It’s cold.

 

The heater is on but there’s a certain shiver lingering underneath her bones. A phantom chill that had taken warmth’s place when it left her. Minjeong sniffs, rubbing her cold nose as she gets ready for breakfast, setting the table for two.

 

“Oh.” she mutters absently, momentarily petrified.

 

The yawning silence in her apartment reminds her that she’s eating alone today. As she had always been in the past two years.

 

She sighs, placing the other plate down. She’s already taken it out anyway. She can just put it back later.

 

She sits, nibbles on her pancakes, and stares blankly at the empty seat across hers. She shoves food in , trying not to think. Not to think of how the seat used to be occupied. Not to think of the person who used to sit in it.

 

It’s cold.

 

Her plate makes a screeching sound against the table’s wood as she pushes it away. Swallowing has suddenly become a difficult task and she’s cooked way too many. Again. Snow falls in a steady shower outside her window, painting the city in dreary whites and dull grays. She can’t imagine anyone wanting to go out and play in the cold. Well–there was someone. But–well.

 

She dumps her plate on the sink and sets the uneaten pancakes aside before putting the other extra plate back in her cupboards and retreats to her bedroom.

 

It’s pathetic, really, how she still sets down two plates on the table and prepares food for two. How she still hasn't thrown away that blue toothbrush. Or how she never fails to check on that stupid chunky succulent plant on her windowsill. Or how she still kept a certain pair of fluffy slippers a size too big for her on the shoe rack.

 

She got to admit–she’s got a penchant for inflicting hurt on herself. But to be fair, two years isn’t quite enough to erase the memories and habits built for five.

 

It’s been ages since they broke up–two years is a long time, for someone alone–and Minjeong had made peace about that. Or at least, she’s been trying. But the colder seasons make it more difficult. And she finds herself curled up in the long winter nights, yearning.

 

Minjeong shakes her head, cringing at her own thoughts. Indeed, cold seasons will always have that effect. She stands, scanning her eyes around her bedroom, neglected and in shambles. She sighs. A thorough clean-up is in order. It’s the weekend anyway, and she can’t possibly get any work done in such conditions.

 

She keeps herself occupied with wrestling with the bedsheets, changing the pillowcases and curtains, and dusting the tables and shelves. When’s the last time she properly cleaned this place? She can’t remember. She’s in the middle of vacuuming the floor when her phone’s ringtone broke the peaceful quiet.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Christmas party next Saturday.” Aeri immediately says, foregoing the pleasantries. “Seriously, it’s been so long since you hung out with us. Everyone’s attending so you better be there.”

 

Minjeong lets out a humorless snort. “And what if I don’t want to?”

 

“Jimin’s hosting this year.”

 

Minjeong stops in her tracks before continuing, “So?”

 

“So. She would be disappointed if you don’t show up.”

 

She let out a wry laugh. “Would she, now?”

 

“Of course she would!” Aeri insists. “She only has three best friends, and having one absent would definitely break her heart.”

 

“Not as much as she broke mine.”

 

The other line went silent. Minjeong immediately regretted her little joke at the unspoken pity. “Minjeong…”

 

“I’m just kidding,” she said, voice raking raspily against . “I’ll be there.”

 

***

 

They’re still friends. Which makes Minjeong’s winter blues all the more unacceptable. It felt wrong, to long for something more with someone she had agreed to stay friends with.

 

Jimin had asked if they could keep their friendship. Minjeong agreed.

 

(During that same moment, Jimin had also suggested that they should break up. Minjeong had simply let her.

 

She could never deny Jimin of her wants.

 

Or at least that’s what she tells herself.)

 

Minjeong arrives at Jimin’s penthouse apartment a good twenty minutes after their promised time. She can’t exactly be there early and risk being alone in the same familiar space as her ex. Aeri should be there by now. Or maybe even Yizhuo. Or both.

 

And she’s right, hearing the chatter behind the closed door as she pressed the doorbell. Minjeong taps her foot. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six–the door flies open.

 

She looks up with a start.

 

Jimin’s standing at the other side, wearing the festive knitted sweater she bought and gushed over in the group chat last week and an adorae antler headband rests on top of her head.

 

“Hi.” Jimin greets and Minjeong resents how easily she can smile. Resents how easy it makes her heart flutter.

 

She steps aside and opens the door wider for Minjeong to come in. “Let me get that for you.”

 

Minjeong pulls away, paperbags swishing in her hold. “No, thank you. I can manage.”

 

“Oh. Um, okay.”

 

“Pardon the intrusion,” she mutters, entering the apartment. The foyer is narrow and she can smell the perfume she remembers Jimin likes wearing during holidays. Something bright and sweet. Reminds Minjeong of peppermints and candy canes. “Are they here yet?”

 

A noise from inside the apartment answers her question for her. Something like a crash and Aeri’s shriek that follows. (“Ning Yizhuo!”)

 

Jimin winces. “Yup.” she says, dragging out the ‘y’. “I need to go and make sure they haven’t broken anything. You know the way, right?”

 

“Yeah.” Minjeong watches her rush off, leaving behind the scent of Christmas and she sighs, shrugging off her coat and hanging it at the rack. “I do.” She mutters to herself, walking into the apartment that she can navigate even with her eyes closed.

 

It’s been a while since she last visited Jimin’s apartment, for obvious reasons. But it’s still the same as she remembers--neat and simple for someone so famous yet grand and fit for an esteemed actress. Tonight it’s decorated with fairy lights adorning the walls, gifts huddled at the foot of a gigantic Christmas tree twinkling at one corner, dark blue curtains exchanged for cheerful red and green. Jimin had always been overenthusiastic when it comes to decorating. She remembers that one time when--

 

Minjeong stops herself. It isn’t her place to remember.

 

Commotion is still going on in the kitchen. She doesn’t bother and stays seated at the living room couch. Jimin soon comes out, shaking her head.

 

“Ddongie jumped on Aeri while they were hanging out in the kitchen.” She explained, sitting at the single couch, near but not quite, as she always have been--close, but not enough.

 

She chuckles. “Nothing broken, I hope?”

 

“Fortunately.” Jimin’s smiling now too. “Seriously. Why does Yizhuo bring her lizard everywhere?”

 

“Because apparently, her reptile skin bags aren’t enough. She has to go around and flaunt the actual thing too.”

 

Jimin laughs, honeyed lips spread wide and eyes crinkled shut, heaving happy melodies from her chest. Minjeong cracks a smile and looks away, a thousand needles pricking her heart.

 

They lapse into silence, the soft Christmas music filling in the air that was too tense for friends yet too comfortable for ex-lovers. In the corner of her eyes she sees Jimin shift on her seat. Minjeong waits.

 

“It’s been a while.” There it is. Jimin had always been the type to keep the small talk going, as opposed to Minjeong’s quiet. “How’s work, lately?”

 

“Busier than ever.” Minjeong replies, playing along Jimin’s attempt at clearing the air. “It doesn’t seem like it’s the most wonderful time of the year for everyone.”

 

“Lots of cases on your plate?”

 

“Yes.” Minjeong breathes out because being in this situation while being a divorce lawyer is rubbing salt to her wound.

 

“I see.” Jimin mutters and Minjeong fights the urge to move closer, like a planet gravitating towards its star. “Well, that’s a pity. I--The girls miss you.”

 

She pretends not to notice the small slip-up. She pretends she doesn’t hope, forces the tickles in her stomach to dissipate. “I miss...” her voice catches and she clears . “I miss them--you--all of you. I miss all of you. Too. I miss all of you too. Yeah.”

 

Her ears burn at how she stupidly fumbled with her words like a toddler who just figured out how to speak five minutes ago. Jimin chuckles though.

 

“You should hang out with us sometime.”

 

Jimin’s looking at her with those wide, expectant eyes. The same eyes that had beseeched for friendship to be kept. Minjeong looks away, an empty laugh slipping past her lips.

 

“Sure.” she says, not believing it at all.

 

And then there’s a hand brushing her skin and she startles away, gaping at Jimin who had moved just a little closer to softly brush hair away from her eyes.

 

“Sorry.” Jimin moves away quickly, eyes shifting side to side as she awkwardly chuckles, “Force of habit.”

 

“Force of habit.” Minjeong echoes, a little too accusatory, filling in the air that has shifted, a little more charged, a little more difficult to breathe in.

 

“Yeah, um,” Jimin clears and it’s painful, how two years still wasn’t enough to mend the tear in the strings that connects them. Maybe it’s something that can’t ever be put together again.

 

“My work hasn’t been as demanding as yours, thankfully. I still meet up with the girls and Yeji and Lia during the weekends and...” she rambles on, unprompted. Minjeong patiently listens, trying to forget that split-second touch as if it won’t be haunting her, accompanying her for the remaining winter nights.

 

Aeri and Yizhuo come out of the kitchen, saving them from their disastrous conversation. Ddongie is safely perched on Yizhuo’s shoulder and they start their little party, music cranked up and they begin talking over the random movie playing on the TV to chat about how and where they’re planning to spend Christmas. Aeri will be heading to Japan for a family reunion and Yizhuo will be going back to China. Unfortunately, they would have to spend their new year there as well, which means they would be missing Minjeong’s birthday.

 

“It’s okay,” she says, though the bitterness of not getting to celebrate her birthday with them stews in her chest, bubbling and simmering and accumulating. Birthdays had always been sensitive for her. “I’ll be going home to Busan anyway.”

 

“What about you, Jimin-unnie?” Yizhuo prompts, “Maybe you can celebrate with Minjeong-unnie in our stead.”

 

Minjeong throws Yizhuo a sharp look. Jimin smiles apologetically. “My family’s holding a Christmas and New Year party. I’ll probably be stuck running errands and stuff.”

 

Minjeong lets out a breath of relief, stomping on Yizhuo’s foot.

 

Drinks are soon taken out and at some point their chats turn to drinking games and it’s suddenly decided that the three of them would be staying over for the night, so no one would have the excuse of refusing drinks because they have to drive. It’s fun and harmless and Minjeong’s laughing like she never had in two years. Laughing so hard that tears build in her eyes and her stomach clenches as intoxicated peals spill from when Ddongie once again launches herself and stuck on Jimin’s face only to be swatted to Minjeong’s lap and her laughter turns to wild shrieking and limbs flailing.

 

She never realized she misses her friends until now that she’s spending time with them. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol turning her into a sentimental mess.

 

“Truth.” Minjeong easily decides when the spinning empty soju bottle stops to point at her.

 

“Okay,” Aeri clears , cheeks red. “Answer this: what’s the score between you and Jung Sungchan?”

 

Minjeong reeled, the inebriated cogs of her mind rolling frustratingly slow. Jung Sungchan? Oh, that guy from the neighboring law firm.

 

“You’re seeing someone?”

 

Her eyes snap to Jimin who has so abruptly asked the question, looking a little too interested. Her fogged mind struggles again. Why? Why?

 

“No, I’m not.” She hates it. Hates how it sounds so much like reassurance. “Not since--”

 

“Excuse me,” Aeri slurred, “I’m the one asking questions this round. This part here is pointing at me! The bottle’s showing me its booty!”

 

Minjeong’s attention shifts back to her, ignoring Jimin visibly relaxing from the corner of her eye. “Sungchan is just a friend.”

 

Aeri’s brows wriggle maliciously. “Is he going to be just a friend forever?”

 

Minjeong tossed a candy at her friend. “That’s more than one question. Spin the bottle, Uchinaga.”

 

The bottle spins. So does Minjeong’s vision. She closes her eyes, counts to five.

 

“Truth.”

 

Her eyes fly open at Jimin’s voice.

 

Yizhuo huffs but her disappointment quickly turns to mischief.

 

“Who,” she starts, slowly for suspense. “Gave you the best of your life?”

 

Winter’s mouth goes dry at the question, heat creeping up to her neck.

 

It must’ve been the countless shots of soju and beer in her system, the stupid liquid courage that made her shoot a glance at Jimin only to find her already staring.

 

Heat coils in her stomach, sickeningly tight. And she’s sure it’s spread pink across her cheeks as well. Bright and honest.

 

Reaching for the glass of soju, Jimin holds Minjeong’s gaze. Keeps it locked even as she tips her head back swallowing liquid fire whole, her refusal to answer already an answer in and of itself.

 

Who else could it be, after all?

 

She sets down the shot glass. Aeri and Yizhuo whine their complaints. Minjeong looks away.

 

She stares at the spinning bottle, blocking out indecent images of past bedroom activities as the sting of the bitter drink penetrates deeper than it’s supposed to.

 

***

 

Minjeong wakes up to familiar blue bed sheets that smell of nectarine blossom and honey. An enormous photo of Jimin smiles down at her from where it’s perched on the wall. Pain pierces her head. Pierces her chest.

 

It’s too early for this.

 

“Ugh.” She sits up painfully, swallowing in vain to do something about her dry throat.

 

The room is empty. The space beside her is cold. Her clothes are still on. She sighs in relief. She didn’t make any mistakes last night. At least, not any of that sort.

 

She shuffles out of the room, squinting at the sunlight and cradling her pulsating head. Aeri and Yizhuo are passed out in the living room, exactly where Minjeong remembers sitting with them last night.

 

“Oh, you’re up early.” Minjeong turns a little too fast. Pain. Her vision almost doubles. She sways on her feet.

 

Jimin stands, hands outstretched. “I think you should sit.” A hand gingerly wraps around her bare wrist, on the space that her sweater sleeves doesn’t cover. The touch burns through her bones. “Hangover?”

 

Minjeong just grunts, sitting on the kitchen stool.

 

Chuckles. Light and feathery and nostalgic. “I’ll get you coffee. Two creams, one sugar?”

 

Minjeong watches her flit around the kitchen. “You still remember.”

 

Jimin stills. Half a second. And she’s grabbing a mug. The one with snowflake prints. The one that Minjeong used to use every time she comes over. “Of course.”

 

“You haven’t thrown that away.” She says out of wonder.

 

“Why would I?” Jimin asks, “You liked it so much.”

 

Minjeong shuts her eyes, willing the wild fluttering of her heart to stop. It’s nothing. Jimin’s always been attentive and considerate to her friends. And that’s exactly what she is right now. A friend. Nothing more.

 

The aroma of coffee fills her nose. Minjeong opens her eyes to a steaming mug. Muttering her thanks, she takes a sip with a content sigh. It tastes the same as she remembers.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“Like my brain cells have waged war with each other and are screaming bloody murder,” Minjeong grumbled, “But better. Thanks.”

 

Jimin laughs. Tinkling and pretty. “That’s good to hear. I think.”

 

Caffeine clears Minjeong’s head. It also makes her painfully aware of how ty she must look right now, with her most probably bloated face and wild bedhead. She subtly tries to wipe the dried drool on the corner of , in case there are any.

 

And there it is again, the intruding hand tucking her hair behind her ear. Minjeong freezes, looking up at Jimin who also paused, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

 

“Oh. Um. Sorry.” She retracts her hand. Minjeong frowns. What is it? What is this? “It’s just--”

 

“Force of habit?”

 

A weak laugh. “Yeah.” Jimin swallows. Minjeong eyes bobbing up and down. “Force of habit.”

 

Aeri and Yizhuo soon wake up, complaining about headaches and body aches. Jimin just laughs, serving them a mug of coffee each and chiding them goodnaturedly about drinking too much. Minjeong quietly sips hers and doesn’t say anything about waking up on a comfortable bed.

 

Now they’re standing in the hallway, right outside Jimin’s door, all freshened up and ready to go.

 

“Merry Christmas,” Jimin greets them, “You better not forget to get me souvenirs.” she says as she hugs Aeri.

 

Aeri claps her back. “I’ll prepare an entire truck.”

 

Jimin hugs Yizhuo next, the younger girl cuts her to the chase. “I’ll have the great wall transferred to your house next week.”

 

Minjeong shifts uncomfortably at the side. Jimin has faced her, hesitating. Their friends watch.

 

Eventually, she’s being pulled in. Arms draped across her back. Minjeong holds her breath, placing tentative hands on her waist, palms hovering unsurely.

 

“It’s great to see you again, Minjeong.”

 

She squirms in the space between them too wide for whatever it is to be considered a hug.

 

“You too.” She mumbles into her shoulder.

 

She won’t be able to sleep tonight.

 

***

 

It’s the early hours of the 24th and Minjeong pours herself a glass of wine, swirling the dark liquid before taking a sip, bittersweet dancing on her tongue, trickling down , and scorching her stomach.

 

Another sip turns to another glass. Another glass turns to another bottle. Alcohol opens the deep recesses of her mind and she sees, in this same space two years ago on this very same day, two lovers break apart.

 

“We should stop doing this.” Jimin had said out of the blue, right after they’ve had glasses of wine and while they’re slow dancing to Michael Bublé in the middle of the living room, arms holding each other close.

 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Minjeong naively chuckled, stopping in her tracks but keeping her arms around Jimin’s waist. “We’ve been dancing for a while now. Does your feet hurt? Want a massage?”

 

“No.” She remembers Jimin’s hands clenching on her shoulders. She remembers the detached, faraway look in her eyes. “That’s not what I mean.”

 

Minjeong waited, tilting her head to the side.

 

“We should stop doing this.” Jimin repeated, voice barely audible. “We should stop doing this.” she said again, like it was a great difficulty to get to her point.

 

“What?”

 

“We should stop seeing each other.”

 

“What?”

 

The grip on her shoulders had been painfully tight then. “We should break up.”

 

Minjeong remembers feeling like she just punched her in the face and slapped her with ice cold water. She remembers Jimin’s knitted brows and pursed lips, eyes looking everywhere but her.

 

“Unnie, where is this coming from?”

 

She almost shook the girl then, because Jimin had never shown any signs that she wanted to end their relationship and Minjeong was so ing lost, so ing confused as to why this woman who’s telling her to end things was wringing the hell out of her shoulders like she didn’t want to let go.

 

“I--just...just because.”

 

“Just because?” Minjeong let go of her waist and took a harsh step back, Jimin’s hands falling down to her side. “You’re putting a stop to our five years together just because?”

 

Jimin inhaled sharply and her voice came out small and raw. “My manager knows. My manager knows about us.”

 

Minjeong remembers how her lungs were filled with shards of broken glass, how her chest physically ached. Minjeong remembers the sense of betrayal, the hurt, and grief that saturated her twisting heart.

 

Yet there wasn’t any surprise, wasn’t any resistance. She had always known, deep down in her heart, that Jimin’s success would always be more important than she could ever be.

 

And so she clenched her jaw and took another step away, the first among the many that would follow.

 

Jimin was still talking, words rushing out of like a venomous faucet. “They’re pressuring me to end things with you. Because--Because what if the media finds out? Then the entire world finds out? I can’t--I can’t bear that. I can’t. I’m in this point in my career that I--”

 

“Okay.” Minjeong said, if only to cut off her rambling that only stuck knives to her chest and at that moment, she felt as if a switch was flicked, the fortress of her heart raising its defenses and closing everything off from the world. Her world, who was staring at her with eyes wide in disbelief.

 

“Okay?” Jimin echoed hoarsely. “Okay? You’re--You’re okay with this? Just like that?”

 

“Then what the do you want me to say?” Minjeong snapped, pain turning to hot, white anger. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths and in a calmer tone, “Let’s break up. If that’s what you want.”

 

Jimin was quiet. Minjeong didn’t dare open her eyes. And then there’s a rustle of clothes. “It’s...It’s for the best.” her voice was barely a whisper but it still rang loud and painful in Minjeong’s ears. “Thanks for everything, Minjeong-ah.”

 

The door shut and Minjeong felt the sting of salt burn down her cheeks.

 

Too late to regret. Minjeong had always been a coward, always too afraid to lose things that she refuses to even keep them.

 

Days later Jimin would call, ask her to have coffee and she would agree. Jimin would ask then if they could still be friends. And she would agree.

 

Always a fool.

 

Her phone rings now, however, and she’s yanked out of her intoxicated haze. She blinks unshed tears from her eyes and frowns at the caller ID before checking the time. It’s almost 3am.

 

“Jimin-unnie?” She puts the device to her ear. “Why are you calling at this hour?”

 

“Minjeong-ah.”

 

Jimin utters her name with that familiar kind of affection that she’s never heard in two years and Minjeong sobers up.

 

“Unnie, are you drunk?”

 

A sniff. “Minjeong-ah. I messed up.”

 

“What? What happened? Are you crying?” She shoots up to her feet.

 

A choked sob. “Am not.”

 

Jimin sounds completely wasted. Minjeong starts pacing. “Where are you? Unnie, answer me.”

 

“...out.”

 

“.” Minjeong mutters. “Where’s your manager? Do you even know what time it is? What if you get photographed? Isn’t your career so important to you? You’re not supposed to--”

 

“Minjeongie,” she slurs and Minjeong in a breath. “You’re nagging again.”

 

She clenches her jaw, “Call your manager to pick you up.”

 

“No, I don’t want him.”

 

“I’ll call Aeri or Yizhuo. Stay where you are.”

 

“I don’t want them!” Minjeong pulls back, wincing at her volume. “Don’t you get it? I want you.”

 

Jimin might as well have impaled her.

 

“Okay.” she takes a deep breath, inhaling rationality and exhaling feelings. “Okay. Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.”

 

Always a fool.

 

Always a fool for Yu Jimin.

 

She calls for a cab though she no longer feels the alcohol in her system and rushes to the bar where Jimin is. It’s dark. There are a few people inside, minding their own business as calm beats play in the speakers. Minjeong spots Jimin slumped over the bar counter, an empty glass near her hand.

 

“Unnie.” she calls and Jimin stirs, flashing her an intoxicated smile from beneath tousled hair.

 

“Minjeong.” Jimin sits up, beaming. “You’re here.”

 

Jimin is as wasted as she sounded through the phone. She stumbles over her own foot as Minjeong leads her out of the establishment and flails at the slightest gust of wind. Minjeong forces her into a cab and decides to take her back to her apartment, since it probably won’t be good for her image to be seen coming home to her place drunk out of her wits. At least there aren’t any paparazzi at Minjeong’s building.

 

“Minjeong-ah…” Jimin calls when Minjeong’s trying to unlock her appartment door only to fail when slender arms wrap around her waist from behind, warm body pressed flush against her back, and an intruding nose nudging the crook of her neck, cold lips rubbing on flushed skin.

 

Jimin sways. Minjeong staggers along.

 

“Unnie. Stay still--”

 

“Minjeong-ah.” Jimin speaks again, soft lips and hot breath and tingles down Minjeong’s spine. “I miss you.”

 

So long have Minjeong wanted to hear those words and now that she does, it only brings unceremonious hurt. Like someone had taken a dull blade to her heart. Over and over. And over. And over that she’s angry, more than anything, at Jimin for making things even more difficult. At herself for being so miserable.

 

She huffs. “What am I supposed to do with that information?”

 

The key finally fit its slot. She drags Jimin inside, kicking the door close.

 

The road to her bedroom is a tangle of limbs hitting furnitures and tripping over carpets and Minjeong curses Jimin for being unnecessarily tall. She dumps her on her bed, groaning muscles finally relieved of the woman’s dead weight.

 

Jimin seems to have passed out. How characteristic of her to drop a bomb such as I miss you and disappear right after. Ruined mascarra ran down her cheeks. Minjeong reaches over without thinking, thumbing away the dark stains.

 

An overwhelming weight consumes her--a familiar yearning. Had she been a little more courageous, would this lips be still hers to kiss? Had she been a little less afraid, would still woman be hers to love?

 

But what scares her the most is that, even if she had been a little more this and a little less that, there would still be no difference in the end.

 

The heart wants what it wants. And throws away what it doesn’t anymore.

 

Minjeong takes a deep breath--inhale rationality, exhale feelings--and retracts her hand but Jimin suddenly grabs and keeps it there, palm pressed against soft cheek.

 

Jimin opens her eyes and Minjeong flinches, instinctively pulling away but Jimin doesn’t let go.

 

“Minjeong-ah.”

 

“Unnie, you should sleep.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“...you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“I mean it.” Jimin’s voice is firm and her eyes glisten. “I’m so sorry…”

 

Minjeong swallows the lump in . It doesn’t go away. But she stays and patiently waits, willing to let Jimin have her release even if it means that her burdens would be hers to bear. Jimin would most likely forget about all this tomorrow. It would stay on Minjeong’s mind forever.

 

“I messed up.” Jimin repeats, “I’m so sorry for what I did to you--for what I did to us. I’m so sorry for being so selfish. For keeping you close and never allowing you to heal that I--”

 

“Unnie.” Minjeong hates how she’s offering comfort. Again. But Jimin needs her. And that’s all that matters. “It’s okay. Sleep. We can continue talking tomorrow.”

 

Jimin shakes her head, streaming tears ruining her mascarra once more. It breaks Minjeong’s heart.

 

“But tomorrow I’ll be a coward again. Tomorrow I’ll be too afraid to tell you that there’s not a single day that I don’t regret leaving you. Tomorrow I’ll be too afraid to tell you that I miss you. So ing bad. That I want to hold you. To kiss you. To touch you. Tomorrow I’ll be too afraid to tell you that I--”

 

Her voice breaks and Minjeong waits with bated breath as she tries to find her voice and when she does it’s smaller, timid, and barely more than a whisper. As though sharing a secret.

 

“Tomorrow I’ll be too afraid to tell you that I never stopped loving you. Even after all this time.”

 

Broken shards of glass fills Minjeong’s lungs once more and it’s that fateful Christmas night all over again. It’s unfair, how the tiny hope she had fought so hard to remove had started to take root again, just like that. It’s unfair how Jimin says all that as if she means it. As if she isn’t driven by alcohol. It’s unfair she will not remember any of this tomorrow, while Minjeong would carry it for the rest of her life. How she passes out cold after saying something that will keep Minjeong up at night.

 

“Unfair.” She mutters, easing her hand away from Jimin’s limp one. “You’re so unfair, unnie.”

 

She gingerly wipes away the drying tears on her cheeks, despite the fresh ones currently streaming down her own.

 

It’s still cold.