Minjeong fell in love twice.

Once during summer.

It presented itself in honeyed skin and loud laughter, sunshine eyes and awkward chaste kisses under the golden rays of June. 

It was tiny little butterflies and sprinkle of youth, too much horror movies and staying up till dawn.

It was badly written songs, sung while sitting at the pavement, calloused hands and broken guitar strings. It was sloppy drawings and acrylic tainted knuckles — simple and liberating, fun in all ways that are pure.

It was nothing and it was everything poured all at once.

“It looked pretty.”

Minjeong hums, “Which?”

“My decorations,” Ningning turned at her with a pout, “but they fell. I used superglue, but I don't think that's enough.”

Minjeong would laugh by then, shaking her head as she joins Ningning on the bed, making fun of how many Titanic pictures she has put up on the wall. And Ningning would whine, complaining about how she's being so mean that Minjeong would end up enduring three hours with her chin propped up on her knees because Ningning had put on another Titanic re-run.

“I promise to let you watch American Sniper next,” Ningning would giggle as she plants a soft kiss on Minjeong's cheek.

Minjeong would smile, her stomach flipping. She promised to buy Ningning a set of pins for her decorations in return.

It was enough.

But of course, summer days are limited. Once the school starts, they would see less and less of each other. The adrenaline of going adventures under the heat replaced with hours buried in calculus homework, midnights sneaking out of each other's house now traded for group studies and art projects that take too much of their time.

It will all pile up, one after another, that bumping into corridors were celebrated with awkward smiles instead of the fond look they used to share inside the comforts of their bedrooms.

“We'll be okay, right?” It was Ningning who confronted her first, just like she always does. She's just so… brave, undaunted, making bold decisions and standing by it till the end, and Minjeong admired her for it.

Ningning had this soft look in her eyes and something inside Minjeong broke. 

(They were beautiful, but they fell apart. Minjeong could use superglue, but she doesn't think that would be enough.)

“We're going to be okay, right, unnie?” Ningning reiterated, like she needed some assurance, and Minjeong would be utterly heartless to deprive her of that. 

“Yeah,” Minjeong opened her hand, giving Ningning a small smile. Ningning took it. Their fingers intertwined, “we can still be friends.”

They didn't. Life happens. Both swayed down to different directions.

And it was okay. It's not like Minjeong expected them to be close after that, but a part of her still wishes they did. They started beautifully, and in a sense, ended beautifully too. 

Ningning taught her love with everything she knows at that moment, and Minjeong likes to think she offered just as much.

After all, they were each other's first love.

Minjeong fell in love twice.

Once during autumn.

In the middle of orange hues and falling leaves, with the world running so fast in blur, cruelly unforgiving, there she stood — and Minjeong thought she looked cozy, and safe, and guarded, wrapped up in her own world, clad in a knitted sweater and a beanie.

(Minjeong would later learn the vast beanie collection the girl has.)

She speaks in a foreign language Minjeong did not understand, but somehow, she managed to talk her way inside Minjeong's heart, marking it as her territory.

This love was a bliss, a roller-coaster ride, an adventure. Aeri always had a knack for going places and trying things, constantly pulling Minjeong out of her comfort zone — Aeri introduced her to the world, made her appreciate the beauty in uncertainty and Minjeong loves it. 

Or maybe she loves it because she was with Aeri.

Minjeong's roommate would always make commentaries about how she looked happier, point out the bounces in her steps, and Minjeong would wave her off,  her response was always the same.

“It's Aeri,” Minjeong says, scratching the back of her head and laughing, bashful.

Minjeong cherished each moment with Aeri, even if they were all about giving in to the unknown, diving in with eyes closed, filled with hesitations — she loved all of them. But if there's something she holds on to close to her heart, it was their silence.

The silence whenever she would catch Aeri's eyes from across the room, and how the girl would smile — whisker dimples and bunny teeth, it was endearing, and warm and it made Minjeong melt into a puddle, cheeks tainted with red.

The lack of words and the presence of understanding whenever they are at parties and Aeri would hold her wrist, never letting go, afraid to lose her amidst unfamiliar faces.

And out of all, Minjeong's favorite type of silence comes in days when they decided to stay in, snuggled up against each other, calm breathing and utmost serenity. 

Happy. Contented.

But Minjeong's heartbeats became too loud, her feelings too unbearable,  her emotions threatening to explode, b in the corner of her eyes — only to manifest in the form of three words.

“I love you.”

“Minjeong…”

This love was (a bliss, a roller-coaster ride, an adventure) a collection of mishaps and misunderstandings, of falling apart and making up — alcohols and missed classes and crying during lectures — it ruined Minjeong beyond repair.

This love… it was, it was stunningly imperfect, rough on the edges and it hurt both of them in ways Minjeong did not see coming.

Eventually, Minjeong got tired, and Aeri did too. And that was it. 

Except it wasn't.

In the following weeks, Minjeong would drown herself in alcohol. She would spend her days curled up in bed, eyelids too heavy to even be doing things that matter. She pushed her friends, avoided everyone at all costs because she sees Aeri in everything and it was just too much.

Minjeong didn't realize she was capable of giving her all until she was all spent up and empty inside.

“You have to eat something, Minjeong,” was her roommate's constant reminder. And she's thankful for all the encouragement, and the smile Jimin throws at her when she manages to get Minjeong out of bed.

“I made a seperate copy of our lectures today, I'll leave it on your bed,” she heard Jimin from the bathroom, “make sure to check them out later. If you want to, of course.”

Minjeong wouldn't bother.

She never did.

But Jimin was persistent. It was starting to get annoying. Minjeong knows she shouldn't get mad, she doesn't have any right to, not when Jimin has always been nice and caring.  But she can't help it. She's hurting, she deserves to be angry.

“You're going out?” There was a surprise in Jimin's voice, an unwelcome glint in her eyes. Like she's happy to see Minjeong stand up from her bed.

“Yeah, don't wait up.”

Jimin nodded.

Yet later that night, in her blurry vision and searing headache, she will find comfort in Jimin's face. 

Minjeong will fall to the ground, and Jimin's hands will get her up. It was Jimin's fingers that held her hair as she vomited all the deadly mix of alcohol she consumed on an empty stomach — Jimin's palm warm on her back.

This will become a routine.

Minjeong will get drunk and Jimin will pick her up, drive her home, and tuck her in. A hang-over soup careful