To everyone else, the fact that Jiho and Mingyu end up going to separate universities is a shock. “You two are always together!” they would say, and Mingyu would make an overused, barbed comment like, yup, we were stuck together since the womb, isn’t Jiho lucky? And Jiho would roll her eyes like, dealing with you everyday means I’m lucky? Cue daily argument. Maybe a cold war every month or so. He would shove all the chores onto her. She would accidentally-on-purpose flatten his bike tire. Rinse and repeat.

 

Life was much simpler back when they were in diapers. Jiho, born four minutes earlier, had been the precocious one: the first to be potty-trained, the first to read simple words. Mingyu, however, struggled a bit more but was never more than a step behind. “Hold onto his hand, Jiho,” their mother would say as the two waddled their way through the supermarket aisles, their eyes widening at all the food on the shelves. Once, for Halloween, they were dressed as two peas in a pod. They were the freaking cutest kids in the neighborhood.

 

Elementary school took a bit of adjustment. Suddenly, they were in different classes, and Jiho remembers kicking and screaming when she found out she would be separated from her brother. Mingyu tried to stay tough, but later Jiho discovered from Seokmin that once he arrived in his own classroom, he would have trouble holding back his tears. Sometimes, their mother would accidentally pack the wrong lunch box in her bag and Jiho would be taken aback at the amount of gochujang in the bibimbap (Mingyu likes his food spicy). Eventually, she would come to appreciate the spice. It reminded her of him, even if he wasn’t that far away down the hall.

 

Then, there was that awkward stage when Jiho started growing a lot taller than him - her hips widening and her emotions a lot more confusing. Somewhere in the middle of figuring out what the heck this all meant and harboring her first crush in middle school, she felt the need to apologize to Mingyu - “I don’t know, it feels like I’m leaving you behind,” she would say through her tears, and she didn’t even know why she was crying. And Mingyu would smile, his canine teeth poking out, still very much a scrawny little boy. “I’ll come with you to the store to buy - what are those called? - pads,” he would offer. They didn’t hold hands walking down the aisles but she appreciated it all the same.

 

 

 

 

 

In hindsight, she shouldn’t have worried about leaving him behind. Puberty did him plenty of good height-wise, and soon enough, his voice was deepening and to her surprise, it seemed like he had his fair share of admirers at school. If she could pinpoint one moment in time, this is when they started getting on each other’s nerves. Every time he would come home with another box of chocolates or confession letter, she would roll her eyes and wonder what in the world any girl would see in him.

 

(“Kim Mingyu, you disgust me,” she declares one morning, quite aggressively opening the jug of milk on the table.

He merely quirks an eyebrow, his gaze still focused on his phone screen as he uses his left hand to shovel (gross) frosted Mini-Wheats in his mouth. He sneezes into his right hand, rubbing his nose on his sleeve. He uses the same hand to offer her the bag of cereal next to his bowl. She winces. No thanks, she’ll just stick with her Honey Bunches of Oats.

 

Mingyu just shrugs, not really paying attention. “Hey mom, I’m going to be late coming back from school. Mina’s going to tutor me,” he yells toward the kitchen.

 

Jiho just clenches her teeth, inhaling her cereal as fast as she can. “Bye,” she says, clanging her metal spoon against the side of her bowl as she sets it down. “I’ll be taking the early bus to school. Have fun with Mina later.”)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jiho thinks it’s only natural that by the time university rolls around, they need some more personal space. She’s moving into her dorms, color scheme is perfectly coordinated, she got all the classes that wanted. Everything’s absolutely exquisite.

 

She’s sitting on her bed, watching the other girls in the hallway as they move in, and frowns. Then why did something seem wrong? Her parents finish moving in the last box, and her father checks to make sure the door locks correctly. “Okay, honey, we’re going to leave now,” her mother says. “Gotta get back home so we can help Mingyu move in tomorrow.”

 

 

Right.

 

Why wasn’t he here? Oh yeah, because he’s hanging out with Mina instead of helping his twin sister move in. Not that they need him anyway.

 

Once her parents leave, Jiho suddenly feels very, very alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next day, Jiho figures that by evening he’s moved in already. For dinner, she had bibimbap. With lots of gochujang. She keeps staring at her phone, willing for something - a text, a call, anything. Finally she thinks, screw it - and presses 1 on speed dial.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Jiho?”

 

“Hi…” she suddenly feels embarrassed.

 

“Great, I was going to call you just now. Where are you, sis?”

 

Jiho furrows her eyebrows. “In my room…?”

 

“Perfect. Are guys allowed?”

 

She gasps. “What? Aren’t you at your university? I mean, I know we’re not that far apart but--”

 

 

Jiho can’t seem to wipe the smile off her face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

(There’s a knock on her door. “I’m here,” comes a whisper.

 

She opens it and comes face to face with Mingyu, carrying boxes of ramen. “I had too much,” he says sheepishly. “The whole buy-one-get-one-free thing is too much of a habit now,” he winks. “Let’s share?”

 

And as they slurp ramen in her perfectly-color-coordinated dorm room at midnight, shoulder to shoulder, Jiho can’t help but feel at home.)