Work Text:
“woah, woah.”
summer has just unfolded. it was sweltering hot. the sound of tires skidding through hard pavement echoed in the air and hyejin felt warm all over despite being under the cool shade of a tall tree. across her, in old, beaten-down sneakers and a messy ponytail, wheein stared at her, smiling so bright it brings the sun and its light to shame. her smile dropped immediately the moment her bike wobbled and rattled.
she was trying to bike without hands—tried to learn how to do it ‘cause she saw her crush do it when he biked to school just a few days ago.
none of the girls in our class could do it. none had tried to, wheein had said, just moments earlier, glimmering black eyes morphing into a deep shade of honey brown under the glint of the sun. maybe he’ll finally look my way when i do. maybe he’ll think i’m cool.
wheein’s right. maybe it was a bit cool. but still. nothing will ever be cool enough if it doesn’t warrantee wheein’s safety, so hyejin thought it was a ridiculous trick to learn.
“don’t look at me like that.”
hyejin tilted her head. “like what?”
“like you’re predicting my downfall.” wheein folded her lips, displeased. “i’ll get the hang of this. i know i will. and i’ll look really cool when i do, so don’t look at me like that.”
hyejin thought wheein looked plenty cool already, thought that she doesn’t have to do anything to validate or further justify that fact. “i’m not predicting your downfall. i’m just worried,” she muttered out. “do you want me to look away, then?”
another skid echoed in the air.
“no,” wheein said. her face was flushed from the heat of the sun and her shirt clinged to her sloppily. her sneakers looked dirtier than ever, and that was weird, ‘cause hyejin had always known wheein to be prim and proper, the quiet, shy girl in class. but now here she was, sweaty and determined and clumsily yet steadfastly learning a new trick just to impress her crush. just shows how much she likes him, and that was cute. and equally naïve. “don’t. told you i’d look cool when i get the hang of this, so i want you to be the first one to see me when i make it. keep your eyes on me, hyejin-ah.”
keep your eyes on me.
wheein never needed to tell her that. hyejin has never been able to look away from her friend. not even once. that day, she wondered if it was the summer heat that had made her heart race faster than usual.
…
ten years has passed and hyejin still kept her eye on wheein. even now, as the other swirled the wine in her cup, eyes heavy and back heavier, bowed with a weight hyejin doesn’t understand.
wheein had called, minutes earlier. her voice had been a reminiscent of a splinter of a sob, teetering so, so close to something wounded, so hyejin revved her car to the direction opposite to her house, made her way to wheein without question.
wheein’s state wasn’t good. her hair was mussed, usually bright stare gone blank under the kitchen counter’s dingy yellow lights. hyejin squinted, an attempt to solve the mystery that was wheein’s current expression. something that was not quite sadness folded and creased her face, smoothed down her usual cheery smile, and from the layers and layers of emotions in her friend’s face, hyejin managed to pick up something she recognized, only because she had seen it so many times on her own face over the last ten years they had been friends: longing.
but for what?
she bit back her worry, ignored its acrid taste and swallowed it down as she sat next to wheein, her hand instinctively moving to sooth her friend’s back, hoping it’d take away some of that unknown weight.
“hey.”
wheein barely spared her a glance, coughed out a dreary laugh. “hey,” she drawled out, words all scratched out like it took effort for her to drag it from her mouth. “so. i met taehyung.”
kim taehyung. the guy wheein learned to bike without hands for. she never managed to get the hang of it, by the way, her bike always wobbling and her stance crumbling down halfway, but she found her way to taehyung’s line of sight anyways. it took a while, seven years after taehyung transferred from their middle school and broke wheein’s heart, to be exact, but they found each other again.
their story belonged to that of a drama or a romance novel. taehyung worked as a photographer and wheein was a painter. as two people dabbling in the art industry, it wasn’t odd to see them coincide, and that was exactly what happened: their works were displayed in the same exhibition. it didn’t take long for them to start talking, took shorter for them to start dating.
for a while, everything was wonderful. taehyung had brought the best out of wheein, painted her days the color of roses and sweet, sparkling wine. she was the happiest she had been in all the years hyejin had known her. it had felt as if kim taehyung was a man the heavens had considerately and thoughtfully crafted just to belong to wheein’s side. wheein thought they were meant to be, that them meeting once again after so many years of being apart must have meant something—that it was a sign that they were fated to last forever.
nine months and two weeks was not forever.
wheein would often joke about it years after their break up, described how her and taehyung’s relationship “lasted long enough for her to birth a child, if she wanted to”. she would laugh and hyejin would know better, that wheein had wanted that forever with him, had wanted a kid and a home and a future with kim taehyung. that she could have had that with him but didn’t and lamented the fact even after he left her life.
(belatedly, hyejin realised that wheein’s relationship was similar to her attempts at riding a bike without hands: an “almost there but not quite”. something a step away from success, an illusion of it, at least until she loses her balance and the bike skids to a stop.)
when her words were met with silence, wheein let out a sigh, took a sip of her wine, and said, “we met at that coffee shop, by the way. the one across the same exhibition we first met at years and years ago. which was funny. except it didn’t really feel funny.” she rested her head on her hands, let her nails, painted a striking shade of marroon, grip unto her hair. “i always thought i’d do something that would leave an impression if we ever met again—you know, i told you—but i didn’t. i didn’t kick him in the balls for breaking my heart not just once but twice. didn’t even yell at him or humiliate him in front of the public. i just… froze there in front of him, coffee going cold in my hands. like a fucking idiot. then i smiled a smile that didn’t feel like mine. fuck.”
the glass in her fingers were dangerously close to slipping. hyejin was quick to hold wheein’s hand, holding the glass back in place before deciding on plucking it out of wheein’s hold.
“wheein-ah, stop-”
“you know, i couldn’t do shit ‘cause he looked happy. content. then i felt like shit ‘cause i hated how happy and content he looked.”
wheein had long outgrew the shell of a proper, timid girl her mother had shaped her into. now she’s not afraid to be brazen, to state what she wants, to chase what she deserves. those words, said by the lips of the strong and capable wheein she knew now, should have simmered with underlying quiet fury. however, there was not a lick of heat in her words, and the emptiness in which the words were said scared hyejin.
but really, what had terrified her the most was the way her eyes met wheein’s heartbroken gaze when the other proceeded to tell her, “he had a wedding ring on, hyejin-ah. i think he’s married now.”
the silence between them rang loud. any form of consolation she had died, sour on hyejin’s tongue as she muttered out the only words she was able to say. “i’m sorry, wheein-ah.”
wheein shook her head. “don’t be.” laughed. “fuck that shit.” she turned her head at hyejin, stared long and sighed out. “hyejin-ah, go on a vacation with me.”
“a… what?”
“a vacation,” wheein repeated. “please say yes. i’ve booked two flights to jeju.”
no explanations were needed. hyejin knew that a vacation was what wheein needed to forget, to ecscape. to, maybe, even prove to herself that she’s happy too, just like taehyung. the wine must have made wheein irrational. reckless. everything she usually was not. hyejin recalled the longing in wheein’s face and her hoarse voice and empty tone and found herself nodding. found herself still unable to look away from jung wheein.
“okay,” hyejin replied. “yeah. sure. give me tomorrow to ask for a leave from my boss.”
if wheein’s breaking down and needed hyejin to pick up her pieces, she will. wordlessly and without reason; even if she’ll end up cutting herself.
…
hyejin’s never taken a leave before. the only holidays she has were christmas, new years, and probably chuseok. the days other than that, she spent working her bones off, spent proving her older, male bosses that she, as a younger woman, was just as capable if not better than they are. years and years of going through the same monotonous cycle of waking up, work, and quick meals in between.
the last time she went to jeju was around three years ago, maybe, and even that was for a business trip she didn’t care much for. back then, too, she had thought jeju was beautiful, but now that she could enjoy jeju sans the pressure of work, the island was even more brilliant than she remembered—all warm sunlight and glimmering oceans and the soft sand under her feet.
(yet perhaps, what had made jeju the prettiest she has ever seen it was the fact that wheein was beside her, more beautiful than the views they had witnessed, bright as a beacon as she held her hand, laughing while pointing at something distant.)
…
a holiday isn’t a holiday when you don’t let loose even a little bit, wheein had said. and letting loose, in her dictionary, had included a little bit of alcohol.
“a little bit”, wheein had said, that fucking liar. so definitely not around seven bottles of soju. or was it really seven bottles of soju? hyejin had stopped counting five glasses in.
it had been fine at first—they had laughed louder than the sound of crashing waves all the way from hamdeok beach to the nearest restaurant, where wheein had ordered for them samgyeopsal and kimchi stew and soju—until somewhere down the line, between the half-tipsy conversations about everything and nothing, wheein had picked up her pace and chugged more shots of alcohol in one go. hyejin hadn’t fared any better, her frustations at her latest client—a fussy, cantankerous auntie with horrendous fashion sense—further fuelling her desire to gulp down more of the bitter, addicting liquid.
she had only sobered up upon hearing the tell-tale sound of rain against the pavement, soft and barely noticable over the noise and conversation at first, blurred by the haze that comes with intoxication, but it had gradually gotten louder, conspiciuous enough to make hyejin turn her head to the nearest window to see that it was, in fact, raining. hard.
her mother had always told her that the brightest and hottest of mornings were often followed by an equally intense amount of rain. jeju had been sweltering hot today.
shit.
hyejin glanced at her phone, at the blinking 23:45, ran a hand in her hair, and could not help the curse that left her lips as she proceeded to gently shake heein, who had craddled her head in her hands, swaying every so often though she somehow managed to unfailingly place a roll of meat in her mouth.
“wheein-ah. we should get back. our hotel’s like, two hours from here.”
wheein blinked drowsily and nodded, though she stayed rooted in place, too drunk to fully comprehend the situation at hand. meanwhile, hyejin, who grew increasingly sober as the rain fell harder, took matters into her own hand and hurried to pay for their bill. she quickly helped wheein stand up before leading them both out of the restaurant.
aside from the rain, the night was quiet. too quiet. hyejin ignored how wheein dropped her head in her shoulders in favor of looking half-haphazardly for a taxi. there were no signs of any.
“shit.” of course there weren’t any, not in this hour on a weekday. hyejin squeezed her eyes shut, frustrated. somehow the action had jogged her memory, and she was reminded of how, on their way here, she had seen a small motel a couple blocks away. there were still no signs of taxi, or any indications of the rain stopping any time soon, but hyejin could borrow an umbrella from the kind lady running the restaurant and she has her credit card in her purse.
she took a deep sigh and propped wheein so her friend could stand straighter. it’s going to be a long night.
…
somehow, between getting halfway rained on and wheein nearly slipping out of her hold, hyejin had managed to carry the both of them to the motel. she knew she looked like a wet disaster when she sees the receptionist’s eyes widen as she approaches close.
“hello.” this was embarassing. “is there, uh, an available room for two i can book for tonight?” she’s going to kill wheein the moment her friend sobers up.
despite her initial surprise, the receptionist nodded in response. “we do have one available room left. would you-”
“i’ll take it,” she replied, a little too quickly. anything sounds better than sleeping sopping wet outside. she propped wheein (again) and struggled to get her purse. “can i please request a room with two single beds?”
“i’m afraid that would not be possible,” the receptionist said, shaking her head. “we only offer double bed rooms in our motel.”
“that’s fine,” wheein piped in, out of nowhere. she had raised her head, though her arms are still twined with hyejin’s for support. her every movement were slow and sluggish, but hyejin could tell that the other was sobering up. wheein tilted her head up to meet hyejin’s gaze. “we can share a bed, can’t we, hyejin-ah?”
she was wrong. wheein’s definitely still drunk. a sober wheein would simply say they’d take the room, for rational reasons. she’d take care of how she phrases her words. she wouldn’t… say it like that. with blinking eyes and an innocent tone. she wouldn’t.
hyejin could feel her face heating up, could feel the way her head nodded stiffly. “right. yeah. we’ll take the room, ma’am.”
“just like old times,” wheein whispered, head lolling back to land on hyejin’s shoulder, her grip on hyejin’s arms stronger now.
hyejin doesn’t answer, but the words were all she thought about as she absently signed off the papers, echoing still in her head, louder than the feel of the cold metal of the keys dropped in the palm of her head. louder than the receptionist’s polite voice as she shows them the way to the stairs and bids them good night.
…
hyejin was nothing if not confident; in the way she commanded attention to herself, and in the way she carried a presence larger than her stature. but really, all that confidence crumbles like sand castles swept by a gentle tide in the presence of one jung wheein.
she shouldn’t be, hyejin knew that. she’s known wheein and had been her best friend for years and years now. she’d stood beside her as the desk-mate their homeroom teacher assigned her to when they were both in middle school (when wheein still wore those too-big square-frame glasses and they both wore skirts that go beyond their knees to avoid school punishments) and as her best friend in high school and all the way through college (who’d come to cheer for her during her art exhibitions and cry with her when she suffered tumultuous creative blocks and heartbreaks from puppy loves) and even ‘till now, she stood beside her (both of them two women nearing their 30s, worn-down and battered by experience, and wheein’s learned to stand up straighter than she did when she was younger).
so yes, they’ve been friends for a long ass time, but hyejin can’t help it.
not when they were mere inches apart, two hearts beating under the same dark of the night.
wheein had easily splayed herself on the bed with a content sigh before rolling over to make some space for her, leaving damp tracks on the bed’s sheets. on the contrary, hyejin took her time to peel off the wet jacket clinging on her body like a second skin. when she did, she had instead opted to sit on the far right of the bed, leaning her tired back on the bed’s hard, wooden headboard. couldn’t really bring herself to go any closer to wheein, couldn’t help but feel wrong if she does.
she knew sharing a bed shouldn’t feel this foreign or feel this… hard. they’ve shared a bed before, afterall, but that fact was more of an afterthought since it happened a long time ago. a multitude of nights, so much that feels like another lifetime. something so far away, that it feels closer to a dream than reality.
(a memory weathered by time, blurred around the edges; tucked like a child put to sleep in a deep, shadowy corner of hyejin’s head.)
so yeah. it felt weird. out of place. felt like she’s traveled back to those good old days, now that she was sharing a space with wheein. she could almost feel the itchy fabric of the grey skirt of her uniform brushing against her knees, nearly thought that if she ducked her head, she’d see loosened ties and rumpled dress shirts. she doesn’t, but wheein smiled at her, and tonight, she was a reminiscent of the wheein she had seen for at least five summers, nearly two decades ago—oh so unguarded, hair mussed against her pillow, fingers clasped together close to her chest as she curls in on herself—and hyejin couldn’t help but feel like a middle-schooler all over again, a child stuck in an all too big body that no longer felt like hers even though it has been for a long time now.
“it’s been a while,” wheein breathed out. she doesn’t look as awkward as hyejin feels. there was a smile in her face—cheeky, brilliant, too childish for someone who’s approaching thirty. “i think the last time we did this, we were in middle school. sharing our dreams, laughing in the dark. do you remember?”
beautiful.
wheein looked fucking beautiful like this, eyes sparkling with the same brightness of a dying star, the alcohol they had hours earlier so deeply ingrained in her veins that it ruffled over the smile in her lips and painted her face a faint flush of pink.
hyejin smiled back. thought back about wheein telling her how, when she met taehyung, she smiled a smile that didn’t feel like her own. she’s doing that, too, smiling something that was more of a crappy attempt in mirroring wheein’s smile rather than smiling her own smile. she swallowed the bile in her throat, ignored the dull ache in her chest as she nodded. how can i forget?
“time runs like water,” wheein said. “back then, i thought i’d end up as someone happier. someone better. it was an unconscious belief really, that over the course of time, i’d naturally become someone who’s more… put together. really thought that was what being an adult means—improvement and all that jazz. but thinking back, i was happier then, wasn’t i?”
“you did improve.”
wheein chuckled, humorless. “yeah. maybe. but i wasn’t who i wanted to be back then. i wasn’t… in a place i expected i’d be.”
hyejin remembered. wheein had always been a hopeless romantic, always thought she’d be married to a perfect, loving husband with two kids and a dog and living in a pretty, suburban house by the age of twenty-five. it had probably never crossed her mind, that there was a possibility that she would, instead, nurse a heartbreak from a major breakup on the age of twenty-nine.
“no,” hyejin said instead. “but you had grown to become someone better. however, i guess you are right, to a certain point. you and i, we were happier as kids. had less things to worry about. and less things to be angry or sad about.”
wheein shifted, stared dolefully at hyejin. the silence weighs heavy on her. “hyejin-ah, come closer. you’re so far.”
“i’m right beside you.”
“yet not close enough. come closer,” wheein repeated.
hyejin obliged, shuffled closer to the other even when the soft friction between her skin and the sheets underneath them sent a resonating echo of ache to her heart. wheein stared at her momentarily, and the dark had dimmed it, but hyein could still see it, the way something sad caressed her features, put out the light in her eyes like fingers pinching out the flame of a candle, folded her smile into a thin line.
“i want to die,” wheein chuckled bitterly. something indiscernible flits across her eyes, like a bird taking flight, gone so quickly. too quickly.
“i wish you weren’t so sad. not for someone like him. you know he doesn’t deserve that. doesn’t deserve you,” hyejin whispered, at a loss of what else to say. she doesn’t know why she found it so difficult, to comfort someone with a broken-heart, especially when that someone was her best friend. “never did,” said the last two words more quietly than the others.
(maybe, just maybe… it’s because she’s never quite known how to console her own broken-heart.)
wheein shook her head, looked at hyejin like she doesn’t understand, then turned her head and placed her hands on the skin across her heart. “it hurts everywhere,” she muttered, voice broken. “hurts so bad.”
“i’m sorry.” a long period of impasse, then short, quiet breaths. wheein has fallen asleep, probably with tear streaks marking her cheeks, from tears that, knowing wheein, finally rained down in rivulets because her guard was finally down, laid to peace as she drifted to sleep. hyejin waited—doesn’t know what made her hold back, or knows but was too much of a coward to admit it out loud, even to herself—then inhaled, said, “if it was me, i… i wouldn’t have broken your heart.”
no reply came, and the silence has hyejin breathing out in relief. she shifted, lied her body down to meet the matress, careful not to wake wheein. “i’m not a man, but we could run to a place far away and i’d marry you. some time in spring, amongst a field of flowers. just the way you like it. i’m not a man, and i’m fucking glad i’m nowhere near your ex, who is as much garbage as the amount of adoration you have for him, but i’d know how to treat you. i’d know… how to make you happy.”
“i can’t promise you that it’ll be like when we were kids again, so unknowing of the world that it had kept us happy, away from worries because that was what reality entails, but i can promise i won’t stand still when you cry. that i-” she choked out, sighed, then continued. “that i’d cry with you. that i’d be the one to wipe your tears. that i’ll gather you in my arms and stay until you feel alright. when you hurt, i’ll hurt with you. i can do the one thing he didn’t do: i’d stay with you. even without you asking.”
and as much as it hurt to see wheein cry, it hurt more to know that she was crying over someone who doesn’t deserve her heart. over someone who so easily possessed the one thing hyejin had longed for since a long time ago. since she and wheein were kids. since she witnessed wheein learn to ride a bike without hands to improve her crush and her heart throbbed for no reason.
longed for… even when wheein got her first boyfriend and she found herself placing a safe distance between them. even when wheein continued to love and be loved, then broke and grew stronger and learned to give her heart again. even when she was fully convinced she found the one true love of her life. even when they broke up, a crying wheein craddled in her arms.
even now, days after wheein found out said love of her life had married someone else when she herself was unable to move on from the past they shared together.
(and oh, how foolish must she be, to ache for something she could not even reach in the first place.)
“do you remember? back then, you learned to bike without hands to impress your crush.” and damn it, there it is again. the bike incident. it’s been a few years, but sometimes, even now, hyejin’s mind would revisit the memory and entertain it every so often. “i don’t know why i could never forget. why it won’t leave my mind.” except hyejin knew. knew it was because it was probably the first time she realised she harbored feelings for her friend, feelings that stretch beyond just-platonic-affection.
images of wheein, young and naïve with her glasses sliding down, combed-down hair now a tangled mess, losing her balance on her bicycle and yelling, with a smile, for hyejin to keep your eyes on me play in her mind’s eye, the memory colored a light shade of yellow. hyejin could almost smell summer in the air.
“you probably don’t remember, probably won’t understand what i’m trying to say, but… i kept my promise, didn’t i? ever since that day, i have never not kept my eyes on you. i always did. all the while wondering, when will the day come, when you will finally look back at me.”
hyejin wiped her hands carelessly against her eyes, felt little surprise when she finds the tips of her fingers wet. “i’m not asking you to love me, wheein-ah,” she muttered out, eyes fluttering shut. what a heavy thing it is, honesty. and with the weight of the truth finally leaving her chest, something else settled to replace it: the sadness that comes with the realisation that admitting this truth would not change a thing. “i just wish. you’d give me a chance. can’t it be your turn, to look my way for once?”
hyejin slowly succumbed to sleep, oblivious to the fact that the quiet breathing beside her has long subsided. in the dark, wheein let out a shuddery breath, tries and fails to blink away the tears from her eyes.
…
crying had always made it difficult for her to open her eyes. gravity was harsher on her today, pinning hyejin to bed and making it more of hassle for her to even sit up. groaning, she tilted her head as she attempted to rub the sleep from her eyes.
hyejin tried to ignore the heavy feeling that sunk down her stomach when she finds the space beside her empty and cold. before she could dwell on the feeling, however, the door creaked open and in enters wheein, phone pressed between her cheek and shoulder and a supermarket plastic bag on her free hand.
“that sounds good,” she said, presumably to the person on the other line of the call. she chuckled, light and airy like the morning sun seeping in from the half-opened curtain across their bed. “say hello to him for me. okay. see you, then.”
“who are you talking to?” hyejin asked. she cringed internally the moment she realised how small her voice had been. how it’s scratched with sleep, barely coherent.
“fuck,” wheein said instead. “did i wake you up?”
“no. who are you talking to?” hyejin repeated.
wheein smiled, soft. another reminiscent of the sunlight that’s currently prickling hyejin’s skin. so much alike the sunlight of today’s morning, yet also to the scorching sun from that summer from a yesterday years ago, so much that hyejin could nearly hear the sound of skidding bicycle tires and a little girl’s yelp of surprise.
“just… taehyung,” she answered, simply. like the words aren’t weighing her down anymore. like she hadn’t cried over taehyung’s marriage just last night, and the night a few days before, too. “d’you know? he married yoongi-ssi. his best friend, remember? you’ve seen him once or twice, I think. hah. i mean, i always thought they had something going on between them, but this is still quite unexpected.” she laughed. laughed. “oh, by the way. when you were asleep, i went out and bought breakfast. hope you’re okay with tuna mayo kim-“
“wheein.”
wheein looked at her. she wasn’t smiling anymore, but her face was void of the sadness she had tried to drink away last night. hyejin wasn’t sure of what to make of it, so she stays put though her eyes continue to stare back at wheein.
“don’t worry,” wheein said, finally, and of course she’d do that—address hyejin’s unstated worries. her voice was small but steady, only barely heard over the sound of rustling plastic thumped on the wooden bedside table. she sat down on the corner of the bed. “i’m okay now, i think. got it all figured out.”
“that’s good,” hyejin said. says it ‘cause she can’t seem to think the way she usually does on mornings. says it ‘cause the dull ache from last night’s (one-sided) confession (and conclusion) has yet to ebb away, throbs gently instead, the way untreated wounds do.
“is that all you have to say?”
“…wha- what else should i have to say?”
wheein sighed, and hyejin’s taken back to the night she found wheein swirling wine glass in her hands until her friend said, “i was never sad about taehyung, you know.”
hyejin blinked. “what?”
“i said, i was never sad about taehyung,” wheein repeated, running a hand through her hair.
to say hyejin was confused was an understatement. “i don’t get it. i don’t know what more you want me to say, and… and i don’t get what you mean when you said you weren’t sad about taehyung. wheein-ah, i was there when you cried for him.”
“no. i didn’t fucking cry for him. at least, not yesterday. and not that day when i asked you to come with me on a vacation, either.”
hyejin’s eyes widened. “then-“
“i wasn’t asleep last night, hyejin-ah.”
time seemed to still, yet dread ran quickly in hyejin’s veins the moment she finished processing the underlying meaning behind wheein’s words.
fuck. fuck. fuck. fu-
“i’m-“ she was scrambling for words to say. a defense. a retaliation. a lie. fuck. she really can’t think the way she usually does on mornings, can’t she? “wheein, i’m sor-“
wheein shook her head. “don’t. i’m not asking for an apology.” she moved closer. her hands felt warm as she wiped the tear hyejin didn’t know left her eyes. “and i… i didn’t mean to say it like it’s a sad thing. it’s not. you’re always the braver one out of the both of us, aren’t you, hyejin-ah?”
wheein’s no longer wiping her tears and just plainly caressing her cheeks now, and the action sent hyejin to panic mode. she made a move to get away, but wheein had her pinned in place the moment she lifts her free hand, the one that’s not on hyejin’s cheek, and places it atop hyejin’s. “what- what are you doing?”
“you got a boyfriend before i did,” wheein said instead. “we were eighteen. i hated you every time you smiled his way. then i hated myself for feeling relieved when you guys broke up months later.”
hyejin tried to speak, she really did, but her breath’s caught in between her airways. she’s left silent and breathless.
“i hated-“ wheein chuckled, and it wasn’t even a sound she made but hyejin could taste its bitterness in her own tongue. “how men and women would look your way. how they’d chase for you. and how they’d get to have you. i’ve never told you, but you remind me of the summer sun, hyejin-ah. ‘cause you’re someone who shines with her own light. and i can’t help but hate the fact that i’m not the only one who realises that. everyone knows it, too, and they yearn for you. all of them, just like sunflowers drawn to the sun. but i’m- i’m not a fucking flower. i’m a moth scared of your light, scared you’d burn me.”
“wheein-ah..”
“as a child, i dreamt of a house and a husband and kids, and taehyung was that dream. i wanted to cling to that dream, wanted to cling to him, but-“ silent tears run across wheein’s cheeks and hyejin felt lost. she doesn’t know what to say, much less how she can comfort the other. all she knows is this: wheein still has plenty to say, and the only thing she could do was to wait for the rest of it. to listen. “i told you last night, how i wasn’t who i wanted to be.”
wheein looked down, but before she did, hyejin had caught the fear in her eyes. her friend’s presence had always been magnanimous in her eyes, and this was the first time wheein had felt so small to her.
“yeah, you did,” hyejin whispered.
“i haven’t been who i wanted to be for a long time. but not because i didn’t manage to achieve my dream, but because… i have failed to want it more than i clung to it. because somewhere along the way, i knew that i didn’t want a husband.” wheein tilted her head up to meet hyejin’s gaze, and she could see “it” again, the longing she saw that night. the longing that mirrored hers. “i just… wanted you.” wheein was panting, like those four words were tedious weights she had to carry and deliver and now that she did, she has tired herself out. but once those four words were out, the rest flowed out easier. “my dream, hyejin-ah, was you. all this time… i’ve never cried because of taehyung. i cried ‘cause i was tired of denying what i truly wanted, but i was too scared of accepting it, too. i didn’t cry because taehyung got married. i cried ‘cause he had with yoongi what i wanted to have with you.
“you asked me last night, if i’d look back at you for once. what if i’ve always have, hyejin-ah? i’ve always looked back at you.”
and maybe it was when wheein said those words that the realisation that her crush of so many years loved her back finally caught up to her. hyejin could feel her heartbeat thump—fast like a rabbit—in her ear, could feel the tears of her own running down her cheeks. she wiped it, quickly, carelessly, and the action made wheein laugh wetly.
“i’d hate it if anyone walked in on us, we’re a fucking mess.” wheein whispered. her hands moved up to hold both of hyejin’s cheek, bringing her head down so their foreheads meet, and the action felt so tender that wheein couldn’t help but blink a few more tears. “hey, hyejin-ah.”
“mmm?”
“i love you,” wheein said. there was conviction in her eyes, a much favorable replacement to the longing. “i fucking love you. can’t… deny it anymore.”
hyejin laughed, then raised her hands so it could hold wheein’s. “did it really take me confessing to you for you to say that?”
wheein blushed. “shut up,” she murmured. “can you really call it confessing when you thought i was asleep?”
“fuck you-“
“and you didn’t even tell me you love me.”
this time, it was hyejin’s turn to blush. she bit her lip, tightened her hold on wheein’s hands. “you know i love you,” she said. and gosh, she never thought she could be able to admit those words out loud, not to mention having those words be an echo of wheein’s. “i fucking love you, wheein-ah. so much that i can't keep my eyes off of you.”
when wheein laughed and joined their lips together, hyejin thinks she could hear the ringing of bicycle bells and smell summer—now so sweet, more warm than scorching—all over again.