I should go tonight, you think, staring at your bedroom ceiling from your sprawled out position on the carpet. No, I shouldn't go. But I... I should go? Should I go?
You repeat the words in your head like an endless washing machine cycle until they are drained of their meaning and they no longer feel like words—just hollow shapes; echoing sounds. But that is the golden question, and you have been looping it around your tongue like twine, turning the muscle blue with a lack of the well-awaited answer. Because, indeed, it is Saturday afternoon and Yoongi has his grand final game in no more than four hours, and you have spent your precious time of training-less freedom mulling over Seokjin's offer to attend since lunch.
This sudden sense of willingness has built like a dam on a rainy day since your unexpected encounter with Yoongi on Thursday night. The shock of seeing him at the gym so late had stunned you like the zap of an electric fence. Even though you had quickly narrowed his presence down to some form of punishment by his coach, you had to wonder what kind of divine intervention was involved for you to literally walk into him after you had been doing everything in your power to avoid him.
But god, the way that Yoongi had stared at you—at that stupid hair scrunchie on your wrist that you have never been able to throw away—had you reconsidering everything. It made you think that Seokjin might have been right about the kiss being some dumb, alcohol-fuelled incident. It made you think that Yoongi maybe thought that he was genuinely protecting you when he punched Yugyeom, and that doing so would be able to prove to you that he cares for you most.
You know those thoughts seem like ridiculous excuses for why Yoongi did what he did. Yet, at the core of it all, it seems like such an intrinsically Yoongi thing to do—to make a mistake, and then go to such extreme lengths to earn that forgiveness back.
But what really struck you about the whole interaction were his words. Get home safe after your session. Text me if you need somebody to walk you home. He would have known that you would have preferred to risk the walk alone before you ever reached out to him, but he still said it. Though you knew it was less about the offer and more about the underlying meaning. The unspoken: I still care about you. I still want this to work.
At the sheer thought of it, you loudly groan and kick your legs like an angry child until your foot clips the wheel of your desk chair. Letting out a yelp, you cradle your leg to your chest and massage the point of impact, thumb absentmindedly skimming over the pearly scar that is slashed across your ankle as you do so. The memories of that cold, cold night linger at the forefront of your mind, solely from the feeling of the torn skin beneath the pad of your thumb. But with the frequency of those memories arising ever since you started to be... something with Yoongi again, they no longer wash your skin in icy water.
They no longer numb you, just as the lake did.
And there, with your thumb pressed to the one thing that has haunted you for the past five years, you come to terms with the fact that you might not need to go to Yoongi's game, but there is something else that you need to do.
Minah was also given the day off of training. While the Saturday is now steadily encroaching on its sundown, you have not seen her since last night. Yet, by the muffled sounds that have been filtering through her closed door all day, you can tell that she has spent this time off in the precise same manner as you: curled up in bed and binge-watching anime.
Thus, you know that she is definitely in her room when you give her door a soft knock. Once their is no responding sound of protest, you slowly open it, praying that her silence is not because she is jacking herself off or doing some kind of nude yoga.
Thankfully, neither are the case. Instead, your best friend is in her prime, swamp gremlin state, glaring at you from the blanket lair that she has created upon her bed. Her eyes are red-rimmed as though she has just recovered from a bout of crying, and her hair is oily at the roots, looking fit for nesting.
You know she will just get pissed if you mention her knotty, unwashed hair, so you instead go with: "Are you crying because you're happy to see me?"
Minah hastily rubs at the corners of her eyes and begins to sit up. "Nice try. I was watching the end of Your Name."
"Understandable," you nod, because you do understand. That movie was fucking heartbreaking. "Can I come in?"
"Haven't you already?" Minah mutters, pointedly directing her eyes to your feet—which are on her bedroom carpet—before she rolls them. With a nervous chuckle, you tentatively make your way over to her bed, staring at the edge of her blanket-laden mattress until she sighs and swoops her arm out, as if to say: Go on, then.
Sitting down, you start with the obvious. "Minah, I'm really, really sorry about lying to you. And to Hoseok. You guys are my best friends and I shouldn't have treated you that way. This whole situation with Yoongi... it's something that traumatised me for a while, and it's something that I've never told anyone beyond my family and Seokjin. It was just always difficult to try and bring it up, y'know?"
"Look, ___," Minah begins, pushing her dark hair away from her face. "The thing is that we don't have to tell each other everything—we're allowed to have secrets. That's why I never hounded you for the details beyond what you told us at the cafe a month ago. I could see there was something more that you weren't telling us, and yeah, maybe it hurt me a little that you didn't trust me enough to say it.
"But now that I look back on it, I was a part of the problem—I was in the wrong for assuming that it was some simple incident, like a high school crush, and you were being dramatic about it. So, I'm really sorry as well, ___. I know the past week has been shitty for you after that photo circulated because of that fucking asshole, Yugyeom, and I've only contributed to that by not being there when you've needed me most. I guess I just didn't know how to handle the situation because you haven't told me the truth about you and Yoongi, so I haven't had a single clue where to begin, or what to say to you. I haven't been waiting for you to approach me with an apology, even though I do appreciate it. I've just been waiting for you to feel ready to open up to me and to be honest with me so I can finally understand. So I can properly be here for you."
Despite the serious atmosphere, you find yourself chuckling. Minah quirks her lips, just a little.
"Well, it's your lucky day, because that's exactly what I'm here to do," you say, lifting your legs onto the mattress. You crawl across the mountains of blankets until you are seated right in front of Minah, feet positioned between the two of you so that your scar is on display. You direct your gaze to it, and Minah promptly follows. "If I had decided to tell you this at the start of the year, I would've said that Yoongi gave me this scar. Now, I'm not so sure I believe in that sentiment."
"Honestly speaking, I always thought that all of this had something to do with your ankle scar," Minah hums, tracing it with her fingertip. "I don't even know if you realise that you do this, but you tend to touch it with your hands or your other foot whenever Yoongi is the topic of the conversation."
You did know—you just never realised anyone had ever noticed it. Resting your chin on your knee, you mumble, "Yeah, it's a bit of a subconscious reflex. Anyway, prepare yourself; this is going to get long, and it's strewn with angst."
"As I said before, I just finished watching Your Name," Minah smirks, settling back against her pillows. "If that emotional rollercoaster couldn't prepare me for this, nothing can. But let's lie down for it, just in case."
Grinning at your best friend, you manoeuvre so that you are laying down beside her, staring up at the poster of Justin Timberlake circa 2006 that she has taped to the ceiling. Then, with a deep inhale that tastes like five years of pent-up agony and loss, you begin to unstitch the wound that you have protected with the cast of your lies for too long.
❄︎
A continuous tap-tap-tap is what rouses you from your sleep, sounding like fingernails tickling glass. At first, your half-asleep self is inclined to ignore it—to believe that it is nothing more than the winter wind brushing the skeleton of the bush outside of your window against the pane. Then, suddenly adding to the incessant sound, your phone begins to vibrate, causing the darkness of your bedroom to be lit with the pale glow of its screen. Moaning out of annoyance, you scrabble for the device to turn it off, convinced that your idiot boyfriend has pranked you again by setting your alarm for 2AM.
But when you see that it is, in fact, Yoongi calling you, your mind is snapping awake and you are answering him in an instant.
"Yoongi?" you whisper, sitting up on your bed in your flannel pyjamas. A chuckle sounds from the other end of the line, which has you lifting your eyes to your window, because you swear that you did not just hear it through the earpiece.
"Hey, babydoll," Yoongi murmurs, causing something sweet to curl like a silk ribbon around your heart. You are already approaching the baby pink drapes before he even says, "Come to your window."
Carefully, so as not to make too much noise, you push aside the left curtain, unveiling the frozen night beyond your window. And there, bundled in his dark, fur-lined jacket with his skates tucked under his arm and his phone lighting up the side of his face, Yoongi stands among the freshly fallen snow. While you are confused by the situation, you cannot help but smile at the sight of him, feeling your stomach fill with warm flames.
"What are you doing here?" you whisper, resting your palm against the glass, letting the iciness of it settle into your skin. Yoongi's grin curves all the wider.
"I thought we could go on an adventure to the lake," he whispers back, inclining his head towards his skates. "Y'know, live a little and make some teenage memories."
"The lake has already frozen over?" you ask with raised eyebrows, hand slipping from the window. Yoongi nods, scrunching his nose. "And you didn't think to suggest this when, oh, I don't know, we were together this afternoon?"
"Hey, I only came up with the idea like, 20 minutes ago. I couldn't sleep."
"So you thought: Oh, I love my girlfriend so much that I'm going to disturb her beauty sleep on a school night, and tell her to sneak out and rendezvous with me at the lake!"
"C'mon, it's a cool idea and you know it!" Yoongi complains underneath his breath, and you roll your eyes. "You're not going to say no to me after I've snuck out and walked all this way, are you?"
"You literally live down the street."
"___," Yoongi whines, jutting out his lower lip, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. He knows that his pout is the one thing that boils down your defences, and the sneaky bastard, of course, uses that to his advantage whenever you are not in his favour. "Think of how romantic and fun it will be! What's wrong with a little midnight skate at the lake?"
"Maybe the fact that it's, hey, midnight? We shouldn't be skating in the dark. Anything could be sticking out of the lake–"
"The skies are clear tonight; the moon is shining on everything. It'll almost be the same as skating during the daytime."
"Keyword: Almost. That's not guaranteed to be safe."
"You're only overthinking it, doll. Everything will be fine."
Worrying at the inside of your cheek with your teeth, you flit your gaze across your shadow-laden room and stare at your closed door. "What... what if my parents find out? I'll be in deep shit, Yoongi. Mum is still mad at me for accidentally tearing the seam of my competition dress for this weekend."
"It'll only be for an hour, at most," Yoongi insistently assures you. As you drag your concerned stare back to him, he exhales a cloud of cool white, teeth chattering. "I promise, baby. Now, get your skates and get changed, because as adorable as your Pokémon pyjamas are, you'll freeze to death in them out here."
Before you can think to protest, he hangs up and stuffs both his phone and his mittened hand into his jacket pocket.
Yoongi, with his eyes shining enthusiastically, looks like he wants this so much. He so earnestly wishes to create such a memory with you—a thrilling secret that only the two of you will ever know about. A small part of you tries to convince you out of it; to make you close the curtain and go back to bed; to pretend that Yoongi never came to your window in the thick of the night; to just deal with his unpleasant attitude at school, tomorrow. But it would be a lie to suggest that you do not wish to join him—that you are not as excited at the thought of having your first skate on the lake at the darkest hour of the night.
Together.
Which is how you find yourself in your warmest clothes, skates tied together by the laces and hanging around your neck, climbing through your window and into Yoongi's awaiting arms. As soon as you have closed your window just enough for you to be able to get back in later, though not so much that it spills the winter air into your room, Yoongi is spinning you around by the pocket of your jeans to face him. A feverish grin is on his lips, and his arms are slowly creeping around your waist like vines, pulling you flush to his chest.
"Hey," Yoongi whispers, resting his forehead against your own. A smile colours your lips.
"Hi there," you mumble, and then, Yoongi is kissing you. Something slow and sweet, like flowing molasses or pulled taffy. His lips come to migrate to your chin, your cheeks, your nose, until you are trying not to giggle too loud and Yoongi is smiling against your skin. After a moment of basking in the fact that the two of you always burst at the edges with love whenever you are within proximity of each other, he takes your hand and starts leading you towards the front yard.
The adventure to the lake two streets away is full of hushed laughter and entwined fingers and cheeky, fleeting kisses. Still, it is so unusual to walk through the neighbourhood while it is quietly sleeping. It feels like you and Yoongi are the only two people left on Earth to traverse its peaceful, snowy landscape that is washed with the pale yellow lights of the street lamps every handful of metres. It feels like you are capable of anything and everything, as long as you have each other.
If only you were not so young and so stupidly in love.
If only you knew better.
"Are you sure the lake is frozen enough?" you call out from the edge of the icy surface once you reach the destination, skates already on. The full moon studded in the clear night sky like a white button on deep blue velvet gives the lake a hazy, silver glow.
Yoongi, tying his skates on a bench nearby, calls back, "I'm sure as shit, doll. I wouldn't let you go on there if it was dangerous."
"Right," you mutter with a sigh, hesitantly stepping onto the ice, nonetheless.
You skate experimentally around the edge of the lake, testing its solidity before you dare to skate a few feet closer to the centre. Turning around once you are a little ways in, you see Yoongi striding through the snow, towards the lake. A ridiculously giant grin is tugging at his lips, and you cannot help but laugh at how comical it looks.
"You're like a kid on Christmas," you tease, skating backwards with your chilly fingers tucked into your coat. Even though he is at least ten metres away, you can see his features transform into a frown with perfect clarity.
"I'm no kid!" Yoongi shouts, stepping onto the ice and just about slipping over in his rush to do so.
Laughter burns in your lungs. "Yes you are, you big, clumsy baby!"
"That's it," says Yoongi, a determined air coming about his posture. Your giggles almost instantly dissolve into nervous hiccups; a thrilling rush of fear stirring your stomach. "I'm going to get you for that!"
"I'd like to see you try!" you squeal. You turn right as you see Yoongi begin to take off towards you, and skate with all you have towards the centre of the lake.
Neither of you hear the crack, sounding like muffled lighting, until it is too late. Even if you did, there still would have been no time to prevent it.
One moment, you are doing crossovers on the ice, speedily propelling yourself away from Yoongi and his fingers that are bound to find your ribs and tickle with no mercy the second he catches you. The next, you can hear him yelling out to you, his voice wrapped in an unbridled combination of panic and terror. But before you can comprehend what he is saying, it is like gravity is wrapping its ginormous fist around your right calf and yanking you south, pulling you through a weak spot in the ice.
For an infinitesimal second, you feel your ankle twisting—you feel it screaming in pure agony as your skate is swallowed in the freezing water of the lake.
But as soon as it comes, everything is sucked into darkness, like a blackhole consuming the stars.
❄︎
"And I've blamed Yoongi for it ever since."
The bedroom settles into silence. Your tongue feels dry of any saliva after speaking for such an extensive period of time, and you desperately need a glass of water. But just as you are about to get up and grab one, Minah rolls partially atop you, her arms wrapping around your body.
"I'm so sorry," she sniffles into your shoulder. "God, ___. That's just so– Geez. I always wondered why you didn't get go to the Olympics earlier, y'know? I thought that maybe your parents didn't want you to be an Olympian as a teenager or something, so you could graduate high school. But... it was your ankle fracture, wasn't it?"
"Yeah," you breathe, petting her unruly hair. "It was a trimalleolar fracture; three parts of my ankle were broken. I had two surgeries, since there were some minor complications during the first. After that, I underwent rehabilitation, and I couldn't get back on the ice for a whole year—I wasn't allowed to do any high-impact jumps for the first eight months, either. Now, I only ever land on my left foot."
Minah props herself up so she can stare at you, eyes a tad teary. "That's awful, pumpkin. I'm so sorry such a horrible thing happened to you." Her gaze narrows slightly, a vague sense of contempt about it. "And I understand why you would've blamed him. Neither of you could've predicted that such a thing would happen, I know. But to push you when you were clearly feeling hesitant about going in the first place? That's... that's so..."
"So men?" you say, lips tilting upwards.
"Yeah, so fucking men," Minah huffs, rolling back off you so she can sit up in her blanket nest. She flips her hair over one shoulder, and a momentary look of horror overcomes her when she must realise how dirty it is. Then, she sighs. "But like I said, neither of you are solely to blame. Yoongi shouldn't have pressured you. You shouldn't have shot off on a freshly frozen lake like a maniac. I'm sure you heard it from your parents, but you both seemed to have become so caught up in the idea of it that you just let all sense of safety slip away.
"And I know my opinion about this probably doesn't matter to you—that's fine, I only want you to take a second to hear me out. Hey, you might even know this already. But it seems like the whole trauma of the situation affected you so much that blaming Yoongi was your way of having control over it. Not admitting that you could've played a part in avoiding such an outcome is protected you while you were at your weakest, and you've simply continued to stick with that defence so you can always blame your failures on Yoongi, and not on your personal ability.
"Though I also think that blaming Yoongi was your way of keeping him in your life," Minah claims, drumming her fingertips against her kneecaps. "The two of you were in love when the accident happened, and it doesn't sound like it was a typical teenage romance. You guys had something special; you knew that; you didn't want to let go of it. But since you had become so intent on using Yoongi as your scapegoat, the only way you could keep him by your side was by spiting him. And, ultimately, by creating this stupid rivalry."
Your best friend pauses, her gaze straying from your own to stare up at the ceiling. Justin Timberlake circa 2006 stares right back. "Woah, did the Holy Spirit just possess me? I feel like I've aged 50 years. And I take back what I said, by the way. I want that mass of wisdom that I just spouted to matter to you. Because that's what I am, ___. I'm wise as fuck. And do you know what conclusion my wise as fuck ass has come to after all of this?"
"I suddenly don't want to know," you admit, mildly terrified.
Minah snaps her eyes back to you, a smile itching in the corners of her mouth. You shrink back into the pillows, as if they could ever protect you from what you know she is about to say.
"You're still in love with Yoongi."
And there it is: the terrifying reality of somebody else saying it. Though the thing is, the relief that simultaneously washes through you is overwhelming, like Minah speaking those six words has lifted a boulder from your chest. One that you had become so used to that you only realised it was there once it had suddenly so disappeared.
You are still in love with Yoongi. You never stopped loving him.
Nonetheless, you say, "That anime really got to you, huh?" and Minah promptly beats you with a pillow until you are gasping and screeching, "Okay, holy shit! Fine! I might still be in love with Min-bane-of-my-existence-Yoongi, and yeah, he may or may not still be in love with me, too. But after everything that's happened with the photo... what am I supposed to do? I can't just walk up to him and be like: Howdy-doody, Yoongi! Guess what: I love you!"
Minah blinks, still clutching the pillow in a highly threatening manner. "And why the hell not?"
You stare at her rather incredulously. "You're kidding, Minah. Tell me you're kidding. Please say that you have a better idea than that."
"I'm not kidding," Minah says, and a strangled sound erupts from your throat. "You need to go up to him and break the ice—wow, insensitive pun not intended—and just... have a conversation! Put aside everything that has occurred over the past five years and have a proper, meaningful talk about your feelings. Communication is key, babe. Time to suck it up and accept it."
You bury the heels of your palms into your eye sockets, voice lowering to a whisper. "I know. Where am I supposed to start, though? Do I somehow catch him outside of the stadium? Calling or texting him to meet up will only give me time to chicken out. The whole thing needs to happen in person. It needs to be–"
"Holy shit, tonight. After their grand final at the stadium." Minah looks like she is having another second-coming-of-God moment again, and all you can do is stare at her in disbelief. "We'll go early so we can sit in the front rows and he'll hopefully see us. I bet he'll be searching to see if you've come, anyway. That way, he'll know that you actually give a shit about him, and he'll try to find you after the game. Baddabing baddaboom, the two of you can sneak off to the riverside with some fried chicken and beer; get to conversing about your feelings; kiss; fuck; and hallelujah–" She claps her hands together, grinning like the brilliant mastermind that she is– "You make up!"
You are nearly stunned speechless. "That's... actually kind of genius?"
"No shit, I am a genius."
"You're insufferable, that's what."
"I refuse to be the subject of your bullying now that you've decided to embrace your heart-boner for Min Yoongi," Minah states matter-of-factly, reaching across your body for her phone. She clicks the lock button to light up the screen, and then, she throws the device back into the sheets and starts scrambling off the bed. "Come on, there's two hours left until the game starts. I desperately need a shower, and you need to change out of those sweatpants that you've been wearing for the past five days. I'm sure Yoongi wouldn't mind some cute lingerie, hm?"
"Stop. I'm not screwing him on the first potential night of us rekindling our relationship," you mutter, spreading your limbs in a starfish-like fashion upon the mattress. Minah merely giggles mischievously in response and gets to tugging her hoodie over her head. After a moment of mulling over everything your best friend has said, your chest is flooded with an immeasurable amount of affection for her. "Minah, I'm still sorry about lying to you. I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough for everything that you've done for me. And honestly? I'll be in your debt for eternity if this works out."
"Hey, what else are best friends for?" Minah shrugs, picking fresh underwear out of her drawers. "I just hope you now know that I'm genuinely always here for you. And if you think otherwise after that incredible advice I've given you, I'm moving out."
Fondly, you smile at her. How could you have ever kept this from her for so long? Even if she could not have provided you with the golden key to fixing this situation on a silver platter, her moral support would have been more than enough. Having another person to speak to about it, especially one who was not directly involved in the incident, was something that you never realised you needed all along, despite it being hinted at from the get go. You were just too–
Oh.
You were just too stubborn to see it.
"Wow, I'm such an idiot," you whisper to yourself. "I really did this to myself, didn't I?"
Minah perks up from where she is bent over at the end of the bed. "What was that?"
You scramble into a sitting position and send her a genuinely nervous smile. Your stomach thrillingly stirs as you mumble, "I said that we're really doing this, aren't we?"
"Yes, we're absolutely doing this!" she hollers, practically skipping into her ensuite bathroom out of excitement. "Operation: I Forgive You, I Love You, and I Want to Fuck You, Min Yoongi is officially in action!"
"Oh my god, don't you dare say that outside of this house!"