Ryujin always wins.

 

She does, and Ryujin might be saying this with a bit of exaggeration and narcissism but the stars do align and the universe does conspire, all for her benefit. There were just too many circumstances where she happens to beat the unbeatable — Ryujin doesn't know if it's her endless streak of good luck or sheer hard work or maybe the perfect combination of both that makes the odds constantly work in her favor. Nevertheless, Ryujin abhors the phrase. It scares the living daylight out of her — because what if it's all downhill after this?

 

Maybe I should try the lottery now, she thinks.

 

“Ryujin, focus,” she murmurs silently on her seat, grasping her phone a little tighter than intended. Her knuckles turning white as she tries not to type in a word, “I always win.” She chants the phrase under her breath like a spell, hoping it would save her poor, gay soul from fires of torment courteousy of a certain brunette. She treats the situation as one of the ordeals she could easily win over without doing as much as lifting a finger, literally, because Ryujin doesn't really want to type in a word, let alone reach out first, so she —

 

wanna hang out?

 

Ryujin face palms, “Jesus Christ.”

 

The receiver's name glares at her the way she would in person, with intensity — like crushing Ryujin's face with both of her hands would bring her eternal euphoria; Lee Chaeryeong (do not contact).

 

Ryujin has no intention of pressing send, but her cat decided that it would be fun to finally push her off of her phone and get her attention back to giving belly rubs. Byul paws on the screen, accidentally hitting the button and—

 

Ryujin

wanna hang out?

 

“You little—” Ryujin groans at her cat, mortified. A sweeping woop can be heard, Ryujin throws her phone at the end of bed. Squeezing Byul in a hug, trying to hide her face from any possible, self-induced embarrassment.

 

Not seconds later, her phone buzzed, and with slow, extreme caution, Ryujin peeped on it, immediately shoving it back when she saw the response.

 

Lee Chaeryeong (do not contact)

I'm studying at the moment.

 

There's another buzz, and Ryujin flipped her phone slowly, one-eye open as if expecting her own murder.

 

Lee Chaeryeong (do not contact)

But I can afford a study break.

Come over at 7 PM.

don't be late.

 

Ryujin breathes in, forgets to let go, and ends up choking herself in an intense coughing fit. She tries to formulate a sentence that wouldn't make her sound like a jerk (though she's aware that whatever she does, she would always come off like one to Lee Chaeryeong — but this is self-indulgent) or too needy, so she latches on to her annoying tactics, hoping it would at least ease the tension on her part.

 

(But it always backfires, and Ryujin never learns.)

 

Ryujin

you forgot to capitalize d, boomer

 

Lee Chaeryeong (do not contact)

you

 

Ryujin

you already did

 

The three dots got into work, the clapback strikes harder than a lightning, like a punch hitting Ryujin right in the gut, knocking air off of her lungs.

 

Lee Chaeryeong (do not contact)

And you enjoyed it.

 

“ you,” Ryujin hisses, because it's the truth.

 

She did enjoy it… and Ryujin knows she's not supposed to. God, she tried not to, fraternizing with someone inside their close circle — and with someone she gets along the least — has got to be the worst trope in the book, and Ryujin beat herself up because of it. The amount of self-hate was insurmountable.

 

Chaeryeong is beautiful in all sense of the word, Ryujin would admit… because why else would she be sleeping with her if she doesn't find her attractive, right?

 

It's nothing deep, right?

 

Sure, Ryujin does feel relatively warm after Chaeryeong asks her to stay for a while after the deed, or whenever Chaeryeong leans into her during their weekend get-together with friends, times when she would search for Ryujin everytime she looks up from her laptop, feigning annoyance whenever Ryujin meets her eyes — little things that makes the gears on Ryujin's head shift, gestures that drives her to do some impromptu reflection on why she doesn't like Chaeryeong.

 

Ryujin is still adamant on not using 'hate'. Hate is a passionate feeling, and she cannot allow herself to be passionate about anything remotely Lee Chaeryeong.

 

Her indifference might sound like it's rooted deep but there's really nothing profound behind Ryujin's brazen distaste of Chaeryeong. And she would agree that this is childish, and extremely petty but it's not like Chaeryeong doesn't act the same way too when she's around.

 

They just don't… click, standing on both ends of the bridge, but instead of meeting each other half-way, they opted to burn the space between.

 

And now there's a noticeable gap, while everybody in their circle is all about ride or die, flocking together close knitted, binded by years of friendship, Ryujin and Chaeryeong drew a line, standing frozen in their space. The unspoken agreement of not getting too close was signed everytime they kept distance, only talking casually when needed.

 

And now they slept together (casually too, Ryujin's chest clenched at the thought) — once… twice, multiple times when they were drunk — she has lost count.

 

Ryujin sighs loudly, trying to remember Chaeryeong's favorite caffeine fix and pizza topping before pressing send.

 

Ryujin

i'll bring coffee

and pizza

is that ok?

 

Lee Chaeryeong (do not contact)

Whatever just don't be late.

 

—

 

Ryujin is a bonafide gay-panicked loser.

 

That much was established when she arrived at Chaeryeong's place, her kneecaps trembling, what am I so nervous for? She knocks twice, as per Chaeryeong instructions — Ryujin doesn't have any idea why — counting from one to ten before being pulled inside by strong arms. Chaeryeong feels warm on Ryujin's lips, cherry balm marking the corner of with a peck before drawing away.

 

Chaeryeong looks at her wall clock, “you're late,” she hums before she starts pulling her shirt above her head, “now we only have twenty-seven minutes.”

 

The wide expanse of alabaster skin left Ryujin's mouth clasped together in a thin line, feels dry as a sandpaper. She inhales, fortune favors the brave, she reminds herself, summoning all confidence to meet Chaeryeong’s curious gaze, only to choke on her own saliva, and I am one unlucky bastard.

 

Chaeryeong might have noticed Ryujin's weird behavior, and she began shifting uncomfortably in her position. She steps backwards, hugging herself, fingers playing with the straps of her bra in an attempt to hide her now bared skin, “What?”

 

“H-hold on—” Ryujin smacks her head internally, get it together oh my God, she gingerly motions the plastic bag she's holding as well as the now dented box of pizza.

 

“I thought you wanted to —” Chaeryeong bit her lip, and Ryujin curses under her breath, now she's uncomfortable, you , “I mean, it's why you're here right?”

 

There was a pin drop silence, the question hangs in the air, making the atmosphere colder, more awkward, and Ryujin swears she could see the tiny goosebumps that adore Chaeryeong's skin. Why am I here again? Ryujin's eyes flit between the pizza box, the ridiculously detailed caffeine on her other hand — black, with tons of almond milk, tiny, barely there, squeezed of lemon with three sugar cubes — and the confused woman in front of her.

 

The image would’ve been funny from an outsider's perspective, and Ryujin wants to laugh — out of confusion, because now there is a question that keeps on screwing her sanity, drilling through her temples like a headache, relentless and perplexing; why did I bring food? Was she expecting something else other than what happens under Chaeryeong’s sheets (on her couch, above her pristine study stable or on several occasions, at the Diner’s bathroom)?

 

Well, the funny thing is, she wasn’t even thinking about it when she asked Chaeryeong to hang out. Ryujin’s blood runs cold at the realization, feeling like she’s finally sobering up from a life threatening hang-over, scrambling for an answer to the million-dollar question; why did I bring food?

 

“Ryujin,” Chaeryeong calls out, reeling her back in. Her name sounds different coming from Chaeryeong’s mouth, like it’s not meant to be there, or maybe Ryujin is just not used to hearing it from the younger girl, “that’s why you’re here, right? I mean—”

 

“Yeah,” Ryujin said slowly, looking up and willing herself to walk closer towards Chaeryeong, footsteps still weighed down by the possibility that she might have to explain herself (and she doesn’t want that, not when she can’t understand it herself; why did I bring food?) “...yeah.” Ryujin reiterates, louder this time, with enough bravado, something that her best friend would easily recognize as false courage.

 

“Yeah,” she repeats again, this time for the sole purpose of convincing herself that she did come over just for that.

 

Ryujin throws Chaeryeong a glance, and there's a hint of something indecipherable in Chaeryeong's eyes. Ryujin casts it off as academically related, law school can be stressful… right?

 

(But had she been looking closely, she would've seen the slight twitch on Chaeryeong's mouth, how insistent the younger girl is in avoiding her gaze — resembling a kicked puppy.)

 

“How much time do I have again?”

 

Chaeryeong clears , “Twenty-two minutes.”

 

“Okay,” Ryujin whispers gently. She leans in, fingers ghosting on the exposed skin of Chaeryeong's shoulder, “tell me if it's getting uncomfortable and I'll stop, okay?”

 

Chaeryeong nods eagerly.

 

“And if it hurts—”

 

“God, Ryujin, you talk too much,” Chaeryeong whines, hands locked on Ryujin's nape, their mouths crashing sloppily. Chaeryeong's movements are fervent, her feather light touches now replaced with aggressiveness Ryujin isn’t familiar with — as if she’s angry, and Chaeryeong was never angry, (something Ryujin already picked up on in their limited interactions and occasional extracurricular activities).

 

Chaeryeong nibbled on her lip, and Ryujin could feel her knees giving up at the intensity. Chest blowing in suffocation, ears muffling sounds like she's drowning underwater — she grabs on Chaeryeong's waist to anchor herself — God, it feels like she’s holding on for her dear life.

 

And Ryujin thinks, if this is how death feels like, then dying in the hands of Lee Chaeryeong wouldn’t be so bad.

 

—

 

Ryujin wakes up half-an hour later. She inhales the scent of strawberries and vanilla, hands instinctively pulling the younger girl closer — a recent habit she developed in the numerous times they did the unspeakable in Chaeryeong's apartment, and Ryujin purposely slept in.

 

Chaeryeong has never said anything, so Ryujin just assumed it's all right.

 

The younger girl stirs, voice raspy and laced with sleep, the sound waking Ryujin's senses. And the profanity that came after paints Ryujin's cheeks red, “” Chaeryeong shifts, moving away, “why didn't you wake me up?”

 

“You look comfortable,” Ryujin says, and Chaeryeong rolls her eyes. The younger girl unconsciously dons herself with Ryujin's moss colored hoodie, and Ryujin welcomes the soft constriction on her chest.

 

Chaeryeong is adorable — the younger girl looks extra tiny under the fabric, her fingers peeking through the sleeves — that Ryujin couldn't bring herself to say something, so she closes her eyes instead, commanding herself to sleep some more.

 

But then she caught sight of the disregarded pizza and the cup of coffee resting neatly on Chaeryeong's study table, the question inevitably popping up again, why did I bring food?

 

—

 

It started off as something propelled by annoyance — maybe some alcohol too, add in a small pinch of seven years worth of suppressed (though Ryujin would never admit that, because she doesn’t know it herself, talk about being extremely dense to the point of stupidity), and a dumb argument Ryujin cannot remember now.

 

Being the designated driver that night, she dropped Winter and Karina off to their respective houses after a Friday night-out at the Diner, and now all that’s left is Lee Chaeryeong, sitting comfortably on the shotgun seat. The younger girl looks exhausted, fingers massaging temples before looking up to Ryujin.

 

“I have beer inside,” she stated.

 

It wasn’t a question, but it definitely sounded like an invitation masked with nonchalance and straight-up passiveness.

 

“I’d like to have one before I go.” Ryujin hums.

 

“Okay.”

 

Ryujin has never been inside Chaeryeong’s apartment alone. Sitting close to her at the couch with only the lamp outside illuminating the small space, sharing the last bottle of beer, and actually being able to hold a conversation sans snarky comments and back-handed compliments was something Ryujin didn’t imagine happening in a million years.

 

It was nice —

 

“Why do you hate me so much?”

 

Or not really.

 

Ryujin vaguely remembers responding to the question with a loud voice, and it might have brushed Chaeryeong the wrong way — but the younger girl was still as imperturbable as ever, only leaning in to emphasize her arguments. And Ryujin could articulate her points too, say something in between the lines of I don’t really hate you, I just don't like you or your presence brings a sense of uneasiness that I will never ever get accustomed to, but Ryujin was keenly distracted — and has Chaeryeong’s lips always been that red?

 

Chaeryeong inches closer, tilts her head to the side as if taunting Ryujin, and Ryujin could only stare back albeit lacking the same intensity. Chaeryeong smiled, and does it have to be so welcoming, so beautiful and unarguably the best thing Ryujin has ever seen?

 

It might have been the chemicals talking but you know what they say about drunk people, Chaeryeong smells so good —

 

Chaeryeong tasted like alcohol and cherries, and cherries, cherries, cherries.

See, this is where Ryujin’s memory got hazy because she doesn’t know who closed the gap, but she decided that it doesn’t matter… not when she already got Chaeryeong’s lithe frame grasp in a tight hug, lips carving soft kisses on Ryujin’s jaw, fingers tracing the back of Ryujin's nape as she murmurs a hushed, “can I?”

 

It didn't register at first. Ryujin stares blankly at the younger girl on her lap.

 

“Sorry, Ryujin-ah,” Chaeryeong chuckles, “forget it, .” The younger girl is still laughing, shaking her head as she got off of Ryujin's lap, “I'm really sorry.”

 

Ryujin blinks, still dazed, “For what?”

 

Chaeryeong made weird hand gestures, “For that… for whatever that was.”

 

“I'm not,” Ryujin smiled shyly, scratching her nape.

 

Chaeryeong’s eyes were soft and careful, and Ryujin remembers them clearly — because it's all that she's ever seen that night.

 

When the fabrics were discarded, it's Chaeryeong's dark eyes that met her own.

 

When Ryujin's hands travelled to uncharted territories eliciting labored breaths, it's Chaeryeong's concerned eyes that cradled her inhibitions with assurances — and even when Ryujin delves into her own high, heart pounding so loud, and temples throbbing, Chaeryeong's eyes are all that she could ever see.

 

It became too addictive. For both, having a bite unleashed a whole new hunger they didn't know exists inside them. That it happened again, and again and again.

 

And now it's not just about the deed anymore — something has definitely shifted, and it scares the hell out of Ryujin.

 

—

 

 

It wasn't like Ryujin to lose temper, more so act on her anger, but there was something negatively unsettling that night. It might have been stress from work. The pressure of presenting a futuristic and complex building design for the new extension of the company finally taking its toll on her mental health, or maybe it’s the sight of Lee Chaeryeong, giggling, at one corner of the diner with a guy much older than her (and Ryujin too, she presumes) that rendered her mad, oh so mad. She slammed the door of the bathroom with full force, walking passed the younger girl and intentionally bumping her arm on Chaeryeong shoulder, yeah real mature, Ryujin.

 

If Chaeryeong noticed it, she didn’t show any signs of irritation, and it only fueled Ryujin’s frustration. How dare her ignore Ryujin and her antics of annoyance?

 

“Who is that?” She hisses towards Yeji when the older girl sat beside her at the counter.

 

Yeji shrugs, “Her classmate?”

 

Ryujin scowls, pissed at the lack of information offered, “Is she giggling?” Her eyes trailed towards Lee Chaeryeong.

 

“Dude,” Yeji laughs, patting Ryujin’s shoulder playfully, “why are you so mad?”

 

Ryujin doesn’t know either. She had a full day, and seeing Chaeryeong laugh at someone else in that way when she never does that with Ryujin makes something inside her tick. They have known each other for what? Six? Seven years? And all she got were life threatening glares, insults, and if Ryujin’s particularly lucky that day, she gets a frown.

 

“That’s Hyunjin,” Ningning laughs, “Chaeryeong unnie said they are working on a paper together.”

 

“Really?” Ryujin’s eyes bored to where Ningning is, then back to burning a hole on Lee Chaeryeong’s head, “at the Diner? With all the noise?”

 

Ningning shook her head and gave Ryujin a knowing look, “You could ask her yourself if you want.”

 

“Ask her what?”

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