Chapter Text
Yun Sol follows a rigid routine while in Paris: wake up, get dressed, catch the metro, arrive at the studio, work on her projects through the day, get back on the metro, return to her homestay, shower, and fall into bed—and occasionally find time to eat. Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday afternoons are reserved for phone calls with Jiwan. Because Sol is banned from the studio on weekends, her weekend routine is different; it always begins with long Saturday morning video calls with Jiwan, and the rest is spent on chores or grocery shopping. Every other week, Sol chooses a museum or gallery to visit, and spends hours with the art—those visits started out as the only break in her routine, but have since been absorbed into it. As weeks roll into months, Sol adds another event to the routine when she decides that she can afford the ridiculous international shipping fees, and begins sending small packages to Seoul once a month, mostly gifts for her family, friends (usually Nabi and Bitna), and Jiwan. Somehow Jiwan always gets the biggest ones.
Had Sol’s stint in Paris been a student exchange program, like the one she had applied for and then turned down, it would have only been for a few months, at most. But Sol isn’t a student anymore; she’s an artist out in the real world, trying to make a living from her art. Now she’s in Paris, working in the studio of the prestigious sculptor Lee Taebaek, with her stay funded by a grant from one of the wealthiest families in South Korea. The grant is for one year, with the possibility of an extension. Sol has no plans to extend her stay. Nevertheless, if Sol can make the most of this opportunity, it could open so many doors for her as an artist—increasing demand for her work would help establish her career and secure the future she wants with Jiwan.
//
“You’re already an amazing artist and you’ll become even more amazing if you go,” Jiwan said, voice as soft as the blankets draped over them. Sol only sighed in response, her attention drawn to the glow of the morning sunlight in Jiwan’s eyes, warm brown shifting to amber. Paris was nothing compared to this warm bed, Jiwan’s head pillowed on Sol’s arm.
They had agreed to try their best to be honest with each other, so Sol said, “I don’t want to leave,” because it was the truth. Leaving Seoul meant leaving Jiwan.
So much of Sol was darkness, and Jiwan, despite her follies, was Sol’s light.
“I don’t want you to leave either. But...” Jiwan lifted her hand and traced her fingers across Sol’s eyebrows, over the curve of her cheek, and let the pad of her thumb brush over Sol’s lips. “Ever since the day we met, you’ve always given me the best of you. Even when I didn’t know it. Especially last year, whenever I was mad at you and thought that you didn’t tell me anything because you didn’t care. But everything made sense after you told me that you liked me. And I was so ashamed of myself, for doubting you.”
“Seo Jiwan.” It was true that Jiwan had been slowly breaking Sol’s heart, year after year, but Jiwan had broken her own in the process, too. Now that they were putting each other’s hearts back together, one careful piece at a time, Sol was saddened to see the damage Jiwan had done to her own heart without knowing it, until it was almost too late. She wrapped her arms around Jiwan and held her closer, stroking Jiwan’s hair. “I forgave you for that a long time ago.”
Sol had had years to build the wall around her heart, and those walls had merely cracked in comparison to the earth crumbling beneath Jiwan’s feet in a matter of weeks, leaving her to fall. If you hadn’t been there to catch me, Jiwan had told Sol, I would’ve kept falling into the dark, forever, never knowing that it was because my love for you has no end.
Jiwan sighed shakily, her breath and lips warm against Sol’s neck. “I used to wonder if you turned down the exchange program because we fought about it.”
“No. It’s just as I told Nabi. I didn’t want to leave. I felt like it would be running away.”
“But it won’t be running away, if you come back.” Jiwan pressed herself closer to Sol. “Art is your life, Sol. And Paris is the heart of the art world. This could be your big chance! I know Paris will be good for you. Besides, you’ve wanted to go there since high school. You used to talk about going to the Louvre and seeing all those artworks in the pictures you would show me. I don’t deserve to say that I love you, if I didn’t tell you to take this opportunity. That would be selfish. And I don’t want that. I want to give you the best of me.”
Sol kissed the top of Jiwan’s head. Jiwan smelled of Sol’s shampoo, the same brand and scent that Sol had used since childhood. These small details, the little things; to kiss Jiwan and to share everything with her—had Sol in awe.
“You already give me the best of you, Jiwan.” Because Jiwan loved her, and Sol held all the pieces of Jiwan’s heart in her hands.
//
One overcast afternoon, Sol is out for a walk, her trusty headphones on. She’d spent the morning at the Tuileries, meandering among the greenery and the sculptures, and then took a stroll to the Trocadéro. The sounds of the living city around her are muffled by the music from her headphones as she walks, hands buried in the pockets of her rain jacket.
Sol listens to a wide variety of music when she’s working, or taking a walk, or riding the metro, or lying in bed. This comes as a surprise to some people; they assume that as an artist, with a sensibility for certain aesthetics, Sol would have specific tastes when it came to music. The truth is that if Sol likes a song well enough, she’ll add it to her playlist regardless of the genre. While it usually skews towards jazz standards and melancholic hip-hop, a quick flip through her playlist also reveals a hodgepodge of disco, rock, coffee shop indie, and sappy drama soundtrack ballads.
She’s on the Pont d’Iéna, walking towards the Eiffel Tower, when her playlist lands on a particular ballad—it had been pretty popular several years ago, so much so that Sol used to tune it out whenever she’d heard it in a café or in the street, because it was looped so much in public. It had been the last song she and Jiwan had listened to together, before she left for Paris, which is why it’s on Sol’s playlist in the first place.
//
Sol placed the last of her luggage into the entryway. There was less luggage than one might expect for a year overseas, but the grant would provide furnished housing and Sol tended to pack lightly anyway, since she often carried Jiwan’s bags as well as her own, whenever they went somewhere. This time, however, Jiwan could not follow.
When Sol returned to the living room, Jiwan was waiting for her. Sol barely registered the music drifting from the speaker on the coffee table, an old song that her mother used to listen to. Instinctively, they drew closer and Jiwan wrapped her arms around Sol.
“All done.”
Jiwan rested her forehead on Sol’s shoulder. “What time is Nabi coming tomorrow?”
Jiwan already knew when Nabi was going to arrive and the time Sol’s plane would take off, but Sol answered anyway. “Eight. To give us enough time if we get caught in traffic.” A glance at the clock told her that they had a little less than twelve hours before then.
The music faded, and the room dipped into a short silence before another song, a popular ballad, began to fill the room. Jiwan tightened her hold on Sol, and Sol responded, folding Jiwan into her arms. Without knowing it, they swayed slowly to the music; Sol became hyperaware of Jiwan’s hands pressed into her back, deeply enough for Sol to feel the ring on Jiwan’s left hand indenting her skin through her shirt. The same ring Sol had slid onto her finger, mere days after they began officially dating. “Engaged already?” Bitna had teased, “damn, you’re going faster than any couple I’ve ever met.” And yet the progression had felt so natural, making everything become clear and more complete. As if they had always been in love, they only needed to give it a name to make it real. They could not find it in themselves to regret it.
“I don’t want you to go, Sol,” Jiwan mumbled, voice wavering, watery. “I don’t want you to leave me.”
Sol stiffened. “Jiwan.”
Jiwan began to weep, hot tears wetting Sol’s shirt and seeping to the skin. “Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean to say it. I’m sorry. I make everything harder for you.”
“Seo Jiwan,” Sol said, pronouncing her name slowly and profoundly. She blinked away moisture from her own eyes. “I understand. Listen to me. My heart will be with you, no matter where I go. Do you understand me, too?”
“I’m trying to,” Jiwan sobbed into Sol’s shoulder. “It’s just, I’ll miss you so much. I love you. Please come back, okay?”
Sol held Jiwan tightly. “I already told you, and I’ll tell you again, as many times as you want. I’ll come back, Jiwan. I belong with you.”
After meeting me
Are you happy, too?
//
Sol looks down at the ring on her left hand, the counterpart to the one Jiwan wears, and her heart does a little flip when she remembers Jiwan slipping the ring onto her finger, smiling shyly up at her.
There’s that saying about expectations being better than the reality, but the thing is—being loved by Seo Jiwan really is everything Sol has ever wanted. No, Jiwan isn’t perfect; she’s nosy, possessive, impulsive, and usually late to everything. Sol’s seen it all, having spent over a decade at Jiwan’s side. As popular as Jiwan is, as much as their classmates pet Jiwan and coo over her antics, her faults are very obvious.
And yet, Jiwan’s love is all Sol’s heart knew it could be, and more. The way Jiwan gives herself to Sol, entrusting herself to Sol with no reservations—it’s thrilling, enchanting, and Sol still can’t believe that she got so lucky—that her faraway, hopeless dreams have come to her, and come to luminous life.
Jiwan makes Sol happy, and Sol, alone in Paris, misses her terribly.
People and cars pass by unheeded in a smudged gray blur as Sol simply stands there, heart beating across two oceans and and two continents, staring blankly into empty space as the Seine steadily flows on beneath the bridge and the Eiffel Tower, unmoved, looms above her from the opposite bank.
Paris is a city of romance, with art in its very bones, but Sol has left her heart in Seoul.
//
Jiwanie
Yun Sol!!!!!!!
Jiwanie
The gallery accepted my bears!!!!!!!
With Sol in Paris during the last semester of Jiwan’s fourth year at Hongseo, Jiwan had announced her intention to work harder and to finish her degree ‘in style’, as she phrased it in the group chat that she and Sol shared with their friends in the sculpture department. Jiwan was not bad at all of her classes—in fact, she did quite well in the art history and foreign language courses required by their department—but she struggled with putting together a portfolio and creating coherent pieces, and it was the studio classes that made up the bulk of the sculpture major. Hence Jiwan’s academic woes, as she bemoaned to Nabi.
Sol enjoyed Jiwan’s art, even though Jiwan herself didn’t consider it very good. Jiwan’s art had a whimsical, playful style that brought a smile to Sol’s face—rather like Jiwan herself. Their professors, however, didn’t share Sol’s opinion. Jiwan’s pieces were too frivolous, they said, offering nothing of substance. Sol thought that was nonsense. And although Sol was admittedly biased, even Nabi had disagreed with their professors. “There’s plenty of galleries where Jiwan’s work would fit right in,” Nabi had said, on one of the very rare phone calls she had with Sol. “You should see how hard she’s working, Sol; even Bitna’s impressed. We’re going to help her get at least one of her pieces into a gallery.”
“You’re a wonderful friend, Yu Nabi,” Sol had replied. “And Bitna, too.”
When Sol found the messages from Jiwan about the gallery, wreathed in exclamation marks and emojis, she didn’t think twice before pressing the call button, forgetting all about the time difference. It didn’t matter, because Jiwan answered almost instantaneously.
“Sol!”
“I just saw your message. Congratulations. I’m so proud of you, Jiwan,” Sol said.
Jiwan giggled, and Sol did not fight the giddy smile spreading across her face. “Can we switch to video? I want to see you.”
“Sure,” Sol replied, and all of a sudden Jiwan filled her phone screen. At that moment, Sol could feel her grin turning absolutely stupid with joy—even through the indifferent internet connection, Jiwan lit up the room.
“There you are. My favorite person,” Jiwan murmured. She smiled tenderly into the camera, and Sol’s heart skipped.
“When are you exhibiting?”
“In July! It seems like a long way away but Nabi told me that it’s going to be here before I know it, because there’s a lot of work that’s involved. And I can barely even think about that right now. It’s super busy since I’m trying to graduate on time. You’ll be back by then, right?”
Sol chuckled. “Yes. As Nabi said, it’ll be July before you know it—and I’ll be there to give you flowers, Seo Jiwan.”
“I can’t wait. This has been the longest year of my life,” Jiwan confessed.
“Mine, too. So wait just a little longer, okay? When I come back, we’ll go on our belated second anniversary trip.”
The delight blossoming on Jiwan’s face was all the sweeter for Sol, knowing that she was the reason for it.
//
Incheon International Airport has never looked so good to Sol before. Luckily for her, she’s had a lot of experience hiding her emotions—otherwise she would probably be doing something embarrassing, like skipping through the baggage claim area. Outwardly, she projects calm and composure. Nabi, however, immediately notices the telltale sparkle in Sol’s eyes. “Welcome back, Sol, it’s good to see you so chipper after such a long flight,” she teases.
Sol blushes, ducking her head as she loads her luggage into the trunk of Nabi’s car.
“Congratulations, by the way,” Nabi says, once she’s maneuvered the car out of the arrivals area.
“For what?”
“For your Ropac showing. The one that you ditched so that you could come home early.”
Sol shrugs. “I didn’t need to be there in person once it was all set up. I’m happy to let the gallery take care of the rest.” She’s mostly just thankful that her time in Lee Taebaek’s Paris workshop has not been a waste on the professional level.
Being in the atelier of a renowned sculptor at the center of the art world has led to growing interest from galleries and art dealers; Ropac had accepted the two pieces Sol had managed to finish during her time in Paris, and right as she was getting ready to fly back to Seoul, Perrotin had even promised to give her space at their Seoul gallery, should she give them any pieces to show. Now, Sol’s inbox has emails from various art agents located across Asia and Europe. It seems like they’re all confident that Sol’s work will command very high prices, if they don’t already.
Sol has been only marginally aware that the art world had its eyes on her near the end of her fourth year, when the dean of the sculpture department had told her that Lee Taebaek’s studio in Paris was interested in offering Sol an apprenticeship. Apparently people had taken notice when one of the biggest chaebols in South Korea had swooped in and purchased ‘Union’ from the Hongseo gallery’s student exhibition for their family’s brand new art museum near Gyeonghuigung. This, of course, being the same wealthy family who had funded Sol’s grant through one of the family’s organizations with the mission of promoting modern Korean art through supporting up-and-coming young artists. Sol would rather not think too much about it. Some people had way too much money on their hands. It’s already overwhelming, and talking about it feels too much like inviting more pressure.
“We’re all so proud of you, Sol,” Nabi reassures her, as she navigates the evening traffic heading into Seoul. “Jiwan told everyone that would listen that you were the best artist that South Korea has ever known. When we took her out after her graduation ceremony, she told the whole restaurant; she even went into the kitchen and told the staff.”
“But I only told Jiwan that I submitted some pieces to a gallery. I didn’t say anything about Ropac.”
Nabi laughs. “Bitna googled your name. That’s how we found out.”
Sol groans. “I should’ve known. Enough about me—is everything going well with Jiwan’s gallery showing? I can’t thank you enough for your help with that.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry. Just a few things need doing here and there, and she’ll be fine. Because you’ll be here for it all.” Nabi grins. “Now, let’s get on with your surprise.”
Seongyun has recently moved into a new apartment and is throwing a housewarming party, which Nabi had suggested as the setting for Sol’s surprise return. During a quick detour to Nabi’s place to drop off all her luggage, Sol asks, “Uh, so. How exactly are you explaining your late arrival to this gathering?”
Nabi’s lip curls, and Sol realizes that she probably shouldn’t have asked. Nevertheless, Nabi answers. “They think that I’ve gone to pick up Jaeeon.”
“He’s not coming?”
“We’re...off again, at the moment. He was invited, but he said it would be best if he didn’t come.”
Sol winces. “I’m really sorry, Nabi.”
“Don’t be. Being drafted into your planned surprise is already making my evening better than I expected,” Nabi says, winking.
Seongyun’s new place is only a few blocks away from his old one, but it’s bigger and has been recently renovated. Nabi is buzzed in and Sol follows her. When he opens the door, his jaw drops open when he sees Sol, but luckily no sound comes out and he catches on quickly when Nabi puts a finger to her lips. “Hey, Nabi. Come on in,” he says instead, grinning from ear to ear, and then retreats down the hallway towards the living room.
The apartment is filled with loud voices, and she recognizes all of them; Sol hears Jiwan laughing and her legs nearly give out; she barely avoids tripping over the shoes piled in the entryway. Nabi sees it all and tries to tamp down a laugh, but ends up snorting. “All right there?”
“That you, Nabi?” Bitna calls from the living room. Sol can tell from her pitch that she’s already had a few drinks.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Nabi replies. Sol hangs back a little. From the hallway, she can see Jiwan, her back turned. She won’t see Sol coming in, unless—
Bitna cheers. “Fucking finally,” she says. “Park Jaeeon, you’re a—holy shit!” her voice rises to a yell as Nabi enters the room, and Sol emerges from behind her.
In her best deadpan voice, Sol says, “Sorry, I’m not Park Jaeeon.”
Jiwan had turned around the moment Bitna had yelled, and Sol knows the exact moment Jiwan’s eyes land on her, because she feels her skin tingling.
The room erupts in the expected surprise, but Sol barely notices, because she only sees Jiwan’s beautiful face, at first stained with disbelief, before it dissolves into complete and utter joy. Tears glaze Jiwan’s eyes; they glitter under the lights, twinkling like the sun on a rippling stream, and Sol is entranced.
“Yun Sol,” Jiwan wails, scrambling to her feet and running the short five steps towards Sol. “Yun Sol!”
And Sol opens her arms to receive Jiwan, who falls into her and latches her arms around Sol’s waist, face turning to nuzzle into Sol’s neck and frantically pressing her lips against the warm skin and Sol’s pulse thundering underneath. Sol holds Jiwan closer, relishing the wonderfully familiar feeling of having Jiwan pressed into her, and she tightens her arms around Jiwan’s shoulders, running a hand through Jiwan’s hair in long, calming strokes. Just as she’s done before, and is overjoyed to be able to do again.
“You’re here, Sol, you came back,” Jiwan whimpers, and Sol smiles. She pulls back and cups Jiwan’s face in her hands, smoothing away tears with her thumbs.
“Of course I came back. I told you that I would.” Sol can vaguely hear their friends cooing at them, while Sehun and Bitna are shouting something, but it’s all background noise drowned out by the shining smile Jiwan gives her. Jiwan places her hand over Sol’s heart, and Sol’s heart responds to her, beating with joyous fervor. She draws Jiwan back into her arms and kisses her forehead. “Here I am, Seo Jiwan.”
“Yun Sol,” Jiwan whispers, lifting her hand to stroke Sol’s cheek, the metal of her ring cool against Sol’s skin, the pads of her fingers reverently brushing Sol’s lips, and Sol loves her—deeply, and achingly. “Everything good is coming true, isn’t it? My heart feels so full, I feel like I’m going to float away. I must be the happiest person in the world right now. You make me the happiest person in the world, you know that, right?”
Sol leans in, resting her forehead on Jiwan’s. She closes her eyes and sighs contentedly. The earth revolves around the sun, the seasons change, the years pass, and her heart remains the same. “I do.”