Chapter Text
The ΨKE basement is disgustingly packed for a Thursday night in the middle of the semester.
It’s well past midnight, but the party shows no signs of slowing, and the motion of bodies waving back and forth on the dance floor gives the illusion of being on a ship at sea instead of a few feet below ground in a basement on the outskirts of Seoul. There’s bodies crammed beside bodies, strangers far closer than Hao would be comfortable with if she were any more sober—that was, if she were sober at all.
But as it stands, she is four red solo cups down, and it seems that the boys of Psi Kappa Epsilon have actually remembered to tip a handle into the massive coolers of drinks they were serving for once, like it was some kind of magic elixir instead of poorly proportioned vodka punch. Her head is buzzing, though the feeling is more pleasant than grating, fuzzy in all the right ways—even with the strobe lights flashing multicolored circles on the ceiling and a trap remix blaring out of the speakers loud enough that Hao is sure it can be heard from the street outside.
Hao from high school a few years back would be appalled at the sight. It’s not that she was a prude back then. Far from it. She just thought she would have cleaned up her act by now, like she’d promised herself she would when she gave up her spot at one of the top universities in China to move across the ocean to start over in South Korea. Her scholarship had come with strings attached, and none of them involved getting wasted on a Thursday night when she had the promise of a long day of classes hanging over her head the next morning.
Still, Hao hasn’t come out tonight for the company of the ΨKE brothers (kindly) hosting them in the gargantuan colonial-style house they leased just outside the limits of university property. The true object of her attention is standing right across from her, swaying like this song is a waltz instead of an expletive-filled rap, the remaining liquid in her red solo cup sloshing with the beat. Hao knows she shouldn’t, but she can’t help but stare.
Her eyes catch on how the red of Hanbin’s top contrasts against her recently dyed blonde hair—the top that Hao had chosen for her a few hours ago, having dug it out of the bottom of her drawers while Hanbin had nursed a beer in a halfhearted attempt to pregame the party. 'It suits you so much better than it ever did me, Hanbin-ah,' Hao remembered saying, to which Hanbin had looked down to hide her flush and traded her can of beer for the top like Hao had any interest in the amber liquid compared to the girl who was holding it. Unlike Hao, Hanbin had remembered to tie her hair up, ponytail rising high among the dark heads of the other partygoers. It bounces as she sways back and forth, hypnotizing in a way that makes it impossible to tear her eyes away.
Hao can already feel her own dark hair begin to stick to her neck and exposed back from sweat. Hanbin had convinced her to straighten it hours ago after she finished the beer, though to be honest it didn’t take Hanbin much to convince Hao of anything. It had seemed like a pity to tie it back afterwards, knowing where they would end up a few hours later, as it would hide all of Hanbin’s hard work. Hao’s hair was getting long now; she hadn’t had it cut since she had come to Korea, too busy with her classes and assignments to squeeze in an afternoon at the salon. Now it was just absorbing all the sweat and the humidity in the cramped room. It would be too late to shower by the time they got back, even though she knew it was gross to go to bed like this. Hanbin wouldn’t say anything. She was good like that. Hanbin was so good.
“Hey.” Hanbin steps even closer to her, squeezing Hao’s hand where they’ve been joined together since they arrived at the party. The layered rings on her fingers clack against the single silver band around Hanbin’s fourth one. It’s one of hers, Hao realizes—Hanbin must have taken it off of her desk while she was in the bathroom. Two twisting silver vines looped into a heart. Hao had bought it at the craft fair at the end of last semester after Hanbin told her that it would look pretty on her. She’s already forgotten what Hanbin was saying. Did Hanbin say something, or had Hao only imagined it? Usually Hao had no problem hanging onto Hanbin’s every word, but tonight she was drunk and easily distracted by the feeling of their clinking rings and the warmth of their joined hands.
Hanbin’s eyes seem to glitter in the darkness of the room, or maybe it’s just the reflection of the strobe lights. Red, green, and blue alternating back and forth in some pattern that she is far too out of it to recognize. Hao stares up at the ceiling, squinting. Are the lights always this bright? Do they usually change them this quickly? Why don't they just keep them blue? Blue is Hanbin’s favorite color. Hao’s favorite color is pink, but sometimes when she misses Hanbin a lot, she says it is blue. Once, last spring, when they had been lying out on a blanket in the main quad during the last week of classes, Hanbin had said that Hao reminded her of the blue sky, cloudless and constant. It was one of the greatest compliments she’d ever received.
“Unnie, are you with me right now?” Hanbin’s voice breaks Hao out of her thoughts, her face swimming into Hao’s vision, close enough that their noses are almost touching. Hao stumbles backwards in surprise, nearly knocking over a couple making out behind them. Shuddering like it will wipe the unwanted image of them trying to consume each other from her mind, she looks back at Hanbin. Much better.
“I’ve been here all night,” Hao hears herself saying. She knows she has the tendency to whine her words when she’s drunk, lips curved downward into a permanent pout. Hanbin says she’s the cutest like that, but Hanbin also says Hao is cute when she first wakes up in the morning, and she knows that isn’t true. “It’s you who hasn’t been paying attention to me.”
Hanbin coos, pulling Hao closer by their joined hands. This time, Hao doesn’t stumble. She reaches for Hanbin’s other hand, but then remembers that Hanbin is still holding her drink. Object permanence—a concept Hao seems to lose entirely when she is drunk. As such, Hao had made her roommate promise to never let her go, to bring her back if she ever strayed too far into her own head. Of course, her thoughts are never very far from Hanbin either.
“Can I have this?” Hao points to the cup. Hanbin barely begins to nod before Hao snatches up the offending piece of plastic, downing the reddish liquid in one go. As expected, it’s gross, warmed from the heat of dozens of bodies trapped in such a tiny space. Crushing the cup in her fist, she lets it join the pile of others on the floor. Sober Hao would never treat a space so badly, but drunk Hao could care less, especially now that her ploy to get Hanbin to look at her has had the opposite effect.
Using her now free hand, Hanbin pulls her phone out of her pocket, the bright screen illuminating her face in the otherwise darkened room. Though Hao is of the opinion that Hanbin is the kind of girl that never needed any makeup to look stunningly pretty, being subjected to Hao’s extensive skincare and makeup routine each day seemed to have encouraged Hanbin to try some of the products for herself. Hanbin had allowed Hao smudge a bit of her dark liner around the corners of each of her eyes. Not quite a full wing, but enough to create a smoky effect that made it even harder for Hao to keep her eyes off of her roommate. Not that it was easy in the first place, not when the eyeliner was just another excuse. Most days Hao felt a bit like a planet orbiting Hanbin’s sun, wanting to spin even faster just to catch a little more of her golden light.
Something about Hanbin filled her with endless greed, drove her to keep pushing and pushing until eventually she knew that Hanbin would pull away. Still, it hasn't happened yet. If anything, Hanbin seems inclined to feed that monster that has made a home in Hao’s chest, rearing its green-eyed head in jealousy whenever Hanbin pays attention to someone that isn't her. It is hard to keep it under control, so she doesn't—which is why she doesn't stop herself from leaning over to see what the other girl is looking at on her phone. Hanbin quickly pulls the device away from Hao’s prying eyes, turning it off and returning it to her pocket.
“Who were you texting?” Hao demands, not bothering to hide the fact that she’d been snooping, caught a glimpse of the grey message bubbles before Hanbin had so cruelly turned the screen off, refusing to let her read anything. Hanbin pauses for a moment before answering.
“Just Matthew. I asked him if he was here and if he wanted to say hi.”
Hao thinks Hanbin might be lying to her because she looks down at the floor as she answers, like she knows Hao will see right through her if she meets her gaze. Knowing someone from the inside out and spending every day living in their front pocket, it’s impossible to keep secrets from each other. But Hanbin reaches down to take Hao’s other hand, and the notion of pressing the topic further dissipates into the sticky air filled with everyone else’s regrets and bad decisions. It’s hard to feel anything besides the way Hanbin’s warmth spreads up both her arms like an arrow straight to the heart. She forgets what she was ever worried about in the first place.
“You’re clingy tonight,” Hanbin comments, but there’s a glint in her gaze like she isn’t mad about it. Maybe she’s almost proud that Hao has been glued to her side since they arrived.
Still, Hao can’t let Hanbin have the last word. It’s the back and forth that is half the fun—and Hao never lost, at least, not to Hanbin.
“You grabbed my hand first,” Hao accuses, even though she knows Hanbin has seen her staring at it all night. Still, Hanbin doesn't have to give in to every one of Hao’s requests. She’d probably known Hao’s agenda from the start as soon as she’d asked for her drink. Maybe the truth is that Hanbin is a little greedy too.
Hanbin doesn’t answer, changing the subject. “We should go find Matthew. Thank him for the invitation and everything.”
Drawing closer, Hao knows that in any other setting, their proximity would attract questionable stares and searching eyes. But in the middle of this party, where no one is capable of paying attention to anything more than a foot away from them, it doesn’t matter. Hao sees her chemistry lab partner watching her with interest from just a few feet away, which will unfortunately result in half a dozen unwanted questions come Monday morning. Still, with any luck, he will fall into the ninety percent category of people too drunk to remember the events of tonight when they wake up (hopefully) in their own bed tomorrow.
Hao shakes her head, close enough that her dark hair brushes against the bare shoulders exposed by Hanbin’s borrowed top. “You just want to flirt with his brothers to get more drinks.”
She doesn’t think she’s slurring her words, but Hanbin’s eyes soften in the way they always do when Hao does something particularly endearing to her. Her eyes form half moons, her cheeks crinkle into whiskers, and Hao just wants to swallow her up so that her best friend can never leave her side again.
“Can’t two things be true at the same time?” It’s the kind of circular argument that Hao would usually be the one to make—Hanbin using her own tactics against her as further evidence that their habits were really melding together. What if they could just blend into one person for good? Two souls sharing one body, no need to be separated ever again. But if they became one, whose body would they choose to keep? Hao secretly hoped it would be Hanbin’s. She doesn't know what she would do if she could never appreciate the other girl's features again, the gentle slope of her nose bridge and the soft curve of her that Hao sometimes feels she knows better than herself.
“Unnie? You’re really out of it tonight. How much did you have to drink?” Hanbin lets go of one of Hao’s hands to bluntly snap in her face. The snap does nothing, but the loss of Hanbin’s hand breaks Hao out of her thoughts. Hao reaches out for Hanbin, who can sense what she wants without even looking, and re-laces their fingers before she answers.
“I didn’t have that much,” Hao insists. “Just… one when we came in, and maybe a couple more when you were talking to those guys. Then, the rest of yours.”
She smiles widely, proud of herself for remembering. The memory of those middle two cups is a bit hazy. Maybe there had been more than two, she hadn’t exactly counted. Hao had only needed something to occupy her hands with while Hanbin was talking to the two guys next to the bar. She hated when Hanbin did that. It was greedy, that much she could admit. The fact that she hated when Hanbin looked at anyone except for her—especially the way she would flip her hair and bat her eyelashes in exchange for extra shots. But Hao had gotten used to it, or at least, she had developed decent enough coping mechanisms that she stopped trying to drag Hanbin away after barely a minute of conversation from whoever it was that she knew from class, her dance club, or even another party. Hanbin was the social butterfly between them, who treated a stranger in the same way a normal person might treat a friend. Hao could only watch, throwing back another cup of punch as the third guy of the evening tried to convince Hanbin to play beer pong with him.
Still, as popular as Hanbin was, able to flirt her way into anything she wanted, she was just as adept at turning everyone who propositioned her away. At the end of the night, the only person Hanbin would be going home with was Hao.
When Hao had finished her third(?) mystery punch, she left the red plastic cup perched precariously on the bar for some brother to deal with later.
She smirked as she swept into their conversation, finally bored enough to interject and having had enough of seeing the man flirting (badly) with her best friend. “Hanbin-ah, I want to dance,” she had whined, placing herself directly in front of the unwanted man, who she thinks is one of the brothers at this fraternity, distracting him by shoving her empty cup into his hands. “You told me that we could dance like thirty minutes ago.”
Without sparing him a second glance, the pair were gone, disappearing into the mass of bodies in the main room of the basement where the DJ booth was stationed.
Which brought them to their position now, close enough together that Hao would be uncomfortable if they were strangers, but it’s Hao, so Hanbin doesn’t mind. Time passes differently at these parties. Sometimes the night was slower than her longest lecture in chemistry, with the professor whose handwriting was so bad she could barely believe it was Korean, and sometimes it went so fast that the night seemed to pass in a single blink. It can’t have been that long since they’d arrived on the dance floor though, Hao tried to rationalize, not if she was still drunk.
“Are you bored of me already?” Hao sways on her feet. She doesn’t want to bump into that couple again, assuming they haven’t made their way somewhere more private already. The floor is sticky from spilled punch and cups tossed to the ground. All of the little details that had blended into her surroundings seem to become clear for a few moments, as if her brain is doing all it can to hyperfocus on Hanbin’s answer.
“No! No,” Hanbin repeats herself, squeezing Hao’s hands, serious all of the sudden. As serious as a drunk girl can be, Hanbin isn’t exactly sober either. “Never, you know I could never–”
Hao breaks into a giggle, leaning forward to place her head on Hanbin’s bare shoulder. It seemed like a good idea in the moment, but now she can feel Hanbin’s heart thudding under her ear, or maybe it’s the thrum of her own pulse, accelerating until Hao has to pull away for fear she might drop onto the disgusting floor in a heart attack if she stays that close any longer.
“Are you–”
“Do you love me more than Matthew?” Hao asks, all of a sudden.
Hanbin’s brows come together in confusion. It’s not an odd question to ask. Hao would defend herself in the Court of Most Embarrassing Drunk Choices if she had to. It’s just that, technically, Hanbin had known Matthew a whole three days longer than she had known Hao, because the two of them were in the same freshman orientation group, and Hao had been placed in a special group for international students (a choice she regretted every day afterwards), so it was completely possible that in that time Hanbin had formed some kind of unbreakable bond with Matthew that not even Hao could compete with. Why else would Hanbin insist on dragging them to this dingy basement on a Thursday night?
“Of course not.” Hanbin sounds almost indignant.
“But you’ve known him longer than me,” Hao counters, trusting Hanbin, but wanting to be absolutely sure.
Seeming to sense the urgency of Hao’s concerns, Hanbin leans forward, close enough that Hao can read the words on her lips. “There’s no one more important in my life than you, Unnie.”
“Okay,” Hao agrees, perking back up.
“Hey!” Hanbin shakes their joined hands, jolting Hao back and forth in her alcohol-induced imbalanced state. “Aren’t you gonna say it back?”
Hao giggles, shaking her head, which only makes her dizzier. “Can we go to the bathroom first? I think I had too much to drink.”
“You’re not going to throw up are you? Matthew will kill me if he finds out it was one of us who puked in the bathroom again.”
“I’m okay, promise.”
This seems to be convincing enough to Hanbin, who turns in the direction of the bathroom, which is down the hall from the main party area. Maybe they really have been here too many times, or Hao has just gotten too used to navigating the crummy basement while being drunk, but it feels like she could find it with her eyes closed.
“Wait, Hanbin-ah, will you hold my hand?”
Hanbin waves one of their joined hands up to Hao’s eye level. “We’ve been holding hands the whole time, silly.”
“Oh yeah.” Hao brightens up again, tugging Hanbin along.
Hao had never pictured herself as a sorority girl, had never been the type who considered flirting with overgrown ΨKE boys to be a useful hobby, and thought that the drinks she mixed at home were far tastier than whatever the fraternity could provide. The sisterhood aspect of it might have been nice, having a group of girls that she could count on, but Hao had seen enough friend groups collapse in high school to know that even paying hefty dues couldn’t save a group of college girls from endless amounts of drama.
Of course, when Hanbin asked if she wanted to rush the same sorority as her, there wasn’t a girl in the world who was more interested in the inner-workings of Kappa Eta Phi than Hao. She did her best to say the right things, to win over that group of perfectly manicured girls in her first month of college, because even then she knew wherever Hanbin ended up she had to follow. Still, it had been a relief when Hanbin (and subsequently Hao) had quit recruitment after the first day.
“It just didn’t feel… right,” Hanbin had insisted at first, when Hao asked why she had suddenly given up after talking about joining the sorority for so long. “Matthew talked it up to me but… it seemed weird to me to be trying to win over their friendships when I already have you.”
Hao was worried she might actually glow with how incandescently happy she was to hear those words. She felt the same way, had since almost the day that they’d met, but she never expected she would get to hear the sentiments back. It was Hanbin who’d grown up her whole life in this country. Her parents lived barely an hour away, and she still sometimes saw her friends from high school on the weekends. When Hao first arrived in Seoul, she had no one but Hanbin.
The girls' bathroom at ΨKE is blissfully empty for this time of night. Hanbin giggles as she points out the little bottle of lemon soap next to the sink. “Do you think someone’s girlfriend brought that?”
There must be about a hundred different photos in Hao’s camera roll of the two taken in this very (disgusting) mirror. The archive could probably be used to track the various ridiculous themes that the fraternity used to attract people to their events, as if college students needed a legitimate reason to go out on a Thursday night. White lies, togas, wigs—for as much as Hao griped about this place, she had spent too many nights here for her complaints to have any real meaning. Something (someone) always brought her back.
“Are you gonna–?” Hanbin gestures to the empty stall, but Hao shakes her head.
“It was too noisy out there,” Hao admits. The pounding bass from the party is still audible, rattling the door hinges with its force, though it’s a bit quieter now that they aren’t standing directly under the speakers. Even though the bathroom is lit by the standard yellow fluorescent lights that illuminate the other living spaces of the house, some of the colored lights from the basement still reflect onto the tiled floor. Red. Green. Blue. The same pattern as before, though it isn’t any easier for Hao to focus on it. Maybe the problem was never the lights at all. Hao never noticed anything else when Hanbin was standing in front of her.
All of a sudden, Hao throws her arms around the other girl, pulling her into a tight hug. She knows her hair is probably gross right now where Hanbin’s face is pressed into the side of her neck, but the other girl doesn’t complain, wrapping her own arms around Hao’s middle, so Hao doesn’t pull away.
“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Hao says, after a moment of hesitation. The words are the kind of weakness she doesn’t like to show. It was one thing to accept her feelings to herself, but it was rare that Hao ever vocalized them out loud. At least, not like this. Sincere instead of teasing, uncertain instead of demanding.
“You want to stay in this musty ΨKE bathroom forever?”
“No I–”
Maybe Hao hadn’t read the moment right. Now is when she should lock back in, make a joke, and pretend that she was kidding all along. But she can’t, not when the words are already spilling off the tip of her tongue.
“I want to stay with you forever,” Hao finishes her thought, undeterred.
Hanbin squeezes her even tighter as she replies, “Of course, Unnie. Let’s be roommates forever.”
“Roommates,” Hao echos, as if it isn’t driving the sword further into her chest by saying the words herself, “forever.”
It feels like those words are forever engraved on her heart, carved out by Hanbin’s gentle knife, never intending to cause pain but permanently disfiguring her in the end. A reminder of everything she’s ever wanted but never will be allowed to have. Somehow, she thinks, she’ll wear that mark proudly until the day she dies.
*
Aside from the obvious advantage of having her expensive tuition as an international student covered by the financial aid department, there had been a second, priceless benefit to getting the scholarship to attend this university. Never did Hao think she would be so grateful to share ten square meters with another person, but her dorm room had quickly become the closest thing she had to a home in this country. Though, Hao knew it wasn’t because of the ancient wooden furniture (carved with the initials of the dozens of girls who had inhabited the room before) or the plasticky blue mattress provided by the university, but rather because of the company kept in its four brick walls.
A few of the girls Hao had known from her Korean language classes had been accepted to the school as well and had asked her if she wanted to join them in looking for an apartment together close to campus. Unable to afford a place on her own, Hao had been about to take them up on their offer when she realized the caveat of her scholarship. For at least her first two years enrolled, she was required to live in the dorms on campus, and she had to participate in the random-match program that paired international students with a local student to supposedly help them acclimate to the new country.
Having a random roommate sounded like one of Hao’s worst nightmares come to life. She might not have known those girls from her academy well, but at least they weren’t strangers. What if the girl never changed her sheets? What if she complained that Hao snored too loudly? Or, what if they couldn’t communicate with each other because of the language barrier? Hao had studied Korean, but she had never exactly had to use it to diffuse a conflict situation with a stranger when they couldn’t agree whose turn it was to take out the trash.
Still, the whole thing was out of her control. All she could do was prepare for the worst and count down the days until she could move out. At least with two years of housing paid for by the university, she could save up and maybe actually afford her own one-room her third year.
Hao never expected the universe-ity would send her an actual angel in the form of a roommate.
The flight from Fujian to Seoul hadn’t been very long, but Hao still felt exhausted after dragging her three large suitcases from the airport to the taxi and through the campus, feeling the sweat from the journey begin to stick her bangs unflatteringly to her forehead. It was already quite late at night, but still the first day of move-in, so Hao hoped her new roommate wouldn’t be inside to see her in this state.
It seemed her prayers had gone unanswered when she saw that her roommate had already written her name, and Hao’s, on a little whiteboard hanging outside of their door. There were a couple little hearts drawn around each of their names and a smiley face inside the “b” of Hanbin. 'Hanbin & Hao,' it declared, 'Welcome home!'
Sucking in a deep breath to settle the nerves threatening to bubble up at the thought of what was waiting for her on the other side of the door, Hao tried to remind herself that there was no use worrying herself into a wreck about it. It was Schrödinger's dorm, whether she stood outside awkwardly with her three suitcases in a panic for another five minutes, or opened the door and confidently stepped inside, there was no changing what was on the other side.
Before she could even make the choice herself, the door swung open. On the other side, a pretty blonde girl wearing a backwards baseball cap peeked around the corner. Back then, they couldn’t have been more opposite—Hao, with the choppy brown bob and dark eyeliner that she’d done herself in the bathroom sink at the airport, and the other girl with straight blonde hair that fell in layers, framing wide brown eyes and a tattoo inked just above her exposed collarbones.
“Hi! Are you Zhang Hao?”
Hao must have blinked half a dozen times before she remembered that she had been asked a question. This couldn’t be… could it?
“Are you Hanbin?”
The girl—her roommate—nodded, her whole face lighting up as she pulled the door open.
“Let me help you with your suitcases,” Hanbin immediately went to take Hao’s bags without another word. She filled the small room with her chatter, instantly distracting Hao from all the anxiety that had plagued her just a few minutes ago.
Hao found out that Hanbin had been moved in for about a week already, since the local students had their orientation before the internationals. Her hometown was just a short ride away, closer to the countryside than the big city, but both of her parents had been able to help her make the move in.
“I took the top bunk, if you don’t mind.” Hanbin looked sheepish at the fact, as though she should have been able to predict Hao’s preferences knowing only her name. “But if you want to switch, that’s fine with me. I can move everything–”
Having seen the small mountain of stuffed plushies balanced atop the lofted bed, Hao shook her head. “The bottom bunk is fine with me. I wouldn’t want to roll off in the middle of the night and break my nose or something like that,” Hao started to speak her thoughts aloud, but her eyes widened as she processed them fully. “Shit, not to, like, imply that you would do something like that.”
Great, five minutes in and Hao had already gone and said something stupid to give her perfectly nice (and perfectly beautiful, though Hao hadn’t exactly had time to unpack that one just yet) roommate a reason to hate her.
To her surprise, when she turned back around, Hanbin was stifling a giggle into her fist, like Hao’s joke was actually funny and not rude.
“Gosh, I hope not.” Hanbin tossed her hair over her shoulder. “But then I could probably sue the university, right? For putting us in these death trap bunks instead of investing in new beds?”
“Maybe they’ll upgrade us to a suite,” Hao had joked. “A room with an actual view instead of just a direct look into our neighbors’ kitchen across the quad.”
“Yeah, about that,” Hanbin mentioned, “I would keep the curtains closed until at least 8 if I were you, the guy that lives there likes to take his morning coffee naked.”
Hao balked. “You’re kidding.”
A pause, and then Hanbin broke down into fully-fledged laughter, her whole body vibrating with it. “Of course I am,” Hanbin grinned. “Mostly, I’m not actually sure that he’s naked, but he does like to parade around without a shirt in the mornings.”
“Maybe we should put up a sign,” Hao suggested. “Something like, ‘If you can read this, it means that we can see exactly what you get up to with that Keurig.’”
Hanbin’s body shook so much with her giggles that she had to reach out to hold onto Hao’s arm to keep balance. She looked even prettier like this, Hao thought, unbidden, even if she was laughing at Hao’s expense. It was the first time Hao really experienced what it was like to have the full force of Hanbin’s sun burning in her direction. It was no wonder she became addicted to it so quickly.
“Hey, me and some of the people from my orientation group were gonna go out for pizza tonight. I totally get it if you’re too tired to join, but you’re welcome to come if you want?”
It was the first lifeline Hanbin threw her, but it wouldn’t be the last. Adrift in a sea of new people in a new country, Hanbin was a lighthouse in a storm. Hao could only swear to return the favor someday.
By the end of Hao’s orientation week, the pair were practically attached at the hip. To the surprise of some of the friends she’d made in the international orientation group, Hao actually had more local friends because of Hanbin’s efforts to include her in their activities. Sometimes, this meant Hao dragging herself out of bed after a long day of lectures to go for barbeque and drinks with Hanbin’s friends, and other times they would end up in the dank basement of some fraternity that Hanbin’s friend of a friend had a connection to, but Hao didn’t care either way as long as she had an excuse to stay by Hanbin’s side.
“It’s a Wednesday night,” Hao had complained once, flopping down at her vanity, still messy from the makeup she’d left out after their last late night adventure to a club in Hongdae where Hanbin’s dance troupe had arranged a beginning-of-the-semester mixer a few days before.
“That means it’s 'Wine Wednesday,'” Hanbin insisted, like those two words in conjunction were supposed to mean anything to Hao.
“If you want to drink so badly, I’ll go buy some plum wine from the convenience store,” Hao tried in vain to convince Hanbin to stay in with her instead of dragging them out again.
“It tastes better when it’s free,” Hanbin crossed her arms. Hao, an equally poor college student, understood where she was coming from. That didn’t make the thought of spending the evening surrounded by sweaty bodies ruled by the same logic any more appealing. “Plus, are you really a CJU student if you’ve never been to a ΨKE party?”
What Hao did have was two lectures the next day and an assignment due for an intro to biology course that was already kicking her ass. Still, her assignments weren't even a thought by the time Hanbin flashed her pleading eyes to Hao, and the decision was made.
For the record, the plum wine from 7/11 tasted so much better than whatever concoction they had at ΨKE (Hao wouldn’t be surprised if they had brewed it themselves with how nasty it tasted), but Hanbin looked even prettier than usual with the flush of the wine high on her cheeks and her excitement at showing Hao what it was like to have the real WKU experience.
“Matthew, Matthew!” Hanbin had flagged the then-pledge down at the party. “This is Hao, my roommate. Hao, say ‘Hi’ to Matthew.”
“Hanbin-ah, we already know each other,” Hao reminded her roommate gently, plucking the cup of pink wine mixed with who knows what from Hanbin’s manicured hand and handing it to Matthew. “We went for skewers together last weekend, do you remember?”
“Oh.” Hanbin furrowed her brows like she was trying really hard to remember, but the memory had completely escaped her. The dinner wasn’t even the first time they’d met; Matthew was part of the core group of friends Hanbin had introduced Hao to on her very first night in Seoul.
“Come on, let’s go find someone else then.” Hanbin didn’t even bother saying goodbye to Matthew, just tugging Hao along by her wrist.
“Wait, wait,” Hao pulled Hanbin in by the waist to stop her from getting any farther, releasing her hold right away when she caught Matthew’s questioning gaze. “We were still talking to Matthew, Bin-ah.”
“But you already know him, I want to show my Hao some new people.”
Hao’s ears felt like they were burning at Hanbin’s words. Or maybe she was just having an allergic reaction to the terrible ΨKE wine. If Matthew asked, which he looked like he might since Hao had made no effort to correct Hanbin’s statement, she was going to give him an earful until he regretted ever inviting them to the house in the first place. But to her surprise, Matthew leaned in to whisper something in Hanbin’s ear, ignoring Hao entirely.
Hanbin’s eyes widened, and she began to shake her head, peering around as if sizing up the crowd. “Good idea. We should go home before anyone gets the wrong idea.”
Hao, who had been too busy staring at how cute Hanbin’s nose looked under the ugly yellow lights of the ΨKE living room, interjected, “Huh?”
“Home,” Hanbin repeated. Then, her eyes scanning over Hao’s still confused expression, she managed to string together a complete sentence explaining herself. Hao hadn’t gotten good enough (yet) at reading her mind. “Take me home.”
Though she had been looking for an excuse to get out of this place since she’d first tasted the wine, Hao still couldn’t help but take the opportunity to tease Hanbin while she could. She was always so much more open, so much more honest when she was drunk.
“So soon? We just got here. Don’t you want to talk to Matthew some more?”
“No. We have to go now. Say ‘bye’ to Matthew,” Hanbin insisted. Hao, confused but somehow still endeared, waved goodbye to their friend as Hanbin tugged her out of the living room door, past the pledge at the entrance, and onto the porch. Matthew shot her a thumbs up before he disappeared back into the crowd. For some reason, Hanbin kept looking back over her shoulder, like she was expecting someone to be following them.
“Did you forget something?” Hao asked, unconsciously reaching towards Hanbin’s back pocket to check to make sure she still had her phone and her keys.
“Nooo,” Hanbin sing-songed, fully pressing Hanbin’s hand over the back pocket of her jeans to let her feel for herself. Hao wasn’t drunk enough to justify to herself that it’s because of the alcohol she had let it happen. “Phone, keys,” Hanbin listed, “and you. That’s everything.”
Satisfied, Hanbin had to look up a bit to meet Hao’s gaze because she’d decided to wear her regular sneakers to the party while Hao opted for her platforms. “Can we please go home now?”
Letting her hand rest above Hanbin’s back pocket, looping her thumb around her waist to rest in one of Hanbin’s belt loops, Hao had guided them home.
*
Critics would call it codependency, but Hao knows that what she and Hanbin have has been different from the beginning. In all her life, she has never had a friend—a best friend—like Hanbin. She doesn’t think she will ever find another.
That’s the reason it makes it so much more difficult that Hao is in love with her.
*
Despite being in different majors (geology for Hao and psychology for Hanbin) and spending their free time as members of different clubs (CJU's classical orchestra and an all-female competitive hip hop troupe respectively), the pair are inseparable.
(“It’s just more convenient that way,” Hao had tried to justify to a friend who was concerned when Hao had to leave their study session early to catch Hanbin at the end of her last lecture.
“You two are going to end up at the same dorm eventually, what’s the rush?” she had asked. Hao had to resist the urge to scoff at her lack of understanding. No one else understood them, no one except each other.
“Then we might as well go there together,” Hao justified, ending the conversation by zipping up her backpack. “See you around.”
Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t. Hao didn’t like when people were weird about Hanbin. The two were a package deal, there wasn’t one without the other.)
They are more than just roommates—their relationship means more than just sharing a tiny dorm room with barely enough space for one person, let alone two. They had comforted each other through exam seasons, had cried together when Hao was homesick for her mother’s cooking and missing her two dogs. They had even gotten sick at the same time because Hanbin insisted on taking care of Hao when she caught a cold instead of letting her tough it out in her blanket cocoon until they were both feverish and begging Matthew to bring take-out to their dorm since they were both too ill to get up on their own.
It’s Hao who has become the unofficial team photographer of Hanbin’s dance troupe. There is always a space in the front row of their performances reserved by Hanbin’s bag until Hao comes rushing in to be on time after her classes. She had even attempted to join one of the open sessions that Hanbin taught as part of a search for new recruits for their team, but found it was a bit difficult to focus on learning the dance when all her brain wanted to do was stare at the teacher. Which should have been a good start, if only Hao’s brain didn’t auto-delete all the choreo she had just watched when Hanbin walked over to inspect her form, her hands guiding Hao’s waist into the right position.
In return, Hanbin learned Hao’s favorite composers and always talked the neighbors down politely when they complained about Hao practicing late into the night. It is hard to argue with Hanbin, with her sweet disposition and sweeter face, but maybe Hao is biased. Either way, there haven't been any more complaints about her midnight sonatas. Still, she had tried to restrict herself to practicing in the studio if possible, not wanting to keep Hanbin up longer than necessary. Unfortunately, that plan hadn’t lasted very long, since Hanbin confessed she was never able to fall asleep if she knew Hao was still out somewhere and would have to walk back home alone. Hao has practiced at home since, but with a practice mute that quiets the sound of her playing and a promise to buy Hanbin a pair of noise-cancelling headphones for her birthday.
Though Hanbin had confessed to Hao early on into their friendship that she never had any interest in classical music, she never seems bored when Hao is practicing—asking questions if Hao doesn't seem too stressed to be bothered by the interruption and paying her a new compliment after each run through. Her commendations have gotten more technical over time, and Hao has the sneaking suspicion that Hanbin had actually researched proper violin terminology just to be able to praise her roommate.
These aren't the only moments when Hao’s traitorous brain has become convinced there is a chance that Hanbin might be in love with her too. Still, she refuses to let herself have anything more than a maybe. Otherwise, it will hurt too much when Hanbin will inevitably break her heart.
That much was inescapable, Hao is sure. Girls like Hanbin don't end up with girls like Hao. Girls like Hanbin, who were on the cheer team in high school and whose parents came to visit once a month—bringing a bag full of homemade banchan that Hanbin always shared (to the point that her mother had started sending along extra containers of Hao’s favorites, which may have made her cry when she realized for the first time)—don't stay with girls like Hao, who wear sparkly makeup to hide the bags under their eyes and who have run away from their home country to start over completely, repeating a year of university just to get away from it all. If Hanbin’s life is an open book, Hao’s would be a blank page. Honestly, the only things worth writing about came after she had met Hanbin.
(“So you’ll bid on me, right?” Hanbin had asked, eyes beseeching.
“Huh?” Hao had been dozing off over her calculus notes, but she didn’t want to admit it. She loved Hanbin, she really did, but sometimes when she got really into retelling gossip about the members of her dance team, Hao got lost entirely.
“For the charity blind date event,” Hanbin reminded her, like it should have been obvious. It probably would have been, had Hao actually been listening instead of staring at the little doodles in the corner of the page that Hanbin had drawn in her notebook when she’d been bored earlier in an effort not to fall asleep. “I don’t want some nasty creepy guy to win. Then I’ll have to go on a date with him and probably call you halfway through to rescue me even though I’ll feel bad because it’s technically for charity.”
Though Hanbin had continued rambling, Hao had been sold at the first mention of the nasty creepy guy that her best friend needed to be saved from. Of course, Hao would never let that happen. She could just picture it now. Hanbin sitting stiffly in a high-backed chair while he leers at her over a candlelit dinner, with Hao crouched outside, hidden in the bushes, waiting for the confirmation to pull the fire alarm or something just to get Hanbin out of there before he tried to kiss her over the tiramisu.
“You can count on me,” Hao promised, putting the date of the auction into her already busy calendar. She could apologize to her group mates for missing the meeting for their joint research project meeting later, this was more important.
“Ah no, wait, Unnie I was just kidding,” Hanbin had backtracked. “It’s probably going to be expensive…”
“Because you’re so popular?” Hao teased, her smirk only growing at the embarrassed pink flush rising on Hanbin’s cheeks.
“Well, I mean,” Hanbin tried to save herself, hands flailing like she might be able to catch the answer out of thin air.
Hao catches one of her hands, squeezing gently. “Don’t worry, you’re worth it.”
In the end, it was a bitter fight between Hao and some random guy who she had seen at some of Hanbin’s other performances. She didn’t know why he bothered sticking it out for so long, it was obvious that Hao would never give in. Though she might have had to live solely on dining hall food for the next month, it was worth it to see the look of relief on Hanbin’s face when she won.
For their “date,” which Hanbin insisted on planning despite Hao being the one who had won, Hanbin took her out to get ice cream. It didn’t feel any different from their usual hangouts, but Hao wasn’t naive enough to believe that she would get an actual date. At least Hanbin had paid, taking pity on Hao’s empty wallet.)
*
Sometimes Hao thinks about throwing all her fears to the wind and confessing to it all. Like if she let the words hang in the air between them instead of suffocating them in her chest, it might make them easier to stand.
Like if Hanbin could see the full weight of the feelings that Hao carried, she might understand why Hao might never be able to get over them.
Like if Hao were brave enough to say something first, Hanbin might actually give her a chance.
The problem is that Hao only has enough courage to try when she is drunk, when her inhibitions are lowered and all ideas seemed good when Hanbin is laying warm by her side, their legs tangled together in Hao’s lower bunk. It was a habit they’d picked up a few months into their first year, when, Hao, finally having enough almost-heart attacks watching a drunk Hanbin try to ascend to the top bunk, had insisted that they just share her bottom bunk on nights after they returned from a party. The twin-sized mattresses that the university supplied for the bunk-beds were purposefully small enough that they could only comfortably fit one person—unless they were cuddled close enough that an outsider wouldn’t be able to tell where one person started and the other began.
Four legs, four arms, and two hearts beating as one.
“I can hear you thinking. It’s so loud,” Hanbin complains, tucking herself closer under Hao’s neck like there was any space left there to begin with. Her words bring Hao back to the present, all too aware of the lead weight in her legs after the pair stumbled their way home in an unsuccessful attempt to sober up instead of calling a cab like Hao had wanted. Despite the evening spent in the sweaty ΨKE basement, Hanbin still smells sweet like her favorite perfume, or maybe it had just permeated from the sheets above to fill the whole room until it was impossible to associate the dorm with any other scent.
Even if Hao pretends to be asleep, pretends that she didn’t hear the accusation so she can avoid the unspoken question, she knows that Hanbin will prod at her until she gets what she wants. She isn't sure if Hanbin had been stubborn since birth (like her), or if it is another trait they brought out in each other.
“Unnie, are you awake?” Sure enough, Hanbin’s hand traces shapes into Hao’s collarbone, insistent.
“I could have been sleeping,” she replies, in lieu of a real answer.
“You weren’t.”
“I wasn’t,” Hao admits.
“What were you thinking about?” Hanbin asks directly, not letting Hao distract her from her question.
“You.”
Hanbin makes a noise of satisfaction, Hao can feel it against her chest.
“Good. You should dream of me,” Hanbin declares. “I don’t like when we’re apart, I miss you too much.”
“How will you know,” Hao asks, pausing as the words settle like honey on her tongue, sweet but sticking to the roof of her mouth, “if I dream of you?”
“I’ll know,” Hanbin replies, without pause, like it’s a common sense fact that everyone should know. “Because I’ll dream of you too.”
Hao should just say it, let the words spill out and fill the tiny cracks between their bodies before her brain catches up to her reckless mouth and locks those feelings up even tighter than before. It won’t be bad, it could never be bad. Hanbin would never hate her, not for this.
Only, Hao can tell Hanbin is still drunk—they both are—but Hanbin can't hold her liquor as well as Hao, so it would be unfair to spring this on her now when she might not even remember it in the morning. It's taking advantage of her alcohol-addled state since she might not be able to understand that the “forever” Hao wants to ask for is not the same as the “forever” Hanbin had offered in the ΨKE bathroom all those hours ago.
“Go to sleep,” Hanbin insists, mumbling her instructions into Hao’s neck. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
Next time. Hao will confess next time, she promises to herself.
Letting her arm curl closer around Hanbin’s waist, Hao succumbs to the heaviness in her eyes. Even when Hanbin falls asleep just a few feet above her on a normal night, Hao finds she never sleeps as well as when Hanbin lays by her side.
*
In the end, the only one Hao can blame for the blindside of Minjun’s return is herself. Though Hao is fairly confident that Hanbin has never mentioned him before, it was stupid of her to assume the most perfect girl she’d ever met would be single. That doesn’t make it hurt less when Hao finds a stranger sitting at her desk one evening when she returns from an orchestra rehearsal exhausted and hoping to convince Hanbin to cuddle with her for a while until she forgets all about the drama of Soohun trying to sabotage her solo at the upcoming cherry blossom festival or the fact that the cello section kept throwing off the timing of their group piece by entering a bar too early despite the conductor’s constant cues.
“Who are you?” the man asks, arms crossed as he leans back in Hao’s own desk chair.
Hao’s eyes flick around the room for a sight of Hanbin. Had the man forced his way in somehow? Was she safe?
“What are you doing in my room?” Hao answers his question with a question, crossing her arms in an attempt to look even tougher. He definitely has at least a few inches and more than a few pounds on her, but Hao could scream and alert the whole floor if need be, her voice was not to be underestimated.
“So you are Hao, then.” He seems to size her up. Whatever he sees, he doesn’t seem to be satisfied with.
“How do you know my name? Where’s Hanbin?” She’s probably being rude, but she doesn’t have a lot of patience to deal with an intruder right now.
“I’m Minjun. Hanbin didn’t say I was coming?” For the first time, the man—Minjun—bares the slightest bit of emotion.
Hanbin doesn't usually invite strangers over to the apartment, certainly not without asking Hao’s permission first. But maybe this Minjun guy is the type to act like he deserves to be treated better than everyone else for no reason other than the size of his ego.
“No,” Hao sets her violin down. “Are you her project partner?”
Sometimes guys would get overzealous with any opportunity to be in Hanbin’s presence. Hao has made it her unofficial job to chase them off. There is no reason her best friend should have to deal with their unwanted advances in her own home.
“Not quite,” Minjun smirks, as if realizing finally that Hao really does have no idea who he is, and for some reason finds this quite amusing. “I’m her boyfriend.”