Minjeong has a philosophy. A way of life, you might say. It’s the reason why her most used emoji is the sunglasses one, and why her default answer to the ages-old dipping vs. pouring tangsuyuk question is soaking; she does what she wants. Life is peppered with constraints and expectations, and it’s no fun if she adheres to them. So, in defiance of all the people who told her she wouldn’t be able to handle it, she’s the president of SM high school’s student government, co-captain of choir, maintains a 4.3 GPA, and still finds time to volunteer at the local animal shelter and attend Seventeen concerts.

It’s fair to say this philosophy has served her very well up until now. 

Emphasis on “up until now”, because staring back up at her in prim black 12pt Times New Roman in the first row of the Assigned Lab Partners sheet taped to the door of her chemistry classroom are the names “Kim Minjeong & Yoo Jimin”, and this is trouble like Minjeong’s never known.

 

♮

 

“Chemistry,” Yizhuo snickers, impervious to the irritated glare Minjeong throws her way.

She stabs the straw through her milk carton a little harder than necessary. “Stop laughing,” she says, voice cracking on the first syllable like it’s trying to get Yizhuo to do the exact opposite. “Respect your elders.” She’s a senior while Yizhuo’s a junior, not that Yizhuo’s cared about class hierarchy ever since they started sharing the position of choir captain.

“So you guys have chemistry,” Yizhuo repeats, tone lilting like she knows something Minjeong doesn’t. Minjeong doubts she does. “Did anything happen?”

She takes a loud sip from her milk carton, straw gargling obnoxiously in a last-ditch effort to irk Yizhuo. “Nope. The teacher just went over the syllabus and assigned our lab partners.”

It’s a lie, and a blatant one too. Jimin said hi to her. And smiled at her. (Minjeong did not swoon — she just felt a little dizzy for a second). But it’s not like Yizhuo has to know that.

“Uh huh,” Yizhuo says, unconvinced. “She’s looking at you right now, by the way. I always felt like something was up between the two of you, ever since freshman year during that party.”

“I told you, nothing happened at that party.” Pause. “She’s looking at me? Where?”

“The vending machine. And I’m 100% sure something happened at that party that you’re not telling me, because after you two came out of the closet, no pun intended, both of you were—”

Minjeong turns toward the vending machine to find Jimin looking right at her, eyes widening slightly before she immediately redirects her gaze to the floor. Stoops to pick up her soda — Minjeong knows it’s Sprite even before she sees it, can taste the lemon-lime dancing on her tongue, can see the sliver of light peeking through the closet doors, can feel the fuzzy coats on her right and the shoeboxes stacked on her left and the wall cold against her back — and walks away.

“... and ever since then you guys have been really awkward around each other.”

Minjeong swallows and turns back to her lunch, hope and apprehension bubbling in her chest in equal measure. “To be honest, I hadn’t noticed.”

 

♮

 

On the first Friday of freshman year, Minjeong finds herself wading through grape-flavored clouds and seas of people holding red solo cups.

“Letting you tag along was a bad idea,” Minjeong mumbles to Yizhuo at her side, wrinkling her nose as a couple being excessively PDA stumbles past them. “You’re a baby. I feel like a chaperone on an elementary school field trip, except all the zoo animals have been released from their cages.”

“Hey, there’s Aeri!” Yizhuo ignores Minjeong completely, far too used to jabs about her age. She drags Minjeong over to where Aeri, a fellow exchange student they’ve known since middle school, is sitting in a circle of people. To Aeri’s right is SMHS’s resident “it girl”, dance team prodigy and ace of the basketball team Yoo Jimin, a can of Sprite held daintily in her hands.

On impulse, Minjeong squeezes into the circle next to Yizhuo, pretending to be engaged in her animated conversation with Aeri about which NCT title track is the best now that they’ve released a few new ones — it’s definitely Regular, not that Yizhuo will listen to her — while surreptitiously observing Jimin from across the circle. Her hair falls in a sheer black curtain over her shoulder, revealing a knife-sharp jawline when she tucks it behind her ear. A small smile plays on her lips as she listens to Aeri and Yizhuo debate if Kick It was overrated, eyes crinkling at Aeri’s offhanded comment that girl groups do noise music better than boy groups.

Minjeong in a breath. She’s pretty.

“Jimin, what’s your take?” Aeri asks, not-so-discreetly elbowing her in the ribs. Minjeong belatedly realizes how long she’d been staring.

“Ow, stop it. The 7th Sense,” Jimin answers. Minjeong blinks in surprise. Her voice is deeper than she thought it would be.

Aeri looks impressed. “I didn’t expect you to know any of their songs. Jimin’s a misandrist,” she adds to Yizhuo and Minjeong.

Jimin rolls her eyes. “I know it because I learned the choreography before,” she answers, taking a sip of her Sprite. “It’s a good song. Hard to dance, though.”

I wish I’d seen her perform it, Minjeong thinks, struck by the sudden realization that she’s only ever seen Jimin dancing in blurry videos posted on the SMHS dance team Instagram but never in person. She’ll have to change that.

“Hey princess, it’s your turn,” someone shouts, startling Jimin out of their conversation.

“Don’t call me that,” Jimin says sharply. “Skip my turn, I’m not playing.”

A chorus of boos follows her statement, and Minjeong looks over at the center of the circle to see an empty beer bottle. Oh.

“Royalty doesn’t wanna slum it with the commoners, huh?” some guy sneers. Jimin’s jaw tenses, but she holds back a response.

Minjeong’s never been the type to hold back. “She said not to call her that.”

He scoffs, giving her a disdainful glance. “You’re another one of her subjects, then.”

Minjeong’s just about to introduce her fist to his face when Jimin’s eyes flit to her, expression unreadable. She stops in her tracks, watching as Jimin reaches a hand out to the bottle. “It’s just seven minutes, right?”

The circle explodes into cheers, and Minjeong finally realizes just how many people clearly want to play seven minutes in heaven with Jimin, from sleazy overeager freshmen to hawk-eyed upperclassmen. Something constricts in Minjeong’s chest, overcome with the urge to protect Jimin from all of them, no matter how much she’d be overstepping.

“Just seven minutes,” the guy confirms, grinning cockily. Jimin nods and spins the bottle. Minjeong winces and turns away, her stomach sinking.

“Minjeong,” Yizhuo hisses suddenly. She looks up to see the bottle pointing at her.

.

Minjeong barely manages to register the sorely disappointed looks of the crowd before Jimin’s leading her away, grip strong on her arm. Her shampoo smells like lavender.

“Wait, Jimin—” The double closet doors click shut, enveloping them in darkness.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jimin murmurs, voice low and earnest. “It’s up to you.”

Minjeong squeezes herself in between a pile of shoeboxes and a fluffy parka, heartbeat on overdrive at Jimin’s close proximity. “Did you know the bottle was going to land on me?”

“No,” Jimin answers, her voice a jolt of electricity into the crackling air, words blooming into the shared space between them. “But maybe I was hoping.”

 

♮

 

Seven minutes later, the two of them emerge from the closet amidst raucous cheering, red-faced and eyes wincing as they adjust to the light.

“Whad’ya do?” someone hollers drunkenly over the noise of the crowd. Jimin flushes, a hand instinctively running through her hair.

Minjeong swallows past the lump in . “We just talked to each other, that’s all.”

 

♮

 

But maybe that’s not exactly what happened.

Maybe Minjeong admits she’s nervous, and Jimin takes her hand in hers to calm her nerves, unaware that it’s doing anything but.

Maybe Jimin asks her if it’s okay, and her thumb along the back of her hand, and places her other hand on the back of Minjeong’s neck.

And maybe, just maybe, Minjeong says yes and leans in.

 

♮

 

That was three years ago. Minjeong repeats this to herself like a mantra while psyching herself up to do a lab with Jimin, to no avail. Presses two fingers to her left wrist, feels her pulse racing there. Giving herself away.

“I got our safety goggles,” Jimin says, and Minjeong bangs her knee into the underside of the table.

It actually goes well, despite the butterflies reenacting the Hunger Games in Minjeong’s stomach. The “well” in question being that Jimin’s fingers brush against Minjeong’s when they reach for the potassium iodate at the same time and Minjeong’s heart somersaults into .

“Alright, last one,” Jimin says softly, tipping a few drops of silver nitrate into a salt solution. Trails of misty gray spiral out into the clear liquid like petals, engulfed in a cloudy sea of color. Jimin watches in quiet amazement, riveted by the swirls of silver bumping clumsily into the glass and sinking deeper.

Minjeong watches how the sunlight pouring through the window spills into her eyes, and thinks there’s a reaction happening there too.

“That’s so beautiful.” Jimin’s expression is alight with fascination, and some part of Minjeong’s heart that she locked away in that closet three years ago bursts into vivid color.

Minjeong reaches for her pen, placing a checkmark next to AgNO3 + NaCl in her lab notebook. “Yeah, it is.”

 

♮

 

They wrap up the lab in comfortable silence, double-checking each other’s work to make sure they followed the procedure correctly. They make a good team. Minjeong’s known for being a top student, but Jimin’s also really strong in academics, not that people ever acknowledge it. Indignance simmers under her skin whenever she thinks about it too hard, and then gives her pause, because it’s not her place to feel so strongly.

“I’m going to ask Ms. Seo how to dispose of this safely,” Jimin says, carrying a beaker over to the fume hood where the teacher is chatting with another student. Minjeong watches her leave; wrestles down the pointless urge to follow her.

“Isn’t it hard being her lab partner?” 

Minjeong snaps out of her trance. At the lab bench next to hers are two guys — Minjeong thinks they might be on the football team, despite willfully ignoring all things football-related — leaning forward, eyebrows cocked and awaiting Minjeong’s answer.

It immediately puts her on guard. “Not at all. Why would it be?”

The taller of the two shrugs. Shrek 2.0, Minjeong mentally dubs him, given his startling resemblance. “She’s a total .”

Shrek 3.0 adds, “plus, she’s a... y’know.” He doesn’t say it, but Minjeong sees the slur he mouths as clear as day.

Her vision blurs red, anger prickling white-hot under her skin. “Mind your ing business. And maybe, instead of using homophobia to shield yourself from the reality that she’s not interested in you, try instead blaming it on the fact that you look and act like someone reanimated you out of dried from a frat house’s bathroom floor.”

They go deathly pale, and Minjeong’s about to give them another piece of her mind when a shoulder playfully bumps into hers, hand finding hers behind the lab bench and tangling their fingers together. She shuts up faster than she’s ever shut up in her life.

“Ms. Seo said we’re good to go,” Jimin says, a slight smirk pulling at her lips. At the corner of Minjeong’s vision, the two guys slink away, tails tucked between their legs.

Jimin’s hands are just as soft as she remembers.

“Oh, uh—” thinking is proving incredibly difficult right now — “that’s great! Um, I’m sorry.”

Jimin’s eyes glimmer with amusement. “Give me your phone.”

Minjeong fishes her phone out of her pocket without a second thought, unlocking it and handing it to Jimin. She immediately regrets it when she remembers that her camera roll is full of Jimin’s selfies that she’d screenshotted from her Instagram. “Wait, uh, why?”

Jimin hands back her phone, and Minjeong breathes a sigh of relief when she sees that her contacts app is open and not her camera roll. And then nearly chokes when she sees that Jimin’s saved her contact name as “jimin 🥰”.

“My number, in case you need to text me. For the lab,” Jimin clarifies, which gives Minjeong the distinct impression that this is not just for the lab. “And you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

 

♮

 

6:11pm

jimin 🥰: aeri and i are going to karaoke, do you want to join?

jimin 🥰: yizhuo can come too

 

6:12pm

gyeoulie ❄️: JIMIN TEXTED ME ASKING IF I WANT TO GO TO KARAOKE W HER AND AERI WHAT THE DO I SAY

gyeoulie ❄️: oh and ur also invited

ningie 🦋: since when has jimin had your number

ningie 🦋: you have a lot of explaining to do

ningie 🦋: also say yes you idiot, what kind of question

 

6:14pm

minjeong 😎: see u there 😎

 

6:15pm

gyeoulie ❄️: i said yes and also sent the sunglasses emoji

ningie 🦋: you’re a disaster

 

♮

 

Jimin is singing when Minjeong arrives.

The moment Minjeong hears her voice, it hits her like she’s been splashed by a bucket of ice water. “You go in without me,” she hisses to Yizhuo, shoving her forward and plastering herself to the wall like she’s in a spy movie.

Yizhuo’s eyebrows furrow in confusion before she realizes Minjeong’s up to her panicked gay antics again. She shakes her head in exasperation. “Seriously, you’re hopeless.”

Minjeong shrugs — it’s not like she can deny it — and eavesdrops outside the door while Yizhuo successfully lies to Jimin and Aeri by telling them that she’s in the bathroom. She and Aeri launch into a conversation about Blackpink’s newest album, the karaoke instrumental drowning them out. Jimin’s singing an IU song that Minjeong can’t remember the name of, her voice leaching through the walls and filling up the air with a surprising richness, an insistent force that Minjeong hadn’t expected from her softer speaking voice. Captivating; electrifying.

It steals the air right out of her lungs, leaves her desperate for more.

Minjeong’s so absorbed in her performance that it catches her off guard when the song ends, forcing her to work up the nerve to actually talk to Jimin. She exhales, recollects herself, fixes her hair using her phone camera for the millionth time, and steps into the karaoke room.

Jimin’s face brightens upon seeing her, patting the spot on the couch next to her. Yizhuo pauses in the middle of her and Aeri’s rendition of Bet You Wanna to throw Minjeong an unimpressed look. Aeri is spitting Cardi B’s verse word for word. Seems about right.

Minjeong sits next to Jimin on the couch, looking everywhere but at her. The potted plant next to the door, the spinning disco strobe lights, Aeri and Yizhuo having the time of their lives. “You have a beautiful voice,” she finally says, Converse tapping on the ground anxiously.

Jimin’s eyes curve into half-moons. “You were listening?”

Minjeong coughs, heat rising to her cheeks.

Jimin’s smile grows wider. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.” At Minjeong’s questioning glance, she explains, “I saw your solo at last year’s choir performance.”

“Oh.” Minjeong wishes she’d gone to the dance team showcase for the umpteenth time. “I— thank you.”

She can’t think of anything to say after that, so they lapse into silence, watching as Aeri and Yizhuo harmonize to the bridge of Bet You Wanna. Jimin’s fiddling with the sleeve of her jacket, biting her lip like she’s deep in thought.

“Something ‘bout me’s taking you higher,” Yizhuo sings, at the same time Jimin says, “I wanted to thank you for earlier.”

Minjeong’s stomach flips over like an egg in a frying pan. “Did you hear all of... what I said?”

Jimin shrugs, smile tugging at her lips. “Parts of it.” When it seems like that’s all she’s going to say, she adds, “like the reanimated thing.”

“Oh god.” Minjeong stares directly up into the shimmering disco ball on the ceiling, praying that it’ll blind her and she’ll have to go to the hospital, just so she can avoid this conversation. “Please forget I said any of that. I’m really sorry if I crossed a line.”

Jimin shakes her head. “You didn’t. Not at all.” Her expression is strangely vulnerable, and Minjeong wonders just how much of it she was masking three years ago, pinned under the weight of everyone’s gaze on her, preying and cruel. “I... Most people wouldn’t fight for me. Thank you.”

Most people don’t feel about you the way I do. “You don’t have to thank me at all. Those guys were douchebags and didn’t know about anything they were saying.”

Jimin turns her head slightly, breaking eye contact Minjeong hadn’t realized they’d been holding. “They weren’t totally wrong, though.” Looks her in the eye again. “Although you probably already knew that.”

What the — is she talking about the k—

“Hey, these two are really preoccupied with their NCT cover,” Jimin chuckles, jerking her chin towards Yizhuo and Aeri shouting the lyrics to Make a Wish. “Aeri should be a SoundCloud rapper. I’m impressed.”

Okay, now that Minjeong’s taken approximately fifteen seconds to process it: Jimin is most definitely gay, and she was most definitely talking about their kiss.

Well.

All the ways they could’ve ended up here sooner run through Minjeong’s mind — if she’d had the courage to talk to Jimin after their seven minutes were over, if she’d had the courage to watch the basketball team practice in the gym after school, if she’d had the courage to get first-row tickets to the dance showcase. If she’d had the courage she seems to have in every single aspect of her life, except when it comes to Yoo Jimin and suddenly she’s struggling to find the courage she’s never struggled to find before.

“Put your hands together, make a wish,” Aeri growls into the mic.

(She thinks she has the courage now.)

Minjeong in a deep breath. “You wanna ditch them and head to the arcade next door? I don’t think they’d notice.”

Jimin’s smile is radiant, dappled with purple and green lights, and it’s the most beautiful thing Minjeong has ever seen. “Let’s go.”

 

♮

 

6:49pm

ningie 🦋: i saw you guys leave together

ningie 🦋: you aren’t slick

gyeoulie ❄️: shut up

 

♮

 

“Seriously, how are you so good at this?” Minjeong asks incredulously after Jimin’s soundly destroyed her at Skee-Ball for the fifth time.

Jimin hums, tucking the roll of tickets she’s won into her pocket. “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

“Not even if I buy you a milkshake?” Minjeong asks, because she’s starting to get the hang of this courage thing.

Jimin shakes her head. “Milkshakes are a great idea, but I’m buying for you.”

They argue over who’s buying for the next five minutes until the tired teenage employee at the snack bar asks them to leave their lovers’ quarrel for another time, at which point they immediately shut up, blushing furiously. Minjeong pays at lightning speed while Jimin is too flustered to react, smiling triumphantly as she complains that Minjeong’s being unfair.

“I’ll pay next time,” Jimin declares, and Minjeong’s too tongue-tied at the idea of a next time to respond.

They let the conversation lead them — from the upcoming chemistry test to favorite TV tropes to potential colleges (they both want to major in STEM, so they’re interested in a lot of the same schools) — until Blueming starts playing over the arcade speakers and Jimin visibly lights up.

“You’re an Uaena?” Minjeong asks, hoping to impress with her bare minimum IU knowledge. It seems to be working, judging by the way Jimin nods vigorously and her eyes shine like all the universe’s stars decided to gather in one spot.

“IU’s one of my favorite singers,” Jimin says. “I have 200 pictures of her on my phone.”

Damn, that’s dedication, Minjeong thinks. “You were singing one of her songs earlier, right? It sounded familiar, but I can’t remember the name.”

Jimin smiles brilliantly. “The song’s name is ‘unlucky’. It’s a bside on Love Poem.”

“I’ll add it to my playlist,” Minjeong promises. “Your cover was amazing, it made me really want to get into IU’s discography.”

“You won’t regret it, she’s incredible. She doesn’t have a single bad song.” Jimin takes a sip of her milkshake, a stray drop at the corner of her lips. Minjeong’s heartbeat revs like a motorcycle engine. “What type of music do you normally listen to?”

Right on cue, playful piano comes over the speakers, accompanied by bold brass and a trademark “Seventeen right here!”. Minjeong blinks in surprise, a startled laugh escaping from her chest as she turns to find the source of the music. Jimin notices her reaction. “You like Seventeen?”

“Yeah, they’re my favorite group,” Minjeong chuckles. “Hell of a coincidence.”

No sooner than the words have left does she realize just why that phrase sounds so familiar, brings her back to the memories she buried in that stuffy closet underneath the puffy jackets, the unworn shoes, the winding scarves.

Meets Jimin’s eyes, and knows she’s remembering it too.

“It’s starting to look more like fate at this point, isn’t it?” Jimin asks, tone lighthearted, but there’s something about the look in her eyes that makes Minjeong think this isn’t lighthearted at all. It’s deadly serious. Reminds her of the venomous snakes she used to see in nature documentaries as a kid, poised and still, but lightning fast to bite.

I can’t stop the feeling, Joshua belts over the speakers.

“Definitely,” Minjeong breathes, and lets the feeling bloom.

 

♮

 

The frigid night air nips at their cheeks as they leave the arcade and make their way to the nearest bus stop. Minjeong inhales deeply, lets the icy air pierce her lungs, but it does nothing to stop the heat prickling along her skin where her shoulder is pressed against Jimin’s.

The overhead streetlights cast a halo around Jimin’s head, golden rays cascading over the bridge of her nose and framing the curve of her jaw. Her breath comes out in foggy puffs, head tilted back to observe the starry skyline. Minjeong shivers unconsciously, transfixed by the caramel glimmer of her eyes.

“Are you cold?” Jimin asks abruptly, taking off her jacket. “You should dress warmer, it’s starting to get really cold at night.”

“No, it’s okay—” Minjeong starts to protest, but Jimin’s already draping her jacket over her shoulders. She belatedly realizes just how tall Jimin is — the jacket’s slightly oversized on her, but on Minjeong it reaches down to her mid-thigh and the sleeves completely engulf her hands.

Jimin smiles. “Cute.”

Cute— holy . Heat floods her cheeks, and she instinctively buries her nose in the jacket collar to hide her blush.

“Aren’t you cold?” The jacket smells like lavender. She wants to keep it forever.

“Not at all,” Jimin answers, clearly lying through her teeth. Minjeong’s heart melts.

“C’mere,” she mumbles, pulling Jimin closer and wrapping the edges of the jacket around her. It’s stiff and awkward for a moment, but then their bodies figure it out, Minjeong’s nose tucked into the crook of Jimin’s neck and Jimin’s arms looping around her waist.

“If you wanted to hug me, you could’ve just said so.” Minjeong can’t see Jimin’s face, but she can hear the smile in her voice. 

Two can play at that game. “I just didn’t want you to freeze to death, but if you’re sure—” she pretends to extract herself from Jimin’s grasp, but Jimin tightens her grip around Minjeong’s midriff, pulling her flush against her front. Heat leaps to Minjeong’s cheeks.

“I wasn’t cold, but I like it better this way.” The rumble of Jimin’s voice seeps into her skin. Minjeong desperately hopes she can’t hear the traitorous, desperate thump of her heartbeat. Her body feels like it’s burning up, feverish and all-consuming.

(Jimin falls asleep on her shoulder during the bus ride. Minjeong doesn’t move a muscle the whole way home.)

 

♮

 

10:27pm

minjeong 😎: 

jimin 🥰: what a coincidence

jimin 🥰:

minjeong 😎:  seems more like fate to me

jimin 🥰: 💕

 

♮

 

“You know, you kind of look like him,” Jimin says as Olaf prances around the screen, singing with all the innocence in the world about the wonders of summer.

It’s golden hour on a November afternoon, veins of buttery light streaming through the windowblinds and dappling the walls of Jimin’s room. Minjeong’s supposedly there to finish up a lab they hadn’t had time to complete in class, but that pretense had quickly fallen away when Minjeong stumbled upon a stack of Disney movies tucked behind Jimin’s collection of IU albums and Jimin sheepishly admitted to Frozen being her favorite movie.

Now they’re cocooned in fuzzy blankets on Jimin’s bed, her cat purring in Minjeong’s lap, marathoning Disney movies because Minjeong didn’t have the heart to tell Jimin she’s into violent action movies like American Sniper. It’s alright, though, because she spends the entire time pretending to watch the movie while sneaking glances at Jimin instead.

Minjeong gasps theatrically at Jimin’s comment, hand over her heart in mock offense. “How dare you?”

Jimin grins. “It’s the sunglasses.” She gestures to the screen, where Olaf’s splayed out on the beach with his shades.

Minjeong pouts. “You’re saying I look like a snowman?”

Jimin shrugs with a cheeky smile. “Your words, not mine.”

“Y’know, that reminds me,” Minjeong Jimin’s cat behind his ears, “one of Yizhuo’s nicknames for me is Winter because she said I looked cold at first, and ever since she told me that I’ve been trying to fix my RBF.”

“I don’t think you have a resting face. Actually, my first impression of you was that you’re really short.” At Minjeong’s eye roll, she adds, “another thing in common with Olaf.”

“Tall people.” Minjeong shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose in disapproval. “You’re mighty brave for someone whose kneecaps are within striking distance.”

“I swear, you wake up every day and choose violence,” Jimin laughs, nose scrunching cutely. “When those two guys on the football team called me a slur, I actually thought you were going to break their noses.”

Minjeong exhales. The line, tangible and dangerous as a live wire. “I would’ve if you hadn’t shown up,” she admits, avoiding eye contact. “Even though they probably would’ve beaten the out of me. Yizhuo says I have to pick my battles, but...” she makes an ambiguous noise, shrugging her shoulders.

“I don’t want you to do it if it’s dangerous, but I like that you stand up for me. It makes me feel...” Jimin bites her lip. “Protected.”

Oh, she thinks, the realization finally sinking in; Jimin liked that she fought for her, would even want her to do it again. “You’re welcome,” she mumbles, turning away so Jimin can’t see the raging blush on her cheeks.

“You and Yizhuo lead choir, right?” Jimin asks, out of the blue.

Minjeong nods. “It’s a big responsibility, but working with her makes it much less exhausting. She’s like a little sister to me,” she finishes, missing the way Jimin’s expression relaxes imperceptibly. “Why?”

“Just curious.” Minjeong narrows her eyes, but decides to drop it. Jimin jerks her chin towards the screen. “Which character do you think I resemble?”

“Well, you obviously want me to say Elsa,” Minjeong says immediately, laughing when Jimin blushes and looks away, confirming her answer.

“Hey, just because I’m a lesbian—” Jimin starts, smiling good-naturedly.

“Why Elsa? Aside from, y’know.” Minjeong does the limp wristed hand move, elation bubbling up in her chest when Jimin bursts into laughter.

“You’re such a dork,” she laughs, shoving playfully at Minjeong’s shoulder. “I mean, there’s that, but there’s also her personality, right?”

“Is this your way of telling me you secretly have ice powers?” Minjeong grabs Jimin’s hand, pushing back her sleeves to squint at her palm. Presses her fingers to her wrist, feels the pulse thrumming there, singing and warm and alive.

“No, dummy,” Jimin says fondly, shifting her hand so she can intertwine their fingers. “I meant how she’s misunderstood and b