Chapter Text
The studio fills with chatter as people file in, stretch, and indulge in idle conversation, a gentle blanket of calm before the stress of pickup and execution. To Minjeong, the bustle of the studio is familiar, and the lowfi playing softly in the background weaves into the conversations of the people around her, melding into a comforting soundscape of background noise. It was going to be fine. Fun, even. That was the point, right? To have fun?
It would have been even better, she thinks, if Yizhuo hadn’t ditched at the last minute after hyping up the class so much. Her floormate had been following the choreographer for a while, some big shot from Thailand, and oh my god, we have to take his class while we’re still here; his classes are always full back in Korea, and her excitement had been so infectious that Minjeong began to look forward to it too.
Well, as it turned out, she ditched. For a date, no less. A date with this girl who was in the same study abroad group, from the same uni too. They’d met during one of Minjeong’s gigs, and Yizhuo had spent more time flirting with her than touching up makeup like she was supposed to, but there were a whole twenty other people who were in line to take pictures and we can’t afford to be late, okay? Whatever. At least she won’t have to hear Yizhuo wax poetic about the girl any time she so much as smiled, but seeing as they were supposed to take this class together…
It’s not that she doesn’t like to dance. She does, loves it, actually, loves the exhilaration of performing, loves the way music moves her body from picturesque poses into dynamic movement, but still. Pickup was never her strong suit, and it wasn’t like this class was cheap, either. Something about this being marketed as masterclass, and that was intimidating enough for Minjeong to want Yizhuo there as well, because at the very least, if she was going to suffer, then she might as well do it in good company.
The music abruptly changes to something louder and upbeat, and the entire studio turns their attention to the front, facing the mirrors, where someone, Mr. Masterclass from Thailand, she supposes, begins to stretch. Ugh. She’s nervous, the kind that finds her right before an exam, lacing her breaths with shaky anticipation at the pit of her stomach.
Her eyes wander to the people in front of her, landing on a girl standing in the window a line ahead and to the right. She’s a little taller (and quite pretty too, Minjeong notes absentmindedly), about her age, standing with her back straight, shoulders relaxed, and radiating quiet confidence as she rolls her sleeves up in between stretches. The girl is wearing an oversized checkered flannel with the bottom half unbuttoned, revealing a sliver of skin between the cropped top underneath and her baggy parachute pants and oh –
She blinks in surprise when she catches the girl’s eyes through the mirror. Shit. Warmth rises to her cheeks, and she hopes that they can both pretend that she wasn’t just caught staring. At a complete stranger, too. But the girl smiles softly, maybe a little awkwardly, and Minjeong dips her head minutely in apology and offers a small smile of her own. She’s no Yizhuo, but at least this girl can offer some measure of camaraderie.
It’s going to be fine. How bad could it be?
***
It was, in fact, not fine. Not that the choreo is bad, far from it. It’s just that it’s really difficult. She felt her heart drop into her stomach when the teacher demoed the choreography, because he’s deceptively fluid before snapping stiff to hit a picture for a split second, then melting out of it only to go into such intricate footwork that she contemplated standing still out of spite. They’re only halfway through the first (needlessly dense, Minjeong thinks) section, and her brain already feels like it’s short-circuiting.
And yeah, it’s been almost a year since she’s danced at all, but Minjeong’s been dancing since she was eight, for fuck’s sake, and why does Mr. Masterclass have to keep teaching so damn quickly?
It doesn’t help that everyone around her seems to be fine. Flannel girl, the supposed company to her misery, is especially good. Annoyingly good. Minjeong watches as she picks up the piece with ease, fluid when needed, then almost frighteningly sharp, and ugh, she’s staring again.
The girl seems to notice her struggling and meets her eyes in the mirror again, offering a small smile of encouragement. Minjeong makes a face and rolls her eyes, tilting her head towards the teacher, and is met with an unreadable expression. She panics for a split second, before she’s rewarded with eyes curved into half moons, a bright smile, and flannel clad shoulders shaking softly with silent laughter.
You can do it, flannel girl mouths, and Minjeong flashes an appreciative grin.
Surprisingly, the rest of class seems to go by quickly. It’s not like she isn’t struggling, she is, but she finds herself having fun embracing the challenge. She and flannel girl communicate silently through the mirror, trading commiserating glances at particularly rough sections, the girl scrunching her nose and shaking her head slightly at her own mistakes.
It’s fun, having someone with her like this, conversing without words, pointing out their own mistakes with grimaces, and bolstering each other with soft smiles. After she finally nails the dreaded footwork section, flannel girl grins and mouths good job, eyes sparkling.
Minjeong ducks her head, a grin spreading across her face, trying her best to ignore the giddiness bubbling in her chest. Despite herself, Minjeong has to admit that the girl is, well, quite cute. You too, she responds, and the girl’s eyes curve into crescents again.
By the second water break, they’re about three-quarters through the piece and as Minjeong returns to her spot, savoring the last few moments of rest, she realizes just how warm she is. Around her, faces are rosy, breaths a little heavier with exertion, set to the gentle hum of a fan swiveling slowly back and forth, circulating a much welcomed stream of air. Outfits become more and more disheveled as sleeves are rolled up, sweatshirts are taken off, and t-shirts are tucked into bras. Minjeong feels a little gross, the sleeves of her hoodie beginning to stick to her forearms.
She threads an arm out, slinging the rest of the loose fabric over her shoulder. She’d only worn a bra top underneath and thanks her foresight, relishing in the way the circulating air feels against her torso. As she looks up, back towards the front, Minjeong notices that flannel girl is watching her through the mirror, glancing away a little too quickly as she looks over. Is that a shade of pink on her cheeks? Whatever. She’s been there before, and she finds that she doesn’t really mind either.
She scoffs to herself and registers a little late that the girl has tied her eponymous flannel around her waist, revealing a sleeveless crop top and toned arms, her shoulders shining a little with perspiration under the studio lights. This time Minjeong definitely has a blush of her own blooming across her face and she hopes she can blame it on the heat and the beginnings of exhaustion, because she feels a little dizzy, and maybe she searches a little too desperately for something, anything, to direct her attention away from flannel girl.
Her brain, ever helpful, decides to find the exposed column of the girl’s neck rather attractive and she willfully fixes her attention straight ahead.
Ugh.
***
Her phone is chirping with a flurry of Kakao notifications as soon as Minjeong gathers her things. Yizhuo and Ellis seemed to hit it off, evidently. She’s about to respond when a voice, low and feminine, cuts in.
“Excuse me, are you Korean?”
She turns and oh–
She’s met with quite possibly the prettiest face she’s ever seen. Flannel girl is standing before her in all her sweaty post class glory, her bangs slightly disheveled, eyes feline with curiosity and maybe a little shy. There’s a beauty mark by the left corner of her mouth, and Minjeong wonders what it would be like to—
“Ah, sorry, asking is a bit weird. It’s just –”
“Yes! I mean- yes, um, yeah, I am!” she stammers, a little too loudly. Her brain stutters to catch up with her mouth, and she notes that the girl’s English is accented. “How can I help?” she asks in Korean.
The girl’s eyes crinkle prettily with her smile and she launches into a torrent of words, clearly excited to speak her native language.
“Oh, my god, thank you so much! I’m visiting, and there’s this restaurant?” She holds her phone up and Minjeong recognizes the storefront. “I heard that it’s supposed to be really good, and I’ve been craving food from home, but I’m terrible with directions.” She pauses and glances sheepishly at the floor. “And, um, sorry for startling you earlier…I’m Jimin, by the way.”
Minjeong kind of hates how endearing she is.
“Minjeong. And no worries, but not to disappoint you, if you know what Korean food is supposed to taste like, they almost never get it right over here.”
Jimin raises an eyebrow at her, amused.
“Ah, really? Is there a better place?”
“Yeah, there’s really good galbitang at 23rd and—”
“Why don’t you take me there?” she cuts in cheekily. “If you’re free, of course.” There’s a playful smirk dimpling Jimin’s cheeks, and this stunning girl is totally hitting on her, and why not? It’s not like Minjeong is doing anything else today.
***
The restaurant is a short bus ride away, and on the way there Minjeong learns a little more about Jimin. She’s from Suwon, it’s her last day in the States but she was visiting for her sister’s graduation, and when Minjeong had mentioned that she’s here to study abroad and asked what Jimin was studying, she’d vaguely mentioned something about performing arts.
Minjeong thinks that suits her, and says so as the waitress walks off with their orders.
“Really? Thank you.” she says, smiling genuinely.
“The way you dance, you belong on stage,” Minjeong says earnestly.
There’s a faraway look on Jimin’s eyes. “I’d hope so,” she says, and trails off. She shakes her head, and she’s smiling again. “You’re pretty good too, Minjeong. Do you have other hobbies? Besides dancing?”
“Oh, I take photos.”
Jimin quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. “Are you pursuing photography?”
“Well, not really, but I like it. I get paid sometimes too, but I’m not sure I want to hard launch it as a career.” She sips at her boricha and shrugs. “To me, photo and dance are pretty similar, as weird as it sounds. Like, some people think that photos are static snapshots of a scene, but there’s a million different options for artistic expression in a single photograph, just like how there're so many ways to interpret choreographed moves.”
Minjeong’s not sure why she’s sharing so much, but Jimin looks invested, nodding along with her words, eyes sparkling with interest. “What about you? Why,” she waves her hand vaguely, “performing arts?”
Jimin shrugs.
“I always loved performing. Wanting to do it onstage was a natural extension, and my sister was always the smart one anyway, more so now that she has two degrees.” The faraway look returns for a split second, but she grins and continues. “I get what you mean about artistic expression though…there’s so much you can do with choreo, so I can only imagine how much more you can play with framing and camera settings for photos, and, oh, isn’t there post-processing too?”
“Mm, yeah, editing can be a lot, but I love looking through raw photos. There’s,” Minjeong pauses, wondering if she's about to make it weird by oversharing. Whatever. “There’s…something special about finding a photo taken at exactly just the right time, like you’re taking a moment that would have passed in the blink of an eye, but now it’s immortalized forever.”
She shouldn’t have worried. Jimin looks impressed, and Minjeong catches her mumbling something under her breath.
“Hmm?”
“Oh, its– there’s this concept, rubato. The way you described taking photos reminded me of it.” Jimin shrugs at her questioning expression. “It’s this Italian word, in classical music, I think. You know how it is with music and how much they love their European words.”
It hits her then, just how easy this feels. Minjeong’s never really felt this comfortable with someone she’s just met, but now she’s pouring her heart out about her passion for the arts, and Jimin seems genuinely interested from the way she’s nodding along at all the right moments and asking questions that Minjeong is more than happy to answer.
And when they’re done eating, Jimin pays and waves off her attempt to pay for her half, saying that it's the least she could do for showing her this place. Minjeong likes it, likes how Jimin is a little chivalrous in the way she had grabbed an extra piece of candy for her when she was at the register, how she noticed how much Minjeong liked the boricha and got up to get her an extra cup, and how she held the door open for her as they left.
So when Jimin frowns at her phone and says the airline canceled her redeye back to Gimpo six hours before takeoff, moving it to tomorrow afternoon, it’s all too easy for Minjeong to take her hand and ask if Jimin wants to spend the night at her place. Jimin smiles at her, thankful, then quirks an eyebrow at her suggestively.
Minjeong smacks her arm with her free hand and laughs, something warm blooming in her chest despite the chill in the autumn air, and their hands stay intertwined on the bus ride back.
And when they’re at the door of Minjeong’s unit, she looks down the hall to make sure nobody is around, then fists her hands into Jimin’s coat and pulls her down.
She tastes like barley tea and sweet strawberry candy and flavored lip gloss and Minjeong wants.
***
She doesn’t normally do this, and yet. Jimin is sitting at her desk, hair still slightly damp, face softer without makeup. As soon as she'd closed the door of her suite behind her, Jimin had pressed her into a hungry kiss, plush lips hot and eager against hers, hands circling her waist as Minjeong reached up and tangled her fingers in Jimin’s hair, pulling her even closer. It was addictive, kissing this girl, and she needed more, more –
Until Jimin had suddenly pulled away, eyes bashful. Minjeong had to suppress the whine in her throat, frustrated at the lack of contact. “Sorry,” Jimin said, and despite everything, she had found it adorable. “I don’t normally do this.”
Well. That made two of them. As it turned out, Jimin shyly asked to shower first. “Before we do anything”, because “I’m still gross from class”, followed by another kiss, slower and sensual this time, and it had left Minjeong reeling. Jimin had traced a line with her lips delicately from the corner of her mouth, across her cheek, until she was flush against her ear.
“I’ll freshen up for you, hmm?” she’d rasped into her ear, low and sultry, and Minjeong had nodded, as if in a daze. She couldn’t wrap her head around this girl, adorably shy one second, and the next…
Jimin had kissed her breathless as soon as she left the shower, until Minjeong had pushed her away, feigning annoyance and slipping into the bathroom to wash up. Either way, they’re here now, freshly showered and in pajamas and they haven’t even done anything beyond kissing yet. One-night stands don’t usually feel, well, domestic, do they?
She somehow manages to look ethereal in the soft lighting, knees hugging her chest, face scrunched in concentration at some game on her phone. Her sleep shirt drapes off of one shoulder, revealing the graceful curve between her neck and shoulder, an expanse of skin that she can’t tear her eyes from. Minjeong swallows.
As she steps through the bathroom doorway and into her room, Jimin looks up. She catches Minjeong staring too, but they’re past pretending not to notice by now. She’s staring back, eyes flicking up and down unabashedly. Satisfaction swells in Minjeong’s chest at the way Jimin’s cheeks flush pink as her eyes skim over her baggy t-shirt, then down to her shorts, and finally, her bare legs. She wants to laugh at herself, because, really, she doesn’t normally do this, and yet, she’d chosen an old shirt with the fabric worn thin and the shortest pair of sleep shorts she owns.
At least it had the desired effect. She can tell it takes the girl some effort to meet her eyes. There’s a moment, electric, as they hold eye contact for just a second too long, and the intensity in Jimin’s eyes leaves Minjeong a little breathless.
“Um,” she offers unhelpfully, breaking the tension. Ugh, why is this awkward now?
Jimin didn’t seem to mind though, and she tilts her head inquisitively. Cute.
“Do you want to watch something? I have some wine too, if you want.” She cringes internally at the cliche, but Jimin just smiles at her, eyes once again curving into crescents, and it relaxes Minjeong a little.
“I’d love to,” she says, voice tinged slightly with amusement, “and some wine would be lovely.” Minjeong fetches two glasses and a bottle of red, and she sets everything on her desk, gesturing for Jimin to serve herself before turning around and rooting around in her bag.
“Making me do all the work, princess?” God, she can hear the smirk. She turns around, making sure that the girl can see her roll her eyes.
“If I’m really a princess, then you’d be glad to,” Minjeong scoffs. That gets a laugh out of Jimin. “Besides, I’m getting my laptop. What do you want to watch?”
“Is Culinary Class Wars okay?”
“I’ve never fucked to a cooking show before, but I guess there’s a first time for everything,” she snarks back.
Jimin dissolves into a fit of giggles. “For someone I met a few hours ago, you’re kind of a brat,” she says over the sound of glasses filling, and Minjeong rolls her eyes again.
“Don’t pour too much. You’ll stain my sheets and we can have more later anyway.”
“And here I thought we were going to be at your desk, but since you’re so eager to get in bed…” Jimin teases, a smile playing on her lips.
She’s clearly enjoying this, and Minjeong would be lying if she said it wasn’t fun. But still. She wonders for the umpteenth time if this, this familiarity, this push and pull, is normal to have with someone you met about five hours ago and brought home to sleep with. It’s certainly a first for her, but it’s not like she has that many hookups to look back on.
***
They don’t even get halfway through an episode before Minjeong absolutely cannot focus on the show anymore. They’re in bed, propped up by pillows, balancing the laptop on their legs over her blanket. Jimin has an arm around her waist, pressing them together. Her hand snuck under her t-shirt about ten minutes ago, settling on Minjeong’s hip bone, right above the waistband of her shorts, and she’s rubbing slow circles into her skin.
It’s driving her crazy, and she feels a little dizzy, from the proximity, from the arm wrapped snugly around her waist that feels better than she’d like to admit, from the empty wine glass now sitting on the nightstand (she’d only had half a glass, but she’d always been a lightweight), from the way she’s aching for Jimin to slip her hand lower.
She shivers involuntarily when Jimin scratches lightly at her hip with her thumbnail and glances over. Jimin is sipping at her second glass of wine, feigning nonchalance. Unsuccessfully too; Minjeong had caught her sneaking glances. The t-shirt hangs off her shoulder, tantalizing, and she desperately wants Jimin’s skin on her lips.
“Jimin,” she says purposefully, hoping that her neediness isn’t too apparent.
It comes out breathier than she would like.
Jimin sets her wine glass down on the nightstand and looks over. God, she can see the smirk forming. Her lips part, and before she can say something, something undoubtedly irritating, Minjeong reaches over, closes the laptop, and sets it on the nightstand while caging Jimin in with her thighs all in one deft movement. Satisfaction coils warm in her chest as the other girl’s breath catches, eyes wide with surprise.
Settling in her lap, Minjeong looks down, pink dusting Jimin’s cheeks prettily as she gazes back at her through long lashes. With eyes dark and plush lips parted, Jimin brings a hand to the nape of Minjeong’s neck, softly caressing sensitive skin, and everything is so warm. Jimin is so beautiful, radiant in the way water lilies blossom to greet the morning sun’s soft rays, and Minjeong can’t think about anything else, can’t tear her eyes away, can’t help but lose herself in the girl in front of her.
She’s not sure who leans in first, but suddenly their lips are pressed together, moving hungrily against each other. Jimin tastes of wine and molten desire, and it stokes the heat building at her core. Minjeong buries her hands in the silk of Jimin’s hair, deepening the kiss, pressing closer still, savoring the girl’s soft whines as she tugs at her scalp. Suddenly, there’s a pair of hands slipping under her shirt, cool against her feverish skin. The sudden contact is electric against her bare skin as long fingers trace the curve of her waist. Minjeong moans against Jimin’s lips, breathless.
She pulls back, panting softly, and she barely has time to catch her breath before plush lips press against her jaw. Minjeong can’t help the moan that spills out as she tilts her head, giving Jimin room to mouth at the sensitive skin of her neck. When she reaches her pulse point, she nips, and Minjeong whines at the sting of Jimin’s teeth. Her tongue, hot and wet, soothes the spot just as the hands at her waist stop their ministrations and grip. Jimin presses down and Minjeong obliges, rolling her hips and grinding against the girl’s bare thigh.
Pleasure courses through her body and her grip on Jimin’s hair tightens as Minjeong grinds down again, chasing the feeling. She needs more, more, doesn’t care how desperate she might look, and it’s so good, Jimin’s being so good to her, guiding her hips down with steady hands and lavishing kisses at her neck.
“Minjeong-ah,” Jimin husks, voice deepened with desire, and Minjeong isn’t quite sure at which point she became Minjeong-ah, but the nickname ignites a warmth in her chest, unfamiliar yet comforting, that she can’t quite place. Hookups don’t usually feel like this, do they?
The thought is quickly banished as she rolls her hips down again, and the jolt of pleasure is almost overwhelming. She’s so close, but she wants more, craves the contact of bare skin against her own, needs to lose herself in heated desire. Minjeong drops a hand to the neckline of Jimin’s t-shirt, tugging at the fabric.
“Off,” she gasps, and Jimin nods, drawing back to pull the shirt off, and Minjeong’s t-shirt and shorts join it on the floor. The air is cool against her flushed skin, and Minjeong doesn’t miss the way Jimin’s eyes rake over her hungrily.
“Minjeong-ah,” she says again, and the timbre of her voice makes something deep inside her buzz with desire. “Can you come like this?”
Minjeong answers her with a searing kiss, holding Jimin close and rutting desperately against her thigh. Jimin’s bare skin is just as feverish as hers, deliciously soft against her body, and Minjeong tightens her embrace, pressing even closer. She almost comes right then and there when she feels Jimin moan at the contact. She’s so close, hips stuttering, kisses becoming sloppy as she moans against soft lips. Jimin takes it all in stride, hands strong around her waist, anchoring her as she licks into Minjeong’s mouth, and it’s suddenly all too much and a choked moan spills from her throat into the kiss as pleasure wracks her body.
It’s so good, and Jimin hasn’t even touched her properly yet. She buries her face in Jimin’s neck, gasping for air, and she can faintly make out her voice, soft and comforting as her hands run up and down her back.
“Minjeong, baby, do you think you have another one in you?”
It does something to her, Jimin’s gentleness. She doesn’t want to think about it. Not now. She hums a yes against her collarbone and shudders as a hand slips in between her legs.
Jimin pauses right at her opening, teasing her with slender fingers and Minjeong‘s mounting desire peaks into heated frustration.
“Jimin,” she whispers against creamy skin, a bit too close to a whine for her liking.
“Minjeong,” Jimin replies, voice sultry and teasing.
She’s so annoying. Minjeong finds her voice again, frustration fiery in her tone.
“Get on with it. ”
“I’m not sure what you want, baby. You’ll have to use your words.” Her smirk is audible, mischievous and honey-sweet.
A finger moves to brush against her clit and Minjeong jolts, burying her face into Jimin’s shoulder. She nips at bare skin in retaliation. Jimin hisses softly at the sensation but continues to stroke languidly at her opening. It’s getting unbearable now, and it’s about time she gave in, isn’t it?
“Need you. Need your fingers inside, please.”
Jimin hums, pleased, and presses two fingers inside of her. Minjeong gasps, savoring the stretch, and arching her back as Jimin’s fingers curl into her. Slowly, she increases her pace, pressing deeper and faster with each thrust. The sensation is euphoric, pleasure hot and consuming like tongues of flame, and Minjeong moans every time long fingers curl into her, stars flashing at the corners of her vision when Jimin presses against something deep within.
She lavishes messy, open mouthed kisses on Jimin’s neck, shoulder, anywhere she can reach, and a sudden brush to her clit causes another jolt of pleasure that makes her bite down in surprise. Minjeong latches on, sucking at sensitive skin and the gasp that spills from the girl under her has her drenching Jimin’s hand.
Jimin presses another finger into her, and Minjeong knows that it won’t be long now. Her breath is ragged, moans filling her room as she grinds down, needing more, her nails digging into Jimin’s back as she gasps and begs incoherently.
“I-I’m so close, please, Jimin, I need it, unnie, please—“
Oh. The honorific slipped out involuntarily, and Minjeong wasn’t even aware that it was something she was into. She doesn’t have much time to be embarrassed though, because Jimin presses her hand against her clit, and oh, it’s so much more intense this time. Pleasure consumes her thoughts and jolts through her body and it’s all so deliciously overwhelming. Minjeong buries her face into the other girl, biting down on the sensitive juncture between her shoulder and neck, sobbing out moans into skin that is sure to bruise.
Through it all, Jimin is there, holding her steady and stable as Minjeong rides out her orgasm. Her free hand runs up and down her back, soothing feverish skin. She shudders when Jimin gently slips out from inside her and Minjeong presses closer, seeking comfort as her breathing evens out.
She’s a smaller than Jimin, her frame daintier, and it’s so nice to be held like this, slotted perfectly against the other girl’s body, engulfed in her embrace. Time seems to melt away, their breaths becoming a gentle rhythm to guide a world of their own. Minjeong doesn’t care, content to stay basking in the scent of lavender body wash.
After what feels like an eternity and yet also no time at all, Jimin speaks, gentle as blossoms floating to the ground.
“You’re so pretty, Minjeong-ah, so beautiful, you did so well…”
Jimin’s voice is soft, tinged at the corners with something a little like awe, and that strange warmth blooms in her chest again. This feels so…different. Different from every time she’s brought someone home to sleep with.
She sits back to look the other girl in the eyes, and Jimin reaches out to brush her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. The action feels so intimate, and, well, all of this, whatever it is, does. Jimin’s words make her feel so pretty, prettier than she’s ever felt with anyone else, and maybe it’s because they’re doing this without a lick of makeup on their faces, or maybe it’s because she treats her so well, looks at her with stars in her eyes despite being strangers not so long ago.
Minjeong’s not going to think about it.
She leans in, pressing her mouth first at her beauty mark, then against prettily swollen lips, and pulls Jimin down until the girl is lying under her. Her eyes are wide, dark with lust and anticipation, neck littered with marks, red roses against creamy skin. It would be too easy, Minjeong thinks, to keep staring, to lose herself in the girl’s beauty, and she doesn’t want to think about the enormity of it all.
She settles for sliding her hand up Jimin’s thighs, savoring the whine that slips from delicately parted lips.
***
The blare of an alarm wakes her up, and Minjeong blinks groggily as she gets her bearings. It’s so warm, and the embrace of sleep is calling to her, and she wants nothing more than to close her eyes and drift off if it weren’t for the stupid fucking alarm.
She sits up, and oh.
Jimin’s arm slips away from around her waist as she stirs, grabbing the phone and shutting off the alarm, cursing under her breath.
“What time is it?” Minjeong mumbles, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
Jimin squints at her phone.
“Shit. It’s ten-thirty,” she grumbles. She meets Minjeong’s eyes, and despite everything, something flutters in her chest. “I need to get to the airport, and, um, do you think I could shower before I go?”
Minjeong hums, and nods, still half asleep, and Jimin pauses, deliberating, before pulling away, taking her warmth with her. It’s not until she hears the sound of running water that Minjeong finally begins to process what happened last night.
There are two wine glasses and her laptop on the nightstand, and she can see clothes strewn haphazardly on the floor. Shit. She can’t deny that she likes Jimin, likes how she makes her feel comfortable enough to open up so readily, spilling her vulnerabilities and passions, and she likes the way Jimin blooms in response.
But. She’s clearly leaving, and Minjeong is stuck here, until well into next year. Besides, it was just a one night stand. It’s fine.
Minjeong sighs and gets up, gets dressed, and trudges over to the sink to wash the wine glasses.
Jimin steps out of the shower fifteen minutes later and slips her coat on from where it hung next to the door. Her bags are already by the door and Minjeong watches as she digs through her luggage for a scarf and bundles herself in it, hating the awkwardness in the air.
“Um,” Jimin says, breaking the silence. “Thank you for letting me spend the night, and, I had a really good time, and I think you’re really great, but, uh, yeah…” She gestures to her luggage and trails off.
Minjeong follows her gaze to the stack of post-its sitting at her desk.
“It’s no problem, and last night was…nice,” she says, and looks away.
“Sorry, I can give you my—”
“It’s fine, I know how this works. And it’s okay, you know. You have to go home and I’m stuck here. I get it.” A twinge of disappointment almost catches in her throat, but her voice comes out stable.
Jimin, though, seems to have no reservations, her disappointment plain on her face. Minjeong notices she’s looking over at the post-its again.
She shakes her head slightly, and frowns, grabbing her things.
“Bye, Minjeong,” she says softly, and Minjeong nods in response, turning to the window as the front door closes.
Outside, snowflakes begin to fall.