Sometimes Hansol forgets that she’s alone. She’ll turn around or call out or start a sentence and then she remembers. But the worst is when she grabs her phone to send a message-- How are you doing? Have you eaten?-- only to find that it’s Dong Sung at the top of her contacts list.

Vaguely, she registers Jiho’s voice from down the hall-- do you want pizza or ramyeon for dinner?-- and looks bitterly down in the phone in her lap, laughing humourlessly at the irony. “Whatever’s fine.”

Jiho pokes her head around the doorframe and Hansol looks up from her nest of pillows and blankets. “What.”

“Nothing just--”

“Can you bring me dinner?”

Jiho sighs and leaves the room; Hansol figures that’s a yes and if not, who cares? She’s not going to leave the room for another 3 000 years. Not unless--

“Byungjoo? Yeah, Hansol won’t leave her room… Mhmm. Yeah. Okay…See you in 10? Yeah… Bye.”

Shin Ji Ho, that traitor. Hansol groans and buries her face in the nearest blanket. It smells like lavender and she doesn’t know whether to cry or scream or call Byungjoo. She lays on her back and stares at the ceiling and it feels like her glow-in-the-dark stars are laughing at her. Capricorn kisses the edge of Gemini and Hansol pretends that she want to rip the stars off because they’re inaccurate. Her phone buzzes.

Feed yourself.

Hansol’s eyebrows knit together and she sighs dramatically, flopping herself back into her nest. Her stomach chooses that moment to growl, which only intensifies Hansol’s frown as she drags herself to the kitchen. There’s no frozen pizza, so she hits speed dial 5. Oh, that’s right. Speed dial 4. Orders pizza. Speed dial 3.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Come listen to me whine. I’ll feed you.”

“Yeah sure. But you’d better not be cooking.”


It only takes seven minutes for Yooncheol to show up. He rings the doorbell 700 times (“Just so you know I’m not the pizza guy!”) before Hansol lets him in, quickly, because her bare legs are ing freezing.

“You promised me food.”

“It’s coming, you ing dickbag.”

The doorbell rings just as Yooncheol lunges for Hansol; instead, he makes a full 360 to the door and yanks it open.

“Hawaiian pizza?” Hansol can practically feel Yooncheol sizing up the pizza guy. She shoves him aside and pays the poor guy money. Yooncheol seizes the pizza and launches himself onto the couch and Hansol remembers she’s not wearing any pants.

“Uhhh…”

“Have a good night.” She closes the door in his face and takes a moment to roll her eyes before wrestling the pizza away from Yooncheol.

“Go grab some beers.”

“Grab them yourself.”

“I paid for this ing pizza.”

Yooncheol huffs and walks to the fridge, not before he tangles Hansol’s hair beyond brushing.

Hansol starts crying halfway through her fourth beer; messy, embarrassing sobs into Yooncheol’s chest as he tries to console her.

“I miss her a lot and all my stuff smells like her…” Hansol’s whimpers are somewhat muffled by Yooncheol’s sweatshirt. “I want her back. I want her back, Yooncheol. I miss her. What do I do she probably hates me what do I do…” Her whimpers gradually cease until she’s just sniffling. Yooncheol swats her hand away when she reaches up to rub her puffy eyes.

“Wash up. Go to sleep.”

Hansol meekly obeys, washing her face with cold water and brushing her teeth before climbing back into her nest.

Yooncheol texts her from the living room: Sleeping on the couch. Call if you need me.

She texts back: Thanks.


It takes a full four days for Hansol to get out of the house: one hungover, one crying, and two moping around. Finally, on Friday, Jiho tosses Hansol’s sweatshirt at her and drags her off the couch. “Get out of here.”

“What are you--”

“I’m having Byungjoo over in five minutes, so get your outside.”

“Why can’t you go to her place?”

“Because you need to get out.”

Hansol huffs and slams the door on her way out, already texting Yooncheol. Jiho kicked me out for the night. Meet me at Moonlight?

He responds almost immediately. Sure.

Hansol catches the next bus to the club; it’s only five blocks from her apartment, but she sure as hell isn’t going to risk seeing Byungjoo. She leans her head against the dirty glass of the window and sighs. There was a time when Byungjoo’s red Volkswagen was an almost permanent fixture in front of the building, save street cleaning days and the occasional weekend.

Hansol almost misses her stop, she’s so deep in her misery. The vibrating of her phone brings her back to reality and she swings herself out of the doors, checking her messages.

I’m here.

She glances around, easily spotting Yooncheol-- he’s a ing giant-- and jogging over to him, jostling him with her shoulder. He gives her a half-grin.

“Ready to get ing wasted?”

She grimaces and doesn’t respond, choosing instead to make her way towards the door.

Hansol drags Yooncheol to the bar as soon as they get inside, hopping on a bar stool as Yooncheol slides on easily (damn his height). The bartender glances over, raising an eyebrow at Hansol.

“ID?”

Hansol levels a glare at him. “I came here to drink, not so you could tease me.”

“Okay, okay,” he cracks a grin, “what’ll it be.”

“ on the beach.” Yooncheol snorts and Hansol elbows him in the ribs. “Shut up.”

“I’ll have a Jack and coke,” he adds, “Thanks Sangdo.” Yooncheol leans heavily on the counter and lights a cigarette, the fingers of his other hand drumming against Hansol’s arm.

“You’re gross.” Hansol wrinkles her nose and blows the smoke back in his face.

“At least I’m not heartbroken and drinking my sorrows away,” he points out dryly.

“Can’t you wait until our drinks come?”

Sangdo conveniently reappears with both their drinks, reaching out to ruffle Hansol’s hair. “Take care of her,” he tells Yooncheol, who also reaches for Hansol’s head, only to have his hand pushed violently away.

Hansol’s four drinks in before she starts talking, slumped against the bar with the side of her head cradled in her palm. “She read my texts. Over my shoulder.” Yooncheol reaches for her phone but Hansol snatches it away, flicking her thumb across the screen before handing it to him.

hey dongsung, it’s hansol
hi!! do you want to meet up this week?
yeah, mb wednesday? i don’t have class until 2 so we can get lunch
should i come to ur dorm?
you don’t have to
but i’ve never seen it!! TT-TT please? 
uh if you want?
:D what does your bedroom look like?
messy……
lol okay well i’ll see u wed then? can’t wait to see ur face :*
ok

are u marry me?? :P
what
i went to a tdogg fansign on saturday!! >//0//<
why would i marry u
gohn grabbed my hands n he was like are u marry me
u know i don’t care about your boybands dongsung
are u marry me?
are u marry me??
ARE U MARRY ME

Yooncheol stares at the screen, lost. “So?”

Hansol grimaces. “Jealous Byungjoo is really cute.”

“This is nothing to be jealous over,” reasons Yooncheol, “Dongsung is like this with everyone.” He grimances. “Dongsung is like this with me.”

Hansol slides her arms out in front her her until her nose is touching the bar. “Jealous Byungjoo is really cute.”


It becomes a regular thing, their Friday nights out. It doesn’t matter whether or not Byungjoo’s coming over; once a week Hansol can be found leaning on the bar with a fruity drink and, more often than not, eyes red and puffy from crying. This week, Hansol’s got both her elbows on the bar, kicking her legs in the air while Yooncheol’s spun around, looking out onto the packed dance floor. Blonde curls catch his attention; he takes a closer look and-- yeah, this is bad. He elbows Hansol too hard, almost pushing her off the stool.

“What?” she snaps, still sober enough to be annoyed. 

“Byungjoo.” Hansol’s spine straightens and she whips her head around, spotting Byungjoo almost immediately. She’s leaning against a wall, hair swept over her shoulder and strapless plum dress barely covering her . “We’re doing shots,” she tells Yooncheol.

He heaves a sigh but complies nonetheless; Hansol continues to stare down the back of Byungjoo’s head as Yooncheol presses the shot glass into her hand.

Byungjoo turns around as Hansol’s downing her second shot; her eyes widen and then soften and she makes her way toward the bar, occasionally shoving people out of her way.

“,” Hansol mutters. Yooncheol wraps an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze.

“Do you want to go?” he asks. Hansol doesn’t respond, eyes glued to Byungjoo as the latter glares back, accusatory.

“,” reiterates Hansol, and then Byungjoo’s in front of her, chin high and jaw clenched tight even as she grips the edge of her skirt.

“What are you doing here?” Hansol cuts her off before she gets a chance to speak, the question slipping off her tongue before she can bite them back.

Byungjoo bites her lip, opens to speak, but Hansol barrels on, words pressing against her lungs and spilling through her lips independent of her mind.

“Because I thought you had made it very clear that you wanted me to get the out. I thought you told me that we were nothing and would never be anything. I thought--” Hansol swallows hard, “you said you hated me.”

The blonde girl doesn’t respond right away; her eyes flick to the shot glass in Hansol’s hand, to Yooncheol’s arm which has tightened its grip on her. “Dongsung wasn’t enough for you?”

She says it quietly, but Hansol hears it as if the whole room’s gone silent. Her drunk mind allows her a moment of disbelief until she’s slipping off the barstool to stand almost nose-to-nose with Byungjoo. “I hate you.”

Byungjoo takes a step back, the disbelief in her eyes clashing with the angry set of her jaw. Hansol blinks hard and she’s gone, pushing and shoving her way to the door.

It only takes a couple seconds for Hansol to break down completely, almost collapsing to the floor with the force of her sobs. Yooncheol picks her up, supporting her weight until they’re outside. He heaves Hansol onto his back and carries her home.


Hansol wakes to a glass of water and two painkillers next to her bed. She silently thanks Yooncheol, and follows the smell of peanuts to the kitchen, where Jiho’s making peanut-butter-chocolate-chip pancakes in her white apron, red hair swept into a messy French braid.

She’s mid-yawn when she hears shuffling footsteps behind her; Hansol whips around to find herself facing Byungjoo once again. The latter is wearing one of Jiho’s many sets of pyjamas, faint dark smudges around her eyes where last night’s makeup was smeared. Hansol opens to say something, to apologise, but Byungjoo brushes past her to grab a glass out of the cupboard. 

“You two better talk this out,” Jiho tells them, turning off the heat. She places the last pancake on the stack and points her spatula at both of them. “There are twelve pancakes here and you can’t touch any of them until I come back to find both of you on good terms.” She pushes past them and grabs the laundry basket, shoving her feet into her flip-flops. Byungjoo’s dress is piled on top of Hansol’s dirty underwear, and the latter feels her stomach twist.

When she turns back around, Byungjoo is looking down, tracing the rim of her glass with her forefinger. She looks up and her gaze is nervous, but resolute. Hansol swallows.

“Sorry. For last night.”

“Do you really hate me?” asks Byungjoo, apprehension making her voice waver slightly.

Hansol bites her lip. “If you hate me, then shouldn’t I hate you, too?”

“I don’t hate you.” It comes out almost almost as a breath, so quiet that Hansol thinks she might have imagined it. “And I’m sorry, too,” Byungjoo continues, “for being a-- for being jealous.”

Hansol’s shoulders relax and she leans against the counter. “You had nothing to be jealous about.”

“I know that,” mutters Byungjoo, whining slightly. “It’s just, well,” her lower lip quivers and she bites down on it, taking a deep breath before continuing, “Dongsung is really cute and I’m--”

“And you’re the only one I want.” Hansol cuts her off. They’re both crying now, silent tears running down their cheeks and Hansol wants to reach forward and wipe Byungjoo’s cheeks but the latter hasn’t reacted and--

The door opens behind her and she hears Jiho kicking off her shoes. “You guys--”

Before she can finish, Byungjoo flings herself and Hansol; the shorter girl flinches back before Byungjoo’s arms tighten around her neck and she realises she’s being hugged, not attacked. She reaches up wrap her arms around Byungjoo’s waist and lets her head rest on the taller girl’s shoulder, breathing in lavender and soft blonde curls.

The door closes again and Byungjoo rests their foreheads together. “I love you.”