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Chapter Text

There’s a new figure skater in their rink. At least, that’s what Seokjin tells her when Yoonji shows up to practice that morning, tired and a little sleepy from cramming her philosophy paper. 

“Hoseok told me,” he says simply, handing her an iced americano. “He said he heard it from Namjoo who heard it from Jungsook who heard it from Taehyung who heard it from the guy himself, because he’s apparently in his basic algebra class and mentioned that he was a skater and would be training at our rink.” 

Yoonji grunts in acknowledgement, taking a sip of her americano before plopping herself down on the bench and pulling out her skates. It’s a little cold today—the warm summer mornings quickly giving way to a biting winter, and both Yoonji’s ears and the tips of her fingers are starting to feel a little numb. She knows she’s going to have to give up her iced americanos soon, but at the moment the cold’s still manageable, and she plans to cling on to them for as long as she can. 

Besides, it’s usually Seokjin who gets them for her. He’ll know when it’s time to swap it out for something warmer.

Seokjin takes the seat next to her and nudges her with an elbow. “Say something,” he says, voice colored with amusement. “I just updated you with the hottest gossip in our little circle and you can’t even say thanks?”

Yoonji clears her throat. “Thanks,” she says obediently, trying not to wince as she’s lacing her skates. Her foot started to bleed yesterday; Yoonji's going to need to be more careful today. “But it sounds a little sketchy. I’m supposed to believe this random piece of news you heard from some shady guy?”

“I told you, I heard it from Hoseok,” Seokjin repeats patiently. “Who heard it from Namjoo who heard it from—”

“Yeah, yeah, I got that.” Yoonji says. She finishes with her left one and gets started on the right, sighing a little as she tightens the laces around her toes. “But, you know. You don’t know where Hoseok got his gossip.”

“From Namjoo,” Seokjin supplies. “Who got it from Jungsook—”

Yoonji abandons her laces. “Can you stop?” She demands. “I got it already.”

“Are you sure?” Seokjin asks. “Because I can always repeat it. Listen well, Yoonji. Hoseok heard it from Namjoo—”

Yoonji glares at him. “Stop,” she repeats, turning back to her skate, unable to stop her lips from twitching. It’s difficult not to smile especially when Seokjin looks like this—eyes sparkling with amusement, his smile carefree. He’s always a lot better in the mornings than she is, filled with energy and a vitality for life that Yoonji struggles to find at five am. In contrast, Yoonji skates better in the evenings, when the sun dips below the horizon; when the day is over and there’s nothing left for her to do except skate. They complement each other that way. 

Yoonji finishes lacing up her skate, putting a bit of weight on her foot to check if everything’s properly tied up. Seokjin, in contrast, is still working on his, his fingers moving slowly but surely. 

Yoonji watches him for a few seconds, gets impatient waiting for him, then gets to her feet. “Last one on the rink pays for breakfast later,” she says, and takes the five steps needed to get on the ice.

She hears, more than sees, Seokjin’s indignation. “Hey,” he calls out after her, his voice muffled by the wind suddenly rushing in her ears. “Stop leaving me behind.”

Yoonji grins at nothing in particular. “That’s what you get for being slow,” she calls back, and proceeds to do her on-ice warm ups.

. . .

Seokjin’s mysterious new figure skater arrives at the rink about ten minutes into their warm-up, chatting amicably with their coach. He’s compact, a little smaller than Yoonji imagined, but there’s a sort of grace in his movements, like he’s performing in a dance only he’s aware of. He isn’t dressed for practice—he’s just in a pair of sweatpants and a puffer jacket, no training bag at all, but something tells Yoonji he’s someone to watch out for, skill and power hidden under the layers of her clothes.

A little ways behind him, Yoonji spots Jungsook—and by extension, Taehyung—both looking like they’re ten seconds from falling asleep where they stand and trying their absolute hardest not to. 

“See,” Seokjin whispers to her. His attention is directed on the newcomer, who looks at home in the rink already. “I told you. I heard it from Hoseok who heard it from Namjoo who—”

Yoonji elbows him hard. “Is there anything else you know about him?” She asks. “Literally anything else.”

Seokjin thinks for a moment. “He’s from Busan, apparently,” he says, finally deciding to be useful. “Used to be a contemporary dancer, but then stepped on the ice and fell in love with it. They’re hailing him as some sort of ice skating prodigy.” He pauses, and Yoonji just knows what he’s about to say. “At least, according to Hoseok—”

“Coach!” Yoonji yells, skating away from Seokjin. She hears Seokjin snicker and then follow behind her, the sound of his skates almost in sync with hers. “Good morning. Can you please tell oppa to leave me alone before I slit his throat with my skate?”

“She wouldn’t actually do that,” Seokjin says from behind her, probably for the benefit of the newcomer. “I think. Yoonji, don’t actually do that.”

Yoonji doesn’t even turn to look at him. “Try me.”

Fortunately, their coach just laughs. “Good morning to you both,” he says. He’s a jovial man—stocky and round, but he’s got an eye for beauty and a genius-level understanding of the sport. He’d trained Yoonji ever since she was five, took Seokjin in when she was seven, and then proceeded to coach them through various performances and competitions. Yoonji always says she would never be able to find a coach who understood her as well as Coach Bang does, and Seokjin always says same and gives whoever they’re speaking to finger guns. But she knows that he really does mean it; she’s known Seokjin since he was eight and she knows that if Seokjin really hated something, he’d speak up. The fact that he’s still with her now speaks multitudes.

“The both of you are already doing your warm-ups?” Coach Bang asks. At their nods, he grins. “Good, just keep going. I’ll be back with you guys shortly, I just have to get Jimin settled in.” He nods towards the newcomer, whose name is presumably Jimin. “He’ll be skating in this rink with us today, under Coach Sungdeuk and Assistant Coach Kibum.”

Jimin nods, his face lighting up. “Hello, I’m Park Jimin,” he says politely, bowing. “I hope we get along well.”

Yoonji bows back. “Min Yoonji.”

“Kim Seokjin.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Jimin says. His in-born grace aside, he actually seems quite lovely, something both ethereal and adorable in the set of his features. “I heard you’re both friends with Taehyungie and Jungsookie?”

Taehyung and Jungsook, Yoonji finds, are already dozing off on the bleachers, unused to the early hour. Which makes sense, as Jungsook’s hockey practice isn’t until later afternoon and Taehyung is never in the rink unless Jungsook is. Still, Yoonji thinks it’s kind of sweet that they’re here as Jimin’s moral support. Even though they’re going about it asleep.

It’s Seokjin who answers. “Yeah,” he says. “Those are our…delinquents.”

“Menaces,” Yoonji supplies. 

“Demons,” Seokjin adds, something fond in his tone, “who use every opportunity to try and weasel free food from us.”

“We’re not demons,” Taehyung slurs out from the bleachers. “We’re angels. Right, Jungsookie?”

The only reply is the sound of Jungsook’s quiet breathing.

That only seems to endear Jimin, his smile growing wider. He really does seem quite sweet. “Honestly, I have no idea why they’re here,” he tells them, obviously doing his best not to roll his eyes fondly. “I mentioned to Taehyungie that I’d be here this morning, but I didn’t actually expect them to show up.”

Yoonji shakes her head. “Don’t worry, they’re literally always here,” she says dismissively. “Jungkook trains in the afternoon and Taehyung likes to watch her. But we should head back to our warm up,” she says, waving a hand. “You know how it is. Bye, Jimin-ssi. It was really nice meeting you.”

“Same,” Seokjin says, and Yoonji can just imagine the finger guns he’s shooting right now. “If you want, you can join us for breakfast after. Usually we just do something light plus a protein shake, but seeing as these two are here…”

And just as he says it, Taehyung and Jungsook miraculously wake up. “Oppa, let’s go for breakfast,” Jungsook says, her words heavy with sleep. “I’m hungry.”

Yoonji lets out a sigh. “You just had to mention breakfast, didn’t you?” She asks, directing the question to Seokjin.

“I thought they were asleep!” Seokjin protests, laughter in his tone. Yoonji rolls her eyes, shoots Jimin a look—see what I have to put up with?

Jimin’s grin doesn’t even waver. “Maybe not today,” he says. “I just came by to discuss things with Coach Bang, then I have to head to SNU after. But I’ll definitely take you up on that offer some other time.”

“You’re always welcome,” Seokjin tells him nicely. “We try to keep things friendly at the rink.”

“Cool.”

Coach Bang shakes his head, still smiling. “Get back to training,” he tells Seokjin and Yoonji, shooing them back where they came from. “Don’t you have a gala performance in a few weeks? Better make sure that footwork is clean.”

Yoonji grins back at him. “It always is,” she brags, before shooting Jimin a small wave and turning around to push Seokjin backwards.

“Oppa, we’ve discussed this so many times,” she scolds, no heat in her tone. “You do not, under any circumstances, mention anything related to food to Taehyung and Jungsook. They always take it as an invitation.”

Seokjin just lets himself be pushed backward, something mischievous in his expression as he looks down at Yoonji. “Yeah, but you have to admit, they’re kind of cute,” he says. “And you’re kind of cute when you’re annoyed, Yoonjichi.” A pause. “At least, that’s what Hoseok who heard it from Namjoo who—”

Yoonji pushes him hard enough that he glides a few meters back before turning around and skating away, the sound of her skates hitting the ice oddly harmonious to the sound of his squeaky laughter. 

Yoonji finds that she can’t even be too mad about it.

. . .

Yoonji’s weekday schedule looks something like this:

At four-forty five am she wakes up, throws on whatever she can find, grabs her protein shake and heads to the skating rink, where Seokjin will be waiting for her with coffee and a clever quip. They skate together for around two hours—or until one of them gets hungry—then they head out to grab breakfast together at a little coffee shop just down the street. They stay there for about an hour, either just chatting or cramming their schoolwork, before they go their separate ways—Seokjin to Konkuk and Yoonji to Hanyang. Then they attend their classes, do their schoolwork— do what normal university students do, before meeting back up at the rink at around four. After that it’s another three hours of training—learning choreography and off-ice conditioning while the hockey team trains, and freestyle when they get their time on the ice. After that is free time; Yoonji can do whatever she wants to or needs to, but it’s lights off at ten pm to ensure she gets enough rest for the next day’s training.

It’s a bit packed, but it works. Has worked for the last sixteen or so years, ever since she’d started competing. 

When Yoonji gets to the rink at three, Seokjin’s already there, a few minutes earlier than her like he always is on a Monday. He’s watching the sight in front of him with amusement—Minho, a university student whose part time job consists of driving the Zamboni on their ice rink, getting snarked at by Assistant Coach Kibum, standing in the corner of the rink.

“Can’t you go any faster?” Assistant Coach Kibum complains. “You’re eating up the hockey team’s ice time.”

Minho doesn’t even look bothered. “You try driving this thing, then.”

“I’ll drive it over your face.”

“That’s nice. You’re always so sweet, Key.”

Yoonji steps up into the space beside Seokjin. “They’re arguing again?” She asks resignedly.

“Yep,” Seokjin replies. He cocks his head thoughtfully. “10,000 won says it’s their backhanded way of flirting.”

Yoonji shakes her head. “I know better than to take that bet,” she says, dropping her bag onto the floor. She nudges Seokjin with a shoulder, passes his usual afternoon barley tea towards him. “It’s definitely their backhanded way of flirting.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Amazing that you even noticed,” he says, something dry in his tone. He takes a thoughtful sip of his tea before turning to Yoonji, something glimmering in his eye. “Did you miss me?” He simpers.

Yoonji rolls her eyes, unable to stop her lips from tugging up into a smile. “Not really,” she says. She sips on her own drink. “Maybe you should ask Hoseok who can ask Namjoo who can ask Jungsook who can ask Taehyung.”

Seokjin laughs, delighted. “I’ll do that,” he tells her. And, because he’s insane, he actually does it—turns to call out to Hoseok, who’s sitting on the bleachers with Taehyung. “Hobi,” he calls. “Can you ask Namjoo if Yoonji missed me?”

“What?” Hoseok calls back.

“Ask Namjoo if Yoonji missed me!”

“Why?” Hoseok says, puzzled, but does it anyway. “Babe, did Yoonji-noona miss Seokjin-hyung?”

“What?” Namjoo replies, sounding utterly confused. “How should I know?” And as expected, she turns to Jungook. “Jungsook, did Yoonji-unnie miss Seokjin-oppa?”

Jungsook doesn’t respond immediately—Minho’s driven the Zamboni off the ice, and she's skating back on it, doing a few twirls for fun. “Let’s ask the puck,” she eventually declares, and then drops the puck she’s holding, fires it straight into the net at supernatural speed. “...I think that’s a yes.”

“That’s my baby!” Taehyung hoots from the bleachers.

“She thinks that’s a yes,” Namjoo yells at Hoseok.

“Namjoo says Jungsook said the puck says yes,” Hoseok calls back to Seokjin.

Seokjin turns to her, smug expression on his face. “Oh, you did, huh?”

Yoonji rolls her eyes, exasperated by her friends’ antics. “Whatever,” she says. “Pucks don’t know anything. Hockey lugs don’t know anything. What are you doing asking Namjoo? She doesn’t know anything.”

“Namjoo knows everything,” Seokjin says simply. “Her IQ is 148.”

“Yeah, before it got knocked out of her,” Yoonji snarks. “Now it’s minus 148. Brain cells died in the tackling.”

Seokjin laughs. “See,” he says, nudging her gently. “If you would just admit you missed me, we wouldn’t have to go through all this.”

Yoonji grins up at him. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“Oh, Jimin’s here!” Yoonji hears Taehyung exclaim. Taehyung’s excitement is adorable to watch—he jumps up from his seat, waving towards the entrance. “Jimin, hi! We’re over here!”

“Hi, Taehyung,” Jimin calls back, sounding just as happy to see him. “Watching the hockey team practice?”

“Yep,” Taehyung replies sunnily. “They’re great! Seokjin-hyung and Yoonji-noona are skating again too.”

“Oh!” Jimin looks alarmed all of a sudden, looking around. When his eyes fall on her and Seokjin, he shoots them a smile, bowing in their direction. “Hi Yoonji-ssi, hi Seokjin-ssi.”

Seokjin waves a hand. “No need for the formalities,” he says, always one to be friendly. “You’re Taehyung’s age, aren’t you? Just call me hyung.”

Yoonji nods, gesturing to Seokjin to show her agreement. “Noona is fine,” she tells him. She catches sight of the training bag slung over his shoulder. “You’re starting training already?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jimin agrees, sighing a little. “Coach Sungdeuk wants me to start as early as possible if we’re going to do nationals this year.” He pauses. “You guys aren’t going this year, right?”

Yoonji shakes her head. “Nope,” she replies. “We’re taking a break this season—just finished our Olympic run, time for rest and recovery.” She makes a face. “You know how it is.”

Jimin’s eyebrows jump up his forehead at her words. “And yet you’re both still here.”

“It’s cause Yoonji can’t live without the rink,” Seokjin pipes up. “She draws all her life force from the ice.” He pauses. “And I get unwittingly tagged along, because that’s what teammates do, apparently.”

Yoonji rolls her eyes, a smile pulling at her lips. “He’s just clingy,” she tells Jimin.

Jimin laughs. “You guys are funny.” A pause, where Jimin looks like he’s mustering up the courage to say something. “Actually, I, uh. I’ve heard a lot about you and Seokjin-hyung.”

Yoonji raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” It isn’t that she’s surprised, far from it actually—she isn’t stupid, and she’s aware of their reputation, of what people say about them online. It’s been this way since 2017, when they won gold at Juniors; when that viral video of them was uploaded on YouTube and shared on Twitter, on Facebook, on every single social networking website in South Korea. Their skate at the 2018 Pyeongchang Winter Olympics had only added fuel to the fire, despite their disappointing finish. Then there was Beijing 2022, where they’d stunned everyone—skated better than anyone expected, showcased their outstanding chemistry to the whole world.

It’s that exact chemistry Jimin is thinking about, she knows; his eyes dart from her to Seokjin and then back again, a knowing glimmer in his eyes. But he seems to decide against bringing it up, just shrugs and does his best to look nonchalant. “Just that you guys are planning to do the Olympic circuit again,” he says, “and everyone thinks that you have a good shot at it this time around.”

His reply makes Seokjin laugh. “Of course we do,” he says good-naturedly. “I mean, I’ve known Yoonji since I was eight.” His smile morphs into something more wry. “She’ll do anything to make sure she gets that Olympic gold.”

. . .

“So let me just get this all down,” Jimin says later, when all seven of them are sitting in a small, homey Korean barbecue restaurant for dinner. He’s chewing on some food as he speaks, and he points at Namjoon. “Your name is Kim Namjoo, and you’re the female hockey team captain of SNU.”

“Yep,” Namjoo agrees. 

Jimin points at Jungsook. “You’re Jeon Jungsook and you’re…defense?”

“Forward, actually,” Jungsook corrects. “Namjoo-unnie and I are both forwards, she’s center and I’m left wing.”

“Jungsookie is the star player of SNU’s female hockey team,” Taehyung brags. His words make Jungsook color, leaning towards Taehyung to hide her face.

“And you and Seokjin-hyung are ice dancers,” Jimin finishes. Yoonji nods, leaning back as Seokjin piles a few pieces of meat on her plate. “With plans for the Olympic circuit again.”

Yoonji grins proudly. “Grand Prix again next year, and in three years, South Korea’s ice dancing representatives for the 2026 Milano Cortina Olympics.”

“Sadly,” Seokjin jokes, sighing dramatically, and Yoonji rolls her eyes, shoves him lightly in the shoulder. “When I was eight, someone told me learning to skate would help me get better at snowboarding.” He holds up a piece of meat in an unspoken question, and Yoonji shakes her head. “But then Yoonji clung on and like, never let go.”

Yoonji leans towards Jimin. “He was the only one stupid enough to think figure skating would actually help him snowboard,” she whispers, loud enough for Seokjin to overhear. “When I heard that, I knew I could get him to do whatever I wanted.”

Jimin laughs, his eyes lighting up with amusement.

“And Taehyung and I are the best of them all,” Hoseok volunteers, his grin wide. “We’re WAGs.”

“Hyung, I think the politically correct term is WASPs,” Taehyung interjects. “Wives and Spouses/Partners.”

Namjoo sighs. “How many times do I have to tell you, there is nothing politically correct about WASPs,” she says. “The idea of a WASP is inherently sexist.”

“But I’m fine being a WASP,” Hoseok says, reaching over to pat Namjoo on the cheek. “I love the idea of sitting pretty and doing nothing while I watch my girlfriend get to third base.”

“In many different ways,” Taehyung says, reaching over to high five Hoseok.

“There is no third base in hockey,” Namjoo says, long-suffering. “There are no bases whatsoever. Do you ever even listen to me?”

“Not really,” Hoseok replies, his smile teasing. “Most of the time, I zone out and stare at how gorgeous you are.”

Jimin’s smile is a permanent fixture on his face. “All of you are so cute,” he gushes. He directs his question to Hoseok. “How long have you been together?” 

“Namjoo and I have been together since high school,” Hoseok answers, and Yoonji can practically see the hearts falling from his eyes. “So around six years?”

“Jungsookie and I have been dating for a year and a half,” Taehyung adds.

Jimin turns to Yoonji. “And you?” He asks. “How long have you and Seokjin-hyung been together?”

Yoonji wracks her brain. “Coming up to be around…sixteen years of skating together, I think.”

“Feels like longer,” Seokjin laments. “Yoonji’s my forever girl.” He turns and blows her an over exaggerated kiss; Yoonji makes no effort to conceal the wince that’s crossed her face.

“Don’t call me that.”

Jimin shakes his head. “No, I meant like—how long have you guys been together together?”

And the entire table abruptly falls silent.

Yoonji can feel everyone’s attention on her, despite their efforts not to look. Beside her, Seokjin’s gone rigid, having frozen from where he’d been about to take a bite of his food. Namjoo’s staring at her with a pitying gaze, and Hoseok’s smile suddenly turns from genuine to something a little more forced. Jungsook and Taehyung exchange a look between themselves before turning to their food, determinedly picking on it so that they can pretend they aren’t listening in. 

They are listening in. It feels like the whole restaurant is listening in. It’s not even a big deal, but the way all the attention is suddenly turned on them makes Yoonji’s heart beat erratically, her chest clenching uncomfortably.

Jimin must sense the sudden discomfort because his smile slips off easily, a quizzical furrow appearing in his brow. “What?” He asks, to no one in particular.

It’s Seokjin who answers. “We aren’t,” he says, setting his chopsticks down. His words are stilted.

“What?”

Yoonji clears her throat, doing her absolute best to act casual. “We…we aren’t dating.”

. . .

Here are a few facts about Yoonji you may need to know:

Fact one: Seokjin’s her best friend. He has to be, at this point—Yoonji’s met and connected with many different people in all her years of living, but none of them have been as permanent as Seokjin, who Yoonji has known since he was a lanky little boy; none of them as consistent as he is, showing up to training everyday that he’s become a fixture in her life. He’s been around for so long that Yoonji barely even remembers life without him, can’t even fathom the idea that she once lived completely unaware of his presence. He’s as big of a part of her life as her parents or her older brother.

Fact two: she’s never had a different ice dancing partner. They were lucky to find each other very early on—even though at the time, Yoonji had dreamed to be a figure skater and Seokjin had wanted to be a professional snowboarder. The both of them had started ice dancing as, well, not so much a joke but an after-thought: a few weeks of this to improve my skills in another discipline. But then a few weeks turned into a few months which turned into a few years, and then she and Seokjin were suddenly learning complex choreography and joining various competitions and then winning said competitions. 

Fact three: the Olympic gold has always been her goal. Ever since she’d first seen a free skate routine on television during the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics; ever since she’d first stepped on the ice, wide eyed and eager. She’d known, even then, she’d wanted to get there someday, to hold up her country’s flag and hopefully bring home the gold. And Seokjin knows this, too.

(She has a memory she keeps close to her heart—she and Seokjin aged ten and eleven, hiding under a blanket during a sleepover. Coach Bang had discussed signing them up in their first competition, and the prospect made them giddy, unable to sleep, unable to let go of each other. Yoonji remembers vividly the way Seokjin’s eyes sparkled, the flashlight casting shadows on his face that made him look much older, remembers the mischievous curve of his lip as they spoke in hushed murmurs, not wanting to accidentally wake up Yoonji’s parents.

"What’s the end goal here?" Seokjin asked her then.

Yoonji remembers grinning. "Olympic gold," she answered. There was no hesitation, no waver in her voice. 

There was a pause, and then Seokjin’s smile grew. "A girl after my own heart," he said, and looking at him, Yoonji felt something run through her body, felt like she’d just experienced something cosmic.)

Fact four: when you put all these together, it makes sense that some things in Yoonji’s life would have to get cast aside. Things such as stellar academics or having a bustling social life; she does okay, but everyone knows her number one priority is skating. She doesn’t go to uni parties because too much alcohol fucks up her conditioning, and any friends she makes outside of skating tend to be kept at a distance, unable to relate to her priorities. She only really has her coach, her family, and Seokjin, the only ones who are as dedicated as she is in seeing this through. 

And this is where things get a little difficult. Because Yoonji wants that Olympic gold, promised herself that she wouldn’t stop until she got it. Promised that she would work hard, and that she wouldn’t do anything to ruin her focus, her chance. And when she and Seokjin started getting really serious about ice dancing, they also promised each other that they wouldn’t do anything to mess up this one, good thing they have going on.

So some things have to get cast aside. Things like academics and socials, but also things like the tiny little fact that Yoonji’s been painfully in love with Seokjin for years, and that Seokjin’s been in a reciprocal state for around the same amount of time.

But, like she said. It’s not a big deal.

. . .

The pause that rings out after her statement feels like it lasts eternities, though it couldn’t have been more than five minutes. “Oh,” Jimin eventually says, eyes widening in realization. “Oh. I’m—I’m sorry for assuming.”

It’s Seokjin who recovers first. “It’s fine,” he says, waving a hand. There’s a forced lightness in his tone. “No harm done. You aren’t the first one to think that, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok agrees. “Everyone who follows figure skating here in South Korea thinks so, too. I’ve read all the evidence Twitter threads and everything.” He snorts, clearly to mask his frustration. “They’re kind of funny, actually.”

“At one point I thought they were married,” Taehyung volunteers. When everyone turns to look at him incredulously, he shrugs. “When I first met them, they were bickering about ‘income-proportional expense sharing’. That sounded like married couple talk.”

That makes Namjoo laugh. “Why were you both talking about income-proportional expense sharing?” She asks, evidently trying to bring the table back to its former levity.

Yoonji and Seokjin exchange a look. “Did we?” Yoonji asks, confused. “I genuinely don’t remember.”

“Me neither,” Seokjin confesses. He takes a moment to think. “Maybe it was one of those hypothetical scenarios.”

“Maybe,” Yoonji says. “But really, I don’t even remember meeting Taehyung. Didn’t he just show up out of the blue and demand we buy him food like a demon?”

“Sounds about right.”

That makes Taehyung pout. “Hey, no, I was nice,” he argues, throwing a balled-up napkin at Yoonji. “I am nice. You buy me food because I’m especially nice. And memorable.”

“We buy you food because you’re annoying and pouty,” Seokjin shoots back.

“Ahem,” Jungsook interrupts, a warning in her tone. “There will be no violent insults directed at Taehyung-oppa unless you want to meet me outside in the parking lot.”

Taehyung beams. “Who wants to challenge my baby in a fight?” 

“Oh, Namjoo will,” Hoseok says, physically raising Namjoon’s hand. “Go babe. Show them what those muscles can do.”

Namjoon forcibly puts her hand down, but leaves hers and Hoseok’s fingers entwined. “No, I’m a pacifist.”

“A pacifist playing the most violent sport in the history of ever?” 

“Hockey is not violent,” Namjoo says indignant. “I told you so many times, babe—”

And then the awkwardness effectively dissipates, the entire table devolving into a rowdy discussion about hockey and on-ice violence. Yoonji leans back, pops a piece of meat into her mouth—happy to watch her friends bicker, content to listen to their inane arguments and points. Seokjin’s looking at her, she knows; can feel the weight of his gaze on the side of her face, and it makes Yoonji quiver slightly, something warm settling in her stomach. She scoots closer to him, and Seokjin gets the hint; throws an arm around her chair even as he raises his voice to refute a point thrown at him. His fingers brush against her forearm lightly, and Yoonji shivers, leaning into him.

Seokjin feels her move, looks down to shoot her a small, private smile, one he only gives her. Yoonji smiles back, watches as he turns away and jumps into the argument—disarmingly handsome as he always is, no matter how exaggerated his reactions are. 

When she eventually looks away, she finds Jimin watching them, something curious in his gaze.

. . .

“So what’s up, then?” Jimin asks her, a few days later. They’re doing ballet today in the dance studio where Hoseok and Taehyung train, and they’re just waiting for Seokjin and Coach Songdeuk to show up. Seokjin’s drink sits in the carton behind Yoonji’s bag—a latte he’d asked her to get instead of his usual barley tea. She’d hidden it there in case someone tries to take it away.

Yoonji continues stretching, her muscles loosening up. “What do you mean?” 

“With you and Seokjin-hyung,” Jimin clarifies. He hesitates, and Yoonji just knows what he’s about to ask. “Like, What are you both, exactly?”

“Humans,” Yoonji deadpans. “Ice dancers. Sometimes university students, too.”

Jimin gives her a look. “You know what I mean,” he says. He seems to realize how forward he sounds, because all of a sudden he’s backtracking. “I mean, like, only if you want to answer.”

Yoonji snorts. “It’s fine,” she says. She starts with her leg stretching—her hamstrings twinging a little in protest as she lunges forward on her right leg. “He’s…I don’t know. He’s someone who means a lot to me.”

“A lot in what sense?”

“A lot in…all the senses, I guess.” She takes a deep breath, letting her muscles relax. “What can I even say? He’s just Seokjin-oppa.”

“Just Seokjin-oppa?”

“Yeah.” Yoonji lets herself think about it, wincing a little when she accidentally overstretches. There’s a muscle in her back that’s been acting up lately; she’s going to have to see a physical therapist about it. “He’s like…the person who’ll always be with me no matter what happens.”

“Oh,” Jimin says, sounding taken aback. A pause where Yoonji breathes—inhale, exhale, stretching her muscles even further. “But doesn’t that make things hard?”

Yoonji’s brow furrows. “Make what hard?”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Jimin straighten up, shrugging as he does so. “I don’t know,” he says. “Life, I guess. Living. Dating.”

Dating. Yoonji chooses not to say anything in reply. Apparently, it’s the wrong thing to do—once she straightens, the right side of her body all loosened up, she finds Jimin staring at her like she’s just grown a second head.

“Noona, do you not date?”

Yoonji sighs. “I mean, I’ve never really thought about it,” she lies, shifting, to work on stretching out her left leg. “But not really? I guess.”

“But why not? You’re so pretty.”

That makes Yoonji smile. “Thanks,” she says, hearing her own laughter in her words. “But really, I’m just not interested. And even if I was, I don’t have the time for it.

Jimin tilts his head thoughtfully. “Does Seokjin-hyung date?” He asks. “He’s really handsome, too.”

The idea of Seokjin dating makes Yoonji feel a little ill. She swallows, doing her best to ignore her emotions; they have no place here—not now, not ever. “Not that I know,” she says. “I’m not sure, though. You can ask oppa yourself.”

“Ask me what?” Comes Seokjin’s voice from the doorway. He’s a little winded, the way he always is on a Wednesday—Yoonji knows that his Wednesday schedule is shit, has listened to him complain about it for weeks when they started the semester. Still, he always manages to pull it off somehow

“Nice of you to show up,” Yoonji snarks, although there’s no real anger behind her words. “Your latte is behind my bag, by the way. Had to sneak it past the receptionist out front.”

Seokjin blows her a kiss. “Thank you,” he says, heading toward Yoonji’s training bag. He pushes it aside, easily finding the latte, and the sound he makes when he takes a sip should be considered obscene. “God, Yoonji, You’re the greatest. You really are.”

Yoonji rolls her eyes, unable to stop the quickening of her heart. “Yeah, yeah,” she says. “Whatever. You owe me.”

“I’ll make it up to you, whatever you want,” Seokjin promises rashly. He takes another long sip from his drink. “Now what were you going to ask me?”

Yoonji turns to Jimin, an eyebrow raised. Jimin gets flustered at the attention, and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to back down, but in the end, his curiosity wins out. “Hyung, do you date?”

The question makes Seokjin pause. “Date?”

“Like, see other people,” Jimin clarifies. “Romantically.”

“Oh.” Seokjin takes a sip of his drink as he thinks, and Yoonji hates how tension’s coiled in her stomach all the way up her throat, hates how she’s also on the edge of her seat, waiting with bated breath for Seokjin’s answer. 

Eventually, Seokjin speaks again. “Not really,” he says, and Yoonji’s stomach unclenches, and she has to stop herself from sighing audibly in relief. “Just…between my final year of university and training, I don’t really have the time.” 

He makes to leave, but then stops, something unreadable crossing his features. His eyes dart to Yoonji, something knowing in his gaze, and Yoonji has to stop herself from looking away. 

“Besides,” he says, keeping his voice light. “I don’t need to date when I have Yoonji.” The corner of Seokjin’s lips tug up into something sincere. “She’s my forever girl.”

Yoonji flushes. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Never,” he promises, and then disappears out the door to get changed in the locker room.

. . .

(“We can’t,” Yoonji had said even as she gripped Seokjin tightly, her fingernails leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin. She’d taken a breath, then another, feeling like she was about to burst, fall right apart in between Seokjin’s hands. “Oppa, we…we promised.”

“I know,” Seokjin had whispered in response, his lips brushing against her pulse point, sparks travelling down her spine. “But God, Yoonji, I—”)

. . .

Sundays are the only free days they get from training. Yoonji wakes up at eight in the morning, lazes around in bed until ten, and then goes out in search of some food. Somehow she’s not surprised to find Seokjin in her kitchen, frying something up on the stove.

Yoonji just leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed. “I am so tired of seeing your face.”

Seokjin doesn’t even turn around. “My stove stopped working, I have no idea why.”

Yoonji hums. “Did you try turning it on and off again?” She asks, making her way into the kitchen to peek over his shoulder. Seokjin’s got some eggs on the pan and some white rice in a tupperware container, so Yoonji busies herself with popping a few slices of bread in the toaster and transferring the rice into bowls.

“No,” Seokjin answers incredulously. “How can I when it just stopped working?”

Yoonji rolls her eyes. “Did you plug it in?”

Seokjin pauses. “I don’t think I’ve ever unplugged my stove,” he says thoughtfully. “Where’s the plug? Where do I find it?”

“Behind the…you know what, never mind,” Yoonji says, sighing. She pulls out a few apples and oranges from the fridge, grabbing a chopping board to slice them up. “I’ll check it out for you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver.” Seokjin plates the eggs with a flourish then sets them on Yoonji’s dining table, where he’d previously laid out all her cutlery. “I mean, seriously. How am I meant to survive without a stove?”

“You’ll manage,” Yoonji replies dryly, slicing the apples in quarters.

“Will you cook me meals?”

“Of course not.”

“Then I might as well die,” Seokjin says dramatically, flopping onto the chair. “I can’t live without home cooked meals, Yoonji, I can’t.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Yoonji says fondly. She finishes slicing the apples and goes to start with the oranges. At the same time, the bread finishes toasting; Seokjin scrambles onto his feet to grab them. “Worst case scenario, you buy a new stove.”

“I guess,” Seokjin says. “But I made memories with that stove, Yoonji. We were together for a long, illustrious time.”

“The long, illustrious time of…the last year?” 

“It’s not about the quantity of time spent,” Seokjin insists. “It’s the quality.”

Yoonji rolls her eyes fondly, scooping the cut up oranges onto a plate and depositing it on the table. “Please stop talking and eat.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Seokjin takes a seat and pointedly takes a big bite of his food, cheeks bulging out as he chews. It always manages to make him look like a hamster. Yoonji hates how cute she finds it.

They finish the rest of their breakfast in silence, only occasionally speaking up whenever they need the other to pass them something. After that, cleaning up is an unspoken agreement; Seokjin stacks the plates and leaves them for Yoonji to wash as he wipes down the table, and then hangs around in the kitchen scrolling on his phone as he waits for Yoonji. When she’s finished, they take the remaining fruits to the living room, setting them on the coffee table. 

Yoonji plops down on the couch and Seokjin curls up next to her, his head against her shoulder. His body is one long line pressed against her side, the warmth of his skin seeping through her sleep shirt, and Yoonji enjoys the feeling a little more than she should.

“Episode six, right?” She asks, cueing up the drama they’re currently watching together. She feels Seokjin nod against her shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says. He sits up, uses a hand to brush her hair off her shoulder, before settling down against her, his breath blowing warm against her collarbone. For some reason, it sets Yoonji’s skin on fire.

Yoonji swallows, ignoring the quickening of her heart. “Let’s go,” she says, and relaxes further into the couch as the intro music plays.

Sundays are the only free days she gets from training, but she still spends them with Seokjin.

. . .

The way they fell into each other’s orbit was simple, easy, and yet in retrospect, inevitable. 

She was seven, he was eight. They’d been skating together under Coach Bang for a few weeks—Seokjin still a little clumsy in his skates— and they never once exchanging a single word despite their shared skating time. Yoonji had been practicing her pivots on one side of the rink, frustrated at not being able to get it right, while Seokjin had been practicing his forward one foot glides on the other. Yoonji remembers watching him when she’d paused for a minute, noting the determined expression on his face, like he either needed to get it right today or die trying. But see, his stance had been all wrong.

So Yoonji, in a fit of impulse, skated up to him, coming to an abrupt stop just a few meters away. “I think you should bend your knees more,” she said imperiously and Seokjin looked up, something like annoyance on his features.

He looked like he was going to argue back, say something along the lines of leave me alone, when something seemed to give him pause, his expression going slack. After a moment, he nodded and followed, bending his knees a bit more.

It still took him a few more tries before he’d gotten the hang of it, and when he managed to do six forward one foot glides, he’d turned to her, his eyes alight with glee. Yoonji had grinned at him, shot him a thumbs up, and then abandoned her pivot practice to do forward one foot glides with him.

When Coach Bang had called them over after ten minutes, she was so sure they were going to get into trouble. But Coach Bang was smiling, something knowing in his expression. “Can you do forward glides around the rink with Seokjin?” He asked.

She agreed. They chatted the whole time while skating, and she learned that his full name was Kim Seokjin and that he was from Gwacheon, and that he was doing this because he wanted to get better at snowboarding. 

“How does ice skating help in snowboarding?” Yoonji asked, all puzzled.

“No idea,” Seokjin promptly replied. “But I’m having fun.”

When they returned to the kiss and cry, Coach Bang had been speaking with both her and Seokjin’s mom, his voice fervent. “Did you see it?” He was asking, his eyes alight. “They have a natural synchronization—I think if we trained them together, we could achieve something great.”

Both their moms looked at each other, completely confused, completely uncomprehending. But then they’d hesitantly agreed, and the next week, when Yoonji showed up to training, Coach Bang had told her that she and Seokjin would be training as partners in ice dancing for the next few weeks.

Everything else fell into place after that.

. . .

Gala days aren’t as anxiety-inducing as competition days, but Yoonji still feels nervous, buzzing in her costume as she waits to be called on the ice. Beside her, Seokjin is outwardly calm, collected; he’s always better at putting up a front than she is, better at press than she is.

And there’s a lot. Of press, that is—sports journalists from every media outlet sitting in the bleachers, waiting to cover their performances. A lot of renowned names in the figure skating community as well: old national team members, internationally renowned coaches and skaters. All of them here to watch what South Korea has to offer to the figure skating community, all of them here to watch Seokjin and Yoonji, fresh off their last season, a couple of high profile wins and an Olympic fourth place under their belt.

They’re being noticed. More and more people are starting to pay attention. Yoonji thinks she’s going to shake right out of her skin.

“Calm down,” Seokjin says, reaching out to pinch Yoonji on the back of the hand. His hair’s been swept back, revealing his forehead, and that, coupled with the white and electric blue of his costume makes him look every inch the ice prince they call him. “It’s just a performance.”

Yoonji shakes her head. “It’s not just a performance,” she says. She fidgets with her sleeve; she always feels so awkward in her costume off ice, never really able to pull it off the way Seokjin does. She doesn’t have enough confidence, maybe; not enough charisma. “It’s like, it’s a lot of things—”

It’s a performance in front of everyone who matters, she thinks but doesn’t say, her throat constricting. They’re all expecting something, and I—

“Calm down,” Seokjin says again and this time, he reaches out to hold her hand, effectively stopping her fidgeting. He’s always been fluent in Yoonji’s silences and unsaid words, always able to read what’s on her mind with just a single glance. It’s what makes them so good on the ice together—they think in tandem, react in tandem. “We’ll be fine, Yoonji. We practiced for this.”

“Will we, though?” Yoonji asks. “Because, oppa, this is like—they’re watching us, now.”

“I know they are,” Seokjin replies. “But we’re ready to show them, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts.” He lets go of her hand in favor of wrapping an arm around her shoulder, and the pressure is grounding, helps Yoonji to breathe easier. “We can do this. Do you trust me?”

Yoonji takes a breath. “I trust you,” she says, not even having to think about it.

Seokjin’s smile grows. “And I trust you,” he says simply. “I trust us. Now breathe, okay? I promise we’ll be okay.”

“You promise a lot of things,” Yoonji points out, trying to aim for teasing, but far too nervous that it falls flat.

“Yeah, and I’ve kept them all, haven’t I?” Yoonji feels something soft against her temple, the barest brush of lips against her skin. “I’ve got you, Yoonji. Always.”

“On the ice, Min Yoonji and Kim Seokjin,” the announcer calls out, his voice booming from the speakers. Seokjin’s arm falls from her shoulders, his hand gripping Yoonji’s once more, and Yoonji does her best to smile the way she’s practiced.

Three steps into the ice, Seokjin speaks, his voice barely loud enough to be heard. “Hey.”

Yoonji feels anticipation build up in her stomach—one that’s lighter, one that chases away the nerves. “What?”

Seokjin’s grin is audible in his tone. “I glove you,” he says, like he always does before they skate, and his words make the knots in Yoonji’s stomach loosen, her smile morphing into something more genuine.

. . .

(They were eight and nine, and it was their very first competition, their very first foray into the world of competitive figure skating. To say that Yoonji was nervous would’ve been an understatement; she was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, trying her best not to hyperventilate. Seokjin was nervous too—she vividly remembers his trembling knees, his forced smile. Still, his grip had been firm in Yoonji’s gloved hand, and when he spoke, his voice was gentle. “Hey. Look at me.”

Yoonji took a deep breath, turned to face him. Seokjin looked back, and for a moment, they just stared at each other.

Then, in between one breath and the next, Seokjin’s smile had turned familiar, into the private one Yoonji’s grown familiar with. “I glove you,” he said unprompted, squeezing Yoonji’s hand tighter, and the shock of it made Yoonji burst into laughter.

Yoonji was still giggling when the music started.)

. . .

“Another stellar performance,” the reporter says to them, her eyes sparkling with happiness. Her name is Jieun, and she’s a familiar face in the sea of all these people—she’d been interviewing them ever since the first time they were invited to perform at the Korean Skating Union gala. One of the only ones who’d seen the potential hidden behind two awkward pre-teens with knobby knees and determined faces. “Wow. Seriously. You guys just knock it out of the park every time.”

Yoonji’s grin is sincere. She feels like she’s made of helium, flying higher and higher every passing second; the result of a near-perfect run and an explosive audience reaction. She thinks maybe she could fly away and never come back.

But Seokjin’s hand is on her lower back, and no matter how light his touch is, it always manages to bring her back to earth. He always manages to bring her back to earth, whether it’s from the peaks of her own euphoria or from the abysses of her own mind.

“Thank you so much,” she says.

“The both of you had an amazing Olympic run last season,” Jieun says. “And watching you both skate today was just—” she shakes her head, pressing two palms against her heart, “breath-taking, really.”

“I mean, it was okay,” Seokjin says, humble as ever. “I think Yoonji and I were just having fun on the ice. Isn’t that right, Yoonji?” 

“Speak for yourself,” Yoonji retorts, tone playful. “I was aiming for perfect.”

Seokjin laughs, leaning forward. “As you can see, between the two of us, she’s the more competitive one.”

“I think you complement each other very well,” Jieun says, her smile growing. “Your chemistry is also off-the-charts; I think I speak for not just myself, but for the entire audience when I say that earlier, we held our breath the whole time.”

“I held my breath too,” Seokjin jokes. “Yoonji has the tendency to sweat a lot.”

“Hey,” Yoonji says indignantly, elbowing him on the side. Seokjin grins down at her, leaning over to wrap her in an apology back hug. “I always smell good. You, on the other hand…” She rolls her eyes, shoots Jieun a knowing look. 

“For everyone watching that was a joke,” Seokjin pipes up, his chin hooked on Yoonji’s shoulder. “The both of us bathe regularly.”

Jieun shakes her head amusedly, her eyes darting from Yoonji to Seokjin. “Something else everyone wants to know: are you guys dating?”

Yoonji tenses, but she feels Seokjin shake his head. “We get that a lot,” he says, straightening up. His arms fall back to his sides. “But no, we’re just very good friends.”

“Have you ever dated? After that video of you both in Juniors—”

“No, never,” Seokjin answers emphatically, and only Yoonji can hear the slight change of his inflection, the way his words seem to come out a bit more forcefully. “Yoonji and I are very careful to ensure that there are no threats to our partnership.”

Jieun nods, mulling those words over. “So what’s next?” She asks, changing the topic fluidly. “Will we see more of you both in the upcoming figure skating season?”

Yoonji hums, thinking. “I mean, we’re taking this year off,” she answers. “But we’re still training this off-season. Then we compete again next year—nationals again, then the Grand Prix. Then hopefully, we get another shot at the Olympics.”

“Well, if you skate like you did today, I’m sure you’ll have nothing to worry about.” Jieun pauses, and Yoonji can see her mind working, trying to phrase her next question. “How far do you guys see yourselves going? Like we all saw what a great season you had last year, and we saw how amazing you performed today—what’s the end goal here? What’s your number one priority?”

It’s Seokjin who answers for them. “Well, my number one priority is Yoonji, of course,” he jokes, his face scrunching up into a laugh when Yoonji sticks her tongue out at him. “I mean, whatever happens, I have to make sure I don’t let Yoonji fall.”

“Obviously,” Yoonji deadpans, feeling her heart flutter in her chest.

“As for how long…” Seokjin cocks his head, tapping a finger against his bottom lip in thought. “Well, for however long she wants, really. I’ll stay by her side no matter what.”

Yoonji shakes her head, makes a disgusted face, but even still she can’t help but reach out and hold Seokjin’s hand, squeezing it tightly and hoping to whoever’s up there that she never needs to let go.

. . .

“No, it’s not fair,” Hoseok whines, pointing at Yoonji. He’s flushed red, tipsy from the first few shots of soju, his movements loose the way it rarely ever is.

It’s the end of October and it’s colder out, and Seokjin and Yoonji are out for drinks with their friends, after just performing in front of Everybody who’s Anybody.

“If we play with you, we’ll just—we’ll just keep fucking losing,” Hoseok continues.

Yoonji doesn’t care. “It’s exactly why we should play it,” she insists gleefully. “I want to win.”

“Is it really winning if you’re going to be cheating the whole time?”

“I don’t fucking cheat,” Yoonji says, affronted. “Oppa and I never cheat. We play fair and square, always.”

“We do,” Seokjin agrees.

“They do,” Jungsook agrees, and she sounds more angry about it than she should be.

“But fucking—” Hoseok looks around wildly, as if Seokjin and Yoonji are scamming him upfront and he needs to make sure he’s got solid back up with him. “How, fucking how do we compete with sixteen years?”

Yoonji shrugs. “As oppa once told me, it’s not about the quantity of time, it’s the quality.”

Seokjin snorts from where he’d been taking a sip of his soju. “You’re finally listening to me,” he says, setting his glass down to press his hands against his chest. “Heeding the words of your elder. I’m so touched, Yoonji-ssi.”

“Of course,” Yoonji says, grinning brightly at him.

“We should let them play, though.” It’s Namjoo who speaks up this time, definitely watching Yoonji and Seokjin’s argument. “I mean, if anything, we should show Jimin. He hasn’t seen the extent of it yet.”

Jimin blinks, caught off-guard. “The extent of what?”

Hoseok sighs. “The telepathy,” he mutters, resigned, and reaches over to snag Taehyung’s shot glass. “Their stupid telepathy.”

Taehyung leans towards Jimin. “It’s the stuff of fairytales.” He’s trying to whisper, but the alcohol he’s consumed seems to have severely impacted his aural faculties. “They can literally read each other’s minds.” He pauses, presumably for dramatic effect. “Of course, they don’t do anything interesting with it, they just sit there and have mental conversations about the fucking weather like old people.” 

“The weather?” 

“The weather is apparently a riveting topic of conversation for them,” Jungsook says dryly. “It’s all they ever talk about.”

Taehyung sighs. “If Jungsookie and I had what they have, we’d be so much better,” he complains. “I don’t need to tell her when I want her tongue in my—”

“Okay,” Namjoo says, at the exact same time Jungsook speaks up.

“Hey! I always know exactly when to put my tongue—”

“Okay,” Namjoo says again, louder. A moment where the six of them just turn to look at her, waiting. “But I genuinely think we should show Jimin, though. If anything else, he’ll finally understand how we all feel.”

“How you feel?” Yoonji queries but she gets ignored, Namjoo turning towards Jimin.

“You can ask them any question you like,” she tells Jimin. There’s a strange sort of resignation in her words. “Anything at all. They’ll always be able to answer the exact same thing, always.”

Jimin’s eyes widen. “Anything?”

“Anything,” Namjoo confirms. She gives them a side-eye. “I don’t think there’s anything these two haven’t talked about.”

“Have them type it down,” Hoseok urges. “That way they can’t cheat.”

Yoonji shakes her head, pulling out her phone from her pocket. Beside her, Seokjin does the same thing, unlocking it with a few taps before staring expectantly at Jimin.

“Go on,” Namjoo says.

Jimin pauses. “When are your birthdays?” He asks, and Yoonji lets out a huff of laughter, feeling Seokjin giggle beside her as they type out 4 December and 9 March on their respective phones. In front of them, Hoseok and Taehyung protest, taking offense at that question.

“Nothing that easy,” Taehyung complains. “Even I can answer that.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says. “Jiminie, we don’t want them to win.”

“We’re not competing though.”

“We’re always competing; has no one ever told you that life itself is a competition—”

“Done,” Yoonji announces and she and Seokjin slide their phones across the table. Hoseok doesn’t even deign to look at it, just pushes it back towards them. “Go, Jiminie," he says. "Ask them something else.”

Jimin pauses. “What is the name of Yoonji’s first love?”

Yoonji bites her lip to stop from grinning, types Brownie into her phone. Slides it towards Jimin the same time Seokjin slides his, and she watches expectantly as Jimin reads their answers.

“A…brownie?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “It’s the name of Yoonji’s childhood piano,” he tells Jimin, grabbing his phone back. “It was a brown, upright piano, and only she called it Brownie. Cried for days when they sold it, though.”

Jimin seems to mull that over. “Huh.” His eyes slide from Yoonji to Seokjin, and there’s a sudden intrigue in his gaze, a flash of intrigue. “The name of Seokjin’s first pet?”

Jjangu, Yoonji types out, grinning as she flashes her answer to Jimin.

“Yoonji’s first kiss?”

Yura. She passes her phone to Jimin, watches his eyebrows furrow as he compares her answer to Seokjin’s. 

“It was a girl she sort of dated in high school,” Seokjin explains, taking the opportunity to pour himself a new shot of soju. “She was…okay.”

“Nice,” Yoonji corrects. “She was nice.”

“She was okay,” Seokjin reiterates again, then throws back the shot. “She and Yoonji lasted like, three months before breaking up, I think. Then Yoonji never ever dated again.”

“She should, though,” Hoseok heckles. He gets ignored.

Jimin doesn’t even seem to care about the commotion. “Yoonji’s first childhood memory?” 

2002 Salt Lake Olympics

“Seokjin’s first childhood memory?” Jimin presses.

Getting locked in the bathroom.

“It was his hyung,” Yoonji explains, laughing when Jimin looks up at Seokjin questioningly. She picks up her shot of soju and tosses it back, wincing as the alcohol burns down her throat. “He locked oppa in the bathroom for hours because oppa was dumb and he couldn’t figure out how to unlock the door.”

“I told you so many times, the lock in our bathroom was one of those twist-y ones, and I was too young to understand how to work it,” Seokjin says indignantly. “The bathroom gave me so many nightmares after this, Yoonji, you know this.”

Taehyung sighs. “Told you,” he says, crossing his arms as he pouts. He looks up woefully at the ceiling. “God, why didn’t you bless me and Jungsookie with this all-powerful telepathy? We’d be cuter than we already are.”

“You’d be more insufferable than you already are,” Namjoo corrects, elbowing him. “You guys almost got us banned from three different establishments by having sex in the bathroom.”

Taehyung shrugs unapologetically. “When you gotta go, you gotta go.”

“Last thing Seokjin bought?” It takes Yoonji a moment to realize that Jimin’s asking them a question, the intrigue in his eyes burning brighter. Yoonji raises an eyebrow, types in jeans; realizes after a moment that this is a question about Seokjin and he’d probably come up with some smart ass answer and changes her answer into the last two bottles of soju.

The look on Jimin’s face when they hand him their phone tells her all she needs to know. 

Jimin is doesn’t say anything for a few moments, taking it all in. Then, “Wow,” he says, a little weakly, evidently giving up. He passes Seokjin and Yoonji their phones back, before turning to Namjoon. “It’s…it’s that bad, huh?”

That makes Hoseok snort. “Sixteen years,” he mutters, like that’s supposed to mean anything. “Fucking—sixteen years.”

. . .

Something she needs to clarify: Yoonji hasn’t actually been in love with Seokjin for sixteen years. That’s a gross exaggeration that her friends like to use to make her look more pathetic than she actually is. No, she’s absolutely fine, absolutely sane—she hasn’t been pining, hasn’t been languishing in the deepest pits of unrequited-but-also-sort-of-requited love. 

It’s actually something closer to five years. So she’s only slightly pathetic. A good amount of patheticity. 

It’s like this—Seokjin and Yoonji started out as friends, stayed friends as they grew up. They enjoyed each other’s company the way children do, always hanging out together, making jokes and playing pranks. They saw each other before school and after class almost every single day, and they always had each other to run to whenever they needed. They were different but similar in the ways that mattered, and that only served to strengthen their bond.

But then Seokjin kissed her in a rush of adrenaline, in a rush of euphoria; kissed her in front of their parents and their coaches and their own wildly-beating hearts. They were in Osaka and they’d just won their first gold at Juniors; Yoonji can still remember the way her ears were ringing when they announced their score, the nervous shock that gave way to absolute elation. Can still remember the way Seokjin had grabbed her, his eyes alight with triumph, with a victory that burned like wildfire.

His lips were soft, his movements gentle, and Yoonji could only clutch onto him and kiss back, her heart still pounding. Hadn’t thought to do anything else, hadn’t wanted to do anything else—hadn’t been able to think much past Seokjin.

(Sometimes, when Yoonji is feeling more pathetic than she usually lets herself be, she pulls up the video on YouTube, watches it over and over. On those days she thinks she can still feel it, Seokjin’s mouth against hers, never really letting go.)

Something shifted that day—like a loose cog clicking firmly into place, the last piece of the puzzle lodging into the final empty slot. And no matter how hard Yoonji tried, there was no just no way to take it back out.

. . .

A week after their performance, Jimin comes into the rink with bright eyes and an even brighter idea. 

“Shots,” he stresses as he skates after Yoonji during warm up. “The club. I’ve been living here for a month and I still don’t know what the party scene is like.”

Yoonji looks at him skeptically. “You were a big partier in Busan?”

“Well, no,” Jimin admits. “But Seoul is new ground. New territory.” He skates in front of her, and stops abruptly, turning around to strike a pose with his chest puffed out. “Here, I am a new man.”

Jimin, Yoonji is coming to find, grows more and more ridiculous the more she gets to know him. “No, you’re not.”

“You don’t know that,” Jimin argues. “I don’t know that. That’s exactly why we should go to a club.”

“If anything, we should not go to a club,” Yoonji argues. “Who the fuck goes to a club to get philosophical epiphanies about themselves?”

“That’s not the point,” Jimin says.

“What is the point?” Yoonji asks. “I’m lost.”

“The point,” Jimin emphasizes, “is that I’ve been living here almost two months and I still don’t know what life is like in Seoul!”

“Life in Seoul is exactly like life everywhere else,” Seokjin volunteers. He’d been skating a few meters ahead of them while they were talking, but he slows down now, falling into step with them. “We wake up. We go to school or to work or whatever. We hang out with friends. We go home and sleep. Rinse and Repeat.”

Yoonji points at him. “Exactly.”

“You guys are so boring,” Jimin mutters, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Please? Just once. We can go to one of those nice ones—someone in my class told me there was a really new one that just opened, and if we wanted he could get us on the list. ”

Yoonji makes a face, feeling herself getting swayed. “When did you plan to go?”

Jimin brightens up. “Saturday,” he says. “That way we don’t have to get up early for training the next day.”

Yoonji sighs, turning to look at Seokjin. Seokjin just raises an eyebrow in response, the answer to her unspoken question written all over his face.

“Please don’t have telepathic conversations in front of me,” Jimin pipes up, pouting. “It makes me feel very lonely.”

Yoonji sighs again. “Fine,” she relents, rolling her eyes when Jimin whoops in happiness. “But just—if I get bored, I’m leaving early.”

“That’s fine,” Jimin replies happily. “But it won’t be boring. It’ll be great and fun and every nice adjective you can think of.”

“Elegant?” Seokjin asks. “Dignified?”

“...Okay, maybe not that.”

“But you said ‘every nice adjective’!”

“I mean—”

Yoonji shakes her head and skates quicker to get away from the bickering pair, trying not to second-guess herself. Jimin’s right, it would be fun, but at the same time Yoonji feels a little worried. She’s been to a club once, to celebrate Taehyung’s birthday, and it was a little too much for her. The music was too loud, the laser lights were too bright, and everyone had been in varying states of inebriation, falling over each other and spilling alcohol everywhere. Yoonji had stayed sober, stayed close to Seokjin; swore up and down when she got out that she’d never go again.

Seokjin seems to sense her worry though, because later, after training, he walks up to her, making sure to bump their shoulders together lightly. “It’ll be okay,” he tells her, smiling in a way that makes his cheeks look all pinched up, and Yoonji’s heart seems to grow ten sizes larger at the sight.

“Yeah,” she says, and lets Seokjin lead them to their usual cafe.

. . .

Turns out, Yoonji shouldn’t have worried too much. Or at all, actually.

Her philosophy professor chooses this exact week to be a total bitch, giving them tons and tons of required readings. To add to that, they’ve each been assigned to give a presentation next week, and since Yoonji’s luck is abysmal, she’s slated to go first. Normally she would just wing it, cram everything on a Sunday and hope for the best on Monday, but the readings are difficult to digest and Dostoevsky is long-winded in the absolute worst way. So all in all, she decides that the best thing to do is to stay home, cry over her presentation, and hope to God that everything works out.

But at least Namjoo and Hoseok are staying with her. Namjoo to help, and Hoseok to provide mental care. Or something like that.

“I’m so sad you guys aren’t coming,” Jimin says, as they’re waiting for Taehyung to finish getting ready. Hilariously enough, they pregamed in Yoonji’s apartment—because Namjoo and Hoseok had let it slip that they were coming over and apparently, the rest of them refused to leave without seeing her. She’d pulled open her front door to find six of their grinning faces, all dressed up and holding various bottles of alcohol.

It was a little touching. Yoonji doesn’t have many friends, but the ones she does have are so incredibly lovely, Jimin included.

“It would’ve been nice to go out with you all,” Jimin continues. He’s a lot more dressed up than Yoonji thought he would be—wearing pleather pants and a low cut top, with a hint of a smokey eye—and the juxtaposition between that and the fierce pout he has on his face amuses Yoonji. “We would’ve had a great time.”

“I know,” Yoonji says, placating. “But sadly, Dostoevsky is a dumbass and I have to try and understand his dumbassery.”

“Don’t call Dostoevsky a dumbass,” Namjoo calls from where he’s helping Taehyung stick Yoonji’s old costume crystals on his face. “He was literally one of Russia’s greatest thinkers.”

“If he was so great a thinker, then why the fuck am I still being forced to think?”

“Mental care,” Hoseok interrupts, and then suddenly Yoonji feels Hoseok plop down beside her, petting her on the head. “I am here for mental care.”

Jimin laughs. “God, but at least you won’t be alone.” He looks a little over her shoulder, and Yoonji follows his gaze to where Seokjin is deep in conversation with Jungkook. It’s painful to look at Seokjin in his club outfit—he’s in a dark button up and dark jeans that Taehyung had picked for him, and he’s left the first two buttons undone, exposing a small, silver chain around his neck. Yoonji has the small, vaguest urge to climb on his lap and kiss him silly.

She resists though, averts her eyes and turns back to Jimin. “He’ll be fine,” she tells him, an answer to his unspoken question, and ignores the way her heart twinges.

Seokjin had been so lovely when she’d told him she couldn’t make it out tonight—immediately offering to skip out on going to the club and stay with her. But Yoonji also knows that Seokjin had been a little excited to go, that he was glad to have something to break up the monotony of his days. Yoonji couldn’t deprive him of that.

“Will he, though?” Jimin asks, something knowing in his tone.

Yoonji blinks at him. “Of course,” she answers, like it’s obvious. “We’re not together all the time. He doesn’t need me to be with him.”

“But it’s kind of obvious he wants you there with him.”

“Yeah, well.” Yoonji decidedly doesn’t tell him that she sort of feels the same, that sometimes, not being around Seokjin feels like she’s missing something—like a phantom limb, a vague pain she can’t quite pinpoint. It’s kind of dumb, anyway. Not a very rational thought to have. Probably just the side effects of spending too much time together.

No, some space would be good. “He’ll manage,” Yoonji says.

Jimin’s smile only grows. “Are you worried about him?” He teases, nudging her on the side.

Yoonji scoffs. “Do I have to be?” She asks, point-blank. “I mean, he’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.”

“Okay, what the fuck.” Their conversation is interrupted by Jungsook, who sounds pained; and when she turns around, she finds her staring wide-eyed, her jaw dropped open in surprise. She’s looking at Taehyung, who’s finished playing with Yoonji’s crystals—the space below his eyes are now dotted with either bright white or electric blue. Yoonji has to admit it’s a good look on him; he looks absolutely gorgeous.

“Baby, do you like it?” Taehyung asks, beaming happily at Jungsook.

“Do I—wh—ho—help,” Jungsook stutters eloquently.

“Do I—wh—ho—help,” Seokjin repeats. “That’s a great word.”

Yoonji does her best not to burst into laughter. “Maybe you guys should go,” she suggests, fighting back down a smile. “By the looks of it, Jungsook is either going to rip Taehyung’s clothes off or spontaneously combust.”

“But they’re in public.”

“It’s never stopped them before.” Yoonji suspiciously eyes the way Jungsook’s gaze darkens, the way Taehyung’s smile turns positively devious. “Yeah, you guys should head out now. Protect my apartment from being desecrated.”

Jimin laughs. “Fine,” he says, getting to his feet. He claps his hands twice, loudly, and the attention of the room turns to him. “Club people, let’s go. Let’s leave noona to study in peace.”

Jimin manages to round everyone up quickly, getting them into their coats and out the front door. It’s only Seokjin who lingers behind, looking a little torn. 

“I can still stay behind,” he offers. From this close, Yoonji can see his lips are shinier than they usually are, dotted with lip gloss. Yoonji’s heart does somersaults in her chest.

“No, it’s really okay,” she replies. “Honestly oppa, I’ll just be studying the whole time. It’ll be super boring.”

“I can help you with your presentation,” Seokjin insists, stubborn as always.

“Do you know anything about Dostoevsky?”

“Not really.”

“So maybe no,” Yoonji says, keeping her tone lighthearted. “Besides, Namjoo and Hobi have that covered.” When Seokjin doesn’t look convinced, she sighs, shooting him a small, reassuring smile. “Really,” she says, emphasizes the word so Seokjin knows she means it. “It’s fine. Go and have a fun night out.”

Seokjin opens his mouth to argue but seems to think the better of it. “I mean, if you’re sure.” He smiles, but it’s tight around the corners. “But if you like, need me for anything—”

Yoonji rolls her eyes fondly. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll text you. I have your number. Now go,” she says, pointing at the door. “With how Jungsook looked at Taehyung, you have about thirty minutes left before they tear each other’s clothes off.”

“Right,” Seokjin says, like he’d just remembered. “Right.” A pause where Seokjin just stares at her, lost, and then Yoonji is being swept into a giant hug, Seokjin’s arms around her lower back. He smells like a mixture of aftershave and cologne—the same one he uses for their competitions—and the combination makes Yoonji’s knees weak.

The hug doesn’t last long; he pulls away almost immediately, his grin a little lopsided. Yoonji’s heart is hammering in her chest, and she has to curl her hands into fists to resist the urge to reach out and grab him again.

“What was that for?” She asks, trying her best not to flush.

Seokjin just shrugs. “Dunno,” he answers vaguely. He avoids her gaze. “I’ll see you.”

And then he’s slipping out the door, to where, presumably the others are waiting for him. Yoonji watches him go, watches the door close, takes a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart.

This is embarrassing. She’s so embarrassing. It was just a fucking hug, nothing else.

“If you’re done saying goodbye to your boyfriend, we’re over here,” Hoseok calls from the living room. “Namjoo’s laid out your readings and I’ve laid out your snacks.”

Yoonji shakes herself out of her stupor, making her way back into the living room and sitting herself down onto the floor beside Hoseok. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she grumbles as she reaches for a packet of honey butter chips, pulling them open.

Hoseok sighs. “You think I don’t know that?” he asks rhetorically. When Yoonji doesn’t say anything in reply to that, he sighs again, flopping down onto his back. “Whenever I think of you and Seokjin-hyung, I’m fully convinced I need mental care. No, scratch that—I need psychiatric help.”

. . .

The next day, Yoonji lets herself into Seokjin's apartment armed with a box of pastries and two coffees. “Good morning,” she calls, and then checks the time on her phone. “Or, well, good afternoon, I guess.”

“Over here,” Seokjin calls from the kitchen, and Yoonji slips off her shoes by the entrance, follows the sound of his voice.

The sight of him makes her snicker. “Looks like someone had a fun night,” she teases. Seokjin looks unkempt in a way that he usually never is, smudged make-up beneath his eyes, his hair sticking up in all directions. He’s wearing his favorite sweater—the blue one with the whale that he spent way too much money on—and he looks exhausted as he scrolls through his phone, looking like he’s seen a hundred different things last night that he doesn’t ever want to remember.

He brightens when he spots her though. “Yoonji,” he trills in that ridiculous way of his, making grabby hands for the coffee she has in her hands. “How are you? How was your evening? Did you finish your presentation? Are those for me?”

“Fine, good, yes, and no, they’re for the ghost who lives here,” Yoonji rattles off, even as she slides a cup to him. Seokjin gives her a smile in thanks, happily taking a long sip of his coffee. 

“You really are the best,” he says. All of a sudden, he pauses, his lips turning down into a pout. “Actually, no you aren’t, because you left me alone with the kids last night. With Taehyung and Jungsook, Yoonji,” he emphasizes, like he’s trying to drive home the gravity of the situation. “I almost died in there.”

Yoonji sets down the box of pastries. “Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to leave you alone in this cruel world,” Seokjin responds immediately. “Because, unlike other people, I am decent and upright and handsome and don’t abandon my best friends in their time of need.”

He’s smiling as he says it, the tension seeping from his shoulders the longer he spends with Yoonji. It’s a weird effect they both have on each other—the ability to put each other at ease by simply being in the same room. 

“I mean, I don’t need you right now so you can go,” Yoonji says nonchalantly, taking a seat beside Seokjin.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “You say that now, but watch, you’ll be crying over my dead body when you try for your Olympic gold.” He pulls the box of pastries closer to him, peruses them with a critical eye, before carefully selecting one in the middle. “Is this from that bakery I like?”

“Yep,” Yoonji says. “Thought you’d appreciate it after your eventful evening.”

Seokjin sighs. “I do,” he admits. He scrunches up his face. “Taehyung and Jungsook were so…”

“Insufferable?”

“More like horny,” Seokjin supplies, taking a bite out of his pastry. “It was like they were intent on making their own porno right there in the middle of the club.”

Yoonji winces. “That bad?”

“Yeah. The crystals weren’t a good idea, Yoonji. Sure, Jungsook really appreciated them, but at what cost?” At what fucking cost?”

Yoonji laughs. “Was Jimin of any help, at least?”

“Jimin was lovely,” Seokjin says, fervent. “After last night, he’s my favorite now. Jimin can do absolutely no wrong.”

“Jungsook would cry if she heard that.”

“And so? Let her,” Seokjin says imperiously. “She almost made me cry last night.” 

Yoonji laughs again, propping her elbow up on the table and resting her chin on her hand. “Sounds like it was a great time though.”

Seokjin’s lips twitch upward. “It was,” he admits. A slight pause. “We missed you, though.”

We missed you. If Yoonji knew Seokjin less, she’d think it was just a throwaway statement—a little quip, some polite banter. But she doesn’t, and right now she can hear it for what it actually is: sincerity that he tries to play off as nothing. Just so they don’t ruin their partnership. 

(For a moment, Yoonji feels the phantom press of Seokjin’s mouth against hers, of his hands large around her waist. But it’s gone the next second, tucked back beneath her breastbone, hidden behind lock and key.)

“Good afternoon, noona,” someone else says brightly, and Yoonji startles, her head whipping to the source of the sound. It’s Jimin, standing by the entryway to the kitchen, looking just as disheveled and sleepy as Seokjin does. “I didn’t know you dropped by.”

Seokjin leans towards her. “Did I mention Jimin stayed over?” He asks rhetorically. “Jimin stayed over. I love Jimin, I really do.”

Yoonji tries not to laugh. “What did you do to him?” She asks Jimin. 

Jimin just shrugs. “Everything Taehyung and Jungsook didn’t do, I guess.” He points at the box on the table. “May I have one?”

“Oh, of course,” Yoonji says, nudging them towards him. “Sorry I didn’t grab you a coffee, I didn’t know you were here.”

Jimin waves a hand. “It’s fine,” he says, carefully selecting one from the box. “I’ll just grab one from down the street before I head home.”

Seokjin clears his throat. “I was just telling Yoonji what she missed last night,” he says. 

“Oh! You should’ve been there, noona.” Jimin takes a seat on the dining table as he takes a bite of his food. “The club was super nice and the music was really good.” He makes a face. “Drinks were crazy expensive, though.”

“Right,” Seokjin says. “The prices kind of hurt to look at.”

“But it’s not like we had to pay a lot,” Jimin continues, happily chewing on his food. “Seokjin-hyung kept getting us free drinks.”

“Oh?” Yoonji asks, intrigued, at the same time Seokjin warns, “Jimin.”

Yoonji turns to Seokjin, who belatedly averts his gaze, determinedly staring into his pastry. The tips of his ears have flushed red. 

Yoonji feels like she’s missing something. “What happened?” She asks, directing her question to Jimin.

Jimin shrugs. “Just, hyung was like the hottest person in the club,” he answers nonchalantly. Seokjin makes a quiet noise of protest at that, one that Yoonji ignores. “Everyone kept coming up to him and trying to talk to him. We scored so many free drinks because everyone kept hitting on him.”

“They were just being nice,” Seokjin argues. He sounds unsure.

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “And I suppose the napkins they slipped you with their numbers on them was just them trying to make friends, huh?”

Yoonji feels her stomach flip uneasily. “You got numbers?” She asks Seokjin, trying to keep her voice level.

For a moment, Seokjin looks like he’s about to protest, but then backs down, shaking his head. His flush has spread from his ears to his face. “Kind of,” he mutters. “A…a few.”

Knowing Seokjin, a few probably means a lot. He’s always been a little bashful about the amount of attention he attracts, and he always tries to downplay it—at least, whenever he’s not playing it up for the cameras. But really, Seokjin has always been so good-looking that sometimes it’s difficult to look him in the eye, with his broad shoulders and a face that seemed like it was sculpted from marble. Even more so on the rare occasions that he gets all dressed up.

She gets it, gets why everyone would want to hit Seokjin up. But that doesn’t mean she likes it.

“Haha,” she says, instead of trying to voice out all her conflicted emotions. “I didn’t know you were such a heartthrob, oppa.”

“Are you going to text them?” Jimin queries. He seems oblivious to the weird tension that seems to have settled, happily eating his pastry. Either that, or he’s just choosing to ignore it completely. “You seemed to get along with that one guy towards the end, what was his name…?"

A pause. “Jaehwan,” Seokjin supplies, his voice weak. “His name was Jaehwan.”

“He was really cute too,” Jimin says off-handedly. “You should.”

Seokjin makes a face at that. “I don’t know,” he says, evasive. “It just feels kind of weird to text someone you met in a club…I don’t know, let’s just drop it, please?” There’s a tinge of desperation in his voice. “I don’t—I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Jimin shrugs. “Sure,” he says easily, and finishes the rest of his pastry. He stands up and stretches, looking like he’s regained a little bit of his energy. “I’m going to use the bathroom. Is that okay, hyung?”

“Help yourself,” Seokjin says, waving a hand.

Jimin grins at him before he goes, calling out a polite, “Thank you!” as he disappears down the hall. 

The silence that rings out is almost suffocating. Yoonji wants to say something, anything, but she finds she can’t, the easy conversations she usually shares with Seokjin disappearing in the face of this revelation.

…If that can even be considered a revelation. After all, what is so surprising about Seokjin going out and attracting all this attention, anyway?

In the end it’s Seokjin who speaks first. “It was nothing,” he tells Yoonji, still sounding a little flustered. “The numbers were—I threw them away as soon as I got out of the club. You don’t have to worry.”

Yoonji lets out a quiet breath. “I’m not worried,” she says, even as stomach seems to flop around uneasily. “I mean, you’re like—you’re your own person. You can…do whatever you want to.”

“Yeah?” Seokjin doesn’t look too happy hearing that. Yoonji swallows, feeling a bit like there’s a fishbone lodged in her throat, its sharp edges digging into her esophagus. 

“Yeah,” she manages to get out.

And then in a fit of impulse, she looks up, straight into Seokjin’s eye, and does her absolute best to sound like a supportive and enthusiastic best friend. “I’m really glad you met someone last night, oppa.”

Seokjin’s face falls minutely, but it’s gone in a flash. “Yeah,” he says, his smile right around the corners. “I’m glad I did too.”

. . .

In retrospect, Yoonji thinks that was either the bravest thing she’s ever done, or the most cowardly. Hoseok, however, is of neither opinion—when she recounts what happened over lunch, he insists that it's the stupidest thing she’s ever done, and her unnecessarily martyring herself is just painful to watch at this point.

“You’re so stupid,” Hoseok complains for the fifth time over bibimbap. “You don’t—I just—you’re so stupid.”

Yoonji rolls her eyes. “Words can hurt, you know,” she says. “They’re incredibly painful sometimes.”

“You know what’s incredibly painful?” Hoseok asks, impassioned. “Your stupidity.”

“Babe,” Namjoo says kindly, “maybe we should take it easy on her.”

Barring Seokjin, Hoseok and Namjoo have probably been her longest friends. She’d met Namjoo first at the ice rink when they were both still in high school; the two of them had butted heads about sharing rink space for weeks until one day Hoseok had tagged along, made them all sit down and discuss things in an orderly manner. By the end of it, Yoonji had left the rink with begrudging respect for Namjoo and complete adoration for her boyfriend.

The both of them have been around to witness everything—from Seokjin and Yoonji’s training, to that moment in Juniors and its ensuing blowback at the 2018 Pyeongchang Olympics, to the way they moved past it at the 2022 Beijing Olympics. But whereas Namjoo seems content to let them be, Hoseok seems to be going out of his mind, always wanting something to happen.

“Easy for you to say,” Hoseok says. He shoves Namjoo on the arm, not hard enough for it to hurt but hard enough that Namjoo tumbles back a little. “You and noona both have the emotional repression of a fucking rock. I, for one, am just tired of watching this whole thing happen.”

“Nothing is even happening,” Yoonji says, mixing her bowl of food. “Like he went out, scored a bunch of free drinks and numbers, and I, as his best friend, am very happy for him.”

“No,” Hoseok protests, his tone loud. “No, you are not happy for him.”

Yoonji scoffs. “I don’t think you have the authority to dictate how I feel.”

“At this point, I think I do,” Hoseok bites back. “Because it’s been fucking sixteen years, Yoonji. Sixteen years of this stupid fucking slow burn.”

“Babe,” Namjoo says again, and this time it sounds like a warning.

Yoonji shakes her head. “It has not been sixteen years,” she argues. “It’s been—it’s not been anything at all.”

“Which is exactly the problem,” Hoseok says, like Yoonji is dense. He sighs, leaning back in his chair and scrubbing a hand down his face. “When, literally when, are you both going to get your head out of your asses and admit that you are head-over-heels, stupidly in love with each other and want more than just an on-ice partnership?”

Those words make Yoonji’s chest constrict. “Keep your voice down,” she hisses. “Someone might overhear.”

“Who fucking cares if someone overhears,” Hoseok retorts. “It’s not like it’s even a secret. The whole of South Korea can tell you’re in love. He even fucking—there’s a viral video of you kissing at Juniors, noona.”

“That was just the adrenaline, and that was five years ago,” Yoonji answers primly. “Nothing ever happened after that.”

“Yeah, because you both didn’t let it. Your skate at Pyeongchang showed the world how badly you repressed it.”

Yoonji shakes her head. “Seriously Hoseok,” she says. “Fucking drop it.”

“But I just don’t understand,” Hoseok says. He isn’t usually stubborn, often content to go along with the flow, but it seems like something about Yoonji’s relationship with Seokjin really strikes a chord in him. “Why don’t you want to let yourself be happy?”

Yoonji sighs, irritated. “The only thing that is going to make me happy is an Olympic gold,” she answers, dropping her spoon down in her frustration. “And oppa knows that. Which is exactly why we promised not to let anything ruin our partnership.”

“But you made that promise when you were like, thirteen,” Hoseok argues incredulously. “Things change. Circumstances change. Feelings change.”

“An Olympic gold doesn’t,” Yoonji replies shortly. “And that’s what all this is for.” She looks back down at her food. “We can’t lose our shot at it because of…this.”

It’s difficult to articulate exactly what this is—maybe it’s Yoonji’s feelings, or maybe it’s Seokjin’s feelings. Or maybe it’s the great unknown beyond that, uncharted waters they haven’t explored, undiscovered territory they haven’t ventured into. There’s just too much to risk, too much at stake in taking that next step, in letting it happen. What if they decide to try, and it all blows up in their faces? What do they do then? How do they even recover?

No, it’s best that they stay this way. Like this, they’re on familiar ground; like this, they’re safe, sticking to what they know, to the dynamic that they’ve gotten accustomed to. Seokjin’s her best friend and ice dancing partner, like he always has been. Yoonji knows how to navigate that.

Yoonji lets out a quiet breath. “We made a promise,” she reiterates, picking her spoon back up. She starts mixing her bowl once more, mostly to give herself something to do. “I’m not going to do anything to risk our partnership.”

. . .

(“If we’re going to try and make it to the Olympics, we have to have some rules,” Yoonji said imperiously. She was thirteen and a little bit of a brat, and she’d invited Seokjin over to her house so she could, quote, ‘talk to him’, unquote. She hadn’t asked her mom for permission, and Seokjin had also been caught off-guard by her invitation, but somehow, it all managed to work out and Seokjin was staying over for dinner.

They were in Yoonji’s room, waiting to eat, the door being left ajar as the only condition Yoonji’s mom had stipulated whenever Seokjin was over. Not that she minded anyway—they weren’t going to do that, gross. She just wanted to talk to him and make sure they were still on the same wavelength.

Seokjin had been sitting on the floor across from Yoonji, his spine ramrod straight like his mom drilled into him. “What kind of rules?” He asked.

“Important rules,” she replied. “Rules we must never break, ever.”

“Oh.” Yoonji can still clearly remember how Seokjin had pursed his lips, how it made them look plumper than they normally were. “I have one. You have to be nicer to me.”

“I’m already nice to you.”

“Nicer,” Seokjin corrected, looking smug. “You’re just so mean sometimes.”

“Well, sometimes you deserve it.”

“Sometimes you deserve to be dropped on your ass too, but do I ever do it? No, I don’t,” Seokjin snarked, but then let out an impatient sigh. “Alright, then. What kind of rules did you have in mind?”

“Stuff like…” Yoonji trailed off, thinking. “I don’t know. We have to give a hundred percent of ourselves in our training.”

“Don’t we already?”

“In every practice,” Yoonji emphasized. “That means we show up, unless we really can’t. Like we’re really sick or something super important comes up.”

“Fine,” Seokjin said. He chewed on his bottom lip, eyes darting around as he thought. “I think one of our rules should be we have to stay best friends forever.”

Yoonji blinked at him, surprised. “...Why?”

Seokjin shrugged. “How would we skate properly if we’re not best friends?” He asked, like it was obvious. “We have to be synchronized, Yoonji. Besides, I don’t like skating when we’re fighting. It makes me feel bad.”

Yoonji took a moment to think about it. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll be best friends forever. And if we fight, we have to apologize and talk to each other immediately.”

“Exactly. And…” This time Seokjin hesitated, looking like he’s mulling something over. “We can’t do anything to risk our partnership.”

Yoonji resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Isn’t that why we made the previous rule?” She asked. “So we don’t risk our partnership?”

“No—I mean yes, but also no.” Seokjin shook his head, and for the first time in this entire conversation he looked unsure, like he didn’t know how to bring it up. “I meant more of…the opposite.”

“The opposite?”

“Falling in love, Yoonji. With each other.”

And in an instant, Yoonji understood exactly what he was trying to say. “O-oh,” she said, trying not to blush furiously. She wasn’t stupid, she knew that they were at that age that people started to fall in love; knew, as well, that with how much time she spent with Seokjin, there was a distinct possibility of that happening. But she also knew how badly relationships end sometimes, how people who once fiercely loved each other end up drifting apart, becoming nothing more than strangers.

She couldn’t afford that with Seokjin. Not now, not ever. “Yeah,” she said. “I get what you’re trying to say.”

“Yeah.” Seokjin wet his lips, his eyes going distant. “If we…if we fell in love, and it ended badly, it would ruin everything we’re working for.”

“So we can’t date each other,” Yoonji finished. “We shouldn’t date each other.”

“We shouldn’t.”

There was a silence where they just stared at each other, the both of them at a loss for what to say next. Eventually, Seokjin spoke again. “I mean, it shouldn’t be a problem for me,” he said, a forced lightness in his tone. “You’re like a tiny kitten. Who even wants to date a kitten?”

Yoonji’s mouth dropped open, affronted. “And you called me mean earlier?”

Seokjin shook his head. “I’m allowed to be mean,” he said easily. “You have to be nice. It’s the rules.”

“Hey!” Yoonji said, and grabbed a stuffed animal from her bed to throw at his face. When Seokjin threw it back at her, he was laughing, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

They didn’t have the time to discuss any more rules—Yoonji’s mom had called them for dinner right after that—but Seokjin’s words had stayed with Yoonji all the way until later that evening, long after Seokjin had gone home. We can’t do anything to risk our partnership, he’d said, and Yoonji repeated them over and over to herself, quietly mouthing out the words, until they were carved into the skin of her brain, the meat of her heart.)

. . .

A week after Seokjin had gone out to the club, a week after Coach Bang amps up their training to make sure they stay in shape, Seokjin’s phone starts ringing. A lot.

Yoonji doesn’t notice at first. She’s too busy with ballet and weight training and calisthenics and freestyle practice to pay attention to whenever Seokjin’s phone pings. But the intervals start growing shorter and shorter, sometimes even multiple pings in a minute, and Seokjin is suddenly always on his phone, frowning down at it and texting back whenever they’re on their breaks.

“Who keeps texting you?” Yoonji asks one time when they’re catching their breath, grabbing a sip of water. She leans over, trying to sneak a peek over his shoulder. “Is it important?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, flipping on the silencer and determinedly locking his phone. “No one. It’s no one.”

But it clearly isn’t no one, because it doesn’t stop after that. Seokjin’s phone stays silent, sure, but it keeps buzzing—when they’re having breakfast, when they’re grabbing dinner, when they’re hanging out and watching their drama. Just…anywhere really. At any given time. 

“Are you sure it isn’t important?” Yoonji asks for the nth time. They’re in the middle of their drama, and it’s really getting good, but Seokjin’s phone keeps buzzing and it keeps taking her out of it. “I mean, like, if it’s important, we can save this for later.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “No, it’s fine,” he insists, even as he checks his phone, locking it a moment later. “We can keep watching.”

“Are you sure?” Yoonji asks skeptically. 

“Yeah, it’s really nothing.”

“If you say so.” And Yoonji intends to take his words at face value, fully intends to turn back to the drama, but it’s just—Seokjin’s phone still keeps buzzing.

The female lead tearily runs off into the rain. Seokjin’s phone buzzes.

The male lead gets fed up with the expectations his family had placed on his shoulders and rightfully explodes. Seokjin’s phone buzzes.

The female lead almost gets run over by a car. Seokjin’s phone buzzes.

The male lead runs outside in his suit and tie, frantically looking for the female lead. Seokjin’s phone buzzes.

You get the picture.

“What is it?” Yoonji bursts, unable to focus. On impulse, she reaches out and snatches Seokjin’s phone out of his hand.

“Hey,” Seokjin exclaims, trying to grab it back. “I was using that.”

“Use it less, maybe.” Seokjin had locked the phone before Yoonji grabbed it, but it’s not like that’s a problem—Seokjin hasn’t changed his phone passcode in years. Yoonji taps the screen, enters in 0903 (which Seokjin had set as a joke and never bothered to change), and finds herself staring down at the inbox of a dating app.

Which…oh. Oh. Seokjin is on a dating app. Yoonji feels like her heart’s been caught in her throat, unable to wrap her head around what she’s seeing.

Seokjin manages to swipe the phone back. “You know, it’s rude to go through someone else’s phone without their permission,” he says, locking it and slipping it back into his pocket. His phone buzzes again, but he ignores it this time. “We should really work on your manners more, Yoonji.”

Yoonji clears her throat, trying her best not to freak out. “You’re on Tinder?” She asks weakly.

“No,” Seokjin lies. He doesn’t want to meet her eye. “I told you, it’s nothing. Let’s just keep watching.”

Suddenly, Yoonji has no idea what the drama is even about. Can’t even spare a single ounce of attention to it, all her thoughts revolving around the three-second glimpse she had of Seokjin’s phone: Seokjin is active on Tinder. Seokjin has dozens people messaging him on there. 

Seokjin is trying to date.

It’s this last one that hurts, a little like an ice pick being eased into her heart. A slow, gradual build of pain, increasing as it pushes deeper the more Yoonji lets herself think about it. Seokjin is meeting new people and  Seokjin is actively trying to date these new people and Seokjin already has dozens of prospects lined up, right at his fingertips.

Yoonji is about to lose her mind.

As if sensing her discomfort, Seokjin sighs, all the fight draining out of him. “It’s nothing,” he says, his tone of voice probably meant to be reassuring. “Jimin just put me up to it, a few days after we went out. I thought it’d be fun.”

Yoonji keeps her eyes trained on the TV. “It’s fine,” she says, as lightly as she can muster. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“I’m not explaining, I’m—” Seokjin cuts himself abruptly, and Yoonji can feel him shift beside her, letting out a soft exhale. “Yoonji. Hey. Look at me for a second?”

Yoonji doesn’t want to—doesn’t want her face to give herself away—but she’s powerless to resist when Seokjin says her name like that, all sweet and loving. She puts on a brave face and steels herself; when she’s ready she turns to Seokjin, her best smile fixed in place.

There’s a pause. Then Seokjin snorts. “You look incredibly stupid right now,” he says, amusement tugging up the corner of his lips.

Yoonji drops her expression. “Hey,” she says, a little insulted as Seokjin bursts into laughter, the sound all squeaky. “You’re so—why do you have to be so mean?”

Seokjin just keeps laughing. “I just didn’t expect you to look at me like that,” he snickers, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. “You looked like you were expecting me to tell you your dad died, or something equally horrendous.”

“Yeah, well.” Yoonji pouts, even though she can feel her own smile struggling to break free. “I’m, like, I didn’t know what to expect—”

“Yoonji, it’s me,” Seokjin interrupts fondly. “You always know what to expect with me.”

“I guess.” They fall into amiable silence, with only the sound of the television echoing around the room. There are cops on the screen, and they’re talking about a kidnapping; Yoonji doesn’t know how or when they got there.

Seokjin nudges her shoulder. “I can delete it, if you want,” he says, and he doesn’t need to clarify for Yoonji to know exactly what he’s talking about. “I mean, like, if it makes you uncomfortable—”

“It doesn’t.” Yoonji has no idea where she’s mustered up the courage to speak like this, to lie like this, but she assumes it has something to do with what she’s watching on TV. “You…you’re free to do what you want to, oppa. If you want to date, you can.”

Seokjin doesn’t respond for a while. “You’re…you’re okay with me dating?” He eventually asks. There’s a slight waver in his voice, and it makes Yoonji’s heart ache.

“Like, if you want to,” Yoonji replies. “Like…like I said before, you’re your own person. You can do whatever you want to.”

Another pause, this time longer. “So if I start dating someone, you’ll be okay with that?” Seokjin asks, point-blank.

“I mean, I—I won’t stop you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Yoonji replies. Her tongue feels too big for her mouth, her words coming out clunky. “Like—I guess it’s okay, as long as you…as long as you still manage to show up to training.”

This time, the silence that rings out seems to stretch out for ages. Yoonji keeps her gaze trained on the screen, resisting every instinct that tells her to turn to Seokjin, to read exactly what he’s thinking in his expression. She’d crumble if she did, turn to rubble beneath his feet; give into all-encompassing, overwhelming urge she’s managed to keep at bay for five long years.

Eventually, Seokjin sighs. “Okay then,” he says, and he sounds a little hurt. “Alright. Sure.”

The ice pick in Yoonji’s chest pushes itself deeper. Yoonji digs her fingernails into her palms, ignores it,.

. . .

In a completely unsurprising turn of events, Seokjin starts dating.

He doesn’t jump into it immediately, of course, and for a while everything stays exactly the same. But two weeks later, after one exhausting evening training, Yoonji turns to him, about to ask him if he wants to grab something to eat, finds him already shaking his head, an apologetic look on his face.

“I’m, uh, seeing someone,” he says. His ears are flushed red, and he won’t meet Yoonji’s eye. “For dinner, I mean. We’re having dinner together.”

Oh. Yoonji does her best to keep her face pleasant, nodding encouragingly like a best friend should. “That’s great.”

“Yeah. We’re going for sushi.” It’s been a while since Yoonji’s seen Seokjin look this awkward, unsure of the way he holds himself, as if one wrong move would accidentally trigger a landmine. “I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

Yoonji feels herself swallow. “Have fun,” she says casually as she can, shooting him a small wave. Seokjin smiles at her, tight-lipped, and then picks up his bag and disappears down the hallway. Yoonji watches him go, her chest constricting unpleasantly.

Hoseok and Taehyung look surprised when she walks up to them while they’re waiting for their girlfriends, her practice bag slung over her shoulder. “You’re not with Seokjin-hyung today?” Taehyung asks.

Yoonji shakes her head. “Nah,” she replies. She hoists her bag higher up her shoulder, tries to look nonchalant. “He’s going on a date.”

There’s a pause. “What,” Hoseok says flatly. “What.”

. . .

Hoseok changes his mind: this, apparently, is the stupidest thing Yoonji’s ever done.

“You told him he could date?” He rages, far too loud for the little chicken restaurant they've found themselves in. “Really, noona? Really?”

“You’re so fucking noisy,” Yoonji hisses back. “Keep your voice down, seriously. People are staring.”

“I do not fucking care that that they’re staring,” Hoseok retorts, impassioned. “The whole world can stare, for all I care. I need witnesses for what a fucking dumbass you are.”

“Babe, please calm down,” Namjoo begs, putting an arm on his shoulder.

“You have witnesses,” Taehyung points out. He and Jungsook are in the middle of feeding each other chicken, far too used to Hoseok’s outbursts when it comes to the topic of Seokjin and Yoonji. “Namjoo-noona, Jungsookie, and me.”

“You and Jungsook don’t count,” Hoseok shoots back. “You both keep getting distracted by each other.”

“But there’s nothing wrong if Seokjin-hyung goes out on a date, right?” It’s Jimin who asks, and he seems surprised at Hoseok’s emotional outburst. “I mean, he’s single, right? That’s what he told me.”

“Yeah, but he shouldn’t be,” Hoseok replies. “He should be with noona.”

Jimin’s brow furrows. “I’m not following.”

“What Hobi means to say,” Namjoo says kindly as she squeezes Hoseok’s arm in warning, “is that Seokjin-oppa and noona are…you know—”

“In love,” Jungsook supplies. “Have been for the last five years.”

Hoseok glares at Yoonji. “And they both refuse to do anything about it.”

Yoonji scrubs a hand down her face. “I told you, we made a promise,” she tells him, for what is probably the millionth time. “I’m not—he’s not—we’re not—”

“Excuses,” Hoseok mutters. 

“—it doesn’t even matter,” Yoonji finishes tiredly. “If he wants to date someone, I don’t see why it’s even a problem. He can be with whoever he wants to be with.”

It definitely hurts to say it, the ice pick twisting as it digs deeper into her chest, but Yoonji’s never made it her business to lie about whatever’s going on between her and Seokjin. They’re not together, and he’s not hers, no matter how many people on the internet and in real life think that they should be. She and Seokjin have discussed this before, and they’re the only ones whose opinions matter.

“And he’s clearly met someone on that dating app of his,” Yoonji continues, waving her chopsticks around. “So that’s nice. I’m happy for him.”

Hoseok’s eyes grow wide. “Dating app?” He echoes. “Hyung is on a dating app?”

“Yeah. He told me Jiminie put him up to it.”

Hoseok rounds on Jimin. “You put Seokjin-hyung on a dating app?” 

Jimin’s eyes bulge as he’s chewing. “I didn’t put him there,” he replies once he’s swallowed his food. “I just showed it to him and encouraged him to make one. Why, is he not allowed on a dating app?”

Hoseok buries his face in his hands and lets out a strained yell. “Am I the only fucking person tired of this slow burn?” He asks no one in particular.

“Calm down,” Namjoo begs again.

“Cut Jiminie some slack, he’s new,” Taehyung scolds, throwing an arm around Jimin. “He hasn’t been around long enough to see what we’ve all seen.”

“I just don’t get it,” Jimin continues heatedly. “They’re not together, so what’s wrong if Seokin-hyung goes on Tinder? Hell, what’s wrong if noona goes on Tinder and dates people? They have no commitment to each other aside from being best friends and skating partners.”

There’s a pause where Jimin’s words ring out over the table. Jimin’s argument had been completely logical; Yoonji can see the fire in Hoseok’s eyes die a little at his words, can see the way Taehyung and Jungsook exchange glances, unsure. And Yoonji’s always been of the opinion that operating on rational logic is better than operating on irrational feelings—it’s the only way everything in this world makes sense.

But still, it kind of hurts to hear.

Namjoo opens he mouth, presumably to argue, but Yoonji silences her with a shake of her head. Nothing she could say can probably refute all of Jimin’s points. “Nothing’s wrong, kid,” she says. She turns back to her plateful of chicken, popping one into her mouth and trying not to feel like she’s dying inside. “Like I said earlier, oppa can be with whoever he wants to be with.”

. . .

That night, Yoonji lies in bed, unable to really settle down. She’s got Tinder open on her phone, all her credentials entered—the only thing left for her to do is to click up the little Sign Up! button at the bottom of the screen. She stares at it, bites at the skin around her nails in thought.

Jimin had been right, earlier: she and Seokjin have absolutely no commitment to each other aside from being best friends and skating partners. If Seokjin wants to date, he’s allowed to—Yoonji has no right to police him. And it’s the same thing vice versa; if Yoonji wants to date, she’s allowed to. She doesn’t have to keep thinking about what Seokjin might think, or what Seokjin might say.

Or just about Seokjin in general. Although it’s a little difficult not to.

She lets out a sigh, violently pressing the lock on her phone and dropping it into the space beside her. It’s okay, she tells herself as she shifts on her side, squeezing her eyes shut. She’s just not interested in dating. That’s fine and completely valid. She’s allowed to not be interested.

By the time she feels sleep tickling the edges of her consciousness, threatening to pull her under, she’s repeated those words so many times in her head that she thinks she could start to believe them.

. . .

(Seokjin’s eyebrow raise looked especially judgmental, the twist of his mouth especially displeased. “Who is that from?” He asked, standing in front of her in his high school uniform.

Yoonji paused from where she was pulling out her training clothes from her bag, following Seokjin’s line of vision to the bouquet of flowers she left on the bench beside her. “Oh,” she replied. “Yura.”

Seokjin’s eyebrow jumped higher on his forehead. “Yura gave you Valentine’s presents,” He says, his voice flat.

“Oh. Did she?” Yoonji’s eyes widened as realization suddenly hit her. “Is it Valentine’s day today? Oh my God, is this why she asked me to hang out today?”

That, at least, seemed to amuse Seokjin—the corner of his mouth twitching. “Oh, Yoonji,” he said exasperatedly, shaking his head. “Always so dense.” He plopped his bag a few meters away from her, rummaging for his own clothes. A few seconds later, a box of chocolates fell on top of Yoonji’s training bag. “Here.”

Yoonji blinked at it. “What’s this?”

Seokjin shrugged. “I don’t know, a girl gave it to me for Valentine’s day.”

Yoonji stared at him for a few moments before turning back to the chocolates in front of her. They’re a brand she particularly likes, the box in typical Valentine packaging, with a little golden bow and a blank card looped into it.

“Did you seriously just regift me your Valentine’s day chocolate?”

Seokjin’s sigh was fond. “I didn’t really want them,” he replied as he pulled out his training clothes. He reached out and patted her on the head as he passed by on his way to the locker rooms. “Figured you’d appreciate them more than me.” 

“I’m not your personal dumpster, you know!” Yoonji called after his retreating back, and felt herself grin at the sound of Seokjin’s answering laugh, echoing around the rink. She tucked the chocolates into her bag, picked up her training clothes, and headed towards the locker rooms, her chest feeling strangely warm.

Later, when they left the rink after practice, Yoonji took out the chocolates from her bag. “Share with me,” she said, nudging Seokjin’s shoulder, and the two of them ate the entire box between themselves on the whole way home, spoiling their dinner.)

. . .

“Nice of you to show up to practice,” Yoonji tells Seokjin by way of greeting. He’d been a little late, and he looks sleepier than usual—one side of his hair matted down, his eyelids heavy. Still, he looks happy to see Yoonji, a small smile on his lips as he passes her her coffee. “You look like you had fun.”

Seokjin shrugs. “It didn’t work out,” he says simply. “He was nice, but kinda boring. There wasn’t really a connection.”

“Oh.” Yoonji takes a sip of her drink, tries not to feel too happy about that. “So you won’t go out with him again?”

The corner of Seokjin’s mouth ticks upward. “Nah,” he says. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Yoonjichi.” He steps forward, slings an arm around her shoulder and walks them further into the rink, to the bench they usually sit at. “Didn’t I tell you so many times? You’re my forever girl. I’ll be with you until the end of time.”

Yoonji makes a face, fighting the smile that’s threatening to bloom on her face. “Gross,” she says, and if she leans into him a little bit more than she usually would, well. No one has to really know.

. . .

It’s a string of bad dates after that.

Well, they’re not bad exactly; Seokjin doesn’t meet any assholes (which is good), and he also doesn’t meet any creeps (which is even better), but the dates themselves are just…not good. No connection, no spark, absolutely nothing that could lead to something more. At least, that’s what Seokjin says the next day.

Yoonji tries not to feel too pleased about that. It wouldn’t be very supportive of her if she feels too smug whenever the dates don’t work out, whenever Seokjin shows up to practice the next day a little clingier, a little sweeter. But at the same time, it’s not like she can help it—there’s something giddying in knowing that Seokjin still comes back to her after everything. Kind of like she’s still the number one person in his life.

Hoseok would say, it’s because you’re in love with him, stupid. To which Yoonji would answer: go sit on a dick.

It’s not like being in love with Seokjin even matters, at this point. Yes, she’s aware that she is, and yes, she knows that Seokjin potentially feels the same way, but there’s really just so much to think about—skating and their careers and their future, the goals they’ve put into motion since they were seven and eight. Yoonji and Seokjin both know that, both keep that at the forefront of their minds, and it’s just…easier this way. Less to think about. Less to worry about.

So Yoonji doesn’t say anything whenever she catches Seokjin messaging a few new people, doesn’t say anything when Seokjin goes out on date after date, seeing a film or having dinner or grabbing drinks. Just keeps him close whenever she can, listens patiently whenever Seokjin talks about it, and tries to pretend that she doesn’t go home at night and pray that Seokjin doesn’t actually meet someone good.

…Yeah, she’s a bit of an asshole like that.

. . .

One Saturday evening, Seokjin sidles up to her, after their training and after they’ve finished with their ice baths. “My date cancelled,” he tells Yoonji, shrugging. He seems strangely pleased by this development. “Said that she’d gotten into bed and refused to leave.”

Yoonji’s pretty sure that was a come-on of some sort. Still, she doesn’t let Seokjin know, just purses her lips to keep from smiling, delighted that Seokjin won’t be going off to hang out with some random person who just wants to use him for sex. “Sucks. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“You heading home?” Yoonji shrugs on her puffer jacket, does up the buttons all the way before looping her scarf around her neck. Seokjin waits for her, then they head out of the rink together, waving goodbye to Jimin, who’s still getting ready to leave. “You could use the time to rest.”

“I could,” Seokjin hedges, “or…” he stops abruptly, causing Yoonji to turn back and look at him. Seokjin’s looking at her, something alluring in the glimmer of his eye; his lips curve upwards slowly, inviting. “Wanna do something fun?”

Yoonji raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Seokjin’s shrug is made bigger by the fabric of his jacket. “I don’t know, just…anything, really,” he replies. “I just don’t really feel like going home yet.”

It’s a nice enough evening. The skies are clear, the wind cold, but not biting, remnants of the last few good weather days before winter arrives in its severity. Yoonji looks at Seokjin in all that he is right now—in his white button up and cream sweater, hair pushed back to expose his forehead. She finds she can’t look anywhere else.

“Sure,” she says, smiling when Seokjin’s face splits into a grin. Her heart thumps loudly in her chest, like it's making its presence known, demanding to be felt. “Where do you want to go?”

. . .

It’s nothing special. They head to a slightly upscale Japanese restaurant they’ve been meaning to try for some sashimi and some sake, and Yoonji feels a little self-conscious, underdressed as she is in her sweatpants and her threadbare hoodie. Luckily, the waiters don’t seem to mind, welcoming them politely, directing them to a table for two. The sashimi is divine—Yoonji almost moans at how good the food tastes, and she and Seokjin eat until they’re stuffed, their dinner punctuated by mundane conversation. Then they split the bill between them, promising they’d come back once they’ve saved up a bit more money, then they head back out into the night air.

They wander around aimlessly and somehow end up walking by the Hangang, the wind colder here. Seokjin, because he’s insane, convinces Yoonji to buy some ice cream with him, and the two of them brave the river cold as they lick their cones, trying their best not to shiver.

“I’m so cold,” Yoonji complains, huddling further into her coat, even as she eats her ice cream. “This isn’t, I don’t—why are we doing this?”

“Come on, Yoonji, we’re ice dancers,” Seokjin encourages. “We should be immune to the cold by now.”

“I’m not sure it works like that.”

“I’m sure it does work like that, what, are you calling me an idiot?”

Yoonji’s cheeks hurt. Whether it’s from the cold or the way she can’t seem to stop smiling, endlessly amused by Seokjin’s antics, she isn’t quite sure. “You’re so fucking strange,” she says, and she means it in the absolute best way possible. “Did you know that?”

“Pretty sure I’ve heard that said once or twice,” Seokjin dismisses. All of a sudden, Seokjin’s grabbing her hand, dragging her closer to the water. “C’mon, let’s go closer. I wonder if we can spot some tuna.”

“Oppa,” Yoonji whines, but lets herself get dragged anyway.

They finish their cones by the edge of the river, watching the water flow. Seokjin doesn’t let go of her hand, and Yoonji doesn’t pull away, content to leave their fingers entwined together. She tells herself it’s because it’s cold and holding hands helps them to share warmth. She also tells herself she’s full of shit.

Eventually Seokjin lets out a quiet sigh, his breath visible under the street lamps. “Thanks for going out with me,” he says, and his tone is intimate, like these words are only meant for Yoonji to hear. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too.” Yoonji squeezes their joined hands together, shifting her attention to him. Seokjin doesn’t look back at her, keeping his eyes trained at the slowly-rushing water in front of them, but Yoonji knows he can sense her gaze—can see it in the upturn of his lips, the slight reddening of his ears.

Yoonji’s always associated Seokjin with the winter. Maybe it’s because she met him on the ice, or maybe it’s because he looks the way he does, striking lines and sharp angles, an intensity to his features that make him look distant. It’s the reason why everyone’s taken to calling him the ice prince—aside from his obvious skills in the rink, he seems to be cold as ice, with the very same propensity to hurt. 

But Yoonji’s watched him grow into his features, watched the years change him from a boy to man, and she knows better; knows the warmth Seokjin keeps inside, knows his true nature—warm, gentle, sincere.

“If this was a real date, I’d rate it a ten out of ten,” Yoonji says, half-joking. She moves closer, presses her shoulder against Seokjin’s. “Seriously, oppa. Best date I’ve ever been on. I don’t know why the people on Tinder don’t seem to like you that much.”

Seokjin gets the message; he untangles their fingers, wraps his arm around Yoonji’s shoulders to pull her closer. “What made you think they didn’t like me?” He asks. He turns; Yoonji feels the press of his nose against her temple, hears a quiet inhale, kind of like Seokjin’s just breathing her in. “Maybe it’s the opposite—maybe I didn’t like them. have you ever thought about like that?”

Yoonji swallows. “Why didn’t you?” She asks. Her voice comes out a little shaky.

Seokjin doesn’t call her out on it, though. “Like I told you before, there’s just no connection. No spark.” Then there’s the gentlest brush of lips against her skin, and it makes gooseflesh erupt all over her body. “I just—I want to date someone who’s, like, a best friend.”

Yoonji’s heart thumps at his words, and she hums in response, letting her eyes slip shut. For a moment, she doesn’t think; lets herself enjoy the feeling of Seokjin’s arm around her body, of Seokjin’s lips against her skin. Lets herself pretend that she can have Seokjin in all the ways she wants him—no risks, no consequences. Nothing that they could lose.

And she feels it again: the phantom press of Seokjin’s lips against hers, the fluttering of her heart, like a butterfly just about to take flight. All the possibilities they had that day, everything laid out in front of them, like they had the world served up to them on a silver platter.

Of course, it didn’t last. It couldn’t last. The same way this can’t last, a moment that threatens the very line they shouldn’t cross.

She draws away, clearing her throat. “C’mon,” she says, and immediately, Seokjin gets the hint; his arm falls from her shoulders and he takes a few steps back. Yoonji tries not to miss his warmth too much. “Let’s head home.”

. . .

The next week, Seokjin goes out on another date, this time with a girl from one of his classes. For some reason, it hurts a tad bit more.

. . .

The sound of her phone ringing rouses Yoonji from her light slumber, and for a moment, she blinks blearily at her bedroom ceiling, content to ignore it and go back to sleep. But it doesn’t stop—every time the call drops off, it starts up again, like a long endless loop of blaring. After a few moments of this mental war, Yoonji admits defeat; she rolls onto her stomach as she reaches for the phone, tapping the answer button without looking at the screen. “What the fuck do you want?”

There’s a pause, one seems more amused than anything. “We really need to work on your manners,” Seokjin says. There’s something lax in his voice, his normally-crisp way of speaking slightly slurred. “Good evening, Yoonji. Can I come in?”

Yoonji doesn’t lift her head from where she’s buried it into her pillow. “No. Go home.”

“Please?” Seokjin cajoles. Yoonji hears him shift over the line, and a few seconds later, the sound of her doorbell is ringing across her apartment. “I really, really need to use the bathroom. Like urgently. Like super duper urgently, because I’m like, thirty seconds away from pissing in front of your door.”

Yoonji sighs. “Fine,” she says into her pillow. She knows that Seokjin’s heard it, though, because he chirps out a happy yay! and a few seconds later she can hear the tell-tale sound of her door code being entered, Seokjin quickly kicking his shoes off by the entrance. 

“Thank you,” he calls into her bedroom as he breezes by on his way to the bathroom. Yoonji grunts in response, lets out another sigh, and then heaves herself off her bed, padding outside the bedroom

“Make sure to flush, asshole,” she yells towards the bathroom.

Seokjin’s squeaky laugh is audible through the closed door. “I’ll pee in your sink!”

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

It doesn’t take long for Seokjin to finish, and soon, Yoonji can hear the sound of the faucet running, like Seokjin’s washing his hands. Another few minutes and Seokjin emerges, grinning. “Thank you,” he says again.

Yoonji squints at him. It’s not like he looks like a slob, per se—he’s still better dressed than she is, in his gorgeous black button down and some dark wash jeans—but he also doesn’t look as neat as he did earlier, when he’d left for his date right after their practice. 

“Why didn’t you just go home?” Yoonji asks. “It’s not like you live that far away.”

“I genuinely couldn’t hold it anymore,” is Seokjin’s reply. He takes a few steps forward; this close, Yoonji can take in the details—the way his hair has started to droop, the way his skin is flushed red; the way the collar of his shirt is askew. “I drank a bit too much.”

“Oh, so you were drinking.” Yoonji makes her way to the couch, an unspoken invitation for Seokjin to follow. 

Seokjin does. “I had to,” he says. He flops down on the space beside her, sliding forward, and for a moment, he looks a bit like a teenager again—a mass of long, gangly limbs. “Absolutely couldn’t stand the girl.”

Something sharp and pleased lodges itself deeper into Yoonji’s chest. “I take it the date wasn’t good, then?”

Seokjin snorts. “Worst one I’ve been on yet,” he quips. He lets out a breath, his eyes falling shut as he tips his head back against the couch. “But to tell you the truth, they’ve all been terrible lately.”

“Oh.” There’s something hidden in Seokjin’s words, tucked into the lilt of his voice. Yoonji wants to press, to try and decipher what he’s thinking, but she’s a little too terrified of what she might find there, waiting for her. 

“Well, that’s alright, I guess,” she says, trying to keep it casual. “I mean, like, drinking a lot. As long as you’ll be okay for training tomorrow.”

Seokjin’s lips twist up in a smile, but he clearly doesn’t look pleased. “Right,” he says, something strange in his tone. “Training.” A pause. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Good. That’s...good.” Seokjin isn’t even looking at her, his eyes still shut, but somehow Yoonji feels exposed, like she’s been cut open and picked apart. She clears her throat and hops to her feet, desperate for something to do. “Maybe I’ll get you a glass of water.”

She doesn’t wait for him to respond, just escapes into the kitchen. She opens her cupboard, staring at her glasses as she takes a moment to calm herself. She feels a little like she’s on the verge of something transformative, a bit like standing on the edge of a precipice, about to freefall.

She hears the sound of footsteps, knows immediately that Seokjin’s come to follow her. “Don’t worry, I can get it myself,” he says, voice light as he reaches over her head to grab one. Yoonji hears the clink of it being set on the counter, the sound of her fridge door opening. 

It’s a specific kind of torture, badly wanting something you can’t have. Yoonji’s learned to live with it, has had many years to get used to the sensation, but sometimes her resolve weakens, her desire getting the best of her.

“Oppa,” she says as she shuts the cupboard. Seokjin stills from where he’s pouring water into a glass, eyes flickering to her curiously. 

“If they’re so terrible, why do you…” she trails off, wetting her lips. She turns around, leans back against the counter and stares straight ahead, watching Seokjin’s face from her peripheral vision. “Why do you keep going out on dates, then?”

A pause. “I don’t know,” Seokjin admits thoughtfully. He sets the pitcher down on the counter and makes no move to pick up his glass. “I guess I just feel like…I’m looking for something.”

“For what?” Yoonji asks. She doesn’t know where this sudden courage sprung up from—maybe from the way Seokjin had looked earlier, a little mussed up from a terrible date, or from the way he’d spoken, an underlying exhaustion in the tone of his voice. Maybe it’s a combination of both. Maybe it’s none at all.

Maybe it’s from the way Yoonji’s heart is stuttering in her chest, tripping over itself as she feels Seokjin’s gaze on her, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy between them.

“For a genuine connection,” Seokjin replies. “For someone I’ll actually like. For someone else I could maybe—” he stops abruptly, but Yoonji can hear the word that he didn’t say. Love. For someone else I could maybe love.

And isn’t that a two-fold implication, one that makes the sharp thing in Yoonji’s chest cry out, digging its claws in deeper, demanding to be felt. Seokjin is going on dates looking for someone else to love. For someone new.

Because Seokjin loves—

The energy in the room suddenly feels charged, stifling. Yoonji can see Seokjin move; he takes a slow step toward her, and then another one, and then another one, until he’s standing right in front of her, serious and sincere and devastating. His face is impassive but his eyes are questioning, and he reaches out slowly, resting his hands on Yoonji’s hips.

It’s not like Seokjin’s never touched her there before—in fact, if she really thinks about it, there’s probably very few places Seokjin’s never touched her before, a consequence of their sport and their partnership. But with this…this intent behind it, it feels novel, fills her with something like anticipation, like desperation, like want.

Seokjin’s hands are as cold as ice, but it sets Yoonji’s skin on fire anyway.

“Yoonji,” Seokjin murmurs. He shifts closer, his shoulders curving inward, his spine bent like a bow. It’s a series of steps after that: the press of his forehead against her shoulder, the blow of his breath against her clavicle, the oh-so-gentle brush of his lips on her skin, where her shoulder meets her neck.

Yoonji stays absolutely still. Seokjin’s lips travel upwards slowly—the exact same path they’d traversed five years ago, in their shared hotel room in Osaka. It’s too much and somehow not enough at all, and Yoonji feels like she’s about to fall apart, trembling like a leaf between Seokjin’s hands.

“God, Yoonji,” Seokjin murmurs against her pulse point, and Yoonji swallows, feeling familiar sparks travel down her spine. Seokjin’s grip on her tightens minutely, his thumb dipping under her shirt to trace light circles against her skin.

He draws back all of a sudden, and Yoonji can read exactly what he’s thinking, can decipher the intention in his eyes. And Yoonji wants so badly that it’s starting to hurt, starting to burst out of her, light beams breaking through the slats of her ribs.

Seokjin leans forward again until their foreheads are touching, until their noses are brushing. Yoonji lets her eyes slip shut, listens to Seokjin’s quiet intake of breath, all of the universe narrowing down into this tiny sliver of space between them.

Then—

“We have training tomorrow.”

Yoonji doesn’t even realize she’d said that until Seokjin freezes, his mouth mere millimeters away from hers. A pause, a moment suspended in time, and then Seokjin is sighing, his breath ghosting against her lips. 

“We do,” he agrees, and then pulls away. He doesn’t meet her gaze as his hands fall back to his sides, as he takes a step back, growing the distance between them.

They don’t say anything else after that. Yoonji busies herself with putting the pitcher of water back into the fridge while Seokjin chugs his glass, looking anywhere else but at her. The air between them is thick with what could’ve happened and what could’ve been. Yoonji is unable to breathe.

“I’ll…I’ll head back to bed,” she mostly tells her fridge, but is actually directed to Seokjin. It’s only pure luck that her voice doesn’t falter. “Just let yourself out whenever you’re done.

She turns to flee the kitchen, back to the safe haven of her bedroom. But right before she manages to leave, Seokjin speaks up.

“Is that all you ever think about? Skating?” 

Yoonji pauses, turns to peek at him over her shoulder. This time, Seokjin is staring directly at her—something embittered in his eyes, in the displeased twist of his mouth. His hands are curled into fists by his sides.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asks him levelly.

Something in her tone seems to make Seokjin’s expression falter, and then he’s backing down, his shoulders slumping. “Nothing, I—nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s nothing. Good night, Yoonji. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, oppa,” Yoonji parrots, and then escapes into her bedroom.

A few minutes later, she hears the muffled sound of her front door opening, then the little beep of the locking mechanism.

. . .

The first time the Olympics seemed like a reality was the exact same time they first seemed like a reality, a spark that could possibly grow into a flame.

It happened like this: it was the 2017 World Junior Figure Skating Championships in Osaka, and they’d been sitting at the kiss and cry with their coaches, hearts in their throats as they waited for their scores to be read out. It was a flawless run—they had been in-sync, their footwork was clean, and their lifts were executed to perfection. Still, it was difficult to be confident when they’d watched their competition skate and witnessed just how good their peers were.

But somehow, they made it. Their free skate routine had scored the highest out of anyone else’s in the competition, and when the scores were tallied up, Seokjin and Yoonji had come out on top with a 0.78 point lead. It had been a moment of pure disbelief that gave way to pure euphoria—Yoonji was pretty sure her eyes were the size of the moon when she’d turned to look at Seokjin.

Seokjin kissed her on impulse then, uncaring of all the eyes on them. It probably lasted no more than five seconds, but to Yoonji it felt like eternities, felt like everything she knew suddenly falling into place, every thought she ever had reorienting around this one, beautiful boy. When he’d pulled away, he’d been a vision—his eyes sparkling, his cheeks only just beginning to flush red. Yoonji looked at him in a haze, watched as the color spread down to his neck, and thought, I love you, so swiftly and so suddenly that it felt like a punch to the gut.

They celebrated, of course; did their interviews and their press, hugged their families and popped some champagne with their coaches. But all throughout they were giddy, so giddy—anticipation dripping like liquid gold down their veins, making them flush whenever they so much as met each other’s eye. 

And then later, after everything was over, Seokjin grabbed her hand, led her back to their shared hotel room. Backed her against the wall as soon as the door had shut behind them and kissed her again, this time full of passion, full of intent. Yoonji was young and ecstatic and so, so full of love that it hurt, and she’d kissed him back, wound her hands around his neck, and pulled him closer, closer, closer; until they were pressed so firmly together that she wasn’t quite sure where she ended and where Seokjin began.

(Even until now, she thinks she never felt quite as alive as she did in that moment, like everything she ever wanted was right at her fingertips.)

The way Seokjin touched her was slow, methodical, almost like he was afraid of taking too much all at once. He’d kept his grip on her gentle as he ducked his head, dropped a soft kiss by her collarbone. Traced a path up the column of her throat, his tongue coming out to taste her. Yoonji pulled him closer, felt Seokjin’s length digging into her thigh, and forced herself to breathe—felt herself crumble, succumbing to this intoxicating desperation, this intoxicating want that pooled in her stomach. 

But then in a flash, everything came back to her—the pounding of her heart after they finished their routine, the weight of the gold medal around her neck. Their goal, the one they’d agreed on when they were ten and eleven, and the promises they made to ensure that they’d reach it.

Until today, she isn’t quite sure how she’d mustered up the self-restraint. All she knows is that she leaned back against the wall, let out a breath. “We can’t,” she whispered even as she kept Seokjin close. “Oppa, we…we promised.”

Seokjin stilled right then, his hands on her waist, his lips against her neck. “I know,” he whispered, the sound broken. “But God, Yoonji, I…”

A pause, a moment of heightened anticipation. Then Seokjin pulled away, his bruised-red mouth quirked into a half-smile. “You’re right,” he said. “We promised.”

It hurt to let him go. But Yoonji did; let her hands fall to her sides, let Seokjin take a step back, one and then another, until there was a respectable amount of distance between them. He turned away after that to get ready for bed, and Yoonji could only watch his retreating back, felt her heart breaking into a million pieces—she’d known even then that she wouldn’t ever love someone as much as she loves Seokjin. 

That night, after they turned off the lights, Yoonji mustered up the courage, climbed into Seokjin’s bed with him. It was a risqué action, but in the end nothing happened between them; Seokjin just sighed, shifted to make space for Yoonji, then pulled her close. He buried his nose into Yoonji’s hair and breathed her in, and Yoonji closed her eyes, felt every single thing they weren’t talking about, and wondered, for the first time, if that Olympic gold was truly worth it.

. . .

But it was. And it still is. And what they found out was that the reality of the Olympics and the reality of them were two diverging paths, so they made their choice and moved on.

. . .

The next morning when Yoonji arrives at the rink, she’s marginally surprised to find Seokjin standing there with her coffee like he always is. “Good morning,” he says. He doesn’t meet her gaze.

Yoonji takes the coffee from him, opens her mouth to say something—how are you feeling? or does your head hurt? or maybe even something quippy like nice of you to show up today. But she changes her mind at the last minute, brushing a hand against his as she passes as a gesture of thanks, and waits for Seokjin to follow, like he always does.

And the weight of everything unsaid doesn’t dissipate, stays hanging between them like it has for the last five years. But Seokjin still showed up to practice, like he said he would, and Seokjin is still here, quietly falling into step with her like always does. And maybe, maybe that’s enough.

Maybe that should be enough.

. . .

“Seokjin-hyung’s been kind of off,” Taehyung observes, taking the seat beside her. It’s been a few days since that incident at Yoonji’s apartment, and things have mostly gone back to normal. Or well, sort of. “Did something happen between you two?”

Yoonji doesn’t look up from where she’s unlacing her skate. “No,” she answers. She tries not to let her gaze wander to where Seokjin is quietly retreating into the locker rooms to change. “Why are you asking?”

Taehyung hums thoughtfully. “Because you’ve been kind of off, too,” he replies. “Your skating the last few days has seemed somewhat…” he holds out a hand, tilts it from side to side in the universal not that good gesture. “Felt a little lackluster there.”

Trust Taehyung to notice. Yoonji sighs, roughly pulling at her laces. “I mean, what do you know?” She shoots back defensively. 

“Noona,” he says, like it should be obvious. “I’ve been watching you skate for close to a year.”

“You don’t watch me skate, you watch the hockey team practice,” Yoonji points out. “You ogle Jungsook, to be specific.”

“I mean, sure,” Taehyung concedes. “But hockey is boring sometimes, and sometimes you and hyung are just more entertaining to watch.” He shrugs. “Plus, I’m a performer, too. I know how things are supposed to look. Now, did something happen between you two?”

Yoonji pulls off her skate with a grunt, stretching her foot out in front of her “Not really,” she lies. “He just…from what I know, he went on a date a few days ago. He said it went terribly.”

“How terribly?”

“Like, he had to get drunk for it.”

“Ah.” Taehyung mulls that over for a few moments. “I mean, that’s not really a surprise, I guess. After his date with you, I assume everyone else wouldn’t be able to compare.”

Yoonji resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Not a real date,” she says, before bending down and tackling her other skate. “We were both just bored and went out for dinner together.”

“Yeah, but he wanted it to be. You both wanted it to be.”

Yoonji sighs irritatedly. “Why are you even bothering me about this?” She asks, turning to shoot Taehyung a half-hearted glare. “Go back to watching your girlfriend, or whatever.”

Taehyung shrugs again. “Well, I mean, it was either me or him,” he says. He inclines his head, and Yoonji follows the movement to where Hoseok is speaking to Jimin, every so often turning to her direction with a frustrated expression on his face. “Thought I’d do you a favor. But if you prefer Hobi-hyung—”

Yoonji shakes her head so violently that she gets a bit dizzy. “No, I changed my mind, you’re fine, I like you better,” she says quickly. “What do you want to eat? Noona will buy it for you.”

Taehyung grins brightly at her. “Thank you, noona,” he says easily, reaching out to pat the back of her hand, “but it’s not necessary.” A weighty pause, where Taehyung seems to be choosing his next few words carefully. “You know we all just want you and Seokjin-hyung to be happy, right?”

Yoonji feels a little touched by Taehyung’s earnestness. “I know,” she replies gruffly. “Thank you.”

Taehyung’s smile turns softer. “I believe in you both,” he says simply, a little cryptically, before skipping away, back to where he came from. Yoonji watches him go for a few seconds before turning back to her skate, roughly pulling it off her foot.

When she heads out, she finds Seokjin waiting for her by the entrance, lower lip between his teeth as he types out a reply into his phone. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look up as he follows Yoonji out the rink, into the night.

It’s colder now. Yoonji breathes out, watches her breath turn to mist, turn to atmosphere; tells herself that she’s doing the right thing, that this is how it’s supposed to be between them. This is how it’s supposed to stay.

“I don’t like fighting with you,” she says quietly.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Seokjin finish whatever it is he’s doing on his phone, before slipping it back into his pocket.

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks, and his voice is devoid of its usual inflection, of its usual sweetness. “We’re not fighting, Yoonji.”

“I mean, after the other night, I…” she trails off, unable to find the right words. “I just. It feels weird, now, I don’t know.”

“It isn’t,” Seokjin replies immediately. “We’re fine, Yoonji.”

“Yeah, but I mean…” Her tongue feels useless in her mouth, unable to find the right words, unable to say what she wants to. “We promised, didn’t we? Things shouldn’t ever be weird between us. So we can…we can skate better.”

When she turns to face Seokjin, she finds him looking at her, something indecipherable in his eyes. “We did promise,” he agrees, before shaking his head. He stalks forward; Yoonji has to scramble a little to fall back into step with him. For the first time since she’s known him, she feels like she doesn’t recognize him—all his natural warmth faded from his features. 

“Nothing is weird between us,” Seokjin continues. A pause, and then his lips twist into a small, almost sad smile. “Everything’s exactly the same as it always has been.”

. . .

The next week, Yoonji meets Jaehwan.