There are two things Hayoung is fairly sure of. The first one is her faith that listening to your own feelings is important. The second one is the understanding that not everyone is ready to actually do that.

Saerom, for example, seems to be scared of her own feelings sometimes.

They used to be close. Growing up through primary school as tablemates, spending recess still with each other despite being seated together during all lessons. Occasionally meeting up during the holidays because they were too used to seeing each other all the time. Enrolling to the same middle school, getting paired up as the student council’s President (Saerom) and Vice President (Hayoung)—

They used to be close.

So close to the point that people talked. Took note. Refused to be subtle in their assumptions. Whispers started to haunt every moment Saerom and Hayoung spent in the same space, narrowed eyes even belonging to their teachers watching their steps. Fingers pointing and hushed words murmuring that there’s such thing as being too close.

Hayoung didn’t really give weight to it.

But Saerom did.

So—

Hayoung takes her plate to the sink and turns the tap water on. It’s been a few years, them drifting apart. Her thoughts go there every now and then, picking at the memories like picking at a messily treated wound, but it’s better not to dawdle on things outside of her control. Especially if the scabs have started to tear again.

She scrubs her plate diligently, listening to the faint splash of water running between her fingers.

“…Hanyang?”

Saerom’s voice drifts in from a distance behind. Hayoung hums, ignoring the dull ache, and angles her body when a shadow nears. She glances and finds Saerom, bringing over her own dirty plate. Instead of queueing behind her, Saerom settles next to her and reaches out for the dish soap.

Their hands brush. It’s warm, mixed with the coolness of water. Saerom’s eyes flick around their surroundings, like she’s checking for who is watching.

No one seems to be, because Saerom then relaxes instead of jerking away.

“You’re still a fast eater, I see,” Saerom mumbles. She squeezes an ample amount of soap onto her plate and begins scrubbing.

“Wasn’t eating much,” Hayoung replies. Saerom doesn’t look up, but Hayoung knows she’s listening. “I’m not really hungry.”

“…Just really not hungry, or—“

The undercurrent worry in Saerom’s voice makes Hayoung’s voice soften. “Just really not hungry. I swear.”

“…Okay.”

Hayoung puts her plate on the drying rack. She considers elaborating, reminding Saerom that she’d snuck some bites here and there while making jeon (so please don’t worry,) but the door slides open and people start to pile in.

Saerom doesn’t seem to notice them at first, words still spilling lightly out of , “You know, I’m glad we managed to make dinner pretty quickly… we have some free time now before bed. Hanyang, I—“

The buzzing conversations start to overtake the sound of running tap water by then, and Saerom gets alerted of the others’ presence. Hayoung sees Saerom’s shoulders tense, sees her glance over her shoulder to the growing crowd, sees her swallow before her gaze shifts onto Hayoung again.

“Well!” Hayoung brightly says. “I’ll go check on our marinated meat for tomorrow then.”

She turns. Saerom doesn’t call her, doesn’t try to tell her the rest of what she was going to say. Hayoung walks away from Saerom and the walls the latter has built around herself, and wonders what it would take for Saerom to climb over them.

Wonders, if she even wants to.

 

-

 

Their meat is doing great.

“Now stop worrying,” Jisun says without heat. She’s been the one entrusted with the task of marinating the meat. When Hayoung sauntered over and asked her about it, Jisun had stared at her like she was trying to decide whether to fake offense as the designated Meat Master or to clown Hayoung’s choice of spending free time.

“I’ll drop by again in an hour.”

“Goodness, please don’t. Go be jobless somewhere else.”

Hayoung pouts. Jisun doesn’t budge because that has never worked with her. It only ever works with Saerom, really, when her walls are momentarily down. Hayoung sighs and pivots away from that thought by asking,

“How are you feeling? I mean, with like, all this… camping thing.”

“That we should’ve sacrificed the beef money to upgrade our lodge to a hotel,” Jisun deadpans. Now that Hayoung thinks about it, Jisun did remark once that she isn’t too drawn to the idea of rural life.

“Ah.”

“I’m just joking. Mostly. No need to start sympathizing and all that.” Hayoung raises her eyebrows and Jisun shoves her a bit. “Really, Hayoung. I’ll survive a day in the wild.”

“Two days, actually.”

Jisun’s lips twitch. “Is this your idea of spending free time? By nitpicking every word I say?”

“Well…”

Hayoung deliberately lapses into a dramatic pause. Jisun very slowly reaches for the nearby broom and only then does Hayoung laugh and back away.

“Okay, okay, I think the fridge is calling me.”

“How is the—…never mind. Good! Have fun with the fridge, tell it I said hi.”

“Sure thing!”

 

-

 

She doesn’t get to tell the fridge that Jisun said hi.

Mostly because she doesn’t feel like going back to the house yet. She wanders around the yard, taking note of the two small campfires not yet put out. People are huddling around them, sitting and sipping their drinks, seemingly keen to prolong the night by light talks.

Hayoung contemplates joining in, especially when she notices a few familiar faces from high school in the less crowded campfire circle. She likes listening to people talk, likes to see if she can understand them better through the little stories they’ve decided to share. It’s even better when it’s with a crowd, because Hayoung’s train of thoughts can jump a little randomly at times, and people take less offense to that when there are others to pick up her slack. So maybe joining in would—

“…Hanyang.”

Hayoung pauses in her tracks. She turns and finds Saerom, green scarf wrapped around her neck. She looks a little out of breath, like she’s been walking a lot. In her hands is another scarf.

“Yes?”

“Do you want to take a walk?” Saerom draws in a breath and kind of squares her shoulders in determination. “With me.”

Hayoung bites the inside of her cheek. She wonders.

“Right now?” At Saerom’s nod, Hayoung hums. “Sure.”

Saerom nods again. Her movement falters a little, for a beat, and then she steps closer, into Hayoung’s space. She unravels the scarf and gently loops it around Hayoung’s neck.

She must have noticed Hayoung’s surprise, because she clears . “It’s only getting colder,” she quietly says. Hayoung doesn’t bother to point out that she’s more surprised Saerom is doing this gesture out in the open, with people around them.

They might have been out of that middle school for years, but the damage stayed, standing stubbornly tall between them all through high school. They are still close in the way two planets that orbit around each other are close, with a fixed distance between them that feels hard to cross. Hayoung has given up hope that it would change at all in college, except that tiny, withering hope has met a glass of water and is perking up a little despite it all.

“Are we going somewhere far?”

Saerom finishes fixing the scarf. Her hand twitches near Hayoung’s hair, like she is a touch away from tucking it behind her ear. But she retreats, fingers falling away. She steps back.

“You’re the more athletic one out of us, Hanyang,” Saerom jokes, smiling a little. “You’ll live.”

Hayoung stares at her, deliberately holding her eyes for seconds longer. Until a flush steals across Saerom’s cheeks, the latter glancing away.

“Um… shall we?”

Something inside Hayoung’s chest warms up even as it aches. She nods.

 

-

 

“Is this an elaborate kidnapping plan?” Hayoung muses. “Is there a big game tomorrow and some people bribed you to take me out of the competition?”

Saerom snorts in-between heavy breaths. They have walked far enough from the camp that Hayoung hopes fervently that Saerom remembers the way back. But Saerom looks relaxed, if tired, and they are holding hands. It kind of makes it impossible for Hayoung to linger too much on that worry.

(The ground through the woods is uneven, which means stumbling here and there, almost slipping a few times. Saerom has latched on Hayoung’s arm first, squeaking as she missed a small pothole. And then Hayoung reached for Saerom’s elbow to steady herself after almost stumbling over roots peeking above ground.

After a while, it’s easier to just stay holding hands.)

“…Ah, here we are.”

Hayoung looks up at the statement. She takes in the small clearing they have found themselves stepping into. The towering trees are not as dense in this part of the woods, allowing them a clearer sight of the night sky.

“Before you accuse me of kidnapping you again,” Saerom quickly says when Hayoung glances at her, “I’m bringing you here for a reason.”

“Kidnapping reasons?”

Saerom lets out a sound that resembles a whine. It tugs the corners of Hayoung’s lips up into an amused smile.

“I said it’s not that!”

“Sure it isn’t…”

Saerom releases Hayoung’s hand, expression pinched into sulking pout that only gets sulkier when Hayoung holds back a snicker.

“You’re mean. Whatever, I’m going back.” Saerom turns around like she’s really about to.

And Hayoung knows she won’t, that she’s just bluffing, but she feels warm and somehow a little more whole, so she plays along, grabbing Saerom’s hand and apologizing. Saerom rolls her eyes at her apology, but her lips curl up. Hayoung takes the lack of answer as a challenge and continues her string apologies, and when Hayoung starts to wax poetic about her heart in Saerom’s hand beating in cold wait for a sweet reprieve, the latter gives in and just clamps a hand over Hayoung’s mouth to stop her from channeling Shakespeare.

 

-

 

They sit on the clearing, the ground thankfully dry, and look up at the sky.

“I heard that there’s going to be a meteor shower tonight,” Saerom says. “And that it’s possible to observe them from here.”

Hayoung tilts her head at her, not replying.

Saerom shifts in her seat.

“You wanted to see a shooting star, right?” Saerom asks, suddenly sounding uncertain. “Back in, in—“

In middle school.

It was one of the short moments they still shared, when the distance between them was growing. The student council held a meeting to brainstorm ideas for end of year festival theme, so each member was asked about what they wanted to do.

Hayoung had looked at the space between them and said that.

Hayoung hums in acknowledgement. “I wanted to see one to make a wish,” she says quietly. She looks at Saerom, notices the downcast expression on her face, and manages a smile. “I mean, with a star acting like your messenger, it feels more likely to be granted.”

Saerom smiles back. She looks at the sky, sighing faintly.

“I don’t—it’s harder to predict when a shooting star will happen, apparently. From what I’ve read. While… meteor showers are like, well they’re not stars so, it probably defeats the purpose but—“

“A meteor messenger sounds good too,” Hayoung interrupts her.

Saerom looks at her again. Up close, like this, her eyes are sparkling. And then the sparkle averts away, looking up again, as though something will happen if they look at each other just a second too long.

But Saerom’s voice is tender when she asks,

“Would you make a wish, then? Still?”

The ache inside her chest pulses with hopeful wonder. “You bothered to plan all this,” Hayoung says, unable to stop her voice from thickening with a rush of feelings. “So there’s no way I won’t, right?”

Saerom snaps her gaze back at her and swallows. Her eyes are wide, and then they’re looking everywhere but Hayoung, her thoughts seemingly in whirlwind. For a split second, Hayoung is so, so ready to tone it down, to let Saerom’s walls breathe again and say a measured thank you, switch to a new topic. She's ready to wave it off with a joke, a light remark, so they can move on, and pretend the weight in Hayoung’s reply wasn't actually there.

But Saerom breathes out, a tremble to her exhale, and she reaches out her hand, resting it over hers.

“It wasn’t a bother,” Saerom softly says. Her fingers curl around Hayoung’s palm, squeezing gently. “I’ve—been wanting to do it. For you, Hanyang.”

Sometimes, Saerom seems to be scared of her own feelings. It usually happens when it comes to Hayoung, held back hands and avoided glances, retreated steps and tensed movements. Even now, with only themselves and the clearing as witness, Saerom’s decisions are hesitant, clumsy, almost strained—

But she’s trying.

Hayoung releases the breath she doesn’t realize she’s holding, and slowly turns the palm underneath Saerom’s hand. She watches her as she tucks her fingers in-between hers, and when Saerom smiles, giving another tentative squeeze to their clasped hands, Hayoung beams.

 

-

 

“…Did your informant say anything about what time the meteor shower will happen?”

“Well…”

“…Did you know that meteor showers are usually visible after midnight and during early morning hours?”

“What! …I probably skipped that part on accident… I’m sorry! …If there’s nothing by 11 pm, should we just go back…?”

 

-

 

They are lying on their back.

The clock has ticked past 11 pm a few minutes ago, but neither of them make to move. The clearing is in a lull, save for the quiet chatter between them, mostly talking about the college life ahead. With only the two of them in this open space, it feels like they exist in secret, shoulders touching and gazes occasionally coinciding, exchanged smiles not abruptly taken away by the presence of the world with all the other people in it.

“The students in our year are, well… a lot of them seem nice?”

Hayoung shrugs. They are okay, Hayoung supposes, but she isn’t in terrible need to be best buds with them soon.

Saerom looks over at her and frowns,

“Hanyang. You can’t survive college with knowing just our high school friends.”

A smile curves her lips despite herself. She fakes a resigned sigh. “Fine, I’ll get to know them. Only if they’re not sore losers like those guys though.”

She had defeated quite a number of guys during a ddakji game to determine Jisun’s partner in cooking duty. Some didn’t take their loss well, bothering Jisun and her throughout lunch and dinner preparations that she threatened to flick hot oil at them at some point.

Saerom evidently knows who she’s referring to, because she lets out an amused huff. “Our Hanyang is so competitive.”

“You would be too if you’re as good as me in games.”

Saerom blinks, gapes indignantly as she digests Hayoung’s remark, and jabs a mean finger to Hayoung’s side. Hayoung winces away, but she’s also laughing.

 

-

 

“Oh my, Hanyang look! There’s one!”

Hayoung hums, staring at Saerom as the latter excitedly points upwards. She takes in the delighted joy on Saerom’s face, the sparkle in her eyes reflecting the stars in the sky.

“Hanyang! Make a wish!” Saerom exclaims, finally glancing at her.

As their gazes meet, Saerom falters. Her cheeks colour rapidly and she clears ,

“…Hanyang? What did you—ah, the shooting star is gone now.”

“I know.” Hayoung smiles. “I saw it.” It’s a lie.

Saerom squints suspiciously at her, “You were staring at me.”

“I saw it before that.”

“Did you make a wish then?”

“Mhm.”

Saerom seems to decide to buy it. For now. “What did you wish for?”

“Well, it wouldn’t come true if I tell.”

Saerom purses her lips, dismayed. Hayoung knocks their shoulders together and gives her a grin.

“Thank you. You know, for bringing me here. Showing me a shooting star. We should head back though.”

She gets up first, and offers a hand for Saerom to take. Saerom stares at her and bites back a smile as she grasps her hand, letting Hayoung to pull her up to stand.

“…Are you really not going to tell me your wish?”

“What are you, SNSD?”

Saerom huffs and Hayoung snickers. Their hands are still clasped together as they make their way out of the clearing.

(If they were to look up at the sky, at that moment, they would have seen another shooting star.

But you wouldn’t need shooting stars if your wishes are tangible, possible, reachable.)

They hold hands, even as their camp starts to be visible from a distance. Saerom tightens her hold around Hayoung’s fingers when they step into the camp area. They walk around the campfires, both already snuffed out and leaving only embers. There are only a handful of people still out, and Saerom doesn’t let go of Hayoung’s hand.

They only let go in front of the doors to their respective rooms. Hayoung takes off the scarf and hands it over to Saerom. Saerom takes it, and, after a moment of hesitance, reaches for Hayoung and pulls her into a hug.

“Thank you,” she whispers, achingly warm and close and tangible. Hayoung’s heart expands. She lets her go, stepping back. “Have a good night, Hanyang.”

“I should be the one who should say thanks,” Hayoung tells her.

Saerom just beams, her hand on the door. The warmth inside Hayoung’s chest gathers and pulses, refusing to ebb away.

“Have a good night,” she whispers back.

Saerom nods, lingers a little, beaming grin softening into a sweet smile. She waves at Hayoung, then goes inside her room.

Hayoung expels a breath, putting a hand over her mending heart.

(She doesn’t need shooting stars.)

 

 

 

(END)