Chapter Text
in order to understand kim minjeong and the predicament she has found herself in, chasing a stranger through campus, one very simple thing must be understood. something that would be glaringly obvious if anyone had witnessed minjeong’s near-breakdown over applying for this role; kim minjeong is an overthinker. a massive one, at that.
her problems, well, most of them, are internal mantras and analyses that would make her sound clinically insane if spoken aloud. they loop, they circulate, they tie themselves up in knots until minjeong’s stomach is the same, and she’s chewing off her fingernails at four in the morning.
what if i bombed that test? did i actually lock my door when i left this morning? what if i said something really weird when i got drunk with yizhou last night?
it’s like tinnitus; an annoying voice minjeong can never quite shake, one she never really figured out how to talk about, not even with yizhou. it’s just so difficult for minjeong to really explain it all. how her lungs feel like they’re caving in, how there’s a permanent lump in her throat, how the words die on her tongue before they can even leave her mouth.
right now, she’s on one of those anxiety rollercoasters, all of which surround a certain woman who is still a good few paces ahead of minjeong.
why did you suddenly become so cold to me? i thought my outburst, while spontaneous, made sense, given what you’re asking from me, but did it offend you? what do you think about me? i still really need that $200, fuck you and your long legs. god, why do you have nice, long legs?
minjeong can’t tell if she’s doing the wrong thing by charging through campus, right on jimin’s tail. is this going to be a total disaster, and minjeong should just save herself the complete humiliation heading her way like a steam train? definitely. would she rather get hit by that steam train than let jimin down by abandoning her and her stupid study? also definitely.
so, yes, while this entire situation is ridiculous and will, for sure, snap the last shred of minjeong’s sanity, she has her reasons for following her.
i felt empty the second you walked away from me.
jimin has turned out of campus and down a local street by the time minjeong catches up to her. naturally speaking, longer legs meant a longer stride. rather unfortunately, minjeong doesn’t have the time to study jimin’s long, cargo-clad legs as she speedwalks towards her.
there’s a third, very real problem, in minjeong’s opinion. yu jimin does not like her.
“you walk fast,” minjeong huffs, trying and failing to match jimin’s pace.
jimin slows down only a fraction of a pace, not enough for minjeong to comfortably walk by her side, but just enough to imply that she heard minjeong. she doesn’t say anything, not even when she wants minjeong to turn right; she just simply walks across the sidewalk and expects minjeong to follow her.
minjeong doesn’t know what the intention behind it is, nor what’s going on inside jimin’s head–she’s not a psychology student. however, she is human, and regardless of intention, it comes across as extremely egotistical, just like the emails. it’s really quite grating.
the warmth that had gathered in minjeong’s chest during the brief stint in the cafe, the ease that had built in her limbs from dinosaur stickers and charming smiles, freezes over completely as jimin continues to give her the cold-shoulder.
minjeong wants to say something, start something that somewhat resembles an everyday conversation. nothing comes to mind, nothing at all–minjeong’s brain is scattered in about three different places, seemingly focusing on two different personalities.
she is completely all over the place. she’s in her bed reading cold emails with a snort, she’s in a cafe trying to fight down a blush and a stammering heartbeat, she’s barely keeping up with a walking pillar of stone on their way to therapy.
who are you?
“you were a lot more chatty the first few minutes we met,” minjeong says, a little bite lingering underneath.
while a little headstrong, minjeong considers herself, on days when she doesn’t overthink every move she makes, to be quite pleasant company. she makes people happy with a smile, comfortable with a light giggle; something about her energy is just infectious. not that jimin, still stoic as she ignores minjeong’s question, seems to have caught the virus.
minjeong tries again as her sneakers hit asphalt, jimin directing her down a narrow, smaller street. “are you really just not going to talk to me?” minjeong asks, making a noise of disbelief as jimin picks up her pace. “how are you going to convince any therapist you even like me, let alone are dating me?”
jimin stops in her tracks. “what makes you think i don’t like you?” she asks, a few steps in front of minjeong, still not turning around. there’s a hint of concern in her voice that piques minjeong’s interest, even if it’s barely there, the smallest of wavers.
whether the concern is from the future therapist, concerned charmer of the cafe, or stressed-out student who’s scared her thesis will fall apart, asking the question, minjeong can’t tell. it only angers her further. the cold wind kisses her skin, oblivious to the red hot fury that burns underneath. “well, you were super nice,” minjeong starts, a wry drawl, taking a step forward. “then, really charming,” minjeong continues with another step, and now, she’s right behind jimin. “but since then?” minjeong scoffs. “you’ve been so, horribly, rude.”
jimin doesn’t respond immediately, lets a beat of silence or two wash over minjeong, long enough for minjeong to already begin to regret her outburst. she’ll cry on the phone to yizhou about this with minimal detail later, even if she’s not entirely sure how she can spin it.
i was mean to this hot, mean girl, don’t ask me how we met, and now i feel terrible and i want to cry. can i cry?
when jimin turns around, her face is blank, impassive, almost uninterested. dark eyes pierce straight through her. it makes minjeong feel uneasy, the dreaded, cold wind slipping into her lungs with a deep, hopefully steadying inhale, but all it does is freeze the fury in her chest from the inside out. “does my opinion bother you that much?” jimin says, monotone.
minjeong blinks as her mind begins to trip over its feet, running in the dark.
it does, it always does, especially if it’s negative. i think this is another attempt at understanding me from a psychological perspective, so you can avoid my questions. i don’t think i like it, i don’t think i like you, or, at least, this version of you. and yet, that part of me that wants everyone’s approval is desperately craving yours.
jimin waits for an answer, rhythmically tapping her feet against the sidewalk until minjeong finally comes up with one that isn’t any of those thoughts. “do you have any?”
“i haven’t decided yet if i like you or not,” jimin says simply, without even a shrug, as if minjeong isn’t worth it.
minjeong’s jaw clenches, the ice containing the fire beginning to thaw. “then, what, did you swap out with an evil twin after you bought my drink?” there’s questions that go unsaid, and minjeong has this horrible notion that jimin can probably hear them, anyway.
why were you so nice to me? did i do something wrong? what are you thinking?
jimin raises an eyebrow curiously, as if minjeong is acting completely ridiculous, potentially even stupid. “you were anxious in the cafe, wide eyes and unsteady on your feet,” jimin starts a little impatiently, as if she’s talking to a child she’s already scolded, and the rigid, blank stare roots minjeong in place. “you seemed even more anxious talking to ryujin, who can be fairly invasive, so i assumed a dominant but gentle personality that could guide you out of the situation would calm you down.”
minjeong is stunned into silence, and jimin isn’t finished. “i read you, and i adapted to what you needed in that moment,” she continues, the same thick, monotone drawl pinpricking into minjeong’s skin like a thousand needles. “try not to read too much into it,” jimin finishes, before turning on her heel and continuing the journey. the last part was just short of a snarl, clipped and controlled. not a sincere piece of advice, and not quite an insult, either–a murky, grey body of water in between.
minjeong feels like she’s drowning in it as her legs once again move to follow jimin. of course, she’s going to read very much into it.
they walk in silence for a few minutes, and it’s quite literally the worst few minutes of minjeong’s entire life. the lack of noise drags like minjeong’s footsteps, oppressive and tight, as minjeong is drawn further and further into her own mind. the silence sits heavy; a weighted blanket compacting her lungs like cardboard, a taut wire coiling tight around her ribs.
jimin seems to have all the ugly parts of minjeong, the parts she tries so hard to cover, completely unravelled in her fingers. the messy, unruly knot of her emotions, her personality, perfectly undone in jimin’s hands.
it’s annoying, it’s unnerving, it’s a nightmare. jimin’s voice rings in her ears; she signed up for this. does she really have grounds to complain about something that, quite simply, minjeong should have known would happen?
but how was i supposed to know you would be like this? you’re a chameleon, aren’t you? you can see every part of me, and i can see nothing of you, because you change from one person to the next, from one moment to the next. how do i find out your real colour?
“you’re very serious,” minjeong notes cautiously, casting a glance jimin’s way. “about the study, i mean, and i think i mistook that for rudeness,” minjeong says, attempting a more casual tone, as if the coffee she drank earlier isn’t churning in her stomach. as long as she doesn’t throw up on jimin’s designer coat, she can manage the queasiness.
when jimin doesn’t reply, minjeong wonders if jimin even heard her, or if she’s busy psychoanalysing the way minjeong walks. her shoulders are hunched, her fists are clenched in her pockets, and she’s trailing behind jimin in something akin to a jog. what does that say about minjeong, exactly? she looks to jimin again, wondering if jimin is instead measuring her stride, only to be surprised that jimin is already staring at her.
cheeks, nose, and the tips of her ears were shaded a light pink from the raw cold that envelops them. jimin actually looks human, especially as a little puff of cold air escapes parted lips. minjeong feels her heart rate tick up a few paces in her chest, her own skin beginning to shine a little under the weight of jimin’s attention.
jimin gives no indication of a similar reaction, not sheepishly removing her gaze or stuttering over her words. she simply just lets out a small sigh. it’s a sliver of emotion, and minjeong’s attention focuses on it as if there’s nothing else around her. not the sight of cute dogs playing nearby in the park, not the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg wafting through the doors of a local cafe and down the street, and not the sound of her own stuttered breathing. just jimin, only jimin.
“it’s imperative that i do not force a bond between us, and limit one if it does naturally form,” jimin explains, a lot more gentle than before, reminiscent of the way she first spoke. the deep, soothing roll slips under minjeong’s skin like smoke underneath a crack in a door. it’s there, and she can’t get it out of her lungs now that she’s inhaled. “it’s to protect the data i collect from bias.” jimin continues, gesturing for minjeong to follow her down a smaller alley to their left.
it’s just short of a complete 180 in behaviour; it almost steals the air entirely from minjeong’s lungs. from the soft flick of her tongue when jimin speaks instead of sharpness, how her eyes swell with something warm, round and inviting instead of narrowed and judgemental, all the way to the soft way she fits her palm against minjeong’s shoulders, fingers loosely wrapping around the jacket as a guide, rather than commanding by presence alone.
it’s a gentle letdown, and it answers a good portion of minjeong’s questions–minjeong’s shoulders heave as she lets out a sigh of relief, the tension that was dragging her body down dissipating almost instantly.
minjeong offers her a warm smile, and finds her vision going slightly blurry as jimin returns with a wide grin, shiny, flashy pearly whites and all.
i feel so much better; you don’t hate me. my footsteps feel lighter; my throat feels loose enough so i can breathe again. i’m comforted, thank you; that was exactly what i needed.
wait.
of course it’s exactly what i need; you’re a chameleon.
it’s not comfort if it’s orchestrated, it’s not kind if it has an ulterior motive, and it’s not anything other than hurtful when jimin goes rooting around inside her head.
it makes minjeong feel small, patronised like a child by someone who thinks they are just so much smarter than her. and hey, jimin probably is, but the constant reminder? it makes minjeong want to hit her.
anger flashes in minjeong’s stomach, hot and boiling. “jesus, are you capable of interacting with someone without bringing out a mental psychology textbook?” she scoffs, shrugging jimin’s hand off of her shoulder, rejecting the touch entirely.
jimin huffs from her side. “is that not what you needed?” she asks, almost smug, almost a sneer.
minjeong wonders if she’s imagining the smallest flicker of insecurity lying underneath, like something waiting to pounce on jimin and devour her entirely. “i don’t need it if you don’t mean it,” minjeong grumbles, putting a bit of distance between the two of them on the street. “it’s empty otherwise.”
when jimin doesn’t reply, minjeong is, in part, quite grateful, because she’s not sure she has the mental capacity for a lecture of ‘impact and intention within interpersonal relationships: a new thesis by yu jimin’. yet, there’s another part of her, significantly stronger, no matter how many times minjeong tries to swallow it, that misses the gravelling drawl already.
as jimin directs her to take another right, minjeong catches a glimpse of her face. cheeks much redder than before, hiding behind the thick-framed glasses, and minjeong can tell it’s not from the cold.
you look like such a nerd. is that all you are? do you even know how to talk to people without hiding behind psychology?
her lips are drawn together in something dangerously close to a pout, the widening of her eyes so intense, minjeong feels like they’re trying to swallow her whole.
for just this moment, jimin looks genuinely vulnerable, and minjeong doesn’t quite know what to do with that. she releases a shaky exhale, focuses her eyes back onto the sidewalk so she doesn’t trip over air. “i understand why,” she says, heart clenching when jimin makes a slight noise of surprise. “just don’t be a dick about it,”
minjeong thinks she hears jimin’s mouth twist into a barely there chuckle, but she can’t say for sure. “i’ll try,”
they walk in silence for the remainder of the way.
still, i wonder what you think about me; will you ever tell me? are you bothered that i find you pretty? do you find me pretty, too?
“it’s just here,” jimin says simply, her face back to her regular blankness, which minjeong assumes is her relaxed state. there are no remnants of the earlier tension lingering on her skin, and minjeong hopes she looks the same.
she reaches the building first, somewhat small and almost tucked away in the midst of other facilities or shops. she doesn’t move to open the door, casting a glance at minjeong, and minjeong can’t help but wonder which version of jimin is looking at her.
“why are you really doing this, minjeong?”
there’s a million answers to this question, i could list them off. for some reason, i don’t want to let you down, i want your pride and praise, i want to know the person who puts dinosaur stickers on her notebooks, i want to know what you think about me, i want the money.
minjeong goes with the last one. her voice is strong, and firm, not thin like a flimsy lie, because it’s part of the truth. minjeong just hopes the rest of her emotions aren’t transparent enough for jimin to see straight through. “i need the money,” she says with a shrug, and a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
jimin lips shift into something like a smile, but it’s so thin it’s barely there at all. “this is a big commitment for anyone, fake or not.” she pauses to take a breath. “we are going to explore very personal topics with each other, i just need to make sure you understand.”
she sounds like a therapist, something about it artificial, too practised. but it’s something, and when it concerns jimin, that seems a hell of a lot better than nothing–nothing only serves to make her more anxious. the only thing worse than nothing is when jimin goes fishing inside minjeong’s head. “it’s $200,” minjeong repeats. “i’ll be fine,”
jimin’s eyebrows furrow. “if you are uncomfortable at any point–”
“tell you,” minjeong cuts her off, rolling her eyes but lacking a certain spitefulness. “i won’t mess up your study, doctor,” she adds, trying to convey something sincere, almost as a reward for jimin for speaking to her like they are both human, instead of a robot processing data, and to hopefully coax something less ‘i read this in my textbook’ from jimin.
what she was not expecting, not at all, was for the tips of jimin’s ears to shine a pretty shade of red. “o-oh,” jimin stutters, dropping her eyes to the floor, and minjeong almost coos. “i’m, uh, i’m not a doctor, not for a while,”
oh? that, the stuttering, the delicate hue of pink adorning jimin’s skin, is definitely more than something. there’s an urge to tease, to say something else that would trigger another similar reaction, but minjeong knows it’s involuntary. there’s a worry that if she pushes too hard, jimin will pull taut, like a wire, more wound up and closed off than she already is.
“how long do you have left, then, jimin?” minjeong chooses to ask instead, hoping, praying even, for a response with some heart in it.
i don’t know why i want to know, but can’t you let me in, just a little bit?
she doesn’t get it.
the blush lingers, but jimin swallows whatever emotion is bubbling inside of her. “let’s not talk about our personal lives outside of the mandated sessions,” she says. it’s not unkind, but minjeong still, once again, can’t shake that annoyance.
minjeong groans in frustration. “then,” she takes a second, drawing closer to jimin, who remains unmoved, eyes now fixed on minjeong in a steely gaze. “what the fuck do i talk about in the mandated sessions?” minjeong asks through gritted teeth. regardless of anything, jimin is still asking minjeong to perform in a play that’s destined to go wrong, and it’s actually, in all honesty, quite fucking annoying when she doesn’t know anything about the role she’s been given.
jimin doesn’t rise to it, not visibly, at least, releasing a sigh herself. “i want you to be naturally unnatural,” she says without flinching. “give me all the awkwardness, all the stiffness that comes with the situation, i don’t want it to be practised.” she continues rapidly, barely stopping for breath. “but, when it comes to yourself, it might be easier to be honest.” something flashes in jimin’s eyes, making the advice sound somewhat charged, and with that, jimin is pushing open the door, looking over her shoulder with narrowed eyes, right into minjeong’s soul. “is that direction enough for you?”
minjeong hates that she doesn’t even have to think about following her.
⋆.˚
whatever minjeong had been picturing in the last hour, it certainly wasn’t this. granted, the first and last time she attended any form of therapy was during high school when her grades slipped. the guidance counsellor’s office had smelt like a sweaty shoe, always burning hot, and the counsellor himself had been utterly useless. take walks and drink tea, that’ll fix your intense fear of social failure.
there’s an air of discretion about it, as if its clients are on the higher end of society’s spectrum and require a bit of privacy. sparse yet colourful decor, live plants dotted on the receptionist’s desk, comfortable chairs next to small tables that showcase pamphlets with minimalist designs, so as not to alert passersby to the information they contain. minjeong’s impressed; she’s killed many catci in her twenty years of living.
it also looks, by minjeong’s standards at least, somewhat expensive. it’s well furnished, with brown leather that actually seems real, and cool from air conditioning circulating through the place. just like this morning in the cafe, minjeong suddenly feels incredibly out of place. she wishes she could ask jimin the simple question of ‘are you secretly really rich?’ without the older woman scowling at her.
she blindly follows jimin to the receptionist’s desk, doesn’t say a word as jimin signs them in.
jimin notices, and she doesn’t say anything, either. instead, she simply takes minjeong’s hand. then, she guides minjeong with a slight tug on loose fingers that wrap around her own into a separate waiting room.
neither of them says anything, no last-minute planning, and certainly nothing about the holding of hands, and then, the door directly to their right is swinging open. minjeong feels as if she’s in the waiting room for her own execution, now offering her head to the guillotine.
“hello,” their therapist greets them, stepping aside to let both jimin and minjeong walk into the room as they begin to stand up. her voice is unfamiliar to minjeong’s ears, as it would be, but there’s something unmistakably kind about it, and it sends a wave of calm across minjeong’s body, softly lapping at her skin.
jimin simply nods as she brushes past the woman, whereas minjeong offers her a warm smile before following in jimin’s steps.
jimin looks indifferent, barely lifting her head as she sits on the couch. it doesn’t look like tension, jimin’s posture slightly relaxed, minjeong realises as she takes the seat next to her, but something akin to routine.
interesting.
minjeong is trying not to sink into the comfortable couch’s black cushions as the therapist seats herself opposite them in a large yellow chair. “my name is dr kang, but you can call me seulgi, if that would make you more comfortable.” dr kang, or seulgi, begins gently, with an airy quality to her voice as she focuses her eyes on minjeong.
it makes minjeong shift her weight a little bit, confused.
i thought i was hiding it better. can everyone see how i feel, all the time? i thought i was getting better.
apparently, according to jimin and now seulgi, she has not. her jaw almost twitches; jimin will definitely make a note of this in that same, stupidly beautiful cursive she saw earlier.
“i have basic information about both of you,” seulgi continues, reaching into her handbag to pull out a very thin file, along with blank pages and a pen. “but i would like to know a lot more, especially the context of your relationship.”
okay, now minjeong feels a little uncomfortable. still, she has a job to do here, and she sends seulgi what she hopes is a convincing smile. jimin might’ve said no actors, and yes, minjeong has no formal training, but she thinks she can play the part of a young woman in a troubled relationship fairly well.
jimin clears her throat, but she makes no effort to speak, only offering another muted nod. minjeong feels her own annoyance spike–perhaps jimin is simply just incredibly infuriating, naturally?
“i see that you are both in your early twenties. is that correct?”
minjeong’s voice comes out hoarse, almost like a croak, when she replies. “yes,” she’s not sure why, given that it is not a lie, and it should not be even remotely difficult to answer that question.
why did i sound like that? why is jimin so quiet? i thought she would be leading this session? why do i feel like i need her to guide me, again?
what is it about jimin that has minjeong holding her breath, waiting for instruction?
seulgi tilts her head curiously at minjeong. “would you like some water?” it’s the same gentle tone jimin uses on her, but it lacks the distinct rumble of jimin’s low voice, and minjeong doesn’t find that much comfort in it, at least not right now.
minjeong shakes her head softly, even if her throat is drying out
the therapist looks between them with an unreadable expression. “if neither of you are willing to talk,” she starts, still warmth seeping into the tone. “i have to wonder why you are here,” it’s not judgmental or an accusation, instead, something coaxing. “why don’t you both introduce yourself to me, i’d like to address you by your names,”
minjeong narrowly avoids pinching her own thighs to cope with the war zone of stress taking place inside her body. here she goes. “i’m kim minjeong,” she says, a little quickly, a fake smile finding it’s way to her lips. “i’m twenty, a student at the local university, and i’m pretty nervous about doing this,” she finishes, casting a side eye in jimin’s direction, who is suddenly really interested in the blue carpet.
i’m surprised i even got through that unhitched. i was half convinced i was going to call myself min kinjeong and say i was a thirty-seven-year-old professional mermaid.
pretty nervous doesn’t even begin to cut it. she feels like someone, maybe jimin, and her definitely accidental puppy eyes, is holding her head under freezing cold water, dunking her in and out repeatedly. she can barely catch her breath in this room, and she’s only been in here for five minutes.
when jimin still doesn’t say anything after a few beats of silence, minjeong rolls her eyes and elbows her rather harshly in the ribs. she’s not letting this be a solo mission of humiliation.
jimin lifts her head to narrow her eyes at her, lingering for maybe a second too long, but seulgi doesn’t comment.
“i’m jimin,” jimin says with a shrug and a brief look of acknowledgement towards seulgi’s direction.
jesus fucking christ; minjeong’s attending couples therapy with a brick wall. she might scream.
seulgi nods at jimin’s response, seemingly unalarmed, unsettling minjeong further. then, she puts down the file, hands clasped loosely across the tops of her thighs as she leans forward, and just about gives minjeong and jimin something just short of a blow to the head with a blunt object.
“what would both of you say is your biggest problem with any of your relationships, not just each other?”
minjeong blinks, the question already hitting too close to home. she knows what this one is.
she’s been trying to deal with it, she has, but it’s a little too raw, a little too fresh of a wound to take off the bandage and show seulgi, let alone jimin. she looks to her side, sees jimin looking at her expectantly. minjeong shakes her head, eyes starting to grow a little wide.
why are you making me walk the plank first? can’t you see how anxious i am? you really must hate me.
jimin nods, picking her nails as she speaks first. “i’m, pretty serious, kind of cold,” she shifts in her seat, flicking her eyes up to the therapist. “or so i have been told.”
it sounds a little rehearsed as it reaches minjeong’s ears. enough information to suggest it’s the truth, but too vague to dig a hole of emotional depth with the words. but, then again, if you study human behaviour, note down the meaning of every stressed syllable, every flicker of inflection in tone, wouldn’t you become a world-class liar, too?
seulgi nods, writing a few notes, and then looks at jimin without a hint of judgement, warm and open. “do you have trouble getting close to people?”
minjeong hears jimin’s breath hitch, the pitch rising with it. “yes,”
that sounded a lot more real, eliciting a bit of a snort from minjeong. trouble would be an understatement; minjeong’s convinced it would be almost impossible for jimin to get close to anyone with her nose buried in a psychology textbook and psychological gibberish on the tip of her tongue. she quickly mutters a sorry and covers her mouth when she realises, only from the mildly offended look on jimin’s face, that she did indeed snort outloud.
sorry, but it’s a little bit funny you’ve spent all afternoon hiding yourself from me, and even i can see this is a fatal flaw of yours.
seulgi doesn’t even blink at minjeong’s interruption. “do you know why?”
jimin’s voice is a little tight when she replies. “i’d rather we don’t explore that today,” she says, casting a nervous glance minjeong’s way. minjeong almost rolls her eyes, almost gets up and starts clapping at jimin.
jesus christ, you’re good at this. how am i supposed to follow a performance like that?
she’s given herself a secret, something she wants to hide from both the therapist and minjeong, supplying a mystery to be sought out, something for seulgi to sink her teeth into. she’s given herself layers, already building a character with parts to be peeled back. she’s covering enough to remain a mystery, but allowing a glimmer of something to peek from behind the curtains, so seulgi thinks there’ll be something there when she coaxes them open.
a part of me wonders if you’ve done this before, or does pretending to have an emotional history with a stranger come naturally to you? i am curious how much of that you made up, because some of it? it felt pretty real to me.
“that’s okay, we can explore that later,” seulgi replies. “minjeong, what about you?”
mnjeong looks back at jimin, which feels like a mistake. jimin, who is looking straight at her, suddenly looks so much younger, almost child-like. vulnerable, eyes a little watery, looking away now that minjeong is focused on her.
oh.
this is intentional; all of it. from the shaking fingers to cryptic answers, it seems that jimin can also play the role of troubled young woman in a relationship falling apart perfectly damn.
she can’t say the perfomance hasn’t entrapped herself, hell, she’s halfway to handing jimin an oscar already. it’s magnetic, it’s impossibly disarming, jimin’s wasting her time in psychology and should be attending a drama school instead.
minjeong clears her thoat softly; she’s going for performance by an actress in a supporting role, herself.
“i’m a little bit, uh,” minjeong starts, unceremoniously gesturing rapidly with her hands, the word completely escaping her. okay, fumbling her lines a bit here.
jimin’s voice is like booming thunder. “intense?” she offers.
minjeong swallows harshly, avoiding the therapist’s curious eyes. “yeah, you could say that.”
jimin had managed to take the word, the one that had been struggling for oxygen on the tip of her tongue, and push it out into open air. not only can she read minjeong like a book, she can also write the book for her. it feels, to minjeong at least, completely calculated. as if jimin had instead looked her in the eyes and said ‘there’s no point hiding, i can see you clearly. ’
this is totally not grounds to freak out.
the office suddenly feels a little narrower, tilting on its axis. minjeong might be freaking out.
seulgi offers her room to say more, but minjeong is too interested in staring at her own trembling hands to step into it. she feels hot again, the damn sweater choking her out. when minjeong says nothing, still quietly shaking, seulgi offers them a bone. “i can see why that would make you both an amazing couple, and give you some problems.” seulgi pauses for a second, smiling quietly. “i’m glad you are both here.”
minjeong almost chokes on her saliva, and even jimin freezes, just slightly, in muted shock. it would be funny, jimin’s surprise that this, any of it, is somewhat believable to a trained professional, if minjeong didn’t feel like she had just been shoved out of a moving vehicle and into oncoming traffic.
“can you elaborate on that?” jimin asks somewhat calmly, fingers twitching with what minjeong assumes is excitement.
looking to the small clock on the table in front of them, next to some well-placed tissues, minjeong notices they only have thirty minutes left. what the fuck? it’s like she blinked and lost at least fifteen minutes. how long did the therapist let them wallow in the thick silence between minjeong’s rigid, horribly performed answers to her questions?
time is like a vacuum at therapy, existing on its own set of rules and bending them whenever it would like, apparently.
seulgi hums thoughtfully, as if she’s placing her words carefully in order not to set off a bomb on the couch. “minjeong needs someone like you, jimin; someone steady and serious,” she starts gently, looking between them briefly.
all sorts of alarms start blaring in minjeong’s head, her throat clamping shut. “can i have that water, actually?” minjeong croaks, tugging at the neckline of her sweater.
minjeong apparently needs the hot, emotionally unavailable filing system sitting next to her, who won’t even let them create a friendship, and can see through minjeong as if she’s made out of glass. just hit minjeong with that steam train now.
when seulgi gets up to retrieve the cup of water from another room, minjeong lets out a shaky exhale. jimin’s hand is on her shoulder in an instant, and minjeong can’t quite bring herself to look at her.
“are you doing okay?” jimin asks softly, lips a few inches from her ear, hushed and thick with concern.
don’t lean into the touch, she doesn’t mean it. she doesn’t mean any of it.
goosebumps erupt across minjeong’s neck. “i’m fine,” minjeong says, melting a little under jimin’s palm, feels the heat under it even through her sweater. “it’s just a lot, especially with a stranger,”
why are you touching me? is this a psychological tactic? or, have you figured out, already, that something in me craves something in you?
she thinks she hears the ghost of a smile on jimin’s lips when she replies, “doesn’t that make it easier? we won’t have to see each other, deal with each other’s problems, once this ends.”
nevermind. if you did figure that out, you don’t seem to care.
minjeong doesn’t reply.
seulgi returns with the cup just moments later. minjeong tunes out the conversation entirely, eyes focused vacantly on the potted plant in the corner, her ribcage tightening around her lungs, like a snake suffocating its prey.
minjeong feels like she’s no longer in her body, let alone in seulgi’s therapy office.
she can hear jimin’s voice, deep and steady but with a slight edge to it. minjeong makes out phrases and comments she can’t quite put together in complete sentences.
‘this happens sometimes,’ ‘anxiety’, ‘she’ll come back,’
she’s sure seulgi replies, vaguely recognises her voice, but her comment from earlier lingers, stinging as it echoes in the hollow space inside minjeong’s chest. as if travelling through one ear and then looping back through the other, minjeong can’t quite ignore it.
minjeong needs someone like you, jimin.
the sentence wouldn’t scare her so much if it had come from someone else, someone who is trained to study and interpret the dynamics of those before them. the sentence wouldn’t scare her so much if minjeong didn’t have a graveyard of failed relationships. the sentence wouldn’t scare her so much if it weren’t about jimin.
jimin, painfully beautiful, sparingly attentive, seemingly already living in the corners of minjeong’s mind after maybe an hour of knowing each other. jimin, who hasn’t decided yet if she even likes minjeong or not. minjeong tries to take another sip of water, only to find that there is none left in the plastic cup her fingers are wrapped around.
it’s fine, minjeong thinks; everything is fine.
“so, how long have you two been together?” seulgi’s voice is clear, slices through the air, and the static minjeong feels she is stuck in.
everything is not fine.
minjeong exhales as if she’d been cut with a knife, blinking rapidly as her senses return one by one. lavender floats to her nose, sticks to her exposed skin. blood blooms on her tongue, and it’s only then minjeong realises she’s been biting her lip. warmth seeps into her shoulder, spreading to her chest. when minjeong turns her head to it, she sees jimin’s palm resting there, naturally, easily. then, finally, minjeong hears her.
“hey,” her voice says quietly, coaxing, and not at all demeaning.
something inside minjeong’s chest cracks, and the smallest of smiles flickers across her lips as she’s brought back down to earth. while grateful, she can’t help but feel a little guilt tug at her stomach. she feels bad for jimin, leaving her alone with seulgi while she retreated into her mind. minjeong realises she really, for lack of better words, needs to lock the fuck in.
“do you need me to repeat the question?” seulgi asks gently.
minjeong lifts her head as she, without tremor, places the empty cup on the table. “no, it’s fine,” she says, feels jimin squeeze her shoulder gently before retracting from her body.
jimin breathes a sigh of relief, audibly relaxed, and minjeong swallows without difficulty for the first time during the session. everything is fine, until they speak at the exact same time.
“six months–”
“two years–”
shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
everything is not fine.
minjeong’s eyes go wide like saucers, her mouth hanging open as she quickly looks at jimin for help, avoiding the narrowing of seulgi’s own eyes, the corners of her eyebrows lifting in total and utter confusion.
jimin to the rescue. “two years since we first started dating,” jimin says without a hitch, not even the hint of a shake. “six months was technically the last time we tried again after breaking up,” she continues, smoothing over the jagged edges of minjeong’s mistake.
minjeong finds herself turning back to seulgi with a vigorous nod; everything is fine, even if her skin starts to turn a slight pink at the implication. she’s back inside her own brain now, dismisses the earlier…inner turmoil, let's call it.
she can do this, and she’s not going to let seulgi’s comment knock her even further off track. she still wants that oscar.
“i see,” seulgi says neutrally, jotting it down. “do you take breaks, as a couple, often?”
jimin says “no,” just before a “yes,” confidently leaves minjeong’s mouth.
seulgi’s pen stops mid-stroke, raising her head at the pair, muted confusion now twisting into a deeper type of uncertainty.
minjeong’s breath hitches just a little bit, but this time, she doesn’t need jimin to save her. minjeong takes jimin’s hand that was placed on the dead space on the couch between them, offering jimin a sweet smile. “i would say every few months is fairly often, wouldn’t you, babe?”
minjeong doesn’t quite know where the pet name came from, but, hey, it felt natural coming out of her mouth, and that’s what jimin wants her to say, right? she doesn’t get a chance to think about why that felt natural, why it slipped from her lips with ease.
jimin’s jaw twitches before her body relaxes into minjeong’s hold. “yeah,” she says, a little breathless. “i would,”
a few beats of silence pass as they look at each other, jimin’s eyes twinkling with something that looks somewhat akin to pride, and minjeong finds her own smile starts to curl into something more sincere.
see? i can do this, jimin. aren’t you proud of me?
“i would, also, count that as often,” seulgi interjects, looking between the pair unreadably.
whether that’s because minjeong has suddenly remembered how to act when you are ‘dating’ someone, or because they keep contradicting each other, minjeong isn’t entirely sure, and panic starts to brew in her stomach again.
fuck, i should’ve just stayed zoned-out. i don’t think i can do this, i’ve messed this up already, i’m sorry.
seulgi puts down the notepad without words, the expression on her face pensive, before she focuses on the pair with fingers that are still intertwined, sitting, now, a little stiffly on the couch.
“your dynamic confuses me,” seulgi starts, and minjeong can actually see the cogs begin to turn inside seulgi’s brain. minjeong holds her breath as jimin tightens her hold, almost as if she’s bracing for impact.
well, she is. this could be the moment four years go down the drain, and it’s back to the drawing board for another thesis idea. something tells minjeong that this is the one jimin really wants to write, though, and she’d like to know why.
jimin clears her throat. “right?” strained, almost panicked.
minjeong’s heart clenches in her chest.
“you both seem like troubled individuals,” seulgi continues, treading carefully. minjeong tries to ignore the fact that it felt a little similar to a punch in the face. “and you also seem to have a little tension between the two of you.”
seulgi takes a beat to look at them, really look at them, and minjeong is convinced this is it. it’s so over, and jimin’s going to never talk to her again. she’s ruined everything, she’s so sure of it.
“i think i know why,” seulgi says, and jimin squeezes minjeong’s hand so hard, it actually hurts a little, leaving indentations where her nails have dug into minjeong’s skin. minjeong ignores the flutter in her lower stomach as she turns jimin’s way, trying to send her any message that symbolises the lump of apologies caught in her throat.
please forgive me, please don’t leave me after this, please let me know you.
“how’s your sex life?” seulgi’s voice is quiet, calm, and yet, it’s almost like it just shattered glass, the previous silence of jimin and minjeong completely destroyed.
jimin starts coughing violently, and seulgi immediately pushes a full cup of water in jimin’s direction. minjeong didn’t even notice the cup, can’t wonder when seulgi even got it, because she has significantly larger fish to fry in this moment. she’s pink all over, from her fingertips to the top of her neck, spluttering something completely unintelligible.
jimin is not faring much better. jimin, who is currently chugging a cup of water like she needs it to breathe after hacking up half a lung. jimin, who–
minjeong's not sure if she can ever look at jimin again after this.
minjeong starts blinking rapidly, as if this is all a horrible, bad dream, and the room will disappear from her hazy eyes if she thinks of something else. she didn’t think anything could be more embarrassing than the cafe/barista/staring at jimin incident, but seulgi has just proved her wrong.
this is fine, minjeong now prays. her stomach resembles a celtic knot, twisting and churning. her heart is pounding against her rib cage at the speed of usain bolt, aiming for a world record.
this is just awful-how is someone supposed to react to this question? would it be any less embarassing if it were with someone she was intimate with? minjeong hopes she never finds out, this is not a conversation she wants to have ever again, neither with or without jimin.
“i’m okay,” jimin rasps, hitting a fist against her chest as she coughs for a final time.
her voice is now impossibly deeper. minjeong tries really hard to think about something else as the sound curls around her spine and drags up the entire length of it, leaving goosebumps on feverish skin in its wake.
“should i repeat the question?” seulgi asks, eyebrows once again drawn together in confusion.
minjeong’s stomach drops to her ass. “no!” she shrieks, waving her arms rapidly in front of her.
“that’s not necessary,” jimin reassures her, a little calmer than minjeong, but still strained, still tense. if minjeong’s face has gone a little green, jimin’s face is red, and she’s subtly trying to cover it with her bangs and glasses.
it’s not really working, but then again, minjeong is too busy deep breathing and counting to ten to really notice, but it's a nice reminder that jimin is human, and does indeed feel human emotions such as embarrassment.
seulgi gives them a second to settle back onto the couch, seemingly noticing how the pair have put a few more inches between them. stiff and rigid jimin next to shaky, still red minjeong. “so, how is it?” seulgi prompts them, picking her pen up again.
how do you even begin to answer this question when it’s about yourself and a total stranger?
minjeong squeezes her eyes shut briefly before attempting a bright smile. “totally fine,” she says.
unfortunately, it’s said only half a second before jimin inhales sharply and grumbles, “awful.”
seulgi clears her throat. “since this seems to be a sensitive topic, and we don’t have much time left, i suggest we pick this up in a later session,” she tries, an attempt to ease the tension that’s pulling the room tight.
at least a couple disagreeing on this topic is not a red flag for a fake relationship.
jimin’s voice rings as cold as ice in minjeong’s ears. “that’s a good idea,” firm, no room for argument, not that minjeong was going to argue with her, anyways. she’s not exactly dying to talk about her entirely fake sex life she shares with the hot, doesn’t like her, emotionally unavailable filing system.
⋆.˚
minjeong welcomes the biting air that greets her once they step out onto the street. almost immediately, her mind begins to wander.
i can’t believe we got through that session, can you? did you get what you wanted out of that? would you tell me if you did?
she’s not really sure if she’s happy about that, or not. she lists the pros: more money, more time to try and figure jimin out, and then the cons: more time for jimin to spend digging underneath her skin and slipping into the blood that runs through minjeong’s veins.
the jury is still out when jimin clears her throat.
“for the interview,” jimin starts, shifting her weight between her feet, almost unsteady, as if the session itself had knocked the air from her lungs, and her brain is lacking the oxygen to remember how she wants to interact with minjeong. “people are more comfortable in her own spaces.” her voice reaches minjeong’s ears as a monotone drawl.
jimin isn’t asking.
it should annoy her, really, that jimin expects minjeong to just invite her into her dorm, her most private place. it kind of does, but, in all honesty, the session exhausted minjeong, and she doesn’t have the energy to fight jimin on this. there’s an odd sense of normalcy to it, especially after the whirlwind of the last hour. jimin can go back to ordering her around, vaguely being a dick, and minjeong can go back to blazing with annoyance.
everything between them is fine.
minjeong, also, isn’t sure if she can actively form a sentence herself, so she simply nods and starts walking. she doesn’t feel particularly confident in anything right now. as her feet move, she’s uncertain of the route she’s taking, even though she’s come down this street many times before.
it all feels shifted, tilted, flashes of jimin’s vulnerability flickering behind her eyelids every time she blinks. wide eyes, warm palm, parted lips–so pretty.
was that all for show, for the therapist? was any of that for me? is that why you seem a little shaky, because you didn’t for me to see something so close to the truth? or am i just seeing what you want me to see?
her legs feel wrong as they walk, she doesn’t know what to do with her hands as they sway by her sides, and she can’t bring herself to look at jimin. it’s like a part of her, the part that makes minjeong herself, is still stuck on that couch, with jimin and seulgi internalising and studying everything she says, every way she moves.
a shudder drags down minjeong’s spine as she forces herself to put one foot in front of the other. she feels like she’s outside seulgi’s office again, walking to her own demise. but, she survived that, barely, but she survived. so, in theory, as jimin would probably put it, she can surely handle having jimin in her home for three hours?
you are going to be in my apartment, in my space, and i’m not sure how i feel about that. i don’t even feel like i’m inviting you in; it feels like you’re already there, waiting for me.
i’m not sure if i want to kick you out and lock the door, or hand you your own key.
for the first time since minjeong met jimin, lavender trails behind instead of guiding her forward.
⋆.˚