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Mina wakes to the sound of curtain rings scraping against the pole that holds them in place and the sun piercing through her tired eyelids. She whines from her nose and rolls deeper into her bed, tries to catch the tendrils of sleep that are quickly slipping through her fingertips. She was dreaming of something beautiful, feels a pang in her chest as the recollection of it dissipates like billowing smoke floating up, up and—
“Minari,” she hears a gentle voice coo, a sound just as beautiful as the dream, maybe. If only she could remember it. “Wake up, birthday girl.” Her eyes flutter open against the bright light of the sun standing proudly in front of her window. Sana beams at her and Mina sleepily wonders if she has just been pulled from the sky and placed in her bedroom.
“Hi,” she mumbles, tongue clicking in her mouth to lessen the impact of the lingering sourness of slumber.
Sana giggles in her Sana way and it makes Mina think this may have been the dream in the end, that she may have never woken up at all.
But then there’s a thud. A thud and a groan and Momo enters the room stumbling over her own two feet—Mina thinks this must be better than the dream.
“You were supposed to wait for me,” she whines, eyes fixed on Sana with a hard glare that is answered with nothing more than another giggle from Sana’s endless supply. There’s a cupcake in her hand and there’s a candle that’s not lit and Mina sits up feeling like a cloud. “I couldn’t find a lighter,” Momo admits with pink-tinged cheeks and a half smile. “But you still have to make a wish.”
And so they sing their song and Sana pulls her close and Mina blows out the invisible flame with a wish that feels too large to fit in one universe.
“What did you wish for?” Momo asks, eyes wide and mischievous like every year before.
“If I tell you, it won’t come true,” Mina chastises just the same. Sana breathes out another laugh and, with that, it feels like yet another tradition completed for the day.
“We have to go get ready,” Sana sighs heavily, lets her body slump against Mina’s bed like she really doesn’t want to leave. “We’re supposed to be leaving in like, less than two hours.” But she doesn’t let go of Mina’s hand, and she opens her mouth to demand a bite of the cupcake that is definitely not for her.
Mina wiggles until there’s room for Sana to drape her legs across the bed and she thinks if her eyes stay closed for another second, sleep will surely trickle down her spine and keep her captive on Mina’s shoulder.
“If you don’t get up, Nayeon unnie will use all the hot water,” she teases and Sana whines and Momo barks out a laugh.
“Our reservation is for nine,” Sana reminds gently when she finally musters up the strength to pull away from the warmth radiating from Mina’s sheets.
“Happy birthday,” Momo says once more against her hair before pressing a kiss where the words landed.
It’s quiet for a few minutes after they leave. She hears the front door open and shut and then she hears only the hum of silence and figures she must be the only one awake.
Inevitably, Sana and Momo are a whirlwind. Their presence culminates into so much of something—so much of everything—that it feels almost like an absence of air when they take their leave. Mina looks around her bedroom, feels slightly disoriented in a way that is so familiar, in a way that is almost welcome because despite years of friendship, Sana and Momo will always be a force of nature that leaves her rocking on her heels.
It takes a few long moments to gather herself well enough to stand on tired feet that carry her through the halls of her apartment. They pad gently against the hardwood and she wishes that she had enough forethought to put slippers on, feeling the cold seep between her toes and curl up her legs. The kitchen is warm, though. It’s warm and bright and Jihyo hums a song that Mina doesn’t know—she loves to listen anyway.
“What song is that?” She asks when Jihyo stops, voice barely above a whisper because the oil in the pan is not nearly loud enough to call for anything more.
Jihyo’s shoulders jolt in surprise and Mina’s face splits into a grin.
“God, Mina,” she breathes out, clutching her chest in a show of dramatics that Mina rarely sees in the girl. But then she softens, and Mina sees the crinkled furrows of her brow blend into something gentle and she feels her own teasing smile droop into bliss. “Happy birthday, Mina-chan,” Jihyo giggles, says it in Japanese because she’s been practicing and the smile on her face puts the playful words to rest before they can make their way past Mina’s lips.
“Thank you,” she says instead, once she’s enveloped by the smell of Jihyo’s coconut shampoo in a hug almost as tight as Jihyo’s arms around her.
“Come, sit,” Jihyo orders. She makes her sit at the table and her smile is contagious as she settles against the stove once more. “Breakfast is almost done.”
“You didn’t answer me,” Mina whines petulantly, pouts so deeply she’s sure Jihyo can hear it. “What song were you humming?”
Jihyo leans forward then, inspects the contents of the pan like it holds the secrets of the world but her face flushes red and her smile is shy. “I’ve just been writing some stuff,” she mumbles like she hopes Mina won’t hear.
Mina hums, “I’m glad,” and Jihyo’s cheeks radiate so much heat that Mina forgets about her slippers.
It doesn’t take long after that for Jihyo to set three plates of food on the table and wake Jeongyeon up with the gentleness of a bear. “Good morning,” she grumbles, scowl lightening into a smirk as she settles at the table. “Happy birthday, Minari,” she croons teasingly.
Mina rolls her eyes because it’s what Jeongyeon wants and sticks her tongue out for good measure and Jeongyeon’s overjoyed chuckles send something proud sparking through her veins.
A weight settles like a heavy realization in her chest when she watches Jihyo and Jeongyeon making faces at one another and kicking shins under the table and she tries to remember a time that she’s ever felt this content. Feels a panicked sort of desperation when she can’t come up with anything.
“I love you,” she says abruptly. Watches Jeongyeon’s mouth hover over a bite of sausage and sees Jihyo’s eyes flicker between the two of them before a warm grin pulls at her lips like she’s helpless. “I just wanted you to know,” Mina mumbles, a sudden need to excuse herself washing through her with a fierce urgency.
“I love you,” Jeongyeon says first, teasing tone replaced by something serious and kind and so wonderfully sweet that Mina feels silly tears prick at her eyelids.
“I love you, too,” Jihyo adds as she reaches over to squeeze one of Mina’s hands.
They don’t ask any questions and Mina makes a list of things she could have possibly done to deserve to have people that understand the very fibres that make her up the way they do.
[…]
It’s barely eleven o’clock when Tzuyu enters the dressing room with a cake and a dimpled smile so bright that Mina feels her heart swell. Nayeon and Chaeyoung follow behind her, clapping and laughing and filming and Mina can’t even find it in her to be bothered by the makeup unnie’s displeased frown when she turns to the source of singing with an excited squeal.
Chaeyoung makes her Tim bear dance and Nayeon holds her hand while she blows out the candles and Tzuyu makes her promise to wish for something meaningful.
“It’ll only come true if you really want it,” she says with a stroke of seriousness, so Mina wishes, and the candles go out, and her heart outgrows the confines of her ribcage.
[…]
Dahyun waits for her Vlive to finish and holds her hand and makes her laugh until her sides threaten to rip at the seams.
“So,” Dahyun starts, swings their hands as they venture through the maze of the company’s corridors. “How has your birthday been so far?”
Mina opens her mouth, a simple good about to roll from her tongue like a script engrained into her DNA, but Dahyun’s gaze is expectant, patient in a way that makes Mina take a deep breath instead. “It made me realize some things,” she says. Dahyun’s eyebrows raise like she’s surprised but she is so achingly curious and eager and—“I just feel like I know myself,” she continues, “right now, in this moment. I feel like I know how to be happy.”
Dahyun’s smile is radiant, something precious and rare and so awestriking when she tugs Mina against her in a hug that feels as familiar as breathing.
“I’m happy, then,” Dahyun mumbles, just barely louder than Mina’s blood beating in her ears. “You deserve it more than anyone.”
[…]
It’s been a tradition since the first birthday Mina spent in Korea—her and Momo and Sana celebrating together. Things were different when they were trainees, of course. Momo and Sana had scraped together whatever money they could to buy a few cupcakes and some party hats and a meal to share and they told Mina her first birthday in a new country had to be special.
Sana and Momo were a package deal—everybody that had ever come across them knew this. They were two sides of the same coin, two peas in a pod, and every other cliché run dry to describe a pair that has been written in the stars.
But they made room for her.
They carved out a space that belonged to Mina and tended to their relationship with her until she flowered and bloomed and felt sure enough of her place within the three of them to stand on her own. Sana and Momo quickly became Sana and Momo and Mina and, despite them still being a pair forged by the flames of destiny or the universe or whatever other force too massive to comprehend, she settled between them like it intended for her to fit there as well.
(Sometimes, Sana’s imagination is so loud, and Momo’s eyes are so wonderous that Mina thinks the two of them are bigger than the universe, anyway—figures their word is as good as fate.)
She had been seventeen and wide-eyed when the two girls hooked their arms into hers and promised to make her day special, wide-eyed and innocent when they hugged her like they would love each other forever. They had known each other for two months, but Mina let herself believe them with the trust of a bond built on eternities.
Now, she’s twenty-four and the two girls stand strong in her life like time has stood still and she lets herself be engulfed by the warmth of her personification of home.
“Ready?” Sana asks despite the fact that her fingers are already tangled with Mina’s and her impatient feet are guiding them outside. It’s a realization that leaves a bittersweet taste on her tongue—that despite all of Sana’s burning eagerness to love at every corner, she will always leave herself open to rejection.
Mina squeezes her hand tighter. “Yes,” she breathes once the night air hits her lungs. Momo’s already waiting outside with a party hat and a smile that carries Mina’s feet to her like there’s no other option.
“I found this in my drawer,” Momo explains like she needs to. “I’m feeling a bit nostalgic.”
She could’ve said much less and Mina would have still secured the strap under her chin with the care of handling something delicate—she figures memories are the most delicate thing of them all. Knows it, because she’s been drowning in the pool of them that her birthday never fails to fill to the brim and each one is as beautiful as the last. It’s sweet and dizzying in a way that reminds Mina of Sana’s favourite perfume—that despite all the change, all the new in her life, Sana and Momo are still the ones she’ll end the night with, are still the last memory she’ll clutch onto as she falls asleep like every year before.
They stand on each side of her, swing each of her hands in theirs while Sana sings a song and Momo hums the tune. Momo stands taller, too. She straightens her back and levels her shoulders and Mina lets herself feel small and protected between them. It’s such a familiar role, something so comforting that if she closes her eyes, she thinks she can recall walking this same path with these same souls in a thousand different lifetimes.
“You’re quiet,” Sana mumbles, taps the party hat once, twice, until it slips to the side of her head. Mina steps over the cracks in the sidewalk with care and listens to the sleepy buzz of the city in the distance.
“I’m always quiet,” she argues. Momo tickles her finger against Mina’s palm until she squeals and pulls away and she can’t find it in her to be mad when Momo’s laughing eyes shine under the streetlights.
“It’s your birthday,” Momo says, “you have to talk.”
Mina looks from Sana to Momo and then back again. A smile melts through her pensive expression and she tugs them forward faster.
“Can we do takeout instead?” She asks as they fall in step with her once more.
There’s not a moment of hesitation before Sana hums and nods and says, “whatever you want.”
Each day the sun rises and sets, and each night the moon takes its place, and under the sheet of darkness and pinholes in the star-speckled sky, Mina believes her.
[…]
They order so much food that Momo spends the entire walk to the park focusing on balancing the containers between her palm and her chin and Mina is too busy giggling at the sight to dwell on her cold hands shoved in her pockets.
“I can help,” she offers for the third time while Sana shushes her, phone held in front of her face to capture Momo’s devastatingly concentrated expression.
“No,” Momo grunts, “I got it.”
Sana dangles a bag containing nothing but beer and hooks her arm through Mina’s with a sigh. She says, “she lost fair and square, Mitang,” and Momo mocks her with an irritatingly whiny voice that does nothing but stoke the roaring fondness pooling in Mina’s chest.
Momo places all the bags on the ground before collapsing onto the grass that’s been dampened by the cold. Sana sits next to her, pats her head with a type of care that seeps between them only in their most private moments. Then she tugs on Mina’s finger until she’s sitting, too, and Mina doesn’t have time to register the dangers of public drinking before a beer is shoved in her hand.
“To our little baby,” Sana coos, pinches her cheek in a show of affection that will never cross the line of overbearing. And then they’re drinking, long gulps as they finish their mandatory first bottle, and Mina can’t quite tell if the alcohol is more intoxicating than the feeling of being loved.
Eating is quiet the same way it always is. They eat until they feel like they’ll burst, and then they eat some more, and Sana laughs so hard that she snorts at the sight of a dazed Momo reaching for one last bite of whatever’s in reach before she falls on her back with a thud.
“I’m never eating again,” she groans heavily, gets two murmurs of agreement as Sana and Mina move to lay on their backs next to her.
“This is what we did on your first birthday here,” Sana notes quietly, pressing tighter to Mina’s side while they look up at the stars twinkling something hopeful before their eyes. “Is that why you wanted takeout?”
Mina lets her head loll to the side with a lazy smile on her face, any self-preservation put to rest by the gentle haze of beer swimming through her head. She hums a quiet yes and Sana’s smile is brighter than the moon.
“Something in the air today,” Momo breathes out, eyes falling shut and looking so peaceful that Mina thinks even the beaches and waterfalls and birds singing their morning songs must envy her. “We’re all reminiscing.”
“You’re still quiet,” Sana notes, tone carefully sculpted to be curious and not demanding and Mina thinks she’s filled with so much love right now, enough to replace the dark spots on her insides and so much that if you cracked her open that’s all you would find.
“Do you ever…” her words fizzle and die in her throat as she tries to make sense of the thoughts that have been mulling around her insides since she woke up. “I’m really happy,” she starts instead. Momo’s eyes blink open blearily and Sana looks so teary-eyed and awestruck that Mina’s laugh bubbles past her lips before she can stop it. “I don’t know how to explain it but something feels right,” she continues. “And I wanted to say thank you.”
She doesn’t say what for, doesn’t say for being my first home away from home or for being patient with me, not even for taking me out today. And she definitely doesn’t say thank you for loving me, because she thinks somehow, they must have heard the words held captive by her worried heart anyway.
Momo kisses her cheek, and then Sana kisses the other if only to not be left out. They smell like beer and fried food and their giggles mingle in the chill of Spring night.
“Do you remember when we first became friends?” Sana asks with something wistful woven into her words. Mina snorts loudly and Momo smiles at the sound despite the huff pushing from her mouth and condensing into a cloud of frost. “Momo wanted to talk to you so badly,” Sana continues, somehow makes her smile audible.
“And then she didn’t say a word when you came over,” Mina says through loud laughs that leave her breathless.
“I was a shy kid!” Momo whines harder, but her eyes are gleaming at the sight of Mina so carefree that she can’t find it in her to fight the teasing.
“I’m glad you did,” Mina mumbles once their laughter dies down. “Come over, I mean.”
“Me too,” Sana sighs deeply.
“Me three,” Momo chimes in.
They sit in silence for a few more moments, listen to the distant sounds of life of people that may never know them. Mina’s heart thumps with each car horn and slamming door and cheer or shriek or shout from the unknown. Sana leans into Mina and Mina leans into Momo and they bask in the comfort that comes only with knowing the deepest intricacies of each other until—
“Gross,” Sana whines, high-pitched and nasally as she shoots upright. “I got grass in my hair.”
[…]
Later, when their garbage is in the trash and their beer bottles are empty and Sana and Momo drop her home before giggling down the hall to their own apartment, Mina falls asleep with the memory of three girls dreaming something bright and beautiful held in the palm of her hands.