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Yoon Seeun first hears rumours about her dating Lee Chaeyoung at the Exchangers’ Cultural Fair.
In between making bite-sized pajeon and side-eyeing the Chinese students (who are also “coincidentally” making scallion pancakes), she badgers Park Sieun into telling her what she heard. Apparently there are eyewitnesses.
“Shen Xiaoting said someone saw you and Chaeyoung making out in the library,” Sieun hisses, more from the hot oil splattering onto her hands than the content of her statement.
“Shen Xiaoting is not a reliable source of information,” Seeun says, loudly enough that she can see the girl flipping her off from her booth. “She also stole like half of our scallions.”
“Understandable, they don’t have a car to get to the grocery store,” Sieun says, like that even makes sense. The Chinese students are always the people who know someone who knows someone. Xiaoting just likes messing with her at Chaeyoung's behest. “Anyway, you’re not denying it.”
“We were not making out,” Seeun says defensively. All she did was stand frozen in place while Chaeyoung gave her a goodbye kiss on the cheek that caught her off guard. And in the science fiction section, too. Seeun can’t walk through there anymore looking for some Ken Liu without thinking about it. It’s horrible.
“You better not have been,” Sieun says with finality. “Not before you commit to each other.” The way Sieun – Protestant and proud of it – oscillates between exhibiting silent allyship and almost-certain homosexualisms has Seeun giggling to herself. Sieun’s silver cross pendant glints in the light, like it’s winking at her.
More hot oil splatters onto a shrieking Sieun, Xiaoting comes over to steal more scallions, Seeun negotiates it into a trade for some soy sauce, and the topic is dropped.
Her roommate isn’t too fazed by the accusations. Chaeyoung is never anything but calm and collected. One time, Seeun got so startled by an Amber Alert that she had flung her phone out of her hands. Chaeyoung, incredibly, had caught it on its way down, saving Seeun hundreds of dollars and a painful hour-long trip on American public transport to the nearest Apple store.
This time, it’s still Seeun who can’t help the redness in her ears when they’re walking through the science fiction section of the library. She’s not about to give up now, not after three months of trying to get Chaeyoung to have an appetite for any kind of fiction. It was Ted Chiang’s “Story of Your Life” that had done the trick, so she’s searching hard for something similar. Something that tickled the linguistics major in Chaeyoung to get her excited about the one thing Seeun loves in this world. Something like–
“ The Paper Menagerie and Other Stories by Ken Liu,” Chaeyoung reads softly. “That’s the author you like, right?”
Seeun’s eyes widen at Chaeyoung’s eerily accurate sixth sense. “How’d you know I was looking for this one?”
“I didn’t,” Chaeyoung smiles. “The cover just looked nice.”
Seeun can’t help the rising lilt in her excited voice when she recommends “The Literomancer.” Someone shushes them from behind the shelves.
Chaeyoung raises her eyebrows, intrigued. “I like the title already.” And then, at the sight of Seeun’s probably-stupid smile, she adds, “So this is why people think we’re dating.”
Seeun flusters. She doesn’t need reminders about the how’s or why’s those rumours started. God forbid people think they were “meant to be together,” or something.
(“I just think you have such a rare opportunity here,” Sieun had said through a dreamy sigh. “How lucky do you have to be for your roommate to just happen to be gay, Korean, out to her parents, and a senior who has a cushy job lined up for her after graduation? In Seoul too? It’s God’s will.”
“To be fair,” Seeun had hummed back. “I’m quite sure campus housing just saw our ethnic names and put us together.”)
“What does that have to do with–”
“I like when you turn pink for no reason,” Chaeyoung coyly interrupts.
“ Unnie, ” Seeun whines, helpless on all fronts. “You’re so unfair.” The same person shushes them again. Seeun rolls her eyes when Chaeyoung claps a hand over her mouth.
“You were right, science fiction is fun,” Chaeyoung supplies, flipping through the book on her way out. Seeun throws her arms up in exasperation, only caring to grab the nearest book she can see, before running to catch up with her.
The first time Seeun had met Chaeyoung in what was supposed to be their room, it had been a complete mess. Opened snacks on the table, dirty laundry on the floor, unmade bed; Seeun swears that Chaeyoung would be a complete slob if it weren’t for her and her organizational skills, but Chaeyoung claims she’d just caught her at a bad time. She didn’t know she was going to have a roommate. She hadn’t had one the semester before. What does a senior have to do to get some privacy in her last semester?
Seeing as Chaeyoung had been the one to move their twin beds together to form a “mega-bed” within the first month, she has long given up on that dream. Not that Seeun minds, really, as long as Chaeyoung lets her sleep through her classes.
Today, Seeun is a little less grateful about the arrangement. Chaeyoung has an arm and a leg around her, and she’s basically breathing down her neck. There’s a midterm tomorrow that Seeun has to at least pass, because it would frankly be kind of embarrassing to fail the notoriously easy class that is Geology 101. The problem is Chaeyoung has a way more important midterm tomorrow that she doesn’t have the luxury of just passing. Seeun can’t shift too much or she’ll wake her, but she’s never going to get any kind of restful sleep like this.
The dead of the night isn’t silent by any means. She can hear the occasional passing car, and the distant rustling of leaves in the wind. Her heartbeat plays a deep bassline in her own ears, with Chaeyoung’s soft breathing as a melodic accompaniment. And then, in the slightest of whispers, Seeun catches a name.
“Bae Sumin.” Like a record scratch. It’s unmistakable. Seeun gently seethes.
“Sumin-ah,” Chaeyoung says again into the crook of her neck. And, is that drool on her shoulder?
There’s a yelp and a thud when Seeun unceremoniously launches Chaeyoung back to her side of the mega-bed. Seeun draws her blanket over herself and pretends to be fast asleep when Chaeyoung groggily asks her what’s going on.
“Why the hell were you moving in with her?” The nerve Chaeyoung has to argue with her when she’s in the wrong is frankly laughable. So Seeun laughs incredulously. “ I’m your roommate. This constitutes emotional cheating.”
“Is me calling out a friend’s name in my sleep really the hill you’re choosing to die on?” Chaeyoung, maddeningly, smirks. “We were just sharing an apartment in Seoul together, in my very unrealistic dream. Mind you, housing prices are through the roof right now.”
“I’m a very jealous person,” Seeun elaborates. “Maybe you should know that before misleading everyone into thinking that you’re dating me.”
With that same tranquility that Seeun both admires and abhors, Chaeyoung hands her a stack of t-shirts that still need to be folded. Seeun’s been uselessly standing around for far too long. “How was your geology midterm?”
The sudden change of subject informs her the extent to which Chaeyoung is willing to address those pesky dating rumours.
Seeun puts on a smile, and says, “I rocked it. And yours?”
Chaeyoung raises her hand in a solemn high five. “I killed it,” she says, and Seeun tries not to fixate on the way Chaeyoung’s palm lingers cozily on hers before returning to her own stack of laundry.
They’re frolicking on the quad in between classes and pretending to read their borrowed books when Chaeyoung tells her more about Bae Sumin. Pretty face, killer singing voice, complicated feelings about homosexuality. You know, typical Gyeongsang-do girly things. It makes Seeun feel thankful about the school she went to in Pyeongtaek. At least those girls were upfront about their internalised homophobia.
“So basically, your ex of three years thinks she’s straight,” Seeun concludes, shielding herself from the sun. The letterman jacket she has on sticks to her skin. When did the weather start getting so hot?
“Well, Sumin’s more like an ex-situationship really,” Chaeyoung tells her. “What was the question again?”
“I asked why you’re going to a college in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, USA.”
“Hey,” Chaeyoung says indignantly. “It’s a public Ivy.” The school’s special collections library – a neo-classical building in the Beaux-arts style, or whatever it is the tour guides say – looms over the quad like it exists just to prove Chaeyoung’s point. Seeun shakes her head disapprovingly.
“I know you didn’t move twelve thousand kilometers just to get away from an ex-situationship that you’re still friends with,” Seeun argues. “Why are you here?”
Chaeyoung flips a page of her book even though she’s not reading it, and shrugs. “Because I didn’t get into Ewha,” she says. There’s a beat before Seeun turns to guffaw into the wind.
“Wow,” she says between catching her breath. “You couldn’t get into the gay school, so you fled here.” Seeun gestures vaguely at the countless booths set up around the massive courtyard. There are at least three LGBTQ+ collectives that have set up shop there to fundraise, and a dozen more with all manners of pride flags as their backdrop. It almost serves to balance out all matters of heteronormative Greek lettered organizations strewn around the place. “That is the single gayest thing anyone has ever said to me.” The moment calls for Seeun to flip her hair and point dastardly at the ‘E’ patch over her heart. “And I go to Ewha.”
Chaeyoung giggles through a bite of the cake she’d bought from the Cunning Linguists Club’s Financiers-for-Queers bake sale. “Well, you’ve never been to Carpet Munchies on a Friday night.”
Seeun recently learnt what a carpet muncher was from Sieun, who’s almost too good with English lesbian lingo. But then again, Sieun’s performative heterosexuality has never been called out.
“Carpet Munchies has really good soju cocktails,” Chaeyoung adds. Seeun can’t help the slight cringe that forms at the name of the bar. “And the best curly fries you’re going to get in town.”
“I don’t drink,” Seeun reminds, and catches the slight fall in Chaeyoung’s face. She likes how nervous the older girl gets around her sometimes. It’s almost as if Chaeyoung thinks Seeun’s enjoyment of the school is an indicator of how much she likes Chaeyoung. “But I’m always down for a munch or two.”
The badly-delivered euphemism and botched wink make them laugh. That strikingly Cheshire grin returns to Chaeyoung’s face, as if to remind Seeun again that spring is here. She tosses her green jacket over Chaeyoung’s head on that thought, and steals the last of her financiers.
Despite not having finished any of the short stories Seeun asked her to read, Chaeyoung is lured back into the science fiction section of the undergraduate library at three in the afternoon the next day. That is also despite her impending deadline for the first draft of her senior thesis being at twelve noon the following day.
Sunlight filters in from the tall windows, and casts a glow on Chaeyoung’s cheeks, excitedly raised at the prospect of Seeun’s cooking – her bribe, for deserting her academic duties and accompanying Seeun to the library. “If my thesis supervisor simply promised more food for me at the end of this draft,” Chaeyoung whispers, “I would be so much more motivated to work on it.”
Seeun realizes how much she towers over Chaeyoung when she lets the weight of her obligations fold her shoulders. “Are you sure you should be here right now instead of working on it?”
“It’ll be okay,” she replies, standing a little straighter, a little more into Seeun’s space. “I’ll get it done.”
Seeun steps backward, pivots the conversation to “Negotiating Identity through Language: A Sociolinguistic Investigation of Konglish in the Korean Diaspora,” or whatever it is Chaeyoung has to write fifty pages on. Admits she has no intention of writing her own thesis on Milton, Shakespeare, Plath or the like. In between explaining the significance of Lu Xun – “ ahem, the bard of Shanghai, if you will” – to the Chinese literary canon, she reminds Chaeyoung that “The Literomancer” is a must-read. They giggle together when they get shushed, yet again. Later, instead of completing her weekly forum post, Seeun places an order for Chaeyoung’s ribeye steak on Instacart, and sears it to perfection in their hostel’s only pantry.
They’re only reminded of the dating rumours again when they’re watching the most important college basketball game of the season. There’s no lack of fanfare at the dinner party with Sieun’s housemates pulling out all the stops. Seeun’s first taste of kimchi stew in a long while already has her questioning how Chaeyoung has survived four years on a meal plan.
“Unfathomable,” Seeun comments between scarfing down the liquid gold and hissing at how hot it is. “And this isn’t even that good.” Shin Ryujin lets her know she takes offense at the comment with a peeved gasp.
“Meal plans are convenient,” Chaeyoung reasons. “So is living on campus.”
“Imagine not having your own room,” Lee Chaeryeong realizes in horror.
Until Ryujin adds helpfully, “Imagine having Yoon Seeun as your roommate.” There’s something about the way she’s sitting with an arm around Sieun that has Seeun narrowing her eyes.
The expectant look that Seeun puts on doesn’t go unnoticed. With a laugh, Chaeyoung goes to straighten the light blue school swag that she had loaned to Seeun for the night. “It hasn’t been all that bad.”
Maybe it’s her trained senses from three years of an Ewha education. Ryujin glances suspiciously between the two of them until the game starts.
Their team wins in fairytale fashion – over their greatest rival, in the Final Four, to advance to the championship game. They rush the street to celebrate, and Seeun has to admit that even as someone who doesn’t understand the appeal of basketball, parties, or crowds, American college sports are really something.
The rowdy atmosphere gives Seeun a reason to hold onto Chaeyoung’s forearm tightly, though in the sea of sweat-stained light blue, her orange-warm aura is enough for Seeun to feel anchored to. Chaeyoung’s pulse is palpable and hot under her touch, soju working its magic in her veins. Sometime between relishing Chaeyoung’s feverish skin and having to make their walk back to campus, Chaeyoung intertwines their fingers instead. Seeun ignores the texts of disbelief from Ryujin about how she’d “managed to bag an older woman,” and falls asleep with Chaeyoung’s warmth radiating on her skin.
Despite the relatively restful night, Seeun still turns up to her science fiction class drowsy. Xiaoting nudges her sluggish figure when she sits down beside her.
“How are you?” Xiaoting asks. Unlike the countless other similar-sounding questions she gets in a day, Seeun can tell she’s genuinely concerned.
“Tired,” Seeun replies in their common language. “You?”
“Well-rested and not subconsciously vexing over Chaeyoung.”
Seeun stutters out, “How–”
“I watched her and Chaehyun and their whole ‘will they, won’t they’ from start to end,” Xiaoting answers. “It was good while it lasted but, I think Chaeyoung still had some stuff she needed to figure out.”
“You think that’s still the case here?”
“Don’t you think you should ask her that yourself?”
Seeun shrugs. “Probably.”
“I helped her with reading ‘The Literomancer,’” Xiaoting suddenly confesses. “There were a couple of Chinese cultural references she didn’t get.”
Seeun’s smile drops as quickly as it comes. “She didn’t tell me she read it.”
“Well, she did,” Xiaoting says. “And she really liked it. Hits differently at 4am on the night before your thesis draft is due.”
Torn between feelings of betrayal and relief, Seeun settles on: “It’s a good one.”
Their professor is setting up the projector for class to begin. Xiaoting pretends not to notice it, and looks at her steadily. There’s a second of contemplation between them when Xiaoting plucks the Apple Pen from Seeun’s iPad case, and starts doodling.
“Do you know what that is?”
She quickly realizes Xiaoting has written down a Chinese character: shi 勢. “ Shi, as in xing shi, ” she further explains.
From 尹勢銀, as in Yoon Seeun. Of course Seeun recognizes her own name. She holds back on telling Xiaoting about the time in kindergarten where they all had to learn how to write their names in hanja and Seeun had been left crying on the second stroke. It took her two weeks to learn the whole thing.
“ Se , like in hyungse, stance.” Seeun says it the way her mother always taught her to.
“Exactly,” Xiaoting drags the top half of the character away, and lets it stand on its own: yi 埶.
“ Yi , it’s now stylized, but in its most primitive form you would see that it looks like a plant on the left. A corruption of mu 木, as in tree, with its branches and all that sticking out. And on the right,” Xiaoting traces the wan 丸 most carefully, and continues, “Its most ardent caretaker, bent on one knee, helping the plant to grow. Later on, it became the basis for a word like yi 藝, as in one’s craft. So, yi 埶, took on the metaphor of growing as a person.
“And this,” she keeps going, now zooming in on the bottom half of the character: li 力. “Li, meaning strength. Together they make shi 勢. As in wei shi, power and influence; qi shi , poise; shi li , great force. Don’t you see? You’re born to be a force of nature, Seeun.”
Seeun waits to roll her eyes at Xiaoting’s smug expression, before asking, “Since when were you a literomancer?”
“Just taking a page or two out of Ken Liu’s book.”
Seeun suddenly remembers what they were supposed to be talking about. “What does that have to do with Chaeyoung?”
Xiaoting clicks her Apple Pen back into place for her. “You need to embrace your fortune,” she says seriously, “and grow a fucking pair.”
Seeun hits on the arm, causing an audible thud. Amidst their muffled laughter, the professor starts the class.
Kim Chaehyun being the first person Seeun sees when she enters her own room is puzzling, to say the least. And of course, even in a compromising situation like this, Chaeyoung looks the picture of calm. Like the nearby lake she insisted they visit once. Seeun doesn’t even like nature that much, but senior-year Chaeyoung never gets to go out, and well, Seeun’s not going to deprive her roommate of some much-needed fun.
“You’re home,” Chaeyoung greets, and Seeun can’t bring herself to be mad at the way Chaeyoung calls these stifling confines their home. “Chaehyun, meet Seeun. Seeun, Chaehyun. She’s my same-aged friend.”
“You don’t have to be formal with me,” Chaehyun tells her. From the way her cheeks raise with the tone of her voice, Seeun can tell that she’s extroverted . Cheerful, even . She bites back a sneer.
“That’s fine,” she replies, curt. “I’m uncomfortable with dropping honorifics for people I don’t know well.”
“Ah, okay,” Chaehyun says with a short laugh. She slips back into her Busan accent when she turns to Chaeyoung to say, “I think I’ll go, my class is going to start soon.”
When Seeun slams the door behind a scampering Chaehyun, Chaeyoung seems to be biting back a laugh. “What am I going to do if you scare off all of my friends?”
“This is your last semester,” Seeun says. “You don’t need friends.”
It comes off a little too bitter, Seeun realises belatedly. Chaeyoung blinks. “We were just doing a clothes swap.” And then, perceptively, “Xiaoting said something to you, didn't she.”
Seeun lets out a temporizing groan as she pours herself a glass of water. Makes sure to stare Chaeyoung down when she chugs aggressively.
“It was sophomore year. I wasn’t out to my parents then,” Chaeyoung starts. “Chaehyun didn’t want to deal with that, which was fair enough. We moved on pretty fast after we realised how incompatible we were.
“But the good thing is she’s the same size as me, and we both like clothes. So we do a fashion swap every now and then.
“We– we don’t talk that often. We had that one class last semester but we hung out in separate groups. Sometimes we’ll have meals with Xiaoting, but never alone.”
Seeun holds back the criticism that Chaeyoung sounds too much like she’s exposition-dumping – one of her biggest fiction peeves. At her scowl, Chaeyoung pauses, like a deer sensing movement in the woods. Or lifeless roadkill on the side of the I-95. They both go still.
“Seeun-ah.”
Chaeyoung swallows heavily, like she’s sincere . Like she owed Seeun this explanation and she’s sorry for keeping it from her. And Seeun knows this to be true because–
“I’m sorry? For not letting you know earlier.”
Facing her, Seeun blinks. Wraps an arm around herself to conceal the inexplicable racing of her heart. Where was the line? And when did they cross it?
And then, Chaeyoung swoops in like she would when Seeun’s caught in a conversation she doesn’t want to be in. Clears her throat, smiles, and gently guides the topic away to something trivial. Like the weather, or how her classes went.
Wei shi, power and influence; qi shi, poise; shi li, great force. Born to be a force of nature, my ass.
Seeun takes the lifeline Chaeyoung offers, and breathes.
It is the third day in a row Sieun has had plans with someone else for lunch. Seeun finds herself back in her dormitory, unusually, mid-afternoon on a Wednesday.
This is also the third day in a row Seeun has brought a sweater out without using it. Her t-shirt sticks to her skin as the dramatic AC gusts greet her at the entrance to the lobby. The incoming spring feels like the temperamental beginnings of a Korean summer: rainy, then blisteringly sunny; gloomy, then clear, azure skies. Bidding farewell to the winter is a little more bittersweet this year. Spring is just a constant reminder that she’s one day closer to returning home, and one day removed from being able to wear her favorite sweaters.
The climatic ambiguities also remind her of the gray area where she and Chaeyoung reside. Doesn’t help that the bed they share also sports Target’s finest collection of gray Room Essentials bedsheets.
Chaeyoung is holed up in a library cubicle somewhere working tirelessly on that thesis of hers, with only an appointment with Seeun’s cooking at seven in the evening to look forward to. They haven’t talked about anything other than trivialities for 44 hours now.
Not that Seeun’s counting, really.
It’s only two in the afternoon right now. Sliding into bed, Seeun smothers herself with one of those gray pillows to block out the gleaming daylight trickling through their blinds.
The meat she’s been marinating for a day sits thawing on her desk, condensation forming a puddle beneath the container – a solid reminder of the lengths she would go to just to hear Chaeyoung tell her she appreciates the dinners she makes for them.
It would be easier if Chaeyoung was a little more like the month she was born in. Colder than she looked, gloomier than one would expect, and as dreary as they come. Instead, Chaeyoung comes to her every day like Persephone returning from the Underworld, merry sunshine and blooming days following her every step.
(Though these days, her arrival also spells the beginnings of excruciating small talk they haven’t engaged in since the first week of getting to know each other. Seeun winces under the weight of her cheap, understuffed pillow.)
Chaeyoung. 彩瑛. Chae, to colour. Young, to shine.
Seeun sends a woeful text to Xiaoting about literomancy being a sham before retreating back into her pillow fort.
In the middle of catching up, Seeun and Sieun are interrupted by the clock tower tolling its bell to signal noontime. The solemn trilling launches Sieun from a conversation about the house never having enough bananas to sustain her smoothie diet into deep thought.
Seeun looks at her carefully.
The bell stops tolling.
“I think I want to ask her out.”
Between the two of them, Seeun never expected Sieun to be the first to voice that sentence out. No offense to Sieun, of course, who’s proven time and again that her game isn’t dependent at all on her father’s fame, or her childhood acting career. Also–
“So you like girls?”
“I like Ryujin. I honestly don’t know if there’s a difference.”
She looks at Sieun in all earnesty, and remembers the time she’d learnt what her name in hanja was. Eun, or en 恩, as in grace. Seeun’s means something else entirely: eun, as in yin 銀, silver. Sieun’s road has been paved by the invisible hand that is God, or her idea of God, her whole life. God’s will and God’s grace.
Meanwhile, Seeun, born with a silver spoon in her mouth, supportive, nonreligious parents by her side, has never had any divine figure to worry about.
For a second, her own worries seem so small in comparison. “Liking Ryujin, is that also God’s will?”
Sieun narrows her eyes, taking a slow sip of her too-thin smoothie. Seeun’s eyes follow the drop of condensation that trickles down the flimsy plastic and lands square on Sieun’s thigh, staining the light-wash denim a shade darker.
It goes without saying that a part of Sieun still wants to be her father’s sweet, ne'er-do-wrong angel; the role model at church, the dignified youth group leader; the little girl that has been adored by the public eye since she was born, the Park Sieun that won Best Young Actress at the 2018 SBS Drama Awards. Hold up that facade that tells the world she’s doing well, overachieving even, in spite of the chronic body aches and jaded worldview and the pitifully short list of trusted friends.
Sieun’s father had always expressed some displeasure with her enrolling in Ewha instead of a prestigious acting school somewhere else. Her mother never understood why she wanted to spend a whole semester in some random American collegetown instead of New York. Or Los Angeles, at least.
Always a little less sensible than she should be, Sieun shakes her head, and can’t help the smile when she says, “No, it’s my will.”
“Honestly,” Seeun says, grinning. “I think that’s all you need.”
The day Chaeyoung submits her thesis, Seeun gets an ominous text to meet her at the arboretum. Maybe Chaeyoung has a death wish, she thinks, considering her pollen allergy. Apparently she’s never been.
Coincidentally, neither has Seeun, who isn’t the type to go anywhere by herself, let alone the campus’ most notorious “first date” spot.
When she arrives, in an outfit that still grossly underestimates how warm the afternoons can get, the arboretum is the picture of spring. White petals line the curated cobblestone and dirt path, falling from the rows of plum blossom trees. It looks like–
“Hangang in April without the crowds,” Chaeyoung whispers, materializing beside her. Seeun flinches. “We’re just in time,” she says, conspiratorially, daisy-printed skirt trailing behind her like watercolor on a page.
Seeun’s never had luck with watercolors – she’s always been the impatient type. But Chaeyoung seems to drag the stillness between moments long enough to fit them both. So, Seeun lets herself be led by the index finger hooking around hers, and asks, “Just in time for what?”
Chaeyoung’s mask rises with her cheeks. Her smile feels as weightless as her shoulders look. “Witnessing the beauty of God’s creation .” Another one of Sieun’s buzzwords.
Seeun’s scoff comes off more like a giggle. “Says the heathen.”
They walk in silence. Seeun confuses the warmth in her ears and around her knuckle for the sun’s heat. Still, tension bubble under the cover of placidity, and she’s sure Chaeyoung feels it too. Though, the way she gently picks fallen petals off the crown of Seeun’s head does nothing to show her inner turmoil.
This is where one of them confesses, right? Suddenly blurt it out beneath the plum blossom confetti, between the rays of sunlight that peak through the branches. Seeun’s never been one to read romance novels, or indulge in those webtoons Chaeyoung would kick her feet over. Do the main characters in those also gloss over the very awkward interactions they’ve had in the past few days, because love prevails despite the lack of communication?
Chaeyoung turns, and Seeun thinks to herself: this is it.
“I’ve really enjoyed this semester with you.” What should Seeun say in reply? Is Chaeyoung going to kiss her? Where should she put her hands? Can they sit on the bench while they kiss? All very important questions. “I really–”
When Chaeyoung takes a second to breathe, Seeun squeezes the hand in hers for encouragement. She braces herself for the next words.
Instead, Chaeyoung sneezes loudly and maniacally into her elbow. Bending forward with an arm out to keep Seeun away from the strike zone. The last thing Seeun can hear Chaeyoung wheeze out is, “I really think I need to get out of here!”
And well, maybe if God hated gay people, this would be a sign from the heavens that Seeun will never and should never find a kind, good-looking girlfriend like Chaeyoung. Thankfully, Seeun doesn’t believe in God.
She takes her kind, good-looking roommate’s hand, and leads her out of this pollen-filled hell on earth.
”Sorry we didn’t get to check the last thing off your America bingo card,” Chaeyoung tells her with watery eyes and a nose as red as the hot sauce Seeun bought on her first week here. The bottle sits almost empty, now, in their mini fridge.
Where did all the time go? And all that hot sauce? Seeun tentatively brushes the hair out of Chaeyoung’s groggy eyes as she adjusts to waking up.
“It’s okay,” Seeun says, replacing the wet towel on her forehead with a fresh one. “I was half-serious when I wrote about wanting a brush-in with the American healthcare system anyway.”
“You take good care of me, you know?” Seeun holds back a laugh at Chaeyoung’s obvious drowsiness. “I’m being serious! I see the notes you leave me. The stories you recommend. The way you clean up after yourself. You’re a good roommate.” The wrinkles by Chaeyoung’s eyes deepen with how swollen they are. And then she asks something that takes Seeun aback: “Do you want to continue being my roommate?”
“What?”
“I got an apartment with Sumin in Seoul,” she explains cheerily. “I have a king sized bed, and I’ll pay rent and utilities. You can contribute however much you want, or pay for groceries–“
“Are you– are you asking me to move in with you?”
“Well, you live outside the city, and my apartment’s going to be near the subway station. You can take the train to Ewha.”
“And where am I sleeping?”
“On the bed with me.” Seeun’s jaw drops. “I’m sorry, am I being unclear?”
"Well, no,” Seeun says as she scrambles for a single coherent thought. “I thought you said housing prices were through the roof.”
As if it would help prove her point, Chaeyoung sits up and removes the towel on her head with gusto. “Sumin’s aunt is our landlady,” she says, enthusiastic. “We’re renting for cheap, saving up some money for the future.”
Seeun gets momentarily distracted with the thought of a future, or anything of that sort, that has Chaeyoung in hers.
“Look, I know it’s a lot to ask from you, so you can say no, and we can pretend this conversation never happened.”
Seeun blinks. “Do you do this often?”
“What?”
“Ask girls to move in and– and share a bed with you, let them question what their relationship to you is, while you just– you just sleep peacefully in your apartment that you share with your ex?!”
“Which part of that do you want me to address first?”
“Oh, my God,” Seeun whines.
Chaeyoung laughs, like Seeun’s exasperation amuses her. As if homoerotic yearning for your roommate isn’t the worst thing a lesbian in college can experience. But then again, with her track record, it’s no wonder Chaeyoung laughs in the face of that. It might even be why Seeun is so enamoured by her.
“There is nothing between me and Sumin now except platonic female friendship, and a shared desire to live in Seoul for cheap. She is not my ex, and she will tell you the same. And no, I’ve never done this. Why am I asking you to move in with me? Because you’re a good roommate, because it makes sense, and because I want to see more of you. So?”
Exposition dumping. Seeun tuts at her. “So what?”
“My cards are all on the table, Seeun.”
Seeun crosses her arms. “No, they’re not,” she replies, trying not to just say it already. Her eyes narrow when she’s reminded of Sieun’s serenade for Ryujin. Maybe in another world, she would be the one with the guitar and the bouquet instead of the disgruntled friend holding up a sign that says, “GFs?”
With how Chaeyoung is getting on her nerves, Seeun cuts the thought of writing a song short, and says, “I like you. A lot. A little too much to continue sharing a bed with you without wanting more.” She huffs, making sure to get her annoyance across. “So, before you ask me again to move in with you, ask me the other thing.”
And of course, Chaeyoung tilts her head, a grin filling up her face. It’s simultaneously infuriating and relieving. Until her lips lift into a sly smirk: “Can I kiss you?”
“Not that! We aren’t even–”
“Together?”
“So you like me too.”
“I thought that much was obvious.”
“So–” Seeun struggles out. “So why did I have to hear from Xiaoting that you read ‘The Literomancer’.”
“Well, I did, and then Xiaoting performed her voodoo literomancy on me and I freaked out. Told me I had nature on my side or something because there’s wood and water and flora in my name?”
“Did she tell you that you were born to be a force of nature?”
“You too?”
“Why did you freak out?”
“Was she setting us up?”
“I don’t know,” Seeun stomps her foot. “Answer my question.”
“I didn’t want to make things awkward in case I misread anything. At that point we still had to share a room for a month and a half.”
“But things got awkward anyway.”
Chaeyoung ignores her. “So are you moving in with me or not?”
“Did Shen Xiaoting orchestrate this?” Seeun asks, horrified.
“Maybe. Does it matter? Move in with me.”
“Ask me to be your girlfriend first!” It’s almost embarrassing how desperate Seeun sounds. But her outburst, she reasons to herself, is a long time coming.
Chaeyoung tilts her head, that maddening smile never dropping from her face. “Why can’t you ask me?”
“Because! Because I confessed first, so you have to make it even.”
“You’re so weird.” Chaeyoung hops off the bed, regaining all the energy the pollen had taken away from her. She stands eye-to-eye with Seeun. “Just say you want to be asked.”
Seeun rolls her eyes, but takes that step forward anyway. “I want to be asked.”
Just a little closer. Chaeyoung’s breath is hot on her cheek when she whispers, “Good, so we’re communicating now.”
Seeun swallows. “We should keep doing that.”
“We should,” Chaeyoungs agrees. “So would you do me the greatest honour of my life, and be my girlfriend?”
“Greatest honour?” Seeun scoffs, in the conciliatory tone she knows Chaeyoung is greatly tickled by. “Don’t start our relationship based on a lie. Bad omen.”
“I can’t lie to you,” Chaeyoung gloats. Her hands are now around Seeun’s waist. Seeun feels herself go taut where her touch lingers. “Character flaw or something.”
“God, you’re annoying,” Seeun groans. “It’s disgusting how much I like you.”
“Doesn’t Sieun ever tell you to not use the Lord’s name in vain?”
“Not my circus, not my shepherd.”
“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes–”
“Shut up,” she stops her. “I’ll be your girlfriend.”
“Sick, dude.” Chaeyoung flashes her a shaka sign that Seeun punches her in the arm for.
While her now-girlfriend winces in pain, Seeun continues,“And I’ll move in with you, probably. I can’t let someone else greet you good morning and good night. I’m a–”
“Jealous person,” Chaeyoung fills in for her. “I know.” She looks proud when Seeun’s eye-rolling is accompanied with a pleased smile.
“Now do the other thing.”
“What other thing?”
“You know what I mean!”
Chaeyoung shrugs innocently. “I thought we were trying to get better at communicating."
Seeun brings both hands behind Chaeyoung’s neck. A better position for teasing, she would argue. “Just say you’re a loser who hasn’t had her first kiss and is nervous about kissing me.”
“I’m a loser who hasn’t had her first kiss–”
“Don’t lie to me,” Seeun warns.
“I mean, like every other repressed international student from a conservative country, I’ve made out with a few people at parties as a freshman and regretted it.”
Seeun tries to release herself from Chaeyoung’s grasp. The arms around her waist tighten to prevent that from happening. She tries to sound stern when she asks, “Did you kiss Chaehyun?”
“Can I plead the Fifth for that one?”
“This isn’t really your first kiss, is it,” Seeun deadpans.
“Well, it’s still a first kiss,” Chaeyoung looks crazy when she says it with a wink. “First kiss with feelings.”
Crazy for her. “With feelings?” Seeun resists the urge to twirl her hair and scream.
“Is that good enough for you?”
She decides a final eye-roll is necessary. “You’re good enough,” she says, the courage of a thousand warriors surging through her when she places a hand on Chaeyoung’s cheek and leans in first.
Chaeyoung kisses the way Seeun never imagined she could. She is so eager and impulsive that Seeun thinks that this may be the one thing that fazes her. It makes her smile, widely enough that Chaeyoung stops to join her, and Chaeyoung is so close that Seeun can see the new sheen her lips have taken on. She indulges herself in one last thought, that it is a shame Chaeyoung’s graduation gown is light blue when red looks this good on her.
They are finally at their last stop of the day. Seeun honestly doesn’t know why Chaeyoung asks to be photographed in her graduation gown if all she’s going to do is call her cute the whole time and not get any of her pictures taken.
“You just look so silly with your huge camera.” Chaeyoung leans back into the tall shelf when says that, her graduation cap tilting backwards. Even like this – mascara smudged from crying at her commencement ceremony, asymmetrical cords hanging down her neck, lipstick all but transferred onto Seeun’s lips (her bad, she admits) – Chaeyoung looks as beautiful as she is delirious.
Seeun tiptoes over her to pick off a familiar book from the shelf behind her, avoiding Chaeyoung’s barrage of kisses while at it, and shoves it into her chest. “Pretend to read it!”
Chaeyoung does. While sweeping the hair from her eyes and asking Seeun if she looks okay, Seeun realises that she’s been waiting for this for twenty whole years. And then Chaeyoung makes another kissy face at her, and Seeun cringes through the viewfinder while snapping the photo. When Seeun muses about how, funnily enough, this is exactly how Chaeyoung would look when she’s pretending to read, they hear the shushing they’ve already gotten used to.
Except this time, the shusher has a face. And a graduation gown on. Shen Xiaoting’s shit-eating grin is worse to look at when she acts like she was the one who brought them together.
“Needed to get one last one in,” she explains, already walking away. And then, as an afterthought: “Happy graduation, Chaeyoung!”
“You too!” Chaeyoung replies, too jovially. Seeun swats her on the arm.
“She totally thinks she matchmade us, and now I find out she’s been spying on us this whole time,” Seeun complains. “I feel robbed of my free will.”
Chaeyoung just giggles. “She’s been sitting at that table around the corner since freshman year. I don’t think your will is as free as you believe.”
Seeun glares at her. “My free will is why you have a girlfriend.”
“Really? Think again about who started the dating rumours.”
There’s a pause in the air before Seeun lets out the most dramatic of gasps.
“No,” Seeun repeats.
“Yup,” is Chaeyoung’s sorely unempathetic reply. “But since we’re here…”
Seeun takes one look at that mischievous glint in Chaeyoung’s eyes and just knows this is something she will have to get used to. She lets herself get pulled in by Chaeyoung’s gravity, not at all bothered by the possible eyes on them.
At least this time, there will be some truth to those rumours of them making out in the library.