Archive of Our Own

It’s Cho Sang-woo’s birthday.

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Rocks. Fucking rocks are being pelted at Sang-woo’s window, and it’s her birthday. 

Huffing lightly, she pads over to her closed window and pushes it open a little to discover the culprit. 

Of course, who could it be, other than her beloved best friend, Gi-hun. 

“Happy birthday, Sang-woo-ya!” Gi-hun exclaims up to the slightly ajar window. 

“Couldn’t you have come inside?” Sang-woo shouts back down, opening up the window entirely and sticking her head through so she can get a better look at her.

“That’s no fun.” Gi-hun replies, smiling pretty dazzlingly. 

Sang-woo’s mouth dries up a little.

She’s got a new, dark lipstick on, and her hair is styled beautifully, with a 70s blowout sort of style — that she would’ve definitely learned how to do herself — that suits her new haircut incredibly. It’s left her with a mullet-style shag cut — something that has only recently come back into fashion, and Sang-woo thinks it’s a perfect look on her.  The stylist chopped a good few inches off, bringing her mane up to her collarbone, with a delightfully swooshy fringe that falls into her eyes if she doesn’t fitfully sweep it away.

Contrastingly, Sang-woo doesn’t style her hair all that much. Experimenting with her appearance has never come easy to her – she hates change. She takes a brush to her long straight black locks, that fall way past her shoulders, smooths and tames them out. They’re always trimmed at the same length, routinely, on the same day, every six weeks, and she will always request the same block bangs of jet-black, striking and unusual.

She doesn’t wear much makeup, apart from an occasional stroke of mascara here and there, since Gi-hun told her it made her eyes “pop” underneath her thin-rimmed spectacles. And any compliment from Gi-hun is worth catering to, of course.

She has no other interest in glamorising her appearance, and she’s fine with the “drab" look she’s been told she has by previous bullies or discouraging acquaintances. 

Looking glamorous doesn’t necessarily make you successful.

“I’m taking you out,” Gi-hun claims, confidence lacing her tone, and, like she almost forgot about them, swiftly presents a bouquet of the most beautiful red roses, and a small wrapped gift — a mysterious flat cuboid shape — with the hand not holding excessive pebbles to continue throwing up at Sang-woo’s window. “Oh! And these! These are for you.”

Sang-woo doesn’t know how to react to this. It happens often enough, where Gi-hun will buy a gift for her. She’ll insist that it’s not a big deal, and Sang-woo just has to accept that Gi-hun does care about her. She often pushes the affection away, not wanting to accept that she is loved, and Gi-hun lets it be known anyway.

“I’ll let you in,” Sang-woo says, a little quieter this time. She’s touched, really. 

“Please do – it’s starting to rain, and it’s gonna fuck up my hair!”

Sang-woo opens the door to see Gi-hun grinning cheekily at her, and she throws herself at her before Sang-woo can even register it. 

“I’ve missed you,” She mutters, muffled from Sang-woo’s shoulder. 

“You too,” she hugs back effortlessly, sighing with relief. 

When Gi-hun pulls back, she thrusts the gifts into Sang-woo’s hands, unable to wait any longer. “Here.”

Sang-woo eyes Gi-hun suspiciously, before surrendering and accepting the gifts hesitantly. 

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” She says sheepishly, slowly tearing the paper away from the mystery gift. 

Gi-hun scoffs disbelievingly. “Yes, I did.“

But as Sang-woo’s present is revealed, she turns completely silent.

Gi-hun scratches the back of her neck nervously. “Yeah, uhm… do you remember when you told me about that tape? The Bjork-“

“No way.”

“-cassette… yeah.”

“The limited edition recording of Post.” She states dumbly, more to herself than anybody else. 

The infamous, bright neon, futuristic album cover enraptures her, staring her in the face, just as it did the first day she saw it. On the shelf in their local music store, it caught her eye for more than just a couple of brief moments. Minutes passed of her gawking at the artwork alone.

But the blurred, colourful images are not all that feels so relevant to Sang-woo at this very moment. The distorted imagery of home-sent postcards peeking out from the background which denote Bjork missing Iceland – her home. The collapsing house of cards – chaos found when her foundation is smashed to the ground. It all hits far too close to home, feeling too familiar to her life at university, and Sang-woo rapidly blinks away the stinging at the corners of her eyes.

“The only one left in the world.” Gi-hun affirms, grinning from ear to ear. As Sang-woo stares unwaveringly down at her new cassette, Gi-hun grows slightly insecure about the gift from the lack of response she received from Sang-woo.

“Sang-woo? Are you okay-” she’s cut off by strong arms wrapping around her shoulders, and a face being pressed into the side of her neck. Gi-hun responds by hugging her back tightly. 

“Thank you, unnie.” Sang-woo whispers, her voice tight and airy, like her throat is impossibly choked with all of the things she wants to say to her. Nevertheless, she finds the necessary, refined words, through the clenched, constricted path.

“This is the most thoughtful gift I have ever… ever, received.”

Gi-hun exaggerates a faux sigh of relief, and claps a hand on Sang-woo’s shoulder. “Thank fuck. Thought I went too far this time.”

Sang-woo didn’t deserve any money spent on her, not in her mind anyway. If Gi-hun knew that was how she truly felt, she would beg to differ.

“Where on earth did you find it? This must’ve cost you a fortune.” Sang-woo hisses incredulously. It’s the most passionate Gi-hun’s seen Sang-woo in a while. “You really shouldn’t have.”

“Ah, I don’t mind,” Gi-hun says, waving her hands around to drive the point home. 

“It’s your special birthday, after all.” 

As it would be predicted for a rookie drinker, Cho Sang-woo is a massive lightweight.

Especially, having grown up being a mummy's girl, and having said mother be ultimately protective, she never had the chance to have an underage drink with Gi-hun, her best friend. Having been a year younger than Gi-hun, she grew up, enviously watching her be allowed to drink to her heart's content. 

What made it infinitely worse was the way that Gi-hun would brag about it each time she was going out, leaving Sang-woo feeling hotheaded and jealous during the nights where she had to stay in instead, alone. 

Even when she moved to university, she wasn't sociable enough to find the opportunity to drink in social settings, and she’s too anxious to seek out the means of buying a drink illegally, so she simply remained sober. 

Easy enough, right?

So, when her 19th birthday comes around in December, and Gi-hun has been legally drinking for at least a year, plus the many years of her reckless underage drinking that had occurred before, it's safe to say Gi-hun is dragging her out her childhood home’s front door to their closest bar. 

She was relentless, and Sang-woo let herself be dragged.

She didn't mind. Really.

When they sit at the dingy bar, and Gi-hun reels off an order of two bottles of soju to the friendly bartender — irritatingly male and stupidly attractive, with his long hair and gorgeous dark features, and to make matters worse, clearly into Gi-hun — Sang-woo's hands grows clammy, and she has no clue what — or where — she is.

19.

It’s a big change. She’s already in university, having just begun her first semester, without making many close connections, hence why her birthday is, as usual, being spent in Ssangmun-dong, rather than in the bustling heart of Seoul.

Seoul was too… lively. Too bright, colourful, chatty, for her.

She doesn't feel like she had a place to belong, in that city. Not in her dormitory, with a selfish roommate who takes up more space than designated. Not on her street a ten minute bike ride from the university, with two convenience stores — what was the point of having two in the span of 20 metres? — four high-end bars, and two bus stops. It just wasn’t the sort of place she saw herself living, and she can’t thrive somewhere like there.

She only really leaves her room to go to university for her mandatory lectures, her part-time job at one of those far-too-glamorous bars on her street, or catch the train to Ssangmun-dong to then meet her eomma or, most likely, Seong Gi-hun.

And that may beg the question — what on earth, if anything, is remotely appealing about a friendship with the most irritatingly talkative girl in Ssangmun-dong — correction, in the province of Seoul — if she hates the bright and colourful Seoul? Gi-hun is the absolute mirror image of what the city of Seoul is, characteristically, anthropologically, literally.

The two girls are two sides of two completely different coins, discovered in fountains across the world from each other. 

One absolutely polished, pure, unmarred and untouched, just newly produced and gently tossed away with the projection of a hopeful and productive wish, maybe into a glorious and grand fountain such as the Trevi. Classy and bound for success.

The other, absolutely rusted over, marred by the years of resting underneath the water. Maybe she was thrown in mindlessly, no wish tacked onto the toss, and buried underneath the abundance of other rusting coins. Dare-devilish, reckless, and endlessly fun as she is, Gi-hun has been doing this for a while. 

This, as in, acting … well, her age. 

She’s 20 years old, not a middle-aged woman who’s sworn to her couch, a ball of yarn and ten cats. 

She gets out, she drinks, maybe she dabbles in the casual usage of some drugs here and there — who’s to really blame her — she has a lot of fun, she gambles from time to time — sue her!! — she sleeps with random men — she’s not a slut — and she loves her life.

It’s not like she’s a leech on society. 

She works hard, too, and she’s extremely well-liked by her fellow colleagues. Even if she’s not seen as successful by the opinions of old classmates who have surpassed her in brains and vocation, she’s wealthy in her amicable connections, her heart, her life. 

Evidently, when compared to Sang-woo, there’s a certain shift between the two girls.

Sang-woo never had a logical answer for why they’re friends, only a sentimental one.

At night in Seoul, she'll stare at her ceiling in her cramped dormitory, surrounded by loud and aggressive bars, after working tirelessly in one way or another, waiting for sleep to take her under the waters. But it never comes. 

She finds herself, at the unsociable hour of 3am, plagued with thoughts of what could've been had she stayed in Ssangmun-dong. 

What if she never chose to take up her degree? What if she, instead, moved in with Gi-hun in Ssangmun-dong, and they started their life there? She could've set up a business with her best friend. 

She could've had a life.

Instead, she chose this life, if you can call it that. 

She chose a hellish reality, in which the space for creativity rapidly diminishes as you progress through your university years, and you're slotted into a box of equality. 

Equality… it’s not equality, though. It’s much more akin to a removal of individualism, and that grinds Sang-woo’s gears more than anything else.

Equality, that's fine, sure — but not when you want to — need to, be the best, and set apart from the others. And for Sang-woo, this was the most strikingly depressing quality.

Nobody’s unique anymore. 

And being back in Ssangmun-dong, maybe there’s where she’s always belonged. 

"Sang-woo-ya!"

Sang-woo looks up from her barely-touched bottle to Gi-hun who’s smiling down at her. Reality eluded her for a while, and she was slowed right down by a mere daydream. She blinks owlishly.

“You okay?”

In spite of each unwelcome, invasive thought permeating her mind, Sang-woo lies and nods anyway. 

It won’t make a difference.

The bar rapidly grows busier, and with the increasing clientele, Sang-woo tries to keep herself distracted from the bustling atmosphere by keeping up with Gi-hun's drinking intake. Gi-hun notices this early on, and slows right down. She doesn’t want Sang-woo to black out — especially not on her birthday. 

Meanwhile, Sang-woo’s first experience with alcohol being shots might not have been the sharpest idea. 

The taste is overly chemical and artificial, as if she’s downing a whole bottle of rubbing alcohol. It’s not pleasant, at all, and it stings her throat when swallowed down. The worst part is how slowly it trickles down, leaving an infinite trail of what honestly feels like tiny first-degree burns. 

Despite the burning sensation, she always craves a cigarette. Even with the adversity to alcohol, she’s always got a cigarette on hand. There’s a certain solace she gains from dragging on a cigarette — Gi-hun was the first person to offer her a cigarette, in fact.

She truly can’t see the appeal, but she wants to finish the bottle. It was Gi-hun’s treat, after all. 

And not to mention, with them shotting the drink,  the soju’s effect is taking its toll rapidly.

Even with the usual expectation of alcohol being able to loosen people up, Sang-woo’s not so talkative, tonight.

Gi-hun knows, knows so well, that in atmospheres with such a bustling environment, Sang-woo is bound to feel a little bit uncomfortable. The alcohol seems to be helping slightly, but a sense of guilt sets in for Gi-hun as she comes to terms with how she dragged her here, on such a special day. 

"What's on your mind, Sang-woo? I can tell something's worrying you," Gi-hun comments, pouring a little more soju for the two of them into their shot cups. 

As the older one in their friendship, she's always taken care of Sang-woo, even if Sang-woo is more than capable of taking care of herself on her own, thank you very much. Hence why these questions tend to come out often, and they still get under Sang-woo’s skin anyway, even if Sang-woo has become increasingly accustomed to them now.

Sang-woo shakes her head, hair falling over her shoulders, as she puts back the poured shot and slams it back down onto the table, making Gi-hun's own shot glass, still filled to the brim, rattle a little. 

She winces slightly, but is already reacting far less than she originally did to her first shot.

"Nothing's on my mind." She responds defiantly, but looks incredibly defensive already.

"You're such a bad liar." Gi-hun instantly shoots back, and leans in so that their noses are almost touching.

"I know when you're lying to me." Gi-hun grins, relishing in seeing Sang-woo's face turn tomato-red from embarrassment. 

For Gi-hun, the stakes aren’t as high. It's the mid-90s, and two girls with their faces this close together could be chastised on the spot. 

Of course, Sang-woo cares deeply about her reputation, far more than Gi-hun seems to care about her own, and with that, Sang-woo tries her absolute hardest to ensure that nothing she does in public attracts the negative attention of bystanders who may be "traditionally-minded". Especially in a little province such as Ssangmun-dong.

Gi-hun doesn't know — will never know — the full extent of the effort Sang-woo goes to in order to mask her sexuality, or herself in general. Particularly when she’s around Gi-hun herself. 

It's never been something Gi-hun has ever seemed to struggle with. Probably because she's as straight as an arrow. 

It's a shock Gi-hun hasn't seemed to catch onto her adversity towards any public platonic affection that she seems to exhibit, and that she doesn't tease her for it. Even if she does know what she is, she doesn't let on at all, and Sang-woo is secretly grateful for that.

"It's just really loud and busy. That's all." Sang-woo responds, working her jaw in irritation, trying to keep their eye contact but failing miserably.

Gi-hun's grin falls slightly.

"Sorry, Sang-woo. Shall we move to another bar?" she offers, moving her face a small distance away but knocking her knee into her thigh lightly, a sign of reassurance.

"No, no, that's…" Sang-woo swallows, and brushes her leg back, mirroring Gi-hun's action. "That's okay. We can stay here."

"Do you fancy our bartender? Is that it?" Gi-hun teases, poking her arm. Another blatant sign of Gi-hun never catching onto Sang-woo’s sexuality (a private win, for her). 

"What?! No!" Sang-woo exclaims, blushing deeply again. It’s a distraction, at least.

The male bartender milling close to them doesn't show that he can hear their conversation, but it would be obvious to anybody not hammered that he hears every single word coming out of their mouths. He’s just focused on his job.

"Are you sure?" Gi-hun continues, and starts to tickle Sang-woo. Sang-woo squeals, and nearly tips off her stool.

"Stop it, unnie!" Sang-woo protests, starting to stand up. "I need the bathroom."

"Let me come with you, don't leave me on my own," Gi-hun whines, trailing after Sang-woo. She's significantly taller than Gi-hun, so she really has to try in order to keep up with her.

—

They stand together, washing their hands in the bathroom basins before Gi-hun turns to Sang-woo.

"Wait, Sang-woo, you've got a little-" Gi-hun starts when she notices a speck of mascara that's caught onto her lip, and raises her hand to flick it off.

Accidentally, and to the detriment of her task, Sang-woo's caught in her eye. Gi-hun sees her all-too intense gaze directed lower than her eyes, to her lips, and she panics internally. This happens more often than they'd both like to admit — the awkward eye contact, the occasional drift of the eyes to the other's mouth, maybe the gentle brush of their noses.

Of course, nothing's ever happened.

They’ve never done any more than hold hands.

Gi-hun's been on and off with a few boys from the beginning of high school, so she’s practically always unavailable. Meanwhile, Sang-woo's never shown interest in anybody, not even a boy. 

Lesbian relationships are extremely rare in their town anyway, and especially being caught in a public bar bathroom like this where simply anybody could walk in and see them, that would be disastrous for both girls' reputations. 

Sang-woo’s academic standing would be shattered on the spot, instantly eliminating her from a spot in a career field she strives to enter, and Gi-hun’s social standing would face undesirable consequences for decades, so much so that she would probably classified as a loner, if they were outed as lesbians.

So no, of course nothing's ever happened between them.

Even if it's something that plays on both of their minds in secret more often than they'd like to admit to, nothing's ever happened.

Even if it would be far too easy — and tempting — to press a kiss against Sang-woo's lips right now, Gi-hun doesn't. 

Even if in her mind right now, all she can think about is what Sang-woo would taste like, how soft her lips are, what it would be like to be her first kiss…

Gi-hun shakes her head with more force than intended, and gently brushes the debris off Sang-woo's lip with the pad of her thumb, mindful to not let her hand linger in such close proximity to Sang-woo. 

"There you go." she whispers, smiling stiffly and pulling back, trying to play it cool.

Sang-woo breaks out of her trance, clears her throat and takes a step back to inspect herself in the mirror. "Thank you, unnie." she responds, with too much faux formality in her tone. 

Thankfully, they've been on their own in this bathroom for the whole time, and if something did happen to occur between the two girls, the rest of the bar would be none the wiser upon re-entering.

Still, Gi-hun breaks their collective silence. "Shall we get back out there?"

The night moves ahead, progressing with Sang-woo and Gi-hun drinking more and more, and the soju burning Sang-woo’s throat far less. The bar has already reached its peak at around 11pm, and is slowly starting to empty out. With its customers trickling out through the doors, they’re presumably moving onto the next best bar on the street. 

Meanwhile, Gi-hun and Sang-woo have no interest in the next bar. They have everything they need right here. 

Sang-woo’s face falls onto Gi-hun’s shoulder and she mutters something unintelligible under her breath.

“What was that?” 

“I said…” Sang-woo starts, before putting back another shot, not flinching at all. She turns her head to Gi-hun, and leans in close, keeping her voice low, but loud enough that Gi-hun can still hear her. “You’re so pretty, Gi-hun… it’s like… you were blossomed from a… a flower.”

Sang-woo was never the creative type. And even still, with the most tooth-rotting, cliché statement Gi-hun has ever heard, her chest aches with her words.

"You're far too drunk." Gi-hun laughs, trying her absolute hardest to put on a neutral voice and to be the responsible 20-year-old she tries with much effort to avoid the status of. "Let's get you home, Sang-woo." she slurs.

"Your home," Sang-woo says, body falling slack as soon as Gi-hun tries to pry her off her stool, almost tilting the stool and sending Sang-woo flying.

Gi-hun pauses. "Hm?"

"Your. Home. Unnie." Sang-woo repeats, adding her honorific, eyes closing.

"Take me to yours. Eomma… eomma can't see me like this…" she trails off, leaning her full weight into Gi-hun.

"Okay, okay." Gi-hun reasons, hooking her arms underneath Sang-woo's armpits and hoisting her up with her remaining strength. "You're gonna have to help me, though."

Even if she is quite drunk, Gi-hun is reasonably more sober than Sang-woo right now. It’s her duty to take responsibility.

“Could you get us a glass of water?” She whispers to the same bartender who’s been serving them all night. “And could you call for a taxi, please?”

The bartender pours the glass with more precision than necessary, and as soon as he sets the water in front of Sang-woo, who’s nearly falling asleep in Gi-hun’s arms, he dials the local taxi company’s number. 

In the meantime while he books their cab, Gi-hun benignly brushes Sang-woo’s hair out of her face and watches her silently from above. She tries to shake her gently, but it’s futile – she’s already fast asleep.

“All booked. He’ll be here in ten minutes.” He smiles at Gi-hun, before starting to polish some glasses. It seems as a result of the bar emptying out some more, he’s now alone and is the only bartender on shift. It doesn’t seem to be a problem, as it’s growing steadily quiet.

“Ah, thank you so much!” Gi-hun said earnestly, smiling back at him before centering her attention back onto Sang-woo. She’s snoring quietly under her breath, but she’s probably not black-out drunk. 

The bartender watches their interaction for a second, before lowering his voice. “I’m sorry to intrude, but are you guys together?”

Gi-hun doesn’t really register the question at first, initially believing that it’s not directed to her because why would it be? But when she discovers it’s only herself and Sang-woo sitting at the bar, she looks back up at him incredulously.

“Us, romantically? Uh — no.” She responds, smooth as ever. 

“It’s not a problem, if you are.” He quickly adds. “Just wanted you to know that you’re safe to be yourself here. I have a boyfriend myself, actually.”

“We’re not together, but I appreciate what you’re saying — how long have you been dating?” Gi-hun tries her best to flip the conversation onto him — this mystery person — in order to save her own back. 

It’s not as if she’s lying. It’s true - she and Sang-woo are not together. 

She just can’t help but imagine it for them, though. Especially with this guy pressing her for details.

How would they live together? Would Sang-woo grow accustomed to Gi-hun’s messy habits? Could Gi-hun live in an ultra-clean space, one that Sang-woo so obviously tries to keep for herself? Would they be accepted?

“Oh… let’s see. Maybe around four months. He’s the love of my life, though. He’s called Su-bong.” The bartender fishes his wallet from his pocket and shows Gi-hun a photo, just to show he’s not a creep who’s obsessed with lesbians — which, admittedly, was a partial concern for Gi-hun, for a few moments there.

The man in the photograph undeniably has the craziest purple hair known to man, with the wildest, darkest eyes and bold stripes up the sides of his neck. In the photo, their nameless bartender is holding up a peace sign, whereas his boyfriend – Su-bong – is caught off guard laughing, eyes crinkling and gazing at him like he hung the stars. 

Their obvious, shameless display of affection in just a mere photo makes Gi-hun’s alcohol-lined stomach twist and lurch a little. It’s hard to imagine loving somebody without the steely, iron fist of society telling you it’s wrong, but these two seem to have it down to an art. 

“It’s just… I heard your conversations. Not to poke my nose where it doesn’t belong, but I do think she has a thing for you,” he comments lightly, pocketing the photo and polishing off his final glass, before he sets his hands on the bar top, shoulders shrugged, eyes narrowing and looking at Gi-hun pointedly. 

“And I think you have a thing for her, too.”

“What?!” Gi-hun responds, her skin becoming oddly prickly with heat creeping up the nape of her neck.

“Nobody looks at their friends like that. That’s just a fact.”

“You’re being so nosy.” Gi-hun says defensively, but his words instantly take effect in her mind. 

Nobody looks at their friends like that.

“Like what…?”

“Like you’d take a bullet for her. I don’t know. It’s just gay as fuck, and there’s no problem if that’s how you swing.” He shrugs and prints off some receipt paper, scribbling something down on it before he hands it off to her. 

“Take my number if you ever want to talk about it. I’m Nam-gyu.”

He holds his hand out to shake hers, but she doesn’t feel like taking it. She feels strangely offended. Instead she keeps her hand protectively tucked around Sang-woo, who’s thankfully still sleeping soundly. 

It might not be obvious to somebody glancing in at the transpiring situation, however, Gi-hun’s whole world is crashing down around her in complete turmoil, and she doesn’t know how to process this in any sort of healthy way. 

One thing’s for sure — there is absolutely no way she’ll be calling this random stranger, no matter how positive his intentions are. 

Gi-hun scoffs, before she snatches the slip of paper this “Nam-gyu” gave to her from sheer courtesy, pockets it haphazardly, and stands up from her stool, hand securely gripping onto Sang-woo. “Thanks a lot, Nam-gyu. We’ll be off.”

He raises his eyebrows, but says nothing else. Gi-hun turns her head downwards to watch Sang-woo and her chest rising and falling ever so tenderly.

“Sang-woo-ya? It’s time to wake up, angel,” Gi-hun mutters. 

After a moment, Sang-woo stirs, and glances up at Gi-hun, with her face upside down. Her eyes are usually sharp as knives, cunning, calculated and already analysing every variable in every next step. This time though, presumably from the alcohol taking its toll, she seems sincerely relaxed. It’s a look Gi-hun doesn’t see very often, but is nonetheless a relief to see on her. She wouldn’t have been able to listen in on that conversation, that’s for sure.

“Hi, pretty,” Gi-hun greets. “It’s time to go now.”

Sang-woo shifts, and looks around, bewildered. “I fell asleep.” she says, blankly, with her mind rushing to catch up.

“Yeah – we’ve got a cab to catch.” Gi-hun presses hurriedly, unable to keep this interaction up under the nosy eyes of Nam-gyu, just a metre across from them. In all honesty, she’s just concerned he’s going to start pressing Sang-woo for answers, and that’s when Gi-hun’s life would be absolutely, undeniably over.

Thankfully, soon enough, Sang-woo steps into action. She stands up and walks harmoniously with Gi-hun, even if she’s having to hang onto Gi-hun to stay upright. Gi-hun keeps her arm fixed to her side, never letting go, but her mind is still warped. Nam-gyu’s words rattle around her mind, haunting and plaguing her with too many thoughts for what should’ve been a fun, drunken night out. 

So what if Sang-woo has a thing for Gi-hun? 

Gi-hun is anything but homophobic. She doesn’t have the mind – or the time, quite frankly – to care about the intimacies of strangers, what they choose to do behind closed doors, nor what genitalia they might or might not have a preference for, or have an adversity against. Who cares, really?

What Nam-gyu said that sent Gi-hun dizzy-headed… 

And I think you have a thing for her, too.

Now, that’s something that could send her for a loop, if it weren’t for her unbridled, faux confidence.

Who is he to create assumptions about Gi-hun and who she might like? 

The one pacifying thought for her, in the midst of the bombshell dropped on her, is that this guy knows nothing about her. And for now, it will work.

Once they reach the door, they can see that the rain has picked up gradually over the course of their night, wetting the concrete down and soaking right through to the core. It steadily poured out onto the dark and busy streets, highlighted by the streetlights and residual reflections of moonlight. 

The cold air that hits them sobers them both up significantly, and shocks Sang-woo into a more conscious state. She unlatches herself from the shoulders that were holding her upright. 

Fishing a cigarette from her pocketed pack, she lights it up, and takes one long drag before handing it off to Gi-hun.

It’s quiet between the two of them, of course other than the streets bustling with night-life, until Sang-woo shatters the silence with the question Gi-hun was desperately hoping wouldn’t come.

“What were you and that bartender talking about?” Sang-woo asks, quite nonchalantly.

Shit. 

“Oh, nothing important really.”

Gi-hun hands the cigarette back to Sang-woo, which Sang-woo drags on for longer than necessary, stringing out their silence before she asks another question, “Are you into him?”

“What? No. What gave you that impression?” Gi-hun asks, bewilderedly. Truthfully, Nam-gyu couldn’t be further from her type.

“You took his number.”

“Um – I thought you were asleep?!”

“I was waking up near the end.” Sang-woo mutters, shrugging. 

The volume of the rain's collision with the pavement is enough to make the girls huddle together closer, not only for warmth but also so they can talk uninterrupted. 

“He talked to me about something he thought he could give me advice on, that’s all.” Gi-hun responds quite bluntly, really hoping Sang-woo doesn’t press for further details. At her level of inebriation, she’s not sure she could divulge the context of her conversation with the random bartender, how it was only about her.

It’s fascinating how Sang-woo presumed that Gi-hun had interest in Nam-gyu. If anything, the problem was more about the complete opposite – of her potential attraction to Sang-woo, and how apparent it seemed to the public eye. 

The strangest thing of all, though, is how this has never come up for the two of them. If the way they acted around each other, which is completely natural, was seemingly homosexual, then they had never been caught up on it. Maybe, it was a totally menial matter, one of which nobody would care to think twice about.

Unlike what their fears like to trick them into believing, Sang-woo’s academic reputation hasn’t shattered into a million pieces, and Gi-hun’s social reputation hasn’t faced severe consequences from any close proximity seen between the two best friends. Connections haven’t been severed, and academic progressions haven’t just slowed to a stand-still.

Gi-hun is grateful when thankfully, Sang-woo drops the topic of Nam-gyu’s conversation with Gi-hun as their cab slowly pulls up to the curb, beckoning them both in with its light interior and warmth radiating from within.

Once they get home, they clamber into the same bed, with Sang-woo removing her frames before doing so. Gi-hun settles in first, settling on her front, and Sang-woo follows her soon after. She rests on her back, hands clasped together over her chest, posture still as stiff and perfect as ever, even when nodding off.

"Gi-hun." Sang-woo mumbles sleepily, the remnants of the soju's effect evident in her voice.

Gi-hun's response is a little delayed, as she instantly closed her eyes once she settled down and almost immediately drifted off to sleep. "Yeah?"

"Are you ever scared?" she asks, eyes gently closed.

They don't usually talk like this.

"Scared about what?" Gi-hun counters, turning her head so she's facing Sang-woo's side profile.

With the moonlight cascading over her features — her long lashes, her pursed lips — Gi-hun would be lying if she didn't find Sang-woo the most beautiful girl she had ever met. When in daylight, her berry eyes glinting with the reflection of the sun, and in the darkness, those inky depths like an abyss — endless, and haunting.

Nam-gyu’s conversation with her from earlier takes its place inside of her mind once again, and she wants to — she aches to — look away. She can’t bring herself to, though. 

Sang-woo ignores Gi-hun's response, turns her own head and opens her eyes to find Gi-hun already looking at her.

"I don't think I like university," she admits with a sad smile.

"Why not? Gi-hun hisses under her breath. "You're already at the top of your class. And you're in societies, and you've met loads of friends."

Sang-woo huffs gently in an undertone, and closes her eyes again. "You wouldn't get it, unnie."

"Try me," Gi-hun responds, shuffling a little closer so she can keep her voice low in order to not wake her mother up. "I am older than you, you know."

Sang-woo rolls her eyes. "Only by a year."

"Still."

Sang-woo smiles again, increasingly sincerely this time. "It doesn't matter that I'm doing well in class. Academically, I know I'm excelling."

It's not arrogant if it's the truth, and that is an unspoken fact that is shared between the two girls.

"I just miss being here. In Ssangmun-dong. With Eomma."

She inhales a shaky breath. "With you."

Sang-woo took a pause before addressing Gi-hun, but Gi-hun's still too drunk to notice the potential hidden meaning behind the tactful break in speech.

"Life here is so simple." she adds, her breathing audible and the rise and fall of her chest visible.

Gi-hun stays silent as to let Sang-woo carry on talking. She can never tell whether Sang-woo is going to continue talking, or whether she’s completely finished with her sentence. When she doesn’t continue musing her thoughts though, she replies, choosing her words mindfully. 

"But, Sang-woo-ya… we're here. And I've come to visit you, what, two times already? You've been there for less than three months! And plus… you're never that far!"

With their proximity, it's easy for Gi-hun to reach out a hand to Sang-woo and take one of her hands in her own. She clasps at her fingers, and starts to fidget with them.

"Plus… your degree… It's only for three years. Before you know it, you're gonna be home. You'll be home for the holidays. We can spend Christmas together." Gi-hun says quietly, looking down at their hands.

Sang-woo hasn't said anything for a while, but her eyes have been fixed on Gi-hun for the entire time. Eventually, she sighs, and looks back up at the ceiling. "I guess so."

"So… don't worry." Gi-hun adds, slightly unhelpfully.

Sang-woo smiles anyway, but she doesn't say anything for a few moments.

"I love you, unnie." she says quietly, her voice horribly tight and airy in the way Gi-hun doesn’t like, her eyes glinting in the moonlight and her smile adorned with that same sadness. 

"I love you too, Sang-woo—"

"Not like that." Sang-woo whispers, nearly silent, and entirely anguished, interrupting Gi-hun and letting the penny finally drop. 

The truth is out, and can’t be buried again. In hindsight, this should have been obvious. 

She squeezes Gi-hun's fingers in between her own, before gently retracting her hand, leaving Gi-hun cold and yet burning all the same. 

"What do you mean?" Gi-hun murmurs, her face a mere few centimetres from Sang-woo's, burning prickly-hot with defense and shame. 

She knows exactly what she means. Her fingers feel like they've been lit aflame, licking up her arms towards her heart, and yet, she needs to hold her hand again to ease off the heat of the fire.

"You know exactly what I mean." Sang-woo says lowly.

"I don't think I do." Gi-hun obviously lies.

Sang-woo sighs. "You're not stupid, unnie."

"You're drunk, Sang-woo." Gi-hun says, eyes pleading with her. She almost flinches when she sees Sang-woo's intense, icy gaze.

"Please, let's just talk in the morning when we're sober." It's her last ditch effort to save herself, and Sang-woo, from what's been an impending conversation for years.

Sang-woo levels her with a look.

"You know me. I wouldn't say something like this without meaning it," Sang-woo reasons, almost coldly.

Gi-hun does know her, and yet doesn’t give Sang-woo the satisfaction of knowing she’s utterly correct. Not yet. Not when they’re drunk, like this. This isn’t how it should happen.

"You've never been drunk before, so how would you know?" Gi-hun counters, desperately fumbling for something to use as an excuse.

"I'm practically sober now."

"You're not." Gi-hun says, pained with the effort of trying to convince herself of a lie she deeply knows is untrue.

"I love you—"

"Stop saying that." Gi-hun mutters, scraping her hair back frustratedly.

"But it's the truth, unnie." Sang-woo hisses, tears on the brink of her waterline, threatening to spill and make Gi-hun feel like the most wicked woman on the planet.

“You’re not thinking. We’re not talking about this anymore,” Gi-hun snaps, asserting herself sternly, only to immediately feel a wave of guilt wash over as soon as the sharp, biting words leave her mouth. 

Her brain never quite catches up with what she decides to blurt out on a whim — it’s an embedded curse, yet practiced and rehearsed over and over. It always seems to be with Sang-woo, each and every time, somebody who never seems to lose her cool -- or at least, not often. It’s increasingly frustrating, as they both grow older, and yet Gi-hun seems to regress with every single year compared to her younger, calmer friend, who seemingly develops her maturity at a totally regular, normal pace.

Not rising to the occasion to snap back an aggressive response, because she’s wonderfully grown up, far too mature for her age, and light-years ahead of Gi-hun in sophistication and wisdom, Sang-woo turns over onto her side, no longer facing her and intentionally stopping the conversation from continuing.

She wonders if she's annoyed her. She probably has.

When they were younger, even if they had just argued for hours on end about something completely arbitrary and irrelevant, Gi-hun would shuffle closer until they were sandwiched together, and their bodies created a zigzag pattern when pressed against one another. Sang-woo would often clutch at the hand curved around her torso, and finally rest easily.

Times are no different tonight, even with the conversation that had transpired. Gi-hun closes the distance between them, and wraps her arm around Sang-woo's middle, face pressed into the back of her head.

"Happy birthday, Sang-woo." Gi-hun mutters into her long, dark hair, conflicted and deeply anguished. Eventually, Sang-woo's hand creeps up and joins Gi-hun's, clasping their fingers together. Dissimilar to previous times, it sets a fire in the pit of Gi-hun’s stomach and sends the cogs in her mind to whir around – completely out of control.

Sang-woo doesn't verbally respond, but Gi-hun hears muted sniffles quietly coming from Sang-woo a few moments later, and her heart clenches horribly inside her chest.

They don’t fall asleep for hours.

After Sang-woo finally falls asleep, Gi-hun finds herself tossing, turning, unable to drift off herself. Thoughts of their conversation permeate her mind, leaving her no space for rest. It drives her insane. 

The intricacies of dialling Nam-gyu’s phone number weigh up Gi-hun’s mind, especially in the wake of the epiphany of that unexpected confession. If it were Sang-woo deciding on this, she would be mentally sorting each reason into categories of advantages and disadvantages, logistical and analytical, ever so Sang-woo, and very much unlike Gi-hun.

It seems without realising it, her mind is made up, because she’s been contemplating this for two straight hours now.

“Fuck this,” she mutters under her breath, nearly silently, and emerges from her bed. 

She can’t just sit and do nothing. 

Sang-woo stirs a little, but sleep takes her under just as quickly again. 

Her only feasible option is to speak to Nam-gyu, the random bartender from only a couple of hours before. 

It feels silly, to resort to this. She would like to think that talking to a friend she’s known for a long time – maybe Sae-byeok, maybe that would be appropriate, but she’s desperate, and somehow she trusts the fact that she can rely on Nam-gyu.

Gi-hun’s fingers discover the slip of paper given to her just hours prior in the pocket of her jeans. She exits her room quietly, closing the door behind her, before slowly treading down the stairs and entering the living room where her corded telephone lies. Like a phantom spirit, Nam-gyu’s number is tapped onto the keyboard before she can even stop herself.

The clock hung on her wall tells her it’s 3 in the morning, assured by the darkness outside. The streetlights beam down onto the road, highlighting the concrete and no passersby. The night has died down now.

The line clicks after about four dial tones, and a deep, sleepy voice comes from the other side. “Hello…?”

“Sorry, Nam-gyu. It’s Gi-hun, from the bar tonight.”

“...Who?”

Gi-hun realises she never disclosed her or Sang-woo’s names to him.

“Gi-hun. You thought I was dating… my, uh, friend. You showed me your boyfriend with purple hair, remember?”

Nam-gyu doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and Gi-hun just presumes he’s hung up. As she’s about to remove the phone from her ear, she hears him speak again.

“I remember. Sorry.”

Some rustling resounds from the other end of the line, some disgruntled muttering in an undertone and the faintest sound of lips on skin — presumably, Su-bong.

Gi-hun winces out of guilt. “No, no… I’m sorry, I woke you up.”

“It’s my fault for giving my number to a stranger,” Gi-hun would think that Nam-gyu was genuinely pissed off with her if it weren’t for the amiable voice on the other end.

“Anyway, how can I help?” 

“Uhm… Sang-woo confessed her love for me tonight. And I have no clue what to do. Like you saw, she was inebriated.”

“Why am I not surprised?” He responds, dully and unhelpfully.

What a fucking diva.

”You told me to call you.” Gi-hun hisses.

She hears him chuckle quietly on the other end of the line. “Answer me honestly. What do you think of her?”

What do you think of her?

Gi-hun doesn’t know. 

She’s loved her for years, of course she has. They’re best friends. Part of Gi-hun wants to know what it would be like if they grew up in a different time, a different town, somewhere and sometime with liberal views and no turning heads at members of the same sex holding hands, or hugging and kissing in public. 

Truthfully, Gi-hun has never even considered the possibility of being attracted to women. 

There have, of course, been moments of weakness. 

Take tonight in the bathroom. She’s never usually disarmed by Sang-woo like that. And what makes her grow more weary is how Sang-woo makes her feel, compared to her past boyfriends. 

“How did you know you were gay?” Gi-hun blurts out after a few moments, toying with the hem of her underwear with fidgety fingers.

“I'm sorry for the unhelpful answer but… I’ve always known that I was gay.” 

“Oh.” She responds blankly.

“Look. It doesn’t matter what sexuality you are. There’s clearly something going on.”

And with that, everything suddenly makes so much more sense. 

The lingering touches, the innocent-enough gaze, how they’ve practically been inseparable up until the point of Sang-woo leaving for university. 

Not to mention, since leaving Ssangmun-dong to live in the heart of Seoul, she’s seemed much more miserable and dejected, like something’s constantly playing on her mind. 

Even worse than her seeming sad, she seems flat – quite anhedonic. It was clear earlier at the bar, as the only thing that was able to shake her out of it was a teasing joke.

Maybe being away from Gi-hun really has taken its toll on Sang-woo, in a way that Gi-hun hadn’t even imagined, and she hasn’t been able to even share those emotions. 

Imagining it just makes Gi-hun’s stomach twist and turn like a tightly-wrung coil – coming to terms with feelings for your friend — your best friend — who’s a girl, who has only ever shown certain attraction to men. 

She pictures Sang-woo trying to fall asleep with these haunting thoughts terrorising her, and the mental imagery makes her eyes sting.

Gi-hun bites down on her lip, and the realisation finally dawns on her.

“I like her.”

“Then tell her. What’s there to lose, realistically?”

“A friend.” says Gi-hun, somewhat sheepishly.

Nam-gyu claps back immediately. “Bullshit! She likes you back.”

Gi-hun laughs humourlessly and pinches at the bridge of her nose. “You’re funny.” 

“I try. Did this help?”

“I suppose. Thanks.”

“Anytime. Actually, not anytime – this was way too late.” He adds hastily.

When Nam-gyu hangs up the phone, Gi-hun, in all of her pent up frustration, takes a step outside onto her front doorstep – fresh air for a fresh mind. 

The rain from earlier that evening hasn’t ceased, only now it’s much finer and misty, lightly dusting on Gi-hun’s face rather than completely drenching her. 

Regret soon sets in for Gi-hun as she realises she didn’t grab a jacket, nor shoes, and is standing outside in her sleeping clothes — which don’t leave much to the imagination, and aren’t covering her body all that well. 

Fortunately for her, nobody is outside right now, and it provides Gi-hun with some solace knowing there is nobody watching her.

Their conversation has helped pacify her perturbing thoughts, only slightly, but they’re thrashing around her mind meaningfully less. 

The main silver lining in her mind is that she at least managed to meet a new friend, if all else will inevitably go horribly wrong for her. Besides, after speaking to Nam-gyu, she’s inspired by the mere idea of things going smoothly for herself, even if she may be faced with rejection. 

There will be no rejection, she decides determinedly. 

Nothing can hurt her, and nothing will disappoint her. She stares up at the full moon, at the twinkling stars, resolutely and unwavering. Staring straight at the natural wonders, the streetlights and the residual light pollution reassure her, that there is always a chance for her. The light at the end of the tunnel is destined for her and Sang-woo, and she anticipates it with every fibre of her being ready.

It might be the lingering confidence from the alcohol that provides her with this unflinching self-possession, but it won’t be shattered. 

Not this time.

Everything will go fine.

Soon after reflecting and seemingly endless – however, extremely necessary – self-inducement, Gi-hun comes back upstairs and settles back into bed, arms and chest misted with an icy-cold sheen from the mist outside. 

From this, she has grown emboldened to be the most forthright, mature 20-year-old Sang-woo would have ever seen in her life the very next morning. Sang-woo won’t even recognise her; she’s certain of that.

She thinks about snaking her arms back around Sang-woo’s waist, before she dismisses her pride, slipping back into her old pattern of cuddling up to her, and falls asleep with ease.

When Gi-hun awakes, their positions are different, even though Sang-woo is still fast asleep. 

Sang-woo had shifted, twisted around in her arms and her face is now pressed into the crook of her neck. Her breathing hits the surface of Gi-hun's skin hotly and deeply, and her arms are tucked up against her chest, almost serving as a notion of protection. Gi-hun's arms are still tightly tucked around Sang-woo's torso, and they're in awfully close proximity for just being friends. And then Gi-hun reminds herself of the conclusion she reached last night – they aren’t just friends.

Her vicinity and breathing and sleeping face makes Gi-hun's hair stand on end and her skin break out in goosebumps, and she can't do anything other than rest her chin atop of Sang-woo's head, practically pressing Sang-woo’s mouth against her own neck.

Little flashing lights of the memories of their night together come flooding back into Gi-hun's brain, and she has to fight off the reaction to groan out of humiliation.

The exorbitant drinking. Their little moment — one that could almost be inconsequential to any other person — in the bathroom where Gi-hun almost lost control of herself by weighing up whether she should kiss her best friend or not. Sang-woo begging to come back to Gi-hun's house. Nam-gyu. Sang-woo's confession. Her crying. Calling Nam-gyu for advice. 

The part of the night where Gi-hun admitted that she likes Sang-woo back.

Gi-hun's heart clenches. 

They need to talk about it.

What if Sang-woo doesn't even remember what she proclaimed, and Gi-hun has to go the rest of her life without having that conversation with her best friend?

Nam-gyu’s words reverberate in her mind. 

Tell her. What’s there to lose?

As it would turn out, Gi-hun didn’t need to think much more about how to confront the situation between the two of them, for Sang-woo, who was supposed to be dormant, clambers up Gi-hun's thighs and slips onto her lap. 

Nam-gyu’s advice entirely evades her, as the only thing left in her brain is the cognitive effort it’s taking to process how a very underdressed Sang-woo is straddling her right now.

"Unnie," Sang-woo whispers sleepily, leaning down to Gi-hun's level and brushes against her nose. This time, it doesn't feel all that platonic when their noses connect. Her legs cage Gi-hun in, leaving no room for her to escape. "Please."

It’s obvious what she’s asking.

Gi-hun is pretty sure they're both still slightly drunk from the influence of last night, but her mind turns completely blank. While Sang-woo’s eyes are comfortably half-lidded with a small smile on her face, Gi-hun’s eyes grow as wide as saucers when Sang-woo’s lips gently brush the corner of her mouth, undeniably teasing and awfully tantalising.

Instead of saying anything that could inevitably come out as unintelligible and embarrassing, she acts in the way she knows that she can do best. She cards her trembling hands through Sang-woo's hair, before pulling her face down with an impossible force and hurriedly crashing their lips together, their teeth clanking.

Gi-hun sighs out of relief at the feeling of Sang-woo’s tongue sliding next to hers, like she belongs there. 

Sang-woo tastes exactly as Gi-hun would have expected. A lingering of mint, the slightly stale taste of cigarettes and tobacco clinging to her tongue and teeth, and a faint taste of vanilla too. She tastes delicious, and Gi-hun can’t get enough.

"Mmph—" Sang-woo whimpers protestingly when Gi-hun rolls them both over effortlessly, Sang-woo landing on her back against the mattress and being pressed down by her. Gi-hun grabs Sang-woo's hands and presses them above her head, against the softness of her pillow. 

Gi-hun pulls back slightly, and breathes between kisses against Sang-woo's ear, hotly exhaling, "Do you," she presses a kiss underneath her ear, "realise," on her jugular, "how much," collarbone, "I wanted," then her chest, "to kiss you," to her breast, "last night?" 

She sucks lightly at the skin there, greedily tugging the pliant flesh with her teeth to leave a light mark. She gets to be the first person in the world to do this to her, to tarnish, to wreck her skin, and she feels indebted to her. Gi-hun watches as the blemish blossoms, blooming like an orchid on her pale skin.

She's absolutely lost it, now. Now that Sang-woo has given her an inch, she's taking a mile.

"Unnie-ah!" Sang-woo cries out when Gi-hun's knee drives up between her thighs, and her hands begin to skirt the edge of her vest, raising it up just slightly to expose her nipples to the cool air.

"I need you so bad, Sang-woo—" she cuts herself off by licking a stripe up her nipple, tugging and teasing with her teeth, moaning when Sang-woo's back arches to meet her tongue up above, and her thigh down below.

She pulls back and looks up at Sang-woo. "Can I undress you, please?" she asks, head cocking at an angle, her fringe falling into her wide, manic eyes. More than ever, Sang-woo wants to brush the stubborn hair away from her face. 

Sang-woo's hips are still rutting against Gi-hun's thigh, her wanton breathing and whining coming out rapidly and guttural through her gritted teeth.

Sang-woo nods with fervor, head clearly spinning away and gone, miles away from here.

Gi-hun's hands work so deftly, fingers pulling Sang-woo's vest and underwear away from her skin and revealing her, exposing her nude body. She discards her clothing on the floor quickly — she has no time to waste.

Before she can continue though, Sang-woo's thighs automatically clamp together out of embarrassment.

"Come on, baby," Gi-hun whispers, slowing right down and slipping a gentle hand between her legs, while shifting her body down the bed a little. "Show me your pretty pussy."

"I'm — it's not pretty. You're lying," Sang-woo frowns, feeling humiliated by the exaggerated praise, but her face falling out of its strict guise when Gi-hun's hand slips a little lower, almost reaching.

She can't handle compliments, Gi-hun knows this all too well. Especially when it comes to actually losing her virginity, to Gi-hun of all people — holy shit — how is she expected to cope with the endless praise and love on top of that? 

What is going on?

The conversation shared between them, privately in Gi-hun’s bed, surely that couldn’t have been the tipping point for Gi-hun. Something rapidly changed in the span of a few hours, and it feels like a cruel joke.

“You’re fucking with me.” She mutters, averting her eyes from Gi-hun. 

Gi-hun seems to just mess with her relentlessly, and doesn’t consider how Sang-woo really feels. If it was anybody else, anybody else, Sang-woo wouldn’t be so forgiving. And she wouldn’t be underneath them with her clothes strewn across the room, realistically.

It doesn’t help that Sang-woo is desperately in love with her best friend, who, up until this point, seemed only attracted to men. The new information gained in the span of two minutes makes her feel so dizzy, not to mention the blood rushing down south. 

"Oh really?" Gi-hun counters, stroking her thighs and watching her as Sang-woo's head tilts back, showing the angular column of her throat. She’s slowly losing control over herself, her strict inhibitions and stiff posture bleeding out tension. "I don't think that's true."

"Have you ever done this before?" Sang-woo whispers, almost not wanting to ask, as she looks back down at Gi-hun, lip tucked between her teeth anxiously. They have too much to talk about, and this feels like an appropriate start.

"With a girl? No, never." Gi-hun says gently, unintentionally leaving Sang-woo to infer the obvious detail of Gi-hun’s romantic past with another gender. 

She’s often bragged about her courtships, or her past tendency to meet a man each night she goes out. She would divulge the details endlessly, and not even notice how Sang-woo would disassociate completely. 

She removes her hand from between her thighs and leans back up to press a kiss to her forehead — a silent apology for those times before.

"But you have with guys…" Sang-woo trails off, looking off to the side, eyes suddenly glassy and glazed over. The idea of Gi-hun’s previous sexual past, without involving Sang-woo, is certainly troubling to her. And really, who can blame her?

The perfectionist in Sang-woo doesn’t let up, ever. Not with friends, not in academic scenarios. She’s lucky she was an only child. The competitor in her reigns relentlessly, and doesn’t care that…

"This is different. You're different." Gi-hun says eventually, smashing the curse holding precedence in Sang-woo’s mind, pulling back a little. She sees the cogs turning, creating pseudo, exaggerated scenarios in Sang-woo's already stress-addled brain.

She snaps back to reality, and her head flips around to look at Gi-hun, loose hair cascading over her shoulders. 

"How is this any different? You've slept with loads of people," Sang-woo counters, almost angrily with how clipped her tone is. 

She looks absolutely furious, and Gi-hun loves her so much. Her hands come to sit on her thighs, and she squeezes them lightly to ground her.

“You’re beautiful.” Gi-hun whispers, completely unable to help herself.

Sang-woo scoffs at that. 

"And firstly, there hasn't been loads," Gi-hun responds, totally unaffected by the incorrect accusation, knowing Sang-woo's just feeling vulnerable. She needs time, reassurance, and Gi-hun wants to give her that.

"Secondly, you're a girl," Gi-hun continues, sitting back on her heels. "Thirdly, you're my best friend."

She takes a pause for effect, as if she’s bracing for the performance of a final act.

"And lastly, I love you."

Sang-woo's mouth falls agape, all anger and irritation dissipating rapidly. Like a fish out of water, she tries to respond, but no words of substance come out.

"I love you, and that's what makes this completely different."

Gi-hun waits, ever so patiently.

She doesn't touch her, she doesn't even speak, she just watches Sang-woo struggle to come to terms with this.

Of all the years Gi-hun has known Sang-woo, she has always known how to reply to something, even when she's caught off guard. She’s always been a total smartass. 

So when Sang-woo tugs Gi-hun down by the hair to kiss her again, Gi-hun's the one who's incredibly caught off guard. When Sang-woo dismisses her own pride and timidness and separates her legs to allow space for Gi-hun to settle in, Gi-hun kisses and moves with Sang-woo's body like the flow of a wave crashing down, with such passion and fervor.

“Thank you, angel,” Gi-hun says earnestly, muffled against Sang-woo and deeply endeared by her vulnerability, her courage. 

Gi-hun's fingers brush against Sang-woo's clit ever so slightly, but it's enough to make Sang-woo's whole body jolt like she's been electrified. "Fuck— unnie-"

"What do you need, Sang-woo?" Gi-hun mutters, fingers slowly rubbing in circles, as she moves languidly down her body. She presses tiny kisses to her ribs, her belly. "Tell me, angel."

Sang-woo whimpers at the pet name. "Ah-ah— Gi-hun-unnie—"

"Come on, baby," Gi-hun mutters, kissing at her hips, then pressing some chaste kisses to her inner thighs. So close, yet never close enough.

"Gi-hun—ah-"

"Use your words," Gi-hun coaxes, fingers picking up their pace while she slips down. She blows on her lightly, making Sang-woo jerk up a little and rut her hips against her hand, moaning lowly.

"Please, I can't, unnie—"

Gi-hun retracts her fingers, but stays in her place with her head hanging between her thighs, breathing hotly on her body. Sang-woo whimpers defiantly, and looks down to meet Gi-hun's watchful gaze.

"Need you to talk to me, you know? If we're gonna make this work, you need to talk," Gi-hun mutters, but she says it all with a kind smile on her face.

Sang-woo huffs impatiently, and grabs Gi-hun's hand, placing it pointedly on herself. "Don't make me say it, unnie. It's embarrassing."

"But, how can I make it good for you, if you don't tell me, angel?" Gi-hun says slowly, as if she's spelling it out for Sang-woo, strangely patronising her with the same comfort and familiarity, never just letting go of the fact that they’re best friends first.

"I hate you," Sang-woo whispers exasperatedly, clearly lying. "Finger me, please."

"Okay, then. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Gi-hun responds, and presses a lingering kiss to Sang-woo's thigh. 

"Well done, baby." She comments in earnest, praising so she can reinforce that behaviour more often in the future. 

The future. 

There’s going to be a future, if she has anything to do with it. 

Her hand returns to its place before, and continues its gentle motion. Sang-woo's head falls back in a choked out gasp, and her hands come up to brush her fringe off her face.

Slowly, Gi-hun's fingers slip lower, and dips into Sang-woo gently, already soaking wet from before. "Just remember, I haven't done this before—"

"Shut up, please. Just get on with it." Sang-woo says impatiently, hips raising off the mattress. "You're perfect at everything." She adds onto the end, but looks like she doesn't want to admit to that.

Gi-hun falls silent and obeys her, and she works a single finger inside Sang-woo. 

“What do you mean by that, sweetheart?”

Sang-woo gasps out, “Why are you asking me questions – ah –”

Gi-hun cocks her head, smiling as she slowly fingers her. “It’s important to talk, no?”

She picks up her pace, and places an arm over Sang-woo’s hips to still her, and keep her from writhing. “I’m not perfect.” she adds, composed and self-possessed.

“More, more Gi-hun–” Sang-woo whines out under her breath, and once again, Gi-hun obeys her and adds a second finger, continuously fingering at a slow and steady pace. “You are.” she insists, indignantly and obviously not standing down.

“Why do you think I’m perfect, baby?”

“Because you’re… you just are— ah—“ 

Gi-hun decides very quickly that her favourite pastime is trying to get Sang-woo to explain things while she’s being satisfied. Bonus points if Sang-woo’s clearly flustered and struggling to get her words out of her obstinate mouth. 

Watching somebody coiled as tightly as Sang-woo unravel under her order, drifting further away with a complete lack of inhibition is another favourite of hers. The dichotomy from Sang-woo’s composure out in public, with friends, family, academically, in work, to how she is losing her control underneath Gi-hun, is so wide, that she’s almost a completely different person this morning.

“Do me a favour?” Gi-hun murmurs, mouthing at her hip. “When you come, can you tell me you love me?”

Unexpectedly, before Sang-woo can even find a way to respond, Gi-hun darts an experimental tongue up against Sang-woo while her fingers are still inside of her, further coaxing out her beautiful whimpers and whines. Her mouth only further exacerbates those reactions, and she adds more pressure by pointing her tongue, licking at her incessantly.

Sang-woo's fingers card through Gi-hun's beautiful soft locks as she eats her out slowly, like it's an art that she needs to correct perfectly. Sang-woo can't help but buck her hips up to meet Gi-hun's mouth in earnest. She sucks and bites and tugs gently at Sang-woo, teasing and inching her impossibly close to her climax. 

“Gi-hun-unnie – ah, ah – I’m gonna cum – please –” Sang-woo grits out, pulling Gi-hun’s face impossibly close to her, sandwiching them together. Still fingering her, she eats at her in earnest, and as Sang-woo reaches her climax, she feels her clamp around her fingers and a flooding of wetness surround her hand entirely. 

She grits out a painful, “I–I– love you–”, with her body arching and writhing with Gi-hun’s fingers buried inside of her, like the confession is ripped out of her, as though it’s a secret.

Gi-hun helps her ride out her climax, continuously licking and fucking into her until she’s batting at her, pushing her head off, and moaning and whining at her weakly.

While Sang-woo lands from heaven, Gi-hun presses many tiny kisses to her inner thighs, watching her body twitch and her legs shake with the effort of riding her orgasm out.

"Come up here," Sang-woo eventually whispers when she’s come back down to earth, and Gi-hun complies and sits on her lap. Sang-woo’s hands grip onto Gi-hun’s hips, squeezing lightly. 

“Can I…?” she trails off, but gestures to Gi-hun's body.

"You mean… finger me?" Gi-hun asks, albeit awkwardly.

Sang-woo nods.

"Are you sure?"

"I want to learn." Sang-woo pushes.

Gi-hun nods, and deliberately strips herself of her clothing, leaving her completely naked and matching with Sang-woo. Sang-woo doesn't hide the way her eyes sweep up and down her figure, mouth agape and going dry. She reattaches her hands onto her hips, sort of robotically and unnaturally.

”Relax, Sang-woo-ya.” Gi-hun takes one of Sang-woo's hands on her hips, and moves it down to the front of her body.

“Easy for you to say,” Sang-woo bites back, with shallow breaths and red cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Gi-hun nods, humouring her. “I’m not a slut, I promise.” Gi-hun speaks as she unhurriedly guides Sang-woo’s hand closer to her.

“Just follow my words, I’ll talk you through it.”

“What if I’m bad at it?” Sang-woo muses, watching up at Gi-hun.

“You won’t be bad at it, I’m sure of that.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Gi-hun feigns a shocked expression, but as quickly as she was joking, she grows serious again. 

“You could never.” Gi-hun promises. 

Sang-woo’s arm turns a little more lax at her words, realising the truth in them and that Gi-hun has zero expectations of her. 

Still, that doesn’t stop her from wanting to do a perfect job for her. 

Secretly, she wants to make this good enough so that Gi-hun never needs to seek pleasure from a man again. She wants to be the perfect giver, even if it would mean breaking her arm. 

She would do anything for this woman. 

She gazes up, her sight blurry without her glasses, but fortunately, she can still see Gi-hun, casting a reassuring smile down at her. 

Her dark, wavy, chestnut brown locks cascade down around her willowy frame, her fringe framing her heart-shaped face and round, glistening doe-y eyes ever-so perfectly. Her berry-lips and blushed cheeks are enthralling enough to make a girl swoon pathetically. 

I love you, she thinks. I love you and your stupidly bewitching deer eyes.

Sang-woo, without a doubt, feels like the most pathetic girl in the world. Absolutely pathetic, and yet burning for her best friend all the same. Who seems, shockingly enough, to be completely sincere in the sentiments of her proclamation of loving her back. She feels sick to her stomach.

"Just rub your fingers like that — just like that, good girl." She brings her back down to earth, praising and pressing a tender kiss against her cheek. She rolls her hips once, moaning quietly, as Sang-woo's nervous fingers discover her clit. 

It's not much different to playing with herself — something she doesn’t exactly indulge in on a regular basis — and yet she's stepping into a whole new world, and Gi-hun's bringing her along. 

She rubs in a regular pattern, looking up at her partner for any sort of reaction, any praise — she needs to be told she’s good. 

"Is that okay, unnie?"

Gi-hun whines a little at her honorific, riding with more vigor against her fingers and thigh. "So good, angel. Perfect. If you move your fingers deeper then—"

Gi-hun's glowing praise encourages Sang-woo a little, and she slips two of her fingers inside of Gi-hun prematurely, her hips rolling onto Sang-woo's deft fingers.

"Oh-oh—" Gi-hun moans aloud, and Sang-woo leans forward to clasp her hand over her eager mouth.

"Shh, shh… quiet, unnie." She coos gently, coaxing her to ride on her fingers. 

She’s not even sure if anybody else is home, she’s not even sure what time it is. They didn’t even care to look at the clock. The sole thing they yearned for was the other. No essence of reality, no indication of time passing them by, just each other.

She’s only confident about being driven to make this the most perfect experience for Gi-hun, and for Gi-hun to not regret taking this up with her.

Gi-hun's dripping on Sang-woo's bare thigh at an alarming rate. She's hardly containing her noises, her eyebrows knitted together and her eyes glinting with the beginning of tears from the effort of staying silent.

"Keep going, keep going — ah, Sang-woo-ya—" Gi-hun groans against her hand, muffled but still loud enough to decipher perfectly. Sang-woo really isn't doing a whole lot — Gi-hun's doing most of the work with years of practice, and still, she's impossibly turned on by her praise, blushy and wet-eyed as she watches up at Gi-hun. 

She can see how much of a heartthrob her best friend truly is, and why she’s been so fortunate in winning the hearts of so many men. She’s perfect. 

Gi-hun leans forward, mouth hanging open beneath the security of Sang-woo's hand keeping her silent, placing her hands on Sang-woo's shoulders, and riding with more speed. 

Removing one of Sang-woo's hands from her mouth, she leans down fully and presses an open mouthed kiss to Sang-woo's lips, gripping her chin with a strong hand to keep her mouth open and compliant.

"I love you, angel." She murmurs, half moaning through her sentence into Sang-woo's mouth. "You're so good at this-" she cuts herself off with a poorly masked whine, pressing her mouth with more force against Sang-woo, swallowing back every small, airy gasp from Sang-woo beneath her.

Sang-woo, despite not being directly physically pleased, finds herself whining into Gi-hun's mouth just from the effect of her words.

When she thought she must’ve loved Gi-hun before, it's never gotten this close to her feeling as though her heart could burst out of her chest and escape. 

At the shallow surface of this, she wishes to run away. The thought of being here, intimate, vulnerable, exposed, in front of Gi-hun – the one she’s undoubtedly spellbound by – the thought alone makes an uncomfortable heat crawl up her spine, until the flame engulfs her whole.

And then, just when Sang-woo truly digs deeper beneath the horrifying ordeal of being loved back just as passionately, that’s when she sees it. 

She sees the purpose of it all. 

The potential they had, for all of these years, to create something so intimate, so vulnerable, has finally come to a head, and Sang-woo finally has the privilege to cultivate her life’s purpose with Gi-hun. 

It's simply bittersweet. Why didn't this happen before today?

Maybe being at university isn't the end of her life, as she so-dramatically hypothesised last night. 

Maybe she'll have Gi-hun in three years' time patiently waiting on her doorstep, on the day of her final class, when all is said and done, and Sang-woo feels as though she’s fulfilled her degree to the best of her ability – no, to the university’s utmost highest standards and expectations; it won’t be less than. 

The girls will greet each other with a friendly smile and hug, as if they're the closest of friends, nothing of any suspicion to any passers by. Gi-hun will lean up on tip-toes to whisper a small and sweet, “Congratulations,” in Sang-woo’s ear, eager for praise, attention, anything.

They can share a cigarette in the public eye, maintain amicable conversation together, stub it out, before Sang-woo whisks her away up to her bedroom and continues secretly loving her behind closed doors.

That's the life Sang-woo wants — no, it’s what Sang-woo needs.

The thought of this being forever is warm, cosy and burrows deep into her heart, nestling in and making her heart beam with a light she never realised she had within her. That alone supersedes the prickly heat of shame, and reveals to her the glowing realisation that healing this excessive – and unnecessary – mortification is the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s in her reach.

While Sang-woo is absolutely enamoured of this dynamic, she just needs to see what more of those noises she can get out of Gi-hun.

Without warning, she removes her fingers, grabs Gi-hun's hips, and turns their bodies over so that Gi-hun is pressed against the bed. She's always been quite a strong girl, and seeing how wide-eyed Gi-hun is at her display of strength makes Sang-woo quite sure of herself. Purposely tensing her arms to boast, she reinserts her fingers into Gi-hun at this new position, with Gi-hun uncontrollably whining aloud before she claps a hand over her own mouth.

They’re going to be just fine.

"Oh — Sang-woo—!" Gi-hun cries out, clearly surprised at Sang-woo’s ability to manhandle her like that. She’s fingering her much quicker from this position, while she leans down and presses a paradoxically chaste and innocent kiss onto Gi-hun’s belly. 

“Keep your hand there, unnie.” Sang-woo half-orders, gently enough. She tries her best to imitate what Gi-hun was doing with her fingers, angling them upwards. When Gi-hun starts to writhe a little harder, Sang-woo knows she’s found her sweet spot, and grows relentless, never letting up.

Gi-hun keeps her hand clasped over her mouth, but it doesn’t stop her from gasping out with bucking hips and her eyes squeezed closed when she finally reaches her own orgasm. Sang-woo finds herself as a devoted companion – continuously helping her build up, riding the feeling out and watching as her twitching evens out, and she comes down to the ground.

Sang-woo raises herself up off of Gi-hun’s body, leaving Gi-hun’s chest heaving and her to recover. 

"You got distracted near the end." Gi-hun pants, grasping at Sang-woo's hand. Sang-woo turns over, leaning over Gi-hun to grab her glasses off of her bedside table. While Sang-woo hovers, Gi-hun presses a small, chaste kiss to her underbelly.

"I was just lost in my head." She responds stiffly, sliding her glasses back onto her face and lying back down on her side. She casts an intent look to Gi-hun.

Gi-hun turns on her side as well, and holds her hand again.

"What were you thinking about? Was it… Gi-hun is the best sex I've ever had? Or Gi-hun has a smoking hot body? Or maybe… I'm hopelessly in love with Gi-hun?" She jokes, shoving her lightly.

"You're the only sex I've ever had." 

"Ha! That means you thought about the other two. And just go along with it."

"No."

"Sang-woo-ya—" Gi-hun whines quietly, but Sang-woo presses a gentle kiss to her lips to shut her up. When she pulls back, she looks up through her eyelashes at her, blinking twice.

"Fine. You're the best sex I've ever had, and the best sex I will ever have. You have the most smoking hot body, whatever that means, and I'm so hopelessly in love with you that it makes me feel physically sick. Happy now?"

Gi-hun blushes a little, giggling to herself as she presses a chaste kiss to Sang-woo’s temple. "Yes…"

Sang-woo sighs, but leans into Gi-hun's side. "I was thinking about us."

“Such as…?” 

“University.”

“Like, visitation?”

“No, just… how long I’ll be gone.”

“But, Sang-woo–”

“I know I’m not far.”

“Then what… What's the problem?” Gi-hun presses, watching Sang-woo for non-verbal tells. She’s never been the best at communicating, and Gi-hun grew up needing to learn how to understand an extremely unreadable person.

“Would you… are you willing to wait for me?” Sang-woo murmurs, turning her head away from Gi-hun.

She’s embarrassed to ask, terrified even. Gi-hun sees it, sees it in the way she’s no longer sharing eye contact, and in the way she trailed off initially. To the untrained person, these small characteristics might seem like absolutely nothing, but Gi-hun sees everything.

This time will move swiftly. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll be together sooner than Sang-woo’s graduation. 

With the likely rise in Gi-hun coming to visit Sang-woo, now understanding just how much she values her company in more than just one way, it won’t feel like she’s waiting.

And eventually, after the night of endless pondering, after her heart-to-heart with Nam-gyu, there’s one single question that comes to mind. 

Who could really hold a flame to Sang-woo?

Nobody.

“Yes,” Gi-hun says, this time unwaveringly confident.

And it’s true. It couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Those men, those drugs, that alcohol, the gambling… All of it, serves as a mere distraction from what Gi-hun has always desired — somebody to love, somebody to take care of. 

“You’re gonna be okay, Sang-woo-ya. We’re gonna be okay.” Gi-hun whispers, while she presses a kiss to her temple. “I just know it.”

This time, Sang-woo doesn’t refute it. As far as she’s concerned, for once, she’s well-assured of her life. The thought in the back of her mind of ‘Gi-hun is mine’ has shaken her up, and has provided her with something absolutely brand new to obsess over. 

Prior to this, she did feel somewhat addicted to the idea of being with Gi-hun, but only in a primarily maladaptive manner. 

Anxiety leading up to each time she saw Gi-hun, whether she was returning to Ssangmun-dong, or the other were to journey down to the heart of Seoul, loomed over her head like a fat raincloud, begging to tip and drench her – effectively, sabotaging her and their friendship. 

Ending her life. 

The idea that she needed to mask, had to hide who she really was, set the undertone of what Gi-hun would see in her presence. She never seemed to mind, but Sang-woo knew she was growing wary, confused about why she was distant.

This newfound obsession can provide Sang-woo hope, something entirely shiny and brand-new to fixate her focus on — instead of asking about everything that could go horribly wrong, a new question arises.

What could go well?