Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The performance hall was dim at the late hour. Grand chandeliers hung above like sleeping giants, their lights turned low, casting long, dim shadows over rows of empty velvet seats. Dust floated lazily in the air, catching what little light there was. It felt like a secret—the kind of quiet that demanded reverence, or at least silence.

Kyung had found this place weeks ago. Tucked behind a towering pillar on the balcony’s far end, it wasn’t marked or reserved, but it felt like hers now. From here, she could see everything: the gleam of polished wood on the stage, the way the spotlight glanced off the gold-plated frame of the harp, and—most importantly—the girl sitting beside it.

Not that she was here for her. Not really.

She shifted in her seat, notes open on her lap, highlighter caught between her fingers like an afterthought. The ink on the page had started to blur from being looked at but not read. Below, the harp’s notes flowed in soft, deliberate waves, delicate but not fragile. Confident. Like someone who knew she was talented, someone whose skill demanded to be observed.

Kyung's eyes drifted toward the stage again, despite herself. The harpist was still poised like a sculpture. Straight-backed, elbows just so, fingers moving with a kind of elegance that felt too graceful for real life. Her brow furrowed in concentration, but she never looked tense. Only focused. In control.

There was something admirable about that composure. Magnetic.

The first time Kyung had wandered into the hall, she’d told herself it was a fluke. A quiet place to study was a necessity with her mock trial coming up, and it seemed like every other place on campus was full of other law students thinking the same thing. Every place except this one- most law students wouldn't be caught dead within a hundred feet of the arts building.

But Kyung hadn't been able to stop coming back. There was no chatter, no group study noise, no one asking her if she was sure she didn’t want to go into corporate law instead. Just music. She’d planned to leave after an hour. Then an hour turned into two. Then days. Then weeks.

Now it was a routine. Harp practice. Legal prep. One-sided performances on both ends.

She pretended not to listen. Pretended this wasn’t the highlight of her day.

Under her breath, Kyung recited lines from her mock trial script, voice low and steady. The acoustics in here were strange—her words felt fuller, like they carried weight even when whispered.

“The evidence clearly demonstrates that…” she faltered, grimaced, then slipped into her judge voice. “Objection overruled. Continue, counselor.”

It was ridiculous, and she knew it. But somehow, with the harp behind her words, the courtroom in her head didn’t feel so distant. The sharpness of the legal language softened at the edges, made room for rhythm. For feeling.

She tried again, this time slower, measuring her tone against the melody below. Her voice, the music, the hush of the hall—it was all part of the same strange harmony.

Then, just as abruptly as it began, the music stopped.

A final note lingered, then faded.

Kyung snapped her mouth shut.

Down on the stage, the harpist remained still, hands resting gently on the strings. Then a breath. A stretch. She rose, gave a small, amused curtsy to the empty seats, like she was playing for ghosts, and began to pack up with quiet precision. No rush. No wasted movement.

Kyung stayed frozen in place, watching as she disappeared through the wings, same as always. When the latch of a door out of sight clicked shut, it echoed all the way up to the rafters, signaling the end of her nightly session.

Only then did Kyung exhale.

She glanced at her notes. The highlighter had left a smear of neon yellow on her palm. She wiped it away absently.

Until next time.

The first time Yeri noticed her, she didn't think much of it.

The performance hall was big enough to swallow people. Sometimes students wandered in—overwhelmed, lost, or just looking for a moment of quiet. The balcony was dark, half-hidden behind heavy stone pillars, and easy for someone to dissapear into. If Yeri wasn't so attracted to the spotlight, she might have even found herself sneaking up there for private performances, too.

But, she was on the stage. And she had things to do- music that demanded to be played- perfected ahead of the annual fall fundraiser. It wasn't her senior capstone performance, and it wasn't an audition for the Seoul Philharmonic, but still, it was a performance. And Yeri had no right to call herself a musician if she didn't give every performance a wholehearted effort.

So she ignored the shape in the shadows. A passerby, she figured. Temporary.

But then the shape came back. And kept coming back.

Always in the same spot. Always alone. Always watching.

At first, Yeri pretended not to care. She told herself it didn’t matter—people came and went. But every time she played, her eyes would drift toward that shadowed corner. Just for a second. Just to check. And every time, she was there.

Slouched, distracted, pretending to study—but not really studying. Not with that stack of notes left untouched for entire pieces. And not with that voice.

Soft, at first- barely audible. But the acoustics of the hall and Yeri's finely tuned ears didn’t miss a thing. Yeri had caught it mid-phrase once, the words crisp and oddly formal. Legal jargon? It seemed out of place and foreign, but before long, it started happening regularly. Pacing, rhythm, tone—like someone rehearsing for an audience no one else could see.

Then one night, right in the middle of Tchaikovsky, Yeri heard her say, with comically deep conviction: “Objection, your honor, this line of questioning is irrelevant!”

Yeri missed a note.

It wasn’t a huge mistake. Just a slight slip, a breath caught too soon. But it shook her. Not because the phrase was funny—though it was—but because she’d realized, with sudden clarity: she was starting to listen for her.

The girl in the shadows wasn’t background noise anymore.

After that, it became a pattern. Yeri played. The girl practiced her fake trials. Sometimes she whispered. Sometimes she mouthed the words, lips moving silently in sync with her hands. And every now and then, when she forgot herself, she’d say something out louder than intended and flinch like she’d broken a rule.

It was oddly intimate, this shared space. A kind of performance neither of them acknowledged.

But Yeri saw her. Always.

And lately, she found herself playing longer pieces, just to see how long Kyung would stay. She started choosing music that sounded bold and theatrical—something to match the way that voice would echo in counterpoint. She liked the way Kyung’s rhythm shifted with the music, how her sentences became more urgent when the tempo rose.

She was strange. Focused. Kind of intense. Definitely smart.

Yeri didn’t mean to be so curious. But she was.

And tonight, she decided, she wasn’t going to keep pretending it was nothing.

The final note hung in the air. Yeri let it linger, then stood, smoothing the front of her skirt. She bowed—habit, muscle memory—then looked straight up toward the balcony.

“My name is Yeri,” she said, letting her words ring out clearly. “What is yours?”

There was a beat of stillness. Then movement—cautious, slow.

A face peeked out from behind the pillar. Wide eyes. Startled. Like she’d been caught mid-theft.

“Yes, you,” Yeri said, smiling now, her voice warm and unapologetic. “What’s your name?”

“I'm...my name is Kyung,” came the answer, soft and reluctant, like it was being given up under protest. "Choi Kyung."

Yeri nodded, committing the name to memory. She could almost see Kyung trying to disappear again, as if saying it out loud had made her too visible. Too real.

Interesting.

“Next time I practice, Choi Kyung,” Yeri called, picking up her music, “I hope you’ll come sit in the front row.”

That got a reaction—Kyung went rigid, like she’d been electrocuted.

Yeri bit back a laugh. She hadn’t expected her to actually say yes- at least not immediately. But still, she hadn't expected her to do that.

She lingered a second longer, just to watch the way Kyung squirmed under the attention.

“I like an audience,” she added, mostly for herself.

Specifically, she liked this one.

Chapter Text

Kyung paced the length of her apartment for the third time, bare feet soundless against the floor, hands twisted in her hair until they fell, useless, at her sides. She huffed, turned, paced again.

No, it was fine. Everything was fine.

She wasn’t pacing like a defendant awaiting sentencing. She wasn’t on the verge of throwing up. It was fine .

Except it wasn’t.

She groaned, grabbed a pillow from the couch, and smacked it against her face. That didn’t help either.

With a frustrated grunt, she yanked her phone off the bed and called the only person who made sense when she didn’t.

Jaeyi answered after two rings. “I was just about to text you,” she said, already sounding like she was smiling. “Movie night? We can order in. I’ll even let you pick something depressing and award-winning.”

Kyung didn’t answer right away. She blinked at the ceiling. “I have no time for movies. No time for anything.”

She started pacing again.

“That sounds dramatic, even for you,” Jaeyi said.

“Listen—okay—hypothetically—say I’ve been, sort of, noticed. By someone. Like... a performer. Really talented. Kind of magnetic. And maybe I’ve been, hypothetically, sneaking in to study while they practice. Not once. Not twice. Like, regularly . And they’ve known. The whole time. And now—now they’ve invited me to sit in the front row.”

There was a pause.

Then, with peak Jaeyi calm: “Uh-huh. What kind of performer are we talking about here, Kyung?”

Kyung’s face flushed. “A musician. A harpist. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

Jaeyi didn’t even try to hide her laughter. “I’m just saying—with how breathless you sound, I wouldn’t be shocked if they offered a lap dance instead of a concerto.”

“God,” Kyung muttered, flopping onto the couch, face in her hands. She called Jaeyi for help, and the only thing she got in return was teasing; she should've expected it, really. “You’re impossible.”

“And you're spiraling. By the way, I love that you called me like this is some emergency. Is this why you're turning down our movie night?”

“It is an emergency.” Kyung spoke through gritted teeth, ignoring the movie night comment; they'd have to make it up sometime else. “It just feels strange, Jaeyi. Like—I don’t know what they want from me. I don’t know what I want.”

“Okay. Serious question,” Jaeyi said, her tone shifting just slightly—still teasing, but steadier now. “Are you telling me you’ve been stalking a musician?”

Kyung bolted upright. “Not stalking. Observing. There’s a difference.”

“Uh-huh. And this harpist knows they’re being observed.”

“Yes, Jaeyi. That’s the entire problem.”

“Not really a problem if they invited you down to the front row, is it?”

Kyung fell silent.

That was the part that had her undone. If it had been one-sided, she could've buried it. Yeri could’ve asked her to stop listening in on her private practices, and Kyung would’ve accepted it with her tail between her legs. If Yeri hadn’t mentioned it, she wouldn't be freaking out so much about the thought of returning- or the thought of not returning. 

Either way, she was saying something. Go, and she was interested in Yeri. Stay away, and she was closing the door on a budding relationship that- frankly- she was curious to see bloom.

“Jaeyi,” she said, quieter this time. "What should I do?"

“You should go.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. You shouldn’t turn down an invitation like that; this harpist really put their heart on the line, and- no offense Kyung- I’ve known you for years now, and you always shoot yourself in the foot when it comes to people you like. You shouldn’t run away from this.”

Kyung stared at the floor. “But I’m nervous .”

There was a rustling sound on Jaeyi’s end, like she was rolling onto her side. “It’s okay to be nervous. I was nervous when I dated somebody for the first time.”

“Jaeyi, slow down. We're not dating.”

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t considered the possibility. Even if that’s not why they invited you to listen, it’s at least an opportunity to meet a new friend. It’s literally a win-win situation.”

“But if they do want a relationship...”

Kyung trailed off, and Jaeyi waited for her to finish her thought. It was clear that she wouldn't.

“Kyung, you’re spiraling again.”

“That’s because people don’t usually see me like this.”

And certainly not people like Yeri. Confident. Composed. Effortless. The kind of person who should feel distant. Untouchable. But she had looked straight at her and asked for her name like it meant something. Invited her to be closer- physically, perhaps more than physically, too.

Kyung rolled her eyes. Get a grip. You really are spiraling.

“You need to work on your confidence, Choi Kyung. You’re hot. You’re smart. You’re funny. If this harpist really does want to date you, and you want to date them, they’d be lucky .”

Kyung knew that Jaeyi was not a liar- that everything she said was intentional and devoid of padding to protect feelings. Still, though, it was hard to believe it. If Jaeyi knew who Yeri was- what she looked like, the beauty of her music- she wouldn’t be calling her the lucky one. Kyung was shooting far out of her league.

“I don’t know if they’re even interested in me. Romantically, I mean. Or sexually.” Kyung didn’t know if she was reminding Jaeyi or herself.

“That’s the point, though,” Jaeyi said, not needing more context. “If they know you’ve been watching them, and they’ve been paying attention to you, and they still want you around, you owe it to yourself to find out what that means.”

Kyung swallowed.

“Was that not the answer you wanted to hear?” Jaeyi asked gently.

“I don’t know,” Kyung muttered. It was getting late, and she had a decision to make. “Goodbye, Jaeyi.”

She hung up before she could start overthinking again.

For a moment, everything was still. Then she stood, grabbed her bag, and slung it over one shoulder.

She wasn’t ready.

But she was going.

Yeri’s fingers hovered over the strings, the pads of her fingertips barely brushing the nylon, just enough to feel the tension. The hall was still, interrupted only by the occasional hum of the air conditioner, or a faint door closing somewhere down the corridor. She told herself she wouldn’t care if Kyung didn’t show.

But she did.

The emptiness of the hall pressed in around her, suddenly too vast, too hollow. She glanced toward the balcony—Kyung’s usual hideout. For weeks now, she’d clocked her there, a silhouette tucked behind the pillar, gesturing as if in courtroom debate, sometimes mock-arguing with invisible opponents. It had been entertaining at first. Then interesting. Then…comforting.

But today, there was only shadow.

Yeri sighed, quietly. Maybe she’d overstepped. Called too much attention to something that had been unspoken by design. Some people liked their invisibility. Maybe Kyung had just needed the quiet and not the invitation.

Too forward, Yeri.

She flexed her fingers once before settling them back in her lap.

She could practice alone.

But just as she shifted her weight, the doors creaked open in front of her. Yeri looked up and stilled as a figure approached in the shadows. Footsteps echoed- the slow and hesitant kind. The king that said, I might still turn around and leave.

Yeri smiled as the figure stepped into the light.

Kyung.

She walked with the wary body language of a student arriving ten minutes into lecture—trying not to be seen, knowing it was impossible. She hovered for a moment, scanned the rows like she was calculating visibility, and then, very deliberately, chose the second row. Not the first.

Still close.

Close enough.

“You made it,” Yeri said, plucking a few aimless notes. “I was beginning to think I scared you off.”

Kyung sat a little straighter. “Me? No. I was—just finishing some reading.”

“Homework?”

“Yes. Well. Review material. It’s never really done.”

Yeri tilted her head, amused by the answer’s precision. “So you came here… purely for the ambiance?”

Kyung fidgeted, adjusting the strap on her bag. “Law students aren’t really afforded breaks, technically. There’s always material to learn. But I suppose I... made time for this.”

Yeri grinned. “I’m flattered.”

Kyung blinked, then reached for a highlighter, like a shield. “You shouldn’t be. This is just a change in study environment.”

“Mmm,” Yeri hummed, unconvinced. “Well, then. I’ll play. You study.”

She didn’t wait for a reply.

The harp filled the room in slow, golden strands. A melody soft enough to sit beside silence, but firm enough to ask for attention. Yeri didn’t look at Kyung—but she noticed everything.

The way she stiffened at first, eyes locked on her notes but unfocused. The subtle clench of her jaw. The way her lips moved like she was mouthing arguments to herself. Then slowly—gradually—her shoulders began to ease. Her grip on the highlighter slackened.

The music smoothed her out, the way wind smoothed the surface of water.

Yeri transitioned into something even slower, testing. Kyung didn’t move, but she’d stopped pretending to read.

When the final note faded, Kyung looked up like someone waking from a dream.

“So, you're a law student,” Yeri began casually, plucking at a loose string. "What've you been arguing to yourself about for the last few weeks?"

Kyung’s brows furrowed, confused. “You… could hear that?”

“The acoustics in here are excellent,” Yeri said with a smile. “And you speak louder when you’re irritated.”

Kyung let out a quiet groan, rubbing her temple. “That’s mortifying.”

“It’s kind of endearing.”

Kyung looked at her, suspicious. “You don’t find it… ridiculous?”

Yeri shook her head. “I think you’re passionate. Dramatic, but in a good way.”

Kyung let out a breath that was maybe a laugh. Maybe disbelief.

Yeri leaned forward. “I could help, you know. I mean, I’m not a law expert, but if you gave me the basics, I could be your opposing counsel. Or your jury. Or... your overly judgmental courtroom audience.”

Kyung’s eyes narrowed, trying to read her. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I like having an audience,” Yeri replied lightly. “And you’re a very expressive one.”

“I don’t know anything about music.”

“That’s okay. You don’t need to understand it to feel it. Do you have a heart and a brain, Kyung?”

Kyung hesitated, lips twitching slightly. “Last time I checked, yes.”

“Perfect. Then we’re set.” Yeri gave a theatrical nod. “I’ll play. You argue. Mutual performance.”

Kyung leaned back in her seat, tentative. “This might be the most inefficient study strategy I’ve ever agreed to.”

“Yet, here you are.”

After a pause, Kyung nodded. “I’ll get you a copy of the mock trial packet tomorrow.”

Yeri’s eyes lit up. “Deal.”

The pages were worn at the edges, smudged faintly from where Kyung’s pen had pressed too hard against the paper. Her notes were thorough—rigid, precise, written in a way that left little room for ambiguity. But Yeri still found them amusing, especially the moments where Kyung had written little asides in the margins, probably in frustration.

Ridiculous. This argument is nonsense.

What kind of question is that? I’d object, but I’d be objecting to the entire trial.

Yeri smiled to herself, flipping through the photocopies as she sat in the kitchen, legs curled up on the chair, absentmindedly chewing on the end of her pen. She was getting the hang of it—the cadence of Kyung’s arguments, the way she’d frame her objections, the patterns in her reasoning.

The fridge door creaked open, and Yeri jolted, snapping the notes shut. Seulgi stood in front of the open fridge, still in her scrubs, rubbing the back of her neck as she squinted at the meager offerings.

“What are you doing?” Seulgi asked, peering over the door.

“Studying.” Yeri answered a little too quickly, shoving the papers under a notebook. “What about you? How was work?”

Seulgi hummed, grabbing a carton of orange juice. “Long. I had a patient who insisted on diagnosing me with anemia when I told them to eat more iron-rich foods.” She took a sip directly from the carton. “What are you actually doing?”

Yeri swung her legs off the chair. “I told you- studying. And, ew, get a glass.” She snatched the carton from Seulgi’s hand before she could take another sip, grinning at the half-hearted glare she received in return. She opened the trash can and pulled out a bag. She tied it shut, grabbed her legal notes, and walked to the door. “I’m going to go practice; can you make sure to replace the trash bag?”

“Got it,” Seulgi answered through a mouthful of orange juice.

Yeri sighed, slipping into her shoes. The hallway outside felt colder than usual, the quiet heavier. For the first time in a long time, she felt…nervous. About practicing. About playing in a hall she’d practically grown up in.

But by the time it all settled—her fingers on the strings, Kyung in the front row, more comfortably this time—Yeri felt the nerves begin to ease. Kyung had her feet propped lightly against the edge of the stage, laptop open, posture more relaxed than usual. Yeri let herself breathe.

It was easy to play for her.

Fun, even.

She caught Kyung’s head bobbing slightly as she moved through a quick section of her senior solo repertoire. And, as before, she watched the change—the tension slipping from Kyung’s shoulders when Yeri shifted into slower, more fluid melodies. It was subtle, but unmistakable.

Yeri couldn’t help but think how poetic it was—how someone who insisted she didn’t understand music was clearly not immune to it.

Later, the hall had dimmed to a hush, and Kyung paced slowly in front of the stage, reciting lines from her mock trial. She delivered them like they were Shakespeare, her tone polished but expressive, gesturing with flair as if performing to a packed gallery.

Yeri sat at the edge of the stage, legs swinging lightly, grinning as she followed the monologue. “Alright, alright,” she interrupted, laughing, and brought a timpani mallet down against the wooden stage with mock severity. “This is a courtroom, not a one-woman production. Tone it down, Counselor.”

Kyung gave her a dry look, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth anyway.

It was rare to see her smile—really smile. Kyung was often sharp, often skeptical. But tonight, Yeri had seen it more than once.

And she really liked it.

During a break, Kyung wandered up onto the stage, curiosity flickering beneath her usually composed exterior. Her fingers grazed the edge of the xylophone, then the marimba, then finally the timpani. She tapped lightly on one of the keys.

“I’ve seen bands perform,” she said. “But I’ve never seen someone actually play one of these in person.”

“It’s an orchestra,” Yeri corrected, teasing. “Not a band. And that’s a marimba.”

Kyung tapped another key, listening carefully. “They’re all... surprisingly resonant.”

Yeri watched her, amused. “Want to see how it’s played?”

Kyung tilted her head. “You know how?”

Yeri didn’t answer—just picked up the mallets and launched into a soft chord progression, smooth and easy.

“It’s similar to a xylophone,” she explained over the sound. “Which is basically just a piano you hit with mallets. Technically, the piano itself is both a string and percussion instrument, since it has hammers inside.”

Kyung raised an eyebrow. “Right. I… didn’t know that. That’s a neat design.”

“Everything in music is connected. Once you learn to read it, you can pick up almost anything. It’s like a language—structure, rules, nuance. Once it clicks, it opens up everything.”

Kyung’s gaze followed her hands. “So how many instruments do you know?”

Yeri gave her a sideways smile. “Do you mean the ones I can play in an orchestra, or… all of them?”

Kyung blinked. “You’re implying those are separate categories?”

“Well,” Yeri sighed, playfully dramatic, setting the mallets back into their slot. “I’m best at the harp. Obviously. But I can play all the standard string instruments- cello, violin, viola, bass, et. cetera. Then, there’s the flute, piccolo—which is kind of like a baby flute—trumpet, trombone, and most percussion. Outside of orchestra? Piano, guitar. I’ve been trying to teach myself saxophone, and the clarinet’s basically just an angry recorder once you get the hang of it.”

Kyung’s mouth parted slightly. “That’s… frankly, a little insane. In a kind of impressive way.”

Yeri grinned. “Want to learn something?”

“I—well, actually, I don’t know if—”

Before Kyung could finish, Yeri gently caught her wrist and pulled her toward the harp.

“Come on. I’ll show you.”

Kyung hesitated at first, glancing between her and the enormous instrument with obvious skepticism. “I feel like I’m going to knock it over.”

“You won’t,” Yeri said, guiding her into the seat. Her hands landed lightly on Kyung’s shoulders, steadying her. “Just… try.”

Kyung sat, stiff-backed, fingers hovering. Then, carefully, she plucked a single string. Then another.

The notes were uncertain, like someone testing the temperature of water before stepping in.

Kyung let out a soft huff, shaking her head. “It’s... different.”

Yeri leaned in slightly. “Isn’t it magical?”

Kyung didn’t respond—not with words. But she plucked again, slower this time, letting the notes ring out.

Yeri smiled. She reached out and played a glissando, the sound cascading like a ripple of light across water. It echoed through the space, gentle and rich.

Kyung leaned back, watching her. Quiet. Still.

“I think I like it better when you do it,” Kyung said, her voice lower now, almost contemplative as she watched Yeri’s fingers fall still against the harp strings.

Yeri studied her for a moment. The way she was sitting—curious, open, but holding just enough distance to keep herself grounded. It made Yeri hesitate, just briefly, before speaking.

“Would you want to come to the orchestra fundraiser with me?”

Kyung blinked, taken aback.

“A fundraiser?”

Yeri nodded, keeping her tone light. “It’s a fall tradition. We raise money for the season ahead—lots of food, alcohol, professors, benefactors, and a whole bunch of other people who I couldn't name even if they had an ID hangign around their neck. And I’ll be performing three pieces. With the full orchestra this time, not just me.”

Kyung looked at her, brow furrowing. “Why are you asking me ?”

From what little Kyung knew about Yeri, she could hypothesize that she had enough friends to fill at least the first couple rows of the auditorium. Certainly one of them would be available and willing to be her plus-one to the event. So, what was different about Kyung?

Now it was time for Yeri to be caught off guard. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was a beat of silence, the kind that pressed in a little too hard.

“Honestly?” she said finally, rubbing the back of her neck. “My ex is going to be there. Byeongjin. He’s... persistent.”

Kyung’s expression shifted—something almost imperceptible, like a door closing behind her eyes.

“Oh,” she said softly, gaze flicking away. “So you want me to be your buffer.”

Yeri winced, just slightly. “It’s not just that,” she said, and even as the words left her mouth, she realized it was true. “I mean, yes—he’ll be there, and I’d rather not deal with him alone. But also... I think you’d like it. The music. The atmosphere." A beat of silence. "I also like performing for you, Kyung.”

Kyung stayed quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. But Yeri didn’t miss the subtle deflation in her posture, the way she seemed to draw in a little.

“I see,” Kyung murmured. “So this would be... a strategic partnership.”

Yeri opened her mouth, unsure of how to frame what she actually meant. Strategic didn’t feel right. She hadn’t meant for it to sound like that. She hadn’t meant for it to sound like less .

Kyung tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I think I understand. You want a familiar face with you to ward off your ex-boyfriend, and I’m incredibly intimidating.” A hint of playfulness lined her gaze. A teasing shine. 

Yeri gave a breath of laughter, though it felt a little thin. “Something like that.”

Kyung considered. “Alright. I’ll go.”

Yeri blinked. “Wait—really?”

Kyung shrugged. “Free food. Free concert. A chance to publicly undermine your ex’s ego? The incentives are solid.”

Yeri let out a quiet laugh. “God, you really are a law student.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Grateful, almost impulsively, Yeri reached forward to give her a quick hug. It was brief—barely more than a thank-you—but she felt the tension in Kyung’s shoulders. Not discomfort exactly. Just the alertness of someone who wasn’t used to casual contact.

And then, just as quickly, she pulled away.

Kyung stood, brushing imaginary dust off her jeans, adjusting the fit of her shirt even though it hadn’t shifted. “We should get back to the notes. I don’t want to be out too late.”

Yeri leaned back, letting her hands brace against the stage. “Hot date tonight?”

“Mhm.” Kyung hopped lightly off the stage. “Jaeyi and I are catching a movie.”

Yeri blinked. “Jaeyi?”

Kyung glanced at her, oblivious. “Yeah?”

“As in Yoo Jaeyi?” Yeri asked, trying to keep her voice even, though something unexpected tightened in her chest. She hadn’t meant for it to matter. But it did.

Kyung gave a small frown, confused by the tone. “Do you know her?”

“Not really. Just... heard the name. Around campus.”

Most people had heard of her around campus. Yoo Jaeyi was rich, smart, friendly, and beautiful- not quite Yeri's type, but there was no sense in denying the objective truth of her beauty. It made sense that Kyung would be dating somebody like her. Kyung deserved somebody like her. But Yeri couldn't help the bitter taste on her tongue.

Yeri nodded, picking up Kyung’s trial notes, mostly to have something in her hands. “Is she... okay with our arrangement?”

It was a casual question. It didn’t sound jealous. But Yeri was surprised by how much she wanted to know the answer.

Kyung gave a small, dry huff of amusement. “She doesn’t know. And I’m not really interested to hear her opinions on my decisions, so I’ll keep it between you and me.”

Yeri lowered the paper slightly, eyes narrowing. “You’re not going to ask her first?”

“Why would I?” Kyung asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

“Well,” Yeri said carefully, “if my girlfriend was going on a fake date with another woman, I’d probably want to know.”

Kyung stiffened. Visibly. It was like her entire body jolted out of sync.

“My—no!” she blurted. “God, no. Jaeyi and I are just friends. Seriously. Strictly platonic.”

There was a pause. A silence that hung just a little too long.

Yeri felt something loosen in her chest—something she hadn’t realized was clenched. “Oh.”

Kyung rubbed the back of her neck. “That wasn’t—sorry, I didn’t mean to be dramatic. But no, Jaeyi and I are just friends.”

“It's okay, don't apologize,” Yeri said quietly, watching her closely. “So... you’re single, then?”

Kyung cleared her throat, suddenly very interested in adjusting her sleeve. “To the best of my knowledge, yes.”

Yeri smiled, just a little. Not too much.

She let the words hang in the air for a second longer before she tilted her head. “In that case… next time we meet—want to do it over coffee?”

Chapter Text

Kyung spotted Yeri before Yeri saw her.

She was crossing the street in black ankle boots, jeans, and a loose white blouse that caught the wind just enough to shift against her hips. A black New York Yankees cap sat low over her eyes, the brim casting a shadow across her face. Her hair fell in soft waves over her collar, just brushing the curve of her jaw.

It was still technically summer, but the edge of fall was sneaking in. The kind of weather where long sleeves didn’t feel like a mistake.

Kyung was grateful for it. Yeri looked really good in long sleeves.

“Yeri!” she called, lifting a hand. Her voice came out a little breathless, and it only got worse when Yeri turned toward her and smiled. Wide, easy, like sunshine aimed directly at her.

Yeri walked up, her steps light. “Kyung.”

The way she said her name—warm, familiar—landed somewhere between Kyung’s stomach and her chest. She didn’t have time to figure out what to do with the feeling before Yeri linked their arms together.

“I have zero directional instinct,” Yeri said, leaning in like they’d done this a hundred times before. “Lead the way?”

Kyung nodded, and they started walking.

“It’s just down this way,” Kyung said. “It’s me and Jaeyi’s favorite place. Pretty popular with students, but not too loud.”

The city around them buzzed—commuters, muffled traffic, a street performer tuning a guitar on the corner. When they reached the crosswalk, Kyung looked both ways—out of habit—and stepped forward just as a car blew past the stop sign.

She reacted on instinct.

One hand shot out, grabbing Yeri by the hip and pulling her back hard enough that she nearly stumbled. Kyung caught her weight, nearly losing her own balance in the process. For a moment, they stayed there- Kyung holding Yeri back, Yeri holding Kyung upright. Then, anger bubbled in Kyung's chest and exploded out her mouth.

“Hey!” she snapped, turning toward the car and abandoning her hold on Yeri. “Do you not see the stop sign?! You almost hit us—get out and I’ll show you exactly—”

“Kyung,” Yeri laughed, tugging on the hem of her shirt to reel her back in. Kyung let herself be retrieved, anger cooling as Yeri linked arms with her again. She was still bubbly and smiling, like they hadn't just almost been flattened by a car. “Relax. It's fine. We’re fine. The driver’s probably a lunatic anyways; let's not tempt fate by screaming at him."

Kyung grumbled something under her breath, but let Yeri pull her forward.

They didn’t speak again until they reached the café. Kyung stepped ahead to hold the door open.

Yeri gave her a small curtsey, similar to the ones she always gave her empty audience after practice. “Chivalrous.”

“I try,” Kyung replied, smirking slightly.

Inside, the smell of leather, coffee, toasted sugar, and aged wood wrapped around them. The café had the quiet hum of students typing, steam hissing from the espresso machine, the occasional clink of mugs and silverware.

Kyung glanced up at the menu, though she didn’t really need to. “The drip here’s good. Today’s roast is a robusta bourbon—it’s dark, strong, kind of earthy, with this rich top note that tastes like whiskey. They make it fresh per order.”

Yeri blinked at her. “Wow. You’re a walking sommelier for coffee.”

Kyung shrugged. “It gets me through even the most mundane case studies.”

Yeri turned to the barista with a bright smile. “Do you have anything hot, creamy, coconut-y, and completely divorced from whiskey?”

“We’ve got a coconut brulee latte—coconut and caramel syrups, whipped cream, caramel drizzle, and coconut shavings.”

“Perfect,” Yeri said, then gestured toward Kyung, holding her card out to the barista. “And one of the scary-sounding whiskey coffees for her.”

Kyung looked scandalized. “Wait, you're paying?”

Yeri ignored the protest, already handing over her card.

They found a quiet corner booth, slipping into seats across from each other. The café was a perfect environment to study or chat, the steady hum of conversation around them filling the space without being too loud.

“I can’t believe you completely ignored my suggestion.”

“I can’t believe you think I’d like anything ‘dark’, ‘rich’, and ‘bourbon’-y,” Yeri chuckled, sipping her latte and wiping the whipped cream off her nose. Kyung shrugged- that was fair. "I promise you, if I could drink plain coffee and enjoy it, I would. A cup of drip brew is a lot more affordable than one of these floofy lattes."

And so much more bitter.

“So, you say that this is yours and Jaeyi’s favorite spot?”

“Mhm.” Kyung swallowed, burning her tongue a little, then set her mug down. “We’ve been coming here since freshman year. We shared a dorm our first couple of years, and it wasn't far from here.”

“Is that how the two of you met? Your dorm?”

“No, we met in high school, actually. It's kind of a boring story. We studied at different preparatory schools but ended up at the same class our freshman year. I didn’t talk to her at first because I thought she was- well, kind of unbearable.”

Yeri raised an eyebrow, amused. “Unbearable how ?”

“Well for one, she’s wickedly smart. I came in ranked first from my middle school, and she beat me out within the first two weeks. And second, she walked in like she already owned the place. Everyone adored her instantly. It was... maddening.”

Yeri chuckled. “I believe it.”

“The worst part is-” Kyung sighed deeply, like admitting it was physically painful. “She came out on top in the end, and she never lets me forget it.” 

“But now she’s your best friend?”

Kyung shrugged. “Some days I question even my own judgement.”

Yeri let the conversation lull into a brief, soft silence as they both sipped their drinks, glances lingering on eachother just a little longer than necessary. Finally, Kyung found the strength to continue the conversation.

“Do you live around here?”

“Not this specific part of town, but close, yes,” Yeri said. “I’ve got a little place off-campus. Just me and my roommate. She's a student here, too.”

Kyung raised her mug. “Who is your roommate?”

For a moment, Yeri let herself be deluded into believing that the question was out of jealousy and not curiosity. It was a confidence boost to even consider the possibility of Kyung feeling uncomfortable with her living with another woman.

“Her name is Woo Seulgi. We've been roommates going on two years, now.”

Kyung paused. “Don’t think I know her.”

“You probably wouldn’t. She works crazy hours at the hospital, and when she’s not there, she’s studying in the library, so-” she gestured vaguely. “It’s feels like I live alone sometimes.”

“That sounds like a good deal to me.”

“Sometimes it is,” Yeri admitted. “Other times, it’d be nice to have somebody to hang out with in the comfort of our shared space- you know? Like, just eat dinner. Talk about how our days went.” She winced slightly, covering up the awkwardness of her admission with a sip of her latte. “But I’ll make sure to introduce the two of you sometime, if she’s ever off work long enough to plan something.”

Kyung nodded. “That’d be nice.”

Yeri smiled. “Maybe you could bring Jaeyi, too. I'd like to meet your friends, and I'm sure that Seulgi would enjoy meeting more people, too.” Yeri didn't often interfere with her roommate's business, but truthfully, the girl needed more friends. Or, at least, one more friend.

Kyung immediately shook her head. “Jaeyi is not the type for... double dates.”

Yeri’s eyes sparkled over her mug, not even minding the rejection of her idea. “Is this a date?”

Kyung choked on her coffee.

She coughed hard, sputtering into her napkin while Yeri watched, clearly amused.

“Are you okay?” Yeri asked, tilting her head and handing her another napkin.

Kyung managed to recover, dabbing at her mouth. “Fine. I just wasn’t expecting that question.”

Yeri leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. She wasn't going to let her off the hook so easily. “So?”

“So what?”

“Is this a date?”

Kyung stared at her. Her brain felt like a chalkboard halfway through a lecture—half-written equations, no conclusions. Was it? She'd never been the best at discerning these types of things- knowing conversation from flirting, a friendly hug from something else. It was better- in her experience- to err on the side of caution.

“It’s... a meeting.”

Yeri stared at her, dumbfounded. “A meeting?”

She asked Kyung if she was single, invited her to coffee, paid for her coffee, and asked to go out a second time when they were finished, and Kyung thought that it was a meeting? She could almost laugh if she wasn't at such a loss for words.

“Yes," Kyung doubled down. "A meeting between two people who’ve entered into a mutually agreed-upon... arrangement.”

Yeri nodded solemnly, a smile sneaking onto her face. “Ah. A business meeting.”

“Exactly.”

Yeri took a slow sip. “So since I paid for your coffee, I assume you’ll be paying next time. You know, to keep the contract balanced? Business partners don't normally treat eachother like I just treated you, and since I don't have a company card...”

Kyung narrowed her eyes. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

“Messing with you?” Yeri grinned. “Endlessly.”

Kyung shook her head, but she was smiling now. “Fine. I’ll buy the coffee next time.”

Yeri beamed. “It’s a date.”

Then, after a beat—“Or not.”

Over the next few weeks, their meetings— business meetings , as Kyung insisted—became a regular thing. Coffee shops, long walks, occasional detours into bookshops or music stores. It was easy. Surprisingly easy.

Kyung still tried to keep things in check, convincing herself this was all just part of their arrangement. But Yeri had a way of making everything feel like it wasn’t. Like she wasn’t just spending time with someone who needed a plus-one, but with someone who liked her company. And Kyung wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

One evening, after a particularly long study session, Yeri grabbed Kyung’s wrist and pulled her down a quiet street.

“Where are you taking me?” Kyung asked, eyebrows raised.

Yeri just grinned. “You’ll see.”

They ended up in a small used book store, the kind with dim lighting and mismatched chairs, where the air smelled like old perfume and coffee-stained pages. In the corner stood an upright piano, its keys slightly worn from years of use. Yeri placed Kyung before it, her hands on her shoulders, practically beaming at it.

"There it is!"

Kyung shot her a look. “It's...a piano?"

Yeri rolled her eyes, pushing Kyung towards it. "It's our piano. At least, for the next few minutes. I want to teach you a song."

"Yeri, I already told you, I have no musical ability. I've never even touched a piano."

"You touched a marimba, and it's basically the same concept." Yeri sat down on the bench and patted the space beside her. "Sit."

Kyung hesitated but ultimately slid onto the seat, hands awkwardly placed on her lap. It was reminiscent of her first time playing the harp- tentative, overly careful, not knowing what to do with her hands. Yeri was determined to teach her.

Yeri placed her fingers on the higher register, playing a few notes. “Do you know remeber anything I told you about the piano?”

Kyung huffed. “It’s both a string and a percussion instrument,” Kyung parroted Yeri’s lesson as she talked through her repertoire of instruments. “There are hammers inside that strike the strings when the keys are played.”

“Exactly.” Yeri chuckled. “You’re going to help me play it.”

Kyung blinked. “Help you how? ”

Yeri took Kyung’s left hand and placed it on the lower keys. Kyung tensed at the contact. “I promised to teach you something about music, didn’t I? You’ll play the left-handed notes, and I’ll take the melody on the higher notes.” She gestured to the right side of the piano.

“This seems like a terrible idea.”

Yeri ignored her again. “Just follow my lead.”

And somehow, Kyung did. Yeri guided her through a simple pattern—three notes, repeated, each played for about one second—before launching into an elegant melody, fingers moving fluidly over the keys. Kyung’s left hand clunked along, hesitant but steady, her part easy enough that even she couldn’t mess it up.

And for once, Kyung didn’t overthink it. She let the notes fill the space between them, let the sound be the only thing that mattered.

"I can't believe you play piano that well and don't even put it to good use in the orchestra," Kyung spoke honestly without checking her words. "If you play everything well, how will the audience know that you're talented from just hearing your performance on the harp?"

"That is one of the many timeless woes of performance," Yeri sighed dramatically. "You can only do one thing at a time, and you just have to choose the one you're best at, or the one that makes you the happiest."

Maybe happiest was the wrong choice of words. Yeri pondered over it. Perhaps 'fulfilled' was the best vocabulary to describe it. There were certainly times when playing the harp made her much more angry than it did happy.

"Which one is the harp to you?" Kyung asked, interrupting her train of thought. "Your best, or your happiest?"

"Probably...both. But-" She straightened up. "The word 'best' is subjective. I could play the worst rendition of a song on a triangle, and that bookkeeper over there might feel that his life has been changed." She nudged Kyung's shoulder. "You weren't too bad yourself, Counselor."

Kyung scoffed, but there was no bite to it. “I don’t see myself in the philharmonic any time soon.”

Yeri shook her head. Kyung needed to be more confident. “I’m serious. You did well.”

Kyung didn’t know why that made her feel warm. But she refused to acknowledge it. Instead, she racked her brain for some kind of retribution- some equally challenging task that she could teach Yeri to do- to watch her flounder and gawk and struggle to keep up before eventually learning something new.

“Next time, we’re doing something I’m good at.”

Yeri smirked. “Like?”

Kyung crossed her arms. “I'm going to teach you legalese.”

Yeri groaned dramatically. “How thrilling.”

Kyung smiled, already excited. “You’re the one who signed up for this.”

And Yeri, looking at her with something unreadable in her expression, simply said, “I know.”

Their next so-called “business meeting” took place in a quiet corner of the law library, an environment so different from their usual coffee shops and music halls that Yeri found herself sitting up a little straighter. It felt like she should be taking notes, like Kyung was about to quiz her on a midterm she hadn’t studied for.

Kyung, for her part, was in her element. Books were spread out in front of her, highlighters lined up in meticulous order. She had already started speaking, words flowing faster than Yeri had ever heard from her, hands gesturing as if she were painting her arguments in the air.

“The thing about law,” Kyung was saying, tapping the edge of a thick casebook, “is that it’s not just about memorizing statutes. It’s about interpretation. It’s about precedent. You have to think about how one decision influences the next, how a ruling from fifty years ago might be the deciding factor in a case today. It’s like—”

She hesitated.

Yeri leaned in, propping her chin on her hand. “Like what?”

Kyung exhaled, her eyes scanning the open book in front of her as if the answer was buried in the text. Finally, she said, “It’s kind of like… an art form.”

Yeri’s eyebrows lifted. “You think so?”

Kyung nodded, her voice steadier now. “The law isn’t just rules written in stone. It’s a living thing. It shifts depending on how you frame an argument, how you tell a story. A good lawyer—” she pressed her hand against the page, as if grounding herself—“a good lawyer knows how to make a jury feel something. You take facts, evidence, and logic, and you weave them into something compelling.”

Yeri’s lips curled into a slow smile. “That sounds a lot like music.”

Kyung blinked at her, caught off guard.

Yeri continued, a little mischievously, “I mean, think about it. You take a bunch of notes, some rhythms, maybe some dynamics, and on their own, they don’t mean much. But put them together the right way, and suddenly, you make someone cry. Or feel hopeful. Or nostalgic.”

Kyung stared at her for a beat, then huffed out something that was almost a laugh. “I never thought about it like that.”

“Well,” Yeri said, tapping her pen against the desk, “you said it yourself. Law is an art.”

Kyung shook her head, but she didn’t disagree. Instead, she reached for one of the books and slid it toward Yeri. “Alright, artist. Let’s see how well you do with this kind of composition.”

Yeri looked down at the text, eyes immediately glazing over at the dense legal jargon. She squinted. “…What language is this in?”

Kyung smirked. “Korean.”

“Debatable,” Yeri muttered, but she leaned in anyway, tracing a finger under a paragraph. “So, if a law is this complicated, how do normal people know what they can and can’t do?”

“To some extent, they don’t,” Kyung said simply, flipping to another page. “That’s why they pay people like me to explain it to them and settle disputes.”

Yeri grinned. “Sounds like a scam.”

Kyung gave her a look, but there was amusement in her eyes. “It’s not a scam. It’s… a necessary evil.”

Yeri hummed, flipping through a few more pages before looking up at her again. “Do you ever get tired of it?”

Kyung tilted her head. “Tired of what?”

“This.” Yeri gestured to the mountain of books. “Cases, arguments, legalese. Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if you’d chosen something else?”

Kyung didn’t answer immediately. She let the question settle, her fingers tapping lightly against the desk. Finally, she said, “No. I think I was always going to end up here. It’s like- there’s a right, and there’s a wrong, and passion has its place- like I said- but there’s also so much that is concrete. Infallible constants that guide humanity as a whole.”

For a moment, she felt embarrased about letting herself get so carried away talking about it. She never meant to dump information on unsuspecting bystanders, but when she glanced at Yeri, she didn't feel judged. She just felt listened to.

“You really love it, huh?”

Kyung hesitated, but then, slowly, she nodded. “I do.”

Yeri smiled, warmth spreading through her. “Good.”

Kyung blinked. “Why is that good?”

“I like seeing people who love what they do,” Yeri shrugged. “It makes everything more interesting.”

Kyung looked away, suddenly very focused on highlighting a sentence that probably didn’t need highlighting. Her heart beat harder in her chest, her face flushing red. Yeri didn't mention it, and she was glad. “Well. Glad I can provide entertainment, then.”

Yeri just chuckled. “So. Are you gonna teach me anything, or am I just going to sit here admiring your work ethic?”

Kyung rolled her eyes, but there was no irritation behind it. Just something softer.

“Fine,” she sighed. “Let’s start with something simple.”

Yeri leaned in, chin in her hands, eyes full of mischief. “Define simple .”

And somehow, an evening spent poring over the legality of music copyrights turned into one of the most enjoyable nights Yeri had had in a while.

Kyung walked alongside Jaeyi, hands shoved in her pockets as they strolled across campus. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the pavement, the crisp autumn air biting at her cheeks. She wasn’t paying much attention to where they were going—not when Jaeyi was smirking at her like she was about to expose her deepest, most embarrassing secrets.

“So,” Jaeyi drawled, nudging Kyung’s side with her elbow. “I never did get to hear how your private performance went.”

Kyung sighed dramatically, tilting her head toward the sky. “Yeah, and if I wanted to tell you, I would’ve.”

“Seriously?” Jaeyi’s grin widened. “You can’t call me for advice, finally get a love life, then give me the cold shoulder. Come on. I’m living vicariously through you.”

Kyung groaned, resisting the urge to shove her. “There's no love life, and you’re insufferable.”

“And you’re a tease.” Jaeyi glanced at her, amused. “Tell me. Come on. Who is he?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Stop acting like we haven’t told each other our darkest secrets, and just come out with it. Anything. I don’t like to beg, Kyung, but I’m begging here, and if you don’t tell me, I’m going to make it my personal mission to find out anyways, so please-”

“ Alright!” Kyung rubbed a hand over her face, as if that might erase the memory. “I may have…completely ruined any chances I have.”

Jaeyi lifted an eyebrow, urging her to continue.

“S…he wanted to introduce me to his roommate, and he knows that you and I are friends, so he said that it would be fun for all four of us to hang out together,” Kyung admitted, voice muffled behind her hand. Maybe changing up the gender of the performer would throw Jaeyi off her scent. She was far too embarrassed for Jaeyi to come anywhere near her and Yeri’s…arrangement.

Jaeyi blinked. Then, her smirk returned in full force. “And? What did you say?”

Kyung dropped her hand, scowling. “I said that you’re not the kind of person who likes double dates.”

Jaeyi let out a delighted laugh, tipping her head back. “What! That sounds so fun, though; why would you-.”

“That’s not the point, Jaeyi; I called our coffee meeting a date . To his face!”

“Kyung,” Jaeyi deadpanned. “He asked you out for coffee. He gave you a private performance. What more does the man have to do? Take a hint .” Then…”Is the roommate hot? Follow up question; is the roommate a woman or a man? Because if it’s a man, then you’re right; I don’t want to do a double date.”

“It doesn’t matter anyways. He asked if what we were doing was a date, and I said that it was a business meeting.”

Jaeyi howled with laughter, grabbing Kyung’s shoulder for support, shaking her.

Kyung rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. Then, she saw an opening. “You know what, I’m done with always talking about the musician because recently, you seem to not have any time for movie nights or study sessions. What’s going on in your love life, Jaeyi?”

Jaeyi’s laughter immediately cut off. “Nothing.”

Kyung gave her a pointed look. “Uh-huh.”

Kyung scowled and picked up her pace, only for Jaeyi to easily match her stride.

They were still bantering when someone barreled into Kyung, knocking the air clean out of her lungs.

“Hey! Watch it—” Kyung started, stumbling back into Jaeyi, instinctively scolding whoever had been careless enough to run right into her path. But then, she got a good look at the woman swaying in front of her. “Are you… okay?”

She and Jaeyi reached out at the same time, concern flickering across their faces. But the woman—wearing slightly wrinkled scrubs, hair a little messy, pupils just a bit too blown—wasn’t looking at Kyung.

She was looking at Jaeyi.

And for a second, she looked like she’d seen a ghost.

She flinched back. “No. Don’t touch me.”

Jaeyi’s face screwed up in confusion. “Seulgi…”

The woman didn’t waste time, borderline running away from the pair of friends, who watched her go. 

“Seulgi?” Kyung’s eyebrows furrowed. Was that Yeri’s roommate? “Do you know her?”

“Kind of. She’s in one of my classes,” Jaeyi explained, looking conflicted, like she wanted to run after her. “Come on, we should get some studying in.”

Kyung stiffened as Jaeyi leaned back and stretched beside her. She picked her phone up, smiling at a picture Yeri had sent- hands shaped like claws by her face as she showed off the nails she’d gotten done for the fundraiser the next day. They were short and round with a light pink gloss and a white tip.

choikyung: they're pretty!

harpest: i would’ve gotten them longer but i can’t play well if they’re too long :(

choikyung: sure that’s the only reason you keep them short? ;)

harpest: typing…

“Who are you texting?” Kyung flinched, turning away from Jaeyi even further. “Did you get a boyfriend and not tell me?”

“No.” God, she was incessant. They had just talked about this.

She snapped the book closed, sliding her phone into her pocket. It was getting late, the gala was tomorrow, and she was starting to feel sick with nerves. Her dress waited like a threat in her closet, and unfortunately, she was awful at makeup, so Yeri was going to come over beforehand and bring her makeup and hair bag. 

“I have to go. I’m meeting a friend for dinner.”

“A friend?” Jaeyi hooked an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you had other friends.”

“Ha.” Kyung deadpanned. “You can’t come.”

“I wasn’t going to ask to come anyways,” Jaeyi said defensively, closing her textbook “I don’t want to third wheel whatever sexual escapades you’re taking part in.”

Kyung scoffed. Seriously? “Sexual escapades in the dining hall?” She had standards.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t?” Choi Kyung considered it for a moment, then shrugged. Maybe if the right person offered. “That’s what I thought.” Jaeyi stood up, stretching. “I’ll see you later. Make good choices.”

“I always do.” Kyung shot her some finger guns, then turned on a heel and walked to her apartment, feeling her heart beat hard against the walls of her chest. God, she was nervous.

Chapter Text

Yeri hummed along to her practice playlist on her phone, the melody weaving effortlessly through the soft hum of her curling wand heating up. She twisted a section of her hair between her fingers, eyeing her reflection with mild concentration. Tonight was important. It wasn’t a date—not officially—but it was something.

And she still couldn’t quite figure out why Kyung had wormed her way so deeply into her thoughts.

They weren’t exactly a match on paper. Kyung was stiff, awkward, and absurdly, painfully oblivious. The kind of person who would loiter in the dark like a cryptid just to hear someone play music in secret—then ruin the whole thing by muttering legal arguments to herself loud enough to be heard.

But Yeri didn’t mind.

She didn’t feel like a victim of Kyung’s very obvious interest. She felt endeared.

Every time Kyung tried—genuinely tried—to play an instrument, only to butcher it beyond recognition before giving up with a dramatic sigh, Yeri wanted to reach out and call her cute. Then, she wanted to make her try again. Because she was even cuter when she finally got the hang of something.

But- as endearing as she was- Kyung was absolutely dense.

How many hints did Yeri need to drop before Kyung actually did something?

Their arrangement was coming to an end sooner than Yeri would’ve liked. The gala was only hours away, and Kyung’s big law presentation—the one she had been agonizing over—was to take place during midterms, just a couple of weeks out. Soon, there’d be no more excuses to meet. No more scheduled “business meetings” that conveniently felt like dates. No more Kyung showing up to listen to her play, jaw clenched, hands fidgeting, always sitting just a little too far away.

Yeri sighed, about to curl another section of her hair when—

“Hey.”

She startled, nearly burning herself, whipping around to see Seulgi standing in the doorway. Her roommate looked oddly…nervous. What was up with that?

“I’m going to the aquarium tonight,” Seulgi said, shifting on her feet. “Don’t wait up.”

Yeri’s gaze flicked to Seulgi’s reflection in the mirror. No way.

“You’re going out? Don’t you have work?”

“I’m off tonight.”

Damn. Of course the one night Seulgi had off, both she and Kyung had plans. Another time, then. She was determined to make Seulgi and Kyung meet properly. And, if she was being honest, she wanted Kyung to stop hogging Jaeyi all to herself. What was the point of having friends if you couldn’t make them mutual? Yeri would never understand.

“Good for you,” she said, smirking slightly. She deserved a night off. And a trip to the aquarium, whatever that was code for.

“I won’t be home tonight, either,” Yeri continued, unplugging her curling wand, then fluffing her curls, facing Seulgi. “I have a thing.”

“A thing?”

Yeri turned to face her, crossing her arms. “Yeah, a thing.” She grinned. “I won’t ask about your thing if you don’t ask about mine.”

Seulgi let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head in defeat- or, perhaps- acceptance of the deal. She walked deeper into the apartment, grabbing her jacket. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Yeri called back, waiting for the door to close before pulling her black concert dress out from the closet and stepping into it, struggling with the zipper for a few moments before finally finding success. 

She looked at herself in the mirror, nodding.

She looked hot. 

Yeri looked hot.

Kyung wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she’d asked about the dress code and got a casual “concert black” in response. She’d spent too long loitering in the formalwear section of a department store, fidgeting in the sleeves of her sweater under the sharp-eyed watch of a disapproving older saleswoman. She’d left with a simple dress, hoping that would be good enough.

But nothing had prepared her for what Yeri would choose to wear.

The musician stood in the doorway like she was meant to be framed there—like the apartment had been waiting for her. Her off-the-shoulder black dress clung and draped in all the right places, matte fabric catching the light just enough to define the curve of her waist, the shape of her collarbone. A single strand of pearls rested at the hollow of her throat, matched by tiny pearl earrings that glinted when she moved. Her hair was swept up, a few curled strands left to fall just so around her face, softening it with a kind of studied carelessness that could only be achieved through effort.

She looked radiant. Polished. Like the lead actress at opening night.

Kyung swallowed.

Her gaze swept downward—from the soft slope of Yeri’s bare shoulders to her polished fingernails, to the subtle shimmer of highlight catching her cheekbones. Yeri had always been beautiful. But tonight, standing there with quiet, unshakable confidence?

She was something else entirely.

Kyung dropped her eyes to her own outfit.

Ponyo pajamas. A fraying high school crewneck. Her breath caught in her throat, sharp and sour. She stuffed her hands into her sweater pocket and tried not to squirm.

What was a woman like Joo Yeri doing in her apartment?

“Are you going to let me in?”

Kyung jolted. “Right. Yeah. Of course.” She stepped back, heart hammering.

Yeri breezed in, twirling once in the center of the room before dropping her purse and makeup bag on the counter like she’d done this a hundred times. She gave the space a slow once-over—law books piled high, sci-fi paperbacks crammed under the TV, a lava lamp still quietly glowing in the corner.

“I can’t believe you haven’t had me over sooner,” she said, eyes twinkling. “This place is so you . I love it.”

Kyung shut the door, trying not to fidget. “You haven’t invited me over to your apartment either.”

“I have a roommate, remember?” Yeri replied easily, leaning back against the counter with a teasing smirk. “But I’ll let you know when she’s not home and we’ll do a movie night.”

“I thought you wanted me to meet her.”

“I do,” she said. Then paused. “But... Seulgi values her privacy.”

There was more there—Kyung could feel it. A truth unsaid. I value my privacy too. It hung between them, quiet and obvious.

Kyung didn’t push. She just nodded, a half-smile playing at her mouth.

Yeri clapped her hands. “Okay. Hair and makeup?”

Kyung gave a small, unsure nod. “Ready when you are.”

Yeri crossed to the bay window and sank into the cushions, legs crossed, makeup bag unzipped and ready. She patted the spot across from her. Even in her formal wear, painted with a full face of makeup, not a hair out of place- she was still Yeri. Her eyes still glistened, her lips still turned up at the corners in amusement when she looked at Kyung, and her presence was still magnetic.

Kyung hesitated, then joined her, breath leaving her when she sat down a little too hard.

Their knees brushed.

A spark ran up Kyung’s spine.

Outside, the city glimmered past the glass, distant and untouchable. But in here—in this little pool of warm light—Yeri was close. Close enough that Kyung could smell her perfume: soft vanilla, something warm and sweet and just a little dizzying.

“You look really nice,” Kyung murmured, the words slipping out before she could think better of them.

Yeri smiled, slow and unbothered. “Thank you,” she said gently, clearly pleased. “Mouth closed.”

Before Kyung could ask why, a sudden burst of mist hit her face.

She gagged. “What the—”

Yeri burst into giggles. “That’s why I said mouth closed. It’s primer.”

Kyung coughed, turning her face away. “Feels like I just got assaulted by a florist.”

“You’re so dramatic.” Yeri wiped at her cheek with a soft touch, then leaned in again. “Okay. Foundation next. Eyes and mouth closed. Please.”

Kyung obeyed, willing herself still.

Then Yeri’s fingers touched her jaw—cool, deliberate, soft.

Kyung tensed. Every part of her awareness tunneled down to the places where Yeri’s fingertips pressed—her cheek, her chin, her forehead. The soft breath Yeri exhaled as she concentrated drifted across her face, subtle but present.

Yeri worked quietly, smoothing the product into her skin with practiced ease.

Kyung kept her eyes shut, but every second felt a little more unbearable. It was so quiet. So intimate .

She flinched when the brush tickled her nose, pulling back just a hair, trying- and failing- to contain the sneeze that forced way out. She covered her face with her elbow, then glanced up at Yeri. "...Sorry."

Yeri laughed, soft and fond. “That’s okay. We’re done with powder anyway.”

There was a pause as she dug through her bag, then pulled out something long and cylindrical, twisting the top. Kyung recognized that one. Before the horror of what was about to happen, Yeri had it poised at her lips.

“Pucker up.”

She hesitated, her lips parting slightly—but the moment Yeri leaned in, she instinctively leaned back.

Yeri didn’t miss a beat. She reached out, fingers catching Kyung’s chin. Her grip was light but firm, her touch warm.

“Stop moving.”

The words were quiet. Almost a whisper.

Kyung froze, breath hitching.

Yeri painted her lips with slow, careful strokes, steady-handed, her face so close Kyung could feel the warmth of her cheek, could see the slight furrow in her brow as she focused. Her tongue peeked out just slightly as she worked.

Kyung didn’t dare breathe.

And then—too soon—Yeri pulled back, smacking her own lips in silent demonstration, then grinning when Kyung followed suit. She surveyed her work with open satisfaction. “Perfect.”

Kyung blinked. Her lips felt strange. Heavy. Pretty. “Can I see?”

“Not yet,” Yeri replied, digging through her bag again. “We need to do your eyes next. Then, you can look.”

Yeri glanced up, holding eyeliner between her fingers. "Ready?"

"Ready," Kyung confirmed, though the tightness in her chest told her that she was anything but. Yeri leaned forward, not grabbing her face this time, but instead focusing on anchoring her hand with her pinky finger resting on Kyung's cheek, the other tracing lines around her eyes. She was staring at the tip of the eyeliner, not directly at Kyung, but still-

Something in the air shifted.

Kyung looked straight at her, not daring to flinch and ruin the work, not daring to end the moment. Yeri was closer than she'd ever been. Kyung was enchanted.

But then Yeri blinked, looked away, and the moment scattered like dust.

“My work here is done,” she said, cheerfully.

She held up a small mirror, and Kyung stared at the woman within it. It was her, of course- that much she could recognize. But she was more mature, more beautiful, more...well- she was hot,

"You're a magician."

“I'm not,” Yeri denied. "You're already hot; I just accentuated your features." Then, softer yet. “I could teach you, if you want.”

“You'd do that?”

Yeri tilted her head. “Sure. If you’re interested. But, you know—I also think the whole ‘makeup equals beauty’ thing is outdated and deeply rooted in capitalist misogyny, so if you prefer going bare-faced, just know-” her voice lowered to almost a whisper- no, a purr. "You're really pulling it off."

Kyung laughed—quiet, breathy. “Right.”

Yeri clapped her hands over her eyes to give Kyung privacy, then faced the wall. “Okay! Now put the dress on. I want to see!”

Kyung hesitated, then stood, turning her back.

After casting a final glance at Yeri to make sure her eyes were covered- and, really, just to look at her again- she peeled off her pajamas, folding them neatly and setting them on the bed to wear later that night. Then, she walked to her closet, pulling the dress off of the hanger and onto her body, adjusting the fabric at her waist, smoothing it over her hips. She added a bracelet she'd been gifted from her mother, then a necklace she had kept at the bottom of an old jewelry box for ages.

Her fingers were trembling slightly.

"Kyung, the suspense is killing me,” Yeri complained.

“You’re impatient,” Kyung muttered. Then: “Okay. Open.”

Yeri dropped her hands.

Her mouth fell open. “Oh my god .”

Kyung shifted her weight, self-conscious. “Is that a good oh my god?”

Yeri stared, standing and coming around her to help her zip of the back of the dress, one hand bracing at the small of her back, just over her buttocks. Kyung stiffened, but in an instant, the dress was zipped, and Yeri was gone. “You look like a Disney princess. Kyung— we are going to look so hot tonight.”

Kyung flushed and glanced at the clock. "Well we can't impress if we're late. You have to get ready to perform." She grabbed her coat and Yeri's purse, carrying them both over her arm. "We should've left five minutes ago."

"You can't rush perfection," Yeri chastized slightly, though she did grab her keys and link arms with Kyung, heeding her warning about the clock. "Thank you again."

Kyung's brow furrowed.

"For agreeing to go on this not-date with me."

Chapter Text

The drive to the venue was smooth, but the air inside the car was charged—excitement, nerves, and something Kyung couldn’t quite name. Yeri had one hand on the wheel, the other drumming absently against her thigh, her rings clicking against each other. The city lights streaked past the windshield, but Kyung found herself watching Yeri more than the road.

“Are you nervous?” Kyung asked.

Yeri scoffed. “Of course not.” A beat. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“You’ll do great," Kyung reassured her. "Just...take deep breaths and think calm thoughts."

Kyung winced at her plan of action, knowing it was inadequate. She'd never claimed to have a future as a therapist. But, for Yeri, she'd at least try to offer some consolation.

Yeri, though, didn't seem to mind her blundering. She only shot her a look, lips twitching upward, hand stilling against her thigh, before returning to the road. "Thank you."

They pulled up to the venue—a grand convention hall, its exterior sleek and modern, glittering under soft golden lighting. Valet attendants took Yeri’s keys, and as they stepped inside, the hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, and the distant sound of instruments being tuned filled the air. 

The space was opulent but welcoming—round tables draped in pristine white cloths, floral centerpieces arranged between flickering candles, and waitstaff in crisp uniforms gliding effortlessly through the crowd with silver trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

At the front of the hall, a raised stage was set with a gleaming grand piano, positioned beneath an elegant chandelier that bathed it in warm light. The evening meant to dazzle benefactors, university staff, and esteemed guests with performances while coaxing generous donations from their pockets.

And god , if Kyung had the money to pour into the program, the sight of it all would make her open her wallet immediately.

"Wow," she breathed. "You guys do this every year?"

"Like clockwork," Yeri responded, grinning at her. "Don't be too impressed yet; we haven't even started playing." She took her hand and led her to the table reserved for the performer's guests.

Their seats were near the front, offering a perfect view of the stage. As they settled in, Kyung smoothed her dress, feeling oddly out of place amid the elegant crowd. Her mother was a lawyer, and she’d grown up on the lower end of high class, but even still- these kinds of events were few and far between. 

Beside her, Yeri distracted her from her discomfort by pulling out her phone. “Shit—I need to be backstage. They’re probably waiting on me.”

Kyung sat up. “Already?”

“Yeah, I have to prep for the opening piece.” Yeri stood, but before leaving, she made sure Kyung was taken care of—her purse tucked securely by her chair, a glass of champagne in her hand, and a small plate of beautifully arranged hors d’oeuvres within reach.

“Are you good?” Yeri asked, her voice softer now, eyes scanning Kyung’s face.

Kyung blinked at her. “I’m excellent. Go, get ready.”

Yeri exhaled, then, caught in the moment, leaned down and wrapped her in a quick, warm hug. Her perfume—sweet and warm—filled Kyung’s senses, and before she could fully process it, Yeri pulled back just enough to press a feather-light kiss against her cheek.

“Okay, bye, wish me luck!”

Kyung barely registered her own response. “Good… luck.”

And then Yeri was gone, slipping through the crowd with practiced grace, disappearing backstage. Kyung sat frozen for a second, her skin still tingling where Yeri had kissed her.

What the hell was that?

She took a deep breath, sipping her champagne, willing her heartbeat to settle. She barely noticed when someone approached her table.

“Is this seat taken?”

Kyung turned, expecting just another performer or perhaps a student she knew in passing, but instead, she found herself looking at a man—about her age, dressed in a fitted suit, his expression neutral but his eyes sharp. She didn’t recognize him.

“No,” she said hesitantly. "It's yours."

He sat, adjusting his jacket before offering his hand. “Byeongjin.”

Kyung’s stomach dropped. Oh.

She shook his hand automatically. “Kyung.”

Byeongjin didn’t react, just nodded. His grip was firm but brief. “How do you know Yeri?”

There was something in her voice that told Kyung that he wasn't just making conversation. He was jealous when he had no reason to be, and Kyung was- frankly- a little excited about that. From what little she knew about him, he sounded like a piece of work- somebody who wasn't kind to Yeri. Somebody who didn't deserve to be reassured by Kyung's response.

Kyung hesitated for only a second before answering, “I’m her plus-one.”

Not her friend. Not her girlfriend.

“How do you know Yeri?” she asked.

“Old friends,” he responded casually, omitting the truth. Yeri hadn’t gone into detail about what went on between the two of them, but if the smoldering scowl plastered on his face was any indication, it hadn’t been a mutual breakup. And Kyung could hazard a guess that there wasn’t an amicable fallout.

Byeongjin turned his attention toward the stage. As the lights dimmed slightly in preparation for the performance, Kyung caught the way his jaw tensed, the way his fingers curled around the base of his glass. When Yeri finally emerged on stage, poised and radiant under the soft glow of the spotlights, he downed the rest of his drink in one mouthful, grabbed his jacket, and stood.

He didn’t say another word. Just walked away, leaving Kyung alone in the quiet anticipation of the performance about to begin.

Kyung barely spared him another thought. Her focus was on the stage—on her .

She couldn’t wait to hear Yeri play.

The moment Yeri stepped forward, poised beneath the soft stage lighting, Kyung’s breath caught. She had seen Yeri practice, had heard her play countless times before, but something about this —seeing her command the attention of an entire room, bathed in golden light, confident, untouchable—made Kyung’s pulse stutter.

“Good evening,” Yeri spoke, hands resting lightly in front of her, waiting for the murmurs to die down. “My name is Joo Yeri, senior harpist for Seoul National University’s orchestra, and it is my pleasure to welcome you to our annual autumn fundraiser.”

The crowd responded with polite applause. Yeri waited, her eyes flicking toward Kyung in the audience, just for a second, as if seeking reassurance. Kyung grinned and gave her an exaggerated thumbs-up, and Yeri’s lips twitched—just a little.

“Thank you for being here to show your dedication to and your support for our program. Your donations make the impossible possible—scholarships, new instruments, facility renovations, and, of course, the catered food here tonight, which I encourage you to take full advantage of.”

Soft laughter rippled through the audience. Yeri smiled, nodded, and wrapped up her speech with the same effortless charm she carried in every room she walked into.

“Please enjoy the opening performance of Pas De Deux from Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker .”

She bowed, took her seat behind the harp, and readied herself, her fingers hovering just above the strings as she met the conductor’s gaze. A silent cue passed between them.

Then—magic.

Kyung had known Yeri was a phenomenal musician. Had known it in the same way she knew the sky was blue, the ocean deep. She had heard her play, had watched her explain music like it was a second language only she had mastered. But knowing and experiencing were two different things entirely.

Here, now, in this moment, with the entire hall wrapped in the delicate, glistening sounds of her harp, Kyung felt like she was hearing her for the first time.

The notes shimmered, cascading like droplets of water, each pluck of the strings precise yet effortless. Then, beneath it, the orchestra swelled—strings first, murmuring and restless, then brass, curling around the melody like an embrace, grounding it.

And Yeri—

Kyung couldn’t look away.

She played like she felt every note in her bones. Her fingers danced along the strings with the kind of instinct that couldn’t be taught, her body swaying slightly with the music, the slightest crease of concentration between her brows. She was in it , lost in it, becoming it.

The music grew, filling the space, sweeping Kyung up with it. The orchestra built layer by layer, the brass deep and resonant, the strings racing up and down the scale, higher, higher—

Then— crash.

Cymbals. A sudden drop, silence swallowing the hall in a single breath.

Except for Yeri.

She played alone, the harp’s voice clear and cutting through the stillness, delicate yet unyielding. And then, just as before, the orchestra began to reassemble around her, instruments returning one by one, as if drawn in by gravity itself.

Tension rose again, notes clashing and twisting, Kyung gripping the edge of her seat as if the music itself had its hands around her. Then—the final swell, the deep rumble of percussion returning, the brass surging up like a crashing wave—

And then—

Nothing.

A single, breathless beat.

Then the room exploded.

Applause thundered through the hall, filling every inch of space. Kyung found herself standing without realizing it, hands aching from the force of her clapping, her grin so wide it made her cheeks burn. Yeri, still seated at the harp, found her in the crowd, her own smile slow and proud, her eyes bright beneath the stage lights.

Phenomenal.

Absolutely phenomenal.

“Hey.”

Kyung’s smile came easily as Yeri approached, radiant under the soft lights of the venue. The orchestra had finished its grand opening, and now only a handful of musicians remained, playing quiet, elegant melodies while the guests milled about, champagne glasses in hand. The air buzzed with conversation, but Kyung only heard the faint hum of strings—background noise to the real music in front of her.

Yeri.

“What did you think?”

Kyung stood as Yeri reached her, arms open in an easy, natural gesture. Yeri let herself be pulled in, just briefly, the warmth of her body soaking into Kyung’s as she patted her back in an almost-too-casual embrace. The scent of her perfume—vanilla, cinnamon, something sweet and sharp—lingered between them, and Kyung swallowed. Her cheek still tingled with the memory of that fleeting kiss from earlier. Yeri didn’t give her another one.

She wasn’t sure why that disappointed her so much.

“No offense,” Kyung teased, forcing her voice to stay light, “but I think I like your playing even better when the rest of them are playing too.”

Yeri let out a soft chuckle, settling into the chair beside her, close enough that Kyung could feel the slight shift of air when she moved. “You’re supposed to like it better that way. That’s how the piece was written.” A small, amused smile played on her lips. “As long as you liked my playing best , that’s what matters.”

“I did.” Kyung sighed, still feeling the lingering electricity from the performance. She let herself look at Yeri—really look at her. The elegant slope of her neck, the curve of her collarbone just visible beneath the off-shoulder dress, the way the pearl earrings caught the light when she tilted her head. She was beautiful. And she had no idea.

“Are you playing again later?”

Yeri nodded, taking a sip of her water. “Eventually, yes. Right now, the string quartet is going to provide background music until the pianist takes over. Then the freshman musicians will perform a small group piece, followed by the sophomores, juniors, seniors—then a closing performance with everyone together.”

“What’s the senior piece?”

“An arrangement of Danse Sacrée et Danse Profane by Debussy.”

Kyung’s lips quirked. “What’s that mean?”

“Dances for harp and strings.”

“And the final piece?”

Yeri’s smile deepened, a mischievous glint in her eye. “ Danse Macabre. Have you heard it?” Kyung shook her head. “I think you’ll like it. It means the dance of death.”

Kyung shook her head, smirking. “Musicians just name things in French to sound fancy, don’t they?”

“Either that, or Italian. You get it.” Yeri chuckled, leaning back slightly. “Most of the time, titles are just very literal. Like, Violin Concerto No. 5 just means it’s a piece for a solo violin, or a violin accompanied by other instruments. And the names of the movements— allegro aperto, adagio —they just describe how it should be played. Fast and open, slow and delicate.”

“And you have to memorize all of that?”

“You get used to it,” Yeri said with an easy shrug. “It’s not that different from learning all your legal statutes and jargon.”

Kyung huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s completely different. At least Pas De Deux has an easy title.”

Yeri tilted her head, considering her. “One day, we should see The Nutcracker in its entirety.” She said it so casually, like it was inevitable. “The dances are just as beautiful as the music.”

Kyung glanced up at her, warmth curling in her chest. Yeri wanted to spend time with her. Not just in passing, not just in the convenience of the moment—but really, intentionally. The thought made something soft and uncertain bloom inside her.

“Yeah,” she murmured, voice quieter than she meant it to be. “I’d like that.”

The rest of the night slipped past faster than either of them wanted.

At some point—during a lively freshman waltz—couples began drifting to the floor, drawn by the sweep of strings and the soft push of champagne. Kyung sat back, nursing the comfortable heat in her chest, just watching. The kind of warmth that made everything feel softened at the edges. Muffled.

And then—Yeri’s hand found hers.

Kyung looked up, startled to find Yeri already standing, fingers curled gently around her own.

“Come on,” Yeri said, voice coaxing, eyes bright. Her smile wasn’t a question.

Kyung’s breath caught. She hesitated just long enough to feel it before she let herself be pulled to her feet.

Yeri led her forward, their steps light, the space between them vanishing as they joined the other couples. Kyung moved stiffly at first, her body trying to keep up, but Yeri counted under her breath—barely audible. One, two, three. One, two, three.

And Kyung followed.

The rhythm settled into her body slowly, like warmth seeping through her bones. Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was the way Yeri’s hand fit perfectly against her back.

“I think I dance better when I’m drunk,” Kyung murmured, surprised by the intimacy in her own voice. It came out lower than expected—closer.

Yeri laughed, twirling smoothly before drawing back in. Her hand returned to Kyung’s shoulder, confident, easy. “I think you do, too.”

The waltz pulled them into its orbit—light, elegant, a kind of dizzy grace. When the music finally slowed, fading to a close, applause rippled politely through the room. The pianist at the front stepped up, introduced herself, and began a solo.

Kyung tilted her head. “Alright, music whiz. What’s this one?”

Yeri’s mouth curved, like she’d been waiting for the question. “Chopin. Nocturne in E-flat major, Opus 9, Number 2. ”

Kyung groaned, pulling Yeri a little closer by the hips. “You’re a freak. No normal person can just do that.”

Yeri’s arms looped easily around her neck. “Every musician ever can do that. It’s basically Chopin’s greatest hit.”

This dance was different. Slower. Looser. The kind of rhythm that didn’t ask for steps so much as it asked for presence . Kyung moved instinctively, swaying in time with Yeri, their bodies aligned just enough to feel the tension in between.

And Yeri kept looking at her.

Not just glancing. Looking. Steady. Direct.

It made something low in Kyung’s chest pull tight. Like the air between them had turned electric.

“Are you having a good time?” Yeri asked softly, her voice barely above the piano’s melody.

“I am,” Kyung answered, surprising herself with how easily it came. “This is... a lot better than my last dance.”

Yeri’s brow quirked, amused. “Yeah?”

Kyung nodded. “Yeah. It was the senior dance at an all-girls’ school. Everyone was sulking because they couldn’t bring their boyfriends. Jaeyi ditched me to chase someone, and then someone got stabbed.”

Yeri blinked. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

Yeri laughed, the sound sudden and bright. “God. And here I was thinking I had a dramatic past.”

Kyung grinned. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I had a very boring young adulthood. This is…so much better.”

“I’m glad,” Yeri said, a little softer.

Her fingers pressed lightly at the small of Kyung’s back, drawing her in another inch. Chest to chest now—almost.

Kyung wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or Yeri’s perfume—or just the way she was looking at her—but something about the moment was making her light-headed. Groundless.

“It’s better than mine too,” Yeri added.

Kyung glanced up. Her breath caught.

Yeri’s eyes were distant for a second, reflective. “I went with Byeongjin. He was in a bad mood, so we left early, and I cried on the way home.” She smiled softly, but there was no amusement or joy behind it. She played with the strap of Kyung’s dress lightly. “He didn’t like it when I cried.”

Kyung’s jaw tightened before she could stop herself. “He sounds like an asshole.”

Yeri let out a small, knowing laugh. “He is.”

Kyung looked down at their hands—at the way Yeri’s fingers rested against her shoulder, still warm. “I don’t think I’d like seeing you cry, either.” Then, after a moment, quieter. “But I’d never get angry with you for it.”

Yeri’s expression softened.

There was a silence between them, long and full.

Then Kyung asked, “Were you two high school sweethearts?”

Yeri shrugged, something complicated flickering across her face. “Yes, technically. We started dating senior year. He was in the choir, I was in the orchestra. My parents were big on me dating someone respectable. He was handsome. He looked good on paper.”

“But it wasn’t good?” Kyung asked.

“It was… fine,” Yeri said. “Until it wasn’t. I broke it off before college for a fresh start, but he followed me here- not that he’d ever admit it. We tried again. That didn’t work either.”

Kyung’s stomach twisted. “And now he shows up at every music department event?”

Yeri rolled her eyes. “Like clockwork. His father's a board member.”

“I’m sorry,” Kyung said, and meant it.

Yeri shook her head, brushing it off. “I’m alright.” Then she glanced up, playful again. “Anyway. That’s my dating history. Thrilling, right?”

Kyung tilted her head. “Just him?”

“No, there were a few flings before. Then, a few more after. I dated a woman for the first time my sophomore year of college, but only for a few months. Nothing serious.” Yeri’s gaze held hers now, expectant.

Kyung didn’t have much to say. She gave a small smile, looking down. “So... if I ever decide to broaden my horizons, you’re saying I should avoid choir boys?”

Yeri’s lips parted, her expression shifting—less playful now. She leaned in, voice low.

“Yes,” she murmured. “But not because they’re in the choir.”

Her hand slid up, fingers brushing the nape of Kyung’s neck—barely there. Just a whisper of contact.

“Because I’d rather you just broaden them with me.”

Kyung’s breath stuttered.

There was no teasing in Yeri’s eyes. Only invitation.

And Kyung had no idea how to refuse.

Chapter Text

The gala had ended in a perfect crescendo. The final notes of Danse Macabre still lingered in Kyung’s mind, the frantic strings and ominous undertones leaving an electric charge in the air. It was unlike anything she’d ever heard—like ghosts twirling in a feverish waltz, like the dead celebrating under the pale glow of the moon. The way Yeri played had only amplified the effect, her fingers flying over the strings, drawing sounds from the harp that seemed almost supernatural.

Even Danse Sacrée et Danse Profane had been mesmerizing in its own way—delicate yet powerful, like Yeri herself. The interplay between the harp and strings had felt like a conversation, a push and pull, sacred and profane, light and dark. 

Kyung had watched, enchanted, as Yeri coaxed the instrument into song, her expression completely lost in the music. It was different from watching her practice—this was her , fully in her element, glowing with passion.

Now, as Kyung weaved through the last of the guests to retrieve their coats and bags, she felt something strange settle in her chest. Happiness. Lightness. A sense of certainty that she didn’t often allow herself.

She liked Yeri more than she should—more than she’d liked anyone before.

The thought lingered, heavy and unspoken, as Kyung made her way toward the entrance, coats draped over one arm. Her heels clicked softly against the pavement, echoing beneath the awning’s cold fluorescent light. She paused, scanning the front step.

Yeri wasn’t where she’d left her.

Her heart gave a quiet lurch.

Then she spotted her—just a little ways off, standing beside a car. Rigid. Arms crossed, body angled away from the man standing much too close to her.

Byeongjin.

Kyung’s breath caught in her throat.

She didn’t move closer at first—just stepped into the shadows, close enough to hear but hidden enough not to be seen. Neither of them noticed her presence. They were too wrapped in it. Whatever it was.

“Who is she, Yeri?” Byeongjin’s voice cut through the air, sharp, demanding.

Kyung’s fingers tightened around the fabric in her hands.

Yeri’s expression was unreadable. “It doesn’t matter who she is, and you don’t deserve an answer anymore, Byeongjin. We’ve been broken up for years. Stop trying to come back and mess things up for me again.” 

Her voice was steady, but Kyung could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her arms were crossed so tightly over her chest. It wasn’t in defiance, but defense.

Byeongjin scoffed. “Mess things up? I loved you.”

Yeri let out a hollow laugh. “You sure had a weird way of showing it.”

Kyung’s blood was already simmering, but when she saw the way Byeongjin’s face twisted at Yeri’s words, anger spiked through her like a hot wire.

“Are you a dyke now?” Byeongjin sneered, leaning even further towards her.

Yeri didn’t flinch. “What if I was? Why does it matter to you?”

“How long is it going to take for you to realize that this… experimentation is only a rebound?”

Kyung took a slow step closer, ears burning.

Yeri’s jaw tightened, but she lifted her chin. “Would that be the worst thing in the world? What if—god forbid—I found a girl who’s willing to dance with me, and have a drink, and talk about my music, and teach me about her interests, and be seen in public with me? Someone who wants me for more than just my body? Somebody who won’t yell at me for crying? If that’s what you call a rebound, then it’s fine with me.”

Byeongjin’s lip curled, his hand unfurling- rigid. Angry. “You’re delusional if you think that—”

“Get your finger out of my face!”

Kyung barely had time to register the movement before his hand clamped down on Yeri’s wrist, pulling hard enough to knock her off balance.

“Don’t you ever—”

“ Hey! ”

Her voice cracked through the night like a whip, sharper than she'd ever heard it before. Kyung stepped forward without thinking, her entire body moving before her mind caught up.

She barely registered the way Byeongjin’s head turned, eyes glassy, the stink of beer hitting her even from a few feet away. Her gaze was already locked on his hand—on where it was clamped around Yeri’s wrist like she was something to be yanked into place.

Kyung saw red.

“Look at that,” he scoffed. “Your princess in shining armor is here.”

But Kyung didn’t take the bait. She didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. Her voice, when it came, was ice wrapped in steel.

“Let go of her.”

He considered it for a moment, then pushed Yeri’s arm away with more force than necessary, rubbing salt in the wound, proving his point.

She looked at Yeri—really looked. Her breath hitched. Yeri’s hand hovered near her side, fingers shaking just slightly as she rubbed at the spot where he’d grabbed her. Her expression was closed off—tight around the eyes, her jaw clenched—not surprised, but resigned. Like this had happened before.

Something inside Kyung twisted, sharp and gutting.

No one had ever made her feel like this before. Not Jaeyi. Not anyone. Not like this .

This wasn’t just anger. It was fear, and grief, and a fierce, gut-deep need to protect .

It broke something open in her.

She took another step forward, voice low but deadly precise. “Byeongjin, you are currently engaging in public harassment, intimidation, and non-consensual physical contact. Under Article 298 of the Korean Penal Code, that qualifies as sexual violence.”

She watched the words hit him, watched his drunk brain try to process them, but she didn’t stop.

“If I call the police right now,” she continued, “you’re looking at three years in prison minimum, a spot on the sex offender registry, and a permanent record. And that’s before they investigate you for past behavior.”

Byeongjin blinked, slow and stupid. “What?”

Kyung pulled out her phone deliberately, her fingers calm even though her chest was pounding. “Walk away,” she said. “Now. Or I make the call.”

He hesitated.

For one breathless second, she thought he might be dumb enough to push it. But then his pride cracked under the weight of her words. He scoffed, muttered something disgusting under his breath, and stalked off into the dark.

She didn’t move until he was just a shadow disappearing down the street.

Only then did Kyung let herself exhale.

Her hands were trembling, but she tucked them into the sleeves of her coat before Yeri could see.

She turned.

Yeri stood there in the quiet glow of the parking lot light, arms crossed again—but this time, it felt more like she was trying to hold herself together.

“You okay?” Kyung asked, voice softer now, approaching her, stepping in between her and the direction that Byeongjin had dissapeared to.

Yeri gave a slow nod. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just… sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t apologize,” Kyung said. And she meant it. She meant all of it. “Seriously, that wasn’t your fault. I can’t believe he did that.”

Yeri didn’t say anything.

So Kyung stepped closer.

She reached out slowly, gently placing her hand on Yeri’s arm, just above her wrist—where Byeongjin had grabbed her. Her fingers hovered there for a moment before they settled. Warm. Present. Careful.

Yeri didn’t pull away. After a moment, she let herself relax a little, leaning in just slightly.

Kyung slid her hand down Yeri’s wrist and interlocked their fingers. “Are you sure you’re alright? I can drive us to my apartment if you can’t. Or yours. If that’ll make you more comfortable.”

“No, I’m fine,” she insisted, reaching for her coat. “Just chilly. Let’s go back to your place.”

Kyung held Yeri’s coat open as she shrugged it on, then wrapped an arm around her waist. Her fingers hooked around her waist, her thumb rubbing against her back. They walked side by side, neither of them speaking. The air was cold, but it wasn’t biting anymore—it felt dulled by the heat still crawling under Kyung’s skin. Anger and adrenaline. And something deeper.

Once they were inside the car, Kyung sat in the passenger seat, trying to steady her breathing. The heater clicked on. She let the warmth seep into her bones.

Then, without turning, she asked a question that she was afraid to hear answered. “Does he do that a lot?”

Yeri was quiet for a beat. “Not like that. He’s never touched me like that before. He was drunk. And he doesn’t normally like seeing me happy without him, but tonight…it just got to be too much for him to handle, I think.”

Kyung’s brow furrowed. “Because of me?”

Yeri didn’t look at her right away.

“I was happy because of you,” she said finally. “But it’s not your fault he got angry with me. He would’ve been awful no matter who I was with. That’s just who he is.”

Kyung sat with that.

Then said, “If he tries again, will you tell me?”

Yeri gave her a sidelong glance, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “So you can pull out another statute and scare him into wetting himself?”

Kyung raised an eyebrow. “Exactly.”

A real laugh this time. It slipped out of Yeri’s chest like tension leaving her body. She leaned her head back against the seat.

“Was that true?” she asked. "What you said- about the sex offender registry, and the prison time?"

“Not even a little,” Kyung admitted, smiling faintly.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It felt earned. Steadying.

Then Kyung cleared her throat, her voice quieter now. “Was what you said true? The rebound thing, I mean. Did you mean any of it?”

Yeri didn’t answer. She started the engine, but didn’t put the car in gear.

“If that was just something you said to get him to back off, that’s okay, too. I’d understand.”

Yeri’s hand paused on the gearshift. Then she looked up, really looking at her this time.

“And if it wasn’t?” she asked.

Kyung’s heart flipped.

She felt it, real and sharp. The weight of this moment. The truth of what she wanted.

“I’d be...” she swallowed, her voice a whisper, “really happy about that.”

Yeri didn’t say anything.

She just reached across the console, found Kyung’s hand, and laced their fingers together.

And when she shifted into drive, she didn’t let go.

Yeri had lost count of how many times she’d been taken back to someone’s apartment after a night like this. The pattern was always the same. Lips pressed against hers before the door had even closed, fingers tugging at zippers, the breathless urgency of hands and mouths, of bodies finding each other in the dark. Walls, countertops, the nearest flat surface—wherever they landed first. It was easy. It was expected.

So when Kyung opened the door to her apartment, Yeri braced herself for what came next. But the kiss didn’t come. Kyung just took their coats, set her bag down, and turned to her with a soft smile, like she wasn’t in any kind of rush.

“I’ll grab you something to wear,” she said, already moving toward her bedroom. “The shower’s down the hall. You can use anything in there.”

Yeri stood frozen for a moment before nodding, murmuring a quiet, “Okay.”

She was used to being undressed by someone else’s hands, but here she was, standing alone in Kyung’s bathroom, peeling off her dress in front of the mirror. The water was warm when she stepped in, steam curling around her, and for once, there was no need to be quick about it. No expectation to rush back out, freshly scrubbed and ready for someone else’s touch.

When she finally emerged, toweling her damp hair with another wrapped around her body, Kyung was waiting for her on the bed, a neatly folded set of pajamas beside her—a soft, oversized T-shirt and a pair of loose shorts. Comfortable. Modest. 

“I’m going to shower, but I’ll be quick,” Kyung promised. “There’s food in the kitchen and you’re welcome to whatever is in here.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, and Yeri slipped them on, inhaling the faint scent of Kyung’s detergent as she padded barefoot into the living room. She sank onto the edge of her bed, plugging her phone into Kyung’s wall charger, body suddenly heavier with the weight of exhaustion. It had been a long day.

She glanced at the TV.

Kyung had cued up a movie, the screen glowing in the dimly lit apartment. An American comedy—something about a blonde law student in pink, proving everyone wrong.

As promised, Kyung returned quickly after that, dressed in a similar pair of pajamas, her face clear of makeup. Fresh. Moist.

Yeri raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the TV. “This is what you watch in your free time?”

Kyung grinned. “No, not normally, but I thought you might like it. Something lighthearted. And you wanted to learn about law stuff, right?”

She rolled her eyes but laid back in the bed, curling her legs under her, pulling Kyung’s comforter over them.

Kyung started the movie and curled up in bed beside her, the soft hum of dialogue filling the space, but Yeri wasn’t really watching. She was too aware of the warmth beside her, of the way Kyung had let her get comfortable first, then wordlessly pulled her in—an arm draped over her shoulders, fingers idly playing with the ends of her hair.

She wasn’t disappointed, exactly.

But she ached .

For something more.

As her head rested on Kyung’s shoulder- almost on her chest- her arm thrown loosely over her waist, she thought about pulling Kyung closer, pressing her lips to the delicate skin just below her ear, testing how far she could go before Kyung finally took over. But the longer they sat there, the heavier her body felt, the steadier Kyung’s touch became—light and absentminded, tracing lazy patterns against her scalp.

She wasn’t used to this kind of closeness. This kind of care.

Still, she let her body relax, curling into Kyung’s side, eyes growing heavy. She threw one leg over Kyung’s, weaving it between the two of hers and relishing in the way Kyung pulled her closer- just barely- hand continuing it’s ministrations. The sound of laughter from the TV blurred at the edges of her consciousness.

They hadn’t done anything more than slow dance and hold hands, but as Kyung shifted slightly, lowering the both of them onto the pillows, pulling the blanket higher, she thought— this is nice, too.

And when sleep finally pulled her under, she didn’t fight it.

Chapter Text

“Just a minute!” Yeri toweled off her hair- still damp from her shower- and walked to the door. Hesitance and confusion lined clouded her mind as she glanced through the peephole. Visitors were uncommon. This late in the night, they were unheard of. In this part of town, they weren't to be trusted.

Yeri's heart jumped into her throat.

Yoo Jaeyi was at her door.

Her mind instantly raced through every explaination for her unanounced visit. Was Kyung okay? Was she mad about something? Were they telling people about their…business arrangement now?

Jaeyi raised her hand to knock again, but Yeri opened the door before she could make contact.

“Hi,” she said, keeping her voice friendly and calm despite her racing thoughts. “Can I help you?”

“Hello,” Jaeyi responded, bowing slightly. “My name’s Jaeyi. I was wondering if I could speak to Seulgi.”

“I- uh- I know who you are,” Yeri blundered. But she didn’t know why the most popular woman on campus was seeking out her roommate . She reached for her phone. “Seulgi’s not here right now. I can let her know you dropped by, though.”

“Well- actually-” Jaeyi’s hand shot out, stopping Yeri from texting her roommate. “I know she’s not here. That’s why I am. Her shift is going to end soon, and I want to be here when she gets home because she wouldn’t let me in otherwise.”

Yeri’s brows furrowed. "Is she in some sort of trouble?"

“What? No." Jaeyi softened. "I'm not the police. I'm just here to smoothe some things over."

Yeri was unconvinced. "Then why are you asking to be let in when she's not here?"

"She’s avoiding me.”

“Okay,” Yeri said flatly, though she didn’t move. “If she’s avoiding you, and she wouldn't let you in to her apartment, why should I?”

Yeri's eyes were sharp with accusation and with suspicion- what had Jaeyi done to warrant that treatment?

Truthfully, Seulgi's avoidance of Jaeyi didn't automatically make her a villian. Seulgi had a habit of being avoidant of everyone- whether they upset her, did something to make her too happy, or even just confused her a little bit. Plus, Kyung trusted Jaeyi, and Yeri trusted Kyung; she wasn't scared.

But it was going to take more than that to convince her.

“It's probably not as bad as whatever you're coming up with in your head," Jaeyi stated plainly. "Seulgi and I have been hanging out recently, and I did something to upset her. I’ve been trying to talk it out, but she’s making it a point to be everywhere that I’m not.”

That sounds like her."

Still, Yeri waited for something more convincing.

“I also brought assorted pastries.” Jaeyi held up a bag, and the smell wafted in. Still warm. “Please? I just want to clear the air.”

Yeri sighed, steppeing aside. “You can wait for her at the dining table.”

Jaeyi stepped in, pulling the pastry box out of the bag and opening it. “Thank you. Seriously, if she weren’t so stubborn, I wouldn’t have come here and bothered you like this, but-” she gestured vaguely, letting the point hang in the air. “Take whatever you’d like. They’re from my favorite coffee shop.”

“I’ve been,” Yeri said, plucking a blueberry scone from the box with a familiar logo. Jaeyi took a bite of a cheese danish. “This place is popular with the college students.”

Jaeyi nodded. “But quiet enough to be comfortable.” Then, after a moment. “Have we met before?”

“Not that I can remember.” Yeri swallowed a bite of her scone. “Sorry about the mess. I would’ve cleaned if I knew you were going to stop by.”

“Don’t apologize, please.” Jaeyi shrugged. “It’s kind of a pristine place already.”

Yeri chuckled. “That’s because Seulgi’s never home to make messes, and I can’t stand them.” Her eyes flicked to the pile of laundry on the couch that she intended on folding. “Still. I would’ve tidied up. Sprayed some air freshener, or something.”

Jaeyi dismissed her kindly, as if telling her not to worry. “So what’s Seulgi like? As a roommate, I mean?”

“Well.” Yeri sighed, trying to find the right words. Trying not to step on any toes or cross any boundaries. As curious as she was about the woman sitting at her dining table, she wasn’t going to tell her everything just because she asked. There needed to be some give and take. “...‘Respectful’ is the word that comes to mind. Quiet.”

Jaeyi hummed, as if she was hoping for something more.

“Are you two a couple?”

“Me and Seulgi?” Jaeyi straightened. “No. Why? Does she talk about me?"

“No, but she doesn’t talk about many people. Not to me. When we hang out- which is rare, because she’s always working- it’s mostly just watching a movie or having a few drinks with dinner.”

Jaeyi opened her mouth to say something else, but Yeri beat her to it. It was her turn to ask questions.

“Are you and Choi Kyung close?”

Jaeyi turned her head. “You know Kyung?”

“We’re friends.” Yeri chuckled, picking at her fingernails. “Glad to know she’s not talking about me, either.”

Yeri could see the cogs work in Jaeyi’s brain as she lowered her danish, furrowing her eyebrows. “Wait.” She pointed a finger at Yeri. “Do you play the harp?”

“I do,” Yeri responded. “Why?”

“Did you offer to perform for Kyung after she stalked you for weeks because she was too shy to actually introduce herself?” 

Yeri smiled. “That did happen, yes.”

“She does talk about you!” Jaeyi scoffed. “She never used any names. She even said that you were a guy and tried to throw me off your scent, but I knew- I knew it! You must be special if she’s not willing to share.” She clapped her free hand against her thigh, nearly giddy at finding out her friend’s secret. “This is too good.”

“You can’t tell her anything,” Yeri pleaded. “If she finds out I told you that we’re…”

“You’re not together yet, are you?” Jaeyi winced at Yeri’s silence. “Give it time. She likes you. Really likes you. But she’s hesitant.”

“I’ve gathered,” Yeri responded. “She’s also oblivious. And for some reason thinks that I’m out of her league, which makes it really difficult for me to know if she’s even interested or not.”

“Oh, trust me, she is," Jaeyi nodded in encouragement. "But she'd never tell you that. Not unless you flatout ask her."

"I have to look her in the eyes and ask her if she wants to date me?"

"If you do anything less, she'll misinterpret it. Then she'll overthink it and convince herself you're just a friend."

"Or a business partner."

Jaeyi chuckled. "Exactly. You have to be bold, Yeri. But don't scare her away."

Yeri hummed, picking out a particularly large blueberry from her scone. “What about you and Seulgi? You say you’re not together, but you’re having arguments, and now you’re waiting for her in her apartment with gifts. That sounds like a couple to me.”

“It’s…complicated.”

Yeri gave her an unimpressed look. “That’s not a very fair trade. I tell you I’m with Kyung-” kind of   “-and you tell me it’s complicated? What if I had advice for you about Seulgi?”

“You just said that you don’t hang out often, and when you do, it’s silent. I asked you what Seulgi was like, and all you said was respectful .”

Touche.

“Well, yeah , but I can give you advice on how to handle that, too. She takes a long time to come out of her shell, but I’ve seen her when she finally does. She’s funny, and protective, and she’s the most genuine person I’ve ever met."

Jaeyi followed her carefully as she spoke, seeming to listen- really listen- to every word.

Yeri continued. "She’s a great friend, and she’d make a great girlfriend someday, if you’re patient and persistent enough to earn it. But you have to tread lightly. She's...very independent. And fragile, but would never show it."

Jaeyi considered her words for a moment.

"Do you have any ideas on how I can get her to open up?"

Seulgi shook her head. "If I'd figured it out, I would have more to say about her than she's 'respectful'. But Kyung seems to really like you. If anybody can get through to my roomate, I'm sure it's you."

Nobody else had ever shown up at the apartment just to get Seulgi to speak to them.

“And…in an effort to salvage the trust that Seulgi has in me ,” Yeri began, suddenly nervous. “Can we pretend this conversation never happened? From here on out, I don’t know about you and Seulgi, and you don’t know about Kyung and me?”

It was bad enough that she'd let Jaeyi into the apartment, knowing Seulgi didn't want to talk to her.

“Deal,” Jaeyi agreed easily. “Don’t worry. I’m a great actress.”

“Perfect.” Yeri stiffened as the door latch clicked. Just in time .

“Yeri?” Seulgi’s voice came from the front door, confused and a little alarmed.

“Oh, you’re home!” Yeri called out as Seulgi rounded the corner, eyes immediately locking on Jaeyi, her expression a mixture of disdain, surprise, anger, and exasperation. Wow, it really was complicated, wasn’t it? “Look who dropped by.”

“Hi, Seulgi,” Jaeyi said, smiling.

“Yeri, why did you let her in?” Her gaze was pointedly fixed on her roommate now, and- boy, if looks could kill…

“She asked nicely.” She picked at her pastry, not hungry anymore, but desperate for something to do with her hands. “And, she brought assorted pastries. You know I love assorted pastries.”

“Your roommate is very nice,” Jaeyi chimed in, trying to help Yeri’s case. “Don’t worry. She didn’t tell me anything embarrassing.”

“Jaeyi.” Seulgi’s bag thudded to the floor. “Come here.”

In an instant, Selugi grabbed Jaeyi’s wrist and yanked her behind the door. When it closed, Yeri heaved a sigh of relief, dropping the pastry and grabbing her headphones. She already knew too much.

And she, when compared to Jaeyi, was a horrible actress.

Chapter Text

When Yeri's phone lit up with a text from Seulgi saying that she wouldn't be spending the night at the apartment, her first though was finally. Jaeyi had done it. Somehow, she'd wormed her way into Seulgi's good- well, maybe tolerated- graces.

Her second thought was to text Kyung. Movie night at my place tonight? Seulgi's out.  

Yeri had thought it was obvious.

That text carried a certain implication—at least, it always had in her experience. It meant a warm body pressed close on the couch, hushed voices blending with the background noise of a half-watched film, and a slow, inevitable descent into something more. It meant a kiss before the credits rolled and trembling legs before the night ended.

So when Kyung knocked on her door that evening, scrolling through a list in her notes app of all of her favorite films, and that same bright, easy smile, Yeri was ready .

Then she looked at the movies on Kyung’s phone.

“Schindler's List? Shutter's Island? Silence of the Lambs?” She shot Kyung an incredulous look, flipping through the stack of grim, psychological thrillers. “Are you planning a murder or just trying to ruin movie night?”

Kyung scoffed, plopping onto the couch. “Excuse you, these are masterpieces.”

“I invited you over for movie night , not existential crisis night.” Yeri shook her head and handed her phone back. “Try again.”

Kyung rolled her eyes but took her phone, glancing at the TV and opening the search tab. “Fine. What do you watch, then?”

“Romance. Drama. Something fun .”

"I think these are fun!" Kyung argued. Yeri shot her flat look. "Give me some suggestions. We might have a movie or two in common."

Yeri thought hard. Inviting Kyung over really wasn't supposed to be about the movie, but if she was going to try to put her through an instrospective crime thriller when Yeri was trying to have a rare night alone in the apartment, she was damn well going to have an opinion about it. "I don't know. Me Before You. West Side Story. Mamma Mia."

Kyung’s face twisted in exaggerated disgust. “God, you’re one of those people.”

“What people?”

“You can’t watch anything that makes you think.” The words were harsh, but Kyung's tone was teasing and light.

Yeri chuckled, slapping her shoulder weakly. “If I wanted to think, I’d do homework . At least I’m not one of those insufferable film buffs who can’t watch anything that isn’t painfully slow and emotionally devastating. Let me guess- you like Portrait of a Lady on Fire.”

Kyung gave an indignant humph. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. And I'm not ashamed to admit it."

"Kyung, it's agonizingly slow."

“It’s about the storytelling.”

“It’s about making the audience miserable .” And, frankly, it killed any chance at establishing the mood that Yeri was going for- something warm and heavy in the air, pushing them closer together without them even realizing it was happening. 

They bickered back and forth until Kyung sighed and began typing on her phone, searching for a compromise. Eventually, they landed on The Perfection —a psychological horror film that technically had romance elements.

It wasn’t quite what Yeri had planned for the night, but still, she settled in beside Kyung as the movie started, feeling the warmth of her shoulder just barely brushing against her own.

Within minutes, both of them were hooked. The film followed two musical prodigies—intense, passionate, with an undercurrent of something dark and obsessive running between them. It was a mess of hallucinations, betrayals, and hidden motives, twisting in on itself in ways neither of them had expected.

Yeri had definitely had different plans for tonight.

But ending up in her pajamas, feeding Kyung popcorn, then stealing the popcorn from her when she wouldn’t hand it over, and scrolling through theory videos on YouTube afterward, debating the film’s symbolism, was almost as good.

Still, it wasn’t quite enough.

Because Kyung was right there , comfortable and at ease, sprawled on Yeri’s couch like she belonged there, and it was driving Yeri insane .

They had slow danced. Held hands. Slept tangled together. Kyung had spent the last two weeks giving her all the signs, but still— still —she hadn’t made a move.

Yeri wasn’t used to this.

She was used to being wanted. To people pressing their mouths against hers the second they got through the door. To hands finding their way to the hem of her dress without hesitation. She wasn’t used to waiting .

And yet, here she was, watching Kyung stretch, her shirt riding up above her midriff just enough , oblivious, completely unaware of the suffering she was putting her through.

Eventually, they retreated to the bed, the glow of Yeri’s diffuser dimming as sleep started to pull them under. Kyung curled against her back like it was second nature, her breath warm against the Yeri’s neck, her arm draped over her waist, holding her close- almost protectively

Yeri could feel the steady rise and fall of Kyung’s breathing, the soft, absentminded way her fingers brushed over her hip. How- unconsciously- Kyung’s fingers sought the warmth of her bare skin underneath her pajama shirt, coming to a stop just above her waistband, Kyung exhaling deeply and relaxing further into sleep.

She’s killing me, Yeri thought, pressing her eyes shut.

She ached for something more.

Still, she exhaled, forcing her body to relax, letting herself get lost in the steady comfort of Kyung’s warmth.

Tomorrow, she promised herself. I'll make a move.

The smell of something warm and savory pulled Yeri out of sleep. It took her a moment to register the unfamiliar sound of utensils clinking and something sizzling in a pan.

For a brief, sleepy second, she thought Seulgi must be home . But no—Seulgi had texted last night that she wouldn’t be back until later. And her roommate never cooked anything that couldn't be prepared in a microwave.

Which meant…

She blinked her eyes open, stretching lazily before rolling onto her back. The space beside her was empty, but the sheets were still faintly warm.

She slid out from under the covers and padded barefoot into the hall.

And there she was.

Kyung stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up, hair a tousled halo around her face, fully immersed in the task of folding something delicate and golden into itself—eggs, maybe, done with suspicious precision. A second pan sat nearby, steam curling up from whatever she had already finished.

Yeri leaned against the doorway, taking in the scene.

Kyung moved like she belonged there. Calm, casual, in control. Her brow furrowed in thought as she plated the food, the smallest smile tugging at her lips as she reached for a bottle of honey. She hummed softly, and Yeri could make out the climax of Pas De Deux, a smile tugging at her lips. Kyung got a few notes wrong, but it was obvious that she listened to it well enough to know it by heart.

It was all so… domestic. So intimate . Too much, and not enough.

Yeri’s voice finally cracked the quiet.

“What are you doing?”

Kyung jumped, startled, but her face lit up when she turned. “Morning. I'm making breakfast.”

Yeri crossed her arms. “Since when do you know how to cook?”

Kyung shrugged, completely unfazed. She popped a bite of egg into her mouth. “Since highschool, I guess? My mom taught me the basics, and I've lived on my own for the last four years." Then, more inquisitively. "Do you not know how to cook meals for yourself?"

"I can cook well enough to manage, but it's mostly meal kits and whatever I can put together in the least amount of time."  Yeri looked past her, eyeing the plate—eggs, caramelized onions, pancakes drizzled with something pink and sticky, maybe mashed strawberries and honey. “I'm more surprised that you managed to find all of these ingredients. I swear, there was nothing in this kitchen last time I checked. ”

Kyung smirked. “You’d be surprised what you can throw together with, like, three sad groceries and a little desire.”

Yeri shook her head slowly, watching as Kyung moved to set two plates on the table. She hesitated just slightly, almost imperceptibly, before speaking again—voice quieter now.

“Sorry if this is overstepping. I just…” She glanced over her shoulder, eyes briefly meeting Yeri’s. “I wanted to say thank you. For last night. I really—I had a lot of fun."

Yeri didn’t answer at first.

Because for a second, it wasn’t the food or the improvised breakfast that caught her off guard. It was Kyung’s expression—uncertain, a little sheepish, her usual confidence stripped down to something rawer. More real.

God, she was so endearing when she let her guard down.

"Even when your taste in music is childish."

Yeri scoffed softly and pulled out a chair. “I had fun too.”

They ate.

The food was genuinely good, which was unfair. Of course Kyung knew how to cook. Like she wasn’t already attractive and brilliant and quietly hilarious. As if she needed to keep stacking up points.

Kyung talked as they ate—offering a list of things they could do today: bookstore, coffee, an art exhibit she’d seen a flyer for. Her tone was easy, light.

Yeri nodded along, but she wasn’t really listening.

Jaeyi’s voice echoed in her head.

Be bold. But don’t scare her away.

Yeri took a breath, setting her fork down gently.

“Kyung?”

Kyung looked up mid-bite, brows lifted. “Yeah?”

There was a beat before Yeri spoke. Just long enough to feel like jumping off something tall.

“Do you… like me? Romantically?”

The fork paused. Hovered. Kyung stared at her, eyes wide, like maybe she had misheard. “Uh—I…” She blinked. “Yeah?”

Yeri tilted her head. “ Yeah? Or yeah. Because one’s a question and the other’s a—”

“Yeah,” Kyung interrupted, finally meeting her gaze. “I do.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic.

But it was real.

Yeri exhaled. A quiet rush of warmth spread across her chest. She nodded. “Good.” Then, a little softer. “It’s… reciprocal.”

Kyung let out a laugh—quiet, disbelieving. “You like to give me crap for talking like I’m writing a closing argument, but that —that was a business deal.”

“You’re rubbing off on me,” Yeri shot back, cheeks pink.

Then, after a pause: “Look, I… I haven’t been with anyone since Byeongjin. At least not seriously. And he wasn’t exactly a model of how relationships are supposed to go. So I’m sorry if I’ve been too subtle, or not confident enough, or—”

“You’re perfect,” Kyung cut in immediately, firm and fast, like she didn’t want her to doubt it for even a second. “And you didn't do anything wrong. I really-" she hesitated, then smiled. “I do like you. Romantically.”

Yeri’s chest lifted, a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding easing out.

“Okay,” she said. The corners of her mouth tugged upward. “Good.”

They went back to their food, a little quieter now. More smiles. Less space between them.

After they finished, Yeri carried their plates to the sink. She stood with the water running, rinsing them one by one, her thoughts catching up to her body.

It wasn’t until she set the last plate aside to dry that it hit her.

Damn it.

They hadn’t actually said what this was . They hand't kissed. They hadn't made any moves. They hadn't established any ground rules or lables. They were so close to something real.

But there was still space between the lines. Still hesitation.

That space was almost nothing.

Almost.

And yet— it wasn't.

Kyung sat hunched on the couch, law notes fanned out across the coffee table like a shield. Her phone was open to a dense document of penal codes and case law, screen glowing in the dim room. Yeri sat beside her, her head resting gently in Kyung’s lap, hair splayed like ink across her thigh.

It should have been comfortable. Intimate.

But the air around Kyung was taut, vibrating with the kind of tension that didn’t go away with soft touches or comforting silences. Her leg bounced intermittently beneath Yeri, and every few minutes she’d sigh through her nose, sharp and tight, scribbling something in the margins of her notes only to cross it out again seconds later.

Yeri tilted her head just slightly, watching Kyung’s fingers twitch and flex against the cushions. Every time she stumbled over a citation or lost her place in her argument, the frustration flared—contained, but unmistakable. Not loud. Not dramatic. But palpable.

Kyung was unraveling by degrees, and she was trying too hard to pretend she wasn’t.

That was the thing about her: she was composed until she wasn’t. And right now, she was barely holding herself together.

Yeri exhaled through her nose and sat up, brushing her hair back behind her ear as she gently pushed the stack of papers aside.

Kyung blinked, mid-sentence, brow furrowed. “What are you doing?”

“You need a break. And so do I.” Yeri stretched, tilting her head, eyes flicking—just briefly—down to Kyung’s lips. Then, impulsively, “Can I tell you something that might make you upset?”

Kyung’s expression shifted, intrigued. The mock trial was already forgotten. “Well, now you have to.”

Yeri bit back a smile. “Jaeyi was here. In my apartment.”

Kyung mock-gasped, hand over her chest. “You’re cheating on me with my best friend? You bastard .”

“Shut up,” Yeri laughed, shifting so they were facing each other properly. “I’ve been interested in you for a long time. Weeks .”

Kyung blinked, caught off guard. Yeri pressed on.

“Jaeyi came by to ask my roommate something—” she conveniently left out the part where Jaeyi and Seulgi were definitely doing more than just talking, “—and she figured out that I knew you. That I played instruments. And…”

Kyung groaned, flopping back against the couch. “Ugh, god . She’s going to be so annoying now, Yeri.”

“She promised to pretend like she didn’t know!” Yeri protested. “I asked her to because I wanted you to trust me, and I didn't think you would if you'd found out that I let our secret spill."

"Kind of pointless now, don't you think?"

"Well, yeah. But the point is-"

"And I would still trust you."

"Thank you," Yeri said, caught of guard, but then returning to her original intention. "Can I finish what I'm trying to say before I lose the nerve?" Before the way you're looking at me makes me melt into a puddle right where I sit.

"Right," Kyung chuckled, pulling back just slightly, pinky twisted in Yeri's, resting on her leg. "Go ahead. I'm listening."

"The point," she sighed. "-is that Jaeyi told me that if I wanted you to know I’m interested, I had to be forward. In the past, somebody else has always made the first move. And I guess I waiting on you to do it, too, but Jaeyi said that I should try it."

Kyung sat up straighter. “Is that why you asked me if I liked you? I thought I'd made it obvious."

"Right, but you never said it. Or kissed me. Or...anything else." Her eyes flicked- again- to Kyung's lips, and she watched the bob of her throat as she swallowed. “All that to say..."

She leaned in, raising a hand toward Kyung’s face—but not touching. Just  hovering , waiting. The weight of the moment settled between them. The air in the room had shifted—warm, charged, expectant.

“This is me being forward and asking if I can kiss you."

She’d wanted to for a long time. No—she’d wanted Kyung to kiss her . But if it took Yeri being the one to make the first move, to push past whatever hesitation Kyung had, then so be it.

Kyung’s breath hitched. Then, a small nod.

Yeri closed the space between them.

The kiss was hesitant, careful, her fingers brushing against Kyung’s cheek as she tested the waters. When she pulled back, she searched Kyung’s face for any sign of discomfort, of hesitation—

There was none.

Kyung just looked enchanted .

Yeri’s stomach flipped.

“Was that okay?” she murmured.

Kyung blinked once, then twice, before answering. “That was perfect . You're perfect.”

And then Kyung was the one kissing her .

Yeri let her melt into it, her hands rising to frame Kyung’s face, guiding her gently but steadily as their mouths moved in sync—soft at first, exploratory. Then Yeri bit Kyung’s bottom lip, and the sound she drew from her—sharp, surprised, breathless—shot straight to her core.

Yeri deepened the kiss, leaning into her until Kyung was beneath her, back against the couch. She braced herself above her, panting lightly, her lips just barely hovering.

“Is this okay?” Yeri asked, voice low.

Kyung nodded, flushed and dazed. “I’m—yeah. I’m okay.”

Yeri’s pulse fluttered at the look on her face. She leaned in again, brushing her mouth over Kyung’s, slower this time. Her knee slid between Kyung’s thighs—not pressing, just present . The inhale Kyung gave in response made Yeri’s head spin.

She kissed her again. Deeper. Her mouth trailed to Kyung’s jaw, then down the line of her throat, lingering where she felt the frantic rhythm of her pulse.

God, she was so responsive.

Her hands wandered instinctively, smoothing over Kyung’s waist, her hip, under the hem of her shirt. She was just about to take her own shirt off when—

She paused.

Kyung’s hands hadn’t moved.

They hovered, suspended in the air like they didn’t belong to her. Her fingers were curled inward, not holding, not touching—just… there.

“Are you okay?” Yeri asked gently, reaching for her wrists and anchoring them in her palms.

Kyung’s breath hitched. “Yeah,” she said too quickly. “I just…”

She looked away, eyes darting to the ceiling. “I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

Yeri blinked, then softened. Gently, she guided Kyung’s hands to her waist, pressing them there. “Like this.”

Kyung’s hands were light and hesitant, reminding Yeri of the first time that she'd ever let the other woman play her harp. She'd been so afraid to touch a single string, scared of breaking it, of knocking it over. Realization hit her over the top of the head like a sheet of ice.

Oh.

Yeri’s chest tightened. Not with pity—but with understanding. It all made sense now. The hesitance. The restraint. The careful way Kyung looked at her, like she was something distant and unreachable.

“Kyung,” Yeri asked carefully, “are you a virgin?”

Kyung froze.

The blush on her cheeks crept down her neck, and she instantly pulled her hands away.

“I...yes?" Her voice cracked. “It’s not like I haven’t tried. I was focused on my grades in high school, and I didn’t come out until college, and then by the time I did, every gay girl on campus already had somebody, and online dating is all hookups and curious straight girls, and—” She stopped herself, jaw clenching. “It just… didn’t happen.”

Her hands curled into fists on her lap. She couldn’t look at Yeri.

Yeri leaned in, her voice soft as she tilted Kyung’s chin gently upward. “Hey.”

Their eyes met.

“I’m not teasing you,” she said, low and warm. “I’m not judging you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Kyung exhaled shakily. “I want this. I do. I just didn’t want you to think that I didn’t.”

Yeri’s heart ached in the best and worst way. Her voice was a whisper, steady and grounding. “I don’t think that. Not for a second.”

She moved closer, brushing their lips together again.

“We don’t have to do anything,” she added. “But just so you know... the fact that you’ve never had sex doesn’t make me want you any less.”

Kyung’s hands twitched. Then slowly, finally, she reached for Yeri’s waist again—gripping this time. Tentative. But there .

Yeri smiled.

“I can teach you.”

Kyung blinked, stunned. “What?”

Yeri chuckled, low and teasing. She kissed her again, then let her lips trail to her ear. “I taught you how to play piano. I taught you how to waltz.”

Kyung shivered beneath her.

“I can teach you how to fuck.”

A soft, desperate sound left Kyung’s lips. Her hands tightened on Yeri’s waist.

“…Okay,” she breathed.

Yeri pulled back just enough to see her. “Okay?”

Kyung nodded, this time without hesitation. “Yes.” Her voice was raw, stripped bare. “Please.”

Yeri’s hands found the hem of her shirt again.

And that was when the door opened.

Chapter Text

“Oh?”

The single syllable sliced through the room like a blade.

Yeri launched herself backward off of Kyung, nearly toppling off the couch in her panic. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she scrambled to sit up, eyes darting between Kyung—who looked like she was actively praying for the earth to split open beneath her—and the apartment entrance, where Jaeyi and Seulgi stood, wide-eyed and unmoving.

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Yeri tried, her voice a little too high, a little too sharp.

Jaeyi blinked once. “Really?”

Her gaze flicked to Kyung, who flinched, exhaling sharply before deflating altogether. “It’s… exactly what it looks like.”

Her fingers trembled as she hastily smoothed her hair, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand like that would somehow erase the mortifying reality of being caught.

Yeri’s stomach twisted at the sheer humiliation stamped across Kyung’s face. She wanted to reach out, to soothe, but before she could, Seulgi’s flat, unimpressed voice cut in.

“On our couch, Yeri?” She sounded more exhausted than anything. “I sit there.”

Yeri opened her mouth to defend herself, but Kyung beat her to it—far too quickly.

“It’s more fun when there’s a risk of getting caught.”

Yeri’s breath caught.

She knew Kyung well enough by now to hear the waver beneath her words, to see the way her hands curled against her lap, gripping the fabric of her shorts like she could will herself to stop shaking. That wasn’t confidence. That wasn’t teasing. That was deflection.

Yeri’s heart ached. It had been going so well.

Kyung swallowed, pushing forward, clearly desperate to shift the attention away from herself. “We just didn’t expect to actually…” She trailed off.

Jaeyi, of course, latched onto the moment like a shark scenting blood. Yeri didn’t doubt the fact that she- as Kyung’s friend of nearly eight years- knew what her boundaries were better than anybody. But still, it didn’t stop the bitter taste at her mouth as Jaeyi completely missed the signs that Kyung was already embarrassed, and continued to tease her.

“Choi Kyung, you exhibitionist.” She wiggled her brows. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you had a girlfriend?”

Yeri barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

Jaeyi- true to her word- was a phoenominal actress. If Yeri hadn't been the one to personally tell her about her and Kyung's relationship, she woudl've genuinly believed the shock on her features. But it certainly wasn't fooling Kyung. She was s till visibly mortified- the future lawyer shot Jaeyi a glare that could’ve set her on fire.

Jaeyi turned to Seulgi with a wicked grin. “Did you know about this?”

Seulgi—poor, innocent Seulgi—was the only one in the room who had truly been left out of the loop.

“If I had,” she muttered, rubbing her temples, “I would’ve established some ground rules—like no sex on the couch.”

Yeri huffed, crossing her arms. “We weren’t having sex yet.”

It was meant to sound nonchalant. It was meant to salvage whatever shreds of dignity they had left.

But the second the word left her mouth, Seulgi’s entire expression shifted.

“Yet?!” Her voice shot up an octave. She looked personally offended. “Have you already had sex on that couch?”

Yeri’s mouth opened, then closed.

She glanced at Kyung, guilt pooling in her stomach at the way she visibly shut down. Her expression hardened, her shoulders curled inward, and she turned her face away.

Sorry.

Kyung didn’t look at her.

Yeri clenched her jaw, frustrated. Damn Seulgi. Damn Jaeyi. Damn their timing.

Determined to get the heat off Kyung, she turned the interrogation right back around. “Don’t act like we’re the only ones keeping secrets here,” she said smoothly, nodding toward the two of them. “How long have you two been together?”

Seulgi reacted instantly.

“We’re not,” she blurted, far too quickly to be believable.

Liar.

Kyung—ever the observant one—tilted her head, gaze flicking down to Seulgi’s oversized hoodie, then to the bag dangling from her wrist.

“You’re wearing her clothes,” she pointed out, voice dry, unimpressed.

Jaeyi, clearly thrilled by the shift in conversation, clapped her hands. “This is too good,” she practically beamed. “We should do this more often! How about a double date?”

Seulg’s response was immediate. “No.”

Yeri, however, loved the idea. She had been waiting for the opportunity to bring it up, and- despite the horrible timing- couldn’t let a good thing go to waste. Maybe it would lighten the mood and take her mind off of the embarrassment of being walked in on.

“That sounds fun!” she chimed, barely able to contain her excitement as she turned to Kyung, reaching for her arm. “Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Kyung jerked her arm away.

Yeri’s fingers curled in the empty space where she’d been.

“I’d rather gargle thumbtacks.”

Her face was carefully blank, but Yeri saw the way her ears were still burning red, the way her breath was just a little too fast. Without another word, Kyung pushed herself off the couch, storming toward the door. She pushed Jaeyi toward the exit, muttering something about not helping her study anymore, but Jaeyi—predictably—was unfazed.

“We’ll plan the details later, Yeri!” she called over her shoulder, laughing. “I’ll get your number from Choi Kyung!”

“You will not,” Kyung grumbled as the sound of their bickering faded down the hall.

Silence settled once again.

Yeri exhaled, still a little rattled, and turned to Seulgi.

“So,” she started awkwardly, “are you two dating?”

Seulgi groaned.

Yeri grinned.

“I’ll take that as a not yet.”

harpist: hey, i’m really sorry

harpist: seulgi usually gives me a heads up when she’s coming back

harpest: i didn’t get the ‘headed home’ text like i usually do

The read receipt appeared almost immediately, but Kyung didn’t respond right away. A minute passed. Then another. Yeri stared at her screen, wondering if she should say more, but finally, Kyung typed back:

choikyung: it’s fine

That was it. No teasing, no half-jokes in parentheses. Just two words. Flat.

Yeri hesitated, thumbs hovering. Then:

harpest: can i make it up to you? coffee? my treat

This time, the response came quickly.

choikyung: i’ve got a lot of studying to do

harpest: i can help

choikyung: i’d rather do it alone tonight

There it was. No room to misread it. The chill wasn’t cruel, just cold. Controlled. Yeri could practically feel the space being carved out between them, deliberate and careful.

She swallowed the sting of it.

harpest: okay no worries…let me know if you change your mind :)

No reply.

Yeri locked her phone and set it face-down on the table. She’d try again later.

Kyung stared at her notes for the mock trial, eyes glazing over the bullet points she’d typed and retyped four different times. The penal codes blurred. Her notes were too clean, too rehearsed. No matter how many times she practiced, everything still felt like a performance she couldn’t quite believe in.

Yeri’s voice kept threading through her head.

“I can teach you.”

Kyung dropped her pen.

She leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling like it might offer her divine intervention. Or at least a distraction that wasn’t the memory of Yeri’s hands sliding under her shirt, or the way she’d looked at her—like she actually wanted her. Like Kyung wasn’t fumbling every second of the way.

She exhaled sharply and picked up her phone.

One new text from Yeri.

harpest: let me know if you change your mind :)

Kyung didn’t open it. She just locked the screen again and set the phone face-down on her desk.

It wasn’t like she was mad at Yeri. She wasn’t.

Yeri hadn't done anythying wrong. If Kyung were being honest, she'd done everything absolutely right. She'd been honest, and soft, and so patient with Kyung, and it had been good. Good to feel wanted. Good to be with somebody who didn't see her as a loser.

But god—Kyung was humiliated.

Not because she was a virgin. That part didn’t matter in theory. She hadn’t met the right person, the right moment hadn’t come, fine. She could rationalize it in the abstract. But when she’d been lying under Yeri, overwhelmed by the heat and the wanting and the sheer confidence radiating off of her—it had hit Kyung all at once that she had no idea what the hell she was doing.

She hadn’t even known where to put her hands.

And then, the worst part—she’d said it out loud .

She let her head fall into her hands, groaning into her palms.

And then, of course—Seulgi and Jaeyi had walked in.

Kyung’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t talked to either of them since that night. Jaeyi had sent her a few voice notes that she didn’t open. She was probably off somewhere being effortlessly charming with Seulgi, who she’d apparently been dating in secret while Kyung was out here having a full identity crisis over a kiss and a half.

She sighed and forced herself to sit up straighter, flipping back to her case notes. She needed to focus. She needed to prove to herself that she could do something right. If she could just get through this mock trial, maybe she could recalibrate—get her feet back under her before trying to deal with…whatever Yeri was.

Whatever this was.

Because the way her mind constantly drifted to how much she wanted Yeri, the difficulty of actually acting on that want, and letting herself be seen like that- bare, nervous, ienxperienced- it was confusing. And the fact that Yeri still wanted her despite all of that was endearing. And yet, they still hadn't done anything. Not really. Not beyond making out.

And that was excruciating.

She clicked her pen. Back to studying.

Mock trial first. Then she’d figure the rest out.

Eventually.

Chapter Text

Yeri found herself swaying slightly on her feet as she waited at the back of the mock courtroom.

It felt more like a performance hall than she expected—polished floors, grand paneling, uncomfortable rows of seating arranged to face a raised platform that acted as the judge’s bench. The silence was formal, heavy with anticipation. Even the air smelled different in here. Like carpet cleaner and ambition.

She tugged once at her blazer, wishing she could’ve worn her usual concert black instead of the buttoned-up business attire she’d borrowed from Jaeyi. It felt like a costume—tight around the shoulders and oddly restrictive in the chest, like it wasn’t meant for her.

How Kyung could breathe in this setting—much less thrive in it—was beyond her.

But then the door at the front opened, and everything else slipped from focus.

Kyung stepped inside like she belonged there.

Not rushed, not overconfident. Just steady.

Her dark suit was perfectly tailored, hugging her shoulders with clean precision. Her hair was pulled back, not too severely, just enough to show the sharp line of her jaw and the set of her mouth—tight-lipped, unreadable. She carried a neat stack of papers and a legal pad, which she aligned on the table with such care that it almost looked ritualistic.

She hadn’t seen Yeri yet.

But Yeri saw her . All of her.

If Kyung had been playing the cello, or conducting an orchestra, she wouldn’t have looked more in her element. It was that same presence, that quiet command that said this is mine . Yeri felt her chest tighten with something sharp, sweet, and unexpectedly overwhelming.

If she’d been Kyung’s opponent, she would have settled the case on sight.

The fake courtroom attendant rose and called the room to stand. Yeri scrambled to her feet with everyone else, but her eyes never left the woman at the front.

So this is what it had felt like for Kyung. Watching. Admiring. Being moved by something and not being able to explain why.

The realization dropped into her chest like a stone.

And then Kyung’s eyes flicked across the room, landing on her. Surprise flashed there—quick, unmistakable.

Yeri kept it simple. She raised a hand in a subtle wave and smiled.

Kyung blinked, then dipped her head in acknowledgment, face barely shifting—but Yeri could see it. The flicker of warmth behind her composure.

“You may be seated.”

Yeri sat. She didn’t lean back. She didn’t relax. She just watched.

The mock trial began in earnest.

Opening statements. Kyung rose smoothly from her chair, her posture impeccable, her expression unreadable. The courtroom fell silent.

And then she spoke .

Gone was the fidgety, uncertain Kyung Yeri had seen just nights ago, trying to find her footing mid-rebuttal. Here, her voice was measured, steady—commanding without being theatrical. She wove her words like threads, building a case from logic and language. A rhythm formed in her speech, punctuated by careful pauses, shifts in tone. A legal aria.

Yeri’s pulse quickened.

This was so much more than debate.

Kyung cross-examined with surgical precision, not cruel, but sharp—cutting off deflections with quiet confidence, dismantling testimony with nothing but tone and timing. When the opposing side tried to rattle her, she didn’t flinch. She’d blink, tilt her head slightly, and then proceed to tear their logic apart like a violinist dissecting a faulty piece of sheet music.

Yeri found herself leaning forward, elbows on her knees, entirely still.

Court was supposed to be long. Boring. Repetitive.

But somehow, the hours both dragged and flew.

There were moments where Yeri forgot to breathe. Others where she bit back the urge to clap. She wasn’t even sure she understood all the legal language, but Kyung’s delivery made it feel like she should . Like it all mattered.

At one point, during closing arguments, Kyung turned slightly toward the gallery—toward her —just briefly. It could’ve been incidental.

But Yeri didn’t think it was.

The room was quiet when Kyung finished. A beat passed before the faculty judge nodded and dismissed the court. Students and observers started to shuffle out in hushed tones, praising one side or the other, already dissecting performances.

Yeri stayed in her seat.

Her eyes didn’t leave Kyung’s back as she gathered her papers again, slower this time. She looked tired. But proud.

And Yeri—

Yeri couldn’t help herself. She stood up quietly, cutting across the rows, slipping into the aisle before anyone else had the chance to reach her.

Kyung looked up at the sound of her steps.

And there was that tight-lipped smile again—small, private. For her .

Yeri stopped a few feet away, voice low.

“You were incredible.”

Kyung flushed slightly, adjusting the strap of her bag. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe.” Yeri stepped closer. “But I’m also right.” She reached for Kyung's hand, fingertips just barely brushing but still sending electricity through her, regardless. "Can we talk?"

Kyung's fingers twitched, and she shook her head. "I can’t,” she refused quietly. “I have to speak to my professor.”

“Afterwards, then,” Yeri compromised, then withdrew her hand, gesturing to the door. She left no room for argument. “I’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise.”

Yeri stepped into the hallway, heart thrumming with anticipation.

Kyung’s head spun through each exchange, every pause, and every citation she might’ve stumbled over. She catalogued it all quickly, efficiently. Redirect: weak. Closing: decent. Objection phrasing could be crisper. But she hadn’t blanked. She hadn’t lost control. And somewhere between walking into the room and seeing her , she had snapped into herself like she belonged there.

Yeri had been there.

Back row, dressed up and glowing and utterly attentive . The smile. That little wave. Kyung felt it all again, like a pulse under her skin.

She could still feel the residual burn of adrenaline in her blood, but it was ebbing now, bleeding out through her fingertips, leaving behind something less productive: exhaustion.

The good kind.

The kind where your body’s done everything it can, and your brain is still catching up.

When she'd recieved all of her feedback, she let her professor walk off—he’d already started scribbling notes for the next student—and closed her eyes for just a moment. The silence wrapped around her like a second skin.

Then she straightened, gathered her papers into a tighter stack, and turned toward the exit.

The second Kyung stepped into the hallway, she felt a hand catch gently at her elbow, followed by the familiar, grounding scent of Yeri’s perfume. Before she could register a word, Yeri was guiding her firmly, but gently, toward the nearest empty conference room.

The door clicked shut behind them.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Yeri said, turning to face her, arms folded but expression soft.

Kyung let out a breath, shifting back until her hip bumped the edge of the table. She still hadn’t let go of the courtroom script in her hand. It felt stupid now—clutching it like some kind of security blanket. But she didn’t set it down.

Instead, she tilted her head, feigning calm. “Aren’t you going to compliment me a little longer before jumping to the scolding part?”

Yeri stepped closer, her smile easing into something warmer. “You did really well today.”

Something inside Kyung untensed. Just a little. She didn’t let it show, but it was there—in the way her shoulders eased, the way her grip on the script relaxed.

“Thank you,” she said, voice softer. “How did you even know when it was?”

“I asked my friend Ara,” Yeri replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “And—look, I know I said I’d wait to scold you, but I have to say it. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. If I hadn’t asked, I would’ve missed the whole thing.”

Kyung winced. “I had other things on my mind,” she muttered, then added—quieter—“But you’re right. I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” Yeri said, though there was no real heat in it. “You came to my performance. You didn’t even give me the chance to come to yours.”

Kyung shrugged, glancing down. “I didn’t think you’d want to sit through it. I didn’t want to make you feel obligated to show up out of pity.”

“ Pity? ” Yeri let out a sharp laugh. “Choi Kyung, I have never pitied you. Not once. I liked watching the trial, and I wanted to be here. It was a performance!"

Kyung’s gaze flicked to her, startled by the sincerity in her tone.

Yeri hesitated for half a second, then added, “And... I spent hours helping you prep for it. I kind of wanted to see the ending of the story I was part of.”

Kyung’s mouth twitched at that, the hint of a smile pulling at the corner. “Right.”

Yeri’s expression shifted, her voice quieter now. “I owe you an apology too. I swear, if I'd known there was even a chance that Seulgi would show up at the apartment, or that she would bring Jaeyi, I wouldn't have started anything with you on the couch. I probably wouldn't have even had you over. You have ever right to take things at your own pace and not have people know until you're ready."

Kyung shook her head. “I’m not mad.”

Yeri blinked. “You’re… not?”

Kyung let out a dry, tired laugh. “No. I mean—I’ve been mortified. Trying very hard to scrub it from my memory like it’s a corrupted file, but mad? No. You were trying to do something sweet.”

Yeri rolled her eyes, stepping in closer now. “I wasn’t being sweet. I told you—I don’t pity you. That morning wasn’t about making you feel better about yourself.”

She stopped just in front of Kyung now, her voice quiet but insistent.

“I wanted you. I still do. So whatever this whole avoidance spiral is—however you’ve been rationalizing it in that scary law-student brain of yours—it has to stop. You’re allowed to have feelings about sex. About the interruption. About me . But bottling them up and shutting me out isn’t an option.”

Kyung looked at her.

Then away.

She shifted her weight. She felt the words climbing up from the pit of her chest, clawing past the carefully structured reasoning she’d spent the past week building.

“You’re right,” she said, almost in a whisper. “I should’ve been more honest.”

Her fingers curled tighter around the courtroom script.

“The real reason I’ve been avoiding you…”

She took a breath. Let it out.

“…is that you’re really hot.”

Yeri blinked. “What?”

“You’re hot,” Kyung said again, matter-of-factly. “You’re ridiculously , distractingly hot. It’s impossible to think when you’re around, and you keep kissing me and looking at me like that , and sometimes I forget my own name. And then I end up lying awake at night remembering how your perfume smells and the way your voice drops when you say my name, and it makes my brain short-circuit. That’s why I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I can’t help the fact that I’m hot,” Yeri said disapprovingly.

“No,” Kyung chuckled. “You can’t. But it’s distracting, and I realized I wasn’t cramming hard enough for this trial, so I took a little space. I should’ve told you. But by the time I thought to say it, it was already today.”

Yeri crossed her arms, lips twitching. “So you’re seriously not mad?”

“I’m seriously not mad.”

Kyung gave a small shrug. “I actually talked to Jaeyi. Told her the truth. Well, the layman’s terms version of it. That I was seeing someone. And that she needs to butt out until I’ve had a chance to talk to that someone properly.”

“Oh?” Yeri’s voice was light, but curious. “And what did you say we were?”

Kyung looked at her, brows raised. “Well, with any luck…” Her lips curved, nervous but sincere. “I was hoping you’d be my girlfriend.”

Yeri didn’t say anything for a moment. Kyung’s stomach flipped. She rushed to fill the silence. “I had this whole plan with flowers and a card. Something cheesy like ‘Sorry I’m an avoidant mess, please date me.’ But you beat me to it, so…”

Yeri surged forward and kissed her.

Kyung’s hands found her waist automatically, anchoring herself like she wasn’t entirely sure this was real.

“Yes,” Yeri whispered against her lips.

“Yes?” Kyung echoed, dazed.

“Yes, I would love to be your girlfriend.” She rested her forehead against Kyung’s. “We’ll go as slow or as fast as you want. Everything happens on our terms. Together.”

Kyung smiled, a real one, wide and crooked and rare. “Two parties coming together in mutual agreement upon the proposed conditions,” she murmured, brushing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Now you’re speaking my language.”