Chapter Text
like most college students, minjeong needs some semblance of a job, and badly. jobs come and go quickly on the university's part-time job forum; thousands of students and only so many opportunities, many of them not at all what minjeong is looking for. still, this is how she spends her evenings, ignoring assignments to scroll endlessly on her phone.
stomach full of instant noodles, half asleep on her bed; it’s one of those nights of unemployment for minjeong. the type of night where she’s applying to just about any job that pops up, and she’ll wake up in the morning, wondering why she’s been offered an interview for the position of a mortician.
today’s scope wasn’t awful.
retail 30 hours a week? not at all manageable for her current schedule. pet cremator? minjeong might sob the entire time, but at least it is 16 dollars an hour. professional mermaid at her local aquarium? minjeong can’t swim, which she leaves out on her application, but she’s sure she can learn. at this point, minjeong would do just about anything for money, and she’d like to do it well.
her thumb is cramping from the scrolling, her back aches despite the fact she’s lying down; her bed is just that shit, and minjeong is so, so close to giving up hope. sighing, minjeong adjusts her weight to lie on her side, her shoulder creaking in protest as she refreshes the page once again. as a fairy light twinkles above her, flickering, reminding minjeong that she can’t put off paying her bills forever, a new ad pops up at the top of the page.
THESIS ASSISTANT WANTED - $50/h, 4 hours a week
minjeong quirks a blonde eyebrow so far up her forehead, it almost reaches her hairline. $50 an hour? $200 a week for only 4 hours of work? yeah, that would help with rent and bills, and would not at all interfere with her studies. her interest is piqued, and minjeong shuffles to sit up properly on her bed, thumb hovering over the clickable ad. there has to be some sort of catch, right?
fuck it, minjeong thinks, she needs the money. with that, she clicks on the ad and is taken to the full advertisement page.
THESIS ASSISTANT WANTED - $50/h, 4 hours a week
Overview: Hello, my name is Yu Jimin, and I am a fourth-year psychology student preparing to write my thesis. Titled, “Could couples therapy ‘work’ on strangers?”, I am looking for a stranger to attend couples therapy with me.
minjeong cannot believe what she is reading. doesn’t attending couples therapy as, well, not a couple, sort of defeat the entire purpose of couples therapy? maybe it’s the lack of sleep combined with the bizarre advertisement that minjeong finds herself rather interested in reading the rest of the overview.
The primary null hypothesis of my study is that any therapist worth their salt will be able to detect whether their patients are lying, especially to this degree. If this happens, the study will terminate before all sessions have been completed. The alternative hypothesis, the one I am trying to prove, is that couples therapy is horrendously ineffective due to the human desire to present our lives in biased, untruthful ways. Blanchard (2016) conducted a study, finding that 93% of patients have lied at least once during the course of therapeutic treatment. How effective can couples therapy be if patients are not willing to lay down the real, ugliest parts of themselves and their relationship? If a course of therapy is built upon lies and half-truths? There is a set of secondary null and alternative hypotheses which will only be disclosed to the successful candidate after the study has either terminated or completed its course, to ensure the validity of the research.
minjeong appreciates that this reads more like an essay than a job description, admires yu jimin’s commitment to the bit, but she won’t pretend like she doesn’t think this all sounds incredibly stupid and unstable. they definitely won’t make it past the first session, surely? but, with that pay rate, minjeong wouldn’t mind indulging in this increasingly strange study for $50 an hour. all of that money for one hopefully entertaining afternoon? sign minjeong up–she continues scrolling with a small smile playing on her lips.
The Role:
- 1 hour therapy session, once a week.
- 1 hour unstructured interview with myself.
- 2 hours of overt participation observation.
- All to occur immediately after the therapy session; however, this can be adjusted for the right candidate.
- 6 sessions in total, with the opportunity to extend if the therapist deems it necessary.
while she’s sure it’s not particularly advanced, some of the language passes straight through minjeong’s tired eyes and misses her brain completely. ‘observation’ however, sticks the landing, and a chill runs down minjeong’s spine. she wonders how that will pan out, if this yu jimin will sit in front of her with a notebook and scribble down every single microexpression minjeong’s face dares to make. the thought makes her feel exposed, like an insect under a microscope.
she shifts her weight in bed a little, suddenly feeling the slightest bit uncomfortable in her own skin, a tinge of dread nipping at her skin. the stretch of her lips dissipates, a thin line pressed together in its wake. minjeong’s always considered herself a fairly social, heart-on-her-sleeve type of person, yet, something about this bothers her, almost on a biological level. it feels wrong, conceptually, and right now, it feels like minjeong’s body can’t remember how to breathe correctly, chest tightening. still, she continues to read the final part of the advertisement, curiosity tugging at her gut. damn what it did to the cat, and all.
Requirements:
- Limited/minimal interaction outside of agreed hours of the study.
- Must be okay with extremely personal data being shared with my supervisor and external examiner.
- No actors; I want all emotions that may arise to be genuine, not artificial.
- When submitting an application, please only supply your name, age, email, and university schedule, omitting all course details–we must essentially be complete strangers when we first meet.
minjeong releases a shaky exhale she didn’t realise she was holding in. ‘extremely personal data’ sticks out like a sore thumb, something inside minjeong’s body quivering upon processing the words.
there’s something almost comical about the request for genuineness, when this entire scheme, minjeong would like to call it, is a study. completely fake, meant to test not only a hypothesis but the participant's mental stability, minjeong assumes. won’t they both be acting during the sessions? surely that would impact the research in some way, their total lack of relation to each other. not to mention ethical considerations; minjeong briefly wonders what kind of professor would greenlight this experiment for a thesis. but, then again, minjeong is majoring in music production; she doesn’t know much about psychology and its experiments.
it sounds sketchy; it could be a scam, no, minjeong thinks with a shake of her head, scruffy blonde bangs falling over her eyes, it’s definitely a scam. yet, her finger stills in place, frozen as it hovers above the backspace button on the advertisement page. scam or not, there was something undeniably interesting, enticing even, about the position. the way it had been written, the detached detail; minjeong finds something in her stomach stirring at the thought of the person who wrote it. what are they like? what would it be like to be around them, to engage in couples therapy, of all things, with them? she swallows the stir, but can’t force down the emotion behind it. the curiosity, once dormant, that had been growing in size and stature with every word she read, is now a ravenous beast rattling around minjeong’s body, begging to be set free.
minjeong closes the page with fingers that try not to bend to the will of the tremors that rake down her spine. why is she so affected by this? she realises she looks marginally insane right now, stiff as a board, bolt upright in her bed, opening and closing a job application, staring at her phone as if it is an atomic bomb waiting to go off at any moment. thank god her roommate is out for the night.
the seconds tick by on the clock hanging on minjeong’s wall. what’s the worst thing that could happen? well, minjeong can think of a few. is it a scam created by a 50-year-old man waiting to kidnap her? is she on one of those prank shows? could this really just be a burnout, tired college senior about to give her $200 a week? what kind of college student can even afford to shell out that kind of money, on a weekly basis, nonetheless?
minjeong follows the instructions provided in the text box provided with bated breath and a quivering lip. kim minjeong, 20, [email protected], free tuesdays and fridays. minjeong feels as if she is giving this person much more information than she has typed out–maybe it’s because they’re a psychology student. sucking in a deep breath, minjeong applies for the position, something tingling at her spine once the button had been pressed. she needs to sleep, she thinks, and as she slams herself face-first into a pillow, minjeong tries not to think about it.
⋆.˚
she doesn’t think about it, not as the days pass, the pit in her stomach filling over time, and she’s almost completely forgotten about it. almost, but then, jimin doesn’t give her a chance to, because six days later, minjeong receives an email.
to: Kim Minjeong
from: Yu Jimin
Dear Kim Minjeong,
After looking over the applications, I have selected you to participate in my study. As Friday (today, as I am sure you are aware) is one of your free days, I presume you will be able to meet me at a cafe today for a few hours to discuss the position in more detail?
Yu Jimin
it was polite and impersonal, not a single congratulations or sliver of emotion, so much so that minjeong was half worried this was produced by a bot. there was an edge to the writing, too, perhaps even rude and yet, $200 shone behind minjeong’s eyelids whenever she blinked, the email real and alive and tempting. dammit, minjeong thinks, if it’s not a scam, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. minjeong finds herself writing back her own email faster than she would like to admit, and she hopes jimin, if they are a real psychology student, or even a person at all, doesn’t psychoanalyse it.
to: Yu Jimin
from: Kim Minjeong
hi jimin, fine with me. what place were you thinking? thank you for this opportunity!
minjeong :)
it’s cute and a little bubbly, a muted version of minjeong that she presents to strangers; perfect for either a bot or a college senior too tired to still possess any form of personality. minjeong is still in her dorm, and she only just swipes off her emails before jimin’s reply comes in. minjeong wonders if jimin is horrendously behind their thesis schedule.
to: Kim Minjeong
from: Yu Jimin
Dear Kim Minjeong,
Illusion on campus in about 20 minutes would be perfect for me. See you there.
Yu Jimin
minjeong snorts–she feels like she’s being emailed by some senior citizen who works in corporate, not someone in their twenties, a fellow student. minjeong is now sure that this is at least a student, due to their referencing of one of the more niche cafes on campus. she’s never been to illusion, but she knows it’s about a ten-minute walk from her dorm. minjeong drags herself out of bed, glad she had the strength to get dressed this morning after all. still, she’s a little annoyed by the clinical, almost cynical way jimin communicates over email.
the expectant nature of both emails left a sour taste on minjeong’s tongue. still, minjeong’s grabs her keys from the counter and walks to her front door, only stopping to pick up her brown coat. maybe it’s a psychological tactic, minjeong wonders as she walks, with what intention, minjeong isn’t sure. the wind blows through her short blonde hair, cold and biting at the tip of her nose, the pads of her fingers almost numb as she hastily buttons up the rest of her coat. thank god she went for jeans instead of a skirt; she’d have been freezing otherwise.
she continues to walk, almost there now, hands shoved deep in her coat pockets, seeking warmth. her heart is beating a little fast, she barely registers.
before she knows it, minjeong finds the building she’s looking for.
minjeong takes tentative steps inside the coffee shop jimin had asked to meet at, and she’s trying not to read too much into it. the atmosphere is peaceful, a muted cool color palette threading throughout the room. an ideal place to study, minjeong thinks, and wonders why the hell she’s never come here before. not an awkward person by nature, however minjeong suddenly feels a little lost in the foreign place, unsure of where to go or what to do. quickly, minjeong takes a look around with a tilted head and bright, narrowed eyes.
there’s a single barista looking at her with kind eyes from behind a register, and a couple of people dotted at tables, sipping on drinks or chewing on a pastry. minjeong wonders if any of them are jimin, or if they’re even here at all. minjeong knows, really, she does, that it’s rude to stare, but god, she’s more than a little curious as she takes in the attendees of the cafe.
minjeong makes mental notes as she scans. she’s not entirely sure what, or more specifically, who, she is looking for; but she really hopes it’s not the group of boys trying to drink an iced coffee through noses at the back of the cafe. there’s a couple close to her, minjeong sees, and she ignores the slight pang in her chest at the sight. she hasn’t dated someone in at least a year, and even that barely went anywhere, and her latest dating expedition is fake for a psychology study.
awesome, minjeong thinks with a scoff. minjeong glances to her left, having neglected that side of the room. one last look before she orders a coffee, and minjeong really hopes this place has some baileys. that’s when minjeong spots her, and her heart, which had previously been running a little fast, damn near stops entirely in its tracks.
seated in a booth nestled between others, the cushions a deep, dark blue, minjeong sees a woman seemingly as cold as the color that surrounds her. spine almost rigid, hands neatly placed in her lap, phone and a notebook placed proportionately on the table in front of her. everything about it, about her, is practised, controlled.
the picture of total composure, and, god, is that picture beautiful. she looks marginally out of place in the cafe with an easy-going vibe, minjeong thinks, but blue tones definitely suit her.
locked in a trance, minjeong is magnetised to the woman seated in a booth. her eyes trail; sleek, black hair tied up into a tight bun, bangs shining ever so prettily under the warm, dim lighting present in the cafe. a sharp jawline frames her small face perfectly, a type of face that expects attention, because it’s just so mesmerising to look at. cute nose, full lips, strong cheekbones; minjeong might be in love.
and why anyone would wear a tank top at this temperature, minjeong doesn’t know, but she’s more than grateful as her greedy eyes focus, fleetingly, on a slender neck. minjeong is in a trance, drinking in this woman, watching as her fingers stretch as they push her notebook a fraction of an inch forward, moving with complete confidence even for a gesture so minimal.
minjeong’s eyes dance from the table back to the woman’s face, desperate to detail every ounce of this woman’s beauty, to commit her entire face to her memory.
only to find the woman staring right at her with steely, hazel eyes.
a flash of surprise passes through those eyes as minjeong audibly gasps in the quiet cafe, and minjeong’s mouth and lips are suddenly bone dry.
minjeong’s heart slams violently against her rib cage, the look alone sending enough electricity through her body to restart the organ. holy shit, minjeong thinks. she looks like a total creep staring at this woman, goddess-like beauty or not, and she turns her head so vigorously her neck cracks, spinning on her feet. she stumbles towards the register, the barista grinning in a knowing sort of way.
“i need a drink,” she croaks to the barista. minjeong’s blood is still running cold, heart still thumping like a bass drum. “hot, decaf,” she stutters, fingers shaking as she goes to pull out her phone to pay. minjeong tugs at the collar of her black sweater, the fabric tight as it clings to her throat. she needs to get out of here; she can reschedule with jimin. she’s so embarrassed right now, minjeong will suggest a different place for next time. she can, in all seriousness, never come back in here again.
when the barista has the nerve to chuckle, minjeong stiffens, casting her gaze back onto her with her bottom lip between her teeth. “may i suggest something cold?” the barista asks gently, but there’s a teasing glint in her eyes, one that freezes minjeong from the inside out.
minjeong blinks, confused. “it’s the middle of fall,” she trails off, hyperaware that there is now a presence behind her, looming, almost. holding up this line and feeling very, very close to vomiting onto this barista, minjeong needs to get out of this cafe.
the barista is wearing a shit-eating grin as she makes no move to ring up the order. “you’re sweating, like, a lot.”
oh, minjeong thinks, she now needs the ground to open up and swallow her whole; how could this situation get any more embarrassing? she’s stunned, in truth, mouth and brain failing to connect and allow her to produce a coherent sentence to this barista, lips parted like a fish out of water.
the presence behind her, once hanging comfortably in the space behind her, draws closer. now, situated right behind her, very much in minjeong’s personal space, minjeong faintly catches a scent, something floral yet dainty, like lavender.
“stop teasing her, ryujin.” a deep voice reprimands, smooth like velvet as it soothes minjeong’s ears, the speaker undeniably close to minjeong’s own frame. minjeong remains silent, caged between the stranger and the barista from hell, breath catching a little in her throat.
“she’s just cute when she’s flustered,” the barista offers with a wink in minjeong’s direction. she thinks the body behind her stiffens, not because they’re close enough that minjeong can feel it, but the atmosphere around them shifts, once playful, now charged with something thicker.
“flirt with all your customers?” the deep voice asks pointedly.
the barista merely snorts, focusing on minjeong. “i’ll get you your coffee,” she says warmly, before eyeing the stranger with an entirely fake pout. “don’t get so worked up, jimin,”
minjeong inhales sharply. jimin. oh, shit. cheeks aflame, minjeong refuses to turn around. this is not a great first impression at all, minjeong thinks. jimin, the jimin, who minjeong is praying to whatever god out there is not the pretty woman she was oggling earlier, remains in place behind her.
a few beats of silence pass as they wait for ryujin to step away from the register and busy herself with making the coffee.
“sorry about that,” jimin says gently, finally stepping back to allow minjeong a little space once ryujin leaves. “she kinda forgets that not every customer is her long-term friend.”
minjeong’s voice comes out a little more strained than she would have liked. “it’s okay,” minjeong swallows harshly. “thank you, though.”
jimin chuckles slightly; why does even that have to sound pretty, too? “i presume you are kim minjeong?” she asks, expectant even now, but with a certain warmth that was missing from her emails.
minjeong stiffens, fingers that had been twitching in her pockets now frozen. she thought jimin was a psychology student, not a fucking psychic. “how did you know that?” minjeong blurts out, stunned, whipping around with an incredulous look on her face that dies the second she faces jimin.
of course, jimin, yu jimin, robotic emails and all, is the pretty woman minjeong was staring at earlier. fuck minjeong’s stupid, gay life. in fact, pretty may not be an apt description at all, because jimin is absolutely stunning, especially up close.
of course, jimin had to be taller than her, ridiculously minjeong’s type, it’s almost as if jimin had been conjured up by minjeong herself. her lips are so plump, such an inviting shade of pink, as minjeong looks up at her. minjeong almost chokes on her own saliva when she spots a beauty mole just at the corner of these pretty lips.
of course, jimin snaps her out of it, lips stretching into a polite, yet almost wry smile as her eyes twinkle every so slightly. yeah, minjeong is so, so fucked.
“you look about twenty,” jimin starts, squinting at minjeong’s who’s cheeks quickly redden. “you are in the cafe on campus i asked to meet in,” jimin continues, biting back a wider smile when minjeong huffs. “it’s not rocket science, minjeong,” she says, not unkindly, tongue in cheek.
minjeong tries to swallow the butterflies that erupted in her stomach upon hearing jimin call her name. “i could just be a regular student,” minjeong counters, and jimin almost, almost chuckles, because wow, minjeong is cute when she’s flustered.
jimin doesn’t respond to minjeong’s self-defence. “and you wandered in here, kind of looking like a lost puppy,” jimin’s eyes sparkle. “so i take it you’re meeting someone for the first time, which would be me, thus making you kim minjeong.”
minjeong doesn’t know how to respond. should she be impressed, or sort of freaked out?
jimin looks her in the eye for a moment, hazel meeting a deeper brown, with something curious lingering underneath. “when you looked at me, it sort of looked like you recognised me, or my,” jimin stops for a second, looking for the right word, tilting her head. “my energy, at least, subconsciously,”
minjeong has absolutely no idea how to respond to that, either, and she’s so, so happy ryujin had just come over with her coffee, because she feels like she’s drowning in this conversation.
“$3,” ryujin says simply, mirth in her eyes as she looks back and forth between jimin and minjeong. she goes to say something, probably a tease, and minjeong braces for impact, which never comes.
“thanks,” jimin says quickly, tapping her card and grabbing the coffee before taking off in the direction of the booth she was previously seated in. after a few steps, she notices a minjeong-shaped hole behind her, and without turning her head or faltering in her steps, jimin calls out to her. “are you coming, or what?”
minjeong scrambles to follow, blinking as if she had just come out of a haze. she moves fast, sitting across from jimin and taking a sip of the drink. jimin busies herself with rustling around in the pockets of her cargo pants, and minjeong takes this opportunity to reassess the woman.
first, the notebook. up close, minjeong spots a plethora of cute stickers across the cover, all dinosaurs, she realises, not including the single shin-chan. jimin makes a small noise of victory when she finally finds what she’s looking for, sliding a pair of black glasses onto her face, which is extremely dangerous for minjeong’s fragile heart. from this distance, jimin just looks like a nerd, a pretty nerd, of course, but still, a nerd. more human than the impersonal emails, more alive than the picture of cold beauty, and something about this, about jimin, has warmth flickering in minjeong’s chest.
or maybe that’s just the hot coffee.
“is there something you want to say to me?” jimin asks with a cheeky grin, relaxing into her seat.
god, she’s so, entirely different from what minjeong expected. minjeong’s cheeks grow a little pink, because, really, can you lie to someone when they’ve already proven themselves capable of reading you like a book? maybe, but minjeong’s never been that great of a liar.
she chooses a half truth instead, finding footing across from jimin now that she sees her a little more clearly. “you’re oddly impersonal in your emails,” minjeong says casually, a flicker of a smile playing on her lips.
minjeong doesn’t expect jimin’s body to tense, the stretch of her lips thinning out into something more grim. “when discussing the study, i prefer to keep things professional.” jimin says with a slight twitch of an eye, checking the apple watch on her wrist. “our appointment is in ten minutes, let’s go over some basics.”
“ten minutes?!” minjeong practically shrieks, stomach dropping to her ass.
jimin barely flinches, flicking through her notebook, dinosaur stickers long gone in favour of clinical, methodical notes. minjeong wonders what her own notes say about her, scrawling and messy. “partners often spring couples therapy on the other, i wanted to replicate those circumstances.” jimin explains calmly, as if she isn’t giving minjeong the scare of her life.
minjeong doesn’t say anything, swallowing thickly. jimin looks at her steadily, no warmth, nothing even remotely human about her. “basic rules, minjeong,” and yet, minjeong’s heart still flutters at the mention of her name falling from those rosy lips. “no mentioning of the study to anyone,” jimin starts, waiting for confirmation from minjeong, steely eyes and all. “i’m serious,” jimin repeats when she gets nothing from the shorter girl, her voice tense, almost hoarse.
there’s a flicker of annoyance in minjeong’s body, something coiling low in her stomach. she remembers the contract; limited or minimal interactions outside of the study. is this the yu jimin she will grow to meet? has to spend an ample amount of time with? the one who looks at her like she’s waiting for her to fuck up, instead of the one who probably loves dinosaurs, pays for her drink without asking, and smiles that ridiculously charming grin?
for fuck’s sake, minjeong interally groans. the least minjeong can do is take her money, every last cent of it, and have some fun of her own, too. minjeong plasters on an entirely fake smile, batting her eyelids innocently at jimin. “i don’t know if i can do that,” she drawls, tracing a finger around the rim of her mug. “maybe up my pay rate?” she asks with faux sweetness.
jimin doesn’t even blink. “done,”
minjeong’s fake smile faulters. “wait, i didn’t, i wasn’t–”
jimin bulldozes straight over minjeong and into her second rule. “you can talk in the therapy as much or as little as you want, if you feel uncomfortable at any point, you tell me, and we stop this.”
the seriousness in her tone takes minjeong by surprise, but she doesn’t mistake it for concern, or even kindness. minjeong wonders if any of the behaviour jimin exhibited, magnetic and ever so pleasant, was nothing more than a psychological tactic to make minjeong less tense. the dinosaur stickers and nerdy woman with glasses grinning say otherwise, but it’s not like minjeong will be able to tell. how much can you learn about someone from fake therapy? minjeong doesn’t imagine it’s a lot.
“would that be an ethical concern?” minjeong asks genuinely.
minjeong has the urge to tell her that she’s already slightly uncomfortable with jimin’s ability to turn off any semblance of a personality without seconds, but she neglects to mention it.
“yeah,” jimin replies after a beat, a little taken aback. then, she tilts her head. “did you research psychology studies before coming today?”
minjeong’s cheeks flood with warmth. “uh, yeah,” she stutters, offering jimin a sheepish, embarrassed smile. “is that some sort of violation?”
jimin shakes her head, her lips twitching just the slightest, minjeong almost misses it. but she doesn’t, she notices the action in all of its glory, and minjeong tries to steady her breathing.
“no,” jimin clarifies after a second, picking up a pen between her fingers and twirling it. “but it is interesting,” she says, resting her head back on the booth’s seat, observing minjeong, watching her with a tilted chin. there’s a glint in jimin’s eyes, a flash of something sharp that minjeong can’t quite decipher, and she has to resist the urge to gulp.
minjeong forgos the urge to think about how impossibly attractive jimin is in favour of focusing on the sickening dread that crawls out of her stomach and up her throat. she had forgotten, quite literally, that she was being studied outside of the therapy, too. her blood goes cold all over again; what the hell would jimin’s notes look like for this first meeting?
minjeong can imagine it now, because jimin had to have noticed how minjeong had been looking at her, right? something ridiculous like: ‘participant experienced heightened hypothalamus activity and dopamine levels upon seeing the physical characteristics of the study leader’. it will be documented in beautiful cursive that minjeong is attracted to jimin and shared with at least two other adults; just kill minjeong now.
what a wonderful first impression to make on the person who has employed you in order to study you.
her face is grim when jimin interrupts her, still flicking through her notebook, now paying little attention to minjeong. “we have five minutes before we need to leave,” jimin reminds her somewhat pointedly. “do you have any questions?”
minjeong has about eighty-nine. who approved this? isn’t all of this a gigantic hipaa violation? how can jimin afford to pay her so much money? is jimin completely insane? minjeong chooses the question with the highest priority, given that they only have five minutes.
“what’s our story?” minjeong asks, because if there’s one thing kim minjeong is good at, it’s putting her all into everything, even if she has the sneaking suspicion she’s boarding a sinking ship.
then, when jimin makes a squeak of surprise, minjeong rather frantically corrects herself, fighting down the blush crawling up her neck. “i mean, the fake story, because the relationship is fake,”
totally saved it.
minjeong has never struggled with talking like this, not even with pretty girls. but, there’s something different, rawer, about the way she’s attracted to jimin, and the way she’s managed to get completely under her skin in less than ten minutes of knowing each other.
jimin raises her head from where it was previously buried in between pages. “there is no story, just say whatever comes naturally.”
minjeong actually wants to scream, her emotions switching from giddeness and panic to almost complete fury. “naturally?!” minjeong hisses throught gritted teeth. “i do not know you, jimin, what the fuck would possibly come naturally to me?!”
oh my god, minjeong thinks, she’s going to totally fuck this entire thing up. she doesn’t know anything about jimin, or what she’s even supposed to say in couple’s therapy. does jimin have siblings? does she prefer coffee or tea? does she have an anxious attachment style or avoidant? even minjeong knows those terms, and judging jimin so far, she would go with avoidant.
“please lower your voice,” jimin reprimands her again, still calm. “just say whatever feels right in the moment,” she says, not with a shrug, not with a smile, not with anything.
minjeong now wants to rip jimin’s head off; well, at least she knows the answer to the question of whether or yu jimin is batshit crazy or not. “i don’t know what to say, what if we contradict each other? what if the therapist figures it out immediately? won’t that mess up your study?” minjeong rambles, a faucet of worry flowing, voice rising higher and higher in pitch and volume.
“she won’t,” jimin replies, a little tight, a little snappy, as if this is an argument she’s had one hundred times before. “every relationship that goes through this is presented fictionally, and therefore the therapy can’t help; that’s what i’m going to prove,” jimin explains, determined now, a fire burning in hazel eyes, jaw twitching as she speaks.
it’s the first ounce of emotion jimin has expressed in regards to the study, and minjeong’s jaw almost, almost, hangs open in response. holy shit, minjeong realises, shrinking completely under jimin’s gaze; she’s serious about this.
then, jimin says something entirely unexpected, a flicker of worry passing across her face. “is messing up something you worry about often?” jimin asks gently, the deep, comforting softness that minjeong didn’t realise she was missing caressing her ears.
it’s as if all of the oxygen just got sucked out of the room, and minjeong’s lungs. “jimin,” minjeong says sharply, a warning. jimin doesn’t get to do that, get inside minjeong’s head just to get her off her back, just to distract. fucking psychology students.
“minjeong,” jimin replies, unaffected, still concerned, and minjeong can’t tell if it’s genuine or not.
regardless, jimin is still a stranger, and minjeong, for one of the first times in her life, feels oddly protective of her own thoughts and feelings. she’s used to people understanding her and what she says, knowing what she wants or needs, but not like this.
never like this.
“you don’t know me,” minjeong says firmly.
jimin smiles wryly. “no, but you signed up for this,” she says gently, packing her things away into a handbag before standing up. “$200 just for today,” jimin speaks again, moving to walk away, stopping right beside minjeong. the kindness is gone, not that minjeong could tell if it was real anyway, the same stoic expression back on jimin’s pretty face. “take it or leave it.”
and with that, jimin is gone, lavender washing over minjeong as she watches her leave.
minjeong’s legs move to follow her before her brain can tell them to stop.
⋆.˚