I. A blue rose for the wanderer and her muse

 

Out of all things, Minji had yet to understand time’s obsession with repetition.

Not really the one that happened inside the clock — that was an odd invention that no longer had common importance to her, nor did she care about it the same way other people did. It was the tedious, numbing monotony. It was the constant replays of the same images tying bodies and stories with thin strings who kept her up at night when she, in a second of weakness, allowed it to seep into her thoughts and remind her of old questionings that weren’t worth the effort.   

Minji thought of it as a joke, one of those wicked games that had very specific purposes no human was supposed to have control of, and she was drained of all that, was exhausted of the similarities that felt foreign, of the colors that changed tones despite being the same as yesterday, of the buildings that ceased to exist as fast as new ones were built before anyone could even miss it. 

Anywhere she looked she was surrounded by it, by the stains and the memories of what could have been and what shouldn’t have been, in a clear reminder of her eternal stagnation, and Minji wouldn’t deny that musing at the insistence of her circumstances pushed her to annoyance rather easily, though it had its own edge of beauty when she decided to pay attention to what didn’t hurt her.

After all, life and death were comrades for a reason, weren't they? 

Minji liked that she was always born on the same day and month — spring was a show worth the wait. She always grew up in a familiar town — to which she had some opinions about —, was always the owner of eyes that told more than they should, and the stubbornness of being a wanderer that couldn’t settle for the limitations holding her by the ankles was the type that should be celebrated as much as it should be feared. 

That was the pendulum she was chained to, the reprise of a pattern that seemed simple due to the shiny package it came in, as well as the repetitive history that she wasn’t certain how to treat it aside from with contempt and deep, deep loath, and if anyone asked, Minji would rather drink it all up until she was someone else than face it for what it was: a meaningless torture disguised as a chance. 

It wasn’t a surprise, then, that Minji would dismiss the romanticization of the idea of eternity any day and advocate against the desire for anything similar like a fervorous believer. Heaven knows how terrible it is when a blessing turns into a curse and she wouldn’t want that pain even to the tyrannical king she once killed, and trust her, he deserved it.

Yet, there were a dozen things about that bumpy road that she didn’t hate.

One of them being that Minji, as the traveler she couldn’t stop being, loved coming back to the places that made her who she was. She loved visiting them as the decades went by to see what had changed and what didn’t, to see what kinds of worlds and environments would be created from the ground just to disappear later and leave only the ghosts of the what-ifs no one lasted enough to hold on to. 

That blue sky of a thousand stars and the master of the essence they both shared had accompanied her since the beginning, watching over her when she believed she was alone. Those centenary trees had sheltered her in every past and present as a promise of better days and as terrifying as the thought that she was the only one who would ever know all of this could be, there was some kind of comfort in it. 

It was special in its own way.

Because that flower shop at the end of her favorite street hadn’t moved since its opening forty years ago, and the lonely ground that was ignored for decades had become an amazing museum that brought ease to her mind. There was some hint of constancy on those little hooks, there wasn’t just black and white on the trails of progress, and Minji learned that, just like she learned to appreciate the good that could come out of her situation even if the loss that permeated it was inevitable.

That was her personal spectacle — nature flowing the way it wanted and people walking with obliviousness as their friend without their awareness. Minji assumed that having a few centuries of memories and experiences on her curriculum made it impossible for her not to be affected by the ordinary wonders, as if every little move that occurred around her was a divine miracle worth the expectation.  

Quite the complex, she agreed, and she definitely shouldn’t feel like a curious child when she had been through all this enough times for boredom and apathy to turn into her enemies, but alas Minji have always been an exception — and fortunately, or not, she wasn’t on her own on the matter of singularity. 

“Welcome back.”

The warm voice accompanied by a small grin greeted her the second she stepped inside the place and Minji, who was no acquaintance to shyness, nodded with an equal smile in acknowledgment before disguising her affected run as a calm walk, the faint redness on her cheeks being an illusion to anyone that dared seeing it — a pathetic view, she considered, but at this point nothing made sense and she would save up her courage for the moments that actually needed it.  

There was something else that Minji loved like she loved watching the twists and turns of the very same world that imprisoned her in it: a woman. 

But not any woman.

She liked her. 

With her long, silver hair that made her look like a direct descendant from a goddess, a dazzling smile that could stop the city in a blink, and the most welcoming presence Minji had ever found in someone. She was the Polaris, the answer for everything — for the sorrow, for every rebirth, for the lapses Minji suffered until she remembered detail by detail of what she once was, of what they once were — and identifying her among crowds and numbers was an instinct to Minji, though, in reality, it wasn’t the hardest task to find her once you got to know her. 

That woman had a taste for the most unthinkable, yet obvious, rooms to be in. She liked silence the same way she loved music, and she was one of the arts, of the knowledge, of the care for other people, and devotion to what she had faith in. She was free, or at least strived to own freedom in its purest form, and having her wings in the air without chains to hurt her skin, and that had always been one of the things Minji admired in her the most.

Many things could change about her. Her looks, her name, her social standing; anything. But those intrinsic details were kept placed like pieces on a giant puzzle and Minji appreciated it, since it made her less afraid of losing what that woman had of the most genuine in her.

This time around, they stumbled upon each other in a random library because of course that genius of a mind would feel safer between flooded shelves and the embracing quietness than out there, where the wind could scratch and the sun could sting. And it wasn’t like Minji wasn’t a fan of books, she needed them to survive, but after recognizing the single person she was supposed to meet in every trip to her borrowed present, she had way more reasons to be a regular on that building now than before. 

She would come back on a schedule, careful in every movement and decision she made not to get caught, and hide behind walls of books or forget her reading once in a while just to peek at the pretty lady at the entrance greeting students, or watch said lady working with diligence whenever Minji couldn’t resist her impulses.   

Kim Yoohyeon. 

That was her name in this lifetime — Minji liked this one a lot —, and them having the same name and a similar appearance from when they first met happened from time to time. Minji also liked this name for herself the best. It didn’t repeat often but it felt like her, it sounded like her, and the melody of both these names in a single sentence was lovely in her tongue. 

She kind of wished she could hear it being uttered by Yoohyeon too. 

The neediest part of her was desperate to be called directly by Yoohyeon, to hear how she would pronounce it out loud with her rosy lips. Minji could almost picture how her body would tremble, how her bones would scream in relief at the sound, but living in the sidelines with nocturnal creatures no one else was capable of seeing was one of the prices she had to pay, so she settled at the quick communication they made when she wasn’t lucky enough to go by unnoticed. 

Not that this was satisfying or fulfilling in any way. Minji was miserable, heartbroken, and sticking to a few minutes of observation while praying that Yoohyeon wouldn’t find her out and think of her as a weirdo crushed her into ashes every ing afternoon she spent hidden on those hallways. But she couldn’t help it. Because she wanted to step forward, Minji wasn’t taught how to stay in her lane. She wanted to say what had been burning in and grasp on what she was allowed to before it faded away, but she couldn’t, it was dangerous, and doing that was putting them on a road with no return — her past made sure to teach her that through and through.

And yet…

“Decided to stay a bit more?”

Minji looked up from the black and white page after a second of reluctance to be met by her favorite librarian. She frowned in confusion. And Yoohyeon, who had just finished organizing a pile of books, pointed at the window behind her with a loose grin on her lips. 

“The sun’s about to set.” 

Minji’s eyes widened, both at the orange on the glass and the absence of other people around her. She wasn’t one to not obey her strict schedule, but here and there a book ended up being more interesting than she expected it would be and mishaps would happen.

But then, she heard the taller one giggling.

Yoohyeon was giggling at the idiotic expression she had, the playfulness coming from her being caused by the weird familiarity people like them were bound to having one way or another, and Minji swore a new sun had just risen up on the sky of her world.

“Minji, right? I didn’t want to interrupt your reading, you seemed really into it, but you rarely stay more than usual so...” Her voice lowered, a hint of disconcert making her shoulders go up. “I thought checking wouldn’t hurt.”

Minji could focus on how adorable that woman was. She could have surrendered to the frantic rhythm on her chest now that she had a confirmation that not only Yoohyeon noticed her, but paid enough attention to her to know her usual pace — which it was worth noting that she felt like fainting at the thought, both in endearment and distress —, as well as have a heart attack over how beautiful her name sounded on , but in silence she remained, and with a quick glance to her wristwatch, she gulped the shiver that shook her entire body. 

“Guess I was too immersed, thanks for waking me up,” she mumbled, giving her a small smile. “You didn’t leave like usual too.”

The taller one looked down for a bit, as if she had remembered something she would rather forget, the grin on her face diminishing while the glow in her dimmed to a subtle beam of light.

Minji went on alert automatically.

“Didn’t feel like going home today,” her tone was a little heavy, a little pensive. “But we’re closing earlier today and I can’t lock you here and leave.”

Minji pondered over her next action for a second.

“Oh, damn,” she used a dramatic tone, forcing her eyes shut. “What do I do now? I might die if I don’t end this chapter.” One hand went to her forehead in a sign of distress while the other went to her chest, the biggest scowl on her face as her body tilted to the side. “You’re so cruel, Miss Yoohyeon.”

She chuckled in disbelief, her shoulders relaxing and the aura surrounding her getting lighter. Minji got up, internally patting herself on the back for causing such a reaction. 

“I’ll be hiding this one if you don’t mind,” the warning came with equal playfulness once the blue book went to its place, not really caring in concealing her well-used strategy. “Can’t risk someone else taking it.”

“Why don’t you borrow it?” She asked as they started walking towards the entrance. “It’s easier if you take it with you, isn’t it?”  

If I do, I won’t have a reason to come see you.

“I like coming here,” she covered with a thoughtful expression any traces that could give her away, focusing on the door so as not to falter. “It’s peaceful, and the walk is great.”

She received a nod in sympathy but though she didn’t push it, something told her Yoohyeon wasn’t quite convinced.

“On that, we agree.”

Yoohyeon took the backpack on her desk and turned the lights off in a second, not giving enough of a break for the oldest of them to think about what to do next. Soon they were standing side by side in front of the locked-up doors, with a night that approached without hurry making the breeze stronger, and although they could dismiss the layer of unresolved expectation following them while they considered how to say goodbye, it wasn’t like it didn’t exist in the first place.  

The taller one tugged at the strap of her backpack on her shoulder, twisting her lips and readying herself to talk. Minji closed her hands in fists twice before exhaling in defeat at the weak reluctance on the woman’s eyes.

Hell, she promised she wouldn’t fall again.

“Do you…” Minji started, swallowing the tightness in and the taste that pinched her tongue. “Do you, perhaps, want to grab something to eat?” She sounded like a robot. Yoohyeon narrowed her eyes slightly. “Or just a coffee, maybe. Or nothing, you can ignore that and—”   

Delicate fingers wrapped around her exposed forearm, calmly bringing her rambling to a stop. Yoohyeon had stepped closer, her amusement as obvious as Minji’s nervousness — this one would probably be a matter of laughter to the past versions of herself; someone like her shouldn’t be this much of a mess —, and if the air was knocked out of the older woman’s lungs at the proximity, only the stars watching over them could tell.

“I would love to.”

The older one blinked.

“Really?

Yoohyeon shrugged.

“Why not?”

So Minji took her to her favorite cafe which happened to be just a few minutes from the library, and the sight of Yoohyeon closing her eyes to enjoy the mix of smells while giving her body the chance to let go of its stiffness almost sent Minji into hopping to the counter like an overjoyed bunny. 

Yubin — the owner and one of her people — was there, watching them and surprised, but not really, at what she had right in front of her. It wasn’t like Minji had to say a lot for the shorter one to understand: Yubin could figure her out with a simple glance and map the lines of her being from inside out as if she and Minji were twin souls, as if they shared the same origin and a similar road, and being honest, the taller woman wouldn’t doubt they did.

They made their order, and the glint that emerged on Yoohyeon when Yubin joked with her about Minji being the most loyal customer someone could have urged quietness in Minji’s mind for a brief while. 

It was an old flame — the smiles that complemented each other, the tones that recognized home in each other despite the distance and the odds that reseted their minds to emptiness. They had been together through the end of the world and the beginning of an era, and it was almost baffling how finding their trail to each other was effortless to their feet. 

Even there, when names had been exchanged minutes ago and the only thing they could rely on as a connection was their link with Minji, they burned the same. Serene. Comprehensive. Blessed with a harmony only nature could create. But they didn’t know that — yet — and deep down Minji wished they would discover that soon. 

“Food is indeed the best thing we have,” the humming of contentment followed by the delighted words towards the plates on their table brought Minji back from her thoughts. “I’m becoming a regular,” she affirmed with determination, rolling her eyes at the taste of the cake she picked. “God, how did I not find this place sooner?”

“Yubin knows how to hide well,” the older one joked, and said woman winked at her from the counter, the subtle sureness that they would talk later being inescapable. “I’m glad you liked it.”

Yoohyeon answered with a thumbs up, full and her face expressing a type of happiness Minji understood well.

They talked a bit in that late afternoon, the iced americano they would later regret drinking being a good company to the shyness of first times. They didn’t go too deep or personal, Minji would consider their conversation mostly superficial aside from when they were on the topic of books, but it was enjoyable anyway, and since the younger one still had things to do and the tiredness after a long day of work and studies was quick to be noticed, Minji considered it a bigger victory than she expected getting one day.

She had forgotten how great it was to be face to face with Yoohyeon like this.

It was simple, so simple and innocent one wouldn’t understand why she felt on the verge of crying, but oh… The joy of it was incomparable.

Yoohyeon was endearing, so much it was unfair, and when she talked about something of her interest or, even better, about her passions, she had the excitement of the bravest kid in the universe while also holding the seriousness of someone who learned how to fly without ignoring how damaging a clumsy fall could be.

She laughed at the things Minji said like Minji couldn’t be funnier and her laughter was easy, weightless like the butterflies that adorned her spirit, just like her smile glowed with a warmth no one else could have. Her reactions to things bordered on revoltingly entertaining and if imploding was an option, Minji would be a bundle of tiny pieces after seeing the taller one admiring that adorable puppy walking with its human on the other side of the street.

Yoohyeon had cooed and pouted, saying it was so cute she couldn’t deal with, and Minji, poor Minji, sighed so heavily that the weakness caused by it almost made her fall from her chair — and if she didn’t managed to refrain herself from crashing with the floor, Yubin wouldn’t miss the chance to make fun of her to everyone they knew.

At some point, she gave up on pretending she wasn’t looking, and while Yoohyeon kept explaining the plot of a drama she started recently, too absorbed in making sense to recognize the fondness dripping from the person in front of her, Minji was set to follow her movements with the dedication of a loyal admirer and the ache of someone doomed to Aphrodite’s rage.

That woman was a masterpiece. 

Every little detail on her was sculptured with the precision of a god, with the care of a creator who loved its work to its core, and to say Yoohyeon was breathtaking and worthy of all the praises the faithful could give would be generous from Minji’s part. In fact, this face had found a way to carry with it the ghost of some of its past forms, and never once could the older one imagine this mixture would result in such a mesmerizing view, in such uniqueness.   

The downside of that, however, was that it brought to reality the exact reason why Minji faltered.

Minji could hear her insides cracking inch by inch until it collapsed every time her mind pictured how tangling her fingers with Yoohyeon’s would feel like. Her skin cried over the distance that went years farther than simply physical and whenever she recalled the certainty that she was alone on all that, that Yoohyeon couldn’t remember her, that Yoohyeon couldn’t know who she truly was, she was left to bitterness as its prisoner.

Those arms weren’t acquainted with her anymore.

That voice had long buried its giddiness when referring to her. 

That body no longer acknowledged Minji as hers, and that familiarity wasn’t theirs to dive in; it was breakable, frail, with one end grasping at it tighter than the other. 

They were back at square zero, caught up on a smudged blank page, but no one bothered to grant the freedom of ignorance to Minji too, and that was the part of this burden that hurt the most. 

Because damn… Yoohyeon smiled at her in goodbye the same way she did in every first meeting they had — the light tracing her features was a killer and Minji was the target — and the positive hope in her tone as she asked the older one if they would see each other again was so sweet Minji couldn’t answer with a no despite the knot stopping her from talking.

Yoohyeon left the cafe in between tiny hops and short runs, unaware of the eyes that guarded her every move with a plea for her not to go, to stay a bit longer, to recognize the secrets Minji drew with her shivering breath, with the same intent the most sincere part of her wanted the taller one to not look back, to keep walking forward, and remember her simply as a fleeting encounter meant to disintegrate into oblivion like a dense dream. 

She was petrified and Yubin realized something was wrong, Minji could tell by her carefulness in standing by her side outside the place like a partner who doesn’t need words to sort out where the pain began and where the robbery would lead. But she didn't speak on it, even if the teasing would come once Minji was okay, and all the shorter woman did was squeeze her shoulder to whisper “give it time” with a sympathetic smile.

Her friend couldn’t know the implications of such a phrase, it was obvious and nothing could back up a different version of this truth, but for a second Minji entertained the thought that something inside Yubin still knew her and that this something still found ways to echo and reach her despite the broken ties and erased knowledge pulling them apart. 

It was that echo, Minji figured as the moonlight caressed the crown of her head during her walk back home. That echo that couldn’t have its rightful peace and kept traveling in search of a familiar wall to lay on and ears that could obey it, that could accept it — it called for a name, it told a story, and hers have been forgotten by everyone that mattered.

 

II. The monsters hidden in the sea

 

A compass.

Minji called it the stray bullet after the pull on an aimless trigger, the very explanation to why she was forced to remember over and over again what she would rather bury in the darkest coffin inside her castle, and it was quite the irony to think that although her ghosts resided there, on that silly thing, the one to give it to her was always someone she trusted her life to and who treasure the object the same way she treasured sunsets.

It was her father, usually. Her mother if something went wrong. Or a friend if her parents failed in doing what destiny intended them to.

It was also a cycle.

She would die, then be reborn, and somewhere between teenagehood and adulthood that round thing would be placed on the palm of her hand with the needle pointing north to bring it all back to her.

This time around it happened the same, exactly the same, but the girl who insisted on getting rid of it as if throwing it in the trash would save her from herself was anesthetized, and instead of denying it, Minji decided to own it.

So she tattooed it. 

Like she tattooed a bunch of other symbols in honor to those she lost, like she tattooed a bunch of other messages to remind her who she was, who she shouldn’t be, and what she shouldn’t bow down to. And funny enough, Yoohyeon was particularly fond of the drawings and words in her skin, so much so Minji wouldn’t get startled anymore at sneaky fingers tracing the black lines out of nowhere just for the sake of wasting a few minutes on something else but her responsibilities — it had become a, cute, habit of hers. 

“Why?” She asked one day after their discussion over a fiction book ended and Yoohyeon got distracted with the colors on the older one’s left forearm.

“I lost something,” Minji mumbled, letting the delicate touch calm her thoughts down. “I’ve been looking for it since then and I hope this can help me out a bit.”

“Do you know where to find it?” The question was absent-minded, her eyes too focused on underlining every detail and giving a meaning to it herself. 

Minji chuckled under her breath.

“I’m a few steps away from it. I’ve never been this close,” she half-joked, half confessed. “But you know what? There are things that are better when they’re left alone.”

The librarian had nodded at her whisper, barely registering it, but later that day she had paused at the sight of the compass standing out after the older one rolled up her sleeves and that was when she realized the melancholy Minji held so close to her, and Minji, as someone who had long dropped her pretentious armor, recognized that without shame, allowing the taller one to do it in peace and draw her conclusions alone.

Yoohyeon walked around saying they were friends lately.

Minji guessed they were, to some extent.

The younger woman kept her promise of becoming a regular at Yubin's cafe and it didn’t take long for the initial stage of a friendship to bloom between the two. Soon she was part of the group, meeting Handong and Gahyeon right away only to become their protegé and the friend that received most of the teasing along with an overwhelming amount of love and support just because she was… Well… Yoohyeon, and they all loved her.

It was good to have her close outside the library, too. She had more to show, more to be fascinated at, and Minji in her eternal observer’s seat had no complaints about the bickering that Gahyeon and Yoohyeon carried like their driving force or the genuine joy both her and Handong expressed whenever they were discussing something they liked or praising Yubin for her magic hands. 

That wasn’t to say their secret paradise, plus the solitude provided by it, wasn’t amazing. It’s just that the library was their place, their playground, their meeting spot, and as great as it was, it was also where it lied the dangers Minji tried so hard to prevent from being bigger than they should be.

“A crow tit? Sitting on top of a wolf’s head?” Yoohyeon’s eyes widened both from amusement and surprise at the tattoo on her upper back. “That’s unusual.”

“But it’s cute isn’t it?” She adjusted her shirt with a playful grin. “They’re serious, but they’re cute.” 

Yoohyeon giggled at her demand for a positive review — that sound remained as one of Minji’s greatest weaknesses — and shook her head like Minji wanted, leaning onto her to go back to their previous topic while unaware of how the older one couldn’t see anything but her and her pretty dimples.

Until the door opened.

“Yoohyeonie!”

And two sets of steps tapped on the floor. 

“Where are you?!”

And Minji felt her body growing cold when flashes flooded her vision.

“I’m here!” Yoohyeon announced with her hand in the air, dragging Minji with her to meet the precious friends she couldn’t stop talking about. They stopped face to face. Minji swallowed hard. “We’re here.”

The shortest of them, with her brown hair and overflowing energy, wasn’t subtle in checking Minji from head to toe in a serious analysis while the tallest of them, with her beautiful smile and calm demeanor, took a few seconds to decide if she liked Minji or not.

Yoohyeon waited for their verdict with her hope shining brightly — their opinion was heavier in importance than anyone else’s, after all — but Minji was trembling, the ropes straining her limbs tightening so much she almost groaned, and though none of them noticed, she was about to drop to her knees as relief washed over her in violent, but soothing, waves when she met those eyes once they were done. 

They were her people too, the closest voice to her heart stated as the other two relaxed; they made it.

They’re alright.

They’re together.

“The name is Bora,” the shorter one introduced with a friendly smile and an undeniable glint of playfulness. “This pretty girl here is Siyeon, my girlfriend.” The way she softened while saying that was so obvious that it hurt and Minji, despite being entirely aware that it was irrational, couldn’t be more proud of that, of them. “We heard a lot about you.” 

The couple dropped by many times after that and bonding with them wasn’t hard, Minji predicted it wouldn’t: Siyeon’s kindness and naivety hadn’t changed and Bora, oh, Bora… Could never be less than that extraordinary being that made Yoohyeon laugh to tears and her girlfriend feel loved inside and out. 

There were moments where Minji would spend a minute or two watching them from the corner, trying to engrave their happiness in her brain to revisit it when her demons got the best of her, and with every sound that resonated, every thankful word that left their mouths, the scars adorning her body would start to heal. She would acknowledge the home-like air that they exhaled and whenever they talked to her or called her, the guilty loneliness haunting her for a lifetime would go to the back of her head to hide, as if frightful of what a bit of closure could do to it.  

It was good, consoling even, to have this second — that was far from being just the second — chance to see another ending for the people she swore to love and protect, to see the opportunity for a future that went right and a timeline where she made no mistakes to stop it from coming true. 

But the compass pointed north.

The nightmares torturing her late in the night weren’t just hers.

And whenever Siyeon and Bora walked away to put her back in her place, the bittersweetness of the circumstances repeatedly stabbed Minji’s back to make her bleed her honesty, and her soul, out.

A stranger, she was.

A soldier who couldn’t move on from the battlefield where their tragedy began.  

“Why a dagger?” The younger one caressed the black form surrounded by butterflies in red and yellow on her left rib.

Yoohyeon looked up, sensing her hesitation.

Minji shivered, putting her shirt in place.

“That’s a reminder.”

The taller one exhaled, dropping her hand when Minji’s mention of continuing was interrupted, looking at the ground with her shoulders down. 

“Why do you speak in codes?” The mumble was tired, with a hint of indignance, and she wasn’t referring solely to her previous question. “What am I saying wrong?” 

Minji frowned lightly, attentive to what she had in front of her and the increase in confusing questions coming from the woman lately. Although Yoohyeon didn’t talk about it openly, Minji learned the younger one’s limits were difficult but not impossible to be reached, and since she was programmed to match Yoohyeon’s frequency, seeing through her and her walls was like breathing: Yoohyeon was struggling, and pretending her solitude was just that couldn’t deceive those who knew her — couldn’t deceive Minji. 

Nonetheless, the older one also learned that the most effective source of comfort for the taller woman was the one touch offered, hence her obsession with clinging onto her loved ones and latching to Minji with a death grip on the daily. So Minji sighed, looking at her like the only person deserving of her care — she was — to catch the hand Yoohyeon just dropped, unconcerned about the dark sky awaiting them as she stepped forward, being gentle in bringing Yoohyeon’s gaze to her own with a superficial touch on her chin.

“Are you in a bad mood?” She checked in a low, understanding tone. “Did something happen while I wasn’t here?”

Yoohyeon’s figure had the impulse to curl around the palms keeping a hold of her like a flower overcoming concrete, maybe in need of an anchor as she seemed unwilling to be verbal about what was bothering her since the older woman, who was forced to come later than usual, walked through the entrance. 

She didn’t have to worry, however. 

Minji was ready to catch her.

Minji was ready to be whatever she needed.

“It’s okay, no pressure,” the older one reassured, closing the gap once more. “You can hug me until you feel better.”

There was a moment of questioning from Yoohyeon’s end, but that wasn’t the first time they were in a situation like this and a beat after a heavy exhale she was lacing Minji’s waist and bringing her as close as she could, hiding her face on the older one’s neck and appearing a lot smaller and defenseless than she truly was.

They were dangling on an odd wire.

Yoohyeon treated her like a longtime friend and the intimacy and trust they managed to build in such a short period was impressive, bordering on unbelievable. They went well with each other, talking was effortless, and even in their silence existed nuances and shades they had yet to decipher and understand as a whole. 

But Minji was falling, she had been since the moment she met that Yoohyeon, and she didn’t need long to be confident that this wasn’t a product of the people before he