“Yoo Jeongyeon,” Nayeon echoes, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. The quick glance at the watch around her wrist tells Jeongyeon exactly what’s running through Nayeon’s mind. Still, Nayeon smirks, tilting her head as she props a hand against her hip. “You look pleased to see me.”

Jeongyeon rolls her eyes at Nayeon’s words, but returns the smile Nayeon’s offered to her, almost a reflection of how exhausted they both were. Jeongyeon doesn’t try to correct her. Not Nayeon. Not now. “Rough case, Doctor Im?”

“Cases are always rough on my end, Chef Yoo,” Nayeon replies after a beat, the easy smile on her face faltering as she lifts her gaze to meet Jeongyeon’s. Jeongyeon feels her own heart stop, then. Feels the quiver in her stomach at Nayeon’s weak laughter. “It never seems to get easier.”

“No,” Jeongyeon murmurs, curling one hand over the other, thumb running over the simple band of her wedding ring. A reminder , Jeongyeon tells herself. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

Nayeon watches the motion for a moment, her jaw shifting, her own hand tightening around the handle of the bag she was carrying. A reminder , Jeongyeon tells herself. For more than just her . “How is she?”

“You won’t check on her yourself?” Jeongyeon asks, faster than her brain can catch up to her words, and almost bites her tongue at the look that crosses Nayeon’s face. “She might be awake-.”

“That’s not my department,” Nayeon cuts in, tugging lightly at the stethoscope around her neck. She musters up a smile. “Besides, Sana must already be in there if you’re here. She knows more than I do about her condition.”

“Nayeon,” Jeongyeon sighs, only for the phone in her hand to buzz once more, reminding her of why she was leaving in the first place. She shakes her head, running a hand through her hair and taking a deep breath to recenter her thoughts. “I’m on my way home. Do you want a ride to yours?”

“You drove yourself today?” Nayeon asks, surprise once again coating her tone. Jeongyeon takes it as an acceptance to her offer, the way Nayeon nods towards the elevators at the end of the hall. She’s quick to turn on her heel, hand tight around the stethoscope around her neck. Jeongyeon always wonders how she can do it, how she can turn away so easily when Jeongyeon still drags her steps, reluctant to be away despite other pressing issues at hand. It’s selfish. Nayeon isn’t. “Is it Dahyun?”

“Huh?” Jeongyeon startles at Nayeon’s sudden question, tearing her eyes away from the door down the hallway and towards Nayeon’s expectant look. She almost laughs. Of course, there was no hiding from Nayeon. She’d never been able to, and she supposes she can’t start now. “Yeah. She showed up at Seungyeon’s house again.”

“Jeong.” Nayeon’s voice is gentle, her grip finally relenting on the instrument hanging around her neck. Jeongyeon almost wishes she hadn’t answered, knowing what’s about to leave . “I know I’ve offered a million times before-.”

“And I’ll reject it a million time more,” Jeongyeon interrupts, giving the older woman a look, one that Nayeon only shakes her head at. Again. “It’s difficult enough as it is.”

“Only because you’re making it that way. Dahyun is Mina’s daughter, too.” There is a beat, then, as Nayeon’s fingers tangle into the straps of her bag instead. “Or did you forget about that?”

“Give me a break, Nayeon.” Jeongyeon’s hand tightens around her phone, the screen flashing with another text about Dahyun, groggy and miserable but willing to sober up, now. She in a shaky breath, another apology aching to escape.

“I’m sorry,” Nayeon offers before she can even open again. Her voice is softer now. Jeongyeon watches as her hands curl around her stomach, as Nayeon refuses to meet her gaze. “So many things have happened in the past few weeks. You’ve been nothing but helpful to us.”

“It’s okay,” Jeongyeon murmurs in lieu of her own apology, regarding Nayeon seriously as they walk through the hauntingly silent hallways, finally reaching the elevators. “They don’t know.”

Nayeon’s finger jabs against the button, eyes locked onto the ascending numbers. “I didn’t know until last week. I didn’t want to get their hopes up.”

“Nayeon.” The doors slide open. Nayeon shakes her head.

They step inside, bathed in the harsh lights of the elevator. Nayeon’s voice is softer, then. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up, either.” 

They’re quiet, then, quiet as they avoid the unrelenting press by the front doors, quiet as they buckle into Jeongyeon’s car. They’re quiet, even as they drive through the darkened streets, looking as lonely as they both felt, then.

“It was kind of fun, you know.” Jeongyeon is the one to break the tense silence that’s blanketed over them this time, the one to break into the worry that rips into their chests. “Talking to Mina and Sana about the past. Everything that happened when we were kids.”

Nayeon snorts lightly, head resting against the window, as relaxed as she could be, given what had happened with Mina. Jeongyeon makes a note to drive a little more carefully, as if she wasn’t driving carefully enough. “I’m sure you hooligans had plenty of memories to share.”

Jeongyeon scoffs, but a grin stretches across her face, fingers flexing around the steering wheel. “It wasn’t like that. We were good kids.”

“Oh, Mina I can believe. I don’t know about you and Sana.” Nayeon gives Jeongyeon a quick smile, busying herself with Jeongyeon’s radio. An older idol song plays quietly moments after.

It feels strange, sitting in the car with Nayeon like this. Jeongyeon almost feels like a teen again, ambling along on late night trips drives with Nayeon on their first years of university. She turns her attention towards Nayeon for the briefest of moments, her features bathed in the warmth of the red light. 

Jeongyeon feels as if she could tell her everything, then. 

Jeongyeon feels as if she never would.

Nayeon only curls up further in the plush of her passenger seat, resting her cheek against the top of her knees. The light flickers back to green. Jeongyeon drives on. 

“It’s still scary.” Nayeon speaks up after a moment, voice almost muffled against the fabric of her work pants, thumb running over the outline of her knee. There’s another red light, and Jeongyeon can’t help but watch for as long as she can. The guilt that stirs in her stomach settles heavily, still. “It’s been so long but I can’t seem to get over it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Jeongyeon tries to keep her voice from shaking as she drives on, farther and farther from the noise of the city. She wishes her childhood had been as simple as she’d remembered - running around the world with Mina, Sana and Momo on their tails.

“If we don’t, when will we?” Nayeon asks. Jeongyeon feels her jaw tighten in answer. She hears the rustle of Nayeon’s clothes, hears the breath she heaves out. “Everything that’s happened only reminds me that we have such little time.”

(Nayeon meets Jeongyeon on the same day she’s accepted into her auditions as a commercial model, with Jeongyeon crashing into her life as abruptly as her stardom had left it.

It hadn’t been a bad crash, not according to the news, but it had been a crash nonetheless, leaving Nayeon’s left leg pinned against the door she’d been sitting by.

It was a miracle, really, that nothing worse had happened. Still, Nayeon remembers it for the rest of her life, so vividly that she wonders what she might have done in a past life to be haunted so violently by it. She could barely breathe, then. Barely register her father’s frantic voice. Barely hear the panicked cries ringing through her ears. Barely see beyond the sight of her own leg - what she could recognize of it.

There is chaos, then. Nayeon spots her still, eyes shimmering with tears, through the shattered glass of what had been her window. She spots her, the smaller girl being hauled out by the paramedics, and remembers that too. She clings to the memory of it, finally sinking into the darkness that threatened to engulf her.

When Nayeon wakes next, she’s in the hospital. Or, at least that’s what it seems like, with a smell that stings her nose so sharply she might just throw up. She spots the girl she’d seen earlier, sitting in the chair right next to her, red-faced and snot nosed and quiet, decorated in tiny little bandages. It makes her smile, almost. Laugh, even, until she takes her first breath, her ribs feeling like they might pierce right through her lungs.

The sound she makes is a pitiful one, just loud enough to draw the attention of the crying girl beside her. Nayeon barely manages to stifle it, the whimper that bubbles in her chest.

“Hurts?” The girl’s voice is thick with tears, looking as if she would never run out of them.

Nayeon swallows thickly, but nods, finally mustering up the breath to speak. “Really bad.”

The girl looks away, down to the leg propped up by at least three pillows. Nayeon only notices it then, a panic settling into her chest, unable to move. “That too?”

“I can’t feel it,” Nayeon tells her so, feeling the reality of what had happened settle into the haze of her mind. “Why can’t I feel my leg?”

The girl sitting beside her doesn’t get to say much more, not when a frantic beeping fills the room, enough for another small chaos to spill into it. Nayeon can barely register what’s going on, barely register the doctors and nurses suddenly standing by her side. Her own parents, crowing her bed. The girl is gone, then, pulled back by another man, voice hushed and arm wrapped in bandages.

“Let’s go, Jeongyeon,” She hears over her own frantic breathing. She sees her mother’s face over her own, her eyes warm and smile soothing, hands trembling around her cheeks. 

“It’s okay, darling.” Her mother whispers as she hiccups over her own tears, as the darkness threatens to swallow her whole once more.

“Mama,” She calls out, hardly able to recognize her own voice in her fear, yearning to reach out and touch her, at least. “Mama-.”

“I know,” Is the trembling reply she earns, with a kiss to her head as her eyelids grow heavy once more. “Get some rest, darling. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”)

“There were so many things that I couldn’t understand then. Questions that haunted me for years. So many things that just… escaped me.” Jeongyeon shakes out of the grips of the memory Nayeon had laid out so plainly before her. Her car hums as they pull into the driveway of Seungyeon’s modest home. “But those things brought us here, didn’t they?”

“Where?” Jeongyeon jokes to lighten the heavy air that’s tangled around them, feeling Nayeon’s eyes roll from a mile away. “Picking up my drunk daughter from my older sister’s house?”

Nayeon shoos her off, nodding towards the still open lights of Seungyeon’s house. “Go get her before your sister changes her mind and decides to keep her forever.”

“Are you always this bossy, grandma?” Jeongyeon tosses a grin over her shoulder as she steps out of the car. Her smile only widens as Nayeon calls after her, voice indignant, as if she’s that much younger.

Her shoes crunch against the gravel. Seungyeon opens the door before she’s even halfway up the pathway, hair tied in a loose bun and already dressed for bed. Her older sister doesn’t offer many words, if any, and Jeongyeon can only sink into the brief embrace her sister draws her into. Jeongyeon breathes her in, the scent of her safety. Of home.

(“You’re drunk.” It’s a simple remark, dripping with amusement. Dripping with sadness. She pries Jeongyeon’s finger off the doorbell to cease her incessant ringing, her annoyance melting away as Jeongyeon stumbles over the doorstep.

“M’not drunk.” Jeongyeon dismisses her with a wave of her hand, trying to find her way around the dizzying brightness of her sister’s home. She steps out of her shoes, hearing her sister’s sigh. “I’m Jeongyeon.”

“Very funny,” Seungyeon replies dryly, hooking her arms around Jeongyeon to keep her from smacking into one of the walls. “Why are you here, Jeongyeon?”

Jeongyeon leans heavily against her sister, head swimming as she breathes in her scent. Of freshly washed clothes and the familiar tones of her favourite spray - the one Mina had gotten her last Christmas. 

“The real question is,” Jeongyeon starts, her head spinning as Seungyeon heaves her into an armchair, cool fingers brushing her sweaty hair away from her forehead. “Why are we here at all?”

“Don’t get philosophical on me, Myoui-Yoo Jeongyeon,” Seungyeon grumbles, but the worry Jeongyeon can see in her eyes gives her away, a smile tugging at the corners of Jeongyeon’s lips. 

“Only Yoo,” Jeongyeon corrects her sister as the fight finally leaves her body, sinking into the plush of the cushions beneath her. The worry in her eyes melts into sympathy. Jeongyeon can hardly bear to look. “Only Yoo now, remember?”)

"Mama?" Jeongyeon hears in the midst of their solemn embrace, drawing her back from the memories that haunted her still. Memories that would haunt her forever. Seungyeon runs her hand over the back of her head, just once more, and Jeongyeon feels like a child again, just for another moment. Another call. 

"Go. I've already given her a change of clothes. Hers are still in the wash." Seungyeon releases her, nodding towards the living room. She crosses her arms, regarding Jeongyeon with warmth. With worry. "She's been waiting for you the whole night."

Jeongyeon gives Seungyeon a thankful smile at her words, retracing her old steps into her sister’s living room, finding her daughter curled up in the same place she had been before, when Dahyun had been only half her age. She contends with the guilt in her stomach as she kneels down before her, tucking Dahyun’s hair behind her hair, brushing away the sweat beading at her temples. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Dahyun doesn’t say much, doesn’t do much more other than lean into her touch, eyes already b with tears. She is quick to shift in her seat, looking impossibly small in the baggy pyjamas Seungyeon had wriggled her into. “Mama, I’m sorry.”

Jeongyeon hushes her, pulling her into a gentle embrace and thumbing through her daughter’s hair. She can almost hear her parent’s voices, the way they used to scold her for drinking when she was the same age as Dahyun. Jeongyeon only holds her daughter closer, feeling the burn of her tears against her shoulder.

“It’s okay, I’m not mad.” Jeongyeon draws back to brush away Dahyun’s tears once more, and for a moment, she wishes that Dahyun wouldn’t grow up so quickly. She peers up into her daughter’s face, swallowing down the lump that has formed in , confronted with how young her daughter truly was. Too young to have lost as much as she already has. Jeongyeon wills herself to smile. “Let’s go home.”

“Mina?” Dahyun asks after a beat. Jeongyeon swallows thickly, only then feeling the threat of tears prickle at her own eyes. Nayeon’s words ring in her ears. Did you forget that?

“Your mom is fine. Sana is with her.” Jeongyeon scoops Dahyun up from Seungyeon’s armchair, tucking her daughter into her arms and feeling her sink in relief. She tries not to let it show on her face, the strain on her aging bones as she starts her walk back to the car, ignoring Dahyun’s tired protests. She matches Seungyeon’s nod with her own, giving her another thankful smile before she ambles down the pathway.

“I’m too old for this,” Dahyun complains, 18 years old and almost too heavy to carry. Jeongyeon’s smile only widens, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she adjusts her in her arms.

(“I’m too old for this,” Dahyun complains, only 7 years old and feeling tiny enough to fit in the palm of Jeongyeon’s hand. Jeongyeon only laughs, tucking Dahyun’s sleepy little head back against her shoulder, careful not to disturb her cute little headband as she smoothes down her hair. Jeongyeon continue to walk through the awestruck crowds, through their whoops and calls, having seen the same display every year for the past 5 years.

In the quiet chaos of it all, Jeongyeon catches Mina’s eye, catches the universe in the colors that burst from the fireworks above them. In the quiet chaos of the park, of the hundreds of people around them, Mina smiles, soft and warm and tender, and Jeongyeon mirrors it, just for now. Even just for now.)

“Never too old for me,” Jeongyeon murmurs, shaking out of her memories as the same sleepiness coats Dahyun’s voice, feeling heavier and heavier in her arms. A fond smile crosses her lips, eyes lifting at the sound of the car door opening. Nayeon stands expectantly by the back seat. She doesn’t say anything, not until Jeongyeon has Dahyun buckled into the backseat, brushing her hair away from her face once more.

“She reminds me of you.” Nayeon’s words linger in the air as Jeongyeon shuts the door, fingers lingering on the handle. Of course , Jeongyeon thinks. Dahyun has stayed with her for so long, after all. Dahyun has stayed with her all this time, after all.

Jeongyeon musters up a smile, unable to shake those niggling thoughts even as they settle back into the car. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

The ride to Nayeon’s place is quiet now, the car filled with nothing but the hum of the engine and the slow steadiness of Dahyun’s breathing. Her daughter’s head lolls against the window. Nayeon checks her watch.

“She misses her, you know.” Nayeon is the first to break the silence, like she always is. Jeongyeon doesn’t look at her, not even as they reach another red light. The wait seems to stretch on for hours, Jeongyeon’s fingers drumming against the steering wheel. The red seems violent, now. “Before the accident, it was all she would talk about sometimes. Wishing she could be part of Dahyun’s life again.”

“I’m not,” Jeongyeon tries, her words seeming to jumble in her own mouth. Her eyes flit up to the rear view mirror to catch sight of her daughter, still dead to the world. “I haven’t been keeping Dahyun from her, Nayeon. Not for the past few years.”

“I know.” Nayeon’s voice is tense at first, and Jeongyeon can feel it, the weight of her anger as she heaves out a breath, looking back towards the window. The light changes. Jeongyeon drives on. “But it was still four years of Dahyun’s life, Jeongyeon - and not to mention the months leading up to the divorce-.”

“Why are you bringing this up now?” Jeongyeon almost snaps, though she’s careful not to raise her voice, careful not to wake Dahyun from the little sleep she’s probably gotten for the past few days. Weeks.

“I just… don’t want you to waste any more time,” Nayeon replies firmly, finally turning to meet her gaze as they pull to an abrupt stop before her home. “This could be your last chance.”

Jeongyeon doesn’t get to say much else, not when she finds herself drawn into a quick embrace, Nayeon’s face pressed against the side of her neck. She only watches her, watches as she steps out of the car, watches her until the light of her front porch finally shuts off, leaving her in the dark. 

Leaving her with her thoughts. 

She collapses against the driver’s seat, eyes closing, until she hears the hitch of Dahyun’s breath. Jeongyeon’s heart stutters. “It’s not good, you know. Eavesdropping on other people’s conversations.”

Dahyun doesn’t say a word, only unbuckling her seatbelt to climb into the front seat, curling back into herself. Jeongyeon in a deep breath, one that fills her lungs until they ache, before she starts to drive again, tightening her hold on the wheel to keep her hands from trembling.

Jeongyeon can feel her daughter’s eyes on her, voice low when she finally speaks. “Why did you do it?”

(“Why are you doing this?” Sana asks her one night, after Jeongyeon tells Dahyun that it was time for them to go home. Jeongyeon only continues to walk down the hall, heels clicking against hardwood. She doesn’t pay Sana any attention, not until the other woman grabs her arm, forcefully meeting her gaze. “Jeongyeon.”

“Sana,” Jeongyeon manages to get out, pulling her arm out of Sana’s grasp, leveling her with a look. She hears Dahyun’s voice echo down the hall, refusing to go, followed by the gentle of Mina’s, trying to soothe their daughter. She steels herself at the familiar sound, ignoring the way her heart wrenches when Dahyun starts to cry. “Not today. Please.”

“This isn’t helping anyone ,” Sana points out, but Jeongyeon only shakes her head, giving Dahyun’s name another call as she reaches the front door. Her driver waits patiently outside, turning a blind eye to everything that was going on - like always.

“So you keep telling me.” Jeongyeon wishes she could believe them, the reasons she fed to herself, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeves. Her jaw tightens at Dahyun’s rising voice. She turns her head back, back down towards the hall of a home that was no longer hers. Jeongyeon feels her heart stop, the sound enough to make her feel sick to the stomach.

“Does it really have to be like this?” Sana asks, voice soft, incredulous. They watch as Mina tries to peel Dahyun’s hands away, tries to break away from the embrace she clearly didn’t want to leave, either.

“I’ll see you again in a few days,” Jeongyeon hears Mina’s voice, hears the promise she makes. The way Dahyun’s sobs subside, the quiet settling over them once more. Jeongyeon turns her head away at the sound of Dahyun’s sneakers squeaking against the floor, finally answering Sana’s question.

“I didn’t choose this life.” Jeongyeon stares into the never ending well of Mina’s eyes, feeling Dahyun’s hand slip reluctantly into her own. “She did.”)

“Is this really the time to talk about this?” Jeongyeon is jolted out of her thoughts at the sudden blare of horns behind her, the car bursting forward. Dahyun curls a hand around the seatbelt.

“I’m old enough to know,” Dahyun presses. Her face is curtained by her light orange hair, keeping Jeongyeon from seeing the expression on her face. How long had Dahyun been harbouring these thoughts, too?

Jeongyeon takes a moment to mull over her words, to mull over how she could explain everything that had happened before then. Since then. She doesn’t find them, even as they drive through the opening gates of their home. They didn’t feel nearly as large as the distance between her and her daughter, then. “Dahyun…”

“I’m sorry,” Dahyun interrupts as their car finally slows to a stop in the garage, lost amongst the others that lined it. Jeongyeon holds her breath. “I know you had your reasons.”

“Your mother,” Jeongyeon starts, wishing her voice wouldn’t shake as much as it did. “We didn’t always get along after what happened, but I’m sorry that I dragged you into the mess that came with it.” She hears Dahyun’s breath catch. “Mina… She loved you very much. She loves you. So much, Dahyun.”

“I know.” Dahyun finally turns to look at her then, and her smile only adds to the weight lying heavily in the pit of Jeongyeon’s stomach. She wishes she could contend with it, the haunted look in her daughter’s eyes, piercing right through her heart. “She wouldn’t be in this mess if she didn’t, would she?”

Jeongyeon is left to sit in the darkness of the car after Dahyun presses a kiss to her cheek, her retreating footsteps echoing through the garage. She lets her head thud back against the seat, feeling the headache building at her temples, especially as her phone buzzes, shattering the escape she’d taken for herself. Jeongyeon opens her eyes with a weathered sigh, a disbelieving laugh leaving her at the name she sees flashing across the screen.

“Of course,” She murmurs, thumb swiping across the screen to reject the call. “It does seem like that kind of night.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Sana startles at Mina’s words, the hold around her hand tightening as she straightens in her seat. Mina makes a move to sit up, and Sana is quick to act, arm curled firmly around Mina to adjust her body. She tries not to think too much about how winded Mina seems, lips brushing against her ear. “What on Earth are you doing awake?”

“I wanted to see you,” Mina murmurs against her shoulder, taking a moment to rest against her. Sana holds her still, ignoring the sudden tightness of her chest. The tears that prickle in her eyes.

To think the universe would be so cruel to try and claim her, again and again and again.

Sana pulls back from the embrace once she’s propped Mina against the pillows, tucking her hair behind her ears. She takes a moment to wonder, wonder exactly how much of this woman before her is left to give to the world before she crumbles away. Sana feels no different from how she did then, at 7, at 15, Mina’s every breath feeling like the weight of the sky.

“You’re doing it again.” Mina laughs weakly as she turns her head, pressing a light kiss to the palm of Sana’s hand, fingers curling loosely into the hem of Sana’s shirt to keep her close. Sana musters up a small smile, sitting on the edge of Mina’s bed, careful no to jostle her IV too much.

“You used to do this before.” It’s easy, Sana thinks, to sink into the world they built together, the reality that surrounded them melting away, even for just a breath. “Before all of your performances.”

(“Nervous?”

Mina only draws her closer, seeming to hide away in the comfort of Sana’s oversized sweatshirt, careful not to ruin the makeup they’d applied painstakingly for an hour, at least. For a moment, it’s just the three of them, the hustle and bustle of the crowds outside muted by the closed door that Momo is guarding. “No.”

“You don’t have to lie with me.” Sana smiles, catching Momo’s gaze by the door and shaking her head in reassurance, carding through Mina’s lightly tousled hair. She looks beautiful, dressed in a simple black ensemble to match Jihyo’s. “This is a big one, isn’t it? Your first year end concert.”

Mina’s fingers only curl deeper into the fabric of her clothes, and Sana feels her heart swell with affection, her free hand coming to tip the girl’s face up, just so. Mina doesn’t meet her gaze right away, not until Sana pinches at her chin, shaking her up a little. She feels the shudder of Mina’s breath, sees the doubt shimmer in her eyes. “What if I don’t do well ? What if they’re right and I can’t handle it?”

“I know you can do this,” Sana tells her, voice firm, letting go of Mina’s chin to poke at the centre of Mina’s chest. She tries not to think about her own thunderous heartbeat. The consequences if they are right. “Your heart is ready to take on this world, Mina. You should be, too.”)

“You enjoyed it,” Mina protests, though her cheeks warm, and Sana can only laugh, dropping her hand to hold the one Mina had tangled into her shirt. Her gaze softens, trying not to think about how tired Mina looked right then, struggling to keep her eyes open and yet insisting on talking to her, for just a little longer.

“I did.” Sana hums in agreement, thumb running over Mina’s skin, over the tiny healing cuts that adorned her fingers. “Because I liked you.”

“Is that a confession, Minatozaki Sana?” Mina’s eyes are teasing, even as she rests heavily against the pillows that Sana has set up for her. Sana’s smile widens, lifting Mina’s hand to press her own kiss against the palm of her hand. 

“Do I still need to confess after this long?” Sana shoots back playfully, resting Mina’s hand back in her lap, following the lines that crossed her palm. “I thought you would know how much I liked you without telling you.”

“I still like to hear it.” Mina indulges her, even now, with her sleepy smile and gentle touch. Mina gives her the same look she did years ago, when they were young and dumb and free, from all of this. Young and dumb and able to run from all of this. Always running.

(“Tell me again.”

Mina lifts her head curiously at her words, momentarily distracted from her work. She’s willing, at least, to play into whatever Sana was getting at. She’s still to change out of the clothes she’d been wearing all day, having been too tired to change after the schedules she had after class. “Tell you what?”

“That you love me.” Sana states it simply, draping herself across Mina’s back, her chin planted firmly against her shoulder. Mina groans playfully at the weight, but Sana gets her back with a quick swat to the leg, a pout crossing her lips. It’s in moments like this that Mina indulges her, wholly and completely, when they are alone, without even Momo. “Mina…”

“Okay, okay,” Mina relents, and Sana delights in the warmth that blossoms in her cheeks, clouding pale skin with crimson. She looks cute enough to bite. Sana has half a mind to. “I love you, Satang. Good enough?”

“Tell me like you mean it,” Sana murmurs, her voice growing less playful, her eyes dropping to the shiny new ring around Mina’s finger. It only tells Sana one thing. They were running out of time. Always running out of time.

Mina turns her head, pressing her forehead against Sana’s temple. It’s enough to draw Sana’s attention back to her, Sana’s hand curling around her own. “ I love you, Sana.”)

“Fine,” Sana relents, heaving out a sigh and hiding her smile as she tweaks Mina’s nose. She hides her worry, too, at Mina’s little exclamation, especially at the pout she earns moments later. “I like you.”

“Good.” Mina laughs again, soft and bright and beautiful, and Sana yearns to hear more of it. Enough to last her for a lifetime. “I like you too.”

“You should.” Sana flashes her a playful smirk, drawing one of her hands away to grab some of the towels she’d set up beside Mina’s bed. The look in Mina’s eyes softens, pliable in Sana’s grasp as she works. “You’d be stinky if you didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone but you.” Mina’s reply is soft, sincere, eyes half-lidded as she watches Sana work, running the cool towel over her skin. Sana’s sure it’s nice to feel refreshed after lying in bed all day. She can feel it, the way Mina looks at her, heavier than anything she might have heard that afternoon.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Sana throws the same question back at her, careful not to jostle Mina too much as she works. Mina only hums, looking content and sleepy when Sana chances a glance up at her.

“I never got to thank you.” Mina looks as if she might nod off any minute. Sana thinks she just might, their short evening together already proving to be too much too soon, especially after the lengthy afternoon she’d already spent entertaining Jeongyeon.

“You don’t have to thank me, Mina.” Sana laughs, voice gentle, understanding, having received her gratefulness in more than just words for over thirty years.

“I do,” Mina insists, drawing Sana’s attention at the sudden conviction in her voice, almost thrown by the way Mina was looking at her. Mina catches her hand as Sana runs the towel over her fingers. It’s enough to steal her breath away, just like it has for years. Just like it will continue to. “I know I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

Sana doesn’t say anything. She can’t, not with the words suddenly caught in , words she’d been aching to say for years and years and years. She only leans forward, pressing her lips against Mina’s forehead as she shifts her pillows back down, letting her rest against the sheets. Mina doesn’t fight it, doesn’t do much except lean briefly into her touch, fingers curling back into the hem of her shirt.

“There’s so much waiting for us out there,” She whispers, voice thickening with tears, fingers trailing over the side of Mina’s face as she finally succumbs to sleep. Sana thinks of her bag, of the files that rested heavily inside, containing secrets she wasn’t sure Mina could take. “Don’t let go. Not yet.”

Jihyo wakes, feeling a smile tugging at the corners of her lips at the brush of light kisses against her skin, at the hand curling around her hip, at the warmth that presses against her back. She relishes in the familiarity of it, sinking into the easy, knowing touch.

“Hello to you, too.” Her own voice is thick with sleep and affection, a hand reaching down to trace over the one against her hip, loosely lacing their fingers. Her smile widens as the hand drags cheekily across her toned stomach, as the kisses pressed to her skin grow just a little heavier. Goosebumps rise at the warm breath that washes over her. Jihyo laughs, and turns, turns to catch the lips trailing along her jaw, her free hand curling against the nape of her neck to keep her close. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Do you really have to ask?” Jihyo hears against her lips, her eyebrows furrowing at the sound of the voice that reaches her ears. She pulls back immediately, feeling her breath catch in at the sight that welcomes her.

“Mina?” Jihyo gasps out as she shoots up in her bed, head whipping around, hands running over the wrinkled sheets. The room spins. Her head pounds. Her shoulders sink in relief when she realizes she’s alone in the room, in the entire apartment, her heart thundering in her chest. She presses the heel of her palm against her eyes, a shaky breath trembling past her lips. “ God . What was that?”

It’s the news , Jihyo reasons as she finally gathers her wits, running her hands through her hair and heaving out the last of the whispers in her chest. She’s all over the news again. 

Part of Jihyo wonders if she’ll ever escape her. Escape what Mina has done to her. Escape what she’s done to Mina. She reaches for the glass of water she always keeps at her bedside table, refusing to think in the time it takes her to finish the glass, wanting to believe that it’s the water that’s settling heavily in her stomach. She wishes it were that easy, setting her glass aside, to wash away the thoughts in her head. The things she’s done.

Jihyo tries not to think about it as she runs her hands over her legs, a weary sight tumbling past her lips, wishing she wasn’t alone in the apartment so late at night. They seemed to ache more often, and Jihyo wonders if it’s some form of karma, upon her after all these years. She smiles a little to herself, fingers working methodically into her aching muscles, thumbs running over the faded scars of her knees.

It would be cruel, Jihyo supposes. But she had been, too.

Jihyo startles when her phone rings, her heart rate spiking as the obnoxious ringtone she keeps forgetting to change blares through their messy bedroom. She reaches over with a small huff, her own tired face a poor reflection of the one smiling back at her on the screen. The unknown number flashes once more, and Jihyo wonders who it could be, calling so late. She shakes her head. It must be important if they were calling so late.

“Park Jihyo speaking,” She answers instinctively, clearing the sleepiness out of , adopting the same tone she used for her classes, the same firm warmth she coated on for her students. “Who is-.”

“Park Jihyo.” Another voice she hasn’t heard in years. It sends ice shooting down her spine, her past coming to haunt her in more than just her dreams. She pinches herself. The pain lingers as the caller continues. “I’m not sure if you still recognize me. It’s Sana, Minatozaki Sana.” 

“As if I could forget.” Jihyo can’t keep the incredulity from her voice. How did she even get her number after all these years? She’d cut so many lines, burnt so many bridges. Why would Sana, of all people, call her after fifteen years? “How the hell did you get this number? You know what, I don’t want to know. I’m hanging up.”

“Jihyo, please, wait .” Sana’s voice grows almost frantic, and Jihyo hesitates, her thumb hovering over the screen. It was a weakness as much as it was one of her strengths, her willingness to open her heart, again and again. “Jihyo… It’s Mina.”

Jihyo’s jaw trembles before she dissolves into laughter, head falling into her free hand as her shoulders shake. Of course. Of course it’s Mina. Her dream must have been a warning. “Whatever this is about-.”

“She was in an accident.” Sana cuts her off, coolly and cleanly, letting the exhaustion of her voice wash over the bitterness coating Jihyo’s. “She’s stable for now, but the doctors… They’re worried about her condition.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Jihyo asks after a moment, head swimming with the thought of Mina, in God knows what condition. The thought of Mina, gone forever. The thing she’d wished for for so long feels much more real, now, Sana’s words ringing in her ears.

“Their family lawyers were looking at her will.” Sana’s voice is quieter, now. Solemn. Her words only cement how serious Mina’s condition must be. “Your name was in there, Jihyo. Your name, and your child.” There’s another pause, the squeak of a hospital trolley, Sana’s gentle, polite greeting. When Sana speaks, her voice is even quieter than before. “Mina’s family… They just want to know.”

The front door opens then, creaking on its hinges like it has for years despite the constant work they’ve done for it. Jihyo’s heart rate only spikes again, the sound of heavy boots thudding against the floor echoing through their quiet apartment. “I have to go.”

“Jihyo, you can’t run away from this.” Sana’s voice gains an edge, the same edge from all those years ago, the first time Jihyo ran away. “You’ve hid this from her for long enough.”

“I’m not,” Jihyo answers just as sharply, trying to keep her voice steady despite the new storm of thoughts in her head. “Sana, I promise. I’ll call you back.”

She sets her phone aside despite Sana’s insistent incoming calls, trying to calm her breathing as she hears the sound of familiar tired steps padding down the hallway. Mina must have known. Mina must have known all along.

Momo pops her head in, then, a bright smile on her face as she lifts her hand, showing off a paper bag bearing the logo of Jihyo’s favourite bakery. “Hey. The little squirt got you a present.”

Jihyo pushes her worries aside for a moment, mirroring Momo’s smile and melting into her kiss as soon as she’s close enough, shifting closer to the edge of the bed. She lets herself breathe, a hand settling over Momo’s shoulder. “It’s way too late for sweets.”

“It’s never too late for sweets,” Momo scoffs lightly, setting the bag down on their bedside table as she sets a knee upon the bed, sinking into Jihyo’s waiting embrace. Jihyo relishes in it for the moment, how blissfully unaware Momo was of the turmoil in Jihyo’s heart. “Had to carry her up, you know.”

“You spoil her,” Jihyo laughs, laughs despite the tears that threaten to bubble up, laughs despite the ways her hands were trembling, just a little. She clings to Momo just a little tighter, sinking into the warmth of Momo’s arms around her waist - strong, safe, secure. Just like always.

“Everything okay?” Momo asks curiously, pulling back just to search Jihyo’s face, eyes shining even in the low light of their bedside lamp. Jihyo only smiles, giving a small nod and drawing Momo into another kiss, as sweet as it was a wish to forget, forget about everything except the woman in her arms.

“Everything’s fine,” She whispers, as Momo shifts her along to lie down full against her, ignoring the way her phone flashes incessantly on the dresser. Fine for now, sinking into Momo’s tender touch. “Just perfect.”