“You know, that frown on your face just ruins the whole purpose of going to the club.” 

Kim Minjeong doesn’t turn to identify who the owner of the voice was because she’d already known it by some weirdly impulsive memory.

That's because whether she liked it or not, Yoo Jimin had come to be quite familiar to her.

She’d have to blame her roommate, Ning Yizhuo and her complicated family tree for that. No single person with eyes would even be able to tell they were cousins, and it was thanks to their apparent facial distinctions that the blonde had accidentally mistaken Yoo Jimin for Yizhuo’s—  … 

Well, romantic partner. 

Before, when she happened to stumble upon the pair in their shared dorm room.

And Minjeong can still vividly recall squaring her shoulders, her voice far from authoritative, but still trying quite  hard to be.

“Okay, I’ll be setting some ground rules for you and your girlfriend here. Number one, no funny business— I do not want to barge into the dormroom with clothes on the floor, and—”

“Min—”

The blonde girl would raise a hand to cut Yizhuo off, and shake her head. And there was this proud voice at the back of her head going all: "damn, I’m so responsible.”

“Let me finish. No making out on the counter, and I am certainly not—”

“Minjeong—”

“—going to tolerate weird noises at night, and—”

“We’re cousins.”

“And— oh, cousins.”

Minjeong had been effectively silenced at the time, only blankly staring at Ning Yizhuo and Yoo Jimin, who’d each (respectively) worn completely different expressions on their faces— one of disgust, probably from being given a mental image she’d rather not have, and another of pure amusement. 

How the blonde girl had found herself speaking up again after making things colossally awkward would always be beyond her, but the words that escaped after that exchange were either unforgettably stupid, or priceless. (depending on who you ask, really.)

“So, are we talking first cousins..? Or second? I need to get the whole equation here.”

She can remember the light in Jimin’s eyes as they crinkled up a little bit, her lips parting to show a row of white teeth that formed this purely delighted grin, and Minjeong might have felt some butterflies then. 

(And maybe some relief in knowing Yizhuo’s guest wasn’t someone intimate, but Ning might have groaned in frustration, bringing a hand to her face as Minjeong and Jimin just stared at each other then.)

It doesn’t help how, from then on, her selectively photographic memory had already gone and saved every tiny detail to Yoo Jimin’s face—  from the way her eyes would constrict to form these tiny little crescents when she smiled, to the beauty mark below her lip, and maybe the intoxicating scent of blueberry shortbread perfu—...  and, yes. She doesn’t really need to go into a whole tangent about how ruffled she is by somebody she barely knows.

When Jimin goes to her side, holding the neck of a wine glass (which would have been an attempt to be classy, but college-leveled club wine was really anything but.) and swirling it around in circular motion, Minjeong moves away a little bit out of discomfort.

It’s that tension on her shoulders that made her feel a little uneasy—  and she felt kind of bad because it didn’t seem to be the case for Jimin. 

“Why the long face?” The older girl asks, and when she leans closer, her high ponytail sways a little.  

“Nothing.” Minjeong mumbled—  as if she were scared of confidently uttering words all of a sudden, which is really how she was around strangers, and more so around... decently good-looking women. 

So really, having a mix of both wasn’t helping her case at all. 

There was also the pungent smell already exuding from the crowd of sweaty people that might have clouded her from effectively carrying conversation, she’d have her brows pulled together, with conscious effort to control her breathing because the room was starting to become kind of muggy.

Jimin exhales through her nose, and it’s obvious the whole scene was starting to feel stuffy for her as well. Though the older girl didn’t really look the type to mingle in these kinds of places; she had still managed to look like she was (fairly) in her element, and the blonde could only imagine how much more exhausting that would have been for her. 

After all, actively tolerating something was already a feat in itself— what more pretending to like it?

And Minjeong would know, because she’s scrunching her nose up a little now, obviously not liking the undesirable aroma of alcohol, smoke, and weird intertangled body odors. She’d spent a good portion of time already talking to the very few people she knew, and her social battery was already running low— not that there was much enthusiasm to socialize to begin with. 

She was sure Yizhuo was out there somewhere, but Minjeong was certainly not going to dive into the pool of sweaty college students trying to look for her roommate. And she was also certainly not going to leave an uncomfortable Yoo Jimin to fend for herself in a place overrun with— .. pushy men. Who liked to.. push you. 

Figuratively, and Literally. Which could be considered a biohazard, really. Who would want to actively attach anthropomorphic manifestations of rotten disease to their flesh?

Oh, come on. She’s just looking out for a friend, alright? And ‘friend’ might be stretching it, as they were probably mere acquaintances at most but if that was the case, she can just say she was looking out for a fellow woman. 

 Girl code. 

Or whatever they called it. 

To be frank, she wouldn’t really know since she was more used to hanging out with the boys back in her hometown. She was never that into makeup and lipstick, and fussing about straight males that had a habit of breaking hearts, and acting like they were the stuff for doing such things. 

But back to her situation right now. She was with Yoo Jimin, an acquaintance-friend-fellow-woman (patent pending), and currently struggling to strike up a conversation, but she does not want to leave the older girl be. 

An attractive acquaintance-friend-fellow-woman, that was leaning a little too close for her liking, and wow— there’s just something about blueberry shortbread perfume invading her senses that makes her head spin a little, and she feels like her soul is kind of ascending to a higher form of being and— 

“.. You been okay lately?” 

Jimin seemed to ask, and Minjeong’s not sure if that was exactly what the older had asked because until five seconds ago, her brain's cognitive capacity would have been comparable to that of half-fried, flattened mush. 

Which was totally the alcohol, she’d attempt to convince herself while wet