Note: I been gone for a minute, now I’m back with the jump off. If anything doesn't make sense, it's because I'm DUMB and don't know how to write. If you're reading this, let's get back to it.

(Have not been on here in weeks so I apologize for not responding to comments. Someone did ask, though, that I don’t make the next chapter too long . . . I’m so sorry :( . . . it's long. I'll make the next one like 3 paragraphs to make up for it.)

Startled by the sudden wave of noise crashing against the basketball arena’s concrete walls, Yongsun tightened her fingers around the strap of her bag and quickened her pace. Given how ty her week had been, it shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise that her Friday evening wasn’t going according to plan. That brief acknowledgment of the week prior opened a floodgate of unwelcome thoughts. Operating on autopilot her body fell back into an old routine, navigating the decorated halls, taking familiar turns, and bounding down the steps it needed to. A blessing, because her mind was otherwise occupied.

Most of the week’s events were on her radar from the beginning of the semester as each of her classes’ syllabi marked in bold, and sometimes a different font color, the course’s key assignments. The past week’s spike in workload was not a surprise to her. Yongsun knew it was coming. She made plans ahead of time to spread her responsibilities out into manageable chunks.

And still. The week kicked her .

Between extra hours at The Center to offer additional academic support to her caseload of college-athletes stressing over their own midterms, accommodating irresponsible and inconsiderate group project members, and writing paper after paper, the graduate student came dangerously close several times to dropping out. Well, not actually, because Yongsun didn’t know how one went about dropping out of graduate school. Did she just stop showing up to things? And if she did, how long would it take before a professor or administrator contacted her to figure out why she suddenly disappeared? The night before, she called Yonghee minutes to midnight to ask her sister exactly that.

“I was thinking . . .”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Yonghee replied dryly.

“Shouldn’t you be happy to hear from me? We haven’t talked in a while, you know.”

“Really? I didn’t notice.” Sarcasm was her older sister’s first and only language, even when they were younger. Yongsun was unable to understand back then why Yonghee always acted like she didn’t care, as if she had no emotions. Slick and sly comments sat at the tip of her tongue, ready responses for everything. What made it worse was that there was never anything Yongsun could do about it. Outwitting and out-sarcasming Yonghee was impossible—she’d tried and failed miserably several times, much to her sister’s delight—and at no point in her younger life was she ever physically capable of beating Yonghee. Outmatched in every way and experiencing nothing but defeat humbled the youngest Kim. Shifting gears and adopting a “get in where you fit in” approach, Yongsun witnessed the relationship between her and Big Yong improving significantly, especially while Yonghee was abroad for school and work. The sarcasm and coldness weren’t fronts at all, her sister was an . As time passed, though, Yonghee learned to tone it down sometimes with Yongsun, and Yongsun learned not to take every icy quip and remark to heart.

“Yeah right, you’re full of .”

“Watch your mouth. I’m older than you.”

“You don’t even care about that! You just use the age card when it’s convenient for you,” Yongsun whined.

“Benefits of being the eldest.” Her sister’s voice was cool, calm, collected, and . . . a little bored? Having sat through thousands of these tantrums by now, it seemed Yonghee didn’t find this latest one impressive at all.

“Whatever. As I was first saying, I’ve been thinking.”

“Mmm.”

“What if I dropped out of school and worked instead? It’s very possible to make a way for myself without graduate school. Many people do it. Omma and Appa did it. You did it. I could do it too. Right? I could,” she answered her own rhetorical question, “yeah, I could. The real question is how do I drop out?”

“Yongsun.”

“Yeah?” The graduate student answered brightly and optimistically.

“Don’t call me with stupid questions like this again. Go do whatever schoolwork you have and leave me alone.”

The line went dead immediately afterward.

Ever the obedient baby of the family, Yongsun did as she was told, spending the next 5 hours completing the last of her hell week assignments before catching a few hours of sleep then trudging through a Friday full of classes. It had to be the disorientation that led to the poor decision to take a nap after her last class.

Not-so-deftly, the young woman awkwardly shuffled past the rowdy occupants of the student section, attempting to both keep her balance in her heeled boots and prevent her handbag from swaying uncontrollably. Several timid “excuse me’s” later, she released a slight breath of relief as, not too much further down the row, familiar brown and black hair came into view.

The groans and grunts of annoyance from the last few students Yongsun passed must have been enough to tip Wheein and Hyejin off to her arrival because they both looked over—in sync, because of course.

“Look who decided to finally show up,” Hyejin sarcastically chided while Wheein simply removed the jacket that claimed the unoccupied chair next to her.

“I overslept. Sorry.” Not bothering to remove her outerwear yet, Yongsun sank into the seat, uttered a quick thanks to Wheein, and stared off absentmindedly. The younger women understood she needed a few moments to mentally collect herself. “Did I miss anything?” She asked a couple of minutes later. Eyes scanning the basketball court, Yongsun began peeling her leather jacket off, attempting to accomplish it without standing back up again. All remaining energy was zapped.

“No. Things are going to start soon, though. The teams went into the locker rooms for what I think is their last pep talk . . . or whatever they do when they go in there.”

“You look like , unnie.”

“Thank you, Wheein, for the helpful commentary.”

“And what about Hyejin’s helpful commentary?” The youngest asked, an aggravating smirk playing on her blood-red lips.

“Have yet to hear any,” Yongsun deadpanned.

“Don’t be like that!” Hyejin reached over Wheein to playfully slap Yongsun’s thigh. “Oh! Firm. Nice. Anyway, you know I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“In what world is ‘you look like ’ ever meant positively? Wheein, stop laughing.”

“I meant ‘you look like ’ as in you look tired. But still hot! The outfit today is very chic. And the bag! Someone especially fashionable must have bought that for you,” Hyejin grinned while pointing a lilac stiletto nail at the tan, crocodile-print bucket bag resting in Yongsun’s lap.

“You’re shameless,” Yongsun rolled her eyes but was betrayed by a stray chuckle. “I can’t lie, though, it’s a beautiful bag. My mom was jealous when I sent her a picture of it. She told me to tell you her birthday so that you can buy her a nice gift, too.”

“And I’m the shameless one?” Basking in the chorus of laughter from her elders, Hyejin dramatically flipped her voluminous, long, black hair across her right shoulder and smiled cutely.

All three fell into a more subdued rhythm after that, a stark contrast from the students around them that grew rowdier as the seconds ticked by. Wheein and Hyejin began a discussion about something that had nothing to do with Yongsun, prompting the trio’s oldest to pull her phone out. Thumbs lighting up her screen, Yongsun sent Byulyi a good luck text message. Not that the athlete would see it before the game started, but it was the thought that counted.

Byulyi.

She and her best friend were . . . okay? In any other instance, describing a relationship of any nature as “okay” could be perceived as underwhelming. Given what transpired between the two the last time they saw each other on Yongsun’s birthday, though, them being ‘okay’ was an accomplishment.

‘The incident’, as Yongsun referred to it in discussions with herself—because she had neither the time nor desire to discuss what happened with anyone else—, ended with a tenuous agreement to “figure things out together” before she and Byulyi spent the remainder of her birthday lazing about, filling idle time with anything that didn’t require talking: napping, eating, watching movies. Exactly what she wanted and needed in the moment—a reprieve from the awkward and uncomfortable conversation around why Byulyi froze in the middle of them having . In the middle of them about to have ? Did they have ? At the time, Yongsun wasn’t sure, but the embarrassment from how things played out lingered that evening, leaving the graduate student little desire to think through the specifics of what she and Byulyi did. The end to Byulyi’s explanation for why she reacted the way she reacted was a blessing that couldn’t arrive sooner. The explanation and the numerous apologies chasing it were sincere, Yongsun had no doubt. However, they did nothing to lessen her embarrassment.

Willing to admit her faults to herself, the blonde acknowledged that the timing of her announcement could have been better. In her defense, though, she didn’t go into things planning to initiate , but Byulyi’s sweet and thoughtful gifts did something to her. Instead of relying on logic, Yongsun let herself give in to the ual urges she’d suppressed for far too long. And it was great. Her ity pushed to the back of her mind, she focused instead on how Byulyi’s skilled lips and feather-soft fingers set her skin afire. Their time together was arousing, exhilarating, and, surprisingly enough, it put her at ease with how right their actions felt. That level of intimacy and vulnerability was foreign to Yongsun until that afternoon and, despite that, it being Byulyi that she shared those moments with made it all unfold more organically than she imagined things would.

Before she knew it, her clothes had disappeared and, so too did the confidence that fed her actions. Like slamming the brakes on a vehicle, she and Byulyi arriving at the point of no return jerked Yongsun back to her reality. If she remembered to announce her ity earlier, she would have mentioned it earlier, but she didn’t, leaving that moment as the last possible opportunity to share what she did and . . . yeah. Word vomit.

Truthfully, Yongsun brought it up not because she expected anything from the younger, but because, one, she felt it her responsibility and, two, she needed it on record in case she was very bad at . With no evidence as to why, she believed she could be great at . Not good, great. It’s how she approached most things in life. Kim Yongsun firmly believed that much was possible if one put in the work— was no different. If she practiced, she could be great at it. But she needed Moonbyul to know that if she was bad at it, it wasn’t because she was bad at it, it was because she’d never done it before.

Chuckling softly, Yongsun shook her head at how worked up she was getting at the memories of the previous Sunday. To be fair, though, almost a full week later, this was the first chance having real time to reassess all that happened on her birthday. Starting the following Monday, school and work demanded all of her attention. The memories flooding in of all she’d endured since then sent the young woman into a daze, one she only barely escaped by belatedly noticing the snapping fingers before her eyes.

“Wheein, you scared me,” Yongsun yelped, a hand clutching at her chest. A bit out of it, the graduate student’s head whipped around with confusion living on her face at the dimmed lights and wall of people towering over her.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for a few seconds now. Hyejin thought you were asleep with your eyes open,” Wheein quickly pointed a thumb to their other friend, who, like those surrounding Yongsun, was on her feet, eyes fixed on the court. “They’re starting.”

“Oh, thanks,” she sputtered, cheeks warming from embarrassment. More time had passed than she realized.

“You okay, unnie?” The skepticism in Wheein’s voice was crisp and clear even over the increasing roars of anticipation from the audience.

Slowly rising to her feet, Yongsun balanced her jacket on the back of the royal blue folding stadium seat. She had no desire to explain the thoughts still swirling in her head nor did she know how to express the trepidation around coming face-to-face later with Byulyi for the first time in almost a week knowing how much they still had to work through.

The noise in both her head and in the audience calmed to a lull soon after as all eyes gravitated to the massive video board hanging from the ceiling. Without warning, background music rang out as a montage played for all to see. There were pictures and videos of SNU’s three seniors, chronicling their journeys from infancy to young adulthood. For three minutes straight, the audience oohed and aww’ed before the walk down memory lane was interrupted by teammates and coaches sharing their thoughts on the graduating class. Player by player, they shared sweet words about each of the seniors, letting the audience in on a few inside jokes and funny stories along the way.

Instinctively, a smile crept onto Yongsun’s face as she listened to what everyone had to say about Hyunjae and Jonghee. The personalities shining through the video added depth to each teammate previously unknown to her. Byulyi had spent many an hour telling Yongsun about everyone on the team but, as she didn’t know most of the people the athlete spoke about, she spent most of the time fake-laughing to not hurt Byulyi’s feelings. Now, though, the eccentricities that she fake-laughed at in the past genuinely made her chuckle as she put faces to the names of the rambunctious group her best friend always bragged about. It was a nice peek into Byulyi’s other life.

Before the graduate student realized it, Moonbyul’s video began and, while she knew Byulyi was popular, the cheers from the audience at the onset of the athlete’s video reminded Yongsun of how popular Moon Byulyi was. Tuning them out, she smiled proudly as clips of Byul during games and practices briefly flashed across the screen before the first teammate spoke.

“What do I think about Byulyi-unnie? I don’t,” the young woman responded, a cheeky smile thrown at the camera. “I don’t think about her.” The audience collectively roared in laughter at that before quieting down to listen to and cheer at the heartfelt words about the team’s captain.

All Yongsun could do was smile dumbly. More often than not, Byulyi came home after practice nitpicking her performance and concerned about if she was letting her teammates and coaches down. Yet throughout her video, those same teammates and coaches did nothing but sing her praises.

“She’s my first captain at SNU but I already told the rest of the team that she’ll be the best captain I have while I’m here. They took it well.” The same cheeky teammate from earlier followed those strong words up with stories about how kind and helpful Byulyi had been to her all year, especially after her injury. “She worked hard before getting injured but she worked so much harder to come back from being hurt. During her recovery, she started inviting me to watch film with her before practice and would give me advice on little things I could change to make a big difference in my game. She didn’t have to at all, but she did and I’m grateful.”

It was all extremely touching. In the eyes of the people that worked with her day in and day out, Byulyi was an excellent basketball player and an even better leader. Yongsun couldn’t roll her eyes enough—she’d always tell Byulyi that she was being overly pessimistic about things and the athlete would insist that she wasn’t. Now, look. Yongsun was right. Slightly annoyed, she pulled her phone out from one of her pockets and sent Byulyi another message that she wouldn’t see until much later.

To: Byul-ah

You are SO annoying. I KNEW that your team loved you 🥺

* 🙄7:49 PM

“She got hurt and we, as a team, decided that we had to step our game up so that she didn’t come back to a disaster that she’d have to fix. And now she’s back, thank goodness,” one of the older members of the team breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Unnie, don’t get hurt again. It’s not in my genetics to work as hard as I had to while you were gone.”

A few other teammates shared similar jokes, once again providing comic relief, this time in discussing Byulyi’s injury. They saw firsthand how hard she worked to get back to the team and even fewer saw the emotional toll the injury took on the senior behind the scenes. As a member of the latter group, Yongsun could breathe easier knowing that those days were a thing of the past and that the team was collectively welcoming Moonbyul back, a transition the athlete worried endlessly about.

“I won’t talk about missing her.” Those firm words drew Yongsun’s attention back to the video in time to hear Coach Ok close things out. “We still have a championship to go after so I won’t talk as if the season is over because it’s not. I’ll say, though, that it’s hard to tell a player’s character when scouting them. All I see is their play on the court. If someone’s a great player, we recruit them. Byulyi was highly sought after and decided to go overseas. We were disappointed when that happened, but then we moved on. Then suddenly, she was available again and we got her. All I was thinking then was about how good of a player she was and how good she’d be for this program if all the pieces fit. Thankfully the pieces fit. Better than I could have imagined. I told her directly that I was putting the ball in her hands and whether we won a championship or not was up to her. She sulked and she doubted herself, but in the end, the ball was in her hands and we won a championship for the first time in years. That alone speaks to the type of player she is. But she left a stronger mark on the team by being the type of leader she is. Our team was always one that worked hard. Now it’s one that works hard through healthy competition. She played a big part in that. So . . . yeah, I’m happy we got her.”

The woman didn’t smile once, yet it was obvious how dear Byulyi was to her. If Yongsun had to rank them, Coach Ok’s message was the most impactful simply because Yongsun knew it would mean the most to Byulyi.

As the lights came back to full brightness, Wheein and Hyejin huddled around Yongsun, the younger women giggling and making a fuss as the announcer let everyone know that it was time for the members of the senior class to receive their gifts and take pictures. All three readied their cell phones to record Byulyi’s moment. Times like this, Yongsun thought, reminded her of what was important. For the rest of the evening, she told herself, she wouldn’t worry about what she and Byulyi needed to fix or discuss because what didn’t need fixing or discussing was how much she cared for Byulyi and how happy she was to celebrate her best friend today.

Smile plastered on her face, Yongsun held her phone steady even as Wheein and Hyejin’s jostling nearly knocked it out of her hands.

“Last but certainly not least. Her accomplishments know no limits. On track to break school records for assists and scoring. A university champion. An Olympian. Accompanied by her parents Moon Sangcheol and Park Kyungah, and her younger sisters Seulgi and Yesol, make some noise for your captain. Moon Byulyi!”

*

The energy that evening was unlike any athletic event Yongsun had ever attended, be it during her time at SNU or SKKU. As hyperbolic as the statement seemed, it was true. Maybe it was the fact that this was her first social interaction all week or that this was the first time watching Byulyi play since before the athlete got injured. Maybe both played a role. Whatever the reason, Yongsun was restless the entire game, bouncing in her seat with an energy that must have been gifted to her from above, because she certainly did not possess it when first trudging into the building. She reacted to everything—harsh criticisms rained down on the referees each time a call didn’t go in SNU’s favor; her breath was muted and fingers clenched every time Byulyi held the ball or took contact; even the uncoordinated middle schoolers and their no-scoring halftime game had Yongsun giddy.

Something about the game made everything about the game the departure needed from a week of stress and deadlines, and the jumpstart necessary to mentally prepare for whatever shenanigans Chorong had planned that weekend as part one of her birthday festivities.

Fragments of conversations floated in and out of earshot as fans filed down the aisles, no doubt still buzzing from the team’s victory. Even Wheein and Hyejin, seated to Yongsun’s right, couldn’t stop discussing it.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen unnie play, I forgot how good she is.”

“Stop! I was about to say the exact same thing!”

“Really?”

“Really!”

Letting out a silent snort, Yongsun decided to let the two marvel a bit longer at them thinking the same thing at the same time. Eagle eyes wandering, she scanned the growing crowd on the basketball court for familiar faces, and, when she found none, allowed herself to get lost in the sea of strangers. It would be a while before the players began filtering out of the locker room, even longer before the seniors would grace the waiting crowd with their presence, so the graduate student began a game of her own to pass the time: spot the groupies. With this being Senior Night, it was expected that more family and friends would be in attendance. What Yongsun did not expect, but should have, was that more opportunists would be here tonight, too.

Throughout the game, she overheard a few students making comments about how “hot” some of the athletes were, Byulyi’s name among them, but so caught up in the quick-paced action on the court, Yongsun quickly brushed those off. Now, however, the annoyance she forgot earlier returned with a vengeance. At every unnecessarily short skirt—who wore skirts to basketball games?—and overly tight dress—come on—Yongsun’s eyeballs met the back of their sockets. The intentions for many of the people idling around down there were clear. That annoyed her more. This was supposed to be a night of wholesome celebration, one night free of the plotting and scheming on those atop the university’s social ladder. Just one night.

It seemed that was asking for too much.

It made sense, though, that Yongsun forgot about everything extra that came with Byul’s life as an athlete because, to Byulyi’s credit, the younger woman put in a lot of effort over the past few months to make it so. When the two of them were together, Byulyi gave Yongsun her full attention, and when they were apart—each hanging with their respective friend groups—she sent text messages throughout the evening, always asking how Yongsun’s night was going and if she was enjoying herself. The insecurities she had about their relationship piled high, but Yongsun would readily admit that many of the reasons she continued to hesitate weren’t Byul’s fault. The fears around the long-distance, long-term relationship on the horizon; the feelings of inadequacy when it came to their physical relationship; the women at every corner ready to throw themselves at Byulyi. None of them were the athlete’s fault, but no matter how much she wanted to wake up one day and say she was ready to be Byulyi’s girlfriend, no matter how secure and comfortable Moonbyul worked to make her feel, each of the aforementioned reasons continued to make Yongsun pause. She hated that.

“Okay, this is the second time today you’re spacing out, unnie. What’s wrong” Startled by suddenly hearing Wheein call her name, Yongsun put a temporary end to her gloomy thoughts.

“Why do you think something has to be wrong? I had a rough week, that’s all,” she fibbed. What she wouldn’t give to return to an hour ago when all three were too wrapped up in the basketball game to discuss anything else.

“You really need to work on your lies,” Hyejin spoke up.

“I’m lying? Why would I lie?” Her voice rose in pitch, making it more obvious that she was lying.

“You tell us,” Hyejin smirked self-satisfyingly, arching a brow as she did so.

“There’s nothing to tell. I’m not lying, you can ask Chorong. It was a long week.” Turning back to watch the still-growing cluster down on the basketball court, Yongsun racked her brain for a change of topic and came up empty.

“I’m sure Byul-unnie tried doing something to lift your spirits.”

Yongsun whipped her head to meet the challenge in Hyejin’s already-waiting eyes. There was something about the way the younger woman said that that made Yongsun think Hyejin knew more than she was letting on.

“We actually haven’t seen each other all week. I’ve been that busy. And why would you bring Byulyi up?”

“You’ve mentioned before that you two go for drives or snacks when things get stressful. Thought she did something like that this time around, too,” Hyejin shrugged. It was casual, but Yongsun knew there was more to it.

“Speaking of Byulyi-unnie,” Wheein, who had been watching Yongsun throughout the entire exchange, piped up. “How are the two of you doing?”

“How are we doing?”

“Yeah. I mean, you told us that both of you confessed and that you spent your birthday with her, but you were secretive about what the two of you did, so . . . any news for us?”

“You think you’re slick, huh?”

“Not at all. I’m very clearly and obviously fishing for information on the two of you.”

Officially uncomfortable with the topic of conversation being her and Byulyi’s relationship, Yongsun muttered a quick, “really, Wheein?” before turning away from them both.

“Can you blame me, unnie? You guys are leaving us in the dark,” she whined, stomping her feet slightly. As annoyed as Yongsun wanted to be at the invasive line of questioning, she just couldn’t. Stifling a smile at Wheein’s outburst, she distracted herself by checking her phone, only to find a text from Byulyi.

“We’re not leaving you in the dark, there’s just nothing to tell right now. When there’s something, I’ll be sure to let the two of you know.” Ignoring Hyejin’s skeptical gaze, the graduate student spoke up more conclusively when she saw Wheein open to respond. “Byul messaged me. She’s leaving the locker room now. We should head down there.”

Not waiting another moment, the blonde stood up to collect her jacket and purse, effectively ending that conversation. Wheein and Hyejin followed suit with no complaint. Thank goodness.

Their questions, though, brought back the uncertainty she briefly thought about before the game started—this would be the first time since Sunday that she and Byul were in the same room. And it would play out in front of their friends and Byulyi’s family. Because of course.

While traversing the aisles of steps, conversation was scarce, but the three fell into small talk again once they reached the final landing. It lasted until Wheein noticed Byulyi’s family near the bleachers across the court. The second youngest shrieked in excitement before pushing her way through the bodies crowding the floor. Following suit, Yongsun and Hyejin entered the mass of people in front of them, the former leading the way to clear a path for the latter.

It took a few minutes, but both breathed easier once they cleared the herd. Yongsun was surprised at first to find Wheein chatting up Yesol and Seulgi instead of Byulyi’s parents, but that made more sense when she found Park Kyungah and Moon Sangcheol in conversation with Coach Ok. Yongsun didn’t remember seeing her among the crowd moments ago, meaning she must have recently emerged from the locker room. That meant that Byulyi probably wasn’t too far behind. The thought alone was enough to cause a spike in her heart rate.

What was an appropriate greeting? Were they to hug? And if so, a full front-to-front hug? A hurried side hug? Was the plan while in front of the audience to pretend that Sunday didn’t happen and continue as close to normal as possible?

Yongsun’s mind reeled at it all.

In the meantime, she meandered over to where Wheein, and now Hyejin, were standing with the youngest Moon siblings. She wasn’t particularly familiar with either of them and that bred feelings of awkwardness for her. After a short greeting to the group, Yongsun sunk to the background, not contributing much of anything to the conversation. From what she picked up, most of Hyejin and Wheein’s queries revolved around how Seulgi’s first year at Chungnam National University was going. There was a lot of talking from all three, but the contents of the conversation could be summed up concisely: Seulgi was studying Political Science & Diplomacy, she liked the program, liked the school, and liked Daejeon. That base level of insight gave Yongsun all that she needed to nod every now and then to feign being mentally present. In reality, her mind was occupied with concern over how to handle the impending interaction with Byulyi. As the seconds ticked by, her anxiety escalated.

When the chatter among the crowd reached a crescendo, Yongsun knew it meant that Moonbyul finally made her way out. Glancing to the door on the opposite end of the room, her hunch was confirmed. And dammit if the athlete didn’t look good. The suits that, last year, were reserved only for away games seemed to be the dress code for all games this year, even home games, because Byulyi waltzed into the gymnasium in all her suited-up glory. The grey suit was tailored to perfection, accentuating her long limbs and lean-muscled frame while hints of bare skin peeked out beneath the undone top buttons of her white Oxford shirt. And with chestnut hair still piled atop her head in a messy bun, Yongsun knew that every one the athlete made time to speak to was granted an unobstructed view of that delicate neck and mouthwatering tattoo.

Enough time had passed since their last meeting that Yongsun forgot how easy on the eyes Byulyi was—their brief video calls throughout the week did her no justice. For all the “hot” and “y” people called her, Yongsun felt at that moment that Byulyi didn’t get enough credit for how beautiful she was. There were the defined muscles, of course, but their contrast with her still soft facial features heightened the athlete’s charm exponentially.

Continuing to track the younger woman’s every movement, Yongsun mentally slapped herself for ing Sunday up. She had all of that in her bed and fumbled it. Very on-brand for her. Ruining something great by overthinking.

Shame only barely returned to the blonde when she realized she’d been salivating over Byulyi whilst only steps away from the athlete’s family. She was better than that and, deciding to be better, Yongsun shooed away her salacious thoughts and composed herself.

Judging by the way Wheein, Hyejin, Seulgi, and Yesol carried on, they hadn’t yet noticed Byulyi’s arrival, but Yongsun could see nothing but Byulyi. Watching her in her element like this was captivating, the way she expertly maneuvered through the crowd, stopping every few steps to greet her teammates and their families, kind eyes, impish smiles, and probably unbelievably charming words pouring effortlessly from her lips. Her composure and sociable nature were inherent parts of who she was, fluidly suiting each new group of people she interacted with. The longer Yongsun watched, the more certain she grew that Byulyi was meant for this life. There was an undeniable intensity and mastery of skills that she displayed on the basketball court, but her control over everything that came with basketball off the court was just as impressive.

Tracking. Tracking. Tracking. As everyone around her chatted animatedly, Yongsun watched vigilantly as Moonbyul drew nearer, and rolled her eyes as the athlete only narrowly escaped the clutches of an overzealous young woman that looked to be trying too hard to “congratulate” the senior. Only when Byul approached her parents and Coach Ok did Yongsun look away. Faced, yet again, with not knowing how to handle the situation, she fished for her cellphone and busied herself with thumbing through social media and catching up on messages in Chorong’s birthday group chat.

What started as a distraction eventually fully captured Yongsun’s attention. She joined the conversation as last-minute changes to Chorong’s party were introduced—more people were attending than originally planned so the reservation needed to be adjusted. Not surprisingly, it was Chorong’s sorority sisters at the center of the issue. From what Yongsun heard in stories, they were a ton of fun but most of them were also unpredictable and preferred to live on the wild side more often than not. So . . . Chorong. They were a group of young Chorongs.

Engrossed in the back and forth between Insoo—bless his heart—and one of the sorority sisters, Yongsun didn’t even notice Byulyi approaching until the younger woman’s sensually-deep voice rang out closer than expected.

“Hey, stranger.” A playful smile sat on the athlete’s face. Offering a small greeting in return, Yongsun’s face flushed. Despite all the time today to think about it, she still didn’t know where they stood.

Byulyi cleared that up.

Without warning, the graduate student felt herself being pulled into one of the warmest hugs she’d received all month. It was everything she didn’t know she needed. As soon as Byulyi’s arms wrapped completely around her, Yongsun melted into the embrace, it finally hitting her how much she missed Byulyi’s physical presence all week.

“You look cute,” the taller woman pulled back some, taking in Yongsun’s outfit. Black turtleneck tucked into black skinny jeans tucked into black sock boots. There was nothing special about her outfit, Byulyi was just being extra, Yongsun decided. “How was it?” The athlete asked in a softer voice.

“How was what?”

“The game. How was I?”

That made Yongsun pause. She’d been around basketball enough to understand the basics, and, yes, she sometimes kept Byulyi company when she watched scouting film, but she was no expert on the sport. At all. Not even close. Also, Byulyi had an exceptional game—20 points, 10 assists, 3 rebounds. Objectively, she was great. There was no need for such a question. “You played well. How did it feel?” That, Yongsun thought, was the more important question, especially as Byulyi mentioned needing to get back to full form several times after being medically cleared to return to sport.

“It was the best I’ve felt since coming back. I wasn’t second-guessing myself, just playing with a clear head. Coach got rid of my minutes restriction, too. Finally. It felt good.”

“Well, I’m happy for you and proud of you. All the hard work paid off.”

They held each other’s gaze for a few seconds before soft smiles formed on both pairs of lips. It was a moment. They were having a moment. So when Byulyi opened to speak, Yongsun assumed it would be something appropriate for the moment they were having. Maybe something excessively sweet or flirty. Instead . . .

“Did you purposely copy my hairstyle?” The athlete pointed to the faded-blonde mop of a bun atop Yongsun’s head.

“Did you pay the announcer to say you’re taller than you are?” Yongsun shot back, her teeth afterward.

“Oh my gosh. You always avoid the question when you don’t want to admit that you got caught,” Byulyi giggled uncontrollably.

“I’m ignoring the question because it’s a stupid question. I got dressed before ever seeing you so obviously I didn’t copy your hairstyle. Your turn, answer the question. Did you pay the announcer?”

“He spoke facts.”

“You’re not 174 cm,” Yongsun deadpanned.

“I let the professionals take my height, they reported what they measured.”

“You’re 171.5 cm, maybe 172 cm once every blue moon. 174 cm is not realistic.”

“You’re not qualified to speak to me about height. Stay out of tall people’s business.”

“You’re not tall! You–”

“I was waiting to see how long it would take for you to acknowledge the rest of us, but you’re too busy arguing with Yongsun-unnie about height,” Wheein interrupted the banter. “This is how she treats us, Hyejin.”

“It’s hurtful but I’ve grown accustomed to it,” the other young woman’s monotone voice rang out.

“I was literally on my way to hug all four of you, but Yongsun started a petty argument. It’s true what they say, maturity doesn’t always come with age.”

And just like that, the bubble of attraction burst. Moonbyul was ing annoying.

Giggling like the toddler she was, the athlete scampered over to give Wheein and Hyejin their own personal greetings. She tried hugging her younger sisters, too, but they both rejected her—it put a smile on Yongsun’s face.

Things moved quickly after that. Their discussion with Coach Ok finally finished, Byulyi’s parents came over to join the group of young women, Byul’s mom making a fuss the whole time over how sorry she was that she didn’t greet them earlier.

“Look at you,” Park Kyungah held Yongsun’s face in her hands after wrapping the blonde in a hug. “So pretty. Such a beautiful girl. Sangcheol-ah, isn’t she beautiful?”

Byul’s mom didn’t notice her husband’s reluctance and discomfort around commenting on how beautiful his daughter’s friends were, but Yongsun did. Deciding to put the poor man out of his misery, she spoke up so that he didn’t have to. “Thank you, Auntie.”

“You’re coming to dinner with us tonight, right? Byulyi told me that she told you about it.”

“I’m coming, yes. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course you were invited. And no need to be so formal! I’m glad we’re all able to celebrate together tonight. She’s driving there, right? Our car can only fit us and the children.”

“I’m not sure. She didn’t mention anything to me.”

“Let me go ask this kid what the plan is. She just does her own thing sometimes and doesn’t tell anyone,” Byul’s mom muttered as she suddenly left to speak to Moonbyul, who, by the looks of things, was still being annoying, her sisters the focus of her attention.

The gymnasium had cleared out significantly in the past 15 minutes, Yongsun noticed. It wouldn’t be much longer, she figured, until their group took off, too. Preparing for the departure, she slipped her leather jacket on and went to sit on the row of bleachers nearby. Yongsun reached for her cellphone again, but this time out of genuine curiosity over whether the issue for Chorong’s party was resolved.

“I’m sorry, are we boring you?”

“Yeah,” she instantly responded without looking up from the screen.

“Well . . . I did not prepare a response for if you said ‘yes’. You got me there.”

“Stupid.”

“That’s rude.”

“I’m rude. You should know this by now.”

“No comment. If I agree, I’ll never hear the end of it. Anyway, we’re heading out. I had to sit through my mom scolding me about not driving when my car is literally parked outside. Because I’m driving. Which was the plan the entire time. So I got scolded for nothing. The two of you have that in common. Yelling at me for things I already took care of.”

“You’re so much more attractive when you keep your mouth closed.”

“Perhaps. Okay, come on. Everyone else left for the parking lot already. It’s you, me, Wheein, and Hyejin in my car. Heeyeon was here with the business school guys but went home to ‘change’ right after the game. She’s meeting us there—Ken’s driving her there. She’ll ride back with us.”

“She was here? I didn’t see her.”

“It’s a big building, Yongsun,” Byulyi coolly responded, her left hand extended.

“You know what I meant.”

Extending her hand, Yongsun swiftly took hold of Byul’s, her phone now tucked away safely into her bag. As it turned out, the drama going on in her messages paled in comparison to the gossip Byulyi couldn’t wait to share. The taller woman babbled on and on about her suspicions around the nature of Heeyeon and Ken’s relationship. Her rant came stocked with all the evidence she’d been taking note of over the past month. There was a lot of alleged proof to substantiate her claim that the two were romantically involved. Yongsun listened—because she enjoyed quality gossip as much as anyone else—but couldn’t stop her mind from wandering every so often to the clasped hands hanging casually between them.

It was so easy for Byulyi to extend that hand. So easy for Yongsun to take it. So easy for them to fall into this routine of being physically close and intimate while skirting around the deeper emotional conflicts begging to be addressed.

As calming as it felt to return this sense of normalcy, Yongsun knew that sooner or later, push would come to shove. Not a matter of “if”, but a matter of “when”. And the more she thought about it, there was no “when” that would be the “right” time.

*

“Byul, are you coming out with us tonight? The guys were talking about buying you drinks.”

“Not sure.”

The air in the car felt stale. Heavy. Even as air from outside poured in through the slit in her passenger side window and pelted her face, Yongsun felt no relief. The car was stuffy, and Byulyi’s clipped response to Heeyeon’s question just now confirmed for her that no amount of fresh air would clear away the root of the issue.

If she weren’t so afraid to draw attention to herself, she would have turned to check the back seat to see if Heeyeon had any reaction to the frustration that colored Byulyi’s response. Instead, everyone in the car stayed silent and let the words last spoken marinate.

The time on the dashboard read 12:43 am.

So much changed in the past three hours. Hand-in-hand, Yongsun and Byulyi left the nearly empty gymnasium earlier in high spirits with a silent agreement between them to not let the severity of the discussion-to-come dampen the celebration tonight. The drive to the restaurant in Bucheon was no more than 20 minutes long, but each second was full of love and joy among the four friends. Laughter pinged nonstop around the vehicle’s interior until the young women arrived at their destination and brought their high energy with them into the restaurant.

Dinner was more enjoyable than Yongsun thought it could be. When Byulyi first mentioned dinner with her family, a formal event at the Moon home was what she envisioned. Nothing about Byulyi’s parents gave off that impression, but it’s what she imagined. One of the first things the athlete’s mother told the group when all parties attending convened was how frustrated she was that Byul rejected her idea to cook for everyone at their home, but how grateful she was for that now realizing she wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning up, all her attention could go towards eating and drinking.

With that as the start of the dinner, things flowed naturally. There were good-natured jokes and delicious food that everyone was encouraged to order as much of as they liked—Yongsun hesitated at first, not a fan of Byulyi’s parents having to pay so much for everything, but the athlete reassured her that the restaurant cut the family deal and offered a flat rate because of the occasion. She still didn’t order a lot after learning that, but Byulyi ordered extra food because she insisted that Yongsun would regret it the next day.

The nine of them sat on the floor of the emptied restaurant sharing jokes, stories about Byulyi, and speeches—from Byulyi’s parents and Heeyeon who the SNU crew selected as their representative. The mood was positively charged, re-energizing a very exhausted Yongsun. All in all, it was a good time with good people. Things couldn’t have been better, which is why, looking back on it, she chastised herself for not expecting something to derail the evening. And that something came in the form of an innocuous question from Byulyi’s mom.

Throughout the evening, everyone splintered into smaller groups, chatting about whatever they pleased. At one point, about 1.5 hours into the dinner, Byul’s mom switched places with her husband so that she was seated directly across from Yongsun who was in the middle of scolding Moonbyul for stealing her food—she wasn’t even eating the food, just taking it from Yongsun’s bowl when she knew Yongsun was looking, then reveling in the whines and overreactions Yongsun offered in return. It was between dramatic cries of annoyance that Park Kyungah intervened and scolded her daughter. That segued into Byul telling her mom “that’s just how we joke around, omma. She knows I’m not serious.” Nonetheless, the older woman apologized on behalf of her daughter before launching into a series of questions about how Yongsun was doing. The young woman answered each question honestly, sharing about the challenging week she just had and what the next few months would look like. It was a light conversation, nothing too nerve-racking. Until the conversation pivoted to Yongsun’s romantic life. Byulyi, who had been an active participant up until then, inserting details Yongsun missed, stayed quiet at her mother’s next question.

“Your parents must be very proud of you, Yongsun. You’re so well-mannered and pretty.”

Face warm, the blonde fussed slightly with the collar of her turtleneck. “Ah, thank you, Auntie. I hope to make them proud, yes.”

“Are you still not dating anyone? I remember we discussed this at one of Byulyi’s games before, but I refuse to believe there isn’t anyone trying to get your attention. You’re such a sweet young lady.”

A ‘sweet young lady’ wasn’t exactly charting high on the market of what people in their early 20s were looking for, but Yongsun understood the gist of the statement. Byulyi’s mom was probably genuinely curious. Yongsun heard bits of the older woman’s conversations that evening with Wheein, Hyejin, and Heeyeon. They all joked about being single and looking, asking Byul’s mom to keep her eyes open for potential partners for them. And she’d asked Yongsun about it during some of their previous meetings. Yongsun should’ve expected this topic to resurface at some point tonight.

But she didn’t and was caught unprepared.

As she desperately attempted to find her voice, she felt the eyes from beside her boring into her skin. Byulyi was waiting for a response just as eagerly as her mother was.

“I’m just trying to find a job and finalize where I’ll be living next year, Auntie,” she gave an anxious laugh. Not a lie. Not the full truth, but not a lie. Also, not what Byulyi wanted to hear, because once Yongsun’s sentence concluded, the brunette turned to her right to join in on whatever it was the SNU contingent were discussing.

If Byul’s mom noticed, she didn’t say anything, continuing instead to pepper Yongsun with questions about her life. And to her own credit, Yongsun answered them all, even with how rattled she was internally at what was likely yet another issue between her and the athlete to her right.

That was the turning point. For the remainder of the gathering, Byulyi’s words to her were scarce. Wheein and Hyejin seemed to notice the cold war because after a while, they left their spots at the other half of the table to join Yongsun. The two didn’t even make jokes about why Byulyi wasn’t showering Yongsun with attention—as they usually would—which signaled to the graduate student that they knew far more about the severity of the situation than they were letting on.

And that was that. The mood for the remainder of Yongsun’s evening was set. Time dragged on, forcing her to sit in the mess that she unintentionally made, before, thankfully, it was time to leave. Even that became an internal battle of wanting to do what was most comfortable versus not make the issue bigger than it already was. The closer the five of them got to Byulyi’s car, the heavier Yongsun’s gut weighed. Sitting in the passenger’s seat beside Byulyi on the drive home wasn’t on top of the list of things she wanted to do. It wasn’t on the list at all, actually. But suddenly asking Wheein or Hyejin or Heeyeon to sit up front would raise all types of questions about why she wanted to change the seating arrangement now when things were fine on the drive to the restaurant. It wasn’t as if she could outright say “Byulyi’s mad at me because I didn’t tell her mom we’re kind of seeing each other.”

Well, she could say that. The other three likely already knew what the deal was. But Byulyi was petty as all hell and, just to spite Yongsun, would probably leave her out to dry by saying something along the lines of, “Who said I was mad at you?”

So she reluctantly sank into the front seat, rested against the headrest, and closed her eyes. There was too much tension and the sleep she missed out on all week came quickly to take hold of her. Who knows what the others chose to do with the uncomfortable atmosphere.

It wasn’t until Wheein and Hyejin were dropped off at their dorm that her eyes were forced open. The third-years wrestled her awake to say their goodbyes before scampering into their building. From there, Heeyeon did her best to fill the silence, but, as was evident by her final query about Byulyi’s plans for the evening, her attempts were futile. Once the car crawled into the UV parking lot and the engine was cut off, Heeyeon made a swift escape, only barely bidding the two a goodnight before closing the vehicle door behind her.

Then there were two.

If possible, the air around them grew even thicker. Her skin itched for her to vacate the car as Heeyeon did moments ago, yet Yongsun stayed put. Seatbelt still securely clasped, head still laid against the now-warm headrest, she sat. Because as much as she didn’t have the energy for confrontation right now, seeing and spending time with her best friend today was the highlight of her week. Even with all the swirling between them, today was the best day she had all week and that was in large part due to being with Byul again. A fight was not how their first night back together was supposed to end.

She swallowed the urge to flee and sank further into the discomfort.

Heart racing, fingers clammy, skin buzzing, Yongsun sat there with her eyes closed. This had always simultaneously been the easiest and most difficult relationship she’d ever experienced, but the young woman couldn’t pinpoint when things between her and Byulyi became this disjointed. For the past few months, things stopped moving as effortlessly as they once did and began requiring so much work.

To Yongsun’s surprise, Byulyi spoke first. “So . . . how are you?”

“Honestly? Tired.” Eyes remained closed. For one, she didn’t want to see what emotions occupied the other woman’s face and, two, Yongsun’s lids grew heavier as she sat with them closed. No energy remained to lift them.

“Mmm. You’ve mentioned how bad your week was a lot tonight.”

“Yeah. I’m kind of surprised I made it through. It felt like time was speeding by, but at the same time, it felt like the days wouldn’t pass.”

There was a brief delay in response, but in time, the words hit the shell of her ears. “For a while, I thought you were avoiding me.” They were softly spoken, but they were spoken.

A deep sigh. “You thought I was lying about having no time this week?”

“Kind of. Not lying lying. But . . . yeah. Y’know.”

“Why would I avoid you?”

“I don’t know. Because of Sunday, I guess.” None of the conversation thus far was as confrontational as Yongsun thought it would be. Then again, this wasn’t the conversation yet. What happened earlier in the evening was a topic that remained in the queue of things to address before she and Byulyi left the car.

“Mmm.”

“Yeah.”

Now it was Yongsun’s turn to delay a response.

“It was embarrassing, it’s still embarrassing, and I can’t say that I’m over it because I’m not, but I haven’t even had time this week to fully think through what happened. I don’t know . . . only time will fix that, I guess. But I wouldn’t purposely ignore you over that. The thought of ignoring you never even crossed my mind. You apologized and I believe that the apology was sincere and that you had no ill intentions. I kind of just have to work through the rest of it on my own.”

“I really am sorry.”

“I believe you.” She did.

The entire thing was uncomfortable, especially because there wasn’t really anything else Byulyi could do for her. The insecurities intricately woven into every fiber of her being could only be undone by her own doing. The woman to her left had, at every chance available, expressed how beautiful and attractive she found Yongsun to be. Byulyi wanted her and she made that clear. The continued feelings of inadequacy, then—ual and otherwise—were mental blocks Yongsun had to figure out on her own.

“How are you?” Yongsun asked in return.

“Honestly? Tired,” Byulyi parroted Yongsun’s words from minutes ago.

This was a fresh conversation now. That didn’t need to be explained, the same way it didn’t need explaining that the ‘tired’ Moonbyul felt had nothing to do with the basketball game she played earlier or the two classes she was enrolled in. They were now discussing their relationship and what happened at dinner.

“You’re upset.”

“I . . . am. Yeah.” The way she hesitated to admit it hurt more than the actual admission. Honesty was something Yongsun hoped would be automatic between them. Instead, it was becoming more of a challenge each day for them both. “But it feels weird. We kind of agreed this isn’t a friends-with-benefits situation but we never finalized what we’d tell other people. And we definitely didn’t discuss telling our families, so I don’t really have the right to be upset that you didn’t tell my mom—if anything, I should be the one telling my mom, that burden shouldn’t be on you and dropping the news suddenly in the middle of a celebration dinner wouldn’t have been the right time anyway—but I’m still upset. It doesn’t really make sense but it’s how I feel, so . . . yeah . . .”

“Chorong said we shouldn’t call ourselves friends with benefits. She believes ‘it’s complicated’ is more appropriate.”

“Do you let all your deepest-held thoughts out during pillow talk? Asking for future reference.”

“Shut up! I’m just letting you know in case you’d prefer to call it that.”

“If you’re more comfortable with that then we can go with that.”

“What about what you want?”

“I want you, a relationship, and to tell everyone that we’re together. I have you, and the other two are works in progress. So, whatever this in-between looks like, I’m fine waiting.”

“What about when you get tired of waiting?”

“‘When’ not ‘if’?”

“It’s a valid question, no?”

“No, it isn’t,” Byulyi answered immediately and directly.

Valentine’s Day was only two weeks ago. Look how much had changed since then.

Two weeks. Byulyi was tired of waiting.

In actuality, she’d more accurately been waiting for months, if not at least a year. It made sense that she’d be tired. She wouldn’t say it, maybe she didn’t realize it herself yet, but Yongsun realized it. Probably because she expected this each day she woke up still not ready to dive headfirst into a relationship. Expected her best friend to grow tired of being asked for more time and more patience. Because if Yongsun was honest with herself, she was asking a lot of the other woman while only giving in return a promise of “one day” being ready. No timeline of an estimated date by which she could commit, just a lofty “one day”. It wasn’t fair to Byulyi, left hanging indefinitely like that.

“I’m not trying to trap you. You can see other people if you want. I think that would only be fair.” It was the last thing Yongsun wanted, but she had no right to demand Byulyi’s full attention while still being unable to commit in the way the athlete asked of her. At some point, she had to give a bit. This was her first attempt at that.

“Why would I see other people?” The hostility took the older woman by surprise.

“I’m not trying to fight, Byul-ah. I’m just saying that if you’re tired of waiting, I understand. I don’t have the right to be upset if you choose to pursue other people you may be interested in or other people that are interested in you.” For the first time since entering the car to drive back to SNU, Yongsun looked over to the driver’s seat and locked eyes with Byulyi. She hoped that her face conveyed the sincerity of her words. There was no sarcasm, no “gotcha!” hidden in what she said. She meant it.

“I’m not interested in anyone but you.”

“Don’t sound so sad about it.” Her weak attempt at humor at least pulled a small smile from Byulyi before she sank into her seat and closed her eyes. Yongsun could feel how worn out the athlete was, only further exacerbating her sorrow over being the one that caused it.

Moon Byulyi gave much more than any one person should be expected to give so, while Yongsun couldn’t give in the same way, she hoped that her future efforts would show that she wasn’t in this only to take, take, take.

While the other woman continued resting her eyes, Yongsun opened her purse and pulled out her cellphone. The screen’s brightness tried deterring her, but she pushed past its blaring intensity and found the contact she needed.

“Who are you calling?” Byul asked upon hearing the phone’s ringer fill her vehicle’s empty space—Yongsun had put it on speakerphone. Ignoring the question, the graduate student didn’t speak until the person on the other end picked up.

“Unnie?”

“Wheein-ah.”

“Mmm. What’s wrong? Did we forget something in Byul-unnie’s car?”

“Not that I know of,” Yongsun did a cursory scan of the backseat.

“Oh. What’s up then? Why are you calling?”

“Hyejin’s with you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you put the phone on speakerphone so she can hear, too, please?” While Wheein called for Hyejin to meet her, Yongsun sat patiently, all the while ignoring Byulyi’s inquisitive eyes trained on her.

“Unnie. What’s up?” Hyejin asked.

“Oh.” The words were right there but, still, it took Yongsun by surprise that she was actually going to say them. They weren’t the words Byulyi wanted to hear—well, not the exact words she wanted to hear—but they were much further on the road to those words than any Yongsun had committed to previously. “Just calling to let you two know about me and Byulyi.”

“Oooooo,” the two on the other end of the line chorused. “What about you and Byul-unnie?” That was Wheein.

“We’re . . . seeing each other. As more than friends.”

Holding the cell in her left hand, Yongsun silently screamed into her right as it dawned on her that she said what she just said. Out loud. To other people. It was so . . . ugh! Stressful.

“Is Byul-unnie with you right now?”

“Yeah. You’re on speaker.”

“Unnie, you’re a liar!” Wheein yelled.

“Liar!”

“You lied to us!”

“Told us that the two of you weren’t together.”

“Yongsun-unnie, you lied, too! Just tonight you said there was nothing to tell.”

Explaining everything didn’t make sense, so Yongsun accepted the blame. “Sorry. At least I said I’d tell you if there was something to tell and then I called to tell you.”

“What’s your excuse, Byul-unnie?”

“I . . . don’t have one. I’ll just say that I’m sorry,” Byul spoke up from the driver’s seat, automatically going along with it all.

“Hmm. Well, thank you for calling to tell us. We already knew and didn’t believe either of you when you lied to our faces, but thank you for correcting that wrongdoing.”

The younger girls berated the older ones for a bit longer before ending the call.

“So we’re seeing each other? As more than friends?”

“Something like that,” Yongsun jokingly downplayed it.

“Oh, okay.” The streetlights in the parking lot illuminated the darkened interior, one light casting a streak across Byulyi’s face as she lounged in her seat. It allowed Yongsun to see how hard the athlete worked to not let out the smile begging to break free.

“Hey,” Yongsun called. When Byulyi looked over, the blonde unbuckled her seatbelt and reached over to gently hold the younger woman’s chin in her right hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Leaning in, Yongsun gave a chaste peck to Byulyi’s lips. “I missed you.”

“Same.”

“Are you spending the night?”

“I can. If you want.”

“Please?”

“Okay.”

“Thank you.” For staying the night. For waiting. For everything.

“You’re welcome.”

One last peck and the two separated, collected their things, and exited Byulyi’s car.

A repeat of earlier, upon circling the vehicle’s rear, Yongsun found fingers awaiting her. Unlike earlier, it likely wasn’t as easy for Byulyi to extend that hand, but she still did.

Just as it wasn’t easy at all for Yongsun to extend herself the way she did on the call with Wheein and Hyejin. But she did, because even when it wasn’t easy for Byulyi to do so, she put herself out there for Yongsun. The least the graduate student could do, she thought, was demonstrate that she was willing to try to do the same in return.

In the grand scheme of things, what she did tonight didn’t wasn’t much, but it was something. It was a start.

Note: Time is a social construct. So let’s pretend that this past month didn’t happen, yeah?

The encouraging and undrstanding comments were touching. Cannot than you all enough ♥ I hope that you've all been doing the best you can to take care of yourselves. Hello to new readers, thank you for stickign around to no-to-new readers.