Fin.

occam's razor
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There's a lull at the diner when Jisu decides to move on. 

 

She reads the job advertisement in the newspaper, a red pen twirling between her deft fingers. She circles a live-in babysitter job just a few towns away. But looking out of the diner’s windows, at the gloomy overcast that seems to settle over Oregon like a heavy quilt during the fall and winter, she aches for some sunshine. She immediately crosses that one out. 

 

“I knew you’d leave,” Yuna sighs, peering over her shoulders to nose into Jisu’s business. When Jisu sends her a sharp look, she shrugs and leans over the counter. 

 

Jisu flips to the next page. “Yeah? How?”

 

“You’ve been restless for a while now. Could’ve thought you got yourself into something…” Yuna leaves space for Jisu to fill in while she studies her face. For a sixteen-year-old, her eyes are sharp on details, so Jisu renders herself neutral. When all things fail, Yuna barges in head-on. “Well, are you?”

 

“I just need a change of scenery.”

 

“Everyone keeps saying that,” she says. The cook yells for her, but Yuna pretends she hasn’t heard it. It’s not lunch rush yet, and the only customer seems to be pretty occupied with his crossword. “Especially those who got into a sticky situation. What is it? Loan sharks? Crazy exes?”

 

Jisu snorts. She throws a crumpled up napkin at Yuna. 

 

“How do you come up with these?” 

 

Ray, the cook, comes out. He fumes, the black tank top sticks to his body with all the grease of the kitchen. His eyes land on Yuna, in her nonchalant form, as she lazily gazes back at him. They are back at each other’s throat in the next second and Jisu sighs, taking the still steaming plate to the customer. 

 

It’s not a bad place. Jisu likes having Yuna around, serving in this rundown place for people who come from all over the country and decide to pay a visit to Ray’s diner. It’s not the worst place to work at, but she’s chosen it with the deliberate knowledge that she won’t stay long. It’s been almost half a year now, living in the cheapest motel she could’ve found and putting aside every penny to leap into the next place. She’s ready to leave.

 

When she walks back to her newspaper, the two are still arguing. Ray threatens Yuna to kick her out, but Jisu knows better — Yuna is loved dearly in this small town, like the prized daughter of every townsfolk, and Ray’s not an exception. Jisu absentmindedly turns to the next page, eyes raking over the job advertisements. 

 

Her eyes catch on one. The red pen slips from her fingers, but she doesn’t need it anymore. She just found what she’s been looking for. 

 

Bar Singer

The Mirage (Las Vegas, Nevada) requires a young lady for the entertainment duties of our guests. Experience in the field of entertainment is essential. 

 

Jackpot.


 

>>>


 

Getting the job seems too easy. Between a quick phone call where she's asked to sing over the crackling landline and the application sent by post, the next thing Jisu knows, a bus ticket arrives back to her. It’s a whirlwind from then, preparing to leave the dusty old town for the City of Sin. Leaving Ray’s is another obstacle, especially peeling Yuna’s arms from her neck — it takes time, lots of promises and tears. It’s weird how attached she’s grown to Yuna. Jisu deeply regrets not asking for a photo of her — as a keepsake. 

 

But Yuna embraces her with her long arms and hangs on her like a baby, her taller frame engulfing Jisu. 

 

“You’ve gotta come back.” Yuna looks at her. Her tear-stained eyelashes clump together, and her lower lip juts out. She’s seconds away from bursting out in tears once again — who would’ve thought the little rougher was this emotional?  

 

“Of course,” Jisu says, caressing her silky black hair. The lie tastes bitter on her lips, a foreign feeling of longing already corroding her veins. 

 

“Have you ever sung in front of a crowd before?” Yuna asks between hiccups. “Or did you just choose that job because it’s in Vegas?” 

 

“I was part of a choir before. And I sang a few solos here and there,” Jisu answers. When she closes her eyes, she can still recall the faint excitement of all that attention on her; her clammy hands as she held onto her skirt like a lifeline. It was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. And she knew when she opened her eyes, Yeji would stand there with a bright gummy smile, thumbs up to encourage Jisu. 

 

She shakes off the image. It’s not the time nor the occasion to think of her. 

 

From her hands, Yuna tears out. Quickly wiping the stray teardrops from her cheeks, a newfound determination resides on her face.

 

“Send me a ticket to see you.” 

 

Jisu laughs because that’s the girl she knows and loves. Her red nose and cheeks make Yuna look her age, even if she fights naivety with false bravado. 

 

“I don’t think your mom would let you go to Las Vegas alone.” 

 

“My mom is my problem. Send me a ticket.”

 

After almost six months working at Ray’s, it’s jarring to leave. Coming into town with her small suitcase rolling after her, caught in an early spring storm, she stepped into the diner dripping. Even though their afternoon shifts collided, Yuna, like a cat unsure of strangers, kept her distance. Until one afternoon when Jisu caught her struggling with math homework on unused napkins, and she came to her rescue. From staying away, to sticking to her like a younger sister, Jisu never expected to get attached.

 

“Okay,” she says finally, “I will.”

 

It’s a snapshot of happenings from then on. It’s kissing Yuna goodbye, exchanging awkward hugs with Ray, preparing everything for the leave. Taking her small set of clothes and a smaller set of other belongings, she sits on the bus — more than a day’s worth of travelling in the confined space of the bus seat. Thankfully, no one takes the seat beside her, and she can let her legs stretch out. The confirmation letter sits on her lap, dog-eared and crumpled up, saying nothing remarkable. Yet, it fills her with excitement just to hold it. On her way of exchanging jobs, she has never taken a step so out of her comfort zone — but it is time. 

 

While she’s on the bus, she dreams of the lakeside she used to visit. The water was pleasantly cool even during the most humid and hot days of the summer. It was a place where time stood still. It was beside the lake where she met Yeji, all adorable pigtails and skirts. A friendly little bundle of joy, who took Jisu’s hand and decided to never let go. It was also by the lake, where she lost Yeji to a stupid mistake. 

 

Light blares through the blue curtains, and Jisu blinks her eyes open. There are some memories she cannot outrun, however she tries. Through the small peek, Las Vegas looks back at her. She’s missed the welcoming board, the flashy neons that she saw from every picture of the city, but there's no mistaking the grandiosity of the place. 

 

The Mirage is located in Downtown Las Vegas. It feels like being an outsider in this tiny galaxy. The wheels of her rolling suitcase give a constant rhythm against the pavement as she marvels at the Strip. Daylight has no effect on the glamour of Las Vegas, the monstrous hotels and casinos littering the street. The city built on the greediness of men is nothing short of her expectation. Jisu has tried to fix herself up in the rundown toilet of the bus station, but she feels out of place with her creased dress and rumpled state. 

 

It’s easy to spot The Mirage, even among the sea of other flashy neon lights. The golden name sits among lightbulbs, taking up most of the hotel’s front. The casino, adjunct to the hotel, is a smaller building but as attention-grabbing as every other casino on the Strip. Jisu’s senses are overwhelmed by the brightness and glimmer, the loud honking of the cars on the busy streets, the shoulders brushing to hers when people pass by her on the crowded pavement. It’s not exactly a new experience, but she always gravitated towards smaller towns than cities like this. 

 

Stepping into the hotel, the feeling of estrangement heightened. The golden hues of the outside followed the design; the tapestry is rich in ornament and colour. The heels of her shoes sink into the soft carpeting of the hall. Jisu gulps, looking around the hotel guests littering around the sofas and armchairs, engaging in chit-chats. Her shoulders sag as she rushes through the hall, avoiding calling attention to herself. She catches only one person’s eyes, and when Jisu reaches the reception desk, she’s immediately acknowledged. 

 

“Welcome to The Mirage,” the woman says, a pleasant smile growing on her lips, “How can I help you?”

 

Jisu reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out the dog-eared letter. As she passes it, she straightens her back and forces confidence that's almost foreign to her. “I’m here for the bar singer position.”

 

The woman looks up to her, and Jisu catches her name tag — Chaeyeon. It takes a moment to register when Chaeyeon reaches over the desk to take her hand and shake it enthusiastically. 

 

“We’ve been waiting for you! I’m Chaeyeon. Lia, right?” Jisu barely has time to nod when Chaeyeon waves to another person in the same uniform. “Can you take my place for ten? I’ll show our new singer around.”

 

New singer. Already?

 

“You don’t need to hear me sing?” Jisu asks, but Chaeyeon already has the keys. It's one thing hearing someone sing over the phone, another listening to them live. 

 

“I checked in with your previous employers, and they’ve got nothing but praise for you,” she says, beckoning Jisu to follow her. “And I should probably not say this but, we’re in a dire need of a new performer. The last bar singer took off with a rich guy, and we’ve been searching for a new one ever since. The guests have been drawn to other hotels with better entertainers.” 

 

She stops for a moment and adds offhandedly, “Besides, you have to practice with the band and the dancers first, so we’ll see how you’re doing. We have high hopes for you. Tomorrow, you’ll start.” 

 

If Jisu had a moment to think through things, she’d sit down and take a nap. Her expectations of slowly easing into performing again go through the window with Chaeyeon's words. But she doesn’t have time, not when Chaeyeon rushes through the corridor with her long legs and has no intention to slow down for Jisu’s sake. 

 

Ushering her towards the stairs, Chaeyeon quickly rattles down the details. “The hotel allows every employee to live there. Of course, you can move out anytime, it’s just more convenient like this, especially when you perform at night.” She stops in front of a door at the end of the long corridor and opens it wide for Jisu to step in first. “This is your room.”

 

“Thanks,” Jisu wheezes out. She drops her luggage — the meek thing has never weighed so much, her arms are sore from dragging it through the carpeted floors. Jisu inhales deeply and looks around. The room doesn’t follow the dazzling design of the whole hotel, instead, it's decorated moderately. Jisu doesn’t mind the little halt in the abuse of her senses. Dusting off her rumpled clothes, she turns back to Chaeyeon. “We can go now.”

 

Chaeyeon sits down on the bed. “I’d rather have you stay here.”

 

“What about showing me around?”

 

“You seem sleepy.” Chaeyeon tilts her head. “Sleepy and pretty overwhelmed. We can do that first thing tomorrow. I don’t want to scare you off the moment you stepped in.”

 

“That’s—” Jisu starts, “very nice of you.”

 

Chaeyeon gets off the bed, sighing. “I should get back to work.”

 

“You can stay,” Jisu offers awkwardly. “You also seem tired.”

 

Chaeyeon laughs, not giving Jisu any explanation about her mirth. She rolls high on energy, it’s her eyes that suggest she hasn’t got a full night’s sleep for a while now. Instead of staying, she stands. 

 

“I heard you sing,” she says, like an afterthought. “Actually, all of the reception was crowded to the phone just to hear a snippet. That damned crackling thing didn’t dim your voice. I’m glad you’ve chosen to come here.” 

 

Jisu’s never been good with compliments. She ducks her head, suddenly terribly preoccupied jerking the zip of her suitcase open. Her cheeks and ears pink under the unabashed gaze, the easy praise. 

 

“I’m glad to be here,” Jisu says when she finally finds her voice. And she's not lying — she always loved the fresh start of a new life. The page is blank; she can start painting. 

 

Chaeyeon leaves, not before trapping Jisu in a bone-crushing hug that somehow just feels right. Jisu does not like strangers touching her — but Chaeyeon didn't treat her like a newcomer. 

 

She leaves her luggage unpacked. She always does. It’s easier, in case things don’t go as planned and she has to leave. Maybe it would be better to live in her room, let her own self shine in the dusty corners of this place — to have her own little haven where she can feel home. But Jisu knows how dangerous settling down is, and the slight ache in her chest still reminds her of staying cautious. 

 

Once, she found a home in Yeji. Then she left.

 

Jisu looks out of the window. The red desert sun is slowly painting the city with the hues of crimson and gold, and the blaring neon signs of some hotels and casinos come alive. Moving always reminds her of Yeji. Because wherever she runs off to, Jisu is haunted by her kind eyes and gentle touch. The Yeji-shaped missing space inside her is the most blaring when she has no one else to turn to. Her fingers itch to reach for the letters tucked between her clothes, unopened — she’s mastered the art of self-control. Yeji left, but what cut the string holding them together was Jisu’s fault. She doesn’t deserve a remedy for her guilt.

 

She unconsciously begins to hum a song under her breath, embracing herself with her own voice. Tomorrow, people will oogle her and judge her and the memories of Yeji will be, once again, pushed to the back of her mind. Never really disappearing, but Jisu has gotten better ignoring the hurt.



 

>>>



 

Jisu would’ve needed the sleep, but the excitement didn’t let her get a wink of sleep. So groggily, she gets out of bed when she hears a furious knocking against her door and opens it, without care of her bed hair or the holes on her pyjamas. 

 

“You look awful,” Chaeyeon announces as the first thing with a brilliant smile on her face. She looks like she just stepped out of a magazine; her well-pressed shirt is crisp, her hair shiny, eyes bright. Jisu doesn’t think Chaeyeon got more sleep than her, still working when she left Jisu behind, yet the difference between them is tremendous. “The band is waiting for you.”

 

Jisu scrambles to look presentable, while Chaeyeon talks about the entertainment crew, sharing gossip about people Jisu doesn’t know. It almost settles her mind and eases her anxieties — Chaeyeon doesn’t bother to paint those people anything but a bunch of misfits. Except for one person.

 

“All you have to do is amaze Ryujin.” At Jisu’s quizzed expression, she adds, “She’s the saxophonist and the unofficial leader of the band. She’s kind of picky with whom she’s running the biz. You don’t really want to get on her bad side.”

 

Jisu gulps.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

 

Chaeyeon takes a moment. “If you pass Ryujin, then you’ve got a free pass. I can introduce you to the showgirls. Lovely bunch.” Her lips curl into a private smile. “My little sister dances in the crew. So tell me if she or any of them give you a hard time.”

 

Jisu doesn’t know how she imagined Ryujin, but surely not like this. Not this approachable. The short bob of her hair is curled stylishly and bounces as she turns to Jisu, a ready smile on her lips. Her cheeks dimple, like the whiskers of a cat when she takes Jisu’s hand and shakes it vigorously.

 

“Welcome. I'm Ryujin, and this is—” she turns to the others standing behind her. The two of them wave sheepishly. “This is The Mirage Band. Chaeyeon has been singing odes about your voice.”

 

Jisu’s cheeks are pink when she turns to Chaeyeon, but there’s no remorse on her features. She shrugs.

 

“I just told the truth.” 

 

“Are you setting me up?” Jisu asks her, voice slipping higher. Expectations feel heavy on her shoulders — singing so far only has been a hobby. Now, she’s chosen to change that. 

 

“Well, aren’t we here to see it?” Ryujin clasps her close to her chest. 

 

Jisu’s not usually this shy. She can hold her ground with new people, but this is new. These people coddle her like she’s a stray cat, finally finding a home. It sets alarms off in her head, wanting to immediately take her stuff and go. Yet, she shifts from one foot to another, staying in the warm embrace of Ryujin. 

 

“Uhm, what should I sing?” 

 

“Start singing, we’ll adjust to it,” Ryujin says, a hint of pride in her voice. 

 

For a second, amidst the curious eyes and heavy anticipation, her mind is a clean canvas. With the thought of having to go back to Ray’s and take up on his offer of accepting her back, she remembers a song she used to sing after closing. Her eyes flutter closed. She imagines the mop in her hands and the old, creaky jukebox in the corner, and the melody and words of Smoke Gets In Your Eyes come naturally to her. It’s just easy like this — closing her eyes and closing herself away from all of these people. No fear weighs down her shoulders, for fearing her voice would crack or slip off-tune, and slowly, the band joins her.

 

It all comes alive.

 

Ryujin was right. They adjust to her flawlessly. She croons the sad lyrics and enjoys the ebb and flow of the saxophone. It’s not perfect, not when she hasn’t used her voice like this since high school — fooling around and humming under her breath while doing chores didn’t keep her voice in a top-notch condition. But it comes easily, naturally — a little work, and it’s good. The song ends, and it’s a pity it went by so quickly. The instruments slowly die down, and she doesn’t even try to stifle the smile that splits her face as she opens her eyes and turns toward Ryujin.

 

“Jisu?”  

 

Time stops. She knows the voice. Of course, she knows when that voice, that face haunts her dreams, plagues her wandering mind. And when Jisu turns toward her, it’s not a ghost of her imagination that stands there. Yeji looks back at her, eyes wide before she’s a blur of motion.

 

“Jisu, it’s you!” That’s all the warning she gets before Yeji jumps onto the stage and into her arms. The strength of their colliding bodies pushes Jisu out of balance and they both end up sprawled on the floor. Yeji props herself up on her elbows, her hair falling around them like a curtain. “What are you doing here?”

 

The question kicks her out of her vertigo. “What are you doing here?”

 

Jisu searches her face. Yeji dyed her hair fiery red and lost the baby fat from her cheeks. But it’s still her — her bright eyes and brighter smiles, and that tenderness still resides in her gaze whenever she looks at Jisu. She’s so achingly familiar, and Jisu takes a moment just to feel the hurt.

 

Out of every single city of the country, Jisu managed to find Yeji here. 

 

“That’s a long story,” Yeji waves her off before she dives back and gives her a tight squeeze. “I missed you so much!” 

 

‘I missed you too’ hangs over Jisu’s lips, but she can’t find the strength in herself to say it aloud. That would make it real, would mean an acceptance that in the years while she tried to purge Yeji from her system, wanting the memories of her gone, she has been waiting for this. 

 

“Are we interrupting something?” Ryujin asks, standing over both of them. A wave of gratefulness passes through Jisu, saving her from answering. 

 

“We’re childhood friends,” Yeji says, like it explains everything. She climbs off Jisu and holds her hand out to help her up. Jisu accepts it, and she’s pulled up with startling strength, almost falling against Yeji again. There’s a beat of silence, and Yeji locks her gaze with Jisu. “We just lost connection for a while.”

 

Ryujin nods, but she doesn’t really care about the details. Her eyes flash at Jisu, and she gulps now that she’s singled out. But then Ryujin cracks a smile, whiskers like dimples reappearing on her cheeks — and she’s suddenly endearing. “You’re not bad, a little work, and you’ll be standing on the stage in no time. You’re in.”

 

Suddenly, Jisu finds herself in a flood of hands, names and well wishes rattled down to her while her dazed mind tries to work through the events. All she can do is smile pretty and pleasant, say her thank yous like it doesn’t freak her out to be in the same room as a friend she’s accepted to be lost. As she’s passed from person to person, Yeji waits for her with open hands.

 

Chaeyeon catches Jisu before she heads for her doom. 

 

“I thought your name was Lia,” Chaeyeon murmurs to her. But when Jisu opens to defend herself, she just shrugs. “Whatever. It’s Las Vegas, after all — everyone coming here wants to hide something. And you’re good. You're now part of the machine. It's not just you, but all of us.” 

 

Chaeyeon’s eyes run through the chit-chatting crowd, musicians hobbling together with the showgirls in a newfound excitement. There’s relief written all over their features. The show can go on. “I hope you can find your peace here.”

 

Jisu’s mind goes over to Yeji, waiting for her in the corner and knows too well this is temporary. The warm, fuzzy feeling these strangers brought to her is just for a moment before she leaps in another direction. Guilt erodes her veins, knowing she’ll leave soon enough. She has to leave, soon.

 

“Thank you,” Jisu presses the words through her teeth. 

 

Chaeyeon chuckles, then she lets her go. It isn't until Jisu finds herself stranded beside Yeji, that the panic settles in her belly. But there's nothing on Yeji's face that would suggest she's anything but glad to see Jisu, and it helps Jisu muster up an attempt of a smile. 

 

“Sorry for knocking you over,” Yeji says sheepishly. “I just got overly excited when I heard your voice.”

 

Jisu has spent many nights imagining meeting Yeji again. Reconciliation of the past has been the driving force — yet, all this time, she realized there are things that she needs to let go of. One of them being her friendship with Yeji. Yet, as she stands there, like a mirage, Jisu’s sure she has only two options. One, leave immediately. Two, stay and get her heart broken again. 

 

It would be so easy to leave now without warning Yeji about it. Being known in an unknown place scares her — it’s been a while since she was being herself. She’s transparent, at least for Yeji, who was with her through thick and thin, but Jisu feels more like she’s close to disappearing in this bustling place. So easy to see through, so easy to forget about. 

 

Yeji stands, her smile straining. Jisu has taken too long to answer whatever question was asked of her.

 

It takes everything in Jisu to ask, “Do you want to sit somewhere quieter?” 

 

The reaction is immediate, and Yeji links their arms together, pulling Jisu with her.

 

“Good call.”



 

>>>


 

5 years ago

 

On the last day of summer, Jisu feels like her heart is about to collapse on itself. Yeji sits beside her, talking animatedly, but Jisu doesn’t hear a word. Instead, she hears the ticking of the watch on her wrist, the little time they had together. Yeji’s leaving town with the first rays of the morning sun — leaving town and leaving Jisu behind. Promises of letters and frequent calls were exchanged, but all of this leaves a bitter taste on her tongue. 

 

There’s no guarantee Yeji would keep in touch. She’s leaving the town to seek her own adventure, to dance in impossibly big cities and to get her name out there. Yeji was born to be under the scorching limelight, under the watchful eyes of the audience. And fame might take her away from Jisu’s weak grasp, and there are so few things Jisu wants to cling to, but whatever they have with Yeji is one of them. 

 

But she cannot ask her to say. It wouldn’t be fair. 

 

Jisu doesn’t want to know whether Yeji would stay if she asked her to. 

 

“You’re so quiet tonight,” Yeji comments, feet dangling in the sun-warmed water. The small lake has been their place since they were kids, only the two of them against the world. They’ve always ended up here, running away from the summer heat, to play and talk, to just be here together. 

 

Everything started here, and now it’s ending here as well.

 

“It’s just—” Jisu’s tongue feels swollen in , making it hard to say anything. “I’m just thinking about how I’m going to miss you.”

 

Yeji smiles brightly under the tender caress of the moonlight. “I’ll miss you too, Jisu.”

 

Tomorrow will mark the first day of fall. The summer heat will continue to linger on, making their skins sticky when they last embrace each other. Then Yeji will step into her father’s ridiculous truck, and she'll drive herself to New York City. Jisu offered to go with her, travelling back be damned, but Yeji was quick to decline. 

 

‘You’ve got to prepare for university, too,’ she said, laying her head on Jisu’s shoulder, on their last sleepover. ‘What will your parents think if you miss your first day because of me?’

 

She doesn’t give a damn about what her parents want right now.

 

“It’s not the end, Jisu,” Yeji says, lolling her head to the side to catch her gaze. “Nothing stops just because I’m in another city.”

 

From tomorrow on, there will be no Yeji and Jisu anymore. Inseparable since childhood, Jisu has a hard time imagining life without Yeji forever stuck by her side. They won’t be hiding under the bleachers to skip P.E., won’t go to the diner to annoy everyone with playing ‘Put Your Head on My Shoulder’ by Paul Anka on the jukebox for the tenth time in a row, won’t sleep over at each other’s on school nights to then wake up late and get an earful of lectures from their parents. Because high school is over. They’re supposed to be adults now.

 

But Jisu is still stuck in the role her parents forced on her. She doesn’t want to be Choi Jisu right now, the perfect daughter, the envy of the town. She wants to be beside Yeji as long as she can because this is where she belongs. 

 

“But you won’t be here. And that’s a big enough change,” Jisu whispers.

 

“I asked you.” Yeji slips closer, their fingers almost touching. “I asked you if you wanted to come with me.”

 

Yeji did, and it took everything for Jisu to say no to her. Some things tied her down here. The acceptance letter from the nearest college, sitting on her desk, dog-eared and well-read through the sleepless nights; the family business that she, the only child, will inherit soon; Jisu’s fragile self-acceptance that associate good grades with her parents’ love. It’s not impossible to leave, but she also doesn’t want to — the sweet lull of the small town is just everything she’s ever wanted. Comforting like an embrace, she fits here. She fits here with Yeji.

 

Yeji sighs when Jisu doesn’t say anything. She lays down on her back and tugs Jisu with her. Her hand finds Jisu’s, her thumb running in circles over the skin. It’s hard to relax her body when she turns her head to the side, Yeji is too close, and her heart beats too quickly, too harshly in her chest. Instead, she turns to the endless sea of stars ahead of them, the soft sliver of stardust that falls over them.

 

“We won’t always be like this — I mean, together. That doesn’t mean you stop being important to me,” Yeji confesses. The moment feels too fragile, and an urgent feeling fills Jisu to shatter this artificial peace and claim the destruction with her bleeding heart. 

 

Her cheeks are burning when she pushes herself up on her elbows. Yeji, sensing her agitation, does the same, a question ready to drop from her lips — but Jisu is quicker. She moves like it’s her last chance to do this, to ruin their friendship with her hubris. And it is because who knows when would Yeji come back home again? When would she come back home with someone draped all over her, Jisu displaced on the sidelines, no longer important?

 

“Jisu?”

 

Jisu’s trembling fingers braid among the messy dark locks on Yeji’s nape to pull her closer. There’s little to no resistance, but Jisu writes it up to her confusion. Then, eyes screwed close, Jisu dives in, crashing their lips together. 

 

Jisu’s kissed others. She’s been kissed breathlessly by the bleachers when the football game ended, and the boy she was becoming chummy with, out of desperation to forget, grew overzealous. Or during prom, when all came crashing down on her as Yeji told her about New York, and she slipped out, ditching her partner to hide in the bathroom and kiss the other hiding girl senseless in a stall. All those kisses and many more felt like a mere borrowing of air to fill her own lungs with something that is not Yeji. 

 

But right now, with their lips slotted together, it’s not like that. It doesn’t feel like a secondary action just to fill in the absence of what she’s been longing for. She tastes Yeji’s cherry chapstick on her tongue and feels the softness of her lips. It’s nothing and everything she’s been imagining. Tonight is a warm night, yet goosebumps form on her skin. She’s not ready to let go, but her lungs are burning, so she breaks away.

 

Yeji is beautiful like this. Her hair is tousled by Jisu’s careless hands, her cheeks a rosy red. The stars haven’t got anything on her eyes, though, and for a moment, Jisu’s not afraid. She sees her own expression reflected on Yeji’s face, and the world balances itself. But then the moment crumbles through her fingers like sand, when she reaches out to touch her and Yeji flinches away. Yeji’s face falls, and she sits up. She hides behind her hands. The small distance between them could’ve been miles.

 

“Jisu,” Yeji starts, stunned. Her voice is low, almost inaudible in the constant noise of the woods. “What was that?”

 

Humiliation and shame choke Jisu into silence. Her lungs feel charred, and she tastes ash — she took a leap of faith, and now she’s crashing to the ground. Guilt pinches her cheeks into an angry red, and she wishes the ground would open and swallow her in whole.

 

“You…” Yeji draws back from her. Her voice is suddenly tiny, barely above a whisper, and Jisu almost doesn’t hear it against the rustle of the foliage above them. “You can’t just do that.”

 

Jisu can’t say anything in her own defence. All she can do is sit, hands uselessly laying on her lap and watch as Yeji stands and leaves. It is the last time she’s seen her best friend, shoulders shaking and teardrops shining on her cheeks. Ruination tastes like this: the sweetness of Yeji’s chapstick mixed with the salt of her own tears, sickening on her tongue. 

 

Jisu stays at the lake and watches the sunrise, the gentle sweep of the first sunlight — but it doesn’t bring her peace. 

 

On her way home, she notices Yeji’s truck missing from her driveway. 


 

>>>


 

Yeji snaps her fingers. Jisu breaks away from the memory, yet still feels its ragged edges stuck deep in her soft skin. They hurt when she looks at Yeji. The once lovely memories of her poisoned to bring an inclining pain. But Jisu blinks at her, the slight tilt of her head and the worried look in her eyes.

 

“Are you okay?” Yeji asks.

 

“Of course.” Even to her own ears, Jisu’s voice feels shrilly. She takes a sip from the steaming coffee, and it burns , but the pain grounds her. Coughing, she adds, “Fine. Dandy, actually.”

 

“That’s good to hear.” Yeji smiles. 

 

She’s the same as the ghost that haunts Jisu — posture regal, movements and gestures elegant. But there’s a slight tremor in her hands as she reaches for her cup, and a hint of nervousness in her taut shoulder line. Kilometres and years haven’t made a stranger out of Yeji, but her openness suffered from time. 

 

“I didn’t think I would find you here in Las Vegas of all places,” Yeji offers, trying hard to break the ice. “How did you wind up here?”

 

“I could ask the same. After all, the last time I heard about you, you were dancing in New York.” 

 

“New York… Wasn’t for me.”

 

Jisu waits, but Yeji doesn’t elaborate. It hangs in the air, a bunch of questions are teetering to leave Jisu’s lips sitting heavily in the silence. She doesn’t ask, though. She would’ve if they were back at home, the inseparable pair — they were friends then. Not anymore. Just as Yeji doesn’t bring up the unread letters, doesn’t call Jisu out on her bull, it's not Jisu's business. 

 

“But you, showing up in Vegas to be a bar singer? That is news,” Yeji laughs. She reaches out to squeeze Jisu’s hand, but she stops herself in time. Instead, she settles on the shatteringly tender look that makes Jisu want to flee. “I told you, you should pursue music.”

 

“You just wanted to get rid of my annoying solos,” Jisu grumbles, shaking her head. Singing beside the cracking record player to sing along to pieces of vinyl stolen from their parents’ collection were the only occasions Jisu didn’t feel the anxiety of performing pounding in her veins. There were no numbing expectations then, with Yeji’s off-key pounding of the piano and Jisu’s ear-shattering singing.

 

“It wasn’t annoying,” Yeji trails off, but at the look Jisu gives her, she giggles and continues. “Okay. They were annoying at 2 AM. Otherwise, they were nice.”

 

Jisu chuckles, rolling her eyes. “If you say so.” 

 

Yeji looks through the windows at the bustling street. The Mirage is a wonder, the calm in the stormy sea of people. Their little bubble feels safe, impregnable. 

 

“I always loved your voice,” Yeji says, almost absentmindedly. Her cheeks colour pink as she realizes her slip, but she doesn’t backtrack. “I’m glad others can experience it, too.”

 

Jisu drowns the last drops of coffee, feeling the caffeine jittering through her body already. Tiredness weighs on her, but her body is alive, ready to take the world. Maybe that’s why she decides to stay, like a moth drawn to a flame. And maybe that is why Jisu doesn’t try to fight a losing game. Her walls crumble because that’s how they have always been with Yeji. Easy. Uncomplicated. 

 

“I feel the same about your dancing.” 

 

Jisu’s not sure how to navigate at this labyrinth — how to be familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. She’s been so accustomed to playing someone else, that now when she stands there stripped from all her tricks, she’s almost empty-handed. Yeji tries Jisu can tell. She’s just not sure if Jisu wants her to. 

 

At the mention of dancing, Yeji’s face blooms with pride. “I can’t wait for you to meet the others. And to perform with you!” She exclaims. Jisu feels her face paling, and Yeji takes back from her excitement. She sighs dreamily. “I still can’t believe you’re here. Out of every place, you ended up at The Mirage.”

 

“The universe moves curiously.”

 

“I would rather call it fate.” Yeji’s eyes twinkle.

 

It would be pretty to think this was meant to be. That somehow, they are slotted together again by some higher power to find each other. To fit into the places left by the other, completing each other to be a whole again. But Jisu is a realist, or at least, she trained herself to be one. She gives a non-committal hum. 

 

“Hey,” Yeji leans over the table, hovering just a little too close. Voice conspiratory, she points at something over Jisu’s shoulder. “There’s a jukebox in the corner.” 

 

It’s almost too easy to fall back. Jisu doesn’t even try fighting the smile curling on her lips. “Do you reckon they’ve got good ol’ Paul?” 

 

“I know they have.” Yeji slips a coin over the table, mischief clear in her glittering eyes. Trouble always came in the form of Hwang Yeji, with her crescent eyes and toothy smile. Jisu stands, feeling Yeji’s eyes on her, giving her purpose. Thankfully, the hotel bar is almost empty — a few guests linger around, eyes blood-shot, nursing coffees. Their heads snap up at the sudden crooning of the machine, dirty looks immediately pointed at Jisu.

 

She doesn’t care. Because Yeji throws her head back, laughing. is a pretty line, and the tension leaving her body is visible. Jisu starts to sway her hips to the music and curls a finger at her, just to keep the smile on Yeji’s lips. It works, and Yeji comes. 

 

Sometimes Jisu wonders if she didn’t kiss Yeji that night, would she still have her like this? Time tickles backwards with the melody of the song, and Yeji reaches her hand out. Jisu hesitates only for a moment before she takes it. Yeji’s hand is rougher than when they were teenagers, but they hold the same warmth. Where words failed Jisu, she tries to make up with her touch. 

 

“People say that love's a game, a game you just can't win,” Jisu sings along, private for only Yeji to hear. Like they were only seventeen when everything boiled down to teenage drama and grades, and for Jisu there was Yeji and vice versa. She twirls Yeji, her skirt whirls around, and it’s just the two of them like in the beginning. 

 

Jisu was naive to think she’d ever buried the fluttering in her chest for Yeji. First love will last, and it was foolish of her to try to purge it from her system. Because first love always leaves a mark. It's an untamed forest fire that leaves behind charred skin and a lesson to do better next time. It’s been eroding in her system, carving and demanding a place in her. 

 

First love shouldn’t hurt this much. Not when it started out so innocently, with knobbly knees and giggles under weighted blankets. 

 

The problem is, Jisu has been so adamant in filling Yeji’s missing space, yet Yeji slots herself back there seamlessly. It’s not even a struggle, a tight fit. She just holds Jisu’s hand, like they never separated. Like nothing had happened. And right now, Jisu lets her — desperate, or just stupid, she allows it to happen. They dance like they were in one of their bedrooms, in the middle of a slumber party. The tired patrons around them are their annoyed parents — everything fits in, even the cracking track of the jukebox. Because Yeji still burns the brightest when she laughs, and Jisu — Jisu just wants to be close to her flame. 

 

“Jisu!” Yeji yells, drowned in giggles as they spin among the tables. She holds onto Jisu’s hands with a vice-like grip, never intending to let go. “I’m going to fall!”

 

Everything is muscle memory at this point. Catching Yeji when they bump into a chair that pushes them out of their axis. Her arms wrap around her to break the fall — but what throws Jisu off-kilter is that Yeji no longer smells like lavender. As her nose burrows in her soft, fiery hair, all Jisu can smell is summer rainstorms, stifled anger of a pretty day repressed until it blows through with a vengeance.

 

In the end, they don’t fall. Yeji saves them by holding onto a table. Jisu draws back just enough to see the mirth in those star-like eyes. 

 

“First day on the job and already annoying the hotel guests?” Chaeyeon appears out of nowhere, talking over the music. Jisu flinches at her sudden appearance when Chaeyeon unplugs the jukebox. The sweet serenading halts, and without it to provide a rose-tinted mist over them, Jisu realizes the intimate position they are in. Yeji’s close, too close. 

 

Jisu steps out of her gravitational pull, and it feels more like retreating than anything else. Yeji holds onto her intertwined fingers until Jisu’s too far to hold onto. Their hands fall by their sides. It’s easy to ignore the changes in each other, but they’re not the same people. Jisu wants to draw back from Yeji, panic settling in her stomach — childhood memories wrap this new Yeji in a deceiving light, and Jisu almost believed it. 

 

“My fault.” Yeji steps in. “I thought this place needed some life.”

 

Chaeyeon’s eyes are laughing at them. “This place needs singers to practise singing and dancers to practise dancing. Preferably in their assigned practise rooms.” 

 

Yeji checks her wristwatch. “It’s not time for practice yet.”

 

“It’s not estranging our guests time yet either,” Chaeyeon says, but even Jisu can tell the sternness costs her. Her eyes flit between them, knitting her brows with an underlying understanding. “Are you two going to start causing trouble now? With all this… repressed thing going over there?” 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jisu says before Yeji could say something. Somehow the thought scares her, acknowledging the elephant in the room. 

 

“Of course, you’re not.” Chaeyeon rolls her eyes, but it’s a gentle move. “Ryujin sent me to get you. Now that she’s got a singer, she cannot sit still on her .” 

 

Jisu’s grateful to have an excuse for leaving. Even if the excuse itself makes her nervous. She gives a curt nod of understanding, gathering the remnants of the Jisu that no longer belonged to that old small town but who evolved throughout the years. Jisu looks back at Yeji and self-consciously waves. She doesn’t promise more encounters like this, she doesn’t wait for Yeji to say or do anything — Jisu turns and hurries after Chaeyeon.


 

>>>


 

“Usually, we’d practise at the bar during the day, but the management decided to make the bar open 24/7. My heart goes out for the bartenders.” Ryujin sighs. “So we’re stuck here. It’s a bit crowded but has a nice acoustic.” 

 

A little crowded was an understatement. It’s a storage room filled with broken chairs and out of style knick-knacks to the brim. In the middle of the room, there’s a small, confined place left for them to fit in. It’s a tight squeeze, and Hyunjin, the drummer, has to pay attention to her moves, or she might elbow into Heejin at the keyboards.

 

“The Mirage has been suffering a bit of a… financial crisis,” Heejin says, trying to drag her set around without knocking a tall tower of chairs over.

 

“I can see that,” Jisu huffs. 

 

The Mirage for the public eye is a wonder — all gilded ornaments and splashes of red and gold. Any other time, Jisu would find something like this tacky. But not here — because here, among the sea of hotels, The Mirage is tasteful and uncomplicated. After seeing the hidden side of dilapidated walls, hoarded trash and unceremonious hotel rooms, the hotel becomes a new character. 

 

“It’s nothing serious,” Ryujin is quick to say. She sends Heejin a dirty look. “We’re starting to get a grip on that.” 

 

Jisu thinks of the people she’s seen in the hotel so far. They are pretty and rich, but not many of them lingered in the halls or in the elevators. 

 

Ryujin, as it turns out, is a perfectionist. Jisu sings her heart out until hurts and her voice cracks, ready to pour the afternoon’s events into sad songs about broken hearts. She refuses to sing Put Your Head On My Shoulder, even though it is stuck in her head. All she gets for returns is a pat on her shoulders, with a placatory smile. 

 

“You’ll get better,” Ryujin says. After a long, considering gaze, she adds, “It’s not really your voice that lacks, but your confidence. But the stage will help you.”

 

“The… stage?” Jisu falters while she helps Hyunjin move the drums. The cymbal almost slips from her grasp, but Hyunjin saves it before tragedy could happen. She does this with an inexplicable straight face — she makes Jisu nervous. “Isn’t it too soon?”

 

“What’s better for learning how to swim than the deep water?” 

 

“I can list a thousand better things than that.”

 

“See? This is your problem.” Ryujin narrows her eyes. “Y’know, Chaeyeon told me about your little escapade with Yeji this afternoon. I want to see some of that recklessness on stage. I’d rather have you dance and feel good than hitting all the notes perfectly — the audience, too. They feed off you.”

 

Jisu thinks of the audience and immediately feels the hefty weight of it on her shoulders. Having fun with Yeji is another thing — it comes from a long way back. 

 

“In the band… shouldn't there be more people?” Jisu asks to change the topic. But it’s been bugging her since the morning. Three people stand as the band — Jisu’s watched enough television to know that these bars usually have a larger set of musicians. 

 

“Quitted,” Hyunjin says from beside her, and Jisu almost has a heart attack. Jisu’s fright doesn’t seem to worry her. She shrugs. “They got better offers from other hotels.” 

 

“And you didn’t?”

 

“Of course we did. We were the first who were contacted,” Ryujin boasts. 

 

“And? Why didn’t you leave?” 

 

The three of them change quick looks, understanding each other without words. It just dawns on Jisu how close they are, how well they fit together — from their music to this. It’s familiar to her, the quiet magic that comes with complete and mutual understanding. She swallows the bitter jealousy residing on her tongue. Heejin looks at her, her wide eyes searching for Jisu’s. 

 

“This hotel provided us with a home when we didn’t have a place to stay. Now, it’s our turn to pay back.”


 

>>>

 

5 yea

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alwynters #1
Chapter 1: This is the first story I read of them as the main characters, and I’m glad to have stumbled upon this. This was so beautifully written, and it was amazing how you were able to make me feel like I’m hearing a friend tell their story. It was a new feeling and experience for me. I honestly love everything with it, especially how you were able to set the old Vegas vibe convincingly, the conflict between the characters, and the well-placed humor to balance out were amazing additions as well. Ah, the angst was quite worth it when it ended like that. Thank you for writing, and have a good day! ❤️‍🔥
munpyeoli
#2
Chapter 1: This has no comments????? This kept me up from 3 in the morning until 5 and I'm now a crying mess 😭 I'm currently in love with Lia's singing especially Can't Take My Eyes Off You and now this story gets me more emotional.. Thank you for writing this!! You write so beautifully ❤