“You sold me out.” 

A week has passed and the issue isn’t forgotten. 

“I did.” Soyeon doesn’t look up from her phone when she replies. Her tone is even keel and, if anything, sounds bored. 

Picking at her nail beds, Soojin pries, “Why?” The tone falls short of disinterested and aloof. 

“Why not?”

"I thought that's what friends do - keep each other's secrets." Soojin retorts, dropping the air of indifference for one of mild irritation. "I guess I was wrong."

Soyeon tucks her phone away only to shrug, "Maybe," she begins, leaning back to drape her arms over the back of the couch. In an oversized gray pullover, black beanie and teddy bear pajama bottoms, Soyeon looks a tad too comfortable for having just returned from class, "You're practically married though."

Soojin voices the idea as if it were appalling, "Wha— We are not! Why would you—? We’re not even—" The words peter off like a well gone dry. 

"This is her couch." Soyeon pats the fluffy white cushions beneath her hands. 

"It didn't fit in your dorm," The retort is instant and Soojin looks every bit offended, “You were there. You know that."

“Still her couch,” Soyeon says with a smirk that stretches from ear to ear. The words ‘ eating’ is aptly appropriate, “Besides, who buys a couch that a) doesn’t fit and b) can’t be kept because campus regulations forbid outside furniture?” 

Snapping her fingers, Soojin exclaims, “Exactly. It’s just Shuhua being—”

“Only an idiot who never planned to keep it,” Soyeon cuts in. She pats the couch again for emphasis, “Why do you think this bad boy is the exact same dimensions as your lumpy old couch of STDs?”

“First, that is gross.” The cringe is visceral and it takes several moments for Soojin to recollect herself, “Second, it is a sheer coincidence. Nothing more.” There is something in her tone that is a tad too nasally to pass as confidence and borders on childish sullenness.

“Coincidence. Sure.” The tone sounds sarcastic, “Just like the Breville Barista Expre—”

“The what?” Soojin blinks owlishly.

The sigh Soyeon exhales is unnecessarily long, “Your coffee maker?” Soyeon points an obnoxiously long, lemon yellow, manicured finger at the gleaming silver apparatus on the kitchen counter, “Or how about the fact that your cupboards have all of Shuhua’s favourite foods. Cereal included.” 

Soojin scoffs as she curls into the fluffy pillow on the armchair, “I eat cereal.” She points to the cupboard in question and barrels on, “Lots of cereal.”

“You think cereal is for children and should be banned from the houses of all,” The pause is for theatrical effect and, with a serious face, Soyeon clears before tagging on air quotes, “Real adults. Or have you changed your mind since your high school thesis on Cereal: A Menace to Society?” 

The silence in the apartment is deafening and odd given the constant traffic on the street below. 

“Should I continue?” The question is rhetorical as Soyeon leans forward and, elbows on knees, begins listing off on her fingers, “You know each other’s schedules—”

“That is absurd. We do not—”

“Don’t cut people off when they’re proving you wrong. It’s rude,” Soyeon chides, shaking her head in disbelief when Soojin rolls her eyes, “Anyways, as I was saying, you know each other's schedules.” The silent pause is a taunt, tantalising bait for Soojin to interrupt. 

She doesn’t bite. 

“She walks you home whenever you are out past nine. “Coincidence”, I know.” Again Soyeon tags on the unnecessary air quotes then motions to the quai