Chapter Text
July 2024 - Sooyoung and Jiwoo’s Living Room
All it takes is the first guitar strum of Green Day’s “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)” to send the already fragile Sooyoung, Jinsol, and Haseul bawling into their wives’ arms.
“Honey, I told you not to use this song,” Jungeun lightly scolds Jinsol while cradling her like an overgrown baby.
In retrospect, Jinsol never should have pursued this project. Digging up Yerim’s photos from birth to high school, compiling them with Sooyoung and Jiwoo’s photos of Hyeju, learning how to use Final Cut Pro, and setting the slideshow to one of the most sentimental songs in the history of music proved to be time-consuming and emotionally draining.
The mothers haven’t stopped crying since the girls’ three-hour long graduation.
Sooyoung cried when Hyeju moved her tassel from left to right and then laughed when her daughter realized it was supposed to be the other way around. Of course, Hyeju didn’t bother to fix it.
Jinsol lost it at the Pledge of Allegiance, claiming that her premature tears were due to her “love for her country.” Sooyoung challenged her to name one senator to which Jinsol responded “I don’t know any but Yerim does- Oh Yerim, my little genius!”
Hilariously, Haseul erupted into tears when she noticed her daughter’s name wasn’t called. (“Mother, I’m literally sitting right next to you. I’m a junior, remember? I graduate next year.”)
After the dozens of tissue boxes consumed and bone-crushing hugs, the children hoped their mothers would keep this graduation party tear-free. That was obviously too much to ask.
“Ugh. Can we just hide here in your kitchen, Hyeju? I’m not ready to go back to that menopausal mess in the living room,” Yeojin complains.
Hyeju’s too preoccupied with texting to even identify which one of her friends just spoke (and Yerim and Yeojin’s voices are polar opposites).
“She can’t hear you. She’s texting her girlfriend,” Yerim teases.
“Chaewon’s not my girlfriend,” Hyeju defends, “She’s just a girl and a friend.”
Yeojin scoffs, “Yeah and I’m just pretty and talented.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m aware of the truth. You are not.”
The truth is that Hyeju has never liked texting - her friends frequently label her a “dry texter” as she rarely has anything of substance to contribute.
The truth is that Chaewon’s influence has got Hyeju using gifs, sending her Tiktoks that remind her of Chaewon, and texting her daily “Good mornings!” and “Good nights!”
The truth is that the mere thought of Facetiming Chaewon has Hyeju planning out scenarios in her head for how to not to blush on camera. Maybe she’ll just blame it on the lighting in her room.
The truth is that their back-and-forth conversations only started because they had a mutual goal: to find a roommate. Hyeju, Yerim, and Chaewon will be dorming together come September, that much has been established. Hyeju and Chaewon’s feelings on the other hand, are still unclear and unspoken.
“I hear our moms crying to Green Day. We should go.”
Yerim and Yeojin shake their heads but follow the emotionally constipated Hyeju to the living room.
“IT’S SOMETHING UNPREDICTABLE,
BUT IN THE END IS RIGHT,
I HOPE YOU HAD THE TIME OF YOUR LIIIIIIIFE”
Sooyoung, Jinsol, and Haseul belt the last lines of the song as the image of 5-year-old Hyeju pulling the beard off a mall Santa slowly fades out.
“Alright, that’s it,” Hyeju shuts off the tv.
“Hey! There’s still three hundred more pictures to go through!” her mother cries.
“This is supposed to be a party, mom. We should be celebrating - not mourning mine and Yerim’s childhood!”
“Well, forgive us for being nostalgic, loving mothers,” Jinsol guilt-trips as she resumes the slideshow.
Yeojin’s ears perk up at the mention of nostalgia just like they do when she hears “class is cancelled” or “x girl group will be coming back in x month.” She stands in front of the television and obstructs the parents’ view.
“What if you channeled that sad nostalgia into happy nostalgia…?”
Yerim and Hyeju understand what Yeojin is implying and together they yell, “Sapphic Singles Squad comeback!”
It’s been two months since the kids last heard of Sooyoung, Jinsol, and Haseul’s wacky college adventures prior to meeting their wives. The Squad has not made any plans since then - Yerim and Hyeju’s senior activities have taken top priority.
“Today is for you girls not for the Squad,” Vivi objects, “I don’t think that’s a good idea-“
“That’s a fantastic idea!” Haseul cheers, “Except we’re not prepared…”
Thankfully, the Squad has the great Sooyoung Ha as their reliable, benevolent leader. She reaches under the couch and pulls out a mysterious package. Sooyoung claws at the tape and rips open the box with her bare hands. Everyone watches in confusion.
“Think again, Seul. Our shirts came in yesterday!” She lightly tosses a folded tee to Haseul and chucks the other one at Jinsol.
As the trio marvel at their customized Squad uniforms courtesy of JYP’s Silky Shirts (their local T-shirt printing store), their daughters cover their faces in embarrassment.
On the front of Sooyoung’s burgundy shirt is a portrait of Hyeju - specifically six-month-old Hyeju with one tooth and about ten hairs on her head. The picture must have been taken seconds prior to a tantrum as baby Hyeju’s upper lip is curled into a snarl.
Jinsol’s blue shirt contains toddler Yerim’s face pasted onto the sun. The mother wears it with great pride.
Haseul’s green shirt is definitely… something.
“Who the fuck is that?!” Yeojin tries her hardest to filter her language in front of her mothers but the image of a blonde, blue-eyed baby on Haseul’s official Squad uniform is enough reason to shout an expletive or two.
“Language, Yeojin,” Vivi scolds, exhausted.
“I missed the deadline to send in a photo of you,” Haseul scratches the back of her neck sheepishly, “So the store had to use a stock photo.”
“Couldn’t they have chosen someone who looks a little like me? Am I the only one who thinks it’s weird that you have some random kid on your shirt?”
“Sorry, Yeojin but if you don’t like the front of the shirt, you’re really not gonna like the back.”
Sooyoung, Jinsol, and Haseul stand up for the grand reveal.
Embroidered on the backs are “I SIMP FOR JIWOO,” “JUNGEUN’S BAE,” and “VIVI IS MY RIDE OR DIE,” respectively.
“Which one of you is teaching our moms these words?!” Yeojin interrogates her friends.
“Hey! We’re woke enough to keep up with the times!” Sooyoung defends. “Now, you can choose to hear the rest of our college stories or you can continue to make fun of us.”
The Triple S president is met with silence and bowed heads.
“Mhm. That’s what I thought.”
“Question, President Sooyoung!” Jiwoo raises her hand.
Sooyoung smiles at her wife’s formality and sits back down on the sofa. “Yes, First Lady Jiwoo?”
“Are you sure your stories from thirty years ago are not a complete waste of time? Is it appropriate to tell them at our daughter’s graduation party?”
“The girls asked to hear them, Jiwoo. I’m giving our audience what they want.” Sooyoung takes Jiwoo’s hand and rubs her thumb soothingly over her wife’s knuckles. “Besides, I’m about to tell the story of how I met you.”
Jiwoo blinks bashfully and repositions herself so that her legs are comfortably resting on her wife’s lap. By doing this, she restricts the space of the other couple on the couch: Jinsol and Jungeun. They join Vivi and Haseul on the smaller couch - effectively doubling the “love” on the loveseat. The children, unfortunately, have nowhere to sit but the floor.
“We’re gonna be here a while. Pull up three chairs from the dining room,” Sooyoung instructs the daughters.
When they return, Sooyoung obtains one last look of approval from Jiwoo before she begins. Never has a truer statement ever been printed on a t-shirt - Sooyoung is a simp for Jiwoo.
“Ok kids,” Sooyoung takes a sip of water to prepare her throat for what will likely be hours of storytelling. “The story of how I met my extraordinary wife begins with another special shirt…”
September 8, 1995 - Triple S Apartment
Sooyoung stares at the freshly-ironed polo spread neatly on her bed. Although she isn’t the biggest fan of this uniform, she understands why BBCU forces her to wear it: the bright gold makes it easy for prospective students and new freshmen to spot their tour guides.
Sooyoung is the worst person for this job. She could not give half a fuck about helping first-years on their “journey to higher education” and she gives all the wrong advice.
“Take it from me: if you have the choice between pulling an all-nighter studying or getting shit-faced drunk the night before a huge, grade-determining final exam, always get shit-faced. You’re gonna fail either way, might as well have fun.” - Sooyoung Ha, BBCU Student Ambassador.
Since student ambassadors are some of the first people whom freshmen encounter, BBCU expects their leaders to be approachable and always smiling. As long as Sooyoung is on official BBCU grounds, she’s expected to have a big grin plastered on her face.
Maybe it’s the cynic in Sooyoung but she finds this expectation impossible to uphold. No one can be that bright and cheery every damn hour of the day.
But Sooyoung tries her best to tough it out for the money and the convenience of having a ten-minute walking commute from their apartment to campus.
She puts on her shirt, grabs her windbreaker in case the Autumn breeze makes an early debut, and steps out of her room to meet the usual chaos.
The first thing Sooyoung sees is Haseul’s feet in the air and her hands on their shag carpet.
“You’re nearing the ten-minute mark, Seul!” Jinsol announces with her eyes fixated on the stopwatch around her neck. “Seul, Seul,” she shakes her friend by the ankles, “You still with me?”
Haseul blinks furiously as if she’s been awoken from a daze and mumbles, “Yeah’m fine.”
“What are you buffoons doing?” Sooyoung asks while putting on a watch and adjusting the collar on her shirt.
“Timing how long Haseul can stay in a handstand before she passes out,” Jinsol answers passively.
“And what inspired this?” Sooyoung moves their coffee table and other environmental hazards away from Haseul.
“We were reading the Guinness Book of World Records. If we can pull this off, maybe Haseul will finally have something to say to that hottie at the gym. Am I right, Seul?”
Haseul starts to doze off again. Jinsol pinches the skin on the back of her elbow.
“Ow!”
“Sensation in upper extremities still intact. Level of consciousness decreasing,” Jinsol says into a tape recorder. “What are your plans for today, Soo?”
“Orientation day. I’m giving the freshmen a campus tour from 2 to 5. Then I have to shop for a fire extinguisher. Try not to burn down the house again, will you?”
(So what if Jinsol leaves her flat iron on wet countertops and uses a fork to pull toast out of their broken toaster? It’s not like she’s trying to set fires).
“Ok, I’m heading out. Bye children!”
Sooyoung hears a thud and a “Damn it, Haseul. You couldn’t hold on for another minute?!” as she closes the door behind her.
The members of BBCU’s Class of 1999 mingle in the Courtyard of Curiosity.
Situated between the astronomy and physics buildings, amateur sketches of unreachable galaxies are vividly displayed on chalkboard walls. This is one of Jinsol’s favorite hidden spots on campus. She’s single-handedly responsible for half of these drawings.
Freshman Jungeun Kim admires a whimsical interpretation of a lunar eclipse. The artist has drawn faces on both the moon and the earth. The moon has an arrogant smirk while the earth’s eyebrows are furrowed into a look of tremendous rage.
The speech bubble next to the Earth’s mouth reads: “Get out of the way, Moon! You’re stealing my thunder!”
Off to the side, there is a lighting bolt character lamenting, “Oh, Thunder. I am lost without you. But alas, I have fallen in love with someone I cannot see!”
As an architecture major, Jungeun appreciates creativity in every structure - be it a skyscraper or a witty comic drawn rather crudely on the side of a wall. She searches for the artist’s signature, hoping that they haven’t left this piece nameless.
Jinsol isn’t one to leave a work unfinished.
- by Jinsol Jeong: Artist, visionary, future marine biologist, current chick magnet
Jungeun traces the various titles Jinsol has so arrogantly assigned herself and scoffs when she reaches the last one.
Jungeun doesn’t know it yet, but the hand that wrote these words and drew these celestial characters is the hand that she will hold for the rest of her life.
“Boo! Whatcha looking at?” Jiwoo pounces on Jungeun in a failed attempt to scare her best friend.
“Nothing. Where have you been?” Jungeun replies, unfazed.
“Talking to the upperclassmen. Everyone here is really nice! I think we made the right decision committing to this school, Jungeun!”
“Yeah. I think so too.” Jungeun takes a final glance at Jinsol’s art before following Jiwoo back to the center of the courtyard. The freshmen with last names K-P await further instruction from the President of Student Affairs.
Jennie Kim tests her megaphone by rapping a few bars from “Gin and Juice,” a track off Snoop Dogg’s 1994 debut album, Doggystyle . The crowd watches with dropped jaws as Jennie matches the rapper’s cadence flawlessly.
“Damn! Who knew ‘I play tennis at the country club’ and ‘My first pet was a racehorse’ Jennie Kim listened to hip hop?” says Seulgi, Sooyoung’s coworker and fellow dance major.
“Now that I have your attention, Class of 1999, it’s time to break into groups for the campus tour! Please take a look at your nametags. You should have an animal sticker on the upper right-hand corner. Our helpful tour guides are wearing gold shirts and holding up signs with corresponding animals. Find your animal and find your group!”
“Team Bear, over here!” Seulgi yells.
Seulgi’s first freshman, a girl named Yeri, runs to Seulgi’s station.
“Let’s go bears, RAWR!”
“Alright, Yeri! Nice to meet you. I’m digging your energy already!”
Sooyoung prays for a quieter group. After Jinsol’s 3 AM accident, Sooyoung spent the early morning dealing with firemen and begging their landlord to let them stay after their fifth offense. She’s running on four hours of sleep and is not in the mood to entertain freshmen.
Ugh. Freshmen so full of hope. With their uncrushed dreams. With their unbroken hearts. Stupid freshmen.
“Hi! Is this team Penguin?”
Freshmen with their gleaming smiles and strawberry dresses…
Sooyoung looks down at the sign at her feet. “Oh! Uhh yes it is. I forgot to hold the sign up.”
“It’s alright, I got it!” Jiwoo picks up the poster and raises it, waving it from side to side. “Yoohoo! Penguins over here! Where are my penguin people?”
Sooyoung watches in disbelief as this girl snatches her job right out from under her in a matter of seconds. She’s already doing better than Sooyoung ever could.
“And here comes one of them! Yay! We got Dino! Who else? Who else?”
Jiwoo high-fives each new group member and asks them for their major and hometown.
She’s like a game show host.
When the last girl, Chaeyoung, joins their group, Jiwoo puts the penguin sign down, faces Sooyoung, and extends her hand.
“Where are my manners? I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Jiwoo!”
Are handshakes supposed to be this painful? She’s freakishly strong.
“You’ve got a good grip, Jiwoo. I’m Yves.”
Sooyoung has grown accustomed to the nickname she’s given herself. The only people allowed to call her by her given name are Jinsol, Haseul, and her family.
Jiwoo is a stranger. A very outgoing, kind person but a stranger nonetheless.
She’s not one of her best friends (although she will be soon).
She’s definitely not family (although she will be five years from now in a Las Vegas 24 Hour Wedding Chapel).
So for now, Jiwoo will have the pleasure of knowing Yves, not Sooyoung.
Built in the early 1800s, BBCU is a brick-and-mortar university with lush, green lawns and bronze statues of philanthropists. It’s hard to sound excited about the institution’s generic construction, especially when you’re not the most eloquent speaker.
“To your left, have a look at another old ass building where they teach something boring. Economics? Ecology? Fuck if I know.”
Jiwoo has toured BBCU many times - once in her junior year of high school, once in the summer between junior and senior year, and at least three times within the past year. Every tour guide has recycled the same catchphrases: “This is your home away from home,” and “Our campus has a charm that you can’t find anywhere else.”
Although Yves’s descriptions of campus landmarks may seem crass in contrast to the squeaky-clean scripts of her coworkers, it’s refreshing to hear an upperclassman speak openly about their experience. Jiwoo values honesty above all else.
“To your right, here’s an old ass sculpture of some old ass guy who gave a shitload of money to the school.”
Yves points to the marble bust of benefactor Jaden Jeong.
“Now there’s a myth that if you rub his right cheek, you’ll pass all your classes. I call B.S. on that because I’m taking 19th Century English Lit for the third time. But still, you have nothing to lose.”
Yves partakes in the silly custom and earns a few giggles from her group. She does it a second time to manifest an A+ and to elicit another laugh from Jiwoo. It appears that the girl in the strawberry dress has taken a liking to her.
Then again, falling in love with the unattainable junior, Yves Ha, is practically one of the university’s admission criteria.
Yves leads the group through another series of brick buildings before arriving at the BBCU dining hall.
“Finally something worth talking about! The spaghetti here is so fucking divine that three bowls in, you’ll forget every memory you have of your two-faced prick of an ex. That’s right. Why cry yourself to sleep thinking about the time you were late to class because you insisted on bringing her chicken noodle soup when she was bedridden with the flu? Just slurp on this perfectly cooked pasta! Why drive yourself crazy trying to remember the taste of her lips when you can just taste the finest fucking marinara you’ve had in your life? It’s that good, I swear. Their spaghetti will get you through anything. A bad grade, an asshole professor, a painful breakup. You’re gonna have a lot of those.”
Seven sets of concerned eyes are glued on Yves and her overly personal rant.
“Ahem,” Yves stands up straighter and sticks her chin up.
Jiwoo tentatively raises her hand, unsure if this act will make the situation even more uncomfortable. It has the opposite effect: Yves’s shoulders relax and her smile returns. “You don’t have to raise your hand, Jiwoo. What’s your question?”
“Do you have any advice for getting through those grades and breakups?”
The thought of some idiot having the nerve to dump this girl, to make her cry, to contain and expunge the boundless positivity that seems to radiate out of her petite body, irritates Yves more than she can explain. Girls like Jiwoo should be the ones doing the heartbreaking - they should never be on the receiving end.
“Got a little carried away there… Forget I said any of that. Ok folks! Let’s keep moving! Got a lot more campus to discover!”
Yves continues with the tour, this time putting more thought into her words and stopping herself from getting too candid. They visit the student wellness center, the library, the Orbit Convenience Store, the outdoor theatre where Haseul and other theatre majors rehearse their nonsensical skits, and the recreation center.
While showing the freshmen around BBCU’s gym, Yves spots Haseul’s pink-haired crush on the treadmill.
That’s the girl Haseul’s been raving about for months? She better hurry the fuck up and ask her out already.
(It will take Haseul another seven months to muster up the courage to initiate a mere conversation with Vivi. It will be excruciatingly humiliating).
“Ok we have one more important stop to make. Does anyone have any questions or want to see anything else?” Yves does not pause for responses. “None? Ok good. Let’s wrap this up.”
Jiwoo raises her hand once more. “Actually, I wanted to ask for a favor.”
She takes out her class schedule and hands it to her tour guide.
“Can you show me Lecture Hall D-1? I’ve heard people get lost on the first day trying to find it. I’d really appreciate it!”
Jiwoo’s class is on the other side of campus. The walk takes at least 15 minutes.
Yves checks her watch. They have about 12 minutes left before the end of orientation and she still has to facilitate the mandated self-reflection exercise.
But Jiwoo asked so politely…
“I can show you after orientation, if you don’t mind.”
There is no overtime pay. And Yves could just as easily give Jiwoo verbal or written directions. She’s not obligated to physically take her there.
“Great. Thank you so much!”
Why is it so easy to make exceptions for this girl?
Yves has her freshmen sit under the oldest, “Ice Age ass” tree on campus and write a letter to themselves. She found this exercise to be quite corny when she first did it but there’s no getting out of it a second time. Her supervisor Jennie believes this is a meaningful way for freshmen to look into themselves and decide what they want out of these next four years. If Yves dares to skip this, Jennie will surely have it out for her. Goodbye job. Goodbye beloved biweekly paychecks.
Yves reads verbatim from the prompt.
“Well, Class of 1999, here you are! Throughout the day, you’ve heard important messages from our trusted faculty and student ambassadors. You’ve met your peers, you’ve witnessed the beauty of our campus, and walked its majestic halls. Now it’s time for you to reflect on everything you’ve learned and seen today. In the first part of your letter, recap how your orientation day went. Describe what you did and most importantly how you felt. Include every little detail so that when you look back on this, four years from now, you’ll be taken back in time.”
Yves allocates pens and markers and lets them decorate as they please. Jiwoo requests a strawberry scented marker. Yves has to dig through three pencil cases but eventually she finds one. Jiwoo expresses her gratitude in a litany of “thank yous.”
As Jiwoo reaches the fifth paragraph of her long-winded letter, she makes yet another odd request.
“Yves? Is your name spelled E-V-E?”
“No. It’s Y-V-E-S,” she corrects, slightly puzzled.
Jiwoo nods and begins her sixth paragraph.
Then we had the campus tour. Jungeun and I got split up into groups :( It ended up being fun, though. My tour guide, Yves, was really funny. She’s one of those people that doesn’t have to try to be cool. She just… is. She’s also ridiculously pretty. There’s that too. But she’s a junior and I’ll probably never see her again. Oh well.
“Everyone almost done?” Yves asks with thinly-veiled impatience. She reads the second part of the prompt.
“In the last half of your letter, set goals for yourself. At the end of your senior year, where do you want to be and who do you want next to you?
Yves frowns. The questions were not this deep when she was a freshman.
Self-aware Jiwoo knows exactly how to respond.
When I’m a senior, I hope I’m walking the stage and getting my degree. Duh. What kind of question is that? And of course I want Jungeun to be there. I hope to make new friends too. I don't know what's in store for the next four years but I hope it will be filled with good memories and great people.
Hope you’re having a spectacular day, future Jiwoo!
Love,
Past Jiwoo
Satisfied with her introspection, Jiwoo sniffs the strawberry marker once more before capping it, sealing her letter inside, and licking the envelope shut. The rest of her group members begin to wipe the grass off their clothes and reunite with their friends and roommates.
Jungeun told Jiwoo not to wait for her. Jungeun will head straight to their dorm for her daily 5 P.M. nap and probably knock out as soon as her head hits her pillow. This leaves Jiwoo with plenty of time to freely explore the rest of campus.
“Ready to see the lecture hall?” Yves stands in front of Jiwoo.
“Yep!” Jiwoo begins to get up from the ground. However, since she’s wearing a dress, she’s been sitting rather uncomfortably. She stands up way too quickly and her legs go numb.
“Need help?” Yves effortlessly pulls her up.
“Thanks,” Jiwoo looks up at the taller Yves.
Neither realizes how intimate this may seem to an outsider. Jiwoo’s right hand is being held protectively by Yves and she’s placed her left on Yves’s bicep to stabilize herself. One mild gust of wind could push Jiwoo into Yves’s arms.
Yves nervously lets go of Jiwoo’s hand and clears her throat. “Ok, off we go.”
“And that’s the story of the first time my black belt came in handy!”
Yves was hoping their long walk to Lecture Hall D-1 wouldn’t be as awkward as the first three hours they’ve spent together. So far, Jiwoo hasn’t allowed for one fraction of a second of silence.
“There’s a second?” Yves asks, amused.
“Oh yes. And a third, and a fourth, I could go on.”
“I’m sure you could,” Yves says in a playful tone that unfortunately gets misinterpreted as disinterest.
Jiwoo purses her lips and looks down. “Sorry, I’m too chatty for my own good.”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that! I appreciate a good story and you tell some great ones!”
Although Yves may be a speaker with a penchant for profanity and the driest sense of humor that most people can’t seem to “get”, she makes up for her flaws by being a fantastic listener. She could listen to Jiwoo ramble forever.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Jiwoo nudges Yves’s arm like she’s done it a thousand times before. “Don’t flatter me, Yves.”
Yves smirks and directs their conversation back to their main objective. “So here’s the elevator I was talking about. There’s only one that leads to the lecture hall and it’s easy to walk past it. Take it to the first level, sharp right turn, walk straight till you see the Dean’s office, then another sharp right. And you’re there.”
Yves’s directions sound like a foreign language to Jiwoo. “Yeah… I’m more of a visual learner.” She presses the button and waits for her personal tour guide to join her inside the elevator. And so Yves saunters in.
For the first time in the three hours that Yves has known Jiwoo, the talkative girl goes silent. She listens to the faint elevator hum and smiles contentedly.
Yves doesn’t know why this girl smiles so much and for no apparent reason. She also doesn’t know why she’s smiling back.
When they arrive at their final destination, Jiwoo kicks the door open because, well, why not?
“Woah,” Jiwoo breathes, stunned. “How many people can fit in here?”
“I’d say this one seats around 300.”
Jiwoo takes a center seat in the back row, overlooking the lecture hall from the highest point. “And this is just one room. In one college. In one city. Wild…”
Yves sits beside her. “Are you from a small town?” she questions gently.
“I can see why you’d think that. No, I’m not. I’m from Memphis.”
“Tennessee?”
“Home of the blues and birthplace of rock n’ roll. Yes Ma’am.” Jiwoo tips an invisible cowgirl hat at Yves.
She’s a Southern Belle. That explains the hospitality and the slight twang to her words.
Yves props her feet on the seat in front of her, making herself comfortable.
“Do you miss it?” It’s quite a personal question to ask a stranger. But Jiwoo is an open book.
“Not really. I took a little piece of home with me. My roommate, Jungeun. We’ve been inseparable since we were six when our parents enrolled us in singing lessons. But all we did was goof off.” Jiwoo chuckles and smooths out her dress. “We only learned one song before we got pulled out of the class.”
“Which one?”
“What a Wonderful World.”
“Let’s hear it!” Yves can hardly contain her eagerness.
“I don’t do free concerts.”
Yves places her hands behind her head and leans back in her seat, cocky and proud. “If your set list is three minutes long, I don’t think you get to call it a concert.”
“Very clever, Yves…” Jiwoo hesitates, “... whatever your last name is.”
“Ha.”
“I said, very clever Yves whatever-“
“I didn’t say ‘huh,’ I said Ha.”
“What’s so funny?”
Out of frustration, Yves looks up to the ceiling.
“My last name is Ha,” she clarifies, turning her head.
Yves watches the confusion disappear from Jiwoo’s perplexed eyes and together they slowly burst into laughter.
“Kim,” Jiwoo manages after a minute, “Mine is Kim.”
"Pleased to meet you, Jiwoo Kim."
When the custodian arrives to shut off the lights and kick them out of the room, Yves and Jiwoo realize they’ve spent three hours exchanging stories and cracking jokes. Lecture Hall D-1 has never been this lively.
They step out and are welcomed by the brisk night air. Yves dons her windbreaker, leading to a series of questions from Jiwoo.
“BBCU dance team? What kind of dance? How long have you been dancing?”
“Yeah, I’m a dance major. We do a little bit of everything. And as long as I could walk. But that’s probably what most dancers say,” Yves rattles off her answers quickly. She’s more concerned about Jiwoo shivering in her dress, arms wrapped across herself to keep warm.
“Are you cold? You can have my-”
“No!” Jiwoo insists, “It’s ok. I’ll pick up a jacket when we stop by my dorm.”
Jiwoo invited Yves for cold, leftover pizza at her and Jungeun’s place. Yves assumed their night would end there. Apparently, Jiwoo has other plans.
“We’re only stopping by?”
“Yup. My dorm is tiny and I want to give you plenty of room to bust your moves,” Jiwoo says cheekily.
“Hell no,” Yves shakes her head, “I don’t do my shows for free either.”
“If you dance for me, I’ll sing for you.”
Hook, line, and sinker. Alright, I give up. You got me, Jiwoo.
“Ok. Deal. You live in the Mobius dorms, right? I know just the place for us to perform.”
Jungeun’s snoring has been compared to a multitude of eardrum-shattering machinery. Cannons. Jackhammers. Rocket engines.
“Don’t you want to wake your roommate up? I feel bad that I’m eating her pizza,” Yves observes the tag on Jungeun’s pillow jump up and down with each breath she takes.
“There’s no point. Jungeun can sleep through the apocalypse. And she didn’t like what we ordered so it’s ok,” Jiwoo says as she peruses her closet for a jacket.
“She didn’t like the Carniv-WHORE’s Special?” Yves devours the bacon, sausage, pepperoni, salami, pastrami, grilled chicken, and meatball stuffed monstrosity. “I thought my roommate was the only person in the world who hated it.”
Jiwoo emerges in a Levi’s jean jacket, the weight and thickness of the denim envelopes her and makes her look 3 inches shorter.
Adorable.
“Well, my roommate is the second person. I think they would get along.”
Yves studies Jungeun’s posters of the Milky Way, Aurora Borealis, and Buzz Aldrin’s Apollo 11 moonwalk. The last one is especially familiar to her. Jinsol has a similar poster of Neil Armstrong on the back of her door.
“Yeah. I think they would.”
“So where are you taking me now?” Jiwoo swings her keys and ushers Yves out of her room.
“The roof.”
“There’s a way to get up there?”
Yves points to the fire escape. A mischievous glint appears in her eyes.
“If you’re willing-”
Jiwoo is already halfway up the ladder. Yves has longer legs and yet she takes double the amount of time to reach the top.
“Woah. I know I’ve been saying that a lot today but woah!”
From the ground, Blockberry is just another college town. But from this bird's eye view, it… still looks like a college town. Only Jiwoo finds a way to see the beauty in the most ordinary things.
“I think this is my favorite spot you’ve shown me,” Jiwoo beams. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“You’re welcome. Now, how about you make it up to me with that song you promised?”
Jiwoo narrows her eyes at Yves but obliges.
“I see trees of green
Red roses too…”
Yves has heard people sing before: on tv, on the street, and from the shower (Jinsol wakes her up every morning with her rendition of “Cotton Eye Joe”).
But Jiwoo is different. Jiwoo doesn’t just sing - she officiates the matrimony of melodies with lyrics. She gives purpose to those two pieces of cartilage that lie symmetrically on the sides of one’s head.
Jiwoo was gifted with the voice of an angel. Yves was gifted with ears and right now, they have never been more hard at work.
They process the sound waves that Jiwoo delicately produces, deliver them past short-term memory, and skip right to long-term to be filed away forever.
On Yves’s darkest days and loneliest nights, she would like to be comforted with this moment, this tune, this amazing girl. Luckily, this girl is the exact reason why she will never have to experience those days and nights ever again.
“...Yes I think to myself
What a wonderful world…”
Indeed it is.
“You have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard,” Yves boldly speaks her mind.
Jiwoo shakes her head and looks away. She stuffs her cold hands in her jacket pockets but the fondness seeping from Yves's gaze is more than enough to warm her up.
“I told you not to flatter me.”
“I’m serious. You’re Grammy worthy! You could fill up Madison Square Garden with thousands of rabid fans!”
(Yves would surely be in the front row, dressed head-to-toe in Jiwoo’s merchandise).
“Even if I was as good as you say, I’ll stick to singing as a hobby. I don’t want to do it for a living.”
What a waste of a brilliant talent.
“Then what do you want to do?”
Jiwoo forms a fist under her chin and begins to speak in a serious, almost angry tone.
“This is Jiwoo Kim reporting from the roof of Mobius Dorms. It’s a cool night here at BBCU, with wind gusts around 15 miles per hour. If you’re going out tonight, make sure to wear at least two layers. Back to you, Yves!”
“Thank you, Jiwoo,” Yves plays along.
Jiwoo smiles and returns to her normal speaking pattern. “I’m studying journalism right now. I want to be a reporter. I want to travel and hear people’s stories so that I can share them with the rest of the world.”
(Jiwoo will not achieve this dream. She will switch careers and become a teacher. She will opt for a dull, domestic life with her wife and daughter. It will not be the adventure she originally pictured but it will be an adventure in its own right. And she won’t regret it one bit).
“Ah, I see. So when you’ve made it big and you’re reporting from the pyramids, will you still remember the time you confessed all your hopes and dreams to a stranger on a rooftop?”
“Why is it that in every vision of the future, whether I’m a singer or a journalist, you believe I’ll be successful?”
“Why do you believe you won’t be?” Yves challenges.
Jiwoo sighs, her breath visible in the near 0 degree weather.
“If I do become a famous reporter, then I’ll remain humble. I won’t forget where I came from. And I certainly won’t forget tonight. You think after all of this, I still consider you a stranger?”
Yves smiles her hundredth smile of the day. It’s getting exhausting at this point. The corners of her mouth have never been pulled this high. Her facial muscles have never been tested like this. Yves has never known such glee.
“Enough about me,” Jiwoo dismisses, “I want to see you dance.”
“I don’t know if I can follow up your act. You completely stole the show, Jiwoo.”
“I will get what I came here for!” Jiwoo stomps her foot.
And because Jiwoo has this enigmatic hold on Yves, the dancer delivers.
It’s the same, self-choreographed ballet routine she’s practiced since she was thirteen. The same solo she performed in front of a video camera and submitted to BBCU’s School of Performing Arts. A pirouette here, a releve there. Whether Yves is in a tutu and pointe shoes or a jacket and Keds, it does not matter. She should be able to execute these moves with minimal effort. But she doesn’t.
Maybe it’s the freezing air and the fact that they’re on a literal roof, or the fatigue from today’s events, but Yves stumbles frequently and appears as uncoordinated as Jinsol at the batting cage.
Or maybe it’s her audience. Yves has performed in front of the most critical, ruthless teachers and ballet companies and yet none of them hold a candle to Jiwoo. She doesn’t just want to impress her - she wants to captivate her as much as she’s been captivated.
Jiwoo claps ferociously. Her lack of ballet knowledge prevents her from seeing Yves’s multiple errors. “Bravo! Well done! If I had a bouquet I would throw it to you!”
“Thank you, thank you,” Yves curtsies.
And then, it happens. The moment that Yves has been dreading since the sun set and the moon rose.
Jiwoo yawns. Yves follows. And the best night of her life comes to an end.
“Sorry you caught my yawn! These things are infectious. I guess it must be getting late.”
Yves has a watch. If she bothered to check it instead of fawning over Jiwoo, she would see that it is 1:59 A.M. They’ve been on this extended “campus tour” for nearly 12 hours.
“Yeah. It’s probably around midnight. I should get going.”
“Why? Will the magic wear off soon, Cinderella? Got a fairy godmother waiting for you?” Jiwoo teases.
“No,” Yves chuckles, “Just two roommates who are probably wondering where the hell I am.”
(As Yves and Jiwoo are having this conversation, Haseul and Jinsol are frantically pacing their kitchen and debating whether to call Yves’s parents).
“I’ll walk you to your apartment. It’s really dark and it’s the least I could do!”
I’d gladly take another 15 minutes with you. But now is not the time to be selfish.
“But then you would have to walk back to your dorm all alone. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?” Concern is riddled all over Jiwoo’s face.
“Yeah.”
Jiwoo frowns but lets Yves go. “I think I’ll stay up here and take in the view a little while longer. Please be safe, Yves!”
Yves nods awkwardly and starts walking away from the future love of her life.
Something feels off. I can’t leave her like this.
“Sooyoung.”
“Pardon?” Jiwoo asks quizzically.
“Yves is a nickname. My real name is Sooyoung. We spent the whole day together, I figure you should know it.”
“Oh. Ok. It was nice to meet you, Sooyoung Ha. I’m still Jiwoo Kim!”
Another handshake. So cordial.
The next time they part ways, Jiwoo will seal their goodbye with a hug. And the time after that, a kiss. Sooyoung just has to be patient.
She bids Jiwoo goodnight and walks away officially. Sooyoung doesn’t remember reaching the ground floor of the dorms, crossing the street, taking a left at Orbit Avenue, and ending up in front of Apartment 379 (or, as her roommates like to call it, “The Sapphic Shack”).
The singer and her voice occupies her thoughts the entire journey home and the last memory that flashes through Sooyoung’s Jiwoo-infested mind is the melodic way in which she said her name. Her real name.
Jiwoo Kim is not her best friend.
Jiwoo Kim is not her family.
But Jiwoo Kim is most definitely not a stranger.
Jiwoo Kim deserves her own category.
“WHERE DID YOU COME FROM
WHERE DID YOU GO
WHERE DID YOU COME FROM, COTTON EYE JOE”
The next morning at 9 AM on the dot, Jinsol’s obnoxious shower concert disrupts Sooyoung’s peaceful slumber. Instead of politely asking Jinsol to “Shut up!” and then repeating herself with a more aggressive, “Shut the fuck up, I’m trying to sleep!”, Sooyoung jumps out of bed to get ready for the day.
There is a newfound vitality in her every action. She hums while combing her hair, she kicks her bathroom door open, she winks at her reflection. Call it the Jiwoo Effect.
Sooyoung quickly comes to accept that this freshman with her Southern accent and fruit-patterned dress has turned her life inside-out, upside-down, and topsy-turvy without warning. There was her life pre-Jiwoo, there was yesterday, and now here she is, waking up a changed woman.
She opens her blinds to let in the sun that she’s convinced Jiwoo had a hand in raising.
“Soo! Someone left a message on the answering machine. That Jiwoo girl from last night!” Haseul calls from their living room.
“Don’t delete it! I’ll be out in a sec!”
Sooyoung has no intention of ever going back to her miserable existence before Jiwoo. For this is the bright and beautiful after.