Chapter Text
II.
“What the f*ck-” Haewon groans, waking up with a throbbing headache. She feels around the nightstand for her beeping alarm and shuts it off.
It’s Thursday. Not Friday, not Saturday, but Thursday—a middle-of-the-week day that makes her wish upon a meteorite to crash into her home so she can perish on the spot instead of going to work.
She comes to regret yesterday’s decision.
Chicken and beer, and then another beer and maybe another… she had lost count. What she remembers though, is pressing a cold bottle to her warm cheek and laying on the wooden floor as she started crying about singledom. On Valentine’s Day. Jinsol had cried along with her, though the tears were a result of affection rather than alcohol.
“Don’t cry,” she had hugged her while sniffling, which in hindsight was a very ineffective way of consoling someone. But Haewon felt better with the weight of a woman on her, however messy or familiar that woman might be.
What she doesn’t want to recall is that she had tasted her tear then—a stray salty droplet on her lips, and a visceral hunger had filled her.
Haewon washes up quickly and heads out to the living room.
The smell of home-cooked food (the type her mother would make during a slightly cold week, hot off the stove) makes her stomach growl. Breakfast waits for her on the dining table. And Jinsol.
“Good morning,” she greets happily when she notices Haewon. There is not a hint of uncertainty nor aversion in her bright eyes.
“You seemed a bit tired yesterday, so,” she clears her throat, putting on a voice reminiscent of a celebrity chef she used to watch with her father on the weekends. “I cooked up a feast! Short grain rice—overnight—fried with chunks of chicken in a tomato sauce, enveloped by a fluffy scrambled egg with a side of warm broth. Enjoy.”
Haewon settles into her seat, amused. “When’d you have the time to do all this?”
“Anything for a 5 star review,” Jinsol cleverly remarks.
She picks up her spoon. Immediately, she becomes aware of an undeniably expectant pressure, much like a Stand, imposed on her. When she glances up, Jinsol’s unnerving smile makes her shift uncomfortably.
“What?”
“Can you do that?” Jinsol requests, her smile widening mischievously.
“What’s that?” Haewon raises an eyebrow.
“Moe moe-”
“I’ll kyun your ass,” Haewon deadpans. “It’s 6 o’clock in the morning and I have a hangover.”
Jinsol’s eyes soften. “Still? Are you okay?” she asks in concern. When Haewon nods firmly, she becomes relieved, then doubles down.
“Please,” Jinsol whines, shaking her shoulders around like a kid throwing a tantrum. “It’s not omurice without the moe moe kyun. Can you imagine, like, hotdogs without mustard, or Oreos without milk? It’s blasphemy, I tell you. Blasphemy!”
Haewon cringes while Jinsol has whipped out a bottle of ketchup from somewhere. She looks at her pleadingly.
“I’m the one who made breakfast,” she reminds matter-of-factly.
“Fine.”
Haewon feels a part of her die (to think that some part of her soul was still alive) when she reluctantly copies Jinsol’s exaggerated, should-only-belong-in-a-maid-cafe motions. Oishiku nare, oishiku nare, moe! Moe! Kyun~
She shrinks in embarrassment but has the decency to wait patiently for Jinsol to draw a shaky heart on her omelette. “There!” she presents, smiling at her handiwork. Finally.
Haewon digs in. The mixture of not-too-sweet tomato rice and creamy egg is heavenly. She savours the mouthful, then hums in approval.
“It‘s good,” she compliments between wolfish bites. Jinsol has always been one hell of a cook—her biggest selling point as a housemate.
Well, it’s not like they wouldn’t have stayed together anyway, but this aspect of her leaves Haewon with no regrets. She will be happily confined to laundry duty forever. What’s a load of sweaty tracksuits and grass stained socks to a warm breakfast?
“Right?” Jinsol beams, a grain of tomato rice on her cheek.
“Yep,” Haewon quickly reaches over to pick it off. “You can open a restaurant after retirement. I’ll be a regular and all my meals should be free. No cheap 20% employee discounts.”
Jinsol muses. “I’ve never thought about that. Wait, you think my cooking is that good?” she gasps as an afterthought.
“It is. Do I not say that enough?”
Jinsol whimpers while making doe eyes. “Thank you, Haewon. I’ll cook for you every day…”
“Shush. You’re already doing that because I can’t cook for sh*t,” Haewon dismisses coolly. She shudders, recalling a painful memory in which spaghetti had been attempted but instead, smoke detectors had been found. “I’m more grateful.”
She really is. Jinsol is the kind of housemate who makes sure their fridge is stocked with whole foods and nags at Haewon to vacuum the floors. If Haewon had stayed alone, her home would’ve been a pigsty with beer cans spilling out of the trash and she would have delusionally called it an organised mess.
“No, I’m more grateful. If you hadn’t offered to stay together-”
“I got it, so eat quickly,” she gestures impatiently just as her phone buzzes with a notification from Yoona—a reel she sent while dragging herself out of bed. “Also, don’t steal my comment. If we weren’t living together, I’d be paying double rent so I win. I’m more grateful.”
“Childish,” Jinsol blows a raspberry. Yoona getting out of bed means 15 minutes before 7.
They finish eating in record time, leaving the dishes in the sink for later.
After years of college and working experience, Haewon had developed a particularly useful skill of doing her full face of makeup in fifteen minutes. Base, brows, eyes, cheeks, lips. The process happens like clockwork. When she steps out refreshed, Jinsol is already waiting by the door.
“Do you wear anything other than that tracksuit?” Haewon shields her eyes jokingly as they slip into their shoes.
“Do you wear anything other than-” Jinsol says instinctively, then falters when she realises that Haewon does change her outfit every so often.
“Ooh, cat got your tongue? I win,” Haewon declares in victory. “That’s 2 for 0 today, and we aren’t even out of the house.”
“Who’s counting?” Jinsol shrugs casually. “Tracksuits are comfortable, okay? I’m a PE teacher, not an accountant.”
Haewon plants her hand on her hip like Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. “But you’re not giving.”
“Whatever, it’s camp,” Jinsol pushes past Haewon in exasperation.
“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Haewon says knowingly.
“We’re going to be late, Ms Oh.”
“We have plenty of time, Ms Bae,” Haewon reassures, following an excited Jinsol out of their home.
They make it to school just shy of 7.30 a.m. and as always, are the first ones in the office, settling into their desks to start the work day. If it was last semester, she would be kicking her feet up or strolling around the campus with a cup of instant coffee. Now, she dreads the documents she has to go through.
After the band club’s previous advisor left due to allegations of exploitation (replacing their Ernie Ball strings with cheap knockoffs), that responsibility inadvertently fell onto her. So now on top of her regular Math lessons, Haewon is in charge of a band club—which didn't sound like a lot to do. Keyword: Didn’t. The occasional drop-by, the occasional school performance and the occasional staff meeting to report that everything is just fine. Except they had begged to perform at the local music festival.
When she bitterly recalled her lacklustre high school era, she felt a reluctant sense of responsibility to land them the gig. That means correspondence, arrangement, transportation, etc. She twirls her pen.
“Do you have sticky notes?” Haewon calls out across the office.
“I don’t!” Jinsol replies immediately, sounding too cheerful for someone who doesn’t have basic stationery (Haewon is not being hypocritical, she had just run out).
Now that she thinks about it, she doesn’t even know what Jinsol does at her desk. In her blurry memory, a basketball took up half the space and in place of documents stood trophies and medals. Does she just research newer, tougher drills to torture the kids?
“Good morning?” Yoona strolls in just then, locking eyes with a pensive Haewon. She greets tentatively, looking behind her shoulder just in case.
“Do you have Post-its?” Haewon asks.
Yoona nods, passing her a stack as soon as she flumps onto her seat. “So, what happened yesterday?”
“Nothing,” Haewon simply dismisses, to which Yoona rolls her eyes. Contact organisers.
“B to the O to the R-I-N-G. Boring. Two adults return to their shared apartment on Valentine’s Day following a romantic heartfelt confession, they drink, and poof, nothing happens?”
When she puts it like that… Haewon falters. “What romantic heartfelt confession?” she mumbles, clicking her pen. “My love life is not your entertainment, Ms Seol.” Check setlist: NO explicit songs.
Yoona shrugs unconcernedly. She leans as far back as possible on her chair and pulls out her phone to start scrolling, which prompts Haewon to wonder if she’s the only busy person in the office. Transportation for instruments and students.
“Well, you better up your game ‘cause- oh!” Yoona gasps, hurriedly waving her phone in front of Haewon to grab her attention. “No moves? Are you blind or are you just dense, Ms Oh?”
She squints at the shaky screen before quickly giving up. “You know my eyes are getting worse,” she chides, grabbing Yoona’s phone to stabilise it.
It’s Jinsol’s latest post on Instagram—1 minute ago.
Haewon stares at Yoona in confusion. Jinsol, their household chef of two years, consistently posts about food on an Instagram account that half the school follows. What was so special about a Thursday morning breakfast?
“The caption, idiot.”
A lovely homemade meal for the loveliest person in my life.
Omurice is a Japanese dish that …read more
Haewon gapes. She doesn’t even register Yoona’s uncontrollable snickers and her attempt to record this moment by shoving the camera right up in Haewon’s face, flash and all.
She hasn’t been this astonished since- well, yesterday. Her face darkens. That woman is going to be the death of her.
seol_yoona So cute! Looks good!
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burntpotato @jiwoo_oo YOU OWE ME 10 DOLLARS
burntpotato @jiwoo_oo but this is so us <3
jiwoo_oo @burntpotato OK. us!!! <3
