“You should go home, you know. Get some rest.”

Jeongyeon lifts her head at the sound of Sana’s voice, roused from her light nap on the side of Mina’s bed. The soft, slow beeping continues to fill the room. They’ve been here long enough to learn how to ignore it.

“Dahyun?” She can’t help but ask, craning her neck to see if her daughter was waiting by the door. Sana shakes her head. Jeongyeon swallows down the guilt that rises like bile in .

Sana is soundless as she crosses the room, setting her bag down beside the coat Jeongyeon had draped over the couch, her steps steady and practiced. Sana adjusts the sheets resting over Mina’s body. Jeongyeon finally withdraws her hand from Mina’s sleepy grasp. 

“She took her personal car home from shooting today,” Sana informs her, voice low, careful not to wake Mina even in the little time she had to spend with her. 

Jeongyeon lets a weighty resignation settle over her shoulders. Jeongyeon knows her daughter, knows that she wouldn’t be found in the lonely dark of their home, not if she could help it. Sana only shakes her head, mustering a smile and looking as young as she did then, so many years ago.

“How was she?” Sana asks, drawing her eyes away from Jeongyeon gaze upon Mina, her gaze as tender as her touch always is. Jeongyeon supposes she understands. Sana had been the one person to have loved Mina longer than any of them.

“I got her to stay awake for a few hours.” Jeongyeon is happy to mirror the grateful smile sends her way, watching as Sana settles on the other side of the bed, reaching up to tuck Mina’s dark hair behind her ears. Jeongyeon is happy not to mention the way her touch lingers.

“A lot better than not at all,” Sana jokes, albeit weakly, taking Mina’s other hand into hers. She’s endlessly gentle, cradling Mina’s casted hand on her lap, eyes running over the silly drawings and notes the girls had written all over her cast. “I’m glad she doesn’t have to wear the mask anymore.”

Jeongyeon is haunted still, by the image of Mina, small and lost in a tangle of wires, rasping through each breath. She shakes her head, taking Minas’s hand back into her own to press a kiss to Mina’s knuckles. The weight of Sana’s stare only doubles the weight of her own selfishness. “Tell me something.”

“What do you want me to tell you, Jeongyeon?” Sana humors her, like she always does, a smile blooming into the seriousness of her stare. The words on the tip of her tongue don’t spill out, and Jeongyeon is grateful - for now.

Jeongyeon already knows how many times Sana has held her tongue for less.

“Tell me anything.” Jeongyeon decides to push her luck, relinquishing her hold on Mina’s hand to fold her arms on the side of Mina’s bed, chin resting upon them. Anything, Jeongyeon says, as if Sana hasn’t told her everything before, over steaming mugs and under lashing rain.

“Like what, Myoui-Yoo Jeongyeon?” Sana’s laughter is teasing, taunting, hair spilling over her shoulders as she tilts her head in question.

“Come on.” Jeongyeon rolls her eyes, letting Sana’s light laughter draw a smile onto her face, casting a quick glance to Mina’s still sleeping face. The sound of her full name sends a shiver down her smile; a reminder of all that she had. A reminder of all that she’s lost. “Something silly. Something you haven’t thought about in a while.”

Sana’s smile grows fond, then, eyes softening, flickering back to Mina’s sleeping figure. “The first time I met Mina, I snuck her out of her house and went down to the beach.”

(“Why do I have to be here?”

Sana can’t help but ask her mother, more out of curiosity than petulance, wondering what was so important that she had to be dressed up so nicely. Her mother only soothes a hand over her hair, a kind smile on her face, eyes soft and understanding. The car, if Sana could still call it that with how big it was, rumbles along quietly, so quietly Sana might fall asleep.

“We’re here for my new job, remember?” Her mother explains gently as she shifts her medical bag higher onto her lap. “Doctor Myoui asked me to bring you along when he find out you were his daughter, Mina’s, age.”

Sana only nods, literally faced with the situation as the car approaches a house three, four times bigger than their own. She’d heard of the Myouis, of course. She had seen Doctor Myoui on the nights she and her Papa would pick her mother up from the hospital. She had seen their son on the television, always at the forefront of the games her Papa liked to watch.

Sana had heard of Mina the most, from her mother and her work, of how lovely Mina always looked. Of how unfortunate her situation had been. Sana had never asked, and her mother had never explained further, only ever pressing a lingering kiss to her head, wrapping Sana up in her tight embrace. 

The Myouis had always been kind, but almost otherworldly, as if they existed on a plane entirely separate from their own. Sana can only wonder where she fit in in all of this, especially when she’d much rather be out trekking with Momo and her dad.

The adults don’t pay much attention to Sana, nothing more than greeting her warmly and urging her towards their expansive garden to enjoy the sunshine. Sana can only watch as her mother is ushered down a long hallway by Doctor Myoui and his wife, their faces suddenly serious. Sana watches until she can’t see them anymore, left to stand by the tall sliding doors leading to the outside. 

Sana heaves out a small, nervous breath, but steps outside anyway, multicolored stones crunching under her feet. The warm sun beats down against her skin as she walks, only reminding her of Momo and the ice cream they would have had once they reached the small store at the top. She hopes Momo isn’t too upset with her once she gets back. Maybe she can get her something to make it up to her.

It was strange, really, seeing the ocean and the beaches beyond the gardens, beyond the tall fences - bright and blue and beautiful. Sana wishes it weren’t so close, her hands closing around the rungs of the towering fence before her, tasting the salt on her tongue with her next breath.

“Who are you?” She hears from behind her, and Sana screams, whipping around in surprise. There’s a girl standing behind her, looking equally as frightened, hands clutching at her chest. Sana’s shoulders sink down in relief at the sight of her, recognition clicking in her mind. Mina. This must be Mina, if her mother’s descriptions were anything to go by. Dark hair and dark eyes and light skin, shadowed by the hat that drooped over her head. “Are you lost?”

“No.” Sana shakes her head immediately, sinking back against the fence behind her to calm her thundering heart. She regards Mina for a moment, just as Mina regards her, looking equally as lost as she was. “My Mama brought me here to meet you.”

“Meet me?” Mina echoes in confusion, head tilting, and Sana thinks she looks kind of cute, then. Mina reminds her of Momo’s puppy back home, looking at her with the same wide eyes. Sana decides that she likes her, just like that. Mina seems to draw into herself, then, eyes growing curious. “You aren’t Jeongyeon, are you?”

“No,” Sana repeats, wondering just who this Jeongyeon might be, if Mina was expecting someone other than her. She tucks her hair behind her ear, not feeling so silly about her pretty new dress when she finally takes Mina in fully. She’s pretty, too, in her flowy pink sundress, hair curling over her shoulders. “I’m Sana. Minatozaki Sana.”

“Oh,” Mina murmurs, and Sana thinks she sounds disappointed, Sana’s own shoulders drooping at the sound of Mina’s voice. “That’s too bad. You’re so pretty.”

“Thank you.” Sana feels her cheeks warm at Mina’s easy words, Mina sidling up beside her as they turn back towards the ocean. Their shoulders brush. Sana steals another look. She knows she’s not much older than Mina, and it feels nice, making another friend in a strange situation like this. “I think you’re pretty too.”

“Thank you,” Mina echoes with a smile, one Sana mirrors easily. The breeze rolling over the sea coms to wash over them as they stand there, quiet and still. “I always wanted to go down there.”

“You’ve never been down there?” Sana asks in shock, wondering how someone who lived so close to the water had never even wandered down to visit it. Sana supposes she voices her words out without meaning to at the way Mina hums, small hands wrapping around the rungs of the fence, too. As tall as a skyscraper, with the way it towered over them both. “Why not?”

“Papa says it’s too dangerous for me,” Mina tells her, a hand straying to her chest for the briefest of moments. Sana supposes she can’t argue with that, her own Papa’s words ringing in her ears. It was dangerous to get close to the water without an adult nearby, even if Sana did know how to swim - just a little.

Mina doesn’t offer any more words, turning back towards the sand, the water; so close and yet still out of reach. Sana watches for another moment before she catches sight of the gate further down the path, her eyes brightening as the idea pops into her mind. Surely it would be okay, right? They wouldn’t even go down to the water. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” Mina’s nose wrinkles at her statement, jumping a little when Sana offers her hand. Mina looks almost as if she wanted to run, eyes swimming with doubt. Sana is patient, smiling brightly when Mina’s hand slips into her own. “Where are we going?”

“Just onto the sand.” Sana brings a single finger up to her lips, throwing an exaggerated glance around as she begins to lead the way down the path. She earns a laugh, even as Sana feels the hesitance in Mina’s steps. “Come on. It’ll be fun!”

“We’ll get in trouble,” Mina points out, but doesn’t try to stop her. She even matches the eager bounce in Sana’s step as they near the gate, soon reaching the only thing standing between them and freedom.

“I’ll take care of you,” Sana promises, not chancing another glance over their shoulders as she wriggles the gate open. The metal is heavy, but quiet as it creaks open, the sound lost in the gentle crash of the waves. Sana doesn’t hesitate, stepping out of her sandals and sinking her feet into the warm sand, feeling its warmth creeping easily into her skin. She turns her head back to Mina, to the look of hesitation in her eyes, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I promise.”

Mina follows her only then, stepping out of her own sandals and not the sand, slow and careful. A small gasp leaves her lips as she begins to sink, Sana keeping a firm hold as Mina tries to retreat, worry painted across her face. “It feels weird!”

“But nice too, right?” Sana can’t help but giggle at the scrunch of Mina’s face when she finally looks up at her, watching as Mina’s cheeks begin to fill with colour. She’s careful not to trip over her own feet as she continues to pull Mina along, drinking in the wonder that grows on her face, feeling a strange warmth blossom in her chest. 

Weird, but nice.

Mina doesn’t answer her, not with words. She only squeezes her hand, offering a smile that seemed brighter than the sun, eyes bright and sparkling. They sit together on the sand, soaking up the sun and the sound of the ocean, lining up the pretty seashells they’d collected on the way down.

That day, Sana learns of a great many things. She learns of Mina, and her old home, right across the sea they were sitting right in front of. Of Mina, and her love of dancing, even if it stole every last one of her breaths. Of Mina, and the life she was living, already promised away.

That day, Sana learns of little freedoms, her hand tucked tightly into Minas, and the lengths she would go, just to give Mina another taste of it.)

“I got into so much trouble with my mom,” Sana breathes out the laughter bubbling in her chest, shaking her head. They had been so young and clueless then. Things had been so much simpler, then. Jeongyeon only watches the way Sana’s shoulders draw into themselves, her hair curtaining her face for a beat.  Another. 

“Was it worth it?” Jeongyeon asks a question that she already knows the answer to. Asks a question she’d asked herself a million times. 

“Of course.” Sana’s voice trembles along to the next breath Mina draws in, but her answer is firm - resolute. Sana’s shoulders only tighten further, like a rubber band that could snap at any moment. Jeongyeon wonders if it ever would. “I remembered her smile for the longest time. The way she looked at me. Like I’d shown her all of the secrets of the world.”

Jeongyeon knows, then, that Sana has always loved Mina, too. Loved her for longer than she ever has. Loved her, endlessly, selflessly, even now. She straightens when Sana calls her name, restless fingers twisting the ring around her finger. Tell me something, she hears, over the next thunderous beeps of the machine beside the bed. Anything.

“I think it was the hardest at the beginning,” Jeongyeon starts, eyes trained on the way Sana’s shoulders trembled. “Realizing all that came with being Mina’s intended.”

(“Don’t be shy, Jeongyeon.” Her father’s voice is soft, soothing. He tucks her dark hair behind her ear when she hides away behind him, wary of the new people standing before her. It feels different now, meeting Mina out in the open. 

Jeongyeon remembers it for the longest time, the gentle, coaxing plea in his voice.

It had been the first time, really, that her father had ever asked her for something - anything. He presses a firm hand to her back, urging her forward to remedy the girl who didn’t look nearly as wary as she did. “We’ve wanted you to meet Mina for a very long time.”

On what seems like the hottest day of the Summer, Yoo Jeongyeon meets Myoui Mina for the second time, 6 years old and regarding her with a soft, hopeful smile.

Of course, they’ve already met, but this was different from the safety of the tiny plastic home they’d hidden away in.

She knows of the Myouis now. Knows of their connections to her family, through decades and generations. Knows they’re practically royalty, knows that Mina had been born the same as her, with a silver spoon in . Jeongyeon has heard of her, from the mouths of her mother and her sisters, cooing over photographs sent in heavy letters. From the mouth of her father, over dinners and galas, of the first girl born into the Myouis for generations.

Jeongyeon knows so much of Mina and yet it means little to her.

Nothing could have prepared her for the first time she truly sees her, standing in the warm sunshine before her.

Mina is still as quiet as she is beautiful, but Mina smiles and Jeongyeon mirrors it, unable to help herself. They’re seated at a table away from their parents, away from even Seungyeon and Soojin, shadowed by their nannies as they bask in the brilliant Summer sunshine.

“Hello again,” Mina greets her, startling Jeongyeon with the sound of her mother tongue falling from Mina’s lips. Jeongyeon’s eyes brighten. Mina’s smile does, too.

“Hello again,” Jeongyeon echoes, basking in the brilliant warmth that sparks within her chest. It sticks with her for the longest time, the way Mina’s eyes had twinkled, sparkling with the mischief of the secret only they knew.

They sit together, cross-legged at a table far too big for either of them, heads ducked close together. They speak quietly to each other, happy to be lost in their own little universe. Lost in the mess of languages, and smiles, and laughter. They’re lost in numbers, in naming silly body parts and pulling funny faces when they think the other isn’t looking, their hands finding the other in the midst of their giggles. 

Mina seems to laugh at everything she says, but Jeongyeon doesn’t mind too much, not when she does the same, her stomach nearly hurting at the joy that bubbles up from it. Mina laughs, and smiles, and looks almost entirely different from their time in the hospital, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. Jeongyeon drinks it all in, wishing never to see Mina like that ever again.

Jeongyeon leaves that evening, propped against her father’s hips, waving with a shy but shining smile. Mina watches her go, propped against her father’s own, just like she does for the next few days, weeks, months.

They spend nearly every waking moment together, growing easily into the spaces that had been carved out for each other, soon slipping easily between languages they’re only beginning to understand. They spend their time gathering parts of each other, building something that doesn’t quite make sense, not yet. Jeongyeon thinks it suits them.

Jumbled, and odd, yet together.

Jeongyeon thinks it fits them perfectly.

Mina, with her gummy smile and shiny eyes and broken heart, seems to agree.)

Jeongyeon can feel the weight of Sana’s stare again as she finishes, feels the weight of her understanding. Of their shared loneliness. Of their shared affection. “Shut up.”

Sana bursts out into laughter at her words, so brightly that Jeongyeon almost forgets that she’d been hunched over in tears only moments ago. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“You said enough,” Jeongyeon shoots back, sitting up with a fond shake of her head. She can’t help the grin that grows on her face, the warmth that seems to blossom in Sana’s presence. “You’re just as bad as Seungyeon."

“Oh please.” Sana waves her off with her free hand, her teasing grin still present on her face.  “You were so cute. What happened?”

“Shut up!” Jeongyeon only laughs again, reaching back to the table overflowing with flowers and cards, tossing an empty candy wrapper at Sana’s head. Sana cries out and holds her head playfully, but Jeongyeon only sticks her tongue out at her, sinking back down to the covers and hiding her giddy grin behind her arms.

(“What’s an intended?” Jeongyeon asks Seungyeon when she tucks her into bed one night, pretending to have forgotten all about their conversation after everything that had happened in the past few months. After everything with Mina in the past few months.

Seungyeon doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look at her until Jeongyeon is bundled up in her covers, the chill of the Fall beginning to creep into their home. Seungyeon sits at the edge of her bed, with Jeongyeon hiding her smile at the way Seungyeon narrows her eyes at her, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

“An intended is,” Seungyeon starts, shifting closer and ignoring the whine low in Jeongyeon’s throat as her hands ruffle through Jeongyeon’s hair. “An intended is someone who was chosen for you to marry in the future.”

“Marry?” Jeongyeon echoes with a wonder instead of incredulity now, eyebrows shooting up at her older sister’s words. Seungyeon laughs at her expression, her eyes missing the weighted seriousness she has regarded Jeongyeon with all those months ago. “Like Mama and Papa?”

“Like Mama and Papa,” She confirms with a nod, with a bright grin, reaching down to pinch her nose. Jeongyeon cries out in protest, smacking her hands away. Seungyeon’s laughter only grows louder, her tone coated with a playful, teasing lilt. “Lucky you. Mina’s your intended.”

“Does that mean I get to marry Mina in the future?” Jeongyeon asks as if she doesn’t already know. As if her chest might not already burst with the giddiness she feels at her own words. She rubs absently at her nose and kicks her sister from beneath her covers, squealing when Seungyeon manages to catch the outline of her foot. She’s merciless, leaving Jeongyeon to squirm in her hold. “Seungyeon!”

“Go to bed, Jeongyeon,” Seungyeon smiles through her tinkling laughter, soothing her ruffled hair back down and pressing a calming kiss to her forehead, just like their mom and dad always did. “You don’t want to be sleepy for your play date with Mina tomorrow, right?”

Jeongyeon feels her cheeks warm, kicking at Seungyeon once more before she finally leaves. She leaves Jeongyeon to sink into the sheets of her plush bed, to sink into the thoughts of tomorrow. Of Mina.

Well, Jeongyeon thinks to herself, pulling a plush Mina had given her closer to her chest with a bashful smile. I guess I really am lucky.)

“You were a little kid in love, Myoui-Yoo Jeongyeon.” Sana’s drawl is teasing, eyes full of mirth as she dodges the next candy wrapper Jeongyeon flings towards her. Jeongyeon can only match her grin, feeling lighter than she has in weeks, even for just a moment.

“It was so easy,” Jeongyeon sighs out, shaking her head with a smile. Her gaze shifts back towards Mina, and how peaceful she looked right then, even with her yellowing bruises and her healing scars. “Loving her. Being with her.”

(Jeongyeon is exactly four months and twenty three days older than her, which Jeongyeon asks Mina to recite in Korean, so long as she manages to do the same in Japanese. Mina recites it perfectly, growing more fluent every time they meet, their short lessons with each other surely bolstered by private tutors and countless books. Mina confirms it, confirms the hours she spends inside hospitals and waiting rooms poring over books and conversing with her tutors. She says she doesn’t mind, smiling that sweet smile of hers, so long as she gets to speak with Jeongyeon a little easier.

Yoo Jeongyeon is only 6 year old, but she feels her heart flutter at those words, and later that night she makes a point to ask her mother for additional Japanese lessons, too.

They’re gruelling, sure. Another load to add to the long list of activities she’d already been participating in, and oftentimes with very little to show for it despite her efforts.

Still, she’s determined when she greets Mina, as determined as a 6 year old with her apparent fiancée is, even if her pronunciation is awkward, her words stilted. Mina doesn’t laugh, nor does she sigh like her tutor does sometimes. She only smiles, pleasantly surprised and positively ecstatic, taking her hand and sitting like they always do. They talk over the sandwiches Mina’s mother had prepared, Mina in Korean and Jeongyeon in Japanese, and not for the first time, Jeongyeon is happy that Mina is her intended. 

They talk for hours, until the sun paints the sky crimson and orange and gold, and Mina doesn’t let her hand go for a second. When it’s time for Jeongyeon to leave, Mina kisses Jeongyeon for the second time, and Jeongyeon begins to think the lessons are more than worth it.)

“Mina wouldn’t stop talking about that actually,” Sana tells her, her smile softening as she tucks her hair behind her ears. Her eyes are back on Mina, too. “She made us study with her. She wanted us to be ready when we finally met you.”

“You two were all she ever talked about the first time she came to visit me in Korea,” Jeongyeon admits, smoothing out the sheets she’d wrinkled beneath her. It feels impossibly long ago now, with everything that had happened in between. “She missed you two. A lot.”

(Jeongyeon learns a lot about Mina during her first visit to Korea. She learns about her as they sit together on lengthy car rides, as they run through ballrooms of extravagant galas, hiding away in all the corners they could find. They’re always together, then, hardly ever found without their hands linked, refusing to leave the other.

Jeongyeon learns of Mina’s brief stay in America, what she remembers of it. She smiles and laughs at the words Mina remembers, at the accent she hasn’t shaken off. Jeongyeon learns of her older brother, of how deeply she misses him. Of how often he travelled, staying in America for months at a time. In those moments, Jeongyeon is reminded of how lucky she is to have both sisters at home with her, even with their relentless teasing and taunting. 

Jeongyeon learns of Mina’s life in Japan, of the loneliness of the home she lives in, in the life ballet breathes into her very soul. Of the friends she’s left behind, for now. She learns of Sana and Momo, almost always together and never far apart, the only sense of belonging Mina had ever felt before she’d met Jeongyeon.

“Do you miss them?” Jeongyeon asks softly, reaching across the space between them before she even realizes what she’s done. They’re lying in bed, washed up and tucked in and half asleep, but Mina’s cheeks seem to pink when Jeongyeon’s hand envelopes hers. She smiles, pretty in the gentle glow of Jeongyeon’s night light.

“All the time,” Mina admits, and Jeongyeon gives a solemn nod. She flushes as Mina scoots closer, so close that Jeongyeon is afraid they might swap faces. “But you make it better.”

Mina presses a small kiss to her cheek then, squeezing her hand before she pulls back, her smile bashful as she murmurs a goodnight. Jeongyeon can barely hear her, ears ringing with Mina’s words.

Mina seems to fall asleep then, but Jeongyeon stays awake for a moment longer, fingers pressed to her cheek. She sleeps, deeply, soundly, and wakes to Mina’s hand back in her own, soft and safe and warm, and Jeongyeon feels her heart rest just a little easier.)

“Mina had been so happy after that trip.” The smile on her lips vanishes at the gentle spike on the monitor, Sana shifting immediately when Mina stirs, and settling just as quickly when Mina does, too. Jeongyeon finds it endearing, how attuned Sana was to Mina’s every move, and is only reminded of how long Sana’s actually been doing this. “She wouldn’t stop talking about pretty Yoo Jeongyeon, who always held her hand and helped her ride a horse for the first time."

Jeongyeon’s cheeks colour at Sana’s words, waving them off and basking in their momentary silence, reveling in the memories of their faraway youth. “I didn’t like you, you know. When we first met.”

That catches Sana’s attention, head whipping towards her, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. She’s smiling, but the shock is evident in her eyes. “Eh? Why?”

“Mina liked you so much,” Jeongyeon defends, though she feels as petulant as she did so long ago, decades younger than she was. “I thought she might want to marry you instead.”

(“When I grow up, I’m going to marry Mina.”

It’s a simple declaration, but Jeongyeon’s head still snaps up from the coloring book she’s scribbling in, attention immediately diverted by Sana’s words. It’s the first time they’ve ever really been together, all three of them, and to think Sana would say something like that, knowing that Mina was already promised to her. Jeongyeon can’t help the scoff that leaves her, but doesn’t comment further, not when a napping Mina stirs on Sana’s lap. Jeongyeon can only watch as her eyelashes flutter open, cheeks pink from their day out on the beach.

“You can’t do that,” Jeongyeon harrumphs, Mina coming to sit up between them, rubbing at her eyes in confusion. Mina looks as puzzled as Sana does smug, and Jeongyeon only narrows her eyes at the look on her face.

“What can’t Sana do?” Mina asks, voice still tainted with sleep, looking between them. Sana moves quickly, enveloping one of Mina’s hands in her own, so quickly that Jeongyeon is impressed. Almost.

“Jeongyeon says you can’t marry me.” Sana pouts at Mina, who only looks at Jeongyeon, who only crosses her arms, not making a move to hold Mina’s other hand. “But you will, right?”

“Mina is already marrying me,” Jeongyeon presses, giving a firm nod, which Mina bobs her head along to sleepily. She brings her gaze back towards Sana, who looks like she’s on the verge of tears.

“I like you both,” Mina says, simply, breezily, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “Can’t I marry you both?”

Jeongyeon and Sana don’t have time to answer, not when Mina’s nurse finally calls her in from the sunshine, Mina ambling along to leave them alone. Jeongyeon can only glare, while Sana can only stick her tongue out, with only one thing clear.

Game on.)

Sana starts to laugh, then, only laughing harder at the playful glare Jeongyeon tosses her way. She shakes her head at Sana’s never-ending antics, and knows that in the deepest hollows of her heart that Mina had been right. It would have been the least of their problems if Mina had actually decided to marry them both.

“I’d been grateful, after she’d meet you,” Sana tells her after her laughter has died down. Her voice is serious again as she turns her attention to the clock above Mina’s bed, eyes following the steady ticking of its hands. “Her parents started easing up on her a little more. They meant well, I know. They were just scared for her.”

“I would have been scared too.” Jeongyeon feels it again, the swell of guilt in her chest. The words on the tip of her tongue. She had been lucky with Dahyun. They both had been. “I was scared.”

“They’d waited so long for her,” Sana whispers, dropping her gaze again. Jeongyeon takes a moment too, to try and understand the weight that bore so heavily on Sana’s shoulders. The weight she’s carried for so long, so gracefully, without complaint. “She was their miracle.”

The room grows quiet once more, filled only with slow, steady beeping and Mina’s quiet breaths. It was a miracle that Mina was still here at all. Jeongyeon swallows thickly at the thought, her breath trembling past her lips before Sana speaks again.

“It was even worse, you know,” Sana starts, eyes twinkling with an amusement tainted with longing. “When she and Momo first met.”

Jeongyeon watches her, the way that name falls from Sana’s lips, the way her lips curl around it, tender and aching. She knows the look well, knows the weight a single name could carry. Jeongyeon feels it too, her absence, though it is violent, gnawing at her insides. Jeongyeon asks regardless, even though she’s heard the story a million times before, recounted happily by Momo as they sat in the same treehouse she had tumbled out of.

Sana opens to speak, but it cut off by the sound of Jeongyeon’s phone, Dahyun’s voice twinkling through the speakers. She and Jeongyeon share a knowing glance, Jeongyeon drawing her hands away from the bed to answer the phone. Sana turns her attention back to Mina, brushing her hair away from her face, eyes lingering on the steady rise and fall of her chest.

“I’ll be there soon,” Jeongyeon murmurs, voice probably as tired as she looked, feeling her own shoulders droop. She knows how hard it must be for her own daughter, too, and wishes there was something, anything she could do to help her feel a little less lost. “Tell her I’m not mad, Seungyeon. Thank you for keeping an eye on her.”

“Seungyeon today, huh?” Sana offers a small smile, watching as Jeongyeon stuffs her phone back into her pocket, rubbing a hand over her face. It was at times like this that Jeongyeon truly looked her age, yearning for even an ounce of peace that their life once had.

“Seungyeon spoils her.” Jeongyeon shakes her head, wishing her sister wouldn’t indulge Dahyun in half of the things she did. Still, she’s grateful that Dahyun was safe in Seungyeon’s home, rather than being lost in anyone else’s. “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Sana promises, voice as sincere as always. Jeongyeon trusts her,  of course. Trusts her even more than she trusted herself when it came to Mina, at least. Jeongyeon hums softly, reluctant to get to her feet, reluctant to leave Mina, even for a second. She leans over to press a tender kiss to Mina’s forehead, ignoring the heat of Sana’s gaze on the side of her face.

“Sana,” Jeongyeon starts, but finds her tongue caught in , unable to form the words she wanted to say. Sana’s eyes soften in understanding, letting out a breath as she shoos her off.

“Go, Jeongyeon,” Sana insists, sliding off the bed to occupy the chair Jeongyeon had vacated. “I’ll call you if there’s any news. You wouldn’t want to keep Dahyun waiting, would you?"

Jeongyeon almost flinches at Sana’s words. Her own words rumble through her ears, the same spiteful words she had thrown at Mina over the phone. The same words she’d agonized over, and over, and over. She hums instead, pressing a light kiss to the top of Sana’s head. “Take care.”

“I always do.” Sana pats her , drawing an eye roll from Jeongyeon as she ambles towards the door. “Tell Dahyun she better be sober before her shoot tomorrow morning.”

“I will,” Jeongyeon promises, wishing she wouldn’t have to. Wishing for a lot of things as her hand finally reaches the handle of Mina’s room. She lingers, just for another moment, watching the rise and fall of Mina’s chest, the steady strong line on the screen. Jeongyeon burns it into her mind, Sana taking Mina’s hand into her own before she finally leaves.

The door is quiet as it clicks shut behind her, solid as Jeongyeon presses her back against it, closing her eyes to gather herself. It had never been easy to leave Mina. Not when she was 17, not when she was 27, and not now, knowing everything that she was leaving behind a single closed door. She takes a deep breath, lets the sharp cleanliness of the hospital fill her lungs and draw her back into reality, leaving Mina and their past behind again.

She makes her way down the hallway, sending Seungyeon another text to make sure that Dahyun was still awake, only to knock her shoulder right into someone else’s. Jeongyeon’s head shoots up, an apology on the tip of her tongue, until she realizes exactly who it is. Jeongyeon wonders if the universe finds it funny, to keep bringing the past back up when she’s trying to leave it behind.

“Nayeon.”