Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When I was 13 years old, I fell in love for the first time. It was a short, soft-spoken girl with hair the color of wheat and big green eyes that broke into tears at as much as the thought of pain. She was kind, but she was too good for me. Summer dragged us along, we were too young to love like she deserved, like she could. 

The second time it was a boy, when I was 15. He was a year older than me and had dimples. His face is nearly scrubbed from my mind, what remains of my memory is this distinct cologne he would wear. A bottle of it sits idly in the bathroom cabinet, gathering dust, next to an expensive perfume that an aunt gave me when I graduated high school. I was supposed to save it for a special occasion, but five years of special occasions have passed since then. I haven’t even broken the plastic. 

By 18 I really can’t say much of what happened: ages 16 to 17 was all a blur of anger, bodies in the dark, the heavy smell of smoke buried in the fabric of my clothes, sore lips and honey. Even as I write this, I can still taste it; that honey. The distance of the sensation seems… strange, somehow. But I know, the one thing I know, with full certainty, even in that blur, in the volatile passion that was the end of my adolescence— there was him. Though he today seems to be more of a concept than a person, I knew him, like the ocean knows, by every crevice of his body. And he was horrible. He really was. The way he spoke, the way he left, the way he looked at me. The way he knew me; it was tragic. Our inevitable destruction was well-deserved, for the both of us.

Time does mend though. The five years did me some good. It did, or it ought to. I’m not sure if I feel better or simply feel less; but the bruises on my neck have long faded and my skin is well on its way to erase his touch entirely. Jihyo said every cell in my body is replaced every 7–10 years. Only 2 years to go.

This morning, I was supposed to be on a plane to another city across the country at dawn. But instead of getting out of bed, I just pushed myself upright, leaned back on the bedframe, stared at the luggage splayed open on the carpeted floor of my hotel room. An ironed black suit was rudely dumped on the open bag. I remained shirtless in bed. What good did it do for me now? Dressing up? Was I planning to show up in an expensive, albeit old, suit after five years like: 'I’m sorry for ignoring your many attempts at contacting me in the past half a decade, but I’m here now— all is forgiven, isn’t it?'

I glanced at my phone as it lit up on the nightstand. 

Are you planning on missing this one, too?

I picked it up, considering the message for a long moment before pressing the call-button and placing it on my lap on speaker.

“You think we’re on a calling basis all of a sudden?” Jihyo said once she picked up.

“After seven years, I’d sure hope so.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Are you wondering if I took you up on your offer to throw me down a cliff?”

“A girl can hope,” she returned, and said something else, though it was garbled by the noise in the background

“Is that any way to speak to the love of your life?”

She scoffed, “I thought you liked me, Hyunjin.”

“I do,” I almost smiled, “Keep going.”

She chuckled, I think. I couldn’t say, I could hear the midday traffic in the background. “Were you planning on joining me, or…?”

The phone showed half past noon. The second flight was at 2. I groaned, “Alright.”

“Excellent, I’ll be at the hotel in ten. If you’re not by the entrance by then I will head inside and drag you out by your hair.”

“Noted,” I replied, but not before she hung up the phone. I got to my feet, staring at the suit. I hated it. I really, really hated it.

I checked out at the reception and rolled my luggage down the hall, lit up by the sun through its tall windows along the opposite wall. I had to cover my eyes to keep from being entirely blinded as I exited. Jihyo sat at the bottom of the steps, glancing up as my shadow fell over her. Her hair was up in a high tight bun, held together by a long, golden pin she’d bought from Chinatown. It had engravings of sakura flowers along the side, though it was barely visible when she had it on. Small gold hoops decorated her ears and the gold pendant Nayeon had gifted her around her neck. 

She smiled, holding out a hand as she eyed me. “I haven’t seen you in a suit in a long while.”

I helped her to her feet, slipping off the jacket and folding it over my arm, planting a soft kiss on her forehead, “I take it you approve?”

“I’d prefer you in less clothes,” she whispered, running a hand through my barely tamed hair, “But I don’t mind. God, baby, you own a comb, don’t you?”

“You have a hair salon in that bag of yours,” I said, nodding at the suitcase at the end of the staircase, “I think I’ll be fine. Besides, I wouldn’t want to keep you waiting.”

Jihyo laughed, “Right. What a gentleman.”

I smiled, nodding, “I’m nothing if not punctual.”

“Need I remind you why we missed our transfer flight?”

“Ah.” I shook my head, “No, no. Don’t waste your voice.” 

She grinned, before skipping down the steps, grabbing her suitcase as she went. I leisurely followed, noticing the cuffs of my shirt. I had forgotten the cufflinks. I hadn’t worn them in ages, I knew they had cufflinks, but I couldn’t recall where I'd left them. But it was too late, Jihyo was already determinedly pushing down the street, so I followed, doing my best to ignore the inevitable destination. 

Chapter Text

Minho spent every Thursday in the library down the street from the school. His cousin, Dahyun, worked there, though they didn’t get much time to speak to each other while she was on the clock. The place was always almost crowded during the week, and only cleared up toward the end of her shift. He’d just take a seat at the nearest free table and read or study until people started leaving. That’s what he did that day. Read, that is. Studying seemed impossible as of late. He wasn't sure why. Finishing the book he’d been working through for the past week, he abandoned his things by the desk and slipped into one of the aisles. He dug out a pen from his pocket, scribbled something onto a Post-It and stuck it to the front page. After returning the book, he noticed the library, bustling just a couple of hours ago, had immediately quieted. He looked around, noticing Dahyun curled up on the bean bag chairs toward the corner of the library, where she had been sitting with the children. Her blonde hair was out of her bun, unfurled over her shoulders. Sana strolled out from between the shelves with an empty cart, noticing Minho, waving vaguely in his direction before glancing over at Dahyun. 

“My God,” she murmured, abandoning the cart and marching over to her. “ Dahyun . I keep telling you to take a break .”

Sana tried to wake her, but Iseul merely adjusted her position and kept sleeping.

“Don’t,” Minho said, as she made another attempt, “Not even an earthquake will wake her now.”

Sana groaned, rubbing her temples, “I leave for five minutes …” She gave a slight shake of her head, “Minho, do you mind?”

“Just leave her there,” he suggested. 

“I’m not doing that,” she replied.

“Why?”

“You’re not being helpful. Come on—” she crouched down next to her, grabbing her arm and swinging it over her shoulder, staggering upright, “Help… me… with this woman.”

“You’re wasting your energy,” Minho said, getting to his feet and moving over, catching Dahyun just as Sana slipped. He held her upright, looking at Sana, massaging her wrist on the ground. The hand-made beaded bracelet around her right wrist matched the one Dahyun had on her left, mismatched— the boxes with beads were neatly tucked beneath the coffee table next to the bean bags. “I know, it’s like her limbs become concrete when she’s asleep.”

She crossed her arms, “Dahyun… what am I to do with you?”

Dahyun murmured something unintelligible under her breath. Sana seemed even more disappointed somehow. 

“I’m getting the car,” she said, pushing to her feet. “Lock up— keys are on the cart.”

Minho managed to lock the door behind him, as he was half-carrying Dahyun, just as Sana pulled the car over to the sidewalk. She helped Minho get Dahyun into the car, then she indicated for him to take the seat next to Dahyun as she strapped her in. 

Getting into the driver’s seat, she glanced at them through the rearview mirror. “She’s a mess,” she muttered. She paused, considering the girl for a long moment, before readjusting the rear view mirror and pulling out of the parking lot. 

They drove past the school; the lights were all out. Even the ones on the third floor. 

Sana met his eyes through the mirror, “You okay, buddy?”

Minho nodded, adjusting Dahyun’s head on his shoulder, “I’m alright. Tired.”

“How did the test go?”

“Fine.”

“Just ‘fine’?” she asked, “You studied for weeks, didn’t you?”

“I did…” He redirected his attention out the window, noticing the soft patter of rain against the glass, “I got 94.”

“That’s amazing, Minho,” she said, “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“He got 100.”

She didn’t say anything for a long time. 

“You’re not the same people, Minho,” she said, after a while, and two wrong turns. “You’re not by any accounts worse than him because of some test.”

Minho didn’t reply. It was more than that. She knew it too. She didn’t say anything else.

By the time they pulled into the driveway of the apartment building, the patter had made way for thunder and torrential downpour. Sana told him to stay put as she ran for the trunk and pulled out an old umbrella. She held it over him and Dahyun as he carried her inside. 

He nearly slipped twice on the slick steps to the front door, beneath a big number 9. Sana took over for him and told him to unlock the door. Or, she didn’t tell him anything. She simply threw the keys, he caught them, unlocked and held open the door, almost automatic.

Sana’s wet hair clung to her face like seaweed; she ran long, slim fingers through the curls as they waited for the elevator. He would say she resembled his mother, but he couldn’t be sure if that was true. His memory of his mother was a fading, fluctuating thing. Sana combed through Dahyun’s hair, still sound asleep.

“You’re unbelievable,” she muttered. Minho smiled.

Once they got to the 5th floor, and Minho unlocked the third door to the right, Sana dragged Dahyun to their shared bedroom. The apartment only had two bedrooms, one slightly bigger than the other, and one communal room; kitchen, dining- and living room in one 25 square-meter space. 

Minho met Sana for the first time three years ago, when everything happened. Dad overdosed, Mom left town and suddenly Minho found himself on the doorstep to Dahyun’s apartment building with one measly duffel bag with whatever he could bring on such short notice. 

“Minho?”

His eyes snapped up to meet Sana’s, where she lingered in the doorframe. “Mm?”

“You okay?”

He kicked off his shoes, nodding slowly. “I’m fine.”

Slowly pulling the bedroom door to a close, she headed for the kitchen, hair still dripping wet; leaving a trail of water wherever she went.

“You hungry?”

“I’m fine.”

“Can you stop saying that?”

Minho paused right in front of his room. He turned his head toward her. “What?”

He watched as her resolve evanesced, her shoulders slumped slightly. “Listen, I know you’re— I…” She shook her head, “Never mind. Goodnight, kid. Should I wake you up tomorrow?”

“I’m—” he hesitated, gave a slight nod, and slipped into his room.

He was in bed for two hours before managing to fall asleep. He woke up a few hours later, around 2 a.m., dug in the drawer of his bedside table until he found the little jar of prescription melatonin, before slumping back into his pillows. He didn’t need water to swallow them anymore.

The moon shone through the cracked blinds of his window, drawing long, pale shards of light across his walls. It was all so quiet. He glanced at his wall, to the right of his bed, right next to his desk and the looming stack of AP textbooks, a little collage of Post-It notes and pages ripped out of diverse notepads. One stuck in the middle, the least creased, the newest addition.

I like the rain, too.

/ H

Chapter Text

Yeji Hwang has dealt with many bad habits throughout her life. Right before she was first diagnosed with anxiety she was a chronic nail assaulter. Her nails didn’t grow out right until she was 17. When she was 19 she had a problem with alcohol, especially wine. Her father owned a distillery and had all kinds of alcohol in their cellar. Being barely legal and enticed by the rebellious nature of underage drinking, the soothing sensation paired with the romanticisation of youthful destruction, one thing led to another and she ended up in rehab by the time she turned 20. Yet, through all of that, the worst habit she had dealt with, she never actually recovered from. 

“Yeji?”

She glanced over her shoulder, wiping off her soapy hands on her apron. The dishes had piled up in the sink for the past few days. They usually did before the time of the funeral. Washing them became almost like a rite of passage. Ryujin stood in the doorframe to Yeji’s bedroom. She was wearing one of Yeji’s old jerseys, from back when she played hockey. Nothing else.

Yeji smiled, “You really like that shirt,” she said.

Ryujin gave a tired chuckle, moving over to her by the kitchen sink. “How are you feeling?”

“Alright,” she replied as Ryujin threw her arms around her neck. Their faces were some inches apart. She still smelled like wine from the night before. If Yeji were honest, she couldn’t recall much. She assumed things went as they normally did. Ryujin had said they should get coffee and catch up. Coffee became wine, wine became bedsheets. This was one addiction she couldn’t quite quit. Ryujin kissed her, and the thoughts subsided. Yeji pulled away slightly, head tilted, considering her words for a moment. “Did you know this would happen?”

Ryujin’s brows furrowed, “What do you mean?”

Yeji untangled herself from her, and Ryujin, though slightly disheartened, backed away, leaning on the kitchen island instead. “I mean— it’s been days, radio silence. Then you text me out of nowhere and…”

Ryujin looked at her feet, “Yeji…”

She knew that tone. Yeji shook her head, returning to the dishes, “Are you hungry?”

Ryujin was quiet for some time. “Sure.”

“Eggs?”

“Benedict.”

“Mm.”

Yeji paused in front of the sink for a second, gripping the end of the counter. Suddenly, she felt Ryujin’s arms around her waist.

“Don’t be mad,” she whispered; Yeji almost shuddered at the feeling of her breath as they hit her neck.

“I’m not, Ryu.” Yeji turned, Ryujin kissed her again, long, slow, deliberate. God. She knew what she was doing.

She smiled, cupping Yeji’s face in her hands. “Leave the dishes to me, I’ll go get changed.”

Yeji blinked, “Shit, hold on.” She hurried to the calendar stuck to the fridge, “Right, Hyunjin—” Ryujin cocked her head, brow raised. “I’m picking up my brother and his girlfriend from the airport.”

“Hyunjin, yeah. He’s coming? Haven’t seen that guy in a while.”

“He’s been studying abroad since—” Yeji paused. “Graduation.”

Ryujin didn’t reply, just kept looking at her. Yeji felt like she was waiting, for some reason.

“Raincheck on Benedict, then?” Ryujin said finally.

Yeji pressed her lips together, giving a slight dip of her head in response. “Sorry.”

She shook her head, “No worries. You’re dressed, right? I’ll lock the door when I leave.” She threw a glance around the living room, “Clean up a little here, too.”

“You still have the keys?”

“Mm.”

Yeji knew she should ask for them back. She knew. Instead, Yeji threw on her jacket, sparing a last look at the girl. Ryujin met her eyes and nodded toward the door, “Go ahead.”

Yeji got into her beat-up blue Volkswagen and pulled out of the garage, finally getting a look at herself in the rearview mirror. Her makeup from last night was still somewhat intact, but her lipstick was smudged, almost like bruises along her jawline and neck. Luckily, she had wet wipes in the glovebox, she cleaned herself up as she drove. 

Hyunjin’s transfer was supposed to land at around 3 p.m. She reached the airport a little later, but knowing Hyunjin’s tendency toward tardiness, she wasn’t necessarily worried. She waited in the arrivals hall, seated in the nearest café. She hadn’t had anything for breakfast, but she couldn’t stomach more than a cup of tea. Yeji doubted she had eaten more than one meal a day for the past week. She hadn’t even gone to work for most of it; her manager had called her once a day since she called in sick. 

“You just usually don’t skip work, is everything okay? Have you gone to the hospital?”

“No, it’s just a cold,” she lied. “I’ll be back next week.”

Then she’d hung up the phone and hadn’t responded since, except in the occasional three-syllable text messages. 

Yeji stared at the big, rectangular exit, the word Arrivals in big, bold, yellow letters right above. She hadn’t seen Hyunjin in person more than twice or thrice in the past few years, whenever she visited him in his new city. He was adamant about staying away from home. They called often, though never more than ten minutes at a time. She couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t hurt by his distance, though she’d never tell him as much. But she understood why. He might’ve been the one who ended up the most injured after everything that happened. She supposed the sisterly thing to do would be to be happy for him. And she was. 

They arrived about twenty minutes after she did. She watched as Hyunjin scanned the crowd before his eyes found her. His face broke into something of a smile. Jihyo was right at his heel, and so they remained, hand-in-hand.

“Look who decided to pay his sister a visit after a million years,” she grinned.

He pulled her into a tight hug, and she decided to forgive him. He was here now. He was home.

Chapter Text

“I didn’t know you played.”

Yuna looked up to find Yeji leaning on the doorframe. The afternoon light flitted through the blinds, the piano glinted in the sun. 

“Here and there,” she replied. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Yeji shrugged, “Do I need a reason to see my favourite junior?”

“I suppose not. Not that I mind at all,” she added.

“Mm.” Yeji strolled around the room, eyeing the instruments on the walls: guitars, trumpets, a violin. Her hands were clasped together behind her back as she scrutinised the interior. “Who are you hiding from?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“No,” Yeji said, plucking the strings of the bass tucked in the corner of the room. “Just to me.”

Yuna sighed, giving a slight shake of her head. “Professor Lee wants me to audition for that program he mentioned.”

Yeji’s eyes widened. “Music? Professor Lee told you to audition? Holy shit.”

“What?”

“Professor Lee has absolutely zero expectations for anyone in this school. He must see something special in you.”

Yuna couldn’t help smiling, despite her nerves, despite her existential dread. Seeing Yeji made things a lot less overwhelming. Her face had this gentleness to it; she couldn’t see why she thought she was so intimidating when she’d first seen her anymore.

Yeji got up on the platform where Yuna sat in front of the piano. The note sheets for Chopin’s Nocturne sat on the music desk. She didn’t need it, but she liked looking at the notes in the margin. She’d made a habit of bringing around her sister’s sheet music whenever she practised. It felt like she was more there when she played; it made her more aware of the way she was imitating her movements— that’s the only place she could find her anymore.

“How long have you been sitting in here?” Yeji asked, moving over to the window, cracking it open slightly. “Isn’t it about time you get some fresh air? It’s so stuffy on this floor.”

Yuna was hesitant. There might have been more than one reason she had sight refuge here. One reason might have followed Yuna into this room. 

“I think…” Yuna picked up her bag from the floor, swinging it over her shoulder, “I think I’ll head back to class. I just have Calculus and then I’m done for the day.”

“Lovely,” Yeji said, playfully ruffling Yuna’s hair as she cleaned up, “I’ve seen so little of you lately, I’ve missed you.”

Yuna would’ve replied quicker but at the sudden touch, something in her had short-circuited and she stilled. The light glimmered like fireflies in her eyes, her lips were slightly parted, they were so close . Yuna swallowed, forcing a smile.

“You too,” Yuna replied, falling to something of a murmur. She could only pray that her flustered state wasn’t all too visible. Yeji smiled, cupping the side of her face before her hand fell to her side and she spun around, heading for the door.

“Say hi to the others for me,” she said, pausing by the exit, “Especially Jisung, I saw him play yesterday. He has some explaining to do. I taught him better than to have sloppy aim like that.”

“I’ll relay the message,” Yuna said.

Yeji grinned, “See you ‘round.” Her auburn hair disappeared just like that. There seemed to be this prominent absence in the room from the second she left. An emptiness she only recognised from her sister’s bedroom. 

She looked at the sheet music. You’d know what to do, wouldn’t you?

Yuna stepped into the afternoon light after the last lesson of the day, eyes scanning the school courtyard. The basketball court was unseasonably crowded that day, Jisung and Hyunjin had made some bet and somehow the entire school had gotten involved. It became something of a public spectacle. Yuna skipped down the steps, following the freshly beaten path to the court. The court wasn't necessarily small, though she doubted it was meant to host four classes worth of students at once. She shimmied through the crowd, finally managing to the front of the group. A few people noticed her and stepped aside; she'd earned a bit of a reputation for befriending the seniors at school, so students her own age seemed to feel more distant from her. Aside from that, she had also stepped into the role of caretaker for the idiots that she calls friends.

She gripped the strap of her messenger bag, eyeing the players spread out on the court, especially the two morons in the centre, one loudly and obnoxiously expressing his grievances. Jisung was shouting at Hyunjin for something, while Chan stold between them, doing his best to mediate the situation. The other players stood in waiting, clearly not as passionate about the rivalry as the, what Yuna could only assume, team leaders were. 

“Yuna,” said number 16. Jeongin poked her shoulder where she stood. She hadn't noticed him until he stood next to her.

“Jeongin,” she returned. She nodded at the guys, “What now?”

“Jisung is losing.”

“Ah.”

“Yuna!” Another figure came sprinting toward her, big number 2 on a jersey that was far too big for her. Lia nearly tackled her with the force she collided with Yuna. She pulled away, excitedly showing off her jersey.

“Made the team?” Yuna asked.

“Temporarily,” a voice came from the closest bleachers, right behind her. Ryujin raised a hand in a wave, “Hi.” Her ankle was tightly wrapped in bandages, a couple of crutches leaning against the seat next to her.

“Ryujin twisted her ankle,” Lia explained, “So, I'm stepping in for her.”

“And she is inappropriately pleased with the arrangement,” Jeongin added.

Yuna's eyes lingered on Ryujin for a moment, before she looked back at Lia, vaguely amused but wholly distracted. Before she could respond, she heard someone call her name and her attention flickered back to the court. Hyunjin waved her over.

“Is this really what you missed Calculus for?” she asked, greeting Chan before he returned to the “judge's table” (the part of the bleachers reserved for Chan and the score counter).

Hyunjin grinned, pointing at her face, “How long are you going to spend with a frown like that?”

“As long as it takes for you two to get your act together,” she replied, nodding at the increasingly restless crowd, they were slowly filing out of the court’s metal fences. “Do you enjoy making yourself into a spectacle?”

Jisung, having finally calmed down, shrugged. “It's instinctive.”

“Right.” She adjusted the strap on the bag again. It was heavier than usual; she was carrying the books of three people in it. “Well, we have somewhere to be, don't we?”

Hyunjin glanced at his watch, “Right. Academy. Okay…” he threw a glance over his shoulder, “I think we have time for one more game, yeah?”

“Can't end on a tie, right?” Jisung beamed at her, head slightly tilted, “What do you say?”

“Between you and me, Felix could use a stand-in,” Hyunjin murmured, vaguely nodding in Felix's direction, where he stood, hunched over, panting beneath the basket. “He has the stamina of a koala.”

“Is that what I am to you people?” she replied, bemused. “Stand-in?”

“Pretty please?” Hyunjin budged her shoulder, “Blow off some steam.”

“Besides,” Jisung mused, “It'd be nice to actually have some competition.”

“You're so full of it,” Hyunjin said, rolling his eyes, pointing at the scoreboard. 54-38. To Hyunjin, she assumed. “What does that say?”

Yuna looked between the two boys, rigid, shoulder aching. 

They both turned to her, eyes round and expectant. 

Finally, she relented, turning to Felix, “Yo, Lee! Give me that jersey.”

Chapter Text

The memorial was in 26 hours. It had been 5 years since it happened and somehow every year the ache always lingered. Why was that? Why was he like this, as though 5 years had made virtually no difference. Here he was: still glued to his mattress, lump in his throat, beer cans discarded on the floor, much like his integrity. 

The last few days had passed fine, but it was like his throat was slowly closing in on itself. Last night, he and Changbin had passed the speakeasy downtown on the way from work and suddenly he’d found himself ordering for two, adjusting to the strobing light of the club. He didn’t remember how he got home, but as far as he could tell, the drinking hadn’t stopped there.

He didn’t have a problem, per se. He could usually stop drinking for months at a time but at the end of spring, it was like his limbs were ten times heavier. The memorial. Not all of them made it at a time, he only expected to see a few people; they had all lost contact over the years. Ironically, this was the only time he could expect to bump into them. There was some comfort to be found in it, empty faces, distant expressions. He got to hear about their lives, how things went on after high school. He got to practice lying, as though everything hadn’t slammed into a wall almost immediately. His parents had suggested he take some time off, and two gap years later, and community college, he managed to land an office job where Changbin worked, with his glowing recommendation, he worked as an administrative assistant at a furniture company, Simwoon. He didn’t like it much, but it paid enough to land him a small condo in town, so he had no real reason to complain.

A banging on the door of said condo woke him up from his half-awake daze and he peered up, narrow-eyed at the door from where he was lying on the floor. He had a bedroom, but the mattress was closer to the entrance. Jeongin had dropped by after he’d driven into town for the memorial. He got there quite late, and he didn’t have the keys to his parents’ place, so he crashed at Jisung’s until morning.

Within minutes, he heard the guest shuffling outside of his door, presumably to get the spare key from under the welcome mat and listened as they unlocked the door. He probably should’ve been more concerned, but he already had some idea of who it was. And he was right: the door slammed open and there stood Yuna, in jeans and a black sweater, marching inside, his name halfway out her mouth until she spotted him on the floor.

“Dear God, you fucking loser.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

“It’s 3 in the afternoon, you moron,” she said, scanning his floor with a deep frown on her face, “Changbin said you’d gone out, I didn’t think you’d spiral.”

“Why are you being so loud…” he murmured, pushing himself upright. His head was throbbing so hard he nearly slumped back down.

“I’m talking normally,” she replied, turning to the kitchen, audibly digging around in there before she returned with a trash bag. “I thought you got your shit together,” she muttered, scooping up the wrappers, empty chip bags, cans, bottles, the like. “Your house looks like a garbage dump.”

“Some would call it hipster.”

“Some would call it disgusting,” she noted, picking up a banana peel, eyebrow raised, “Get up. Take a shower.”

“Look at you, taking care of me.”

“What did I just say? ”

“Yeah, yeah,” he drawled, wobbling as he pushed himself to his feet, “Going, I’m going…”

Jisung slipped into the bathroom, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror before promptly turning away. He looked like he belonged in a garbage dump. 

He pulled on the robe and returned outside. Yuna was making breakfast. The living room was cleaned up, the trash bag sat tied up by the door. He poked his head into the kitchen. The scent of eggs and bacon wafted into the hallway, along with a gust of air from the open window. Yuna glanced up and sighed exasperatedly.

“You’re dripping,” she groaned, “Can you do anything right?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a pain in the ass?”

“Nobody who isn’t already a pain in the ass,” she replied pointedly, “Get dressed. You’re eating and then we’re leaving.”

“Leaving for where?”

She stared at him. “Not funny.”

“What?”

Her brows furrowed, “Are you serious? The memorial .”

“That’s tomorrow,” he replied, crossing his arms, “Changbin said so.”

“Changbin is an idiot,” she said, “The memorial is in an hour.” She paused, watching the eggs, lips pursed. 

“What is it?”
She shook her head, “Nothing. Get dressed.”
“No, tell me.”

She didn’t look at him, only got the spatula and flipped the bacon. “I can’t believe you forgot.”

After having him change clothes three times, Yuna all but shoved him out the door. They got into her sedan and drove through town until she pulled into the highway. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Yuna glanced at him through the rearview mirror. He shrugged, directing his attention to the window. They drove over the bridge of the Han River, glittering beneath the sunlight. 

“Is that all I get?” she said, “Do I need to hold you at gunpoint for you to get your act together? I thought you were sober.”

“I am,” he replied, “I just… I needed to blow off some steam.”

She returned her attention to the road. “Whatever.”

Jisung didn’t like to see Yuna upset, but what could he do? Couldn’t ask her not to be. He couldn’t blame it on the memorial either. She was also in pain. He could tell by the look on her face when she mentioned it. He’d checked his phone and found a dozen missed calls, when she wanted to see if he needed a ride.

She parked by the side of the street because the driveway was practically clogged with cars. Once she stopped by the pavement, she remained still, hand on the steering wheel. Jisung was about to open the door when she said:

“Jisung. I need to tell you something.”

He paused, brow raised. Her voice had fallen to this rigid, distant tone. “What?”

She looked up, meeting his eyes. “Yeji called me earlier, I… Hyunjin is coming tonight.”

Chapter Text

“How did it go?”

The students gradually filed into the classroom; Friday morning. The results from the admissions exam came in yesterday and today they were pinned on the corkboard in the hallway. Hyunjin hadn’t checked. He was distracted by something else.

“Well?” Felix said, poking his shoulder. “What did you get?”

“Dunno.”

Felix rolled his eyes, “Someone is cocky.” He threw a look over his shoulder, eyes snagging on Minho, seated by the window, before he returned his attention to Hyunjin, “What’s your number?”

“17-04-1443,” Hyunjin recited slowly, leaning back on his seat as he reached out to nudge Minho’s shoulder, “Hey, Minho.” Minho plucked out his earbuds, eyes narrowed at him, “What’d you get?”

Minho considered him for a long moment, before returning his attention to his book. “94,” he replied. “Go ahead and gloat.”

“Why would I gloat? I don’t even—” Hyunjin paused, “You’ve checked the scores, haven’t you? Fe—”

“Hyunjin!” Felix interrupted as he came sprinting back, “100.”

Hyunjin scoffed, grinning at Minho. “And Hwang pulls ahead.”

“You got lucky,” Minho grumbled, “Or have you forgotten Calculus?”

Hyunjin cupped his face in a hand, leaning his elbow on his desk, “You look adorable defeated,” he mused. 

“Fuck off,” he returned placidly, though his expression visibly hardened.

“Alright, alright.” Hyunjin smiled, “You’re a real sore loser, aren’t you?”

Minho gave a light, annoyed shake of his head, before putting on his earbuds and resuming his reading. 

It felt like every time Hyunjin spoke to him, Minho hated him more. He wasn’t sure if it was endearing or offensive. Professor Kim returned and the students quickly found their seats. Felix returned to his and Jisung took his next to Hyunjin.

“Hwang,” he said under his breath, eyes ahead. “The seniors are going on a field trip today, the court is ours for the afternoon.”

“Are you prepared to get your ass kicked?”

“Cocky as ever,” Jisung mused, “Bet.”

“Are you referring to the one you’re losing?”

“I’m not losing ,” he insisted, “You know what they say about slow and steady.”

“You’re slow and steadily losing, sure.”

“Are you down or not?”
Hyunjin chuckled, “Alright.”

“Hwang, Han.” Professor Kim stood with his arms crossed, “Something to share with the rest of the class?”

“Oh— No, sir. Professor.”
Hyunjin did his utmost not to start laughing. Jisung kicked him beneath the table. Hyunjin’s eyes lingered on him, and there was something unsettling about him. Something Hyunjin just couldn’t pinpoint. He gave a light shake of his head, deciding to at least pretend to focus on the lesson. He didn’t. Instead his attention drifted to his bag on the floor. As soon as the lesson was over, he decided to skip History and hurried down the steps of the main entrance toward the library.

The door gave a light chime as he entered. The library was relatively big, but the interior was thoughtlessly organised across the floor, giving it a more quaint look. He slipped into the nearest aisle, as he dug around in his own backpack. He felt oddly secretive about the whole ordeal, as though he was doing something criminal. At a library. In the middle of the day. He found the book, Yolk , by Mary Choi and flipped it open to its first page. A yellow Post-It note that read, in long, slopey handwriting: 

It’s raining and I thought of you. I know we haven’t met yet, but I thought you should know.

PS: I’m reading Heaven by Mieko Kawakami now. I quite like it, I think you would, too.

/ L

Hyunjin smiled, then eyed the bookshelves for some sign of the book. He had come by once a day for the past week, waiting for it to return. 

“Heaven, heaven…” Hyunjin glanced at the note again, “Kawakami…” He located the K-section and after five minutes of intense glaring, he finally found it. Heaven in big, white letters on the front. He flicked it open, a new Post-It beneath the title page: 

A family member of mine, my cousin, has lived with her best friend for the past year. I’ve never heard them tell each other ‘i love you’. They do, though, I think. I can feel it, sort of.  I got to thinking about you— I haven’t known you for a year yet, but I feel like I care about you dearly. Why is that?

PS: I’m reading Almond by Won-pyung Sohn next. Write to me when you finish Heaven, I want to hear what you think.

/ L

Hyunjin smiled, scribbling a reply on a new Post-It and sticking it to the front page before returning Yolk to its original place.

I liked Yolk. I’m excited to read Heaven, too. I want to take this opportunity to recommend another book for you: The Sky is Everywhere by Jandy Nelson. It reminded me of you.

As for your question… I suppose it is because I know you, and you know me. I care about you, too. I hope we can meet one day. I’ll recognise you. I promise.

/ H

Hyunjin considered the new book curiously. It was rather short, shorter than the things “L” would usually read. He went to the librarian, a young woman with long, black hair and sharp eyes, and asked once again:

“Do you know who borrowed this book before me?”

And like usual, the librarian checked and told him: “It hasn’t been lent out for months.”

Hyunjin stepped back into the sunlight, walking the rest of the way back to school grounds. Jisung and some classmates he’d probably convinced to skip Calculus. Felix spotted him as they walked and beamed as he waved him over. He held up his jersey, with the big number 21 on it; Felix wore his number 14.

He slipped it on as he entered the court, dumping his bag by the bleachers. Ryujin, Lia and Chaeryeong sat there, waving at him as he approached them. He returned the greeting, turning, startled by Jisung who was suddenly in front of him.

Jisung, number 69, smiled, “Look who decided to make an appearance. Almost thought you were gonna ditch me.”

“And pass up a chance to humble the Han Jisung? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They split into teams; Hyunjin with Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin, and Lia (Ryujin sprained her ankle a few days ago) and Jisung with Wooyoung, Changbin, Chaeryeong and San.

“Jisung,” Chan called, indicating for him to pass the ball. Jisung did so, and Chan stood in the middle of the court, prepared to start. “Ready?”

Hyunjin nodded. Jisung did the same. 

He threw the ball straight up in the air, and Hyunjin caught it with ease— just as quickly, the ball was through the net. Catching it again, he turned to Jisung, smirking, pointing right at his face, “See, that expression, that look? That’s why I do this.”

“You mean you like my face?”

“Mm,” Hyunjin chuckled, passing the ball to him. “Alright. Your ball.”

Chapter Text

Jihyo really hated this town. She had acted as though this wasn’t the case in front of Hyunjin, but she did. It was like a physical reminder of everything that went wrong, everything that did and didn’t happen. Her youth felt like an open wound when she was here. That being said: she had visited before. For Nayeon’s sake mostly, but for the others, too. She showed up for the memorial a couple of times too. Both times, without Hyunjin. They hadn’t disclosed their relationship to anyone else, not that the opportunity for it necessarily came up. The only person from her past she had contact with was Nayeon. The most ‘contact’ she’d had with the others were through the sporadic Facebook congratulations on her birthday. Nayeon knew, though, and Jihyo doubted she would’ve relayed this information to the others.

Nayeon kept contact with the others, mostly because she stayed in town in order to live close to her grandfather. That’s the only way Jihyo had any clue what their lives looked like after high school. But now she was back, and she was seeing them again. If Nayeon is to be believed, she would see all of them again. All at once. The idea was nearly nauseating. 

They got a lift from Yeji, Hyunjin’s twin sister, to their hotel. Their father passed away shortly after graduation and his mother has lived in a retirement home since.  Since Hyunjin didn’t want to burden his sister, he booked a hotel room for the next couple of weeks. Jihyo suspected it also had to do with him trying to be inconspicuous, to avoid bumping into someone he might know. She didn’t point this out, though.

Yeji, though sharing his face, shared none of Hyunjin’s mannerisms. Her body language was more open, her voice a little fuller. Hyunjin seemed a lot more withdrawn compared to her. When they arrived, Hyunjin hugged her and asked about her life and the like, but he seemed a bit stiff. As far as she remembered, the last time she’d met Yeji was just a few months ago, back in January, when she was visiting them for New Year’s. They had dinner and walked around the city while waiting for the fireworks. She’d stayed for a little over a week before heading back home. 

“Jihyo,” Yeji said suddenly, adjusting her rearview mirror slightly from Hyunjin to her. “How have you been? You’re working on your doctorate?”

“Mm, medical,” she responded. “I’ll apply for residency soon.”

“Wow.” Yeji shook her head in disbelief, “You’re incredible. It must be exhausting.”

“You get used to it,” she replied.

“Have you always wanted to be a doctor?”

“No,” Jihyo said slowly, “I just thought it would be challenging.”

She laughed, “So quintessential Jihyo to commit to a 6-year program out of spite.”

Hyunjin chuckled next to her and she glanced in his direction. She knew what he was thinking: Sound familiar?

She rolled her eyes, “Well, I’m nothing if not diligent.”

“Mm, I can tell.” Yeji came to a slow halt at a red light, massaging her wrist, “I’m still working on my master’s.”

“Economics, was it?”

“That’s the one.” 

“Hyunjin told me that you considered joining a conservatory after graduation,” Jihyo said, “Do you still paint?”

“Oh, I—” Yeji met her eyes through the mirror and then returned her attention to the road. “Ah, I was young. Here and here, sure. Not as often as before. You have to make a living after all.”

“Right.” Jihyo glanced at her phone. The memorial was in a little less than two hours. It felt like Yeji was driving faster than she had been earlier, her grip around the steering wheel tightened— her fist had paled.

Ten minutes later, they found themselves outside the hotel. Yeji unlocked the trunk and helped Jihyo with her luggage. 

“I’ll see you guys later, then?” Yeji said, mostly to Hyunjin.

He swallowed, nodding slightly. “Yeah.”

She smiled and gave a nod in response. Then she got back in her car and drove away, leaving no more than car exhaust and the faint smell of her perfume lingering behind her. 

They checked in, getting a room on the third floor. The room wasn’t that much smaller than their bedroom back home. It fit a king-sized bed, two nightstands, a closet and a miniature kitchen tucked in the corner of the room. 

Hyunjin threw the jacket on the bed, slouching in turn. Jihyo chuckled, gently closing the door behind them. It made a faint beeping sound as she did and as she slipped the keycard into its slit next to the door the AC began its steady humming.

Hyunjin groaned, covering his face with his hands. “This is going to be awful.”

Jihyo took a seat next to him on the bed, patting his leg in a somewhat comforting manner, though she really found the sight rather amusing.

He peered up at her through his fingers, “I can’t believe you’re laughing at a time like this.”

“I don’t see why you’re so anxious. They’re your friends. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you, even if you haven’t talked for a while.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, I’m sure they’ll be happy. At a memorial.”

She sighed, lying down on the bed, taking his hand. “It’ll be fine,” she said.

“And if it isn’t?”

“We have this hotel, and you have me.”

He made a sharp exhale, something of a laugh, she supposed. He turned to face her, taking her hand to his lips. 

“What would I do without you?”

“Don’t try to find out,” she smiled.

He nodded, planting a quick kiss on her mouth in response. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Chapter Text

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Yeji mused, not even looking up from the canvas before her. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

Ryujin chuckled, sliding her bag down by the door of the studio. Yeji usually occupied the space in the afternoons, working on her portfolio. Canvases lined the wall, paint buckets in the dozens stacked on floors and aggressively stained shelves. 

“When have I ever left you hanging?”

“I can name a few times,” Yeji hummed, pushing back a stray lock of hair from in front of her face. She hadn’t managed to avoid staining herself; different shades of blue dotted her forearms, cheeks and right above her brow. Yeji looked up and seemed to only then remember the state of Ryujin’s ankle. “How’s the deadly injury?”

Ryujin raised a brow, and Yeji made a dismissive wave, “Joking. Joking… Sort of.” She grinned, “I’m happy you’re here. Come here, I did something.”

The afternoon sunlight had dimmed since Ryujin left the kids by the court. It was a bit disheartening, watching them while she couldn’t exactly use her mobility to its fullest. But on the plus side, she had more time to spend with Yeji. Even if that time mostly consisted in watching her paint. It was enamouring, somehow. Watching her eyes squinted in concentration for the slightest of brushstrokes, the way she bit her tongue, arched her back as though it would make it easier. 

“Ryujin.” Yeji adjusted the easel slightly as Ryujin moved over with her crutches. “What do you think?”

It was a woman with long, dark hair, coming out of the bright blue water as though she wore it as a robe. She looked somewhat familiar, but Ryujin couldn’t quite place her.

“Who is it?”

“Well, Professor Baek gave us creative liberties, as long as it had to do with water and mythology,” she said, “This one’s a bit of a derivative of Boucher, I suppose… I thought of Venus.”

Ryujin nodded slowly, “Yeah. It looks nice. How long have you been working on this one?”

“God, how long…?” She massaged her neck, shrugging, “I don’t know. A couple of days, maybe. I was going to do something less cliché, but… ah, well. I’ll pass.”

“Mm.” Ryujin smiled, “You did great. I’m sure Baek will love it.”

“She’s a big fan of oils,” she agreed. Yeji paused, considering Ryujin for a little while before it seemed she returned to herself. “How are you? You seem… off.”

“Me? Oh—” Ryujin shook her head, “No, not at all— I mean, I’m okay.” 

Yeji pulled a stool next to her, and Ryujin, gracefully — nearly tipping over — sat down. 

“What’s on your mind?”

Ryujin looked at the painting, still incomplete. The body of the woman wasn’t entirely filled in; neither was the surrounding background. It was as though Yeji had carved out the white silhouette out of the foam of the ocean. 

Ryujin couldn’t quite place what was wrong, like this pin-prick feeling in her chest. She felt stuck.

“I—” She landed on something less difficult. “I was wondering if you were going to Nayeon’s this weekend?”

Yeji’s brows furrowed, as though she had expected something else. Sometimes it felt like Yeji saw something in her face before even Ryujin knew what it was. 

“Yeah,” she said after a few seconds of just looking at Ryujin as though her face was a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve, “Yeah, she invited me.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

Yeji was a bit better at making friends than Ryujin was. She knew people from all kinds of classes— Nayeon studied Sculpting (Yeji and Nayeon shared a lot of classes); Jihyo, her best friend, Natural Sciences; Dahyun did Architecture. They were just a couple of years older than the other kids; occasionally, they’d have overlapping lunch and recess times, or they’d stay behind after school on the court. 

“Do you want to pre-game at mine?” Yeji asked. 

Ryujin chuckled, “You have a problem.”

“What?”

“Does your father not notice the bottles mysteriously vanishing from your cellar?”

“I’m responsible,” Yeji pouted, “He trusts me.”

“Right.” Ryujin nodded slightly, “Yeah, I’m down. Eight on Friday?”

“It’s a date,” Yeji said.

Ryujin smiled, “Yeah.”

Ryujin hitched a ride from Sana in the afternoon. Sana lived down the street from Ryujin and her father; they usually just greeted each other in passing. Sana worked at the library with Dahyun, they shared an apartment in what could only be described as the slums. Granted, it had cleaned up significantly in the past couple of years, but it wasn’t the nicest part of town. It was quaint, though, not much happened, some idiots and their entourages would hang around convenience stores nearby and be obnoxiously loud here and there, but otherwise it was quite an uneventful street she lived on. 

“How is your father?” Sana asked halfway through the trip. 

Ryujin raised a brow, still fiddling with her keys, “My dad? What about him?”
“Dahyun mentioned that your father was a little sick?” Sana glanced up at her through the rearview. “She hasn’t seen much of him lately.”

“Oh.” Ryujin stared at her keys for a long moment before replying, “He collapsed at work last week, so he’s been on bed rest. I’m picking him up from the hospital tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Sana blinked, staring ahead as though processing. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. He’s just been trying to rest up. He’ll be fine soon.”

“Yeah.”

She didn’t say anything else for the rest of the trip. 

Sana dropped her off in front of the complex. The front door stood ajar; it had been acting up for the past few days, and maintenance hadn’t gotten around to fixing it— they kept it open during the day. After 10 p.m., it could only open from the inside. The elevator creaked uncomfortably as it pulled her up to the fifth floor. She hated this place. She wanted to leave so badly that the sight of a bus or a train that went to other cities was all she could do not to get on and never look back. She couldn’t leave her father alone, so she didn’t.

Ryujin carefully unlocked the door and kicked off her shoes, but stopped in her tracks, spotting an envelope on the floor. She ripped it open; another reminder. They were a couple of months behind on rent. She marched over to the kitchen, shoving the envelope and its contents in the garbage bin before throwing herself onto the couch. She thought about Yeji, about her painting. Why am I thinking of her at a time like this? Ryujin buried her face in the pillow, trying to empty her head of thoughts, like her father had told her to.

Eventually, she got to her feet and snuck into the second bedroom. It was empty, of course. The bed was made, and the lights were on. For some reason, for the past week, she’s always expecting someone to be there.

Chapter Text

Jihyo had been right in the end, it had been fine. We had shown up a little earlier than when the memorial was to start. Some guests had already arrived, like Lia, Ryujin and Chaeryeong, who presumably came together. Dahyun and Sana had yet to make an appearance. Neither had their classmates, Junhan and Jooyeon. Granted, the latter weren’t necessarily close to the rest of the group, but Junhan had dated Seungmin for the better part of his senior year, so he tended to linger around us for his sake. God knows what became of them after graduation. 

Jeongin and Seungmin showed up just twenty minutes or so after Jihyo and I did. I explained our relationship, and the guys, although elated, seemed very startled. Our history explained it well enough, I suppose, but still. Between everything that happened from Minho, Jisung, and the aftermath of that collision— I guess it made sense. The echo of that destruction seemed to linger in the room with every exchange. What scared me the most was that familiarity, from the second we drove into that town. The roads were the same, I remembered every dip in the pavement, the graffiti on the walls, the worn-down buildings at the edges of the town. Even the smells were the same, gasoline and petrichor. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it; it felt like slipping into old skin, too tight, worn down, battered, stained with the past. I had left for a reason, and somehow, the same reasons, although I hated to admit it, pulled me back. 

Jihyo handled most of the talking after they showed, while I blended more into the background. It was comfortable, spectating. I lingered in the kitchen, in the back of the chapel, for most of that time, assisting Chan as he set up everything for the ceremony. Chan had organised it this time, just as all the other times; they’d booked a time in the closest chapel, made something of a shrine on the altar with photos of him and, since Lia was some strange mix of superstitious, religious and agnostic, fruit offerings lining the length of the surface.

Jihyo had been right; it was fine. It really was fine. Until the door opened for the last time, and it was almost like seeing ghosts. I hated how little had changed.

Jisung stood in the entrance, Yuna rigid at his side, and I could see why, I could feel why. The anger, the resentment, it was all so clearly plastered on his face, it nearly radiated off of him.

His eyes swept over the crowd until they snagged on him in the corner of the chapel. I thought he was going to do something, march up to me and beat me bloody, maybe. Scream at me, curse my name, my entire bloodline. Just something . Anything, anything other than look me in the eyes and suddenly relax, deflate and turn away. Somehow, that hurt more than any blow he could’ve dealt.

“Baby?” Jihyo placed a tentative hand on my shoulder, “Hyunjin? You okay?”

I swallowed, giving a slight nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

“It’s alright, just…” Jihyo glanced around, leaning a bit closer as though to make sure nobody else could hear, “Just ride this out for another couple of hours and then we can go home, okay? We can leave after the ceremony.”

She seemed about as eager as me to leave. 

I don’t quite recall much after that moment. I don’t remember if or when the rest of the band came. I don’t remember much of the ceremony. It’s been a while since then anyway. But I do remember two things: the way it felt like I was grieving far more than the boy in the photos on the altar; and the way at the very mention of his name seemed to cut the room open, as though Chan had ripped open time and space with the mere acknowledgment of his absence.

“Felix would have been happy to see all of you together again, after…” Chan glanced at me and Jihyo, “such a long time.”

The ceremony passed leisurely. We found ourselves at a restaurant downtown, just down the block from our hotel. It was a hotpot place we used to visit, toward the end of our last year of high school. It was a pretty quaint place, reeked of broth and kimchi; the decor was as vintage as they come, and could not have more clearly been decided by an elderly woman. Said elderly woman still remembered our order. 

The group of us occupied about five four-person tables. Dahyun and Sana showed up in the end, as did Junhan and Jooyeon. The juniors (just using that word feels nostalgic somehow); Lia, Chaeryeong, Yuna, Jisung, Changbin, Jeongin, Seungmin occupied one half of the table-arrangement, and the seniors (of the ones that showed): Nayeon, Yeji, Dahyun, Junhan, Jooyeon, Sana and Chan kept to the other. Though they often spoke over each other's heads, the natural division kind of occurred on its own. As for me and Jihyo, though we would probably usually keep to the senior side of the tables, the distance I had drawn between myself and this place seemed to echo in the space between us, now that I stood among them. Yeji waved me over to their side and Jihyo and I slipped in between Yeji and Nayeon.

“It’s been a while,” Chan said, as I got seated, handing me a bowl of rice, nodding toward the side-dishes. “Go on.”

“Yeah,” I replied, handing the rice to Jihyo. I hadn’t been able to stomach much for the past few hours. Jihyo gave me a look, and I smiled slightly.

Shouldn’t you eat?

I will. Later.

She nodded and fell into dialogue with Nayeon at her side.

“Hyunjin,” Yeji said, nudging my side, “I ordered extra kimchi for you.”

“Oh— Thank you.”

“What have you been up to all these years?” Chan resumed, and curious eyes drew over to me, even from the junior tables.

“I—” I glanced from Chan to Yeji to Jisung, and I swear I forgot how to speak. Until Jihyo took my hand, squeezed it hard, and I returned to myself. “I’ve been studying…mostly. Working, here and there.”

“Oh? What do you study?”

“Computer science,” I said.

“But it’s looking like he’ll join my line of work soon enough,” Jihyo quipped, pinching my shoulder. “Hyunjin was considering bioengineering for next term, weren’t you?”

I nodded, chuckling slightly. “Jihyo was overjoyed. I’m sure she thinks all the computer talk is boring.”

“No, no…” Jihyo paused, squinting, considering her answer, “Maybe.”

“Understandable,” Junhan said, pulling his angry red hair into a ponytail, “Who needs to know that much about tech anyway?”

“You’re only saying that because you have someone else to do it for you,” Jooyeon returned, eyes narrowed at him before he turned back to me, “Sounds cool. What got you into that in the first place? You were so good at drawing, I thought you’d go to a conservatory or something—” he nodded to Yeji, “Both of you.”

I met eyes with Yeji, who shrugged and picked up her beer, “Some of us would like to be employed, Jooyeon, dear.”

He snorted, “Yeah, how’s the employed life, Yeji?”

“How’s destitution?”

“Not there yet,” Junhan grinned. “Believe it or not, we knuckleheads did try to study when we were shipped off to that school.”

“And would you look at that!” Nayeon clapped her hands, picking up her mug and raising it for a toast. “He can string sentences together now.”

“ And ,” Dahyun chirped, “They’ve got a gig at a club this weekend!”

“There she goes,” Sana mused, “I swear you’re their only form of advertisement.”

“Hey!” Jooyeon pouted, “We have fans.”

“They do!” Dahyun insisted, “You should’ve seen them last week. The bar was so crowded you could barely get a photo.”

“She climbed on my back,” Sana sighed, massaging her shoulder, “and permanently altered the shape of my skeleton.”

“Would you prefer someone else to break your back?”

“ Dahyun !” Junhan exclaimed, utensils clattering onto the table. “Jesus Christ, can you go be gay somewhere else?”

I just stared at them for a bit; that banter, the unsolicited quips, the ease of it all. I hadn’t realised how much I missed it. Conversations lightly steered toward more common things, and slowly but steadily, the rest of the tables got involved. Jisung still didn’t say a word to me, and I couldn’t say that I wasn’t at least a little relieved. Over this time, I noticed Chan glancing over his shoulder at the door every few minutes. 

“Chan?”

Chan looked toward me, eyebrows raised, “Yeah?”

“You alright?”

Chan blinked, looked at the door and then back at me. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Minho’s not coming?” Nayeon asked, mostly to Dahyun.

Dahyun seemed hesitant, glancing between Jisung and me before responding, “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him in a while.”

“Ever since he moved out, it’s been a bit harder to reach him,” Sana said. “He’s wrapped up in school stuff most of the time.”

“I see.” Nayeon seemed disheartened but didn’t say anything else. She clearly hadn’t heard anything from him either.

The night passed like that, slowly, almost lethargically. By the time we rose, it was close to eight, and the rain was slamming mercilessly against the glass. 

“Does anyone need a ride?” Sana asked, “Designated driver here. We have room for three!” Dahyun poked Jihyo, “You two? Where are you staying? With Yeji?”

“Oh, we got a hotel just a couple of blocks from here,” Jihyo replied. “We’ll be alright.”

“Alright then. Can we expect you on Saturday?”

“Saturday?”

“Well, we were all gonna stop by Junhan and Jooyeon’s performance. You’ll stick around until then?”

Jihyo seemed hesitant, glancing over at me. I nodded slightly, “Yeah. We’ll be there.”

Jihyo gave me a look.

Are you sure?

I smiled. Her eyes almost glittered in this light. 

I’m okay.

Then she nodded, giving Dahyun and Sana a hug goodbye. “See you on Saturday.”

Dahyun beamed, right before hurrying after a particularly sure-footed Sana with Lia, Chaeryeong and Ryujin through the rain.
Bidding the last of them goodbye, I, peering through the storm, decided walking was out of the question. I stepped aside to order a cab and stood near the kitchen entrance and was suddenly hit with this painful wave of nostalgia. The scent of the food wafted into the hallway, and all the nights hunched over japchae post-exam, lingering here for just another minute outside, soaking in the fleeting time flickered across my mind. Where did all the time go?

The cab pulled over by the pavement a few minutes later, and I ushered Jihyo through the rain, jacket over our heads as we climbed inside.

I gave a shaky exhale, slowly giving way to a chuckle. 

“What’s with you?” she asked, giving the driver the address. I turned to her, watched her for a long time before simply going:

“I love you.”

Jihyo chuckled, head tilted, “Why all of a sudden?”

“Your eyes,” I replied. “Your eyes are so pretty.”

She leaned over, kissed me, cupping my face in her hands. “I love you more. Now, sleep. You look horrible.”

I nodded slowly, slumping on her shoulder, finding her hand and holding tight, as though it could will time into stagnancy. Please, don’t become a memory.

Chapter Text

Minho was never one for parties. Falling into the pace of your typical loner kid felt easier: he read, he wrote sometimes, he kept to himself. Even after he found out about the party, from Jeongin and then Felix (two of the only kids at school that didn’t find his standoffish demeanour off-putting), he was very reluctant (refusing) to join. Though Felix was adamant that he come, mostly because his lack of social skills almost rivalled Minho’s, Minho remained stubborn. 

“Come on, Minho,” Felix groaned, legs folded beneath him where he sat on Minho’s bed, watching him pleadingly, “Please, are you really ditching me?”
“You can go with Jeongin,” Minho said, flipping through some old notebooks. He had been putting off cleaning the bookshelf for a few weeks. The room was small, and dust gathered quickly, but he’d been too tired to.

“He’s horrible in social settings,” Felix complained, “Besides, he’ll probably scamper off to his other —” he said ‘other’ with so much disdain that it was almost amusing— “friends.” 

“You know how I feel about that stuff,” Minho said, blowing off a thin layer of dust on one of his old hardcovers.

“You don’t have to drink!” Felix exclaimed, “I won’t either!”

“You’re not allowed to,” Minho corrected. “Still a few months left until then.”

Felix pouted, slouching into Minho’s pillows, “ Fine . Who cares? But Minho—” Felix sighed, “What if I want you there?”

Minho looked up at him, “What?”

“We never hang out anymore.”

“Sure, we do—”

“School doesn’t count,” Felix said, “Besides, even then you avoid me.”

“I’m not avoiding you , I’m—”

“Avoiding Hyunjin,” he finished tiredly, “Yeah, I know.”

Minho bit his lip, glancing down at the small pile of books in his lap, “I’m sorry that I’ve been distant lately. I’ve just been preoccupied with—” Minho paused. Felix nodded slightly, eyes glued to the opposing wall.

“Listen,” Felix said, “Believe me, Minho, I understand. But you can’t spend your teenage years locked in your room. Do what you want, but time will pass anyway.”

Felix glanced at his watch, “Alright, I gotta go get changed,” he said, pushing himself off the bed, pausing at the door, expectantly.

Minho considered him for a moment, then shook his head.

Felix sighed, “Goodnight, Minho.”

Then he slipped out, gently shutting the door behind him. 

Minutes later, there was a knock on his door, and Minho looked up, expecting Felix again. But no, it was Dahyun. Her hair was wrapped in a towel, and she was leaning on the doorframe in her sweats. 

“Minnie?”

Minho returned his attention to his books, “Mm?”

"Shouldn't you get ready? Nayeon’s expecting us at five.”

“I’m not going, Dahyun.”

“Like hell you aren’t,” she returned sharply, “I know why you’re sulking, but avoiding your friends definitely won’t help.”

“What are you on about?”

“Your Dad?”

“What about him?”

“Isn’t that why you’re acting like an ass?”

Minho didn’t reply.

“I saw the letter, Minho,” Dahyun said, “He’s coming next week?”

“Yeah. So?”

“ So? Is that all you have to say? Are you going to see him?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because he’s a dick.”

“Dahyun… why are you here?”

“You’re going to that party with me, and you’re going to get your mind off everything. School, your dad, and everything else. You need to get out anyway. You’re inside so much you’re turning paler than the walls.”

“That’s called iron deficiency, I think.”

“Oh, is that so?” Dahyun raised a brow, “Get dressed.”

“Ex—”

“I’m not asking.”

She promptly shut the door behind her. Minho stared at the door for a long time before slumping onto the floor. His eyes trailed across the room, at the Post-Its on the wall. He still didn’t know who H was.

I’ll recognise you. I promise.

Minho wondered if he would recognise them if they passed in the street. There was something special between the two, Minho was sure. He wanted to know, of course he did, but checking the records felt wrong. If H wanted Minho to know who he was, he would’ve said something, wouldn’t he?

Dahyun shouted his name from the other room and Minho sighed, pushing himself upright. He dug out whatever felt appropriate from his closet and strolled out only to be sent back into his room to wear something ‘less bedsheet-y’. He slipped on something else: an old white sweater and worn baggy jeans. He emerged and she, although clearly underwhelmed, gave a slight nod, grabbing the car keys off the kitchen island where she was sitting. Her blonde, freshly dried hair was up in a loose bun, pears gleamed in her ears and around her throat. She wore a white sequin dress to right above her knees, it made her glitter in the bright hallway light.

“Where’s Sana?”

“Work,” Dahyun replied, stepping into her boots, glancing around for her coat, before Minho picked it off the wall, handing it to her. “Thanks. She’ll swing by a little later, in— clock —” Minho held out his wrist, “Three hours. Give or take.”

Minho nodded slightly, grabbing his hood, “Are you drinking?”

“Probably not,” Dahyun said. Minho did not believe her. He was going to need extra help to handle her lightweight self. 

“I can drive us back,” Minho offered.

“One, you don’t have your license yet. Two, you’re just trying to have an escape plan, and I will not have it. Sana can drive us later.”

Minho shrugged, unlocking the door, “Alright. Ladies first?”

“Many thanks,” Dahyun said, bowing slightly, strands of hair escaping the confines of the bun. 

The evening radio was on when she turned on the car. She didn’t turn it off, so they listened to some old songs from the 70s. He vaguely recognised a Billy Joel song, but aside from that they were all unfamiliar. Dahyun’s car was quite snug and smelled heavy of vanilla from her probably immortal air freshener. It was relentless: if someone stayed inside long enough, they’d leave practically attached to the scent.

The music slowly faded into the evening news segment. He zoned out by then, eyes slowly traveling to the window. It wasn’t all dark outside yet: the orange was slowly receding behind the horizon, a heavy blue followed lazily behind it.

He listened idly to the weather forecast (light rain, 14 degrees), watching his own reflection in the side mirror. 

He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t more resistant to the prospect of the party. Was it because Dahyun had asked him to? Felix? Jeongin?

Sure, they’d been right in their assessment that his lifestyle needed some more outgoing-ness to be functional, but why was he suddenly going along with it?

He thought about his Post-Its. He wasn’t sure why either.

Nayeon’s house was in the nicer area of the city, where trash pickup was frequent, the streetlights were fully functioning and where most people living there owned their homes. Nayeon was one of those people; though she lived with her parents, the house could cover the heads of far more than the three of them. Minho didn’t doubt that she could go ahead and buy a house at a whim, at her parents’ leisure.

Nayeon wasn’t in any way unpleasant of a person. In fact, she was lovely, and plenty generous, though painfully unaware of her privilege. Her home was a two-floor, all-white wooden house, red-tiled roof with a garden the size of their apartment, lined with trees, freshly trimmed hedges and rose bushes.

The driveway was closed off, but there was a parking lot down the street from her, where Dahyun parked the car, leaving them to walk the hundred meters to the house.

“I keep forgetting,” Dahyun murmured as they reached the mailbox, the number 89 engraved in gold on the front. 

Minho understood. It was strange to think that real people lived like this.

The hallway was crowded, yet the house didn’t by any means lose its grandeur. The ceilings were high, the windows wide, the lighting dim, vaguely red. Paintings lined most of the walls, the furniture (and framing) was vintage in that wildly expensive way that rich people liked their stuff to be and next to the stacks of beer cans in the kitchen sat a paradoxical group of wine glasses next to what Minho could only assume was an equally expensive bottle of wine.

Felix’s blonde hair stuck out in the crowd of brunettes and dark-haired people like a sore thumb. He was leaning on the wall, chatting up a girl on the other side of the room. Minho's eyes trailed the room slowly as he followed Dahyun inside, a tentative step behind her, almost expecting an ambush. His proximity to other people, and the quantity of those threw him off; he felt so exposed, so painfully aware of them all. 

He noticed Jeongin somewhere in the crowd, but he disappeared as quickly. He saw Jisung in what Minho could only assume was the living room, though it looked like its own apartment. That meant a certain someone had made an appearance as well. He tried to keep closer to Dahyun, though he knew, despite the crowd, bumping into him was inevitable.

Minho heard his name shouted across the room and turned to see Felix excusing himself from the girl Minho now recognised as Lia from Chemistry.

Felix beamed at him, marching up to him and Dahyun and pulling Minho into a tight hug.

“You came,” he said into Minho's collar, “I didn't think you'd show.”

“You convinced me, I guess.”

Felix’s pulled away, face suddenly tensed, “But Minho… Hyunjin—”

“I thought as much,” Minho said quickly, “It's fine.”

Felix nodded slightly, glancing around, “How'd you get here?”

“Oh, I—” Minho turned to find Dahyun missing from his side, “—Dahyun.”

Felix hummed in response, said something intelligible, peering through the crowd. “Well, let's get a drink?”

Minho smiled slightly, “Alright. Lead the way.”

Felix got him a beer; lukewarm by now but Minho downed half to ease his nerves. Being around so many people was unnerving but it helped a little. Felix hurried off upon spotting someone in the living room, leaving Minho lingering in the stupidly big kitchen. Eventually tiring of the white walls and the back and forth of guests discarding cans and glasses and the food being carried around by servants that Minho hadn't even noticed until he had to keep stepping aside for them to switch out the trays. He moved through the room with the tentative awe of someone walking through a museum, and honestly, had there been less furniture and more paintings, it could've been one.

During his tour around the house he saw a number of his classmates; both juniors and seniors. Not many of them approached him, or at all acknowledged him. He didn't mind. He preferred this.

Eventually he took a seat in one of the many sitting rooms, slouching against the backrest, glancing at his phone. Barely 30 minutes had passed. Someone joined him on the couch and Minho looked up to meet the soft brown eyes and cheeky smile of Jisung Han.

“Minho,” he said, voice slurring slightly. “How's life?”

“Tolerable,” he replied.

“The Minho Lee saga, isn't it?” 

“Something like that.” Minho peered over his shoulder. “Shouldn't you be… somewhere else?”

He pouted, “What? You don't want me here?”

Minho’s brows furrowed, eyes narrow, “I didn't say that.”

He grinned, “Fabulous.” Minho realised he was holding two shots. Jisung held one out to him, “For you.”

Minho carefully accepted it, still slightly concerned. He didn't seem that drunk.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a somehow timeless aura about you?”

“Almost constantly,” Minho replied, amused. He paused, “If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were flirting with me, Jisung Han.”

“Full name?” Jisung mused, “So what if I am? Do you mind?”

Minho considered him for a long moment. “No. I don't mind.”

Jisung smiled, holding up his glass, “Cheers, then.”

Chapter Text

“Are you going tonight?”

Jisung didn’t look up from his pile of unfolded laundry. He was curled up on his living room floor, sorting through his clothes. Yuna had been the one to coax him into getting his shit together for the third time this week.

“I’m talking to you,” Yuna said coldly, from the dining table, laptop in front of her. “Are you mute?”

“I don’t know,” he replied placidly.

“He’ll be there.”

“I know.”

“With his girlfriend.”

“I know .”

“So?”

Jisung looked up, eyebrow raised, “So?”

“Are you jealous? Is that it?”

Jisung dropped the pants he was folding into his lap, face hardening, “ What ?”

“You didn’t say a word to him, not even at the ceremony. You’re not the only one grieving, Jisung.”

“Do you call running away for five years grieving ?”

Yuna groaned, “I swear to God…”

She shut her computer, abandoning her thesis paper for the fifth time this week. She really was trying to get it done, but every time she sat down to do so she blanked. It was due in a week.  Her parents had done their utmost to dissuade her from pursuing Fine Arts, but there was an intrinsic connection between her and music that she could not for the life of her shake. Yuna knew they were mourning every time they saw the piano in the living room. Yuna knew she was still mourning. But it never stopped. Every year she thought that maybe now she was over it and all of a sudden the sensation of her fingers over Yuna’s as she taught her piano came back to mind, and that absence made itself known again, like a poorly stitched wound.

She crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair, “Is it that horrible that he’s happy? Is it that horrible that he managed to move on? It’s not his fault you never got over it.”

“ Got over it ?” Jisung scoffed, incredulous. “Am I supposed to?”

“ Yes ,” Yuna said, “Yes, because it has been five years, and nothing you can do will bring him back. If you don’t deal with this resentment, it will become everything you are. You are robbing yourself of the chance to be happy.”

“Nevermind,” he muttered, returning to his laundry. “It’s not like you’d understand.”

It was as though realisation struck the second the words left his mouth. He paused, halfway through folding his sweater.

Yuna got to her feet, slipping her things back into her bag. Then she marched toward the door.

“Yuna—”

“You’re a real piece of work, Jisung,” she said, slamming the door behind her.

Yuna had changed four times before she landed on something to wear. She wasn’t necessarily that big on parties, but she had gone to the club downtown before. Junhan and Jooyeon had played all kinds of places; everything from children’s birthday parties to jazz bars. Their repertoire wasn’t at all unimpressive, ranging from indie ballads and pop-rock, mostly original with the occasional cover (Junhan was a big Swiftie). Unsure what the night’s setlist looked like, she ended up putting on a pair of distressed baggy jeans, an old black leather jacket she was really into back in high school, over a skin-tight white top. She couldn’t find her heels in the dump that was her bedroom, so she ended up digging through her mother’s closet and finding a pair of leather boots. 

“You have a job , for God’s sake,” her mother groaned as Yuna entered the kitchen, “When will you start dressing like it?”

“ What ?” Yuna exclaimed, looking down at her clothes, “It looks fine.”

“Have you been the same size since you were seventeen?”

“No,” Yuna replied curtly, dumping her purse on one of the dining chairs, slumping into the next. She indicated her shirt, “This one used to be bigger.”

“It probably shrunk in the wash,” she mused, putting away the last of the dishes.

Yuna tilted her head. “Does it look bad?”

Her expression softened slightly, “No, no, honey. It looks good.” She wiped her hands off and pulled open the fridge. “You hungry? We have leftovers. I haven’t cooked yet.”

“Thai?”

“Mongolian, actually,” she said, quickly adding: “Your father picked takeout last night.”

“I’ll take it,” Yuna grinned. 

While her mother warmed up the dumplings, Yuna poked her head into the living room. Her father had fallen asleep in front of the TV again. He was working the night shift at the hospital for the past few days, so he was exhausted almost constantly.

Yuna shut off the TV, taking a seat next to him. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times, adjusting to the light, “Yuna.”

“Good nap?”

“The best,” he replied, smiling. He pushed himself upright, “Where have you been?”

“Stayed with Lia last night,” she said, patting his shoulder, “Shouldn't you take some time off soon?”

“If I take time off, the residents are gonna think they can slack off,” he replied, shaking his head, “I’m fine.”

“Right.” She nodded toward the kitchen, “Mom’s warming leftovers.”

“ Buuz ?”

Yuna raised a brow.

“Dumplings,” he corrected, “Mongolian.”

“Okay. Well, they’re—” Yuna’s mom called her back into the kitchen, “—done.”

She managed a bit of the food before realising what time it was and hurrying out of the house. The bus was a bit more crowded than usual, and she only realised why when they all spilt onto the pavement by the club. The line went all the way down the street. 

“Dear God…” she murmured, following the line to the end.

“Yuna!” 

She looked up, looking for the voice, spotting Yeji’s head poking out a door off the side of the building. Yeji waved her over excitedly, “Here!”

Yuna hurried over, eyes wide, “Are we allowed to—”

Yeji grabbed her hand, “Yes, yes. Now, come in, hurry, before someone sees you.”

She pulled her inside, pushing her against the wall, as she shut the door. They stood in a narrow hallway, faint blue light flickering a few meters down. 

Yeji turned back to her, expression softer than normal. She still held her hand, and she seemed to have just now realised as much. Instead of pulling away, she intertwined them, holding their hands up as though observing a particularly interesting art piece. 

Yuna was glued to the wall, impossibly enamoured. She smelled the same as before, vaguely lavender, a little like smoke; her lips parted slightly, eyes gleaming as they met hers.

“Yeji…” Oh, God.

As though snapped awake from a daze, Yeji blinked, quickly pulling away. “Oh. Yeah. Hi.”

“Hi.”

Yeji laughed slightly, dragging her fingers through her auburn hair, “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yeah.”

Yeji eyed her quietly, pulling the sleeve of her jacket. “I remember this one.”

Yuna’s breath almost caught in her throat. Suddenly, they were back in that practice room. 

Why can’t you just get over it?

“Yuna,” she said, smiling, nodding down the hall. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Oh, I—” Yuna swallowed, forcing her eyes to rise to meet hers, painfully aware of the fact that she hadn’t blinked for a solid minute. “Yes?”

Yeji beamed, “Fantastic.”

Then she took her hand and led her down the hallway, quickly falling into conversation about the club specials, about the bartender that didn’t take orders but simply made whatever drink they thought you’d enjoy. 

Yuna couldn’t comprehend more than that, burying that age-old instinct, the imitation: she wanted to close the distance between them again, she wanted to taste the wine on her lips, she wanted her again. It was like tearing open an old wound and that ache was all that was left of them— of their youth. 

It’s not his fault you never got over it . Cursing herself beneath her breath, hurrying after Yeji, she realised that she might owe Jisung an apology.

Yeji pulled her all the way to the bar. The doors hadn’t opened yet, but Yeji had showed up with the band through the back entrance. Junhan and Jooyeon, along with the rest of their bandmates as well as Lia, Chaeryeong and Ryujin.

Yeji pulled Yuna behind her, presenting her to the group of them clustered in and around one of the booths closest to the stage. Ryujin was the first to catch a glimpse of them, surprise flickering across her face. Lia, who was in the middle of a highly animated and gesticulating discussion with Junhan, paused, noticing Ryujin and looking behind her. Yeji took Yuna's hand, holding it up in greeting.

“Look who I found.”

“I thought you were taking a smoke,” Jooyeon said, eyeing Yuna, “Not picking up girls.”

Yuna blinked, “What?” she quipped, quietly enough to escape notice.

Yeji held a finger to her mouth, giving a slight shake of her head, “I don't do that stuff anymore.”

“Liar,” Ryujin grinned, “You always taste like smoke.”

“ Taste ,” Junhan exclaimed, “Shameless, are we?”

Ryujin shrugged, Yeji chuckled, waving her hand dismissively, “Nevermind that. Where are the others? I thought Sana was helping you out tonight?”

“Something came up,” Jooyeon said. He groaned, “I barely know how to use my laptop.”

“Yuna’s great at that stuff,” Lia quipped, nodding to her, “You can do it, can't you?”

“Our little Yuna knows everything,” Yeji smiled, pinching her shoulder, “Piano, guitar, violin, the works. I'm so jealous.”

“Oh, wow,” Ryujin mused, taking a long swig of her drink, “Impressive.”

“I— no, no, I'm not that good. I only ever play the piano.”

“Still more than most of us,” Yeji said, nudging her side, “Go on. Junhan will show you where to go.”

Yuna followed Junhan backstage, and he had her rewire the sound system and the works. It wasn’t anything you couldn’t do with a YouTube tutorial, but Yuna worked in silence as Junhan was tuning his guitar. 

He glanced outside, peering out from behind the curtain before pulling his chair a bit closer to her, “Yo, Yuna.”

She raised a brow, “What?”
“Is there something going on? You know, between you and Yeji?”
Yuna blinked. “What?”

“Yeah.”

“What gave you that impression?”

“I don’t know. A feeling.”

“No. Nothing’s going on.”

Junhan frowned slightly, as though she had tried to explain some foreign concept to him. After a few seconds, he gave a slight shake of his head and resumed tuning the guitar.

“Nevermind, then.”

Yuna reemerged a little bit later, joining the others at the table. Dahyun and Sana had made an appearance, having snuck past the crowd with Jooyeon’s assistance once again. 

“Where’s Minho?” Ryujin asked Dahyun, “Wasn’t he coming with you?”

“Oh, he left earlier than us,” she replied. Her gaze swept across the room as though to ascertain he wasn’t just hiding in some dark corner. 

Sana patted Dahyun’s shoulder, “Don’t worry about him. He’s coming.”

“Wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Chaeryeong said, “Not if Hyun—” She stopped abruptly. Yeji eyed Chaeryeong coldly, eyes sharp, as if daring her to continue. She didn’t.

“He’s not a flake,” Lia said calmly, turning to Junhan. “How long ‘til your set?”

He glanced at his knockoff Rolex. “Thirty— Jooyeon, let’s get the others. They’re off being lowlifes backstage.”

“In contrast to you two being lowlifes by the bar,” Yeji said.

Junhan raised a brow, “Mature, Hwang.”

Yuna gave a slight wave, “See you up there.”

Junhan gave them a salute, “That you will.”