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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. 

Chapter Text

July 2024 - Sooyoung and Jiwoo’s Living Room 

“And that’s how I met Jiwoo.” Sooyoung looks fondly at her wife and mouths an “I love you.” 

“You came off as a total simp in that story, Mom,” says Hyeju. “But it was cute.” 

Yerim and Yeojin give their Aunt Sooyoung a standing ovation. “Encore! Encore!” 

This does wonders for Sooyoung’s ego. “Well, I guess I could tell a few more stories about our dating life,” she says while smirking at her friends. 

“Enough!” Haseul interrupts, “It’s my turn. My love story with Vivi is way cuter. We invented cuteness.” 

“Oh, please, Seul. You didn’t invent cuteness. Jungeun and I did. And you know what, we perfected it.” 

Jinsol and Haseul begin bickering like an old married couple. Their actual wives, Jungeun and Vivi, leave to each pour themselves another glass of wine. 

“You’re just jealous because Sooyoung named me Vice President of the Squad and not you.” 

“You’re the jealous one! How many times have you tried to stage a coup against our president? You wanted to go full-on Scar on her Mufasa ass!” 

With a heavy sigh, Sooyoung ignores her friends and resumes her stories. “So what do you kids want to hear next?” 

“How did you ask mom to be your girlfriend?” Hyeju inquires out of curiosity and certainly not because she’s planning on using Sooyoung’s tactics on her new love interest, Chaewon. 

Yerim and Yeojin exchange knowing glances. Their friend is so obvious. 

“That’s a good question. Well, one November morning in 1995…” 

November 1995 - Triple S Apartment 

Saturday mornings in the “Sapphic Shack” are full of bustling activity. Haseul does her stretches all over the living room and prepares her pre-workout protein shakes in their untidy kitchen. 

Jinsol turns on the news at an unnecessarily loud volume while she does the New York Times Crossword. Rumor has it that the most challenging puzzles are published on Saturdays. 

“Hey, Seul! 5 letters. Korean martial art uniform. Any ideas?”

“Dobok.” 

Jinsol writes it in. “Look at that. It fits! Thanks, Seul!” 

Haseul, completely immersed in the Vanilla Ice experience, removes her Walkman headphones. “Sorry, what did you say? I was getting my groove on.” 

The correct answer came not from Haseul, a self-proclaimed expert in hand-to-hand combat, but from Sooyoung - a professionally trained ballerina under the prestigious La Maison Academy. 

“Sooyoung? What do you know about martial arts?” 

“Nothing. But Jiwoo knows everything…” 

The lovesick Sooyoung rambles about Jiwoo’s impressive taekwondo background. Lately, every one of Sooyoung’s sentences starts with “But Jiwoo,” “Jiwoo said,” or “Jiwoo is so” followed by a superlative such as “majestically beautiful” or “the greatest vocalist of all time.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. All of humanity should fall to Jiwoo’s feet,” Haseul says sarcastically as she dumps an exorbitant amount of protein powder into her blender. 

Jinsol, on the other hand, attempts to hide her envy. “You seem extra bright and cheery this morning, Soo. Anything different?” 

With as much confidence as a rocket scientist performing basic arithmetic, Sooyoung declares, “Yes. I woke up and decided I’m going to ask Jiwoo to be my girlfriend.” 

The earth gets thrown off its axis, ceasing its orbit around the sun. Day becomes night. Night becomes day. Time ceases. 

Because Sooyoung Ha, a notorious commitment-phobe, a coward in the face of serious relationships, has just said the word: “girlfriend.” 

Haseul forgoes the essential blender lid and her green concoction of spinach and kiwi shoots up to the ceiling. 

“Holy shit! This is a big step! I’m proud of you, buddy!” 

“Thanks, Seul,” Sooyoung mumbles into her friend’s hug. 

“Before we celebrate,” Jinsol interjects, “I think we’re forgetting about the big gay elephant in the room.” 

Three heads turn to look at the refrigerator door. The Sapphic Singles Squad’s Code of Conduct, penned by Sooyoung herself, is displayed between polaroids of the trio and Jinsol’s fish magnets. 

September 1994 

Sooyoung places her quill on a red velvet pillow. She hands it with care to Haseul, the soon-to-be third and final member of their Squad. 

“This is my presidential pen. It is used to sign only the most important documents. I hope this gives you an idea of how serious this is. As President, I-“ 

“Stop, Haseul!” Jinsol giggles. 

Sooyoung glares at her roommates and seizes the feather quill from Haseul. “It is NOT used to tickle Vice President Jinsol.” 

“Sorry,” Haseul says shyly. 

Sooyoung gives her a cheap BBCU ballpoint pen. “Just sign it,” she sighs. 

Haseul does so with apprehension. 

“What is it now?” Sooyoung’s patience continues to wane. 

“Madame President, with all due respect, I have an issue with the title you’ve given me.” 

Haseul crosses out “Secretary” and writes in “Queen.” 

“Hey! This is a democracy!” 

Jinsol raises her hand with fervor. “Permission to speak?” 

“You’re already sp-” 

“Can I be prime minister instead? Or commander? Oooh what about special agent?” 

Sooyoung rubs at her temples, walks away, and slams her bedroom door. 

“She’s so dramatic,” Jinsol says to Haseul, “It’s not that serious.” 

“Ugh, tell me about it.” Haseul picks the lint off her rented inauguration day tuxedo.

“It’s just a piece of paper,” Sooyoung shrugs. 

“No, it’s not. You wrote 75 rules on how to conduct yourself so that you don’t get your heart broken… again.

January 1994 

The person who answers the door is wearing Al’s favorite baggy tee. When she looks up to the brawny young man with pearly teeth, (he looks like a reject from the cast of “Baywatch”) she finally understands Al’s fixation with the shirt. 

“Babe!”, he calls for Al, as the weight of those four words suffocate Sooyoung, “Your friend is here!” 

“I can explain,” she pants. Sooyoung’s long legs bring her to the end of the hallway and Al can hardly keep up with her.  

“Explain that you’ve had a boyfriend all this time?”

“I’m sorry, Soo.” 

Although it pains Jinsol to bring up the memory almost as much as it aches for Sooyoung to relive it, she deems it necessary. 

“I’m just looking out for you, Soo. The way that you talk about Jiwoo, it’s like she can do no wrong. But you’ve known her, what, a couple months?” 

“72 days.” 

And my, have they been the most eventful, unpredictable, and delightful 72 days of Sooyoung’s life thus far. In an enriching semester wherein Sooyoung is taking Advanced Hip Hop and The Art of Theatre and Improvisation (through Haseul and Jinsol’s coercion), her favorite course is undeniably Introduction to Jiwoo. Sooyoung spends seven days a week listening to Jiwoo’s colorful tales, studying how she likes her morning coffee (no creamer, four sugars), and taking note of anything and everything that brings her joy. 

Jiwoo likes yellow skittles.
The swivel chairs on the library’s second floor.
Wearing rain boots when it’s barely drizzling.
My sarcasm.
My laugh.
Me? 

“You’ve been counting the days?!” Haseul exclaims. “You must really like this girl.” 

Meanwhile, Sooyoung’s ever-loyal Vice President still hasn’t removed her eyes from the Code of Conduct. 

“Sol, don’t worry about me,” Sooyoung reassures her skeptical friend. 

“But what if you get hurt again?” 

Then it would be unbearable. Then Sooyoung would permanently lose hope in love as something tangible, as something she is worthy of experiencing. 

But in the depths of her conscience, Sooyoung believes that Jiwoo isn’t capable of causing such anguish. Especially not to her. 

“What if I don’t?” 

Blockberry Lake, with its crystal clear waters and fresh, clean air is a popular place for sweethearts to picnic and spend the day getting lost in one another. 

Although gazing at Sooyoung is certainly a pleasing activity, Jiwoo is not the type to sit still. She gathers some rocks by the shoreline and demonstrates one of her many obscure talents: rock skipping. 

“Nice one, Jiwoo!”

Jiwoo picks up another stone and throws it deftly. It bounces eight times before presumably sinking. (Or maybe it doesn’t sink at all. Maybe Jiwoo sent it to another dimension). 

“Seriously, how are you so good at that?” 

“I placed first at the 1992 International Rock Skipping Tournament.” 

“Really?” 

Jiwoo joins Sooyoung on their picnic blanket and pokes her nose. “No, silly! I made it up!” 

Sooyoung normally isn’t this gullible but she’ll eat up anything Jiwoo says. She consumes Jiwoo’s words like a five course meal and saves just enough room for dessert in the form of Jiwoo’s bright and airy vocals. 

“It sounded real to me!” 

“And what if I told you I was a unicorn doctor?” 

Sooyoung lifts Jiwoo’s hand off the blanket and plays with her fingers, running her thumb over each digit. 

“Then I would applaud you for entering such a noble profession.” 

Jiwoo playfully swats Sooyoung’s hand away. 

“You are so…” Jiwoo starts. 

“So what?” Sooyoung flashes her most arrogant grin. 

“You are just too much for me, Sooyoung. You always have a smart-ass reply saved up in that head of yours.” 

Sooyoung bites her lip. 

For once, don’t be a cocky prick. Don’t say it. 

“Head full of Jiwoo.” 

Couldn’t resist. The opportunity was right there. 

Naturally, Jiwoo scoffs and begins packing up their food. “Date over.” 

Sooyoung pouts. 

(Again, Sooyoung doesn’t normally pout but when it comes to... ) 

“Jiwoo. Please stay.” She pats the now empty, Jiwoo-less space beside her. Jiwoo slings her wicker purse across her body and proceeds to challenge Sooyoung. 

“Why should I?” 

“Because it’s a nice day. The sun is finally out, I prepared this delicious spread for us, and I still need to ask you something.” 

“Let me guess. You want to know if it hurt when I fell from heaven,” Jiwoo sasses. 

“Ok two things. That and… if you would consider being my girlfriend. All jokes and sweet talk aside.”

Jiwoo looks down and the momentary lapse in eye contact causes Sooyoung’s anxiety to skyrocket. 

Stupid. Why would she ever say yes? 

“Here,” Jiwoo hands her a flat pebble, “Get this to bounce twice and we have a deal.” 

“Pffff that’s easy.” 

Sooyoung swings her forearm and flicks her wrist much too recklessly, catapulting the rock right to the bottom of the lake. 

“Put a little less muscle into it,” Jiwoo encourages. 

Sooyoung tries again, and again, and again. Each time, the rock sinks before it even has the opportunity to bounce. 

“Ugh! Come on, man!” Sooyoung grunts after her ninth rock plops and leaves ripples in the water. 

Jiwoo covers her mouth. If Sooyoung were to see her laugh, her ego would be bruised even further. 

“You can stop now. This is hopeless.” 

“I’m not giving up.” 

“You’ll run out of rocks.” 

“I’ll go in the water and get back the ones I already threw.” 

Jiwoo lessens the space between them and gets on the tips of her toes. “My girlfriend is so frustrating,” she teases as she brushes a strand of hair from Sooyoung’s stubborn, determined face. 

With minimal exertion, Jiwoo takes the stone she’s been hiding behind her back and finishes the task for Sooyoung. 

And when Jiwoo connects their lips together, Sooyoung confirms that her girlfriend is an expert at making multiple things skip. 

As she smiles into their kiss, Sooyoung’s heart bounces in rhythm with the stone. 

December 1995

95 days have passed since Sooyoung met Jiwoo, 23 days since they officially became “Sooyoung and Jiwoo,” and Jinsol and Haseul have yet to meet the mysterious girl who has wholly captured their roommate’s affection and attention. This is intentional. Sooyoung hides her girlfriend away, like a princess in a tower, protecting Jiwoo from the horrors of the world. Not that her roommates are horrible, they’re just… Jinsol and Haseul. 

“Seul, door bell!” 

“You’re right there, you go answer it!” 

“I’ve had a long day,” Jinsol sighs and places cucumber slices on her eyes. 

“It’s 10 AM!” Haseul huffs and walks past her lazy friend to open the door. 

She’s greeted by Jiwoo in a pineapple dress (fruit-patterned dresses make up half of Jiwoo’s eccentric wardrobe). 

“Hi! Is Sooyoung home?” 

“She stepped out to run a quick errand. Do you want to come in?” 

“Ok, if you don’t mind!” 

Haseul smiles warmly. “Not at all. Welcome to Seul, Sol, and Soo’s Sapphic Shack. It’s a tongue twister, isn’t it?” 

Sooyoung gave her friends specific instructions on what not to do if Jiwoo were to arrive when she’s not home: Do not let her in. Please don’t interrogate her. 

Haseul already broke the first rule. 

“Jinsol, we have a guest!”

“If it’s those little girls again, tell them I’m filing a lawsuit. Their cookies turned my saliva blue-” Jinsol removes her cucumber slices. “Oh, well well. Is this the infamous Jiwoo?” 

Jinsol is about to break Sooyoung’s second rule. 

“Please sit. Now, tell us, Jiwoo. What are your intentions with our Sooyoung?” Jinsol leans over their dining table menacingly. 

“I like Sooyoung a lot.” 

Jinsol crosses her arms. “Define ‘a lot.’ Quantify it for me. Because Sooyoung likes you a ton. She even counts how many days you’ve been together- shit, I probably wasn’t supposed to say that.” 

(No she was not). 

Jiwoo smiles at Sooyoung’s unexpected sentimentality. Behind all that bravado and knock-off Yves Saint Laurent perfume, is someone vulnerable, caring, and positively smitten for her. 

“Wow. She counts? I’ll be honest, I don’t even know how long it’s been. I think it’s 3 weeks, give or take a few days. Sooyoung’s better at the details. I’m better at seeing the big picture. And I want her to be a part of mine.”

Jiwoo looks from Jinsol to Haseul. “Is that what y’all wanted to hear?” 

“No,” Haseul’s voice is full of emotion, “It’s even better. Welcome to the family, Jisoo!” 

“Jiwoo!” Jinsol hoarsely corrects her friend’s slip-up. 

“Oh, Christ on a cracker!” Haseul rests her hand on Jiwoo’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry!” 

“It’s ok,” Jiwoo laughs. 

“Then who is Jisoo?” Haseul pulls Jinsol aside. 

“That hot girl in Apartment 365.” 

“Everyone here is hot!” 

“She’s gay.” 

“Everyone here is gay, Jinsol!” 

An hour later, Sooyoung comes home to Jiwoo teaching her roommates basic Southern slang. 

“Howdy, Sooyoung!” Jinsol and Haseul yell. 

“I told y’all that’s more of a Texan thing,” Tennessean Jiwoo corrects. 

Sooyoung’s Southern belle walks over to her and opens her arms for a hug. “There you are, darlin’. I missed you!” 

“I missed you too. I see you’ve met my friends. I hope they haven’t scared you away.” 

“Hey now, they’re not that bad! Jinsol and Haseul are both so sweet. I don’t understand how they’re still single.” 

Sooyoung snorts and spins her girlfriend around to hug her from behind. “Just watch them,” she instructs as she settles her chin on Jiwoo’s shoulder. 

With shaky hands, Haseul dials the number of Jisoo Kim. Jinsol massages her shoulders and assumes her wingwoman duties. 

“Heyyyy neighbor! It’s Haseul from 379! I was wondering if you wanted to get a bite to eat sometime. This weekend maybe? Oh you’re only free on Friday? That’s fine! I’m free any day, any time!” 

“Tell her you need to check your schedule. You want to sound like you have a social life,” Jinsol whispers. 

Haseul nods and holds her finger up. “Uhh wait just a second, Jiwoo. I need to check my schedule.” 

Jinsol snatches the phone from Haseul and covers the speaker. “Jiwoo!” she yells and points at Jiwoo. “Jisoo!” she yells and shakes the phone. 

“Now you see why they’re single?” Sooyoung asks her girlfriend, not even hiding the fact that she’s taking pleasure in her friends’ miserable love lives. 

“Haseul yes. But it looks like Jinsol knows what she’s doing,” Jiwoo says with conviction.

“Blondie? Please. She’s just as hopeless.” 

In one week, hope will arrive in Jinsol’s life. A “Help Wanted” flyer will magically find its way into Jungeun’s hands and she’ll stumble into Jinsol’s pet store. 

January 1996

At their first karaoke night, Sooyoung realizes she’s in love with Jiwoo. 

She’s in love with the way Jiwoo scans the songbook. Jiwoo treats the inconsequential act of selecting a song like it’s a top secret mission entrusted only to her. She eventually narrows it down to three options but she’s back to square one when she discovers a separate section in the book for non-English songs. “This changes everything!” she cries. 

She’s in love with how natural Jiwoo looks with a microphone, like it’s an extension of her body. 

She’s in love with Jiwoo’s kindness - how she walks up to the stage and greets the people seated at the bar, at the tables, and even shouts out to the people in the bathrooms. She praises everyone for their beautiful voices and proceeds to introduce them to her own. 

“I hope y’all like my song! I dedicate it to a very special someone. You know who you are.”

At last 

My love has come along

My lonely days are over 

And life is like a song 

How can she not be in love when Jiwoo is serenading her like that ? Looking at her like that ? 

To be able to hear Jiwoo sing is already a tremendous honor. But to know that she’s the one Jiwoo’s singing about, to know that she’s the one Jiwoo’s singing for, well, that’s just too much for Sooyoung’s poor heart to handle. 

Sooyoung isn’t the only one falling.

“Now I understand why Sooyoung raves about Jiwoo’s voice,” Jinsol remarks to Jungeun. 

“Jiwoo’s always ramblin’ bout’ Sooyoung too,” says Jungeun in a similar accent as her best friend. 

This is Jinsol and Jungeun’s first time enjoying each other’s company outside of work. Jinsol is a nervous wreck as expected. 

“Soooo… your best friend is dating my best friend. That’s kind of cool, isn’t it?” 

“I guess.” 

Jinsol takes a sip of what she believes to be her drink. “I think we have a special connection, Jungeun.” 

“That’s my drink,” Jungeun glares. 

“Shit, my bad!” 

Jungeun purses her lips but entertains Jinsol’s proposition. “How are we connected?” 

“Sooyoung is like a sister to me and Jiwoo is like a sister to you.” 

“So you and I are like sisters?” Jungeun asks, struggling to understand Jinsol’s train of thought. 

“Yes- wait no!” 

“Your ‘sister’ is dating mine so that makes us… in laws?” 

Jinsol winces. “Never mind. I have no idea where I was going with that.” 

Jiwoo finishes “At Last” with a 98, setting the top score for the night. Sooyoung waits at the bottom of the bar’s makeshift stage. 

“That machine is broken. How could you be any less than perfect?” Sooyoung presents a single peach rose to her girl. Jiwoo’s cheeks turn redder than the apples on her dress. 

“They’re good together,” says Jinsol as she observes Sooyoung’s masterful flirting. 

Jungeun nods in agreement.

In that fleeting moment when they’re smiling at one another in comfortable silence, Jinsol wonders if maybe, just maybe, she and Jungeun could be good together as well.

February 14, 1996 

At the crack of dawn, Sooyoung pounds on Jungeun and Jiwoo’s door. A startled Jiwoo reaches for the baseball bat under her bed and kicks the door open. 

“WHO’S THERE?” Jiwoo’s eyes bulge out of their sockets. Her feral expression softens at the sight of her girlfriend carrying a cardboard to-go container with two coffees. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Sooyoung hands Jiwoo her coffee with four sugars. 

“Thank you, darlin’. Happy Valentine’s right back at’cha,” Jiwoo yawns, “But what brings you here at 6 A.M.?” 

Only the most thoughtful surprise ever. 

Since the day they met, Jiwoo has spoken ad nauseum about her desire to become a newscaster - to have her face on benches, buses, and billboards. Sooyoung may not know a thing about journalism, but she has plenty of connections. She spent the past week contacting her friends, mutual friends, and mutual friends of mutual friends, to secure Jiwoo a one-minute segment on Good Morning Blockberry’s 7 A.M. broadcast. Sooyoung hopes that by making Jiwoo’s oldest dream come true, she can be Jiwoo’s new one. 

“You’ll find out soon enough. Pick out something nice and get dressed!”

In anticipation for Sooyoung’s grand, romantic gesture, Jiwoo gets ready in record time and puts on her most iconic outfit. 

Sooyoung links arms with her strawberry dress girl and they take a short stroll to their local bus station. At this hour, the bus is virtually empty, save for a few early morning shift workers and hungover partygoers. The couple take their seats at the back with Jiwoo leaning on Sooyoung. 

“Jiwoo, we’re almost at our stop. You need to wake up!” 

“But you’re my pillow, darlin’,” Jiwoo mumbles. “Where’re we goin’, anyway?” 

“How about I give you some clues and you start guessing so you stay awake?” 

Sooyoung gets a grunt in response. 

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ Ok, I heard they have good donuts at this place but it’s not a bakery or any kind of restaurant.” 

“The police station?” 

“Why would I drag you to the police station?” Sooyoung laughs, “What have you done wrong?” 

“I stole your heart,” Jiwoo chirps. 

“Point taken,” Sooyoung grins, “But no, not the police station. Next clue: you know this place exists but you’ve never been here.” 

“The police station.” 

“Is that gonna be your answer for everything?” Sooyoung raises a brow and adjusts her position so that Jiwoo can rest more comfortably against her. 

“Yes, so why won’t you just tell me?” Jiwoo finishes off her coffee. 

The bus comes to an abrupt stop in downtown Blockberry. The busy area is home to city hall, the courthouse, yes, even the police station, and the Channel 10 news. 

“No need. We’re already here.” Sooyoung escorts her girlfriend out of the bus. 

An intern stands outside the news station and waves to the couple. “Sooyoung and Jiwoo? Come in, we’ve been expecting you!” 

He hands Sooyoung a “Visitor” sticker and Jiwoo a lanyard with an ID card that reads: “Press: Junior Reporter.” 

“What are you up to?” Jiwoo looks at her girlfriend mischievously. 

Before Sooyoung can offer a flirtatious reply, the hair and makeup teams whisk Jiwoo away. They tell Jiwoo that the chief of Channel 10 news has never let an intern, let alone a first year journalism student, in front of the cameras and that Sooyoung was very persuasive. 

“Yeah, that’s Sooyoung. She can be quite the charmer.” 

Jiwoo turns her head to find Sooyoung at the craft services table, taking advantage of the free food and pointing out her girlfriend to the crew members.

Next, the audio technicians help set up Jiwoo’s microphone. This is where it really starts to sink in. She has a mic pack. She has a script in her hands. She even has her own Channel 10 mug. And she has Sooyoung to thank for it all. 

“You ready, kid?” the cameraman, Teddy, asks. 

Jiwoo was thrown into this and is still half-asleep so no, she is not ready. But when her girlfriend stands next to the teleprompter, smiling with the corners of her mouth covered in powdered sugar, Jiwoo decides she is ready. For many things actually. She’s ready to deliver the update on Blockberry’s tree planting initiative and she’s ready to tell Sooyoung that she’s madly, madly in love with her. 

The aspiring journalist nods and straightens her papers. “Ready.” 

“... And now, Jiwoo with the Bright Side!” 

“Thank you, Jaesuk. Since we began our city-wide tree planting project last December, Blockberry has seen an increase in... “ 

Jiwoo speaks at just the right tone, affect, speed and with the proper enunciation. It may only be for today, but she’s Channel 10’s youngest anchor and the best they’ve ever seen. 

“...this was Jiwoo with the Bright Side. Happy Valentine’s to all the sweethearts…” 

Jiwoo pauses and decides to go off script. “And to y’all single folks, don’t be afraid to put yourself out there. You’ll find your darlin’ soon! Shine bright, Blockberry!”

(Haseul, who is just tuning in from the Sapphic Shack’s living room, hears Jiwoo’s words of encouragement and decides to take matters into her own hands. Today she will prepare some conversation topics to use on her pink-haired crush, approach her, stumble, and utter a “Weather nice we’re having” before awkwardly backing away). 

“Aaaaand we’re off! Good job, everyone!” Teddy concludes. 

Jiwoo can’t jump from her seat fast enough. She runs and crashes into Sooyoung’s welcoming arms. Her girlfriend picks her up suddenly and Jiwoo kicks at the air and giggles.

“I was on the news!” Jiwoo squeals. 

Sooyoung sets her down. “You were the news, baby. I’m sure you made everyone’s morning.” 

Just like you’ve made my past 159 days. 

“This ain’t the last you’ll hear from me! Today, Jiwoo reports live from Blockberry. Tomorrow, the world!”

“Jiwootheworld, Sooyoung smiles, “I love the sound of that.” 

Jiwoo uses her super sharp vision to scan the station for nosey crew members and other possible onlookers. They are definitely not alone and this is not the most romantic setting but Jiwoo can’t wait until they get back home. She won’t delay this necessary confession any longer. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you , ” she repeats, barely above a whisper yet her heart is screaming out. “ You are my world.” 

Sooyoung’s willpower crumbles and she kisses Jiwoo like her life depends on it. 

I don’t care if anyone sees. The woman I love, loves me back. Why would I care about anything else? 

“I love you,” Sooyoung breathlessly releases those three words that have resided in the back of her throat since karaoke night. “If I loved you any more than I do right now, I would explode.” 

“Alright, tone it down a little, darlin.’ That would make for an unfortunate headline. BBCU student spontaneously combusts due to blatant lesbianism? Not the kinda message we wanna spread.” 

Sooyoung shakes her head and sighs. “Oh, Jiwoo. You don't understand how much I wish I met you sooner.” 

Still recovering from Sooyoung’s 6 A.M. wake up call, Jiwoo suggests that they skip their brunch reservations and head to Sooyoung’s apartment to catch up on some sleep. 

They go back to bed but not a lot of sleeping occurs. It is Valentine’s Day, after all. 

“You sure your roommates didn’t hear us uh… nap?” Jiwoo asks while putting on Sooyoung’s oversized burgundy shirt. 

“The blonde gay one is at work, probably trying to make a move on Jungeun and the brunette gay one is at the gym, probably drooling over her crush. No one’s home- Damn, you look good in my shirt.”

Sooyoung bites her lip and Jiwoo uses a spare pillow to hit her naughty-eyed girlfriend. 

“Didn’t your mama ever tell you it’s rude to stare?” 

“Yes, but she also works at a gallery. She taught me to appreciate art.” 

As quickly as Sooyoung is able to think of witty repartees, Jiwoo stands up and walks to the door. 

“Ok, that one was extra corny,” Sooyoung admits. “Come back to bed. You’re always walking away from me.” 

“Your friends are right,” Jiwoo chuckles, “You really are dramatic. I’m just goin’ to the kitchen, darlin’. I’m fixin’ to cook you Nashville style chicken, drenched in hot sauce. None of that Kentucky fried crap you been eatin’.” 

Sooyoung gallops to the door and swings her arm in the air like she’s throwing a lasso. “Will your good cookin’ make me yeehaw?” 

Jiwoo sneers lightheartedly. “You’re lucky I love you, you knucklehead. Wait for me. We’ll eat in here.” 

“Good luck trying to make something out of margarita mix and ketchup. My roommates’ lazy asses never go grocery shopping!” Sooyoung yells as Jiwoo walks down the hallway. 

Until now, Jiwoo has not stepped foot in the Squad kitchen. Jinsol and Haseul conducted their Jiwoo background check and interview in the dining room, she and Sooyoung have fallen asleep on the living room couch multiple times, and as of this morning, Jiwoo is well-acquainted with her girlfriend’s bedroom. 

This is uncharted territory and Jiwoo is a lone ranger, free to explore. She opens all the cupboards to search for her dry ingredients. She finds a teaspoon’s worth of baking soda and not much else. 

“Cereal it is then,” Jiwoo mumbles. She pours original Cheerios into a bowl and frowns at the lackluster presentation. Her darlin’ deserves something prettier than this. 

Jiwoo opens the fridge to grab milk and a lone peach. “This will spruce it up a bit!” 

She makes up a nonsense song and sings it to herself while slicing up the fruit. “Cookin’ like a chef, I’m a five star Michelin…”

After improvising a chorus and half a verse to “Jiwoo’s Menu,” Jiwoo is quite satisfied with her handiwork. She adds a splash of milk and returns the carton to the refrigerator. 

She closes the door a little too roughly and Jinsol’s goldfish magnet falls. Jiwoo bends to pick it up and place it in its rightful spot next to the Code of Conduct. 

“The Top Secret, Confidential, Exclusive, Code of Lesbian Conduct of the Sapphic Singles Squad (Heterosexuals Beware)?” Jiwoo reads.

“What the heck is this?” 

It’s a lengthy, convoluted document with so many articles, sections, and subsections that Jiwoo does not know where to begin. The first two rules appear to be the most important as they are bolded and underlined. 

Rule #1: Never fall for a girl, no matter how perfect she may seem 

Rule #2: I mean it, don’t be a dumbass. Fuck commitment. You have better things to do than waste your time on a serious relationship. She’s not worth it.

Jiwoo is absolutely appalled. “Why is this on their fridge? Who is this for?” 

She reads the following ten rules, all of which are rooted in conceitedness. Some are borderline misogynistic (ironic since they were written by a woman). Unwilling to subject her eyes to more absurdity, she looks to the bottom of the document where three signatures lie. 

Jinsol Jeong
Vice President

Haseul Jo
Secretary Queen


Jiwoo can understand Jinsol and Haseul partaking in such foolishness but surely her darlin’, her Sooyoung would condemn this.

I, Sooyoung Ha, President and Founder of the Sapphic Singles Squad, certify that I have written and reviewed these rules. I hereby enact them indefinitely. I call upon my members and myself to follow aforementioned laws. No exceptions shall be made for anyone at any time. 

Jiwoo isn’t entirely wrong. Although her girlfriend is indeed the founder of this silly club, the Sooyoung who authored this document is not the same exact Sooyoung she knows and loves. The Code was written by a bitter, heartbroken, cynical proto-Sooyoung. But Jiwoo isn’t aware of this crucial fact. 

And so she does what all three Squad members failed to do - she removes the Code of Conduct off the fridge. She storms back to Sooyoung’s bedroom without the home-cooked meal she promised and instead with newfound anger.  

“Care to explain this?” Jiwoo waves the Sapphic Constitution. 

I thought I told Sol and Seul to get rid of the Code! It was a presidential order! When will they ever listen?! Then again, I could have done it myself. Triple S stands for Stupid, Stupider, and Stupidest. 

“What do you have to say for yourself, President Sooyoung?” 

I’m in deep shit. 

Sooyoung gulps. “Funny story actually…” 

Chapter Text

February 14, 1996 - Sooyoung’s Bedroom 

Sooyoung’s girlfriend clears her throat and reads from the Sapphic Singles Squad’s most sacred Code of Conduct. “Rule number 2: Fuck commitment. You have better things to do than waste your time on a serious relationship. She’s. Not. Worth. It.” 

“Jiwoo-” 

Jiwoo raises her index finger - thankfully, not her middle - to interrupt Sooyoung.

“Rule number 3: Never hook up with a freshman. They get way too emotional, clingy, and attached to you. But I mean, can you blame them? You’re Sooyoung Ha.” 

Jiwoo scoffs at the unabashed egotism with which this entire document was written and this coalition of lesbianism was founded upon. 

“Please stop reading that,” Sooyoung pleads. 

At her girlfriend’s request, Jiwoo sets the paper down on the nightstand. Sooyoung sits up against the headboard, looking apologetic.

“I’ve always known you were overconfident,” Jiwoo sits timidly at the foot of the bed, as if she’s not supposed to be here, as if they weren’t intimate mere minutes ago. The distance is unfamiliar to them both. 

“It’s one of the first things people notice about you,” Jiwoo continues, “Besides your-” 

“Besides my what?” Sooyoung runs a hand through her pin straight hair (one of the few things straight about her). Jiwoo is aware that this is a force of habit but why does her girlfriend have to do it so agonizingly slow? 

“Your…” Jiwoo trails off, her self control in a state of emergency as Sooyoung resumes her unintentional seduction. 

Your insanely good looks. Your “first love” type of smile. Your perfect- you’re perfect. Damn you, Sooyoung. 

Jiwoo cannot stand this. 

She rummages through Sooyoung’s drawer and throws her a hair brush. “Your inability to comb your hair like a normal person,” she huffs. 

At first, Sooyoung is confused. But when she catches a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror - sexy, tousled hair and the faintest hint of a smirk - she finally understands why Jiwoo is suddenly flustered. 

I wasn’t even trying to flirt with her! I’m THAT good. 

Wait, don’t forget, she’s still pissed. 

“Like I was saying, I always knew you had an inflated sense of self,” Jiwoo bites, “But I didn’t know you had your head so far up your ass that you can’t even see how pathetic this little club of yours is. I read more of your petty rules, Sooyoung. You, Jinsol, and Haseul came off as the biggest jerks! It was awful, and that was only a fraction of it. I didn’t even get to Section II: How to Dress Like a Lesbian Korean Billionaire When You Have -$11.28 in Your Bank Account.” 

Sooyoung has to stifle a laugh. That was a fun section to write. 

“Sooyoung! Are you even listening to me? Or am I just another phone number, just another plaything that you’ll throw away when you get bored?” 

Jiwoo is wearing the most pained expression on her face - a face that should only know love, joy, and any positive emotion or sensation that has ever been recorded in human existence. The guilt washes over Sooyoung like a tidal wave.  

Sooyoung crawls to the edge of the bed where Jiwoo sits, shoulders slumped and eyes downcast. 

“You are not disposable. To me, to anyone, to anything. I don’t ever want you to think that.” Sooyoung holds Jiwoo’s hands in her own and partakes in her habit of dragging her thumb over her girlfriend’s fingers. Jiwoo pulls away and stands up to pace the room. 

“You’re good with words, Sooyoung. You’re too good with them,” Jiwoo says scornfully, “But how am I supposed to believe you over this legal document? It’s written evidence for how you deceive girls and win them over with your smooth talk.” 

“It’s a piece of paper, Jiwoo! It means nothing!” 

Jiwoo crosses her arms and deadpans, “You had it laminated.” 

Sooyoung again runs her hand through her hair, but this time out of annoyance at her stupid past self. 

“I was a dumbass! Half of the time, I didn’t even know what I was writing or what effect my actions would have on people. I only cared about myself and this Code. You’re right. It’s pathetic in every sense of the word.” 

“Then why did you write it in the first place?” 

“I was… in love.” 

Jiwoo raises her brows. Jiwoo and Sooyoung have discussed their previous romantic involvements a handful of times within the course of their relationship. Sooyoung has heard about Jiwoo’s crushes, her middle school summer camp girlfriend, her non-serious high school girlfriend of three months, and her wife. 

(When they were nine, Jiwoo “married” Jungeun in a sham ceremony. In attendance were 3 Cabbage Patch Kids, 2 Barbies, a Mr. Potato Head, a Mrs. Potato Head, and a Piggy Bank as their officiant. They wore white pillowcase veils on their heads and plastic rings on their fingers. Jiwoo’s reasons for wedding her best friend in the big, wide world were twofold: “Married people have the same last name, Jungeun. You’re a Kim, I’m a Kim!” and “We get to eat cake after and open presents!”) 

Sooyoung knows plenty about Jiwoo’s relatively uneventful, innocent love life. Jiwoo can’t exactly say the same for Sooyoung. 

“You were in love before?” Jiwoo asks, hesitant but curious.

“I thought it was love. She was everything I thought I wanted. The problem was, she wanted someone else. The day I knocked on her door to ask her to be my girlfriend was the day she introduced me to her boyfriend. She figured I’d be... happy for her.” 

Sooyoung no longer indulges in self-pity when she recalls this moment. Rather, she cringes at herself for desperately clinging to someone who could never and would never love her back. 

Jiwoo sits back down on the bed, still maintaining a space between them but nowhere near as vast as earlier. It’s a signal to Sooyoung that she’s listening, that she’s still her girlfriend despite her current aggravation with Sooyoung’s utter carelessness and giant fuck-up. 

“I wasn’t happy. I was so filled with contempt and jealousy that I wrote this terrible Code, thinking it would… I don’t know, heal me?” Sooyoung laughs bitterly. “I started going by Yves. I had flings all throughout the second half of my freshman year and all of my sophomore year. But I never let them last beyond a month. I strung a lot of girls along. I became… Just. Like. Her.” 

Sooyoung fidgets with the brush in her hands, unsure whether she can stomach looking at her disappointed girlfriend without the shame consuming her once more. 

“I was an asshole and I regret it all. The only thing I don’t regret…  is you, Jiwoo.” 

This is becoming all too familiar. Sooyoung allows herself one brief moment of vulnerability in front of Jiwoo before inevitably reverting to her expertise: flattery. 

“But the Code-” Jiwoo begins. 

Without picking up the paper on her nightstand, Sooyoung relies on her memory to list all the rules she’s broken since dating Jiwoo. “Rule number 17: Never go on more than three dates with the same girl. You’ve probably learned everything you need to know about her by then. Rule number 39: She can buy her own damn flowers and chocolates. Rule number 72: No carving a heart in a tree and writing your initials plus “4eva” inside it. That’s cheesy and childish. Guess what, I did all those things, Jiwoo. I told you, the Code is invaluable now.” 

Sooyoung makes a last-ditch attempt to reach her girlfriend by hovering her hand gently over Jiwoo’s thigh. Her girlfriend consents to the touch and Sooyoung’s palm drops to meet Jiwoo’s skin. 

“I know it may be hard to believe my words. But I hope you can see through my actions that I really do love you. And if you give me the chance, I’ll prove it to you.”

For however long you’re willing to have me. 

The timely ticking of Sooyoung’s wall clock is the only sound that fills the room for the next minute.

Jiwoo contemplates bringing an end to their relationship right here. It certainly would be justified. Sooyoung, despite being two years her senior, has a lot of growing up to do. Lovable Jiwoo can easily attract someone more humble, more mature, more in tune with their emotions - someone who isn’t the president of an organization aptly titled the Sapphic Singles Squad. 

But her yearning for Sooyoung is inexplicable. 

“Ok,” Jiwoo breaks the silence softly, “I’m giving you a chance.” 

President Sooyoung’s remorseful eyes glimmer with hope and she scoops her first lady into an embrace, whispering “I’m sorrys” and “thank yous.” 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Sooyoung repeatedly promises. 

Jiwoo only nods in response. 

“She says she’s changed? They always say that. Dump her ass.” 

As far as Jungeun is concerned, anyone who remotely upsets her best friend deserves a kicking to the curb and a potent dose of bad karma. Ever since Jiwoo sat Jungeun down and excitedly told her the story of their meet cute, Jungeun warned her that this “Sooyoung chick sounds like a massive douche.” 

Jungeun also said the same about Sooyoung’s blonde roommate. Of course, that was before she had a chance to meet her, share a wondrous night under the moon and the stars, and realize that Jinsol isn’t that bad after all. 

“I’m trying to give Sooyoung the benefit of the doubt,” Jiwoo says feebly. 

“She’s very charming, I get it. But Sooyoung has so many red flags. I think you rushed into this relationship too fast. We didn’t even finish our first week of college and you’d already gone on two dates with her!”

Jungeun aggressively scrubs at the same spotless plate she’s been cleaning since the start of this conversation.

Frustrated at her friend’s lack of support for her relationship with Sooyoung, Jiwoo decides to aim for the jugular. 

“You know Jinsol signed that stupid Code too, right?” Jiwoo smirks playfully. (As Sooyoung’s girlfriend, Jiwoo has picked up some of her smartass habits). 

Jungeun’s face hardens and she sets the plate down. 

“And?” Jungeun dramatically removes her dish gloves like a surgeon exiting a 12 hour surgery. 

“Doesn’t this information bother you?” 

“Why should it? Sol can do whatever she wants,” Jungeun feigns nonchalance.

(She makes a mental note to confront Jinsol at work and ask about her involvement in the Sapphic Singles Squad). 

“Oh, so you’re calling her ‘Sol’ now? What’s goin’ on between you two?” 

“Nothin’.” 

Jungeun answers much too quickly and defensively for that to be the truth. But if she were to reveal what really happened between her and Jinsol at karaoke night while their friends were busy making goo-goo eyes at one another, if Jungeun were to admit that the only thing keeping her at her crappy, no-benefits, minimum wage job is the prospect of spending her lunch breaks with Jinsol, then Jungeun would sound like a hypocrite. She’d be abandoning her “School first, soulmate searching later” agenda. 

“Jiwoo,” Jungeun shifts the spotlight off herself, “I just want you to be careful. Don’t let your love for Sooyoung get in the way of your happiness.” 

“Putting all her commitment issues and other baggage aside, Sooyoung is my happiness,” Jiwoo muses. 

“If you say so,” Jungeun gives in with a sympathetic smile, “Well, I’m headin’ off to work.” 

“Hey, what’s with the lipstick? You don’t usually wear that shade.” 

(As of yesterday, Jungeun switched out her muted vermillion for a bolder red). 

“I wanted to try something new. It’s too loud of a color for me, though. I don’t think I like it.” 

(Jinsol, on the other hand, will love it. And for that reason, “Love Cherry Matte” will be Jungeun’s go-to lip color until its unfortunate discontinuation in 2017). 

“Have a good shift!” Jiwoo calls as Jungeun leaves their dorm. 

“Thanks! I’m working overtime today so don’t wait up!” 

Jungeun sounds unnaturally cheery for someone working even longer hours at a job they allegedly hate. 

Interesting. 

Just like her roommate, Jungeun is infatuated with a member of the Squad. It’s only a matter of time before Detective Jiwoo connects the dots. 

March 1996 

“So I’ll pick you up at 7? Sweet! See you then!” Jinsol ends her phone call with a celebratory fist pump in the air. 

“Vice President Jinsol,” Haseul emerges from the hallway, “President Sooyoung requests our presence in the Oval Office.” 

Jinsol takes a few seconds to compose herself before walking the two steps from the kitchen counter to the dining room. 

“Let’s do this,” the VP nods seriously. Haseul joins her at the table and provides her a copy of their agenda. 

It is time once again for the Sapphic Single Squad’s monthly housekeeping meeting. President Sooyoung waltzes in wearing a clip-on tie and holding a hefty, 3 ring binder that she slams on the table. “Good afternoon, ladies. Thank you for your attendance.” 

Jinsol raises her hand. “Sooyoung?” 

“It’s President Sooyoung while we’re having our executive meetings.” The head of the household angrily drums her fingers on the table.

“Whatever. I just wanted to know what the ‘Jiwoo Apology Committee’ is about.” 

“We’ll get to that later,” Sooyoung dismisses. 

“Let’s get to it now,” Haseul speaks up, “What did you do wrong this time? ” 

“I didn’t do anything!” Sooyoung yells shrilly. 

Jinsol and Haseul stare with heavy skepticism. 

“Ok maybe I did something.”

Yesterday 

Since they started dating, Jiwoo began to intentionally leave some of her things in Sooyoung’s apartment. She keeps a few of her favorite pens at Sooyoung’s desk for when they study together, a spare toothbrush in Sooyoung’s bathroom for when she spends the night, and a book to read in bed while waiting for Sooyoung to wake up. 

It may not seem like much, but as each one of Jiwoo’s belongings takes up space in the Squad’s impenetrable, no-girlfriends-allowed fortress, Jiwoo cements her place as Sooyoung’s very significant other. She’s taking baby steps to a huge milestone: cohabitation. 

“Jungeun and I are apartment hunting for next school year. I didn’t realize how stressful it is to find a place,” Jiwoo says over Chinese food and MTV. 

“Mmm,” Sooyoung utters to her Kung Pao Chicken, “Maybe you guys should just move in here.” She then attempts to pick up every last grain of rice with her chopsticks, oblivious to the serious suggestion she casually offered. 

“That would be convenient, wouldn’t it? I’m here all the time anyway and I just know Jungeun would LOVE the idea of playing house with Jinsol. Something is REALLY going on between those two. They’re fools for thinking we don’t suspect anything-” 

Sooyoung nearly chokes. 

“No, wait, you can’t actually move in here. We’re not ready for that. We’re going too fast. You can’t can’t- Is it- is it hot in here?” she stammers. 

Jiwoo has never rolled her eyes harder.  “Relax! I wasn’t actually considering it! This place is crowded enough as it is. It wouldn’t be practical and there’s no way you can fit me and Jungie on the lease. I just wanted to poke fun at her and Jinsol’s not-so-secret relationship.” 

The knot in Sooyoung’s chest unfurls and her breathing returns to normal. She grabs a napkin and dabs at beads of sweat that have formed on her forehead. 

“Whew, ok. Good to know. Hey, are you gonna eat that?” 

Jiwoo gives Sooyoung a dirty look and hands over the last egg roll. 

“Would it really be the worst thing imaginable if we moved in together? Not right now-” Jiwoo clarifies to avoid sending Sooyoung into another bout of acute chest pain, “But in the future?” 

“No, it wouldn’t be bad. We could do it. Maybe. In the future. Like really distant future. I hope I don’t screw things up so bad that we never get to that point. Ha. Ha. Ha.” 

Sooyoung’s nervous laughter adds even more awkwardness and Jiwoo makes up an excuse to leave. They share an obligatory goodbye smooch (devoid of their usual passion) and Sooyoung screams into her pillow once Jiwoo is gone. 

 

Haseul and Jinsol are flabbergasted. This is a new low for their friend. 

“What the hell happened to you, Soo? You used to have game! You used to be good at talking to girls! I knew you had commitment issues but damn, I didn’t think they were this bad!” 

Jinsol smugly rolls up the sleeves on her NASA sweater. “I gotta say, that wasn’t very presidential of you. I think we would benefit from a new face. A hot blonde, perhaps?” 

Sooyoung strips off her clip-on tie and buries her head in her hands. “I know, I know, I know I fucked up again ,” her frustrations come out muffled. “I fucked up so bad that I’m coming to you for help.” 

Jinsol scoffs. “That’s no way to talk to your future president.” 

“Give it up, Jinsol,” says Haseul, “She’ll never resign.”

“Then we’ll impeach her. Look at her! She’s clearly not fit for office!” 

Sooyoung’s desperate voice breaks through Jinsol and Haseul’s pointless conversation. 

“Sol… Seul. Please. I need your ideas. I’m willing to do anything to show Jiwoo that I’m serious about her.” 

Sensing the weight of the situation, Jinsol reaches for her best friend’s hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Ok. We’ll help you.” 

Sooyoung’s head hangs low in shame. “I just feel like we have an expiration date. And it’s coming up soon. I’m not ready to throw us away. I-I love her so much it drives me stupid.” 

“Yeah, we can see that,” Haseul chuckles. She holds Sooyoung’s other hand. 

The trio smile at each other and for a few seconds, it’s a cute friendship moment. And then it gets creepy.

“So what should I do?” Sooyoung releases their hands. 

Jinsol draws her advice from her old-fashioned (and highly successful) courting of Ms. Jungeun Kim. Jinsol is a firm believer that romance and chivalry are not dead. 

“Pamper her. You want Jiwoo to feel like the VIP in every room she walks into. She deserves to be treated like the First Lady that she is.” 

“Wait. Doesn’t the First Lady have to be married to the President to be considered the First Lady?” 

By asking an innocent question, Haseul inadvertently sends the Squad President into another meltdown.

“MARRIAGE?! I now pronounce you wife and wife MARRIAGE? With diamond rings and shit? Is that what I have to do to make things right? I’m definitely not ready for that!” 

“Oh my god, Sooyoung. Pull it together, you gay disaster. No one said anything about marrying Jiwoo,” Jinsol retorts. 

Haseul proposes a semi-decent plan. 

“Ok. Here’s what’s gonna happen. Jinsol and I will talk to Jiwoo. We’ll put in a good word for you and make it seem like you’re not a total mess. Meanwhile, you will fix your shit and work on being the girlfriend Jiwoo deserves. This shitshow Sooyoung needs to be gone faster than the termites in the walls and the mold on the ceiling.” 

“Damn, we really live like this,” Jinsol says to herself. 

“How do I fix my shit?” Sooyoung asks Haseul. 

“Repent!” Haseul jabs a finger to the center of Sooyoung’s forehead. “You have wronged every sapphic in the city! Ask for forgiveness!” 

Sooyoung sighs and pulls out an address book from one of the kitchen drawers. “I guess I’ll start calling.” 

“Not so fast!” Jinsol stands in front of their telephone. “You’re not doing this the coward’s way. You’re gonna apologize to all these girls in person.” 

As always, Sooyoung will regret following her friends’ advice. Sooyoung’s exes - or rather, Yves’s exes - will not take kindly to her unsatisfactory apologies. 

“Fine. I’ll get started.”

April 1996 

Jiwoo is no stranger to the royal treatment.

With four older brothers, she easily earned her title as the Kim family’s princess. She also won Prom Queen by the biggest landslide her high school had ever seen. 

“Good morning, Ms. Kim!” Haseul and Jinsol salute, “How can we be of assistance?” 

Now this, whatever the hell this is, is unlike anything Jiwoo has ever experienced. 

Sooyoung’s friends stand stoically by Jiwoo’s dorm room, dressed in thrift shop suit jackets and wearing black shades. 

“Now what kinda foolishness are y’all up to? Take off those glasses. C’mon, y’all are indoors!” Jiwoo asks in her characteristic Tennessean accent. 

“We are here to serve your bodyguards, chauffeurs, and personal assistants!” Haseul chirps. “Seeing as you are… shall we say, sapphically entangled with President Ha, you are entitled to full-time protection from her elite secret service. AKA me and Jinsol.” 

“Well said, Haseul! And to show how much the president values you…” Jinsol is about to hand Jiwoo a bouquet of peach roses when suddenly, another Ms. Kim arrives. 

“Who’s at the door, Jiwoo?” Jungeun walks up with a toothbrush in her mouth. Having just woken, Jungeun is groggy, barefaced, and her tangled brown hair has a mind of its own. 

Jinsol has only ever seen Jungeun in a tight, high ponytail and the most pigmented red lipstick that some would say is an assault on the senses. Nevertheless, Jinsol is mesmerized by the effortless beauty of this casual Jungeun. 

Jungeun pauses to spit her toothpaste in the sink. When she reaches the door and recognizes her favorite coworker, she instinctively smiles. 

“Jinsol! What a pleasant surprise!” 

The hypnotized blonde jerks her arm and holds the flowers in front of Jungeun instead. “This is for you, Jungeun.” 

Haseul elbows her friend’s left side. “Sorry, Jungeun. These flowers are actually from Sooyoung to Jiwoo.” Haseul gives the bouquet to its proper recipient. 

“But since they’re going in your dorm, you can enjoy them too,” Jinsol winks.

Jiwoo glares between the two flirts and accepts the flowers. This is the fifth bouquet she’s received since Sooyoung outed herself for being anti-cohabitation. Her girlfriend is clearly overcompensating and Jiwoo is starting to get sick of it. Worst of all, Sooyoung has been missing in action. She only sees Jiwoo to drop off gifts and now she’s doing it through proxy.  

“Jinsol, Haseul, y’all are so sweet. Truly. But y’all don’t need to get caught in the middle of me and Sooyoung’s problems.” 

“But-but-but we’re your bodyguards!” Haseul’s bottom lip quivers, “We’re supposed to protect you from danger!”

Jiwoo can’t help but laugh. “I’m quite alright on my own. Honestly, y’all don’t look like you’d be good in a fight. I could easily snap Blondie in half like a Twix bar.” 

“We bought walkie talkies! What are we gonna do now? Return them?” Jinsol asks outrageously. (She doesn’t seem to be bothered by Jiwoo’s offensive comment/threat). 

“C’mon, Jiwoo,” Jungeun cajoles, “You can’t let them return their walkie talkies.” 

Jinsol and Haseul put on pouty eyes and mopey frowns, hoping to garner some pity from Jiwoo.

Ultimately, Jiwoo agrees to let them follow her around like watchdogs on one condition. 

“Answer me this: What’s the real reason why Sooyoung didn’t deliver these flowers herself?” Jiwoo demands. 

“She’s been… ” Jinsol scratches her arm nervously, “busy lately.” 

“Doin’ what?” 

“Seeing her exes," Haseul completes.

Jungeun scoffs an “I told you so” and Jiwoo clenches her jaw. “I see.”  

“No, not like that! She’s apologizing to them! Righting her wrongs! Redeeming herself! It will make Sooyoung a better person and the best girlfriend for you.”  

Jiwoo ponders the information Sooyoung’s best friends have given her, looks to her own best friend, and makes a decision. 

“I’ll talk to Sooyoung myself. Thank y’all for being honest.” 

With that, Jiwoo closes the door and Jinsol and Haseul are left wondering if they have doomed their friend’s relationship. Well, Haseul is wondering that. Jinsol is preoccupied with something else. 

“So does this mean we don’t get to play walkie talkies?” 

Problem student Sooyoung causes a disturbance in her Humanities 301 class. Since the start of lecture, Sooyoung has been moving from seat to seat in a futile attempt to speak to her ex, Lisa. 

Sooyoung first met Lisa when they worked at a ballet studio two summers ago, teaching/babysitting adorable 5-year-olds in mini tutus. With their shared love of dance, they quickly became “a thing.” Of course, Sooyoung had no intention of ever being more than “a thing” and their many similarities made their dating experience pleasant but boring. 

So she broke up with Lisa. On her birthday. To be fair, Sooyoung didn’t know it was Lisa’s birthday. Then again, that might even be worse. 

“Lisa, please,” Sooyoung speaks in a hushed whisper, “Let me apologize.” 

The professor drones on and on about some Ancient Greek poem. Lisa tries to focus on her notes despite the pest surrounding her. 

“No,” Lisa conveys with as much disdain as possible while still keeping her voice down. 

“I figured you’d say that. If you don’t want to hear my apology, you can read it.” Sooyoung slides Lisa a folded paper. 

Lisa puts her pen down, no longer able to pretend that she’s understood anything the professor has said. She speed-reads Sooyoung’s apology letter and appears to accept Sooyoung’s words. She actually considers letting the painful past go until she reaches the final lines. 

It’s not you, it’s me. Anyway, I’m sorry again. I hope we can still be friends!

Thanks,

Yves 

“Done reading? Are we good?” 

Lisa grits her teeth, “Oh yeah. Super!” 

“You’re gonna make someone really happy someday,” Sooyoung has the gall to recycle yet another break-up cliche. Lisa scoffs, reaches for her water bottle, and throws her drink at Sooyoung. 

Everyone, everyone is staring. 

Sooyoung has two options: sit here, dripping on her textbook, or leave to dry off and never come back. Obviously, she chooses the latter. It’s not like she was learning anything anyway. 

The 200 occupants of the classroom, including the professor, watch a drenched Sooyoung pathetically exit. 

When she opens the door to the outside, she’s greeted by both the sun and its personification: her girlfriend, Jiwoo. 

“Sooyoung? What happened?” 

“I uh- it’s nothing. What are you doing here? Were you waiting for me to get out of class? Why aren’t my friends with you? Oh fuck, what did Thing #1 and Thing #2 do now?” 

Jiwoo wrings water from Sooyoung’s hair. “One question at a time! Look at you! Don’t tell me this ain’t nothin’. You look like you were in a dang hurricane! C’mere on this bench and sit down.” 

Jiwoo is positive that whoever did this to her girlfriend probably had a good reason, but that doesn’t stop Jiwoo from showing her empathetic side. Using one hand to hold Sooyoung’s cheek and the other to wipe her face with a handkerchief, Jiwoo quietly and tenderly makes Sooyoung’s awful day a million times better, if only for a moment. 

“I waited outside your class because we need to talk.” 

Sooyoung has always been the one to speak those words, never been the one to hear them. She’ll soon get a taste of her own medicine. 

“That… can’t be good.” 

Jiwoo half-smiles and interlaces their fingers. “Jinsol and Haseul told me what you’ve been up to.” 

Sooyoung cringes.

Never should have trusted those bitches. 

“I ask that you give them some sorta presidential pardon, ok? They mean no harm,” Jiwoo says lightheartedly and Sooyoung nods.  

“My darlin’,’” Jiwoo’s default cheery tone is now tinged with sorrow, “I think I need to walk away from us. Just for a little while.” 

Sooyoung shakes her head adamantly. “No. You can’t. I love you. Haven’t I proven myself? With all the flowers, chocolates, teddy bears, bodyguards, and string quartets I’ve sent you?” 

Jiwoo told herself she would limit any displays of affection to make this easier. But Sooyoung is so confused and hurt that Jiwoo can’t resist kissing her knuckles in a tiny, comforting gesture. 

“I appreciated all of that, darlin’. It was very sweet. But it just ain’t enough. Your track record with past relationships ain’t great and you constantly flinch at the mention of anything serious. It’s like you wanna freeze our relationship at this point because this is all you’ll ever be able to handle. And it’s a shame because I have big hopes for you and me.” 

Sooyoung swallows back a sob. “I do too” is all she manages. Jiwoo believes Sooyoung is just saying what she wants to hear. 

“Then, please give me some time. I want to finish my first year of college on my own. Go on summer break and reflect. See if I’m willing to put my faith in you. See if this is something worth pursuing again. And if I decide that it is, then I’ll come back to you, darlin’.” 

Sooyoung agrees with a small “ok.” 

“Wait, that’s it? You’re not fixin’ to win me back with the Philharmonic Orchestra or something?” 

“They’re a little out of my budget,” Sooyoung laughs. “Besides, if you love someone, you’re supposed to set them free, right?” 

“Yes,” Jiwoo sniffles, “That’s right.” 

“Then I’ll do that,” Sooyoung looks at their joined hands and wills herself to separate them.

“You probably want to pick up your stuff at my apartment,” she clears her scratchy throat. “Drop by whenever you like. Someone’s always home and if not, you know where we keep the spare key.” 

“Under the rock shaped like Bart Simpson,” Jiwoo says with a teary smile.

Jiwoo shakily exhales and stands up, unsure of her next choice of words. She’s never done this before. Her insignificant relationships, with the exception of her "wife", Jungeun, all fizzled out and ended on their own. Granted, this isn’t a break up - just a request for a break, a recess, a time out. 

“Sooyoung?” 

“Yeah?” 

Her ex-girlfriend (?), in-limbo girlfriend (?) looks up expectantly. 

“I’m proud of you for stepping up and apologizing to your exes. You’re headed in the right direction,” Jiwoo praises. 

“Thanks. I haven’t been that successful, though. I give the apologies, but they don’t usually take them. I need to work on my approach.” 

“Well, good luck with that. I hope you stay dry." Jiwoo offers her a sad smile and waves goodbye. 

Sooyoung sits on the bench for hours. 

The following day, Jiwoo shows up at the Squad’s apartment while Sooyoung is in class. Jiwoo knows her darling wouldn’t miss her Advanced Hip Hop Class for anything, even heartbreak. 

Jiwoo collects her pens, spare toothbrush, and a few articles of clothing. She leaves behind her favorite jacket for Sooyoung. 

Her girlfriend always insisted that there was a fine line between “oversized” and “irrationally large” and that Jiwoo blurred the line each time she wore it. It was Sooyoung’s somewhat pretentious way of saying that Jiwoo looked good in anything. 

On her way out of Sooyoung’s bedroom, she nearly forgets an item: her copy of Jane Eyre in Sooyoung’s nightstand drawer. She reaches in quickly to grab the novel and shoves it in her backpack. 

Jiwoo won’t return to the Squad’s apartment for the remainder of her freshman year. Her roommate, Jungeun, will take her place as the apartment’s de facto fourth resident. As Jiwoo and Sooyoung’s relationship reaches a standstill, Jungeun and Jinsol take off. 

May 1996

From the living room couch, Sooyoung bitterly watches Jinsol add hundreds of dollars to their phone bill on a conversation that just won’t end. 

“No, you hang up!” Jinsol giggles like a little schoolgirl. “Baaaabe, I hung up last time so it’s your turn! You hang up! You! You!” 

“Fuck this. I’ll hang up.” 

Sooyoung stomps over to the kitchen, pries the phone out of Jinsol’s hands, and slams it down on the console. “Thank you!” Haseul yells from the bathroom. 

“Really, Soo?” 

“Some of us in this house don’t need to hear all that!” 

“Yeah, well, some of us in this house are capable of keeping a relationship!” 

Jinsol gasps at her cruelty. 

Haseul returns not one minute later to find Jinsol consoling a tearful Sooyoung. 

“I’m sorry, Soo! I took it too far. You know I love you, bro!” Jinsol wraps her friend in a big bear hug. 

“I just want her back, bro!” Sooyoung chokes out. 

“I step out to floss and I come back to this?” 

“Get in here, Seul!” Jinsol commands. 

Haseul shrugs and joins the emotional embrace. Sooyoung needs her friends now more than ever.

June 1996

The 1995-1996 school year concludes and Jungeun and Jiwoo move back home to Tennessee for the summer. 

Sooyoung debates asking Jinsol to ask Jungeun for Jiwoo’s home phone number. She even considers showing up to the airport with a garden of peach roses and the Blockberry Orchestra (not quite the Philharmonic but the sentiment is there). She ultimately decides against these plans. 

She respects Jiwoo’s desire to have time away from her. She holds onto hope that Jiwoo is out there missing her too. 

August 1996 

Jiwoo debates asking Jungeun to ask Jinsol if Sooyoung has moved on. She ultimately decides against this. 

But she holds onto hope that Sooyoung is out there missing her too.

September 8, 1996 

Over the past three months, Jiwoo has picked up crochet, coin collecting, quilting, and any other grandma-associated hobby. She’s done a decent job keeping herself occupied. 

However, Jiwoo still hasn’t made up her mind on whether her relationship with Sooyoung is worth salvaging. And her best friend certainly isn't helping to quell her apprehensions.

“I’m still skeptical,” Jungeun said last night when Jiwoo invited her over for a sleepover. “Remember when we went to that restaurant by the beach? Sooyoung couldn’t even commit to an appetizer.” 

“I’m surprised you noticed. You seemed busy playing footsie with Jinsol under the table,” Jiwoo retorted. (Jungeun immediately changed the subject). 

Jiwoo is still in love with Sooyoung but she needs some other form of verification beyond frivolous gifts and over-the-top gestures to know that the feeling is mutual. 

She wants to be certain that Sooyoung won’t back out when things get too serious for her comfort. 

On the morning of September 8, one year to the day that she met and bewitched Sooyoung, Jiwoo wakes up missing her darling more than ever. She goes into her closet and retrieves her school backpack that she hasn’t touched since June. Jiwoo looks through a stack of tickets from movie dates with Sooyoung, arcade dates with Sooyoung, and carnival dates with Sooyoung. 

She finds the “Junior Reporter” lanyard from Valentine’s Day when Sooyoung pulled strings and moved mountains to gift Jiwoo with her own segment on the Blockberry morning news. 

She discovers… Sooyoung’s journal? 

Apparently when Jiwoo blindly stuck her hand in Sooyoung’s nightstand drawer to grab her Jane Eyre softcover, she also took the thin book under it titled:

Sooyoung Ha: A Presidential Memoir. 

“Ugh,” Jiwoo huffs, “This is probably another thing she wrote for the Squad.” 

Jiwoo passively flips through pages and pages of Sooyoung complaining about her roommates, until she lands on something of substance. 

September 9, 1995  

I met the most amazing girl yesterday. Jiwoo. 

Talented, witty, beautiful. 

I can’t stop thinking about her. 

“Is this Sooyoung’s diary?” Jiwoo asks to no one, except perhaps the stuffed penguin Sooyoung won for her on Arcade Date #2. Despite the obvious breach in privacy, nosy Jiwoo can’t muster up the self-control to stop herself from reading. 

September 13, 1995

She kissed me. She KISSED me. Why am I acting like I’ve never been kissed before?

I guess those times were never worth writing about. 

December 15, 1995

Today was the last day of finals and fittingly, the first snowfall. Jiwoo pelted me right in the gut with a snowball. I think she bruised my rib. 

Somehow, that hurt less than saying goodbye to her. 

Winter break better go by fast . 

January 10, 1996

Jiwoo came back from Tennessee with the thickest Southern accent I’ve ever heard. I understood about half of what she said to me today. I didn’t really mind that.

I missed her so much. 

February 14, 1996  

She found the Code. WAY TO GO, DUMBASS. 

March 3, 1996 

She still wants to move in together! That’s a good sign! But of course, I had to freak out like a DUMBASS. 

March 20, 1996  

Jiwoo slept over last night. She hasn’t done that since I freaked out LIKE A DUMBASS. But it’s only because she was too tired to walk back to her dorm. We got a lot of studying done (and yes, actual studying). We hardly ever kiss anymore since I acted LIKE A… well you know. Needless to say, we’re going through a rough patch. We went to sleep with her back turned away from me. 

But when I woke up early this morning, her head was resting on my chest and her arm was wrapped around my waist. The sun was peeking in through the blinds and bathing us in light. 

It was quiet, intimate, and domestic. I loved it. 

I know Haseul and Jinsol love to give me shit with the “First Lady Jiwoo” thing and humming “Here Comes the Bride” every time she walks into our apartment. 

But waking up to Jiwoo each morning truly sounds like something I could get used to. 

Whoever ends up marrying her will be the luckiest person in the world. And if that person is me, well, I don’t think I’d ever get out of bed. I could live in our little universe forever. 

Jiwoo Kim, what have you done to me? I’m even cheesier than Jinsol! 

(Sol, if you ever read this, I’ll knock the blonde right out of you)  

Jiwoo closes Sooyoung’s diary and shakes her head in a mix of amusement and overwhelming gratification. 

Sure, a part of Jiwoo regrets invading Sooyoung’s most private thoughts but this is information she desperately needed to know. 

Sooyoung loves her genuinely and deeply. And she’s not at all opposed to the idea of marrying Jiwoo. One thing at a time, of course. 

Jiwoo quickly dials a familiar number and a familiar voice answers. Unfortunately, it’s not the one she wishes to hear. 

“Apartment 379, Haseul speaking!” 

“Hi, Haseul! It’s Jiwoo. Can I talk to Sooyoung?” 

“Oh hey, Jiwoo- wait. JIWOO?!” 

A second voice, Jinsol’s, becomes audible in the background. “Jiwoo as in Jiwoo Kim?” 

“No. Jiwoo Kennedy. HOW MANY OTHER JIWOOS DO WE KNOW?” Haseul snaps back. 

The line goes quiet for a few seconds before Jinsol picks it up.

“Hi, Jiwoo! I wrote Jungeun a rap. You think she’ll like it?” 

Jiwoo rolls her eyes. She just wants to speak to her girlfriend. 

“Ayo Kim Jungeun this is for you! I love your Kim Lip, I love your Kim Hip, I love your Kim Eyes, I love your Kim Thi-” 

“GET OFF THE LINE, BLONDIE! LET SOOYOUNG TALK TO HER!” Haseul shrieks. 

Jiwoo has to listen to another five minutes of the friends’ bickering until the welcoming voice of her sweetheart greets her with a shy “Hi. How have you been?” 

Refusing to waste any more time, Jiwoo skips past the small talk. “I stumbled upon another one of your works. Your presidential memoir. I never pegged you as the type to keep a diary,” Jiwoo says coyly. 

“Arghh, you read it?” Sooyoung sounds more embarrassed than upset. 

“I… tried not to. You know me. I’m snoopy.”

(A grating flaw for many, but in Sooyoung’s eyes, Jiwoo is still perfect). 

“Did you umm,” Sooyoung falters, “Did you like what you read?”

”Ehhh, it was kinda cheesy. But I liked it.” 

“Do you still- y’know?” 

“Wanna try again? Yes. When we go back to school next week. Pick up where we left off like I promised,” Jiwoo professes sincerely. 

“I meant to ask if you still love me.” 

Jiwoo laughs heartily and Sooyoung’s heart soars. After three months of silence, she’s finally able to hear one of her favorite sounds. 

“Sooyoung Ha, those might just be the silliest words that have ever come out of your silly mouth.” 

Just like the day they met, Sooyoung and Jiwoo talk into the wee hours of the night and early morning.

September 9, 1996

Sooyoung and Jiwoo have another call scheduled at 12 noon sharp. After their lengthy separation, they have an array of topics (and gossip) to cover including Haseul’s pursuit of her new friend, Vivi. 

12:00 passes, then 1:00, then 2:00. Jiwoo eventually gets ahold of Jinsol who says she woke up to an ominous note from Sooyoung that read: “Taking care of some business. No activities related to fire, juggling, or fire juggling while I’m gone.” 

Jiwoo hung up on Jinsol when the latter asked for help finding words that rhyme with “Jungeun.” (“What if I said, ‘Jungeun! Jungeun! Put a ring on ya' finger like a Funyun’?)  

Jiwoo goes about her day and evening with unease. Sooyoung’s business is most likely to be Jiwoo herself. What pompous surprise has Sooyoung planned now? Did she travel the 500 miles from Blockberry to Memphis to end up in front of Jiwoo's childhood home?  

Precisely. 

“Jiiiiwoooo!” Sooyoung yells from Jiwoo’s front lawn.

“What in tarnation?” Jiwoo mutters as she dashes down the stairs to greet her darling. 

Her goofy girlfriend is grinning like a fool, leaning against the Kim family mailbox. She’s wearing Jiwoo’s denim jacket, a backwards BBCU baseball cap, and a hiking backpack. In her hands is a pizza box from Blockberry’s oldest establishment: Slice of Life Pizzeria, Taqueria, Bakery, Bar, and Grill. 

“You said you missed their pizza,” Sooyoung says as she opens the box and exposes a half-eaten “Carniv-WHORE” pie. “Sorry, I got kinda hungry on the way here.” 

Jiwoo glides down her porch like an angel in her white sundress. “One week, darlin’. The new semester starts in one week! I coulda waited a little longer.” 

“I’m not as patient.” Sooyoung balances the pizza on Jiwoo’s mailbox and lifts her girlfriend in a dramatic, final-scene-of-a-romantic-movie hug. “Hi,” she whispers lovingly. 

“Hi,” Jiwoo responds with a pinch of Sooyoung’s cheeks. “Get your impatient ass inside the house so I can kiss you properly.” 

“Why not right here? Show all these straight folks what they’re missing out on,” Sooyoung brazenly suggests. 

“Do you realize we’re in the South, darlin’?” 

Sooyoung shyly rubs at her nape. “Whoops. Forgot.” 

“How did you get here anyway? Did you take the train?” Jiwoo holds the door open for her girlfriend. 

“Nah. Hitchhiked.” 

“You hitchhiked?! That’s dangerous, darlin’! Not to mention, it must have taken you forever! What time did you leave your apartment?” 

“6 A.M. I couldn't sleep after our call so I just got out of bed and started making my way to you. It was kinda fun actually. I rode with this one truck driver who-" Sooyoung cannot suppress a yawn. 

Jiwoo frowns and escorts her exhausted sweetheart to the guest bedroom. “You can tell me 'bout it later. Rest first, Romeo." 

Jiwoo’s accepting parents handle the unexpected arrival of their daughter’s girlfriend quite well. However, they hold Jiwoo to the same standards and rules as her older brothers. No girls allowed upstairs. 

So Jiwoo sneaks downstairs to the kitchen for “a sip of water.” 

“Jiwoo?” Sooyoung rubs her sleepy eyes and squints. 

“Shhhh,” she whispers as she climbs under the guest bed covers. 

“But we can’t-” 

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. I thought you were a rule breaker, Sooyoung,” Jiwoo teases. “Don’t worry. I was just planning on cuddlin’.” 

“Oh. I’m fine with that,” Sooyoung smiles. 

She directs Jiwoo’s dainty hand to her waist and her head to her chest, recreating the picture of domesticity she described in her diary. Jiwoo hums an obscure lullaby (one they will later sing to their daughter) and Sooyoung questions how she lasted three months of silent monotony without her songbird. 

“Darlin’?” 

“Yeah?” 

Sooyoung messes with Jiwoo’s bangs, parting them and putting them back together. 

“Are you always gonna be this excessive with your surprises for me? I mean, you changed your mind on committed relationships and dark chocolate so maybe you’ll learn to tone it down a bit.” 

Sooyoung laughs and repeats what Jiwoo said last night over the phone. “Jiwoo Kim, those might just be the silliest words that have ever come out of your mouth.” 

Sooyoung will always be over-the-top because she’s over-the-moon for Jiwoo. She impulsively journeyed across six states just to fulfill her girlfriend’s craving for lukewarm, artery-clogging pizza. She couldn’t fathom the idea of going another week without holding her. 

She feels Jiwoo hug her closer. “Fine. More transcontinental pizza for me, then.” 

“Jiwoo?” 

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for coming back to me,” Sooyoung whispers warmly. 

In the darkness, Jiwoo swears she can see a single tear escape Sooyoung’s eye. She won’t bother to point it out. Her hard-headed girlfriend will undoubtedly deny it. (Kind of like her best friend, Jungeun. Maybe Jiwoo has a soft spot for stubborn lesbians). 

As Sooyoung’s eyelids slowly surrender to fatigue and a content smile appears on her face, Jiwoo watches her adoringly. 

The seeds of doubt in Jiwoo’s mind cease to grow. And in their place, springs hope and love. Sooyoung is in this for the long run. 

“Of course, darlin’. G’night. See you in the mornin’.”

And every morning. 

July 2024 - Sooyoung and Jiwoo’s Living Room 

“So what did y’all think of our love story?” Jiwoo, with her significantly weaker accent, asks the audience. 

The reception is far less positive than Sooyoung and Jiwoo expected. Jinsol is sticking her tongue out like a child and Haseul gives them a thumbs down. 

“It was nice and all but-” Yerim begins. 

“Aunt Soo was so extra and for what?” Yeojin harshly critiques. 

“President Simp!” Their daughter, Hyeju, yells. 

Jiwoo defends her wife from this slander. “Hey! You kids say that like it’s a bad thing. I’m proud to be married to a simp.” 

Sooyoung affectionately pats Jiwoo’s knee. “Darling, are you sure you know what a simp is?” 

“Yeah. Someone who cries like a little bitch.” 

“Jiwoo!" 

Chapter Text

August 2024 - Haseul and Vivi’s Kitchen 

There are certain milestones that every parent approaches with bittersweet anticipation. 

When Yerim gained the dexterity to tie her shoelaces, Jinsol felt great pride in her daughter. Yerim no longer had to tug on her mother’s shirt every five minutes and point to her purple Converse with a sad, “Mommy, it’s loose again. Can you do the bunny ears, please?” 

But after they completed an uninterrupted, hour-long walk in the park together, Jinsol realized how much she missed the interruptions. They served as reminders that her fiercely independent five-year-old still needed her. 

“She did her own bunny ears! Did you see them? They were impeccable! They look neater than mine! What’s she gonna do now? Our taxes?!” Jinsol wailed to her wife later that day. 

When Hyeju insisted that her mother stay in the waiting room while she got her five cavities filled, Sooyoung knelt down on her daughter’s level and told her that she was “the bravest little girl with the biggest sweet tooth.” 

But when the dentist recounted the procedure, including the part where Hyeju demanded to see his credentials, Sooyoung came to the conclusion that Hyeju didn’t even need her help getting to the appointment. Eight-year-old Hyeju would have run a background check and hired a competent driver on her own. 

And then there are the rare milestones that every parent utterly dreads. The three members of the Sapphic Singles Squad would point to the end of family game night as an example. 

“I can’t believe this is our last one,” Jinsol says as she watches her daughter and Hyeju argue over Monopoly. (Hyeju has slyly avoided paying rent on Yerim’s properties since the start of the game). 

Sooyoung opens a La Croix and sighs. “Once a month for sixteen years. The kids were still babies in the first one. Now they’re going to college.” She joins Haseul who is seated on the kitchen countertop. “At least you and Vivi have one more year with Yeojin.” 

“And she can’t wait to get away from us,” Haseul looks down at her drink, waiting for the bubbles to settle. “She was so eager to get her driver’s license and get behind the wheel. Apparently I'm the reason why people think gays can’t drive.” 

“Haseul, you’re not a shitty driver because you’re gay. You’re a shitty driver because you’re Haseul.” 

“You’re right about that, Squad President Soo,” Haseul salutes, “But you're actually wrong about the origin of family game night. Vivi and I started it before we were even official.” 

Sooyoung and Jinsol blink in confusion. 

“You guys don’t remember? Why do you think Vivi and I always host?” 

“Because you have the nicest house…?” Sooyoung answers uncertainly. 

Jinsol throws one of Vivi’s fancy stuffed mushroom hors d'oeuvres in her mouth. “And the best food.” 

An irritated Haseul jumps off the countertop and marches over to their families in the living room. 

“Listen up, children! It has come to my attention that you have been living under a terrible lie!” 

“We know Aunt Sol isn’t a real blonde, Aunt Seul,” Hyeju responds bluntly to which Jinsol scowls. 

“Not that. Everyone knows that. I’m talking about the humble beginnings of our blessed monthly tradition. I will not let you and Yerim move away without knowing the history of family game night.” 

Yeojin puts her phone down and raises a brow. “Do I sense a story, mother?” 

“Yes! It all started when-” 

Haseul gets cut off by her chef wife pointing a pair of tongs at her and feeding her a piece of barbecued brisket. 

Ever since Vivi completed Haseul’s incomplete life nearly three decades ago, Haseul has rarely been able to finish a sentence. Vivi either stops Haseul to make use of the latter’s sophisticated taste buds on her latest culinary creation or Vivi stuns Haseul with her ethereal beauty - leaving Haseul speechless and searching aimlessly for an answer to the rhetorical question: What did my sorry ass do to deserve such a magnificent woman? 

“Taste,” Vivi instructs, “Be careful. It’s hot.” 

“Yum!” Haseul chews happily, “You’ve outdone yourself again, my love. Compliments to the chef!” 

 “I’ll make sure she receives the message,” Vivi wipes the corner of Haseul’s mouth with a napkin. 

Yeojin rolls her eyes. These saccharine exchanges are nothing new to the daughter, in fact, she secretly hopes her parents will never stop acting like newlyweds, but that doesn’t mean she can’t express her annoyance like the usual moody teenager. 

“I was just telling the girls about the first family game night. Back when it was just you and me.” 

“Why are you starting there? First, you need to explain how we met. That’s what Sooyoung did with her and Jiwoo’s story.” 

Haseul winces. She was hoping her wife wouldn’t point out the obvious. 

“Because unlike them, honey, we don’t have a meet-cute. We have a meet-cringe. I want to spare the children from secondhand embarrassment.” 

“Plus, by the time Haseul finishes telling that story, the kids will be hosting their own family game night. Kids, let it be known that Aunt Haseul saw Aunt Vivi seven days a week and she took a year to introduce herself. Meanwhile, Aunt Jinsol and I were already dating our wives and making plans for the future,” Sooyoung adds smugly. 

Jinsol backs up Sooyoung with a “That’s right!” 

Mild-mannered Haseul crosses her arms. She decides to make her case for why she and Vivi are the best couple.

“I may have taken longer to win Vivi over, but once I had her, once we had each other, we never broke up. The other couples in this room can’t relate .” 

Haseul’s side-comments are superfluous and deliciously shady. It isn’t family game night without a little drama and right now, the married couples are in a stare off with the children caught in between. 

“Damn, Aunt Seul. Speak your truth.” Hyeju develops a newfound respect for her wacky aunt. 

“I kinda wanna hear the cringefest now,” says an intrigued Yerim. 

Yeojin hastily shoves their forgotten Monopoly game away in favor of hearing another Triple S tale. “Tell the story, mother! Send in the circus! Send in the clowns!” 

Haseul makes her way to their leather recliner and invites her wife to squeeze in beside her. 

With a final petty sneer at Sooyoung and Jinsol, she begins. 

“It was June 1995. I was, as you kids say, a ‘gym rat’...” 

June 25, 1995 - BBCU Gym 

Track star and field hockey goalie, Jo #3, cherishes her daily workouts. She rises at dawn, puts on a tank top, headband, and neon green shorts, makes herself a protein shake, and selects a cassette tape to place in her Walkman before leaving Apartment 379. 

On today’s walk to the BBCU gym, she listens to Nirvana’s “Heart Shaped Box.” 

It’s quite comical watching Haseul headbang to grunge music at 6:35 A.M. on a Sunday. For starters, the genre doesn’t really match her peppy personality and her hair, which she has consistently trimmed to a bob length since high school, barely moves with every violent nod and shake. 

“WITH THE LIGHTS OUT, IT’S LESS DANGEROUS-” Haseul sings the wrong chorus aloud without a care in the world. An overwhelming majority of the student population won’t be awake for another 4 to 5 hours. It’s just Haseul, her tunes, and her favorite spot on campus. 

She opens the door to the gym and waves to one of the student workers. 

“Hey, Haseul! Someone’s using your treadmill,” says Bora. 

“What was that?!” Haseul yells over the blaring music. She lifts the right side of her headset to hear. Bora chuckles and repeats herself. 

This information disturbs Haseul. While some may be particular about how they like their eggs in the morning, how cool or warm they like their showers, or how they like to be loved, Haseul is fussy in regard to her gym equipment. 

Every regular gym goer knows that Haseul Jo claims the treadmill closest to the east-facing window. Its prime location allows her to watch the Blockberry sunrise. Haseul quite literally walks on sunshine each morning. 

“You don’t own that treadmill, you know? It’s available to all students,” the fitness manager reminds the childish gym rat. 

“I know but it’s just weird. It’s like when you sit in the same seat for nine weeks and then the tenth week of class someone is sitting in your spot. Your routine, your life, as you know it, gets thrown off balance.” 

It’s too early in the day for Bora to be dealing with Haseul’s irrationality and melodrama. Bora turns away and abruptly abandons their conversation. 

“Alright, have a good day, I guess!” Haseul awkwardly calls out. 

Now where is that treadmill hog? 

Haseul clips her Walkman to her shorts and picks up a pair of dumbbells from a weight rack. She angrily does a set of bicep curls as she walks to her favorite section of the gym. 

Out of the twelve available treadmills, someone is indeed occupying her machine. This just won’t do. 

“Excuse me-” 

The stranger slows to a leisurely pace and turns her head. A ponytail of freshly-dyed, bright pink hair follows. 

“Yes?” She gives Haseul her undivided attention with open ears and a closed, but friendly smile. 

By golly is she beautiful. 

Haseul’s breath hitches and she drops her weights to the floor.

“Never mind!” Haseul croaks. 

As the youngest and lowest-ranking member of the Sapphic Singles Squad, Haseul has to cut through a lot of bureaucratic red tape (or rather, rainbow-colored tape) in order to get her voice heard and respected. More often than not, Sooyoung and Jinsol abuse their executive powers to overrule Haseul. 

“Wake up, Jinsol!” Haseul kicks and pounds on her roommates’ doors, “Wake up Sooyoung! I’m calling an impromptu Squad meeting!”  

Vice President Jinsol opens her door just enough to stick her head out. “Can this wait, please?” 

“No,” Haseul says definitively, “This is an emergency.” 

Across the hall, President Sooyoung violently swings open her door. Like a grizzly during hibernation, Sooyoung does not appreciate being woken up early. 

“You are not in the position to call emergency meetings, Secretary Haseul. It better be the end of the fucking world for you to wake us up at 7:30 on a Sunday.” 

Haseul throws an arm around her grumpy friend’s shoulder. “Oh it’s the end, Madam President. It is the end of my bachelorette life. Today, my friends, I can say with tremendous pride that the red string of fate has bound me to my pink-haired soulmate.” 

Is Haseul leaping to extraordinary conclusions? Yes. 

Does she have reason to do so? Perhaps. 

One year ago, an alleged psychic named Todd foretold that Haseul’s great love would have “hair pink like cotton candy” and a smile that “makes the rest of the world want to smile too.” Todd’s premonition initially led Haseul to Sana Minatozaki. 

(That was a dumpster fire of a relationship. After three months of casual dating, Sana left Haseul to join some girl group named… what did she say they were called? Two?) 

Jinsol facepalms. “You still believe what our old neighbor said?! For the thousandth time, Seul, he wasn’t a psychic! He was a stoner! He said his full name was Todd ‘Legalize It’ Green!” 

“I thought he was talking about gay marriage,” Haseul says innocently, “Didn’t his boyfriend visit him every week?” 

“That was his dealer!” Sooyoung yells. 

“Oh.” The enthusiasm has been sucked out of Haseul’s voice. “So he was wrong. This girl is not my soulmate? She’s just… some girl?” 

Haseul looks down sadly at her lucky sneakers. These beat-up, worn-out running shoes have carried her through 4x400 relays and 100 meter dashes. They have helped her jump over hurdles she never imagined she could clear. And yet, the tallest, most daunting obstacle remains: holding a full conversation with Vivi Wong. 

Jinsol hates seeing her friend looking so discouraged. “Hey. Don’t think like that, buddy. Maybe she will be someone important to you. What do you guys have in common?” 

“We like using the same treadmill. Other than that, I don’t know,” Haseul scuffs her dirty shoes on the tile floor. 

“What is she like?” Sooyoung tries to hide her irritation at the multiple stains Haseul is creating. 

Haseul’s lips curl up into an animated smile. “She’s a beauty! So pretty! Boy oh boy! Hot diggity dog!” 

“Simmer down, Mickey Mouse,” Sooyoung laughs, “I mean what is her personality like?”

“Don’t know.” 

“Her interests?” 

“Don’t know.” 

“Where’s she from?” 

“Don’t know.” 

Haseul’s friends exchange worried looks. 

“You should take this one,” Sooyoung whispers to Jinsol.

“Haseul,” Jinsol approaches the question with caution, “Do you know her name?” 

“Hmmm. I’m gonna go with Pinky McTreadmill.” 

Cue another Jinsol facepalm.

“You don’t even know her name? Did you even talk to her?” 

Haseul randomly pinches Jinsol’s earlobe and cackles. “Of course not! As soon as I saw her, I ran back home to tell you guys all about her!” 

A third Jinsol facepalm. 

Sooyoung sighs the sigh of a true, weary president. “Haseul, you know I’m not religious in the slightest. But still, I pray for you.” 

July 1995 

Haseul accepts that she’ll never get her favorite treadmill back. She lacks the courage to utter a simple greeting to this stunning stranger. How could she possibly ask her for a favor?

August 1995

One day, Vivi briefly leaves to use the restroom. She taps Haseul on the shoulder and asks her to watch her belongings.

“Thank you so much! I’ll be back soon!” 

And then Vivi winks. She winks. She fucking winks at Haseul. 

The poor girl almost collapses. 

September 1995 

If by some divine gay miracle, Haseul manages to introduce herself, if Haseul accomplishes the unimaginable and actually sustains a calm, engaging dialogue with this girl, if pigs fly and world peace is achieved and all three members of the Squad get girlfriends, if and only if, there’s still the terrifying possibility that Haseul’s rosy-haired crush only likes… boys.  

October 1995

“What if she’s straight?” Jinsol jokes. 

Haseul doesn’t find Jinsol funny. Haseul dunks Jinsol’s head in her cereal. 

November 1995 

BBCU adds a new workout class to the roster: cardio kickboxing. 

When the instructor, Hyolyn, visits Vivi’s treadmill to hand her a sign up sheet, Vivi breaks the pen from excitement. 

Maybe she has a superhuman-like grip. Maybe she’s a human with eyes therefore she finds Hyolyn attractive. Maybe she still likes boys. 

Hyolyn tells Vivi to look forward to class and she struts away. A lumberjack-looking man, presumably Hyolyn’s boyfriend, waves to her and places his hand on the small of her back. 

Vivi watches the scene looking disgusted, disheartened, and disappointed. 

Ok maybe she’s gay. 

December 1995 

At this point, Haseul would give anything just to be Vivi’s friend.

“She has that aura about her. She’s someone you want to know, you need to know, you have to know,” Haseul explains as she throws tinsel over the Squad’s Christmas tree. 

“And what is her name?” Sooyoung’s new girlfriend - yes, that’s correct, womanizer Sooyoung has a girlfriend now - teasingly asks Haseul. (Jiwoo knows Haseul doesn’t have an answer). 

Haseul narrows her eyes playfully. “Oh, you’re definitely dating Sooyoung.” She then stares blankly at a reindeer ornament and quietly adds, “I still don’t know her name or… anything about her. It’s been months.” 

Jiwoo hands her a tangled bunch of string lights. “So you just watch her exercise from afar? Everyday? Just staring at her like the Terminator?” 

Considering that this is only Jiwoo’s second interaction with her girlfriend’s roommate, she’s justifiably suspicious of Haseul’s questionable, stalker-like behavior. 

“No, not like that!” Haseul nervously comes to her own defense. “I respect her boundaries. I’m too nervous to look her in the eye, anyway.” 

Jiwoo deduces that Haseul is not a creep - but a harmless, panicked lesbian. 

Haseul continues. “She smiled at me yesterday. Not out of courtesy or politeness, just a genuine smile that you save for the people who you’re comfortable with. And she never leaves the gym without wishing me a good day.” 

“That’s great, Haseul! You’re making progress!” 

“But it’s not enough ,” Haseul whines, “Can you give me some advice, Jiwoo? You’re a freshman who made a move on the Sooyoung Ha and now you’ve got her wrapped around your finger! You’re like the poster child for gay confidence!” 

“Well, I’m honored that you think so highly of me,” Jiwoo laughs. 

Before the lesbian mascot can share her secrets, Sooyoung and Jinsol return to the apartment. 

The roommates are pale, shivering ghosts despite being cloaked in thick layers. It’s below freezing outside and the only things keeping them from frostbite are the cups of hot chocolate in their ungloved hands. 

“He-here’s your cocoa with extra mar-marshmallows, Jiwoo,” Sooyoung manages through chattering teeth. 

Jiwoo’s nurturing side takes over as she accepts the beverage from Sooyoung, sets it aside, and squeezes her girlfriend’s hands. 

“I told you to wear mittens!” Jiwoo scolds like the mother that she will one day become. 

“Sorry,” Sooyoung apologizes like the wife that she will one day become. 

Jiwoo shakes her head and plants kisses on Sooyoung’s cold fingers, warming her with love and loving her with warmth. 

“You know…” Sooyoung draws out, “My lips are cold too.” 

“Hmm. What shall I do… about… that?” Jiwoo cocks her head to the side and eyes the lips she yearns to take into her own. 

The lack of consideration that these lovebirds have for the people around them is absolutely astounding. But when you’re in love, it’s as if you are the only two people in the room. 

“Hey! We’re still here!” Haseul violently waves her arms like she’s signaling a plane to land. 

Jinsol takes a sip of her hot chocolate and burns her tongue, only fueling her temper. “Take your couple-y mushiness outside. It’s hurting our single eyes!” 

“Outside?! Jiwoo and I will turn into ice cubes!” 

Jinsol runs to the closet and brings back a hammer and chisel from the time the Squad attempted (and failed) a sculpting class. 

“Haseul and I will set a timer to defrost you guys in 5 minutes.” 

The couple thinks this is another one of Jinsol’s jokes but for once, she is actually serious. 

“Shoo! Shoo! Get out of here!” Jinsol forces them away like one would a stray dog. 

Sooyoung is about ready to tell Jinsol off when her girlfriend whispers, “My roommate isn’t home. Let’s go to my place.” (Sooyoung is a big fan of this suggestion). 

“See you gays later!” Sooyoung waves goodbye to her friends while Jiwoo shoves her hands into a spare pair of mittens. 

“Wear them, darlin’” Jiwoo demands. 

“Yes, dear,” Sooyoung concedes. 

Sooyoung’s roommates watch her exit their apartment in a confusing blend of emotions. Jinsol and Haseul are genuinely happy that Sooyoung has found someone who - for lack of a better simile - fits her like a glove. 

But they also feel terribly betrayed. 

Sooyoung has broken their anti-girlfriend pact and turned her back on her comrades. She has become a disgrace to the name of the Sapphic Singles Squad. A repugnant stain on their royal crest. 

“And then there were 2,” Haseul sighs, “You’re not gonna pull a Sooyoung and ditch me for some freshman girl, are you?” 

“Never. It’s you and me against the world, Seul. Sol and Seul against the solar system! The SOLar SEULstem! Jinsol affirms as she gives her partner-in-crime a plastic, glittery rainbow star. 

“Good,” Haseul affixes the prop to the top of the tree. 

Jinsol shoots her a thumbs up with her free hand and Haseul purses her lips. 

“Hey, why didn’t you think to get me a cup of cocoa?” 

“You’re my friend, girl. Not my girlfriend,” Jinsol rudely states. She takes a second sip without blowing on the still steaming beverage, scalding her tongue even more. 

“Ah! Shit! Son of a bitch! It’s like licking the sun! Hotter than Satan’s asshole after he drinks a ghost pepper smoothie in the deserts of hell!” 

Haseul snickers at Jinsol’s imagery-heavy profanities and resumes decorating. 

“Deserved.” 

January 1996 

New year, some old Haseul. 

“Treadmill girl waved at you and you said ‘thank you’?! Why?!” 

“Well, when a girl like that acknowledges your presence, you have to be grateful. What else was I supposed to do?” 

“Wave back!” 

February 1996 

Jinsol never intended for it to be this way. She wasn’t supposed to fall head-over-heels for her coworker, for Jiwoo’s roommate, for a freshman just like her buddy, Sooyoung.

That unexpected kiss they shared at the end of last month’s karaoke night should have been a one-time thing. It was a lapse in discretion, a dip of a toe in a shallow pool of indulgence. 

Jinsol rationalizes that Jungeun had too much to drink (Jungeun’s drink was non-alcoholic). 

Jinsol rationalizes that Jungeun was just being friendly (Friends do NOT shove their tongues down each other’s throats). 

Jinsol cannot rationalize anymore when Jungeun pulls her away from a customer to go make out in the break room. 

And Haseul, sweet, unsuspecting Haseul who had some free time today and wanted to visit her friend at work, cannot believe her eyes. 

“Hey, Sol! I know I’m not allowed back here but I snuck in and brought you lunch- What the fuck?!” 

The clandestine lovers hastily break apart at the sound of Haseul’s cheery voice. Jinsol removes her hands off Jungeun’s back and Jungeun wipes her smudged lipstick off Jinsol’s mouth and neck. (Not that it would make a difference. Haseul caught them red-handed, or rather - red lipped). 

“Jungeun was just uh… she was choking and I gave her mouth-to-mouth,” Jinsol tells a poorly-constructed and medically-inaccurate lie. 

“Right! Thank you, Jinsol. My break is over, I’ll get back to work.” Jungeun ducks her head when she walks past Haseul. 

Haseul sets down the “homecooked” meal she prepared for her best friend: microwavable chicken nuggets, carrot sticks, and vanilla pudding in a Batman lunchbox. It’s not the most appropriate meal for a 20 year old, but Jinsol is a child at heart. And so is Haseul. 

“So much for Sol and Seul against the solar system,” Haseul guilt trips. 

“It still is, buddy!” Jinsol slings her right arm loosely around the back of Haseul’s neck and uses her left fist to press down on Haseul’s crown, engaging her in a playful headlock. “No one and nothing can stand in the way of our friendship. We’re in this shit for life!” 

Although her friend is a traitor and a hypocrite, Haseul hands Jinsol her food and lets her gush about the events of karaoke night and everything that led up to that exhilarating moment where Jinsol’s lips met Jungeun’s for the first time. 

If Sooyoung thinks Jiwoo raised the sun, Jinsol probably thinks Jungeun hung the moon. 

How the mighty have fallen. The Sapphic Singles Squad is down to one member. 

March 1996 

“Should I wear this red dress or stick with the blue one I’m wearing now?” Jinsol holds up her alternate outfit for Haseul to critique. 

“Blue.” 

“You’re right. Red is her color anyway. Oh shit, look at the time! Even if I leave right now, I don’t think Jungeun and I will be able to make our reservation!” Jinsol hobbles around the living room wearing a house slipper on her right foot and a 3 inch heel on her left.  

“Which is why I called the restaurant on your behalf. I rescheduled from 8 to 8:30. You and Jungeun have time,” Haseul says, barely glancing up from her Cosmopolitan magazine. She’s taking a quiz titled “Still Single? Let’s Find Out Why.” 

“Thanks, Seul! You’re the best!” Jinsol leaves to do her makeup. 

Meanwhile, Sooyoung prepares to head out the door. She’s holding another bouquet of peach roses to deliver to Jiwoo. 

“See you later, Seul!” 

“Ok! By the way, I took the liberty of cutting off the thorns. I know you wouldn’t want Jiwoo to prick herself.” 

“Thanks! I owe you!” 

Sooyoung holds the door open for a dolled up Jinsol as they are going to the same destination: their respective girlfriends’ shared dorm, Dorm 610. 

Haseul finishes the quiz and is given a special code: 5VV. The description reads as follows: 

You are thoughtful and considerate. Anyone would be lucky to have you! You are still single because you keep putting your friends and families needs above your own. Go chat up that special someone. You deserve to be happy too! 

“Damn, right I do! Jinsol, Sooyoung, take a look at this!” 

And then Haseul realizes that she has the apartment all to herself. She’s alone.

Haseul refuses to be a bystander while her friends embark on their great love stories. 

Something must change.

April 17, 1996  

Most of the time, you don’t select the day you will meet the love of your life. You go about your daily life and you let fate run its course. Eventually, he will get assigned to a group project with you. Or she will get stuck in an elevator with you. Or they will ask, “Is this seat taken?” 

Haseul doesn’t abide by the rules of fate. She chooses April 17 as the day she will formally meet Vivi. It is the day of a partial solar eclipse. A lot of cool things are set to happen today. 

Unfortunately, Haseul cannot keep her cool when she walks in the gym and Vivi flashes her a smile that could melt the polar ice caps. 

She’s! So! Pretty! How. To. Function? Brain… short… circuiting. Gay. Very. Gay. 

At least Haseul smiles back. She looks like she’s in pain, but she smiles back. It’s an improvement. 

Today’s the day I talk to her! I’m gonna do it! 

Vivi raises her arms behind her head to fix her ponytail, inadvertently exposing her toned biceps. 

Umm. Maybe later. I should get my workout done first. Don’t want to walk up to this fit goddess with my skinny little noodle arms. 

Haseul spots a pair of cartoonishly large, 100 pound dumbbells. Getting the weights off the rack is a feat in and of itself. It’s like watching King Arthur remove Excalibur from the stone, except Haseul is far less poised. 

“Agh! Fuck, these are heavy!” Haseul grunts as her forehead veins begin to bulge out. 

Vivi watches from afar and covers her mouth. She’s clearly laughing at Haseul. 

This is so embarrassing. I should just stick to running. 

Haseul puts the dumbbells back and returns to the treadmill she’s been using since Vivi staked her claim on her favorite one. That was all the way back in June of last year. 

It’s really been that long? 

Haseul cranks up the speed on her treadmill and the volume on her Walkman. Rage Against the Machine begins to play. How fitting. 

She’s enraged at her own cowardice. Haseul has spent ten greuling months, or 297 days, or 7,128 hours pining over a nameless girl who at best, thinks she’s an awkward wimp, and at worst, thinks she’s a creep. She’s brainstormed an infinite number of conversation starters ranging from the generic (e.g. “Thank goodness it’s Friday! Got any plans for the weekend?”), to the philosophical (e.g. “Is there life after death?”), to the extraterrestrial (e.g. “Do you believe in aliens?”) but she has yet to use one effectively. One look at Vivi and she goes mute. Haseul is entirely to blame for her singleness and she knows it.

She transitions from power walking at 4 miles an hour to jogging at 5, then, 6, then 7. 

If only I had Jinsol’s charisma. Wait. That’s not a bad idea! I should act like Jinsol! What does Jinsol do? Suck face with her coworker? Yeah… that’s not an option. 

Haseul jumps to 10 miles an hour. She’s full on running now. 

I wish I was as suave as Sooyoung. Hmm… what’s one of her easier moves? She likes to run her hands through her hair and make it look messy while also looking sexy and mysterious. What if I try that? 

Haseul foolishly decides to set her Walkman to a deafening level and her treadmill to its maximum speed of 12 miles an hour. 

Alright, I’m running my hands through my hair… this isn’t the same. It works with Sooyoung because she has long hair. I have a bob cut. Damn it! 

Suddenly, Vivi looks up. 

She’s looking at me! Maybe this is working ! Ok, Seul. Continue. 

But Vivi is not staring because she is attracted. She’s staring because Haseul’s current pace is not matching the one set by the machine. If Haseul keeps this up, she’s going to fall off. 

Act like you’re in a shampoo commercial. Flip your hair. It’s not much but flip it! Throw your head back and flip it! You’re sassy, you’re chic, you’re sultry, you’re-

Haseul slips, her right knee hits the running belt, followed by her belly, as she slides backwards off the treadmill and flings herself across the room. 

You’re an idiot. 

BBCU track and field’s pride, MVP Haseul Jo, now lies on the ground, limps splayed, knees and elbows scraped. She looks up at the gym ceiling, regretting everything. 

She has hit a new low.

The good news is, once you’ve reached rock bottom, there’s nowhere to go but up.

“Are you alright?!” The gorgeous face of Vivi Wong appears in Haseul’s visual field. 

No, I’m not alright. You weren’t supposed to approach me out of pity. I wasn’t supposed to fall off that goddamn treadmill. This is mortifying! 

“I’m ok, don’t worry!” Haseul groans when she pushes herself off the floor. Everything hurts. 

A deep crinkle forms between Vivi’s concerned eyebrows. She’s not convinced. 

“No, you’re not. Your knee looks pretty scratched up. I’ll ask the front desk for a first aid kit, I’m sure they have one here.” 

Vivi runs off before Haseul can protest further. When she returns, Haseul is seated on a treadmill (a stationary treadmill, she ensures) and inspecting her wound. It’s superficial and not bleeding, but it takes up almost her entire kneecap and therefore warrants treatment. 

“Here you go,” Vivi hands Haseul a hefty red suitcase complete with enough medical supplies to sustain a small hospital. 

“Thanks,” Haseul says shyly but with abounding gratefulness. 

She tends to the scrape, hissing each time she dabs at it with the antibiotic ointment. 

“Ow! Stings like a bitch,” she curses reflexively. “Sorry,” Haseul looks up at Vivi, “My friends taught me to curse like a sailor.”  

“You don’t have to apologize,” Vivi laughs. 

“Sorry- I mean ok.” 

Haseul sticks her tongue out in concentration as she applies a Flintstones-themed bandage. Satisfied with her placement, Haseul claps her hands together and nods. 

Vivi finds Haseul unbearably cute. Perhaps that’s why she stayed to watch Haseul tend to her injury when she could have returned to her workout. 

“Thanks again for your help! I’ll get out of your hair now.” Haseul stands up and makes her way out of the gym. 

Oh, Jinsol and Sooyoung are gonna love this story. They are gonna roast me like the chicken that I am. 

“Wait!” Vivi chases after her, “You forgot your Walkman!”

Vivi holds Haseul’s beloved cassette player and headphones in her left hand and a cassette in her right. (The Walkman split open upon Haseul’s rough and embarrassing landing on the ground). 

“Rage Against the Machine?” Vivi reads the title of the tape. 

“Yeah. You listen to them?” 

“Never even heard of them.” 

Haseul gasps as if Vivi has committed an atrocity. “You’ve never heard of Rage?! Activists, revolutionaries, and rock legends?! Their self-titled debut album went triple platinum! And they just released their second one yesterday. It’s called Evil Empire.” 

“I don’t listen to noisy rock.” 

After all the humiliation, cuts, and scrapes Haseul has had to endure today, somehow Vivi’s rejection of her favorite musical genre is the most painful. 

The rock enthusiast closes her eyes and clenches her fists. “It is not noise. It’s art and energy and passion .” 

Dorky Haseul is so adorably defensive that she sways Vivi, a staunch classical music fan, to give Rage a chance. 

“I’ll have to check them out some time,” Vivi smiles. 

“Why not right now? Borrow my Walkman. Listen to the rest of the cassette. It’s the best workout music. It gets you pumped up! I can speak from experience.” 

Vivi inserts the tape back inside and places the headphones over her ears. “Let’s see if you’re right.” 

“I’ll sit over there,” Haseul points to an unoccupied bench, “come find me when you’re finished with your workout.” 

“Promise you won’t fall off that bench?” Vivi teases. 

“I’ll try my best,” Haseul crosses her heart and elicits a smirk from her crush.

Half an hour later, Vivi runs - nay, sprints to her future wife with the biggest smile Haseul has seen her wear in these ten months. Haseul will soon be responsible for many more of these toothy expressions of glee. 

“You’re right! This album is a masterpiece!” Vivi remarks. 

“Yay!” Haseul claps excitedly, “I’m glad you liked it!” 

Vivi joins her on the bench and their pinkies brush against each other for half a second. It’s the most delicate form of physical contact but it still makes Haseul a giddy fool. 

She’s sitting next to me! Hehehe :D 

“I loved it!” Vivi continues. “I never thought I'd enjoy listening to rock but here I was nodding along to ‘Killing in the Name’!” 

“That’s the power of Rage! They transcend all genres. I mean, yes you have that kickass guitar riff and that sick, slick solo courtesy of Tom Morello and his use of the Whammy Pedal. But you also have Zack de la Rocha rapping at the top of his lungs. There’s a little funk in there too. And the message . God, it’s just a perfect, timeless protest anthem. What a track.” 

Haseul stops herself from rambling about the time she saw them live at Lollapalooza 1993 and gave herself a headbang-induced concussion. 

“You seem to know a lot about music,” Vivi accurately observes, “Do you play?” 

“A little guitar and piano. I mostly sing, though. I’m classically trained in opera,” Haseul says modestly. 

This time, it’s Vivi who almost falls off the surface. “No way! You might be the only metalhead opera singer out there. 

“I’m sure there’s dozens of us,” Haseul half-jokes. “But I’m probably the sole metalhead-opera singer-sprinter-goalie-minister.” 

As it turns out, Haseul never needed to emulate Sooyoung’s elegance or Jinsol’s charm. All she had to do to intrigue Vivi was to be herself and own up to the numerous titles attached to her name. 

“You’re a minister?!” Vivi’s curiosity rises exponentially. 

“Yep. The process of getting ordained is actually pretty quick and easy. I’ve helped a ton of my friends and even a few strangers get married. Just say the word and I’ll marry you.” 

Oh my god. What the fuck did I just say. 

“I mean, I could marry you to another person. Not-not y-you and me g-get married. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. That would- that would be preposterous!” 

Haseul grips the edge of the bench with sweaty palms and incessantly taps her right foot on the gym floor. 

Vivi notices the panic in Haseul’s tone and body language and exacerbates it by placing her hand on Haseul’s tense shoulder.

REEEEE that’s her hand on my shoulder! 

“It’s ok. I understood what you meant. Although, I’m definitely not getting married anytime soon, I’ll keep you in mind-” 

Haseul widens her eyes. 

“-as an officiant,” Vivi elaborates. 

“Right, right,” says a relieved Haseul. “Thank you.” 

They sit there quietly for a while, watching people trickle in and out of the gym. Haseul is just now realizing how many people benefit from the recreation center’s services. All these bright-eyed students, getting their daily exercise fix, then going about their lives. This smelly cesspool of perspiration and foot fungus is nothing more than a gym to them. 

But to Haseul, this is a magical place - her personal Disneyland. It’s where she first laid eyes on her dazzling wife, where she made herself look like a bumbling idiot a thousand times, and where she finally stepped up to the plate on the thousand and first try. 

“I’m Haseul, by the way,” Haseul turns to gaze at her crush. 

She’s even more beautiful up close. 

Rather than offering her name, Vivi places her hands on her cheeks and opens her mouth in distress like Macaulay Caulkin in Home Alone. 

What did I do wrong now? Did some other Haseul cast a curse on her entire family or something? 

“I can’t believe I never asked you for your name! We’ve been exercising ten feet away from each other for a whole year and I never thought to ask you! I’m so sorry.” 

“Please don’t feel bad,” Haseul reassures, “I never asked you either.” 

But believe me, lady, I TRIED. Oh how I tried. 

Vivi smiles despondently as she recalls every opportunity they could have met - formally, that is.

(On their tenth wedding anniversary, Vivi will ask Haseul what she considers to be their first meeting. Haseul will reply with “April 17, 1996: the day after ‘Evil Empire’ was released and the day I ate shit on that treadmill. How you still found me attractive after that is one of mankind’s most puzzling mysteries.”) 

“I’m Vivi Wong.” 

“If you’re Wong, I don’t wanna be right,” to make matters worse, Haseul shoots finger guns, establishing herself as the Sapphic Singles Squad’s cringiest flirt. 

Vivi rolls her eyes at the atrocious pun. She pretends to dodge Haseul’s air bullets and Haseul laughs comfortably. They have started to build a rapport. 

“Ok, that one was bad.” 

“Yeah, you think?” Vivi’s delivery is deadpan but not mean-spirited. “You should be held accountable for that line.” 

“Oh, don’t worry. My roommates call me out all the time for saying stupid shit like that.” 

“Good,” Vivi grins, “They should know their friend tells lame jokes and trips on treadmills. At least she’s cute enough to get away with it.” 

This cannot be happening. DID SHE JUST CALL ME CUTE?! She needs to like… raise her standards… HOLY SHIT SHE REALLY SAID THAT. I’m gonna scream into the ozone layer. 

Obnoxious alarms, sirens, and horns blare in the confines of Haseul’s overwhelmed, gay mind. They’re so loud that Haseul doesn’t hear or register Vivi saying goodbye. 

“Woah woah woah! Where are you going?” Haseul questions, a smidge too panicky. 

“I said I have class in 5 minutes and I lost track of time,” Vivi repeats herself, mildly confused. She thought she made herself clear and Haseul appeared to be focused on her every word and syllable. 

“Oh. You should get going, then.” Haseul’s disappointment is glaringly obvious. 

Vivi sticks out her perfect, tiny hand. “It was nice to finally meet you, Haseul.” 

“Likewise,” Haseul reciprocates the handshake with a smile that rapidly turns upside down. 

Why is this so… sticky? Damn my sweaty hands! 

Haseul retracts her hand and shakily wipes her glistening palm on her fluorescent green gym shorts. “Sorry ‘bout that. My hands are very porous. My dermatologist said I have more sweat glands per square inch of skin than the average homo sapien.” 

What compelled Haseul to share this? What is Vivi supposed to do with this information? What is anyone supposed to say in response? 

All Vivi can do is laugh at Haseul's ridiculousness. Luckily, she’s not laughing at Haseul - she’s laughing with her. Unlike the rest of Haseul’s crushes, Vivi actually finds Haseul’s chaotic awkwardness endearing. 

For once, Haseul’s propensity to overshare is not a deterrent to her flirting game (if she even has one). It’s a strength. 

“Is that really what they said?” Vivi asks sympathetically. 

“Word for word,” says the chronic sweater. “Anyway, I won’t keep you any longer. Will you be here at the same time tomorrow?” 

Haseul knows that Vivi reports to the gym like a high-performing soldier reports to boot camp: ever punctual and serious. But it can’t hurt to double check. 

“Yes! Can you bring me a new cassette? If you don’t mind? I want to hear what else you listen to.” 

Haseul would willingly give Vivi her kidney. A cassette tape is nothing. It’s child’s play. 

“I don’t mind at all! Are you a fan of Wu-Tang Clan?” 

“No…” Vivi lingers, “but I sense that I will be soon,” she concludes, smiling gently. 

“Nice! That’s the spirit! See you tomorrow, Vivi!” 

Vivi secures her school bag on her back and stuffs her workout clothes in her gym bag. “See you tomorrow, Haseul.” 

Haseul’s pink-haired Aphrodite with a six-pack winks at her yet again. 

She just?! She! Did she? JUST? DID SHE JUST WINK?! Vivi... Her name is Vivi. 

Having exhausted all her physical, emotional, and mental reserves to talk to her crush of ten months, Haseul opens the front door to Apartment 379 and dramatically faints. She wakes up not five minutes later, upset when she realizes that neither Jinsol or Sooyoung noticed her limp body on the ground. (She’s surprisingly spent most of today on the floor and it’s only 10 A.M.). 

"Assholes,” Haseul mutters.

I’m gonna lay here and be petty. They have to find me eventually! They both have class today and I’m blocking the door. 

Unfortunately, Sooyoung and Jinsol specifically registered for afternoon classes so that they could sleep in. 

It’s not until Jinsol wakes up at 1:15 to get the mail, does she discover her friend’s seemingly unconscious body. 

“Seul!” the blonde shakes her by the shoulders, “Sooyoung, come to the door! I think we need to do CPR on Haseul!” 

Without even checking for a pulse or observing Haseul’s obvious breathing, Jinsol begins compressions in the wrong area: Haseul’s stomach. 

Ow! I thought this bitch took an anatomy class. 

Sooyoung slowly wanders to the door with tired eyes and a dark cloud looming above her. (It’s been a week since Jiwoo suggested they take a break).

“What’s going on?” Sooyoung asks apathetically. She can see that Haseul is just being her usual extra self. 

“CPR isn’t working! What do we do? Do you know CPR, Haseul?” Jinsol flicks her friend’s eyelid. 

“You can’t ask her, genius,” Sooyoung comes through with her classic sarcasm. “Why don’t you try mouth to mouth? Don’t you have experience with that?” 

Jinsol pauses to interpret her friend’s insinuation. Sooyoung knows about her make out session with Jungeun. That makes no sense. How would she know? Only Haseul knows… 

“You told her about Jungeun?!” Jinsol rattles her blabbermouth friend. “I thought that was between you and me!” 

Haseul opens her eyes, pushes Jinsol off, and sits up. “It’s your fault for thinking I could keep a secret! Also, your CPR sucks and you guys are useless!” 

“Wait, you were fine all along?” Jinsol asks cluelessly. “What were you doing on the floor?” 

Haseul inhales deeply and relinquishes all her trivial roommate frustrations with one, slowed exhale. 

“I was thinking about Vivi,” Haseul answers matter-of-factly. 

“What’s a Vivi?” Jinsol looks at Sooyoung, expecting her to know. The latter only shrugs. 

“My future wife, folks! The pink-haired girl on my treadmill. I talked to her - for real this time! Our conversation got cut short but I got her to listen to my music and here’s the best part… ” Haseul pauses to build suspense. 

Sooyoung crosses her arms, unimpressed while Jinsol waits with bated breath. 

“-She called me cute! Can you believe that?!” 

“No, I cannot,” Sooyoung arrogantly counters. 

“I’m serious! I’m gonna marry her one day.” 

“Aww cute! Ok, buddy. You do that.” Sooyoung pats Haseul’s head in a condescending, almost demeaning manner before retreating to her room to sulk. 

“Vivi literally said she would consider it!” Haseul defends, taking Vivi’s words out of context. But Sooyoung has already slammed her door.

“Ugh, I hate bitchy Sooyoung the most.” 

“Let her be a bitch, Seul. You know that she’s only lashing out because of the Jiwoo thing,” Jinsol rubs her friend’s shoulder soothingly. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Haseul pouts, “But you’re on my side, right? You believe I hit it off with Vivi, don’t you, Sol?” 

If Jinsol were to take a lie detector test at this moment, jagged and erratic peaks and spikes would instantly appear on the polygraph. To ask Jinsol to believe in Haseul's flirting skills, given Haseul’s lack of verbal filter and general jumpiness, would be to ask Jinsol to suspend her disbelief on the highest of clouds in all the heavens. 

But Jinsol is nice and a good friend (most of the time). So she lies to appease Haseul. 

“Sure, I do. I believe you. I’ll even sing at your wedding!” She nudges her friend jokingly. “What else did you guys talk about?” 

“My sweaty hands.” 

Jinsol facepalms (an all too-familiar sight). 

“Haseul, Haseul, Haseul… I must ask again… why?” 

Jinsol pities Haseul for thinking she actually has a chance with this girl. There’s no way. There’s just no way. Hope is lost. Haseul should move on to a more realistic dream. 

August 2024 - Haseul and Vivi’s Living Room 

It’s beyond satisfying, it’s almost euphoric for Haseul to know that she was right all along. She wants to holler and gloat to Jinsol and Sooyoung but that would be futile for two reasons: (1) All three of them ended up getting married anyway so there’s no use in arguing who is the most successful womanizer and (2) her wife has fallen asleep cuddled up next to her on their spacious recliner. 

Haseul and Vivi’s love story dragged on way too long. Their daughter appears to be the only one still listening. 

“Are you done now, Mother?”

“Yeojin, you asked to hear this story!” Haseul seethes through her teeth, so as not to wake Vivi. 

“Yeah, but you took forever to get to the point. I could feel my hair graying.”

“We’ll take a quick bathroom break then we’ll regroup for Part 2: The history of family game night.” 

Yeojin groans. “It’s not over?!” 

Haseul shushes her and points to Vivi. “Mom. Sleeping.” Haseul then presses her forehead to her wife’s and whispers “Do you still find me cute? If yes, don’t answer.” Vivi stirs at Haseul’s words but she doesn’t say a peep. She only cuddles closer. 

Their child pretends to gag. 

“Ugh. They’ll keep us here forever,” Yeojin turns to Yerim and Hyeju, “You two are never going to college.” 

Chapter Text

August 2024 - Haseul and Vivi’s Living Room 

It is 9 P.M. on a Friday night during summer vacation. High school junior, soon-to-be senior, Yeojin Wong-Jo frustratedly scrolls through her social media and finds herself teeming with jealousy and “FOMO.” Yeojin’s friends, excluding Hyeju and Yerim who are seated on the couch beside her, are spamming her timeline with drunken, potato-quality videos of the Class of 2025 playing beer pong and dancing to the latest viral Tiktok song. 

Yeojin should be with her peers. She should be relishing in her youth and celebrating the beginning of her final year of high school. 

Instead, the teenager is being held against her will at family game night. She’s forced to listen to a never-ending tale about her mother's countless unsuccessful attempts at courting her other mother, Vivi. 

“Ok! Ready to hear about how mom and I started family game night?” Haseul asks with significant enthusiasm. 

“Just tell us already. No more tangents, please.” 

Haseul frowns at her daughter’s growing disinterest in her story. “Fine. No tangents. But you can’t expect me to skip to it without a build-up. There’s a lot of side stories that factor into the origin of family game night. Starting with BBCU’s dreadful loss at the 1996 NCAA Division I Women’s Outdoor Track and Field Championship.” 

Yeojin rolls her eyes. Unlike her parents, Yeojin never developed an interest in athletics. 

“Mother, I don’t speak ‘jock.’ Can you explain it in my terms?” 

Haseul ponders an analogy. Her eyes settle across the room to Yeojin’s Kpop album shelf. 

“Hmm… ok I’ll put it this way. Losing this championship was like losing song of the year.” 

Yeojin inhales sharply. “Damn, ma. It was that serious?” 

“Yeah, fam,” Haseul looks down at the carpet, crestfallen.

July 1996 - BBCU Gym

An irate Haseul sits upright on a bench press and reads the front page headline of the BBCU Daily .

“F*** This” - Womens Track & Field Captain Haseul Jo After BBCU’s 2nd Place Finish at NCAA Championships 

She rips the newspaper in half, then quarters, then eights. “Rahhh!” the athlete growls ferally. 

Vivi, the only person who can stop Haseul from going on a rampage, hands her a protein bar. “Nothing good is coming from your rage. You’re only making a mess. I want you to focus on eating this.” 

Haseul accepts the snack and rants between bites. “SMU already won last year and the year before that-” Haseul chews, “-and I’m pretty sure the year before that one too! Give someone else a chance!” Haseul gags when she realizes she’s eating the plastic wrapper. 

“Haseul,” Vivi sighs, “Second place out of all the colleges in the nation is still something to be proud of! You did great!” 

Haseul lays down on the bench press and shields her eyes with her hands. She refuses to cry in public, especially in front of her crush, but it’s best to be prepared. 

“Second place is just the first place loser. You know how close we came to that win, Vivi?” Haseul’s voice begins to crack. 

Vivi shakes her head. 

“Two one-hundreths of a second. If I was just two one-hundredths of a second faster…” Haseul trails off and reaches to grip the 115-pound weight above her. 

“The 100 meter dash was my event to win. My team was counting on their captain. I let them down. I will live the rest of my life carrying the weight of this loss,” Haseul laments with every ounce of regret in her body. 

Using all the wrong techniques, Haseul brings the barbell down to chest level. She flares her nostrils and holds in a breath. Her jugular vein looks like it’s ready to burst. 

There is a caveat to being Haseul’s friend: one must be prepared to rescue her from injury and close encounters with death brought upon by her overexertion and indulgence in the delusion that she is simply “built different.”

Vivi steps behind the bench press to assist the struggling Haseul.

“No, no, I got this,” a tomato-faced Haseul insists. She makes a noise akin to a cat giving birth as she attempts to raise the barbell off her chest. 

Vivi takes the weight from her, lifts it with ease, and returns it to the rack. 

“Hey! I said I had it!”

“You were about to blow an aneurysm!” Vivi rebukes. “Or tear your rotator cuff. Or crush your sternum. You did not have it.” 

Haseul stands up and paces. “Two one hundredths of a second… two one hundredths of a second…” she mumbles to herself and the gym floor. 

“Haseul, look at me,” Vivi says quietly, still standing behind the bench press. 

“Two hundredths of a second…” 

“Haseul, look at me,” Vivi says a little louder this time. 

“Two-” 

Refusing to be ignored, Vivi blocks Haseul’s footpath. Haseul looks down and notices that the tips of her muddy New Balance 574s are nearly touching the tips of Vivi’s pristine Nike Air Max 90s. 

Vivi places her hand under Haseul’s chin and gently lifts it. With their faces mere centimeters apart, Haseul’s eyes have no choice but to focus on the subject directly in front of her. 

Haseul attributes Vivi’s face to a snowflake - delicate, one of a kind, and intricately beautiful, especially up close.

Haseul is in the prime position to kiss Vivi. 

If only they weren’t in a very public place. If only they weren’t just friends. If only Haseul had the guts to make a move, any move. Why does Vivi have to do all the work? 

“Now do I have your attention?” Vivi coos with a tilt of the head. 

You most certainly do. Have my attention. Have my heart. Have my children- no. Too far, Haseul. 

“Y-yes,” Haseul stammers. 

Vivi smiles and steps back.

(Thank goodness she does because Haseul begins to lose higher brain function after only a few seconds of face-to-face interaction with the woman of her dreams). 

“You hold yourself to these impossible standards, Haseul. And you give yourself the hardest time when you don’t meet them,” Vivi expertly reads Haseul’s character. 

“Are you asking me to lower them? Because I can’t. I wanted to be the one to bring home the NCAA championships since I joined my first track team in elementary. And over the years, it became not a want, but a need. I came so close to that win. I could taste the gold medal. Who knows if I’ll ever come that close again? I graduate next year and there’s no guarantee we’ll make it to the finals.”

Vivi shakes her head tiredly. 

Sometimes, there’s just no getting through Haseul’s stubborn walls. Vivi can continue to stand in Haseul’s way and render her speechless, Vivi can literally take all the weight off Haseul’s shoulders, but Vivi cannot quell Haseul’s fire. 

Haseul has a burning, unyielding desire to be the best. In Vivi’s eyes, Haseul already is. 

“Fine,” Vivi gives in, “You’re a perfectionist. You won’t back down. I can see that. But at least let me help. I’ll get you that win.” 

“So what exactly are you offering?” Haseul arches a brow, “Are you signing up to be my coach? Cause I already have one of those.” 

“I’m saying…” Vivi searches for the right words, “I want to be your partner. Through your journey to the 1997 championships. You can’t do this alone.” 

Partner? That sounds super… gay. Sign me up! 

“Deal.” 

August 1996

Every morning at 5:30 A.M. sharp, Haseul answers the front door, rubs the sleep out of her eyes, and waits for her groggy mind to register the pink-haired blurry figure before her as Vivi Wong: her favorite person. 

They begin their rigorous workout with stretches. 

Vivi, a fan of the brisk morning breeze, prefers doing them outside Haseul’s apartment. Unfortunately, some of Haseul’s dog-owning neighbors use this time to walk their dogs. Nine times out of ten, Vivi loses Haseul’s attention to a Rottweiler or Labrador. 

Vivi learns that Haseul isn’t just a dog person - she’s a dog’s person . She seems to understand these pets better than their owners; she asks them how they’ve been as if she’s catching up with an old friend and they respond fervently by wagging their tails and slobbering all over her. (Haseul never seems to mind). 

“It’s 6:15,” Vivi glares at her watch. 

“Sorry,” Haseul says to Vivi, “I couldn’t resist. Did you see him? He was such a good boy!” 

They re-do their warm up, leave Haseul’s apartment complex by 6:45, and start a running tour of their humble college town. They cut through the town square and up Blockberry Hill to the hiking trails. There, they encounter another distraction. 

“Can we take a break?” 

“Haseul, we've barely worked up a sweat! I thought you wanted to push yourself.” 

“I know, I know but when we ran past those oak trees, I saw a mama bird…” Haseul chatters brightly about the woodland creature, giving an extremely detailed description of its appearance from beak to tail despite only catching a passing glimpse of it. 

When Haseul all but begs Vivi to let her turn back and get a better look, Vivi sets her free. 

Haseul quickly finds a frail old man to pester. 

“Excuse me, sir? Can I borrow your binoculars for a second? I must get a look at the mama and baby bird up there on that oak tree.” 

The elderly birdwatcher clutches his chest and Vivi fears her overly eager friend may have just given him a deadly fright. 

“You almost gave me a heart attack, young lady!” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir,” Haseul says sheepishly. 

He frowns and reluctantly hands Haseul his binoculars. “Are you familiar with snowy plovers?” 

“No, sir.” 

“You typically find them on beaches, ponds, and lagoons. They make their nests on dry ground which is why it is very odd that they’re high atop a tree. I don’t think these two will stay here for long. This isn’t their home.”

“I’m glad I got to see them, then.” Haseul’s mouth hangs agape as she looks through the binoculars. “Wait, it looks like the baby is saying goodbye. How can it do that? It looks like it just hatched!” 

“Snowy plovers leave their nests within three hours of hatching. Hardy little fellas,” the birdwatcher smiles. 

“Can I show my friend?” 

The man nods. 

“Hey, Vivi! Take a look! You have to see this!” Haseul carefully transfers the expensive binoculars into Vivi’s accommodating hands. 

Vivi watches the mother feed a small worm to its child. But Vivi can hardly focus on the tender scene because Haseul is very loudly “oohing” and “ahhing” and bothering the poor man with more questions. 

And just like that, Haseul with her purity and childlike fascination with Mother Nature, Haseul with her giant heart that does not discriminate between four-legged canines and two-legged humans, between aviary animals and marine animals, Haseul with her bright eyes and perpetually bright smile, begins to enthrall Vivi. 

“It’s flying away now!” Haseul yells, breaking Vivi from her thoughts. 

The mother uses her beak to nudge her hatchling. The newborn anxiously flaps its wings thrice before going airborne. It travels just two feet but considering the hatchling’s miniature size and age, it's a monumental accomplishment. Haseul certainly thinks so. 

“Woo! Fly, little one! Off you go!” Haseul takes off her visor and waves it in the air. She gives the baby bird a proper send-off. 

Haseul annoys the elderly birdwatcher a little more until his wife returns. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m disturbing you-” Haseul winks, “Lovebirds. Here’s your binoculars, sir. Thank you for letting me borrow them and sharing your wisdom.” 

The man grunts a “Goodbye now” and wraps an arm around his wife. He points at an adjacent nest and they resume birdwatching in peace. 

(Sometime, far, far in the future, Haseul and Vivi will be the spitting image of this old couple).  

“So, shall we get back to our workout?” Haseul asks Vivi when they return to the hiking trail.

“We lost too much momentum. We’ll try again tomorrow. But no more runs around town. Let’s stick to the gym and the BBCU track.” 

“Why not?” Haseul whines. 

“You get too distracted.” 

“Fine,” Haseul kicks a pebble. 

Vivi chuckles at her friend’s petulance. “You really love animals, don’t you?” 

“Mhm,” Haseul looks up, “Sometimes I think I’m better at talking to them than people.” 

“Not true. You have no trouble talking to me,” Vivi says, blindly unaware of Haseul’s gay panic. 

Haseul can’t help but laugh. “Vivi, I spent months figuring out how to introduce myself to you. That was a challenge in and of itself.” 

“Why? Is it me? Do I have an intimidating face?” 

“No!” Haseul answers at an unnaturally high pitch. 

“Haseul…” Vivi coaxes the truth out of her friend. 

Haseul stops walking. The rocky soil and gravel crunch beneath her feet. She looks incredibly turmoiled with the words at the back of her throat and in the depths of her heart. She takes a deep breath and looks Vivi straight in the eyes. 

“You’re only intimidating because you’re gorgeous. I mean… look at you. Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately? Or ever?”  

Vivi was not expecting such a straightforward answer, especially from someone as scatterbrained as Haseul. 

Suddenly, a mountain biker zips between them, leaving behind a cloud of dust. 

“Ugh. Can you believe that guy?” Haseul wipes dirt off her neon green shorts.

“Yeah. What a jerk.” Vivi watches the biker speed off. 

They continue along the path, quietly taking in the rustic scenery of the Blockberry woods. 

Vivi forgets what she was about to say before the biker rudely interrupted them. 

But she cannot forget Haseul’s compliment. It has Vivi blushing for the rest of the day. 

September 1996

The 1996-1997 school year begins and Haseul spends every waking hour on BBCU’s red, rubber tracks. 

“Sooyoung and I never see you anymore. It’s our last year of college, dude. Take it easy!” Jinsol exclaims when Haseul comes home, muscles aching, body overheating and drenched in sweat. 

“Can’t,” Haseul pants, “I have to train everyday.” 

“Doesn’t track season start in January?” 

“March,” Haseul sticks her head in the freezer. “Ahhh that’s better.” 

“March?! That’s six months away. You have a ton of time, Seul! Chillax. Come join me on the couch. I have a bowl of Lucky Charms with your name on it!” 

Haseul chucks a bag of frozen peas at her roommate. 

“Dude?!” 

“I can’t afford to ‘chillax, dude’,” Haseul mocks Jinsol’s laid-back manner of speaking. “You know what happens when I do that? My muscles atrophy. Athletes can lose their muscles after three weeks of inactivity. Not to mention, Lucky Charms have no nutritional value. They’re just empty calories.” 

Jinsol shoves a spoonful of marshmallows in her mouth. “They’re magically delicious calories, fuck you.” 

“What are we fighting about?” Sooyoung inserts herself in her roommates’ tiff. 

“Haseul doesn’t wanna play with us anymore,” Jinsol pouts. 

“Well, duh. We don’t have pink hair and abs,” Sooyoung says casually. 

And then it clicks for Jinsol. “So that’s why you never want to leave the track,” Jinsol points her spoon at Haseul, “You’re training with the hottie from the gym!” 

Something about the way her friends identify and describe Vivi does not sit right with Haseul. The calmest, sweetest member of the Sapphic Singles Squad raises her voice and snaps. 

“She’s not the hottie from the gym , ok?! Her name is Vivi Wong. She’s a linguistics major. She speaks four languages. How many languages can you speak, you monolingual fuckers?” 

Jinsol has never Haseul this upset. The blonde is too terrified to reply. 

Sooyoung, on the other hand, is brave enough to speak up. “Actually, I speak Korean at home with my parents. I wouldn’t say I’m bilingual but I’m fluent enough to-"

Haseul cuts her off.

“She’s also an international student from Hong Kong. We thought the transition from high school to college was hard. Imagine how difficult it was for Vivi! She had to adapt to a new country, to a new continent! She’s lived here for two years but she knows more about America than I do and I was born and raised in this fucktruck place! She can name all 42 presidents! How many presidents can you bitches name?” 

“George Washington, Old White Guy #2, Old White Guy #3, Abraham Lincoln, Paul McCartney…” 

“Sooyoung, Paul McCartney is not a U.S. president. He’s British. Not to mention, he’s a Beatle.  

“Paul McCartney is not a bug, Haseul.” 

Haseul rolls her eyes. “Never mind. The point I’m trying to make is that - yes, Vivi is… undeniably attractive. But there’s so much more to her than her looks. She’s adventurous, intelligent, courageous, and she sees something in me.” 

“Lesbianism,” Jinsol whispers ominously. 

Haseul thinks back to yesterday’s workout when she was questioning her status as the track team’s captain. Vivi reassured her with a pep talk that will forever be ingrained in Haseul’s memory. 

( “Your teammates are in good hands because you are a natural leader. And even though you’re barely over five feet tall, you never come up short. You are small but you are mighty, Haseul Jo.” )

Haseul beams and addresses Sooyoung and Jinsol who are waiting anxiously for her to continue. 

“Vivi believes in me,” Haseul rests her hand over her heart and sighs. 

“We believe in you too, Seul,” chimes Jinsol. 

“I know. And I appreciate that. But Vivi… Vivi makes me feel… tall.” 

Of course, Haseul means metaphorically tall but neither of her friends pick up on the true meaning of her statement. Only Vivi would understand. 

“So you admit that the reason why you’re overworking yourself is so you can exercise with Vivi and pine over her?” Sooyoung interrogates. 

“No,” Haseul says sharply, “I still want that championship more than anything. I’m keeping my eyes on the prize.” 

Haseul is indeed greedy for the title of 1997 NCAA Women’s Track and Field Champion. However, she would be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge the wish that she holds closest to her heart. 

Haseul dreams of the day that Vivi will stop running with her, and start running to her.

October 1996 

Vivi removes the stopwatch around her neck and shows Haseul the disappointing display. 

11.08.

“Damn! I still can’t crack the ten-second mark!” 

Although today is Sunday, Haseul’s “easy” workout day, she is still adamant on running twenty consecutive 100 meter dashes before lunchtime. 

Haseul lies down on the BBCU track. She can barely catch a breath as she splashes ice-cold water on her face. 

Vivi kneels beside the exhausted athlete. “Listen, you’re hot-” 

“What’s that now?” Haseul springs up from the ground so quickly, it’s ridiculous. 

Vivi jokingly shoves Haseul back down. “Hot as in high body temperature.” 

“Oh.” 

Haseul’s cheeks, which were already flushed from the intense exercise, glow a brighter red from embarrassment. 

“You’re starting to overheat and don’t tell me the weather is a factor because the sun is not even out. You’re pushing yourself too hard again, Haseul," her future wife scolds, "Take a few minutes to cool off.” 

Haseul pats the space beside her. “You should take a break too. Lie down on the track with me. It’s kinda nice.” 

The corner of Vivi’s mouth curls up as she joins her friend on the worn-out polyurethane.

Today's overcast weather makes it perfect for cloud gazing. 

“That one,” Haseul points to a figure in the sky, “It looks like a hockey stick. And the small cloud next to it could pass as a puck.” 

“I forgot you’re also a hockey player,” Vivi admits. 

“Me too,” Haseul chuckles, “Our school’s hockey team sucks anyway. I put all my attention into track.” 

Haseul turns her head to gaze at her friend and Haseul is breathless once again. Vivi is absolutely stunning in every way, in the presence or absence of the shining sun. 

“What about you, Vivi? Did you play sports back home?” 

Since Haseul first learned of Vivi’s status as an international student, Haseul has always wanted to know more about Vivi’s life in Hong Kong. Vivi, however, has no desire to disclose such details. Thinking about home just makes her sad. 

“No sports but I’ve always stayed active,” Vivi says quietly and without her usual confidence. 

Haseul may be oblivious at times but there’s no denying Vivi’s sudden downshift in mood. The track star brainstorms how to cheer her friend up and restore her genuine smile. “Hey! You should join our track team!”

“Really?” Vivi raises her eyebrows at the proposition. 

“Yeah! You’d be great! You already train side-by-side with me and you can clearly keep up. I’m pretty sure you’re way faster than me!” 

“I don’t know, Haseul…” Vivi falters, “I only run to maintain my health. I’ve never competed professionally. And wouldn’t I be taking someone else’s spot? You said that all of your teammates were scouted by BBCU and you trained since high school to get to this point.” 

“Nah, anyone can join!” 

(Haseul lies. BBCU is a Division I school. Simply put, their athletes are elite and hand-picked from the most competitive of high schools. The Department of Athletics will not allow a random girl - especially an international student who has never played a sport - join the team, regardless of her natural strength and speed. But Haseul plans to beg her coach to make an exception. Haseul will never fail to break the rules for Vivi.) 

“Alright, here’s what we’ll do. Let’s swap places. I’ll time you.” Haseul takes Vivi’s stopwatch. “Now it’s your turn to run a hundred meters. Are you familiar with the starting position?” 

“You mean when the runners are crouched on the ground with their feet on the pedals?” Vivi queries with marked uncertainty. 

Haseul laughs lightly. “Yes. That’s the starting position. And the pedals that you rest your feet on are formally called ‘starting blocks’,” Haseul clarifies politely, careful not to make Vivi feel dumb or inadequate. She doesn’t expect her inexperienced friend to know the technical terms.

Vivi adjusts the starting blocks and assumes the stance. 

“Are you good with that? Leading with your right foot?” Haseul points out. 

Vivi readjusts to let her left foot lead. She appears much more comfortable in this position. “This is better,” Vivi nods. 

Haseul smiles. She remembers when this was all foreign to her. Learning how to run track is a little like learning how to ride a bike - it takes practice, practice, practice. 

“Now when the starter says ‘On your mark,’ that’s when you assume this position. When the starter says ‘Set,’ that’s when you lift your back knee off the ground and stick your tushy in the air-“ 

“Tushy?” Vivi teases. 

“Butt. Buttocks. Bottom. Anything except ‘ass.’ My roommates and I are trying to limit our profanity,” Haseul explains. 

“Oh really? How’s that working?” Vivi stretches her arms. 

“Ehhh not great. Anyway, you stick your butt in the air and when they fire the pistol, you take off. Since we don’t have a gun, I’ll just yell ‘On your mark, set, and go’ and you run on the go. Any questions?” 

“Do you want me to run as fast as I can?” 

“Just run like you normally would. We’re only doing this for shits and giggles.” 

“Shits and giggles?” Vivi teases again. 

Haseul winces at her reversion to explicit language. “I mean, we’re only doing this for fun. Just a little trial run. Ok, now. On Your Mark…”

Vivi gets in formation while Haseul resets the timer to zero. 

“Set…” 

Vivi raises her… tushy in the air and Haseul looks away respectfully. 

“Go!” 

Vivi’s left foot catapults off the starting block and her right follows briskly, effortlessly.

The gravity that threatens to shackle us mere mortals to the ground has no effect on Vivi Wong. Her arms and legs swing aggressively yet cleanly, serving as her propellers. Vivi’s feet barely graze the track, adding to the illusion that she is taking flight. 

Haseul wants nothing more than to fly away with her. 

Good lord, this woman is incredible. Clean take-off, excellent acceleration, superhuman speed. And she’s not even giving it her all. 

“What was my time?” Vivi inquires casually and breezily. 

Haseul’s eyes bug out when she looks at the stopwatch. “Holy shit…” she whispers before everything goes dark.  

Vivi rushes to her friend. “Haseul? Haseul?!” 

Vivi watches Haseul collapse from exhaustion, hunger, dehydration, and now, shock. The dazed athlete’s limbs go slack and she loses her grip on the stopwatch. Vivi reads the display before calling for help. 

10.92. 

For reference, Tiffany Young, the SMU athlete who defeated Haseul at this year’s championships, ran an impressive time of 10.99. 

Vivi, an amateur sprinter, just shattered this record without even trying. 

November 1996 

BBCU Daily: Front Page Headline

“F*** YEAH!” - Captain Haseul Jo’s Thoughts on the Addition of International Student, Vivi Wong, to Her Team

BBCU Weekly Gazette: Sports Section, p. 8

For the First Time in BBCU Track and Field’s History, An International Student Joins the Roster 

Frequency of the Month: Outstanding Orbits Section, p. 13

Get to Know BBCU Track’s Hidden Ace: Vivi Wong 

The Blockberry Times: BBCU Student Spotlight, p. 24

Vivi Wong: The Fastest Woman in Collegiate Athletics? 

December 1996

With Haseul constantly at the gym or on the track, Jinsol relentlessly studying for her math and biology double major, and Sooyoung tirelessly practicing for her senior dance showcase, the roommates make an effort to spend quality time together under their shared roof. 

“What are you gonna get Vivi for Christmas now that she’s famous?” Jinsol asks Haseul while they wrap Christmas presents. 

“A pair of cute socks with a lighting bolt pattern.” Haseul hands Jinsol a strip of Scotch tape. 

Jinsol scoffs. “C’mon, Seul! Step it up! You’re the only single lady in this apartment. How are you gonna get Vivi’s attention with socks?” 

Sooyoung takes a seat on the carpet, nursing a mug of eggnog. “Aren’t you getting Jungeun a nerdy telescope?” 

Jinsol gets defensive. “Jungeun and I are gonna assemble this telescope as a team and then we’re gonna use it to view the moon in all its glory. It will be intellectually stimulating AND romantic! She’s gonna find me irresistible!” 

“Gross,” Jinsol’s roommates say in unison. 

The astronomy enthusiast ignores them as she wraps her moon-themed gift wrap around the telescope kit. Jinsol sticks on a gift tag. 

From: Babe

To: Babe 

Love you to the moon and back. Merry Christmas! 

Jinsol presses kisses all over the wrapped present. 

“Is that necessary?” Sooyoung recoils, “I am disgusted.” 

Jinsol flips off her friend. “Ok so Haseul’s giving Vivi some lameass socks, I’m giving Jungeun the best present ever, what are you giving Jiwoo?”  

“A card,” Sooyoung answers plainly. 

“A fucking card?” Jinsol exclaims in disbelief. 

“It’s the thought that counts.” Sooyoung shrugs and imitates Jiwoo’s charming Southern accent, “No fancy presents this year, darlin’. Just stick a bow on your big ole’ head and I’ll be the happiest gal on this side of the Mississippi!” 

Jinsol and Haseul exchange doubtful looks and shake their heads. Sooyoung has been known to deliver King Kong-sized teddy bears to Jiwoo’s dorm. She even bought Jiwoo her own star on the anniversary of their first hug. (Who remembers stuff like that?!)

“That can’t be all. What else are you getting her?” asks Haseul. 

Sooyoung places her mug atop the coffee table and sticks her hand in the storage compartment where the Squad keeps their magazines. Sandwiched between Haseul’s Sports Illustrated and Jinsol’s National Geographic is Sooyoung’s secret subscription to Southern Bride. 

“You’re right. The card is part 1 of Jiwoo’s gift. I’m saving up for part 2…” 

Sooyoung flips to the page she carefully bookmarked. Jinsol and Haseul peer over their friend’s shoulder and their jaws hit the messy, gift wrap and ribbon decorated floor. 

The trio stares at an advertisement for a 1.5 carat, princess cut diamond ring that screams Jiwoo Kim. 

Haseul carelessly tears the page out of the magazine and waves it in the air. “YOU’RE PROPOSING TO JIWOO! AHHHHHH!” 

Jinsol downs the rest of Sooyoung’s eggnog and stands on the coffee table. “Good evening, everyone! I’m Jinsol, Sooyoung’s maid of honor. I want to start by offering my sincere congratulations. MAY YOU HAVE A LONG, HAPPY MARRIAGE, SOOYOUNG AND-“ 

Sooyoung rolls up the magazine and bonks Jinsol on the head. “You guys are so loud! Shut the fuck up!”

Jinsol leaps down and smothers Sooyoung with rapid-fire pecks on the cheek. “Mwah mwah mwah!” 

“Ack! Get off me, you blonde mosquito!” Sooyoung attempts to sound repulsed but she giggles while she says this. 

“Let us be proud of you, Soo! You’ve come so far. Remember when you said the only reason why you attend weddings is to flirt with bridesmaids?” 

“Now you’re gonna be the bride ,” Haseul chimes in, “And you’ll be flirting with the same woman, everyday, for the rest of your life!” 

Sooyoung beams at the idea of a forever with Jiwoo. What used to terrify her, now tantalizes her. The gnats that used to fester in her stomach each time she pictured herself in a serious, mature relationship have now been replaced by butterflies. Sooyoung wants this forever. She yearns for it. Pretty soon, she will get down on her shaky knee, lay all her insecurities and vulnerabilities out on the floor, and ask Jiwoo that all-important question.

But first, she needs to buy that ring. 

Jinsol whistles at the hefty price tag. “This rock is expensive, Soo. How are you gonna pay for it?” 

“Well,” Sooyoung fidgets with her mug, “I was wondering if you guys could help me out. Can you take over my share of the utilities for the next few months so that I can save up? I’ll find a way to pay you back as soon as possible!” 

Sooyoung is asking a lot from her bankrupt roommates. Jinsol is still trying to pay off a trespassing fee (that’s a long story, we’ll get there) and Haseul stopped carrying around a wallet because she never had anything to put in it. 

Collectively, the Squad has $5 to their name. They are broker than broke. 

But Jinsol and Haseul are willing to grant Sooyoung that lifelong happiness that she aches for. They’re willing to stretch what few dollars they have and stick to an indefinite diet of instant ramen. In fact, they’re willing to go above and beyond Sooyoung’s request. 

Jinsol claps Sooyoung on the back. “Sure! We can spot you for the water, electric, and trash bills.” 

“We’ll even pay your share of the rent!” Haseul blurts and regrets it immediately. 

Sooyoung releases the floodgates and tearfully embraces her best friends. “Oh my god. You guys would do that for me? You don’t have to!”

“Yeah, we really don’t ,” Jinsol glares at Haseul but accepts Sooyoung’s hug nonetheless. 

Haseul mouths a “sorry” to the blonde. 

There’s no taking it back now. Operation Jiwoo Ha is a go. This project requires the blank checkbooks of Jinsol and Haseul and the courage of Sooyoung. 

After another hour of gift wrapping and eggnog chugging, Haseul tries to go to sleep.

There are two major stressors that keep Haseul up all night.  

• How can my stupid, broke ass pay for Sooyoung’s bills? 

• Sooyoung is going to PROPOSE to the woman she loves! Meanwhile, I can’t even tell Vivi I like her… 

January 1997

The unofficial track and field preseason begins and Captain Haseul Jo runs a tight ship. The petite girl stands atop her podium: two stacked produce crates. 

“Gather round, team! I have several announcements to make so let’s get started!” 

Her teammates continue to joke around on the bleachers. There’s a staggering amount of overconfident freshmen egos this year. It will be a challenge taming this crowd and Haseul’s too soft of a disciplinarian.

Vivi, the newest addition to the team, calls them politely. “Hey, everyone! Let’s listen to Haseul.” 

Instantly, the distance runners, sprinters, and field athletes direct their wholehearted attention to Haseul. They do this not because they respect Haseul, but because they respect the girl who respects Haseul. 

Everyone is starstruck by Vivi. After all, she’s been nicknamed “The (Femme) Flash” by Blockberry’s Channel 10 News. The team will do whatever Vivi commands. 

She’s the fastest and most powerful woman in town. It’s actually a little scary. 

“Go ahead, Haseul. We’re all ears,” Vivi winks. 

It’s also a little hot. 

Haseul wipes at her brow and tightens her hold on her clipboard. “Ok!” Haseul’s voice cracks and the team laughs at her. “Here’s our game plan for the season…” 

February 1997 

Up until this point, Vivi has had to train in her workout clothes. When her personalized uniform finally arrives, she can hardly wait to try it on. 

All BBCU athletes wear white apparel with gold accents. It’s a clean, classy look. Vivi, as expected, looks radiant. 

“Wong #5!” 

Vivi smirks before turning around. “Yes?” 

“The uniform… looks good on you.” 

“Thanks. You’re not so bad, yourself… Jo #3.” 

Haseul screams internally. 

March 1997

The official track season begins. Practice is longer and more grueling, the temperature slowly rises, and Haseul proves herself worthy of being captain. 

Apart from the 100 meter dash, the 4x400 relay is Haseul’s other favorite track event. She loves the camaraderie that goes into it: passing the baton, encouraging the next runner to “GO GO GO”, watching them take off, and stepping up on that podium as a team. 

For the past three years, Haseul has run the anchor leg, or the final portion of the relay. There’s a unique pressure put on the anchor runner. One must maintain the lead that the previous three runners have established or catch up with a mad dash to the finish in order to bring home the gold. Races are often determined by that last, anxiety-inducing section. 

Haseul enjoys having this tremendous responsibility. And for years, she was the most qualified sprinter for this race. Emphasis on past tense. 

“Wong! Can I talk to you for a sec?” Haseul approaches her crush during a 5 minute water break. 

“Sure. What’s up?” 

“Coach and I talked about your performance in the relay and we came to the same conclusion. As good as you are at taking off from the starting blocks, you’re even better at running the home stretch. So, you and I are going to swap positions. I will be running the first leg and you will close out with the anchor.” 

Vivi takes a moment to ponder the change. She sits on the track and takes a long swig from her water bottle. “But you’ve always run the last part. You’re our captain! You’re supposed to secure the victory!” Vivi rationalizes. 

Always seeking to be beside her, Haseul crouches down to Vivi’s level. 

“We reserve the anchor leg for the fastest sprinter. That used to be me and now it’s you. I wish you could see how you fly across the track.” Haseul closes her eyes and relives the first time she watched Vivi defy gravity. 

“We’re gonna need that,” the captain goes on, “We’re gonna need you at that final, race-defining moment. You’ll be the one to secure our gold in both the relay and the 100 meter dash.” 

“You won’t even compete in the dash? You’ve trained your whole life for this! I feel like I’m taking everything away from you,” Vivi worries. 

Vivi doesn’t realize the absurdity of her concerns. 

As a captain, Haseul benefits from the unmatched athleticism that Vivi contributes to her team. As a friend, Haseul treasures Vivi’s support.

Most significantly, as a human, Haseul gets her daily dose of serotonin simply by looking at Vivi. 

Vivi isn’t taking from Haseul, she’s giving her everything. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Haseul soothes, “I have always valued a team title more than an individual title. As long as a BBCU athlete wins an event, I’m happy. The team needs you for these events, Vivi. We stand a better shot with you than we do with me. I know you can do it. I’ve never been more sure of anything.” 

Haseul and Vivi’s relationship is built upon a foundation of mutual, overarching faith in the other’s abilities. It’s why they work so perfectly as partners, friends, and future spouses. 

“Ok,” Vivi agrees with a shy smile, “I’ll run anchor and the 100 meter. But I’m doing it for you.” 

“Me? Not them?” Haseul gestures to their teammates scattered about the track.  

Vivi eyes the small “C” printed on the upper left shoulder of Haseul’s captain uniform. Haseul looks down as Vivi languidly traces the letter. 

“You do more than enough worrying for the team. Let me worry about you. I said I’d be your partner, remember?” 

Yes. I don’t know if you recognize the gay subtext of that label but yes, I remember. 

“Right,” Haseul nods, “Right. Thank you for looking out for me.” 

“Always,” Vivi proclaims. 

As vague as Vivi is with her use of “partner,” she makes herself exceptionally clear with this term. 

Haseul gladly accepts the “always.” It reminds her of Sooyoung and Jiwoo’s “you and me forever, darling” and Jinsol and Jungeun’s “love you to the moon and back, babe.” 

But unlike these two couples, Vivi’s vow to be a permanent fixture in Haseul’s life is strictly platonic. She’s Haseul’s teammate, workout buddy, and nothing more. 

Vivi doesn’t have feelings for Haseul… or does she? 

Someone needs to confess. Now. 

How could the two fastest women in Blockberry move so infuriatingly slow ?   

April 1997

Haseul calls a huddle with the relay team consisting of her second sprinter Suzy Bae, her third sprinter Joy Park, and her anchor (in more ways than one), Vivi Wong. 

“Does anyone have any suggestions on how to shave an extra second off our time? I’d like us to be in the 3 minute and 30 second zone.”

Joy speaks up, “I think we’re lagging at the final baton exchange. Vivi and I should work on cleaning it.” 

“Yeah,” Vivi says apologetically, “I’m so focused on not dropping it. I waste time when I should already be running to the end.” 

“No, Vivi. I’m practically throwing the stick at you. It’s my fault,” Joy reassures. And then this girl has the nerve, the gall, the audacity to rub circles on Vivi’s back. 

We’re already huddled up in a tight circle, Park. Isn’t that close enough for you? Get your stubby butterfingers off my girl- 

No, Haseul. Stop this. 

You’re not jealous of Joy Park. You’re not jealous of Joy Park. 

Haseul accidentally growls aloud. 

“Something wrong, Haseul?” queries Vivi. 

“Nothing,” Haseul replies tersely. She sighs and rubs at her temples. “Ok fine. If you guys think that’s where we can improve, then you should practice that - right now. I want to have this fixed before the preliminaries.” 

Vivi analyzes Haseul’s forced, counterfeit smile but decides not to say anything at the moment. Perhaps she’ll confront her when they’re alone. 

Sadly, Vivi and Haseul don’t get much time to themselves nowadays. It’s almost as if they’re already married and the team are their pesky, time-consuming children. 

“Will do, Captain,” Vivi salutes and begins walking to a separate section of track. Joy accompanies her and whispers something in her ear. Vivi laughs brightly and looks back at Haseul before giggling again. 

And just what the fuck did Joy say to her? Is Park talking shit about me behind my back?! 

Haseul watches them like a hawk. So does Haseul’s second runner. 

“Vivi’s cute, isn’t she?” Suzy comments passively. 

You’re not jealous of Suzy Bae. You’re not jealous of Suzy Bae. 

May 1997

With less than a month remaining until the national championship, Vivi shows her school spirit by dyeing her hair from pink to BBCU gold (i.e. blonde). 

Vivi runs into one of Haseul’s roommates while browsing the hair product aisle of BBCU’s on-campus convenience store. 

“Vivi! Fancy seeing you here!” Jinsol greets. “Are you dying your hair?”

“Yes, I am! How about you? I’m assuming you’re going to keep the blonde?” Vivi politely teases. 

Jinsol reaches for a box of black hair dye, shocking Vivi. “Black?” 

“Yes, like my heart,” Jinsol states rather dramatically before leaving without another word. 

Later that day, after Haseul compliments Vivi’s new look a thousand times, Vivi tells Haseul about her strange encounter with her formerly blonde roommate.  Haseul gives Vivi some context on this new emo Jinsol.

“Jungeun broke up with her.” 

“What? I thought they made up after their big fight!” 

Haseul sighs and shakes her head. “They did. And then they had two more big ones and a giant one after that. Eventually, they just fell apart. They never-” Haseul frowns and swallows the lump in her throat, “They never made it to the moon.” 

Vivi may not know Jinsol and Jungeun very well, but she knows how much Haseul idolized them as a couple. This must have devastated her friend. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Vivi places her hand over Haseul’s. 

“Yup,” Haseul sniffles. “You and me both. But let’s not be sad. There’s no crying in baseball.” 

“This is track and field,” Vivi replies sassily. 

“I know,” Haseul laughs before turning serious, “And we’ve got a championship to win.” 

June 1997 

Captain Haseul and her feisty team travel to Bloomington, Indiana for the national championships where they absolutely obliterate the competition. Even with the defending champion, SMU, hot on their tail, BBCU placed first in the preliminaries and semifinals. The finals are tomorrow but every sports journalist and commentator has already slated BBCU as their pick for this year’s winner.

“One more daaaawn! One more daaaaay! One daaaaaay moooooore!” Haseul raises a non-alcoholic beer (it would be foolish to get drunk the night before the finals), stands on the bartop, and nearly gets her team kicked out of the hotel restaurant. 

The javelin throwers and a handful of the pole vaulters clink their glasses and loudly cheer, “Oh Captain, my Captain!” 

“Hey,” Haseul whispers to Joy, “Did Vivi tell you when she’s coming down to join the fun?” 

(Much to Haseul’s disappointment and slight jealousy, Vivi and Joy got assigned to the same hotel room). 

“She said she’s not feeling well,” Joy pokes at her salad. 

“The night before the finals?! And you left her alone?!” Haseul jabs a fork in the table and just misses Joy’s other hand. 

“She said she felt sick. I left because I didn’t want to catch anything,” Joy shrugs. 

Haseul has to restrain herself from cursing up a storm. She points at Joy’s soup. 

“Are you going to eat that?” Haseul barks. 

Joy shakes her head and Haseul calls for the waiter. 

“Yes, miss?” 

“I’ll take this soup to go.” 

"Will do. Anything else you need?”

Haseul thinks back, way back to her sick days as a child. The only activity that seemed to appease her was playing games with her family. Haseul’s temperature would stabilize and her symptoms would subside after a few rounds of Slapjack, Go Fish, or whatever board game they had lying around the house. 

(“All better now, I see. That’s the magic of family game night,” her mother used to say.) 

“Miss?” The waiter repeats. 

“Actually, I do have one more request. Do you, by chance, have any games?”

Ten minutes later, Haseul sets down Joy’s cup of soup and the hotel’s games to knock softly on Vivi’s door. 

“Hey, Vivi. It’s me,” Haseul calls oh so tenderly. 

“Can you come back later?” Vivi sounds stuffy, congested, and something else that Haseul can’t quite put her finger on. 

“I brought you soup!” Haseul peeks through the peephole and finds tissues strewn about. She sees Vivi use one to blow her nose and then another to wipe at her eyes. Teary eyes.

She’s crying.

“Oh. Thank you. Just leave it there! I don’t want to get you sick!” Vivi musters through her sadness. 

Haseul leans the right side of her body on the door. She can practically feel Vivi’s pain permeating through it. If Haseul had her way, she would ram through the door like a furious bull, scoop Vivi in her arms, and whisper sweet nothings until Vivi’s sorrows - whatever they may be - disappear. 

Vivi’s choked sobs are the worst sounds Haseul has ever heard. They’re not grating like nails on a chalkboard, harsh like clanging pots and pans, nor are they simply annoying like a crying baby on a long haul flight. 

There’s something so visceral and unsettling about listening to the love of your life suffer. Even the thought of it makes Haseul’s stomach churn. 

“I have a really strong immune system!” Haseul justifies, “I got scurvy three times and I lived!” 

“Isn’t that a super rare disease that only pirates and sailors got?” Vivi questions, a little amused. 

“Well, I am Captain Jo.” 

Vivi doesn’t respond but Haseul can imagine her smiling. 

“So, can you let me in? I also brought Monopoly!” 

Vivi throws the tissues in the trash, examines her puffy eyes in the mirror, and realizes there’s nothing she can do to mask her true emotions. She lets Haseul come in, knowing full well that Haseul isn’t buying the “I’m sick” schtick. 

But amazingly, Haseul doesn’t badger Vivi to tell the truth. She doesn’t search for answers that Vivi isn’t ready to give. She just turns on the radio to fill some bouts of silence, deals Vivi her Monopoly money, and jabbers about the time she watched The Exorcist with Jinsol and the blonde screamed through the complete 2 hour and 13 minute runtime of the movie. 

Vivi laughs so hard at Haseul’s story that her six-pack doubles into a twelve-pack. 

“I’m serious, Vivi! I’m not bullshitting you. That blonde bitch - well, formerly blonde bitch - really said ‘Haseul, I’m gonna scream at all the scenes, even the non-scary ones. That way, when the real spooky shit shows up, it won’t faze me.’” 

“Was her strategy effective?” Vivi asks as she pulls a “Get Out of Jail Free” card. 

“HAHAHA,” Haseul snorts, “Not at all! When we got to the part where the head starts spinning, she said, ‘Fuck no!’ and she tried fast forwarding but for some reason, the fast forward button started acting like a loop button and she had to keep watching it and watching it-” Haseul forms a fist and pounds on the floor, in hysterics. 

“Then she closed her eyes and started kicking at the TV as if that was gonna do anything! And then, Vivi, and then-” Haseul rolls around in another fit of laughter. “This bitch takes off her fucking sock, wraps it over her face like a blindfold, walks blindly into our storage closet and pulls out my hockey stick… still following me?” 

Vivi nods, wiping at her tears. Happy ones, this time. 

“She uses it destroy our fucking television and she’s yelling ‘NOT TODAY, BITCH, NOT TODAY!’. Of course, that’s the time Sooyoung comes home with her PARENTS who were in town for a visit and wanted to meet their daughter’s roommates! And guess what? Soo’s folks ended up liking Jinsol more than me! They thought she was ‘an assertive young lady.’ Can you believe that?!” 

Haseul settles down and the tone of the story shifts from comical to sentimental.

“Anyway, I love both my roommates. I don’t think I could’ve made it through college without their dumb asses. To think that graduation is a week away… I still don’t know what I’m gonna do with my life, y’know? I just wanna be 21 and clueless forever…” 

Haseul shakes her dice and advances her top hat eight spaces forward. She lands on Vivi’s house on Pacific Avenue and pays her rent. 

Vivi’s doing incredibly well for herself all across the Monopoly board. 

“But you, Vivi, I bet you have it all figured out,” Haseul thumbs through her dwindling stack of $100 bills, “Are you going to stay in Blockberry or will you go back to Hong Kong for a little while-” 

Haseul stops herself and recalls the last time she brought up Vivi’s home. She almost made Vivi… cry that day. Haseul finally makes the connection.

Maybe Vivi is feeling sick. Homesick, that is. 

“I’m sorry. I should stop asking you about that,” Haseul apologizes with a frown. 

“No, it’s ok. I know your curiosity is coming from a place of friendship,” Vivi comforts and Haseul really wishes she didn’t regress to “friend” status. 

Vivi cleans up the game board, folds it, and sets it back in its box. She would prefer it if she could continue their conversation distraction-free. 

“I’m always homesick," Vivi confides in the best listener she knows, "It helps when I’m busy with school and track but it never really goes away, it’s always there, like a dull ache. Some days are harder than others and today was one of those days.” 

She makes direct contact with Haseul’s kind, always attentive brown eyes and decides to share a little more. 

“Earlier, when I found out that we were going to advance to tomorrow’s finals, I immediately thought of my family. I wish they were here, watching me run.”  

“They must be so proud of you,” Haseul states sincerely. 

Vivi hums. “I wanted to thank you.” 

Haseul turns to look behind her and then brings a hand to her chest. “Me?” she asks in disbelief. 

“Of course.” 

“For what?” 

“Everything. For vouching for me to be on the team and making me feel like I’ve been a part of it forever. For keeping me company wherever we go, whether we’re training on our track or playing Monopoly with me on the floor of a cheap motel. For making me smile and laugh so hard that I forget I have a reason not to.” 

Haseul, speechless at Vivi’s overwhelming gratefulness, watches her crush take her hands and squeeze them tightly. 

“I think I understand why people say that ‘home’ doesn’t have to be a physical place. It can be a person too.” Vivi looks down at their conjoined fingers and then up at Haseul with glassy eyes. “I found a second home in you, Haseul. You make me feel safe in a way that no one else can.” 

“Vivi?” Haseul’s heart drums against her chest. 

“Yes?” 

I think I may be falling in love with you. (Is what Haseul should say). 

“You’re also my homegirl.” (Is what Haseul actually says). 

Vivi creates a perfect avenue for Haseul to reciprocate those similar feelings of security and adoration and what does Haseul do? She sees the paved, brightly-lit path with signs pointing to “Dating” and “Marriage” and stupidly decides to take the dirt road that leads to nowhere. 

“Oh,” Vivi replies, somewhat taken aback and disappointed, “Cool. Glad to know the feeling’s mutual.” She lets go of Haseul’s hands and stands up. “I should go downstairs and say hi to the team. They’re probably worried about me.” 

“Joy’s not,” Haseul grunts under her breath. Thankfully, Vivi doesn’t hear. 

Vivi walks to the mirror, applies some makeup under her puffy, cried-out eyes, and picks up her key card. “Well, are you coming with me?” 

Haseul stands up and power walks to the door. “I’ll meet you there. I have to make a quick call. Good talk and good game! We should do this again sometime!” Haseul frantically exits Vivi’s hotel room and sprints to her private suite at the end of the hallway. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I had my chance and I blew it to bits. 

Haseul jams her key card in the slot and kicks the door open. 

Dumbass! Stupid! I deserve to be single! 

The frustrated, dysfunctional lesbian sits at her desk and brings the phone to her ear. 

“Holiday Inn, this is Johnny. How may I help you?” 

Haseul gets straight to the point. “Johnny, am I going to die alone?” 

The newly-hired concierge flips through his orientation binder. “Uhh, I’m sorry Miss. I don’t think I’m equipped to answer that question.” 

“Then find me someone who will! Get me Sooyoung or Jinsol!” 

“Miss, I would really like to help you but I’m afraid I have no idea who those people are.” 

Haseul clicks her complimentary pen until it breaks. “I just want to talk to my friends.” 

“Ah, I see. Do they live in this area code?” 

“No. They live in Blockberry.” 

“Ok. For domestic calls outside of Bloomington, please dial a pound sign followed by a 1 and then the phone number you wish to call,” Johnny instructs. 

“What the fuck is a pound sign?” Haseul snaps at the underappreciated and underpaid customer service worker. 

“It’s the hash sign, Miss.” 

"Oh,” Haseul notices her hot-headed expression in the mirror and apologizes. “I’m sorry for my behavior. I'm not usually like this. I’m just going through a lot right now. You see, I’m in love with someone and I can’t muster up the strength to tell them. You ever been in love, Johnny?” 

“Again, Miss, I cannot answer that question.” 

Haseul sighs. “Never mind. I’ll talk to my friends. Thank you for your time.” 

“Thank you ! One week after your stay, you should receive a customer service survey in the mail. I would really appreciate it if you rated me ‘exceeded expectations’ in all categories. It would help if-“ 

Haseul cuts him off and starts punching in the Squad’s home phone number. Sooyoung answers, thinking it’s her girlfriend calling. 

“Hi, darling,” Sooyoung greets lovingly, “Miss me already?” 

“Aw, you’re so sweet, Soo! Yeah, I miss you and Sol. But don’t worry, I’ll be home soon and I’m bringing back the trophy!” 

“Haseul?! You’re not Jiwoo,” Sooyoung whines even though she just spent the whole day with her. “What’s up?” 

Haseul recaps her friend on her hundredth missed opportunity with Vivi and Sooyoung berates her for being a “disgrace to the Sapphic Singles Squad.” 

“That means nothing to me because the Squad is dead anyway!” Haseul argues. “You have Jiwoo and Jinsol has… she had Jungeun. The point is, you're obligated to help me out of this situation. You don’t realize how much I’ve done for you guys - especially you, Sooyoung! By the way, are you ever going to buy Jiwoo that diamond ring or do I need to start selling my organs to cover your share of the bills?” 

“I actually bought it yesterday.” Sooyoung holds the ring box up to the phone and opens and closes it for Haseul to hear. “Thank you, Seul, really. Your generosity goes unnoticed way too often but you should know that Sol and I really do appreciate you.” 

Haseul twists the phone cord around her ring finger and smiles. “So when are you gonna pop the question to your darling?” 

“In a month.” 

“Are you sure you can wait that long?” Haseul teases. 

“I have to. This isn’t another month-aversary. It’s a proposal! I have so much to plan.” 

Haseul kicks her feet up on the desk. “Help me figure out this Vivi thing first. How am I gonna tell her how I feel?” 

“By getting off your ass and walking up to her right the fuck now,” Sooyoung says harshly. 

Haseul groans. “Is that your best advice?” 

“I told Jiwoo immediately. It’s called efficiency. You should try it sometime.” 

“Fine,” Haseul surrenders, “I’ll tell her… tomorrow. After we win the championship. It’ll be extra romantic that way,” Haseul pops the collar of her track jacket. 

“Bold of you to assume you guys will win. You might’ve jinxed it. Just listen to me and TELL HER NOW!” Sooyoung orders. 

“Soo, one day is not gonna make a difference,” Haseul dangerously flirts with fate, “I can wait a little longer. God knows I’ve waited this long.”

The friends quarrel for another half hour before Haseul hangs up and rejoins her team downstairs. 

The next day, BBCU Women’s Track and Field takes home the title of 1997 NCAA Champions. They place first in 17 out of 22 events. 

Vivi sets a new collegiate record for the women’s 100 meter dash with a blazing time of 10.79. 

All good news. 

The bad news? 

Without the guidance of their captain, BBCU places second at the 4x400 relay.

After years of intense training, months of stressful leading, and weeks of sleepless nights, Haseul does not get to stand on that podium. She does not get to bite her rightfully earned gold medal. 

On what is supposed to be the most important day of her athletic career, Haseul lies vulnerable on the operating room table. 

She has one, agonizing thought before her mind and body succumbs to the anesthesia. 

It’s of Vivi. It’s always Vivi. 

I should have told her. 

Chapter Text

June 7, 1997 

If all goes well today, BBCU Women’s Track and Field Captain, Haseul Jo, will have a national title and a new girlfriend. 

“Good moooorning, Bloomington, Indiana!” Haseul opens the blinds in her hotel room. “Thanks for hosting the championships. You ain’t ready for my speedsters!” 

The athlete double knots her shoelaces and does ten pushups. “AGHH,” she groans, “I believe that we will win! BLOCK-BER-RY VIC-TO-RY!” 

She stands up, snaps her BBCU gold sweatband on her forehead, and admires her physique in the full length mirror. “Body of Hercules and Ego of Narcissus, that’s right!” Haseul nods to herself as she flexes intermittently. 

“Today, hot stuff , you’re gonna carry your team all the way to that first place podium. And afterwards-” Haseul points at her reflection, “You’re gonna approach the best girl on the team, you’re gonna look in her eyes, and you’re gonna say, ‘Vivi, I like you. I have for quite some time now. Would you like to go on a date with me’?” 

(Of course, asking out Vivi is easier said than done. Many have tried, few have been successful.)

“It’s not gonna be easy,” Haseul returns to reality, “But it’s not supposed to be. No pain, no gain, remember?” 

Haseul assumes a southpaw stance with her right hand and right foot forward. (Being the fitness buffs that they are, Vivi and Haseul recently began taking an advanced boxing class together). 

She uses the entire right half of her body to deliver an explosive punch to the air. Haseul is supposed to follow through with a left cross right hook but instead, she tumbles to the ground, as if she just knocked out herself. 

There is pain. There is a lot of pain. 

“Ahhh shit!” Haseul seethes as she guards her lower right abdomen. 

Although this area has been causing Haseul trouble for the past week, Haseul dismissed it. She attributed the ache to her overexertion during practice and the stress from upcoming finals, both in her classes and on the track. Still, Haseul couldn’’t help but notice that the sensation grows infinitely sharper each time she looks at Vivi, talks to Vivi, or even thinks of Vivi. 

Haseul’s doctors will tell her that an infection caused her appendicitis. 

And perhaps that’s all it was. An infection. It’s the logical, scientific explanation. 

But Haseul believes it’s something else. The etiology of this white-hot, championship-ending, career-destroying pain is not a pesky bacterium or virus. No, not at all. 

It’s the torture of bottling in a year’s worth of feelings, the sting of longing for a girl who is way, way out of her league.

Every chamber, cavity, vessel, muscle, bone, and organ in Haseul Jo’s body is filled to the brim with unconditional love for Vivi Wong. 

Sometimes, when Vivi winks at her or their hands brush against each other, Haseul fears that it’s too much and that she just might burst. 

And because time has never been kind to Haseul, her appendix chose today - out of all days - to rupture. 

Haseul blacks out on the hotel floor and awakens on a hospital bed. 

Vivi’s performance at the championships is something for the history books. Sportswriters and commentators swarm her and throw around phrases like “Blockberry’s Pride” and “Future Olympian.” Strangers ask for her autograph and little girls tell her they want to be just like her when they grow up. 

Vivi has supporters. Vivi has a nationwide following. Vivi could not care less. 

Because when the ESPN reporter points the microphone at her mouth, Vivi does not bother to address her five-year old fans and the random middle-aged men who gambled half their life savings into this collegiate track and field championship. 

“I shouldn’t be celebrated,” Vivi objects to the reporter’s praises, “If there’s one person we should recognize for this win, it should be Haseul Jo. Our captain. No one, and I repeat, no one , wanted this title more than her. We would be nothing without her leadership.” 

The track star refuses further questions from the press and turns down invitations to the team’s afterparty. 

Haseul is lying in a hospital bed all alone. Each second that Vivi spends apart from her is a second wasted. 

And so she hops in a cab and orders the driver to run the speed limit to the hospital.

Morphine is a hell of a drug. With just one expertly titrated and timed infusion, Haseul temporarily forgets her pain, her troubles, and the name of the pretty girl seated at her bedside, holding her hand. 

“Who are you again?” an intoxicated Haseul asks the woman to whom she planned to confess her love. 

“Vivi,” she repeats for the third time in the past ten minutes. 

“Is that so? Well, Vivi, you must be... the second... most beautiful…  woman I have ever seen,” Haseul groggily remarks. Speaking comes much slower to Haseul, like she has cotton in her mouth. 

“Second?” A partially offended Vivi releases her hand and consequently, Haseul feels her pain return. 

“Ow,” the patient whimpers, “I think the meds are wearing off.” 

“Just a sec, I’ll call for a nurse. How bad is the pain?” Vivi’s eyebrows knot in concern and she comfortingly strokes Haseul’s hair.

“False alarm. It’s gone!” Haseul grins, “You have a magic touch. You must be… an angel.” 

“Not an angel. Just the second most beautiful woman in the world apparently,” Vivi teases. 

“Aww…  don’t take it personally. You just have…  really tough… competition.” 

Vivi sets Haseul’s call light and TV remote aside and sits on her bed. “Tell me about her. Is she an actress? A supermodel?” 

Haseul places her hand under the back of her head and looks up. As the hallucinogenic side effects of her opioid cocktail begin to manifest, the sterile hospital ceiling morphs into the industrial one of the BBCU gym. 

“Nope,” Haseul smiles dreamily, “Just a girl on a treadmill. She’s got pink hair. Like cotton candy… and a smile… just as sweet. I’d love to chat her up one day. Tell her how beautiful she is. How she makes my heart-” Haseul squeezes her eyes shut and then opens them wide, “-do backflips and somersaults.” 

Vivi, the pink-haired treadmill girl in question - the first and second most beautiful women in Haseul’s eyes - gasps. 

“Do you know her too?” Haseul asks excitedly. 

“I-I am her,” Vivi stutters. 

“Pfffbbbt,” Haseul blows a raspberry, “No, you’re not! You’re blonde!” 

“I dyed my hair recently,” Vivi explains, “But it was pink before.” 

Haseul shakes her head defiantly. “Nahhhh, you’re lying… Imposter! Who are you really? Who do you work for? License and registration, please!” Haseul points at the hand sanitizer dispenser across the room and starts cackling uncontrollably.

Normally, Haseul’s laughter is infectious. But this time, Vivi maintains her serious composure. She frowns as she tries to decipher Haseul’s morphine-saturated ramblings. 

Does Haseul have a crush on her? This is a “yes.” Vivi can say with almost 100% certainty. 

What exactly does Haseul mean when she says her heart does backflips each time she looks at her? This is where things get fuzzy. Surely that can’t be platonic. 

Does Haseul have legitimate feelings for her? Or is Haseul simply high as a kite? 

“Zimzalabim zim-zimzalabim zim-zimzalabim,” Haseul chants as she plays with the buttons on her bed, sitting herself all the way up at a 90 degree angle and laying all the way down at 0 degrees flat. “ZIM ZIIIIIIIIM.” 

Vivi decides that Haseul is stoned out of her mind. 

“Ok,” Vivi laughs nervously, “Let’s try to stay in one position, shall we? All this shifting probably isn’t good for your stitches.” 

Vivi leans over the side rails and adjusts her friend to a practical and comfortable 30 degrees. “Is this good?” Vivi asks as she fluffs Haseul’s pillow and smooths out her blanket. 

“Whatever you say, gorgeous ,” Haseul says with a husky voice and dark eyes. 

Vivi has to remind herself that Haseul’s words hold no value, that her central nervous system and everything that makes Haseul Haseul has been chemically altered. 

Still, Vivi can’t help but swoon. 

“You got a name, beautiful ?” 

Haseul’s memory resets, Vivi reintroduces herself, and the cycle of flirting continues. 

Eventually, a nurse arrives to assess Haseul’s wound. Vivi backs out of the way and tells her friend that she’ll return tomorrow morning.

“Get well soon, ok? The team misses you,” Vivi pecks the back of Haseul’s hand and begins leaving the room.  

“I love you.” 

There. Haseul said it. 

It is uttered in a hospital, not on a running track. It is under the influence of potent medication, not sober. It is a weak whisper, not a strong declaration. 

It is not how Haseul intended it, but it is genuine, poignant, and tragically misinterpreted.

Neither party brings up this incident again. It’s almost as if it never happened. Haseul sleeps it off and forgets. 

Vivi stews in her own denial and convinces herself that it was just the morphine. 

July 1997

Miraculously, all three members of the Sapphic Singles Squad have graduated college and a new era has begun - perhaps their most important one to date. 

Sooyoung is engaged, the happiest she’s ever been, and moving into a new apartment with Jiwoo. 

Jinsol is newly single, heartbroken, and moving abroad.

Haseul (sans appendix) is perpetually single, being a dear friend, and helping them move out. 

“Easy, Seul. You don’t want to tear your stitches,” Sooyoung warns when she sees her friend attempt to carry her box labeled “Books.” 

“It’s fine. My doc said I can lift up to 5 kilograms. That’s like 100 pounds.” 

Sooyoung takes the heavy weight from Haseul. “It’s more like 10, genius.” 

“Ugh. Stupid metric system that everyone else in the world uses except us,” Haseul huffs. 

The friends walk out of Sooyoung’s empty bedroom and into their nearly barren living room. Jinsol lies face down on the couch, burying her head in the cushions. 

“Jesus, Sol. Get up. You’re gonna suffocate!” Sooyoung pulls her roommate up by her black hair. Jinsol’s head pathetically follows as she has no energy left to raise it herself. 

The breakup took everything out of Jinsol. Her blonde hair, her smile, and her spirit. Sooyoung and Haseul tried to be understanding and permissive at first, but when they received a call at 4 am from the Blockberry Sheriff, demanding they pick up their drunk and unruly friend, they knew they had to take off the kid gloves. 

Jinsol became so insufferable that the other criminals in the jail requested to be taken straight to prison so they would no longer be subjected to Jinsol’s incessant sobbing over Jungeun. 

That was four months ago. 

Now, Jinsol is starting anew and accepting a marine biology internship in the Mariana Islands. She’ll be hopping aboard a submarine to the Mariana Trench, the deepest oceanic trench on earth. At 10,000 meters below sea level, Jungeun will be the least of Jinsol’s concerns. 

“Did you get any packing done or have you been laying here all day like a sad seal?” Haseul eyes Jinsol’s suitcase at the other end of the couch. 

“I’ve decided to forfeit all my earthly possessions. I shall be one with the water,” Jinsol proclaims. “Also seals are not lazy. Let’s cut that stereotype.” 

“What do you mean? You’re not taking anything with you? You’ll be gone for two years!” 

Jinsol secures her spectacles on the bridge of her nose and reads from her living will and testament. 

“Ahem,” she clears her throat ceremoniously, “In the event that artificial intelligence has not evolved to the point that I may live forever, and I pass away at the ripe age of 150, I ask that my body be buried at sea-” 

“Dude, did you really write your will on toilet paper?” Sooyoung guffaws. 

“Fuck off. We didn’t have regular paper,” Jinsol snaps at her frenemy. “Anyway, let’s skip to the part you need to hear.” The dramatic lesbian flips the white square to the back. 

“Here we go... I hereby bequeath my Gundam and Lego collection to my roommate, Sooyoung Agnes Ha.” 

Sooyoung views the gesture as an inconvenience rather than Jinsol’s unique, nerdy expression of love. “The fuck am I supposed to do with your toys?”

“Estimated value upwards of $2000,” Jinsol lowers her glasses to the tip of her nose. “Consider it an early wedding gift.” 

“Oh… thanks, Sol,” Sooyoung smiles bashfully. 

Haseul raises her hand. “Why are we not discussing Sooyoung’s middle name? Who below the age of 65 is named Agnes?” 

“And to my other roommate,” Jinsol reads with a shit-eating grin, “Haseul Gertrude Jo-“ 

Jinsol pauses to snicker and Sooyoung wheezes in laughter. 

“-I grant full custody of my betta fish, Moon XXIII Jung.” 

“Your fish?!” Haseul stands up, “Sooyoung gets 2 grand and I get your dollar store fish?!”

“Don’t get too riled up. You have a weak heart, Grandma Gertie.” Sooyoung quips. 

Haseul would really love to give her asshat friends a pair of black eyes. Just this once. 

“Finally, to Jungeun ‘Love of My Life’ Kim, I surrender my heart-” Jinsol’s voice breaks, “And the telescope we built together.” She balls a fist in front of her mouth to create a dam for her tears. 

“I love you-” Jinsol draws in a shallow, shaky breath, “-to the moon and back, baby.” 

Sooyoung crumples the toilet paper and shoves it up her friend’s nostrils. (Jinsol is one of those extra snotty, drooly criers.)

“Change the subject, quick!” Sooyoung gruffly whispers to Haseul. 

“Got it!” Haseul shoots Sooyoung a thumbs up. “Uh, hey Jinsol. Did I tell you about my aunt and uncle?” 

Jinsol shakes her head and hiccups. Sooyoung rubs her back. 

“Their 30th wedding anniversary is coming up soon. I’m supposed to give a speech.” 

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Jinsol relaxes, “You should prepare a lot of jokes, Seul. People love a funny speech.” 

Haseul’s distraction appears to be working. 

“Yeah… they called it off. They’re actually in marriage counseling as we speak. Barely hanging on. Such a shame. They really love each other. Loved , I guess,” Haseul finishes nonchalantly. 

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, HASEUL?” Sooyoung yells as a distraught Jinsol sobs into her shirt. 

“What? You said to talk about something else!” 

The trio spend their last day as roommates doing what they do best: arguing, intentionally and unintentionally making each other cry, and finally hugging it out. 

August 1997

Haseul is lonely in her 3 bedroom apartment with only a stack of bills to keep her company. Not even the good green bills either. 

These bad, unwelcome bills are stamped in scary red ink and say things like “OVERDUE,” “FINAL WARNING,” and “EVICTION NOTICE.” 

The obvious solution would be to get new roommates. Haseul put out an ad in every Blockberry newspaper and she received dozens of calls. These women had stable jobs, seemed friendly, and some even offered to pay August and September’s rent in advance. Haseul had an array of reliable roommates to choose from. 

But these people were Boring with a capital “B.” They were nothing like her former roommates. 

Sooyoung Agnes Ha and Jinsol Judith Jung (she couldn’t keep her middle name secret for much longer) brought fun, laughter, and chaos to Apartment 379. They are simply irreplaceable. 

Haseul cannot imagine herself living with anyone else except maybe… Vivi. 

Vivi. 

Fuck it. I’m gonna give her a call. 

Haseul smashes the keypad, cranes her neck and raises her shoulder to hold the telephone to her ear, and crosses her fingers behind her back. 

“C’mon answer, answer ,” she wishes under her breath. 

Vivi picks up on the third ring. “He-” 

“YOOOO! Vivi! It’s been a while! How’s the fastest woman in collegiate athletics doing? Hope you’re good! Listen, do you wanna shack up with me? Let’s make it happen!” 

“Slow down, Haseul!” Vivi laughs, “Let me get a ‘hello’ in first!” 

Haseul slams on the brakes and reminds herself to breathe. This isn’t one of your races, track star. Take it slow. 

“Sorry. Go ahead.” 

“Hello, Haseul,” Vivi greets formally, “I’m doing well, thank you for asking. How are you?” 

Haseul leans on the kitchen countertop. “I am…”

Good. Great. Fine. Just pick one, Haseul! She asked you a basic question. 

“Lonely.” 

Aw, damn it! Not that one! You were supposed to lie! 

“Oh,” Vivi says and it’s the most empathetic “oh” Haseul has ever heard. It is concerned, but free of pity. It is gentle, but it also pushes Haseul to elaborate. 

“Jinsol and Sooyoung moved out and it’s just been me for a while. I don’t do well on my own.” Haseul shoves the pile of bills out of her peripheral vision. “I know it’s a long shot and you have your own place but… what would you think about moving in with me?” 

“Hmmm,” Vivi ponders, “My lease actually ends next month. I’ve been debating whether or not to renew. Let’s see… your apartment is in a nice location, it’s walking distance to a lot of stores, it’s safe, it has you so that’s definitely a plus.” 

Vivi chuckles, pleasing Haseul’s eardrum and heart. 

“I think moving in with you would be lovely .” 

From “lonely” to “lovely.” Now that’s an upgrade. 

Haseul sets the phone down to do an impromptu, celebratory cartwheel. She returns, a little out of breath, and tries to sound casual. 

“Sounds good. Can you swing by my place today so we can discuss the details?” 

“I can be there in an hour.” 

“Lovely,” Haseul repeats the word of the day. 

Vivi laughs once more - like she always does with Haseul - and they end the call. 

Haseul surveils her glorified landfill of an apartment and gets to work on making this place somewhat presentable. 

Haseul dumps half of the refrigerator’s spoiled and expired contents in the trash, mops the floors spotless, and covers up the fist-sized hole in the wall courtesy of Sooyoung. (Never eat Sooyoung’s sandwich or there will be hell and property damages to pay). 

She completes her chores early and sits on the front steps, awaiting Vivi’s arrival. 

I’m moving in with my crush. This is the dream, this is the life! 

“Hey, roomie!” The most beautiful woman in Haseul's world waves to her. 

This is gonna be harder than I thought. 

August 1998 

Fast forward one year, and Apartment 379 is unrecognizable. The shift of aesthetic from frat house trashy to art deco chic is jarring but impressive.

Vivi, with her keen sense of style, has introduced rich colors and geometric patterns, glossy woods and lush leathers. 

They have accent pillows now! Haseul never knew pillows could have accents. 

They have multiple ongoing DIY projects including a five-shelf bookcase, a planter box, and a birdhouse. 

They have a home. 

“I feel like we really live together,” Haseul confides one late summer afternoon.

Vivi paints a pink stripe on their birdhouse. “What have we been doing for the past year? Hanging out?”  

Haseul dips her paintbrush in green and underlines Vivi’s pink. They both approve of the color scheme. 

“I know that we’re roommates,” Haseul addresses, “But in my opinion, there’s a difference between being roommates and living together.” 

“Go on,” Vivi rotates the birdhouse to paint the back wall. 

“It was different when it was me, Sooyoung, and Jinsol. We were three clashing personalities. Yes, we had fun together and we made a ton of memories, but at the end of the day, we were just coexisting under the same roof.” 

Haseul selects the thinnest paintbrush and draws a “VV” and a “HS” on the corner of the birdhouse roof. This wasn’t part of the plan but Vivi appreciates the finishing touch. It personalizes their project, makes it feel theirs.

“But with you, Vivi, we solve problems together, we clean up together, we create things together. That’s living together. I have yet to experience that with anyone else but you.” 

Vivi smiles and paints one last symbol: a heart between their initials. 

“That makes two of us.” 

January 1999

It is Vivi’s idea to invite Sooyoung and Jiwoo over for Friday Game Night. 

Initially, Haseul is a bit reluctant.

“Game Night is our thing. Do we really have to bring other people into this?” 

“They’re your friends. Don’t you want to see them?” Vivi asks, confused. 

Haseul does not want to see them for several reasons. 

First, Sooyoung and Jiwoo are engaged. If they wish to hang out with other couples, those couples should also be engaged or, at the very least, approaching that stage. 

Second, Sooyoung and Jiwoo are engaged. They are obnoxiously in love and will make several public displays of affection that no single person such as Haseul would ever consent to witnessing. These include but are not limited to: hand and foot massages, unprovoked makeout sessions, and the use of sickeningly sweet pet names (e.g. “Apple of My Eye,” “Strawberry Shortcake,” and the age-old classic: “Darling”). 

Third, Sooyoung and Jiwoo are engaged. They share everything together: feelings, secrets, and gossip. Sooyoung has likely spilled the humiliating details of Haseul’s sad excuse of a love life to her fiancee. Haseul isn’t comfortable with Jiwoo having this information. 

Fourth, Haseul is terrified of Jiwoo. Beyond the Southern girl’s bubbly exterior hides a feisty, sharp-tongued woman who will not hesitate to call Haseul out on her bullshit. 

Regardless, Haseul gives in to Vivi and they follow through with Game Night. It goes exactly as Haseul expects. 

“Is it my turn to put down a word?” Sooyoung asks, only semi-involved in their Scrabble game. 

“Yes, hurry up,” Haseul grumbles impatiently. 

“This is how long I promise to love Jiwoo,” Sooyoung announces as she collects her tiles and spells out F-O-R-E-V-E-R. 

Jiwoo squeals and leans over the game board to kiss her fiancee. “Aw, darlin’! You are just the sweetest thing!” 

(They’ve been insufferably cute for the past three hours.)

Vivi watches them adoringly, perhaps even a little envious. “You guys are so adorable,” Vivi sighs. 

Haseul sighs too but it is out of exhaustion. 

I just wanted a quiet, intimate game night during which I could gay panic over my roommate in peace. But noooo, Sooyoung and Jiwoo just HAD to barge in on our tradition and steal the show with their disgusting happiness. 

And then Jiwoo responds to Vivi’s compliment. 

“You and Haseul are a cute couple too!” 

Haseul gets a massive stomachache and she starts to sweat buckets. Against her better judgment, Haseul decides to shut Jiwoo down. 

“Vivi and I are NOT a couple.” 

Oh no. 

I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.

Vivi frowns and redirects them to their Scrabble match. “So it looks like Sooyoung is in the lead. She scored 21 points with ‘forever.’ The rest of us better catch up!” Vivi attempts to sound unaffected by Haseul’s savage correction. 

It’s obvious that Haseul has not only made it painfully awkward, but she’s also killed everyone’s interest in the game. Speaking of killing… Jiwoo’s glare is murderous. 

“Can we take a break?” Jiwoo requests, “I’d like to speak with Haseul outside. Privately.” 

Haseul follows her best friend’s fiancee out the door, fearing that these might be her last steps. Jiwoo slams the door behind them and grips Haseul’s wrist, dragging her down. 

“You! Sit! There on the curb!” Jiwoo commands and Haseul complies immediately. “Now what the H-E-double hockey sticks was that? You made Vivi sad! Don’t you like that girl?!”  

“Of course!” Haseul squeaks, “But you forced this ‘cute couple’ label on us and I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable!” 

Jiwoo finds Haseul’s excuse to be laughable. 

“Great job, Haseul. You made EVERYONE uncomfortable! Vivi was fine to begin with. She liked hearing the word ‘couple’! I was doing your sorry ass a favor by calling y’all that! And then you just had to open your big mouth. Do you ever consider the consequences of your actions? Do you ever think before you speak?!” 

Haseul follows Jiwoo’s advice too literally. She slouches on the curb and silently reflects on her poor decisions. 

“HEY, I WANT YOU TO ANSWER ME!” Jiwoo grabs Haseul by her turtleneck.

“You just told me to think! I’m sorry!” Haseul closes her eyes and curls into herself. “Please don’t hurt me. I lied about my hand-to-hand combat skills. I watched Karate Kid once . I got kicked out of the parkour club! I cannot defend myself!” 

Jiwoo releases the powerless girl and sits beside her. Haseul flinches and scoots several feet away from her assailant. 

“Git back here,” Jiwoo instructs with a little less force this time. Haseul shakes her head. 

“I’m fixin’ to give you a hug. I won’t bite, I promise.” Jiwoo lays on the motherly tone she uses when she babysits her little cousins. And with that, she finally gains Haseul’s trust. 

The poorly functioning lesbian allows herself to be cradled by the most successful and productive lesbian she knows. 

As intimidating as Jiwoo is, Haseul acknowledges that Jiwoo is also warm, smells like vanilla, and gives the best hugs. No wonder Sooyoung wants to spend forever with this woman. 

“Now tell me. What are you so afraid of, Haseul?” Jiwoo prods gently. 

“Y-you,” Haseul stutters. 

“Besides me,” Jiwoo laughs. “Are you afraid of rejection? Is that why you - pardon my language - chicken out like a little bitch whenever you try to talk to Vivi?” 

It’s ironic how Jiwoo and Sooyoung - the people at the furthest, “Exclusively Homosexual” end of the Kinsey Scale - can be so brutally straight(forward) when dissecting Haseul’s character. 

“Rejection is just one of my phobias. Let’s say she does go out with me,” Haseul entertains the slim likelihood of this occurring, “What if it’s terrible? Guess what: the date will never end because we come home to the same damn apartment.” 

Jiwoo follows Haseul’s thought process and offers her optimistic perspective. “But if it goes really well and y’all become girlfriends, then y’all ain’t gotta worry ‘bout movin’ in together!” 

“But if we break up, then-” 

Jiwoo makes a show out of cracking her knuckles. “You do not want to fight me on this, Haseul.” 

“Yes, Ma’am,” Haseul concedes.

“Good!” Jiwoo beams, “Let’s get back inside. We have a game of Scrabble to lose.” 

April 1999

Sometimes Haseul does think before she speaks. The issue then becomes over thinking. She either thinks too much or doesn’t think at all. Haseul cannot grasp the concept of moderation. 

Back in their roommate days, Jinsol and Sooyoung taught Haseul a trick that she could use each time she got tangled in her own thoughts. 

“If it looks like a betta fish, swims like a betta fish, and blubs like a betta fish, then it probably is a betta fish. Don’t overcomplicate it and argue that it’s actually a fucking zebra, Haseul.” 

(The first sentence was Jinsol’s contribution while the second was Sooyoung’s).  

So when Vivi cooks Haseul a meal fit for the world’s best wife, pours her a glass of wine that neither of them can afford, and blasts romantic saxophone music while they eat in their candle-lit dining room, then it must be a date right? 

It sounds like a date. She’s playing Kenny G! My grandma calls his songs “babymaking music.” 

It looks like a date. She chose candles for a reason, right? They set an… ambiance. 

Oh boy does it TASTE like a date. I feel like I'm dining at a five star restaurant! 

Haseul has to fight back her animalistic urge to lick her plate clean. “Vivi, this is amazing! What do you call this?” 

Haseul’s bouncing-off-the-walls enthusiasm contrasts greatly with Vivi’s nonchalance. 

“Um… it’s just salad,” Vivi lazily runs a finger along the rim of her wine glass. 

Vivi didn’t do anything revolutionary or innovative as Haseul seems to be implying. The amateur chef threw together some vegetables, drizzled a few tablespoons of her special vinaigrette, and served it to her most loyal taste tester. End of story. 

“Just salad?” Haseul nearly yells. 

(If she wasn’t hopelessly in love with her roommate, Haseul would preface her question with a combative “What the fuck do you mean?!”)

Haseul leans over the table, over Vivi’s plate, and helps her to assemble the ideal bite. Haseul uses Vivi’s fork to spear the three main ingredients of the dish. 

“Look what you’ve combined here,” Haseul holds the utensil up to her roommate’s closed mouth. “The crisp, refreshing cucumber. The cherry tomato: soft, tart. The razor thin red onion strings are sharp and slightly spicy.” 

Haseul rotates her wrist to examine the forkful of deliciousness in various angles. 

Vivi watches amusedly. She’s never seen anyone geek out over vegetables, of all things. 

“A trifecta of complex textures and decadent flavors - unified by this vinaigrette. Tangy, herby, with a timid sweetness. Everything comes together marvelously. It’s a gastronomic spectacle, a testament to the culinary arts, an offering to the divine-” 

Am I giving a monologue to a FUCKING SALAD? 

I can’t say two sentences to Vivi without pissing myself but I can spew a thousand words on a FUCKING SALAD? 

“Basically, it’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten and you should be really proud of yourself, Chef Wong,” Haseul concludes with the kindest of smiles. 

Still skeptical, Vivi takes her fork from Haseul and eats the meticulously crafted bite of not-just salad salad. 

“Ok that is pretty good,” Vivi agrees. “Save some of that energy and your appetite for the main course and dessert.” 

“THERE’S MORE?!” 

August 1999 

Future chef and restaurateur, Vivi Wong, stands in front of the Blockberry School of Culinary Arts looking very unsure of herself. Beside Vivi is her number one supporter, her rock, her guiding light.

“In you go,” Haseul gestures to the front door, “Chin up. Be brave. Learn and have fun. You’ve got this.” 

(Haseul will recycle these same words on Yeojin's first day of kindergarten). 

“I don’t know,” Vivi hesitates. “I’m a decent home cook-“ 

“Fantastic,” Haseul pridefully interjects.

“Ok, fantastic,” Vivi gives in to Haseul’s praise, “But am I really fit to be a chef ?” 

Vivi watches her instructor come from the opposite direction. He’s a giant man wearing a chef’s coat and hat and an angry frown. He does not look easy to please or eager to converse with others.

“Vivi, I think that’s your teacher!” 

“Haseul, don’t-” 

And because Haseul is Haseul, she waves to him and shakes her wrist so fervently that she puts herself at risk of breaking it.

“Hello! Good morning, Chef!!!” 

Vivi’s teacher stops in his tracks and eyes Haseul up and down. The experienced chef can tell almost immediately that this girl is not his student. 

There are certain people who exude “shitty cook” and “burn down the kitchen” energy and Haseul is one of them. She’s eating a Twinkie for breakfast and has three other genetically modified snack cakes coming out of her sweatpant pockets. 

“I’ll see you inside,” the chef ignores Haseul, nods at Vivi, and enters the culinary academy. 

“Whew,” Haseul whistles, “I think it’s safe to say that guy does not like me.” 

She finishes her twinkie, stuffs the oily wrapper in her pocket, and starts devouring a chocolate cupcake. (Haseul’s gone a little wild with her diet ever since she stopped running track and started a full time job as Vivi’s taste tester).

“But it looks like he likes you. That’s what matters,” Haseul grins. 

Vivi uses her thumb to wipe at the corners of Haseul’s mouth which have been painted in white icing. “I can’t believe you talked me into taking this class,” the nervous student shakes her head.

“I also convinced you to join our track team and look how that turned out. National champion, Vivi Wong on lane #5, the fastest woman in collegiate athletics!” Haseul raises her arms up in victory. “There’s a gold medal displayed in our living room with your name on it. Wouldn’t you like to see a gold onion beside it?” 

“A gold onion?” Vivi laughs. 

“I don’t know what a chef’s award looks like,” Haseul admits with a goofy smile. “I do know that you’re gonna win one. And then you’ll open up your own restaurant and you’ll let me eat there for free!” 

“Won’t you get tired of my cooking?” Vivi nudges Haseul’s shoulder. 

Haseul would never grow weary of Vivi’s food, of Vivi’s laugh, of Vivi. 

“If I could, I would gladly eat your cooking - three meals a day, for the rest of my life.” 

(Oh my. Haseul’s getting braver now. She even reaches for Vivi’s hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.) 

Both sets of eyes lock on their conjoined hands. Suddenly, Vivi wishes she didn’t have to attend class and it’s not because she’s got the first day jitters.

Vivi would much rather stay here - holding hands with her future wife. It almost hurts to let go but she must. Vivi has to separate from Haseul, open the door to her classroom, take this course, and learn the fundamentals in order to become the world-renowned chef that Haseul has prophesied her to be. 

“I should go now.” 

Haseul nods. 

“Thank you again, Haseul. For encouraging me to pursue all these things that I probably would never consider - track and field, professional cooking classes, pineapple on pizza…” 

Haseul looks down and chuckles. 

“If this chef thing works out,” Vivi goes on, “Then I once again owe it all to you.” 

“You’re giving me too much credit,” Haseul says humbly, “That’s enough thanking. Get in there and outshine all your classmates. Pretty soon, you’ll be teaching the class.” 

Vivi lifts her chin up to the sky and strides to the door. She pauses to ask Haseul one last question. 

“So, I’ll see you at home?” 

Haseul sits down on a nearby bench and removes her rolled-up Sports Illustrated from her back pocket. “No. I’ve got my entertainment and plenty of snacks to keep myself occupied while I wait for you.” 

“Haseul,” Vivi says, touched, “This class is four hours long.” 

“Yup. I know.” Haseul says casually while she flips to the “College Hoops” section. 

Haseul is used to waiting for Vivi. It’s become second nature at this point, waiting for this wonderful girl to love her back. 

Vivi already does. 

All this waiting and pointless gay pining could have been avoided if they just sat down and TALKED. IT. OUT. 

(“I have feelings for you. Do you have feelings for me?” Simple. Concise. Direct. But uncharacteristic of Haseul and Vivi.) 

These two will continue to stall for just a little while longer.

November 1999

Blockberry’s fastest yet slowest lesbians settle into an extremely domestic morning routine. 

Vivi borrows a recipe from her class and spends an hour cooking them a gourmet breakfast. To keep the workload somewhat fair, Haseul washes the dishes, feeds Jinsol’s annoying fish and whatever bird that lands in their birdhouse that day, and checks the mail. 

Haseul walks over to the letter sorter in their living room and files their bills. She does a double take when she notices an envelope addressed to “Miss Haseul GERTRUDE Jo.” 

Ugh. This is Sooyoung Agnes Ha’s doing. What could this be? Another dumbass prank, I bet. 

Haseul haphazardly tears open the envelope containing Sooyoung and Jiwoo’s wedding invitation. 

With joyful hearts, 

 

SOOYOUNG & JIWOO 

 

Kindly request your presence at their wedding ceremony 

 

September 8, 2000 at 2:00 P.M. 

Blockberry Lake

Reception to follow 

 

“IT’S HAPPENING! HOLY SHIT! AHHHHH!” 

Haseul unleashes a blood-curdling scream, disturbing the peace of her neighbors and her roommate. 

Vivi hears the ruckus and runs out of the kitchen. She’s covered in flour, holding a whisk in one hand and a spatula in another. 

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?!” a panicked Vivi asks. 

Haseul shakes her head, dissolving Vivi’s worries. “I’m fine! Soo and Jiwoo are officially getting hitched next year! Look!” 

The aspiring chef sets her utensils on the coffee table and reads the invitation. Vivi admires the quirky, apple-scented stationery and elegant cursive lettering. She reaches for a pen to mark the RSVP card. 

Will you celebrate with us? 

 

✔️ Happy to be there! 

 

__ Sadly can’t make it 

 

Indicate number of guests attending: 2

“Wait, what are you doing?” Haseul ignorantly asks. 

“Reserving our spot, silly! Now, which entree do you want? I’m getting the salmon. I suggest you get the chicken so that we can split our meals and try both dishes.” Vivi cutely sticks out her tongue in concentration. 

OUR spot? WE can split OUR meals? 

“You-you’re going with me? As my date?”  

Vivi scoffs at her friend’s obliviousness and circles both entree choices.

“Of course. Were you planning on asking someone else?” 

Haseul answers with a prompt and firm, “No!” 

“Good.” Vivi inserts the completed RSVP card in the envelope and licks it shut. “Mail this to Sooyoung and when you come back, breakfast should be ready. Today’s special is coconut crepes with maple ricotta and strawberries.” 

Haseul’s stomach rumbles at the appropriate time. She laughs it off. “As you can see… and hear, I’m very excited to try your latest creation.”

Vivi grins and picks up her cooking supplies. 

“Hey, Vivi. I’m curious…” 

“Hm?” 

Haseul makes her boldest move to date. “This is just hypothetical. What if I did ask another girl to Soo’s wedding?” 

Vivi clenches her jaw and fiddles with the strings on her apron. She’s royally pissed off. 

“Honestly, Haseul, I don’t think I’d like it very much.”

Vivi ties her apron tighter around her waist and walks back to the kitchen determinedly. Haseul is left with a sealed envelope and even more questions. 

Was that a jealous Vivi? Why would she be jealous? Does she… like me back?!

December 31, 1999 - 11:55 P.M. 

This is no ordinary New Years Eve. This is the end of the century and the beginning of a new millennium. 

Sooyoung is huddled up with her darling fiancée in Times Square, New York City. 

Jinsol is in a dodgy bar, making out with a stranger. She might get lucky tonight - she might finally forget Jungeun. (Spoiler alert: she doesn’t.) 

And damn it, Haseul has yearned and pined and waited long enough. 

She removes her novelty “2000” eyeglasses and stares at her reflection in her bathroom mirror. Haseul flares her nostrils and ferociously beats on her chest like Tarzan.

Ok. This is it. For real this time. 

You are NOT going to enter the year 2000 as a single woman.

Vivi needs to know. And you need to get this weight off your chest before it kills you. 

Deep breaths, Haseul. Deep breaths. 

“Haseul! Hurry up! It’s five minutes to midnight!” Vivi excitedly calls from their living room. 

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec!” Haseul yells back. 

No time. 

Go. 

Now! 

Haseul supportively pats her own head and dashes out of the bathroom. She runs down the hallway and halts at the end of the kitchen. She takes in the image of Vivi lounging on their sofa, wearing her old BBCU sweater and sweatpants. 

Vivi even dyed her hair back to pink - Haseul’s favorite color on her. 

This is the woman I fell in love with. I have to kiss her at midnight. 

“There you are!” Vivi stands up. “I swear I caught a glimpse of Sooyoung and Jiwoo on tv earlier. I can’t believe they get to watch the ball drop live!” Vivi meets Haseul halfway and hands her a glass of champagne. 

Haseul accepts it and robotically sets it down on the counter. Vivi gives her an odd look. “We have rosé in the fridge if you prefer-“ 

“I want to kiss you at midnight,” Haseul blurts. 

Vivi’s right hand, which has been suspended in midair, drops. Vivi’s heart, which beats only for Haseul, stops. “Haseul, I-“ 

“Please,” Haseul beseeches with impassioned eyes, “Let me speak.” 

Vivi sees how this confession is tearing Haseul apart and so, she silences. 

“I have a tendency to talk in circles, send mixed signals, and overall, say the stupidest shit. I’m not gonna do that this time,” Haseul explains. “I want to make it crystal clear that I love you.” 

With Haseul peering into her soul, so knowingly, Vivi hangs on her every word. 

“I’ve tried to trace it back to one key moment when I just knew. I’ve been wracking my brain, recalling every memory we’ve shared. And it’s just been… impossible. I can’t- I can’t-” 

Vivi lovingly places her hand on Haseul’s cheek. Haseul leans into her touch. 

“I can’t think of a time when I haven’t loved you.”

And upon hearing this absolute truth, Vivi melts. 

“You’re generous, compassionate, clever, ambitious… Vivi, I don’t know enough adjectives!” Haseul laughs to herself. “And I love that. I love that you are so incredible that you make me run out of adjectives. I can’t function with you nor can I function without you.” 

Vivi has stopped looking at Haseul’s eyes. Her gaze slowly drifts downward to Haseul’s lips. If they are capable of producing such beautiful words, then they must be heavenly to kiss. 

“I tried to tell you back in ‘97 at the national championships, but, well, my appendix spilled out before I did-“ 

Haseul contorts her face in disgust. “Sorry. You didn’t need that visual.” 

Vivi laughs and places both her hands on the ceramic behind Haseul. She traps Haseul between her body and the kitchen countertop. 

“I’ve been afraid,” Haseul inhales deeply, “Because what we have is so good. I adore our friendship and I don’t want to ruin it. So I just bottle my feelings in and the pressure builds and builds…” 

Vivi leans forward, growing ever impatient. And now, Haseul isn’t looking at Vivi’s eyes either. 

“It really hurts loving you all alone, Vivi.” A single tear escapes Haseul’s right eye. “Please tell me if you feel the same and if you want to kiss me at midnight because I think we have-“ 

The television interrupts them as the New Years Rockin’ Eve hosts and the Times Square crowd begin counting down from 60 seconds. 

“-One minute left.” 

Vivi tucks a strand of Haseul’s hair behind her ear and touches their foreheads together. “I’m sorry, Haseul,” Vivi breathes, “I don’t think I can wait until then.” 

The fireworks start at 11:59 for Haseul and Vivi. 

Their lips collide in a frenzy. They move at an erratic rhythm, hungry and desperate for each other. 

Haseul hasn’t kissed many girls but she makes up for her inexperience with a fervid willingness to learn and an eagerness to pleasure. She experiments with her tongue, dragging it tantalizingly across Vivi’s lips until she’s granted passage. 

It’s awfully raunchy for a first kiss but after years of pent-up frustration, who could blame them?

Vivi pulls apart to plant kisses on Haseul’s jaw and neck. Haseul sharply reacts to the euphoric sensation, knocking her champagne off the counter. Their breaths grow dangerously shallow and they come up for air, just in time to ring in the new millennium. 

3… 2… 1… 

“Happy New Year, Haseul,” Vivi pants, “I love you too.” 

“You do?!” Haseul’s dilated pupils widen even more. “Terrific!” 

Haseul’s jolly outburst briefly takes them away from their wanton escapades. 

“You’re such a dork,” Vivi sinks her head in the crook of Haseul’s neck and giggles. “I’m in love with a dork.”

Haseul had one objective for tonight - to tell Vivi how much she loves her. Now that Vivi has returned her affections, Haseul works toward a second goal.

If she wishes to be successful, Haseul must temporarily shed her dorky roommate persona. 

She brazenly caresses Vivi’s thigh and her muse quivers in satisfaction. 

“May I?” Haseul asks for permission to give Vivi what she - what they - so rightfully deserve. 

Vivi deliberately nods, providing her consent. 

With a devilish grin, Haseul tugs on the drawstring of Vivi’s sweatpants. 

Tonight, Haseul will show Vivi how much she loves her.

The kitchen linoleum - second only to the bathroom tile - is the worst surface to sleep on.

Had they chosen Vivi’s room (which was formerly Sooyoung’s), they would be gently greeted by the sunlight streaming through the blinds. 

Had they chosen Haseul’s room, they would enjoy the melodies of the songbird that frequents the birdhouse outside Haseul’s windowsill.  

However, neither Haseul nor Vivi had the self-control to pause and relocate their activities.

When Vivi opens her eyes on the morning of January 1, 2000, she notes the one advantage of awaking on the kitchen floor.

She doesn’t have to travel far to cook her girlfriend breakfast. 

August 2024 - Haseul and Vivi’s Living Room 

Haseul has spent the past five hours delineating the course of her relationship with Vivi from their first meeting in April 1996 to their first “I love you” in December 1999. 

Haseul hoped that by telling this tale, her daughter would appreciate the strong women whom she came from. 

Unfortunately, Yeojin zoned out after Haseul’s third failed attempt to confess to Vivi. Her parents' endless mutual pining was getting infuriating.

The daughter is much more interested in the turmoil and angst between her Aunt Jinsol and Aunt Jungeun.

“Ok but what happened to them? How did they get back together? Why did they break up in the first place? Why did it sound so traumatic? OH MY GOD, DID AUNT SOL CHEAT ON AUNT JUNGIE?!” 

“Yeojin,” Haseul sighs, “Does your mom and I’s story mean nothing to you?”

“Beautiful, touching story. Very proud. I’m the luckiest daughter in the world,” Yeojin briefly appeases her parents. “ANYWAY, back to Aunt Sol and Aunt Jungie...”

Chapter Text

September 2024 - Professor Jeong-Kim’s Office 

Jinsol loves her job as if it were a member of her family. She loves it amid turmoil and strife, relentlessly and unconditionally, and in heaps and bounds.

Sadly, her job doesn’t always love her. 

In preparation for the upcoming fall semester, the I.T. department at Polaris University installed newer, faster, but more complicated software that is currently aggravating our technologically-challenged heroine. 

“I’ve restarted, rebooted, and replugged you in. What more do you want? Show me my emails, you cursed devil box!” Jinsol repeatedly slaps the back of her computer monitor. 

(Obviously, she does not receive a response). 

The defeated professor walks over to her small leather couch and purposefully collapses on its cushions. She decides that a cat nap will solve her problems. Jinsol applies a sleep mask over her eyes and rests for a few minutes until she feels someone shake her shoulder.

“Mom! Hey mom! Mom. Mom. Mom, wake up! Moooooooom.”

“It’s your turn to check on the kid, Jungie. I’m trying to sleep,” Jinsol tiredly mumbles. The mother turns to sleep on her side, her back now facing Yerim and company. 

“Aunt Sol! Aunt Sol! Aunt Sol!” Jinsol’s honorary nieces send multiple karate chops on her back. 

Some dream this is. Now Hyeju and Yeojin are stirring trouble! 

“Sooyoung, Haseul, control your kids. Why do you always feed them candy before you send them to my house?” Jinsol turns around again, this time facing the three girls. 

“She still thinks this is a dream,” Hyeju whispers, “Should we take her mask off?” 

“Let’s throw ice water on her!” Yeojin suggests, a little too in love with the idea. 

“Nah, I got this,” Yerim takes the lead and imitates her other mother. “Jinsol, why is the house exactly as I left it? I thought I told you and Yerim to defrost the chicken, take out the trash, and call the gardener. Since you’ve been sitting on that couch all day, why don’t you say there? Make yourself comfortable because you won’t be sleeping in our bed tonight.” 

Yerim perfectly captures Jungeun’s intonation and diction. 

Jinsol has definitely heard this exact speech before, this exact scenario has definitely occurred at least once and she won’t let history repeat itself. 

“Wait, honey! I’m sorry!” Jinsol sticks out her hand and grabs Yerim’s arm, “Yerim and I got carried away. We’ll do everything you asked us to do right now. Please not the couch. Please, let’s not let it come to that.” 

Jinsol removes her eye mask and finds three snickering teenagers instead of one frowning wife. 

“HAHAHA, we got you good, Aunt Sol! You’re whipped!” Yeojin hollers. 

“That was a cruel joke!” Jinsol places her hand over her chest, stricken with betrayal. “Yerim, for playing on my very real fears and acting as a very convincing Jungeun, I'm grounding you.” 

“Are you allowed to do that?” Yerim counters, raising a brow and crossing her arms. 

“I don’t know. We’ll ask your mother,” Jinsol replies embarrassedly while Yeojin laughs. “Ok, enough! Why are you girls here?” 

Hyeju roams the 120 square feet of the office and notes Jinsol’s odd decorations. If this room was not situated in the Department of Biological Sciences, one would have a difficult time believing it belongs to a 49-year-old college professor. 

Jinsol has several paper airplanes scattered about the floor and one stuck on the wing of her ceiling fan. Her shelves house Beanie Babies and Funko Pops rather than textbooks and academic journals. Displayed on the walls are framed promotional posters of Madagascar 1, 2, and 3 - Jinsol’s favorite animated movies and favorite film trilogy of all time. 

The professor’s diplomas and credentials are nowhere to be seen. 

“We figured you were bored at work and we just wanted to visit you,” says Hyeju as she occupies Jinsol’s desk chair. The teenager unlocks Jinsol’s computer and starts a game of solitaire. 

“Hey! How did you do that? I’ve been trying to get into my computer for the past hour! Can you open my emails? My password is-” 

Hyeju picks up the sticky note attached to Jinsol’s monitor. “Jungeun123? C’mon, Aunt Sol,” Hyeju clicks her tongue, “This is how people get hacked.” 

Hyeju types in Jinsol’s weak password and discovers an empty inbox. “Nothing.” 

Well, there is an email from [email protected] with the subject line: “hey jinsol ASS ASS ASS FARTS FARTS FARTS” but Hyeju sends the asinine prank straight to Jinsol’s trash. 

Jinsol blinks, surprised. “Huh, that’s rare. Well, I guess that’s one less thing I have to do today.”

“Say, Aunt Sol… since your schedule has cleared up, maybe you have time to tell us another Triple S story.” 

Hyeju tries to make this idea sound like it’s out of the blue, off the top of her head, but Jinsol knows by now that this impromptu visit is actually a carefully planned set-up. 

I knew something was fishy. Since when do they want to hang out with their old mom and cringy Aunt Jinsol? 

I keep getting played by three teenage girls. 

A gossip-seeking Yeojin provokes Jinsol further. “My moms told me you and Aunt Jungeun were broken up for 3 years. What did you do? It was bad, wasn’t it?” 

Yerim glares at her friend and offers her mother a gentle explanation. 

“We noticed that there’s a large, Vice President Jinsol-shaped gap in the Sapphic Singles Squad’s story. Aunt Soo told us about her dating life with Aunt Jiwoo. Same goes for Aunt Seul and Aunt Vivi. But there’s so much about you and Ma that I don’t know.” 

It’s true. 

Jinsol and Jungeun’s relationship, especially the early days and everything leading up to the Great Separation of 1997, has always been shrouded in mystery. Jinsol and Jungeun never intended to keep their daughter out of the loop, but they have subconsciously steered away from the difficult topic of their breakup numerous times. 

Jinsol sees no point in retelling the dark past when she lives contently with her wife and daughter in the bright present. 

“Girls, why do you want to hear about a breakup that happened almost 30 years ago?” Jinsol rubs her eyes. 

“Because dRRRRR-” Yeojin rolls her Rs, “-AMAAAAAA!” 

Hyeju joins in with jazz hands. 

(It’s times like these that the Squad regrets enrolling their daughters in a performing arts high school.) 

“You guys are asking me to cover a touchy subject, something that brings me great sorrow. I don’t like talking about this and I’m not in the storytelling mood. Maybe some other time, if ever.” 

“But Hyeju and I are leaving for college in 2 days!” Yerim protests. “Please tell the story, Mommy.” 

Aw, damn it. First, the brutal reminder that she’s moving out of the house, then a “Mommy”?! 

And now she’s pouting. 

With puppy eyes! And the head tilt! 

Damn it, Yerim. 

Jinsol surrenders to her daughter, her greatest weakness and strength. “Fine, fine. I’ll tell it.” 

“Woo! Good work, Yerim!” Yeojin raises her hand to high-five her friend but Jinsol intercepts them. 

“Hold on. Since you girls are shamelessly manipulating me, spare me a crumb of freedom. Sooyoung told you how she met Jiwoo and Haseul told you how she met Vivi. It’s only fair that I get to do the same with my wife. Let me tell the story of our meet-cute before all the conflict and angst.” 

Yeojin whispers in Yerim’s left ear, Hyeju in Yerim’s right. Yerim nods and speaks on their behalf. 

“We will allow it,” Yerim declares. 

Jinsol smiles at her daughter’s poise and self-assurance. Clearly, Yerim got it all from Jungeun. 

“So, when and how did I meet Jungeun?” Jinsol begins storytime as the girls find their seats. “It was December 1995. I was the assistant manager at a simple pet store...” 

December 13, 1995  

Jinsol loves her job as if it were one of her roommates. She loves it amid financial disputes and shortcomings, reasonably and conditionally, and in small, manageable chunks. 

Sadly, her job doesn’t always love her. 

The German Shepherds despise Jinsol. Maybe she did something to piss off the entire breed in a past life. Perhaps she was a cat or a criminal.  

“Please, work with me, Max!” Jinsol begs the anxious, 85 pound police dog as he thrashes about the bathtub. His tail clangs against the stainless steel, his paws scamper toward the edge to make his escape, and his sad brown eyes convey looks of horrified betrayal.

Jinsol makes an effort to befriend the canine. She squishes his big head in her hands and rubs the top of his muzzle. 

“Once I get you cleaned up and groomed, you can get back to flirting with the poodle that came in earlier. She’ll love your new look! I know you have the hots for her, don’t you, Max?” 

The dog recognizes Jinsol’s earnestness and allows Jinsol to pet him. For a moment, they seem to have resolved their differences until Jinsol points the hose at his thick, black coat. 

Water meets fur and canine claws meet uncovered human skin. Max mistakes Jinsol as a  scratching post from the cat furniture aisle. 

“UGHHH! Quit it, dude! I’m just trying to help you!” Jinsol yells in between Max’s continuous, violent barks. Seeing that Max refuses to back down, Jinsol caves and calls for backup. Two coworkers arrive at the scene (one of whom claims to be a “dog whisperer”) and Jinsol finally gets to take her break, 6 hours into her shift. 

Jinsol in her tattered uniform, looking like an extra in a bad slasher movie, drags herself to the break room. She digs out her lunch - a BLT sandwich without the “B,” a scant amount of “L,” and virtually no “T” - and chews it lazily while her mind drifts to the awful events of today. 

What have I accomplished? Fucking nothing. 

Corporate kept me on hold for two hours, we’re nowhere closer to finding out who stole $1000 from the registers, Aisle 2 is a hot mess, the actual pet groomers are still on strike, and I look like I’ve just been put through a blender. 

Jinsol hungrily searches her lunchbox for snacks that she knows were never packed during this morning’s mad dash out of the apartment. She finds an old candy wrapper and a scrawled reminder on a yellow sticky note. 

IMPORTANT: JUNGEUN @ 1:30 

“Huh? Who is Jungeun and why is she important?” Jinsol asks aloud while she tosses her trash in the bin. 

“Jungeun… Jungeun…” Jinsol closes her eyes and places her fingers on her forehead. She cannot, for the life of her, recall writing herself this note. 

“Jungeun… Jungeun…” Jinsol sounds out the syllables with precision, testing the feel of her future wife’s name on her mouth. 

“Jungeun… Jungeun…” Jinsol summons her soulmate to the musty break room of the Blockberry Pet Store. 

“Yes, that’s me.” 

A startled Jinsol jumps in her seat. 

Holy shit. I’m a fucking magician! I made her appear just by calling her name… wait- What is she wearing? 

“Can you help me take this off?” Jungeun points to her gargantuan owl head. 

Owl head? Corporate is still making the greeters wear that stupid costume? 

Jinsol’s animated eyebrows raise with her epiphany. 

Ohhhh that’s who Jungeun is! The new hire! I’m supposed to orient her at 1:30. It all makes sense now. 

While Jinsol draws the strings in her brain, linking them from observation to established background knowledge to inference like a crime scene board, Jungeun starts to panic. 

“Hello? Are you still there? I can’t see in this!” Jungeun’s jittery hands pinch the poorly-designed mascot head and attempt to pry it off her person.

Jinsol stands up and springs into action to rescue her fair maiden. “I’m here,” she holds Jungeun’s shoulders, stabilizing her. 

“Git me out of this damned thing!” Jungeun demands in a familiar Southern drawl. 

“Hey!” Jinsol snaps her fingers, “You must be Jiwoo’s roommate! I’m Sooyoung’s roommate! Our friends are dating! What are the odds!” 

“Mhm small world!” Jungeun dismisses quickly, “Are you fixin’ to help me or not?”  

“Whoops,” Jinsol chuckles, “Sorry.” 

Jinsol takes Jungeun’s hand and guides it to a safety strap. “Pull this,” the assistant manager gently instructs. Jungeun obliges and hears the distinct, ASMR-worthy sound of Velcro. 

The confining costume loosens and Jungeun catches her breath. “Thank you,” she whispers wearily. 

“You’re welcome,” Jinsol smiles, “Now let’s remove this thing so I can talk to a human face.” 

Jinsol lifts the owl head and unveils her future bride. 

Now, unlike her friends Haseul and Sooyoung who have respective preferences for athletic girls and cute girls with bangs, Jinsol is not picky. Jinsol loves women of all different shapes, sizes, colors, and walks of life.

But one awestruck look at the girl underneath the bird costume and Jinsol realizes that she, like many people, has a “type” - an unbelievably specific one at that. 

She likes women with luscious brown hair, soft cherry lips, and luminous hazel eyes that seem to hold a secret of the universe in each fleck of gold and green. 

Women like Jungeun Kim. Gorgeous Jungeun Kim. Her roommate’s girlfriend’s roommate. Her…  coworker. 

Jinsol takes a step back and leans on the break room’s water cooler. She recalls the context of their meeting, shakes off her dysfunctional gay thoughts, and assumes professionalism. 

“Well, now that we can see each other, I suppose formal introductions are in order. Jinsol Jeong, assistant manager,” Jinsol shakes Jungeun’s hand. 

“Jungeun Kim, store greeter and terrifying owl-human hybrid.” 

Jinsol’s “type” now includes a girl who can poke a little fun at herself. 

“You know, I’ve always had an issue with that costume. Owls are wild creatures. They shouldn’t be the face of a pet store! Don’t worry, I won’t make you wear it unless Corporate visits,” Jinsol reassures. 

Jungeun smiles, relieved. “Thank you. So what do I wear instead? A blue polo that looks like Edward Scissorhands had his way with it?” Jungeun tilts her head coyly. 

Jinsol modifies her “type” a third time. She likes sharp-tongued girls who speak in pop culture references. Jinsol looks down at her torn-up uniform and laughs. 

“Thanks for appreciating my fashion. Almost-mauled-by-a-German-Shepherd is very ‘ in ’ this season,” Jinsol indulges in their banter. 

She then glances at the clock and turns serious.

“Right,” Jinsol clasps her hands together, “So we should get started with your orientation. You have a lot of things to sign, date, and initial. I’ll go grab all that. In the meantime, you sit here and-” 

“Be important?” Jungeun reads from the post-it. 

Jinsol is stunned. She’s never found anyone who could decipher her abysmal penmanship. Within three minutes of knowing Jungeun, Jinsol already feels like she’s met her match. 

“I like your style, Jungeun,” Jinsol smirks, “It’s a pleasure to have you with us!” 

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Jungeun returns with a full smile. 

Jinsol skedaddles out of the break room to retrieve Jungeun’s HR paperwork. The assistant manager comes across a rule that she’s been unaware of until now. 

Section 13: Personal Relationships 

1. Relationships of romantic and/or sexual nature between coworkers are strictly FORBIDDEN

Jinsol is alarmed at the rigid restriction but shrugs it off. 

I have a harmless crush on her. I don’t plan to act on it. 

Besides, workplace romances are tacky and overdone.

Jinsol closes the HR binder, carries it back to the break room, and returns to Jungeun to kindle the quiet beginnings of their workplace romance. 

December 14, 1995

Day 2 of Jungeun’s orientation involves more paperwork and more completely platonic, not-at-all romantic or sexual tension. 

“-And that’s how you clock in and clock out. Pretty simple. Any questions?” 

Jungeun bites her lip in a manner that is simultaneously pensive, cute, and provocative. 

“I have one,” Jungeun replies reluctantly. 

“Go ahead. I’m listening.” Jinsol tucks back the blonde hair curtaining the sides of her head. She exposes her ears and playfully wiggles them. 

All Jungeun can focus on, however, is Jinsol’s magnificent, angular jaw. It’s perfectly sculpted in the way that it dips so sharply, so dramatically, cascading into Jinsol’s chin. 

Her chin.

Another meticulously crafted facial feature. 

Jungeun is in big trouble. She too has a “harmless crush” on her coworker.

“Jungeun?” Jinsol waves her hand - slightly calloused but still begging for Jungeun to hold it - in front of Jungeun’s face. “What’s your question?” 

“I- I forgot.” 

“That’s alright,” Jinsol smiles. (Oh, that smile…) “You can ask me again later. I’m sure you’ll remember it.” 

Jungeun permanently forgets her question. 

She ends orientation with an employee name tag, a clean blue polo uniform, and another yellow sticky note with Jinsol’s personal phone number. 

Jungeun foolishly believes she won’t be needing the third item. 

December 15, 1995 

“Congratulations, Jungeun! You have completed your training and you will be flying solo for the first time today! The store opens in 30 minutes. Tell me, are you psyched? Are you excited?” 

“Yep! I can’t wait to get greetin’!” Jungeun’s enthusiasm comes across as artificial. 

Honestly, the thought of standing behind a door for eight hours, waving to store goers and directing them to the appropriate aisles does not exactly make Jungeun jump for joy. Yes, customers can be friendly and exchange pleasantries, but many are in a hurry and some are downright rude. Although Jungeun is grateful to be employed, this is monotonous, tiring, and sometimes thankless work. 

“Nah. That’s not gonna cut it,” Jinsol shakes her head, unconvinced. “Our customers need to see that you are PUMPED UP! Let me hear you SCREAAAAM!” Jinsol demands like a DJ playing the final song at a rave. 

“Woohoo!” Jungeun yells with only a fraction of the energy her assistant manager expects of her. 

“Not enough, rookie. Like this-” Jinsol inhales deeply before demonstrating the wonders of her larynx, “-AAAHHHH!” 

Jinsol’s piercing scream rattles Jungeun’s ears and startles the flock of pigeons on the telephone lines 40 feet above them. Jinsol seems rather proud of herself. 

She should. She’s a walking megaphone. 

"Your turn, Jungeun!” Jinsol nudges her coworker. 

“Alright,” Jungeun timidly rubs her throat, fearful of how she’s about to savagely damage it - and for what?

To please her boss?

But then again, is Jinsol really her superior? Jinsol is only the assistant manager, a college student just like her, and she seems more interested in entertaining Jungeun than overruling her. Jinsol is about as intimidating as a teacup puppy. 

“Here goes,” Jungeun pauses before letting out an even louder scream than Jinsol’s. “AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!” 

 Outside, the pigeons flee from the wire and embark on an early migration out of Blockberry. 

Inside, the rest of their coworkers stare at Jungeun like she has the plague. (“ The new girl is insane,” they gossip.) 

“Everyone’s lookin’ at me,” Jungeun shamefully whispers to Jinsol. 

“Fuck them,” Jinsol whispers, “They’re just jealous they can’t do what you do. That was like a sonic boom! I’m impressed!” 

“Still,” Jungeun's gaze flickers down to her feet, “I could do without the staring.” 

“Ah. No worries,” Jinsol rests a hand on Jungeun’s shoulder, “I’m about to create a distraction. I am about to create so much pandemonium.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jinso-“

(Of course it’s not a good idea. It’s a god-awful idea. But has that ever stopped Jinsol?) 

Jinsol contorts her face into an expression of absolute terror. She gasps overdramatically and raises a trembling finger in the air. 

“EVERYONE! FIRE! FIRE! THERE’S A FIRE! I SEE IT! EVERYONE FOLLOW THE EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS! EVACUATE SAFELY AND EFFICIENTLY!” 

Naturally, the cashiers and shelf stockers hurriedly abandon their tasks and head for the exits, adrenaline kicking into overdrive. 

“ARE YOU GUYS HEADING TO THE BACK DOOR? NO NO! ARE YOU INSANE?! THAT’S WHERE IT STARTED! EXIT THROUGH THE FRONT!” Jinsol adds more fuel to the nonexistent flames. 

She goofily smirks at Jungeun after everyone has vacated the building. “Tada! No more dirty looks. Problem solved!” 

Jinsol is not only sexy but cute as well. 

It’s a shame she’s unhinged and the most chaotic person Jungeun has ever met. 

December 20, 1995 

Now that Jungeun has had a week to settle into her job and Jinsol is relieved from her training duties (and a temporary suspension for lying about the fire), the couple has time to get to know one another on a personal level. 

Unfortunately, Jinsol isn’t the strongest conversationalist. 

She’s better than Haseul, who has the hardest time getting the ball rolling but she’s nowhere near as skilled as Sooyoung - flirting aficionado and resident heartbreaker of all the sapphic women in Blockberry.

“What is your deal, Jungeun?” 

Jinsol not only asks this question with unnecessary bite, she also stands in front of the fridge, blocking Jungeun from accessing her lunch. 

“I don’t understand,” Jungeun furrows her brows, “Have I done something wrong?” 

Jinsol facepalms at her own callousness. “Gah! No, it’s me. I’m an idiot. You’re fine, you’re fine. Trust me, you’re golden.” Jinsol revises the question in her head while Jungeun obtains her Nashville hot chicken lunch (recipe courtesy of Jiwoo’s “Great Gam-Gam”). 

“I suppose…” Jinsol casually leans on the side of the break room fridge, “I should have asked you what your… story is. I wasn’t involved in the hiring process. I didn’t review your application and I didn’t conduct interviews. I just oriented you and most of the time, we were strictly talking about work. I wanna know what you’re like outside of this pet shop. Who is Jungeun?” 

“-And why is she important?” Jungeun teases. 

The questions of Jungeun’s true identity and importance have become somewhat of an inside joke for the two. That yellow scrap of paper will follow them throughout their dating life and into marriage. It will even make a cameo at their wedding. 

“Yes, why are you important?” Jinsol laughs breezily. 

“I’m honored you find me so interesting but I’m really not. I like long walks on the beach and the smell of the earth after it rains. I ain’t that original,” Jungeun rattles off as she sticks her food in the toaster oven. 

“Hey! Don’t knock yourself down like that! Those are all awesome! You have great taste!” Jinsol affirms Jungeun’s worth.

A small smile manifests on Jungeun’s face. “What else do you want to learn about me?”

“Whatever you want to share. Anything. Your accent is so enticing, I could listen to you read a chainsaw manual.” 

Jungeun scoffs. “Oh you think my accent is fascinatin’? Haven’t you heard Jiwoo’s? Hers is somethin’ else entirely! As long as I’ve known her, she’s always sounded like Colonel Sanders. Y’know, the KFC mascot? She was a six year old Korean girl sounding like a grown ass Southern man! She was a real head turner!” 

From the two times Jinsol has conversed with Jiwoo, she can confirm that Jiwoo’s accent is thicker than molasses. “Yeah, I’ve heard Jiwoo. I still prefer yours.” 

“But why?” Jungeun is utterly perplexed. 

Jinsol shrugs, “Maybe it just resonates more with me.” 

(And maybe Jiwoo’s voice resonates more with Sooyoung. Just soulmate things.) 

“But why ?” Jungeun asks yet again, frustrating Jinsol. Every compliment Jinsol gives Jungeun seems to ricochet. 

The toaster oven timer dings just as Jinsol outbursts, “I don't know, Jungeun. Do I have to have a reason to like you? I just do!”

Oops. She’s said too much. 

Jinsol throws her hands over her mouth and turns her back away from her coworker. The sudden, but adorable act leaves Jungeun puzzled. 

“Like my voice, you mean?” Jungeun asks ignorantly. (Jinsol just misspoke. Surely it was just a slip of the tongue.) 

Jinsol studies the stained tile grout of the break room, hiding her embarrassed face even further. “Yes. Good catch,” the assistant manager clears her throat, “Anyway, I’m needed in Aisle 7. There’s an electrical problem with the bulbs that light up the fish tanks. And we all know what happens when electricity and water mix, don’t we?” 

“Fire?” Jungeun wonders why Jinsol uses the same tired excuse to escape uncomfortable situations. 

“Yup! Gotta go! I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your lunch in peace.” Jinsol offers a quick wave and tends to her second made-up catastrophe of the week.

Later that day, Jungeun returns to her empty dorm room. 

She calls Jiwoo who is back in Tennessee, home for the holidays. 

“Hey, Jiwoo.” 

“Jungie!!! How was the chicken? Did you add a splash of pickle juice to the sauce? That’s Gam Gam’s secret! Adds a nice tang!” 

“Yep, I followed Gam Gam’s recipe to a T. I’m eatin’ it right now for dinner.” 

“You didn’t pack it for lunch…” Jiwoo’s voice lilts at the end of her sentence, as if asking a question rather than making a statement. 

“I did, but I got distracted and couldn’t eat much. Jinsol - she said she liked me… or my voice. I’m not really sure,” Jungeun inserts this crucial piece of information matter-of-factly. 

Jiwoo squeals in glee. “EEEEE! I knew y’all would be a good match! Now y’all can go on double dates with me and Sooyoung!” 

Jiwoo’s imagination floods with images of the prospective couples at sporting events, amusement parks, and bridal shops, planning their weddings together. 

“Hold on right there,” Jungeun sternly interrupts her exuberant friend, “I never said I liked her back. Jinsol is reckless! And-and impulsive!” 

“And yet you’re spending the holidays with her,” Jiwoo points out, cheekily as ever. 

“Forced to,” Jungeun clarifies. 

For some odd, cruel reason, the upper management at Hwang Capital Partners (the corporation that owns the pet store) selected Christmas Eve as their yearly inventory day. The store will be closed to customers, but open to two workers - usually the assistant manager and the employee with the least seniority are mandated to mindlessly count every item that occupies their shelves, jot it down on a spreadsheet, never to be looked at again. It’s needless busy work. It’s scut. It’s stupid.

“I’m not looking forward to an extra four hours of one-on-one time with Jinsol: Christmas Edition,” Jungeun picks at her food. 

“You’re being so tough on her!” Jiwoo nags. “Look, Jungie. Jinsol’s making a great effort to get to know you. The least you could do is let her.” 

And although Jungeun is not keen on letting strangers - especially potential pyromaniacs - into her life so easily, she follows Jiwoo’s advice. Her best friend’s reasoning has always been sound.

But Jungeun does not plan to learn more about her blonde mess of a coworker. Jungeun’s education and her family remain at the top of her priorities. She has no room for Jinsol. 

For now.

December 24, 1995

Jungeun stands outside her place of work, tapping her foot angrily and checking her watch. The sooner she and Jinsol can finish this menial work, the sooner they can rejoice in the yuletide festivities - separately. 

“Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!” Jinsol arrives with arms outstretched, wearing a Santa hat and a grin. 

Jungeun returns the greeting quickly but with less fervor. (It’s her first Christmas away from home, forgive her for not being in high spirits.) 

Jinsol hands Jungeun a clipboard with an attached inventory sheet. “Alrighty, pardner. Let’s get to counting and then let’s get outta here!” Jinsol fumbles for her key to the store, patting herself down head-to-toe, like she’s going through airport security. 

“Hold on,” she eases the impatient Jungeun, “I know it’s here somewhere.” 

How Jinsol managed to get promoted from a simple greeter like Jungeun, to a cashier, to an aquatics specialist, and now the assistant manager, Jungeun does not understand. On her best days, Jinsol seems semi-competent at her job. On her worst days, Jinsol could bring a permanent end to this establishment. 

Jinsol removes her left combat boot, holds it upside-down until a gold key labeled “Pet Store: Main Entrance” falls out of it. “I knew I’d find you eventually!” Jinsol says to the inanimate object. “Alrighty, Jungeun. In we go!” 

“Nexgard Chewables for Dogs 24.1 to 60 pounds, 3 month supply,” Jungeun reads monotonously from the list. 

“... 29… 30… 31,” Jinsol counts as Jungeun fills in the quantity box. “So, what are your plans when we get out of here?” 

They would be moving on to the second inventory sheet as opposed to being stuck at the top of the first one if it weren’t for Jinsol’s relentless small talk. 

“Go back to my dorm, call my parents and Jiwoo, look outside the window and hope it snows. That’s about it,” Jungeun sighs and looks down at the next item, “Nexgard Chewables for Dogs 60.1 to 121 pounds, 3 month supply.” 

“... 13… 14… 15… 16… Does it snow back home, where you’re from?” Jinsol’s eyebrows are contorted into their classic “I’m listening and I’m very eager to hear what you are about to say” configuration. Her undivided attention spurs Jungeun to talk. 

“Yes it does snow in Memphis, but not usually on Christmas. I was expecting it to snow right here in Blockberry, as it has for the past few weeks, but now the forecast ain’t looking promising,” Jungeun shakes her head and clicks her tongue, “K9 Advantix II Topical Large Dog Flea and Tick Treatment.” 

“... 1… 2… 3-Y’know what? Let’s take a break. I think it’s time,” Jinsol returns the medication to its proper shelf and snatches Jungeun’s clipboard. 

“Why?” Jungeun inquires, exasperated, “We’ve barely been working for an hour.” 

“Perfect! Haseul’s probably done setting it up,” Jinsol thinks aloud before turning to Jungeun. “Let’s go, Jungeun. You’re gonna want to see this,” Jinsol teases before she literally runs away from her coworker, abandoning her without explanation in the middle of the pet pharmacy. 

“Jinsol? Jinsol! Where are you going!” 

Jungeun follows the swinging ponytail of blonde hair tucked carelessly under a Santa hat. Jinsol zips unpredictably from aisle to aisle, diverting Jungeun in all different directions only to lead her to the same front door they walked through not one hour ago. 

“Jinsol! Is this another prank? We don’t have time. Can we get back to work, plea-“ 

Jungeun opens the door to the outside and gasps. The entire store front, including half of the parking lot, is not how they left it.

Drab asphalt pavement is now blanketed in two feet of fluffy, white powder. 

The cold flakes that children catch on their tongues, the hazard that adults scrape off their cars, the force of nature that closes roads and stirs avalanches, the very thing that Jungeun wished for this Christmas.

Snow.

“How did you do this?” Jungeun trudges through the makeshift winter wonderland with weary legs. Her eyes, on the other hand, are full of life, scanning the crisp white periphery in amazement. 

Jinsol would happily bring about this snowfall every day of the year if it means she gets to see Jungeun’s eyes sparkle and twinkle. 

“My other roommate, Haseul, owes me a favor,” Jinsol explains. “When I found out she knows a guy with a snow machine, I decided to cash it in.” 

Jungeun bends to scoop a pile of artificial snow in her arms, relishing in how it dampens her sleeves, how real it looks and feels, despite being a manmade mix of water and polymers pumped through a tube. She forms a uniform snowball and chucks it at Jinsol who catches it before it disintegrates beneath her fingers.

“I figured you could use a little holiday cheer,” Jinsol smiles and goes on, “Being away from home and all…” 

Jungeun puts the snow to the ultimate test. She lays down, moves her arms and legs concurrently in a sweeping motion, and imprints a snow angel in what used to be the manager’s parking spot. 

“So, what do you think?” Jinsol takes a knee beside Jungeun. 

“Make snow angels with me, Jinsol!” Jungeun requests as she continues to swing her limbs adorably. 

Jinsol’s thoughtful gesture seems to have eliminated Jungeun’s.... er…  coldness towards her because Jungeun can’t contain her giggles. Jungeun’s pure, joyous laughter tickles Jinsol’s ears. 

“Well, I can’t say no to that!” Jinsol exclaims as she happily joins Jungeun on the frigid, powdery ground. 

They make angels until their clothes are soaked in icy slush, until they have swept all the way through the pavement, until their deltoids ache and their freezing wet fingertips wrinkle and shrivel. 

They’re still splayed on the ground when Jungeun whines, “I don’t wanna go back inside to work. It’s not fair.” 

“It’s really not,” Jinsol agrees solemnly, “Especially for you. The only reason you stayed behind in Blockberry is for this job, right? All your other freshman friends returned to their hometowns for winter break?” 

“Yep,” Jungeun sighs. 

Jinsol turns her head and gives Jungeun a tender smile. “Go home, Jungeun.” 

“What?” 

“Go home , Jungeun. You have better things to do than count flea medication with a blonde Santa lesbian.” 

Jungeun laughs.

“Hop on a plane or a train. I don’t know if you’ll be able to find a flight or a seat but if you hurry now, maybe you can make it to Tennessee before Christmas Day.” 

“But inventory is a two-person job! And you still have to clean this up!” Jungeun gestures to their artificial flurry. “You’ll be here till sundown!” 

“I’ll manage. If I work fast and skip lunch, maybe I could finish at 2.” Jinsol reassures Jungeun although they both know this is a gross underestimation. 

Jungeun’s guilt continues to stir in her bones. “No, I can’t let you work for me. It would be asking too much-“ 

Jungeun pauses to gingerly pick snowflakes out of Jinsol’s hair. Their faces are so close together that Jinsol can pick up on Jungeun’s minty breath from her early morning peppermint latte. 

Jinsol terribly wants to kiss her. 

No. 

Bad Jinsol! 

It’s a crush. That’s all it is and that’s all you’ll ever allow it to be. 

“You’ve been so kind to me these past few weeks. Trainin’ me, strikin’ up conversations, being genuinely interested in everything I have to say, hell - scaring the bejeezus out of people so they would stop judging me!” 

Her lips look so soft… 

No. 

Bad Jinsol! 

“I’ll be honest, I thought you were a goofball when we first met.” 

Heh, I still am. 

“-And you still are,” Jungeun continues, as if reading Jinsol’s mind. “But now I see you’re so much more than that. You’ve got the biggest heart I’ve ever seen on a human! How do you lug that thing around all day?” 

I work out a lot. 

Haha just kidding. I’ve been in a gym once in my life and it was to use the bathroom.

Jungeun draws a halo on the ice above Jinsol’s head. “You’re heaven sent, Jinsol. I was feeling down and then you made it snow for me! You’re my literal snow angel.” 

What happens next causes Jinsol to fall hopelessly deeper, deeper, deeper for Jungeun. 

“Squeeee! That was so cheesy! I’m so sorry!” Jungeun hugs her knees to her chest, tucks her head down, squeezes her eyes shut, and rocks back-and-forth in the fetal position. “Sorry, sorry, you didn’t need to hear that, I’m awful sorry…” 

“It’s ok,” Jinsol laughs adoringly, “Jungeun, it’s fine. I don’t mind a little cheese.” 

“You don’t?” Jungeun lifts her head slowly. The first thing Jinsol sees are the tips of Jungeun’s ears, painted in red. It’s probably due to the cold weather… or a reaction to Jinsol’s overwhelming affection and warmth. 

“Cheddar, brie, gorgonzola, mozzarella, I love them all!” Jinsol dad-jokes, receiving an eye-roll from Jungeun. 

“On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t feel bad about leaving you here alone,” Jungeun nudges Jinsol’s arm. 

“Yes. Go home , Jungeun. Don’t worry about me.” 

Jungeun nods, wipes the snow off her clothes as best as she can, and extends a hand to lift Jinsol off the ground. 

Now facing one another, Jungeun stands on her tiptoes and presses a smooch on Jinsol’s right cheek. “Thank you, Jinsol,” she whispers and walks away. 

Funny how amidst all this ice, Jinsol feels like she’s on fire. 

The ghost of Jungeun’s kiss burns and lingers, leaving her wanting more. 

Fuck.

This is not just a crush. 

I have to have her.

December 28, 1996 

It’s been four days since The Cheek Kiss and Jinsol appears to be moving on. 

I’m probably just bored and touch-starved.

If one of my roommates kissed me, I’d have the same reaction.

“Hey, Sol,” Haseul barges into Jinsol’s room to annoy her. (She does this often). 

“Seul! Great, you’re here!” 

“Why are you so happy to see me?” Haseul asks, suspicion rising. 

“I need a favor,” Jinsol looks down at her space-themed bedsheets. 

Haseul groans. “Again? I thought we were even after last time. What was all that snow for anyway? Are you trying to impress a girl or something?” 

Bingo. Haseul hits the nail on the head. 

Jinsol nods shyly. 

“Alright, fine,” Haseul resigns, “What do you need me to do now?” 

“Kiss me.” 

“You’re shitting me,” Haseul narrows her eyes.

“I wish I was,” Jinsol stressfully rubs her forehead. 

“If you like this girl, then why do you want me to kiss you? I mean, I’m obviously athletic, popular, successful, and attractive but we’re Seul and Sol! Platonic pals! No offense, but the thought of kissing you makes me want to fling myself into the sun.” 

Jinsol scoffs at her friend’s inflated ego. “Jungeun kissed me on the cheek. I felt…” Jinsol closes her eyes, “... sparks.” 

“From a cheek kiss?” Haseul laughs bitterly, “Gay people, I swear.” 

“Would you just pucker up? Plant it right here,” Jinsol traces an “X” on the area that Jungeun claimed, “One quick smooch and you’re free to go. If I feel something, then that means I’m just single and desperate.” 

“Hey!” Haseul takes offense. 

“-And if I don’t feel something, then maybe I’m fucked and I really like Jungeun. Maybe I want to write her poems, contemplate life with her, stargaze and take turns pointing out constellations while she whispers sweet nothings in my ear,” Jinsol blissfully lets her imagination wander. 

“Well, shit,” Haseul’s bluntness pulls Jinsol from her vivid daydreams, “Do I really have to kiss you? It looks like we already have an answer.” 

Jinsol makes Haseul kiss her anyway. 

It comes as no surprise to them that Jinsol doesn’t feel a thing.

January 2, 1996 

1996 would prove to be a wonderful year in the vast timeline of Jinsol and Jungeun. It begins with a phone call Jungeun never thought she’d make. 

“Jungeun? What made you call? Not that I don’t mind hearing your voice, of course,” Jinsol anxiously twirls the phone cord around her finger, nearly compromising its circulation. 

“Well, actually, that’s the reason why. I missed talkin’ to you, Jinsol. What’ve you been up to?” 

“Oh, nothing much…” 

Only thinking about what to name our future child, that’s all. 

I’ve decided on Dragonslayer Jeong-Kim. It’s gender neutral and not to mention, badass! What are your thoughts? 

“Really?” Jungeun says, not buying it for a second, “You’re the type of person who’s always up to something. No crazy hijinks with your roommates? What do y’all call yourselves again? The Grand Group of Gays?” 

Many outsiders have butchered the name of Jinsol, Haseul, and Sooyoung’s friend group. In the two years since their formation, the trio have answered to a variety of charming names such as The Lovable League of Lesbians and The Hungry Hungry Homos.

Jinsol’s favorite, however, is still the age-old classic. 

“You got the alliteration right but it’s The Sapphic Singles Squad,” Jinsol corrects. “Triple S. Sol, Seul, and Soo. And we’re kinda on hiatus right now. Not a lot of people to mess with or pranks to pull when most are still back home.” 

“Ah, I see.” 

"Yeah… so when are you coming back to Blockberry?” Jinsol tries not to sound like a clingy girlfriend when she asks this. 

“The eighth.” 

Something doesn’t add up. Jinsol glances at her calendar. “Classes don’t resume until the fifteenth. You’re early!” 

“I’m scheduled to work on the eighth,” Jungeun explains, “And I won’t let you cover for me again!”

“Well, I’m working that day too. Sorry Jungeun, but you’re stuck with me.” 

“All the more reason for me to show up, then,” Jungeun flirts. Her voice reaches a sinfully low register; it’s breathy and alluring and unlike anything Jinsol has ever heard from her. 

Jinsol wonders if this is the same Jungeun who rolled into a shy ball of cringe after the delivery of a cheesy - but incredibly endearing - pickup line. 

Jungeun’s duality is fascinating. How she can be so graceful yet so awkward, so risqué yet so reserved. How she makes Jinsol’s heart slam against her ribcage and how she makes it grind to a flatline, rhythm lost and undetectable. 

They converse for hours. 

Jungeun calls back the next day… and the day after that… and the day after that.

January 8, 1996 

Nothing beats the real thing.

Although flirting with Jungeun in person is far more nerve-wracking than exchanging innuendos through a phone line, there is the benefit of visual stimulation.

Jungeun is undoubtedly easy on the eyes. She seems to get prettier each time Jinsol sees her. 

However, it would be unprofessional to comment on Jungeun’s looks. This is a work environment, remember?

So instead of “You look stunning today, Jungeun!”, Jinsol opts for a safer, Human Resources-approved compliment.

“You’re doing a great job, Jungeun!”

January 11, 1996 

“Keep up the good work, Jungeun!” 

January 15, 1996

“Paychecks are out! Did you check your mailbox, Jungeun? Well earned!” 

January 21, 1996 

Jungeun appreciates the praise, really. 

She’s certain Jinsol will give her a stellar performance evaluation by the end of this quarter, what with the nonstop reminders of Jungeun’s “phenomenal work ethic” and “exceptional customer greeting.”  

Still, Jungeun hopes for more. 

She and Jinsol are too compatible to only ever be coworkers. 

Jungeun becomes aware of their budding potential as a couple on the evening of January 21. She and Jinsol are the sole employees left to lock up the store for the night. 

“I noticed something about you today,” says Jinsol as they turn off the lights and exit, “Something different.” 

“I hope this is a good different,” Jungeun muses. 

“Ehhh, it sorta depends,” Jinsol shrugs. “I’m not sure how you feel about losing your Southern accent.” 

Detaching Jungeun from her Southern roots is like detaching a baby from their bottle: you’re bound to receive some angry pushback. 

“WHAT?! I ain’t losin’ my accent! I still sound like me! You don’t know what the heck you’re talkin’ bout!” Jungeun intentionally exaggerates her drawl to support her argument. 

“Then why were you greeting the customers with a ‘How are you guys doing today?’ instead of a ‘Good mornin’! How can I help y’all?’” 

Fair point. 

Jinsol 1, Jungeun 0. 

“I- I really said that?” Jungeun stammers in disbelief. “ You guys? ” Jungeun practically gags on the words. Jungeun’s friends back home would vilify her for uttering the inferior alternative to “y’all.” 

“Mhm, all day long,” Jinsol replies as she yanks on the padlock, ensuring that the store is fully closed to the public. “It shocked me too. Although, I guess it makes sense. You spend a lot of time around me so you’ve picked up some of my speaking habits. Southern belle, no more!” 

Jungeun ritually runs her hands through her hair until it becomes a ratty mess. “No! It can’t be! You’re from Malibu. If I’m becoming you, that means I’m a… a Californian ?” 

Jinsol holds her laughter in consideration of Jungeun, who looks like she is going through a legitimate breakdown. 

Tears pool in Jungeun’s eyes at the thought of losing herself to the Golden State, land of surf, sun, and Jinsol Jeong. “I don’t wanna be a Californian,” Jungeun sniffles adorably, “I don’t wanna say things like: ‘hang ten, brah’ and ‘that’s like… totally rad, dude.’” 

Jinsol wishes to correct Jungeun that not everyone from her home state sounds like a surfer dude caricature. (Jinsol herself has never lasted three seconds on a surfboard). 

However, given Jungeun’s current identity crisis (entirely Jinsol’s fault), Jinsol determines that her coworker needs comfort, not condescension. 

“There, there, Jungeun. It’s ok. You’re still you, forget what I said.” 

“You shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place,” the Southerner pouts. 

“I’m sorry,” Jinsol’s cartoonishly expressive eyes and brows express insurmountable sincerity. 

Jungeun thinks back to every apology she’s ever received - genuine or otherwise - and how they all sound like blatant lies when compared to Jinsol’s. 

When Jinsol says she’s sorry to Jungeun, she means it with every fiber of her being. She’ll unite heaven and earth to win back Jungeun’s forgiveness. 

When Jinsol looks at Jungeun, she forsakes the rest of the world. Their surroundings, their other coworkers and customers fade into the background; Jinsol’s visual cortex does not bother to register them as people, just blurry figures distracting her from the main attraction, from her center of gravity, from the only thing that matters: Jungeun. 

And when Jinsol pulls Jungeun in for a hug, when she holds Jungeun - oh my goodness - when Jinsol holds Jungeun, she makes her feel secure and safe and important. 

Oh so important. 

Jinsol 1, Jungeun 1. 

“You’re a Southerner,” Jinsol affirms, resting her chin atop Jungeun’s head. “You sound like one, you look like one, you have gravy running through your veins, and your first word was ‘yeehaw.’” 

Jinsol feels the reverberations of Jungeun’s giggles on her chin. It’s a strange sensation. Jinsol decides she likes it - very much. “See? I gotcha laughing now. Are we good?” 

Apparently, Jungeun likes to kiss and make up after a disagreement. 

But the smooch is pretty much the same as last time. It’s still short, sweet, and on Jinsol’s right cheek. (Does Jinsol have a magnet under that area of skin or something?)

The only difference this time is Jungeun’s lips briefly hovering over Jinsol’s. It’s fleeting. Blink and you miss it. 

(Jinsol soaks up every second with Jungeun so of course she notices.) 

“All is forgiven,” Jungeun reassures with a final squeeze to Jinsol’s arm. 

Then, they separate. Because they’re coworkers. And this is wrong. 

Why can’t they just date? Why are bigwigs at Hwang Capital Partners so concerned with their employees’ personal lives?

Stupid HR and their stupid rules. 

January 24, 1996 

“Jinsol? Can I ask you something?” 

“Anything, Jungeun,” Jinsol smiles. 

“How serious is this no-dating rule?” 

Jinsol chokes on her coffee. “Why-wh-why do you ask?” she manages between coughs. 

“Just curious.” (Sure, Jungeun.)

Jinsol takes precautions and sets her searing hot mug down. “Honestly, I didn’t even know it was a thing. I doubt most employees do. It’s probably not a big deal but it’s best to follow it.” 

“But with every rule, there’s an exception,” Jungeun postulates, “It says coworkers can’t have romantic relationships. What happens when you’re off the clock? Take you and I for example-” 

Jinsol gulps. Good thing she doesn’t have any scalding coffee to swallow down. 

“Right now, you’re the assistant manager, I’m a greeter. But you said it yourself, we’re different people outside of this store. We’re not confined to these labels. We can be the real Jinsol and Jungeun, whoever those two may be.” 

“So, hypothetically, if two coworkers such as us wanted to date,” Jinsol lowers her voice (which is still a barely passable whisper), “They should do so after-work hours and off the property of this pet store.” 

Jungeun nods mischievously. 

Look at that. They’ve uncovered a loophole. So simple. 

January 26, 1996

Jinsol fears that a full-fledged date might be too much for them. She wants to ease into it. Maybe run a practice round with an experienced couple who knows what they’re doing. 

She sends Jungeun a post-it note in her employee mailbox.

IMPORTANT

J,

Sooyoung and Jiwoo are going to a karaoke bar tomorrow. 

Want to tag along after work?

- J 

 

P.S. Burn after reading!!! 

After safely discarding the note in the trash, Jungeun writes Jinsol back. 

IMPORTANT

J, 

 

I’d love to.

 

- J 

 

P.S. Please dispose of this properly and practice fire safety. 

January 27, 1996

Karaoke night is a flop. 

Jinsol unknowingly sips from Jungeun’s drink, they accidentally headbutt while reading the songbook, and overall, they’re stiff, awkward, and unable to keep a conversation alive. 

It begs the question: What the hell happened?  

Maybe a double date and a predetermined activity is a tad too restricting for Jinsol and Jungeun. 

Maybe there’s too much pressure surrounding this event and they’re letting their nerves get the better of them. 

Maybe there was something inexplicably hot about their flirtatious behavior falling under the guise of “strictly forbidden” and now that they’ve found a way to bend the no-dating rule without explicitly breaking it, it’s become so… unsexy and lame . 

Jinsol and Jungeun need help. Enter their friends, Sooyoung and Jiwoo: expert meddlers.  

“I’m fixin’ to get another round of drinks for the table,” Jiwoo announces. 

“I’ll help!” Jungeun offers. 

“No, no. Jungie. You stay right there and chat with Jinsol,” Jiwoo winks. 

Jungeun appears disappointed and slumps in her seat. Jinsol gives her an awkward smile. 

“Darlin?” Jiwoo reaches for her girlfriend, “Will you come with me?” 

“Of course, dear,” Sooyoung responds with a flamboyant kiss to the back of Jiwoo’s hand. 

The successful, established couple leave their seats and head to the bar. But they’re not here to order more piña coladas - no, they’re here to eavesdrop from a distance. 

“Look at them, darlin’! They’re disastrous!” 

Sooyoung watches Jinsol shift in her chair a total of four times within a 10 second interval. “Yeah,” Sooyoung agrees with her girlfriend, “It looks like Malibu Barbie has forgotten how to sit.” 

“I think we need to ditch them,” Jiwoo boldly suggests. 

“What?” Sooyoung asks, taken aback. “You said they need our help!” 

“Have you noticed Jungie’s been talkin’ to me more than Jinsol? And Jinsol’s talkin’ to you more than Jungeun? They’re using us as crutches to keep the conversation goin’. If we leave them alone, they’ll have no choice but to talk to each other. I know they know how to. They work 32 hours a week together for pete’s sake! I’m sure they’re just nervous.” 

Sooyoung rests an elbow on the countertop, looking her usual smug self. “You weren’t nervous on our first date.” 

“That’s because I don’t hesitate. When I want something, darlin-“ Jiwoo pulls Sooyoung by her shirt collar, “-I make damn sure I get it.” 

(If only everyone were as efficient and forthright as these two…) 

“You’re right. Let’s get out of here,” Sooyoung whispers in her lover’s ear. They weave through the packed bar and stealthily exit out the back door. 

Jinsol glares at her empty, piña colada-less hand and realizes something is very wrong. 

“Where are Sooyoung and Jiwoo? They should be back by now!” Jinsol grumbles to Jungeun. “I’m sick of chewing on this stupid plastic umbrella!” 

“Knowing those two, they probably got distracted counting each other’s eyelashes,” Jungeun quips. 

Jinsol chuckles. “Or cracking each other’s fingers.” 

“Or measuring each other’s pulses,” Jungeun continues.

They take a few more digs at the codependent nature of Sooyoung and Jiwoo’s relationship before they’re back to their old playful rapport. Jungeun and Jinsol are at their best when they don’t take themselves too seriously. 

Jinsol sets her gnawed umbrella on a cocktail napkin. “They ditched us so they could make out, didn’t they?” 

“Yup,” Jungeun sighs, “Now what? Do we still sing karaoke?” 

Jinsol takes a final look at the songbook before shutting it. “Nope. We should get out of here too. I’d like to take you someplace special, if you’ll allow me.” 

“How far is it? How long will it take us to get there?” a concerned Jungeun asks, “I’m not much of a night… owl.” Jungeun shakes her head at the reminder of her old costume. 

“Ah,” Jinsol stands up, “We’re on a time crunch, then. No problem. If we leave right now, we can make it to the moon.”

Jinsol watches confusion paint Jungeun’s face. 

“Pardon? Where did you say we’re going?” 

OK PLAY THE SONG NOW

The Blockberry Observatory, located on the peak of Blockberry Hill, is home to a massive, 12-foot replica of the moon. Many visitors stand in front of the attraction to take silly pictures of themselves hugging it or attempting to climb it. Jinsol is not one of these simpletons. 

“I come here often. I stare at it for hours,” Jinsol confesses to Jungeun. “Sometimes, I even talk to it.” 

A grown woman having a one-sided conversation with a ball of concrete is definitely a cause for concern. Jungeun looks at Jinsol like she has two heads. 

“I know it sounds silly,” Jinsol addresses, “But I have my reasons for coming here. Bear with me.” Jinsol removes her leather jacket and wraps it around Jungeun’s shivering shoulders. 

It’s brisk tonight. The temperature is one degree above freezing. Hopefully it snows. Wouldn’t that be perfect? 

Now with one less layer of clothing, Jinsol cups her hands over her mouth, breathes on them, and rubs them together to generate friction and heat. She begins her explanation once her teeth are no longer chattering. 

“July 1969. An apartment complex in Brooklyn, New York. A new girl moves into 6A, right across from the boy in 7A. Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. First impressions are terrible. He hates her. She hates him. They can’t stand to run into each other in the hallway.” 

Jungeun listens attentively while wondering what relevance this obscure story has to Jinsol’s current situation. 

“They have next to nothing in common. Girl has a typical nuclear family with a sibling and a mom and a dad. She’s spoiled. Her parents buy her all the frilly dresses she wants and then some. The boy is a latchkey kid. His dad’s out of the picture and his mom only comes home when she feels like it. The food in his kitchen cupboards, if there is any, is past expired. He doesn’t get the luxury of a comfy mattress and fluffy pillows. He’s got it rough. Girl doesn’t understand why he’s so moody all the time. Girl doesn’t know how lucky she is.” 

Jinsol tucks her pale hands in her jean pockets as the temperature dips another half degree. 

“Boy and girl continue to tolerate each other’s existence. Boy swears he will never come to girl or girl’s parents for help, even if he’s starving. He doesn’t want their pity. But one night, he has no choice. July 21, 1969. The Apollo 11 mission. The world will see Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong walk on the moon. This is the single greatest broadcast in television history. Boy has to watch it! Only… he doesn’t have a tv in his living room. But girl does.” 

The pieces are starting to come together for Jungeun. 

“So he swallows his pride, knocks on girl’s door, and girl’s parents force her to play nice and let him inside. And so she does - reluctantly, of course. They ignore each other until the show begins. They gasp at that ‘small step for man’ and they marvel at that ‘one giant leap for mankind.’ They have just witnessed something incredible together. Now, they have something in common: they realize they’re both the biggest astronomy nerds! Boy builds girl model rockets. Girl makes boy an astronaut halloween costume. Boy and girl fall in love, get married, become man and woman, and have their own little girl. They hope she grows up to love science and the moon as much as they do. And she does. She loves it a little too much, actually. She chats it up like it’s an old friend.” 

Jungeun recalls the moon stickers on Jinsol’s work locker and the names of her betta fishes: Moon and Apollo. 

“You’re a smart girl, Jungeun. I bet you can guess who their daughter is,” Jinsol winks. 

Suddenly, an unnerving feeling settles in Jungeun’s stomach. “I shouldn’t be here, Jinsol. This is your private space.” 

“Nonsense!” Jinsol refutes, “I brought you here so you could learn more about me. About why I’m important. You gotta dig past the hot blonde to get to the good stuff. I know I just gave you my jacket, but I’ve still got a lot of layers, baby.” 

Jinsol sounds exactly like a fuckboy who hit on Jungeun at her freshmen orientation. If she wasn’t utterly bewitched by this woman, Jungeun would turn around and take a cab home. It’s already 10 PM. 

“Come here,” Jinsol points her chin up and beckons Jungeun to slide underneath it. Jungeun refuses, although she’ll give in pretty soon. “Come onnnn,” Jinsol teases, “It’s cold. We should huddle for warmth.” 

Jungeun, cloaked in Jinsol’s jacket, nestles into the concavity of Jinsol’s body. Jungeun’s fingers pull at the back of Jinsol’s sweater to hold her impossibly closer. 

It’s indiscernible where Jinsol ends and Jungeun begins. 

“That’s more like it,” Jinsol whispers, satisfied. 

“How long have you been visiting the moon?” Jungeun inquires into Jinsol’s neck. 

“Oh, old buddy and I go way back to my freshman year, two years ago.” 

“Do Sooyoung and Haseul know you come here?” 

Ticklish Jinsol suppresses the giggles that threaten to escape with each kiss that Jungeun peppers on her neck. 

“Yea-yeah-hehe-yes they do. They call- hehe- they called me a wacko, a nut job for b-befriending a r-rock.” 

Jungeun stops and frowns. “That’s not very nice of them.”

“I know,” Jinsol sighs, “They don’t understand me. That’s ok. They don’t have to because now I have someone who does. You.” Jinsol places a kiss on the crown of Jungeun’s head. 

(They’re kissing everywhere, all over, but they’re missing the main target). 

“What kinds of things do you say to the moon?” asks Jungeun with another peck to that damn right cheek. 

“I’ll talk to it right now. Feel free to listen.” 

Jungeun nods. 

“Hey, buddy. It’s me, Jinsol. Who else would it be, am I right?” Jinsol chuckles to herself as she gazes at the illuminated concrete sphere. “Guess what. I have a girl with me this time. Can you believe it?”

Jinsol pauses for the moon’s silent response. 

“Mhm! I can’t either! Anyway, lemme catch you up on my day. I woke up so psyched for this date night. I showered twice! Did all the chores for the apartment! I went for a jog around the town square! I collided with a skateboarder but I got up quickly and just kept running because nothing was gonna stop me! Carpet diem!” 

“It’s carpe diem,” Jungeun laughs. 

“Jungeun, do you mind? I’m trying to discourse with my friend,” Jinsol half-jokes. 

Jungeun cranes her neck to kiss Jinsol’s left cheek. (Well, that’s new). “Ok, sorry. Go right ahead.” 

“As I was saying,” Jinsol resumes in a fake irritated tone, “I was looking forward to tonight. And it… wasn’t what I was expecting. We didn’t hit it off right from the start but we’re doing much better now. She’s cuddled up close to me. That’s a good sign, right?” 

Jungeun hums happily. 

“Ah, very good. Listen, moon. I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Thank you for bringing my parents together. You’re sorta the reason why I exist,” Jinsol laughs uncomfortably. “You’re the reason why I know what it’s like to live. To walk into a bakery and have the hypnotizing scent of fresh bread travel up my nostrils. Or to pop bubble wrap, sleep in newly laundered sheets, tear open a paycheck, and other satisfying things.” 

Jinsol diverts her eyes from her inanimate friend to her very real, soon-to-be girlfriend. “-Or to go on a date with a woman who is even more beautiful than the galaxy you belong to,” Jinsol caresses Jungeun’s hair, feeling the weight of each strand. “Thank you for giving me the life that I have so that I could meet her and hold her and-” 

“Kiss her,” Jungeun completes. 

Jinsol won’t be played for a fool. Not the cheeks again. “Where?” Jinsol raises a brow in suspicion. 

Why, the lips, of course. 

Finally. 

Much like the earth to the moon, Jungeun’s lips have a gravitational pull that draws Jinsol’s lips to hers - furiously, passionately, irrevocably.  

They kiss until their lips go numb, until their mouths have become so acquainted with each other that they experience separation anxiety when they part, no longer able to function without their complement. 

Kissing is one of humanity’s greatest pleasures, one that Jinsol and Jungeun would like to experience over and over and over again.

“Can we keep this a secret from our friends?” asks Jungeun, breathless. 

“You mean I can’t rub it in Sooyoung’s face that I, a nerd, just got kissed to another planet?” Jinsol grumbles. 

“No, you can’t. Instead, you’ll tell her that the night was a failure, we sang one song then we went home early, and we agreed we’re better as coworkers.” 

“You want to trick Sooyoung and Jiwoo?” Jinsol asks in a stupor. “Why?” 

Jungeun’s finger slow dances down Jinsol’s jaw. “Because I want this memory to be ours only. Does that make me selfish, Sol?” 

“Not at all," Jinsol shakes her head, "I’d like the same thing.” 

The moon smiles down on the clandestine lovers as they lean in for another kiss. 

“Let’s keep it that way, Jungeun. Just the two of us - with the moon as our witness.” 

As snow begins to fall from the starry night sky, Jinsol and Jungeun fall in tandem, in love. 

September 2024 - Back in Professor Jeong-Kim’s Office

“Great. So now I’ve covered how I met Jungeun and the untold story of karaoke night. Any questions, class?” 

Jinsol’s temporary students shoot their hands up simultaneously. “Hyeju first, then Yeojin, then Yerim.” 

“Mom!” 

“I’m sorry, kiddo. I can’t show favoritism.” 

Yerim sulks in her chair while Hyeju prepares her question. “I thought you got arrested for trespassing on your first date.” 

Jinsol rolls her eyes to oblivion. 

These kids. No appreciation for romance, only their tiktoks and zipzorps and dinglehoppers. I pray for their generation. 

“The observatory was closed for construction. I was not aware of this. An officer informed us and escorted us home. No arrests were made,” Jinsol emphasizes. 

“But you did get arrested for attempted arson,” Hyeju presses on. 

Jinsol, a terrible liar, opts to just tell the truth. “Yes. That was while Jungeun and I were broken up. Let’s just say I spiraled.” 

“Oooo ooo ooo!” Yeojin stands up on her chair. “That was my question! When are you gonna address the break up?!” 

Why did the Squad agree that having kids was a good idea? 

“When I say so,” Jinsol snaps at her niece. “Ok, last. Yerim. Thank you for waiting patiently.” 

“Is that why my middle name is ‘Luna’? After the moon that brought Grandma and Grandpa and you and Ma together?" 

Yerim reflects Jinsol’s bright smile and Jungeun's shining eyes. 

Oh. That’s why. 

“Yes, Yerim Luna,” the mother ruffles her daughter’s hair, “That’s why.” 

Chapter Text

September 2024 - Professor Jeong-Kim’s Office

Jinsol prides herself for being the highest-rated Polaris University instructor on the brutally honest review website, ratemyprofessors.com. 

Every afternoon, at 1 PM on the dot, Jinsol visits her personal page to read new evaluations from her former students. 

Some of them are appreciative of Jinsol as a teacher: 

Review #50: “I always looked forward to her lectures! She used a combination of informative powerpoints, relevant news articles, and entertaining anecdotes from her research in the Mariana Trench and Caspian Sea to get us excited about marine bio. Great prof! Would take her class again!” 

Some of them commend Jinsol for being a genuinely good person: 

Review #8: “Everyone who knows Prof J knows that she only wants 3 things: pollution-free oceans, the success of her students, and the happiness of her family (who she mentions ALL THE TIME during lecture).” 

Review #71: “After I finished Jinsol’s class, she insisted that I call her by her first name. I was her TA for three semesters. She wrote me the sweetest letter of rec and helped me get a great job! I have regular dinners with Jinsol’s beautiful family. I’ve even babysat her daughter a number of times! Jinsol is an amazing teacher, family woman, and friend. Words cannot express how much of an impact she had - and continues to have - on my life.” 

Some of them are... flattering, albeit questionable:

Review #22: “I spent 15 weeks in Prof J’s class and I still can’t tell you what she teaches. I think something about fish? All I know is that she’s fiiiiine af.” 

Review #64: “Prof Jinsol Jeong-Kim’s right angle jawline should be in every trigonometry textbook in every high school in the world. I will never forget my sin, cos, tan.” 

Review #88 : “I was living my boring ass life, thinking I was straighter than Super Bowl Sunday and then KABLAMO, POOF, BABOOM! Prof Jinsol Jeong-Kim happened. This prof was my first gay awakening. Just when I thought women couldn’t get any hotter, she brought her wife to lecture and WTF?! Mrs. Jeong-Kim was my second. I’m pretty sure they’re both like 50 but they look 25? What is their secret? God, I love women!” 

Despite her students’ heartwarming words and colorful compliments, Jinsol still stands a tenth of a point away from a perfect rating. Her fatal flaw lies in her affinity for the widely-despised, student-disapproved, pop quiz. 

Review #50 (continued): “... I would give her a 5/5 if she didn’t lie about the pop quizzes. The syllabus said there would be 4 quizzes spread out the semester. We ended up having 8.”

Review #88 (continued): “... Prof Jinsol’s tortuous pop quizzes were the reason why I failed the class which means… I get to take it again! I get to laugh at her mom jokes! I get to watch her spill coffee on herself every morning! I am such a simp for this woman and her sexy tweed blazer.” 

Review #89: @lesbian who wrote Review #88: I think you need to meet other girls… this behavior is concerning… congrats on coming out tho! 

Jinsol’s pupils aren’t the only ones subject to her unfair, impromptu assessments. 

When Jungeun was in labor, Jinsol gave her wife a 25-question parenting quiz to keep her mind off the pain. (Jungeun did not take kindly to this. She jabbed the pencil through Jinsol’s palm.) 

And when Yerim, Hyeju, and Yeojin finished listening to Jinsol tell the wonderfully romantic story of how she met said wife, the children too fell victim to the professor’s scheme. 

“Times up, girls! Pencils down! Trade papers, take a red pen, and grade your partner! Here are the correct answers: A-” 

“-S, S,” Yeojin wisecracks. 

Jinsol is visibly furious at her niece’s shameless disrespect but continues on. 

“Starting over ,” Jinsol says irritatedly, “A, D, C, B, B, C, A, D, A, C. Now write the correct score out of 10 points, circle it, and return the quizzes to me.” 

Hyeju gathers the papers and hands them to Jinsol with an uncanny smirk. Jinsol has seen Hyeju’s mother, Sooyoung, wear it a thousand times on her older, but perpetually smug face. 

“Here ya go, teach.” 

Jinsol looks down at the top paper, decorated in red slashes and question marks, and resignedly shakes her head. 

These kids are going to give her a heart attack.

“How did Hyeju get a negative one out of ten, Yeojin?” Jinsol demands. 

“Hey, I was just doing as I was told,” Yeojin takes a lollipop from Jinsol’s desk, “Hyeju got everything wrong on purpose. Clearly she didn’t take this seriously. I was gonna be nice and leave her with a zero, but she didn’t even bother to spell her name correctly.” 

Jinsol crumples the quiz belonging to “Heyjuul Huh?” and tosses it in her wastebasket. She glances at the name at the top of the next paper and recognizes the charming swirls of her daughter’s penmanship.

Surely Yerim wouldn’t let her down. 

“Four out of ten?! My own child?! Yerim Luna, this quiz should have been easy!” the mother grips the chair in front of her for support. 

“Sorry Mom,” Yerim pulls the strings on her hoodie so tightly, shielding her face so that only her nose can be seen. “I really tried.. you just ask super specific questions. Do I really need to know which newspaper Ma read in 1995? Why does that matter?” 

Every microscopic detail matters in the epic tale of Jinsol and Jungeun. 

“Because, dearest daughter,” Jinsol coos, “If your mother read the BBCU Weekly Gazette instead of the BBCU Daily, she might have never stumbled upon the job listing for my pet store where she met me , fell for me , married me , and in turn, we had you . It’s the-” 

“-Love shot?” Yerim asks. 

Hyeju groans. She just got that earworm of a song out of her head. 

“-Final Countdown!” Yeojin whips her hair (kind of impossible since she’s rocking space buns) and plays a screeching air guitar solo.

“-Butterfly effect,” Jinsol finishes irately. 

The professor readies herself for heartbreak and disappointment before glancing at her niece’s shocking quiz score. The paper is crisp white. No red error marks to be found. “Pleasantly surprised” is an understatement. 

“Ten out of ten? You were actually listening to me all this time? Aww, Yeojin, you really do care!”

(Yeojin cares very little about what Jinsol has to say. Ever since Jinsol consumed Yeojin’s massive pile of Halloween candy almost eleven years ago, Yeojin has held a childish grudge against her. Ironically, Yeojin’s least-favorite aunt happens to be married to her most-favorite.) 

“I care about Aunt Jungeun ,” Yeojin clarifies harshly, “She’s the best part of your stories. I only tune in for her.” 

“Oh…” 

A disheartened Jinsol picks at the suede elbow patches on her stuffy blazer. 

“Well, I can’t blame you. Your Aunt Jungeun is a phenomenal woman indeed. She is the best person I know. I’d like to spin every satellite in the atmosphere to face her. That way, everything will be about Jungeun - all the time, as it should.” 

The teenagers stare at Jinsol with blank expressions. 

Hyeju, Yeojin, and, even Yerim to some extent, are far too young and inexperienced to conceptualize and appreciate the aged, profound love that Jinsol has for Jungeun. 

“We’ve heard all this before. Aunt Jungeun breathes fairy dust and shits gold. Blah blah blah...” Hyeju messes with the lumbar support on Jinsol’s swivel chair, further pissing off the aging professor with chronic back pain. “Can you talk about your breakup now? Or your criminal background? We want new content.” 

These girls are ruthless. Jinsol is no match for them. Eventually, she’ll have to submit to their demands. 

But first, a little detour. 

“New content, hmm... I don’t believe I’ve told you about the time when Jiwoo - your sweet, loving, nurturing mother - threatened to kill me...” 

March 1996 - BBCU Mathematics Building 

BBCU’s blondest nerd exits her math class with a sense of accomplishment. Jinsol has mastered Galois Theory, an incredibly complex area of abstract algebra that intimidates many bright and brilliant mathematicians. There’s a jubilant bounce in her step as she makes her way across campus to the biological sciences building. There, she will continue to fill her knowledge-thirsty brain with obscure facts about phytoplankton. 

It’s shaping up to be a great day in the life of Jinsol Jeong.

… 

And then someone throws her into a bush. 

“Wha-who? Huh?!” 

Jinsol cannot process how swiftly and effortlessly her assailant snatched her from behind, without anyone in the bustling area of South Campus Plaza noticing. 

“Jinsol,” says a voice Jinsol has come to know quite well. 

“Jiwoo?!” 

“I know you’ve been hiding something.” 

Jinsol retreats from the menacing Jiwoo, cocooning herself into the spindly branches of the shrub. 

“You do?” 

Jiwoo reaches over to pick leaves out of Jinsol’s hair. Jinsol yelps like a cat that just got its tail stepped on. 

“Oh yeah. I’ve got eyes everywhere, sweet pea.”

Leave it to Jiwoo Kim to make a term of endearment sound so threatening.

“Jiwoo, I can explain,” Jinsol begins nervously, “When I bought it from Tony, he promised that the cops would be cool with it-“ 

Jiwoo furrows her brows. “What’re you talkin’ about? Who is Tony?!” 

“Um… nothing… no one…” Jinsol curses herself for almost spilling the beans about her altercations with the law. “What are you talking about?” 

“You and Jungeun!” Jiwoo shrilly yells, “Y’all are secretly dating!” 

Whew! Thank goodness that’s all Jiwoo knows. Thank goodness she’s not an undercover cop that the force sends out because nobody would ever suspect anything from the Southern girl in the strawberry patterned sundress.

Jinsol is safe. She’s not going to jail - at least not today. 

“Me and Jungeun? Jungeun and myself? Jungeun and Jinsol? Nah! We’re just coworkers.” 

Jinsol lies to preserve the privacy of her and Jungeun’s blossoming relationship. But if she’s being honest, she’s also trying to detract Jiwoo from asking more questions regarding her prohibited possessions. 

“You are an awful liar… among other things,” Jiwoo eyes Jinsol dubiously. “I see the way you look at my best friend like she’s the sun, moon, and stars.” 

Jinsol struggles to contain the smile that grows on her face each time she thinks of her girlfriend. 

“Well that’s how everyone should look at Jungeun. She deserves attentive eyes that appreciate her for what she is - spectacular.” 

Jiwoo scoffs. Does it get any more obvious (or gay) than that? 

“Fine. If y’all get some sorta high, some kinda adrenaline rush from sneaking around like forbidden lovers from two warring families then so be it. Y’all do what y’all wanna do. Y’all have my blessin’.” 

Jinsol exhales for the first time in this entire conversation. The Jiwoo Kim Best Friend Stamp of Approval is not something that is simply given out - it is a commodity that one must work for. Jinsol nods at Jiwoo, offering her a non verbal thank you. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Jinsol. If you break my Jungie’s heart, I will personally rip yours out, skewer it, roast it on a spit, and feed it to a pack of wolves. Understood?” 

Jinsol clutches her heart in terror. There’s no doubt in her mind: Jiwoo is not someone to be trifled with. 

“Y-yes… drill sergeant?” Jinsol utters the first authority position that comes to mind. 

Jiwoo loves her new title. “Very well. Dismissed, Private Jung.” 

Jinsol hurriedly picks up her textbooks from the ground. Jiwoo places her hand on Jinsol’s back. 

“Ah!” Jinsol flinches once more. 

“Jinsol, I ain’t supposed to tell you this,” Jiwoo whispers. 

Jinsol’s mind jumps to the worst possible scenario. 

“Am I being recorded? Are you wearing a wire?! Hey!-“ Jinsol yells directly into Jiwoo’s chest, “You guys are real slick, involving Jiwoo into your petty investigation! You still won’t hear a peep from me! I have the right to remain silent!” 

“What in tarnation?!” Jiwoo sandwiches Jinsol’s head in her hands and shoves the blonde off her bosom. “I was fixin’ to tell you that Jungie mumbled your name in her sleep last night! That girl’s crazy about you! And you’re crazy - period!” 

Jiwoo rubs at her temples and walks away. There’s no point in reasoning with paranoid, irrational Jinsol. 

But it wouldn’t be love if it didn’t inhibit your regular thought processes or visit you mid-slumber. It wouldn’t be love if it didn’t drive you a smidge insane. 

“We must be made for each other,” Jinsol says to herself. A dopey smile creeps onto her face as she stands up and heads for her next class.

April 1996 

Assistant manager Jinsol taps her favorite coworker on the shoulder. 

(It’s also Jinsol’s favorite shoulder. Very comfortable. Jinsol would rest her head on it again. She highly recommends- actually no. Her girlfriend’s shoulder is not open to the public.) 

“You can go on your break now, Jungeun.” 

This has become the couple’s secret code for “Let’s go make out in the stock room.” 

Jungeun smiles and starts walking to their rendezvous. Jinsol looks around to confirm the absence of nosey onlookers, waits the appropriate two minutes, and finally follows Jungeun. 

It’s unspeakably thrilling, this illicit affair. It’s human nature to crave something you know you can’t have, you shouldn’t have, you’re forbidden to have. 

Thirteen-year-old Jinsol was prohibited from chewing gum. It would stick to her braces, her orthodontist said. 

Naturally, Jinsol treated herself to a roll of Hubba Bubba the next day and blew a bubble the size of a fishbowl.

The federal law restricted Jinsol from purchasing a flamethrower. Yes, a fucking flamethrower. There is no certifiable reason why anyone should possess such an item. 

Naturally, Jinsol bought one because she thought it would be cool. To make matters worse, the seller, a man who went by the alias “Tony Fuego,” insisted on completing the transaction at 3 in the morning behind a 7-11 dumpster. 

The upper management at Jinsol’s pet store bans dating between coworkers. 

Naturally, Jinsol, well… you already know. 

“Are you sure we’re alone?” Jungeun’s hot breath dances down the back of Jinsol’s neck. 

They’re engaged in a hug that is anything but innocent. Jinsol’s hands roam Jungeun’s back and slowly reach under her shirt. Jungeun trails sloppy kisses along Jinsol’s jaw.

“Would it be so terrible if someone were to see? We’d be giving them quite the show,” Jinsol arches a brow. 

(Ladies, this is a place of work!) 

“Sol!” Jungeun halts her seductive acts to nag her future wife. “We’d get fired! Or worse!” Jungeun hisses through her teeth. 

“Babe, relax. Nobody’s here-“ 

Just then, heavy footsteps echo in the stockroom. Jackson, the pet store manager, whistles a tune of his own creation as he searches the shelves. 

“Deshedding Ultra Premium Conditioner for Dogs… I know we keep it here somewhere...” 

Jinsol relies on her excellent spatial knowledge to determine Jackson’s location in relation to her and Jungeun’s. Grooming products are kept in stockroom aisle 2. Jinsol and Jungeun’s rendezvous point is by the bird feed in stockroom aisle 4. 

If he makes a straight arrow for the exit and they stay still and don’t make a peep, Jinsol and Jungeun will be able to evade disciplinary action. 

Thankfully, Jackson finds what he’s looking for and leaves immediately. 

“That was a close call!” Jinsol wipes her brow. “Alright, where were we? I believe I was in the process of taking off your-” 

Jungeun frowns and swats Jinsol’s mischievous fingers away. 

“Babe,” Jinsol whines, “Come on… we still have ten more minutes before your break is over.” 

(Technically, Jungeun’s break is supposed to be ten minutes total. She’s fortunate to have a very lenient and accommodating assistant manager, so to speak.) 

“Let me do all the work,” the assistant manager/girlfriend smirks at her double entendre. Jinsol’s hands make contact with the sides of Jungeun’s hips. 

But Jungeun refuses her again - much more aggressively this time. “We almost got caught! I ain’t riskin’ it no more.” 

Jinsol is currently experiencing two levels of frustration. The first is the one she feels when someone refuses to compromise with her or consider her suggestions. The second, and much more aggravating, is the one Jinsol feels when that established “someone” is so mind numbingly attractive that she fantasizes doing things to her that absolutely should not be done atop a 20 pound bag of “Fortified Fruit and Nut Blend for Cardinals and Chickadees.” 

“Jungieeee,” Jinsol lays it on thick with her signature pout, “I can make you feel so-” 

“-Unemployed?” Jungeun retorts. “Jackson could walk back in here any second! And we know that corporate loves their random, unannounced visits. Enough is enough. We shouldn’t be doing this. We’re playing with fire, Sol.” 

(Oh, Jinsol knows all about that.) 

“So that’s it? You want out? Well, I guess we had a good run. Three months... ” Jinsol laments. She picks up her jacket that Jungeun stripped off and threw on the floor during their disrupted moment of passion. “Take care, Jungeun.” 

Jinsol turns away from her girlfriend and slowly makes her way to the exit.

It’s such a pitiful sight. It almost feels like there should be sad violin music accompanying Jinsol as she drags her feet to the door. 

“Wait!” 

Jinsol’s head snaps back so rapidly, her neck barely has enough time to follow. 

“Sol,” Jungeun laughs, “You misunderstood me.” 

Jinsol’s eyebrows raise quizzically as Jungeun continues. 

“I want to be with you,” Jungeun emphasizes, “Just not here . Let’s be a normal couple. Run errands with me, see a movie with me, and then take me back to my dorm where we won’t have to look over our shoulders every five seconds, fearing that someone will see us.” 

“But you’re roommates with Jiwoo,” Jinsol shudders at the name of the most intimidating woman she knows under 5’5”. 

Jungeun takes a few steps and closes the gap between them. “If I tell her I want alone time with my lovely girlfriend,” Jungeun gazes longingly at Jinsol, “I’m sure she’ll step out and give us some much needed privacy. We can take our time.”

“But I like what we have right now, Jungie! It’s exciting breaking the rules!” 

(Jinsol’s rebellious streak can be really frustrating sometimes.)

“Really? I offer you several hours in my warm, inviting bedroom and you still prefer to have a quickie behind the bird seed and chicken coops?” Jungeun deadpans. 

Jinsol looks around at the unattractive, unromantic setting and comes to terms with her own absurdity. 

What is she thinking?

This is definitely not a place to get nasty - it already is nasty. 

“Fair point,” Jinsol acqueises, “Ok. I’ll do safe, nonrisky, normal couple things with you.” 

Jungeun beams and sends a chaste kiss to Jinsol’s knuckles. “I promise we’ll still have fun, babe. You’ll see.” 

May 1996

On their mutual day off, Jinsol accompanies Jungeun to the post office, bookstore, and bank. 

There isn’t anything remotely sexy and/or dangerous about today. It’s a lot of waiting in line and crossing off tasks on to-do lists. Although Jungeun is two years younger than Jinsol, Jungeun is already “adulting” - a concept that is foreign to Jinsol as she just recently learned how to do her taxes (improperly , but at least she’s trying). 

Jinsol watches incredulously as her girlfriend interacts comfortably and confidently with the bank teller. Jungeun asks a multitude of questions pertaining to ESAS, IRAs, APYs, and other abbreviations Jinsol has never heard of and will never bother to learn because Jungeun will handle their finances when they get married. 

After opening something called a “certificate of deposit” with a “high dividend rate,” Jungeun shakes the man’s hand, thanks him for his business, and drags Jinsol along to the grocery store, their final stop of the day before circling back to Jungeun’s dorm.

“I’m sorry this is taking so long,” Jungeun apologizes unnecessarily to Jinsol while they wait in the check-out line, “You’re probably bored.” 

“Bored?!” Jinsol asks outrageously, “I was wrong about this ordinary couple stuff. I’m having the best time! I’m on cloud 9 in aisle 10!” 

Jungeun crinkles her eyes and leans forward to adjust Jinsol’s BBCU baseball cap. 

(Jinsol insists on wearing her hats with the brim facing sideways. She often looks like a douchebag or a five-year-old boy. It’s incredibly obnoxious.) 

“I took forever at the bank. Surely you were bored there,” Jungeun presumes. She smiles, now fully pleased with her girlfriend’s appearance. 

“Nah,” Jinsol shakes her head, “The bank was my favorite part. You were amazing in there.” 

From the way Jinsol praises Jungeun and looks at her like she’s hung the moon, you’d think Jungeun’s primary objective in visiting the Blockberry Credit Union was to perform Beethoven’s 70-minute long, Symphony No. 9 rather than to open a simple savings account.

“Hmm, I don’t recall doing anything amazing,” Jungeun muses as they move forward in line.

“Babe, come on! You were keeping up with all that finance jargon they were throwing at you and spitting it right back at them.” 

Jinsol frantically removes the scrunchie on her wrist and puts her hair up in an extremely high ponytail, like Jungeun always wears it. 

“Is this bank F.D.I.C. insured?” Jinsol mimics her girlfriend’s (occasionally) bossy tone, “It is? Then where is your accreditation? Are you affiliated with the P.M.S. and the W.T.F.?”

Jungeun rolls her eyes and gently places her items on the conveyor belt. “Those last two don’t exist.” 

“See? I know nothing about the real world! Somehow, you’re an expert at 19! Where did you learn all of this?” Jinsol haphazardly throws the bundle of peaches that Jungeun stringently inspected for bruises and deformities. 

“Ah-” Jungeun grabs Jinsol’s hands and directs them to the handlebar of the shopping cart, “You’re good right here, babe. I can unload the rest of the groceries.” 

Jinsol looks down, embarrassed. Jungeun smiles and answers Jinsol’s earlier question. 

“I took a personal finance course at my local community college the summer before I left for BBCU. I learned how to budget properly. However, given the day-to-day expenses such as transportation and food and the rising costs of tuition and textbooks, things were actually in the red for a while. I was losing more money than I was making. And then, as you know, I got a job and I got back on track. I currently spend 60% of my paycheck on the essentials, 20% for leisure, and the remaining 20% goes in the bank for my retirement fund because you can never start too early. And that’s that.” 

Jungeun is everything Jinsol is not: level-headed, pragmatic, and sensible. 

This would ordinarily be a big turn off for Jinsol. But there’s something about the security and stability that Jungeun provides that has Jinsol positively enamored. 

“Hue weeee!” Jinsol whistles, “You’ve got it all figured out, Jungeun. Damn! You accounted for all the factors!” 

“Not all of them. I didn’t know I’d meet you,” says Jungeun softly. 

“Yikes,” Jinsol sucks in air through her gritted teeth. “Introducing Jinsol Jeong: blonde, brash, and boisterous. I’m probably ruining every great plan you’ve made for yourself.”

Jungeun shuts down Jinsol’s insecurities in the same amount of time it takes to fall in love with her: instantaneous.

“Sol,” Jungeun tilts her head affectionately, “You are my plan.” 

“I am?” Jinsol asks uncertainly. 

A part of Jinsol still can’t process that Jungeun likes her, yet alone is in a relationship with her and intends to remain in it indefinitely. 

“Mhm,” Jungeun smirks. 

The couple then engages in a steamy bout of eye sex, or “ocular fornication” as the overly technical and scientific Jinsol prefers to call it. 

Jungeun bats her eyelashes.

Jinsol winks. 

Jungeun’s gaze grows increasingly flirtatious. She checks Jinsol out from head to toe. She most definitely likes what she sees. 

Jinsol raises her left brow so high that it’s practically floating above her forehead. 

Jungeun-

“HEY! MOVE IT!” 

“THE CASHIER SAID NEXT IN LINE!” 

“WE AIN’T GOT ALL DAY, LADIES!” 

Jinsol and Jungeun are taken away from their heated moment by the impatient customers behind them. After the incident in the stock room, the lovers should know by now that such inappropriate, exceedingly homosexual behavior should be hidden from the public eye. 

“Damn it,” Jinsol groans, “This always happens.” 

“Don’t worry, babe,” Jungeun glares at the angry mob, “We’ll continue this - and more - as soon as we get back to my dorm. There won’t be any more disruptions from anyone.”

The greatest disruption to Jinsol and Jungeun’s intimacy would prove to be Jungeun herself. 

Two minutes into their makeout session, Jinsol notices that it’s very much one-sided. Jinsol’s giving 110%, Jungeun’s giving 10. Jinsol feels like she’s kissing a wall. Kissing Jungeun isn’t usually like this.

It gets worse when Jungeun practically yawns in Jinsol’s mouth. 

“Uh, babe?” Jinsol breaks them apart, “Are you ok? You seem tired.” 

“No,” Jungeun says stubbornly, “We’re just getting started.” 

Jungeun boldly pushes Jinsol backwards onto her bed, taking the latter by surprise. And so, things pick up again…  for a solid thirty seconds. 

Jungeun buries herself in the crook of Jinsol’s neck, intending to give her girlfriend a hickey. But once Jungeun’s head meets her silky pillowcase, it’s lights out for the lesbian. 

“Jungie? Are you falling asleep on me?” Jinsol asks amusedly. 

“Huh- wha-what? No! I’m awa-“ Jungeun yawns a second time, “-ke. C’mon, let’s do this! Take off your sh-“ Jungeun yawns a third time. 

Although it frustrates Jinsol beyond belief, she knows she must call off their tryst and postpone it for the nth time. She holds her girlfriend securely and barrel rolls the two of them over as one unit. Jungeun is now on the bottom.

“Hey! I told ya, ‘m fine…” Jungeun mumbles wearily.

“You’re not fine. You need a nap.” 

“No. I need you, Ji… Jin…” 

Jungeun can hardly remember her girlfriend’s name in her half-conscious state. 

“-Sol,” Jinsol chuckles, “It’s Jinsol and she wants you to get some rest. You had a long day. You were more productive in these eight hours than most people have been their entire lives.”

“But today was supposed to be special for us,” Jungeun whines. 

Jinsol shifts her position, now laying on her side as brushes stray hairs from Jungeun’s face. 

“Baby,” Jinsol begins fondly, “It was the most special. We were together every waking minute. And I want to do it all over again. I want to stand in more lines with you. I want to carry all your groceries. When I’m with you, you have a way of making the monotonous… memorable. I want everything with you, Jungeun.” 

No amount of heartfelt, passionate prose from the love of her life can keep Jungeun’s eyelids from surrendering to exhaustion. Jinsol smiles and presses the softest of kisses on Jungeun’s temple. 

“See you tomorrow, babe. I’ll go now,” Jinsol whispers. 

“Mmm,” Jungeun hums, “Stay.” 

With Jungeun tugging on her shirt (and her heart), Jinsol doesn’t have much say in the matter. Besides, why would she dare be anywhere else but in the arms of the woman she loves the most? 

Jinsol wraps an arm around Jungeun’s waist. 

“Ok. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jungeun shows Jinsol one final sleepy smile before entering deep sleep. 

As a smitten girlfriend, Jinsol would really like to say that watching Jungeun slumber brings her unfathomable joy and comfort. That Jungeun is consistently gorgeous, in every waking or sleeping hour.

That’s simply not the truth. 

Jungeun sleeps with her mouth wide open like she’s getting a root canal, her nostrils flared like King Kong, and her snoring sends shock waves through her 180 square foot dorm room.  

Jungeun’s snoring is otherworldly, superhuman, impossible. 

It sounds like a freight train chugging along, taking its route from the bottom of her throat to the entrance of her nostrils. It is incredibly loud and absolutely relentless. 

Just when Jinsol thinks Jungeun has paused, just when Jinsol believes she can take a little cat nap of her own, Jungeun uproariously picks up again. 

Jungeun does not even stop to catch her breath. 

Jungeun forgets to breathe. 

She’s not…  breathing. 

Panic ensues in Jinsol. She tries every possible method of stimulation to wake her sleeping beauty. 

Tactile: Jinsol shakes Jungeun by the shoulders. 

No response. 

Cognitive: “Baby, math question! If train A is traveling at 20 miles an hour, and train B is traveling at 30 miles an hour, what’s the area of the parallelogram?! Answer me, baby!” 

No response.

Primitive Reflexes: Jinsol takes a pen from Jungeun’s desk and strikes her kneecap, assessing for that kneejerk reaction. 

No response. 

Jinsol has exhausted all but one of her options. This last one has to work. 

“I love you, Jungeun! You have to wake up, ok? Because I love you!” 

And of course, only then do Jungeun’s eyes flutter open. Upon hearing those three words that she longs to reciprocate, Jungeun finds the will and the reason to breathe again. 

A sharp intake of air and then…

“I love you too, Jinsol.”

(Really? These lesbians have the most dramatic timing.) 

Although Jinsol is relieved that her girlfriend has returned her feelings and rejoined her in the land of the living, she can’t help but scold Jungeun. 

“You need to get that snoring under control,” Jinsol frowns. 

“I’m sorry, babe,” Jungeun pouts. “I shoulda warned you. I’ll turn away from you so you don’t hear it as much. You can also borrow Jiwoo’s earplugs. They seem to help her fall asleep amid all the noise I make.” 

“Baby, I don’t care that you’re loud. Have you met me? One time, when I was in the kitchen and I got pepper in my nose, I sneezed so hard that I set off the neighbor’s car alarm. The Blockberry Public Library has a restraining order against me. I yell at Haseul for not changing out the toilet paper roll and the bathroom tile almost shatters.” 

Jinsol chuckles at her examples and caresses Jungeun’s cheek. 

“I care that you stopped breathing. It was only for a couple seconds, but it was enough to scare the shit out of me.” 

Jungeun realizes the gravity of the situation and looks up at Jinsol with apologetic eyes. 

“Sorry,” she says in an exceptionally tiny voice. 

Jinsol does not fawn over her adorable girlfriend. This time, Jinsol means business. She squints, eyes surveilling every inch of Jungeun’s dorm room. 

“You’re gonna start sleeping on two pillows instead of one. It’s better for your airway if you keep your head elevated. You might also need a humidifier, maybe some of those nose strips, and no more tiring yourself out this much to the point that you snore. Oh and Jiwoo should stop wearing earplugs. She needs to be able to hear you. I want her monitoring you when I’m not here. You should keep a sleep diary and set a strict sleep and wake time. Make an appointment with your doctor. I want to be there too because I’ll have a lot of questions. Baby, are you listening? Write this down!“ 

Jungeun lost Jinsol somewhere around the nose strips. Jinsol listed too many instructions, too many routine-altering interventions that not even quick-witted Jungeun can keep up. 

“Why? Is there gonna be a pop quiz?” Jungeun teases. 

“I’m not kidding around, Jungeun. You better do all these things I’m telling you. Sort this out for the sake of your health, ok? Can you do that for me?” 

Jinsol, who childishly giggles at the word “pianist” - Jinsol, who roasts marshmallows with her flamethrower - Jinsol, who willingly searches for danger - Jinsol, who seeks to live her life as reckless as possible, finally has a reason to be serious. 

There’s a new girl in her life. She’s got the most precious cheek dimples, voluminous brown hair, forgetful lungs, and a hold on Jinsol’s heart that can’t be explained by medicine, or physics, or any other science. 

Jinsol is seriously enamored with Jungeun. 

From now until forever, Jungeun’s wellbeing will always come first. 

Jungeun throws her right leg lazily over Jinsol’s left. “Ok, Doc. Will do.” 

Jinsol kisses Jungeun’s forehead and lingers there, taking in the pleasant scent of her girlfriend’s coconut shampoo.

“Good,” Jinsol sighs, “Because I wanna be able to love you uninterrupted, without complications.” 

Jinsol’s wish for a calm, uncomplicated relationship would not be fulfilled. (But more on that later…)

September 1996

The Sapphic Singles Squad have their fair share of traditions. 

Monthly housekeeping meetings, Sunday morning pancakes (often burnt because none of them can cook), and most interestingly, fish funerals. 

“NOOOOOOO,” Jinsol wails as Sooyoung flushes their beloved pet, the late Apollo IV, down the toilet. “WHYYYYY DO THE GOOD DIE YOUNG? YOU HAD SO MANY WATERS LEFT TO SWIM!” 

(That couldn’t be further from the truth. Apollo IV’s home was a fishbowl about the size of a small vase. He died precisely because he had no waters to swim.) 

“Haseul, will you do the honors?” asks Sooyoung as she attempts to comfort Jinsol. 

Haseul nods and practices a few vocal runs before singing the first lines of “Amazing Grace.” 

“Ahhhmazing grAaaAAaAce, how sweEeEt the Soowowowouuund… that saved, a fish, like mEeeEEeeE!” 

All throughout the hymn, Jinsol sobs and grips the toilet bowl tighter. Her head inches closer and closer inside. 

“Sol, stop that!” Sooyoung pulls Jinsol away from the rim. 

“I JUST WANT TO BE CLOSE TO HIS FINAL RESTING PLACE!” Jinsol shrieks. 

“... And GraAAaAce will lead him hOOOoOome!” 

Haseul takes a square of toilet paper and dabs at her eyes, suddenly awash with emotion. 

(She couldn’t give a flying fuck about Jinsol’s stupid fish. Haseul and her Leo ass are so infatuated with her own voice that she damn near drove herself to tears.) 

“Ok, so what’s the plan?” Haseul blazes through the stages of grief in about 3 seconds. “Are we gonna go out, get hammered, and raise a glass to our deceased fish friend or what? Wait, guys, even better! We should try out that new sushi place!” 

“Sushi?!” Jinsol cries. “You want sushi at a time like this? Each time you eat sushi, you kill a part of my soul,” Jinsol points a trembling finger at Haseul. 

Sooyoung forcefully escorts Haseul out of the bathroom, robbing Jinsol of the opportunity to splash toilet water at her inconsiderate roommate. 

“That girl has no filter,” Sooyoung clicks her tongue, then turns to look at Jinsol who’s still kneeling, inconsolable on the bathroom floor. “You can just get another fish, y’know? Aren’t they free with your employee discount?” 

Turns out, Sooyoung is no better than Haseul at the “Try Not to Upset Jinsol Challenge.” 

“Bitch!” Jinsol flings a plunger in Sooyoung’s direction and misses by a mile. “How dare you suggest that Apollo IV - the most valued member of this household - is replaceable?!” 

“Apollo I, II, III are suffering in fish purgatory as we speak, Jinsol. You didn’t seem to have a problem replacing them!” Sooyoung laughs coldly at her friend’s hypocrisy. “And what about Moon I through XVII? Impressive body count, buddy!” 

Jinsol’s credibility as a fish owner continues to plummet when you recall that she is the soon-to-be manager of a pet store and has studied marine biology since she learned of water’s existence. 

As of today, 21 bettas have died under Jinsol’s care. “Guilt” and “regret” could not encapsulate half of Jinsol’s emotions. If she closes her eyes tight enough, she can imagine all 21 scaly souls swimming in fish purgatory, unable to ascend to fish heaven due to the unfinished fish business they have with the world’s most incompetent fish owner. 

“Jinsol?” Sooyoung calls apprehensively. “Say something, dude. Or open your eyes at least. I’m getting kinda concerned.” 

Jinsol gets up off the grimy bathroom floor and hops into the combined shower/bathtub to sulk and cry some more. She pulls her knees up to her chest and gives Sooyoung an order before shutting the shower curtain. 

“I need my girlfriend. Call Jungeun. Tell her to come here. ASAP.” 

After receiving a surprisingly panicked call from the usually suave Sooyoung, Jungeun rushes out of her dorm and outruns an ambulance on her way to the Squad’s apartment. 

“Where is she?” Jungeun pushes herself through the door that Haseul has just barely opened. 

Right on cue, Jinsol’s agonized screams from the bathroom alert Jungeun of her girlfriend’s immediate location. 

“APOLLO! APOLLO! GOD, DON’T LEAVE ME HERE ALONE ON THIS WRETCHED EARTH!!” 

Sooyoung and Haseul simultaneously run their hands through their hair. They can’t listen to another minute of Jinsol’s deafening cries and neither can Jinsol’s girlfriend. 

Jungeun follows the shrill sounds and knocks gingerly on the bathroom door. 

“Babe, it’s Jungeun. Can I come in?” 

Although she needs no introduction and no permission to sew Jinsol’s heart back together, sweet Jungeun asks anyway. 

“Please,” Jinsol whimpers, “Come in. Tread carefully, my love. The floor is wet from my tears. I would hate for you to slip, hit your head, and meet a tragic, untimely death like- like- APOLLO! I’M SO SORRY I FAILED YOU AND ALL YOUR PREDECESSORS! OH GOD, I CAN’T PICTURE THIS LIFE WITHOUT YOU, MY BLUB BLUB!” 

Here Jinsol goes again, entering another crying fit much too debilitating for her fatigued body. 

Here Jinsol goes again, looking the furthest thing from attractive as she chokes on her saliva, rubs her runny nose on her fingers, and streaks her thick snot across the shower wall. 

Here Jinsol goes again, exposing some of the most frustrating aspects of her personality - her melodrama and oversensitivity - to the woman she’s trying to charm and hopefully, one day, marry. 

And here’s Jungeun, loving her hot blonde mess, loving Jinsol because of her flaws and not in spite of them. 

Jungeun slides the seashell-themed curtain aside and joins her girlfriend in the tub. 

“Shh, shh, babe, it’s ok,” Jungeun embraces Jinsol and rubs her back, “You’ll be alright. I’m here for you. Go ahead and sob on me ‘til your tear ducts shrivel and you’ve got nothin’ left.” 

Seldom does Jinsol receive the encouragement to uncap her pressurized bottle of negative emotions that she keeps hidden behind jars of sand and sunshine.

She plasters on a customer service smile even on her most dreadful days at work. 

She laughs off the “dumb blonde” jokes in her male-dominated, computer programming class. Sometimes she makes self-deprecating quips of her own. 

She briefly considers Sooyoung and Haseul’s opinion to be correct - maybe Apollo IV was just a fish. Maybe she shouldn’t feel the need to mourn something that has no ambition and little awareness of the world outside its pathetic fishbowl. 

But since she met Jungeun, Jinsol finds herself standing up against rude customers, shutting down rotten misogynists, and flipping off her asshole roommates for not honoring her grieving process. 

Jungeun constantly reassures Jinsol that it’s ok to be upset, to feel hurt, to lament. 

Jinsol knows that if she were to cry a river, her girlfriend would build a boat to carry the two of them safely downstream.

She doesn’t deserve her. 

“I’m s-sorry I’m like this… all weepy and pathetic,” Jinsol utters between wet hiccups, “You shouldn’t have to coddle me like a baby. Why do you even put up with me?” 

“Because I love you!” Jungeun’s face lights up, “I’ve established this multiple times, haven’t I?” 

“I know, but it still doesn’t feel real to me. It’s like a dream that I fear I’m about to wake up from,” Jinsol points her index fingers together, cutely. 

Jungeun pinches Jinsol’s cheek. “You felt that, right? That was real?” 

Jinsol nods. 

Jungeun lifts Jinsol’s chin a little higher, leans in, and connects their lips conservatively. “And…  that too?” 

“Hmm… I don’t knowww,” Jinsol drawls, “You might have to do that one again.” 

“Of course,” Jungeun says coyly. She doesn’t hold back for their second kiss. 

“Again,” Jinsol grins. 

“Again.” Kiss. 

“Again.” Kiss. 

“Again.” Kiss. 

“Again.” Kiss, but make it French. 

“Again,” Jinsol breaths, “You’re making me forget about-Apol-Apo-Ap-“ 

Jinsol’s bottom lip begins to wobble and the only things that are happening again are another hysterical crying episode and interrupted make out session. 

“J-Jungie, I’m so sorry. I can’t control it! I miss him so much!” 

Jinsol sinks into her girlfriend’s open arms and weeps and weeps until she wheezes and turns blue. 

“I know baby, I know,” Jungeun soothes, “Let it all out but please don’t forget to breathe.” 

“Heh,” Jinsol manages a weak chuckle, “I guess we’ll just have to take turns reminding each other.”

December 1996 

“Something’s wrong with you and Jungeun.” 

Jinsol tenses, drops her unwashed dishes in the sink, and grips the countertop until her knuckles whiten. 

As long as she resides under the same roof as Haseul and Sooyoung, Jinsol shall never know peace. 

“What kind of fuckshit are you up to, Seul?” Jinsol throws a dish rag over her shoulder, “Is your love life that dull and lifeless that you have to insert yourself into mine?” 

“For your information, I’m making groundbreaking progress with Vivi,” Haseul defends. “Yesterday we-“ 

“Confessed to each other? Became official? Made out?!” Jinsol inquires enthusiastically. (Her friend’s only been pining for Vivi since dinosaurs roamed the planet.) 

“-took the bus together and-“ 

“She invited you to her apartment where you confessed to each other, became official, and made out?!” 

“-She sat next to me,” Haseul finishes with a look of bliss. 

Jinsol sighs and returns to her chores. She’s a fool for thinking her cowardly friend actually made a move on the one and only Vivi from BBCU. 

“Sol!” Haseul stomps her foot, “C’mon, hype me up! This is good! There were about twenty available seats on that bus and she chose the one next to mine.” 

“Geez, man. I thought something actually happened between you two. Of course she sat with you. Where the fuck else was she supposed to sit? The driver’s seat?!” 

“You know what?” Haseul snaps, “Fuck you. I’m going down to the farmer’s market and I’m bringing home a massive yellowfin tuna to fillet.” 

“You wouldn’t ,” Jinsol narrows her eyes. 

“Watch me, Blondie,” Haseul angrily dons her BBCU track and field jacket and storms out of their apartment.  

It may seem like each member of the Sapphic Singles Squad treats the others like trash. And well, they kind of do. Somehow they find a way to make their bizarre friendship work. They thrive off each other’s chaos. 

“What just happened with Seul?” Sooyoung walks into the kitchen. She’s fresh from the shower and has a towel wrapped around her wet hair.

“Nothing,” Jinsol scowls at the door, “She needs to mind her own business. She tried to come for me and Jungeun’s relationship.” 

“Oh yeah, we were talking about you guys yesterday. We think you’re weird.” 

Jinsol clenches her jaw until it cramps. “Care to share with the class, Ms. Ha?” 

Sooyoung nudges Jinsol away from the sink and takes over the abandoned chore. “So you and Jungeun have been together, what, almost a year?” 

“Correct. Still going strong.”

“Ah, that’s the problem,” Sooyoung inspects a bothersome stain on the bottom of Jinsol’s tupperware, “Things are going a little too well. It doesn’t make sense.” 

Jinsol scoffs. “That’s your criticism? Jungeun and I are too happy and comfortable? If that’s the case, then you’re the weird ones. Maybe even a little jealous…” Jinsol strokes her jaw in deep thought. “Trouble in paradise with Jiwoo? Seeking relationship advice from yours truly?” 

Sooyoung rolls her eyes and splashes her friend with dirty dishwater. “Jiwoo and I are fine and I’m not taking relationship advice from someone who practiced her kissing on a pineapple.” 

“Hey! All that practice paid off. I’m really good at it now. I just had to endure the pain.” 

“Of all the fruits, why a fucking pineapple, Jinsol? What goes on in your head?” 

Jinsol brushes off the matter. “Whatever. You still haven’t explained your issue with me and Jungeun.” 

“You guys don’t fight. At all. It’s… unnatural.” 

Jinsol drums her fingers on the countertop. “I still don’t see what’s wrong with that.” 

Sooyoung grapples with selecting the proper diction for her sensitive friend. Everything she tells Jinsol must be coated in a thick layer of sugar. 

“Haseul, Jiwoo, and myself, we’re just looking out for you guys. You’ve been in the honeymoon phase for a really long time - longer than most couples - and we’re worried about what’ll happen to you when it inevitably ends.” 

Sooyoung shuts off the faucet and timidly looks up at Jinsol. 

“Basically, you’re waiting for me to drive my relationship into the ground,” Jinsol crosses her arms. 

“No, Sol,” Sooyoung rests an awkward hand on Jinsol’s elbow and they both cringe. (They’re not the touchy-feely type of best friends.) “We just want you to be prepared for the uglier side of relationships: the disagreements, the miscommunication. No relationship is perfect.” 

As nosey as Jinsol’s friends may seem, their intentions are rooted in beneficence and pure concern for Jinsol’s incompetence at conflict resolution.

Jinsol doesn’t realize it yet, but she’s terribly unfit for such a serious commitment to Jungeun. Jinsol’s notion of love is fantastical, magical, but unrealistic and - for lack of a better term - grossly romanticized. 

“I don’t need your pity or your help. Jungeun and I are perfect. We are the standard and the exception. We will live happily ever after in our grand palace and we won’t have a single fight,” Jinsol declares with far too much confidence. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready. We’re assembling the telescope I got her for Christmas and taking it to the top of Blockberry Hill.”

Oh well, Sooyoung thinks. She tried her best. Jinsol didn’t listen. 

She’s Jungeun’s problem now. 

And this couple would indeed have many, many problems. 

Jinsol and Jungeun’s stargazing date would be their last, purely joyous and conflict-free moment of their first relationship. 

The year 1996 was unfailingly kind to these ill-fated lovers. To keep the universe in balance, it’s only fair that the year 1997 would be unbelievably cruel. 

January 10, 1997

Jinsol happily stands by the Xerox machine, obtaining a copy of the following week’s work schedule. For once, she knows exactly what will appear on the paper. She made it herself. 

“Monday, Wednesday, Friday, 12 P.M. to 6 P.M. - Jungeun and Jinsol. Saturday 7:30 A.M. to closing - Jungeun and Jinsol. Awesome!” 

Jinsol grabs a thumbtack and secures the sheet to the break room corkboard for the other employees to view (and most likely complain about). But if they’ve got issues, they ought to take it up with the new manager. 

“Sol!” Jungeun quickly throws her lunchbox and jacket into her locker, “I have good news!” 

“Hey you,” Jinsol flirts conspicuously, “What is it? And can it top mine?” 

Intrigued by her girlfriend’s self-assurance, Jungeun raises her brows and signals Jinsol to share first. 

“Babe,” Jinsol ropes her arms around the small of Jungeun’s back, taking the latter by surprise, “I got promoted! I’m the new manager!” 

“Babe, that’s fantastic!” Jungeun surges forward to complete their hug, “I’m so proud of you!” 

“Thanks, love,” Jinsol nuzzles Jungeun’s neck, not giving a damn if anyone’s watching. “Now that I’m the boss-“ Jinsol pulls back and squares Jungeun’s shoulders, “We won’t have to hide anymore.” 

Jungeun observes the brimming excitement in her girlfriend’s eyes. She hates that she has to extinguish it. 

“Ok, your turn!” Jinsol scrunches their noses together. 

“Umm,” Jungeun wrings her fingers, “This is kinda awkward, considering what you’ve just told me.” 

Jinsol blinks in confusion. 

“I… got a job offer.” 

“You have a job right here,” Jinsol chuckles nervously, “With me.” 

Jungeun eyes the biased schedule that Jinsol obviously designed and sighs. This isn’t getting any easier. 

“About a month ago, I applied to an internship at Odd Eye,” Jungeun confesses. 

“The optometrist?” 

“No,” Jungeun smiles, “The architecture firm. My dream architecture firm. I’ve wanted to work for them since I was a little girl. They design everything, Sol. Airports, museums, opera houses, stadiums, skyscrapers!” 

“That sounds great, babe!” Jinsol squeezes Jungeun’s shoulder, “Cool gig!” 

Jungeun stiffens. “It’s not a gig, Sol. It’s why I’m college, it’s what I wanna do for a living! It’s a full-time, paid position and I accepted it. I was gonna give Jackson my two weeks notice, but now I guess you’ll be the one to handle my resignation… sorry.” 

Jinsol takes two steps back and hovers to the kitchen area for a caffeine buzz. She needs to jolt herself awake to process the bombshell Jungeun has dropped on her on this fine, previously peaceful Friday morning. 

“You took this position without discussing it with me?” Jinsol questions, almost domineeringly. 

“Are you asking as my boss or my girlfriend?” 

“Girlfriend, obviously. You know I wouldn’t use my position over you,” Jinsol clarifies. This eases the tension ever so slightly. 

“Well even as my girlfriend, I don’t think you should get a say in this, Sol. This is my career, my decision to make, and my plan,” Jungeun affirms. 

Jinsol stares blankly at her cup. “I thought I was your plan,” she mumbles with bitterness rivaling that of her triple shot espresso. 

“Hm? Did you say something?” 

“Yeah, I-” Jinsol meets Jungeun’s eyes and loses herself completely. “I’m excited for you, babe.” 

Jungeun exhales, places her hand over Jinsol’s, and sneaks in a cheek kiss. 

“Tell me more about this internship,” Jinsol strains herself to be supportive, wills herself to overcome her neediness as a partner. (Sooyoung and Haseul have dubbed Jinsol a “Stage 10 clinger.”) 

“It’s the real deal, Sol. It’s only offered to people with 3.8 GPAs or higher, outstanding letters of recommendation, and involvement in major design projects. I didn’t even tell you I applied because I thought it was a long shot. It usually goes to fourth-year graduating students, rarely third years, and never second-years like me. But when the hiring committee read my statement of interest, they said they fell in love and had to have me.” 

“Is that so? Tell them to get in line, then,” Jinsol grins and Jungeun subsequently swoons and they’re just way too happy. It’s too good to be true. 

“What are the hours like? And where is this place?” Jinsol continues asking. 

“Monday through Friday, noon to 5 P.M. I’ll have to leave early, though - as soon as I get out of my morning lectures. The firm is located in Polaris.” 

“Polaris?! Babe, that’s like an hour train ride, one way!” 

“An hour and a half, actually,” Jungeun corrects, “It’s ok. I’ll bring a book or two so I don’t get bored. It’ll be fun!” 

“Ok, awesome sauce!” Jinsol lies. 

Things are neither ok nor awesome sauce.

Jinsol utilizes her mental math skills to factor Jungeun’s time-consuming internship into their relationship. 

Formula for lost time (t) with Jungie: 

t = -5(x + y) 

Let x = hours spent at internship per day

Let y = hours spent commuting per day 

Plugging in the known variables… 

t = -5(5 + 3) 

t = -40 

“Babe?” Jungeun notices her nerdy girlfriend short-circuiting. “Are you ok?” 

“I’m fine,” Jinsol smiles weakly and unconvincingly. 

Jinsol is losing 40 hours of Jungeun a week. How could she even be in the vicinity of “fine”?

January 27, 1997 

Jungeun’s intern attire is composed of white long-sleeve button ups and black dress pants. It’s the most basic prototype for business casual. 

She still looks ravishing. 

So even when Jungeun explains the inside jokes she’s already established with her new coworkers after day one of orientation, even when Jungeun occupies their late dinner with stories of people Jinsol doesn’t care about (and is frankly jealous of), even when Jungeun says things that Jinsol definitely doesn’t want to hear (“I’m gonna try to work on weekends, too!”), Jinsol shakes away the pessimism that is gradually, scarily attaching to her subconscious like a blood-sucking parasite. 

Jinsol is still in a stable relationship with a beautiful, brilliant girl. Yes, they will start seeing less of each other, but distance makes the heart grow fonder, does it not? She has no reason to worry. Jungeun loves her and she loves Jungeun. 

They’ll withstand this. 

Will they? 

Jinsol blames Sooyoung and company for spooking her and messing with her head. Lately, Jinsol finds herself living in fear, waiting for their relationship to suddenly flip a switch. The glass will inevitably shatter, the rose-tint on Jinsol’s glasses will darken to a deep red, and Jungeun will come to realize that she could do so much better than Jinsol. 

Maybe Jungeun will find this “someone better” at her new workplace, or even the train station. Maybe she’s already met them. 

God, what is this feeling, this sense of impending doom, and why won’t it leave Jinsol alone? 

“Hey babe,” Jungeun reaches for Jinsol’s hand across the dining table, “Are you sure you’re ok? You’ve been… different these past couple weeks. Quieter.” 

Jinsol downs the rest of her Chardonnay before answering. 

“I’ve never been better, baby. Don’t worry. How about another glass of vino?” 

“Sure,” Jungeun laughs.

Jinsol stands up and walks to the kitchen to retrieve a corkscrew for the new bottle. Meanwhile, Jungeun looks around her girlfriend’s perpetually messy apartment. 

It took a Herculean effort for Jinsol to make her pigsty of a home a little more presentable for her queen. 

With little help from her roommates, Jinsol mopped the floors until they gleamed with perfection and neatly stored their clutter into boxes instead of shoving it into the closet or sweeping it under the rug as usual. 

Finally, to set the romantic ambiance, Jinsol dimmed the lights and decorated the dining room with tea candles and a gorgeous blue hydrangea centerpiece. 

“You really spruced this place up, Sol. You did this all to celebrate my first day on the job?” 

Jinsol freezes, her hands grip tightly on the bottle she’s failing to open. “I did, but it’s also the 27th today. Remember?” 

This is a bad sign. This is very bad. 

“Remember what?” Jungeun asks, genuinely puzzled. 

Jinsol feels her throat constricting. 

“Our anniversary, babe. One year.” 

How could Jungeun forget? 

The hurt in Jinsol’s voice rings in Jungeun’s ears. It’s a haunting, unforgettable sound. 

“Oh my god, babe,” Jungeun sinks her head in her hands, “I’m so sorry. God, I feel awful. I’ve just been so focused on my internship that it totally slipped past me. I should have remembered, bought you a card at least. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Jinsol slides the wine bottle away from her and shakily returns the corkscrew to the drawer. 

“I shouldn’t have to say anything, Jungeun. You should know . We’ve been celebrating on the 27th for the past eleven months.” 

Jinsol closes her eyes in exhaustion. She doesn’t want to cry in front of Jungeun, because of Jungeun. Jinsol tells herself she’s too emotional. It’s just a day of the month. It’ll come along again in February. Or will Jungeun forget once more? 

“I’m so sorry, baby.” 

Jinsol feels Jungeun hug her from behind. Jinsol’s world briefly makes sense again. The ground no longer crumbles beneath her. 

“It’s ok,” Jinsol sniffles. (Even though it’s not and it hasn’t been.) 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Jungeun promises. (Even though she won’t.)

The rest of the dinner goes by uncomfortably. 

Jinsol gifts Jungeun a personalized leather briefcase to bring to work and a love letter for her to read on the train, on the way home to Jinsol. 

Jungeun has nothing to offer Jinsol except a fresh pile of insecurities and anxieties. 

February 10, 1997 

Jinsol has a narrow window between the end of Jungeun’s Arch 206 lecture and the 10:15 train to wish her girlfriend a happy birthday. 

Jinsol is playing it simpler this time - no flowers, no balloons, no chocolates. They’ll save the pomp and circumstance for Valentine’s Day. 

However, she would be remiss if she didn’t get Jungeun a thoughtful, sentimental present. 

It was a little pricey… ok a lot pricey. Let’s just say Jinsol will be buying 0.5 ply toilet paper for an indeterminate period. But for Jungeun, Jinsol would gladly go broke. 

“Happy birthday, Jungie. I love you to the moon and back.” Jinsol fastens a gold-plated crescent moon necklace around her girlfriend’s neck. 

“Thank you, babe,” Jungeun looks down and admires the lovely pendant, “It’s so beautiful!” 

“Not as beautiful as you.” 

Jungeun blushes - naturally, obviously. Her girlfriend is Jinsol Jeong, after all. 

“Quit talkin’ to me like that,” Jungeun hugs Jinsol’s arm and pouts, “You’re making it so hard for me to leave.” 

Jinsol checks her watch. “9:30. We still have time, babe. It’s only a ten-minute walk to the train station.” 

“I’m taking the 9:45 train today, didn’t I tell you?” Jungeun lifts her head off Jinsol’s arm. “The girls at the office are throwing me a party and they wanted me to come earlier.” 

“A party?” Jinsol laughs like it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard, “They haven’t even known you a full month.” 

“So?” Jungeun frowns, “We’ve grown close. They wanted to do something nice for me.” 

“They’re taking away your quality time with your girlfriend. I don’t think that’s nice,” Jinsol picks at her nails.

The mood instantly sours. 

Jungeun stands up from the bench they have been sitting on and frustratedly places her hands on her hips. 

“I never complain when your roommates pull you aside to play those juvenile pranks on your neighbors. Or when they take you out and get you so wasted that you call me ‘Jason,’” Jungeun counters. 

“Hey, those examples aren’t fair! Those pranks are harmless and it’s not like I go out and get drunk every night. Your internship, on the other hand, is five days a week and now they’ve got you coming in early and staying late.” 

“I signed up for this, Sol! I knew what I was getting into. I knew I had to make some sacrifices.” 

“Yeah,” Jinsol hunches her shoulders, “I was one of them.” 

Jungeun stressfully rubs at her nape, unsure of how to reply. Although Jungeun wants to do her part as a partner and reassure Jinsol, the self-pity party is getting a tad overdone. 

“You’re not, babe,” Jungeun says halfheartedly. “Listen, I want to talk this through some more, but I really have to go.” 

Jinsol sighs and hands Jungeun her briefcase. “Do you want me to walk you?” 

Jungeun foresees them spending the ten minutes arguing. 

“No,” Jungeun refutes quickly. “But thank you for the offer… and the necklace. I really do love it, babe. I’m sorry we had to cut today short.” 

Jungeun plants a kiss on Jinsol’s cheek. It’s strange - they’ve started to feel like consolation prizes rather than a displays of affection. Something to shut Jinsol up for the time being. 

It doesn’t work. 

“Are we still doing Valentine’s or are you spending it with the girls too?” Jinsol asks pointedly. 

Jungeun shakes her head in disbelief. Jinsol isn’t even trying to hide her discontentment anymore. She’s weaponizing it and using it to guilt Jungeun into staying.

Well, it doesn’t work either. Nothing works anymore. 

They don’t work anymore. Not like they used to, anyway. 

“I’ll see you later, Jinsol,” Jungeun bids a cold goodbye. 

February 14, 1997

Jinsol’s expectations for today were already low but holy fuck. She spends the most romantic day of the year in her baggy NASA t-shirt, with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia, and Jungeun… on the phone.

“You’re staying there, overnight ?” Jinsol comes mere decibels from yelling at the one person she swore she would never raise her voice at. 

“Not at the office,” Jungeun yawns, “There’s a hotel nearby.” 

“What are you guys doing at this company? You guys have the super secret nuclear codes or what? I just don’t get how they could keep you so late. Help me understand, babe,” Jinsol pleads. 

Explanations from Jungeun are so few and hard to come by these days. Jinsol would take anything, anything at all. 

“Our firm is taking on a huuuge project, babe. We’re designing a luxury apartment building in New York City!” 

Jinsol picks up on the glee in Jungeun’s voice that only appears when their ailing relationship is not the subject of their conversation. Jungeun could ramble about her job for hours, but if Jinsol were to be so considerate and only ask for a minute of Jungeun’s time to discuss their status, suddenly it’s “I have to go, Sol. We’ll talk later.” 

Is Jinsol still on the list of things that make Jungeun smile? Jinsol prays she hasn’t fallen off. 

“... All the celebrities are gonna live there, babe! When it’s completed, I’ll take you there. You’ve always wanted to see NYC, right?” 

“Yeah,” Jinsol half-smiles, “That sounds like fun.” 

Another plan that won’t come to fruition, Jinsol thinks. 

“We’ll have a blast, babe! We’ll hit all the tourist spots: the Statue of Liberty, Times Square, Central Park, and at the end of our tour, we’ll visit my high-rise. I’ll point it out to you. You’ll have to stretch your neck even longer just to see the penthouse! It’s seventy-one stories tall, Sol!” 

Jungeun is truly meant for the skies. Is Jinsol dead weight, dragging her down to the ground? Is Jinsol clipping her wings, preventing her from soaring? 

“It’s the best feeling, babe,” Jungeun sighs, “To know that people will look at something so beautiful and grand and associate it with you.”

“I know the feeling,” Jinsol breaks her silence. 

“Oh really?” Jungeun asks. 

“Yeah. It’s like when one of your classmates approaches me and asks me ‘Hey, aren’t you Jungeun’s girlfriend?’ That makes me feel so proud. I’m so happy to be yours.” 

Jinsol wishes they were having this exchange in person. She can visualize the tips of Jungeun’s ears reddening, her cheeks flushing, her lip biting. 

“Baby…”

“Come home to me, Jungeun,” Jinsol begs, “Set all that aside for one night, please. It’s Valentine’s. I miss you.” 

“Baby, I can’t. We’re all so busy here. They really need my help.” 

Jungeun’s guilty words say one thing, the joyous chatter and hollering in the background say another. 

“Jungeun! Girl, get over here! We’re shredding photos of Trisha’s ex!” says one of Jungeun’s coworkers. 

“Fuck you, Tony Fuego! We're never getting back together!” the second coworker, presumably Trisha, yells. 

“Get off the phone, Lippie! Come on!” says a third coworker. 

Jinsol furrows her brows. “What’s going on?” 

“Uh, hold on.” Jungeun nervously covers the speaker and scolds her coworkers. 

“Can y’all keep it down? I’m talking to my girlfriend.” 

“Sorry about that, babe,” Jungeun returns to their call. 

“Are you really busy?” Jinsol doubts, “Sure didn’t sound like it.” 

Jungeun winces. “The boss stepped out so we’re taking a break but as soon as she returns, we’ll get right back to work.” 

Jinsol hums passive-aggressively. “And I heard someone call you Lippie…?” 

“Oh,” Jungeun chuckles, “You heard right. That was Heather, the other intern. She gave it to me on the first day. The first thing she noticed about me was my bright red lipstick.” 

Jinsol doesn’t like the idea of people commenting on her girlfriend’s lips, she doesn’t even want people looking at them. 

Jinsol used to frown upon those territorial partners. Now she’s become one out of necessity. She can’t let Jungeun slip away. 

“... I think I told you about her.  She also goes to BBCU. She’s a fourth year and she helped found the LGBT Resource Center on campus.” 

“Huh. So she’s gay.” 

(And probably blonde too. Every “Heather” Jinsol has met has been blonde. Wonderful. Jungeun’s coworker is an upperclassman, blonde, lesbian who has taken a liking to Jungeun’s lips. Sounds familiar.) 

“Uh, yeah,” Jungeun says sarcastically, “So are we, babe. In case you forgot.” 

“It’s you who’s been forgetting things lately,” Jinsol delivers her sharpest verbal jab. It lands harder than anticipated. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” queries Jungeun. She feels the wind being knocked out of her. 

“Nothing.”

“You say everything with your ‘nothing.’” 

Jungeun plays with her necklace and reminds herself of the woman who gave it to her. She’s not the same woman on the other end of the line. 

This bitter, jealous, possessive Jinsol is a far cry from the Jinsol she fell in love with. Jungeun can’t help but feel responsible for this harrowing transformation.  

“Sol, answer honestly. Do you want me to quit? What do you want me to do?” 

“No. You adore the work you do there. I wouldn’t try to take that away from you.” 

Jinsol perches herself atop her apartment windowsill. She watches Sooyoung and Jiwoo return from salsa dancing. Sooyoung’s trying to carry Jiwoo bridal-style and open the front door simultaneously. They can’t stop laughing. 

It’s like looking into a mirror of the past. 

What Jinsol would give for her and Jungeun to be that happy again. 

“I just want you ,” Jinsol stresses. “What do you say? Are you coming home?” 

“I’m sorry-” 

Explanations are out of stock, but apologies are in abundance. Jinsol won’t have it any longer. 

“Fine,” Jinsol cuts Jungeun off curtly. “Enjoy your night. I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

“I really am sorry, babe-” 

“Yeah. You said that already.” 

They both sigh. 

Uncertain how to end their call and let Jinsol down easy, Jungeun relies on the one phrase that she knows will save the conversation. 

“I love you, Sol.” 

“Mhm. To the moon and back, babe,” Jinsol reciprocates and they hang up. 

These words can’t right all their wrongs, but they can conceal them. It’s like putting a bandaid on a bullet hole. 

You can stick that sucker on, secure it with the finest adhesive, pack it with gauze, but that won’t stop the bleeding or the pain. 

Jungeun and Jinsol’s wounds are starting to run deep. 

And although she’s well aware of the prognosis, Jinsol crosses her fingers and grasps onto the slim hope that they won’t open back up again. 

March 15, 1997 

In her tenth grade English class, Jinsol read a somewhat popular play called Julius Caesar by a mildly successful playwright named William Shakespeare. 

And in said play, Jinsol read a quote that she did not understand. 

“Beware the ides of March.” 

This of course pertains to the tragedy that befell the Roman general on March 15, 44 A.D. Caesar was assassinated by his countrymen and his dictatorial reign came to an abrupt end. 

Since then, the fifteenth of March has been synonymous with misfortune, at least for the Romans. 

But Jinsol is not a Roman, nor does she live in the first century, nor does she pay attention in any English course. (She’s a STEM girl, through and through.)

Jinsol unknowingly hinges the future of her relationship on the unluckiest day of the year. Bad omens greet her from the start until the end of the morning. 

First, Haseul parades outside her bedroom, demanding that Jinsol cough up this month’s rent. Jinsol is appalled that she has to pay yet again. Doesn’t their landlord find this redundant? 

Second, Sooyoung simply exists. 

As Jinsol exits their apartment, Sooyoung stops her roommate to read her outfit to filth. “What the hell are you wearing, Sol? What color is that shirt? Vomit? And yellow leggings? You look like a used highlighter.” 

Third, and probably the worst of them all, Jinsol runs into Jiwoo. 

“Jinsol,” Jungeun’s best friend scowls, “What are you doing in our dorm building? Don’t you have a fish to neglect?” 

Too frightened to retaliate, Jinsol utters, “I’m here to see Jungeun and surprise her.” 

“Why?” Jungeun’s best friend AND bodyguard stands in Jinsol’s way. 

“She’s my girlfriend, Jiwoo.” 

“For now,” Jiwoo hisses, “But not for much longer considering how you’ve been acting.”

“In my defense-ouch!” 

Jiwoo pinches and twists Jinsol’s earlobe. “Why can’t you be supportive?! You know how much this internship means to her!” 

“I’m trying!” Jinsol shrieks. “I swear I am!” 

Jiwoo scowls. If Jiwoo is to pick on someone, that person better be of equal caliber. Jiwoo’s 95-year-old Gam Gam with arthritis can throw a better punch than 21-year-old Jinsol with a limp wrist. 

“Whatever. Just make sure you don’t say anything stupid. It’s not just eyes I’ve got everywhere - it’s ears too-” Jiwoo releases Jinsol and the latter wails in pain. “I’m always listening, Blondie.” 

Having harassed Jinsol enough, Jiwoo politely walks Jinsol up to her and Jungeun’s third floor dorm. 

“Jungie!” Jiwoo calls as she cracks open the door, “You have a visitor! It’s gay Goldilocks!” Jiwoo then leaves to give the failing couple an opportunity to salvage their relationship. 

PLAY SONG FOR MAXIMUM ANGST ***

Jungeun looks up from her desk, “Sol? Did we schedule a date?” 

What a warm welcome. 

“Wow, Jungeun,” Jinsol scoffs as she leans on the door frame, “How about a ‘hello’ first?” 

“Sol, not now.” 

“I just got here, what do you mean?” Jinsol invites herself in and plops herself on Jungeun’s bed. 

“You come here unannounced, you should have called. We can talk later but right now I’m busy,” Jungeun says while resuming… whatever it is she’s doing. 

“Playing with Legos?” Jinsol lifts up the half-empty toy box on Jungeun’s bed. The plastic bricks are scattered across Jungeun’s desk. “Babe, I love Legos. Whatcha making?” 

“These aren’t to play with. I’m using them to make scale models. It’s for work.” 

“Hmph,” Jinsol huffs, “I see. Can I help you at least?” 

She leans over Jungeun’s shoulder, knocks over some of Jungeun’s prototypes, and that’s the last straw for them both. 

“Damn it, Sol!” Jungeun sets her materials aside, safe from Jinsol’s clumsy touch. “Can you just give me some space, please?!” 

Jungeun has the nerve to ask Jinsol for-

“SPACE?!” Jinsol finally snaps, “I’ve seen you three times in the past month and you dare to ask me for space?! Space is all we fucking have, Jungeun!” 

Jungeun starts a sardonic, slow clap. “Yes! There we go! That’s what I’ve been waiting for! You’ve been pretending this whole time! I knew you weren’t happy with our set-up! What else you got, Sol? Huh? It’s time for you to be real with me.” 

Jungeun gives Jinsol permission to loosen the reins on her temper and boy, does Jinsol deliver. 

“Of course I’m not happy. How the fuck could I be happy?” Jinsol throws her arms out in frustration, “I’m in a long distance relationship without actually being in a long distance relationship! And it’s not just physically distant, it’s emotional too. You forget our anniversary, you spend your birthday with some randoms, you abandon me on Valentine’s. Did you know I had to cancel our reservation at that fancy ass, five-star, French restaurant whose name I can’t fucking pronounce? We were gonna dine like royalty, eating caviar or whatever the fuck, on the rooftop, at sunset! I was gonna tip the server and secure us the best table! I had that shit locked down since October, Jungeun! Cost me $50 just to book it!” 

“Gee, I’m sorry I hurt your wallet, Jinsol,” Jungeun sneers. 

“That’s not-that’s not what hurts,” Jungeun’s voice suddenly lowers. She wraps her arms around herself protectively and bows her head slightly. 

Even in her anger and frustration, Jungeun knows that her girlfriend needs a hug - badly.  

“Baby…” Jungeun holds Jinsol as she trembles. 

“I want everything to go back to the way it was,” Jinsol bargains with tears in her eyes and an ache in her throat. “I- I want a rewind button.” 

“Me too. But that’s not how it works, Sol. This is where we’re at now. We have to move forward,” Jungeun closes her eyes and kisses Jinsol’s forehead. 

“Then you must make time for me. I can’t keep going like this, Jungeun.” 

“I’m trying. This is difficult for me too. I hate being away from you. I’m just so busy-“ 

The same, old, tired excuse grates on Jinsol’s ears. 

“Work?! Uh uh. I don’t want to hear it anymore. That won’t fly with me. The last time you were busy at work, Jungeun, your tongue was halfway down the assistant manager’s throat.” 

(Jinsol, Jinsol. You complete, utter fool. Why would you say this?) 

“You think I’m cheating on you?” Jungeun pulls away, astounded. 

Jinsol’s eyes widen, as if she’s only now realizing her terrible insinuation. “No, I- Jungeun, I’m sorry.” Jinsol fumbles for words. “I don’t mean that. I don’t believe you’re capable of doing such a thing. I love you.” 

“But you don’t trust me.” 

“I do!” 

“Look me in the eyes and tell me the thought hasn’t crossed your mind!” Jungeun demands. “Each time I work late or I mention my coworkers.” 

Jinsol can’t meet Jungeun’s gaze. 

“Unbelievable! You know, I can deal with your sensitivity and neediness but the paranoia and the jealousy… that’s where I draw the line.” 

“I was weak, Jungeun! Scared. I thought you’d gone and found someone better. God knows you could do better than me.” 

“Well,” Jungeun snorts, “That’s one thing you’re right about.” 

“Jung-” 

Jungeun holds the door open for her ex-girlfriend to walk through. She does not shout nor does she cry when she offers her parting words. Fighting with Jinsol is taxing in every way. Mentally, physically, emotionally. 

“Get out.” 

“Jungeun-” Jinsol starts, but never finishes. 

“I mean it, Jinsol. We’re done.” 

And when Jinsol refuses to budge, Jungeun forces her out. 

Jinsol should have stayed at home. Jinsol should have called in advance. Jinsol should have kept her mouth shut. 

Instead, Jinsol’s pounding on the door of the only woman who will ever love her. 

“Baby, please. I’m sorry! Let’s talk it out. We have to stay together, baby. We need each other. I need you. Please. ” 

Jinsol’s lungs start to burn, she’s panting heavily, probably hyperventilating. She’s choking on air that she doesn’t have. 

When she recalls that her primary source of oxygen is on the other side of that door, Jinsol makes her last plea. 

“Jungeun, what am I gonna do? Who’s gonna remind me to breathe?” 

September 2024 - Back in Professor Jeong-Kim’s Office

“Ouch.” 

“What were you thinking, Aunt Sol?!” 

“I’m very disappointed in you, Mommy.” 

One after the other, Jinsol’s three favorite girls berate her for the idiotic choices she made in her blurry, distant past. 

“Yeah, I kinda sucked back then, didn’t I?” Jinsol admits. 

“Uh, ya think?!” Yeojin sasses. “You were the worst! I’m questioning if you and Aunt Jungie should even be together!” 

Hyeju kicks Yeojin’s shin. “Cool it, Yeo! Don’t say that in front of their kid!” 

Yerim, the product of Jinsol and Jungeun’s reformed, matured love, scoots over to her mother and gives her a side hug. “How did you get Ma to forgive you after all that?” she asks softly. 

“Oh, it was a feat,” Jinsol smiles, “I camped outside her dorm for a couple hours a day, five days a week. Your Aunt Jiwoo was ready to file a restraining order. Eventually, your mother showed me some mercy that I didn’t deserve, and she took me back. She said she missed me more than she was mad at me and we promised to never fight again.” 

"According to this-” Hyeju holds up Jinsol’s lesson plan/agenda, “You didn’t keep that promise.” 

“Correct. I’m saddened to say that the fight I just told you about was fight 1 out of 4. We had another one at the end of March, one in April, and the ultimate one in May. Each would be more devastating than the last.” 

“You were in love!” Yerim argues, “You literally couldn’t breathe without each other! Why wasn’t that enough?” 

This is the perfect opportunity for Jinsol to provide her daughter with a few golden nuggets of wisdom. 

“Sweetie, your mother and I’s relationship the first time around, although romantic, was not at all healthy. We didn't know who we were outside of each other. This is not something to be idolized or idealized.” 

Jinsol waits for Yerim to convey understanding. Yerim still looks confused. 

“We were young and dumb,” Jinsol goes on, “We needed time - plenty of time to heal, to grow, to spend apart before finding our way back to each other.” 

The professor travels to her whiteboard and uncaps two markers: red and blue. 

Her students watch in fascination as Jinsol scrawls a header and subheader. She takes a black pen and drags it all the way across the board, creating a timeline. 

“Well, kids,” Jinsol steps back, “We’ve reached the climax of the story. The part you’ve all been waiting for…” 

Jinsol and Jungeun: The Great Separation

May 1997 to September 2000 

Chapter Text

September 2024 - Professor Jeong-Kim’s Office

A least favorite word. We all have one. 

Slurp. Ooze. Pimple. Porous. And most infamously, moist. 

Jinsol has no qualms with any of these. In fact, just this morning, she used all five words to construct a disgusting image of her delicious cheese souffle. 

(“I’m gonna slurp the melted parmesan that oozes like a pimple out of this porous, moist bread.”) 

Now, when it comes to least favorite phrases , Jinsol’s got a ton. 

Out of service. Incorrect password. Card declined. And most notably- 

“The Great Separation,” Yerim reads the unsettling combination of letters off Jinsol’s whiteboard. “May 1997 to September 2000.” 

“I have to warn you, kiddo,” Jinsol glances at her child despondently, “This next part of the story is rough. There are certain moments, certain things I said to your mother that I still regret to this day.” 

Considering that Jinsol is the most carefree, “no regrets,” “YOLO” adult Yerim has ever known, this comes as quite a shock to the daughter. 

“Your breakup was that bad?” Yerim frowns. 

How can Jinsol quantify the pain that results from the upheaval of a beautifully tragic relationship to her innocent daughter? Yerim has never experienced romantic love. She could not possibly understand. No one has ever broken Yerim’s heart (and Jinsol intends for it to remain that way). 

Correction: No human has ever broken Yerim’s heart. 

“Remember when we took care of your second grade class pet?” 

“Mr. Peanut…” Yerim sinks in Jinsol’s office couch. 

“We had his hamster cage all prepped and ready, bought him all his toys, found a place for him in your room-“ 

“-By the window,” Yerim’s bottom lip juts out and wobbles. “I turned away for one second and he escaped. I lost him just like that.”

“And how did that make you feel?” Jinsol lays a supportive, steady hand over her daughter’s shaking one. 

“Sad,” Yerim sniffles. “I let my classmates and my teacher down.” 

And then Jinsol pushes a little too far. 

“Now imagine you lost Mr. Peanut, Mrs. Peanut, and their four children.” 

Yeojin and Hyeju, who have been silently watching this mother-daughter interaction, stare at each other and mouth “What the hell, Aunt Sol?” 

Yerim hoists her knees up to her chest and weeps. She rocks back and forth in an attempt to console herself. 

“I’m so sorry Peanut family! Sorry Charles and Bertha, Fluffy, Gumdrop, Rainbow, Butterscotch…” 

Although Jinsol is plagued with the guilt of making her only daughter cry, she can’t help but “aww” at Yerim’s adorable names for her displaced hamster’s hypothetical offspring. It’s all so ridiculous and juvenile and pure. 

Yerim’s behavior is so very… Jinsol. There’s no doubt she was raised by a kind, sensitive mother who occasionally loses control and swerves conversations in the wrong directions. 

“Shh shhh don’t cry, sweetie. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d get this upset.” 

“You should’ve expected this reaction!” Yerim removes a couch cushion and throws it at Jinsol. “Haven’t you known me my whole life?!” 

Yerim’s behavior is so very… Jungeun. There’s no doubt she was also raised by a clever, headstrong mother who occasionally relies on her wit and sass to disarm her opponent. 

“Yes I have,” Jinsol hands Yerim a tissue, “I have known you your whole life. I know you can’t walk past litter without picking it up and throwing it away, I know you go out of your way to befriend the new kid in class, I know you’re a good person, Yerim, and the hamster thing was an honest mistake. You were seven years old!” 

Yerim wipes her nose and musters a smile. “And I know I come from good people.” 

Yerim is intelligent, earnest, and fiery all on her own. She is her own person. Her mothers could not possibly be more proud of her. 

Jinsol beams and plants a kiss on Yerim’s forehead.

“We’re flattered,” Jinsol smiles, “But your mother and I weren’t always good. Certainly not in May 1997.” 

Hyeju and Yeojin look up in interest. Looks like Aunt Jinsol is returning to the main, juicy matter at hand. 

“On the days leading up to the painful Great Separation, Jungeun and I got super, uber toxic. We were at each other’s throats about the pettiest little things. We fought nonstop. We fought about anything and everything… ” 

May 1997 - Triple S Apartment 

“Turn the damn tv OFF.” 

“NO. It’s my apartment, my tv. You can’t tell me what to do.” 

“Jinsol,” Jungeun clenches her jaw.

“Jungeun,” Jinsol narrows her eyes and bites her lip, “You wanna kiss me so bad.” 

“Ha!” Jungeun laughs off Jinsol’s advances, “Nice try. I don’t. Not when you’re acting like a child.” 

Jinsol pouts as she retreats to the other corner of the sofa, away from her girlfriend. “I really thought that move would work…” she grumbles quietly, but apparently not quiet enough. 

“Sol, we’ve been there, done that. Kissing and making up is a fun solution, but it’s the wrong one. It’s only a temporary fix.” 

Jinsol complies with Jungeun’s earlier request and shuts off the television. “And what is our permanent fix?”

“Communication.” 

It truly cannot get more simple than that. Jungeun is dissecting the flaws of her and Jinsol’s relationship to the bare bones - exposing every calcification and fracture and linking the pathological findings to the culprit of most failed relationships: miscommunication. 

It began when Jungeun accepted that career-defining, time-consuming architecture internship, it persisted when Jinsol falsely accused Jungeun of being unfaithful and using her new job as an alibi, and it peaked this evening, moments ago. 

“What do you mean?” Jinsol asks, “We communicate. I asked you about your day, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah, and then as soon as I opened my mouth, you turned on MTV!” Jungeun crosses her arms and humphs. 

“It was a low volume,” Jinsol justifies her rude action, “I could still hear you.” 

“Admit it, Sol. You only asked to be nice. And yes, you were hearing me, but because I started talking about work, you weren’t listening. You never listen to me! You tune me out!” 

“Well technically, it was The Notorious B.I.G. and Hanson who were tuning you out. Not me,” Jinsol jokes. 

But Jungeun isn’t laughing. 

“My god, Jinsol, can you ever be serious?!” Jungeun outbursts as the grin vanishes from her girlfriend’s face. “When was the last time we had a real conversation?” 

“When was the last time you were here to have a real conversation with me? I had to ask for your availability a month in advance just so we could hang out in my apartment for one measly hour. What the hell, Jungeun? You’re my girlfriend. I need to know where you are at all times. Why do I have to track you down? Why is it so hard to get a hold of you?” 

“Why can’t you understand that I also value my career?”

Jinsol scowls and takes a shallow breath. 

“It seems to me like you already have one foot out the door. Have you given up on me already?” 

Questions, questions, Jinsol and Jungeun attack each other with so many questions. Shooting out their angry mouths and crash landing on intolerant ears. 

Never any answers. 

“Jinsol,” Jungeun moves to her girlfriend’s end of the couch and straddles her. Jinsol turns her head away. 

“Baby,” Jungeun opts for her sweetest term of endearment. 

(It usually works.)

A corner of Jinsol’s mouth rises in a half-smile and the frustrated girlfriend exhales - deep and slow. 

(It always works.) 

“I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been so preoccupied with trying to have it all - friends, success, stability, that I’ve forgotten the girl whom I want to have it all with. I’m here, ok? I don’t wanna quit us, I’ll fight for us. Even when it hurts.” 

If there’s only one question that matters, it’s this next one that Jinsol asks with heavy apprehension. 

“Do you still love me, Jungeun?” 

Jungeun fiddles with the crescent moon necklace that Jinsol gifted to her on her birthday. As long as Jungeun wears this necklace, all is well. As long as she finds a reason to wear it, Jungeun and Jinsol will persevere. 

Jungeun gracefully places her fingers under Jinsol's chin and turns her girlfriend’s head to face her. 

Jinsol’s eyes are red, dilated, and watery, but despite her distorted vision, she sees the object of her affections oh so clearly. 

Jungeun is all Jinsol will ever want. Which is why Jinsol’s heart soars when her lover responds with… 

“So much, baby. I love you to the moon and back.”

“I love you too,” Jinsol whispers over and over as Jungeun melts in her arms.

A declaration of love won’t reverse their tragic fate. Jinsol is still possessive, Jungeun is still dismissive, and they are still trapped in an unhealthy dynamic. This moment may be soft and genuine but it does nothing to save them.

For young and ignorant Jinsol and Jungeun, love is a little like money, in a sense. 

If you have it in excess, sometimes you just don’t know what to do with it. You fail to manage it and eventually, sadly, you lose it all. 

Sooyoung and Jiwoo, on the other hand, are doing fantastic! (Talk about a tone shift!) 

“Darlin! Did you see? I got another hole-in-one!” Jiwoo exclaims with her usual cheerfulness. 

Jiwoo’s girlfriend is gazing at her with heart eyes. Sooyoung most definitely saw. 

“God, I love you. You are unstoppable, Jiwoo. Kiss me.” 

Jiwoo smirks, tosses their putters to the artificial green turf, and climbs her girlfriend like a tree. 

“With pleasure, darlin’,” Jiwoo says before smashing their lips together. 

Well… 

These girls sure are… bold? Daring? Gutsy?

Extra.

Sooyoung and Jiwoo are furiously making out on a mini golf course. A practice mini golf course. They’re extra. 

“Have they heard of something called ‘a room’?” Jinsol quips to Jungeun. 

It’s common for Jinsol to be short-tempered on these insufferable double dates with the most arrogant couple (and only couple) she knows. But tonight is especially triggering. 

Earlier, on the walk to pick up their girlfriends’ from their shared dorm, Sooyoung announced her exciting news to an envious Jinsol. 

Sooyoung is only half a paycheck short of being able to afford Jiwoo’s engagement ring. 

Sooyoung will be purchasing the diamond and popping the question within the next month. 

Jiwoo doesn’t see this coming of course, but that “yes” is pretty much guaranteed. Everyone and their mother knows that Jiwoo will agree to marry Sooyoung and said marriage will be prosperous. 

How can we be certain? 

Is it because Jiwoo and Sooyoung have excellent communication?

That’s nice, but one does not enter a binding, legal and spiritual agreement because they communicate well. Otherwise, some of us would be married to our friends or coworkers. 

Is it the combination of their unyielding love and communication? 

Yes, but that’s still not the most precise reason. 

It’s tranquility. 

Sooyoung and Jiwoo have disagreements here and there, but overall, they have found peace in one another. 

They set their differences aside in favor of the quiet delight of simply being together. 

Their bond is so resilient that not even the stress and turmoil of marriage certificates and centerpieces and seating arrangements, all the chaos and drama that comes with planning a wedding and the road bumps and struggles that follow, can deter them from becoming each other’s lifelong partner. 

Sooyoung and Jiwoo are primed for this divine sacrament at the ages of 22 and 19 (going on 20) respectively. 

They’re an anomaly. 

Most college students aren’t ready for serious commitments, especially not marriage.

But now Jinsol’s thinking… 

If Sooyoung and Jiwoo can do it, why can’t me and Jungeun?

“Sol, it’s our turn. We’ve got this.” 

“Huh?” 

Jungeun holds a golf ball in front of Jinsol’s dazed face. “Our turn to putt, silly!” 

“Right,” Jinsol shakes off the daydream and grabs her putter. “Let’s show those suckers what we’re made of.” 

Jungeun takes Jinsol’s free hand and swings them toward the first hole. 

“This your first time playing?” Jungeun asks with a glint in her eye. 

“Yeah,” Jinsol admits shyly, “You’ll have to give me some pointers. You know I’m not the sporty type.” 

“No worries. I knew what I was getting into when I started dating you. You’re lucky I have a thing for nerds.” 

“Hey!” 

“What?” Jungeun chuckles, “It’s true!”

“Would a nerd know how to do this ?” 

Jungeun’s mathlete girlfriend wraps an arm around Jungeun’s back and dips her backward. Like a sailor returning from a year-long deployment, Jinsol kisses her lady ardently, with too much tongue for this family-friendly setting. 

Weak at the knees, Jungeun tumbles onto the green ground and pulls Jinsol down with her. 

They’re a ratty mess of blonde and brunette hair, flushed cheeks and puckered lips, all smiles and laughter. 

If only they could remain like this forever. But this is Jinsol and Jungeun we’re talking about here. Nothing ever comes easy for them. 

Sooyoung walks up to Jinsol and Jungeun and shoves her golf club between their conjoined bodies. “Yo! Break it up-“ Sooyoung pokes Jinsol’s ribs, “-Stop this homosexual behavior!” 

Jungeun giggles and pushes Jinsol off her. 

And then Jinsol gets up and pushes Sooyoung. 

“Argh! What’s your problem, Soo? I wasn’t getting in the middle of you and Jiwoo’s gay ass activity!” 

“Can we just start the game?” Sooyoung sighs and ignores her, “Losing couple pays dinner.” 

Jinsol seals the deal with an aggressive handshake. “Fine. Your broke ass is grass, Sooyoung. I’m gonna order a $50 filet mignon and a $150 bottle of Merlot. Jiwoo’s ring will have to wait-” 

Sooyoung throws her hand over Jinsol’s mouth and the latter lets out a muffled scream. 

“She might have heard you!” Sooyoung fumes, retracts her hand, and wipes it on Jinsol’s shirt. 

Jinsol makes a skeptical face. “She went to the bathroom! Unless your fiancée has super hearing powers-” 

Sooyoung drives the end of her putter directly into Jinsol’s midsection, nearly impaling her. “Jiwoo can’t know! I won’t let you ruin this for me, Blondie!” 

“Ow! Ok! Ok!” Jinsol surrenders to her asshat friend and searches for comfort in Jungeun.

“Jungie, she’s being mean to me,” Jinsol pouts. 

All Jungeun can do is shake her head, sigh, and question how she and Jiwoo ended up with the female equivalents of Beavis and Butthead as their girlfriends. 

However, it seems like “girlfriend” is now an outdated term. 

“Wait, Sooyoung, did I hear right?” Jungeun asks in a contained volume, “Are you fixin’ to propose to Jiwoo?” 

Sooyoung’s humongous ego gets knocked down a few pegs. She gulps, suddenly nervous as she stares at Jiwoo’s protective, fiercely loyal, best friend of 14 years.  

“Y-yes. Is that ok?” Sooyoung nervously rubs at her nape, “Your approval would mean a lot.” 

“Say no,” Jinsol whispers in Jungeun’s ear. 

Jungeun shocks both Jinsol and Sooyoung when she leans forward to embrace her soon-to-be (honorary) sister-in-law. 

“I had my doubts about you before, Sooyoung,” Jungeun confesses, “But you’ve surpassed those negative first impressions. You’ve come a long way since then and I can see how well you treat Jiwoo. Y’all will be great wives!” 

“Really?” Sooyoung turns back to ensure Jiwoo isn’t within earshot, “You don’t think it’s too soon?” 

Jinsol leans in a little closer, eager to hear her girlfriend’s response. 

“Why wait any longer?” Jungeun supportively squeezes Sooyoung’s arm. “It’s actually long overdue if you ask me. Jiwoo was ready to marry you after the first date!” 

Jinsol wonders if Jungeun felt the same way that windy, snowy night in January ‘96 before all the frivolous drama and jealousy. When the idea of them causing each other even a sliver of pain seemed unfathomable - a concrete impossibility. 

Those were simpler times that Jinsol might never get back. Tonight, though, seems to be a promising return to Jinsol and Jungeun’s former glory. 

For starters, that raunchy kiss on the green was good, really good.

And after Jiwoo returns from the bathroom, the couples square off and Jinsol and Jungeun emerge victorious. Neither of them are particularly good but they’re infinitely better than Sooyoung who is absolute dog-shit - all bark but no bite (and all too focused on extravagant proposal plans A, B, and C that she develops hand tremors and loses her grip on the putter). 

Dinner is really good too. Burgers, curly fries, and milkshakes. By no means is it fancy steak and wine, but it’s all Sooyoung can afford at the moment. Jinsol is courteous enough to let this one slide. 

The couples part ways at 11:30 PM. Sooyoung and Jiwoo, being the night owls that they are, rush to catch the midnight premiere of The Lost World: Jurassic Park. 

Jinsol and Jungeun, being the nerds that they are, head home as they are not used to staying out this late. 

The Great Separation

“Bummer. I really wanted to see those computer-generated dinosaurs,” Jinsol yawns as she escorts Jungeun to her dorm. 

In Jungeun’s lethargic state, she improperly selects her mailbox key and forces it into the door lock. 

“Whyyyy won’t you open?” she whines cutely. 

“Babe,” Jinsol places her hand over Jungeun’s, “I think you’ve got the wrong one.” 

“No!” Jungeun huffs, “This is my dorm. I know it!” 

“Wrong key , sleepyhead.” 

“Oh.” 

Jinsol chuckles lightly, inserts Jungeun’s room key, and opens the door.

“Alright babe, good night. Do you need me to distinguish your bed from Jiwoo’s? Yours is the one on the left. And you rest your head on the pillow, not your feet.” 

“Sol!” Jungeun weakly slaps Jinsol’s arm. Jinsol laughs some more. 

“I’m teasing, babe,” Jinsol hugs her from behind, “I’ll let you get some sleep.” 

Jungeun slowly sits down on her bed and tilts her head at Jinsol. 

“I’m glad I was able to take time off work to spend time with you. Today was perfect,” Jungeun sighs. 

It was also their first argument-free day in god-knows-how-long. Not once did Jinsol and Jungeun disagree on a superficial matter or hold petty grudges or raise their voices to each other. 

Unfortunately, that’s all about to change. 

“You know what? Maybe we can have more days like today,” Jinsol kneels at the foot of Jungeun’s bed and holds her girlfriend’s hands. “I can give you everyday. Eternity, if you’d like. Marry me, Jungeun.” 

Naturally, Jungeun doubts the legitimacy of this proposal. Her girlfriend has a flair for the melodrama. 

“Sol, don’t be ridiculous.” 

“What?” Jinsol tilts her head, “I’m serious! Marry me.”

Once the initial, visceral shock wears off, Jungeun lays on her most gentle smile. 

“Babe, let’s save this discussion for another time,” Jungeun kisses Jinsol’s forehead. 

Needless to say, Jinsol does not respond well to Jungeun’s placation. “Why? It’s a simple yes or no question.” 

“Actually, Jinsol, it was more so a demand than a question,” Jungeun corrects. 

“Fine,” Jinsol sighs, “Will you marry me?” 

“Look, Jinsol…”

As Jungeun’s response time lengthens, Jinsol’s patience and temper shortens. 

“What else do you want? What’s missing? You-you want a ring?” Jinsol frantically removes a lone key ring and places it on Jungeun’s ring finger. “This will do for now. I’ll get you a nice one later - an even bigger diamond than the one Sooyoung is getting. How many karats? Five? Ten? Fifty?” 

Jungeun attempts to hold Jinsol’s wrist to steady her, but her hyper girlfriend starts to zip across the four walls of her dorm. 

“Let’s get some moonlight in here,” Jinsol opens Jungeun’s blinds, “There we go!” 

Jinsol anxiously snaps her fingers and looks around. “You have candles. Got anything to light them? Matches, matches, you got any matches?” 

“Jinsol…” 

“Oh! What’s that old saying? Before people get married they need something old, something new, something borrowed… and something blue! I think we can find all those here…” Jinsol picks up the baby blue cardigan atop Jiwoo’s dresser. “Good. This counts as two out of four, babe! Now we just need-” 

“JINSOL!” 

Alarmed, Jinsol turns to face her overwhelmed girlfriend. 

Jungeun is pinching the bridge of her nose, bouncing her right leg, and wearing a pained expression. She’s got something important to say, and Jinsol’s positive it’s not what she wants to hear. 

“Stop,” Jungeun begs, “This isn’t necessary. You don’t have to do any of this. I don’t need a proposal.” 

“You don’t need a big, fancy proposal, you mean?” Jinsol force feeds her own words into Jungeun’s mouth. 

“No,” Jungeun denies explicitly, “No proposal, no wedding, no marriage. We’re not there yet, Sol. We still have plenty of issues to work through.”

“Bullshit,” Jinsol mumbles. 

Jungeun purses her lips. “Speak up, Jinsol.” 

“I said, bullshit,” Jinsol enunciates. “What about Sooyoung and Jiwoo? You were so on board with them getting hitched! They’re the same age as us, they’ve only been dating a few months longer, so what gives?! Why won’t you marry me?”  

Lately, every interaction that Jinsol and Jungeun have devolves into an interrogation. Somehow, Jungeun is always the one in the hot seat. Always powerless, always voiceless, always the one at fault. 

“It’s my choice,” Jungeun defends. “And I say ‘no’.”

“When someone you love asks you to marry them, the right thing to do - the only thing to do - is to say yes,” Jinsol explains in a patronizing tone, “Have you been lying to me? Do you really love me?” 

“I do. Damn it, I do! Stop asking me that!” 

“Then stop giving me reasons to doubt you!” Jinsol, in her building stress and frustration, kicks Jungeun’s wastebasket. “S-sorry. I’ll pick that up.” 

Jinsol bends down unsteadily, collecting scraps of paper and dried up pens. 

“I love you, Jinsol… but I don’t want to love you anymore. Not like this. This isn’t working.” 

The sheer force of Jungeun’s confession - the cruelty - sends Jinsol’s knees to the floor. 

“I love you,” Jungeun pauses to wipe her tears - new ones, and old ones formed months ago but never shed until tonight, their last night together. 

“-To the point that I can’t breathe . And now I know why. It’s because- It’s- It’s because you suffocate me.” 

Jungeun removes her moon necklace and gasps - partly because she’s sobbing so hard, partly because she’s finally free of Jinsol and all the pain their relationship entails. 

“I think, if we got married, it would be like today,” Jungeun goes on as Jinsol listens, shell-shocked. “I think we’d be joking and kissing and happy - for a moment. But we’d somehow end up fighting and bitter and broken. I don’t want that for us. I don’t want us to resent each other.”  

Jinsol buries her head in her hands because she knows, deep down, that Jungeun’s bleak prophecy of their relationship - should their present selves remain this dysfunctional - is bound to fulfill itself. 

“Fuck,” Jinsol cries, “I can’t believe I screwed us up this bad. It was a stupid idea. Can we pretend I walked you home, kissed you good night, and that was that?” 

“We’d only be lying to ourselves, baby,” Jungeun disputes, “Delaying the inevitable.” 

The couple shares a knowing look. 

The best thing they can do for each other at this time in their lives is to break up. It’s for their own good. 

That doesn’t make it any easier, though. Jinsol and Jungeun are addicted to one another. 

“I’ve hurt you tremendously, haven’t I, Jungeun? I’m so sorry.” 

Jungeun scurries to the floor, holds Jinsol’s head between her hands and with a watery smile, she says, “I’ve hurt you too. It ends here, ok? We won’t be able to hurt each other once we’re apart.” 

Jinsol forces herself to nod. “Ok. Then apart we'll be.” 

Jungeun tucks a strand of hair beneath Jinsol’s ear and whispers, “How about that good night kiss?” 

“No, Jungeun. I don’t think we should-“ 

“Please, Sol. One last time. Just to say goodbye.” 

Jinsol notices Jungeun’s dark, lustful eyes and nimble fingers on her shirt collar and knows that her girlfriend is not asking for just an innocent kiss.

There is no just with Jungeun. Jinsol can’t just kiss her. Jinsol can’t just forget her. Jinsol can’t just stop loving her. 

Old habits die hard. Once Jungeun’s lips meet Jinsol’s, no force on earth could pry them apart. 

They breathe each other in, kissing so deeply that Jinsol feels like she’s leaving a part of herself inside Jungeun and vice versa. 

In their passionate, desperate haze, clothes are shed, sheets are tangled, and all their progress is undone. 

Jinsol has heard from numerous sources - tv, gossip magazines, Sooyoung Ha - that exes ending up in bed together is a big no-no, a grave mistake. 

It’s ok though, this is fine. Jinsol reasons that she and Jungeun are not exes yet . Their separation does not officially begin until Jinsol does her walk of shame out of Jungeun’s dorm. 

And yes, what they did was immature and impulsive, and yes, they were weak and caved into temptation. 

But is Jungeun a mistake? No. Loving Jungeun could never be wrong. Of this, Jinsol is certain. 

Jungeun falls asleep in Jinsol’s arms. When she wakes up, a yellow sticky note takes the place of her ex-girlfriend. 

Jungeun, 

 

No matter where life takes me next, no matter who I become in this world, at least I have been yours. 

 

Thank you for that. 

 

All my love, 

Sol

Suddenly, the bed feels colder. 

There is no proper manner to cope with a breakup. Some cry a Kleenex box’s worth of tears, some engorge themselves with a gallon of their favorite ice cream, some abstain from bathing and stew in their old pajamas for days. 

Jinsol, ever the overachiever, does all of the above and more. 

“REALLY, JINSOL? ARSON?!” 

(Jinsol breaks the law.) 

“Hasssseul,” Jinsol slurs, “Chill, bro. Ssss’all good. Did you bring me food?” 

Jinsol’s other best friend grumbles, reaches in her pockets, and slyly hands Jinsol a Pop-Tart. 

“Aww man! Raspberry? I want blueberry!” Jinsol whines like a spoiled kid writing their Christmas list. 

Haseul scoffs. “I got some news for ya, buddy. Criminals can’t be choosers. Now can you tell me how the hell you ended up here?” 

Jinsol grips her cell bars with all her might and battles her drunkenness to offer her pissed-off roommate an explanation. Bless her heart, Jinsol really tries to sound coherent. 

Here are the Cliff Notes (tequila-induced tangents omitted): 

Today was day 6 of The Great Separation. Today Jinsol summoned the willpower to change out of her Winnie the Pooh onesie. She scoured her closet for decent attire, but Jungeun had already left her mark on every article of Jinsol’s clothing. 

Jungeun’s lipstick on Jinsol’s plain white tee, Jungeun’s handwritten “JJ + JK” on the soles of Jinsol’s blue converse, and Jungeun’s distinct scent - “lavender blossom honeysuckle with hints of flowering lotus and watercress” (wow, how Jinsol adores this woman) still lingering and practically infused into Jinsol’s thick winter coat. 

Jinsol threw her entire wardrobe in the washer, to cleanse it of Jungeun, but even the fucking fabric softener reminded the poor girl of her ex. (Jungeun facilitated Jinsol’s switch from Downy to Snuggle). 

Since Jinsol couldn’t wash Jungeun away with soap and water, she had no choice but to resort to fire. Jinsol’s actions are a bit extreme, if you ask most people, but Jinsol was also extremely devastated by Jungeun’s rejection. 

Try proposing to the person you love most, hearing four cold, consecutive “no”s followed by “you suffocate me,” and then resume your life peacefully. You can’t. 

And so Jinsol carried her laundry basket, flask, and flamethrower (... no words for this) to the top of Blockberry Hill where she started a half-acre fire. Thankfully, it was quickly contained and no one was hurt. 

Within ten minutes, Jinsol was in Blockberry PD custody, handcuffed, sitting in a patrol car, and requesting a phone call to her “ real best friend, Haseul, not that HO Sooyoung.” 

Haseul was disappointed to receive the call, but not surprised. Truthfully, she had been waiting for Jinsol to spiral out of control. She just didn’t think it would get this bad.

“Why couldn’t you burn your shit in a dumpster or a fire pit?” Haseul asks at the end of Jinsol’s long-winded narrative. 

“Because…” Jinsol stops to belch, “We had our first date on that hill. That was where we began. And that’s where we’ll end. Full circle. It’s symbolic…” 

“No, it’s not, dipshit!” Haseul berates her felon friend, “You chose to commit your crime on the highest peak, overlooking the entire town. Don’t you realize how suspicious you looked? The cops are ready to light a fire under your ass!” 

“Whatever,” Jinsol rolls her eyes, “You’re the one who likes raspberry Pop-Tarts. That’s a bigger crime if you ask me. Life sentence-” 

Haseul sticks her hand through the cell bars and twists Jinsol’s wrist. 

Jinsol howls in pain. “Goddamn it, Seul! I shoulda called Sooyoung!” 

“Listen here, you blonde menace to society,” Haseul drops her voice an octave, “You are on thin fucking ice with both of us. Soo and I are beyond sick and tired of your fuckery. I swear, it’s like we have a baby. We need to feed you, clothe you, clean up your spit-up, and get you to stop crying. The only difference is we buy you booze instead of formula. It’s a full time job taking care of you, Sol, and we don’t even get a thank you!” 

“Cut me some slack! I’m going through a break up!” Jinsol excuses. 

“Ok but Jungeun is going through the same thing and last I heard, she’s still abiding the law,” Haseul inserts passively. 

The sudden name-drop has Jinsol on high alert. 

“Jungeun?! How did she look? Sad? Was she wearing my necklace? Did you talk to her? Where did you see her? Was she with someone? Her coworker? New girlfriend? Did she replace me already? What’s the bitch’s name? Is it ‘Heather’?” 

Haseul palpates Jinsol’s pulse as it rapidly bounds through her wrist. 

“Would you give it a rest? It’s this uncontrollable jealousy that ruined your relationship! Release your crazy tight hold on Jungeun and accept that you two are over. Please let her go. Move on and let her go, Sol.” 

“You let go,” Jinsol glares at Haseul’s hand. 

Haseul loosens her death grip and runs her thumb sympathetically over Jinsol’s forearm. Tough love is ineffective on someone as sensitive as Jinsol. 

“Buddy,” Haseul says gently, “Sooyoung and I hate seeing you like this.” Haseul gestures to Jinsol’s dark, dingy cell, “Believe it or not, we care about you. We want you to get back on track - not just for our sake - but for yours as well. How can we help you be happy again?” 

“Do you think…” Jinsol furrows her brows and juts her bottom lip out, “You could get her to take me back?” 

Haseul breaks at the desperation in Jinsol’s voice and the despair in Jinsol’s face. 

“I can bail you out of here, I can get my parents to work their lawyer magic and get your charges dropped, but I can’t do that. I’m sorry, Sol.” 

Jinsol nods and waits patiently for Haseul to sign her paperwork. 

When the Blockberry sheriff arrives to set her free, Jinsol wishes that she could stay here a little longer. 

This cold, metal cage is no less lonely than the world outside. 

June 1997 

On day 10 of the Great Separation, Jinsol almost gets everything right. 

She tirelessly washes the platinum blonde out of her hair and makes the long-awaited return to her natural shade. She leaves a mess in the sink but cleans it up before either roommate can scold her. 

She goes shopping and builds a new wardrobe with classy, appropriate pieces for a soon-to-be college graduate. She’s set to receive her double bachelors degrees in marine biology and applied mathematics in a couple weeks. (Jinsol’s heart may be shattered, but her big brain works just fine). 

She resigns from the pet store and thanks everyone for the pleasant three years she’s spent squeegeeing fish tanks and grooming angry Chihuahuas. It was the quintessential shitty first job. 

And finally, Jinsol heads to her favorite bar, XX, to raise a glass to her failed relationship. 

This is it. One last drink and then she’ll officially let Jungeun go. 

The bartender listens to Jinsol’s sob story and recommends a vile concoction called “Amnesia on the Rocks.” As the name states, the drink’s intention is to make the drinker forget whatever or whomever they’d like. 

Erase your troubles, failures, enemies, lovers, and ex-lovers. 

It is here that Jinsol makes her fatal mistake. 

“Oh, what the hell,” Jinsol shrugs, “I’ll try it.” 

The drink tastes like liquid death, a tortuous burn radiates down her esophagus and bores holes through her liver. 

Jinsol has no idea what’s in this poison but she thinks she detects gin, vodka, and… is that absinthe? That would explain the unsightly green color.  

She downs a shot, then another, then a line of seven. 

“Juuuuungggeuuun,” Jinsol’s numbed mouth slowly expels her ex’s name, “It’ssss’not workinnng, fuuuuck. I still… rememberrrr.” 

Jinsol crumples $50 and throws it at the bartender. “Call yer drink sumthin else, ya liar! I’m outta here!” Jinsol slings on a jacket (that isn’t even hers) and falls off her stool in the process. 

“Wait!” yells Baekhyun, “You can barely walk.” 

The concerned gentleman tunes out Jinsol’s profanity and her nails clawing at his face as he slings an arm around her and guides her out of the bar. 

“Take her home,” Baekhyun instructs a cab driver. He gives Jinsol a pat on the back and bids her a good, safe night. (Jinsol flips him off.) 

The driver peeks at Jinsol through the rear-view mirror. “Ok miss. Where to?” 

Another memory test. Jinsol has to think a little harder now. 

Her literal home is Orbit Avenue Housing Complex, Apartment 379, BBCU West Campus. 

This is not the address Jinsol provides the driver. Instead, Jinsol states the location of her metaphorical home - where her heart resides. 

“Mobius Dorms… Room 610… BBCU East Campus.” 

Thud. 

Something hits Jungeun and Jiwoo’s door. They spring up from their beds, Jiwoo turns on their lamp, and the roommates stare at each other, perplexed. 

“What was that?” Jiwoo asks Jungeun. 

Jungeun shields her sleepy eyes from the light. “Nothing. Probably a dumb prank. Let’s go back to slee-” 

“Juuuuungeeeuuun…” 

Jinsol sounds like a ghost and Jungeun looks like one - she immediately pales at the sound of her ex’s voice calling her, haunting her. 

“Jinsol,” Jungeun breathes. 

“Juuuuungeeeuuun,” Jinsol repeats, “Taaaalk to meeee…” 

Distressed, Jungeun bites her lip and clenches her fingers on her sheets. She tosses the covers off and swings her legs out of bed, planting them firmly on the ground. She eyes the doorknob for nearly a full minute.

To answer or not to answer? If Jungeun were to open that door, would she gain closure? 

Then again, their breakup was amicable - they agreed on the terms and conditions and that it was their due time. There was a definite beginning and end to their short-lived entanglement. They crashed, they burned, and finally, Jinsol and Jungeun extinguished their flame together. (Jinsol started a new one, of course, but that’s beside the point). 

There shouldn’t be anything left to resolve. 

Except...

“Baby, pleeeeease open the door. I miss you…” Jinsol’s plea comes out slightly muffled. 

A wistful smile spreads across Jungeun’s face as she visualizes Jinsol placing her palms on the door and smushing one side of her face against it. (This is exactly what Jinsol is doing). 

Jungeun need not lie to herself. She misses Jinsol too - unbearably so. In these past ten days, Jungeun has replayed Jinsol’s proposal in her head, over and over, imagining how her life would be had she accepted. 

They would still be together (obviously), and it wouldn’t be right (obviously) but they would still be together. 

It’s a redundant thought experiment, really. Jungeun comes to the same conclusion each time: she will always choose to be with Jinsol than without her.

Jungeun pushes off her bed and lunges toward the door with her arm outstretched, hand open, fingers ready to grasp the doorknob. 

Before she can complete her task, Jungeun collides with an immovable, pigtailed obstacle. 

“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doin?”

Jungeun forgets to factor in her confounding variable. The world’s most shameless, nosy, and outspoken third wheel: her platonic soulmate with whom she shares everything (including a last name), Jiwoo Kim. 

“Jiwoo, not now,” Jungeun grits her teeth, “Let me handle this. She came here for me.”

“It’s 1 AM, she’s slurring her words, she’s clearly drunk. C’mon, Jungie! You know nothing good can come from this. Don’t let her in.” Jiwoo crosses her arms and widens her stance, truly fitting the image of Jungeun’s personal bodyguard. 

Jungeun is now caught between her intoxicated, toxic ex-girlfriend and her sober, dependable best friend. 

Jiwoo is the obvious choice in almost any scenario. 

But right now, all Jungeun wants is to see, hold, and comfort the girl on the other side of that door - Jiwoo’s disapproval be damned.

“Jungeun!” Jiwoo yells in dismay after Jungeun uses her shoulder to shove her aside. 

Jungeun surprises herself with her roughness toward her friend, but the bigger shock comes when she opens the door to find a Jinsol doppelgänger. 

The girl on the other side of Jungeun’s door is wearing a brown leather jacket that reeks of cigarette smoke and cheap vodka. Her hair is dark as the night, jet-black strands stick to her sweaty face. She’s transfixed with the grime on her oldest pair of shoes, her only pair that survived the fire. 

“Jinsol?” Jungeun asks warily. 

It takes a tremendous amount of stamina just for Jinsol to lift her heavy, pounding head.

“Jungieee,” Jinsol sighs and manages to look at her for a split second.  

And Jungeun gasps - not because of Jinsol’s radical change in hair color and not in response to wobbly Jinsol collapsing into her arms. 

Jungeun gasps because she sees the physical manifestations of their traumatic breakup in Jinsol’s eyes.

These eyes are devoid of light and color and hope. These eyes are filled with irrefutable pain.

The lifelessness can probably be attributed to the excessive alcohol intake, but Jungeun fully takes the blame for herself. 

Jinsol wouldn’t be in this drunk, disheveled, and depressed state had Jungeun said “yes” or at the very least, shut her down gently. 

“I’ve got you, Sol,” Jungeun half-carries, half-drags Jinsol inside.  

This is too much movement for Jinsol as her vertigo kicks in and the room begins to spin violently. 

“I’m... on a...carousel. Operator, sl… slllll…. slow it down...” Jinsol mumbles. 

“Hold on. We’re almost there, ugh -” Jungeun grunts as she transfers Jinsol to the edge of her bed. “Use your hands to feel the mattress behind you. I’m gonna let you go now. Do you think you can sit and keep yourself upright?” 

Jungeun expects too much from the severely inebriated Jinsol. 

“Sure!” Jinsol chirps before comically falling back on Jungeun’s bed. 

“Sol, please try to sit up. You had too much to drink, you might have to vomit.” 

“No, I’m gooood- guarhhh-” Jinsol feels a rumbling in her stomach and a gurgling in her throat. Her abdomen visibly retracts inward as she starts to gag. 

Uh oh. 

Jungeun is quick to act. She leaps to the corner of the room where her wastebasket lies. She picks it up and places it in front of Jinsol. 

“In here, baby,” Jungeun instructs softly. 

Jinsol overcomes gravity and lifts her head a few degrees, just in time to upchuck her elixir from hell into the trash can. 

And Jungeun is there for her, through it all. 

Even when Jinsol gives her three horrifying repeat performances. Even when some of Jinsol’s gastric contents land on her. 

Especially then. 

Jungeun looks down at her soiled shirt and calls for backup. 

“Jiwoo, can you get me a damp washcloth from the bathroom please?” 

Jiwoo sighs and retrieves the item. 

“Here.” 

(Jiwoo does not waste the opportunity to glare at Jinsol during the exchange.) 

“Thank you.” 

Jungeun accepts the washcloth, folds it over her hand, and proceeds to lightly cleanse Jinsol’s face. 

“Really? She threw up on you and you’re cleaning her up?” Jiwoo cocks her head and arches a judgemental brow. 

“Jiwoo, shut it,” Jungeun snaps, “Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same for Sooyoung.” 

Bested by her bestie, Jiwoo merely purses her lips and takes a step backward, giving the couple more privacy but keeping a watchful eye. 

Tenderly, Jungeun pulls back Jinsol’s black locks (that will take some getting used to) and dabs her sweaty forehead. Jungeun’s mouth opens slightly in concern. 

“Babe, you’re really warm,” Jungeun confirms by placing the back of her hand on Jinsol’s flushed skin. “I think you have a fever. Tell me you at least had something to eat - some nourishment in your body before you got drunk.” 

The dangerous trifecta of an empty stomach, a high temperature, and a blood alcohol level far beyond the legal limit makes Jinsol delirious. 

“Jungeun? Is-is that you? Woah it looks like there’s two of you-” Jinsol rubs her eyes, “Now four, you keep multi-multiplying.” 

“Jinsol,” Jungeun squares Jinsol’s shoulders, “Focus on just one of me then. Can you do that?” 

Jinsol’s attention shifts to detect the sour taste in her mouth. “Gah! Whu is tha?” Jinsol smacks her lips together. 

“You threw up - multiple times, actually,” Jungeun explains while wiping dry vomit off the corners of Jinsol’s mouth. 

“Oh! That’s right! ‘Cause I got waaaaasted… ‘cause I drank some amneeesiaaa…” 

“Amnesia?” Jungeun sets the washcloth down and asks Jiwoo to go scavenging for a thermometer. 

Jinsol coughs, grips the trash can again, but thankfully it’s a false alarm. “Yeah, I took down after shot aftah’ shot so I could… forget…” 

“Me?” Jungeun slouches and hangs her head in guilt. 

“Who else?” Jinsol laughs bitterly. “Of course it’s you. I’m like this ‘causa you.” 

“Jinsol, I’m sorry. I want us to try agai-” 

Here’s the rotten cherry on top of this shit sundae: If Jinsol had let Jungeun finish this sentence, the Great Separation might have concluded here. It might have been called “The Short Separation” or merely “The Separation” and it might have lasted only 10 days as opposed to the full 1,204. 

“ You gave up on us,” Jinsol points a finger at Jungeun’s sternum. “I was doin’ my best and you were doin’ nothin . I ask you to marry me and you don’t give me a chance. You break us up, destroy errrrryything we had together, and then you wanna ffff uck and ffff orget? And then I’m supposed to be ok and move on?” 

Remorseful and distraught, Jungeun squeezes Jinsol’s hands and asks for forgiveness. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Sol,” Jungeun plants salty, teary kisses on Jinsol’s fingers, “I regret how I treated you that night. I wasn’t fair.” 

Jinsol dismisses Jungeun’s grief. 

“- I don’t forget. I can’t forget. I coulda drank a keg of the stuff and still-” Jinsol pokes at her temple, “You’re still here. I can’t think anymore. You say I sssss uffocate you, huh? Well, you ruin me.” 

Jinsol’s eyelids droop. She has about two to three sentences left in her before she knocks out and flops back down on the bed. 

“I’m all fucked up now. You broke me, Jungeun. I wish... I never met you.” 

Jinsol’s words, although remarkably untrue and produced in her drunken haze, still scathe. 

A searing pain blooms in Jungeun’s chest and every second she spends looking at Jinsol’s sickly, dejected face, the pain grows deeper. 

Each cry is like taking a knife to the heart. Jungeun attempts to restrain her sobs, but her efforts are in vain.

“What did she just say to you?” 

Jungeun springs her head up to find Jiwoo standing in the doorway with their neighbor’s thermometer in her left hand and a closed right fist. 

They say that hell hath no fury than a woman scorned. 

Well, that expression should be modified to “A scorned, furious Jiwoo shall drag you to hell if you mess with her best friend.” 

Jiwoo drops the thermometer on the ground, charges to their telephone, and punches a number she’s long since memorized. 

“Sooyoung!” Jiwoo rages, “I need you to get your fine ass out of bed and to my dorm ASAP. Your drunk friend is here. Come pick her up before I kill her.” 

The startled girlfriend on the end of the line agrees to this, despite the complete lack of context. 

“O-Ok,” Sooyoung stammers, “On my way.” 

“Alright,” Jiwoo responds curtly. She considers ending their conversation to tend to Jungeun, but she can’t leave Sooyoung high and dry and petrified. 

“Erm, just to be clear, I’m not mad at you. You did nothing wrong, darlin,” Jiwoo softens. 

“Whew!” Sooyoung breathes a sigh of relief, “I started preparing an apology in my head. So… we’re good, right?” 

“We’re great. Get here soon, ok? Love you.” 

“I love you too, dear.” 

Jiwoo hangs up feeling giddy and significantly less angry. 

Briefly, Jiwoo thinks of the lonely people in this world who are desperately searching for a companion, those unfortunate folks who don’t have a readily available Sooyoung to run errands for them at 1 AM, purely out of love, no questions asked. 

Jiwoo pities the loveless. 

But then her eyes drift to Jungeun - emotional, inconsolable Jungeun who continues to wipe the face of the woman who broke her heart repeatedly, and Jiwoo changes her perspective. 

Even those with love, are not exempt from suffering. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” Jungeun whispers over and over again to a barely conscious Jinsol. 

Jiwoo pities Jungeun most of all. 

On day 11 of The Great Separation, Jinsol opens her eyes to an intense white light. She looks down at her clothes and notices that she’s wearing a gown - an awfully uncomfortable one with a hideous pattern, but a gown nonetheless. 

This does not fit Jinsol’s personal preconceptions of heaven. Shouldn’t the people here be more fashionable? Shouldn’t they be playing harps and shit? And why does her head hurt so bad? Hangovers should not be a thing in the afterlife! 

Maybe this is purgatory. 

Or maybe she’s in the Blockberry Hospital Emergency Room. 

“Hey, buddy,” Sooyoung waves, “Nice to see you’ve joined us back here in the land of the living.” 

Jinsol winces at Sooyoung’s perfectly appropriate volume. 

“Ah! Too loud!” She covers her ears and observes the IV on her left hand.

Sooyoung scoots her chair closer and leans her elbows on the side rail of Jinsol’s patient bed. 

“You were drifting in and out of consciousness so you probably don’t remember getting that,” Sooyoung explains in a hushed tone, “I’ll just recap everything that happened since I brought you here.” 

Jinsol listens because she wants to know the course of events, but also because Sooyoung’s being so uncharacteristically nice to her. No snark, no sarcasm, no usual morning greeting of “Rise and shine, bitch.” 

Something’s fishy. 

“Yeah, so I took you to the ER cause you got hammered. You drank nine shots of-” 

Jinsol closes her eyes and jerks her right hand, motioning for Sooyoung to fast-forward. “I definitely remember that. No need to remind me.” 

“Ok,” Sooyoung goes on, “First, the nurses took your vitals and when they saw your temp was like a thousand degrees, they put ice packs on you. The doc said you caught some sort of stomach flu and the drinking and puking certainly didn’t help. They pumped you full of fluids to fix your severe dehydration. You’re gonna be mostly fine.” 

“Mostly?!” Jinsol panics. “What does that mean?” 

“Well,” Sooyoung hesitates, “You see, the doctors ran a couple more tests just to be safe and… they found something.” Sooyoung manipulates her voice to sound shaky and fearful, “Jinsol, I think you’re… gay.” 

Exhausted Jinsol takes a little longer to process Sooyoung’s childish joke, but when she finally does, she takes the pillow from under her aching head and throws it at her frenemy. 

“You fucking bitch, I swear to God,” Jinsol retaliates with half of her usual energy. 

Sooyoung turns tomato-red from all her cackling. “You-you shoulda seen your face!” 

Jinsol wants to be angry, she wants to throw more things, but Sooyoung’s laughter is so contagious that she finds herself joining her. 

“They ought to run that test on you. Your score would be so high, you’d probably break their equipment, you walking rainbow!” Jinsol quips. 

“Please, Jinsol. They named that test after me! It’s called the Sooyoung Ha measurement of homosexuality-“ 

“-And dumbassery!” Jinsol hollers as she slaps her knee. 

The friends take turns sniping at each other, but it’s all in good nature, harmless fun. This is Sooyoung and Jinsol’s baseline after all - pissing each other off while knowing that below the prickly surface, they deeply value their friendship. 

Jinsol is one of the most important people in Sooyoung’s life, and tied for second-most important lesbian (Haseul also occupies that spot and there’s no disputing who is Sooyoung’s number one). 

“Hey, I’m sorry if I made you think you were dying or something,” Sooyoung says with a shy smile, “I just wanted to distract you and maybe get your mind off… y’know.” 

“Get my mind off what?” Jinsol asks innocently while wiping tears of joy and laughter. 

“Uh…” Sooyoung bounces her knee and peeks at the nurses’ station. “Nothing. Be right back. I’m gonna ask when you can get discharged. Do me a favor, buddy. No more ending up in jail cells and hospital beds, ok?” 

Jinsol puts the pieces together: Sooyoung’s restrained comebacks, Sooyoung’s cautious behavior, like she’s walking on eggshells… like anything she says might trigger memories of- 

“Jungeun. You’re talking about Jungeun, aren’t you?” 

“Buddy,” Sooyoung sighs, “I don’t want you to beat yourself up over this. I’m sure you didn’t mean it and I’m sure Jungeun knows that.” 

“Mean what?” 

Oh fuck, Sooyoung thinks. 

“You don’t remember?” 

“Soo, need I remind you I drank ‘amnesia’ and it kicked my ass! I should have taken bartender Baek seriously. The last thing I clearly remember is getting dropped off in front of the dorms. I think I felt you throwing an arm around me and helping me support my weight but that’s about it. Whatever happened, whatever I did or said in between is a blur.” 

Oh fuck no.

Jinsol recognizes the distinct expression in her best friend’s face. 

Head angled at precisely 5 degrees off axis to the left, small frown, and prominent forehead lines. Sooyoung develops this look when she watches those tearjerking commercials of the helpless, abandoned dogs and cats at their local pet shelter. 

It’s Sooyoung’s look of pity and it’s directed right at Jinsol.  

“I fucked it up again, didn’t I? How bad was it?” Jinsol asks with newfound clarity. 

Sooyoung reaches for Jinsol’s hand. “It’s not your fault, Sol. Your brain was operating on autopilot at that point.” 

“I’m a grown ass woman. I should have known not to get that drunk and disturb my ex in the middle of the night. Now would you just tell me what I said to Jungeun?” 

Sooyoung bounces both knees and breaks eye contact. She can’t stand being the bearer of bad news. 

Jinsol, with a snap of her fingers, prompts her friend to look up. 

“Soo, I can take it. I have to own up to this. I have to know what I said.”

Jinsol coaxes the truth out of Sooyoung with an encouraging smile.

Reluctantly, Sooyoung reveals the crushing words that came from the darkest part of Jinsol’s soul and were delivered to the light of Jinsol’s life. 

“You told Jungeun you wish you never met her.” 

Sooyoung has never seen a smile disappear so quickly.

July 1997

Jinsol knows two things about the Mariana Islands: they are located approximately 200 kilometers away from the Mariana Trench and approximately 10,000 kilometers away from Jungeun. 

Adventure, knowledge, and opportunity await Jinsol at the deepest point on planet earth.

There’s nothing left for her in Blockberry except misery and the charred remains of a love gone wrong.

BBCU’s Department of Marine Biology gets the research grant on a Tuesday, Jinsol receives her ticket on Wednesday, and she packs her bags on Thursday.

On Friday morning, Jinsol slides her last sticky note under Jungeun’s door. 

Jungeun, 

 

I never once regretted meeting you. 

 

You were the best thing to ever happen to me. I fear that I was your worst. 

 

I’ll be gone for two years. 

Don’t wait.

Be free of me. 

 

All my love, 

Sol 

 

1998 

Jinsol thinks of Jungeun every morning, when she wakes up to white sandy beaches and crystal blue waters so translucent that you can see all the way to the bottom. 

Jinsol knows Jungeun would love it here… for a good five minutes. 

Then, Jungeun would register the unforgiving heat of the sun on her skin, frantically rummage in her beach bag for her SPF 150, stress about running out of sunscreen because she anxiously reapplies it every 10 minutes, nag Jinsol to take her to the store to purchase more, and just like that, they would have wasted half of their day. 

Jinsol would not have minded though. Time wasted with Jungeun is still time earned with Jungeun. 

But this is a pathetic fantasy and time with Jungeun is no more. 

According to Sooyoung (through a very expensive international call), Jungeun is back in the dating game and seeing someone. 

This information is surprisingly comforting to Jinsol. 

It implies that (1) Jungeun actually read her note instead of crumpling it up without a second thought and (2) Jinsol did not devastate Jungeun to the point that she became bitter and jaded and disenchanted with love.

Jungeun is moving on and Jinsol owes it to her ex, to her ex’s new partner, and to herself to move on as well. 

Jinsol can’t exactly quit Jungeun cold turkey - it’s a gradual, weaning process. 

It takes some advanced mental gymnastics, rigid control over her feelings, and complete sobriety, but Jinsol goes from thinking about her ex-girlfriend every hour of every day, to once a day, to biweekly, then only on special occasions such as birthdays, holidays, and anniversaries (every 27th of the month).

Then comes Jinsol’s new research partner, Roseanne. 

Roseanne is the antithesis of Jungeun. Roseanne is tall, Australian, carefree, and she stays fully alert while listening to Jinsol’s mind-numbingly dull facts about phytoplankton. 

“They transfer 10 gigatonnes of carbon from the atmosphere to the deep ocean every year? Woarh! I didn’t knorr it was that much!” Roseanne marvels in her trademark Aussie accent. 

“Really?” Jinsol gasps, “You studied at James Cook University, one of the best marine bio programs in the world and you didn’t knorrrr that?!” 

Cheeky and charismatic Jinsol easily reels Roseanne in for the catch. They start dating immediately and within a week of meeting, they become girlfriends. 

Jinsol’s hastiness to enter a new relationship has everyone in her life sharing the exact same thought: R stands for Roseanne, Rebound, and Replacement Jungeun. 

This aggravates Jinsol beyond belief because first, it’s just ridiculous. Jinsol’s relationship with Roseanne is its own separate entity - it exists outside of Jinsol’s past, grand and tumultuous relationship with Jungeun. 

And second, it’s an insult to Roseanne’s character. She’s so much more than a placeholder. 

One day, Roseanne is going to save the turtles and clean the oceans and stop global warming with her brilliant mind and her favorite Martin 000-15M acoustic “guitah.” 

Every evening as the sun sets over the Pacific, Roseanne serenades Jinsol with geeky jingles about recycling and the ozone layer. She has hundreds of these original compositions scribbled in an eco-friendly, chlorine-free paper, spiral notebook and preserved only for Jinsol to hear. 

Jinsol never believed she could achieve this level of intimacy again - this raw, human connection that springs from sharing the most divine experiences like cuddling under the covers on a rainy day or listening to a novice composer’s charming ditties as ocean waves barrel on the rocky reefs of Rota. They’re living in one of the most beautiful islands on the planet, a pocket of paradise largely untouched by the malevolent hands of man. It’s wonderful here. 

And Roseanne has glued fragments of Jinsol back together, shaped her into a better person than she was a year ago. 

If this is the case, if Roseanne is this talented, kind-hearted, and compassionate, then why oh why is she not enough?

“I love you,” Roseanne says one day.  Her delivery is nonchalant - like she’s saying a phrase she uses on a daily basis, as common as “hello” or “bye.” 

Inside their research laboratory, in front of an incubator might not be the best place to utter these three key words, but as strange as the location is, the timing is normal and fitting. 

At this point, Jinsol and Roseanne have been dating for ten months. That’s an ample amount of time for two souls to be deeply acquainted, for two hearts to memorize the other’s rhythm. Jinsol shouldn’t be surprised that Roseanne feels this way towards her. 

Jinsol should be surprised that she doesn’t feel the same toward Roseanne. 

“I-umm… Uh… Roseanne, I um…hmm…” Jinsol stutters aimlessly, never more unsure of herself or their relationship until this moment. 

“It’s ok,” Roseanne reassures, “You don’t have to say it back just because I said it. No pressure.” 

Jinsol’s tense shoulders lower and relax. 

“I’m sorry, Rosie. It was out of the blue. One second we were working, and then you said… that . I thought you were talking to our Petri dishes.” 

Roseanne shakes her head and laughs. “Well, I do love algae… but I love you more. I just wanted to let you knorr.” 

Roseanne waits for Jinsol to annoy her in the most endearing, Jinsol manner, but the teasing never occurs. 

“Hey, are you ok?” Roseanne worriedly questions her unusually silent girlfriend. She tries to read Jinsol’s contradicting facial expressions. 

Jinsol looks happy, but also sad: happy because she just received a confession of love, sad because she was unable to reciprocate it immediately.

Jinsol looks confused, but also assured: confused because it’s unfathomable how talented, beautiful women consistently fall for her, assured because it means despite her past and present flaws, Jinsol still has some redeeming qualities (whatever they may be) that make her lovable. 

Jinsol looks calm, but also terrified: calm because she has a clear, visible future with Roseanne. After their research is completed, Jinsol could follow her back to Australia. They could pursue their identical dreams together. They could take advantage of the diverse ecosystem and study corals and mollusks, echinoderms and jellyfish, whales and dolphins to their hearts’ and minds’ content. They could build a peaceful, quiet life by the Great Barrier Reef with their pet kangaroo and their gaggle of blond, vegemite-eating children. 

It sounds like a good life. 

But here’s where the terror comes in - Jinsol doesn’t want it. 

Jinsol doesn’t want Roseanne. And it doesn’t make a lick of sense. 

How is that possible? How can Roseanne check off all the boxes for Jinsol’s perfect match, and yet Jinsol can feel absolutely nothing? 

Ok, maybe not nothing. 

Jinsol admires Roseanne’s unbounding devotion to Mother Nature and her oceans and Roseanne’s blind loyalty to their project. 

Roseanne is an outstanding colleague. 

As a girlfriend, Roseanne is… satisfactory. 

Roseanne makes Jinsol’s smile reach her ears, while Jungeun used to drive it up even higher, to the corners of Jinsol’s eyes. 

Roseanne’s affirmations make Jinsol feel like she could take on the world, while Jungeun’s made Jinsol feel like the world was always hers to begin with. 

Roseanne isn’t a replacement Jungeun. 

Roseanne isn’t Jungeun at all. 

And that’s the problem, that’s Jinsol’s deal-breaker. 

Why is it her? Why is it still her? 

“You’re important to me, Roseanne. You’ve helped me through so much,” Jinsol professes after the longest pause. “I just-I need some time to think. I guess I don’t want to say… it … back unless I truly know … y’know?” 

(Jinsol never needed time to consider the possibility of being in love with Jungeun. She knew from first glance.) 

If Roseanne is disappointed, she does a fantastic job of hiding it. 

“Take all the time you need,” Roseanne smiles, “I’ll wait for your answer.” 

(Or maybe she’s actually that nice and understanding. Poor Roseanne, poor, poor Roseanne. Why did she have to get caught up in the great whirlwind of Jinsol and Jungeun’s story?)  

Jinsol and Roseanne resume their algae culture inspection and data collection, business per usual, as if The Great Confession hadn’t just shaken their relationship to the core. 

That night, as the moonlight peeks through Jinsol’s cabin, Jinsol prays that she’ll have a good night’s rest and wake up the next day, magically and madly in love with Roseanne. 

That day never comes. Jinsol might as well be in eternal slumber. 

1999

When Jungeun can’t sleep, she has two natural, go-to remedies: warm milk and a good book. 

When those prove ineffective, she refuses to lay in bed and count sheep. She dons her yellow dishwashing gloves, unloads her brooms and sweepers from the arsenal of cleaning supplies in her storage closet, and gets to work. 

Cleaning is therapeutic for Jungeun, even if it means getting her hands dirty and running the risk of encountering a spider in a dark corner. 

Before Jiwoo moved out to live with Sooyoung, Jungeun used to count on her roommate to kill all bugs, insects, and other miscellaneous, multi-legged creatures that entered their home. Jiwoo did not hesitate to end their lives with one whack of her house slipper. 

And whenever her roommate was unavailable, Jungeun would turn to her girlfriend. 

Jinsol had an entirely different approach toward the creepy crawlers. 

She’d pick them up without flinching, place them in the palm of her hand, introduce herself as “Jinsol: one of the friendly humans,” bring them outside, and set them down gently. She’d allow the critter to orient itself to the new environment before pushing it forward, further away from Jungeun’s dorm, guaranteeing it would never return to bother her beloved ever again. 

Jungeun misses that.

Having someone to get rid of bugs for her - not Jinsol. She totally doesn’t miss Jinsol. 

In fact, to demonstrate how “so totally over Jinsol” Jungeun is, she’s going to throw her ex away. 

For the past two years, Jungeun has been sweeping dust off the Converse shoe box under her bed. It contains everything Jinsol ever gifted or wrote to her. 

Jungeun doesn’t know why she’s kept it all this time, and why she’s so insistent on keeping it clean. 

Once Jungeun runs out of surfaces to scrub and furniture to rearrange, she decides to open up and sort through Pandora’s Box of unresolved feelings.

As expected, there isn’t anything of significant monetary value, save for the $99.99 plus tax, gold-plated moon necklace. (In 1997, that was a fortune!) 

The sentimental value, on the other hand, is priceless. 

There’s a thick stack of Jinsol’s yellow sticky notes. 

Jungeun cared enough not only to save them all, but to hold them together with rubber bands, and organize them into chronological order. 

At the top is the Post-It #1, the Post-it  that kicked off their relationship. 

IMPORTANT: JUNGEUN @ 1:30 

Jungeun holds the note and smiles, suddenly nostalgic for the time when Jinsol was just the pet store assistant manager assigned to train her and Jungeun was the new hire with an inappropriate crush on her insanely attractive boss. 

She curiously looks through the rest of the stack. 

Post-It #76

 

Jungeun, 

 

Watch the meteor shower with me tonight? I know I already got a verbal “yes” from you but I’d like written confirmation.

 

Please write your “yes” on the back of this.

 

Thanks. 

 

All my love, 

Sol 

Jungeun flips the note, and there is indeed a “yes” in her handwriting followed by “you dork.” 

Post-It #130

 

Jungeun, 

 

I think it’s rad that you want to be an architect. I can see you designing the tallest buildings in the biggest, bustling cities in the world! Tokyo, London, NYC, Dubai, Sydney, everywhere! 

 

I know you’re destined for greatness. Your name will be etched in the skylines, baby. 

 

All my love, 

Sol 

 

Although she wasn’t always supportive of Jungeun’s internship and the long hours that split them apart, Jinsol had consistent, relentless faith in Jungeun’s potential. 

And Jinsol was right. 

As soon as Jungeun graduated university, she was offered the junior project architect position at her firm. She’s the youngest to hold the title in Odd Eye Designs 50 year history. Currently, she’s coordinating a massive project: an unnamed planetarium in Polaris. (Little does Jungeun know that this starry, romantic building will one day be the venue for her and Jinsol’s wedding reception.) 

As she continues to read each one of Jinsol’s mini love letters, Jungeun’s eyes get misty, but tears do not fall yet. 

Post-It #176 almost does it for her. 

Jungeun, 

 

I love you from the top of my head to the tips of the toes, around the world, and to the moon and back. Wanna know how far that is? I did the math. 

 

502,701 miles. That’s the number I had engraved on the pendant of your necklace. 

 

Wear it close to your heart and think of me. 

 

With astronomical love, 

Sol 

Jungeun smooths her thumb over the engraved 502,701 and sighs. 

She should stop reading here… but there are only 12 notes remaining. Technically 11 since Jungeun refuses to read Post-It #188. That one was the goodbye that Jinsol slid under her door. That was the end of them. 

Jungeun tells herself to read until #187. Play up the illusion that their relationship concluded on a nice note. 

Post-It #187

 

Jungeun, 

 

I attended yesterday’s on-campus career fair and did a mock-interview. First question was “Tell me about yourself.” 

 

Since it was a professional setting, I talked about my field of study and my work experience. But, god, I really wanted to brag about being Jungeun Kim’s girlfriend. You are the most important part of me. 

 

I believe we’ll get through this rough patch. Because we’re meant to be together. 

 

After all, who am I if I’m not yours?

 

All my love, 

Sol 

These words mean too much to Jungeun. Nothing is going in the trash tonight. 

Finally, she sheds a single tear and returns the sticky notes to their safe storage. 

“Stupid idea,” Jungeun whines, “So stupid of me to read all those. We’re done. She’s done. I’m done… I’m out here dating, for goodness sake!” 

Since the Great Separation, Jungeun’s challenged herself to go on at least one date a month. A good amount have been decent to mildly enjoyable. 

Two of those dates resulted in flings. Those were fun. No-strings-attached was exactly what Jungeun needed during that time when the wounds from the breakup were still fresh. 

But two years have since passed. There’s no reason why she should still be crying over Jinsol. 

“I need to call in the big guns,” Jungeun says while dialing Jiwoo and Sooyoung’s home phone number. The fiancées are usually up at this time. 

“Jungie?” Jiwoo answers after the second ring, “Awake at 10:15 PM? Insanity!” 

Jungeun rolls her eyes. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Sooyoung steals the phone from Jiwoo to briefly chime in. “Well, of course not. You go to bed when the sun’s still out!” 

Jiwoo takes the phone back and tells her fiancée to leave them alone for five minutes. Jiwoo’s perceptiveness tells her that Jungeun called for a big reason.

“Sorry, Jungie. No more messin’ with ya. Did you want to talk?” 

“I miss her,” Jungeun laments as she looks up at the moon, “Jinsol.” 

“Sweet pea, you don’t need to clarify,” Jiwoo teases, “You only have one ‘her’.” 

“I wish she’d said goodbye to me face-to-face. I wanted to see her before she got on her flight,” Jungeun admits. 

The line goes quiet for a few seconds as Sooyoung appears to whisper something in Jiwoo’s ear. 

“Uh… Jungie, do you wanna know the reason why she didn’t come to see you? It’s straight from Jinsol’s mouth to Sooyoung.” 

Jungeun sits up straight and nods until she remembers Jiwoo can’t see her.

“Is it because she felt too guilty to face me?” Jungeun goes with her best theory. 

“Jinsol did feel ashamed, yes, but that wasn’t it. She wanted to protect you. She was afraid that if you saw each other again, those feelings would return, she wouldn’t get on that plane, she wouldn’t grow, you wouldn’t grow, and you’d continue to hold each other back. It was a difficult decision to make, but Jinsol made it so that you’d both be happy in the long run.” 

In regard to their careers, yes, Jinsol and Jungeun are happy. 

They seized opportunities that truly would not have been possible if they stayed together. However, now that they’ve established themselves in their respective fields of marine biology and architecture, perhaps they’re ready to work on the one area where they’re both discontent: their lonely, incomplete love lives. 

“Jinsol’s happy?” Jungeun wonders aloud. She doesn’t intend for Jiwoo to hear. 

“Well, well,” Jiwoo sing-songs, “Wouldn’t you like to know that too?” 

“Never mind,” Jungeun facepalms, “Don’t answer that. I must sound so pathetic.” 

This feels like dejavu to Jiwoo. She covers the speaker to gossip with her fiancée. 

“Didn’t you have this exact conversation when you talked to Jinsol last week?”

Sooyoung snickers and nods fervently. “Yeah! They don't know that they’re both pining for each other!”

The nosey couple who is way too involved in other people’s relationships cackle in unison. “Useless lesbians! HAHAHAHA-” 

“Jiwoo? Hello? Jiwoo?” Jungeun waits worriedly on the other end of the line. 

“Oh shoot! Contain your laughter! Jungeun’s still on the phone!” Jiwoo hisses to Sooyoung before returning to the call. “Sorry, Jungie. I got distracted by my knucklehead fiancée-” 

Sooyoung kisses a spot behind Jiwoo’s ear. 

“-Anyway, I heard what you said and you’re not pathetic. I’m sure Jinsol thinks about you too. Even if she’s on her secluded, Marinara Island, riding seals or doing whatever she does for a living.” 

“You really think so?” Jungeun stands up from her bed and walks to the window, her eyes still gazing up at the same moon that Jinsol promised her. 

“I know so,” Jiwoo emphasizes. 

“Hey… why does it seem like you’re siding with Jinsol? I thought you hated her!” Jungeun arches a skeptical brow and traces her finger on her recently dusted windowsill. 

“I hated Jinsol’s actions, not Jinsol herself,” Jiwoo clears up a common misconception. “This may shock you but she’s actually my favorite out of everyone you’ve dated.” 

Oh, it’s a shock to Jungeun, alright. It’s a “DANGER: HIGH VOLTAGE,” hair-standing-up-at-the-back-of-your-neck shock. 

“Why? How?!” 

Jiwoo chuckles. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still not her biggest fan and Jinsol is no saint. Jinsol’s a fixer-upper. She is incredibly flawed… but I appreciate that she takes responsibility for her wrongdoings. She tries to be better for you because she loves you.” 

Jungeun notices, but does not comment on Jiwoo’s suspicious use of present tense. 

“When you were still together, I used to see Jinsol looking at you the same way that my darlin’ Sooyoung looks at me. We picked some good ones, Jungie. These two… these two are good.” 

Sooyoung turns off the white noise from their living room tv and invites Jiwoo to stretch her legs out on her lap. (Their current night routine is way more favorable than Jinsol and Jungeun’s). 

“I’m getting sleepy,” Jungeun fakes a yawn, “I’ll let y’all enjoy your night. Y’all have a good one.” 

“G’night, Jungie! Everything’s gonna be ok! You’ll see.” 

Jungeun thanks her best friend for her endless support and optimism and ends the call. She travels to her desk and pulls out a new stack of sticky notes. With a heavy heart, Jungeun writes:

Sol, 

 

I know you told me not to, but I’m waiting anyway. 

 

I hope you’re doing well. 

 

All the best, 

Jungeun 

She attaches the message to the side of the Converse box and stashes it away, out of sight, but certainly not out of mind. 

January 2000 

Jinsol’s hands shake as she waits for the pilot to turn on the “seatbelts off” signal. 

“C’mon, c’mon. We landed fifteen minutes ago!” Jinsol growls and shoves the rest of her complimentary peanuts into her mouth. 

She’s antsy to get home after three lengthy layovers and nearly 24 hours in the air. Jinsol needs to see her. 

Haseul and Sooyoung promised they’d bring her to the airport, to lift Jinsol’s spirits after her exhausting journey and those 2 years, 5 months, 29 days, 3 hours, and 45 minutes that they’ve spent apart. 

Those who are meant to be will always find their way back to one another. 

Eventually, the signal is illuminated and Jinsol jumps out of her window seat, throws herself over her neighbors in the middle and aisle, and reaches into the overhead bin to grab her backpack. 

The flight attendant orders Jinsol to return to her seat as the passengers will be dismissed row-by-row and it’s not Jinsol’s row’s turn. 

Fuck that. Jinsol is an outlaw. She doesn’t answer to authority. 

She sprints down the aisle before the pilot can finish his obligatory “Thank you for flying with us!” speech. 

“I’m almost there! I’m home free!” Jinsol hypes herself up like she’s at the last stretch of a marathon. 

With her hefty backpack full of souvenirs and illegal coral , Jinsol’s back is giving out and she’s practically Naruto running down Gate 7. 

“Shit,” Jinsol wheezes, “I should’ve thought this through.” 

She bends over and places her hands on her knees to catch a breath. It’s not long before she snaps back up and makes the final dash out of the aircraft.

Adrenaline and a burning desire to see her baby drives Jinsol to the front of the gate where the loved ones of Flight HH2018’s passengers stare at her in confusion. 

Jinsol ignores them and scans the crowd for her friends and her cherished…

Betta fish. 

“Moony!” Jinsol waves to her pet inside the plastic bag held by Haseul. “Did you miss me? Did Aunt Haseul take good care of you? Oh, you’re a sight for sore eyes, my blub blub! You look a little different, though...” 

“For fucks sake, Jinsol,” Haseul yanks her fish-holding arm behind her back, “Greet the human beings first!” 

“Hello,” Jinsol says flatly. “Now can I see my pet?” 

Sooyoung smirks and pulls Jinsol’s favorite snack out of her purse. “Can we interest you in these first?” 

Jinsol drops her backpack and her marvelous jaw. (Haseul drops her fish. It’s an accident).

“Blueberry?!” Jinsol’s eyes water as she reads the packaging. “You guys remembered!” 

“Of course we did, buddy! You were gone two years, not two centuries!” Sooyoung shoves Jinsol’s shoulder lightly and playfully. (Jinsol still stumbles back, being the weakest of the three). 

“I think we’d still remember after two millenia,” Haseul winks. 

Jinsol extends her arms and wraps her best friends in the giant bear hug that they all deserve. 

“Ah,” Jinsol sighs, “I missed you fuckers.” 

Thirty seconds into the Squad’s reunion, and they've already dropped two F-bombs, shared a touching moment, and committed involuntary fishslaughter. 

Jinsol feels the water on the soles of her Converse and points to the culprit. “You just stepped on Moony!” 

“Haseul was the one who dropped it!” Sooyoung shifts the blame.

“This wasn’t even the real Moony to begin with. She died from natural causes in August of last year,” Haseul reveals. 

“I knew it!” Jinsol outbursts, “This imposter’s scales looked shinier!” 

“And when Haseul says ‘natural causes’, she means to say she tried feeding it a whole celery stick,” Sooyoung snitches. 

“CELERY?!” 

“I assumed it was vegetarian. What was I supposed to feed it? Sardines?!” 

“I take it back. I did not miss you fuckers.” 

While waiting at baggage claim, sleazy Detective Sooyoung asks the question that’s plaguing everyone’s mind. 

“Oi, where’s your Aussie girlfriend, mate? Did she move back to the land down undah?”  

Judging by the way Jinsol squirms, Sooyoung infers that Roseanne is out of the picture. 

“Erm… I uhhh broke up with Roseanne.” 

“Aw, that’s a shame. She was really sweet. I really liked her.” 

Jinsol and Sooyoung cock their heads at Haseul. 

“Seul, you never met her,” Jinsol points out the obvious. 

“I know, but I feel like I should say something nice,” Haseul shrugs. 

“I feel it would be nice if you just... didn’t say… things.” 

“Ohohoho really funny, Sol. FUCK Y-” 

“ENOUGH!” Sooyoung breaks up another frivolous fight. “Can we please get along for a full minute? God!” 

Sooyoung approves the half-assed reconciliation handshake between Jinsol and Haseul and continues. “Ok. We were talking about Roseanne. What happened, Sol?” 

“Nothing. Not a thing went wrong. We were safe and steady; we had the same outlook on life. Roseanne was perfect for me.”  

“But…?” Sooyoung waits for the caveat. 

Jinsol bites her lip, impatiently waiting for her suitcase to arrive. 

“But…?” Haseul further pressures Jinsol to speak. 

“But on my end, there wasn’t a spark,” Jinsol surrenders her answer. “No butterflies, no ‘Holy shit, I’m in love with this girl and I don’t know how to act’ moment. You guys know that feeling, right?” 

“Oh yeah,” Sooyoung smirks, while she thinks of Jiwoo, her fiancée of 2 years. 

“Of course,” Haseul chirps, while she thinks of Vivi, her girlfriend of 2 months. 

“See, Roseanne felt that and I didn’t,” Jinsol frowns, “So I owed it to her to break up and let her be with someone who could fully love her back.” 

“You did the right thing, buddy,” Sooyoung slings her arm around Jinsol’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, I guess. I’m still the jerk in this situation, though. I’m just not cut out for this relationship crap.” 

The luggages from Jinsol’s flight slowly start to appear. Jinsol focuses her gaze on the carousel. 

“That’s not true, Sol!” Haseul blurts and showers Jinsol in chewed up, blueberry Pop-Tart particles. “Hehe… sorry.” 

Jinsol flicks them away, mindlessly. “It’s true,” she sighs, “I’ve got the data to prove it. Look at me! I’m 0 for 2. I destroy every relationship I’m in. I’ve become the leading cause of heartache in Korean women, ages 18-25.” 

Haseul once again contributes nothing to their conversation.

“That’s a fascinating study,” Haseul muses, “How do they even measure that? Do they go up to people, hold up your mugshot, and ask ‘Have you or any of your friends been involved with this lesbian arsonist and regretted it?’” 

“Anyway,” Sooyoung glares at Haseul, “We can help you bounce back, Sol. I know a ton of girls I could set you up with. You’ll find the one.” 

“Thanks but no thanks. No matter who you introduce me to, it’s always gonna be-”

Jinsol cuts off when she spots her R2D2 themed suitcase coming nearer. 

“Hnngh,” Jinsol tries to haul the heavy luggage off before it passes her by and does another rotation around the carousel. “Can I get a little help with this?” 

“Finish your sentence!” yells Sooyoung. 

“IT’S ALWAYS GONNA BE… ?!” sugar crazed Haseul demands.  

Sooyoung and Haseul refuse to lend her a hand. They’ve cornered Jinsol; she is two syllables away from telling all. 

This revelation from Jinsol, whether solicited or unsolicited, will be the key to undoing the Great Separation. 

Cracking under the pressure, Jinsol quite literally yeets herself onto her suitcase and out of this confrontation. 

Airport security quickly approach her and pull her off the spinning carousel.

“The hell is wrong with that woman?” Sooyoung watches in awe as the cops arrive to escort Jinsol to the airport’s basement interrogation room. (It will be a while before they release her, given Jinsol’s remarkable criminal history).

“Damn it! We were so close! Who do you think she was talking about? I’m gonna take a wild guess and say Jungeun.” 

Sooyoung smirks and eats the last of Jinsol’s Pop-Tarts.

“Good guess, Seul. Good guess.” 

February 2000 

Headquarters: Sooyoung and Jiwoo’s Living Room  

Name of the operation: Operation Great UNseparation 

Brains: Sooyoung 

Brawn: Jiwoo 

Beauty and Baked Goods (because the couples get hungry when they’re scheming): Vivi 

Haseul: Jo 

“Why do you guys think it’s called ‘a shit-eating grin’? Seriously, how did they settle on that? Was ‘piss-drinking smile’ also in consideration?” Haseul shares a shower thought that no one asked to hear. 

Jiwoo makes a u-turn back to her kitchen. “Y’all will have to try my homemade lemonade some other time,” she frowns as sets the pitcher down.

Sooyoung chuckles at her fiancée and turns to Vivi. 

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to be Haseul’s girlfriend. Have you gotten used to all the nonsense she says?” 

“No. I never have and I never will. Haseul’s so unpredictable.” Vivi fondly cups Haseul’s cheek. “That’s what I love about her. As long as I have Haseul, I’ll never be bored. Everyday is an adventure.” 

“Awww,” Jiwoo comes back, “I missed hanging out with couples! Jinsol and Jungeun used to say cheesy crap like that all the time!” 

“Yeah, they were even worse than us, honey,” Haseul devours Vivi’s cranberry lemon scones, “I wish you and I were already girlfriends when they were. We missed out on having triple dates!” 

“We can still have triple dates,” Vivi reassures, “Sooyoung’s been working on a plan… you have a plan, right?” 

Sooyoung rolls up her sleeves, silent and smug. 

“Go on, darlin,” Jiwoo twirls the engagement ring that has found a home on her finger, “Show them.” 

Sooyoung’s put plenty of thought into this master plan, from the orchestrated events to land Jinsol and Jungeun at the same place at the same time, to the particular choice of stationery on which to write it. 

Sooyoung presents Vivi and Haseul with a yellow notepad that reads: 

Our Wedding Party <3

 

1. Jinsol Jeong - Maid of Honor

 

2. Jungeun Kim - Maid of Honor

“What do you guys think?”  

Vivi and Haseul flash their finest shit-eating grins (or piss-drinking smiles, depending on your preference). 

“Simple but genius. We love it,” Vivi approves. 

“Perfect,” Sooyoung joins her bride on the couch, “Now let’s get those crazy kids back together.” 

September 2024 - Back in Professor Jeong-Kim’s Office

“… and we got back together. The end!” Jinsol finishes in a rush. She opens her door and ushers the girls out. 

“Wait! You can’t fast-forward through the last seven months of the Great Separation! We have to hear how you got back together!” Hyeju complains. 

“Yeah! You got us invested and now you’re gonna cut it short and kick us out?” Yeojin objects.

“... and we got back together at Sooyoung and Jiwoo’s wedding. The end! There! You girls satisfied?” 

It’s time for the third girl to speak, the one who holds the most power over Jinsol and has her mother wrapped around her finger. 

“We are staying right here,” Yerim protests by plopping herself on Jinsol’s sofa. 

She tries to give her mother a tough staredown, like the ones seen in cowboy movies, but it’s wildly ineffective because Yerim’s eyes are more like Edward from Twilight - they sparkle in the sunlight. 

This is typically the point where Jinsol would cave and give her precious daughter whatever she requested (plus a pony if money permits), but Jinsol has to stand her ground and be the adult. 

“Yerim, I’d want nothing more than to tell the happy ending of the story in the same amount of detail as the sad middle. But I haven’t been able to get any work done since you girls stormed in here. I still have to revise my syllabus, review hiring applications for my new TA, attend a faculty meeting in an hour…” 

“So?” Yerim folds her arms, “Skip all those!” 

“Sweetie, this is work, not school. You can’t just ditch because you don’t feel like going.” 

As a parent and a teacher herself, Jinsol isn’t exactly doing wonders for her credibility. 

“So, you condone skipping class,” Hyeju smirks.

“Gah,” Jinsol growls, “I never said that… directly. Stop twisting my words, Sooyoung Junior!” 

Jinsol turns to face Yerim again. “Listen, sweetie. Do you like food? Clothes? A roof over your head?” 

Obviously, Yerim nods. 

“Ok then. Mommy’s gotta wrap this up so she can do her job and keep providing you those nice things.” 

Yerim definitely can’t argue with that. The daughter gets up and motions for her friends to follow.

Jinsol retires to her desk and watches Yeojin and Hyeju drag their feet behind Yerim. 

“As for you two,” Jinsol points, “Your mothers are the meddliest meddlers to ever meddle. I’m sure they’d be willing to tell you how they interfered in mine and Jungeun’s relationship even though we didn’t need their help. We would have reconciled regardless. That’s what happens when you’re endgame.” 

(“Endgame” is today’s entry in Jinsol’s “Gen Z Lit Phrases of the Day Calendar.”) 

Yeojin makes a disturbed face, “You speak like you’re from Riverdale, Aunt Sol.” 

“Wow! Thanks!” Jinsol warms at what she believes is a compliment. 

(She assumes that Riverdale is a real place populated only by the coolest Gen Zers, all of whom pass the “vibe check” - yesterday’s vocabulary.)  

Yerim sighs and waves, “Bye mom, we’re going.” 

“Not so fast,” Jinsol narrows her eyes at the young trio, “Who’s driving?” 

“Me,” Hyeju raises her hand, “We took my car.” 

Jinsol won’t condone this. 

She knows Hyeju’s driving role models are Speed Racer and Spongebob Squarepants. It’s acceptable for those fictional characters to drive fast and reckless, respectively, but in real life, Hyeju’s held accountable by the law, her parents, and when said parents aren’t present, her Aunt Jinsol. 

“No way in hell you’re driving,” Jinsol declares, “Not with your record and not with passengers. Give your keys to Yerim.” 

“But it’s my car!” the teenager repeats. 

Actually, it’s Sooyoung’s car and Hyeju has been known to crash it into all sorts of obstacles: curbs, fire hydrants, mailboxes - all within her first year of having a provisional license. 

“It’s your mother’s car and it’s my child’s life! You’ve seen what I’ll do to protect my fish , what more my daughter. I need Yerim coming home in one piece and the only way that’s gonna happen is if she’s driving. She maintains the speed limit and is aware of her surroundings. That’s how she got a perfect score on the drivers test.” 

“I did!” Yerim brags. 

“And what did you get, Hyeju?” Jinsol asks, already knowing the answer. 

Hyeju mumbles, “I missed 14 points out of the allowed 15… but-” Hyeju raises her voice, “I still passed!” 

“By a hair!” Jinsol presses her thumb and index finger microscopically close together. “Objectively, without my bias, Yerim is still the better driver. No more ‘ifs, ands, or buts.’ I’m thinking of all of you girls and your well-being.” 

A tried and true measure of one’s maturity is their ability to factor safety and responsibility into difficult decisions. 

Jinsol’s come a long way since her public intoxication and arson days. 

“Since when did you start playing it safe and following the rules?” Hyeju counters. 

“Eighteen years ago,” Jinsol answers quickly, “When a little bundle of joy named Yerim Luna kicked and screamed and cried her way into my heart.” 

Hyeju sighs in defeat and tosses Yerim her keys. Yerim accepts happily and runs to kiss her mother on the cheek. 

“Thanks, Mom! I promise I’ll obey the rules of the road!” Yerim pledges with her right hand up. 

Jinsol chuckles at her model child and pulls a Post-It note from her desk drawer. 

“One last thing, kiddo.” 

Jinsol clicks a pen and writes Post-It #20,502 to her wife. 

Jungeun, 

 

I’ll be working late. Got a lot of stuff I still need to complete. 

 

Yerim and the girls visited me in my office and asked to hear about The Great Separation. Boy, am I glad those days are behind us! 

 

We got it right the second time around, babe. We got it perfect. Our kid is perfect. 

 

I’ll try to make it home to the two of you as soon as I can. 

 

All my love, 

Sol 

Jinsol sticks the note directly on Yerim’s forehead. “Give this to your mother.” 

“You know,” Yerim peels it off, “You could just text her.” 

“Heh,” Jinsol kicks her feet up on her desk, “Not my style, kid.” 

Yerim smiles and pockets the heartwarming message. She’s glad to see that despite her mother’s increased wisdom and maturity over the years, some things never change. 

The Post-It tradition is still going strong, so are her mothers, and that’s all Yerim could ever ask for.

Chapter Text

February 2000

There are people who love weddings, and then there are people who LOVE weddings.

Jinsol undoubtedly falls into the latter classification. In fact, there is substantial evidence to prove that she has a pathological infatuation with them. 

On several occasions, eyewitnesses have accused Jinsol of pushing and pulling women down during the bride’s bouquet toss. 

Her intention is never to cause physical harm, only to catch the flowers. Sometimes, however, the ends justify the means. So if Jinsol has to yank weaves and claw at sleeveless arms to ensure that she’ll one day be the bride facilitating the silly tradition, she will not hesitate to throw down and cut a bitch. 

Jinsol really wants a wedding.

She wants that specific ice sculpture of two swans facing each other and creating a heart from their curved necks. 

She wants the sharply-dressed caterers to circle the reception hall and present her guests with infuriatingly tiny appetizers on impossibly shiny silver platters. 

She wants to cut her 4-tier, vanilla passionfruit buttercream wedding cake (yes, Jinsol has thought this through in excruciating detail) and smush the slice on her wife’s face. 

She wants the cellist to play “Moon River” as she glides down the aisle in her A-line, scoop neck, floor-length, chiffon lace dress.

She wants to recite her vows atop a grassy hill, under a starry sky. She doesn’t want to cry while doing so, but she definitely, unavoidably will. 

Jinsol wants someone who wants all of the above. 

Jinsol wants someone to love her enough to agree to love her forever. 

Once upon a time, Jinsol had that someone in the form of Jungeun Kim, the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Loving Jungeun came as naturally as breathing. 

Jinsol was certain that they would grow old and wrinkly together.

Unfortunately due to several misunderstandings, immaturity, and a bad case of bad timing, Jinsol and Jungeun’s fairytale ending had to be delayed. 

They simply weren’t ready for each other in 1997. 

But perhaps they are ready now. Perhaps three years is a sufficient amount of time to build upon everything they got right and reconfigure everything they got wrong. 

There is hope for the newer and wiser Jinsol and Jungeun to rekindle their flame and tie up loose ends. 

Conveniently, Sooyoung and Jiwoo are tying the knot. And by sheer “coincidence”, Jinsol and Jungeun are their respective maid of honors. 

Oh, this is going to be fun. 

Sooyoung enacts phase one of Operation Great Unseparation with an enthusiastic phone call to her best friend. 

“JinSOUL! How are you doing on this lovely Saturday? Have you eaten? Are you staying hydrated? Did you get enough sleep last night? I hope your pillow provided adequate fluffiness to cushion your head and galaxy-sized brain!” 

“What do you want, Sooyoung?” Jinsol asks in a monotone. 

“What do I want ?” Sooyoung bounces the question back, appalled. “I want my bestest friend and amazing maid of honor to be happy and healthy. Is that too much to ask?” 

Prior to settling down with her fiancée, Sooyoung Ha tricked a small stadium’s worth of women with false promises disguised as buttery smooth talk. Having known Sooyoung during her douchebag era, Jinsol is well aware of Sooyoung’s excellence in bullshittery. 

(If Sooyoung wasn’t a dancer, she’d make a fine politician.)

“C’mon, Soo,” Jinsol scoffs, “Cut the crap. We both know you speak to me like this when you want a favor. So what is it?” 

“Sheesh!” Sooyoung exclaims, “I was making an effort to connect with you! Whatever happened to enriching conversations? People are in such a hurry nowadays.” 

Jinsol rolls her eyes and waits for Sooyoung to get to the point. 

“-Anyway, here’s what I need you to do.” 

Jinsol shakes her head, half-irritated, half-amused at her friend’s shamelessness. 

“Pick up my dress from the bridal shop. The order is under my name but if you let them know that you’re Jinsol, my maid of honor, they’ll give it to you. Most importantly, you have to get there at exactly 11 AM tomorrow. Or else the plan won’t-” 

Sooyoung catches herself before she spills the details of the operation to Jinsol - one of two people who should definitely remain out of the loop. 

“-Just show up on time, ok? And then swing by my place and drop it off any time next week.” 

Sooyoung’s task is pretty easy overall, but a strange one to delegate to a maid of honor. 

“Why do I have to pick it up? You’re the bride, don’t you want to see your own dress?” Jinsol asks dubiously. 

Always thinking ahead, Sooyoung anticipates this counterargument from Jinsol and is prepared to respond with her pre-planned excuse. 

“I already tried it on and it looked great. They only had to do one tiny alteration to the sleeves. Other than that, it fit perfectly and I don’t need to see it again.” 

Jinsol drums her fingers on the back of her phone, still suspicious of her friend’s motives. 

“You’re lying to me,” Jinsol accuses, “I know your kind. You Geminis are deceiving little trolls. A bunch of two-faced cheaters! Scum of the Earth, I tell you!” 

“Sol, you’re a Gemini too,” Sooyoung laughs. 

Jinsol gasps in severe denial. She may have been born during that dreadful season, but she would never associate herself with one of… them. 

Jinsol is a heterosexual before she is a Gemini. Jinsol is a Jungeun-hater before she is a Gemini.

“There it is! Another lie! Keep it going, Pinocchio! Let’s see if Jiwoo will still marry you when you’re in puppet form!” 

“Hmm… I’ll go ask her right now,” Sooyoung smirks. 

She glances lovingly at her fiancée who has been sitting across from her this entire time, munching on popcorn and eavesdropping on her dialogue with Jinsol. 

“What is it, darlin’?” Jiwoo stops mid-chew, cheeks all puffed up, eyes wide and inquisitive. 

“Would you marry me if I turned into wood like Pinocchio?” Sooyoung asks the absurd question with a smile. 

“Darlin’,” Jiwoo coos, “I’d marry you even if you became a puny twig. Just as long as you’re still my Sooyoung.” 

Sooyoung reaches out to hold her fiancée’s hand. Her thumb naturally travels to Jiwoo’s engagement ring. 

From the moment Sooyoung slipped it on her finger, Jiwoo relished in the elegance and sparkle of the diamond. Jiwoo was about to superglue it to her body - she never wanted to take it off. 

(If Jiwoo had to pick one complaint though, it would be the size. Yesterday, while Jiwoo and Sooyoung were walking hand-in-hand in their local grocery store, a bigot made some rather awful comments and well, Jiwoo did not take kindly to him. She sucker-punched that homophobe and although she made blood gush out of his nostrils, she didn’t do nearly enough damage with her 1.5 carats.) 

“Did you catch that, Sol?” Sooyoung returns the phone to her ear, “I’m wife material in every shape and form.” 

Jinsol’s tone is melancholic when she replies, “Yeah, I heard. Jiwoo really loves you. A girl like that comes around once in a lifetime. You’ve gotta- you’ve gotta hold on to her, Soo.” 

Sooyoung feels guilty for being an arrogant ass, for boasting her successful relationship to Jinsol, whom she knows is single, lonely, and yearning for everything she has with Jiwoo minus Jiwoo herself. 

But then Sooyoung remembers the genius plan she’s devised to get Jinsol back together with her own once-in-a-lifetime girl and that guilt immediately dissipates. 

“That’s why I’m counting on you as my maid of honor, Sol! You’re gonna be there for me, making sure I don’t screw this up. You’ll make sure I get to the end of the aisle and say the right name.” 

Jiwoo sets her popcorn down and crosses her arms. 

“Eh…” Sooyoung begins to sweat, “It was a joke, dear.” 

Jiwoo arches a brow. 

“I’m sorry! I love you so much! Please tell me the wedding is still on!” 

Jinsol snickers as she listens to Sooyoung whimper and apologize profusely to her irritated fiancée. 

“Alright, Soo,” Jinsol resigns, “I’ll pick up your dress. Your sorry ass needs all the help it can get!” 

Sooyoung provides the address and emphasizes one last time that Jinsol should arrive “not a minute later than 11 A.M.” before hanging up. 

“Whew!” Sooyoung sighs, “Finally, that’s done. Again, I’m sorry about what I said, dear. There’s no other name that I’d like to say after ‘I do.’ Only you, Jiwoo.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Jiwoo rolls her eyes playfully, “Let’s get back to the plan. We’re not done yet.” 

Jiwoo stands up, retrieves her contacts book from one of the kitchen drawers, and flips to the “K” page. 

“Hand me the phone, darlin’. We have another lesbian to call.” 

Sooyoung smiles as Jiwoo dials the number of Jungeun Kim. 

Jinsol has passed by the bridal boutique in Uptown Blockberry a number of times - at least 20, if she were to give a rough estimate. 

On three occasions, she stopped briefly to admire the stunning window displays. Each gown was absolutely breathtaking and the mannequins, expressionless and inanimate as they were, seemed to come to life when dressed in the finest satin, charmeuse, chiffon, and tulle. The shop had every fabric, every length, every cut, every design that a bride could ever want or imagine. 

Twice, Jinsol considered stepping inside for only a few minutes. If an employee were to approach her and ask if she needed help, Jinsol planned to respond with, “No, thank you. Just browsing.” 

But Jinsol has never had any real reason to enter the shop. That is, until now. 

“Wow,” Jinsol says to herself, “This place is amazing!” 

Magnificent crystal chandeliers line the ceilings and contrast with the slightly-rustic white oak floors. The walls are adorned with ornate calligraphy; there are quotes from famous love songs and sonnets. 

A particular line, from the great poet and romantic, Pablo Neruda, catches Jinsol’s attention. 

She reads the beautiful text painted on the back wall:



“Then love knew it was called love. And when I lifted my eyes to your name, suddenly my heart showed me my way.” 

Jinsol sighs. 

Oh to be so deeply enamored with someone that even the sound of their name could give one purpose, meaning, and direction. 

“Jungeun?” 

Funny, that’s exactly who Jinsol had in mind.

“Jungeun?” The seamstress calls again, “Can I please see your ID?” 

Jungeun, who has been sitting patiently since 10:50 AM, stands up from the waiting room couch in the middle of the store and begins walking to the customer service booth… in the back… where Jinsol is currently standing and panicking. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, miss! I didn’t see you there!” The employee addresses Jinsol, “I’ll finish with this customer and then I’ll be right with you.” 

Jinsol stutters an “ok” as she watches Jungeun come closer and closer. 

Like the bridal store’s seamstress, Hani, Jungeun does not notice Jinsol. Jungeun is preoccupied with finding her wallet in her large tote bag. 

“I have my ID,” Jungeun tells Hani, “I just misplaced it in here… somewhere.” 

Jungeun arrives at the booth and sets her purse on the counter. She digs inside and pulls out car keys, lipstick, a compact mirror, and a Post-It.

Jinsol is now standing a mere meter behind Jungeun. She can easily look over her ex’s shoulder and read the note. 

PICK UP JIWOO’S DRESS @ 10:55 

Of course. 

It was all a set up. Jinsol should have figured it out sooner. 

Sooyoung and Jiwoo, those nosy, sneaky motherfuc-

“Got it!” Jungeun holds up her license. 

Hani confirms Jungeun’s identity while Jungeun signs a sheet confirming that she’s picking up on Jiwoo’s behalf. Hani retrieves the paper from Jungeun and hands her the garment preservation box containing Jiwoo’s dress. 

“Great. You’re all set! Have a nice day!” Hani bids Jungeun goodbye.

As Jungeun gathers her things, several thoughts race through Jinsol’s head. 

After my colossal fuck up, I doubt she’d ever want to see my face again. 

It’s been years, though. Maybe she’s over it… 

No. 

I looked her in the eye and told her I wish I never met her. 

It doesn’t matter that I was drunk or that she broke my heart first. She still heard it. That’s not something you can get over. 

“Next customer, please!” Hani beckons Jinsol. 

I’ll have to face you eventually, Jungeun, but not today. I can’t. 

Keep your eyes on the box and walk right past me. 

Jinsol’s legs and feet feel unmanageably heavy - she can hardly lift them, let alone push them forward. 

Jungeun hasn’t moved either. 

“Um...miss?” Hani politely stirs Jungeun’s attention, “Can you step aside now? I need to help the lady behind you.” 

Jungeun smooths her hands over the box, slowly, meticulously. Her fingers study every inch. 

“Sorry,” Jungeun looks up at Hani, “Looking at this dress, it’s really sinking in that my best friend is getting married.” Jungeun’s gaze drops to the box again. “I just thought that, at this time, I would be too. Jiwoo and I did everything together: singing lessons, driving lessons, college… she swore even our weddings would be a joint occasion. And I believed her, but I guess that was all just wishful thinking.” 

Hani places a hand on Jungeun’s shoulder. (It’s not the first time she’s had to comfort an emotional customer - although most of them have been the actual brides, not the angsty maid of honors). 

“Your time will come soon,” Hani says in earnest. “And when it does, Jiwoo will be the one picking up your dress.” 

“Thanks. I’m sorry for oversharing,” Jungeun mutters, embarrassed.  

Hani conveys a silent “It’s ok” with a gentle smile. She cranes her neck to look behind Jungeun, at Jinsol. “Hey, you’re my 11:00, right? Picking up for Sooyoung Ha? You must be…” 

Fuck. Fuck. 

“Jinsol?” 

Fuck. 

“H-hi, Jungeun.” 

There is a silly myth that exes who genuinely enjoy each other’s company were never in love in the first place or are still in love to this day. 

Jinsol thinks this is a load of crap. 

First of all, what Jinsol and Jungeun used to have was very much real. As sure as the sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening, as undeniable as the redness of Mars and the blueness of Earth, Jinsol Jeong was in love with Jungeun Kim. 

Second, note the use of past tense. 

Was. 

“Was” implies “not anymore.”

Those feelings have expired. 

When Jungeun suggests they catch up over a cup of coffee, Jinsol’s heart rate rises to 160. 

(That’s not that high…)

When Jinsol receives an Americano instead of a latte and Jinsol is far too shy to do anything about it, Jungeun returns the drink to the counter and asks the barista to remake Jinsol’s order. 

Jungeun’s compassion and thoughtful consideration of Jinsol’s social anxiety makes Jinsol want to hug her for a minimum of two minutes. 

(That’s not that long…)

Yes, Jungeun is the center of Jinsol’s universe and Jungeun’s glorious existence is the only thing that gives Jinsol hope that life is not as cruel and unfair and pointless as it seems.

(But does that mean Jinsol wants Jungeun back? Pff! No way! She’s moved on… Yeah. Totally, 100%, moved on from Jungeun… yup.) 

“How’s your espresso?” Jinsol asks Jungeun. 

“Good,” Jungeun replies, “How’s your latte?” 

“Good. Thank you again for y’know…” 

“You’re welcome,” Jungeun smiles politely.

They simultaneously take sips from their respective cups and set them down. 

There are only so many things one can do in a coffee shop: work, study, socialize, and drink. 

And since Jinsol and Jungeun aren’t employees or students and they have absolutely no idea how to converse as exes, they’ll settle for the last option. 

Jinsol and Jungeun chug their caffeine in dead silence. 

Jinsol scans the area and trains her eyes to look at anything other than Jungeun. Direct eye contact is too risky. Might re-catch feelings that way. 

“Awesome!” Jinsol outbursts while staring blankly at the newspaper stand, “This has been fun! Nice to see you again, Jungeun. Take care.” 

As Jinsol stands up to exit the world’s smallest Starbucks (it’s actually average sized — it just feels like the walls are closing in on the ex-couple), Jungeun’s hand lightly grasps Jinsol’s forearm. 

“Wait. We have to figure this out,” Jungeun states with an air of determination. “We’re Sooyoung and Jiwoo’s maid of honors… and apparently their pawns in this manipulative little game they’re playing. We have to learn how to be around each other, Jinsol.” 

“Jungeun, we know how to be around each other,” Jinsol chuckles, “We dated for over a year. Just because we’re-” 

“Exes” feels too cold and too final. Calling Jungeun her ex is like declaring time of death or watching a Texas-sized asteroid barrel towards our planet and solemnly accepting Armageddon. 

“Exes” feels like giving up.

“Not dating,” Jinsol opts to say, “Doesn’t mean we’ve completely lost that ability. All we have to do is make some minor adjustments. There are certain things that will be different.” 

“Like what?” 

“Well,” Jinsol makes that adorable pondering face that Jungeun loves so much: bottom lip protruding ever so slightly and right eye more squinted than the left. “In lieu of a goodbye kiss, I’ll offer you a friendly handshake or high-five. We can practice right now. Which would you like?” 

“Only a high-five?” Jungeun frowns, “Given our history, I think I’m worthy of a high-ten at least.” 

“High-six,” Jinsol counteroffers. 

“High-nine,” Jungeun crosses her arms. 

Jinsol shakes her head, conveying faux frustration with her fiery opponent. She leans over the seated Jungeun and gives her an ultimatum. 

“High-seven. That’s the best I can do for you.” 

Jungeun stands up and closes the gap between them.  

“High-eight. Take it or leave it.” 

The old Jungeun and Jinsol used to do this all the time - the constant push and pull, tug of war, tug of wits, neither party wanting to concede or hear the other one out. 

It’s nice to know that this time, Jungeun and Jinsol aren’t actually fighting. They’re revisiting their old flirty dynamic, the one they had during their honeymoon phase. 

Jinsol and Jungeun, when at their best, had so much fun together. 

Maybe they can be those people again. 

“Fine,” Jinsol sighs dramatically, “I’ll take it. You sure know how to negotiate.” 

They both hold up all five fingers on one hand and three on the other. 

“You ready?” Jinsol grins. 

“Never mind,” Jungeun backtracks, “This is silly.” 

“It was your idea, dork!” 

The tips of Jungeun’s ears flame red almost instantly. It’s embarrassing for Jungeun, but a point of pride for Jinsol. 

No one else can make Jungeun blush like that. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Jungeun grumbles. 

And so they high-eight. Their palms collide for a split second, they instinctively interlock their fingers, and… wait. 

Jinsol and Jungeun are holding hands.

They are holding hands for the first time in three years and neither one of them possesses the self-restraint to pull away. 

Jungeun’s touch is familiarly soft. She may have been holding a steaming hot espresso a few minutes ago, but her hands are naturally warm and comforting, as if they were made to be held. 

Conversely, Jinsol’s hands have always been rough, dry, and cold. She used to joke that she had the hands of someone in a labor intensive job such as a carpenter, plumber, or mechanic. Or that she was secretly a vampire and could no longer circulate blood throughout her body because she had no blood left to circulate.

Despite all this, Jungeun loved taking Jinsol’s imperfect hand into her own and peppering small, rapid-fire kisses on Jinsol’s knuckles. In those moments, Jinsol’s insecurities were quelled and she never felt more appreciated. 

“Um… we should probably let go now,” Jinsol initiates the separation they both are dreading. 

“Right, right,” Jungeun passively nods and it is awkward once more. 

Perfectly in sync, Jinsol and Jungeun open their mouths. 

“Jung-”

“Jin-” 

They laugh anxiously. Jinsol rubs her nape, Jungeun scratches her arm. 

“You can go first,” Jinsol encourages. 

Jungeun takes a deep breath, thinks of the words she’s been saving since she invited Jinsol for this seemingly innocent cup of coffee, and prays she’ll have the courage to use them.

“Sooyoung and Jiwoo are getting married, I heard your other friend Haseul is dating Vivi, so… So where does that leave us?” 

“Jungeun,” Jinsol sighs, “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want to be friends. I’m sure it’s great, I’m sure you’re the best friend a girl could ever have, but it doesn’t feel right for us. It sounds so… bleh and lame. You’ll always mean more to me than my buddies, Sooyoung and Haseul, ever could, combined!” 

Jungeun feels the heat travel from the tips of her ears to her lobes. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to focus. She tells herself, commands herself to cast those deep-seated feelings for Jinsol aside. 

“If we won’t be friends, then what are we going to be? We need to set boundaries and assign ourselves a label so that we don’t…” Jungeun trails off.

They finally make direct, intense eye contact and Jungeun knows that Jinsol is capable of filling in the blank. 

Fall again.

“I think labels will only complicate things,” Jinsol replies, “The only labels that we have to live up to are Jinsol and Jungeun. That’s who we’ve always been, that’s who we always will be, no matter what.” 

Jungeun decides she’s satisfied with Jinsol’s answer. “Ok. I believe you also had something to ask me?” 

“Ah. I do. As you know, I have my issues with this happy couple, but I’m still excited for them and I love weddings so much. I’d marry a wedding, if I could!” 

This earns a light chuckle from Jungeun. 

“So, Jungeun Kim, will you marry-” 

(Stupid Freudian slip.)

“-I mean, will you help me get our friends married? Let's throw the greatest bridal bash, the most kickass wedding Blockberry has ever seen! What do you say?” 

Jungeun has shut down one of Jinsol’s proposals before and that didn’t turn out so well. She won’t be the cause of Jinsol’s heartache yet again. 

“I’m on board. Let’s make it happen!” 

March 2000 

Many people have trouble wrapping their heads around the very simple ideas that men can marry men and women can marry women. 

Jinsol and Jungeun have near-endless patience for these people. After all, a decent number of them are not hateful - only blissfully ignorant as they have never interacted with a single gay person in their entirety of their flavorless, heterosexual lives. 

So the ex-couple explains to the caterers and the photographers that the entrees and the photoshoots are for their friends Sooyoung and Jiwoo, two women who are just as in love, if not more so, than Kevin and Susan or Adam and Eve. 

It’s exhausting having to answer intrusive, offensive questions like “How do you do... it?” or “Who’s the guy and who’s the girl in the relationship?” 

But Jinsol and Jungeun would gladly take either of those over the heart-stopping, goosebump-raising, throat-drying: “Are the two of you a couple as well?” 

Jinsol and Jungeun’s initial approach was to deny, deny, deny. 

Jinsol would shake her head with such aggression that she’d start to see stars. Jungeun would laugh it off, firmly state “No, we’re not together,” and change the subject.

They did this once, twice, thrice. They grew accustomed to it. This strategy of emotional suppression worked and they had an unspoken agreement never to waver from it. 

Until Jungeun went rogue the fourth time. 

“So, are the two of you a couple as well?” The florist at Life is Rosy asks after writing them an order for $1200 worth of peach roses. 

“Yes,” Jungeun states proudly, “As a matter of fact, we are.” 

Jinsol feels her soul leave her body. 

“Isn’t that right, babe?” 

Jungeun’s pet name and wink - oh my god she’s winking - sends Jinsol’s soul to the astral plane. Goodbye Earth, it was nice knowing ya. 

“Aww!” The florist squeals, “So cute! Yay lesbians! When’s your wedding?” 

“We don’t have a date yet,” Jungeun expands the lie, “We were thinking spring of next year. Or maybe summer. A summer wedding would be nice too, wouldn’t it, babe?” 

Jungeun tucks a strand of hair behind Jinsol’s ear and goodness, what a tease . 

Well, two can play at that game. 

Jinsol ups the ante and snakes an arm dangerously around Jungeun’s lower back, causing the latter to let out a small gasp. 

“A summer wedding would be lovely. We’ll do it in June. It’ll be my best birthday month ever! I couldn’t ask for anything more, babe.” 

“How sweet!” The florist claps gleefully. “If I may ask, have you picked out flowers?" 

“Red tulips,” Jinsol beams and points her thumb toward Jungeun, “This one’s favorite.” 

Jinsol considers kissing her faux fiancée on the temple to make their engagement all the more believable, but she withdraws - not because she wants to, but because she has to. 

Sure, their flirting is benign now, but it could easily evolve into something more.

A stolen glance here and there, a sultry look and suddenly their clothes and inhibitions are off. There’s passion and heat and electricity and it’s all woefully… temporary. 

Jinsol and Jungeun were great at that aspect of their relationship, but everything else? The conflict resolution, the active listening to the other’s issues and concerns? Not so much. 

“Oh, you lovebirds! Get outta here!” The bubbly florist slides them Sooyoung and Jiwoo’s invoice form and a business card. “I’ll see you in September for your friends’ wedding and shortly thereafter for yours!” 

Jungeun accepts the paperwork and, much to Jinsol’s surprise, continues the charade. 

“Thank you, Yena. Can we count on you for a discount?” 

“Of course! 25% off!” 

Jungeun thanks Yena again and throws $5 in the tip jar.

“C’mon, babe,” Jungeun looks up at Jinsol, “We have more errands to run!” 

Jinsol absentmindedly follows Jungeun out of the store. 

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Jinsol and Jungeun find a nearby bench to hold an impromptu meeting and debrief on the recent questionable, boundary-crossing event. 

Jinsol takes a seat and breaks the ice. 

“So that was weird.” 

Jungeun elects to sit on the opposite end of the bench. She deems this three feet an acceptable, platonic distance. 

“I’m sorry for wrapping my arm around you,” Jinsol speaks barely above a whisper. She almost sounds like an ashamed child apologizing for doing something strictly forbidden. 

“No, I’m sorry for putting you in that position to wrap your arm around me. I really don’t know what came over me when I said we were a couple.” Jungeun stares at her and Jinsol’s reflections on the store window of the Blockberry pharmacy. 

“You got tired of denying it, of saying ‘no.’ You wondered what would happen if you said yes,” Jinsol interprets. 

Jinsol turns her head to study Jungeun’s side profile - she’s clenching her jaw and has a stoic expression. 

“I wonder all the time, Jinsol. I’ve wondered all this time.” 

Jungeun’s eyes become glossy and her gaze nostalgic. She’s on the verge of tears as she recalls that night in May 1997 - the painful but necessary decision, the rational judgement call, the fateful rejection that terminated their first relationship. 

“ I can give you everyday. Eternity, if you’d like. Marry me, Jungeun.” 

“Sol, don’t be ridiculous.” 

“What?” Jinsol tilts her head, “I’m serious! Marry me.”

“No,” Jungeun denies explicitly, “No proposal, no wedding, no marriage. We’re not there yet, Sol.”

Would a “yes” have spared them the heartache? Would they have pulled it together? Would Sooyoung and Jiwoo be the ones planning their wedding? 

Or were they always doomed to fail the first time around? 

Jungeun will always wonder. 

“Did I do something wrong, Jungeun?” Jinsol asks carefully. 

“Not at all,” Jungeun musters a small smile, “I’m thinking about… uh… about how you remembered my love for red tulips.” 

“Oh,” Jinsol scoffs, “Of course! How could I forget something so significant?” 

Jungeun’s smile grows a little wider.

“C’mon, Sol. Your brain stores trigonometric proofs, the complete screenplays of the Star Wars trilogy, and probably hundreds and hundreds of fish species. Why would you make room for something as unimportant as my favorite flower?”

“Everything about you is important, Jungeun.” 

For clarification, Jinsol is simply telling the truth - she’s not intentionally flirting. Jungeun doesn’t see it that way, however. 

Jinsol’s brutal yet tender honesty has Jungeun blushing again , looking away again , and nearly falling again. 

“Stop it, you.” 

“Alright, alright. I mean it though.” Jinsol chuckles and leans back on the bench. “Hey, can we take a five minute break before we get back to our maid of honor duties?” 

“Hmm,” Jungeun glances at her watch, “Let’s take ten. Sooyoung and Jiwoo are in no rush to plan for their big day, so why should we?” 

Jinsol places her hands behind her head and looks up at the sky. She’s showing off her jaw and damn it, Jungeun feels personally victimized by Jinsol’s immaculate, god-given bone structure. 

“You’re right,” Jinsol sighs, “We’ve been working hard. We deserve to take it easy.”

Jungeun shifts around, crossing her left leg over her right, then her right over her left, then stretching her legs out in front of her. In the end, she fails to relax. 

She worries that the only comfortable position is beside Jinsol, with her head on her shoulder, and hands interlocked as they were in the coffee shop or hand supporting back as they were in the flower shop. 

“Jungeun?” 

“What is it now?” 

Jinsol is a little taken aback by Jungeun’s curt response but she continues nonetheless. 

“It was kinda fun being your fiancée, even if it was just pretend.” 

Jinsol wonders too. 

From time to time, Jinsol pays a visit to that same make-believe world in which Jungeun said “yes.” That utopia where she and Jungeun never fell apart, where they have always been together. 

“Yeah,” Jungeun agrees, “It was.” 

April 2000

Sooyoung and Jiwoo’s need for control over their friends’ love lives is becoming unhealthy, obsessive, and arguably demeaning to Jinsol and Jungeun - two grown women who have made it this far in life without two conniving lesbians dictating their every move.

The brides are extracting too much pleasure, finding too much entertainment out of treating their best friends like fictional characters. They’re using Jinsol and Jungeun to recreate the plot of The Parent Trap - only this version is childless and sapphic. 

Yes, Sooyoung and Jiwoo should tone it down several notches. They’ve become so invested in their mission that they’ve willingly sacrificed their involvement in the most delightful aspect of wedding planning: cake tasting.  

“Why the hell would Soo and Jiwoo pass up on free cake? That’s like turning down a billion dollars!” 

“A slice of red velvet is not equivalent to a billion dollars, Sol,” Jungeun nags playfully. 

“I beg to differ, Jungeun. This cake is extravagant, luxurious, and - dare I say - sexy . I am utterly confounded by this confection. Its decadent cream cheese frosting and debaucherous crimson foundation will appear in my dreams tonight. This cake will be the first thing I think of before I sleep, while I sleep, and when I wake. I shall never eat another dessert, no matter how colorful, rich, or sugary, ever again. I am loyal to this gorgeous specimen alone.” 

Jinsol’s bombastic words speak loud, but her actions speak exponentially louder. 

“Sol, no,” Jungeun hisses. 

“Sol, yes,” Jinsol grins as she presses the tip of her tongue on her plate and drags it languidly, drooling heavily and picking up every last morsel. 

Jinsol, of course, is committing this bestial act inside a bakery - a public place - without a hint of shame.

Secondhand embarrassment aside, it’s oddly refreshing for Jungeun, someone who cares so much about what others think and agonizes over every minuscule detail, to be in the company of Jinsol, someone who cares so very little. 

When she’s around Jinsol, neurotic Jungeun is able to let her hair down, enjoy herself, and be silly for the sake of being silly. 

“Your turn!” Jinsol picks up Jungeun’s plate and raises it to her lips.

“Sol, stopppp,” Jungeun whines.

“You know you want to,” Jinsol’s eyebrows have a mind of their own as they wiggle and tease Jungeun. 

Jungeun knows she’s fighting a losing battle. She accepts defeat, quickly licks the crumbs off, and sets the squeaky-clean plate on the table immediately before their baker returns from the kitchen.

“So have we chosen a winner out of the vanilla, chocolate, lemon, and red velvet?” Baekhyun claps his floury hands together. 

(While Jinsol and Jungeun and the rest of our sapphic heroines have navigated relationship troubles and other drama, bartender Baekhyun has saved enough money to quit his old job and pursue his lifelong dream of opening a specialty bakery. This is a fabulous rags-to-riches story for another time and place.) 

“Yes, we have, Baker Baek,” Jinsol beams and points to their empty plates, “It’s the one you just had us sample.” 

She takes out Sooyoung’s Visa and hands it to Baekhyun. “Here you go. Put it on the plastic. And come September 8th, you will serve this absolute slut of a cake to the 300 hungry guests at my best friend’s wedding.” 

Baekhyun accepts the credit card and walks away questioning how anyone could possibly slut-shame one of his creations. 

Jinsol raises her glasses to the bridge of her nose, looking like an academic when she explains, “Baked goods can be promiscuous beings too, Jungeun.” 

Jungeun rolls her eyes. “Will you ever stop being ridiculous?” 

“Please,” Jinsol scoffs, “You know that’s impossible for me.” 

Yes indeed, Jungeun knows and Jungeun remembers it all. 

The way that Jinsol would paint Jungeun’s nails while wearing a full, military-grade gas mask. (According to Jinsol, the fumes from nail polish make her “higher than a stoner on 4/20.”) 

The way Jinsol would keep a daily running tally of each time she complimented Jungeun. (If Jinsol did not meet her quota, she would shower her girlfriend with double the amount of compliments the following day.) 

The way Jinsol took a hammer and started pounding the shit out of the frying pan that gave Jungeun a minor burn on her palm. (“Die, damn you! You hurt my sweetheart!”) 

Jinsol and Jungeun’s relationship was many things, but it was never boring - it still isn’t. Jungeun has Jinsol to thank for that. 

“Hey, Sol. You and me… it wasn’t all bad. We had some good moments too, didn’t we?” 

“Of course,” Jinsol smiles, “We had loads of them, babe.” 

For the first time since their breakup, Jinsol uses the term of endearment unironically. 

(Jinsol and Jungeun did not play the role of head-over-heels in love fiancées this time because Baekhyun would have caught their bluff. As one of their few close male friends, Baekhyun is familiar with Jinsol and Jungeun’s history - he knows that they’re ancient… are they?) 

Jungeun doesn’t seem to mind. 

And so Jinsol will continue to use it. 

Nothing to see here. This is perfectly normal behavior for exes who are over each other. 

May 2000 

Operation Great Unseparation: Get The Idiots Back Together has been dragging on for four months and still no results. 

Sooyoung and Jiwoo are getting antsy. They’ve sent Jinsol and Jungeun on a whopping 33 wedding-related errands. That means Jinsol and Jungeun have had 33 opportunities to have a conversation about where their feelings currently stand and if they have the mutual desire to try again (which they both obviously do). 

Too bad they've wasted them. There are no signs of a reconciliation, only increasingly recurrent episodes of emotional constipation.

But Sooyoung and Jiwoo’s impatience is nothing compared to Haseul and Vivi.   

Haseul and Vivi have the misfortune of living with one-half of the world’s most frustrating couple; Jinsol is their roommate and third wheel. 

Haseul and Vivi are reminded of this each time they attempt to have one moment to themselves. 

“Are you sitting on the remote?” Vivi asks in between delivering kisses to Haseul’s neck. 

“No,” Haseul responds, a little breathless as she toys with the hem of her girlfriend’s shirt. “Too many clothes…” she mumbles. 

Vivi redirects Haseul’s frisky hand from her stomach to one of their decorative couch pillows.

“Honey! Whyyy?” Haseul whines. 

“Haseul, the TV is on. I didn’t do it, you didn’t do it-” 

“Ok, maybe we have a ghost then,” Haseul shrugs. 

“No,” Vivi counters pointedly, “We have a Jinsol.” 

Welp. There goes Haseul’s chance at making it to second base tonight. She grits her teeth and slowly turns her head around. 

As predicted, Jinsol is standing directly behind them, fiddling with the "channel select" buttons. 

“Hey guys,” Jinsol greets casually, “Do you remember what channel Friends is on?” 

“Can you come back later, please? Vivi and I are kinda in the middle of something!” 

“I think it’s on NBC…” Jinsol mutters, completely ignoring her friend’s request for privacy. She points the remote at the TV but Haseul intercepts, slapping it out of Jinsol’s loose grip. 

“Dude!” Jinsol exclaims, “What the hell? Let me watch!” 

Haseul groans. “Do you have to watch tonight? I’m sure you can catch up on Bart and Urkel and Seinfeld’s adventures during reruns.” 

Any TV buff and/or couch potato would take offense at Haseul’s unbelievable pop culture illiteracy. She grew up in the 90s. She should know these things.

“NONE OF THOSE PEOPLE ARE FRIENDS CHARACTERS, DIPSHIT!” Jinsol lurches forward to attack Haseul with lame, flappy slaps to her neck and chest. 

Haseul swats Jinsol away like an irritating fly attempting to make contact with her skin. 

These two don’t know how to fight at all. Preschoolers fight fouler than them. 

“Yeah, that’s right! Smell it! Like a fresh summer breeze, huh?” Haseul asks as removes her sock and forcefully waves it in front of Jinsol’s sensitive nostrils. 

“Ugh! Fuck!” Jinsol gags. “Get that shit away from me! Your feet are toxic waste! Fucking radioactive!” 

“Children,” Vivi clears her throat louder, “Ahem! Children!” 

Haseul freezes and Jinsol suppresses her cough, causing her to make strange, comical squeaking noises. She sounds something in between a rubber duck and an actual duck choking on an obscenely large piece of bread. Haseul laughs at her, of course. 

“Can’t believe she called you a kid,” Haseul snorts. 

“I said children,” Vivi emphasizes, to which Haseul shuts up immediately. 

Amused at Haseul’s utter “whippedness” for her girlfriend (for lack of a better term), Jinsol asks Vivi for a favor. 

“Vivi, can you get your girlfriend to grant me TV privileges for just this hour? It’s the season finale, I can’t miss it! I have to find out if Ross and Rachel will get back together! I know they’re still in love with each other, the signs are all there, they just won’t admit it!” 

Ah, a classic case of art imitating life.

Vivi and Haseul share a look and telepathically ask each other the same question: For fucks sake, how does she not get it?

Wise Vivi spots the opportunity to turn this interrupted makeout session into an intervention for Jinsol and her oxymoronic love life. (Jinsol and Jungeun’s mutual affection is so simple and yet so complicated.) 

“You seem to feel strongly about Ross and Rachel. Do they remind you of anyone?” Vivi gets the ball rolling with a great question. It’s a friendly but firm nudge in the right direction. 

“Hmm…” Jinsol takes her sweet time flipping through her mental Rolodex of every person she’s ever encountered. “Now that you mention it, they remind me of my old friend, Tony Fuego and his ex.” 

Now, Vivi is not a violent person, she’s practically a pacifist, but something about Jinsol’s infuriating obliviousness has her wanting to slap the girl out of her fugue. 

Vivi’s perpetually off-topic girlfriend only serves to increase her frustration. 

“Yo! I forgot about Tony! The guy who sold you your flame thrower, right? How’s he doing? You catch up with him lately?” 

“He’s actually doing pretty good!” Jinsol chirps back at Haseul, seemingly forgetting their earlier feud. “He’s no longer in the weapons and miscellaneous incendiary devices trade. He hasn’t done a complete 180, though. You can take a man out of the business but you can’t take the business out of the man!” 

“Good for him! What does he sell now?” 

“Crystal meth.” 

“Oh,” Haseul quiets, “Well that’s different…” 

“Yeah…” 

Vivi rolls her eyes at this unnecessary detour. Living with both Haseul and Jinsol sometimes feels like herding sheep - Vivi has to constantly reorient them back to their enclosure, in this case, their primary conversation wherein Vivi has found an avenue to bring up Jungeun.

“Hey, didn’t Tony’s ex used to work with someone we know?” Vivi asks with the hope of Jinsol taking the hint. 

“Yeah,” Jinsol smiles, “Trisha and Jungeun interned at the same architecture firm.” 

(There we go! Sound the alarms, notify the masses, Jinsol has dropped the J-word.) 

“How’s Jungeun doing? I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately,” Vivi asks sweetly. 

Jinsol’s eyes light up almost blindingly bright, like a neon sign. 

She loves gabbing about Jungeun as much as she loves gabbing about science (any domain of it, really, from A to Z - astronomy to zoology.)

“Jungeun’s great! She’s thinking about buying some stocks, she’s learning how to crochet, she finally watched Star Wars , after my constant badgering of course. And her career is thriving! That same firm hired her as a full time junior project architect right out of college. The youngest in her company’s history! Seriously! The day after graduation, she came to work and found her name on the door of her brand new office. They loved her so much they gave her the one with the panoramic window and a swivel chair with two cup holders! Two! Unfortunately, this gives her an excuse to have double the coffee and she’s already a caffeine guzzler as it is. I’ve been trying to convince her to switch to decaf because regular gives her palpitations but she insists that decaf is for the weak. I need to help her find an alternative that she’ll actually like. Maybe tea? But which kind? Some have even more caffeine than black coffee... I think it’s best if she just limits her intake. This six cups a day thing may fly right now when she’s 23, but let’s see what her doctor will say when she’s 33, 43, 53. I worry about her health, y’know? She always says I nag her too much but if you ask me, I don’t nag enough. Not gonna lie, sometimes I just wanna shake her by the shoulders and yell ‘TAKE BETTER CARE OF YOURSELF!’ Oh well. In one ear, out the other. I tell ya, that girl is about as stubborn as she is beautiful.” 

When it seems like Jinsol has reached the end of her long, loooong- winded speech, Vivi slyly glances at her watch. 

“Huh. One full minute on Jungeun,” Vivi mumbles. (She’ll be sure to report this noteworthy finding to Jiwoo and Sooyoung.) 

Jinsol walks to their refrigerator, seeking a refreshing glass of water to soothe her hoarse throat. She takes a big gulp, sighs, and glances at Vivi. 

“Did you say something?” 

Vivi shakes her head. “No, I-“ 

Out of nowhere, Haseul dramatically drops to her knees. Dumbstruck, Jinsol crouches to get a better view of her melodramatic friend. 

“Seul? Are you crying?” 

Tears are indeed streaming down Haseul’s face as she pounds her fists on the ground. 

“I can’t take it any mo-ho-ho-re!” Haseul wails, “I finally have a girlfriend after years and years of terrible dates and rejections and I can’t even be with her because you’re here ALL THE TIME! GO LIVE WITH JUNGEUN ALREADY! GET BACK TOGETHER FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY! GET OUT, GET OUT!” 

“Hey, I have a right to this apartment, ok? I pay my share!” Jinsol brings her hand to her chest, defensively. “My name is on the lease!” 

“THEN TAKE IT OFF SO I CAN TAKE IT OFF!” Haseul raises a trembling finger and points it at her girlfriend's shirt.

“Really, Haseul?” Vivi deadpans. 

“I’m sorry, honey, but she needs to know that she’s getting in our way!” 

“Woah, whoa, whoa,” Jinsol stands between the bickering couple, “Let’s not blame your… intimacy issues all on me. Yeah, I hog the TV, but watching TV is a living room activity. Making out is not . You have a private room for that.” 

Jinsol holds her arms out in front of her, gesturing to their living room. “But when you’re here, you ought to show some respect and acknowledge that this place is for all three of us. This is our common area.” 

Jinsol has made a solid case for herself and Haseul can’t stand it. Left with no choice, Haseul retorts with an insult that is cheap, vulgar, and incredibly juvenile but guaranteed to make Jinsol’s blood boil. 

"Your mom’s a common area!” 

Haseul smiles satisfiedly as she watches Jinsol’s nostrils flare and her entire face glow red in fury. 

“FUCK YOU, YOU DID NOT JUST SAY THAT ABOUT MY MOM! YOU KNOW THAT WOMAN LOVES YOU LIKE A REAL DAUGHTER!” 

Haseul eats her words and retracts her smirk at the countless memories of Jinsol’s mother dropping by the Squad’s apartment to cook, clean, and coddle them. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Haseul backs away slowly, crashing into the back of the sofa, “I adore Mama Jung, this has nothing to do with her! I was just trying to get back at you! It was a figure of speech, I swear!” 

Blinded by rage and propelled by adrenaline, Jinsol pounces on Haseul and knocks them both over the sofa and onto the cushions where they thrash around lamely, each of them throwing the most ill-formed punches anyone has ever seen. Boxers would weep at the sight.

Jinsol and Haseul’s collective 18 punches land on the pillows and cushions - not a single blow makes contact with their opponent’s body. 

Seeing no real reason for concern and no possibility of injury or anything at all happening in this pathetic excuse of a fight, Vivi leaves them unsupervised and retreats to her and Haseul’s bedroom. She dials Jiwoo’s number and sighs. 

“Hi, Jiwoo.” 

“Vivi? You sound down. Something bothering you, sweet pea?”   

Vivi smiles at Jiwoo’s concern. “It’s just Haseul and Jinsol behaving like clowns again. I’m tired of mediating.” 

“Ah, such is the life of a girlfriend of a Sapphic Singles Squad member,” The Honorable First Lady Jiwoo replies compassionately. “They’re a handful. Especially when you’re dealing with more than one of them. Oh, why do I need to explain this? You know what it’s like.”

“Yep. It’s an experience unlike any other - one that only you and I and… Jungeun can share,” Vivi’s voice lilts at the end of her sentence.

“You still think Jungeun and Jinsol have a fighting chance of getting back together?!” Jiwoo screams directly into the phone.

Adding on to the damage she has just sustained to her eardrum, Vivi also finds herself becoming infected with Jiwoo’s contagious optimism. 

“Well, Jinsol can’t fight,” Vivi chuckles, “But yes, from what I’ve observed, she and Jungeun have a chance. I’m willing to bet good money on them.” 

June 2000

Jinsol and Jungeun’s June task is creating a slideshow of Jiwoo and Sooyoung to be presented at the reception. 

To accomplish this, Jinsol and Jungeun agree to compile their assorted polaroids and photo strips - anything that may contain Sooyoung and/or Jiwoo’s faces - and bring them to Starbucks (again). 

After Jinsol presents Jungeun with an anxiety-inducing article from The New England Journal of Medicine that associates “excessive caffeine consumption” with “increased risk for cardiovascular disease and potentially fatal dysrhythmias,” Jungeun gives in and begrudgingly orders a decaf coffee. 

(Jinsol considers Jungeun’s small behavior modification a grand victory for them both). 

As Jinsol and Jungeun flip through the countless memories they’ve collected with Sooyoung and Jiwoo, they begin to get sentimental. It’s inevitable - their best friends found each other, fell in love, managed to make it work (unlike them), and are now getting married in three rapidly approaching months - how could one not get misty-eyed?

Jungeun gets particularly emotional when she stumbles upon the photo that her parents took of her and Jiwoo holding up their acceptance letters to BBCU. 

“Look at this. We were so excited. I remember Jiwoo telling me ‘Jungie, this is the beginning of the rest of our lives. This next chapter is gonna be a doozy!’” 

“-And then she met her future wife a few months later,” Jinsol shows Jungeun a picture of ballerina Sooyoung performing her self-choreographed routine at the BBCU performing arts theatre. 

“She did,” Jungeun smiles wistfully. 

After a brief period of hesitation, during which Jungeun questions if she’s willing to be this vulnerable around her old college sweetheart, Jungeun adds, “Then I- I met you. I met you and it wasn’t just a chapter of my life, it was a whole damn novel.” 

“No way!” Jinsol gasps, “You read The Chronicles of Jinsol and Jungeun too?” 

Jinsol has this innate ability to keep things fun and light, even when emotions are heightened and old wounds are sensitively exposed - sutures, scar tissue, and all. It’s a quality that the more serious Jungeun has always admired in Jinsol, one that she wishes she could claim for herself. 

(But then again, isn’t that why opposites attract? Don’t we seek out those who possess our weaknesses as their strengths? And our strengths as their weaknesses?) 

“And here I thought I was the only reader,” Jungeun plays along. 

“This is great! I finally have someone to discuss it with!” Jinsol scoots her chair forward and leans over the small table between them. “What a wild plot, right? All the drama, the suspense, the plot twists! Bing, bam, boom! It was a real page turner; I couldn’t put it down for weeks! I read it on the toilet and in the shower. I read it forwards and backwards; I read it right side up and upside down!” 

“You sound like a real die-hard fan!” Jungeun banters, “What was your favorite part?” 

“Oof. Hold on, that’s a tough one. I gotta think about that.” 

Jinsol slides her elbows on the table and sinks her head in her hands. She ruminates on this question as if answering unfavorably would endanger her life and the lives of thousands.

Surprisingly, no-nonsense Jungeun is able to look past Jinsol’s over dramatic antics and love her. 

“Ok,” Jinsol exhales heavily, “I got one. It’s the Paris train station scene where Jinsol and Jungeun are double-teaming the army of killer robots. Jinsol beheads the general with a chainsaw and Jungeun finishes him off by throwing his stupid robot corpse onto the tracks.” 

“Huh,” Jungeun muses as a growing smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, “I don’t remember that part.” 

“You what ?! That was an iconic scene in an iconic chapter! It came right after Jinsol and Jungeun brought food to the Belgian unicorns and saved them from becoming extinct, or worse, becoming cannibals. They saved the entire race! Please tell me you remember that.” 

Jinsol is terribly, outrageously, unbelievably overdramatic and perhaps that’s why Jungeun loves her. 

Jinsol is many things, but “conventional” is certainly not on that exhaustive list of peculiarities. 

“No,” Jungeun laughs, “I don’t recall the cannibalistic unicorns.” 

“You-you-you… how could you?” Jinsol sputters, “Be honest: Did you even get past the front cover?!” 

“I did, I did!” Jungeun giggles, “I read all the way to the end. I just interpreted the work differently, I guess.” 

“Is that so?” Jinsol takes a stack of the photos they’ve approved for the slideshow (oh right, that’s what they’re supposed to be working on) and uses the edge of the table to straighten them. “Well, I’d love to hear your take on their story.” 

Jungeun could continue to expand upon this alternate universe of her and Jinsol battling machines and rescuing the mystical creatures of Western Europe, or she could discuss the real Jinsol and Jungeun - the people they used to be, the people they are now, and the people they wish to become. 

The latter option sounds much more appealing. If only she were capable of pursuing it. 

Jungeun desperately wants them to have that long-awaited, raw conversation that she’s diligently been preparing for (alone, in front of her bathroom mirror, typically nursing her second glass of wine). The dialogue that begins with “I want you back, Sol” and ends with “Ok. Let’s give it another try, babe.” 

Jungeun has practiced long enough. It’s time to stop replaying this scenario in her head and enact it in real time, in real life, because Jinsol is here.

Jinsol is sitting only two feet away and somehow Jungeun still misses her and wants her even closer. 

Jinsol is all eyes and all ears, and Jungeun can’t make use of her lungs. 

“Are you ok, babe?” 

Jinsol is calling her “babe” in that worried tone with those worried brows and Jungeun can’t breathe. No, Jungeun is clearly not ok. 

“I’m not happy…” 

(There, Jungeun. Stop there. Remain in reality.) 

“...with the story, that is,” Jungeun tacks on. 

“Oh?” 

Jungeun holds her nearly-empty coffee and slowly rotates her wrist, mindlessly watching as the fine grounds settle along the cup’s circumference. 

She’s stalling. 

“What was wrong with the story?” Jinsol presses on. 

Jungeun stops playing with her drink and sighs. Slightly above a whisper, she says, “The ending.” 

Jinsol leans forward even more, she’s placing her entire upper body weight on her elbows as she closes the gap between her and Jungeun. 

“What didn’t you like about Jinsol and Jungeun’s ending?” 

Jungeun sets her cup down and spills her feelings, right then and there. 

“I didn’t like that they had one.” 

Now it’s Jinsol’s turn to quiet down and take time to process. 

Jinsol isn't the most perceptive person. She might have above average degrees of logical and mathematical intelligence, but when it comes to emotional and interpersonal, it’s obvious she has some learning gaps. 

Jinsol misses verbal and nonverbal cues all the time. She smothers people when they want to be left alone and leaves them alone when they want to be smothered. She can’t take a hint or read between the lines. 

But she has a strong hunch that essentially, Jungeun is implying she hated their breakup and wished it never happened. 

(Someone ought to tell Jinsol that she is spot on.)

“I see what you mean. You think their tale is incomplete…?” Jinsol deduces. 

“Yes!” Jungeun points her coffee stirrer at Jinsol. “That’s exactly how I’d put it. Incomplete, ambiguous, unfinished. They were on the cusp of something amazing and then they split.” 

Jungeun’s expression makes the subtle shift from somber to apologetic.  

“It’s Jungeun’s fault,” Jungeun speaks of herself in the third person, “She should have given Jinsol more time and attention.” 

Jinsol forcefully shakes her head at this. 

“No. Jinsol should have respected Jungeun’s need for space. She should have recognized how important Jungeun’s internship-“ 

Jinsol pauses because they’re starting to veer back to their actual situation, their true history and it’s getting uncomfortably real. 

“-I mean, Jungeun had her side operation, y’know, training the centaurs in Amsterdam. Jinsol should have respected that.” 

If these two hopeless, lovesick fools were to tune out the chatter of baristas and customers and the jazzy coffee shop background music - if they were to listen extra, extra closely, they’d be able to hear the anguished cries of their meddlesome friends. (“Fucking hell, drop the act and TELL EACH OTHER HOW YOU REALLY FEEL!”) 

Jungeun purses her lips. “Yeah, but Jungeun should have-“ 

Jinsol holds her hand up to silence Jungeun. 

“Sorry, babe. I have to stop you or else we’ll keep talking in circles.” 

Jungeun sheepishly bows her head and traces her finger on the table. “I guess you’re right.” 

Feeling defeated and beyond frustrated at their lack of progress, Jungeun returns to the stack. She finishes collecting her childhood photos with Jiwoo and starts sorting them chronologically when Jinsol takes both of her hands. This gesture prompts Jungeun to look into Jinsol’s eyes. 

“Jungeun, I’m upset about the ending too. It was so abrupt and it was more bitter than sweet. But I have my super secret theory as to why it was like that. Do you wanna hear it?” 

Jungeun nods. 

“So get this,” Jinsol whispers intriguingly as her grip tightens on Jungeun’s hands, “The characters needed to go their separate ways and live out their own adventures in order to find each other again.” 

In order to keep up appearances and match Jinsol’s whimsy, Jungeun opens her mouth in exaggerated awe. “Ooooh! What do you think happened then? Once they reunited?” 

Jinsol loses all momentum, releases Jungeun, and falls back in her chair. “I’m afraid we’ll have to wait. Part 2 isn’t out yet,” she shrugs.  

“I hope it has a happier ending,” Jungeun frowns. 

“I’m sure it will,” Jinsol states boldly, proudly, convincingly. 

It is at this exact moment that Jinsol - Jungeun’s better half, star-crossed soulmate, and co-protagonist in their beautiful mess of a love story - restores Jungeun’s belief in the possibility and attainability of happily ever afters. 

It is at this exact moment that Jungeun - Jinsol’s best half, once-in-a-blue-moon type of girl, and sidekick in their action/adventure/drama/romcom - realizes Jinsol wants all the same things she does.

Jinsol wants to crack open the spine of their sequel and start anew on page 1.

Jinsol wants them back too.  

“Jinsol?” 

“Yep?” 

“I want you-“

Something holds Jungeun back and pushes those pre-rehearsed lines itching to come out of her throat, back down into her stomach. Jungeun’s nervousness and Jinsol’s overwhelmingly affectionate gaze does nothing to help. 

“-to ask Sooyoung for a list of her favorite songs. Then burn a CD. We need music to set the slides to.” 

(Damn it, Jungeun.) 

Jinsol picks up on the shakiness in Jungeun’s voice. It seemed like Jungeun was about to say something of much greater significance and hesitated. Jinsol doesn’t question her. She’s usually wrong about these things anyway. 

“Oh, ok. You got it, boss!” 

(Damn it, Jinsol.) 

July 2000

The maids-of-the-utmost-honor are walking out of the travel agency, having just finished booking Sooyoung and Jiwoo’s honeymoon (yes, the brides are that lazy). Jungeun listens as Jinsol rambles about her life which, these days, mostly consists of eating, napping, and picking fights with Haseul. 

“... then Vivi left for work around 7:30, so it was just me and Seul. I hate when that happens.” 

Jungeun shakes her head and laughs. She’s anticipating another classic Jinsol rant. 

“We turned on the TV so we wouldn’t have to talk to each other but the only shows on at that time are lawnmower infomercials and Sesame Street. Halfway through the episode, we get to the segment with Bert and Ernie. I make a side comment that those two are so gay and Haseul says, ‘They’re puppets, Sol.’ Then I was like, ‘So? Puppets can be gay.’ Then she looked me dead in the eyes and said, ‘But not Bert and Ernie. I don’t see it.’ Oh, that really pissed me off. She had the audacity to label every resident of Sesame Street as straight with the exception of Cookie Monster. Apparently, he’s ‘cookiesexual.’ Excuse me?! So he likes cookies a lot. Let the guy enjoy his goddamn cookies! That doesn’t mean he’s attracted to them.” 

While philanthropists and revolutionaries fight for equal opportunities, freedom, and justice of the underserved, the persecuted, and the downtrodden, Jinsol and Haseul speculate the sexualities of beloved children’s shows characters. 

This is easily the strangest and most pointless argument Jungeun has ever heard. 

“I don’t know, Sol. You once slut-shamed a cake,” Jungeun quips. 

“That was different!” Jinsol defends, “I’m not a weirdo!” 

“Debatable,” Jungeun smirks. 

Jinsol squints and points to Jungeun. “Good one. You got me there.” 

Jungeun spots her car, the only one remaining in the Blockberry Plaza lot. It’s the 1999 Audi A4 Station Wagon that will safely transport herself, her wife, and their newborn daughter home from the hospital in the not-so-distant future. She picks her keys out of her purse and Jinsol visibly saddens as another Jungeun-filled day comes to a close. 

“Continue,” Jungeun encourages, “I don’t need to leave just yet. I want to hear how you patched things up with Haseul.” 

Jinsol scoffs. “Funny you assume Haseul and I will ever agree about anything. Nope. There was no resolution. She went to her room where she proceeded to count the hours until Vivi’s return and I went to mine where I did some real, serious thinking.” 

They arrive at Jungeun’s car. Jinsol places her hand on the hood. 

“Since you’re in no rush to get home and it’s quiet out here and the moon is beautiful,” Jinsol looks up, “Do you wanna sit here and do some thinking with me, babe?” 

A tempting offer indeed. Gazing at the marvelous night sky with Jinsol, talking about nothing and everything all at once is Jungeun’s idea of a perfect evening. 

It was also their most common date activity back when they were together. 

Jungeun sits on her reliable vehicle’s hood and scoots herself backwards until she’s laying down on the windshield. Jinsol does the same. 

“...So I went to my room,” Jinsol picks up where she left off, “I looked up at the glow in the dark galaxy sticker collection that I can no longer peel off my ceiling, and I thought about space.” 

“Like you always do,” Jungeun inserts. 

“Yes, like I always do,” Jinsol smiles, “I thought about those sorry bastards who didn’t believe Copernicus when he said the sun was the center of the universe - not our precious Earth. I thought about how he proposed his theory in 1543, when we knew so little. I thought about how five centuries later, we’ve barely scratched the surface. We’ve likely only explored 1%, maybe 2% of this expansive, limitless universe beyond our meek atmosphere. Doesn’t that blow your mind? Doesn’t that thrill you?” 

Jungeun isn’t nearly as astronomy-obsessed as Jinsol is, so no, the ambiguity of the solar system doesn’t get her that riled up. But Jungeun agrees anyway.

“Then I went down the rabbit hole of numbers, stats, and probability. I thought about the nine planets that we’re most familiar with - of course there are many more - and how lucky I was to be born on this one. I could’ve been one of those infinite particles making up Saturn’s rings or Jupiter’s great red spot. But instead I ended up an earthling with opposable thumbs and the ability to call for pizza and have it delivered to my apartment in 15 minutes, piping hot and fresh! I thought to myself: Wow, am I incalculably lucky to be here. How dare I take this for granted? I am 25 years old, still living with my old college roommate and her girlfriend, spending my days either stewing on the sofa or planning for a wedding that isn’t mine. I need to do something. I haven’t lived yet. I thought I had, but I really… haven’t. Not even close.” 

Are Jungeun’s eyes playing tricks on her or are the stars leaning in closer with Jinsol's every word? How could she possibly love Jinsol and her brilliant brain even more than she already, impossibly does? 

“As these epiphanies hit me simultaneously, I tried to focus on just one at a time. It wasn’t that difficult. They all centered around my love for learning. Once I realized that, the solution to my little quarter-life crisis pretty much presented itself: I have to get my masters and go back to school. I’ve been out of it for 3 years and that’s too long a hiatus for someone like me.” 

“A nerd.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Jinsol sneers playfully, “As if you aren’t one too. How are you doing, by the way? I’ve droned on about myself all day. How’s work? Build any buildings lately?” 

The old Jinsol would rather ask Jungeun about the status of her ingrown toenail than ask about her work.

Jinsol was always too jealous of the time Jungeun spent away from her and with her coworkers, one of whom Jinsol was positive was trying to make a move on her girlfriend - that bitch Heather. (And Jinsol’s suspicions were proven correct! Jungeun did not reciprocate the kiss, of course not.) 

So the fact that this new Jinsol remembers to ask Jungeun about her life outside of the two of them, the fact that Jinsol inquires regularly and consistently and displays genuine interest each time, is measurable, substantial evidence that Jinsol would make for a better girlfriend the second go-around. 

“Work’s good. I’m one of the leads on our super secret project,” Jungeun throws in to further intrigue Jinsol. 

“Cool! What is it?” 

“I can’t tell you, dork!” Jungeun chides, “Hence the secrecy.” 

“I can never win with you, can I?” 

“Nope,” Jungeun jokes as she forgoes all previously established boundaries (that they were never truly following, let’s be honest) and rests her head on Jinsol’s shoulder. 

Jinsol barely notices the contact - it feels so natural. 

“Tell me more about grad school,” Jungeun hums. 

“Well, I’ll have to get a job in order to afford it. I was thinking about becoming a TA for an undergrad class.” 

“You love school that much, huh?” Jungeun teases relentlessly. 

“Actually, I do. I love learning and I love talking about what I’ve learned even more. I believe I’d make a good instructor someday, once I’ve established myself and published enough papers to give my name some weight and importance.” 

“Come on! Everything about you is important, Sol!” Jungeun recycles the words Jinsol uses on her, whenever she needs a pick-me-up. 

Jinsol exhales heavily through her nose. She doesn’t believe in herself quite as much as she should, but she believes Jungeun and Jungeun’s word is more than enough. 

They both lack belief in themselves and find it in the other. (Again, they’re meant for one another. Can it be any clearer?)

“Professor Jung,” Jinsol tries out her future title and enjoys how it sounds. She tries not to fangirl at herself. 

“See?” Jungeun notices Jinsol’s concealed smile. “It fits you! You’ll be great, Sol. Your future students will love and worship you!” 

“Am I really that inspirational? I ate an entire can of whipped cream yesterday,” Jinsol confesses cutely. 

“Please, Jinsol. There’s millions of people out there who only wish they could see the world as vividly and imaginatively as you do. I’m one of them.” 

“Yeah. The only one,” Jinsol says self-deprecatingly. 

“Fine, so be it. Isn’t one person enough?” 

Jinsol brings her hand to the side of Jungeun’s head and begins caressing her cheek. 

“Yes, you are.” 

This cues Jungeun to turn her body further into Jinsol, close enough to measure the length of the scar between her eyebrows, to identify the distinct shade of red that paints her cheeks (amaranth), to count the shallow breaths she takes as Jungeun’s lips part to accommodate Jinsol’s. 

Jungeun closes her eyes, as one does in these scenarios, several seconds pass, then the entire moment. 

Because Jinsol doesn’t kiss her. 

“I should go,” Jinsol clears her throat, “Haseul and Vivi are expecting me at dinner. It’s Taco Tuesday.” 

It’s actually a Friday, but Jinsol will say anything to escape this uncomfortable almost-kiss.

Frankly, it’s not even about the kiss. It’s about what the kiss entails: a new relationship and the danger of hurting one another… again. 

It’s a risk that Jinsol is too cowardly to take. 

“Sol-” 

“I gotta go, Jungeun. Good night.” 

August 2000

Things between Jinsol and Jungeun have been awkward, to say the least. 

Gone are the playful jibes and lively banter, the subtle and not-so-subtle touches, and the closeness most of all. 

Jungeun sees and feels the distance that Jinsol intentionally keeps between them. Jungeun wants to hate her. That would make everything so much easier. 

She’d like to finally get off Jinsol’s turbulent rollercoaster, to cut the annoyingly tensile string that continues to tie them together, and to go on that blind date that her neighbor set up for her way back in February but Jungeun repeatedly turned down due to “scheduling conflicts.” 

But Jinsol’s ride makes Jungeun’s heart drop in a good way, Jungeun doesn’t have any heavy-duty scissors, and Jungeun’s neighbor’s sister’s friend’s cousin’s… whatever… is a charming woman, a sharp dresser, and tech entrepreneur at the age of 24 - she’s a lovely lady and Jungeun had a decent time with her. 

That’s the thing though - it was only decent. 

Her date didn’t make the same lame jokes as Jinsol, or capture her full attention like Jinsol, or look like Jinsol, nor was she named “Jinsol.” 

Why would Jungeun waste any effort on hating Jinsol, when the sheer act of loving her is arduous and exhausting enough? 

Jungeun can’t bring herself to hate Jinsol. 

Be highly annoyed at - yes. Get angry at and make her sleep on the couch - yes, multiple times in their marriage. 

Hate - Why? How? Impossible. 

But there’s something Jinsol says that gets Jungeun pretty damn close. 

“I’m moving next month,” Jinsol announces rather unceremoniously as they wrap up their meeting with the balloon company. (This is their final wedding task. The individual bachelorette parties for Jiwoo and Sooyoung remain, but Jungeun and Jinsol agreed to work on those separately). 

“Where?” Jungeun asks, hoping for an answer like “across town” or “half an hour away.” 

“Hawaii.” 

(Not that. Not across the greater 48 states and a sizeable section of the Pacific.) 

“Why Hawaii?” 

“Why, so I can lie in my lanai as I look up at the sky and watch the days pass me by,” Jinsol chuckles. 

Jinsol’s rhymes do nothing but anger Jungeun. This is not a joking matter. Sure Jinsol has matured considerably, but she’s still a work in progress - Jungeun’s work in progress. 

“I mean, why so far away?” Jungeun folds her arms, meaning business. 

“I’d have my own space and Haseul and Vivi can finally have theirs. Plus, The University of Hawaii has a good program,” Jinsol reasons as her gaze shifts to a “Bon Voyage” balloon. 

Jungeun is too proud to get on her knees and beg Jinsol to stay. Instead she’ll try the saleswoman pitch: she’ll sell Jinsol all the advantages of staying here. In Blockberry. With her. 

“You won’t even consider BBCU? It’s your alma mater! It’s familiar, you know the faculty and the facilities. You can’t just leave, Sol. Blockberry is your home!” 

“Jungeun, it’s- it’s not. I only came back to attend Sooyoung’s wedding. After that, there won’t be anything keeping me here.” 

(Poor, poor choice of words, Jinsol.) 

“Really?” Jungeun snaps, “You can’t think of a single thing? Not one person who might miss you? 

Jinsol anxiously pinches the bridge of her nose. “Jungeun-” 

“Why didn’t you kiss me that night?” 

(Oof. Straight to the point.)

Jungeun has reached her threshold for these circular and ineffective conversations. Jungeun demands real answers from Jinsol, not these half-assed ones that are fed by Jinsol’s insecurities and fears. 

“Jungeun, please. Let’s not do this here,” Jinsol keeps her voice low, in respect for the other customers inside the store. 

“Then where?! When?! And why? Why do you keep running from us, Sol? This is exactly what you did last time. You run when things get tough. We were going through a rough patch, we both said some things we didn’t mean, and then one day I open my door to find a Post-It explaining that you’ve left for a research opportunity on the other side of the world and that I should find someone else. Was I not worthy of a letter? A phone call? Couldn’t you have dropped by my dorm for a quick goodbye? I would’ve taken anything over what you gave me. Complete radio silence.” 

Jungeun is upset, rightfully so, but her volume is becoming unacceptable. 

Jinsol protectively takes her arm and escorts her outside. “I’ll explain, ok? Let’s get out of here first and find somewhere to sit down,” Jinsol whispers. 

Jungeun grumbles but lets Jinsol lead her. 

When they step out, they find their options are limited. There are no benches, no chairs, and Jungeun’s car is parked several blocks away. 

While certainly not their first choice to hash out their three years of emotional baggage, Jinsol directs Jungeun to the alley between the balloon store and its adjacent laundromat. 

Neither party wants to delay this much-needed conversation any longer.

“Where do I even begin?” Jinsol says more to herself than her impatient ex. “Look babe, at that time I was fresh out of college, antsy to get out into the scary adult world. Meanwhile, you still had two years left. We were holding each other back and I kept making it worse by pressuring you into marriage and all these other giant steps that we weren’t ready for. I did what I thought was best for us. If you saw that as me running away and abandoning you, then I’m so, so, so sorry.” 

Jungeun swallows the lump in her throat and blinks away tears.

“What about now? What’s your excuse this time?” 

Jinsol sighs, rests both hands on the sides of Jungeun’s arms, and bends her knees ever-so-slightly in order to match Jungeun’s height (which looks rather comical considering that there’s barely a difference, but oh well, let Jinsol take pride in her 3 cm advantage.) 

“You have a good thing going here, Jungeun. You have your dream job and your name on a business card. You have your life all sorted out. I don’t want to get you swept up in my mess again. You deserve better. I don’t want you to have to fix me.” 

“Oh, Sol,” Jungeun purrs, “There is nothing to fix about you. I like that you don’t always have everything figured out. I like that you have cereal for dinner and pot roast for breakfast. I like that you won’t allow yourself to read the comics section of the newspaper without completing the crossword puzzle first.” 

“Well of course! I need to put in the work. I haven’t earned the right to laugh yet!” Jinsol exclaims adorably. 

“And I love that you say things like that,” Jungeun cups Jinsol’s cheek. “The only thing I don’t love is how you beat yourself up for old mistakes and how you’re leaving me again. Otherwise, I love you, Sol. I’m still in love with you. I’ll always be in love with you. I don’t know how to be anything but.” 

In the words of Sebastian, the wise crustacean and the Little Mermaid’s trusted advisor, yes , Jinsol wants her.

Look at her, Jinsol knows she does.

It don’t take a word, not a single word. 

Jinsol, go on and kiss the girl! 

September 8, 2000 - Sooyoung and Jiwoo’s Wedding Day 

“...I couldn’t do it.” 

The slap that Haseul delivers across Jinsol’s face is so forceful that it reverberates through the hotel ballroom and across the hall where it can be heard clearly by the attendants of Tony Crystal Meth’s third wedding to his on-again, off-again lover, Mrs. Trisha Crystal Meth.

“FFFFFFUCK!” Jinsol rubs her beet-red cheek marked with Haseul’s handprint. “What was that for?!”  

“That girl poured her heart out to you! Did you at least say you love her back?” 

“No, but-“ 

Haseul’s second slap nearly knocks Jinsol to the ground. 

“Damn,” Haseul inspects her stinging slapping hand, “It’s nice to finally land one, but I need to work on my form so it’ll hurt less.” 

“How the fuck do you think I feel?! My cheek looks like a stop sign!” Jinsol whimpers. 

“Sol, bro, chill,” Haseul dares to place her other hand on Jinsol’s shoulder, “You don’t want to make a scene at Sooyoung’s wedding.” 

“Me make a scene?! You hit me - twice! All because I didn’t kiss Jungeun? Why do you care?” 

“BECAUSE I WANT YOU BE HAPPY, DIPSHIT! YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND OR WHATEVER! JUST LET US LOVE YOU! JUST LET HER LOVE YOU, YOU HUMONGOUS PAIN-IN-THE-ASS!” 

Haseul’s outburst is obscene, yet oddly heartwarming. It makes the throbbing sensation on Jinsol’s face diminish ever so slightly. 

It also causes all 300 guests, including Jungeun, to turn and glare at their direction. 

“We’re auditioning for a play,” Haseul explains, “Carry on with the festivities!” 

Some guests shrug, some mumble “I’d like to see that play”, but most return to the dance floor where Sooyoung and Jiwoo are initiating a conga line.    

Jinsol can’t help but notice Jungeun standing off to the side, tracing the rim of her martini glass, and watching the lively scene with lifeless eyes. She finishes her drink and makes another trip to the open bar. 

“Have you talked to her at all today?” Haseul tries to ask Jinsol as sensitively as possible. 

“Can’t even get a single word in,” Jinsol frowns. “She’s been giving me the silent treatment ever since I told her I was leaving.” 

“And when you didn’t tell her you love her and when you didn’t kiss her.” 

A white-gloved waiter walks by the bickering friends with a champagne bottle nestled in ice. 

Haseul snatches the bucket from the waiter and hands him back the dripping bottle. 

“Here,” Haseul shoves the bucket in front of Jinsol, “For your face. Stick your head inside.” 

Jinsol rolls her eyes, picks out a cube, and rubs it on her affected cheek.

“This is the least fun I’ve ever had at a wedding.” 

Haseul scoffs. “That’s entirely your fault, buddy. Sooyoung, Jiwoo, Vivi, and I laid everything out perfectly for you two to be together by this time but you just couldn’t make it work, could you?” 

“Hey! I’m not that incompetent! I can reconcile with Jungeun all on my own, without your unwelcome interference!” 

Haseul smirks, proud of how Jinsol responds so quickly to her provocation. She knows just how to get under Jinsol’s skin. 

“Then prove it! Go declare your love for her, right now! Or are you just gonna gawk at her with your big Jinsol yearning eyes until the end of the night?” 

“I don’t yearn,” Jinsol convinces no one. 

“Fine, I’ll call it your pining eyes,” Haseul corrects.

“I don’t pine.” 

“Longing eyes.” 

“I don’t-” 

Jinsol watches Jungeun lean one elbow against the bar and use her free arm to reach behind her head and loosen her french braid crown. 

The updo hairstyle suited Jungeun during the formal ceremony, but for the carefree reception, she opts to let her waves cascade down her statuesque shoulders. 

Beautiful. Just beautiful. 

Jinsol imagines how Jungeun would wear her hair at her own wedding. 

Then Jinsol pictures Jungeun getting married to anyone other than her and how she’d much rather take a hot iron to both cheeks than witness that tragic day. (Thankfully, said day will never come). 

“-Who am I kidding. I long, I long so much.” Jinsol turns to look at her friend but Haseul is already running up to the podium and making significant ground and speed in her four-inch heels. 

For the third time this night, all eyes are on Haseul. (Now, why third?) 

“Good evening, everyone!” Haseul greets into the microphone, “I’m sure you all remember me. As you know I officiated the ceremony earlier with the help of my incredible fiancée, Vivi. That’s right folks, I recently put a ring on it too! She’s way out of my league but she said yes! Show them the rock, honey! Also show them how hot you are!” 

Vivi covers her face, mortified. 

“Ahem,” Haseul laughs nervously, “She’s a little shy. That’s ok. So, that was a great conga line! Top 3 of all the ones I’ve seen, for sure! I’d really like to be a part of one someday… Anyway, I won’t take up much more of your time. I know someone who will, though. Ladies and gentlemen- Are there any men at this wedding? No? Ok. Ladies! Please give Jinsol Jeong your complete attention! She has something very important to say!” 

For the second time this night, all eyes are on Jinsol. 

She wants to disappear, assume a new identity, and live in the lost city of Atlantis, thousands of leagues under the sea. But then she wants to briefly return to shore in order to kick Haseul in the shin once, twice, seventy times. 

Haseul is waving the microphone tauntingly and the newlyweds are clinking their glasses and yelling “Speech!” 

Jinsol balls her fists and trudges to the front and center of the ballroom. She ought to receive a medal or financial compensation for putting up with her friends’ bullshit. 

As she steps up to the podium, her heartbeat pounds in her ears and embarrassment colors her already inflamed cheeks an angrier red. Haseul steps aside and winks. 

To buy herself some time, Jinsol taps the microphone and mutters, “Testing, testing, is this thing on?”

“We can hear you just fine!” Sooyoung shouts. 

Jinsol unintentionally flips off the entire crowd. They gasp in dismay and disapproval. Sooyoung is obnoxiously cackling. 

“Oops! Sorry! That wasn’t meant for any of you!” Jinsol lowers her middle finger. 

She hasn’t even started her speech and already Jinsol has lost the trust of most of the audience. All but one person. 

Jungeun covers her mouth, suppressing a giggle at Jinsol’s clownery. 

Ideally Jungeun would be laughing with her, not at her, but Jinsol will take what she can get. With a deep inhale, Jinsol begins her impromptu, unscripted, straight-from-the-heart speech. 

“Hi. I’m Sooyoung’s maid of honor, Jinsol, and I gotta warn you: I’m probably the worst person for this speech. I don’t have any sage advice to give about marriage as I’ve never been married myself. I do know Sooyoung very well, but perhaps too well. I might accidentally share some tales from her past that might paint her in a bad light. These stories involve way too much pride and lots and lots of cheap vodka. These all coincidentally take place pre-Jiwoo, FYI.” 

Jinsol earns a few smiles from the crowd while Jiwoo gives her a thumbs up. 

Jungeun’s expression is vague and difficult to read, but she appears to be listening. 

“I’m not that great at love in general,” Jinsol admits. “I’ve been told I make the wrong choices even when the right one is standing directly in front of me.” 

Jungeun sets her martini on the counter and starts walking away from the bar, towards the center of the ballroom to join the other guests. Jinsol interprets this as a good sign. 

“So yeah, I’m not qualified to talk about how you should and should not behave in a marriage. Too late. The microphone’s in my hands and you’re stuck with me. Please excuse my ignorance and take everything I say with the tiniest grain of salt. Sooyoung, old pal, I’m going to give you some pointers that you probably know already.” 

Sooyoung slings an arm around her new wife and points her pompous chin up as if to say: Let’s see what you got, Jung. 

Jinsol composes herself with a few more deep breaths to quell her stage fright. She remembers the advice her science teacher gave her, minutes before her first national science fair, ten years ago. 

When you look out into the sea of people and you find yourself getting nervous - which knowing you, kid, you probably will - find something in the room to focus on. It can be the toupee that’s barely hanging on to the bald judge’s head, or the red neon exit sign (just make sure you don’t make a run for it), or the robot some spoiled brat built with mommy and daddy’s money. Whatever it is that stands out to you, makes you feel brave, you focus on that and you never take your eyes off it. 

Jungeun. 

Jinsol chooses Jungeun as her muse, her focus point, her beacon. Jungeun makes her feel brave.

And just like that, Jinsol conquers her stage fright.

“The first thing you should do in a marriage - or at least what I think you should do - is listen.” 

Jinsol receives a few hollers and “That’s right”s from the audience. “Really listen to her,” Jinsol laughs, “Because even when you think you’re 100% correct, chances are she’s 101%.” 

Jiwoo beams and nudges Sooyoung’s arm. 

“Admit it, Soo, you have no idea what you’re doing. But Jiwoo does. So go to her and apologize. Because you’re very sorry and you never wanted to hurt her.”  

(Jinsol’s still gazing at Jungeun.) 

“The next tip,” Jinsol sighs, “Is to kiss her - a lot. You don’t have to show us right now-” 

Sooyoung breaks Jinsol’s previous rule by not listening and planting a big ole smooch on Jiwoo. 

“Allllright, break it up, you two,” Haseul teases. She nods at Jinsol, encouraging her to go on. 

Jinsol brings the microphone to her mouth again, this time with a steadier hand. 

“Some good times to kiss her are in the morning, when she smells like fresh-ground Peets Italian Dark Roast or in the evening, right after she steps out of the shower smelling like Herbal Essences Coconut Milk shampoo.” 

As her former roommate, Jiwoo is familiar with Jungeun’s favorite brands and products. She realizes this is a love confession masquerading as a maid of honor’s traditional “best wishes” speech. She averts her gaze from the speaker to the actual subject. 

(Now both Jinsol and Jiwoo are staring at Jungeun.) 

“You’ll kiss her when things are rough, too. When she’s having real bad period cramps or she had a crappy day at work. And going back to my first tip, when she tells you that work sucked, you listen . When she tells you that work is going fantastic, you also listen. Her career makes her happy and anything that makes her happy makes you happy as well. It’s that simple.”  

(Now Jinsol, Jiwoo, Sooyoung, Haseul, and Vivi are all staring at Jungeun. Even the other guests, even the ones who don’t know Jinsol and Jungeun personally, are beginning to stare.) 

“Look for any opportunity to kiss her, ok? Finally, that brings me to my last tip which is the easiest of them all. Love her. Tell her you love her everyday, all the time, because you do. You love her, you love her, you love her, you love her so much. ” 

Jinsol places her other hand over her heart which palpitates when Jungeun mirrors the action.

“And when she calls you a ‘nerd,’ and she’s the only one who laughs at your jokes and even goes along with them, and she makes you feel like the funniest person alive, that’s when you love her some more. That’s when you love her the most. You don’t have an ‘off’ button. You don’t stop. Why would you ever? She’s the- she’s- God- she’s just the best thing that ever happened to you.” 

Haseul taps Jinsol’s shoulder and hands her a tissue. Jinsol blows her nose like a trumpet. 

“Sorry!” Jinsol addresses the guests, “I get really emotional at weddings!” 

The crowd “awwws” in response. Jinsol’s done a fine job winning them over. 

Jinsol uses the backs of her hands to wipe her tears before concluding. 

“There are nine planets, infinite galaxies, and somehow, miraculously, she ended up in yours. Never forget how lucky you are to have her, Sooyoung. Now, let us all raise our glasses-“

Jinsol stares blankly at her empty hand. 

“Hold on a sec,” says her sidekick, “I gotcha, buddy.” 

Haseul hands Jinsol-

“Haseul, this is a flower vase. How am I supposed to make a toast with this?” 

“Do you really want to pause your speech and wait for me to get you a champagne glass from all the way across the room? That would be awkward as hell. You’re at the end. Just go with it. Don’t make another scene at Sooyoung’s wedding!” 

Jinsol controls her temper and puts on a fake smile for the public. 

“Raise your glasses and…  vases, I guess… to Sooyoung and Jiwoo! Best wishes! I love you both.” 

The crowd whistles and cheers and hollers but Jungeun is the first to initiate Jinsol’s uproarious round of applause and the last to finish clapping. 

Haseul, Vivi, Sooyoung, and Jiwoo watch the scene with satisfied smirks. Their work here is done. The rest is up to the increasingly competent lesbians. 

“Well done, Sol,” Haseul pats her buddy on the back. “You did good.” 

One would think that after coercing them into organizing their bachelorette parties, wedding, and honeymoon, Sooyoung and Jiwoo would have the courtesy or basic human decency to give their poor, overworked friends a break.

One thinks wrong. 

Hours after the newlyweds have driven off into the sunset in their “Just Married” limousine, Jinsol and Jungeun are still in the reception venue, sweeping confetti and hydrangea petals, tidying up as best as they can to avoid paying the hotel any extra fees.  

It’s unfair that the out of town guests are currently ordering room service and enjoying their complimentary chocolates. It’s unfair that Sooyoung and Jiwoo’s only concern is whether to open their mountain of wedding presents tonight or tomorrow morning. It’s unfair that Haseul and Vivi get to go home and fall asleep on their couch together. 

It’s unfair that Jinsol has to stay behind and clean, but it’s not unfair that she’s doing it with Jungeun. 

It’s only the two of them in this extravagant ballroom and there’s nowhere Jinsol would rather be. 

With little discussion, Jungeun takes the left side while Jinsol assumes responsibility of the right. 

Occasionally, Jungeun holds up an item and consults Jinsol on its recyclability. Jinsol gives Jungeun a thumbs up, down, or an unsure sideways. Sometimes she switches it up with verbal responses like “yea,” “nay,” or “might be ok.” 

They work quietly and efficiently, stopping only to grab more trash bags or use the restroom. Before they know it, the venue is spotless and their security deposit is guaranteed to be refunded. 

“I can’t believe it,” Jinsol helps Jungeun load the last spare bouquet into her car, “This wedding was our project for seven months. We’ve been building up to this one night and just like that, it’s over. Now what?” 

“We move on. We find something new.” 

“But what if- what if I don’t want something new?” 

Once again, Jinsol is flashing her giant, longing, I’m-unfathomably-in-love-with-you eyes at her something old. 

Jungeun answers matter-of-factly. 

“Then you work things out with your ex and you don’t move away."

Jinsol winces. 

“Babe, it’s not that easy. I submitted my intent to enroll, I have my own place lined up and I paid my deposit, I’ve started learning some Hawaiian phrases, and I bought enough sunscreen to last me through the apocalypse. I’m ready for a fresh start. And frankly, I’m too scared to try again with you. It ended so badly last time.” 

Jungeun slams her trunk closed. 

“Damn it, Sol. What was the point? What was this all for? The wedding planning, that beautiful, heartfelt speech you made that clearly was not meant for Sooyoung, all the kisses we almost had. You lead me on and you string me along only to leave again and again and again-” 

And Jinsol is kissing Jungeun. 

It’s rough and sloppy and uncoordinated, but it satiates three years of desire in less than ten seconds.

They could have lasted much longer had Jungeun remembered how quickly Jinsol’s passionate kisses deplete her oxygen reserves and prepared accordingly with some warm-up breathing exercises. 

However, it’s not like Jinsol gave her ample time to prepare.

Jinsol didn’t lean into Jungeun - she collided. Jinsol didn’t give Jungeun a signal - no batting eyelashes or lingering gaze from eyes to lips - she just went for it. 

Good for her. Good for them. 

“Sol,” Jungeun pants as she pulls away out of sheer physiological necessity to breathe, “Wait.” 

Jinsol presses their foreheads together and cradles Jungeun’s face between her hands. 

“I’m sorry, babe, I shouldn’t have-“ 

Jungeun’s lungs reinflate with just enough air to sustain a shorter but remarkably deeper kiss. She wraps her arms around Jinsol’s nape, locking her in as she crashes their lips together. 

Their roles have reversed and now Jinsol is taken by surprise. She’s struggling to catch up to Jungeun’s movements. As a kisser, Jungeun is dynamic and unpredictable. Her lips never stay in the same place for too long. She’s making Jinsol lightheaded.

This is beyond pleasurable, as evidenced by the low moan that escapes from the bottom of Jinsol’s throat, but exhausting and impractical. 

Jungeun separates them a second time and buries herself in the crook of Jinsol’s neck. Jinsol closes her eyes and rubs Jungeun’s back. 

“Get in the car. Come with me,” Jungeun mumbles after a while. 

Jinsol tucks a wayward strand of hair behind Jungeun’s ear. 

“Babe, I can’t. I have an early flight tomorrow.” 

Yes, Jinsol is still dead-set on leaving even after those two kisses. 

Never mind that. Not a problem. 

Jungeun is persistent and equipped with expert knowledge of Jinsol’s character. She’ll persuade her to stay. She’ll make sure of it. 

“But we have a flight right now! We can’t miss it!” Jungeun speaks with vigor and a certain bubbliness that Jinsol, or anyone, for that matter, rarely gets to see. Her tone is almost Jiwoo-esque. 

“Really? Where are we going?” Jinsol asks amused. 

Jungeun fully breaks their embrace and spins herself around in a tight circle with one arm outstretched, pointing upward. 

Jinsol is getting dizzy just from watching her. “Babe, babe, babe,” Jinsol laughs, “You’re in heels. Slow down.” 

Jungeun winds to a stop and stumbles into Jinsol’s open arms. 

“Come with me, Sol! It’ll be fun!” 

Jinsol catches her and kisses her forehead. 

“I’m sure it will be, babe, but you won’t tell me where! You were just pointing to the moon, silly!”  

“Exactly,” Jungeun beams. “Now hurry up! They’re expecting us!” 

After a one hour car ride during which Jungeun did not speak a word, only smirked from time to time, Jungeun pulls into an empty parking lot in front of a construction zone. 

“Seriously, Jungeun. Where the hell are we?” Jinsol peeks out the window. She shudders when the only lamppost illuminating the lot flickers and then shuts off completely. 

Jungeun excitedly unbuckles her seat belt and stretches an arm out into the backseat. She grabs two hard hats reinforced with adjustable chin straps and LED head lights and hands one to a befuddled Jinsol.

“Put this on,” Jungeun instructs, “It doesn’t exactly go with our bridesmaid dresses but it’s a necessary precaution. Don’t worry though, I doubt anything is going to fall on your head. Construction is pretty much complete and we’re set to open very soon. Besides, the last time I did a site visit, the foreman was barely wearing any protective equipment.” 

“Jungeun, please. I beg of you, give me a little more context!” 

Jungeun secures the helmet on her scaredy-cat soulmate and kisses her once to ease Jinsol’s worries, then twice to rid Jinsol of her fears. 

“Relax, baby. I would never put you in danger. You’ll be safe in there.” 

“But what do you mean by there?” 

Jungeun only laughs and exits the car. She quickly runs to the passenger’s side and opens Jinsol’s door. 

“Step out and look straight ahead. What shape is the building?” 

Jinsol slowly gets out of the car and flicks on her head light.

“It’s a perfect sphere,” Jinsol observes. “Like the moon.” 

“Like my planetarium,” Jungeun finally reveals. “... Well, it’s not mine per se. I shouldn’t discredit the other architects, engineers, and construction workers that made this all possible. If it belongs to anyone in particular, it’s the residents of Polaris. This is my firm’s gift to the city.” 

“This was your super uber secret work project? Y-y-you designed this?!” 

Jinsol’s obviously aware of what Jungeun does for a living but she’s never truly seen the end products of her tireless devotion and 50 to 60 hour work weeks. 

Jinsol knows the artist, not the art. She knows the singer, not the song. 

She knows Jungeun, but she has not the faintest idea just how much Jungeun can achieve. This project would be any architect’s magnum opus, but to Jungeun, it’s simply another task she had to complete, another deadline she had to meet. 

That’s not to say it doesn’t hold a special place in Jungeun’s heart. After all, she designed it with Jinsol in mind. 

“I might have whipped up a couple blueprints, no big deal.” 

Jinsol shakes her head at Jungeun’s humility. 

“Can we go inside?” Jinsol takes Jungeun’s hand and aggressively swings it back and forth. 

“I’m not allowed to be here at this hour and I definitely can’t bring a guest, so technically… no. But I won’t tell if you won’t tell,” Jungeun winks.

“You want us to break and enter into your planetarium?! Babe, this is the sexiest thing you’ve ever done for me. This tops you buying me that encyclopedia of trigonometric proofs and highlighting the ones you know I’d have a lot of fun with.” 

Jinsol’s turn-ons, if not involving criminal activity, are otherwise embarrassingly nerdy. 

Thankfully, Jungeun doesn’t judge. 

“C’mon. I’ll show you the hottest exhibits.” 

When you love someone as much as Jinsol loves Jungeun, you’re willing to follow them to the ends of the earth and beyond.  

Hand-in-hand, Jungeun guides Jinsol through Exhibit A: The SpaceWalk.

A star-patterned black carpet runs through the first floor of the planetarium and is illuminated by amber lights.

It’s reminiscent of the flooring at movie theaters only much more majestic. Instead of scattered popcorn kernels and ticket stubs, Jinsol and Jungeun encounter flags representing each planet and information display stands containing fun facts about the planet’s size, axial tilt, and distance from the sun. 

While most people skim these plaques and move on to the next feature, Jinsol insists on reading each and every bullet point and quizzing Jungeun on previous planets’ to ensure Jungeun has retained the material.

For example, when they’re just about to leave Mars, Jinsol asks Jungeun to restate the mean density of Mercury. (Jungeun gets it wrong and pays severely for it when Jinsol decides to give her the cold shoulder at Jupiter.) 

After their tiring galaxial trek, Jungeun suggests they unwind by showering together. 

This gets Jinsol hot and bothered but also confused because, well, this is a planetarium. 

She’s only slightly disappointed when Jungeun tells her to close her eyes, slides a pair of 3D glasses on her face, hears the old-school clicking sound of a projector, and opens her eyes to the sight of computer-generated shooting stars blasting through the $1,000,000 IMAX screen. 

Exhibit B: The Meteor Shower. (Clever minx.) 

Jinsol and Jungeun watched one of these cosmic spectacles in August of 1996. They had said their “I love yous” three months prior, but this was the moment when Jinsol knew without a shadow of a doubt that Jungeun was her be-all, end-all. 

That night, when Jungeun gasped in awe of the streaks of light zooming through the atmosphere at immeasurable velocities, stars reflecting in her eyes, Jinsol realized that she would never need or want for anything or anyone more. 

But this night - this private, up close and personal light show belonging only to them - is something else entirely. 

Jinsol doffs her glasses, unfastens her chin straps, and throws her safety helmet on the floor with reckless abandon. Jinsol eyes Jungeun like that sinful, delectable red velvet cake (that they each consumed three slices of, earlier at the reception) and the latter assumes the former is ready to jump her bones. 

Instead, Jinsol squeezes her beloved in a bear hug and whispers in her ear, “Thank you, Jungeun. This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. You’ve given me the best night of my life.” 

(Or so Jinsol believes. She has yet to experience kissing Jungeun at their own wedding, or the birth of their daughter, or winning the New Days Bowling Alley Summer Tournament: Women over 40 Division with her middle-aged best friends in the year 2025… alright, maybe that last one doesn’t belong in Jinsol’s core memories. It will still be loads of fun, though!)

“Don’t thank me yet,” Jungeun pulls away quickly, “I still have to take you to Exhibit C.” 

“So soon?” Jinsol frowns, “I kinda wanted to rewatch the shower, if you’d let me.” 

Jungeun flashes a wry smile. 

“Trust me, Sol. What I’m about to show you pales in comparison to meteor showers, eclipses, and any astronomical phenomenon you could possibly think of.” 

And if that doesn’t pique Jinsol’s interest, then what will? 

“Wow! Ok! Lead the way, babe!” 

They join hands again, with a looser grip this time - only their pinky fingers are fully interlaced. It’s less intimate but more playful. They both could use the fun after the exhausting, confusing, and emotionally-draining day (or in reality, seven months) they’ve had. 

They wonder why they’ve tried to fight this for so long - themselves, their connection. Even with this innocent physical contact that evokes “middle schoolers on their first date energy,” Jinsol can still feel all the love Jungeun has for her and vice versa. 

Jungeun stops them in front of two alluring metal doors. 

“We’re here.”

“Ooooh these look like they belong in a spaceship! So futuristic!” Jinsol marvels. “What’s behind them? What’s behind them?” 

“Calm down, baby,” Jungeun laughs, “You’ll find out right now.” 

Jungeun fishes out her employee ID and holds the barcode up to a wall scanner. She hears a beep, is granted access, and the twin doors part open with a satisfying “whoosh.” 

“Now, this exhibit is closed off for a reason,” Jungeun explains, “Children will get their sticky hands all over it, adults who don’t follow directions will try to climb it. This is the most expensive exhibit in the entire planetarium and the most important therefore we must preserve its structure and integrity. We’re limiting it to receive only 5 visitors per day.” 

Jinsol crosses her arms and peruses the center attraction with an unimpressed look. She drags a finger over the velvet rope protectively surrounding it and scoffs. 

“What’s the big deal? It’s a metal, claw-looking contraption with antennas. I think you preset my expectations too high, babe.” 

“You don’t recognize it? Perhaps you need an auditory aide.”

Jungeun presses a yellow button that activates the loudspeakers tucked in the corners of the room’s ceiling. A static-y recording plays. 

“That’s one small step for man… one giant leap for mankind.” 

Simultaneously, Jinsol’s mouth gapes and her eyebrows raise as she identifies the iconic speaker and quote. She hurdles over the rope barrier and falls to her knees in front of the iconic spacecraft. 

“This is the Apollo 11 Lunar Module Eagle,” Jinsol breathes, “Piloted by Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, it descended on the moon on July 21, 1969. She’s… she’s gorgeous.” 

Jinsol fully bows before the structure; she worships it on all fours as her chin drags on the ground. 

“Sol, please get up. It’s just a replica,” Jungeun laughs. 

“Well, it’s a damn good one!” Jinsol lifts only her head. “The egress platform looks exactly the same. The thrust chamber assembly cluster - identical! The rendezvous radar antenna - uncanny! I’ve built many Lego models of this beauty, you know.” 

“I know, baby,” Jungeun says tenderly, “That’s why I brought you here to see a larger version. It’s a 1:1 scale model. The dimensions are indeed the same as the real Eagle.” 

Jinsol pushes her upper body off the ground and sits in a more comfortable cross-legged position. She removes her high heels and tosses them over the rope. 

Jungeun sits down beside Jinsol and attempts to read her expression.

“That’s the face you make when you can’t decide if you want your ice cream in a cup or cone,” Jungeun jests, “What are you thinking right now?” 

“I have to be on a plane in five hours,” Jinsol laments. “I really don’t want to go.” 

“Then don’t. Stay with me,” Jungeun adorably hugs Jinsol’s arm like a koala clinging to a bamboo tree. 

(She’s so, so hard to leave.) 

“If I stay, what’ll happen to us? What if I fail at the whole girlfriend thing again? Jungeun, I’ve made you cry enough.” 

And then, in the tiniest voice imaginable, Jungeun says, “I’ll cry even more if I never see you again.” 

Jinsol’s heart breaks. 

“I want you back, Sol. I know you’re scared because of how we ended things last time, but our past failure shouldn’t stop us from trying again. What mission did you say this spacecraft was used in?” 

“Apollo 11,” Jinsol answers. 

“Yes. Eleven. It took them eleven tries. Imagine if they gave up at one, or two, or even ten?”

“Then we never would have put man on the moon…”

“Exactly!” Jungeun kisses Jinsol’s cheek. “That’s why you and I can’t give up. We have too much potential, we can’t let it go to waste. Please stay with me. If you really want to make a drastic move, then move here, to Polaris. We’ll get an apartment together and every night I’ll take you to the planetarium. I’ll sneak you in for free. They can’t say anything - I helped build this thing!” 

Jinsol laughs and kisses the top of Jungeun’s head. “Mhm, and don’t you let them forget it, kid.” 

“There’s also a marine biology graduate program at the local university,” Jungeun continues selling the move, “It’s five minutes away from my office. You’ll go to class and I’ll visit you on my lunch breaks. We’ll figure out the other logistics later, but babe, I think we can make this work. You just have to be willing to take this small step with me. What do you say?” 

Jungeun lifts her chin and waits with bated breath for Jinsol’s response. 

Jinsol traces Jungeun’s lips with the pad of her thumb and plants the softest, sweetest kiss. It differs from all the ones they’ve shared earlier in the evening. There isn’t a sense of urgency behind it - Jinsol kisses Jungeun slowly, like she has all the time in the world. 

Because Jinsol is not leaving. 

Jungeun has painted for her a beautiful picture of the beautiful life they could have and will have together. She would have to be the biggest idiot in all of the galaxies to turn this excellent offer down. 

“Ok,” Jinsol scrunches their noses together, “Let’s give it another try, babe.” 

September 2024 

Through the years, Jinsol has collected a number of titles to her name. 

Lecturer, tenured professor, associate director of the marine biology program at Polaris University, and wife to senior architect Jungeun Kim of Odd Eye Designs.  

The best, by far, however is-

“Mom.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Is this Lacerta?” 

“Lacerta?” Jinsol quirks a brow. “That’s a difficult one to visualize. I’ve never seen it myself.” 

“Then maybe you’re not as good a constellation finder as I am,” Yerim challenges.

“Don’t flatter yourself, rookie,” Jinsol lightly pushes her daughter out of the way. She squints an eye and looks into the lens of their family telescope, the one Jinsol gifted to Jungeun way back when. “Hmm… from what I know, and I know a lot, Lacerta is located between Cygnus… which I see here… and Andromeda… which I… also see here. Well, I’ll be damned.” She backs away from the telescope to face her daughter. “You found it.” 

“Told ya!” 

Jinsol’s chest swells with pride. She doesn’t handle being proved wrong well, but if it’s Yerim, Jinsol will encourage her daughter to outwit her. Then she’ll celebrate and praise her when Yerim actually does. 

“You’ve got a bright future in astronomy, kiddo. A career in this field of study wasn’t in the stars - so to speak - for me and your Ma, but I think it is for you. You were made to stand behind a telescope just as I was made to stand before a classroom just as Ma was made to stand next to newly constructed buildings with her giant scissors, cutting the red tape. This is your passion, baby, this is your craft, and this is where you’ll shine the brightest. We’re so proud of you.” 

“Moooom,” Yerim whines, “You promised you wouldn’t get any more emotional after what happened earlier.” 

(“Earlier” referring to Jinsol’s meltdown in Yerim’s empty closet. This morning, when the mother had just finished helping her daughter pack away all her clothes, she came face-to-face with the bittersweet truth.)

Jinsol’s little astronaut is launching off to space (i.e. college) and she and Jungeun, overbearing and overprotective as mothers tend to be, can’t come with her. They have to stay behind, on the ground, to serve as Yerim’s mission control. They are responsible for her safe liftoff and navigating her so she doesn’t stray too far away, but otherwise, Yerim is on her own - free and grown enough to set forth on her own voyages.

They really do grow up so fast. 

“Right,” Jinsol clears her throat, “No more. I’ll be back, ok?” 

“To cry?” Yerim deadpans. 

“No, to check on our hot chocolates. Your Ma said she’d make us some.” 

“Whatever you say,” Yerim teases Jinsol much like Jungeun would. 

Jinsol gives her daughter another playful shove and makes her way from their backyard to the kitchen. 

There, Jungeun is watching them lovingly as she garnishes their mugs with whipped cream and caramel drizzle. 

Jinsol slides open the door separating the inside of their house from the outside. She peeks only her head in. 

“Daaaamn, Ma. You’re the finest barista I’ve ever seen. Are you single?” 

Jungeun places her right hand on her hip and extends her left hand forward. 

“Sorry. I’m married,” Jungeun shows off her ring. 

Jinsol enters the kitchen and pounds her fists on the countertop. 

“Dagnabbit! Why are all the good ones taken?” She huffs and looks up at Jungeun with her trademark Jinsol longing eyes. “Is there any chance you’ll want to ditch that bitch and run away with me?” 

“No can do,” Jungeun grins, “We have an amazing daughter and a marriage that has stood the test of time. I’m still very, very much in love with her over 20 years later.” 

“Is that so?” Jinsol slides closer, “What’s this lucky hoe’s name?”

“Zendaya.” 

All the color drains from Jinsol’s face; she turns paler than Jungeun’s homemade whipped cream.

“OH NOOOOO,” Jinsol wails, “YOUR WIFE IS ZENDAYA?! AND I CALLED HER A HOE AND A BITCH? SHE’S AN ICON, SHE’S A LEGEND, SHE IS THE MOMENT. HOW CAN A SIMPLETON LIKE ME EVER COMPETE WITH HER?!” 

Ordinarily, Jungeun would keep their role-playing going, but her wife has had a long, hard day. Jungeun puts an end to their antics by wrapping her arms around the small of Jinsol’s back and giving her a quick peck on the lips. 

“Hi, wifey.” 

“Hi, babe,” Jinsol smiles and plays with the strings on Jungeun’s apron. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot.” 

“Oh really?” Jungeun acts surprised. (As if she isn’t already living in Jinsol’s mind, 24/7, rent-free, utilities paid, and fully furnished). 

“Yeah. I thought about what you said the night of Soo and Jiwoo’s wedding, when you brought me to the planetarium and convinced me to stay. Remember what else you asked of me?” 

“God, that feels like ages ago,” Jungeun sighs, “You’ll have to refresh my memory.” 

“You asked me to take a small step. But it wasn’t small at all. Getting back together was a giant leap, so was buying a house, so was having a kid - that one was astronomical! They were all giant leaps but you phrased them as small so I wouldn’t freak out or back out. You know me so well - how I panic, how I overthink, how deep down I know what I have to do, I just need you to push me to do it. Everything good in my life, I have because of you.” 

Jinsol spins her incredible wife and hugs her from behind. 

“I love you and Yerim to the moon and back.” 

Now for this, Jungeun does not need a reminder.

The couple looks out their clear glass door and watches their precious daughter scribble notes on her small notepad, draw constellations, and study the beautiful, boundless sky that she’s destined to explore. 

It’s Yerim’s turn to make her giant leap. 

2050 

Living up to the Name: Yerim Luna Jeong-Kim 

Part 1 of a 3-part documentary. An OEC Network Exclusive. Tonight at 8 P.M.  

Summary: The Apollo 18 commander shares stories from her childhood and college years. Follow her journey to becoming the first woman to walk on the moon.

Chapter Text

February 18, 1995 

In her 20 years of life, Haseul Jo has attended approximately 50 weddings and never once has she been a simple spectator in the nosebleed seats. 

Outgoing, social, and the epitome of an extrovert, Haseul has served as the model bridesmaid to classmates and neighbors, to friends she’s had since infancy and friends she’s had since yesterday. 

She will wait at the wife-to-be’s hand and foot, ready to provide her with whatever she may need. She will dig into her bottomless, Mary Poppins inspired bag which contains the bride’s tissues, waterproof mascara, and flask (for liquid courage.) 

Her history of preventing three potential runaway bride scenarios (and driving the getaway car for the poor young lady who was definitely about to make a grave mistake in marrying a complete and utter douchenozzle/man-child/used car salesman) have made Haseul somewhat of a B-list celebrity in the Blockberry wedding scene. 

Haseul became even more of a hot commodity when she publicly confirmed her status as an ordained wedding minister. 

She filled out a mildly suspicious form asking for her full name, social security number, and bank account information and within 48 hours, she received a Certificate of Ordination granted to her by the website getordainedwithjyptotallylegit.com.org.

Realizing that she could turn this service into a side hustle, Haseul then printed herself some business cards - stacks and stacks of cards that pile up to graze the Squad’s kitchen ceiling. 

HASEUL JO 

Ordained Wedding Officiant 

1-800-BAD-BISH

 

“For all your nuptial needs”

 

***CASH PAYMENT ONLY, please 

(I cannot seem to deposit checks and
access my account at the moment)

“Haseul, I’m sorry, but we need to throw this shit away.” 

Sooyoung dumps hundreds of Haseul’s hot-off-the-presses business cards into their kitchen trash can. 

They are not the least bit salvageable as they join the ranks of Sooyoung’s coffee grounds from earlier this morning and Jinsol’s expired, congealed milk from last month. 

Haseul picks out a black, sticky, drippy excuse of a card and holds it up. “How could you do this to me, Soo?!” 

Sooyoung opens their fridge and cracks open an ice cold beer. She leans back on their counter as if she hasn’t completely shattered her best friend’s heart to smithereens. 

“Dude, you don’t need PR. You’ve blabbed to everyone within a 50 mile radius that you do weddings.”

Sooyoung is right. Haseul uses “I can marry you right now” as one of her “truths” whenever she plays two truths and a lie. (The second truth being “I have a 4-octave range” and the only lie being “I had nothing to do with the deaths of Jinsol’s betta fishes: Moon X through XIII.”) 

Haseul huffs and grabs her own Budweiser. 

It may be 10 A.M. on a Saturday morning in Blockberry, but it’s 5 P.M in Moscow, 9 P.M. in Bangkok, and 11 P.M. in Tokyo. 

(Certainly not a valid justification for daytime drinking, but no one can tell nineteen-year-old Sooyoung and Haseul what to do… except their future wives, of course.) 

“I guess I went a little overboard at the printing store and was drawn by the bulk discounts,” Haseul admits with a heavy sigh, “You’re still a jerk though. Don’t count on me to officiate your wedding.” 

“My wedding?” Sooyoung raises a pompous brow. “No thanks. Not for me. We’re all clueless here, Seul, but how much of a dumbass do you think I am? Marriage is legally accepted and glorified torture.” 

Rarely does Sooyoung speak of marriage or any type of long-term commitment in a positive light. Haseul knows this. 

Never does Sooyoung manage to convince her friends that she doesn’t desire the exact things that she condemns: the privilege to know another’s soul inside and out, the luxury of having someone to wake up to everyday, for the rest of one’s life. 

Haseul knows that this is what broken and guarded Sooyoung wants most of all. 

“That’s not how you really feel, dumbass. You’re the type to say you’ll never settle down and then be the first to get married out of the group.” 

“Pff,” Sooyoung scoffs, “Yeah right. You’d have to brainwash me, sedate me, and shackle me to get me to the end of an aisle and even then, I’d still try to fight back.” 

The marriage slanderer chugs her drink and wipes beer foam from her upper lip. She looks the polar opposite of happy as she crushes her can, looks at the aluminum despondently, and unconvincingly states: “I, Sooyoung Ha, love the single life.” 

“Oooh! Oooh!” Haseul raises her hand, “That one! We’re playing, aren’t we? I pick that one as your lie!” 

"Fuck you, Seul,” Sooyoung pathetically shoves her friend. 

“Ha! Well, fuck you right back, Soo.”

The roommates exchange sneers and snarls, filling their kitchen space with palpable but petty tension. 

In comes roommate number #3 to stir the already simmering pot. 

Jinsol emerges from her bedroom, still clad in her star-patterned pajamas. A mighty yawn rips through her entire body as she advances toward her quarreling friends. 

“What’s going on here?” Jinsol squints and lets her half-lid, sleepy eyes adjust to the morning light. “You potty-mouths pulled me from my glorious beauty sleep.” 

Sooyoung rolls her eyes and points at Haseul. 

“She’s judging me for not wanting to give in to society’s expectations and get married which, by the way, is my choice and no one’s business.” 

“Not this topic again!” Jinsol hooks her hands on her hips, and faces Haseul. “Seul, stop trying to force it on her! You know our vulnerable Sooyoung has commitment issues, trust issues, abandonment issues…” 

“Jesus,” Sooyoung huffs, “Fine! Fine! I have all the fucking issues! Can we move on, please?” 

Jinsol ceases her psychoanalysis of Sooyoung but keeps the smirk on her face. 

“Seul, give up on Soo. She’s a lost cause. But you can participate all you want in my wedding, whenever that may be. And I promise I’ll go get ordained for yours!” 

Forget about the unfathomability of Sooyoung’s wedding - Haseul tying the knot is straight up impossible. Contradictory to the natural order of the universe. Or so Haseul believes… 

“I’m not getting married either,” Haseul frowns, “I’ll always be a bystander and a witness.” 

Haseul tries to land her empty bottle into their recycling basket. It ricochets off the rim, causing her to sulk even more. 

Compelled by their friendly concern but constrained by their incompetence at consoling, Sooyoung and Jinsol nudge each other to make the first move. 

“Say something,” Jinsol whispers. 

“You say something,” Sooyoung hisses. 

Jinsol sighs and transfigures her look of pity into one of empathy (although she more so appears to be a vague mix of constipated, pained, and confused). 

“Haseul…” 

Haseul looks up expectantly. 

“Don’t worry, buddy. You’re not going to die alone.” 

“What? I never said anything about dy-“ 

Jinsol shushes her and begins massaging her shoulders. 

“Ugh. So tense!” Jinsol digs her thumbs into Haseul’s skin. 

“Ow!” 

“Shhh! This is Sol’s Shiatsu!” Jinsol scolds. “Anyway, listen to me. You’re gonna meet your very special lady friend and she’ll want to marry you and I guarantee you won’t die alone!” 

Jinsol points her nose up, winces as if she’s smelled something horrid, and backtracks. 

“Actually, I shouldn’t make any promises. Your sad, sorry ass might come back and haunt me.” Jinsol chuckles darkly while Sooyoung watches, beyond aggravated. 

In usual Sapphic Singles Squad fashion, it only gets worse. 

“How’s this? You may … or may not die alone!” Jinsol proposes with a stupid grin on her face. 

Haseul yanks Jinsol’s hands off her and escapes the worst massage of her life.

“Fuck you the most, Jinsol.”

February 18, 2000 

Lately, Haseul’s been waking up different. 

She’s lighter, happier. 

Loved. 

Those warm, fuzzy feelings that tingle from the tips of her toes, scamper up her spine, diffuse into her gut, detour in every chamber of her heart, and seek final refuge in her brain, muddling her original, logical thoughts and replacing them with only Vivi, Vivi, Vivi - those feelings of loving and being loved in return are the ones that keep Haseul going everyday, keep her living as opposed to merely surviving. 

Needless to say, things have changed since Vivi uprooted Haseul’s world. 

And as a result, accommodations must be made. 

When Haseul indulges herself in a midnight snack of five generous scoops of vanilla ice cream drowned in fudge and chocolate sprinkles, she’s mindful of the steps she takes to obtain it. She tiptoes out of bed carefully, so as not to rouse Vivi. 

When Haseul brings the bowl back into bed (where it does not belong) and spills light brown goop all over their sheets, she scrubs and scrubs at the stain until the muscles in her forearms twinge. 

Vivi doesn’t like ants or stains and Haseul is the reason they are rich in both. 

So when Vivi inevitably discovers the diluted mess, she’ll remind Haseul for the nth time to eat in the apartment’s designated eating areas (i.e. the kitchen and dining room) but before that, Vivi will be stirred awake by tiny butterfly kisses from a suspiciously apologetic-looking girlfriend. 

Haseul has to account for the other person sleeping right next to her. 

This change isn’t hard at all to make. In fact, it’s her favorite. 

Haseul ensures that each time Vivi opens her eyes, she’s welcomed by a pair of loving ones that meander down her body ravenously and adoringly all at the same time. 

“Good morning, gorgeous,” Haseul will utter in that hoarse, just-woke-up morning voice that drives Vivi absolutely bonkers. “How did you sleep?” 

Vivi’s response is typically a “good” or “well,” but drastically muffled because by then, Haseul is already pulling her in for an embrace and an “I love you.” 

This morning, Vivi doesn’t say it back - immediately, that is. 

“Good morning, gorgeous. How did you sleep?” Haseul stretches and blindly throws her arm around nothing but air. 

“Vivi?” Haseul questions what is clearly an empty space. “Vivi? Where are you?!” 

“I got out of bed early! I slept well, though! I’m cooking you breakfast right now!” Vivi yells from their distant kitchen. 

Haseul sighs in relief and her starved stomach whines for the delectable dishes produced by her aspiring chef of a girlfriend. 

“Ok!” Haseul shouts, “Just wanted to let you know I love you!” 

“I love you too! Now can you come here so we don’t have to keep straining our throats?” 

Haseul smiles. Her girlfriend makes her life so much easier in so many ways. 

Haseul goes about the aspects of her morning routine that are separate from Vivi (i.e. brushing her teeth and hair, dressing, aiming for 100 pushups and stopping breathless at 17) and arrives at the kitchen 10 minutes later. 

“Heyyyy what’s cookin, good lookin?” 

Vivi reduces the heat on the stove and turns around in her “Kiss the Cook” apron; she’s ever radiant and ever blanketed in flour. 

“Hi, honey!” Vivi says brightly, “I’ve made a big spread for you. Take a seat!”