Chapter Text
Tense is an understatement.
The first time Minhee sees Jisung since that fated summer five years ago, they’re waiting at the district office, about to sign their fate away.
It’s hard, breathing in. It’s even harder to meet her eyes. It’s hard to imagine that it’s her, it’s really her. Minhee feels her guilt weigh on her chest like a boulder.
She imagines, briefly, that things must be different when you actually want to get married. She imagines that the couple must hold hands, or sit next to each other, at least. They must sport starry eyes, bask in the happiness of a moment they’ve been waiting and waiting and waiting for. They must be ecstatic.
This isn’t that kind of story, though.
For Minhee and Jisung, marriage is a formality. A set of signed papers. Impersonal. This isn’t a celebration, let alone a pleasant exchange of greetings.
It’s just pure, interrupted silence.
“You can head inside now,” says Lara, the lawyer’s assistant, from her desk, as she points towards the closed door. Minhee gets up slowly, waiting to see if Jisung will get up too. Part of her expects her to make a run for it. Part of her wonders if Minhee would follow. Would she run after Jisung, after running away?
Jisung doesn’t run. She stands up tall. Minhee isn’t looking directly at her, avoiding eye contact and drawing circles around the sight of Jisung’s face like her life depends on it.
Minhee pushes the heavy, wooden door of the office open. She doesn’t step inside, holding it ajar until Jisung walks forward and into the room.
They don’t look at each other once.
When Minhee sits across Sooyoung, she tries her best to ignore Jisung’s presence next to her. It weighs down on her regardless. It’s been weighing down on her for years now.
“Good morning,” Sooyoung says warmly, regarding both Minhee and Jisung with neutrality. Minhee doesn’t even remember to feel weirded out by Sooyoung’s unwavering sense of professionalism because she’s too caught up in thinking about Jisung, how Jisung must be feeling, what Jisung must be thinking.
“Good morning,” says Jisung, and Minhee’s breath hitches at her voice.
Distantly, the sounds of the river crash against Minhee’s ear.
This is going to be harder than I thought, Minhee thinks, as she feels a deep, anxious pit in her stomach grow wider.
Minhee nods at Sooyoung, who spends a moment staring at Minhee curiously before sliding what Minhee assumes are Minhee and Jisung’s marriage papers towards them, making sure to keep them in the middle of the table before she withdraws her hands back to her side.
Minhee tried her best to postpone this. She wishes she could tell that to Jisung, who probably wants to do anything except be here.
Ironic, the way things have turned out. Familial obligation weighs down more than just one of them.
After Minhee left Jisung, she was very good about never looking Jisung up. Ever. She maintained a full blackout on all social media searching, any search engine words that might have led her to Jisung, and anything else. She hid all the pictures she took with Jisung during her four days of bliss into a faraway folder, only to be accessed when Minhee’s drunk and feeling lonelier than usual.
She didn’t listen to Jisung’s music, even though she knew it was out there, waiting for her.
Recently, though, on the eve of their marriage, Minhee lifted the ban on searching Jisung up because—well. What else is she supposed to do, in a situation like this?
She started simple. She looked up Jisung’s name, not expecting much because, surely, these kinds of things aren’t that easy. She anticipated having to do a social media deep dive.
Minhee was proven wrong within the next second.
Han Jisung is one of the daughters of the founders of the HAN business empire, which—coincidentally enough—is The Star’s biggest competitor. HAN works in almost every industry that The Star does.
Although Jisung didn’t always have a lot of coverage related to herself in the news, that much has changed recently. Jisung seems to have developed a penchant for appearing in inflammatory articles, the kinds that Minhee despises because all they do is bait people into arguing in comment sections online.
Han Jisung causes scene at exclusive Paris gallery. Han Jisung gets into fight at Seoul International Airport. Han Jisung caught in liplock with foreign diplomat’s daughter. Han Jisung banned from premises for improper conduct. Han Jisung, Han Jisung, Han Jisung.
Every article pointed towards one thing—bad press. It’s like she’s being targeted on purpose. There was one article that tried to ‘break down’ Jisung’s sense of fashion to a ‘disaster’.
Minhee remembers scoffing. Do they even try to make bad press believable anymore? Her eyes lingered on the pictures of Jisung attached to the article. Low rise jeans, a chain that digs into that sinful waist, a cropped top. Tiny, tiny dresses. Baggy pants, tight fitting tops. There’s a whole spread of Jisung’s recent looks, and each of them point towards some kind of edge that Minhee didn’t remember Jisung having all those years ago. Her makeup was black, smudged. Jisung is all dark lips and a piercing gaze.
Her hair changed colour with nearly every other look, also featuring a leather jacket slung over her shoulder and hands adorned with enough rings that Minhee wondered how Jisung doesn’t feel weighed down by all that metal on her.
For her own sanity, Minhee chose not to linger too much on the piercing glinting from Jisung’s navel.
The last headline Minhee saw before she couldn’t continue was from a gossip website, run by some industry insider. The article had a million impressions, and all the comments were speculating to degrees that made Minhee sick. The title—and Minhee doesn't think she’s ever going to forget what it implies—was something simple, something damning:
HAN’S YEARS OF CRASHING OUT: “5 YEARS TO GO FROM SWEETHEART TO NUISANCE? BABY, THAT’S RECORD TIME!”
So, yes. Maybe it was a good thing that Minhee hasn’t been searching Jisung up, because her hands start shaking every time she remembers all the articles, all that vitriol, and the possibility that—the correlation that—
“We’re just going to need you to sign your marriage papers,” Sooyoung says, back in the present. The stale air of the district office is stifling in Minhee’s throat—or maybe that’s just karma, trying to get back at Minhee.
“There is also a prenuptial agreement for you to sign. Your lawyers asked me to include them. It’s unconventional to sign this at the point of registration, but,” Sooyoung shrugs. “I can make an exception for you.”
“Okay,” Minhee says, her voice weak when she speaks.
She’s responsible for the prenups. She made Seungmin look over the clauses five times, bothering him until all of it worked to make it as easy as possible for Jisung to decide that she wants to end it, if she ever does. It’s the least Minhee could do.
Even though this whole situation is engineered by their parents, Minhee feels at fault. She feels guilty. She’s scared to put her hands on the papers, afraid that she’ll stain them red.
As soon as the word leaves Minhee, Jisung’s head darts sideways to look at her. Eyes bore into the side of Minhee’s head, a palpable stare.
Minhee nearly jumps when the stare hits her.
Sooyoung is saying something in the background, but her voice peters out. Minhee is slow when she meets Jisung’s eyes, realizing that this is the first time Jisung is looking at her since that early morning, with the August rain hitting the window. The first time since 5 years ago.
“Okay?” Jisung asks, her voice like stone. There’s none of the familiar warmth in her eyes, but Minhee should have expected that. It’s jarring, seeing Jisung put on all these sharp edges. Minhee can’t get a read on Jisung, no matter how imploringly she looks.
It’s iron-made, this fortress. Thick, with countless layers. An armour. Constructed to shield, to hide, to evade. Jisung’s face doesn’t betray anything except the fact that she’s waiting for Minhee to respond to some hidden, secret question.
Minhee can’t take it. She breaks eye contact.
Her heart swoops down to her stomach, and it isn’t excitement. It’s dread. Seeing Jisung like this is worse than never seeing her again. She nods shortly, and turns back to look at Sooyoung, who’s looking between Minhee and Jisung with measured patience.
“Okay, alright,” Minhee repeats, pulling the papers towards her. She’s slow as she picks up the pen from the desk and hovers the nib over the dotted line.
Ink bleeding onto the paper, Minhee looks at Jisung, despite how much it hurts. “Will you sign after me?” Minhee asks, but the words in the margins are do you want to do this?
Jisung’s jaw clenches. “I will. After you,” she says, not explaining any further.
Minhee takes what she’s given, nodding jerkily and signing her name over all the empty spaces left for herself and Jisung. She exhales, and retracts the pen. Click, and her fate is halfway towards being set in stone.
She pushes the papers towards Jisung—not all the way, just to the centre of the table—and Jisung pulls them towards her. Minhee’s hand lingers where the papers were for one awkward moment before she yanks it back onto her lap.
Minhee holds her breath. Her hands are clammy, skin indenting around the pen—oh shit she’s still holding the pen—
She goes to hand it to Jisung, but Jisung waves her away without even looking at her.
“I have my own,” Jisung says, clicking the pen that now sits in between her fingers, seeming to have appeared from nowhere.
“Okay,” Minhee says blankly, still not breathing that much. Her lungs are tight in her chest, and she wonders how Jisung feels. How she really feels, beneath her unaffected exterior.
In Minhee’s mind, Jisung’s expressive, smiling face is an unwelcome guest, making this harder than it already is.
While Minhee gets hit by a vision of the past, Jisung signs her name and hands the papers back to Sooyoung.
“Alright,” Sooyoung says. “I have your identity documents, and your signatures look good to go…” she trails off, sifting through the documents on her table. “That should be it. Are there any questions you have for me before your marriage is registered?”
Minhee’s heart roars in her ears when she shakes her head.
“No questions from me,” Jisung says, her voice betraying nothing. Minhee can’t get a read on her. At all.
“Okay,” Sooyoung says with a nod. “Congratulations, for whatever it’s worth. In the eyes of the law, you’re married.”
⏱︎
Minhee and Jisung don’t talk when they leave the district office. They get into separate cars and don’t exchange contact information, don’t lock eyes, don’t say goodbye, don’t do anything. They walk in different directions like they didn’t just get married.
Minhee’s hands twitch around the steering wheel as Jisung gets in the passenger seat of a red sports car, parked a few spaces away from Minhee’s own. From what she can see, the person picking Jisung up must be her friend—or more. They hug as soon as Jisung gets in the car, and the woman in the driver’s seat runs a hand down Jisung’s back.
Jisung looks shaken, expressive like she was before Minhee ruined everything.
The woman next to Jisung ruffles her hair and says something that makes a smile break out on her face.
Minhee’s knuckles turn white with the force at which she’s squeezing the steering wheel. She blinks, and the car is gone, leaving an empty parking spot where Jisung was.
Minhee does breathing exercises on the drive back home.
“Eomma,” she greets, picking up the phone as she pulls into the garage. She feels one step away from a nervous breakdown, but she can’t ignore her mother’s phone call. She has no reason to.
“I heard you signed the papers,” Minhee’s mother says. She sounds proud, but all Minhee feels is bile rising up her throat.
“I did.”
“Have you prepared the house?”
Minhee exhales, nearly tripping over herself as she punches in the code to enter her house. “I…have,” she says, biting back a scream. She forgot that Jisung’s scheduled to move in today.
She hums on the other end of the line. “Okay. I wish you well, dear.”
Minhee doesn’t respond. She wants to ask why. Why Jisung. Out of all the fucking people in the world—
Her mother hangs up.
It’s not hard to guess why it’s Jisung. Jisung affiliates The Star with their only competition. Jisung has been in the news, and her parents probably want to distract the masses. Minhee can already imagine the headline, something stupid and trivializing. JUST IN: Here comes the bride! Han Jisung moves in with Lee Minhee.
A marriage is the best business proposal on the table. Both parties stand to benefit. Unfortunately, it comes with the expectation that Minhee and Jisung do everything that married people do, including living together.
Still, Minhee isn’t ready.
She tries to work all the energy out in the basement, with weights held above her head, and she still isn’t ready.
She tries to get herself off in the shower, only to see Jisung’s body underneath her eyelids, and she still isn’t ready.
She changes into something more casual, fluffs up the pillows, and she still isn’t ready.
She cooks herself lunch, and she still isn’t ready.
A car’s engine thrums outside Minhee’s door, and Minhee knows it’s time.
“Thank you,” says Jisung’s faint voice. Minhee opens the door, a little premature with her clammy hand gripping the doorknob, and springs into action.
“Let me,” Minhee says, pulling Jisung’s suitcase out of the trunk, unable to tamp down the urge to be useful.
“I don’t need—” Jisung begins to say, but seems to decide otherwise. “Thank you,” she mutters tersely.
Minhee doesn’t linger on it, scared that she might start spilling her heart out if she even attempts to interrogate Jisung.
Instead, Minhee dutifully drags all of Jisung’s suitcases inside the house. There are plenty of them, so she doesn’t have to worry about looking awkward and looming over Jisung. She just does what she expects herself to do—carry something heavy, push it into her home, and then repeat.
In the distance, Jisung thanks the driver with a kindness that Minhee misses having directed her way.
“Your room is upstairs. First one to the left,” Minhee explains after closing the door behind Jisung and handing her a set of keys. “I’ll bring your suitcases upstairs.”
“I can do it myself,” Jisung says, her eyes shuttered down, wiped clean of all their usual expressiveness once again.
“That’s okay. I can do it,” Minhee says, speaking both to herself and to Jisung. It’s understandable. The most warranted cold shoulder ever.
“Okay,” Jisung says simply. “Can you leave them outside my door?”
Minhee blinks. “Okay,” she says. She’d say yes to anything Jisung asked of her right now.
“I’ll—” Jisung’s exhale rings loud in the relative silence of Minhee’s home. “I’ll go now.”
Minhee doesn’t see Jisung for the rest of the night.
⏱︎
Minhee has always enjoyed silence. She likes alone time. She loves her own company.
All of that gets turned on its head after Jisung moves in.
The new normal looks like this:
Jisung, upstairs, Minhee, downstairs. And silence. Silence becomes a third, unwelcome guest in the house, overpowering and stifling and leaving Minhee at a loss for what she should do to fix this.
Jisung takes great measures to avoid Minhee. Minhee doesn’t know the hours she works, when she comes back or when she leaves. She doesn’t call or text, because they don’t have each other’s numbers. Minhee hears the microwave, sometimes, late in the night, and hopes that Jisung is heating up the food that Minhee left out for her.
When Minhee wakes up in the morning and runs through her morning routine, she always finds clean dishes on the drying rack. Still, that doesn’t have to mean anything. Jisung could be throwing the food away or taking it to work. Minhee would never know.
She doesn’t know anything about Jisung. It’s a slap to her face.
They cohabitate like two passing ships in the night. Minhee has been in uncharted waters before, and it’s shocking how this time feels nothing like the last. They move around in parallel lines, never meeting, always equidistant.
Sometimes, Minhee can hear Jisung hum under her breath, and she sounds beautiful. Sometimes, she swears she feels eyes on her when she works out, but maybe that has to do with how Minhee has taken to working out in the morning and night these days, trying to sweat all her restlessness out.
The thing about parallel lines is that they’re deceptive. They do meet, under certain conditions. They meet when the line at infinity forces them to.
Eventually, like all parallel lines, marriage binds Minhee and Jisung in a circle, pushing them into a new plane where they don’t have the option to remain equidistant anymore. All they can do is collide.
Jisung gasps on impact.
“Sorry,” Minhee says, quickly stepping back. She nearly runs out of the laundry room, because she’s sweaty and fresh out of her workout and this can’t be the first time she has a real conversation with Jisung in the weeks that they’ve been living in a silent household.
“It’s…” Jisung trails off, taking a step closer to Minhee, her eyes trailing away from Minhee’s face and down to her shoulders.
Minhee falters, not expecting Jisung to speak to her. She thought she’d get brushed off, again, but she hasn’t. She steps back inside the laundry room. The washing machine rumbles in the background.
A few beats pass, and neither of them move from where they’re standing. “I just needed to get my clothes. Forgot them in the dryer,” Minhee says, trying to fill in the lull in—conversation? It’s barely a conversation. Minhee shouldn’t get ahead of herself.
Jisung takes one step closer, and Minhee is stuck in her spot.
Then, like some timer in Jisung’s head goes off, her face hardens, and she reaches out to poke Minhee in the shoulder. It isn’t a gentle poke, but Minhee’s standing firmly on her feet, so it doesn’t send her backwards like it would have if she were caught off guard.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” Jisung asks, bitterness coating her tongue.
Minhee winces like the words are an insult. Then, the prideful thing in her heart comes out, rears its stupid head. “It’s my house,” Minhee says, ruffled but still tentative. “I told you, I needed to—”
Jisung shakes her head. “It’s our house, in case you’ve forgotten,” she says, her voice low.
Minhee huffs, incredulous. “You can’t blame me for forgetting,” she says, stepping closer to Jisung. Jisung doesn’t budge, either, so they’re at a standstill—one move away from being in each other’s personal space. Checkmate. “We barely ever see each other.”
Minhee knows she’s sounding like she’s complaining. She doesn't mean to. It’s just that—Jisung’s her wife. On paper, in a legal sense.
Jisung rolls her eyes. “Fuck off,” she bites.
Minhee’s jaw ticks. “I already told you,” she begins, trying to be patient, except her body is gearing up to fight, “—I wanted to come get my clothes. I’m allowed—”
“I’m already in here,” Jisung interrupts. “Couldn’t you have waited?”
“Sure,” Minhee says. A beat passes, and she exhales through her nose, suddenly really fucking mad. “But, like I was going to say, I’m allowed to come and get my clothes, your highness.”
Jisung pushes Minhee again, this time with both her hands. Minhee’s almost provoked. Her hands spasm where they’re on either side of her.
“Your attitude is unnecessary,” Jisung says, her voice low and mean, leaving Jisung’s mouth in a timbre Minhee didn’t think was possible.
She steps closer, and Minhee’s stubborn, so she doesn’t move back, and now they’re nearly nose to nose, closer than they have been in half a decade.
Minhee is about to say something meaner, more biting, but Jisung’s eyes wander away from their hard-matched stare into something softer, something more fragile, directed towards Minhee’s lips.
“Who do you think you are, huh,” Jisung asks, but it isn’t a question. It’s something different. It’s a plea. Jisung’s eyebrows bend into a shape that makes Minhee want put her thumb in between them, to soothe it all away.
Minhee gets knocked back into her senses.
This isn’t right. This is going all wrong.
Every word in Minhee’s throat dies before it can push its way out. All at once, the fight leaves, replaced by desperation. She wants to pull Jisung even closer. Minhee notices where Jisung’s eyes are still fixed, but she’s frozen and she can’t do anything except let it happen. She wants Jisung to want, and Jisung is leaning closer, sharing a breath with Minhee, and Minhee’s thinking more please yes this finally—
The only thing Jisung does is step back and bring the venom back to her tone when she addresses Minhee again.
“The room’s all yours,” Jisung says, walking out and leaving her vanilla scented perfume in the air in her wake.
That night, Minhee heads downstairs to the kitchen for a late dinner, trying to find the appetite she lost after being faced with the raw, angry, hurt concoction in Jisung’s eyes. Maybe things were easier when Jisung was hiding everything behind a cold, hard mask.
The pain in Minhee’s heart is acute, but hunger waits for no emotion.
“Oh,” Jisung says, sitting on the tall chairs next to the kitchen island when Minhee walks into the kitchen. She’s wearing a hoodie that falls off her frame, too big, engulfing her. Minhee ignores the irritation that snaps in her body when she wonders whether that hoodie is Jisung’s or—the worse option—not.
Minhee freezes in the entry to the kitchen. “Um.”
Jisung sighs. “You’re allowed to come in. It’s the kitchen.”
Minhee sees it for what it is and accepts it. A truce.
“Are you hungry?” Minhee asks, heading straight for the stove and pulling the pasta out from the overhead counter. It’s quick, easy, and she figures that Jisung is in the kitchen because she’s hungry, too.
“Mm,” Jisung hums.
Minhee takes that as a yes, and Jisung watches Minhee cook, a begrudging presence looming behind her.
⏱︎
Dinner is tense, much like every moment with Jisung has been so far.
It’s funny, Minhee thinks. This is the third time she’s had dinner with Jisung in her life, but this one feels so vastly different from the last.
Minhee forks a bite into her mouth and watches Jisung do the same, sitting across from her. They’re on the dining table, deeming the kitchen island too intimate by mutual, unsaid agreement.
It’s strange, sharing a silence with Jisung that isn’t comfortable.
“So…” Minhee plays with a noodle on her plate. “How was your day?” she asks, curious despite the animosity.
Jisung stops and looks at Minhee, mid-chew. Instead of an answer, though, all Minhee hears in response is the sound of her chair scraping, loud and shrill against the floor.
Minhee winces, bracing herself.
Jisung stands up, plate in hand, and sends Minhee a look so sharp it could cut. It does cut—right into Minhee’s battered heart.
“We’re not doing this,” Jisung says, pushing the chair back in its place and readying to leave. “Thank you for the food. Goodnight.”
At the staircase, Jisung pauses, as if in consideration. “Also, fuck you,” she says over her shoulder, heading upstairs, disappearing faster than Minhee can react.
Yeah, Minhee thinks sullenly, I deserved that.
And so forms a new pattern, marked by less silence and more shared space. Minhee takes Jisung’s jabs in stride, because what else is she going to do? Jisung has every right to be angry. Minhee would be concerned if Jisung weren’t angry. No one should treat Jisung the way Minhee did.
Jisung hates Minhee, maybe, which is a thought too painful to bear, but would be justified if true. Minhee isn’t sure if it’s hate or extreme annoyance or—something else. But it’s warranted.
Minhee will take it as it comes. Minhee will try to make up for it, because the guilt is eating her alive and she’s still hung up on Jisung. Being able to see her everyday is a double-edged sword; a blessing and a curse.
It’s fine. It really is. It’ll take work, and Minhee is prepared to put in that work. She keeps cooking for Jisung diligently, prepping breakfast at night so that Jisung has something to eat once Minhee leaves for work. She’s even begun to come back from work an hour or two earlier to get a headstart on dinner.
Jisung always watches Minhee cook, but she leaves as soon as Minhee sits down to eat.
It’s fine. It’s what Jisung feels.
Except Jisung has begun to express what she feels towards Minhee in rather…creative ways.
And frankly, it’s beginning to annoy the shit out of Minhee.
When Minhee wakes up some mornings and tries to complete her morning workout, Jisung’s awake, wearing distractingly tight clothes as she takes up all the space in the basement gym, telling Minhee that she should try working out later in the day.
Fine, okay. Minhee can learn to share.
Or when Minhee wants to prepare her protein shake that she very specifically cannot drink without adding bananas to, Jisung somehow runs through the fridge’s entire banana supply.
Whatever, fine. A targeted attack, but it’s okay. Minhee has never had a roommate before. This must be normal.
Or when Minhee’s at work, trying to focus, and she gets an email with a blank subject line sent to the address for serious inquiries only.
From: [email protected]
You forgot to throw the trash out. Just btw. It’s a huge inconvenience.
Sincerely,
Your wife
Minhee exhales through her nose, getting up and walking across her office. She opens the door to a smiling Jimin, who looks at Minhee like she’s thoroughly amused.
“Did you check your email inbox lately, boss?”
Minhee sighs. “Yes. How did she get this email?”
Jimin’s eyebrows scrunch. “It’s on our website.”
“Please take it off,” Minhee says, turning around and closing the door behind her.
It’s too late, though. Even when Jimin takes the email address off, the emails don’t cease. Jisung seems to be taking full advantage of Minhee’s guilt, using it to her benefit. It’s fine. Minhee can deal with it.
From: [email protected]
To do list for lee minhee
- Get cat food (soonie’s almost out)
- Get pads for her wife because her period is supposed to start in two-ish days
- Put the dumbbells back in place after using them so that other people can use the gym in peace
Fuck you,
Your wife!
Minhee only barely resists replying to Jisung’s email with a rant about how the dumbbells were always there in the first place and it’s Jisung who moved them to do her pilates-yoga-calisthenics hybrid combination that Minhee has still never seen actual evidence of. It’s okay. It’s Jisung’s home as much as it is Minhee’s.
Another time, Minhee’s in the middle of sharing her screen during a presentation to the entire board of directors when—okay, this is partly Minhee’s mistake because leaving your notifications on during a meeting is a rookie move—an email pops up from Jisung on the top right corner of her screen, the letters of the subject line big enough for everyone to be able to read.
From: [email protected]
Subject: you’re a dickhead
I was just about to get in the bath when I started thinking about you, and then I got so mad that I felt like I wanted to punch the mirror. Do you know how mad you have to be to want to punch the mirror? Look what you’ve done to me. Sit with it. Fuckkkkkk you. Genuinely.
I mean, I really don’t get you. You seem nice, but you did something so evil to me. You made me so mad that I'm sending emails. I never send emails, because my job isn’t like yours, stuffy and corporate and probably responsible for turning you into the shitty person that you were when you ghosted me. GHOSTED ME! How fucking dare you?
Fuck you, really. Fuck you sincerely. Fuck you from the bottom of my heart. Who does that to someone? You must be heartless. You must not have a single feeling bone in your bo—
Minhee doesn’t read past that point, blinded by pure, unadulterated irritation. She profusely apologises to the board members and hopes, for once, that they weren't paying attention to her screen.
The presentation is over soon enough. Once everyone files out, Minhee sits down and heaves out a sigh that erupts from deep, deep, deep within her.
Minhee is reaching her breaking point.
She understands Jisung’s anger, and part of her heart hurts at how deep it goes, but isn’t it fucking enough already? Minhee feels bad everyday. She lives in guilt. She hates herself for what she did to Jisung, and she says sorry in every way she knows how.
For all the talking Jisung does in her emails to Minhee, she’s quiet when Minhee gets home, sitting on the kitchen island with her feet dangling over the chair. Minhee nearly jumps when she sees her.
She still doesn’t know how Jisung’s work schedule works.
Then, she notices how Jisung’s feet don’t reach the floor and tries very hard to not find that as cute as it is. Because this isn’t the time. Because Jisung keeps pushing it, and it’s a bit much.
Jisung slides off the chair, standing up to face Minhee and leaning back against the kitchen counter, her arms folded in front of her.
“Quite a stunt you pulled with the email,” Minhee grits out, holding Jisung’s gaze as she undoes the knot of her tie and yanks it apart, the irritation sneaking back up on her.
She’s harsher than necessary, undoing the gentle care she puts every morning and rumpling up the fabric in between tight fists, letting it fall on either side of her when it’s fully deconstructed.
Jisung looks down to where Minhee’s hand is popping the top button of her dress shirt open before returning her attention to Minhee’s face.
“Well,” Jisung says, with a shrug, not deeming the matter worth any more explanation.
Minhee pulls her blazer off, hangs it up on the hanger next to the door. “Well what?”
“Well, you deserved that,” Jisung replies, her tone defiant.
Minhee’s jaw clenches. She stalks closer towards Jisung, whose eyes widen slightly at Minhee’s approach.
“I was at work,” Minhee says, artificial sugar coating her voice.“You can’t be sending things like that to me while I’m at work, darling,” Minhee bites, just to be rude.
Jisung’s jaw unhinges, her mouth falling open in a little o. She looks down again, to the place where Minhee’s shirt parts to reveal skin.
“You didn’t ask me for permission before you—” Jisung begins, and then her voice shakes. Her eyes are glassy, hard, soft, stern. They’re a contradiction, changing face with every second that passes. “You didn’t ask before you left. I don’t need to ask before I send you an email, of all things.”
Minhee scoffs, stepping closer to Jisung. This time, Jisung doesn’t hold her ground. Her folded arms fall, and she grabs onto the counter behind her, pushing back against it, looking at Minhee with a heat in her eyes that makes Minhee want to add oil to the fire.
“Okay,” Minhee says. “Say it, then.” Say it, please. Say what I deserve. “What was it you said? Fuck you, right? Tell me. I’m right here. Just—” Minhee inhales sharply, her nostrils flaring. Why won’t Jisung just say it?
“Say it,” she demands, even though she’s in no position to be demanding anything.
“You’re—” Jisung begins. She looks at Minhee so fiercely that it feels like she’s asking for something, but Minhee doesn’t know what. “You’re really the worst,” she says, her voice breaking.
“Yes I am,” Minhee agrees, nodding, encouraging. “I’m the worst.”
“You are—” Jisung’s voice hardens now, and Minhee thinks oh, finally, “you’re the fucking worst. You’re heartless.”
Minhee takes it. She steps closer to Jisung, cages her against the counter, hands on either side of her. Jisung’s hands come up against Minhee’s chest, not pushing her away but not pulling her closer, either. Just—maintaining distance.
“I know,” Minhee says.
“You’re the reason I’m here,” Jisung says.
“What?” Minhee forgets that she’s angry, caught by confusion. She doesn’t know what Jisung means, not exactly.
“You’re the—” Jisung’s chest caves. Her emotion balloons in between them, so strong that it makes it hard to breathe for Minhee, who’s just looking from the outside-in. “You’re the cause. Fuck you,” she says.
Everything about her is sharp-edged. Everything about her cuts into Minhee, making her bleed out.
Jisung’s hand against Minhee’s chest curls into a fist. There’s nothing soft about her touch. Her knuckles dig into Minhee’s chest, palpable through the thin fabric of Minhee’s shirt.
Minhee burns under the touch.
“Fuck you,” Jisung repeats, using her fists to push Minhee off. Minhee withdraws, taking three steps back like Jisung’s barely-there push was a slap to her face.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” Minhee asks. Her pain is probably written on her face, but it’s no match to the story on Jisung’s. It’s a stupid question. She knows it is. She knows it as soon as the words leave her mouth.
“I hope…” Jisung begins. This time, she’s takes a step forward, towards Minhee. Minhee rears back, away. Socked feet squeak against the flooring, an unassuming witness to this hopeless dance. “I hope you stay awake at night, thinking about what you did to me.”
With those words, Jisung stops, sudden, and departs. Up the staircase and into her own room.
Minhee doesn’t get the chance to tell Jisung that her hopes came true a long time ago.
She doesn’t get any sleep that night.
⏱︎
As winter blooms into spring, Minhee tries a different approach. She tries to take it. Take whatever Jisung will give her, in whichever way she wants to give it.
In return, Minhee gives.
“I got you these,” Minhee says one day, handing Jisung a bouquet of flowers. I’m sorry, she doesn’t say.
Jisung takes it from Minhee and sets the bouquet down on the dining table. “Thanks,” she says shortly.
Minhee flexes her hands, suddenly weightless because of the lack of flowers held within, and nods. “I’ll go upstairs.”
Another day, Minhee brings an entire cheesecake home and leaves it in the fridge. She puts a pink sticky note with Jisung’s name on it. She’s pleased to wake up the next morning and find that it’s missing two slices.
Another day, Minhee buys Jisung a pair of strawberry shaped earrings that dangle. “They reminded me of you,” Minhee says, sliding the box that holds the jewelry over the kitchen island while Jisung watches her cook dinner.
Jisung looks down at the box, back up at Minhee. Her cheeks are very, very lightly dusted in the same shade of red that Minhee has missed for many long nights, alone in her bed.
About a week after, Jisung wears the earrings Minhee gave her before she leaves for a night out. Minhee doesn’t ask with who, or where. She doesn’t ask Jisung when she’s coming back, but she stays up until an hour past midnight, when Jisung stumbles back into the house with a flush that reminds Minhee of a night long lost, in another time.
The earrings keep shining, hanging off of Jisung’s ears. Minhee thinks, foolishly, in a fit of delusion: mine.
However standoffish she may be, Jisung grows used to being spoiled by Minhee.
Minhee amps it up. She gets Jisung flowers everyday. Some days, when she’s feeling particularly stupid, she buys clothes for Jisung, things that she thinks would look pretty on her. Dresses, jackets, cute graphic tees. She pays for Jisung’s hair appointment when she goes and gets the blue retouched.
“It suits you,” Minhee says, greeting Jisung when she gets back with freshly dyed, electric blue hair.
Red and blue, Jisung waves Minhee’s compliment away and scampers off to her room.
Minhee doesn’t relent. One evening, Jisung says she wants waffles, so the next morning there’s a waffle press waiting for her on the kitchen counter. Another day, it’s ice cream. Another day, it’s a burger from a far away store that doesn’t do delivery. Minhee drives there, bears the traffic, picks it up, getting back just in time for dinner.
Anything Jisung mentions, Minhee gets her. Jisung hasn’t outright asked Minhee for something yet, but Minhee tries her best to make out what Jisung wants, anyway.
When Minhee surprises Jisung with a fully equipped home studio, though, she’s willing to acknowledge that maybe she’s gone a touch too far.
She expects Jisung to make a run for it.
“You..” Jisung trails off, not saying anything else. “You made this for me?”
Minhee shrugs, watching Jisung look around from where she’s standing, half in and half out. She doesn’t want to enter what she hopes will be Jisung’s own space, somewhere she feels comfortable.
When Jisung looks at Minhee, there’s a sheen over her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”
Minhee waves it off as genuinely as she can, hoping with everything in her that Jisung likes it. That was her only goal when she purchased all this equipment.
On another, random weekday, Minhee decides to respond to one of Jisung’s many, many emails.
“This is against company policy,” Jimin says from the door.
Minhee belatedly realises that Jimin has eyes on every email Minhee sends out, but decides immediately that she doesn’t care. “One less email for you to check for typos,” Minhee lilts, smiling gleefully at the eye roll that earns her.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Inquiry
Dear Jisung,
I hope you’re doing good. I wanted to say that you should feel free to send me links to things you might want to buy or ask me to get you something in particular. I want you to feel comfortable. Don’t worry about the price of things
Signed,
Your wife
Jisung responds, about half an hour later.
From: [email protected]
Re: Inquiry
Trying to be my sugar daddy won’t buy my forgiveness
(But you can get me this, if you insist) (the whole set, btw).
Jimin cackles as Minhee clicks on the link Jisung sent her. Her mouth goes dry when the screen loads, displaying a pink, dainty, revealing lingerie set.
Minhee’s ears are in flames when she adds the entire set to her cart and picks the expedited shipping option.
Jisung grows more comfortable sending Minhee links, after that. They still don’t have each other’s numbers, but Minhee contacted HR and asked them to delist the email that Jisung is using for communication with her, effectively rendering it a personal address instead of a business one.
About a week later, Minhee nearly spits her coffee out when the link Jisung sends her—accompanied by a simple pink or purple? in the body text of the email—leads to a dildo.
Minhee stands up and begins to pace relentlessly across her office. Her body is running several degrees hotter than it just was, so she takes her blazer off, and continues pacing. Back and forth and back and forth and back—
“You know I can see you, right?” Jimin asks from outside the office, peering in through the open door.
Right. Minhee is having a horny-fuelled breakdown during the near-useless company mandated office hours. Stupid invention. She needs to find the person who put this into effect and have a word with them. What is the point of keeping Minhee’s door open to ‘foster internal dialogue’ if no one ever shows up?
Jimin doesn’t bother waiting for Minhee’s response. “Your wife send you something spicy?” she asks, sounding way too interested.
Minhee stops pacing and glowers. “Don’t.”
“Oooooh,” she says, pretending to be scared. “Possessive. I’m so sad I don’t get to spy on your horndog emails anymore,” she sighs.
“They are not—”
Well. Sending a link to a dildo to your wife, who you’re married to, objectively, is a little horny.
“They’re not horndog emails,” Minhee says with conviction.
Minhee ignores Jimin’s follow up questions and orders Jisung the pink dildo, instead.
Once Minhee gets home, they don’t talk about it. It’s beginning to feel like a never ending trend.
As Jisung gets some cookies out of the fridge, Minhee nervously sits on the couch. She silently watches Jisung pop a chocolate chip cookie into her mouth.
“I—” Minhee starts, but her voice cracks when Jisung bends over to put the box of cookies back into the fridge. She blinks five times before rebooting. “I ordered it for you.”
Jisung turns around, her cheeks puffed up around the cookie, which she stuffed entirely into her mouth. It’s so small, that mouth. It can barely fit the thing. Minhee shouldn’t taint the act of cookie eating like this, but she can’t help it. Jisung’s mouth is a gateway drug.
It’s already too late when Jisung walks closer, standing over Minhee and looking at her with a question in her eyes. “Ordered what?”
“The link you sent me today.”
Jisung takes a moment to think before her eyes widen. “Oh.”
“Mm.”
Minhee stands up, rounding the bend of the couch so she can stand in front of Jisung. She’s sure she must look out of her mind. She hasn’t stopped feeling off-kilter since Jisung infiltrated her brain with images of pink in between her lips, pink dragging down her body, of pink against pretty, honeyed skin. Of Minhee’s cock in between Jisung’s legs, pushing, pressing—
Minhee’s getting ahead of herself.
Jisung looks like she’s thinking about it, though, so Minhee lets herself reach out, and Jisung—allows it. She exhales, pinning Jisung to the back of the couch and watching the flush begin to bloom high on those full cheeks, travelling down. She watches the rise and fall of Jisung’s chest and thinks back to then. The sight doesn’t get any less arresting, no matter how much time passes.
“Unnie,” Jisung whispers, and it hits Minhee like a punch to the gut.
“You’d look good—” Minhee cuts her words off. “My pretty wife,” she murmurs. They seem to be getting through the cracks, her words. Bleeding out without her permission.
She bridges the distance in between them, slotting a thigh in between Jisung’s legs, lifting her up so that she’s hiked up on the edge of the couch, her legs wrapping around Minhee’s hips.
“Baby,” Minhee says. It doesn’t hit her that she’s on the verge of tears until one of Jisung’s hands comes to hold her face, and her thumb caresses the skin under Minhee’s eyes.
Jisung holds Minhee close, nodding like she knows, their foreheads brushing with the jerky, repeated movement of her head. “My wife,” Jisung gasps, and Minhee pushes closer, her hips slotting in between Jisung’s thighs.
Jisung’s hips almost, almost, almost meet Minhee, but then she stills.
“Can you—” Jisung starts, and her voice starts to lose the softness that it did a moment ago. Still just as close together, they look into each other’s eyes, and Minhee watches the shutters go back up. “Let me down.”
Minhee lets Jisung down.
“See you at dinner,” Jisung says shortly, nodding before she disappears upstairs, again.
⏱︎
Minhee keeps giving Jisung things, and Jisung keeps going hot, cold, hot again.
On yet another random weekday, though, she tells Minhee to keep the flowers that she got for her.
“Why?” Minhee asks, holding the bouquet close to her head like it’ll shield it.
Jisung shakes her head. Minhee would think she was tired, but there’s a restless energy bound up in the way she stands, like she’s just on the verge of pouncing.
“I just—can’t, okay?”
Minhee would let it rest, but she can’t, either.
“I know I fucked up,” Minhee says, not looking away from Jisung’s face when she says it, despite how badly she wants to run away. “But we have to talk to each other for this to work.”
“Oh,” Jisung says, lifting her head.
When she meets Minhee’s gaze, her eyes are wild. “You want me to talk to you?”
Minhee goes silent.
Jisung breaks.
“What, Minhee? You want to talk? Fine, let’s talk,” she says, taking the flowers out of Minhee’s hands and setting them down, away. There’s nothing separating them except their bodies. “You left me. You—” Jisung’s voice shakes. “You disappeared from the country. You took everything. You didn’t even leave your toothbrush in the bathroom. You just…packed up and left, like you didn’t say things that I’d been dreaming about for years the night before. Like you didn’t propose.”
Minhee tries to speak. “I—”
“No. I don’t want to hear you say—whatever the fuck it is you want to say. Some days I think it’s fine, and then I remember what you told me about wanting to see me again. You told me you love me,” she nearly yells.
Minhee can’t speak.
“Whatever, Minhee. I don’t fucking—” Jisung throws her hands up. “I don’t understand you.”
“I know,” Minhee says, her eyebrows creased in concern, her heart full of apologies unsaid.
“What do you know?” Jisung hisses, the venom in her tone unmistakable. “You don’t know shit.”
“Okay,” Minhee raises her arms in surrender. “I kn—I wouldn’t know. I’m sorry, Jisung. I’m…really fucking sorry. I tried—”
“I don’t want an explanation,” Jisung snaps. “I don’t want to know a thing. I didn’t want to know a thing. The whole reason I’m in this fucking situation is because of you. Because I went off the rails after you left me. And what did that get me, huh? My parents pairing me up with the reason that I’m like this. Just,” Jisung exhales, her shoulders fall, defeated.
“Just go away for now, Minhee. Please. Being angry at you takes a lot out of me,” she admits.
Me too, Minhee wants to say, but she listens to Jisung instead and backs off like she’s been asked to do.
At night, Minhee leaves a plate of cut apples outside of Jisung’s door and tries to say, in every way she can: I’m sorry.
⏱︎
Minhee calls in Seungmin as a reinforcement.
“Why am I supposed to be able to help?” he asks, stepping inside the house and closing the door behind him.
“You mediate, right?”
He huffs. “That doesn’t mean I can put a balm over the very real reason you guys are fighting,” he says. “But okay. I’ll put my mediation skills to use.”
“Thank you,” Minhee says, deeply, deeply grateful. Nothing else has worked so far, and Jisung and Minhee have remained in their not-really-talking standstill.
“Don’t thank me. You owe me. Next 5 company parties, you can’t leave me alone. At all.”
Not a bad exchange. Minhee readily agrees, ushering Seungmin towards the living room.
“Are we seriously doing this?” Jisung asks from the couch after she greets Seungmin. She’s sweet to strangers. It always makes Minhee’s heart hurt with an odd kind of jealousy. Maybe things would be better if they could start over, if Jisung didn’t know Minhee at all.
Seungmin runs them through a handful of trust exercises that feel ridiculous.
“Okay, enough,” Seungmin says, after Minhee and Jisung fail to hold uninterrupted eye contact for the fifth time in a row.
He sits everyone down.
“The main issue with these kinds of things is that there are feelings in both of your hearts that cannot be spoken out loud, no matter how much you try,” he says sagely.
Minhee wonders if he’s just making shit up.
“So, for your homework, I want you to write each other a letter explaining where you’re coming from, but say it like you’re telling a story. Don’t be literal. Make it feel like something you’d read in a book,” he says. “And then leave the letter for each other to read, when the other isn’t looking. You’ll know to expect it, but you won’t know when.”
After a little more back and forth, Minhee and Jisung reluctantly agree to try.
⏱︎
Minhee boxes when she’s anxious, and today is no exception.
It’s been…6 days since Seungmin assigned her and Jisung the letter assignment, and she has neither received a letter or written her own.
So she’s back here. In the basement, in front of her punching bag. Just herself and music blasting in her ears.
She doesn’t even know where to begin with the letter. How does she explain that she wanted Jisung, but duty—obligation, really—has been woven into the very foundation of Minhee’s being?
It sounds so trivial when she puts it like that.
Minhee shuts her brain off and gets into stance, bouncing on her feet when she throws her first hit. She varies her movements, favouring an alternating pattern of a hook and a jab. Hook, jab, hook jab, break. Repeat, this time with a combo.
And then Minhee submerges, disappearing to the world, reduced only to the feeling of her gloved hand hitting the dense surface, over and over and over again.
When she tears the headphones off her head, setting them down, she nearly jumps at the figure in her periphery.
“You box,” Jisung says, not like a question. A statement.
“Mm.”
Jisung wanders into the gym. She’s wearing one of her flannels, thrown over a bralette. Her pants hang low on her lips, and she looks like temptation. Minhee doesn’t remember where or who she is before Jisung stands opposite her and matches her stance.
Minhee’s eyebrows climb her forehead. “You box?”
“I learned how to.”
“Oh?” Minhee cocks her head. “Who taught you?”
“An ex,” Jisung says with a smirk. “Although her teaching methods were a bit unconventio—”
“Okay,” Minhee interrupts, feeling murderous. She takes off her gloves and gets into position. “Come at me,” she says, beckoning Jisung closer with her hands.
Jisung goes for a jab right away, bouncing on the balls of her feet while Minhee ducks the hit. She follows it up with a hook, and Minhee nearly misses it by a hair’s breadth. Her reflexes do the work for her.
Minhee heaves, impressed.
Jisung raises her eyebrows at Minhee. “Come at me,” she says, a little taunting.
Minhee throws a combo—the most advanced set of movements she knows—and Jisung yelps, taking 5 steps back.
“That’s—”
Minhee tilts her head. “What happened?” she asks, as if she didn’t turn up the intensity on purpose.
“Nothing,” Jisung grumbles, stepping back to her original position.
They go like that. Punch, counter punch, punch. Jisung punches with a force that suggests that this might just be personal, and Minhee ducks a majority of them. Jisung doesn’t relent.
Jisung matches skill with frequency, throwing punches left and right and top and bottom until Minhee is cornered into the mini boxing ring.
Minhee calls for a pause, taking a moment to wipe the sweat falling from her forehead so that it doesn’t get in her eyes. As soon as she gets back in position, Jisung chooses to throw another quick, impassioned punch at Minhee.
Minhee catches it with the palm of her hand, pushing Jisung’s hand down. “Playing dirty, Jisungie,” she hums.
Jisung’s breath hitches, and then her eyes narrow. “You have no idea,” she says as her leg darts out to pull Minhee’s feet towards her, sending Minhee toppling down over the cushioned, springy floor underneath them.
“Oof— ” Minhee wheezes when she hits the ground, the fall magnified by the fact that Jisung trips, too, and falls on top of her.
Jisung’s arms are on either side of Minhee’s head when the ground stops bouncing under them. Jisung holds herself up, but the chain around her neck hits Minhee’s chin, and her exhale is a caress over Minhee’s lips.
Minhee stays frozen, caught up in how close they are.
“I win,” Jisung says, triumphant. Her thighs straddle Minhee’s hips.
The false sense of security that the win grants Jisung is all the opening Minhee needs to flip them over.
A wheezed out breath breaks through in between them, but this time—it’s from Jisung.
Minhee smiles at Jisung, who’s underneath her. “I win.”
“Fuck you,” Jisung spits.
“Sure,” Minhee says easily, leaning closer so that they share a breath. Jisung smells like sweat and vanilla and everything Minhee wants.
Jisung eyebrows relax where they were pinched together a moment ago. “You want it?” she asks, her hips pushing up, her eyes growing lidded, sultry.
Minhee gets caught by surprise, and her grip around Jisung’s thigh loosens.
The perfect window.
Minhee’s head hits the floor of the boxing ring once more, and she looks up at Jisu, who looks too cocky for her own good. She leans down, breathing hard over Minhee.
“Really fucking dirty,” Minhee grits, yanking Jisung closer by the collar.
Jisung breathes into Minhee’s mouth and peels herself off Minhee, standing up and restoring all the distance in between them. “You started it,” Jisung says, before she walks out of the gym, leaving Minhee wet and confused and fantasizing about a rematch.
⏱︎
Dear Minhee,
I like you. You annoy me. I despise you. You call to me. I write for you. It’s unintentional. You say you want something, it’s already on my plate. You watch. I eat. You pick the sofa. I build us a bed. Fuck you. I hope you think of me before you fall asleep.
I don’t want proximity. You live in my house. I hate cooking. You cut me some fruit. I find a photo album of your past. You move into the guest bedroom. I hum your favourite song under my breath.
We sit in silence at the dinner table.
Fuck you,
Jisung
⏱︎
Minhee hasn’t stopped thinking about Jisung’s letter.
⏱︎
Dear Jisung,
Where I grew up, the sun was ever-present. I watched clouds come and go, but the sun never left. My parents used to sing me a lullaby, slowing me down just enough that I never quite caught the sunset.
These days, you close the curtains late into the night. The first night I slept in the same bed as you, I woke up to a solar eclipse. I closed my eyes on instinct, unused to the darkness. Sleep took over.
I wake up to an empty bed. It’s night outside. I think you hate me, but the moon looks beautiful tonight.
Yours truly,
Minhee
⏱︎
Minhee wonders, all the time, if Jisung read her letter. She wonders what Jisung thinks. She wonders what Jisung’s doing. She wonders what happens next.
“Mate your Match team is here for their product dev meeting,” Jimin says, knocking at the door.
Minhee stands up. She wonders if Jisung is thinking about her, too.
⏱︎
When the weekend arrives, so does snow. It blankets Seoul, leaving no place untouched. Minhee looks out of the window of her bedroom and watches the city transform into a sea of white.
Jisung is hiding somewhere—either in the studio or in her room—when Minhee goes downstairs and decides to be a little spontaneous. She gathers ingredients from the fridge, the cabinet.
She has to improvise, but she has mostly everything she needs.
She doesn’t stop there. She sets the table. She takes the bouquet she got Jisung today and puts it in the vase at the centre of the dining table. She lights two candles. She dims the lights. She makes sure she’s wearing something nice, and she decides that the button down and pants combination she has right now will have to do, because the curry is almost ready and she needs to dedicate all of her attention to it.
Soon enough, the door to whatever room Jisung is in opens and footsteps travel down the stairs.
Jisung is suspiciously silent once her footsteps pause, and Minhee turns around to look at her.
“...what’s going on?” Jisung asks warily.
“I thought we could have a nice dinner,” Minhee says, turning the heat on the stove off. Jisung arrived at the perfect time. Everything is ready to—
“No,” Jisung says sharply. “No, we can’t.”
Minhee notices, then, the way that Jisung’s hands are shaking. She’s standing next to the dining table, bathed in candle light, and looking like she would rather be anywhere but here.
Minhee abandons the food, striding towards Jisung instead. Her heart clenches with concern, because Jisung is looking around like something is wrong—like something is really wrong—
“Why would you do this,” Jisung asks, her voice neither rising nor falling as she drives a knife through Minhee’s heart.
Minhee sighs. She’s tired. “I told you. I want us to have a nice—”
Jisung pushes Minhee back by the shoulders. Minhee goes where she’s pushed, not bothering with standing her ground.
“Jisung-ah,” Minhee begins.
Jisung tuts. “How many times do I have to tell you?” she asks, her voice shaking.
Minhee nods. “You’re right.”
Jisung looks around, crazed. “You did all this for me,” she says, sounding like she’s in disbelief. “Why?”
“Because I—”
Oh. Minhee almost said it. Stupid, stupid heart.
Jisung realises exactly what goes unsaid. “What, huh? Tell me. You coward,” Jisung spits. “You love me?” she stalks closer to Minhee, and Minhee lets her, walking backwards to make space for Jisung.
“You love me and then you leave me. You l-love me and still—”
Jisung takes a shaky inhale, closing her eyes. When she opens them, Minhee swears they shine red. Jisung swoops in close, pushing Minhee back by her shoulders, so light that it’s a caress, nothing else. Minhee walks backward anyways.
Jisung jumps when the next sound is a sudden, loud crash that cuts through the tension.
“Fuck,” Minhee mutters, realising that one of the plates she set out on the table just fell to the floor. She’s on her knees immediately, ignoring Jisung’s gasp in favour of grabbing every piece of glass she can reach and putting it away so that nothing can hurt Jisung.
Minhee stares up at Jisung, whose eyes shine—on the brink of tears. She tilts her head, shards of broken glass behind her and Jisung in front of her. “I know I hurt you,” Minhee says, feeling a tear fall down her cheek.
A sob wracks through Jisung’s body. “You did.”
Minhee grabs Jisung’s hand, so close to her when she’s on her knees like this, and squeezes it. She keeps looking up at her, right into her eyes, right into her heart. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Jisung-ah. I was scared. I wasn’t young enough that I could blame it on my age but—I never knew anything other than listening to what my parents wanted.”
Jisung sobs harder, her hands clammy in Minhee’s hold.
“You really hurt me,” Jisung says through tears, and Minhee grabs onto her other hand, in disbelief that Jisung is letting her.
Jisung is letting her. Letting her in, in every way she knows. Minhee will take the permission for what it means.
“I know, baby,” Minhee says, “I’ll spend every day of my life trying to apologise if that’s what it takes.”
She stands up, emboldened. “I never stopped wanting you. I never stopped—thinking of you. My heart broke every day without you. I—”
Minhee’s words die in her throat, because Jisung is kissing her.
“I love you,” Minhee says in between feverish, desperate kisses.
Jisung needs to know. Minhee needs to let this be said, out loud, because it’s what Jisung deserves. It’s what Jisung has always deserved. “I’m sorry. I love you. I won’t leave—ever,” Minhee gasps, and Jisung kisses her back deeper, harder, like she’s trying to test how much Minhee will give under her hold.
Minhee returns the intensity, amplifies it. She hooks her hands under Jisung’s thighs, lifts her up so that she’s wrapped around her.
“Unnie,” Jisung says, and Minhee can taste the salt of her tears in between their kiss. “You’re crying, baby,” Jisung says, and Minhee shakes under the relief of being called baby. God, how long has it been?
“I love you,” Minhee says, kissing the taste of their tears out of Jisung’s mouth and replacing it with all her love. It’s so much. It overflows. It makes Minhee pin Jisung against the wall of the staircase and nip at her lip, watch how she unfurls under a firm hand.
Minhee pushes Jisung’s shirt off before they even get to the bedroom, letting it fall to the floor as she runs hands over warm, golden skin. As golden as she remembers it. Jisung is both different and the same, and Minhee loves every version of her, appearing in her head in perfect frames.
Minhee isn’t letting go this time.
“You can’t leave me,” Jisung says into Minhee’s mouth, bucking her hips up when Minhee throws her onto her bed and gets on top of her. “Can’t leave me now, okay?” she says—asks—and Minhee nods vigorously against her, saying yes forever yes baby my baby mine.
“You’re stuck with me now,” Minhee murmurs, mouthing the skin of Jisung’s throat, biting to draw a shiver out of the body she’s spent so long thinking about.
Jisung blinks slowly. “I’ve never been in here,” she says, awed. “I always wondered what your room looks like.”
Minhee wants to say that it’s nothing special, but Jisung’s eyes linger on every surface as if Minhee is worth memorising. “I did too. I wondered everything about you,” Minhee admits, thinking back to the curiosity that Jisung made bloom inside her, almost on sight.
“I’m so stupid,” Minhee sighs into Jisung’s throat.
“Yeah,” Jisung laughs, and shakes with a sniffle, and smiles against Minhee’s forehead. “You’re so stupid.”
“I am,” Minhee says, kissing Jisung’s beating, wild pulse. “I’m so sorry.”
How did Minhee think she could ever outrun this?
Minhee apologises, again and again and again. She kisses every inch of Jisung’s skin she can find, mouth wet-hot and teeth nipping at skin. She sneaks a hand under the waistband of Jisung’s pants and pressing the heel of her palm over Jisung’s core.
“My baby,” Minhee says.
Minhee extracts her hand, shushing Jisung’s whine of complaint and pushing Jisung’s pants and underwear off in one go, leaving her bare, exposed to Minhee’s gaze.
“So pretty,” Minhee says, already salivating. She presses kisses down Jisung’s chest, over her belly button, lower, lower. Until Jisung’s abdomen begins to tremble, like it can’t handle the wait.
“Please,” Jisung says, and Minhee puts her mouth over Jisung’s cunt.
Jisung shakes. “Unnie, ngh—” she moans when Minhee licks a broad stripe up the slit of her pussy, pushing her hips up. She’s greedy with her pleasure, and Minhee encourages it, grabbing Jisung by the ass and spreading her apart, gudiing her to fuck down on Minhee’s tongue.
“Good girl,” Minhee rasps, flicking her tongue over Jisung’s clit and holding her down when the sensation makes her twitch violently.
“Take what you want,” she says, and Jisung, the good girl she is, listens.
Minhee laps her tongue over Jisung, desperate to reach inside her and apologise to every part of her.
Please please please please , Jisung starts to whine, and her voice goes thready, high and airy as she rolls her hips up, riding what Minhee gives her.
Jisung comes all over Minhee’s face with a tight grip over Minhee’s hair. Minhee holds Jisung down through it, fucking her tongue inside Jisung just to feel her clench down and hum when Jisung starts to twitch in oversensitivity.
Jisung pulls Minhee up by her hair, and Minhee goes where she’s led, pushing Jisu down into the mattress as she works her mouth open in a kiss. Jisung’s head tips back. Always so pretty under the force of Minhee devouring her.
“Let me make you feel good,” Jisung says sweetly against Minhee’s lips, untying the drawstring of her pants and reaching under every layer Minhee has on to rub over her clit, slow, in a circle.
Minhee’s hip rolls down on the feeling. “Good,” Minhee says, tilting her head so she can kiss Jisung better. She wraps a hand around Jisung’s wrist, holding it in place.
“So good,” Minhee gasps, speeding her hips up. Jisu’s fingers are rendered nearly useless as Minhee rubs herself on them, over and over until she can’t keep kissing Jisung anymore.
Jisung moans when Minhee starts rolling her hips down in continuous waves. “Fuck, you’re hot,” she says, and Minhee could swear that the wet sound of Jisung’s finger sliding over Minhee’s pussy gets louder.
“You like it?” Minhee asks, mouthing at Jisung’s jaw, moving until she can bite her earlobe and pull. Jisung shivers underneath her, nodding earnestly. Yes yes yes yes please—
Minhee’s almost there. She squeezes tight around Jisu’s wrist and fucks down on it, rolling her hips in a circle, rutting into Jisung while Jisung lies there and watches with big, glassy eyes.
“You like being a little fucktoy for daddy, baby?” Minhee asks, and Jisung moans, her voice honey-sweet when Minhee plays with her like this.
Jisung is grinding against Minhee’s thigh when Minhee comes, slowly enough that Minhee would miss it if she didn’t obsessively catalogue everything about Jisung.
“Shhh,” Minhee soothes as she pries herself out of Jisung’s grasp. “I’m going to make you feel good, baby,” Minhee says, reaching for her bedside drawer and bringing her harness out.
“Do you have the dildo I got for you?” she asks, snapping the straps of Jisung’s bralette off while she waits for a response. She puts her mouth over a hardened nipple, impatient.
Jisung arches her back towards Minhee, and Minhee wishes she could swallow her whole. “I-I do,” Jisung gasps. “It’s under my bed.”
“Did you use it?” Minhee presses, rolling Jisung’s other nipple in between her fingers and smiling as she watches her become unable to respond.
“Ah—ah,” Jisung rolls her hips up into nothing, and Minhee takes pity on her. “I did,” Jisung replies, biting down on her bottom lip when Minhee tears herself away, telling Jisung that she’ll be right back.
“Unnie,” she says weakly. “Need you so bad,” she whines, spreading her legs and showing Minhee how wet she is. She’s shiny, dripping onto her inner thighs, and Minhee has to force her legs to start working to go find that fucking dildo.
Minhee is latching the dildo onto her harness in record time, motivated by the sight of Jisung squirming on her bed with a pillow in between her thighs, grinding onto it slowly, just enough that she teases herself without coming. Good girl, even without supervision. It drives Minhee wild.
Minhee throws the pillow away and straddles one of Jisung’s thighs, wasting no time in pushing a finger inside Jisung.
Jisung’s eyes roll back to her head, and her hips jerk at the sudden stimulation of Minhee fucking a finger into her, crooking it the way she knows drives Jisung closer to her peak.
Jisung is the most perfect girl ever, she is. She doesn’t even need to be asked before she says it. “Need you. Please—please p-put your cock in me, unnie,” she says tearfully, sniffling when Minhee’s finger is replaced by the head of her cock, pushing in.
Pink against pink. The harness digs into Minhee’s hips, her thighs, as she relishes the comfortable bite of it as she starts fucking into Jisung, slow, steady. Jisung trembles with every inch she’s fed, pawing at Minhee’s shoulders for more, more, more.
“Look at you,” Minhee pants. “You’re perfect, baby.”
Jisung holds onto Minhee’s shoulders. She looks into her eyes, and Minhee holds her breath, struck by how stunning Jisung is. The stars live in her eyes.
“I love you,” Jisung says, and Minhee’s hips stutter, losing rhythm.
Minhee tucks her face into Jisung’s neck, speeding her hips up, fucking her in measured strokes that rub against Minhee’s clit just as much as they reach inside Jisung, tying them together.
“So good for me,” Minhee pants. “Perfect for daddy, so good, my pretty angel.”
Jisung’s legs shake where they’re locked around Minhee’s hips.
A thrust, a shaky breath, a whispered I love you, and Jisung comes around Minhee. Minhee can tell, because she has spent a long time thinking about Jisung like this.
“I love you,” Jisung repeats, making Minhee’s heart stutter. Tears fall down her waterline, and they hold every emotion there is. Anger, sadness, pleasure, relief.
“I’m sorry,” Minhee gasps in between kisses, pulling out of Jisung slowly. “I love you, I’m sorry.”
Jisung is boneless under Minhee’s touch when Minhee cleans her up, blinking sleepily in a way that Minhee never thought she’d get to see again. Minhee manages to get her out of the bed, make sure Jisung pees, but not without carrying her to and from the bathroom.
“‘M sleepy,” Jisung mumbles, her cheek smushed against the pillow when they get back into bed.
Minhee must be wearing the dopiest smile in the world. She pulls a blanket over them and holds Jisung as close as possible.
They fall asleep, tangled in one another.
⏱︎
In the middle of the night, Minhee tries to leave the bed to go get some water. Jisung must be parched, too. Minhee should make sure she gets some water in her.
As she goes to leave the bed, Jisung’s arms tighten around Minhee, so much that Minhee’s next inhale is constricted.
Jisung’s still half-asleep, but her voice shakes, small and hurt when she speaks. “Please don’t leave me,” she whispers, her face breaking down, showing Minhee a glimpse of what she must have had to go through once she woke up to an empty bed.
Minhee makes a broken sound, relaxing into the hold Jisung has around her. She runs a hand through Jisung’s hair, repeating the motion until Jisung stirs, now fully awake.
“I’m going to get water for us,” Minhee says. “Join me?”
They go downstairs together.
⏱︎
“I’m not forgiving you,” Jisung says after gulping her water down, sitting at the stool at the kitchen island with Minhee’s hand on her thigh.
“I know,” Minhee responds, unsurprised.
“But…we can try,” Jisung continues, taking Minhee’s hand in hers.
Minhee nods. “You want to—?”
“Be your wife,” Jisung finishes Minhee’s question.
Minhee’s breath stutters. “Did you mean it? What you said?” she asks, blinking away tears. This feels surreal.
“Mm?”
“That you love me.”
Jisung’s eyes melt, and Minhee feels relief course through her body. A second chance, she thinks disbelievingly. “Of course I do. I love you.”
“I—” Minhee begins to say, but then she pauses. “Wait. Give me a minute, I’m going to come back with something.”
Jisung tilts her head and nods warily. “As long as you come back,” she says, pointing an accusing finger at Minhee.
Minhee takes Jisung’s face in her hands and kisses her, unhurried. “You’re stuck with me,” she says, as Jisung’s hands settle on either side of her hips, playing with the hem of the rumpled t-shirt Minhee threw on before they came downstairs.
Minhee pecks Jisung another time. “Let me bring something down. It’s for you. For us,” she says. Jisung sighs.
“Okay,” she says, nodding jerkily.
Minhee returns to the kitchen at the speed of light. Or at least—it feels like it. She knew exactly where to look for these boxes.
“Han Jisung,” Minhee begins, setting both boxes behind Jisung, onto the kitchen island. She watches Jisung peer curiously at them.
Minhee takes a deep breath in. This time, nothing is going to take away from the truth of this moment. Minhee will make sure of it.
She takes one of the boxes in her hand and promptly gets on one knee, popping it open. The pink gem catches the lowlight of the kitchen, and Minhee thinks back to the day she purchased these rings on a whim—the day she met Jisung for the first time, and love followed suit, like one couldn’t exist without the other.
Jisung’s mouth falls open.
“Will you marry me? For real, this time.”
The moment stalls, and the world falls quiet.
Jisung says yes.
⏱︎
“I never asked you, but you weren’t seeing anyone when we got married, right?”
Jisung laughs. “No,” she says emphatically. “Can you imagine?”
Minhee exhales, relieved. “Then who picked you up after we signed our marriage papers?”
“Ah,” Jisung nods. “That was Jeongin. You guys would get along!”
⏱︎
They do get along. Coincidentally, Jeongin’s a wedding planner.
Also coincidentally, Minhee has a wedding to plan.