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“No,” she says. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary.”
You watch as Jaehee speaks into her phone, delivering the usual lines to the next client eagerly awaiting a meeting with Jumin.
“Yes, that’s fine. I’ll let him know.” A pause. “Of course. Have a nice day.”
She answers your question before it’s even left your mouth. “That was the agent of one of the models looking to be in Jumin’s next cat food commercial,” she says, sighing. “She’s called three times already. What I wouldn’t give to set a limit on these types of meeting requests...” She places her phone on the coffee table, sitting back against the couch cushions with a bit of a flop to the motion. You chuckle softly.
Jaehee turns to look at you. “I apologize. We can resume watching the rest of the episode.”
You’re watching How to Get Away With Murder. The Korean subtitles would come in handy if they weren’t in such small script. Jaehee had simply shrugged upon your suggestion to watch something else—she’d studied enough English in high school and college, somehow managing to retain the memory—and smiled in your direction, holding her cup of coffee and tucking her chin into the collar of her turtleneck. Anything works, she’d said.
You’d wanted to say the same, but then her phone had started buzzing.
You reach for your own cup of coffee, taking note of its weightlessness and getting up immediately for a refill. “Are you sure you want to watch this? It can get kind of heavy.”
Jaehee hesitates. “As long as there’s nothing gory or unnecessarily disturbing, I think I’ll be fine.”
“Really? Because I can just—whoops!” You fumble with the mug—it’s sent flying through the air, and you wince at the loud shatter of bits of ceramic coming undone atop the wooden flooring.
“I’ll take care of it,” you say, waving off Jaehee’s protests. “This happens all the time.” Woe betide anyone who manages to get swept up in the aftermath of any accidents resulting from your lack of hand-to-eye coordination.
“No, let me get a towel. I can at least wipe it up—“
“It’s fine, Jaehee,” you say, laughing. “Just stay where you are. Besides, you could cut yourself.”
“I insist—ah!”
The next thing you know, you’re on your back, head throbbing mildly while you try to readjust your gaze to the hazy ceiling up above. You catch sight of something quite dark shifting just under your chin, gathering your thoughts to a single line of oh, her head, as you hear a small “ow”.
Jaehee is kneeling against the floor, hands planted quite firmly against either side of your head as she hovers over you and groans. The noise is almost something of a low whine, and it’s quite horrifyingly discernible against the silence of the rest of your apartment room.
The pain in your head dissipates almost immediately in comparison to the new lurch in your gut. Your face is so incredibly, ridiculously warm. You wish you could stop—it’s one of the things you’ve always hated, one of the more humiliating physical reactions you’ve exhibited throughout moments like this. Your palms are already starting to collect with beads of sweat; if you tried to get up now, your hands would probably just slip against the flooring, owing to possibly even more of an embarrassing collision against the wooden tiles.
“I’m so sorry! Are you alright? I should’ve watched my step, I—“
There is a sudden silence. You can’t tell what’s going on—you’re too embarrassed to even look, your eyes are screwed shut tight—and you can’t bring your arms down from up above your head to cover your face, either. Your bodies are much too close together.
Distantly, you make out the smell of lavender, unknowingly releasing a small sigh as you let the scent wash over you.
You slowly open your eyes.
Jaehee stares at you with such piercing intensity that it’s hard to look anywhere else. You’ve never seen her this way—her gaze only seems to pull you closer, as if it’s not enough to dread the thought of her feeling your heart pound against the fabric of her blouse.
Maybe you’re not the only one.
How many times have you dreamt of this? How many times have you roused yourself from all the alternate paths and realities that keep you awake at night, that keep you from taking her hand when you two are alone? That keep you from letting the words out of your throat—so you can tell her, every day, all the little things that you wish she could hear. For once.
You look beautiful.
No, tell me.
Could you stay a little longer?
I want to listen.
You wonder vaguely if it’s possible for your heart to burst from beating this fast—you’d be lying if you were to say that it’s only the first time you’ve thought it. Somewhere along your train of thought creeps up the distant worry if the position Jaehee’s currently in is starting to put a strain on her neck (though that wouldn’t be too awful, considering that Jumin would probably pay for the next acupuncture appointment if need be).
“I’m...” you begin, trying to steady your voice. “I’m, uh. I’m alright.”
Jaehee doesn’t move. Her arms remain fixed to the floor on either side of your head, standing like solid pillars. And to put it quite plainly, she’s staring.
It’s almost as if she’s studying you.
But Jaehee doesn’t study you. She studies Jumin’s clients. She studies her phone when Seven types off another cryptic message into the chat. She studies Yoosung, on days when he comes to see the two of you and his eyes are tinged red, voice unusually high.
Jaehee doesn’t study you. She gets lost in you. You don’t know what that means. You’re hopeful at times, of course, but you don’t have the answers, and it makes you want to tear your hair out. So no, Jaehee doesn’t study you. She doesn’t analyze you. Instead, she watches you when she thinks you’re not looking, and sometimes, you think you can see a little gleam in her eye when you turn around to see if you’re not just imagining things. You think there’s some merit to Jumin’s smirks when he sees the two of you together, and think that maybe, just maybe, there’s something more to the way that Jaehee laughs when she’s walking with you, and you alone. No one else.
Wishful thinking, the bitter voice at the front of your head snips, and you shake yourself out of your stupor.
As if she’s read your mind, you feel a hand clamp down on your right wrist—gently, at first, but the grip tightens and you look up to see Jaehee with a sort of strained look on her face.
“Jaehee?” Your voice comes off a little shrill, ringing in your ears all too loudly. “Are—are you okay? You should get up, your neck must hurt from being arched like that for so long—oh—“
Jaehee’s finger traces your lower lip, ever so gently.
That’s...interesting.
“I’m sure I could,” she murmurs, almost hoarsely, “but I’m also not sure if I’d like to.”
What?
You are frozen, immobile. Your heart might as well just give out by now; you’re probably going to fall into cardiac arrest if this keeps up any longer.
“Jaehee,” you croak.
“It’s been very hard to hold myself back, you know," she goes on, stroking your cheek now. She is practically whispering into your ear; the hiss of her breath against your hair and neck sends a shiver flying down your spine. “It’s a marvel that I’ve managed to keep from saying anything.”
“I—“ you begin, but you can’t say anything anymore because there’s a soft pressure on your mouth and it takes a moment for you to realize that you’re kissing her, that you’re kissing Jaehee, and her lips are so warm and soft and it’s both nothing and everything like the way you imagined it to be. Her kisses are captivating, like she’s about to steal your breath away—yet slow and steady, with a trace of that nervousness that tinges her words when she’s speaking to you as herself, and not a textbook. It’s so typical of her. It’s so Jaehee. You almost want to smile into the kiss.
Then she pulls away, slowly. Even without looking, you can tell that her chest is rising and falling with more weight to it than ever. Before you can stop yourself, you set your fingers on your lips gingerly, as though touching them will somehow manage to wipe the memory from existence.
“MC?” Jaehee looks down at you, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong?
The two of you sit up. You’d blush, if it weren’t for the crease in her brow or the concern permeating every inch of her expression. She’s straddling your thighs now, anxiety wrinkling at the corners of her eyes—too worried to give the position any thought, it seems.
You stop yourself from laughing once you realize that she’s leaning forward to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You rapidly blink, hoping to flush out the strange sting in your eyes, and you look up at her. She looks...shocked. Sad.
Ashamed.
Oh.
“I’m sorry,” Jaehee says. She looks away. “Did I hurt you?”
You shake your head and suck in a gust of air, as though your lungs are begging for it. Your chest feels uncomfortably tight. You have half a mind to thump it with your fist, but you don’t want to scare Jaehee any further.
Somewhere within you, the sob attempting to push past the muscles of your throat is waging a desperate war against the overwhelming urge to burst into laughter. And you know that if you start one or the other, you won’t be able to stop.
“I’m just...” You swallow, lower lip trembling. You sniff and wipe the tears against the back of your hand. “I’m just happy. And confused. But...but mostly happy. Really.”
Jaehee’s eyes immediately soften. “I’m sorry, MC,” she says. “I didn’t know what to do. I was too nervous—too frightened, if I have to be honest.”
“Frightened? Like, scared? Of me?”
Jaehee widens her eyes, already holding up her hands in protest to mitigate the misconception. “Oh, no! I mean—that is to say—I was scared...of letting you down. You probably already know this, but I’m not like the other members of RFA. I don’t feel as though I’ve any aptitude to put to light. I’m merely a secretary,” she says. Her tone drops along with her gaze, and she searches the room incessantly, like it’ll provide a way out of this conversation somehow. “I’m not a gifted hacker like Seven, nor an astonishing businessman like Jumin. And while I may be a fan of Zen, it would be...dishonest, in the least, if I were to stay that I haven’t felt any occasional unwarranted resentment towards him, for possessing that of which I lack.
“I’m sorry,” Jaehee says after a pause. “I shouldn’t have—“
“But they’re not you,” you protest, placing both hands over one of her own in reassurance. Jaehee blinks, looking down from your palms and back up to the small smile on your face, in spite of your lingering tears. “I like you, Jaehee.” Your fingers slowly thread through her own, and you squeeze tight. “You may not see it, but there’s a reason that I fell for you—not anyone else.”
There’s a long pause. Jaehee absentmindedly runs her thumb over the back of your hand, lost in thought.
“Really?”
You nod, grinning. “Of course!”
From somewhere underneath the curtain of her bangs, the corners of her lips quirk up in a timid grin.
“You really...don’t mind?”
“Of course not!” you exclaim, beaming. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for the past four months! Not that I’m counting or anything,” you add hastily, but Jaehee’s already lost in laughter, and the sound is so full of mirth and an overwhelming wave of relief that it kicks your heart into a staccato rhythm all over again.
When she kisses you again, you hold her in earnest, wrapping your arms around her neck while taking in the way that her hands tentatively trace the edges of your waist; testing her boundaries, toeing the limits of what is now finally there to define.
Distantly, you make out the low buzz of your own phone atop the glass surface of the coffee table.
It’s fine, you think, before clumsily collapsing back with your new lover against the couch cushions.
You’ve got all the time in the world.