Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sun is perfect and you woke this morning. You have enough language in your mouth to be understood. You have a name, and someone wants to call it. Five fingers on your hand and someone wants to hold it. If we just start there, every beautiful thing that has and will ever exist is possible. If we start there, everything, for a moment, is right in the world.

Warsan Shire

-

Nayeon is actually glad Jihyo reached out that Saturday night. 

Not even by text. A call. 

That meant effort. Commitment. Friendship.

And, of course, the chance for Jihyo to yell at her about how they hadn’t gone out for a drink in months. It's hot outside. 

“Stop grading those papers, now! These stupid teenagers will be stupid tomorrow, that won't change. Come meet me.”

That's a hell of a pitch. 

And Jihyo is not wrong. The headache pressing behind Nayeon’s temples is equal parts the bad lighting in her dark home office (she really needs better lamps) and the bafflement of how utterly inept some kids can be at math.

She takes off her glasses, pinches the bridge of her nose, and scrawls a big, fat red C on the last test before she agrees to meet. Jihyo cheers on the other end of the line.

When Nayeon rises from her chair to stretch, she notices the student hadn’t even managed to write his own name correctly.

She sighs.

C-.

—

“This bar is new, isn't it?” 

Jihyo turns as they make their way inside. She nods, sarcasm creasing every expression line. “Yeah, brand new. Two years since they opened up.” 

Nayeon slaps her bare shoulder, earning a laugh. Still, she’s genuinely surprised.

“Two years? How have we not come here before?”

“Well, maybe because your daily itinerary consists of home, school, home again?”

“That’s a lie,” Nayeon fires back as they take a seat at a table near the counter. “Three times a week, that itinerary is gloriously interrupted by something called the gym.”

A waiter swings by for their order, leaving them space to catch up until the drinks arrive.

“How’s Sana?” Nayeon asks.

“She’s good. Out of town for work.”

Nayeon pounces. “So I’m, what, your second or third option tonight?”

“I’d say sixth? Momo and Dahyun are at a dance competition—from the stands, they were not actually invited to be judges. Chaeyoung and Tzuyu are… somewhere in the countryside, I think? So yes, you’re here.”

Nayeon narrows her eyes but eventually the smile cracks against her lips. She missed this. Just riffing with Jihyo over drinks on a Saturday night out in the city. 

School has been rough. Finals looming, teenagers growing more desperate for grades without actually wanting to work for them. The good ones are rare.

So rare that after last year’s seniors graduated, Nayeon couldn’t even put together a team for competitions. And honestly? She’s relieved. It would have been more stress for minimal reward. She doubts she could sweat it all out at the gym, as she tells Jihyo.

“You would if you trained with me.”

Poor Jihyo. She always tries. It’s almost sweet.

“I like going to the gym, Jihyo. I don’t want to start hating it. Save your boot camp for someone else.” 

They’re a few drinks and many laughs in when the lights slowly dim, the room shifting to a warmer glow that spotlights the small stage at the far end.

Nayeon hadn’t even noticed there was a stage when they came in.

Now she sees it: a chair, a mic stand, and a lone acoustic guitar.

Her mouth shuts and any conversation between her and Jihyo ceases when the act for the night slowly makes her way onto the stage. 

Nayeon blinks at how remarkably… unremarkable the woman looks. Jeans. A white—or maybe cream—hoodie. Squared glasses. Dark hair brushing her shoulders. Vans on her feet. Pretty. Very pretty. 

But… that’s it.

The room doesn’t hush for her. Conversations carry on. Even her voice, during a brief introduction, is nearly swallowed whole. Nayeon doesn’t catch her name.

She watches the woman pick up the guitar and pull the mic closer. And in that quick, unguarded second, Nayeon sees what nobody else does.

The woman looks… sad.

But she gives Nayeon no time to question anything else. The wall is built in an instant. A strum, a breath—then her voice blooms through the room, reverberating until it feels like it’s pulling Nayeon somewhere beyond herself, somewhere untouched by the ordinary world.

“Saying I love you is not the words I want to hear from you…

It’s not that I want you not to say, but if you only knew…

How easy it would be to show me how you feel…”

The tone is so clear, so unshakably true, that Nayeon sits up straight before sinking back into her chair again, her chest tight. The chords linger between verses, the guitar filling in the silence like a heartbeat.

What strikes her most isn’t the song itself, though its lyrics already hold a whole story. It’s the intent. The weight behind every syllable, the way each word seems to leave the singer’s body already carrying a wound.

She’s laying herself bare.

And Nayeon feels it—every note, every line—right down to her own bones.

“More than words…

Is all you have to do to make it real…

Then you wouldn’t have to say

That you love me,

’Cause I’d already know…”

The song carries on for minutes, but Nayeon hangs on to each word like a lifeline. If Jihyo calls for her, she doesn’t hear it. Her body refuses to register anything beyond the voice in front of her.

“Now that I’ve tried to

Talk to you and make you understand…

All you have to do is close your eyes,

And just reach out your hands and touch me,

Hold me close, don’t ever let me go…” 

When the last notes ring out, Nayeon’s eyes close on their own. Involuntarily.

The applause is there. Light, but enough for Nayeon to catch the smallest, shyest twitch of a smile on the woman’s lips. As if she herself were coming back down from somewhere higher, still unsure how she’d landed here.

“She’s good,” Jihyo murmurs.

The set goes on for an hour or so by Nayeon’s guess. She doesn’t check her phone once. Words with Jihyo shrink to almost nothing, and when Sana calls, Nayeon is almost relieved that her friend ducks outside for half an hour of soft “good nights” and “I miss you’s.”

It frees Nayeon of guilt—for offering all of her attention, willingly, to the woman onstage.

She's mostly doing covers. Acoustic versions, strings bleeding with emotion with each note, and Nayeon listens. 

The last song is different. Sad, mournful in a way the others, except for the first one, weren’t. She doesn’t recognize it and knows, instinctively, that it must be the singer’s own. Words that truly belonged to her. Words that tighten something in Nayeon’s chest.

When the applause hangs more pronounced and lasts longer at the end, Nayeon follows the chorus easily. 

She finally hears her name. 

“Thank you, thank you,” the woman says, her voice low and almost awkward. “I’m Yoo Jeongyeon, and I… do this.”

A few chuckles ripple through the crowd. Nayeon smiles, caught in the understated humor.

“There’s a QR code on the banisters,” Jeongyeon continues, gesturing. Nayeon notices them for the first time, scattered across the room. “Takes you to a link tree—Instagram, Twitter, TikTok, whatever else big tech has invented in the last two weeks. You can reach me there for bookings too. I’ve got bills to pay, guys.”

Dry humor, but it lands. Nayeon dips her head, a grin tugging at her lips.

“Anyway, I’m here every Saturday. See you next week. Thank you again.”

She slips offstage with her guitar case before the applause fully dies.

“Oh damn, I missed it? She’s done?” Jihyo asks, flopping back into her seat.

Nayeon nods, still chasing the high buzzing faintly through her veins. They don’t linger much longer; the week’s weight presses down, sleep tugging at her. But it’s the good kind of tired—the kind that leaves a warmth low in her belly.

She blames the alcohol for how hard it is to name the feeling.

When her Uber arrives first, she turns to Jihyo with a question that doesn’t really need an answer. “Next Saturday? Same place?”

Jihyo looks briefly surprised, then smiles as if she knows something Nayeon doesn’t. “Sure. I’ll make sure Sana comes too.”

The door slams after Nayeon’s wave, and for the rest of the night—right until sleep claims her—she can’t chase away the image of Yoo Jeongyeon.

She doesn’t dream of her. Not yet.

—

Nayeon carries one regret with her all week.

Why the hell didn’t she scan one of those QR codes?

By now she could’ve known exactly who Yoo Jeongyeon was. Instead, all she had was a fleeting, dazzling… snippet.

She could probably blame not getting to one of those codes to the high that remained with her after Jeongyeon had finished her performance, the way Jeongyeon’s voice kept reverberating in her head long after the applause had faded, its impact like something Nayeon hadn't experienced in quite a while. 

Music had always moved her. It was her most loyal companion—through five or six-hour stretches of lesson planning, or those brutal final minutes at the gym when her body screamed for rest. 

But Jeongyeon had done more than impress her with clear, beautiful vocals and guitar lines that felt inseparable from the melody. What pierced through was the honesty. The way Nayeon could feel and understand everything the woman was trying to pour into those songs.

Curiosity gnawed at her. A simple search would have done it—type “Yoo Jeongyeon” into any platform, and she’d have answers in seconds. 

But instead, Nayeon found herself clinging to the ache of not knowing. She almost liked it—the thrill curling low in her stomach at the thought of Saturday creeping closer, at the chance to uncover who Yoo Jeongyeon could possibly be. 

Without searching for, but rather waiting on the unknown. 

—

“And then I said—”

“Shush—shush! She's coming!” 

“Did she shush me? Jihyo, did she just shush me?”

Her attention is locked on Jeongyeon, who makes her way toward the stage with the same slow, almost reluctant pace as the week before.

She knows it’s pathetic to admit—even to herself—that she’s been waiting all week for this moment.

But she has.

This time she’s closer to the stage, and it feels like her vision has no choice but to track Jeongyeon’s every step, caught in the quiet gravity she carries.

Her hair is up tonight—mostly. Pulled tight into a bun at the crown, though a few strands fall loose around her neck.

It’s hard for Nayeon to comprehend how someone could be so beautiful. 

It also makes something in her stomach churn when she notices that Jeongyeon looks even sadder than the previous week. Her face is a little puffy, eyes behind glasses a little red, makeup doing its best to disguise what anyone with a careful eye could still see.

Nayeon wants to know why. Why does she look like that? What weight is she carrying that she can’t quite hide?

Even her introduction is slightly rushed.

“Good night, everyone. My name is Yoo Jeongyeon, and I'm here every Saturday. Thank you all for coming, hope you enjoy the show.” 

And just like before, Jeongyeon leaves no room to breathe, no room to wonder. Her voice is a spell that Nayeon falls under so easily. 

“You and me, we used to be together…

Everyday together, always…

I really feel that I'm losin' my best friend,

I can't believe this could be the end…

It looks as though you're lettin' go,

And if it's real, well, I don't want to know…” 

“Oh fuck. Right in the teenage feels,” Jihyo mutters. 

Nayeon swallows hard. If Jeongyeon looks sadder tonight, of course she would open with something like this. Her chest tightens as the lyrics spill out, Jeongyeon’s voice tearing past every defense.

 Nayeon notices the singer has her eyes closed, the notes on the guitar instinctively playing themselves out. 

“Don't speak, I know just what you're sayin'

So please stop explainin'

Don't tell me 'cause it hurts…

Don't speak, I know what you're thinkin'

I don't need your reasons

Don't tell me 'cause it hurts…

…Our memories, well, they can be inviting

But some are altogether mighty frightening

As we die, both you and I

With my head in my hands, I sit and cry…” 

Nayeon is the first to clap when the song ends. 

Jeongyeon keeps her eyes closed for a beat longer, fingers twitching faintly over the strings as if reluctant to let go.

It’s only a flicker, but even through the shadows beyond the stage lights, Nayeon feels Jeongyeon’s gaze brush against hers when she finally opens those eyes.

It’s fleeting. It means nothing. That’s what Nayeon repeats to herself for the rest of the week—because Jeongyeon simply carries on with her set, as mesmerizing as before.

Between songs, Sana and Jihyo whisper to each other, gushing. Jihyo swears that if they ever renew their vows (they will), they’ve already found their wedding singer.

Nayeon hears them, but her attention stays fixed on the stage. She even sneaks a recording when Jeongyeon launches into another No Doubt cover. A small treasure to replay later, when she needs to calm down after a long, stressful day. 

At the same time that Jeongyeon's voice ignites a flame within her, it also grounds her when she needs it. 

By the end of the week, Nayeon loses count of how many times she rewatched that clip. At least this time she finally scans one of those damn QR codes, easing a regret that’s only grown heavier as she willingly lets another Saturday slip by without approaching.

She tells herself it’s fine. Jeongyeon probably doesn’t want to be bothered anyway.

What is she, a groupie?

And what does she even want out of this? Out of something that only exists in her head?

Maybe she doesn’t want to know.

She only knows this much: she hopes Jeongyeon looks happier next Saturday.

And Nayeon will be there—just to make sure.

—

Chaeyoung was easy to convince.

All Nayeon had to say was whiskey and an indie singer with fewer than ten thousand followers on Instagram.

With Tzuyu off visiting family, Chaeyoung’s Saturday night was free.

“Wow, unnie, she’s pretty,” Chaeyoung says, scrolling through Jeongyeon’s reels. “Did you see this Johnny Cash cover? Holy shit.” 

Of course Nayeon had seen it. “Hurt” had been haunting her through Jeongyeon's voice for days now. She’d let herself cry to it in the solitude of her apartment, safe from anyone else’s eyes.

And when Jeongyeon appears onstage, Chaeyoung says the thing Nayeon had almost convinced herself only she could see.

“Why does she look so sad?” 

Nayeon doesn't answer. Because she doesn't know. And she's aching to know, to do something, anything. 

That power to do so doesn't lie with her.

Up close now, at a table nearer the stage, Nayeon’s fragile wish to see her looking brighter collapses instantly. 

Tonight there's no introductions. It's as if Jeongyeon doesn't need, or doesn't care, for people to know who she is. She makes herself known with each melody that seeps from her trembling lips.

“It's been seven hours and 15 days

Since you took your love away,

I go out every night and sleep all day

Since you took your love away…

Since you been gone, I can do whatever I want

I can see whomever I choose,

I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant…

But nothing, I said, nothing can take away these blues

'Cause nothing compares

Nothing compares to you…” 

“Sinéad O’Connor,” Chaeyoung whispers, wide-eyed and reverent. “That’s ballsy as fuck…”

Yeah, you could say that.

But Nayeon stays quiet. Because this feels different, the sorrow in each word pushes through Jeongyeon's vocal chords, reaching for something unattainable. 

Then it happens, and it makes Nayeon gasp. 

Jeongyeon’s voice cracks in the next verse. 

“It's been so lonely without you here

Like a bird without a song,

Nothing can stop these lonely tears from falling

Tell me, baby, where did I go wrong?” 

It's raw, flesh stripped bare. Devastatingly real and it somehow becomes beautiful, because Jeongyeon doesn't acknowledge it. 

She moves on, ends the song, earns the applause. 

For the next hour, it doesn’t happen again. The mask slips fully into place. She even smirks, tosses a wink at a group near the stage, leans into brighter covers as if nothing had broken through at all.

Chaeyoung notices Nayeon’s stare, fixed and unrelenting, and—true to form—calls her out the moment Jeongyeon wraps up her closing words.

“Why don’t you go talk to her?”

“What?” Nayeon blinks, caught. 

“Go talk to her,” Chaeyoung repeats, lazily swirling the ice in her near empty glass. “You clearly want to. Don’t worry, I don’t think she has bodyguards lurking in the back.”

Nayeon glances toward the stage. Jeongyeon lingers there, packing up her guitar with unhurried movements. She checks her phone, thumbs moving across the screen, standing in no rush to leave.

Nayeon overthinks. Her legs refuse to move, but her mouth tries to fill the silence. “I… don’t wanna impose. She’s probably busy. Or tired. Yeah, she must be exhausted after that performance. So, I…” 

She lets the words trail off l into the thick air of the bar, but Chaeyoung doesn't push. 

“Suit yourself,” she says, sipping the last bit of whiskey on her glass before she calls the waiter over to bring her another one. She doesn’t look at Nayeon when she adds, softer, “She’s going through something. No one sings that song unless they’re hurting. It’s basically science.”

Nayeon has no answer for that. No answer at all for what could’ve broken Jeongyeon so badly.

So she lets her leave. Again.

Maybe next week, Nayeon tells herself, she’ll find out.

—

Nayeon goes to the bar alone. 

It feels like a calculated risk, a point of no return. She tells herself not to overthink it, not to inflate the importance of a nothing-thing.

Jeongyeon doesn’t know her. Maybe she’s noticed her once or twice—a nameless face in the crowd, nothing more. 

But when Nayeon steps through the door that Saturday night, something inside her has already decided. The only question is whether she’ll have the courage to follow through.

Once more the introductions are forgotten, and Jeongyeon’s voice sounds desperate the moment it’s released.

“And I'd give up forever to touch you

'Cause I know that you feel me somehow…

You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be

And I don't wanna go home right now

Yeah, I don't want to go home right now…

'Cause I don't want the world to see me

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

When everything's made to be broken

I just want you to know who I am

I just want you to know who I am…”

Nayeon allows the tears to come, opens the gates that Jeongyeon is begging to breach. The lyrics cut like razor blades, and Jeongyeon’s vulnerability screams with ache—an ache to be seen, to be heard. 

Nayeon offers both. 

“And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming…

Or the moment of truth in your lies

When everything feels like the movies

Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive…” 

The song ends and the applause feels far away, like it belongs to another world. Nayeon presses her palms into her thighs, grounding herself, willing her chest to slow its frantic pace. Her tears are hot, embarrassing, but she doesn’t wipe them away.

She hadn’t expected to unravel this quickly. One song, that's all it took. At least, as with the previous week, Jeongyeon steadies herself and with it so does her set, only then allowing Nayeon to breathe and gather herself too. Thank the lord for waterproof mascara. 

Maybe next week she shouldn't come. 

Boot camp with Jihyo is starting to look less draining. 

By the end, Nayeon sees Jeongyeon exhale, like she’s just expelled something heavy and is learning how to live without it. She even smiles as she thanks the crowd for showing up for another week.

“Uh, regulars already know. QR codes on the banisters—book me, please. I don’t want to learn how to flip burgers. No disrespect if there are any burger flippers here. You’re probably earning more than me.” 

She makes them laugh again, and Nayeon's cheek grows hot when she notices the little spark of pride on Jeongyeon’s face.

“Maybe I should leave a hat out here, let you guys drop in tips. Old school. I think I can at least earn myself a beer, right?” 

You definitely did, Nayeon thinks to herself as patrons around her chuckle politely. 

“Anyway, I'm rambling tonight. Sorry. Once again, I'm Yoo Jeongyeon and thank you for coming. I'll see you next week. Thank you.” 

Nayeon waits until she can feel her hands somewhat dry again, for the bar’s overhead speakers to start playing some generic pop and for two fellow patrons (fans?) to surprise Jeongyeon when they ask for a picture. 

Then, for a few moments after, she watches Jeongyeon linger by the stage, closing off her guitar with care, even resetting the mic stand to its original position. All without rush.

Unfortunately there's no more alcohol in her glass to give her the extra boost she needs, so she finds it within herself when she takes a last breath and stands. Nayeon grips her table one last time before her legs are moving. 

Jeongyeon’s back is to her when she finally speaks. And okay, she's rusty. It's been a while since she's done something like this. She doesn't even know if the woman standing just a few feet apart will appreciate it, but Nayeon will tap herself on the shoulder by the end of the night. She still got her fastball. 

“I can pay for that beer, you know?” 

Jeongyeon turns when she hears her voice, a startle mixed with confusion and curiosity on her face. Her voice sounds less strong than the one that reverbs in front of a mic. 

“Sorry?”

“I don't know if I want to tip you. I mean, you do deserve it. But I think I'd rather pay you the beer straight up. What do you say?” 

The smirk that it's carved on her lips doesn't betray the erratic nature of her heart at that moment. She slides both hands into her back pockets, tips her head to the side like she isn’t holding her breath. 

It's the sweetest reward she could probably conjure up in her mind when Jeongyeon chuckles almost awkwardly in return. Right now, Nayeon could probably put that imaginary trophy with the very real math-related ones she has stored in a room in her house. 

“I thought no one would take the hint, honestly,” Jeongyeon says, positioning her guitar case vertically and leaning both of her arms over it, looking at Nayeon attentively. Nayeon tries to focus on the words rather than the action, because that shouldn't be as attractive as it is right now. 

The sadness still lingers in Jeongyeon’s eyes, a shadow the laughter hasn’t erased. Nayeon debates whether to acknowledge it but decides against it. If Jeongyeon’s trying, then so will she. It feels like the least she can do. 

“Yeah, well. I'm observant, if nothing else.” 

“That you are. I'm Yoo Jeongyeon—” 

“I know,” Nayeon cuts her off in endearing fashion, giving one last wipe to her right hand before she extends it. “My name is Nayeon. Im Nayeon.” 

Jeongyeon doesn’t leave her hanging and reaches over. Her hand is soft, but when the grip gets firm, Nayeon can feel fingertips with just the faintest calluses. Guitar fingers, naturally.

“So, how does the offer sound?” Nayeon asks. The cocktail of nerves and relief buzzing in her chest makes her words stumble somewhere between earnest and awkward. She rushes to give Jeongyeon an out, just in case. “I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to. I don’t want to impose, I know you must be busy—”

“You know what?” Jeongyeon cuts in, her smile small but certain. “I’m not. And a beer sounds great.”

The grin that spreads across Nayeon’s face is so wide it almost aches, and for once she doesn’t care.

“Just let me drop my guitar backstage,” Jeongyeon adds, patting the case affectionately, “and I’ll come find you in a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay. Sure. I’ll wait at the counter.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll be back.”

She doesn’t have to wait long. Jeongyeon slides onto the stool beside her just as Nayeon is halfway through a cold brew, drinking more for her nerves than for the taste.

“Sorry—I was waiting for you, but I had no idea what to order—”

Before she can finish, a bartender drops a coaster in front of Jeongyeon, cracks open a Heineken, and moves on without a word.

Nayeon blinks, her expression giving her away, and Jeongyeon’s lips twitch into a crooked, amused smile.

“They kinda… know me here,” she explains, tapping the neck of the bottle. “And what I like. I swear it’s not the priciest one on the menu—”

“The price doesn’t matter,” Nayeon blurts, maybe a little too fast. She scrambles to soften it with a smile. “Really. Enjoy it—on me.” 

Jeongyeon raises her bottle, and Nayeon clinks hers against it. The pause that follows isn’t heavy, not awkward, but Nayeon can already feel herself drafting conversation starters in her head when Jeongyeon cuts right through the silence.

“You look familiar, Im Nayeon.”

The sound of her name—so direct, so certain—makes Nayeon’s cheeks heat. Thank god for the bar’s forgiving shadows.

“If you don’t mind me asking… we haven’t met before, right?”

Nayeon shakes her head, laughing under her breath. What an honor. But the answer is much simpler, she thinks. 

“Well, I do follow you in basically every social media you have available, yes. And I’ve been coming here the past few weeks. Maybe you caught me in the crowd once or twice.” 

Jeongyeon nods slowly, considering her, then takes an easy sip of her beer. “Yeah… I think I remember seeing you. But—” she leans a little closer, eyes glinting with curiosity—“what made me earn this beer?”

The disbelief on Nayeon’s face must be hilarious to witness. “Are you kidding me? Have you seen yourself sing? You’re… incredible. You deserve more than a beer, honestly.”

She realizes a beat too late how loaded that might have sounded, but thankfully Jeongyeon doesn’t leave her to stew in embarrassment.

“Thank you,” Jeongyeon says quietly, her gaze drifting toward the towering wall of bottles behind the counter. “That’s really nice of you. I appreciate it.”

“Can I ask you something?” Nayeon says, finishing off her beer and turning fully on her stool to face her. Maybe if she keeps Jeongyeon talking, she won’t slip entirely back into that sadness.

Jeongyeon meets her eyes and nods.

“Why covers? I mean, they're amazing. You actually brought me to tears tonight. Though… I hope the two songs I missed fixing my makeup in the bathroom were worth it, because if my eyes are comically red, it’s your fault—”

“You look great,” Jeongyeon cuts in, so soft it feels like brushing against a cloud.

Nayeon nearly squeaks but manages to push through, heat climbing up her neck. “Thank you. But seriously—why? There was only one song I didn’t recognize the first time I came here. I assumed it was yours. It was beautiful.”

“It was depressing,” Jeongyeon adds, but the sarcasm doesn't hit fully, perhaps because there's actually none to be found. She takes a longer gulp and Nayeon waits in silence. 

“Covers are easy. People like them, it makes them feel good. They can sing along, maybe go home happy thinking about such and such songs that they haven't listened to in a while. My stuff is just… too personal.” She takes a beat and looks at Nayeon again, smile trying to hide what the eyes betray so clearly. “I don't wanna send people home sad.” 

Nayeon hears the unspoken words anyway. 

Why make them feel like I do?

She stares, mouth parted slightly, realizing she’s not even close to the gates of whatever Jeongyeon keeps locked inside. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

“That’s fair,” she says softly. “You’re amazing either way.”

Jeongyeon gives a small nod of thanks and finishes her drink. Then she stands, offering the most genuine smile Nayeon has seen all night.

“Thank you for the beer, Im Nayeon. I’d stay longer, but tonight drained me. I need to crash. Hope you understand—”

“Of course,” Nayeon says quickly. And she does. Tired eyes, sad eyes—the line between them is thin.

She tries to hide that tinge of disappointment that creeps in and threatens to spill out, but it doesn't last very long. Jeongyeon makes sure of it. 

“I'll tell you what, if you're here next week, the beer is on me. Will you be here on Saturday?” 

“Maybe,” Nayeon answers, though the grin tugging at her face betrays her.

Jeongyeon smirks knowingly. “Alright, I can work with a maybe.” She extends her hand again, and Nayeon takes it.

“It’s been nice to meet you, Im Nayeon. Thanks for the beer. See you soon.”

“Have a good weekend,” Nayeon manages as Jeongyeon departs with a wave.

Yeah, maybe. Maybe she'll breathe air next week too. 

She orders another drink before she goes.

—

jy_piece started following you

Nayeon wakes up, rises from her bed and goes to make some coffee.

She blasts Mariah Carey the entire morning.

What a beautiful Sunday to clean her apartment.

—

“You’re starting to wonder, aren’t you?”

The question comes three drinks in, just after Nayeon had doubled over laughing at Jeongyeon’s story about a guitar string snapping mid-performance, the crowd finishing the chorus for her in a ragged acapella.

Now, instead of the counter, they’ve migrated to a small table, facing each other.

Nayeon blinks, caught off guard. Her face stays neutral, but her silence says it all—she’s wondered plenty about this woman already. Jeongyeon will have to be more specific.

“What do you mean?”

Jeongyeon leans back in her chair, one arm draped loosely over the backrest, a nearly empty bottle turning lazily between her fingers. Nayeon forces her eyes not to linger.

“You noticed it,” Jeongyeon says, mouth quirking upwards. “‘She starts with the heavy shit, then she lightens the room.’ You were watching. More than anyone else tonight. Don’t tell me you’re not asking yourself why I do that.”

Nayeon has to process what she hears. And she thought she was observant. But it's clear that Jeongyeon pays attention too. She ignores the flip her stomach does over the fact Jeongyeon actually noticed her tonight. 

“Yeah,” she admits softly. “I am. Every week I’ve been coming here, I ask myself that. And I never have an answer. Do you?”

The alcohol loosens her tongue, but it’s not just that. They’ve been talking for over an hour now—Nayeon sharing pieces of herself, how she’s a math teacher, how she’s good with numbers but terrible at accounting (earning a theatrical groan from Jeongyeon, who muttered, ‘Damn, I really need one.’). 

It’s been mostly one-sided, Nayeon opening up while Jeongyeon listens.

Maybe that’s why she dares to ask.

Or maybe it’s because Jeongyeon brought it up first.

Either way, it feels like Jeongyeon is testing her, cracking a door open to see if Nayeon is brave enough to look inside. 

The next words freeze Nayeon in place.

“Her name was Mina.” Jeongyeon’s voice is airy at first, then stumbles into confusion. “Is. Her name is Mina—she’s not dead or anything.”

A pause stretches, and Nayeon waits, every sense tuned toward her. Jeongyeon lowers her gaze, fingers peeling at the bottle’s label.

“We ended things a few months back—well, she did—and it’s been… tough. I haven’t been able to move on properly yet, I think. So it’s kind of a release. I sing the sad shit, get some of it out, then I can breathe again and go back to my job. That’s—that’s pretty much it.”

It’s rare for Nayeon to be left without words.

In a classroom full of restless, hormonal teenagers, silence isn’t an option; you keep talking, keep steering, because if you stop, you lose them. She’s good at that, knows how to fill any void with sound.

She has nothing at that moment. On her lips, at least. Her mind is racing instead. 

Jeongyeon breaks the silence with a small, nervous chuckle. “Yeah, I probably should be telling all this to a therapist instead of someone I just met, but—”

“No, it’s fine,” Nayeon cuts in quickly, her voice gentle. “I… thank you for sharing that with me.”

She finally exhales when Jeongyeon gives her a polite smile and heads off to grab them another round.

For the past month, Nayeon’s been trying to decode it—what it is that makes Jeongyeon sing the way she sings, look the way she looks. That raw edge in her voice, the hurt stitched into every lyric. Pain too sharp, too lived-in, to be anything but real.

Now she knows.

A girlfriend. Ex. 

Mina. 

When Jeongyeon returns, Nayeon is ready. She takes a sip of the bottle that’s handed to her and says, “You left me with more questions than answers. But I don’t wanna pressure you.” 

Jeongyeon pauses and takes a long look at Nayeon, up to a point that she feels the heat creeping up again. Jeongyeon then stretches her arms upwards, relieving her body of any tension and what’s left is a small smile on her lips. 

“Fire away.” 

Nayeon swallows. She’s ready, but unease lingers—like she’s trespassing somewhere she doesn’t belong. Jeongyeon doesn’t know her. Why open the door like this, out of nowhere? And yet, she can’t deny the pull, the plea that’s been burning quietly inside her for weeks: Let me in.

“Why?” she blurts. Just that. Broad, clumsy, too big for one word. “Why… did it end? Why did she end it?”

Jeongyeon exhales, takes a slow swig, then meets Nayeon’s gaze again. “Nothing weird or grand. She fell out of love. That’s what she told me.”

The shine in her eyes gives her away, but Nayeon doesn’t offer pity. Her expression stays steady. Jeongyeon doesn’t strike her as someone who would find pity useful.

“I don’t know if you’re gonna find this odd or if this has ever happened to you,” Jeongyeon restarts. “But this being the reason, and it being so simple… it just hurts… more. You know?” 

Nayeon nods, transfixed as the words begin to spill from the dam.

“What was I supposed to do? How do you make someone love you when they just… don’t anymore?”

Jeongyeon isn’t really asking for advice, she isn’t asking for anything really. Questions that come that don’t demand answers because there aren't any. 

Still, Nayeon understands. It must feel like a pain that never fully fades, a sting like the steady prick of a needle against skin.

Some days, you carry it lightly. Other days, it crashes down, and you drag it with you wherever you go.

Jeongyeon drags hers here—to this bar, on Saturday nights—and tries to drown it the moment her fingers hit the strings. 

“Feels like you're losing a fight you didn't even know you were fighting, right?” Nayeon offers. 

Jeongyeon scoffs, a pained smile painted on her face. 

Nayeon doesn’t know this woman yet—not really, not even close—but she wants to. Desperately.

And yet, she reminds herself, she isn’t a savior. A voice in her head warns her to back off. Nothing good could come from getting too close. Especially when it’s written all over Jeongyeon: she’s still in love with Mina.

Her brain repeats the truth Jeongyeon already confessed; she hasn’t moved on.

Her heart gives her hope, the most dangerous thing. The fact Jeongyeon hasn't been able to move doesn't mean that she can't. 

“Do you feel like it helps? This release?” Nayeon asks at last.

The question seems to catch Jeongyeon off guard. She hesitates, bottle halfway to her lips. “Yeah… sometimes. I don’t know, honestly. I mean—I do feel lighter after I let it out. But then the week turns, and I’m right back where I was before. It’s like this endless cycle I can’t… I just don’t know how to break it.” 

Nayeon wonders if it's a conscious thing, the songs Jeongyeon chooses to perform during those times, or if it's something off the cuff, allowing the heart to speak what it needs to. 

What Jeongyeon tells her in that moment makes sense, the cyclical nature of it all. Nayeon realizes when she remembers the lyrics that first poured out of Jeongyeon that same night. 

“See the stone set in your eyes,

See the thorn twist in your side,

I'll wait for you…

Sleight of hand and twist of fate,

On a bed of nails, she makes me wait,

And I wait without you…

With or without you

With or without you…”

There’s nothing left to wait for. Jeongyeon must know that. She’s telling Nayeon as much. But still—she waits. She hopes. And this kind of hope is its own cruelty, more punishing than the grief that pulses through her every Saturday.

Nayeon has never been broken like this. Not yet.

Jeongyeon has. Every single week.

“Through the storm, we reach the shore,

You give it all, but I want more,

And I'm waiting for you…

With or without you

With or without you, ah

I can't live

With or without you…”

She thinks of something ridiculous. It most likely won't help, she's almost sure it won't work. 

Yet she sees the sparks in Jeongyeon's tired eyes when her words come out. 

“Do you take requests?” 

—

Jeongyeon hadn't given her a proper answer that night. 

She smiled and finished off her beer. 

“Maybe,” was the only thing she had said. 

Nayeon mirrored Jeongyeon's sentiment from the previous week. She could work with a maybe. They left it at that.

By Wednesday morning, Nayeon is wide awake before dawn, her restless body refusing to grant her the luxury of sleep. Only a week and a half left in the school year, and her mind won’t shut off—grading piles high, her hand cramping from hours of scribbling comments and marks. So she takes it out on the gym.

She pauses between sets, bottle tipped to her lips, sweat running down her temple as she wipes her face with a towel. That’s when her phone buzzes.

Instagram.

Hi. It’s… me. What do you wanna hear? :) 

For a moment, Nayeon just stares at the screen, heart thudding harder than it did on the treadmill. She sinks onto one of the empty benches, light-headed. The gym is nearly deserted, just a few older women going through their slow routines, and her.

Which is good, because when her grin spreads from ear to ear, she doesn’t bother hiding it.

—

“So this next song is… somewhat special. It was a request I received. I know you're here tonight, sorry for taking so long. I hope you all enjoy.” 

Nayeon slumps against the back of the chair, so much so that she nearly slips. She looks over and there's a truly inexcusable, insufferable small hint of a smile playing on Jeongyeon's lips as she looks at her direction and offers a nod before strumming her guitar. 

Nayeon rolls her eyes, a hand over mouth to hide her own smile. She will not give Jeongyeon the satisfaction. 

Finally.

It had taken an entire day for her to reach her decision on what she'd want to hear in Jeongyeon's voice. Between back-to-back classes, she kept circling back to it, mulling over her options.

At one point, she looked at the teenagers sitting across from her, bent over their assignments. The kind of quiet only made possible by a combination of things; part exhaustion, part anticipation of summer, part pure teenage indifference.

And still—she could see the shift in them, subtle but steady. Kids growing up, stretching into themselves, filling gaps, becoming something new.

That was the thought that settled it for her.

When she sent the request, Jeongyeon had replied almost immediately. 

That's a good one. Okay, deal.

Of course, it isn’t the same situation. Not even close. Jeongyeon isn’t some teenager hoping for a C just to scrape by to the next semester. But she is someone who can outgrow things. Someone who can change, who might learn to let go of what already left her before she could even realize.

“I took my love, I took it down

I climbed a mountain and I turned around…”

The guitar is softer than usual, almost hesitant. It's asking permission to be set free from invisible restraints. 

“Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?

Can the child within my heart rise above?”

Nayeon watches the room still, everyone's attention firm on each word that Jeongyeon sings. Maybe it's because it doesn't feel like a performance, a front. Words that feel true tend to hold that effect. Her eyes wet, but the tears remain inside.

“Well, I’ve been afraid of changing

’Cause I built my life around you…”

Nayeon had been terrified that perhaps she could be showing Jeongyeon a mirror with a reflection too bright. Perhaps removing the veil so soon wouldn't help. But she has to trust that Jeongyeon sees she's well meaning. Trust that Jeongyeon will understand. 

Or this can be just a song that Nayeon requested. That's fine too. 

“Time makes you bolder

Even children get older

And I’m getting older too…”

The room erupts in applause once it comes to an end and Nayeon stands up, clapping the loudest. She has the hands for it. 

Jeongyeon looks in one direction, guitar resting comfortably on her lap. Nayeon glances behind her to check if maybe it’s meant for someone else. The empty space tells her otherwise.

“Thank you,” Jeongyeon smiles as she talks into the mic. When the eye contact doesn't break, Nayeon nods with a smile of her own, hands clasped together over her chest.

“Thank you very much,” Jeongyeon repeats, finally shifting her attention back to the room as she offers her usual closing words for the night.

It takes a while after Nayeon is already posted by the counter for Jeongyeon to come towards her, hands in her pockets and a slow strut to her step. It's been just a few days of a few texts between them, nothing too personal or direct, a meme exchange here and there, but Nayeon feels comfortable enough to tease. 

“You made me wait.” 

She isn’t talking about the pause between stage and counter, and Jeongyeon knows it.

“I made myself wait too,” she admits, and that alone is enough to snare all of Nayeon’s attention. It's scary for her to admit that each and anything Jeongyeon says and does is interesting to her. 

Anyway. Words. Jeongyeon is saying them. 

“I was a little nervous. A little anxious.” Jeongyeon shrugs, lips twitching into a nervous smile. “The good kind, though. It’s just a song, but… it’s not. You get that. So—thank you.”

Nayeon exhales, shaky at first and then steady, holding onto the honesty radiating from Jeongyeon.

They don’t push deeper. Nayeon doesn’t pry, respecting the boundary Jeongyeon leaves unspoken. Soon enough, they drift to a table and let the conversation tilt toward safer topics—lighter stories, smaller laughs—anything but the shadow of a love Jeongyeon is still learning how to leave behind.

Jeongyeon ends the night with a surprise that makes Nayeon’s heart stutter, right in the middle of their bickering over who should pay the tab.

“Do you wanna have lunch with me sometime?” 

Nayeon freezes halfway out of her chair, spots blinking in her vision from standing too fast after “winning” the argument. She sinks back down, blinking at Jeongyeon like she’s misheard.

“You… want to have lunch?”

Her voice sounds embarrassingly dumb to her own ears, but Jeongyeon just smiles, soft and steady, hands folded across her stomach.

The silence that follows stretches so long it nearly turns absurd. Jeongyeon cracks first, laughing. “You do know you can say no, right?”

“Are you free tomorrow?” Nayeon blurts, her brain already writing entire novels in the span of that pause.

She’s free tomorrow. Completely free.

“I am,” Jeongyeon says without hesitation. “You pick the place, I’ll pick you up. Deal?”

 Jeongyeon extends her right hand, and before Nayeon takes it she looks at the other woman in the eyes, trying to find the sadness that has lingered for so long. 

She doesn’t find it. Or maybe it’s tucked away, carefully hidden. Either way, Jeongyeon is trying—trying with her. That’s enough.

Nayeon clasps her hand, squeezing once, her grin threatening to split her face in two. “Deal.”

Then, narrowing her eyes, she adds playfully, “You’re not thinking you’re gonna pay tomorrow, are you—”

“We’re not doing that right now, Im Nayeon.” 

—

Sleep came and went in restless waves that night. 

Nayeon was still reeling from everything that happened a few hours earlier; Jeongyeon making good on her request, even if Nayeon had to wait until the very end. It was worth it, it was always worth it. 

But once she was home, her nerves latched onto a single thought: the lunch Jeongyeon had asked her to. A date. It had to be a date. That’s what her heart insisted, what it desperately wanted to believe.

Her mind, though, never showed up empty-handed—it came carrying its usual bucket of cold water labeled reality, and it poured generously.

Jeongyeon was probably just being nice. 

Yes, she’d listened. Yes, Jeongyeon seemed lighter through the week, even in those meaningless little text exchanges. But that was gratitude, wasn’t it? A polite thank-you wrapped in smiles and small talk.

This was no date.

…Right? 

The bubble bath helped. Slowly, the heat loosened the knots in her body, and she sank back against the porcelain, eyes heavy, breath finally finding an easier rhythm. 

Nayeon needed this time for herself, because her heart erratically picked up its pace whenever she was near Jeongyeon. She had tried to tame it, but only alcohol eventually helped. 

Maybe she’ll order a Mimosa at lunch. 

She’d chosen a spot close to home—good service, better food, and the kind of ambiance that promised privacy. She even offered to meet Jeongyeon there, swearing she didn’t need to be picked up.

Nonsense. I want to. 

Nayeon tried not to feel too giddy when she read that message from Jeongyeon, suppressing as much as she could the tiny jumps her body wanted to let out. She settled for smushing her face in her pillow instead. 

But she’s no longer smiling when she has raided her closet for close to three hours now, with less than two until Jeongyeon is set to come pick her up, and she still hasn’t decided what she’s going to wear. The options are endless and limited to the max. She has everything and nothing at all. What the fuck is she supposed to do? 

A message notification clears those foggy thoughts, at least for a moment. 

Jeongyeon is, honestly, too adorable.

I just realized that I don’t have your address 😅 send it, pls? 

Nayeon smiles and sends the location. Another message pops up quickly.

Oh, you’re actually near. I can be there in like 30 mins? is that ok?

Fuck. 

No, no. Fuck it. 

That would force her to get her shit together and act quickly, efficiently.  Nayeon texts back “yes” and then gets to work. 

Something in the back of her mind quickly writes off any type of dress; even if the weather would justify a cute, floral summer dress, Nayeon thinks that it might be too casual for now. Maybe a third date type of outfit? Yeah, maybe. If this was even a first date to start counting.

Which was not. 

Thirty minutes is enough to pull together cream wide-leg trousers she hadn’t touched in ages, a tucked-in black sleeveless top, and dark loafers. She slips in earrings, grabs a light jacket just in case, and is reaching for her bag when she hears a horn outside.

“Shit,” she mutters, speed-walking to the door, keys clattering into her purse.

Jeongyeon's here. 

Only her brain hadn’t registered it right. That wasn’t a car horn.

Her breath catches and releases in a shaky laugh. 

From the top of her stairs she has a clear view. And it's of Jeongyeon leaning on a beautiful, large motorcycle, one helmet perched on the seat, another dangling from her hand, her smile bright and easy.

Nayeon practically skipped down the stairs, opening the gate before she could stop herself.

“Of course you ride a motorcycle.”

Jeongyeon smirks, head tilted to the side. 

“That obvious, huh?” 

Nayeon’s silent grin is an entire answer of its own. She takes the helmet that Jeongyeon extends to her. Hers is white with some old flower stickers still hanging on. 

Jeongyeon laughs, surprised. “You’re not scared?” 

Nayeon shakes her head, putting a leg over the seat and fixing the helmet onto her head. “I’ve ridden before. I’m just glad I didn’t pick a dress.” 

It's perhaps the first time it happens, she doesn't know. But Nayeon can't really recall any moment from her life before this one, honestly, because everything blanks when she hears it; Jeongyeon's laugh is loud, unabashedly free. 

It reveals something important to Nayeon; instead of trapping her into a state of euphoric glee that would be hard to reach again, Nayeon finds out seeing Jeongyeon laugh makes her breathe a little easier. It brings her peace, leaves her light but not lightheaded. She wants to hear it again. She wants to be the one responsible for bringing that out of her. 

No pressure. 

“Hold tight,” Jeongyeon says, settling onto the bike. Nayeon doesn’t need to be told twice.

Her arms slip naturally around Jeongyeon’s waist, and she closes her eyes for a second, letting her senses adjust: the hum of the machine beneath her, the grounded weight of her legs braced against the bike. Jeongyeon smells faintly earthy, her perfume subtle and warm, like cedar touched with rain.

And beneath Nayeon’s hands, the leather jacket is smooth but stiff, the kind that hasn’t yet softened with age. Jet black with silver zippers that glint under the daylight, it still carries the faint creases of being new, like it was only broken in on the road a handful of times. The shoulders are sharp, the fit hugging Jeongyeon’s frame beautifully, a blend of utility and understated edge. 

She still doesn’t know Jeongyeon.

But she’s starting to. 

Any sliver of an opening she’s granted, Nayeon steps into, eager to piece together who this woman is. She’s ready to understand more, if given the opportunity. When the bike roars again under Jeongyeon’s hands and they pull into the street, Nayeon learns a little more—without a single word being spoken.

Jeongyeon is steady. Safe. The bike under her command is in complete control. Each shift and swerve through the light traffic are measured, thought out. 

Nayeon smiles as her grip tightens around the other woman, the breeze from the early hours of the afternoon making goosebumps rise in her arms. 

The strangest part—the most terrifying part—is how unafraid she feels. Not of the speed, not of the machine, not of Jeongyeon. Nothing about her frightens Nayeon, and that is what unsettles her most of all. For once, the ghosts of past heartbreaks and the weight of someone else’s baggage don’t crowd her mind. 

Her thoughts finally give her space, room enough for her heart to breathe, to hope.

For now.

But this isn’t a date.

—

When Jeongyeon pulls up to the front gate, late in the afternoon with the sun sinking low on the horizon, Nayeon runs a hand through her hair in a futile attempt to smooth the strands the helmet had mussed.

It’s the first moment all day that feels unsteady. After handing the helmet back with a soft smile, she notices a hitch in Jeongyeon—an almost-stumble of words and motion caught in her body.

It looks like she wants to say something. Maybe even reach over and fix Nayeon’s hair for her.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she defaults to protocol.

“This was fun,” Jeongyeon says. “Thank you for listening to me ramble for hours on end. It’s… nice. To have someone listen.”

And listen Nayeon had. They both had—trading stories about life, careers, wishes, regrets (and the attempts not to drown in them), all of it in between. 

She learned that Jeongyeon never studied music formally; it had simply come naturally to her. Eventually it became a source of income—unstable, but hers. The restaurant her father hoped she’d take over was never really an option.

Nayeon had shared her own truth: that her love for numbers and teaching left her with little free time. She’d missed trips, friends’ birthdays, milestones she wished she’d been there for. She told herself it was for the greater good. But still, she was ready to live a little more freely now. Ready to make space.

She didn’t say aloud that she could already picture Jeongyeon standing somewhere along that new path, waiting for her.

Because this hadn’t been a date.

“Thank you for listening too,” Nayeon replied, hands behind her back. “We should do it again sometime.” 

Bait thrown. 

“Definitely,” Jeongyeon answers too quickly, nodding. Nayeon can’t help but laugh.

Hook, line, sinker. 

“I'll see you next Saturday, then?” 

Nayeon pushes back on the tiny jumps her stomach is doing right now, because Jeongyeon doesn't sound excited at all by the prospect of seeing her again in a few days, she tells herself. No, not all. 

“You will see me Saturday, yes.” 

Jeongyeon departs with something that will linger on Nayeon's mind for the rest of the week until they see each other in the flesh again. 

It's shy, it's bold. It's a statement. Of something. Nayeon doesn't know what yet. 

Because Jeongyeon leans in, and her lips brush lightly against Nayeon’s cheek.

No more words after that.

Just a small wave, one Nayeon can’t even lift her arm to return, frozen in place as Jeongyeon pulls away.

She stays there for minutes, under the glow of the streetlamp, thoughts scattering too quickly for her to catch.

Only when she steps inside does she finally breathe, realizing something that feels just as important as that kiss goodbye.

Mina never came up.

She wasn’t lurking behind Jeongyeon’s eyes.

And that night, Nayeon sleeps well.

—

Sing one more song for me? 

Nayeon throws that out there, just because. 

It's the last day of school. It's done, finally. She feels like she has earned this.

The reply comes fast and she can picture Jeongyeon smiling, tuning her guitar. 

Of course. Anything for you. 

Oh, fuck off, Yoo Jeongyeon. 

Nayeon melts deeper into her chair; thankfully no nosy students linger. 

She sends her request. This time she could hear Jeongyeon's laughter. 

You have an old soul. A happy one. I like that. 

Nayeon bites her lip, nearly failing at the task of suppressing a grin that comes so easily. 

Fuck, she's going crazy. Put padded walls around her so she can throw her phone at it. She curses at the earth for still having two full rotations around the sun until Saturday arrives. 

—

“Here comes the sun, doo-doo-doo-doo

Here comes the sun, and I say

It's alright…” 

She opens her set with the song Nayeon had asked for. 

From her corner table, Nayeon watches, half-hidden in the dim light. It’s for the best; she’s not sure she’s ready for Jeongyeon to see her like this—one hand pressed over her chest, a smile stretching so wide it hurts, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. 

That’s the effect that Jeongyeon’s voice has on her, a constant that Nayeon is still learning how to adjust to. But how does one adjust to raw emotions?  To feeling raw and undone in public?

But is it entirely Jeongyeon’s voice that is capable of leaving Nayeon like that? The song itself? The lyrics?

Or maybe it is the fact that Jeongyeon is lightly swaying in place, eyes closed and a smile on her lips as the words come easily to her. 

“Little darlin', it's been a long, cold, lonely winter

Little darlin', it feels like years since it's been here

Here comes the sun, doo-doo-doo-doo

Here comes the sun, and I say

It's alright

Little darlin', the smile's returning to their faces

Little darlin', it seems like years since it's been here

Here comes the sun

Here comes the sun, and I say

It's alright…”

 She finishes it soon and Nayeon applauds along with the rest of the crowded bar that night. 

“Thank you, thank you,” Jeongyeon says, the grin still present while the guitar rests comfortably on her leg. “This was another request I got. I’ve been getting some good ones lately, so keep them coming, please.” 

Jeongyeon shifts her gaze for a split second and Nayeon is there, rooted to her spot, shy and proud at the same time. She nods, silently answering. 

“You guys wanna keep going?” Jeongyeon asks the crowd, voice rising on the mic and the response is positive, loud. 

Nayeon hasn’t seen Jeongyeon look so light, almost weightless, before.

“You didn’t make me wait this time,” she says nearly two hours later when Jeongyeon approaches her; her set had run longer that night, perhaps purposefully.

“I didn’t want to see you get antsy like last week,” Jeongyeons says as she pulls a chair and sits across from her. The teasing is clear in her tone and Nayeon can’t accept it.

“I was not antsy,” she replies but there’s no bite. It feels natural now, this back and forth. 

“You were. I saw you. That’s okay,” Jeongyeon chuckles at the sight of Nayeon’s narrowed eyes, taking a sip of her drink and leaning back on her chair. 

“You’re getting cocky, Yoo Jeongyeon,” Nayeon says, tilting her head to the side. 

“Maybe I always was, you’re just catching on.” 

“You sound happy now too.” 

There it is. She had to say it. It’s obvious—and it makes her own heart lift to point it out.

For a moment silence stretches, charged but gentle. Then Jeongyeon nods, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“You’re right,” she says quietly. “And I feel happy too.”

 Nayeon doesn’t like to kid herself. 

Her too-logical, numbers oriented brain would not allow her. Logic prevails, common sense should win out every.single.time. 

Two plus two equals four. 

A happy Jeongyeon does not equal a Jeongyeon who has moved on—who has stopped loving Mina.

Her heart, though, has gone deaf. Her brain can scream and scream, but that stubborn organ pumping blood through her body simply refuses to listen to its often-right, sometimes-treacherous companion.

She believes Jeongyeon is happier now. Happy. 

And she believes—God help her—that she might be the reason why.

“I’m glad to hear that,” she murmurs, and then her heart jumps ahead of her again.

“Do you wanna get some coffee—”

“I gotta tell you something—”

They both stop, startled, then laugh as their words collide.

Nayeon gestures for Jeongyeon to go first, her palm open on the table. Jeongyeon nods her thanks.

But then she hesitates, just for a breath, and Nayeon notices. It makes her pulse stumble.

“I’m… going out of town for the next two weeks,” Jeongyeon says at last.

Nayeon blinks.

Oh.

“I booked some gigs—good ones, actually. I’ve gotta go on the road for a while.”

“Life of a musician, right? I’m happy for you.” 

Nayeon’s reply comes too quickly, the pitch of her voice almost unrecognizable. She’s speaking fast, trying to get the words out before her face betrays her. Because the disappointment hits her like a bucket of ice water dumped straight over her head.

Her schedule had finally cleared. No more classes to prepare, no more tests to grade. For a few much-needed months, she was free.

And, without even realizing it, she’d hoped that meant more time with Jeongyeon. More lunches, more bar sets, maybe even that coffee she was about to offer before Jeongyeon spoke.

But such is life, isn’t it? Hopeful hearts never really stand much of a chance.

She knows she’s being dramatic. It’s only two weeks. Fine—blame the drinks she’s had tonight for the swirl in her head.

“Can I—can I text you? I think it can get kinda lonely out there and you know, I can always do with some song suggestions. You seem to have a knack for them.”

Nayeon is quickly realizing how much of a surprise Yoo Jeongyeon can be at any moment. How effortlessly she can catch her off guard. How easily a single line can make her smile, no matter how hard she tries to keep composed.

“Of course,” she responds, her voice softening immediately, back to its normal cadence. 

Jeongyeon wants to stay in touch. Wants her to suggest songs. And really, if it didn’t matter, why would she have bothered to tell Nayeon about going away in the first place?

Yoo Jeongyeon is disarming in the smallest ways. Every move subtle, deliberate or not—and Nayeon has no defense against them.

Being near her, orbiting her, feels almost too easy.

And far too dangerous.

—

Two weeks have never moved at such a snail’s pace, Nayeon thinks.

It’s not like she misses seeing Jeongyeon every day—because she doesn’t.

That was never their thing anyway. Before Jeongyeon left for this little... tour, they saw each other on Saturdays. Same bar, same hours. It’s established at this point. 

And it’s the break in that rhythm that gets to her now. Saturday comes, and there’s nothing to look forward to. Just another day, the way they all were before Jeongyeon, and Nayeon quickly realizes she doesn’t like it. 

She stays put, makes herself a homemade pizza just to have something to do, and puts on her favorite comfort show, the one she’s watched three times over already, the one that somehow isn’t so comforting anymore.

She’s bored out of her mind.

Then, right around the time she’d usually be getting ready to leave, a message pops up.

A photo—Jeongyeon, smiling up at the camera, guitar resting across her lap. Another bar, Nayeon guesses. Another town, another stop. And the message that reads simply “wish me luck :)”

Nayeon doesn’t even pause the background chatter of her TV, but she’s sure her heart skips a beat or two.

Way to keep in touch, she thinks, smiling to herself.

She sends a line of finger-heart emojis and a bright “good luck!!!” back, making Jeongyeon promise to tell her everything later.

Then she takes another bite of her pizza and, somehow, the show is funny again.

—

Jeongyeon tells her all about her performance that night.

And then the next one. And the next. 

She sends Nayeon pictures of every venue she plays at. Some bigger, some smaller. Sometimes she sends photos of beautiful landscapes that Nayeon isn’t familiar with but she takes the time to explain what Nayeon is looking at. 

Through words exchanged, the second week seems to go by faster, or maybe it’s wishful thinking. 

Jeongyeon comes back on Sunday.

So still nothing to look forward to on Saturday. 

She accepts on Wednesday an invitation to Jihyo’s boot camp, which Jihyo wrongly calls it a “normal gym session”. 

Maybe, unconsciously, Nayeon wants to exhaust herself—to burn off this tension she can’t seem to shake. She knows exactly what it’s from, even if she won’t say it out loud. It’s Jeongyeon. 

So she tries to sweat it out, to leave it behind with a few Bulgarian split squats and a handful of well-timed “Fuck you, Park Jihyo!”s. Maybe then she’ll feel lighter. Maybe then she won’t overthink things.

Like what Jeongyeon might have meant when she texted on Tuesday night that she misses Saturdays.

Did she mean the bar? The crowd singing along to her covers?

Did she mean Nayeon?

Nayeon doesn’t ask. She just mirrors it back.

I miss it too :)

Chaeyoung invites her to an art gallery on Friday night. Tzuyu is out of town again and the wine is free. 

Nayeon accepts. 

By her third glass, the paintings have started to blur into colors and shapes that make no sense. Then her phone rings.

Jeongyeon.

Everything pauses.

The sound must be loud, because people start glancing her way. Chaeyoung nudges her, eyes wide.

Nayeon hands over her wine and slips outside. The night breeze hits her skin, cool and grounding, and she realizes she’s been holding her breath.

“H-hey,” she stutters into the speaker and worry creeps in the moment she hears Jeongyeon's voice. 

“H-hi, hi Nayeon. Is–is this a bad time? I can call later—” 

Nayeon has never sobered up so fast. 

“Jeongyeon, is everything okay?”

It’s a stupid question. Of course it’s not. Jeongyeon wouldn’t be calling her—for the first time ever—sounding like this if everything were fine.

But she has to ask.

“I saw her,” Jeongyeon says.

Nayeon knows immediately who her is. But she stays quiet.

“Mina. I saw Mina. She just—she walked into the bar and she—she was with someone. I only noticed when I finished singing and she was there, looking at me and then—fuck, then she left. She took the girl by the hand and walked out and I just kept staring—you know what? I'm so sorry Nayeon-ah, I shouldn’t be calling you with this, just forget I—” 

“Jeongyeon, don't hang up!” 

A few heads turn as they pass by her on the sidewalk, but Nayeon doesn't care. 

Her priority is a few towns away. 

“Just… please, don't hang up. Breathe. Breathe and talk to me.” 

Nayeon hears the shaky breath on the other end of line and she waits, patiently. 

“I had no idea she was even here,” Jeongyeon finally says and Nayeon leans her back against the glass window of the gallery. She looks up, closes her eyes in relief. Jeongyeon's voice sounds a little steadier. 

“I had no idea she moved—why else would she even be here? And she had someone with her, a girl… I didn't know what to think, what to feel.” 

“And what are you feeling right now?” 

The words spill out of Nayeon. Should she get a pen and paper? God. 

There's another stretch of silence where Nayeon tries to read Jeongyeon's mind, so far away. 

“I… I don't know. I don't feel sad. Or jealous. Anger? Yeah, anger. Maybe. But it's not anger because I miss her or because she was with someone—it’s more anger at myself because why the fuck am I still reacting like this? I don't like this feeling.”

Nayeon almost chuckles, but it may be too much for Jeongyeon's fragile state to handle. But the smile comes, and relief washes over. She can take anger out of Jeongyeon in this situation. She prefers it. 

“Have you seen her since you two broke up?” 

“No,” Jeongyeon answers softly. “This was the first time. We cut things off completely. Weird lesbian behavior, I know.” 

This time Nayeon does laugh, loud enough that it escapes into the night. 

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't—” 

“It's fine. Really,” Jeongyeon says and Nayeon can catch the amusement in her tone. 

“But yes, indeed,” Nayeon teases. “Maybe that's it, Jeongyeon. You didn't know how you'd react. The wound is still somewhat fresh. It stings, I know.” 

“Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe I can finally move on.” 

Nayeon's heart thuds on her chest, and it scares her. 

“Yeah, maybe…” is the best she can offer, her voice low. 

“I'm coming back tomorrow, by the way,” Jeongyeon says, voice coming back to normal. To the voice that Nayeon has grown accustomed to. Back to her Jeongyeon. 

Still, shock travels inside. 

“What? I thought you were coming back Sunday.” 

“I was. I planned to stay an extra day, chill around. But I don’t wanna do that anymore. I’m changing my bus ticket after this.” 

Nayeon immediately understands. Jeongyeon doesn't want to give fate a chance for another run-in. 

Her foot starts tapping against the pavement.

Fuck it.

“I'll pick you up. And I'll cook you dinner at my place.” 

“Nayeon—” 

"I'm not negotiating with you, Yoo Jeongyeon. Got it?” 

She hears her favorite sound in the world. Jeongyeon's soft rumble of a laugh. 

“Fine. Let's do that.” Then—”Thank you… for listening. For… everything.” 

“Anytime,” Nayeon answers with a whisper. 

“See you tomorrow then. Sorry for bothering you again—” 

“Stop apologizing. Seriously. I mean it, anytime.” 

“Alright. Thank you. Have a good night, Nayeon.” 

“You too. See you tomorrow. Bye.” 

“Bye.” 

Nayeon hangs up with a smile and nearly jumps out of her skin when she turns to find Chaeyoung beside her.

“Fuck—Son Chaeyoung!!” 

The most her friend does is hand her glass of wine back, refilled. 

And then she speaks. “You need to tell her.” 

Always so direct, so straightforward. And so confusing.

“Tell her what?” 

“Tell this girl you like her, unnie.” 

Nayeon shakes her head then takes a sip. It burns her insides for a second. 

“Chae—” 

“Unnie, denial doesn't look good on you. Stop it.” 

Nayeon knows it goes against everything she just felt and said during that phone call, everything Jeongyeon unknowingly gave her to hope for. Denial might not look good on her, but it’s all she has left.

“She just saw her ex tonight,” Nayeon says softly. “She’s still processing—”

“And she called you,” Chaeyoung cuts in, firm but gentle. “I wasn't eavesdropping, I swear. But what are you so afraid of?” 

“To get my heart broken by someone who's already living with one.” 

Chaeyoung says nothing to that.

Nayeon squeezes her friend’s arm, sliding her hand down until their fingers lace together. Then she leads them back inside the gallery.

She’s hanging on by a thread — one small push, and she’s over the edge. She knows that too.

“You doing anything with her tomorrow?” Chaeyoung asks, staring at a Goya.

“I’m cooking her dinner.”

“Unnie, come on—” 

—

When Jeongyeon’s bus pulls into the terminal at six, Nayeon has already been there for nearly an hour.

The universe, apparently, enjoys playing with her patience; because of course Jeongyeon bought a seat all the way at the back. Of course she’s the last one off, backpack slung over one shoulder, guitar case steady in her right hand.

The cosmos makes Nayeon wait. She’s accepted that.

But it's worth it, because it also rewards her. 

Even if Nayeon doesn't really know what she did to deserve it when Jeongyeon approaches with a smile, carefully places the guitar case on the ground and then silently comes closer, sliding her free hand around Nayeon's torso in a hug. 

She’s gentle. Steady. Braver than Nayeon thinks she could ever be. And when Nayeon’s own arms rise to loop around Jeongyeon’s neck, when she exhales into the space between them, she thinks maybe she’s starting to understand who Jeongyeon really is.

“Welcome home,” Nayeon murmurs when Jeongyeon finally steps back. They don’t talk about the hug. They don’t need to.

Jeongyeon picks up her guitar again. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

Nayeon nods with a smile. She calls for an Uber and the ride is mostly silent on the way over to her house, but it's not uncomfortable. Jeongyeon's energy level feels lighter, tired. So Nayeon doesn't push. 

“You have a beautiful home,” Jeongyeon says as she stands in the living room while Nayeon takes her backpack and guitar to the side to make her guest comfortable.

“Thank you.” Nayeon smiles genuinely as she walks toward the kitchen, Jeongyeon following close behind. “It’s not big, but I take care of it. And it’s mine, that’s the important part.”

No rent.

That was always the dream: a place of her own, where she could breathe, move things around, live exactly how she wanted. She managed it by her second year of teaching.

“I can tell it’s yours,” Jeongyeon says, hands tucked into her pockets as she lingers by the kitchen island. “It’s got a personality. Your personality.”

“You know me that well already, huh?” Nayeon teases, hiding the huge smile on her lips when she turns her head towards the stove. 

“Either that or you're listening to the ramblings of a crazy musician. We tend to be hyperbolic.” 

Nayeon laughs and it physically pains her how easy all of this is. There’s a little sting in her ribs. Maybe that’s still Jihyo’s fault.

“You need my help with anything?” Jeongyeon asks, fingers fidgeting, expectant.

“No, no, it’s fine. I made everything earlier—just need to heat it up. Sit down, please. And here—”

Nayeon grabs two beers from the fridge—one of the two cases she’d bought that morning, Jeongyeon’s favorite. When she turns, Jeongyeon’s already seated at the kitchen island, grinning up at her.

Nayeon sets down two coasters, opens the bottles, and hands one over. They clink them together before Jeongyeon takes a long, grateful sip.

“Your Yelp review is going to be amazing, I can promise you that.” 

The laughter is shared this time. 

They eat. They drink. They talk. 

Jeongyeon tells her again about everything that happened during her gigs, small details meant for in-person sharing this time. 

They laugh some more. Nayeon resorts to slapping Jeongyeon’s arm when she finds something is too funny. 

Nasty habit she unleashes when she reaches a comfortable enough space with someone. One she won't apologize for or contain. 

Especially since Jeongyeon doesn't seem to mind. 

Words begin to slur, eyes start to drop just the slightest. Nayeon’s face is flushed from the alcohol, warmth humming under her skin.

And Jeongyeon starts to speak again. 

“Y-you know, I’m not really good at this… friendship thing,” she admits. “I don’t have a lot of friends. Not close ones, anyway. Not the kind you can call at night, halfway through a breakdown. I know I’ve said this a lot, but… thank you, Nayeon.” 

It doesn't feel like a drunken truth being spilled out of a half-conscious mind; Jeongyeon's eyes are set, focused, real. 

Nayeon reaches over with a smile and squeezes Jeongyeon's arm. “Thank you for being honest with me. I really appreciate it. And seriously—” 

“Anytime?” Jeongyeon finishes for her.

Nayeon’s lips curve helplessly. “Anytime.”

Silence settles between them again. Thick, waiting. If Nayeon could touch it, she’s sure it would burst.

Then Jeongyeon’s hand slides over hers, fingers threading together.

“You know what? I’m not really good with words,” she says softly. “But I’m good at singing. Yeah, I’m good at that. Can we—”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She just tugs Nayeon gently toward the living room, sits her down on the couch, and retrieves her guitar from its case.

Nayeon’s heartbeat is thunder in her ears, pulsing in her neck. Her lungs can’t quite keep up.

Jeongyeon strums a few notes—tuning, testing, like she’s coaxing something to life. It sounds like someone starting a car. Or maybe, in Jeongyeon’s case, revving up her bike, steadying her breath before she takes off.

She stops then and in the dim light of Nayeon's living room, Jeongyeon's eyes shine.

“I had this thought in my head that just wouldn’t leave,” she starts quietly. “And the more I thought about it, the more it made sense—at least to me. That if… Mina—” Jeongyeon whispers her name and dips her head for a moment. Nayeon swallows. “If Mina was still something in my head, if she was this unmovable object I couldn’t get past… right now, I’d be singing something like this…” 

Jeongyeon starts softly, her voice low and a little raw. She cuts a few lines, but Nayeon knows this song.

“Why don’t you be you, and I’ll be me…”

Her fingers drag lazily over the strings, the melody catching in her throat.

“Everything that’s broke, leave it to the breeze… Why don't you be you

And I'll be me?

And I'll be me…”

She stops there. Doesn’t finish.

The silence that follows is almost louder than the music.

“But she's not,” Jeongyeon says suddenly, lifting her head, her eyes glassy but clear. “I’m finally realizing that my heart doesn’t belong to her anymore.”

A pause.

“I realized that last night. After I saw her.”

Her voice softens. “Especially after I called you.”

Then she changes chords, and Nayeon feels it—the shift, the warmth threading into the air.

Jeongyeon hums now, lighter, almost smiling through it.

“Mmm, it's always better when we're together

Yeah, we'll look at the stars when we're together

Well, it's always better when we're together

Yeah, it's always better when we're together…”

Nayeon sinks further into the cushions, legs curled beneath her and a hand supporting her head as she watches Jeongyeon in quiet reverence. 

She can't deny it any longer. Which doesn't mean she says anything.

Jeongyeon's words slur toward the end, her body tilting just slightly to the side. The guitar slips in her lap, and before Nayeon can say anything, Jeongyeon is asleep. Mouth parted, the faintest smile still on her lips.

Nayeon sits there for a while, watching her.

Then she moves quietly, easing the guitar from Jeongyeon’s hands and running quickly to her bedroom to grab a blanket. 

She comes back and Jeongyeon has shifted so her body isn't twisted on the couch. Nayeon covers her with the blanket, careful not to wake her. 

“Yeah, it's always better when we're together…” she hums to herself, body nearly floating as she makes her way to her bedroom.

My heart doesn’t belong to her anymore.

That's what stays with Nayeon. More than any lyric. 

—

Nayeon doesn’t usually wake up late, not even on weekends. College had been the outlier years,but she blames that on sheer exhaustion. Back then, she wasn’t equipped to handle the endless stream of classes, tests, midterms, and finals.

Real life had fixed that.

And in real life, Sundays were sacred. Clean-the-house day. Lesson-planning day. Maybe a manicure or a quick salon visit. Sundays started early for Nayeon, that was the rule.

But this particular Sunday, her alarm doesn’t wake her.

A voice does.

A hum that travels in a melody through the air until it reaches her ears in her bedroom. Someone’s singing.

Huh?

Nayeon opens her eyes, blinking lazily because she’s still not ready for the world. Then another sense kicks in—her nose. Something smells really good.

Finally her brain catches up to everything else and she jumps from the bed.

Jeongyeon is here.

She rushes out of her bedroom, forgetting entirely how short her pajama shorts are, or how thin the lacy straps of her top feel against her skin.

Because all thought vanishes when she sees what waits for her.

Jeongyeon, in her kitchen. Moving with quiet confidence, putting away clean utensils into cabinets she’s already figured out. The coffee pot gurgles in the corner, filling the space with the kind of smell that makes Nayeon’s knees weaken.

And then there’s Jeongyeon’s hum. Soft, wordless, the trace of a tune escaping effortlessly from her lips as she moves about.

It’s the most domestic sound Nayeon’s heard in years.

She fits here, her delirious mind conjures up that thought. 

Then her mouth moves a little faster and she finds herself blurting out, “H-hi.” 

Jeongyeon turns fast, eyes wide at first (maybe lingering a second too long on Nayeon’s sleepwear) and lets out a breathy, awkward laugh. “H-hi. Good morning! Sorry, I was just—I woke up early—well, earlier. And I saw that we didn't clean up yesterday and I just wanted to… help, you know? I promise I didn't mess with anything. I'm making coffee—” 

“You stayed,” Nayeon says, ignoring the rambling Jeongyeon just went on, because it really doesn't matter. The only thing that registers with her is that Jeongyeon didn't leave. 

Jeongyeon fidgets, scratching the back of her neck with a sheepish grin. “Well… yeah. You closed the gate. I wasn't about to jump, Nayeon.” 

The fog clears. Nayeon blinks and blinks, in silence, before laughter escapes from her lips. Soon Jeongyeon joins her, leaning against the sink, her stance easing to a familiar state.

“Wait here,” Nayeon says.

Five minutes later she returns, slightly more put-together—black slacks, an old T-shirt slipping off one shoulder.

Jeongyeon’s already pouring two mugs of coffee. She hands one over before filling her own. 

“Thank you for letting me crash here,” she says after taking the first sip. 

“You didn't have any options, did you? Like you said, I closed the gate.” 

They laugh again and Jeongyeon sets out to make them breakfast. Nayeon doesn't move a muscle (chef's orders). She just watches; Jeongyeon moving in her space like she’s always belonged there, claiming a quiet corner of Nayeon’s home.

Of her heart, too.

That part is larger, heavier. It swells and threatens to burst if she isn’t careful. Because Jeongyeon could fill every inch of it, and Nayeon knows—her heart would let her.

After they eat, Jeongyeon has to go. 

“I gotta take care of my place too, let the air in a little bit. Plus, I gotta feed the cat.” 

That surprises Nayeon. 

“You have a cat? You never told me that.” 

She follows her to the living room, helping her gather her bag and guitar case.

“Nah,” Jeongyeon says with a lazy grin, “he’s just some street cat that showed up one day. I fed him once, and now the little bastard comes and goes as he pleases.”

Jeongyeon doesn't strike Nayeon as someone who does the dismissive act particularly well. So she teases as they walk toward the gate. “You love that cat, don't you?” 

“He's alright,” she replies, smiling. There's a vulnerable tinge to her tone in the next words that come out. “Sometimes it's a nice surprise when he shows up. Doesn't get as lonely, you know?” 

Nayeon only nods, choosing silence over the words pressing at her chest. If she could tell Jeongyeon right then and there that she wouldn't have to feel lonely again… 

“When you go on the road again, let me know,” she says instead. Jeongyeon looks at her with a curious stare. “I can go there and feed him, if you want.” 

Jeongyeon offers a soft smile as she requests an Uber on her phone. “That's alright, when I'm not there the rest of the neighborhood feeds him. He's fat already.” 

And after the light shared laughter dies down, Jeongyeon’s voice drops lower, rougher. “Besides,” she says, her tone threaded with something that makes Nayeon’s pulse jump, “I don’t want your first time in my house to be when I’m not there. Just to feed a cat.”

“Is that so?” Nayeon finds herself saying and her gaze drops to Jeongyeon's lips. She doesn't fight it, takes pleasure in seeing Jeongyeon's throat swallowing something thick. “What would I be there for, then?” 

That’s when the driver pulls up, perfect timing in the worst way.

Jeongyeon moves quickly, but a knowing smile on her face as she says, “Dinner. My time to cook for you. We'll set it up.” 

“Deal,” Nayeon nods, arms crossed as Jeongyeon loads her guitar case into the trunk. 

“Talk to you soon, Nayeon-ah.” 

Jeongyeon departs with a wave. 

And another piece of Nayeon's heart willingly goes with her. 

—

Before Jeongyeon has the chance to offer that dinner at her place, something happens. 

Something important. 

Jihyo reminds her. 

You didn't forget that we're having your birthday party at our place, did you?

Jihyo had only texted this because she knows her friend. Of course Nayeon forgot. 

Not her birthday. Selfishly, it's her favorite day of the year. A day about her, to celebrate her and another trip around the sun completed successfully. 

Luckily, her amazing friends always indulge that little bit of self-love she gives herself permission to have. 

But this year… Jeongyeon happened. All-consuming, unforgettable, beautiful Jeongyeon. 

Capable of making Nayeon forget the most important of events—her own birthday party. 

She admits to Jihyo that yeah, she did. Thanks her for the reminder and can she invite someone?

Of course you can, unnie. It's your birthday party, you can invite whoever you want. Wait, you have other friends?? 🥲 

“I know it's super last minute, and it really is,” she spills before Jeongyeon can even say hi to her. 

It’s late, the end of Jeongyeon’s Saturday set, and Nayeon catches her just as she’s walking over to their now-usual table. 

“Tomorrow’s my birthday. It will be at my friends’ house, Jihyo and Sana. They were here with me before, they saw you perform. It will be just a few close friends, nothing fancy. And sorry for not saying anything sooner, but I wanted to talk to you in person. Anyway, if you're free… I'd love for you to come.” 

It's the millisecond hesitation and the drop of a smile, that now is starting to appear so easily on Jeongyeon's features, that makes Nayeon's stomach sink. 

“I… have a gig tomorrow,” Jeongyeon says slowly, as if she's cursing these exact words that are coming out of her mouth. Nayeon can take comfort in that, at least. 

Because her face must not be able to hide the disappointment that washes over, so much so that the following second Jeongyeon's hands reach for hers. 

“I'm so sorry, Nayeon—” 

“It's fine, really—” 

“I need the money, you know how it is—” 

“Don't worry. And trust me, I do.” 

Nayeon tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. It isn’t fake, just quietly sad. The look on Jeongyeon’s face makes it even worse.

“I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

And Nayeon must really be gone, because she believes her.

—

“Wow unnie, you're so old now,” Dahyun says with that huge, familiar grin on her face as she disentangles from their embrace. 

“She's always been old to me,” Tzuyu offers as she zips by with a drink in her hand. 

“Remind me why I like you two again?” Nayeon tugs lightly on Dahyun’s hair and plants a big, exaggerated kiss on her cheek, earning a shriek of protest.

She's downed a couple of beers already. Dahyun is the last to arrive, Momo picking up her girlfriend at the airport and bringing her straight to Sana and Jihyo's home. 

God, they all work too much. 

Everything is perfect; tables set up at the couple's huge backyard—one piled high with presents, another filled with snacks, and a smaller one with Nayeon's cake just waiting to be cut and served. There's drinks in a cooler, wine abound and comfortable lawn chairs for them to laze around and clean cut green grass where they can dance barefeet. 

Her girls are there; the ones she loves the most in the world, her chosen family who show up, who make sure she’s smiling.

There’s nothing missing.

No one.

Yeah. She’s lying.

Thankfully the alcohol is a good substitute for the small amount of sadness that sets and doesn't seem to leave her that day. But at least for a few hours it helps her tuck it away in a closet deep inside, behind the laughs she shares with Momo and Sana or the usual bickering she has with Jihyo. 

Chaeyoung watches her more than she talks, and Nayeon avoids meeting her eyes. She knows she can’t hide it completely. 

Jeongyeon should be here. 

She wonders if at least her gig is going ok—

“Unnie, can you please help me with something in the kitchen? It'll be quick, I promise.” 

Jihyo’s voice cuts through her daze, and Nayeon blinks, pulling herself upright.

“I’ll take that,” Momo says, swiping the empty wine glass from her hand.

Nayeon straightens when she faces Jihyo in the kitchen. “What do you need?”

“I need you to turn around and close your eyes.”

Nayeon frowns. “Why?”

“Just do it,” Jihyo insists. And before she can protest, Jihyo’s turning her around, slipping something soft over her eyes.

“What the—ow! Too tight!”

“Sorry! Look, we have a surprise, and we didn’t exactly plan a great distraction, okay? This is the best we could do.”

“Jihyo, what's going on? Ooh, did you get me a stripper?” 

“You're thirty-five, Im Nayeon.” Nayeon can hear the distaste in Jihyo's voice. “Have some shame.” 

“Alright, bring her out!” 

It's Sana's high-pitched voice that Nayeon recognizes, and then she's being guided by the waist by Jihyo. 

She truly doesn't know what to expect. Her heart thuds against her chest, and damn it she already wants to cry before she even knows the reason why. 

The smell of the early evening hits her nostrils, and Nayeon takes a deep breath. 

And then she hears it. 

It's not a voice, not at first. It's the familiar strum of a guitar, strings that have brought such a sense of familiarity to her now. 

The blindfold slips away.

And there she is.

Jeongyeon, sitting under the string lights, guitar in her lap and the biggest smile Nayeon has ever seen on her face.

“Oh my god…” Nayeon whispers, more to herself. She doesn't notice if the other girls are watching her, because her vision already starts to get blurry.

Except for what's right in front of her. Jeongyeon is crystal clear, and Nayeon then hears her voice. 

“Hey,” she begins. “You didn't think I'd miss your birthday, did you?” 

She's funny. She's so funny that Nayeon has the urge to smack her. Wait, why are the others laughing? 

Nayeon glares at them and smirks in Jeongyeon's direction. 

“I have a lot to say to you,” Jeongyeon continues. “A lot. Probably more than I’m willing to share while six other women are staring at us.”

Her friends instantly avert their eyes, turning away in a flurry of fake discretion.

Jeongyeon grins. “But we can do that later. Right now, I’m gonna sing for you. Happy birthday, Nayeon.”

She strums her guitar once, tests a chord, and adds with a perfectly straight face, “Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.”

The girls close in behind her, surrounding her in warmth. Sana slips an arm around her waist and rests her head on Nayeon’s shoulder. Jihyo reaches for her hand. The others move in too, forming a small cocoon of protection and love. 

And god damn it, Jeongyeon really does start with Oasis. 

“...I'm sure you've heard it all before, 

but you never really had a doubt

I don't believe that anybody feels 

the way I do about you now… 

And all the roads we have to walk 

are winding

And all the lights that lead us there 

are blinding

There are many things that I would like 

to say to you but I don't know how…” 

She doesn’t look away. Jeongyeon sings the lyrics with an intent reserved only for when you’re trying to say something you can’t quite put into words. Something real. Something that language alone could never hold.

Nayeon understands that. Jeongyeon does too, more than anyone.

“Because maybe

You're gonna be the one that saves me

And after all

You're my wonderwall…” 

The small crowd of seven erupts in laughter and cheers when Jeongyeon finishes, but she doesn’t even glance their way. Her eyes are still fixed on Nayeon—steady, deliberate, unshakable.

Nayeon steps forward, tears threatening to spill. The flutter in her stomach feels like lift-off, and she’s almost dizzy from how light she feels.

Jeongyeon stands, leaning her guitar gently against the chair before reaching for Nayeon’s hand.

But it’s the older girl that speaks first. 

“I thought you had a gig,” she says. 

“Yeah. This one.” 

Jeongyeon chuckles when Nayeon finally swats her arm. 

“Your friend Jihyo DM’d me this week. Who’s Jihyo?” 

The one and only hears her name and waves. 

“Hi Jihyo!” Jeongyeon jokes and waves back. “Yeah, I was hired. I’m getting paid, by the way. Not doing this for free.”

“Jeong—”

“I said yes immediately, Nayeon. Didn’t even have to think twice.”

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Nayeon asks. And hopes. 

“I’m trying to tell you a lot of things. Have been for a while. But, you know—”

““Not good with words. Yeah, I know.”

Nayeon smiles, biting her lip as Jeongyeon’s thumb grazes her knuckles. 

“So… songs it is, right?”

Nayeon comes closer. She doesn’t mind the crowd behind her. She doesn’t mind anything anymore. Jeongyeon just gave her the green light, and Nayeon presses the gas.

She’s glad she’s met halfway because when she stands on her tiptoes, Jeongyeon’s other hand finds the nape of her neck and they kiss. 

It’s loaded, soft. Jeongyeon’s lips were made for her, nothing so sure has ever travelled through Nayeon’s body so fast. She’s the one that wants to sing now. She’ll do that later. In that moment she surrenders herself to this single feeling, and Jeongyeon reciprocates. 

They’re only stopped by the cheers that follow behind them. Nayeon doesn’t blush, but she’ll use an excuse to hide her face on Jeongyeon’s neck. 

“Those are my friends,” she whispers, smiling against her skin.

Her breath makes Jeongyeon shiver. “I want to meet all of them,” Jeongyeon says, pulling back just enough to see her face. “But I still have a set to finish.”

“Oh yeah, right.” 

Nayeon takes a step backwards with a laugh but Jeongyeon doesn’t let go of her hand. 

“Any requests?” she asks with that familiar smirk.

Nayeon glances down at their joined hands, then shakes her head. “No. I already got everything I wanted.”

Jeongyeon’s grin widens.

And somewhere behind them, Chaeyoung shouts, “Play The Cranberries!!”

Fin