Chapter Text
Jimin had rehearsed the speech in her head approximately fifty times on the train ride home.
Hey everyone, so funny story—
No. Too abrupt.
So, about Sua—
Too ominous. Her mother would assume someone died.
We broke up. Could you pass the potatoes, please?
Efficient. Direct. Immediate subject change, leaving no room for follow-up questions. Jimin liked that one. She even practiced the delivery—a casual shoulder shrug, a breezy smile, a chuckle, the demeanour of a woman who was totally fine and not at all falling apart at the seams.
She rested her forehead against the cold window and watched the city smear into suburbs, then into the familiar streets of her hometown. Her phone buzzed again—another text from her mom asking what time she'd arrive.
When the train finally pulled in, Jimin grabbed her bag, put on her sunglasses even though it was getting dark, and stepped onto the platform.
Time to face the music.
---
The door flew open before she could even knock.
"Auntie Jimin!" Her niece, Jiwoo, came barreling out—three years old and pure joy. "You're here! You're here! Where's Auntie Sua? Did she bring me presents?”
Jimin's smile felt like it might crack her face. "Hey, monster. Just me this time."
"Yu Jimin, get in here before you freeze!" Her mom appeared in the doorway, already pulling her inside. "We've been waiting! Your sister made that roast you like, and Grandma's been asking about—oh, where's Sua?"
The house smelled like home—garlic, sesame oil, something sweet baking, and the unmistakable scent of Joohyun’s roast filling the air. Her dad was in his armchair reading the paper. Her sister was setting the table with her wife Seulgi. Grandma was watching her cooking show at maximum volume. Everyone looked up when Jimin walked in.
"She's not coming," Jimin said, which was technically true and also the understatement of the century.
"Not coming? But I made extra—" Her mom stopped. Squinted. "Jimin-ah. Why are you wearing sunglasses indoors?"
"Fashion statement."
"Take them off."
"I'd rather not."
Her mother reached up and plucked the sunglasses clean off her face. The silence that followed was damning.
"Oh, baby," her mother said softly.
Jimin's eyes were swollen. Obviously. She had cried on the train, cried in the bathroom at the station, cried a little in the Uber and when the driver asked if she was okay, Jimin had said yes, totally, just emotional for finally being back home for the holidays like a liar.
"We broke up," Jimin said, and her voice came out smaller than she wanted.
So much for the speech, she thought.
The room went silent, except for Angela Hartnett talking about how to make the best rosemary salt on the TV.
"You... what?" Her mom blinked slowly, trying to make sense of it.
"Broke up. Over. Done. It's fine, I'm fine, can we please just—"
"I'll make you something," her mom said, already hustling toward the kitchen. "Your favourite. You'll feel better.”
---
Twenty minutes later, Jimin sat at the kitchen counter, cradling a massive bowl of her mom’s mashed potatoes—extra buttery, extra creamy, with just a whisper of garlic. She’d been obsessed with it since she was five.
They were the emergency potatoes. The ones her mom made when Jimin bombed a test, lost a tournament, and now—got her heart snapped clean in half two weeks before Christmas… apparently.
She was on her third huge spoonful when Joohyun slid onto the stool next to her.
"So," her older sister said carefully. "What happened?"
"Mm. Complicated.”
“Jimin.”
Jimin swallowed and immediately went back in for more. “Sh didn’ lik m’job,” she mumbled around the potatoes.
"What?"
Jimin swallowed properly this time. "She didn't like my job. Said it wasn't a real career or whatever.”
“You're the best Taekwondo instructor in the entire state."
"Yep."
"Like, you’re the most sought-after instructor. Your students literally win every competition they enter."
"Yep."
"And she thought that wasn't—"
“A proper corporate job,” Jimin jabbed her spoon into the potatoes. “Apparently I should’ve worn a blazer more. Done spreadsheets. Talked about quarterly reports at dinner parties instead of—God forbid—telling people my twelve-year-old landed her first head kick. Never mind that Carmen’s mom told me I changed her kid’s life. Confidence, all that.” She shrugged, too hard. “Not ‘serious’ enough.”
"That's bullshit," Joohyun said immediately.
"Joohyun! Language!" their mom yelled from somewhere.
"It's true, though!" Joohyun insisted, lowering her voice only slightly. "You're amazing at what you do. You're passionate, you're talented, you're making a real difference in people's lives—"
"Yeah, well." Jimin shoved more potatoes in her mouth. "Apparently that's not enough for some people."
Joohyun slid an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t let her make you feel smaller.”
”It's fine." It wasn't fine. "I'm fine." She wasn't fine. "These mashed potatoes are incredible, Mom."
Her mother looked like she wanted to say something—possibly something scathing about Sua's life choices and how Jimin deserved better—but before she could, there was a knock at the front door.
"I'll get it," her mother said, wiping her hands on her apron.
Jimin didn’t think much of it. Neighbours dropped by all the time during the holidays—it was that kind of street, where everyone had known each other for decades and casually exchanged cookies and fruitcakes every Christmas like it was a contractual obligation.
But then she heard her mother’s voice go warm and delighted—"Mrs. Kim! How lovely!"—and something in Jimin’s brain short-circuited.
The Kims.
The Kims.
As in, the neighbours directly across the street, the Kims.
As in, the neighbours with the perfect daughter, the Kims.
“Everyone!” Jimin’s mom called into the room. “Come here and say hi to Mrs. Kim!”
Jimin was out of her chair before she fully registered what she was doing, trailing after her family as they all migrated to the front door like a flock of very nosy birds.
At the doorway, she could see her mother already accepting a little gift bag from Mrs. Kim.
“Oh, everyone’s here! Wonderful!” Mrs. Kim beamed, her whole face lighting up. “I won’t keep you from your evening. Just wanted to wish you all happy holidays!”
“You’re too kind,” Jimin’s mom said, holding the gift bag. “Please tell your family we said hello!”
Across the street, the Kim family stood on their porch, bundled up in winter wear and scarves, waving. The porch light framed them like a scene from a holiday movie.
Seulgi leaned over to Jimin. “Who are they?”
Right. Her sister-in-law normally arrived on Christmas Eve, after the neighbourhood had finished doing its annual greeting parade. Which meant Seulgi had never met the Kims before.
She didn’t know the lore.
“The Kims,” Jimin whispered, eyes locked across the street. “Mrs. Kim makes the best chocolate chip cookies. That bag is a tin of them. Blue scarf is Mr. Kim—her husband, he's a professor. The tall one with the ponytail is their son, Jeonghan. He was Joohyun’s junior in high school; they were in the radio committee thing together.” Jimin hesitated, squinting. “And the guy behind him is his fiancé—Seungcheol, I think. And the girl next to them is…”
Jimin exhaled through her nose.
Seulgi’s eyes flicked over. “Yeah. The girl?”
She swallowed.
“That’s Minjeong.”
Even from here, Jimin could see her clearly. Red cardigan. Plaid skirt. Hair falling to her shoulders—brown, but catching the porch light so it turned almost ochre. She looked… fine. Normal. Like any other person standing with her family on a cold December evening.
Except she wasn’t normal. She was Kim Minjeong. The Kims’ perfect daughter. A year younger than Jimin, but smart enough to skip a grade, which meant they’d been in the same cohort from third grade all the way to graduation. Student council president. Top of the class. Valedictorian. Debate team. School newspaper. Spelling bee. Jimin had last heard Minjeong graduated university on the dean’s list and was now working at a big MNC somewhere.
Minjeong was someone who made excellence look effortless—she moved through the world like it always made room for her.
And now she was looking right at Jimin.
And waving.
A small wave. A polite greeting for someone you vaguely recognise—someone you shared a classroom with for almost a decade but probably didn’t think about much anymore. A small wave that you exchanged once a year because you’re neighbours and you’re both home for the holidays. Casual. Friendly.
So Jimin waved back.
Minjeong smiled—just a little, just enough—and turned to say something to her brother.
Jimin kept her hand up for a second too long, then shoved it in her pocket like she'd been caught doing something embarrassing.
Seulgi’s eyes flicked between them. “Were you friends?”
“Not really,” Jimin said quickly. Too quickly. “I mean—we were friendly? Like… we knew each other. Same classes. But different circles.”
“Mm,” Seulgi said, like she was filing that away.
“She was always doing stuff,” Jimin continued, because once she started she couldn’t stop. “Honour roll, participating in Maths olympiad, or organising fundraisers for whatever charity the school decided to adopt that month.” She made a vague motion with her hand. “And I was… not that.”
Seulgi hummed. “And you were…?”
“Taekwondo tournaments. Making people laugh in class. We just…” Jimin shrugged. “Existed in parallel, I guess.”
From behind them, Joohyun’s voice cut in, way too bright.
“Oh my God,” Joohyun said. “Are you seriously pretending you didn’t have a crush on her?”
Seulgi’s eyebrows shot up. “You did?”
“I was—” Jimin stopped, because the denial was already coming out wrong. “Joohyun, shut up.”
Joohyun ignored her, grinning. “You did. You had the longest crush on her.”
“That is not—” Jimin’s face went hot in a way that was honestly unfair. “I was like eight.”
“Exactly,” Joohyun said, like that proved her point. “It was cute. You’d go all quiet whenever she talked to you.”
“I did not go quiet.”
“You did,” Joohyun said immediately. “You did that thing where you suddenly needed to be busy. Like you were checking your backpack. Or tying your shoelaces. Or… I don’t know. Inspecting the floor.”
Seulgi covered her mouth, shoulders shaking a little. “Oh no.”
Jimin pointed at Joohyun. “Why do you remember that.”
“Because it was funny,” Joohyun said. “And because you were so obvious.”
“I was not obvious,” Jimin said, voice cracking on the last word, which was… humiliating.
Joohyun grinned wider. “Please. You still had a crush on her in high school.”
Jimin stared at her. “I did not.”
“You so did,” Joohyun said. “Remember when you left your textbook in class and Minjeong came over to return it?”
Jimin blinked. “That was one time.”
“Exactly. One time. And you stood at the door like you forgot how words worked.”
“I said thank you!”
“You said, and I quote, ‘Oh. Hi. Uh. Thanks. Book.’”
Jimin closed her eyes. “Please stop.”
"After you closed the door you legit just stood there smiling at nothing, like a girl in a Taylor Swift video after the love interest smiles at her for the first time."
Seulgi let out a low whistle. “Wow.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Jimin mumbled.
“It was exactly like that.”
“I was fifteen!”
Joohyun shrugged. “Crushes don’t come with expiration dates.”
Seulgi leaned closer, smiling. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Jimin said, too fast. “Totally fine.”
She was not fine.
She hadn’t been fine since third grade.
---
Jimin had planned to spend the next day in bed.
It was a solid plan. A reasonable plan. She would lie under her childhood duvet—the one with the faded cartoon Spiderman on it that her mother refused to throw away—and stare at the ceiling and maybe listen to some sad music and process her emotions like a mature adult.
She had not accounted for Seulgi.
"Get up."
Jimin pulled the duvet over her head. "No."
"We're playing tennis."
"I don't play tennis."
"You played in high school."
"Badly. I played badly."
The duvet was ripped away with zero mercy. Seulgi stood over her, already dressed in athletic wear, holding a tennis racket like a weapon. "You're not going to lie here and marinate in your own sadness for the entire holiday. Your sister will kill me if I let that happen, and I'm too young and beautiful to die."
"I'm grieving."
"You can grieve on the court. Cardio helps. Get up."
---
They started easy on the court—just volleying back and forth, getting used to the rhythm. And honestly, despite her complaining, it did feel good. The satisfying thwack of the ball against the racket, the focus required to track its trajectory, the way her muscles woke up and remembered what to do. Jimin felt some of the tension leave her shoulders, felt her mind quiet down from its constant loop of Sua said this and maybe she was right and am I really wasting my life.
They played a few more rounds—Seulgi winning all of them with embarrassing ease—before finally collapsing onto the bench at the side of the court. Jimin grabbed her water bottle and drank like she'd just crossed a desert.
"Okay," Seulgi said, leaning back. "Real talk. What's the plan?"
Jimin wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Plan for what?"
"Life. Post-breakup. Are you putting yourself back out there? Dating apps? Blind dates? Joohyun has a colleague who's single, apparently—"
"Please don't."
"I'm just saying. Options."
Jimin groaned, tilting her head back to stare at the sky. It was a cold, clear day—one of those winter morning that looked pretty in photos and also surprisingly pleasant to exercise in.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I'm not quitting my job. I know that much."
"Good. You shouldn't. You're incredible at it."
"But maybe I should... I don't know. Do something else too?" Jimin frowned. "Like postgrad or something? Get a degree that looks more impressive on paper?"
Seulgi gave her a look. "You're not seriously letting your ex rewire your brain, are you?"
"No. Maybe. I don't know." Jimin picked at the label on her water bottle. "It's just—she wasn't wrong, you know? About the perception thing. When people ask what I do at parties and I say I'm a Taekwondo instructor, they get this look. Like they’re waiting for me to say what my real job is."
Seulgi nudged her shoulder. "Hey. Your students adore you. Their parents love you. You're booked solid—you literally had to turn people away last month. But if you want to do a postgrad because you want to grow, that’s great. Just don’t do it because some corporate lawyer made you feel small."
Jimin swallowed hard. "What if she’s right, though? What if I should’ve grown up by now? Gotten a real job? Something with a title that sounds impressive?"
Seulgi opened her mouth—probably to say something supportive again, because Seulgi was annoyingly good at that—but then her gaze drifted past Jimin, and her expression shifted into something far too amused.
"Speaking of impressive," Seulgi said. "Isn’t that the Kims’ perfect daughter?"
Jimin was halfway into a sentence, but her words stalled out.
And there she was.
Kim Minjeong, stepping onto the court next to theirs, tennis racket in hand, looking like she'd just walked out of a sportswear catalogue. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a sleek white tennis skirt and matching jacket. She moved like someone who belonged on that court—unlike Jimin, who was only here because her sister-in-law had roped her into playing.
Oh no, Jimin thought. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
She’d forgotten.
Somehow—impossibly—she’d forgotten that Minjeong used to play tennis. That Minjeong had competed at regionals. That Minjeong was good at literally everything she touched because the universe had apparently decided she should be perfect in every conceivable way.
"You should say hi," Seulgi said, grinning.
"Nope."
"Why not? You’ve known her for years."
"Exactly." Jimin hunched her shoulders, trying to make herself smaller. "I told you yesterday—we were in the same class, but we weren’t friends. We just… existed in the same space."
"For ten years."
"Coincidentally."
"Uh-huh." Seulgi was clearly enjoying this way too much. "Is she single?"
"How would I know?"
"You could ask."
"I'm not going to ask."
"Why not? You're single now. She might be single. It's the holidays. Very romantic. Lots of mistletoe potential."
"She’s out of my league," Jimin hissed. "Like, so far out of my league we're not even playing the same sport. She's doing—I don’t know—professional-level championship tennis, and I’m over here playing backyard badminton with a broken cheap racket."
Seulgi raised an eyebrow. "That's... an extremely elaborate metaphor."
"The point stands."
"The point is nonsense. You’re great."
"She probably doesn’t even remember my name."
And that was the truth, wasn’t it? They’d shared classrooms for years, sure—but Minjeong had always been up there—student council, top grades, universally liked. She’s popular in a way that wasn’t mean, but wasn’t exactly accessible either.
Jimin had been well-liked too, but in a different way. Friendly. Loud. The class clown who made people laugh during group projects and got teased by teachers for talking too much. She wasn’t unpopular—just never quite in Minjeong’s orbit.
They waved at each other across the street every Christmas, but that was just neighbourly politeness. That didn’t mean anything.
"I guarantee you," Jimin rambled on, "the last time we properly talked was when we were fourteen. She’s definitely forgotten who I am—"
"Hi Jimin!"
The voice cut through the winter air.
Jimin froze.
Minjeong waved from across the court, that same soft smile from last night on her face. She was looking directly at Jimin, her ponytail swaying slightly in the breeze.
Seulgi snorted—loudly.
"Um," Jimin said eloquently. She raised a hand in a weak wave. "Hi. Minjeong. Hey."
God, could she sound any more awkward?
Minjeong smiled wider—and was it Jimin’s imagination, or did she actually look genuinely pleased?
Jimin slowly turned to Seulgi, who was grinning like she’d just won a bet.
"Doesn’t remember your name, huh?"
"Shut up."
"‘So far out of my league—’"
"Shut up."
Seulgi cackled, and Jimin lifted her tennis racket like a shield, which was stupid, because everyone could still see her face. Somewhere on the next court over, Kim Minjeong was stretching like a completely normal person—unaware that Jimin was now fully malfunctioning behind a calm expression.
This was going to be a very long holiday.
---
Christmas Eve day was chaos.
It started at 8 AM, when Joohyun realised she'd forgotten to buy the walnuts their mom needed for the stuffing and sent Jimin on an emergency mall run. The mall on Christmas Eve was a special kind of hell—overcrowded, overheated, everyone panic-buying last-minute gifts while Wham's "Last Christmas" played on an eternal loop.
The moment she got home, Jimin was stationed at the kitchen counter to chop vegetables—and everything else that needed chopping. Hours and hours of chopping.
Then came the gift wrapping, which Jimin had foolishly volunteered for and immediately regretted. She was not a gift-wrapper. She was the opposite of a gift-wrapper. Her presents looked like they'd been wrapped by someone with poor motor skills—crumpled corners, excessive tape, crooked bows.
Joohyun breezed through, already dressed for dinner. "You're still not done wrapping?"
"Some of us had to go to mall hell this morning," Jimin shot back.
"Should’ve gotten up earlier."
"Should’ve remembered the walnuts yourself—"
"Girls," their mom warned, not looking up from the pot she was stirring.
By the time they all sat down for dinner at 6 PM, Jimin was exhausted. But it was the good kind of exhausted—the kind that came from being surrounded by family, from the warmth of home and tradition, from the smell of her mom’s cooking filling every corner of the house.
Dinner was loud and chaotic in the best way. Jiwoo talked nonstop about what Santa might bring her. Seulgi told an elaborate story about a client at work that had everyone laughing. Grandma critiqued everyone’s table manners. Jimin’s dad made his annual terrible Christmas joke (Q: What do you call a mean reindeer? A: Rude-olph), and everyone groaned on cue.
For a few hours, Jimin forgot about Sua. Forgot about her doubts and insecurities. She was just... home.
After dinner, they migrated to the living room for the annual watching of Home Alone. It was tradition—had been since Jimin was Jiwoo's age. They knew every line, every pratfall, every moment.
Jimin made it through the first thirty minutes before the walls started closing in a little.
It wasn’t anything specific. Just the combination of being full and warm and surrounded by family and couples—Joohyun and Seulgi curled up on the loveseat, her parents holding hands on the couch, even Jiwoo snuggled up with her stuffed animals. Everyone was paired off or content, and Jimin suddenly felt the Sua-sized absence next to her like a physical thing.
She stood up just as one of the robbers in the movie faceplanted on the basement stairs.
"I'm gonna head out for a bit," she said, trying to sound casual. "Get some air."
Her mom looked up, concerned. "You’re going out? On Christmas Eve?"
"Yeah. Just... need a walk. Maybe stop by somewhere for a drink."
"Do you want a ride?" Joohyun asked.
"Nah, I'm good. I'll take my bike."
"It's cold out—"
"I'll bundle up. Promise."
Her mother made a noise of disapproval but didn’t stop her, which was as close to permission as Jimin was going to get. She grabbed her coat, her scarf, her gloves, and wheeled her old bicycle out of the garage.
The night air was cold and sharp, her breath fogging in front of her as she pedalled down the familiar streets. The neighbourhood looked the same as it always did during the holidays—houses strung with lights, inflatable Santas swaying gently in front yards. It was supposed to be comforting, but mostly it just made Jimin feel weirdly untethered. Like she was visiting a memory instead of living in it.
The bar was more crowded than she expected. Well—not crowded, but not empty either. She’d assumed it would be dead on Christmas Eve. Instead, there were a few small groups here and there, some solo drinkers at the counter. Christmas music played softly over the speakers, occasionally broken up by old-school pop from the early 2000s.
Jimin ordered a beer and settled onto a stool, content to just sit and exist for a while—without anyone asking about her feelings or her future or her failed relationship. (No one had brought it up yet, but Jimin was sure it would happen once the movie ended.)
She was halfway through her drink when she glanced toward the booths in the back.
And nearly choked.
Because sitting there, alone, nursing a glass of beer, was Kim Minjeong.
Kim Minjeong. The perfect daughter. In a bar. Alone. On Christmas Eve.
She wore a dark green sweater that looked incredibly soft, her hair down and falling over her shoulders. She was reading something on her phone, occasionally sipping her beer, looking completely at ease with her solitude.
What the hell.
Then she looked up, as if she could feel Jimin's stare, and their eyes met across the bar.
For a second, Jimin considered pretending she hadn't seen her. Just turn around, chugged her beer in one go, leave. Avoid the awkwardness.
But then Minjeong smiled—that same soft smile from the tennis court—and waved. Jimin's hand rose automatically, waving back like she was on autopilot.
And her brain is scrambling to catch up with reality.
Okay. Okay. She's here. She's alone. She's waving at you. You should—you should probably go say hi, right? That's what normal people do. Normal people say hi.
Jimin picked up her beer and walked over before she could talk herself out of it.
"Well, well," Jimin said as she approached, trying for casual and hopefully not sounding as nervous as she felt. "Kim Minjeong. The perfect daughter. Being rebellious and drinking alone in a bar instead of spending Christmas Eve with her perfect family. What is happening? Is this the apocalypse?"
Minjeong laughed—a real laugh, not just a polite chuckle. "We finished dinner hours ago. And honestly, being back home is a little... overwhelming. Sometimes you need a quiet moment, you know?"
Jimin raised an eyebrow. "Your perfect family can be overwhelming?"
Minjeong smiled wryly. "They're starting to ask when I'm getting married."
"So you escaped to a bar."
"I escaped to a bar," Minjeong confirmed. "It seemed like the appropriate place for some peace and quiet."
Jimin snorted. "Fair enough."
That was funny to Jimin—that Minjeong, of all people, would equate solitude with their neighbourhood bar on Christmas Eve.
Jimin stood there awkwardly, suddenly very aware that she was just hovering. "Are you, um... are you waiting for anyone? Or can I...?"
"Please." Minjeong gestured to the seat across from her. "I don't mind the company. Especially someone I've known since before either of us had hit puberty."
Jimin laughed, a little too loudly, and slid into the seat across from her. "God, way to make us both sound ancient. We were such awkward kids."
"You were an awkward kid. I was very poised."
"You were terrifying."
Minjeong's eyes widened in mock offense. "I was not."
"You were! You were so smart and put-together, and you always knew the answer to everything in class. You memorised the entire periodic table while the rest of us were still cheating off the posters on the wall! The teachers loved you. It was deeply intimidating.”
Minjeong laughed. "You remember that? I was thirteen."
"A deeply intimidating thirteen-year-old."
Minjeong laughed again, shaking her head, and Jimin felt something warm bloom in her chest.
This was… surprisingly easy. Easier than she'd expected. Minjeong wasn't distant or polished or untouchable—she was just... a person. A person who laughed at Jimin's dumb jokes and drank beer alone on Christmas Eve and had apparently also needed to escape her family for a bit.
"So," Minjeong said, settling back in her seat. "Catch me up. What's Yu Jimin been up to since we last actually talked? Which I think was... graduation?”
"Oh, you know. The usual. Living the dream." Jimin took a sip of her beer. "I'm a Taekwondo instructor."
She braced herself for the polite nod, the vague oh, that's nice, the subtle shift in conversation that meant I don't know what to do with that information.
Instead, Minjeong's whole face lit up.
"Wait, seriously? You're still doing Taekwondo?"
"Uh—yeah. Yeah, I am."
"That's amazing." Minjeong leaned forward, and Jimin tried very hard not to notice the way her eyes seemed to catch the low light of the bar. "You were so good in school. You had your black belt already then, didn't you?"
Jimin blinked. "You remember that?"
"Of course I remember. You represented our school at competitions." Minjeong tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "I went to one of them, actually."
"You—what?"
"The regional one. Year 10. You won."
Jimin's brain was doing something very strange. A kind of buffering, like a video that couldn't quite load. "You came to watch?"
“I was curious,” Minjeong said with a shrug, though something in her expression—something a little shy—made Jimin’s pulse skip. “It was that match where you did that kick—people wouldn’t stop talking about it at school.”
“The roundhouse kick?”
“Yeah, maybe? I don’t know the name.” Minjeong let out a small laugh. “But you were so impressive. All serious and focused. Very cool.”
"I—I didn't know you were there."
"Well, I wasn't going to come up and announce myself. You were surrounded by your teammates. Very intimidating."
"I was intimidating? You literally just said I was the awkward one."
"You were an awkward kid," Minjeong corrected. "You were an intimidating teenager. There's a difference."
Jimin had no idea what to do with this information. "Okay," she said, setting down her glass. "Your turn. What about you? What's the great Kim Minjeong doing with her life?"
"Postgrad," Minjeong said. "Business and Law."
"Jesus Christ. Of course you are."
Minjeong laughed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're exactly as overachieving as I expected. Couldn't just pick one impressive degree. Had to do two."
"It's a combined program."
"Still counts."
Minjeong's smile flickered, something more complicated passing behind her eyes. "It's what my parents wanted, honestly. You know how it is. The perfect daughter, doing the perfect degree, on track for the perfect career."
"And what did you want?"
The question came out more sincere than Jimin intended. Minjeong looked at her for a moment—like she was trying to figure out if Jimin actually wanted to know or was just making conversation.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I've been so busy being good at what I'm supposed to do that I never really stopped to ask." She took a sip of her beer. "But I ended up liking it anyway, so. I guess it worked out."
"You're good at it?"
"I'm good at everything," Minjeong said, and then immediately laughed at herself. "God, that sounded awful. I just meant—"
"No, no, you're right. You are good at everything. The periodic table, and now a combined Business-Law program. It's extremely annoying."
"Annoying?"
"In an aspirational way. Like, wow, I wish I had my life together like Kim Minjeong. That kind of annoying."
Minjeong raised an eyebrow. "You think I have my life together?"
"Don't you?"
"I'm drinking alone at a bar on Christmas Eve because my family was asking too many questions about my love life."
Jimin laughed. "Okay. Fair point."
"What about you?" Minjeong asked, and there was something deliberate in the way she said it. “Why are you here on Christmas Eve?”
Jimin took a sip of her drink, then shrugged. "Well, no one's hit me with wedding plans yet, but... let's just say my family has their own questions about my love life too."
Minjeong tilted her head. "Wait—the girl you used to bring home. I always saw you two waving from across the street. She's not here this year?"
Jimin’s hand tightened slightly around her glass. "No. We, uh. We broke up."
Minjeong's expression softened. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine. It was probably for the best." Jimin stared at the condensation on her glass, tracing a line through it with her finger. "She didn't think my job was... enough. Not prestigious enough. Not a real career."
"That's ridiculous.”
The bluntness of it surprised a laugh out of Jimin. "Yeah?”
"Yeah." Minjeong's voice was firm. "You're literally teaching kids discipline and confidence and—what, self-defence? How to stand up for themselves?"
"And how to kick people in the head."
"How to kick people in the head," Minjeong agreed, smiling. "That's incredible. That matters. Anyone who can't see that isn't worth your time."
The words settled somewhere warm in Jimin's chest.
"Thanks," she said quietly. "That's... yeah. Thanks."
Minjeong held her gaze just a moment too long, and Jimin felt her face warm.
“So,” Jimin said, desperate to redirect before she combusted, “did you bring anyone home for the holidays? Some impressive law student boyfriend? Girlfriend? Themfriend? Or did you just abandon them to sip a lonely beer in peace?
Smooth. Very smooth. Just casually fishing for information about her dating life. Not obvious at all.
"No," Minjeong said, and was Jimin imagining it, or did her smile turn slightly coy? "I'm not dating anyone at the moment."
"Really?"
"Really."
“Huh.” Jimin nodded, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. “Their loss.”
The words were out before she could stop them.
Minjeong gave her a look—half curious, half amused. Jimin immediately wanted to sink into the floor.
“I mean—just, you know, objectively speaking. You’re very—you have a lot of—qualities. Good qualities.”
Minjeong grinned. “That’s not true.”
“Name one thing you’re bad at.”
Minjeong pretended to think. “Dancing.”
Jimin raised a sceptical look. “Really?”
"Absolutely terrible. No rhythm whatsoever."
"I find that hard to believe."
"It's true. I'm a disaster."
“So the perfect Kim Minjeong—valedictorian, student council president, tennis champion, math olympiad, debate team leader—can’t dance?”
“You remember all that?” Minjeong laughed, but Jimin didn’t miss the faint colour rising in her cheeks.
Jimin blinked. “We literally just talked about how you’re good at everything. It’s not hard to remember.”
Minjeong smiled at her—soft, a little unreadable—then glanced pointedly at Jimin’s empty glass. “Another drink? Might help you recall all of my other teenage accomplishments.”
Jimin grinned. “Sure, but careful. I might start listing them alphabetically.”
So they went for another round. And then another.
The conversation kept flowing, easier than Jimin expected, like they were picking up a thread that had been waiting for years. They continued talked about school—the teachers they'd loved, the ones they'd hated, the time Jimin brought homemade slime to science class, dyed it neon green, and accidentally exploded it all over the lab bench. She’d had to give a formal apology at assembly.
They were on their fourth round when Jimin asked the question that had been sitting at the back of her mind all night.
"I don't get it, though."
Minjeong tilted her head. "Get what?"
"We were in the same class for years. Third grade all the way through graduation. How come we never really talked?"
Minjeong went quiet, swirling her beer gently. The Christmas music played softly in the background—something slow and instrumental—and Jimin watched the lights from the bar catch in Minjeong's hair.
"We weren't in the same class starting third grade," Minjeong said finally.
"What? Yes we were."
"No, we weren't." Minjeong looked up, and there was something strange in her expression. Almost vulnerable. "We've been in the same class since first grade, Jimin."
Jimin frowned. "That's... no. I would have remembered that."
"First grade," Minjeong repeated. "Mrs. Park's class. You sat in front of me. Third row from the window."
"I..."
"You had this green T-rex backpack," Minjeong continued, her voice soft. "You used it every day for like, two years straight. It had a little rip on the side pocket and you'd stuff your snacks in there." She smiled faintly. “You were so proud of it. You kept telling everyone it was a real dinosaur, not a cartoon one.”
Jimin stared at her.
"And there were these boys," Minjeong went on, "who used to make fun of me because I was a year younger than everyone else. Called me a baby. Said I didn't belong. And you used to chase them around the playground until they left me alone. You probably don't remember, but—"
"I don't," Jimin admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't remember any of that."
Minjeong smiled, but it was smaller now. A little sad. "I know. You were always like that, though. Helping people without even thinking about it. And then moving on like it was nothing."
Something was cracking open in Jimin's chest. A door she hadn't even known was closed.
"Minjeong..."
"It's fine. It was a long time ago." Minjeong took a sip of her beer, and when she looked up again, her expression was lighter. Almost teasing. "I just think it's funny. You thought we only knew each other from third grade. And I've remembered you since the first day of school."
Jimin didn't know what to say.
She'd spent twelve years sitting in classrooms with this girl. Twelve years of passing her in hallways and watching her from across the room and thinking she was so far out of reach. And the whole time, Minjeong had remembered things Jimin had long forgotten. Small things. Stupid things. Things that mattered.
"Why weren't we friends, then?" Jimin asked, and her voice came out rougher than she intended. "If you remembered all that. Why didn't we ever... I don't know. Hang out?"
Minjeong laughed softly. “You were so cool, Jimin.”
“I was not—”
“You were. In high school, especially. With your black belt and your jokes and your—your energy. Everyone liked you. You had this confidence. You were always surrounded by people.”
Jimin snorted. “I was barely holding it together half the time.”
Minjeong smiled. “Didn’t look that way from the outside.” She hesitated, then added, “I was just the quiet kid who got good grades. You were the one everyone noticed.”
“You were student council president.”
“That’s not the same thing as being cool.” Minjeong gave a small shrug, but her smile lingered. “I always figured you had better things to do than hang out with me.”
Jimin’s instinct was to say ‘What? No—’
But the words caught halfway out of her mouth.
Because the truth was… she had wanted to. More than anything. She used to look for excuses to talk to Minjeong. Like that one time, the day after Minjeong dropped off her textbook at her house—Jimin had spent an entire lunch period carrying around a big bar of Cadbury, telling herself she’d give it to Minjeong. As a thank-you. Or a treat. Or just… something.
She never worked up the nerve.
Because deep down, she’d always assumed Minjeong wouldn’t want that. That someone like her—messy, loud, constantly cracking jokes to cover nerves—wasn’t someone Minjeong would ever want to hang out with.
She opened her mouth, trying to find a way to say any of that—
"Well," Minjeong said, leaning forward with a glint in her eye, "why didn't you ever come talk to me?"
Jimin's brain went blank.
"I—" she started. "That's—I mean, you were—"
I had a crush on you for ten years, Jimin thought. I used to plan conversations with you in my head. I thought about you way more than was normal. I wanted to talk to you so badly, and I never knew how. Because you were you, she thought desperately. Because you were perfect and brilliant and I was a disaster with a slime problem and a stupid crush I couldn't get over.
She was scrambling for something coherent when the bar's speakers crackled, and a new song started playing.
The opening notes were unmistakable. That synth riff, that beat, and that ridiculously catchy melody—
NSYNC’s Bye Bye Bye.
This song had no business being stuck in their heads—it came out before they were even born—but one of the seniors used to blast it on the school radio constantly, and somehow it had become the unofficial anthem of their year.
Minjeong’s whole face lit up. “Oh my god.”
Jimin’s expression immediately darkened. “No.”
"I love this song."
"Minjeong—"
"We all loved this song. This was the song." Minjeong was already out of the booth, looking way too excited. "Come on."
"Come on where?"
"We're dancing."
"No, no no no—"
"Jimin." Minjeong grabbed her hand—her hand, her actual hand, warm and insistent—and tugged. "Everyone in our year knows the choreography. We literally performed it at that recital thing in Year 9. You were in the front row. We danced together."
"I don't—I don't remember that—"
"Well I do. Come on."
And then Jimin was being pulled out of the booth and into the small open space near the bar, and Minjeong was already moving—badly, truly badly. She hadn't been lying about her lack of rhythm—she even attempted the puppet move from the choreo, arms jerking stiffly like a marionette.
The first line of vocals started.
I'M DOING THIS TONIGHT, YOU'RE PROBABLY GONNA START A FIGHT, I KNOW THIS CAN'T BE RIGHT, HEY BABY, COME ON—
She gave in.
Of course she did. How could she not? Minjeong was dancing like nobody was watching—which wasn't true, a few other patrons were definitely watching—and she was laughing and her cheeks were flushed from the beer and she looked so happy, and Jimin thought, Okay. Okay, fine. Just this once.
She leaned into it. Tried the moves. And when the chorus hit—
DON'T WANNA BE A FOOL FOR YOU, JUST ANOTHER PLAYER IN YOUR GAME FOR TWO—
Minjeong threw her hands up in that iconic wave, then did the dramatic see ya never gesture, and Jimin felt her memory spark—okay, yeah, they did learn the choreography. Apparently, it was still somewhere in her bones.
Minjeong grabbed both her hands and pulled her in. “You remember the moves!” she shouted over the music. “I know you do!”
"I don't—"
YOU MAY HATE ME BUT IT AIN'T NO LIE—
And then, almost against her will, Jimin's body moved almost on instinct.
Her arms came up. Her hips shifted. Muscle memory from a decade ago kicked in like it had never left. Suddenly, she was doing the choreography—the hand movements, the little step-touches, the dramatic routines they’d memorised from watching the music video approximately nine thousand times.
BABY BYE BYE BYE.
Minjeong shrieked with delight.
"YES! I KNEW IT!"
The second verse rolled in, and they were both moving—badly, enthusiastically, with zero regard for the people watching. Minjeong still had no rhythm, but she threw her whole body into every move, and her joy was so infectious that Jimin couldn’t help but match her energy.
They bumped into each other. Stepped on each other’s feet. At one point, Minjeong tried to spin and nearly took out a barstool (Jimin was pretty sure that wasn’t part of the original choreo).
It was a disaster.
It was perfect.
And then the bridge hit. Minjeong grabbed Jimin by the shoulders and looked at her with exaggerated intensity.
“I don’t wanna be your fool in this game of two,” Minjeong sang along, breathless and wildly off-key, “so I'm leaving you behind!”
Jimin was laughing so hard her stomach hurt, but the lyrics were still there, burned into her memory by sheer high school overexposure.
“I don't wanna make it tough, but I've had enough—” she sang back, just as dramatically.
And then, in unison, both of them belting at the top of their lungs:
“BABY BYE BYE BYE!”
The final chorus exploded, and Jimin went full Justin Timberlake. She was doing the full choreo now, the point, the wave, everything—and Minjeong was matching her move for move, both of them dancing like they were on a world tour instead of the scuffed floors of a half-empty neighbourhood bar on Christmas Eve.
It was the most fun Jimin had had in months.
The song ended, and they stood there, panting and flushed, grinning like idiots. A few patrons clapped—some genuine, some probably just glad it was over.
Minjeong bent over, hands on her knees, breathless with laughter. “That was—” she wheezed, “amazing.”
“That was humiliating.”
“It was both. That’s what made it amazing.”
Jimin’s chest was tight from dancing and something else entirely. Minjeong straightened, cheeks pink, eyes bright. She leaned on Jimin’s shoulder for balance, still laughing, and she looked so happy—genuinely, uncomplicatedly happy—that something in Jimin’s chest cracked open just a little.
“I can’t believe you remembered all the moves,” Minjeong said.
“I’m an athlete,” Jimin said, trying for casual. “I have good body coordination.”
Still laughing, Minjeong tugged Jimin by the wrist and dragged them back to their booth, both collapsing into the seat.
But this time, they didn’t sit across from each other. Because Minjeong slid in right next to Jimin, close enough that their legs touched under the table and neither of them commented on it.
Minjeong leaned her forehead against Jimin’s shoulder for just a second—barely a beat—before pulling back, still smiling, still a little breathless.
“Okay,” she said, teasing, voice low and a little slurred, “I guess you’re still cool now.”
Jimin smirked. “Of course I am.”
Minjeong hummed like she was thinking it over. Then she turned her head slightly, just enough to look at her.
“And still pretty too.”
Jimin’s heart did something weird—like it skipped and stumbled at the same time. She tried to play it cool, but she could feel the heat rising in her face.
“Is the great Kim Minjeong flirting with me?” she asked, almost joking.
Minjeong shrugged, eyes still on her. “Maybe.”
---
The rest of the night blurred together after that.
More drinks. More talking. More laughing. At some point, Jimin became aware that she was very drunk—the kind of drunk where everything felt soft and warm and slightly tilted—but she couldn't bring herself to care.
Minjeong was drunk too, leaning against her shoulder as they stumbled out of the bar, the cold night air hitting them like a wall.
Minjeong squinted up at the sky. “Should we just… Uber back together?”
Jimin hesitated. “Um. You go ahead. I came here with my bike so... ideally, the bike should also return to my garage.”
Minjeong turned to stare at her. “Wait. You’re going to bike home? Like this?”
Jimin blinked at her. “...Yes?”
"You can't bike like this. You'll die."
"I won't die."
"You'll crash into a tree and die and I'll have to explain to your mother that I let you bike drunk on Christmas Eve."
Jimin considered this. "That would be bad."
"Very bad."
Jimin laughed, head tipping back. “Okay, fine. No bike-riding. I’ll walk it home. Slowly. Beside me. Like a very obedient metal dog.”
“Still sounds like a hazard.”
“I’ll be careful. Promise.”
Minjeong paused for a second, then nodded. “Alright. I’m walking with you.”
Jimin blinked. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Someone has to make sure you don’t wander off and try to hug a mailbox or something.”
So they walked. Jimin pushed her bike alongside her, Minjeong's arm looped through hers, both of them weaving slightly on the empty streets. The Christmas lights from the houses blurred into streaks of colour, red and gold and white, and Jimin thought distantly that this was nice. This was really, really nice.
She didn't remember getting to Minjeong's house.
She didn't remember much of anything after that, actually.
Just warmth. Just the vague sensation of being guided somewhere soft. Of a door closing quietly behind her. Of hands—Minjeong’s hands—soft and gently brushing her shoulders, easing her coat off. She felt the faintest graze of skin against her neck and Minjeong's voice somewhere above her, saying something that sounded like "you're such an idiot" but in the fondest possible way.
And then nothing.
---
"Jimin! Wake up! It's Christmas!"
Christmas morning in the Yu household usually began with the smell of coffee and the sound of Jimin's niece thundering down the stairs to check if Santa had come.
This year, it began with Joohyun pounding on Jimin's bedroom door.
"Jimin, Mom's making waffles. The good ones. With the chocolate chips."
No response.
Joohyun frowned. Jimin was not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, but she was usually at least responsive to the promise of food. Especially their mother's chocolate chip waffles.
"Jimin, I swear to god, if you're still sulking about the breakup—"
She pushed the door open.
The bed was empty.
Not just empty—untouched. The faded cartoon Spiderman duvet was still pulled up neatly from the day before, the pillows still arranged against the headboard. Jimin's pyjamas were still folded neatly on the chair.
Jimin hadn't slept here.
Jimin hadn't come home.
"Mom?" Joohyun called, a note of panic creeping into her voice. "DAD?"
She was already halfway down the stairs when Seulgi appeared at the bottom, holding a cup of coffee and looking appropriately concerned.
"Babe, what's wrong?"
"Jimin's not in her room."
"What do you mean she's not in her room?"
"I mean she's NOT THERE. The bed's made. She never came home last night!"
Their mother emerged from the kitchen. "What’s all this shouting? It’s Christmas.”
"Jimin's missing!" Joohyun yelled.
"Missing?"
"Um," Seulgi said.
Everyone turned to look at her.
She hadn’t moved—just stood there by the window, coffee in hand, staring like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing but was also kind of enjoying it.
"What?" Joohyun demanded. "What is it?"
"Isn't that..." Seulgi pointed. "Isn't that Jimin's bike?"
Joohyun crossed to the window in three quick strides, practically shoving Seulgi aside to get a better look.
There, parked neatly on the front porch of the Kim household—directly across the street and clearly visible in the pale morning light—was Jimin’s old bicycle. The same bike she’d ridden to the bar last night. The same one that should have been back in their garage.
It was leaning casually against the Kims’ porch railing like it belonged there.
For a moment, no one said anything.
“Is she...” their mother finally asked, blinking. “Is my daughter spending Christmas morning at the Kims’ house?”
“Why would she be at the Kims’ house?” their father asked, walking in mid-scene like this was still a normal day.
Joohyun was already reaching for her coat. “I don’t know,” she said, jamming her feet into her boots. “But I’m about to find out.”
"I'm coming with you," Seulgi said, setting down her coffee.
"This is ridiculous. It's Christmas morning. Why would Jimin be at—" Their mother stopped, something dawning on her face. "Wait. Isn't the Kim daughter back home for the holidays? The youngest one? Minjeong?"
Joohyun and Seulgi exchanged a look.
“Oh my God,” Seulgi said slowly. “You don’t think—”
“I don’t think anything yet,” Joohyun snapped, yanking open the front door. “But I’m about to have a lot of questions.”
---
Joohyun marched up the Kims’ front path without saying a word, Seulgi hurrying to keep up. The church bells were chiming softly in the distance. Somewhere, someone was probably singing about peace on earth.
Joohyun scowled.
Merry Christmas, she thought. Peace on earth, blessings, and goodwill to all. Except my sister spent Christmas Eve getting her festive freak on with her childhood crush across the street.
She knocked on the Kim's door. A moment passed. Then another.
And then the door swung open, and there was Kim Minjeong—standing there like a Christmas card come to life, dressed in a soft knit sweater and skirt, a mug of something warm in her hands, hair somehow already perfect at 8 AM.
She smiled like this was all completely normal. “Good morning. Merry Christmas. Blessings.”
Joohyun forced a smile. “Hi, Minjeong. Merry Christmas. Lovely to see you. Blessings to your family.” She took a breath. “Is my sister here?”
Minjeong’s smile shifted—barely—but enough to suggest she knew exactly what was going on.
“Yep,” she said, with a little nod. “She’s here.”
She stepped aside, gesturing toward the living room.
And there—sprawled across the Kims’ very nice leather couch, mouth slightly open, hair a mess, blanket half-kicked off—was Jimin.
Still asleep.
On Christmas morning.
In someone else’s house.
“JIMIN.”
---
Jimin woke to the sound of someone saying her name.
Not gently. Not softly. Not in the tender, let-her-sleep kind of way.
"JIMIN."
She opened her eyes.
The ceiling above her was unfamiliar. White, with a huge chandelier that she didn't recognise. The light coming through the window was pale and wintery, and somewhere nearby, she could hear voices—muffled, indistinct, definitely not her family.
Where am I?
"JIMIN. WAKE UP. IT'S CHRISTMAS AND YOU'RE AT SOMEONE ELSE'S HOUSE."
Okay, that voice she recognised.
Jimin sat up so fast her head spun. She was on a couch—a nice couch, leather, definitely not hers—and standing over her was her sister, looking approximately two seconds away from committing murder.
"Joohyun?"
"Oh good, you remember my name. Do you also remember that it's CHRISTMAS MORNING and you're supposed to be at HOME?"
"I—what—"
Seulgi appeared behind Joohyun, trying to look sympathetic. "Jimin," she said carefully, "thank god you’re awake. Your sister is about to turn you into grilled chicken."
"Or something worse," Joohyun added darkly.
Jimin's brain was not functioning. She looked around wildly, trying to piece together where she was and how she'd gotten here, and then her gaze landed on the family photos on the wall.
The Kims.
She was at the Kims' house.
She was on the Kims' couch.
On Christmas morning.
"Oh no," Jimin whispered.
"Oh yes," Joohyun said.
And then, from somewhere to her left, a voice said, "Morning Jimin. Merry Christmas."
Jimin turned.
Minjeong was standing not far from them. Looking pretty. Too pretty. She was smiling—that same easy, amused smile from last night—and she lifted her mug in a little salute.
"Sleep well?"
Jimin opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
“Oh, she definitely slept more than well,” Joohyun cut in, arms crossed.
Minjeong let out a low laugh, clearly enjoying herself. “I did too, actually. Slept great. Haven’t had that much exercise in a while.”
Jimin’s brain short-circuited.
Wait.
Wait wait wait.
What happened last night?
Exercise?
Did they—?
No, no, no, that’s not— her mind spiraled. Her mouth opened, then closed again. Her ears were hot. Her palms were sweating. Did we hook up? Would I even remember? Why is Minjeong smiling like that? Why is Joohyun looking like she’s ready to put me in time-out?
“I—” Jimin tried, then gave up. “Oh my god.”
"She was in no state to bike home," Minjeong said, utterly unruffled. "I wasn't going to let her crash into a ditch on Christmas Eve. That felt like bad neighbour etiquette.”
"So you just—let her sleep here?" Joohyun replied.
“Well, would you have preferred the ditch?”
Seulgi made a sound that was definitely a laugh disguised as a cough. Joohyun shot her a look of betrayal.
"Jimin," Joohyun said, turning back to her sister. "Get your things. We're leaving."
“Right. Yep. Leaving. Got it.”
Jimin scrambled off the couch, nearly tripping over her own feet. Her coat was folded neatly on the armchair nearby—had Minjeong done that?—and her shoes were placed by the door, side by side, like a civilised person had removed them instead of a drunk disaster stumbling in at god knows what hour.
She grabbed her things, shoved her feet into her shoes, and turned to Minjeong.
"I'm so sorry," she said, the words tumbling out. "I didn't mean to—I don't even remember—"
"It's fine." Minjeong's eyes were warm, her smile teasing. "It was kind of entertaining, actually. You were being very... good last night." She let the words hang for just a second too long. "I had fun."
Entertaining?
Good?
Fun??
What did that mean?
What had Jimin done?
She didn't have time to ask. Joohyun had her by the arm and was physically steering her toward the front door, Seulgi trailing behind with Jimin's bicycle.
"Thank you, Minjeong," Joohyun called over her shoulder. "Sorry for the intrusion. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," Minjeong called back. "Feel free to stop by anytime, Jimin."
The door clicked shut behind them and they were halfway across the street when Joohyun finally exploded.
"I cannot believe you," she hissed at Jimin.
“I didn’t plan this!”
“You disappeared on Christmas Eve! You were just out here casually sleeping with the neighbour!”
“I—I don’t know about that?!”
“And then what, Jimin? You blacked out and woke up at her house like a stray cat?”
“That’s… essentially what happened. Or at least what I assume happened!”
---
By the time she escaped to her childhood bedroom, she was exhausted, mortified, and desperately trying to reconstruct the events of the previous night.
She remembered the bar. She remembered talking to Minjeong. She remembered... the t-rex backpack? First grade? Minjeong watching her compete in Year 10?
She remembered dancing.
Oh god, she remembered dancing.
Bye Bye Bye. In the middle of the bar. Like she was auditioning for a boy band.
Jimin buried her face in her pillow and screamed.
Okay. Okay. That was embarrassing, but survivable. They'd both been dancing. It was mutual humiliation. That was fine.
What else?
She remembered walking home. Minjeong's arm through hers. The Christmas lights blurring. Feeling warm and happy and—
And then nothing.
A black hole where the rest of the night should be.
What had she done?
She grabbed her phone, stared at it, put it down, picked it up again.
Should I text her?
She should probably text her. That was the polite thing to do, right? Thank Minjeong for not leaving her to die in a ditch. Apologise for whatever chaos she'd caused. Maybe casually ask what the hell exercise was supposed to mean.
Jimin opened their message thread—mostly empty, just a few logistical texts from years ago about neighbourhood things—and started typing.
Hey, thanks for last night
No. That sounded weird.
Hi Minjeong, I just wanted to say
Too formal.
So on a scale of 1 to 10—
She paused. Okay, this one is kinda casual. Slightly self-deprecating. Fine.
She typed out the full message, read it three times, held her breath, and hit send.
Jimin: So on a scale of 1 to 10, how badly did I ruin my chances of you ever taking me seriously as a person?
The three dots appeared almost immediately.
Jimin's heart stopped.
Minjeong: Hmm
Minjeong: Define "taking you seriously as a person"
Jimin: Like. Respecting me. Thinking I'm a functional adult. Not remembering me exclusively as the drunk idiot who passed out on your couch on Christmas Eve.
Minjeong: Ah
Minjeong: In that case
Minjeong: Maybe a 6?
Jimin: A 6???
Minjeong: You lost some points.
Jimin: I'm devastated.
Minjeong: You should be.
She was. And she was grinning like an idiot about it, alone in her childhood bedroom, surrounded by faded cartoon Spiderman bedding.
Jimin: Is there any way to recover those points?
The dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Minjeong: Depends.
Jimin: On what?
Minjeong: On a scale of 1 to 10, how curious are you about what happened last night?
Jimin’s stomach flipped.
Jimin: What do you mean?
Minjeong: You said you don’t remember much.
Minjeong: I remember everything.
Minjeong: And God, Jimin, my body is tired.
Jimin blinked. Oh.
Oh.
What does that even mean.
Minjeong: So. How curious are you?
Jimin stared at the screen.
Everything. Minjeong remembered everything. Every stupid thing Jimin had said, every embarrassing thing she'd done, every moment that Jimin's drunk brain had decided to yeet into the void.
—Or maybe the other things. The ones currently making Minjeong’s body tired. Apparently.
She should be terrified.
She was terrified.
She also really, really wanted to know.
Jimin: Like a 9.
Minjeong: Only a 9?
Jimin: Fine. 10.
Minjeong: Good answer.
Minjeong: Feel free to knock on my door tonight, then.
Jimin dropped her phone on her face.
---
She spent the rest of the day in a state of low-grade panic.
Christmas lunch came and went. Presents were exchanged. Her niece was delighted by the stuffed snowman doll Jimin had wrapped (badly). Joohyun gave her a look that said we're still talking about this later at least four times. Seulgi kept smirking at her from across the room.
And through all of it, Jimin kept checking her phone, rereading the messages, trying to figure out what the hell she was supposed to do.
Feel free to knock on my door tonight.
What did that mean? Was it an invitation? A challenge? Was Minjeong going to tell her all the embarrassing things she'd done and then politely ask her to never speak to her again?
Or was it something else?
By the time evening rolled around, Jimin had convinced herself of approximately seventeen different scenarios, ranging from "Minjeong wants to be friends" to "Minjeong is going to blackmail me with whatever I said" to "Minjeong is secretly a weird pretty alien from Pluto who feeds on human embarrassment."
The alien one was probably unlikely. But at this point, Jimin wasn't ruling anything out.
She found her mom in the kitchen. “Hey, um, do we have anything I can bring to the Kims?”
Her mom looked up from the sink. “Didn’t I already send over that fancy candle two days ago?”
“I know, but… do we have anything else? Just something small.”
Her mom gave her a strange look. “Well, there’s those berries and pomegranates we got from your aunt. You could put them in one of the gift boxes and tie it up nicely?”
Jimin nodded, possibly a little too fast. “Perfect. Great. I’ll do that.”
So she did.
She arranged the fruit in a little box, added some tissue paper like she was on Pinterest, tied a ribbon around it, and tried very hard not to feel like a total lunatic.
Then, she put on a coat. A nice coat. Not too nice—she didn't want to look like she was trying too hard—but nice enough that she looked like a person who had their life together, and she walked across the street.
---
Mrs. Kim answered the door, her face lighting up when she saw Jimin.
"Jimin-ah! Back again so soon?"
Jimin felt her face heat up. "I—yes. Hello, Mrs. Kim. Merry Christmas. I'm so sorry about this morning, I didn't mean to impose—"
"Nonsense, nonsense. You're always welcome here." Mrs. Kim's eyes twinkled in a way that made Jimin suspect she knew far more than she was letting on. "Staying for dinner this time?"
"Oh—no, I just—I'm just here to talk to Minjeong. If she's around."
"She's around." Mrs. Kim turned and called into the house. "Minjeong-ah! Your friend is here!"
Friend.
Were they friends? Jimin wasn't sure they'd ever officially been friends. Classmates, yes. Neighbours, yes. Two people who'd occupied the same space for twelve years and somehow never crossed the distance between them.
And then last night had happened.
Whatever last night was.
Footsteps on the stairs, and then Minjeong appeared in the hallway behind her mother, she's changed from what she wore this morning—now she's in chunky knit sweater and jeans, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looked soft. Cozy. Like a person you'd want to curl up next to on a cold winter night.
Stop it, Jimin told her brain. Be normal. Be cool. Be a functional adult.
"Hey," Minjeong said, smiling. "You actually came."
"You said to knock on your door."
"I did." Minjeong tilted her head, studying Jimin. "I wasn't sure if you'd have the nerve, though."
“Uh, I brought this. For you.”
Minjeong accepted the box, eyebrows raising. “Oh?”
She peeked inside, then gave Jimin a very specific kind of look—both amused and slightly wicked.
“Berries and pomegranates?” she said slowly. “Are you giving me aphrodisiacs?”
Jimin blinked. “What?!”
Minjeong laughed. “You know pomegranates are considered—”
“I didn’t know!” Jimin blurted, ears already burning. “I just—my mom gave me fruit and I panicked!”
Minjeong was still laughing, clearly delighted. “You panicked and showed up at my door with seductive fruit?”
“I didn’t—they’re just fruit!”
“Sure, very suggestive fruit” Minjeong said, her grin widening and already grabbing a jacket from the hook by the door. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.”
---
The night was cold and clear, their breath visible in the air, and Christmas lights were glowing from every house around them.
They walked in silence, footsteps crunching on the frosty pavement. Jimin kept her hands in her pockets, hyper-aware of Minjeong beside her, trying to figure out what to say
"So," she said finally. "Last night."
"Last night," Minjeong agreed.
"You said you remember everything."
"I do."
"And I..." Jimin grimaced. "Don't."
"You don't."
"So. What happened? After the dancing, I mean. I remember the dancing." Jimin winced. "Unfortunately."
"The dancing was fun."
"The dancing was humiliating."
"It was both. That's what made it fun." Minjeong's breath puffed white in the cold air. "After the dancing... we had a few more drinks. You got pretty drunk."
"I figured that part out."
"And then we left. You couldn't bike—you could barely walk—so I said I'd help you get home."
"Okay."
"And we walked." Minjeong's voice was light, almost teasing. "And you talked."
Jimin's stomach dropped. "I talked?"
"A lot."
"About what?"
“Oh, various things.” Minjeong glanced at her sideways, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. “You told me my hair looked really pretty in the streetlights. You said it, like, four times.”
Jimin closed her eyes. “Oh no.”
“You also told me I smelled nice. Like—and I’m quoting here—‘a mix of fancy bakery and an Aesop store.’”
Jimin groaned. “Please stop.”
Minjeong grinned. “Thank god I know what an Aesop store smells like. Honestly, I’ll take it. That’s high praise.”
“And,” Minjeong continued, clearly enjoying herself far too much, “you looked at me very seriously and said I had a really pretty smile. Like, really pretty. And that it wasn’t fair that I was still beautiful now, and possibly even more beautiful as an adult—”
“Oh my god.”
“—but that I’d also been very beautiful in high school,” Minjeong finished, completely unrepentant. “You were very thorough.”
"No no no—"
“We're not done yet,” Minjeong added, because apparently she had no intention of stopping, “when we got to my house, you couldn’t remember which one was yours. You kept pointing at random houses and asking if you lived there. So I tried to walk you to the correct one, but you sat down on my front steps and said—again, I'm quoting you here—‘I think I need a little rest. Just five minutes. Maybe ten. Maybe forever.’”
“I’m going to walk into traffic.”
“There is no traffic. It’s Christmas night.”
“I’ll find some.”
Minjeong laughed, bright and delighted, and the sound of it cut through Jimin's mortification just enough to make her feel slightly less like dying.
“Okay,” Jimin said, forcing herself to keep walking despite every instinct telling her to flee. “So I complimented your hair, your smile, your entire existence past and present, compared you to a bakery–Aesop hybrid, and then refused to go home. That’s… that’s a lot.”
“Oh, there’s more actually,” Minjeong said lightly. “I was tired, remember?”
Jimin swallowed. Right. Tired from all the exercise. “There’s more?”
"I tried to get you to stand up," Minjeong said. "And you did, eventually. But then you looked at me very seriously and said, 'Minjeong, I need to tell you something important.'"
Jimin's heart stopped. "What did I say?"
Minjeong paused, and for a moment, her expression shifted—something softer, less teasing, flickering beneath the amusement.
“You said…” She bit her lip, like she was trying not to smile. “‘I think you’re really, really cool. And I’m sorry I never told you in school—I was too scared. But you should know. You’re the coolest person I know. And being student council president wasn’t just impressive, it was kind of intimidating—in a good way. And also your tennis serve is incredible. I watched you more than once at practice. Don’t tell anyone.’”
Jimin wanted to disintegrate on the spot.
"And then," Minjeong added gently, "you threw up on my shoes."
"NO."
"Just a little."
"Oh my god."
“It’s fine,” Minjeong said. “They were old shoes. But after that, you were basically unconscious, and I had to haul you all the way to my living room and onto the couch. Do you know how exhausting that is at two in the morning?”
Jimin stopped walking. “That was the exercise? You carrying me?”
Minjeong grinned. “Do you wish it had been a different kind of exercise?”
“Nope,” Jimin said far too quickly—then immediately changed tactics. “I threw up on you. I told you you were cool and then I threw up on you.”
"It was very memorable."
Jimin stopped walking. "Okay. New plan. I'm going to move to another country. Change my name. Start a new life. You'll never have to see me again."
"That seems drastic."
"It's the only option."
"What about your Taekwondo students?"
"They'll understand. I can teach via Zoom."
Minjeong laughed again, and Jimin stared hard at the ground, too afraid to look up. “Okay. So… where am I on the scale now?”
Minjeong pretended to consider this, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Oh, you're definitely at negative five now."
"Negative five? I was at 6 this morning!"
"The compliments helped. But then I just remembered again that you vomited on my shoes. That's a significant deduction."
"Shit." Jimin dragged her hands down her face. "Shit. Okay. That's... that's fair. That's completely fair. I deserve that."
"You do."
"I'm going to be at negative five forever. There's no coming back from this. I'm going to be the girl who threw up on Kim Minjeong's shoes for the rest of my life."
"Well," Minjeong said, and something in her voice made Jimin look up. "Not necessarily."
Jimin blinked. "What do you mean?"
Minjeong had stopped walking. She was standing there in the middle of the quiet street, Christmas lights reflecting in her eyes, her breath forming soft clouds in the cold air. And she was smiling—not teasing this time, but something warmer. Something almost hopeful.
"It's a scale," Minjeong said. "Scales move. That's the whole point."
"I... guess?"
"Think of it like belts." Minjeong tilted her head. "You started at white. Now you're a black belt. You didn't get there overnight, right? You worked at it. You improved."
Jimin stared at her, not quite following. "Are you comparing my dignity to Taekwondo rankings?"
"I'm saying you can improve your score." Minjeong took a step closer, and Jimin's heart stuttered. "If you want to."
"I—" Jimin swallowed. "I can? Really?"
"Mm." Minjeong's smile widened. "Maybe you can start by saying hi properly."
"Hi properly?"
"You never actually greeted me tonight. You just showed up at my door looking like a scared rabbit bearing aphrodisiac fruit."
"I did not look like a—"
"And," Minjeong continued, cutting her off, "you could hold my hand."
Jimin's brain stopped working.
"What?"
"While we walk." Minjeong's voice was light, almost casual, but her eyes were fixed on Jimin's face, watching her reaction carefully. "That might help. With the score."
"Really?" The word came out barely above a whisper. "You want me to—really?"
Minjeong laughed softly. "Think of it as a Christmas miracle."
"A Christmas miracle," Jimin repeated dumbly.
"Mm. My gift to you." Minjeong reached out, her fingers brushing against Jimin's wrist—light, tentative, a question more than a statement. "Second chances. A way to make up for twelve years of missed opportunities."
Jimin's chest felt tight. Twelve years. Twelve years of sitting in the same classrooms, passing each other in hallways, waving across the street at Christmas. Twelve years of wanting and wondering and never being brave enough to close the distance.
And now Minjeong was standing here, in the middle of a quiet street on Christmas night, offering her a way back.
"I didn't know we had missed opportunities," Jimin said, her voice rough. "I thought—I thought I was the only one who—"
She stopped, not sure how to finish that sentence.
Minjeong's fingers curled gently around her wrist.
"You weren't," she said simply.
The words hung in the cold air between them.
Jimin looked at Minjeong—the soft curve of her smile. The warmth in her eyes. The way she was waiting, patient and open, for Jimin to meet her halfway.
Twelve years, Jimin thought. Twelve years, and she remembered my backpack. She came to my competition. She kept track of me this whole time.
And suddenly, the fear that had kept her paralysed for over a decade seemed very, very small.
"Hi," Jimin said.
Minjeong's eyebrows rose.
"I'm saying hi. Properly." Jimin took a breath. "Hi, Minjeong. Merry Christmas. I'm sorry I threw up on your shoes. And I'm sorry I never talked to you in school. And I'm sorry it took me this long to—"
"Jimin."
"Yeah?"
"You're rambling."
"I know. I'm nervous."
"I can tell."
"Is that losing me more points?"
Minjeong laughed, bright and warm. "No. It's kind of cute, actually."
"Cute is good. Cute is points. I'll take cute."
"Just hold my hand already."
Jimin reached out.
Her fingers slid between Minjeong's, slotting into place like they'd always belonged there. Minjeong's hand was warm despite the cold, her grip firm and sure, and when Jimin looked up, Minjeong was smiling at her like she'd just won something.
"There," Minjeong said softly. "That's a start."
"What's my score now?"
"Mm. Maybe negative four."
"Only one point?"
"Hand-holding is a small gesture. You'll have to work your way up."
"That seems harsh."
"I have high standards."
"I know. You're Kim Minjeong. You have standards for everything."
Minjeong squeezed her hand. "Good thing you're a quick learner, then."
They started walking again, hands intertwined, shoulders bumping gently with each step. The Christmas lights blurred into streaks of colour around them, and the night was cold but Jimin barely felt it.
"Hey, Minjeong?"
"Mm?"
"What should I do to get my points back to zero?"
"That's confidential information."
"What about positive numbers? What do I have to do to get to positive numbers?"
Minjeong pretended to think about it. "Keep showing up, I guess."
"That's it?"
"That's it." Minjeong glanced at her sideways, and there was something soft and unguarded in her expression. "Keep showing up. Keep talking to me. Keep... being here."
Being here.
It sounded so simple. After twelve years of missed chances and what-ifs, after all the distance Jimin had been too scared to cross—it really was that simple.
Just show up. Just be here. Just hold her hand and walk with her through the quiet Christmas streets and let the rest figure itself out.
"I can do that," Jimin said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She squeezed Minjeong's hand. "I'm pretty good at showing up, actually. Ask any of my students. I'm extremely reliable."
"Weren't you just unconscious on my couch this morning?"
"That was an outlier. Doesn't count."
Minjeong laughed, and the sound of it settled somewhere warm in Jimin's chest.
They walked on, hand in hand, the night stretching out ahead of them full of cold air and Christmas lights and the kind of possibility that only comes from finally, finally taking a chance.
Negative four, Jimin thought, wasn't such a bad place to start.
She had time. She had Minjeong's hand in hers. And she had twelve years of catching up to do.
She couldn't wait to get started.
---
One week later, Jimin was pacing in Aeri's living room.
"If you keep pacing, the colour's going to vanish from my very expensive rug," Aeri said flatly, not looking up from where she was arranging champagne flutes on the kitchen counter. "And so will my patience."
Ningning emerged from the bedroom, still fiddling with her earring. "Is she still freaking out about the girl?"
"She's been freaking out about the girl since she got here."
"I'm not freaking out," Jimin said, even as she made another lap around the couch. "I'm just—what if she doesn't like my friends? What if you guys are weird? What if—"
"We're not going to be weird," Aeri said.
"You're always weird."
"We're going to be normal weird. Charming weird. Your girl will think that wow, Jimin has such fun and interesting friends."
"She's not my girl—"
The doorbell rang.
Jimin froze.
"Oh my god. She's here. She's here and I haven't even—do I look okay? Is my hair—"
"You look fine," Ningning said, already heading toward the door. "Relax. I'll get it."
"Wait—Ningning, don't say anything weird—"
But Ningning was already opening the door, and there was Minjeong, standing in the hallway in a soft blue sweater and a long coat, her cheeks pink from the cold, looking unfairly beautiful for someone who had just climbed six floors to Aeri's fancy-ass loft apartment.
"Hi," Minjeong said, smiling. "I'm Minjeong."
"Oh, I know who you are," Ningning said, grinning wide. "You're Jimin's allegedly ten-year-long crush and future girlfriend—"
Jimin showed up behind Ningning at lightning speed, clamping a hand over her mouth. The rest of Ningning's sentence came out as a muffled string of gibberish.
"OKAY," Jimin said loudly, "thank you Ningning, that's enough of that, please come in Minjeong, ignore everything you just heard—"
Minjeong's eyebrows had risen approximately to her hairline, but she was smiling—that amused, delighted smile that Jimin was becoming dangerously addicted to.
"Ten years, huh?" Minjeong said, stepping inside.
"Ningning is a liar and cannot be trusted."
"Mm-hm."
"She makes things up. For fun. It's a problem."
Ningning licked Jimin's palm, and Jimin yelped and pulled her hand away.
"It's true," Ningning said cheerfully, wiping her mouth. "She's been talking about you nonstop since she got back from Christmas. Minjeong this, Minjeong that, oh my god you guys Minjeong's hands are so soft—"
"I'm going to kill you."
"Worth it."
Jimin grabbed Minjeong's hand—her very soft hand, shut up Ningning—and pulled her further into the apartment, away from the chaos at the door.
"Let me introduce you to someone who actually contributes to society," Jimin said. "Minjeong, this is Aeri. Best friend, business partner, investor in my Taekwondo place, and the only reason I can afford to do what I love for a living."
Aeri had come around from the kitchen, champagne flute already in hand, looking every bit the effortlessly chic host. She extended her free hand to Minjeong with a warm smile.
"The famous Minjeong," Aeri said. "I've heard a lot about you. And I mean a lot. Like, an almost concerning amount."
"I'm starting to sense a theme," Minjeong said, shaking her hand.
"The theme is that Jimin has no chill. But I'm sure you've figured that out by now."
"Well, she threw up on my shoes on Christmas Eve."
Aeri's eyes went wide, and then she burst out laughing. "Oh, I like her. Jimin, I like her. She can stay."
"Thanks for the approval," Jimin muttered. "Really feeling the support here."
Minjeong squeezed her hand, and when Jimin looked at her, she was smiling—soft and private, just for her.
"Your friends are fun," Minjeong said quietly.
"They're embarrassing me."
"That's what makes them fun."
---
The apartment filled up over the next few hours—more of Aeri and Ningning's friends, people Jimin vaguely knew from various corners of her life, everyone mingling and drinking and waiting for midnight. Minjeong fit in seamlessly, charming everyone she talked to, and Jimin kept finding excuses to drift back to her side.
"You're hovering," Minjeong murmured at one point, when Jimin appeared at her elbow for the fourth time in twenty minutes.
"I'm not hovering. I'm... being attentive."
"You're hovering. It's cute."
"I just want to make sure you're having a good time."
"I am." Minjeong's hand found hers, their fingers interlacing. "I'm having a great time."
---
At 11:50, everyone started migrating toward the balcony.
Aeri's apartment had the kind of view that made you understand why she paid the rent she did—the whole city spread out below, glittering with lights, the skyline sharp against the dark winter sky. In ten minutes, fireworks would be going off from at least three different directions, and everyone was jostling for the best spot to watch.
Jimin tugged Minjeong to a quieter corner of the balcony, slightly removed from the crowd. The air was freezing, their breath fogging between them, but neither of them moved to go back inside.
Minjeong gave a small shiver, and without a word, Jimin unwound the scarf from around her own neck and gently looped it over Minjeong’s instead, tucking it in with cold fingers.
Minjeong blinked at her, surprised. “What about you?”
Jimin shrugged. “I’m warm enough.”
She wasn’t, not really, but Minjeong was wearing her scarf now, and that was plenty.
"Hey," Jimin said, brushing a bit of wind-tousled hair from Minjeong’s cheek. Her fingers lingered for half a second too long.
"Mm?"
"Having fun?"
"I already told you I was."
"I know. I just like hearing you say it."
Minjeong rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. She leaned in slightly, shoulder brushing against Jimin’s, and without thinking, Jimin slipped an arm around her waist—casual, almost instinctive.
Minjeong didn’t pull away.
They stood like that for a moment, pressed together for warmth. A few minutes passed before someone inside finally started the countdown.
"TEN!"
The crowd on the balcony picked it up, voices rising in unison.
"NINE!"
Minjeong turned to face the skyline, her profile lit by the glow of the city.
"EIGHT!"
Jimin's heart was pounding.
"SEVEN!"
She had something to say. Something she'd been planning all week.
"SIX!"
God, she hoped she didn't mess this up.
"FIVE!"
"FOUR!"
"THREE!"
"TWO!"
"ONE!"
The sky exploded into colour—bursts of gold and silver and red, fireworks blooming across the darkness from every direction. Everyone on the balcony cheered, shouting "HAPPY NEW YEAR!" into the cold night air.
But Jimin turned to Minjeong, and instead of joining the chorus, she said, "Happy birthday, Minjeong."
Minjeong went still.
For a moment, she just stared at Jimin, the fireworks reflected in her eyes, her expression caught somewhere between shock and something softer.
"You remembered?" she whispered.
"Of course I remembered."
"But—how? I never told you—"
"Third grade," Jimin said. "We had that sharing session thing. Where everyone went around and talked about their birthdays, what they did to celebrate, whatever." She smiled, a little sheepish. "And when it was your turn, you started crying in front of the whole class."
Minjeong's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my god."
"You said no one ever remembered your birthday because it was the same day as New Year's. Everyone was always too busy celebrating the holiday to celebrate you. And you were so upset about it—you were really sobbing, like, full tears—and I remember thinking..." Jimin paused, swallowing. "I remember thinking, that's so sad. Someone should remember. Someone should make sure she knows her birthday matters."
Minjeong was staring at her, eyes bright. "That was so stupid," she said, but her voice was thick. "I can't believe I cried in front of everyone."
"It wasn't stupid. You were eight."
"I was dramatic."
"You were honest." Jimin reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small plastic box with a cupcake inside—slightly squished from being hidden all night, but intact. A single candle stuck out of the top. "I've been carrying this around for like three hours. Aeri almost sat on it twice."
Minjeong laughed, the sound wet and surprised. "You got me a cupcake?"
"Vanilla icing, your favourite." Jimin pulled out a lighter, struggling for a moment in the wind before the flame caught and the candle flickered to life. She held it up between them, the tiny light dancing in the darkness.
"Happy birthday, Minjeong," she said softly. "I wish I'd known better. I wish I'd said hi to you years ago. I wish I'd been braver. But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere, and I'm going to remember your birthday every single year for as long as you let me."
Minjeong's eyes were shining.
The fireworks were still going off behind them, cascading across the sky in brilliant showers of light, but neither of them looked away from each other.
Minjeong leaned forward and blew out the candle.
And then she kissed her.
It was soft and sweet and tasted faintly of champagne, and Jimin's brain went completely blank except for one thought: oh. Oh, this is what I've been missing.
When they pulled apart, Jimin was pretty sure she'd forgotten how to breathe.
"So," she managed, her voice coming out slightly strangled. "On a scale of one to ten. Where am I now?"
Minjeong laughed—bright and joyful, her cheeks flushed, her eyes still wet.
"A hundred," she said.
"A hundred? The scale only goes to ten."
"I'm adjusting the scale."
"You can't just—"
Minjeong kissed her again, and Jimin decided that actually, yes, you could absolutely adjust the scale, scales were flexible, scales were whatever Kim Minjeong wanted them to be.
Behind them, the fireworks reached their grand finale, lighting up the entire sky in a symphony of colour and sound. Aeri wolf-whistled from somewhere across the balcony. Ningning was definitely taking photos.
Jimin didn't care.
She was kissing Kim Minjeong on a balcony on New Year's Eve, and somewhere out there, her eight-year-old self—the one with the green T-Rex backpack who chased away bullies—and her fifteen-year-old self, wandering the school halls with a Cadbury in hand and never knowing the right thing to say—were finally, finally getting it right
Happy New Year, indeed.