call

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/31631459.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/F
Fandom: Aespa (Band)
Relationship: Kim Minjeong | Winter/Yoo Jimin | Karina
Character: Kim Minjeong | Winter, Yoo Jimin | Karina, Ning Yizhuo | Ningning,
Uchinaga Eri | Giselle
Additional Tags: Hanahaki Disease, Mild Blood, Unrequited Love, Not Actually
Unrequited Love, Idiots in Love, manager karina, singer winter,
Misunderstandings, Girls Kissing, Happy Ending, love is pretty until it's
not, banter as flirting
Language: English
Collections: Girl Group Jukebox - Mixtape Round 2
Stats: Published: 2021-06-07 Words: 11,961 Chapters: 1/1

curtain call
by yejism (fuwafuwado)

Summary

It’s comforting to think Jimin is always backstage, waiting for her. But maybe Minjeong
takes her for granted because once, the curtains fall, and Jimin is no longer there.

Notes

inspired by curtain call by taeyeon, written for GG jukebox mixtape round 2

at the end of the dazzling us,

curtain call,

goodbye like the wind.

i'm afraid i'll mess up,

words i couldn't say come back to me.

taeyeon - curtain call

Minjeong tries to catch her breath and smiles at the camera. She dimly hears the screaming of the
fans but the in-ear blocks most of the noises — she wants to hear them, but the ending shot has to
be nothing short of perfect. Many people’s work comes together at this very moment. Makeup,
hair, stylist — and even before these, painstaking hours of dance and singing practice, of learning
how to be natural on stage, how to charm from a long distance. The camera spans closer, seconds
stretch impossibly long, and Minjeong feels awfully aware of every fibre of her being. Her fake
smile slips the moment the cameraman signals, and her moment is over.

Walking away from the stage always fills her with an odd sense of detachment. One second she’s
the most dazzling star of the universe, the second another takes her place. She’s herself, and she’s
not — it’s starting to become hard to differentiate where Winter, the idol, starts and where
Minjeong, old, boring Minjeong ends. The dress sticks to her body, sequins prickling her skin and
rubbing it raw; she wishes for the comfort of her engulfing hoodie, her own scent lingering around
her.

She sees her leaning to the wall, phone pressed close to her ear by her shoulder while she’s noting
something down in Minjeong’s neverending schedule. The diamond-cut of her beauty, the
intimidating aura she’s oozing off that makes the staff avoid her is visible from far, the cold twist
of her mouth as she rattles down details. Jimin’s dark eyes find hers, and she feels finally seen. A
ghost of herself, a grey carbon copy of her idol self. When Minjeong bounces to her, despite the
draining performance, Jimin’s face blooms with a smile.

“You messed up the choreo.” Jimin flicks her nose. The phone vibrates, but she shoves it into the
back pocket of her jeans, focusing solely on Minjeong. “But lucky for you, the cameraman found
the background more interesting than you. God, if anyone knew how to do things here, you’d be
dancing forever.”

Minjeong snapped at her fingers, her teeth knocking together.

“No ‘good job’ whatsoever. You’re fired.”

“You wish, puppy.” Jimin’s voice is smug. “The only reason you stay afloat is me.”

Minjeong snorts. Truth is, she’s right. But it’s not the way Jimin thinks — while she’s more than a
capable manager, the reason why Minjeong needs her is nowhere close to the topic of her stuffed
schedule. She doesn’t need to know, though.

“Get off the high horse,” Minjeong grunts. “Now, step aside. I can’t get out of this dress soon
enough.”

Jimin’s eyes sweep up and down on her body, and for a moment, they linger on her bruised knees,
gifts from the gruelling dance classes. She doesn’t mind them, not when she learnt to accept them
as proof of her hard work and resilience. Jimin cocks her head to the side, and she smiles wide and
breathtaking. Minjeong tries to calm the fluttering feeling in her chest.

“Good job. You did well.”

>>>

Minjeong wanted to be a singer. She wanted her voice to be heard, to give comfort to those who
need it, to reach and caress concerned hearts. Instead, she’s a one-person entertainment machine,
trying to grab the audience’s flickering attention. It’s a marathon — you stop for a second to
breathe, you fall behind. So she forces all her attention on the goal. She sings until her voice cracks
and her throat hurts; she dances till blisters adore her feet and her knees give away from under her;
she smiles when cameras are pushed in her face, and hopes it’s not shaky, not showing her
exhaustion. But then, Jimin taps her shoulder, offering her any remedy that keeps her intact,
keeping her from falling apart.

Sometimes she forgets that Jimin is also part of this crazy rat race.

When she wakes up, Jimin’s already here, chugging bitter coffee down, ready to take the day. It’s
another kind of focus that Minjeong is used to — while Minjeong spends every waking moment
bettering herself, being the centre of her own universe, Jimin’s focus is on her. It’s easy to get used
to her presence, to have someone she can fall back on. She’s always there. And Minjeong hopes
she’d continue to be for a long time.

“You tend to do this a lot nowadays,” Jimin points out, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. There are
dark circles under them, dimming the sharpness of her eyes and Minjeong hopes they'll get a break
soon.

“What?”

“You’re here, but you’re also not really… here.” She spoons an ungodly amount of sugar in her
coffee. “I don’t know. Y’know you can tell me anything, right?”

Many times, she almost does. Honest confessions almost tumble out of her mouth. ‘I don’t feel like
myself anymore’ and ‘I think I’m starting to fall in love with you and I don’t think I’m allowed to
do so’ teether on the edge of her tongue, but she bites them down and grimaces.

“Am I not allowed to think?”

“I don’t know if you’re capable of that,” Jimin resorts, but the concern is still visible in her tender
expression. “But still, if you got something in your mind, just tell me.”

But Jimin is not a friend. It’s easy to get confused, and Minjeong almost lulled herself into the
comfort of the thought, the comfort of Jimin’s hand in hers. Jimin’s not a friend, she’s a manager
— she was randomly assigned to her, and Minjeong lucked out on having her as a manager. It’s
easy to confuse the worry in her eyes to care, rather than the concern about the company’s
retaliation from the devaluation of their shiny little toy under Jimin’s micromanagement.

All the reasoning Minjeong spends so long to convince herself doesn’t stop her from developing a
small flame of affection. It started small, only a fragile ember — but Minjeong grew too dependent
on Jimin, and the ember grew stronger the more she wanted to stifle it.

“Okay, I’ll be honest with you,” Minjeong taps on the table with her long nails. “I didn’t want to
hurt your feelings, but the burnt tire juice you serve in the morning doesn’t deserve the name of
coffee. Also, please never again attempt to cook for me.”

“I thought you loved my cooking.”

Minjeong points at the untouched plate of burnt sunny-side-up in front of her as evidence. “As I
said, I didn't want to hurt your feelings.”

Jimin stares unblinkingly at her. Minjeong is not one to back away from the challenge, and they
only break eye contact when Jimin rolls her eyes.
“You’re a little shit and I don’t get paid nearly enough for this.” She pulls out her phone, already
typing away. “What do you want to eat, then?”

“Waffles.”

She prepares for a lecture about the everlasting diet she’s forced on — she’s starting to get used to
running on empty to maintain an ideal she doesn’t even know exists. Jimin’s a good manager and
an iron-fisted tyrant; words directed from the company are law. So it comes as a surprise when
Jimin nods and the order is placed.

“Just don’t tell anyone.” Her voice is low, and conspiratory like every corner of their dorm would
be full of cameras.

“And you failed. Sorry to inform you but this was a test set up by SM entertainment and you failed
spectacularly,” Minjeong rattles in a robotic voice. When she sees the stutter in Jimin’s expression,
she quickly sends an apologetic smile. “Just joking.”

“You’re so goddamn weird sometimes.”

“Part of my charms.”

Jimin probs her chin with her hands and closes her eyes. She’s pretty like that in the morning —
without makeup, her features are softer, rounder. Sleep still lingers on her, clings to her,
unguarded. And Minjeong likes this version of her the most — the calm mornings when the rush is
a few hours away; when Jimin lets herself unfurl from her constant hedgehog state. Minjeong is the
only one lucky enough right now to see her in this state. When Jimin opens her eyes again,
Minjeong turns her gaze away, too embarrassed to be caught staring.

“Yeah, that’s true,” she says, a small puff of laughter escaping her lips. “You are charming.”

>>>

“Jesus. You sang this song like you’ve divorced 14 times already,” Jimin says and sips from her
coffee. She doesn’t need to be here, Minjeong told her so, for her self-sentenced midnight practice.
But she stays, a bully in the skin of a supporter, but a supporter nonetheless. Her presence calms
her, a rock amidst the crashing waves of her life.

“There are things you don’t need to know about me.” Minjeong peeks at her from under her beanie
and winks.

“Oh, trust me. I barely know anything about you.” She lays down on the floor. “Which is a feat,
considering we live together.”

Minjeong puts down the microphone she’s holding, and sits down beside her, legs folding under
her. She drops her hands on her lap before they reach out to caress Jimin’s long hair, to hold onto
her.

It’s a slow process — falling in love. It creeps up on you, waits for the worst possible moment and
then, the realization comes. Minjeong can feel its bittersweetness on her tongue every time she
talks with Jimin. It’s just a hint first. After that comes her clammy hands itching to reach out for
Jimin, her rapidly beating heart in the cage of her chest skipping when she smiles and praises
Minjeong. It’s a little bud at first, small, insignificant, easy to pretend it doesn’t exist.
“Winter?” Jimin pushes herself up on her elbows.

“Please don’t call me that,” she says, rubbing her eyes. Exhaustion is weighing down on her fragile
shoulders, heavier by each second as the sun starts to climb back on the sky. “Not you.”

“Sorry.”

The grimness of Jimin’s voice pushes her out of her head. She catches the guarded expression she
made Jimin wear and immediately regrets it.

“It’s not that—” Minjeong tries to save it, tries to put it into words that have been gnawing inside
her. She cannot bear looking at Jimin, not when she feels her undivided attention. “It’s not that I’m
deliberately hiding anything from you. I’m still trying to figure out everything — because I feel
like me and not me at the same time.”

“What do you mean?”

Every day, Minjeong tries to fight off the feeling of being watched. It’s part of the job — the
cameras, the fans, the interest. Winter is the persona she’s pulled on to save herself from the
spotlight, to hide behind when things get too rough, to make people love her, an idealized version
of her, far from the gritty reality. But it’s confusing, trying to separate the two as they bleed into
each other and it’s a mess. Sometimes Minjeong struggles to take this mask off, having been too
comfortable in being Winter.

It might be the tiredness or her sore body, but she lays down beside Jimin, eyes closed. She knows
Jimin’s watching her, but she is also aware her face never tells anything. It’s a carefully crafted
indifference, made perfect by daily practice.

“I don’t know anymore what’s part of me and what’s part of the act.” She confesses what a few
days ago seemed impossible to talk about. But the company is empty, and the moon outside high
on the pitch-black sky is a comfort. “It’s preserving, y’know.”

Jimin hums, and Minjeong thinks she might not understand it.

“I know your ugly laugh is not Winter,” Jimin says suddenly, sprawling beside her on the floor.
Their arms touch and she’s warm, warmer than anyone’s touch has been lately. “Nor your smart
mouth. Or your dry wit. I’ve been with you for what? A few months? Please don’t flatter yourself
that I confuse you with your idol persona.”

When Minjeong opens her eyes, Jimin’s close. There’s a smile adorning her lips, and it’s not
taunting, rather an offer for the luxury and familiarity of banter. She can do this, and pretend her
longing to close the small distance is nothing. Or that her worries don't feel a tad bit lighter than
before.

“Yes? Don’t think I don’t know about your dark past—” She smirks. “Karina.”

Jimin shoots up, and Minjeong can’t help the laughter that bubbles from her throat. The image of
barely 14-years-old Yoo Jimin putting videos after videos on YouTube, hoping to be the next big
YouTuber pops up in her mind — her awkward smiles and even more awkward jokes; it was a
feast for Minjeong looking for dirt on her too clean manager.

“Where did you get that?” Jimin asks, the panic barely hidden in her voice.

Minjeong shrugs. “I have my connections.”

It all happens in a second. Jimin pushes down on her shoulders, pinning her down, while Minjeong
wrestles with the urge to laugh in her face. Jimin’s long, black hair falls around them, a curtain that
hides them from the outside world — and Minjeong risks a glance at her lips, but she doesn’t linger
too much.

“You will not talk about this to anyone.” Jimin’s voice is dark but Minjeong sees the mischief in
her eyes. That’s the first thing she’s learnt about her — she might seem cold, but it’s just a bluff.
There’s a fire in her, brilliant and dazzling, and Minjeong is afraid it’ll burn her.

Minjeong raises her eyebrows. “Or what?”

“Don’t you think living with you offers me enough embarrassing anecdotes about you?”

“Are you trying to intimidate me?”

Minjeong thinks if she was braver, she could kiss her right now. It’s only a dull ache in her chest,
the little bud of something she’s afraid to name, but it makes her stupid. But Minjeong is a coward,
rightfully so, and she just enjoys the moment of closeness.

“Why? Is it working?” Jimin asks, expression hopeful.

“No, not really.”

Jimin scrunches her nose and pinches Minjeong’s cheeks. “You know, for someone so cute, you’re
too vile. A little ankle biter, you are.”

“Thank you for the compliment.”

Jimin lets go of her cheeks. For a moment, she just looks at Minjeong, and it’s the tender smile that
makes the ache worse in Minjeong’s chest. It’s the nearness when Jimin should be a great distance
away, an untouchable entity. She’s already decided when she signed her contract — career over
love. Signed away with her scrawling handwriting.

Jimin pulls back and Minjeong can finally breathe. But it feels like scratching in her lungs, a pang
of pain every time she inhales.

“Let’s go home.” She stands and offers a hand for Minjeong.

And Minjeong accepts it, even if every touch makes her heart beat faster. Going home sounds
fantastic. Maybe the luxury of a few hours of sleep will shove her back on the right track. She lets
herself be tugged along, and it is only later when she realizes Jimin is still holding onto her, only
letting go of her hand when she searches for her car keys.

“Anyway, my favourite Karina video was when you tried to do your makeup.”

“Minjeong!”

>>>

There’s just something unnerving about standing out there and pouring your heart’s content out for
the whole world to judge. And it is even more so when she’s got to finally be part of the process —
when she was finally allowed to have a say in it. Being thoroughly involved in the birth of the
song, from writing the lyrics to composing felt like a true turning point in her career. It’s nice to
finally be seen for her potential.
But it’s also scarier to show the world what has been her baby for months.

“You’ll be fine.” Jimin’s good at noticing Minjeong’s nervousness, even though it’s non-existent
for others. She pats her under her chin, so she doesn’t mess up her makeup. “There’s nothing you
can’t do.”

“There are many things I can’t do,” Minjeong says, just to be difficult. The nervousness makes her
edgy like she’s a step away from tipping over. She hears the murmurs of the fans from outside,
barely keeping calm in the rush to see her. It’s easier like this — to perform something so personal
as this song to a crowd that accepts and adores her.

The dismay that sits on Jimin’s face is funny, but Minjeong is paying more attention to trying not
to fall apart than to laugh.

“Well, singing is, fortunately, one of the things you can do,” she says sharply. Someone sticks a
microphone in her hands, and it’s time. “So suck it up, you little baby.”

“I know what you can’t do. You can’t be encouraging for shit.” Minjeong looks at herself in the
mirror and Winter looks back at her. Pretty and professional — a lie. She feels anything but that.
Her throat feels dry and itchy and it feels like there’s a boulder in the pit of her stomach, and Jimin
appears again, hard eyes scanning her from head to toe. She helps fix her hair until the blonde curls
sit perfectly.

“We all have our shortcomings. But seriously,” she whispers, so others won’t hear. “The song is
amazing. You’ll be amazing.”

Minjeong gulps, feeling another kind of jitters.

“That’s better,” she grunts.

“Now, go!” Jimin pats her back. “I’ll be waiting for you here.”

It’s obvious, but it’s comforting. It’s nice to think that her own mistakes won’t matter the moment
she steps back. Because Jimin banters and jabs at her whenever she can, but she’s not stingy with
praises, nor with her warm, cotton-scented embraces. She’d be back here, waiting for Minjeong to
come and help piece her back together.

“Duh.”

>>>

Minjeong remembers the first time she's ever seen Jimin. She vibrantly remembers how she wished
to get out of the meeting room; to tell the people around the table assigning her to the woman who
seemed so ruthless and stoic that she’d rather die. Minjeong had a fair share of terrible managers,
of living together with practical strangers who pushed her around like a ragdoll — she didn’t need
another one.

“I think you’re very talented,” Jimin said. They were alone now, left on their own devices to try
and get along. Not like Minjeong had any option other than nodding along.

“Thank you.”

“I’m not just saying it.” Her voice is like thunder on a calm summer night, and it made Minjeong
believe she’d really meant it. “I also think you are overworked and undermanaged. At this tempo,
you won’t last a year.”
Minjeong felt the exhaustion in her bones. She’s been transported to new places to be lovely at,
new sceneries to steal heart at for days now — magazine shoots, music show shootings, radio
guesting, practice — all the while the only sleep she could catch was during the bumpy car ride.
Minjeong was tired, so she didn’t even try to keep the challenge out of her voice.

“And what would you do against that?”

There’s a schedule pushed under her nose. Minjeong knows her schedule by heart, but the red
penned scribbles all over the page were unfamiliar.

“See those little blocks?” Jimin pointed them out. Minjeong nods. “Those are unnecessary time
wasted loitering around the waiting rooms. It could be reduced — it’s a matter of a few phone
calls. I know it doesn’t look too much, but just imagine sleeping an hour more. Maybe two.”

“That would be heavenly.”

She flicked back her long hair, her poise regal. There was a hint of a smile on her lips and it
changed her aura immediately. Minjeong wondered how scouters missed her, this breathtaking
beauty — maybe in another life, they’d gruel beside each other in the practice room.

“I want it to be your call. I don’t want to force myself on you — I’ll take the blame if you decide
not to choose me.” Jimin busied herself by taking back the schedule and folding it neatly. Her eyes
never rose to meet with Minjeong’s curious ones. “But I’d like it if you considered me as an
option. I-I know I don’t make the best first impressions but I do know I’d do anything in my means
to make your life easier.”

“Are you this dedicated?” Minjeong joked because she didn’t know what else to do. The sincerity
Jimin had expressed made her cheeks heat up — it was not every day, you met people who gave a
damn. Especially when your worth came from wrangling every ounce of productivity from your
body.

“I just like to do my work well. And I think you’re really talented.”

“Yeah, you said that already.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s less true.”

In the end, Minjeong accepted her fate with more ease than she’d expected.

And Yoo Jimin appeared out of the blue in her life like this: slick ponytail swinging left to right as
she walked, mobile phone permanently stuck to her ears, her quick words demanding to reschedule.
She never raised her voice, but you could feel the temperature drop when something didn’t go as
she’d planned them to. It was a quick change — Minjeong was no longer tossed around, put on the
burner to wait for bigger artists to finish, and the industry soon learnt the lesson about Jimin.

Minjeong is a sceptic and she’s long learnt that things that are shiny and perfect-looking might not
mean they are good. But Jimin’s been keeping to her promise, and the more Minjeong finds herself
wrapped in her comforter on the verge of sleep, the more she thanks the stars for this. Because
Jimin has slotted herself perfectly by her side, so seamlessly that now it’s hard to imagine life
without her. And it scares her because there’s no guarantee how long Jimin is willing to stay.

But it was a losing game from the point Jimin smiled brightly at her when Minjeong confirmed her
new position as a manager. They shook hands and Minjeong sealed her fate.

>>>
“She’s scary,” Ningning says over brunch, where Jimin has decided to invite herself over. Amongst
the constant ringing of the company phone, eyes twitching, Jimin has excused herself to deal with
them. Minjeong catches her walking up and down the street, explaining something in great detail
in a calm but chilly demeanour and she almost feels bad for the caller. Almost.

Jimin’s usually not this clingy. She lets Minjeong have her little circle and admits that spending
some time apart would serve as self-preservation. But she’s been dying to get to know more about
Ningning, the new shining star and good pal of Minjeong since trainee days before she left for a
company with better offers. The childish glint in Jimin’s eyes is cute when she gazes at Ningning
and Minjeong reminds herself to get a signed album for her.

“She’s really not. Watch this.” When she sees Jimin slaughtering back to their table, tall and
intimidating, she thrusts up a hand to stop her. “Will you be a sweetheart and fetch me some more
orange juice, darling?”

It’s a delight, seeing Jimin’s reaction to the word ‘darling’. It began as a joke after a free night
spent lounging on the couch and watching romcoms. Jimin’s growing mortification and heated
cheeks are fun to watch with each off-handedly passed endearment. Maybe it’s a guilty pleasure,
handing out these words so freely, without being afraid of any repercussions that they might
otherwise bring.

“Of course,” Jimin mumbles under her breath and disappears. Minjeong chuckles seeing her
pinking ears.

“See?” She turns back to Ningning, and her shit-eating grin quickly fades. She barks, “What?”

“I— I didn’t know it was like this,” Ningning says. Her fingers nervously twirl a lock of hair and
Minjeong knows this anxious tick enough. Her wide eyes bring such innocence that Minjeong
thinks should’ve withered already in an industry like theirs. “That you were like this.”

“Like what?”

Minjeong busies herself with sipping from her coffee. She peers over the rim of the mug at
Ningning and she already knows what’s about to come.

“Minjeong,” she sighs, aware of Minjeong’s fortified walls. She reaches over and pats her hand.
Ningning is a few months younger — she has no business handling her like she’s seconds away
from falling apart.

And it’s enough, a gentle touch and gentler eyes so the truth bucks out from her lips. She buries her
face in her hands. “I know I’m an idiot. This should’ve never happened but I couldn’t help it. It just
— happened.”

“You’re not an idiot for falling in love,” Ningning says, thumb drawing lazy circles on her cold
skin. “I just wish she’d love you back.”

Ningning is so sweet with her words, laying them down each with careful hands so they don’t hurt.
But Minjeong feels like she sticks into these honeyed words like a fly — too famished, too greedy
for more that it heeds directly into its death trap. Ningning’s words are nothing new, she’s been
aware of the one-sidedness of her crush.

Because Jimin doesn’t look at her the same way Minjeong knows she does. There might’ve been a
hint of hope residing in the hollows of her chest, but Minjeong knows better than to wish on it.
Still, it’s an arrow through her heart to be vindicated like this — as for Ningning also seeing the
lack of tenderness in Jimin.

Minjeong pulls away from Ningning. “Yeah, I wish that too.”

“Has it started yet?”

Her chest has been hurting for a while now. Singing has become a chore, catching her breath
during dancing has become necessary. She’s been lying about it to Jimin, telling her she’s caught
the flu. Her lungs feel tight, overcrowded and she knows the promise of this. It’s starting to be hard
to ignore.

“No,” she says because lying is easier. It’s easier than to tell the cutting truth, to see the hope in
Ningning’s eyes wilt.

The smile that splits her face is devastatingly relieved. “Then maybe it’s just a crush. Spend some
time apart, mingle with other people. Just don’t let this take over you.”

“Okay, mom.”

Ningning chuckles and slaps her arm lightly.

It’s easier to say than to do. Minjeong doesn’t let these feelings spread over her, to fill her from the
tip of her toes to the top of her head just so she can suffer. Love is a pretty thing, warm and fuzzy
and utterly lovely if you place it into the hands of someone who loves you back — but it’s not the
case, not with Jimin.

Jimin might like her — as a friend, as a bearable colleague, as someone who is not that bad to live
together with. But she doesn’t love her back, not the way Minjeong wants her to. So her cherished
love, which she’s been tending to and treasuring, slips through Jimin’s fingers and shatters on the
ground. And she doesn’t mind. That’s the thing — she doesn’t mind giving away her love for
someone like Jimin.

“What are you guys up to?” Jimin asks and it pushes Minjeong out of her reverie. In her hand,
she’s holding a tall glass of orange juice. She hands it over to Minjeong. “I’ve got a party umbrella
for you.”

“How sweet.” Twirling the little umbrella in her fingers, she bats her eyelashes at Jimin. “Ningning
just finished telling me how she finds you frightening.”

“Minjeong!” Ningning sputters, horrified.

“Oh, I don't mind.” Jimin settles down between them. She gives a quick smile to Ningning but it
doesn’t seem to settle her. “People do think I’m scary.”

“It’s the resting bitch face,” Minjeong chimes in. “You could always try smiling.”

Banter — she can do that. It’s easier to fall into the role she’s set up for herself than letting others
in. It’s easy, slipping into these roles while she pretends she doesn’t want Jimin.

Jimin considers her for a moment, and Minjeong thinks she’s doomed for life. But her pursed lips
curl, revealing pearly white teeth — and Minjeong has seen Jimin smiling, it’s not like she goes
around with the face of utter boredom, but it still steals the breath from her lungs. She counts back
from ten, and for the lack of reaction Jimin’s smile wobbles but she holds on. It’s pretty, it’s forced
— it’s not the one that comes after a burst of hearty laughter, where the smile lingers and it’s a
little too broad and too toothy, and then it’s perfect.
Minjeong’s mouth twists into a thoughtful look. “Maybe rather not.”

The reaction is immediate. The smile falters then dies, it slips so quickly Minjeong cannot
scramble fast enough to say, “I’m just joking.”

“You’re terrible,” Jimin whines.

Ningning blinks owlishly, her eyes flicking between them. Her sweet features fill with a burst of
excitement, but she visibly swallows it down. The interaction seems to have warmed her up to
Jimin and when she turns to her with her bubbling voice overflowing with stories about trainee
Minjeong and her floundering, Minjeong lets them bond over her flawed self.

When the brunch is over, Ningning gives a quick hug for both of them and the stunned look on
Jimin’s face is worth everything.

On Minjeong’s turn, Ningning whispers into her ear, “I was wrong.”

But she slips away before Minjeong could ask her what she was wrong about.

>>>

It’s spring again. A whole year has passed without waiting for Minjeong to take a breather. It’s
rushed through, stuffed with memories and the steadily growing pain in her chest. With the warm
words of a cold woman, Minjeong has grown but not yet has settled as much as she’d like to. But
time waits for no one, and somehow with each moment passed with Jimin around, it feels thinner.
Like their time together is crumbling down to the last grains of sand in the sandglass of their lives.

“What a year it has been,” Jimin voices out what Minjeong is thinking. “D’you reckon, we’d last
for a year?”

“I was honestly afraid, I would not wake up one day because you suffocated me in my sleep,”
Minjeong snorts into her champagne glass. Jimin brought out their nicer silverware for the takeout
she ordered and poured champagne to celebrate the occasion. “Cheers to that you didn’t.”

“I do have great self-control.” Jimin chuckles and their glasses clink as they knock them together.
“But god, weren’t you a real wicked brat at the beginning?”

“Just at the beginning? I’m getting out of shape.”

“I remember you trotting around the apartment and hiding whenever I was in sight. Did you think I
wouldn’t notice that I never see you at home?” Jimin giggles, cheeks painted with a faint smear of
pink. A lightweight, turns out.

“To be honest, I truly thought you’ve got a stick up your butt and you’d nag me.”

“Is that so? What changed your mind?”

She’s close. The couch is big enough for two, but Jimin leans close, elbows resting on her knees as
she watches Minjeong closely. Her long, shiny black hair is a waterfall on her shoulder, her eyes
glinting back the dim light. It’s been a year, but Minjeong never ached so much to lean in and kiss
her than right now. Her eyes flicker down at Jimin’s lips before she grasps what she’s doing and
forces them up.

“Dunno. Got used to you, I guess.”

“No, I don’t think so. You’d been dodgy for a long time,” Jimin presses on.

Minjeong doesn’t know what Jimin wants her to confess. They’ve never talked about this, the
sudden truce that came easily and has stayed with them ever since. And what happened was simply
that Minjeong saw the human in her. Realized, Jimin’s here to help her along the way, not to make
it harder.

It was the little things — things Jimin was not inclined to do for her. Small things like never
forgetting to remind Minjeong to take her vitamins, to talk about anything and everything when she
sees her growing anxious to take her mind off things, to slip a few dorky jokes in way too serious
situations. It was realizing that she saw her as herself, plain, old Minjeong rather than the idol who
could be the springboard for her career. Jimin has never seen her as a useful pawn in the chess
game of her life — because Minjeong had a fair share of managers who never wanted to get closer
in fear they’ll see the human in her instead of the emotionless entertainment machine she’s
supposed to be.

And that’s the thing — it was Minjeong who kept away because she thought Jimin wouldn’t be
around for a long time. Enthusiastic ones never did; because this lifestyle, for them, hardly gives
but takes tremendously. But she kept on holding onto Minjeong, warming up to her until the very
moment Minjeong found herself seeking her out for the sake of being with her.

Eyes glued to the chick-flick Jimin has chosen for the night, Minjeong begins, “I realized I like
having you around. It was not a big revelation, once I just thought ‘I want to tell that to Jimin’ and
found myself beside you more and more.”

“I’m glad you changed your mind. I thought you didn’t like me at all.” Jimin sighs, leaning back
on the couch but still watching Minjeong from the corner of her eyes. “And I too, like having you
around. I hope we stay like this for a while.”

“Then don’t leave.”

It’s selfish to ask her this. Managers don’t usually stick around for long — not when they are
allowed to have a life outside of this. Yet, she cannot help but long for this. To see Jimin whenever
she stumbles backstage, tired and sweaty and delirious from the love she’s received from the fans
and wants her there with her stupid comments and offhanded compliments. Because long before
she knew it, Jimin had become a person who could ground her, in her best moments and in her
worst too.

Jimin chuckles, a deep rumble of her chest and she leans her head on Minjeong’s shoulder. Jimin
never shied away from touches, and however Minjeong tries to fight against it, she leans into them,
aching for the warmth of her touch.

“You’re stupid if you think I’m planning to leave anytime soon.”

“Good.”

It’s an almost unfamiliar side of Jimin. She’s completely stripped from the edge the workdays put
her in, limbs limp and affection uncontrolled. Jimin isn’t stingy with her compliments, but she has
also never looked at Minjeong like this ever before. It’s the hope that makes her chest feel lighter
— but she forces herself to stay level-headed, not to let the wishful thinking take her far away from
the ground. Because the fall would be bone-crushing.

“I’m really glad we’ve ended up together.” It’s out of her mouth sooner than she can think of it.
Minjeong bites into her tongue, to the point she tastes blood, sobering her out from the sweet lull of
the alcohol.

But Jimin turns her head and buries her face in her neck. Her warm breath plays on the sensitive
skin, and Minjeong wants to reach up and caress her hair. She stops herself mid-air — she got away
crossing the line once. Twice, she might not. Instead, she drinks from the bubbly champagne, the
sweetness of it washing away the metallic taste of blood on her tongue. It’s cold until it warms her
veins.

“You’re very important to me, I hope you know that Minjeong,” Jimin whispers like she’s sharing
a secret. Like if she said it louder, the world would shatter its truth.

“Yeah. I know.” She gulps. “And you are too, to me.”

There’s something liberating in letting the truth out, even if it’s concealed in the fluff of friendship.
Or it isn’t. Minjeong has spent so long trying to talk herself into not hoping, of crushing each bud of
hope that has come alive, yet there is this.

And it’s just a slip of a second when she lets her guard down. When she lets herself feel it, what
she’s been pushing away and ignoring. It tightens her chest for a moment, then she exhales and the
strain eases. At this moment, Minjeong lets herself believe Jimin loves her back. Alcohol warming
her veins and making her reckless, she moves away and Jimin is forced to straighten up.

They’re still close. Closer than Minjeong has ever intentionally let herself be. Minjeong reaches
out and with a tender touch, she cups Jimin’s cheek. She flutters her eyes closed and takes a sharp
breath.

“Minjeong—”

Before she could change her mind, Minjeong dives in. Jimin’s lips are soft under hers, sweet from
the champagne and all the sweets they had. It’s everything she’d been aching for, and for a
moment she feels whole again. There’s no hole in her chest, in dire need to fill with anything. And
it almost deceives her, almost makes her believe this is what both of them want. Then she notices
how rigid Jimin went under her touch, how frozen her lips are. It shatters around her, the daydream
she’s built for herself crumbling around her like a house of cards. It tips her over, sucks the
remaining air from her lungs and she tears away from Jimin.

There are times when Minjeong wishes she was braver. To stay and talk everything through
because they need that — they need to talk about this if they want to continue working together.
Because the kiss would always be an elephant in the room, always prickling their mind — and
Jimin just said she’d stay. Yet, she shoots up from her seat, surprising Jimin further. Suddenly,
there’s a hand around her wrist, a weak grasp. The last thing Minjeong wants is to be comforted
right now.

Dashing through the living room, she wants to get out of here. It’s cutting her open. The slight
solace from before disappears and the pain comes back stronger. She has read from books or heard
from songs about the aches of unrequited love, the invisible hand around her heart squishing it and
never letting up. But it’s not like that — the agony swells until the only thing she can focus on is
putting one leg ahead of another. She takes whatever jacket hangs close to the entrance door and
she leaves without anything.

“Minjeong, wait!” Minjeong hears under the loud beating of her heart.

She doesn’t stop. The door opens and closes and she rushes to get away. Because if she stops,
she’ll sink.
Minjeong knows it’s unscrupulous of her to kiss Jimin then leave. But she saw the worry and
surprise in those bleary eyes, saw her own stunned reflection — and it all boiled down to one thing.
Jimin doesn’t feel this. And Minjeong livid at herself for letting this escalate like this. She’s risked
everything they have for a kiss — when all she wanted is to have Jimin beside her.

Hot tears roll down her cheeks but she’s too stubborn to wipe them away.

“Miserable,” she whispers. The cold wind hits her heated cheeks, but it doesn’t relieve her, doesn’t
help with the burden that weighs her down. The stars are barely visible, and it’s a pity — under the
blanket of stars, it is easy to realize how infinitesimal human life is with its petty problems and
short-lived laughter. But even the stars turned away in shame for what she did.

She licks her lips and she still tastes Jimin on them. It’s a cruel reminder for the rest of the night.

>>>

When she comes back home, it’s well into the night. Hands trembling, she pushes down the door
handle but the apartment seems almost haunted. The mess they made during the night has been
cleared away, dishes washed and put away — everything has been cleaned up.

Like nothing happened.

A small part of her hoped Jimin would wait for her return, so they could talk. The other part, the
bigger one, wanted this. Hoped for the silence, along with an unvoiced agreement to never talk
about this again. And whilst it’s not ideal, it gives her time to think. To salvage this and save their
friendship.

But the next morning Jimin wakes her up as usual. During breakfast, she chatters away about her
schedule and everything is back to normal.

Except that breathing doesn’t come easily anymore.

>>>

It first happens when Minjeong sings. It's a love song, so hopeful and fragile, it resonates with
something within her. Easy, it is to immerse herself in the sweet lull of the lyrics, the tame melody,
leaving her heart and mind wandering. And it is only when her eyes meet with Jimin’s gaze, do her
lungs collapse.

There’s no grandiose tipping point, no fanfares. Minjeong realizes what she’s been tiptoeing
around for a year now in mere seconds. It washes over her, a warm feeling filling her bones and
flesh to the brim. Then it is just too much. It’s too much to try to keep inside her lithe body and
when she blinks it spills over.

She crouches down, doubling over as she coughs, hard and scratchy. Jimin’s immediately behind
her, rubbing her back. Minjeong tries to focus on the touch. She’s saying something but she can’t
hear it over the beating of her heart in her ears. She feels like something is ripping her open,
clawing through her throat, and there’s a tang of sweetness on her lips. Tears swell in her eyes and
roll down on her cheeks.

“Minjeong, focus on me!” Jimin’s voice commands. “Drink this!”

She opens her eyes and a bottle appears in the periphery of her gaze. When she reaches for it, little
crumpled petals fall from her hands. They are startlingly yellow against the muted colours of the
practice room, dazzling and bright and everything that love should be — but Minjeong feels the
petals stuck in the back of her throat, and they are anything but lovely. They’re sticky and rough,
and along with the sweetness of them there’s a hint of blood on her tongue — and they shouldn’t
be here, filling her lungs.

Because however she’s pinning after Jimin, whatever she’s feeling for her falls short. Minjeong has
been relying on her too much, thinking of her presence as evident to be always by her side. But
she’s been looking tired these days — her smile growing timid and Minjeong recognizes when
she’s not wanted. Jimin is growing exhausted with her, with the constant babysitting that her job is,
the endless dancing around Minjeong’s feelings. She’s young and dazzling and doesn’t deserve to
wilt away caged with Minjeong, dragging her down.

There’s a cold hand on her cheeks and its gentle touch turns her head. Through tear-filled eyes, she
sees Jimin’s ashen face, her intense, dark eyes in stark contrast with her pale skin. Minjeong wants
to say she’s fine just to take the worry from her eyes — but words die in her throat, and instead of
words, petals fall from her lips. Jimin’s eyes are glued to the yellow petals then they are on her
face again.

“Are you in love with someone?” The words are too loud, too high in Minjeong’s ears. She sits on
the floor, trying to catch her breath. Surrounding her are the drops of yellow laying in a sad fairy
ring. “Daffodils.”

Minjeong hears the meaning behind the word. Unrequited love. It’s pitiful, the way she says it.
There’s a hint of regression in her voice, but the fight for a gasp of oxygen is taking over
Minjeong’s senses to pay attention. But beside pain, shame fills her, paints her cheeks in crimson
red — it’s her crumbling weakness that she’s forced to share with Jimin, her dire yearning for more
than she could offer.

“Yes.” Minjeong drops the words between wheezes. “I’m sorry.”

She risks a glance at Jimin, but what she sees is a carefully masked expression. She cannot grasp
anything from it, and it bothers her more than she thought — they were over this phase, they are
better than this.

“Why—” Jimin starts but the word comes out shaky. Clearing her throat, she starts over. “Why
didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t know how to.”

Jimin squats down beside her, letting her back rest against the wall. Minjeong’s gasping has
ceased, yet she still reaches out to rub circles on her back. It doesn’t help — not when the touch is
a reminder of what she’s losing.

“With whom?”

The question shakes Minjeong to the core. Jimin’s face is completely sincere, and it hurts more
than the flowers blooming in her lungs. In the soil of despair and loneliness, they grow and squeeze
out the air for the flowers of misplaced love. And Jimin still questions this, even after Minjeong’s
failed attempt to kiss her.

“What?”

“Who are you in love with?”

Laying out the truth or lying — Minjeong feels her stomach churning with the worst of these
possibilities. Maybe she can salvage this, clear last night’s memories out of their minds and save
their budding friendship. But Minjeong is selfish, she wants Jimin to know these flowers grow for
her, pretty but painful; to show Minjeong is serious about it.

“I know them?” Jimin tests the waters, misunderstanding her silence. Her voice grows smaller with
each word like they choke her. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“It’s— It’s complicated. But yeah, you know them.”

It’s the safest answer she can offer, both giving and taking. And it seems like Jimin accepts it,
without a hitch, but Minjeong catches something in her dark eyes that’s familiar. It disappears
before Minjeong could interpret it, along with the soothing hand from her back. Jimin has always
been closed off for most of the world, and it took much for Minjeong to get her out from the
invisible walls she built for herself. Yet, she’s here, folded up beside her but a world away from
Minjeong.

It’s weird — she knew this would happen sooner or later. Heck, even Ningning knew this. And the
acceptance washes over her, calmer than she has ever expected it to happen.

“I just wish you’d told me.”

It costs Minjeong, to let it happen. To let the distance grow between them with each word, to see
Jimin crawl back behind her fortified walls, keeping Minjeong an arm's length away. Minjeong did
everything to keep her by her side. And she’s still here, if Minjeong reached out her hand, she
could still reach her.

“I couldn’t.”

Some things she cannot have control over.

>>>

Jimin resigns the next day. It doesn’t come as a surprise, yet it still sends Minjeong into a
coughing fit — the flowers, too, wanting to leave her. They grow sharper in her lungs, the soft
petals feeling like knife points as they pass through her throat, drawing blood. That she can
rationalize, accept the pain as part of her growing love — but the pity she receives from around the
company itches her skin, makes her want to scream.

Sitting in front of her, Jimin’s pale and there are circles under her eyes. They listen to their
management losing their collective minds over the situation — but Minjeong cannot keep her
attention on the matter for long. She nudges Jimin’s calf under the table. Her eyes snap at her, but
after a glance she turns away, like looking at Minjeong too long is tearing her apart.

‘Stupid,’ Minjeong mouths when their eyes met again.

Jimin offers her a sad smile and nods, accepting the verdict. ‘You too.’

There’s no bad blood between them, at least. When they part ways, with empty-feeling promises of
keeping in touch, Jimin hugs her — her bigger frame engulfing Minjeong in her warm embrace, the
soft scent of her shampoo soothing the ache in her chest. Her world slots together and falls apart
just as quickly as Jimin draws back.

“Be good, puppy,” Jimin says, patting her head. “I’ll miss you.”

“Then don’t leave.” Minjeong cannot help but say. “You said you’d stay.”
“I just—need some time.”

“Why?”

Jimin smiles and it almost shatters Minjeong. She reaches out and tucks a stray golden strand
behind her ear, then cups her cheek. Her thumb runs under Minjeong’s eye, caressing the soft skin
before the touch disappears like a mirage.

“You know why.”

“I don’t.”

“Then it’s better like this.” Jimin sighs. Her back straight and her shoulders pulled back, she feels
more like an ascending angel than a human being. But Minjeong sees the tremble of her smile and
her smudged eyeliner and finds her utterly lovely in her infinitesimal flaws. “See you later, puppy.”

Unsaid words burden her chest, words that she had only muttered during the safe cocoon of the
night when there was no one to overhear them. But now they burn in her chest, a wildfire in the
flower field of her lungs, so she reaches out. The confession won’t change anything but if Jimin
was to cut the ties, she’d at least stifle the fire. Her fingers circle over Jimin’s wrist and she halts.

“I—”

When she looks up, Jimin’s eyes are pleading. Dark eyes reflect at her with desperation so thinly
veiled, it kicks the air out of her lungs. There’s something in the sharp intake of her breath that
makes Minjeong drop her hand and let go of her. She’s awfully aware of the ticking of the clock on
the wall – telling the time of the death of whatever this was.

“I’ll see you soon,” Minjeong finishes.

Jimin walks away, long hair shining under the artificial light of the corridor, shoulders, for once,
shagged. It’s time to let go.

>>>

It’s weird – singing for what seems like the last time. The fans are excited, shouting and hurtling
words of adoration just for her to catch and she soaks them up, so she could have something to
remember later on. They don’t know it’s the last concert before her indeterminate hiatus.

But it’s not the same. Minjeong tries to recall Jimin’s eyes on her back, the heavy feeling of them,
like a reassuring touch. Yet, she cannot conjure up an image that is any similar to the real deal, so
she stops trying. When Minjeong walks backstage, it’s almost hollow with the absence of Jimin
there. There’s no one to reprimand her for missing a beat, or for letting the fans get away with too
much; no one to praise her voice or her stage presence.

There’s no one waiting for her, no one like Jimin.

>>>

Ningning rushes over to her apartment the moment she gets to know what happened. Her freshly
dyed bright red hair is a visage in the low, afternoon light and she brings enough ice cream to feed
a smaller country.

“It’s so… empty,” Ningning says as she steps in. She’s been visiting ever since they got chummy
with Jimin, but now her eyes are searching for posters and photos on the stripped-down walls or
Jimin’s faulty record player on the drawer. It’s not even that half of the things are missing – the
whole apartment feels bare, barely lived in. Without noticing, Jimin’s filled the apartment with life,
and now, it’s just a haunted place.

“Jimin took all her stuff yesterday,” Minjeong answers, lying snuggly on the couch where she had
been playing mindlessly on her phone before Ningning came. She pats the small space beside her
and Ningning curls up beside her like a cat.

“I don’t understand. What happened?”

“What everyone with eyes could foresee.” Minjeong closes her eyes, tired already. Ningning’s eyes
are searching her face, she can feel the itch of it on her skin. When she sits up straight, to face the
incomprehension on her face, she explains. “I kissed her, Ning.”

“And?” Her voice is full of stifled excitement and Minjeong is too tired to deal with that.

“And what?” The edge of her voice is sharper than she means to. “She doesn’t feel the same way,
of course.”

Ningning’s pretty feline eyes stare at her hard and long. It used to be so easy to read her, to reach
through her but right now she’s another enigma. Her fingers twitching under the assessment, she
takes one of Ningning’s red curls in her hands and twirls it.

“Are you sure?” Ningning says after a while.

Minjeong nods. “It’s hard to misunderstand.”

“That’s not how it was supposed to happen.” Minjeong appreciates the utter confusion on her face
– so it wasn’t a longshot, imagining Jimin could like her. “I thought she liked you back.”

“She didn’t.”

The scratchy feeling starts at the base of her throat. The dull pain starts to become familiar – it’s
not turning worse yet, but Minjeong knows too well it won’t get better. Not with Jimin god knows
how far away, not with the messages left on read littering her phone, not when she never receives
an answer. It’d have been a clear cut, Jimin’s self-removal from her life, but Minjeong feels the
ragged edges that are not supposed to exist. Jimin has fitted in her life seamlessly, but by removing
herself from there, she ripped Minjeong into pieces.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Probably watch a movie.”

Ningning lets out a chuckle, even if it’s from pity. “No, not like that.”

“I don’t know yet.”

The company has sent her several phone numbers of specialists who could remove the flowers
from her lungs. They expressed their hope that Minjeong would take her time and choose wisely,
there is no rush in this matter. Yet, the company’s impatience is palpable by each day – there is
only so long they can fend off the media after the impromptu halt in her rising career.

“I don’t want to get rid of it just yet,” Minjeong confesses. It’s scary, putting herself out like this.
But it’s Ningning – she’s known her since the fumbling mess that was their teenage years. “Not
before I let her know how I feel.”
Ningning looks up at her sharply. “You haven’t told her?”

“It’s… It’s complicated.”

Minjeong starts to retell everything, to finally let all her worries pour out from her mouth – it
doesn’t help get rid of them, but the burden feels more bearable than before. Ningning listens, pays
attention and never once does she cut in. Minjeong is grateful for that.

“Jimin deserves to know,” Ningning agrees when Minjeong’s voice slowly fades away. She slips
closer, wrapping an arm around her. It’s a comfortable weight. “But seriously when did you
become such a coward?”

Minjeong laughs loudly. “I always was.”

“Your bald-faced truth bombs can make anyone believe you’re a big bad gal.” Ningning shakes her
head. “You keep so much in. You’ve never thought that Jimin might’ve misunderstood something?
Or maybe you?”

“There was little to misunderstand.”

It’s getting tiring, reliving the same moment again and again. Even with Ningning by her side, it
feels empty. The blaring absence that Jimin left behind takes all her energy, to even momentarily
forget about it.

“Maybe you should open your eyes,” Ningning settles. “I think you might’ve missed a thing or
two.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That—” Ningning hugs her tighter and Minjeong can feel the flutter of her heart. “That you should
tell her everything and then draw the conclusion.”

>>>

Aeri opens the door with a grunt and takes a second look at Minjeong before she slips out of the
apartment and closes the door silently. She’s known Aeri ever since she moved back to Seoul, and
kept showing up at their doorstep to demand quality time from her old college buddy-slash-
roommate, Jimin. Minjeong has grown to like her, her easy jokes and her intelligence, even though
her stealing Jimin away stuck a thorn in her from time to time.

“What do you want, Winter?” she whispers in the hushed silence of the corridor.

“It’s Minjeong.”

“Winter,” Aeri says again. “What do you want?”

The hostility is new, especially from a warm woman like Aeri. Minjeong furrows her brows, trying
to make sense of the situation. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem is,” she stops for a moment to listen to the rustling coming from inside the
apartment. Jimin. It’s her. When it stops, Aeri continues, “You can’t just show up like this. Not
after everything.”

“After everything?” Minjeong feels his voice slipping higher, louder. “What did I do?”

Aeri studies her. It feels like ages, as she examines her face, trying to find a lie in her disposition.
And it makes Minjeong feel guilty, makes her hide her hands behind her back and avoid looking at
Aeri – even though she has no idea what this thing is about.

“Look,” Aeri sighs. She sweeps her bangs from her eyes. “I don’t think you’ve thought it through
to come here.”

“I did,” Minjeong says, with her newfound voice. All she did was thinking so far – it’s time for her
to act on those thoughts. “I did enough thinking.”

She thinks about side-stepping her and barging into the apartment. Sensing her lingering gaze on
the entrance door, Aeri steps between her and the door.

“Winter, why are you here?” She’s growing tired. Her shoulders shag and the edge of her voice
grows softer. Enmity is not in her veins, it’s foreign for her to keep it up for so long.

“I want to see Jimin.”

“But she doesn’t want to see you.”

It hurts. It’s never hurt this much – she has held onto the hope like a fool she was, taking Jimin’s
silent treatment as a form of punishment. It hasn’t occurred to her that if they met again, Jimin
would try to avoid her.

The flowers passing through her lungs, sliding through her throat feel like they’ve grown thorns.
Ripping and tearing through her, she tastes blood on her tongue and she grows nauseous from it.
It’s no longer sweet – it’s wicked and rotten, and she wants to claw through her chest and tear the
stem out herself.

As she coughs up the flowers, a splatter of blood colours her palm crimson. Distance makes the
heart fonder – the flowers have grown too large in Jimin’s absence, beautiful but deadly. They no
longer come out as pretty yellow petals, but rather, grotesque apparitions of what could’ve been
beautiful.

Because Minjeong thinks this could’ve been beautiful — if Jimin ever loved her back. But she’s
too dazzling, too brilliant for her. And Minjeong can’t keep her caged away, even if she just wants
to protect her from the world that would want to dissect her apart. Jimin’s rough and tender at the
same time – and Minjeong wants her to stay like that. Stay true to herself, unapologetic with her
dorkiness, her dad jokes, her sarcasm. She doesn’t want her to hide because she’s afraid others will
find fault in her.

Minjeong slightly registers the door opening and closing, and only after getting a whiff of her
familiar shampoo does Minjeong realize Jimin is here. The warmth of her hand sweeps through the
thin material of her T-shirt as she rubs circles on her back. As Minjeong comes back to her senses,
as the pain slowly subdues with each hushed, soothing word of Jimin, the feeling of déjavu filters
through her mind. The time when everything went downhill.

“Minjeong? Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” she squeezes the words through her gritted teeth. “So much better.”

>>>

Jimin puts a steaming mug in front of her. An apologetic smile pulls on her lips.

“I’ve only got my type of coffee.”

“It’s fine.”

It’s awfully domestic and familiar, to sit at the kitchen table again while Jimin flits around the
room, always busy with something. Except, this is not their shared apartment, the tell-tale signs of
Aeri are all over the place – the knick knacks on the shelves, the photos on the fridge, the
misplaced belongings – all of them are a reminder how Minjeong is not part of this small solar
system. But Aeri is not here, excused herself after Jimin reassured her that she’d be fine –
Minjeong is glad Jimin has her by her side. So, she allows herself, just for a moment, to imagine
them back in their apartment.

Minjeong has never been more glad to drink the disgusting concoction. The bitterness chases away
the metallic taste of blood from her tongue, and it fills her with warmth. She sips on the coffee to
stall a little bit – for all the thinking, she has yet to come up with the perfect words.

“I missed you,” Jimin breaks the silence so suddenly, even she looks surprised.

“I messaged you,” Minjeong says, trying hard to keep the accusation from her voice. “Multiple
times.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Jimin says. She’s not looking at Minjeong, instead focusing on stirring her
coffee. “I’ve had a few things to sort out.”

Minjeong wants to ask away. She hates this standstill, where they’re no longer colleagues, nor
friends. She hates this tiptoeing around the matter, hates that her inner inhibitions don’t let her
barge in – because Jimin feels so strange now, so unknown, she’s afraid Jimin's just closing herself
further off. But it irks her, how she has to keep in check because she never had to be anything else
but herself with Jimin.

“It’s okay,” Minjeong says, after a while. “I missed you, too.”

Jimin then looks up at her, and it’s like the Jimin standing there is only a carbon copy of herself.
Her washed-out look, the dimness of her eyes are so painfully familiar – the same thing Minjeong
sees when she looks in the mirror. Jimin seems thinner, her healthy disposition gone.

“How’re things?” Jimin leans to the counter, and Minjeong grows aware of the distance between
them. Aeri was right – Jimin doesn’t want her here. Her throat closes in with the threat of another
coughing fit but she wills it away, purging her thoughts to concentrate on answering.

She shrugs. “Not very good, as you could’ve seen.”

“Have you considered—” Jimin’s voice fades away. But then she braces on to continue. “Have you
considered removing them?”

Minjeong’s eyes fall on the mug, following the steam with her gaze. Ningning said she’s running
away from her own emotions. It’s not true – they’re there, she just keeps them buried to protect
herself. But it’s not the time to run away, to try to get out of this. Minjeong is here to tell Jimin
everything because it’s the least she can do. To be truthful for once, to bid farewell to the
friendship that seems to have fallen apart in days.

“I don’t want to, yet,” she confesses. She lays a hand on her chest, feeling the phantom pains in her
lungs. “It must sound stupid, but… I’m not ready to have it taken away from me. I’ve just begun to
let myself feel it.”

She loves Jimin so much, she’d let it suffocate her. She’d let the flowers unravel in her lungs, let
them spread and root in her body because everything is better than feeling the echo of what once
had been love. She tries to imagine life without the choking affection, the constant ache to be close
– she doesn’t want the loveless hollow.

“I’m not ready to part with her,” Minjeong adds. “I love her too much.”

It takes a moment to register that Jimin has her back to her. She coughs, her shoulders shaking.

“I told you the coffee is bad,” Minjeong tries with a joke. She stands, walking over to Jimin. Her
hand hovers over her back, wanting to mimic the touch from before, but she’s not sure if she was
allowed to. Fighting down the awkwardness, she places her hand on her back and leans in. “Are
you alright?”

Yellow is all she can see. The same crumpled, yellow petals fall from Jimin’s lips like hers, and
Minjeong freezes. Jimin’s long hair hides her face, but when the coughing dies and the yellow
petals fall and surround her, Minjeong moves back. It’s hard to move when her heart feels like it’s
shattered at the sight.

“Jimin?” She tries, voice coming out thin and airy. She decides to throw every caution out the
window and steps back, tucking the long, black strands behind her ears. Jimin’s cheeks are burning
red – is it from the exertion or because of shame for having Minjeong see her like that?

It’s almost funny, how the same questions tumble into her mind that Jimin had asked before.
Minjeong swallows them, trying to catch Jimin’s teary eyes with her own. Once she does, Jimin
steps back like she was burned, tearing away from Minjeong’s gentle touch. It takes tremendous
self-control, not to reach after her and cradle her in a hug. The slight distance seems to calm Jimin.

“I’m sorry. I—I thought you liked me,” she says, rattling the words like she wants to get rid of
them. Her breathing is still laboured, Minjeong can still hear the rasp that comes along with the
flowers in her voice. She stares down at her slippers, while Minjeong tries to comprehend what
she’s hearing. “I really believed you liked me. When you kissed me, I thought you’re not ready yet,
so I waited. I didn’t want it to be awkward for you – y’know, I didn’t want things to turn back to
that weird standoffish period.

“But then the flowers came and—” Jimin halts and looks up at Minjeong, her gaze a burning fire.
“And I didn’t know you loved someone else.”

Many things could’ve left Minjeong’s mouth but the last thing she’s anticipated is the unstoppable
giggles bubbling up from her chest. They spill over, loud and bright – and only grow with the
struck expression on Jimin’s pretty face.

“You’re so stupid.” Minjeong reaches out, cupping Jimin’s cheeks in her hands. Her fingers are
trembling as she pinches a cheek, earning a loud yelp for it. “You’re an idiot.”

“Minjeong—” Jimin’s lower lip juts out, and she’s about to step away from Minjeong but now, she
knows she can hold onto her stronger. Running her thumb over the burning skin of her cheekbones,
Minjeong’s never felt freer.

“Do you like me?” she asks, breathless.

Jimin’s eyes dart to the flowers lying dead on the ground, and it’s an answer itself.
Misunderstanding Minjeong’s mirth, she tries to pry her hands off her face.

“Why are you laughing at me?”

“Idiot,” Minjeong says. She takes a deep breath, and it’s clean. Her lungs don’t feel tight anymore
– she doesn’t think the flowers are not there anymore, she still has a hard time believing Jimin likes
her. “We’re both idiots.”

Minjeong grows tired of talking. At Jimin’s quizzical expression, she only pulls her closer – slow,
like she’s always wanted to, breathing in the same air and giving time for Jimin to pull away. She
stays, eyes blinking wildly until they fall shut, realization hitting her. It’s all the sign that Minjeong
needs and she pushes their lips together. Jimin’s lips are soft under hers, the sweetness of the
flowers still lingering on them – and she’s warm under the touch. Her hand comes to cup
Minjeong’s jaw, guiding her closer.

It’s another kind of breathlessness that drives them apart.

“You should’ve said something.” The words tumble out of her mouth before Minjeong could think
about it. “I thought you hated me for kissing you and I had no chance with you.”

Jimin’s eyes are painfully tender as she takes Minjeong in like she cannot believe she’s real.
Minjeong wonders how she missed this before, how she has mistaken similar looks for one of mere
friendliness. A small puff of laughter leaves Jimin’s lips and she flicks Minjeong’s forehead.

“How was I supposed to know you immediately come to weird conclusions when left alone on
your own devices? I see why you just simply don’t think. Do us a favour and never attempt a
thought ever again.”

“Even Ningning told me you don’t like me like that! It’s not only my fault.”

“Ningning?” Jimin furrows her eyebrows. “She told me I, and I quote, ‘was not slick’. And told me
to treat you well.”

Minjeong staggers back and holds onto the kitchen counter. With newfound enlightenment, she
turns to Jimin and says, “Maybe I was the idiot.”

“Just maybe?”

“You were a bit, too. You know you’ve got to spell things out for me,” she grumbles.

Jimin steps in front of her, her eyes bright with mirth – and it’s the Jimin she’s known, with the
demanding aura and the steely confidence. Minjeong gulps when she has to look up to match with
her height, a tiny part of her purring at the slight height difference. She almost feels heady as Jimin
crashes their lips together, stealing her breath. Not being the initiator like before, she has no time to
prepare for the kiss, making her knees almost give up from under her. Jimin is braver now, sucking
on her lower lip before letting Minjeong go.

“Is it clear enough?” Jimin asks, a smirk forming on her face.

Minjeong’s knuckles turn white with the strength she is holding on to the counter. She peels her
aching fingers from there, sending a stinky look toward Jimin. Jimin only laughs and pats her
cheek.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I do.”

>>>
“Winter puppy,” Jimin calls, jutting out her open palm. Minjeong sighs and places her chin there.
Jimin coos, patting her head, satisfied with the result. “Look, I’ve trained her well.”

Ningning tilts her head and tries to hold back her amusement. Minjeong sends her death threats
with her eyes but that’s the tipping point Ningning needed to burst out in laughter. “She’s tamer,
that’s for sure.”

“Can you guys, like, shut up?”

In the waiting room, where Ningning decided to visit them, they sit in a small circle. It’s not yet
time for their respective performances but already dolled up pretty, so Minjeong can snack away
until the very last seconds. She munches on something healthy Jimin has prepared for her – edible,
not like her last attempts, while she listens to the two bonding over their mutual love of making fun
of her.

“You can always buy my silence,” Jimin says, eyes challenging.

With a deadpan face, Minjeong reaches for her wallet. “How much?”

“Not with money.” She quirks her eyebrows. She glances down at Minjeong lips, a minuscule
movement only Minjeong catches on to. “With something else.”

“Sometimes you guys confuse me,” Ningning breaks them out of their little rivalry. “Do you guys
like or hate each other?”

“Both,” they say in unison. Catching each other’s eyes, they fist bump.

“What I know is that I hate you both,” Ningning groans.

Minjeong takes a deep breath and enjoys the slight ache that remains in her chest. It’s not painful
anymore, not like it used to be. It’s only a dull ache that drives her to stay close to Jimin, to seek her
out, to hold onto her. Under the table, Minjeong takes Jimin’s hand in hers, intertwining their
fingers. It’s comforting – the weight of her hand in hers. When she sees Jimin looking at her, the
same thing reflects from her eyes. There aren’t any more flowers growing in her lungs, but the
affection almost chokes her.

“It’s time,” Jimin says, checking the time on her wristwatch. She nudges Minjeong to stand.

“Will you watch me?” Minjeong asks. It’s redundant – Jimin’s always there, backstage. Jimin
tightens the hold on her hand and smiles, dazzling and true.

“Of course.”

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