“You knew.” It’s an accusation Soojin tosses out, soft and gentle like the way Shuhua coos to the dog in her lap. 

“Miyeon told me.” 

“Of course she did,” Soojin mutters. 

Though it’s caught in the chaos around them, Shuhua hears. She hears and offers a smile of reassurance, like Miyeon’s forewarning is a good thing and not some omen for darker days.

“Hey Susan,” The clamouring soles of boots on concrete cut through the chaos like a knife, “How’s- Oh, who’s this? Miyeon couldn’t come?” 

Something in the voice makes the dog stir. It whimpers and cries, struggling to break free despite the malnutrition evident in its frame.  

“Hey, it’s okay,” Shuhua reassures into the crown of the dog’s head. Her hands run the length of the animal’s spine, mindful of every lump, bump and open sore along the way, “Shhh, you’re safe.”

“,” the tone drops and the footsteps stop. Hands extended, palms up, the man resumes his steps, slower and softer than his original entry. When the dog sniffs his hand, the raised tufts of its hair falling, he introduces himself, “Sorry. Name’s Matt,” he looks like a California sea surfing hippie bum, but with shorter, less wild hair and far paler skin. 

“Soojin.” She shakes his hand, but ends the greeting at that. 

“Rrrright,” a thousand questions reflecting in the quirk of his brow, Matt settles for a simple, “So no Miyeon, huh?” Because Miyeon’s the model with her face on the cover of magazines and splayed across flashing digital billboards in Time Square. 

“Not today,” the look Shuhua spares Soojin is teasing, like Miyeon’s Monday absence is their little secret, “It’s just us.”

Sullen, Matt nods, “Oh, no problem.” With peaked interest he adds, “Are you a friend from overseas too? High school, right Susan?”

Ignoring Soojin’s questioning stare, Shuhua nods. 

“What was Miyeon like? I bet she was just as cool back then too. Porcelain skin. Model features. Susan says she had a giant nose wart, but I don’t believe it.” It’s clear Matt is a fan. A very open and exuberant fan, “She’s gonna be big. Like Gisele and the Hadid sisters. I’d say the Jenner’s, but… weird show, right?”  It’s rapid fire and falls from Matt’s lips in a record breaking twenty seconds. 

“Ughh…” Like a fish out of water, Soojin turns to Shuhua. Her eyes beg for mercy while her body is taunt and rigid. 

“Soojin is my roommate’s best friend,” the initial pause before her response is intentional, “American born and raised.” 

“Oh,” the sullen slump in Matt’s shoulders returns, “Well, that’s cool. Me too.” With forced enthusiasm he scoops up the dirty rags Shuhua has surrounding her, “You must like animals too then. I’ll leave you guys to it.” 

“I think he has a crush on Miyeon,” Shuhua says with a devious glint in her eyes when Matt is out of earshot. 

“Think?” Soojin balks, “That was full on creepy.” She shivers.

Humming, Shuhua reaches for the roll of sterile gauze. The steadiness in her hands and the confidence in her work suggests familiarity, like bathing wounded dogs and tending to their sores is what one does on Mondays. 

“You’re oddly calm about it,” Soojin remarks as she surveys the other woman. 

Booping the dog on the nose, Shuhua speaks to it with a childlike voice, “He’s hawmless, wight wittle Pooh? And he passed the background check too, wight?” In return the dog yowls, coating Shuhua’s face in clumsy, wet kisses. “Aww, you wuv me!” Lips stretching in a broad grin, Shuhua turns to Soojin. Pointing to her cheek, she pleads, “Kiss kiss?” The pout is disgustingly unnecessary. 

“God, no,” grabbing an unused sponge and dipping it in the fresh bucket of water, Soojin slaps it against the patch of skin Shuhua points to. When she squeals and leans away, Soojin follows, “Stop wiggling!” 

The tussle is short lived, fizzled out by the injured dog who finds no funny business in the suds dripping off the end of Shuhua’s chin. 

“Sorry,” Soojin apologises - possibly to the dog, possibly to Shuhua. With the sleeve of her jacket she mops up the mess on Shuhua’s face. Up close, the pallor of her skin appears normal. It’s still pale, but not ashen white and the shape of her cheeks have returned. Soojin smiles, “Hi.”

“Hi.” It’s back to whispered greetings and gazes with covert meaning. Leaning forward, Shuhua swipes her thumb across the expanse of Soojin’s cheek, “Bubble,” she clarifies like it’s some valid excuse for the reason her thumb repeatedly the same stretch of skin.

Scooping out a dollop of actual bubbles, Soojin deposits them on the tip of Shuhua’s nose, “Bubble,” she cheekily parrots before rocking back, just out of reach, “Okay. So, since I apparently like animals, what do I do?” 

Shuhua doesn’t swoon. Instead she leads. She leads Soojin by example and with maybe a tad too much assistance. Because Shuhua doesn’t need to hold Soojin’s hand while she sponges down a sullen looking Labrador. It’s counterproductive and, honestly, a waste of