Work Text:
And there's nothing I can do
Not much I can change
So I give it up to you
I hope that's okay
— Heat Lightning, Mitski
Slippin' through our fingers, like the sands of time
Promises made, every memory saved
As reflections in my mind
— Viva Forever, Spice Girls
We are good people and we've suffered enough.
— Seventy Years of Sleep, Nikka Ursula
2020
[엑시 설아] 엑떨의 우쥬크박스: Ep.10
UJUNG: I have a crush, but he only sees me as a friend. He said he doesn't think he'll ever feel any other way about me.
SEOLA: As you live life, the things you think won't happen end up happening. The things that seem wrong end up becoming right. I haven't lived a long life, but if you just remain by his side... I think it's okay to keep planting (those feelings of) love into him a little at a time.
EXY: What are you talking about?
SEOLA: Don't just think it's not going to happen. Don't give him too much burden, though. Just be by his side as a friend. You never know what might happen after you make an effort for a long time. A person's feelings change every day.
2026
When the elevator gets to the first floor and the doors slide open, Hyunjung realizes she doesn't want to leave.
No, that doesn't sound right. She can't leave. There's something keeping her in the same place, feet rooted to the floor, unable to move. A pull. Invisible hands wrapping themselves around her body, scratching her skin, urging her to go back.
There's the familiar ache, too. One she's been carrying inside her chest since she was a scrawny teen and stepped into Media Line's fucked up practice room for the first time, eyes falling on the small, baby-faced girl holding a microphone with both of her hands and thought oh, there you are.
The same one that rattled against her ribs when Sojung kept growing taller and taller during high school, the same one that multiplied and spread through her veins like a wildfire when Sojung waited for her at the train station after she had yet another fight with her mother. The ache that made Hyunjung hide her hands underneath her back when they would lay next to each other in Sojung's tiny little bed, afraid that they would end up reaching out and touching and making it impossible for her to stop doing so. Exposing the enormity of her desire for everyone to see.
The same one that stuck to her throat when she waved goodbye and closed the door. The same one she feels now, inside these metallic walls, watching the doors shut again as if she's not there anymore.
Hyunjung's been good. She's been patient, kind and forgiving. Despite her troubled teenage years, she's grown to be a good daughter, good sister and an even better aunt. She knows she isn't always the easiest person to care for, she's aware of the hurt she's caused due to her weird personality and overall inability of being vulnerable when needed, but she's trying to do better.
That's being good, isn't it? Hyunjung knows, down to her core, that she's been good.
Hyunjung's finger hovers over the fifth floor button. Her breath is shallow and that same hand keeps tugging at her heartstrings, daring her to do something, anything. She turns her head to the side and stares at her own reflection in the mirror. There's a flush in her face that has little to do with the weather and everything with the turmoil going on inside her head.
Everything aches. Everything pulls. Everything screams.
Good people know how to wait. Now, at thirty one years old, Hyunjung thinks she's waited enough.
She presses the button.
The elevator dings and Hyunjung steps out as if she's hypnotized.
She isn't thinking. For once in her life she's letting herself be guided by instinct rather than her own mind. She's not sure if she's walking, crawling or floating. All she knows is she has to go back to that door, to that apartment, to her.
Tonight, in this hallway, Hyunjung is pure want.
When she steps into the welcome mat, Hyunjung doesn't ring the doorbell. She rests her forehead against the white wood, takes a deep breath and closes her hand around the knob.
The funny thing about being in love with her best friend for over a decade is that she doesn't need to see her to know she's right there, at the other side of the door, waiting. Not a single word needs to come out of Sojung's mouth. Hyunjung can feel her presence.
“Sojung-ah,” Hyunjung calls, voice low, but still unbearably sweet, “I couldn't leave.”
“I know. I always watch you from the balcony,” Sojung confesses. Hyunjung can picture her looking down, embarrassed. “Minutes passed, so I assumed—”
“I tried to, but—” Hyunjung chokes, swallowing before she forces herself to continue, “I couldn't. Not tonight.”
Hyunjung closes her eyes. It's late, late enough for her to be able to listen to every little sound Sojung makes. She can hear the keys jiggling in her hands and how shaky her breath is starting to get, the same way it always does when she's using all of her self-control to keep herself from falling apart. A skill acquired after having the label of leader stitched into the depths of her soul at twenty years old.
A label Hyunjung still blames herself for not being able to carry, after all these years. She's the older one, sure, but she's never been the wisest out of the two of them. She had no other choice but to let Sojung carry the burden, for the sake of the group.
It was the right choice. It was the only choice. WJSN wouldn't have happened if Chu Sojung wasn't their leader. But still, a deeper, selfish part of her wishes she could've protected Sojung from everything. Wishes Sojung could've remained the little, wide-eyed girl from Busan she met all those years ago.
“Sojung-ah,” Hyunjung calls, again, and she knows desperation is seeping into every word that slips out of her mouth, but she can't bring herself to stop. Not this time. “You know what I mean, don't you?”
Sojung goes still on the other side. Too still. For a second, Hyunjung can't hear her anymore. Hyunjung sighs, grip tightening on the knob. She tries to calm down, tries to come up with a less grueling way to continue this conversation, but it's hard to think straight when her heart is trying to rip itself out of her chest.
So Hyunjung keeps going.
“You have to know. You do, don't you?” The more she speaks, the more Hyunjung can feel whatever's left of her restraint slip away from her grasp, leaving her raw, agonizing with want. “All these years. I stayed, waited, prayed that—” Hyunjung chokes, silent tears beginning to flow through her cheeks, “Maybe, one day, when we're older—”
The door unlocks. Hyunjung loses balance for a moment, but Sojung's firm hands on her shoulders keep her upright.
Sojung digs her fingers into her flesh, harshly so. Any other day Hyunjung would've complained, whined, flinched away from her grasp. Today, though, it doesn't hurt. The grip, tight and bruising, feels like mercy. As if Sojung is washing away all of her sins with her touch. The same touch Hyunjung had feared for years, all because of how much she craved it.
“Go on,” Sojung says—begs—and it's only then that Hyunjung notices how red her eyes are. Or how small she looks. “Look at me and keep going. I need to hear it. All of it.”
Hyunjung is shaking. She's never let herself want this much, at least not in front of other people. Not in front of Sojung. She knew the role she had to play in order to keep things flowing, to keep their images safe. They weren't very popular, after all, so pouring out her feelings and risking the dynamic that made WJSN unique and kept their small but loyal fanbase engaged was something she wouldn't dare dreaming of.
If there was one thing Hyunjung had always been better than Sojung at, it was using Seola as a shield to keep her deepest, ugliest desires under wraps. But now, with Sojung's fingers pressing down on her skin, hard enough to bruise, she thinks: I don't have to anymore, do I?
That doesn't mean she's immune to the side effects of suppressing herself for so long. The words refuse to slip out of her mouth, her brain fogs, and her entire body trembles from the strain of keeping herself upright, despite the pain pulsing through her limbs, for nearly two decades.
But Hyunjung knows she has to try. Sojung is standing right there, after all. Eyes fixed on hers, waiting.
“I thought—” Hyunjung shuts her eyes, takes a deep breath, then opens them again. “If I stood by your side, as a member, as a friend,” Hyunjung forces the word out through the knot forming in her throat, “you'd end up wanting me as much as I want you. In the future, maybe—when we've paid our dues.”
Sojung's grip gets tighter. “Unnie—”
“I've waited a long time for you, Sojung-ah,” Hyunjung confesses, voice rough, “and, trust me, I would wait forever if I had to. But we've been good,” she breathes out, chest aching, “we've been good people and I think we deserve to be happy now.”
Hyunjung knows Sojung loves her. That's not the issue, hasn't been for a while. It took a long time, she admits, but Hyunjung connected the pieces. It was in the multiple failed relationships Sojung had, in the nights she overheard Sojung telling Jiyeon that she thought there was something wrong with her, in the way Sojung would always get a little breathless whenever Hyunjung got too close.
Small fragments collected throughout the years. Once Hyunjung placed them side by side, it painted a clear picture.
But it's hard for love to mean anything when you're two women in the same girl group crawling their way into the spotlight, battling against thousands for a moment of glory under the sun.
And Hyunjung, knowing Sojung as well as she does, was painfully aware of the fact that Sojung would never, ever dream of ruining their friendship because of her feelings. She'd never forgive herself for it.
Hyunjung stayed, regardless. Waited. Loyal and composed. Unwavering devotion hidden under layers of restraint.
Until today.
Hyunjung rests her trembling hands on each side of Sojung's face, takes one step closer. “Don't you agree?”
Sojung’s answer comes in the shape of a fist closing around the fabric of Hyunjung’s shirt and a searing kiss on her lips.
The moment Hyunjung realizes what’s happening—Sojung is there, grabbing her, kissing her, choosing her—all traces of hesitation that still insisted on sticking to her bones melted away, opening up a gate of fire and desire instead.
The kiss is both messy and perfect. It's all teeth and limbs clashing against each other, bodies trying to break free from the armor they’ve had to carry over their skin for so long, attempting to fit together without bleeding.
Sojung breaks the kiss to close the door behind them, struggling to do so when Hyunjung seems hellbent on never letting go of her again. Sojung hadn't even put the keys in the lock before Hyunjung was all over her, pressing her front against her back, sticking her hands to Sojung's waist, leaving a trail of kisses on the side of her neck.
The second the door locks, Hyunjung turns Sojung around and shoves her against the wood. Sojung gasps at the impact, eyes darkening, cold hands sliding under Hyunjung's shirt.
Hyunjung pauses for a second, taking the time to absorb the view in front of her. Sojung’s always been beautiful, that’s a given, but nothing can compare to how ethereal she looks right now—pink cheeks, loose strands slipping from her hair clip, lips all swollen and glossy. Undone, entirely. Because of her.
Hyunjung can’t count how many times she’s dreamed of this exact moment. Couldn’t even if she tried, really, because Sojung hooks her fingers around the hem of her jeans and pulls her in, bodies flush against each other again.
“I know,” Sojung whispers, lips brushing Hyunjung's, and before Hyunjung has the chance to question her, she explains, “This. I've thought about it too. A lot.”
And Hyunjung is still Hyunjung, even in this situation, even after tearing her guts apart, ripping her heart out and putting it inside the hands of the woman she loves, so she scoffs and says, “Of course you have.”
Sojung gives her shoulder a playful shove, huffs out an unbelieving laugh, then kisses Hyunjung again.
It's slower this time, deeper, but no less exhilarating. Hyunjung lets Sojung take the lead this time, allows her to set the pace, offering her own body for Sojung to explore.
And, god, Hyunjung wasn't expecting Sojung to get this bold this fast, but she's not complaining.
Quite the opposite.
Hyunjung melts under Sojung's touches. Sojung's hands travel from her shoulders, to her arms, all the way down to her lower back, fingers slipping under her shirt and scratching her skin, alternating between soft and hard digs into her flesh.
Hyunjung answers by squeezing Sojung's waist, nails pressing into the exposed skin, attempting to bring her closer, somehow, but then a needy mewl escapes from Sojung's lips and—
“Unnie,” Sojung breaks the kiss but doesn't move away, gaze drifting back and forth between Hyunjung's eyes and lips. “I want you.”
It's not that Hyunjung hasn't slept with other people before.
Sure, she knows she's behind in the hooking up department, especially if compared to the other members, but she does have some experiences under her belt.
Hyunjung still thinks of Minji all of those years ago—beautiful, charismatic and impossibly eager to have Hyunjung's attention all to herself. Hyunjung doesn't regret it, not really, but she still feels a hint of shame burning in the pit of her stomach whenever she remembers how much of an asshole she was to her. Minji is gentle and kind and deserving of someone who'll lie on her bed without longing for the touch of another woman.
It happened once with Soobin, too.
They were on break. Soobin's family went on a trip and she had the house all to herself, so she invited both Hyunjung and Juyeon to spend some quality time together. Nothing new, nothing unusual.
Except Juyeon already had plans, something about a road trip with Eunbi and Soojin, so it was just Hyunjung and Soobin and an obscene amount of alcohol available for them to drown themselves into.
Soobin was fresh out of a breakup. And Hyunjung, well—she’d seen Sojung's private instagram story. She was in Busan with Jiyeon, Yeonjung, Chungha and Heehyun, the same old group, and Sojung didn't have to post a picture kissing any of them for Hyunjung to know it happened, because she's heard the stories more than once.
And because the purple mark on Sojung's neck was pretty visible in the picture. Hyunjung doesn't need to know which one of them is responsible for it to tear her apart.
Soobin didn't, either. One look at Hyunjung's face told her everything she had to know. They were drunk, alone and heartbroken. One thing led to another and, before they knew it, their mouths found each other's and the couch became the perfect spot for them to bury their sorrows.
Hyunjung doesn't remember much of that night, if she's being honest. She's made peace with the fact that it happened, thanking the universe for not letting that moment ruin their friendship, because heaven knows she wouldn't have made it this long without Soobin by her side.
She even tried it with a guy, once. It was gross. She felt gross—a disgusting, filthy liar. It took her an entire week of rubbing a sponge all over her body until her skin was red and brushing her teeth until her gum bled for her to be able to stare at the mirror without feeling sick again.
The point is, Hyunjung has had good sex in her life. Neutral sex. Awful sex that forced her to come to terms with some truths about herself, too.
But nothing in the world could've prepared her for—
“Unnie,” Sojung calls, eyes hazy and so, so beautiful Hyunjung thinks she's going to die, then continues, “Inside. Please.”
Hyunjung stares at Sojung underneath her, exposed, bare, begging for her, wanting her, and she can feel that old, insistent hole inside her heart begin to stitch itself back together.
Hyunjung loves Sojung. Something ancient and hungry she carries within stirred from the second she first saw her, but being able to pour all of that love into her is intoxicating.
Her wildest dreams couldn't compare to this.
Being on that bed, with her fingers buried inside Sojung, hearing the love of her love call out her name as if each syllable was something sacred, could only be described as a holy experience.
And when Sojung, giddy and satisfied, flips them around and pins Hyunjung's arms over her head, it dawns on Hyunjung that Sojung's been waiting a long time for this moment, too—and who is she to deprive Sojung of what she wants?
So Hyunjung puts herself into Sojung's hands and allows her to take everything she needs from her. Sojung squeezes and kisses and bites, over and over again, while Hyunjung—patient, endeared, madly in love Hyunjung—guides her, praises her, basks in Sojung’s care and attention.
By the time Sojung is done, there’s not an inch of Hyunjung’s body left unloved.
When they kiss again, it’s slow. Grounding. A hundred little confessions hanging from their lips, promises of forever carved onto their skins. Hyunjung tastes herself in Sojung’s tongue, shivers when Sojung groans into her mouth, and realizes there isn’t much she needs in her life except for this.
They pull apart when their lungs start screaming for air, then Sojung asks, quietly, “Are you okay?”
Hyunjung nearly misses what she’s asking. It’s hard not to, really, when Sojung looks every bit like an angel staring down at her like this. Shiny eyes, rosy cheeks. Hair disheveled, loose strands sticking to her sweaty forehead. Lips all red and tender, hypnotizing Hyunjung all over again.
She understands now, all those excerpts and poems her mother used to read her when she couldn't fall asleep: to love and be loved is, indeed, to feel the sun from both sides.
"I'm good," Hyunjung breathes out, unable to contain the fond smile that blooms on her face. "You?"
Sojung doesn't answer. Instead, she flashes a smile of her own and places a kiss at the corner of Hyunjung's mouth. "I am now."