A Cup of Jo

Yuri’s like a shot of espresso.

The moment you heard that phrase, your mind immediately went to her.

“It’s just so bizarre,“ says Yuri, head against your shoulder with her hands wildly gesturing as she talks. She needs to get her point across or she’ll never shut up. “Like… it’s bitter. It doesn’t taste good at all. Anyone who spends even a penny on it should be a registered idiot.”

You smile. You can’t say anything. You don’t want to. Listening to her talk all day isn’t a problem at all.

She’s past that two-minute ramble about how coffee is a placebo effect made to capitalize off teenagers and burnouts when she notices your stare. She scoffs, pushing your chest.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Yuri asks.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re… forget it.” She rolls her eyes. “‘A shot of espresso.’ What a whole load of bullshit.”

-

And yet she pays her tuition by making that whole load of bullshit.

The Cuppa is probably the second comfiest place in the city. You rank it second because nothing really compares to your bed, but goddamn, does the café come close. It’s a cute little place just off campus, a little short of walking distance but not too much trouble. Any student seeking solace could easily find it right here.

But that’s not why you’re here.

“Is your punk ass really trying to steal from us?”

You smile. That’s why.

“You caught me,” you say. “What are you gonna do about it, officer?”

Yuri emerges from behind the counter. She’d dyed her hair a sage brown and it looks strikingly good on her, especially when the sunlight hits. Even in that loose shirt and apron she looks beautiful. You’d tell her that but she’d probably say something snarky, and the two of you would fight like siblings and big bad manager Eunbi would have to yell at you two again.

“How many times do I have to tell you that our stuffed toys aren’t up for grabs?” she asks, hands on her hips. The plushies lined up neatly next to the wall look at you with bright, plastic eyes.

“What the fuck else are they for then?”

Yuri stands on the tiptoes of all her five foot nothing. “The ambience.”

She has a point. The budget set for the interior of The Cuppa was low but you wouldn’t be able to tell. Something about the vintage furniture and the music—was that Baek Yerin? Clearly Yuri’s selection—makes it feel like a place you could call home.

It’s been Yuri’s home since the first year of university. It was odd sometimes to think about it. You’ve known each other for years, back when she wasn’t a slave to capitalism coffee and still hated you. You still think she does, honestly, but it’s all in good jest. The years have only made you fonder of her.

Funny. All your exes shared the jealousy that you were each other’s first kiss, even if it happened when you were barely eighteen. And come on: nothing’s ever serious before college.

“Yeah?” you ask. “Spell ‘ambience.’”

“You are so full of shit.”

“It’s fine if you can’t. But just so you know, using words you can’t even spell is kind of…” You shrug. “Highfalutin.”

“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes at you but the dimple on her cheek gives it away. “The usual?”

You’re not too particular about coffee. Any caffeinated drink that gets you to finish a line of homework without suicidal ideation is good enough. But The Cuppa found you a favorite:

A steaming americano with a shot of milk. Yuri always complained about its simplicity (“I swear to god, you just do this because you want to get yelled at” was what she said once, arms crossed and pouting in her typical Yuri-style, before shoving the menu in your face again) but there’s nothing you’d stand by more. It’s the perfect combination: something hot to keep you up but not anxious. Something sweet to keep you satiated but not spoiled.

So that’s exactly what she makes. You see her tiny face on the surface of the warm espresso before she splashes it with cream.

“On the house.” Yuri doesn’t even look at you as she makes your drink. Everything comes to her in exact measurements, perfect cups. Routines keep her sane. Anything that slightly disrupts it would drive her insane.

“Thanks. You’re the coolest barista I know,” you say.

You take the mug from Yuri. You’re waiting for her to ruffle your hair as revenge or the usual bratty banter you always give into.

But for once, Yuri has nothing else to say. She just smiles like she spotted an inside joke in that sentence you’re not privy to, and leaves.

-

Okay, so for some background to avoid any confusion. You and Yuri most certainly did not meet like lovebirds—you didn’t meet in a café or in the school hallway where she dropped her books in front of you and you picked it up for her. Not that had to do with anything because you aren’t hookups or exes or anything like that. You just happened to grow up together in the same town.

And you honest to god despised each other. Yuri was a difficult kid, running around in mud-caked sneakers and hair sticking to her forehead. But she wasn’t the conventional type of difficult—she didn’t do any of the delinquency shit Hitomi fell into or talked back to her parents. There wasn’t even a record of delinquency in her files. No, not at all. Her parents actually adored her. She was the only good thing that came out of their messy, tumultuous marriage. Their precious little girl. Poster child of a perfect child. She only seemed to be really difficult with you.

There’s one early memory you have of Yuri that isn’t blurred like a wet camera lens. It’s set in the now overrun park near your middle school. She was staring down at a pond. She was fifteen years old, you think. Just turned. You were around the same age yet she seemed to carry a quiet confidence about her, the attitude that always gave her what she wanted.

“Hi,”you said, because you were tired of the unspoken rivalry and being someone she hated for no reason.

Little Yuri just kept looking down at the body of water. Big, curious eyes examined the colorful fish under the rainbow surface. These were the few things that survived the mass construction of your little town. It was all the authenticity it had left.

“I said hi,” you tried again, because if there’s anything your mother taught you, it was that the quietest people made the best friends. All it took was a single bright conversation—

“Don’t talk to me.”

Well.

It took them a while to open up sometimes. That was fine. You were an earnest little kid. You believed that if you waited, said things at the right time, you could make friends with the enigma that was Jo Yuri. Yuri was cool. You wouldn’t be able to tell at first, from her tiny frame and big eyes, but she was exactly someone you’d like to befriend.

So you kept quiet. She matched your silence with no problem. She only spoke to correct you when you messed up a word. She didn’t make the slightest expression.

“It’s a nice day out.”

“It is,” she replied, the monotone of her voice making it seem like a misfortune befell her and it was your fault.

“Do you like ponds? Miss Kim talked to us about it yesterday. She said sometimes fishes are there.”

“Ponds are okay.”

Finally, something you had in common with her. “I think so, too!” you said excitedly. “I like this one. I can see your pretty face even when I look at the water because it’s so clear. Like glass.”

Yuri stood up straight. There was a crease in her brow that she seemed too young to have. “If you’re trying to flatter me into being your friend, it’s not gonna work.”

She looked at you directly for the first time. The sunlight beamed loudly onto her yet she didn’t blink. That conviction was the talk of the town. It never faltered for a grown–up, teacher, or parent. Much less a boy who was trying to sweet-talk his way into her circle.

You could capture this moment in a polaroid, set it side by side with the Yuri of today, and see no difference. She’s always had smooth skin, soft eyes when she wasn’t upset. Jo Yuri was beautiful since the day you saw her.

“What?”You tilted your head. She still seemed to take this as an insult. “Has nobody ever said you’re pretty?”

Yuri blinked. Her shoulders slumped a little, her lashes lowered. “No,”she said finally. “You’d be the first.”

That was the day you became her friend. You were the first person to make Yuri put her guard down. She gained some sort of respect for you, because, as she’d tell you later on, most people would have backed down. You didn’t without having to get aggressive.

She vented to you about boy problems. She climbed trees with you and laughed when you missed a branch. Everyone in town thought Yuri’d found her match. You were the only boy she didn’t want to beat up; that must have meant something. So, even if you had slept in each other’s rooms and saw the skeletons in your closets, you kindly denied the allegations. No, grandma, Yuri’s just a friend. No, dad, you don’t have to worry about him because he’s not my suitor.

You couldn’t imagine yourself without her. She was braided so closely into the twine of your life that the idea of her suddenly loosening away wasn’t even acceptable. She was part of you as much as you were of her.

Until one day, on a summer you never foresaw, you caught Mr. and Mrs. Jo loading the last of some boxes in a truck. Much vulgarity was exchanged, not getting physical but the line was nearly crossed. You had seen them drift apart before—Yuri’d told you they didn’t exactly like each other. Each box was filled with memories: family photos, essentials, and Yuri’s belongings.

Yuri.

Immediately you frantically scanned the area for her. Where could she be? You didn’t need to search far—there she was in the front seat of the truck. The hood of her jacket was turned over her head and her earphones were plugged in. Although she looked straight ahead into the road, her eyes were glassy.

“Hey! Yuri, wait!” you shouted. But her father didn’t want to hear any of it. It didn’t matter that you were a familiar face. He was taking his daughter away from this miserable town forever and nothing was going to change his mind.

You remember pounding on that carseat window. She finally found it in herself to look at you. Tears streamed down her cheeks. One, tiny hand came to touch yours from behind the glass.

“Please don’t go,” you said. “At least- at least tell me why you’re leaving.” You jammed your fist harder into the window. She was locked in there like a prisoner. “Talk to me, please. Yuri!”

You were young. You were a boy with fimble arms and a broken heart. Those were the only things that kept you from sweeping Yuri in your arms and flying her away to safety. It didn’t matter where—could be the pond, the school, her old room. Anywhere would do as long as she was with you.

Yuri seemed to understand this. It wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t hers. There were things keeping you apart that she couldn’t quite control yet.

She pressed her lips to where your forehead rested on the window. I’ll come back for you, she mouthed, the words ghosts left trapped in the car. Just wait for me.

-

Dreams keep coming back to you in the quiet of the night. They’re of meeting Yuri again, hugging her, and taking her out to dinner. After all the times your lunch was on her, she deserves a fancy meal.

Dreams are nothing short of fictional. They’re just things our minds make up as idle play in our sleep. It’s nothing worth relying on as prophecies. But these days, you always see Yuri with her knees to her face that’s streaked with tears. She always looks the same in your head. She’s in the same hoodie as that night you chased after her car. She never grew up.

Neither did you.

“And I told her,” says Jordan, a.k.a. mister Bark-No-Bite, leaning across you from the table with the most wicked simper on his face, “‘honey, if you spend every moment thinkin’ I’m gonna leave you for some tighter chick, hop off this dick.’”

The rest of the canteen laughs like it’s the best joke they’ve ever heard. You’ve heard better from the opinionated uncle at family gatherings. The glass on the table is smacked incoherently and bursts of laughter fills the reservation room.

Given that the meal is free, generously sponsored by your project leader: it should feel like everything. The food is great, the service is instant, and the weather is going on nicely. Everything aligns to a perfect day yet you feel like shit. Absolute fucking shit.

You stare at the centerpiece. “You should be nicer to her, honestly,” you murmur.

Amid the guffaws, your groupmate heard you. “What did you say?”

Silence. Your words become realized and now you’re facing off against a crew of juveniles masking as men who, for some reason, either want to adopt or shoot you. That’s business.

“I mean,” you fling your hands up then place them flat on your thighs, “if she’s afraid you’re gonna leave her, isn’t it better you tell her you’ll never let go?”

People grow older and grow apart. When bound together by wedding band and law, they want to run free, or run home. Those two things collide sometimes. Cutting off patterned wings seems arbitrarily cruel.

The table mutters agreement. Bullets can be saved for next time. You should be proud of taking a stand and cutting their bullshit out. It’s the daydream of every man closed off from the world. But the pain in your heart swells from different roots, and you can’t trace which or where.

“Philosopher of the fucking century,” says Jordan. “You got that going on for you?”

All eyes are on you again. No matter. You’ve long forgone trying to be one of them.

“What else is?” You shrug, and down another bitter, bitter drink.

-

“You promise you’ll call us?”

“Yes.”

“And don’t do drugs or drink or—”

“Yes, dad,” you said exasperatedly. Over time you understood that it was a privilege to have parents who genuinely loved you. Not many could say they had a mother and father fully supportive of the direction you want to take in life, much less willing to shoulder the fees. But they could dial down on that love. You’re an adult. Plus, you’re just moving to a new university, not starting college all over again.

(Also, you’d rather die than redo college.)

Thinking of reliving those years already makes you want to crumble. It was hard enough in high school without a familiar face to turn to or the ease you only realized too late was there. Adjusting to a new environment, all alone and without your best friend, was lonely. Terribly lonely.

She never came back for you. You’d waited for so long. Middle school left you friendless in the canteen room. High school had you clinging onto girls, onto friends who looked like Yuri and laughed like Yuri but weren’t quite Yuri. Now, college made you wonder: were you ever going to see each other again?

You wondered how she was doing now. Did she get into that performing arts school she used to drone on about? Get piano lessons? Wherever, however she is, you hope little Yuri achieved all her dreams without trouble. She deserves it.

You dropped the call after a while. Besides your mother droning on about not getting anyone pregnant getting weird, it was hard to keep a conversation when unpacking.

The bag could look better. It was winter, so the conductor told you it got damaged in the compartment. An avalanche, he claimed, had gotten the best of it. Outside, thick layers of snow lay on the road, greenless trees, and benches. You believed him. But you still lost a few important things, like pencils and a notepad filled with sketches. You had to make sure you at least had the essentials.

So—seeing as the snow had plowed and stranded through your stuff—you took upon the job of going to the bookstore. Sure, you were freezing, and a strong wind was sure to make you one of the snowmen up ahead. But it’s your first day. You couldn’t afford to screw up.

The bookstore was low-lit and cozy. The cashier was looking through folders, saying something about work hours.

“I’m so sorry, darling.” She missed the r in her pet name as she gave a blue folder over the desk. “We don’t have any orange ones left.”

The girl sighed. “Nothing? As in nothing?”

Her voice was of husk and silk. You raised a brow. Were you imagining things?

“No, Yuri, I’m afraid this is all we have.”

“Yuri?”

You couldn’t stop yourself. You had to make sure you weren’t dreaming. That puppylike way of tilting her head when she was confused… the fucking bangs…

“No way,” you said. It couldn’t be.

She noticed you, too. Her fingers hooked around her gigantic mask and revealed the same pouty mouth, open in shock. She was still dressed in the baggiest clothes that undermined how tiny she actually was. Still wore barely any makeup, skin smooth and pure.

Worst of all, she was only even more beautiful.

“What are you out in this storm for?”

Her little mouth still hung slightly open. “What are you out here for?” she asked.

“I dunno. Why are you in the same college as me?”

Of all the dumb questions you could have asked in the world. It was selfish, stupid, so quintessentially you. She was never going to let you live this down.

Yuri’s mouth quirked to the side. “Is it my fault that I happened to pass the entrance exam?”

You couldn’t believe it. Your heart’s stuck in your throat and it kept doing this weird, pulsing thing, as if you were going to throw up all the relief you had.

Yuri’s smiling at the dumbfounded look on your face and you thought, fuck it.

You rushed to her and hugged her tight, lifting her in the air for seconds that felt like heaven. Her mask hung from her ear. She was so beautiful, so loveable. Her laugh was the sweetest thing you heard.

“It’s not fucking funny,” you said as you pressed a kiss to her forehead. But despite your tears, you were laughing too. You set her down to clutch her face. Your thumbs passed over her cheekbones, temples, just to see if she was real. “I thought I lost you, Yuri.”

Yuri held your hand that was cradling her cheek. Her eyes were tender. “I did say I’d come back for you.”

And it was like you were young again. Like you were back at that miserable town, making faces, cussing each other out, but somehow kissing under that tree and promising to keep it a secret.

-

I hate you. I can’t live without you.

-

From jjoyul <3:

if you want coffee get it now

my head hurts but i need tips

The fluorescent lights of The Cuppa are its usual cozy today. It’s the only place on campus that is still open. Yuri once said it would’ve had 24/7 operating hours if not for the fact that the staff is composed of mostly sleep-deprived college students. But they’ll have to make do.

It works to your advantage anyway. You have another test waiting in your calendar, making it the perfect time for a coffee. There’s some material you want to get revised by tonight.

Yuri emerges from the backrooms. “Welcome to The Cuppa, please make it fast,” she says. “If you can’t decide in five seconds, we’ll use your head as a tip box.”

“Hi there yourself,” you say sarcastically. But when you take a proper look at her, you immediately dial it back. “You okay?”

She’s Jo Yuri. Of course she’s a brat. But today, there are deep, dark circles under her blank eyes. She’s pale as a ghost. She looks so down, like all the energy’s been drained out of her.

Yuri stares blankly at you before forcing a smile on her face. “Yeah. Just a headache.”

“Doesn’t look like just a headache.”

Her movements are sluggish as she opens the money drawer. You don’t trust her to make another move without falling over. “Aww, thanks, you’re a real charmer.”

You lean closer. “No, seriously. Are you okay? You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

You only realize how close you’ve gotten when Yuri lifts her head. You’re practically nose to nose, cheek to cheek. The hollows under Yuri’s eyes are dark and deep but now, a faint red hue colors her skin.

There really is something about her, huh? You’ve known that, been enthralled by that since you talked to her at that pond. She seemed to be one with sunlight that day. Yuri—Yuri and her big eyes and pouty lips and loud self—gives you life. She keeps you tossing and turning at night and laughing in the morning.

Like a shot of espresso.

Yuri clears her throat, immediately taking a step back.

“Rough night,” she says simply. “I’ve got a big project for professor Lee tomorrow, and this shift is absolutely killing me.”

You glance at the clock behind her, then at the schedule pinned beside the register. “What time are you off?”

“I dunno.” She gestures vaguely, a weary wave of her hand. “Another two hours. Then I get to go home and pull an all-nighter, probably.”

Her eyes keep shifting to the money in the drawer. Your heart just twists. Poor Yuri, living off paycheck to paycheck so she can keep studying. So she can keep suffering. You don’t know how she handles it. You’re pretty sure that if you had a dad still upset over your mom who left him years ago and a damning tuition fee, you’d have given up.

That’s the thing about Jo Yuri: she never gives up. But sometimes, the world moves too fast even for her.

“I’ll take your shift,” you say firmly.

“What?”

“Your shift,” you repeat. “You’ve got a lot more on your plate than I do.”

Yuri shakes her head. There’s that small frown creasing her brow again that seems to have been there forever. “Absolutely not. You don’t have to, stupid. You just—”

She’s always sort of pushing help away. But with you, she refuses it completely. You’ll never understand why.

It doesn’t mean you’ll stop offering.

“It’s fine, Yuri. Go get some rest or work on that project. I’ll handle it.”

She searches your face for any compromises. She finds none. “Are you serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious. Just tell me what to do.”

She still looks hesitant, but the exhaustion is getting to her now. Sometimes she needs to accept help. “Okay, fine,” she concedes, rolling her eyes. “But I owe you big time.”

“No, you don’t.”

Yuri chuckles, looking very interested in the fabric of her apron. Is she blushing?

“Usual BS: don’t overload the grinder, Chaeyeon doesn’t like too much cream. The regulars will ask for a Yuri special but it’s just a latte with one of those puppy cookies on the cream.“

You’d take note of how she refuses to meet your eyes but you’re too busy trying to absorb all the information. There are more customers coming in that need your help.

Her boss will probably get her ass for this. But that doesn’t matter. Not now. You occupy yourself with their orders while she sleeps with her cheek against her duffle bag. Occasionally, you make a mistake or two. You forget milk and add too much sugar, the sort of slip-up that would’ve resulted in coffee thrown in your face if The Cuppa were a mega corporation. But within this small café, it seems like Yuri built a community. People understand her. When you explain to them that you’re filling in for her, they tell you that it’s no big deal. You’re doing your best and Yuri’s a good girl. She deserves a break.

(I know, you want to say. I wish she knew that, too.)

Yujin’s not over to help, so you do the honors of closing The Cuppa yourself. You’re left in a bit of a sweat after that shift. As you turn the “CLOSED” banner on its face, you think of the times you barged in here, joking about a free drink and how Yuri, through all her exhaustion, smiled and gave you one anyway. Do you take her for granted? Are you overstepping her boundaries?

She’s still sleeping. Seems like she used your jacket as a blanket, too. It drapes around her small body while her arms curl around her bag.

It’s so rare to see her put her guard down. The bare-faced vulnerability makes you think about how she looks soft. She looks like someone you could love, if she’d just let you.

Scared to ruin her slumber, you decide to carry her to your car. It’s not like you haven’t done it before. She sat on your shoulders at that concert. You carried her piggyback in eighth grade.

And now, she’s all grown up in your arms.

You could say something poetic about it all. How Yuri’s sitting in your carseat after she left you in her father’s. The way the moonlight pours on her relaxed expression. How you’ve grown up together and then some because, let’s be honest, there remains a whole lot of things you want to do with her.

But words fail you long enough for Yuri to stir awake. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes with her paws. “Did I just…” Yuri gives a small yawn. “Did I just teleport to your car?”

You laugh, sealing the seatbelt over her waist. “You could say that.”

At least somebody entertains her gimmicks. You do it better than anyone. The thought leaves a little warm feeling in her chest.

“I’m sorry about your hoodie, by the way,” Yuri says. She shyly looks down at your clothes, where they hang loosely on her, smelling of your cologne. “In case you haven’t noticed, it is extremely cold out back.”

“Keep it. It looks better on you.”

“Oh, you flatter me.” She feigns a coquettish gasp, placing a hand on her chest with a gasp. “You’re a real dreamboat.”

You laugh in response as you kick the engine to a start. Your eyes flick to the rearview mirror to navigate the narrow parking lot. It disallows you from witnessing Yuri blush, then turn up her chin and look away.

-

About that kiss:

It’s October something. You can’t remember what day it was exactly, but you know Yuri’s birthday had just passed. She had turned eighteen and really proud of herself for it. Told everyone that she was an adult and when they pointed out that she wasn’t by Korean standards, she cussed them out. She even put some lip tint on, a gift from her mother.

But the funniest thing about it all was her purchasing those little canned beers. “I’m an adult now!” she proudly told the man behind the counter, who looked pretty fucking sure he’d sold countless to her the past years. You fled the scene with her before he could make a few calls.

You and Yuri were still laughing when you finally head to the playground. It’s the furthest you can get from that sleazy store, and the closest you could leave without your parents worrying. Your hands were interlocked and the light wind whips you two around like daffodils. You’re both young. Yuri was still here. Nothing bad has happened to you yet.

“If my dad finds out, he’s gonna kill me,” Yuri said. She’s still giggling. The drink in her hand fizzed before she popped it open. “Gonna grill me about being a proper young lady and all that.”

“I’m sure I can bribe Mr. Soo into keeping his mouth shut.”

“Right, because you’re just charming like that.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, making Yuri laugh. Her laugh echoed into the neighborhood. Some birds nesting in the branches above you flew away. You forgot that it was late. No kids—at least, except the two of you—were playing here at this time. Your next door neighbor’s little girl was nowhere to be found on the swings.

You took a long drink of the can, tossing your head back. Yuri watched the column of your throat as you drank it. By the time you were done, she had switched her focus to the basketball hoop nailed to a low-hanging board.

“I can’t believe we’re eighteen,” you said. “We have entrance exams just around the corner and we’re getting drunk.”

“Great start to adulthood!” proclaimed Yuri. She didn’t look all too worried though. “Next thing you know, we’ve got boyfriends and girlfriends. Then we’re getting married.”

You slipped into easy conversation. You could talk about anything with Yuri, and Yuri could run her mouth for days. But you kept reverting back to the marriage topic. It was an odd thing to think about. You had some flings before, some courtships that didn’t last a week. Nothing was too serious anyway. No kissing, no under-the-table petting, no oath of a wedding-banded life together. You didn’t see yourself promising devotion to any of the girls you met before. Funny; you didn’t see that for the future either.

Unless it was—

Yuri leaned against the bark of the tree. She was looking at you with a funny smile, the side of her mouth lifted. No worries were etched into the lines of her skin. She waded through life so easily. She could talk her way through anything with that gentle face. She had nothing to be scared of.

“Crazy,” she said. “The world moves too fast sometimes, doesn’t it?’

It’s an invitation to more than an answer. You could read Jo Yuri like a book.

But you had nothing to be scared of either.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “it does.”

Then you leaned forward to kiss her. You had to grab the chance while she offered it. And it was like the world stopped spinning too fast, all slowed and focused down to watch your lips on hers.

-

From that moment on, Yuri became a walking, talking contradiction.

Yuri isn’t easy, you know that. You can’t pry a straight answer out of her if your life depended on it. But why was she acting all brand new? Now, she’s hot and cold, sweet and sour. Cozying up next to you now but completely rejecting you tomorrow.

When you tried asking Minju and Yena, they only laughed in your face. Yuri blushed furiously in the corner before picking her books up and leaving. She stopped offering coffee and taking walks with you. It was like she morphed back into the young Jjoyul who wanted nothing to do with you. The only thing missing is the resentfulness in her gaze.

Because even with her distance, Yuri looks at you these days with some kind of… longing. Pain. Love? No, can’t be. There’s so many emotions deep within those coffee-brown eyes yet you can’t quite figure them out.

With each week that passes, more questions fill your head. Usually, she’d tease you about girls who looked your way. Now she glowered when you were even paired with one for a project.

(Like that time she was late to class and you had to do your analysis with a new girl. She had just moved and everybody liked her. Well, everybody except Yuri, it seemed. Ten minutes of her absence made her lose you to some fresh face.

“Hot.”

“Huh?”

“Hot girl you were with up there,” Yuri said later on, arms crossed and looking everywhere but at you. “I heard she’s from Japan. Pretty cool.”

“Uh,” you hesitated. It didn’t sound cool to her at all. “Yeah, I guess. You don’t really find a lot of Yabukis in Korea.”

“I thought you gave up Japanese girls after Sakura.”

“Nako’s my lab partner, Yul, not my fuckbuddy.”

She squinted her eyes into narrow, daunting slits. “Right. Of course.”)

Today, you conveniently share a vacant hour with her, just right after her economics class. Professor Kim is beloved for her early dismissals. As soon as yours is called off, you go to the library. It’s a large, cold room where you and Yuri usually write your reports. There’s computers, encyclopedias older than you are in there—everything.

You see her in the history aisle. Her head floats behind stacks and stacks of Korean books. This is it. You’re going to march up there and confront her for how distant she’s been, ask her what’s wrong, call her out on her bad behavior-

Oh.

Oh.

Yuri is in the tiniest dress ever, cut just below her hips. The zipper is pulled all the way down. Has her skin always looked that… delectable? The wrap of green fabric makes her legs look like they go on forever, down to those fine strappy heels. Doesn’t help that it’s skintight either, or that it brings out her eyes, or god fuck her waist is actually nonexistent, or how her milky thighs look so fucking —

“Oh, hey there! Hi!” Yuri’s voice is a note higher than usual. Her smile—is that lipgloss?—sparkles brightly. “I was just about to leave but you’re here, so I guess I can stay around.”

You don’t realize you’ve left your jaw on the ground. Yuri’s already beautiful, but today—well, is it okay to say this? Let alone think this? With her new striking blonde hair and the little green dress she’s got going on, she looks… sexy.

You’re surprised you still have words. “Yuri, we just got dismissed.”

“I’m hanging out with Isa!”

“Isn’t she like, on vacation?”

Yuri bites her lip. Dang it. Your gaze lingers a little too long on that pouty mouth before you take another forbidden look at the rest of her. The curve of her back into her hips then her ass is deadly.

Yuri crosses her arms under her chest. You’ve no idea where to look that doesn’t cross the line. Every bit of her is beautiful. There’s her sweet face, the hourglass pinch of her waist, then her plush thighs. Fuck. You should’ve brought sunglasses or just plucked your eyes out. Yeah, that seems better. Anyone in this freezing library can tell you’re gawking at your best friend.

You’re here for business, you remind yourself. Clear your throat. “Why are you avoiding me, Yul?”

Yuri’s suddenly as pale as a ghost. All the color is lost in her face, nearly making the new Barbie blonde dye wash her out. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Then why didn’t you want to commute with me?”

“D-Dad drove me,” she stammers out. And it’s a lie right from the get-go—you know her father. He wouldn’t let her out in a dress like that, especially in front of you. He was quite skittish about you being around for most of Yuri’s growing up. You shook your head adamantly while he suddenly switched the topic around to manipulative boys. He’d talk openly about how you seemed to have a plan to put a ring on her finger.

And right now? Well, you hate to prove the old man right. Yuri looks too damn good.

“I’m sure you can come up with a better excuse.”

Her eyes flare. “I—I’m not making excuses!”

Her voice cuts through the silence. Jesus, why does she always make a scene? It earns her a disapproving look from the librarian. Some juniors have turned their heads to glare at her. You recognize them as the ones Yuri told you about having too much audacity. Not even bowing to the upperclassmen or using honorifics. You told her she sounded like a grandma and she told you to shut up.

Now, you see her point. Their glares are scathing. One of them turns her chin up loftily after looking at you head to toe, taking note of your shoes and hair.

You’re about to go off at her when Yuri’s soft hands on your shoulders bring you back to earth. She has a way of doing that, doesn’t she? Grounding you, soothing you, reminding you that as long as she’s on this earth she’s tying you down with her. You wonder if you’ve ever done the same for her.

Open your eyes. Her brows are doing that tense, wrinkling thing again. You want to kiss the fine line away so badly before you remember that it isn’t your place to do so.

“And even if I am,” says Yuri, voice thinned down to a whispered snarl, “that’s the best one you’ll get.”

“Really, Yul? You’re just gonna leave me in the dark?”

“I try my best to look hot for you and all you do is bombard me with questions. Of course I’m not explaining shit.”

“What?”

You finally hold the world record of getting Jo Yuri to shut up. You didn’t think it was possible before, but now, with her blood running cold and her body frozen like a mannequin, you can consider it done.

She’s quite consistent with being a human paradox. Ever on brand. With that silence the librarian can approve of for once, she’s answered all your questions.

You want to strangle yourself. How the hell did you not know? It wasn’t even a thought in your head. But if you need any more clarification, more confirmation from the shock written on her face—your best friend likes you. She is head over heels in love with you and doesn’t know how to deal with it.

You stare back at her just as bug-eyed. You reel back to the moments she sought your attention, jumping on your back or sneaking a vulgar note with your espresso. Her gossiping with Minju over the phone about a boy. The weeks of blatant avoidance. Her hatred for poor Nako.

Yuri regains her senses. She pulls her hands away from you as if it burned. “I said I was hanging out with Isa, right? She just landed from Busan.” Each anxious syllable tumbles out of her mouth at a rapid pace. “I’m gonna help her with her luggage and, uh, tell her about the project. Yeah! Wouldn’t want her to fall behind, right? Good. I’ll see you around! Bye!”

-

From Yuri: oh my god i’m getting flashbacks again

IM GONNA DIE THAT WAS SO EMBARRASSING

I actually cannot beleive you convinced me to do that

*beleve

*BELVEE

FUCK

From behind the counter, Yuri shoots Minju a desperate look. She’s lost count of the girl talk they’ve had. That little library fiasco stays in her mind–a lot like you.

Minju is the only one who can understand her humiliation. She spent weeks trying to put Yuri back together, telling her she was fine and you probably thought it was cute. Doesn’t mean Minju can’t laugh at her. She gives her friend a smirk before texting her a cheeky reply.

From Minju: youre the one who was a dumbass and said you wanted to seduce him…dont take your stupidity out on me

She waits for Yuri to peek at her phone screen as she attends to a customer. When she does, she looks furious. Minju pretends not to notice by nursing her frappe.

From Yuri: I DIDN’T SAY I WANTED TO SEDUCE HIM I SAID I WANTED TO LOOK HOT

wording matters bitch

From Minju: and what does ur wanting to be hot imply 🤭

like he’s supposed to believe u picked out the sluttiest most fuckably gorgeous dress in existence becuz you wanted to look hot. JUST to look hot. right.

Yuri glowers. Minju sticks her tongue out at her.

From Yuri: you want me to shove your face into this fryer soooooo bad

i’m gonna kill you one of these days kim minju

no wait he probably thinks i’m a weirdo or like a mega freak

From Minju: ….

wouldn’t he like that?;)

Yuri wants to ram this plate of chocolate waffles in Minju’s head so badly. How could she crack a joke? Yuri’s been operating on anxiety-fueled adrenaline alone since her accidental confession. It’s intensely serious for her.

The sweat beads at her fine brow. The nerves are getting to her so bad that she’s sweating in an airconditioned facility. She couldn’t get any more down bad. She wipes it with the back of her wrist as she contemplates apologizing. Lord knows she owes you a lot of it.

But whenever she sees your face, she starts dying inside. She screwed it all up. If only she’d kept her big fat mouth shut. If only she tried to keep her feelings at bay instead of avoiding them.

She can’t do this.

“Still torturing yourself?” Yena’s strolled up to the counter and leaned against one of the stacked mats. Yuri rolls her eyes. She was the one who suggested she dyed her hair blonde. Look how that turned out.

“Agh, fuck you, Yena.”

“Language.”

“I’m sorry. My brain is just… I can’t stop thinking about it. I wanna die everytime I remember.”

“Have you tried talking to him?” Yena asks. She doesn’t need to answer; the sudden downcast, timid look is enough. She sighs. “Yuri, come on. It’s called trying for a reason.”

“What if he tells me he doesn’t want to be friends anymore?”

Yena laughs. Her lipgloss (also the one Yuri wore for that day) shimmers, matching the cardigan she has wrapped around her shoulders. “If you stayed friends after your cute li’l reunion,” she says with a laugh, “then a little crush won’t ruin whatever you have going on.”

“Really?”

“Trust me. Now make me a milkshake.”

Yuri rolls her eyes as Yena gives her a playful wink. At least this will give her something to focus on. Ever since contact between you faded, she lost a lot of good company. No more of those inside jokes, light banter. She finds herself missing your teasing when she’s the only one holding up The Cuppa. You never made her feel like she was alone.

God, she misses you. She might even be okay if you rejected her as long as you were friends again. That’s something she can’t lose.

The whirring of ice drowns out her thoughts. Noise pollution had some purpose after all. After reheating some smores for Minju, who’s taken a liking to them, she adds whipped cream on top of Yena’s milkshake. She loses herself in the smell of sweets, serene music, and the constant noise of the blender.

The fewer the customers that come in, the more Yuri finally relaxes. She looks up at the clock. Her shift is nearly done. Her final order is for the old man who ordered espresso.

“In a shotglass, will you, honey?” he requested. His smile was warm. “I’m putting off alcohol, but it wouldn’t hurt to look for an alternative, right?”

Easy. Yuri knows what it feels like to hold something off, to search for it anyway in other things. Other people.

She takes a small glass and holds it under the machine. The smell of finely processed coffee beans lights her up. She turns around to place it on a small saucer.

But someone’s hand is already perched near the utensils. It reaches out for the same saucer. And before Yuri can admonish the customer, their hands touch. It feels familiar, like she’s held this hand before. Or had it ruffle her hair and pinch her cheek.

She looks up and gasps, a tiny, almost imperceptible sound, and yanks her hand back. Speak of the fucking devil, it’s you.

"Oh my god! Sorry! So sorry!” she stammers, stumbling backward, nearly tripping over her own feet. “I—I didn’t see you, my bad! All yours! Enjoy the… the plate! I meant the saucer!”

She practically shrieks the last part out, her voice hitting a register you hadn’t heard since she was sixteen and thought you’d missed the bus.

She’s cute. Her hair is done up in this bun, a few strands falling to drape on her sweater. There are white, cursive words embroidered into the fabric: “call me baby.”

(Well, if she insists?)

“It’s fine,’’ you say. “I just came to get one for Minju.”

Minju waves at the two of you from her seat. You wave back. Behind you, Yuri is certain she’s going to explode. Minju is aware that her drink is a frappe in a cup, right? She doesn’t need a damn saucer.

There’s a tremor running through her right now. Her stomach’s doing that thing again. She’s so lovestruck and it’s so pathetic that she can’t do anything about it. Her friends are watching and you’re standing in front of her and she’s so consumed by the thrill of it all.

“What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk, Yul. You know we do.”

The poor thing’s near tears already. You offer her a gentle smile, lowering your gaze so you’re eye-level. You don’t want to make her more nervous than she already is.

She says she’ll finish this shift first. You sit by Minju and Yena as she takes her sweet time cleaning up. Yujin’s already out back tying on her apron to take over. She can wait as long as she likes because Yuri’s suddenly vying for that Employee of the Month title. She polishes the already shining counter, checks the schedule for next week, and asks the old man in the corner twice if he likes his drink. You laugh; it’s an espresso. It’s not like it changes.

Your own shot of espresso finally sits right across you. Her knuckles are white, curling tight as she folds her hands together on the table. Her friends exchange knowing glances.

“So,” you start lightly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Yuri replies quietly. You barely hear it.

“Now I think we can both agree you’ve been acting weird?”

Yena muffles a cackle. Minju punches her in the shoulder. They’re quite enjoying their front row tickets to the cheesiest romance ever.

Yuri scoffs at this, crossing her arms. “Weird? Me? Never. Besides, I know what you want to talk about and, and I’ve actually been thinking about someone else.”

You smirk. “Really now?”

Because from the beginning, let’s be honest—through her plethora of crazy exes, filmstar crushes, and the fifty miles that once kept you apart, you were the only one for her.

And through your plethora of mournful nights, jealous juniors, and the snowy night that brought you back together, you know she’s the only one for you.

There’s no need for lying. You’re always going to stand by her.

She shoots a quick, almost panicked glance at her friends, then puffs out her chest. “Yeah, there’s this… TA.” The wince she makes at her own lie is maddeningly cute. “He’s really smart, so he’s totally my type, you know. I like smart men in glasses.”

Yena’s laughter interrupts her. She tried her best to contain her giggles but watching Yuri in denial is too funny. Five star comedy of the year, did millions in the box office.

“A TA? Seriously? Yuri, you’ve never looked at anyone beyond your textbooks and… well, him,” she gestures in your direction. “Since when did you like ‘smart’ guys with glasses? You always said they were boring.”

“Yeah, and you hate glasses!” Minju chimes in, her drink abandoned already. “Remember that time you accidentally wore my reading glasses and said you felt like our mean librarian?”

Yuri surreptitiously mouths vulgarities at them. They’re unbothered, knowing you’ve got her cornered now. They bore hours of her rants about you, your hair, your smile. They think they’re pretty deserving of a break.

Yuri’s the star actress in the theater club but she can’t improv her way out of this.

“Sounds like a real catch. What’s his name?”

“Uh, it’s… it’s not important!” Yuri fumbles with her words. “Just know he’s a very attractive, smart, non-you person.”

Her cheeks are practically glowing. You just hum, pretending to be convinced, but a warmth spreads through you. In every little way, even when she’s trapped in her own denial, Yuri makes you smile. She’s a ball of energy. She’s the shot of espresso you can’t get enough of and will come back for again and again.

But she takes her time. She’s been teaching you patience all your life. You had to wait for her to become your friend. You had to wait several lonely years for her to come back to you.

Now, you have to wait for her to come to terms with those feelings. She’s still trying to drop the habit of putting up a front: cussing when she wants to say something sweet, covering her face when she cries, running from you when the love catches up to her in the most random parts of her day. And that’s fine. It’s okay. You’ll wait forever if you have to.

So, you smile. You’ll play her game.

“That’s good to know,” you say graciously. “But if you ever need anyone, anything, I’m just here, Yuri. I hope we can still be friends?”

It’s not quite the reaction she’s looking for. She wants you to chase her and be fine if she tells you to go away. After all, she could only get so tired of running. “Y-you don’t want to be more than friends?”

“Do you?”

Yena and Minju squeal, holding onto each other for the grand climax. Yuri raises a threatening, fisted paw at them. She looks back at you sheepishly.

“Fine,” she says, raising her chin. “Mr. TA’s probably taken anyway. But that doesn’t mean I like you or anything. I just think you wouldn’t be too bad as a boyfriend.”

That’s the greatest compliment you can get from her. You’ll take it.

-

The first time you suggest karaoke, Yuri’s face goes pink. “Absolutely not,” she says. She sounds offended that you even asked.

She’s still partial to the deal so this is your way of getting her to open up. You thought it was the perfect date idea.

So you’re standing there absolutely dumbfounded. Here’s a girl with the most beautiful voice in the world and a passion for music. She records soft, beautiful demos in that recording studio down the road. She plays the piano, guitar, and almost every instrument you can think of. If she doesn’t know how to play it, she’s definitely learning to.

You need to know “Why?”

“My voice is terrible.”

“Yuri,” you reply slowly, still trying to make sense of it all, “you’re literally in theater.”

“So?” she protests. She raises herself to meet your height (or at least the flat of your shoulders) as best as she can in her heels. “You think just because we’re trying the whole dating thing you can get me to do stuff I don’t wanna do?”

You laugh. You’ve known her long enough to know her little bursts of rage are simply what they are: short bursts that don’t make her love you any less. And it’s the same on your end, too. You love Yuri—with all her quirks and brattiness and shouts. You wouldn’t trade that for anything.

“Slow down, Yul.” Lean down and cup her small face in your palms. The slightest protest flickers in her expression. However, she doesn’t move. “Of course not. I’m just saying your whole thing is being a great singer so… it’s gonna be fun. Please?”

As much as she has her power over you, you have your own, too. You know what your little touches do to her. Her skin already feels warm under your fingers.

So there you have it: you’re on your umpteenth date with Yuri. Last time you had gone to the cinemas, where she pretended not to cry at the tragic ending. But trust that she spent the ride home with her face buried in your jacket. The date before that, you took her to the museum she talked about wanting to visit.

You’ll probably spend a fortune on her until she says yes. It doesn’t matter though. You’ll wait forever, grovel at your knees, and dish out your bank accounts if you have to.

Tonight, the neon sign of the karaoke bar buzzes softly. It’s a pink and blue beacon in the quiet street. Your fingers are interlaced. It’s a completely new sensation with the knowledge that it means something deeper. It seems Yuri has gotten used to it; she squeezes you tighter when she’s surprised, or when she just needs someone.

“Boyfriend and girlfriend, right?” you’d said before, and she’d nodded, a blush creeping up her neck before she muttered, “Don’t make it sound so serious.”

She’s a vision in red, by the way. It’s a small little dress that hugs her hips, complete with knee-high boots. You tell her she looks beautiful even if you risk a slap. You’ll never let her forget.

Inside, the private booth is a capsule of dim light and velvet seats. Looks clean. It better be for the price you paid. And you still have food waiting to be served. The touchscreen of the large scale TV glows with an endless menu of songs. There’s the classic Korean trot that tops the charts, and some English ones, too.

Yuri looks tiny compared to the TV. She’s staring in disbelief at the catalogue, the infinite number of options for bass and echo.

“You should get first dibs,” you say, nudging her shoulder with yours.

“Why? So you can laugh at me?” she retorts, but her eyes are sparkling. They don’t even look away from the screen. It means you did a good job. She loves singing more than anything, and with this top tier noraebang, you made her dreams come true.

“Never. Why would I make fun of someone so perfect?”

She rolls her eyes, a classic Yuri deflection. “You’re so cheesy. Don’t say that ever again.” But she doesn’t move away. Instead, she leans into your shoulder, her scent—clean like rain, sweet like something floral you can’t name—wrapping around you.

And please, she can pretend all she wants but she’s a sucker for cheesy pickup lines.

After a few minutes of playful bickering and a lot of convincing, she selects a song. The title flashes on the screen: Casualty of Love. The familiar instrumental starts. You realize this is one of Yuri’s favorites, some of the many songs she covered on her old phone. The first note plays and she starts to sing.

It stops your world completely.

We may not have all the answers

Oh, I know that we can change some of the things that are beyond our control

You’ve heard her sing before—in practice rooms, humming along to tracks. You knew she was good. But this is not “good.” This is something bigger than you, even bigger than her. Her voice, usually overpowering the loudest speakers when she’s mad, is fragility that steals the air from the room.

And it’s so odd in the best way possible. You’ve never known her as someone to show this kind of raw vulnerability. Her voice is thick with emotion. It’s like each note she draws out is a line in a story you know too well.

And the vision of us may be blurry

Oh, but it’s clear to you. So clear.

But use your heart to see, just follow the beat

The path will lead you back to me

The drawl of her song brings you back to the past. It takes you on a whole journey. You vividly see her wrapped in her hoodie as she was brought away from you, and in the same one when she saw you again in that snowstorm. It just so happened she studies at the same university. It just so happened that pain had to be there to bring her back to you.

Sometimes it’s a game of give and take

You’ll give her anything she wants.

It’s easy to break, but hold on and wait

As long as she’d like.

Have a little faith!

Yuri isn’t looking at the screen anymore. She knows all the lyrics by heart because it’s an echo of her life. It reflects all the little feelings she’s tried to figure out. Those big, beautiful eyes connect with yours. Passion overflows from the bittersweet melody.

I will go down to the last round

I’ll be your strength to find you when you get lost in the crowd

So I’ll stand up tall, if by chance I fall, I’ll go down

As a casualty of love

The whole song is a love letter to you. She’s mapping the architecture of her heart, and you see your name etched on every wall. There’s no hiding it.

You’re motionless. Your breath is caught somewhere between your chest and throat. The love you feel for her, always present like a motion natural as breathing, expands. She is yours, and you are hers, and this voice is the proof of a soul that is impossibly, wonderfully complex.

The last note hangs heavily before it fades into nothingness. She places the microphone down, her shoulders dropping as if she’s shed a weight. It’s hard for her not to notice the way you’re looking at her right now. Like you’re in love with her or something. You remind her that every time yet it remains a surprise to her.

“It’s… a hard song. The pronunciation is tricky.”

She doesn’t have to sell herself short. She’s more than you can ask for. Stand up on shaky knees, “You’re fucking breathtaking, Jo Yuri.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “It’s just singing.”

It’s the only time you won’t do something she tells you to do. You’re a slave for all of her. She’s the most gorgeous girl in the world and it pains you that she’d downplay herself like that. You want to tell her she shouldn’t do that. You won’t allow her to.

But talking is her job. She doesn’t stop you when you reach out to kiss her. She fits there, in the space against your heart, where she has always belonged. She’s smiling. She’s perfect. You don’t even see the score.

The graduation party still hums in your veins, a pleasant buzz of cheap champagne and nostalgia. Perhaps not too much of the nostalgia. There are a lot of people you’d fare better without having in your life. You can certainly do without the sadistic physics prof.

Without Yuri? That’s a different question. You’re not losing her again, especially when she looks this damn good.

She makes it all worth it. Holding her hand at the ceremony made you realize how far you’ve come with each other. The little visits at The Cuppa and games with her at midnight have helped you more than she could ever know. You couldn’t have made it without her. Hell, she deserves a name on your certificate for powering you through.

She’s your girlfriend. The love of your life. Your shot of espresso who brought you back into this world because you’ve so much to do with her.

She’s kicking off her heels by the door of your house. It is really fucking hard not to stare at her. For the party, she’s got this tiny pink top, exposing her arms dangling with jewelry and tight stomach. The skinny jeans don’t do much in hiding any skin either.

Yuri looks fucking delicious.

“So,” she says. Her smile is cheeky as she undoes her earrings. “We did it.”

“We did,” you reply. The space between you feels like a physical thing. You close it.

The corny, reminiscing conversation can be saved for later. You’re focused on just getting your hands on her. And you can tell she wants it so bad, too.

Because the first kiss isn’t hesitant at all. You’re colliding into each other with all the pent-up frustration. Her lips are soft but insistent, tasting of sugar and champagne. You detect some of her favorite lipbalm, too. Your hands find her waist, pulling her flush against you, and she melts into the contact with a sigh. The heat between your legs causes you to grind against each other, fighting through the clothes. It’s messy from the very start.

You break for air, foreheads resting together. Your voice is rough. “God, Yuri. You have no idea how fucking sexy you are. All night, watching you laugh, that fucking top… I was losing my mind.”

That familiar, challenging glint is back in her eyes. “Took you long enough to do something about it.” But her cheeks are flushed, her breathing uneven.

“Did you really want me to fuck you in the library and get us expelled?”

“No, but if I knew you were this big”—she cups your hardening bulge and you groan —”I would’ve considered it.”

Yuri starts palming you through your pants. Each stroke has you groaning for life against her cheek. You take it as permission to squeeze her plump ass, dragging those ridiculous jeans down. Kiss her again, walking her backwards until her knees hit the edge of your bed. You tumble down together in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

It’s an incredibly sexy sight: Yuri lying back on her arms with only that flimsy top and her matching pink panties. The gaze she’s levelling you with is fucking wicked. You want to pounce on her, get your mouth on those tits, everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

She glances at your cock freed from your clothes and laughs. You’re already leaking. “Impatient much?”

“Impatient? Yuri, I’ve waited a lifetime.”

That shuts her up. Her eyes go wide, then dark. The rest follows—your shirt, her lace, everything—until it’s just skin and heat. You take a moment to just look. Her pale breasts are rising and falling rapidly with each short breath she takes. Her skin is soft and smooth. Each part of her is so pliable and ready for you.

She spreads her legs a little, opening herself up for you. “See something you like?”

“Everything,” you say, and you mean it.

You kiss your way down her body, and her sharp wit dissolves into gasps and moans. They’re not delicate sounds. They’re loud, unfiltered, a little ragged. Start putting your money where your mouth is. A high “ah!” when your tongue finds her hard nipple. Her hold on your hair tightens. You lavish attention on one breast, learning how she likes it, before moving to the other one. You suck a little more firmly, eliciting a low moan that vibrates through her and into you.

There’s a choked-off curse when your fingers slide through her bare wetness. She’s so fucking turned on and the slick, hot evidence of it makes your head spin.

“Please,” she pants “Now. I need you now.”

You don’t make her ask twice. Even Yuri’s grown tired of waiting. So you guide yourself to her entrance, your eyes locked on hers. There’s a second of perfect, aching tension, and then you push in.

The tight, searing stretch that makes you both groan. You bury your face in her neck, the scent of her perfume and sweat overwhelming. Yuri tries to adjust to your girth but she just squeezes tighter. You start to move, and it’s rough almost immediately, a desperate, driving rhythm born from years of friendship tipping into this. The bedframe knocks a steady beat against the wall.

The rhythm you find is punishing. You swear to god you’re being honest when you say you thought the first time would be romantic. Something straight out of a lovey-dovey novel, just to close off the chapter. If it were up to you, this would go like that.

But Yuri just does something to you. The alcohol in your systems fuels it. Her pussy grips around you perfectly, a tight sleeve that never lets go. And you can’t even start on how sexy she looks. Your hands find free territory over her bouncing tits. Dip occasionally to her swollen clit. She gets impossibly tighter around you.

The room fills with the sound of skin against skin, ragged breathing, and the soft, rhythmic creak of the bed. Her pleas in your ear are fragmented, a mix of Korean and breathless, broken mumbles.

“Fuck,” she breathes out, her head thrown back. “Right there… don’t you dare stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it, Yul,” you grit out. You then pull out a little, your dick coated in her wetness. The sound is obscenely wet. “I’m gonna fuck this little pussy until you’re crying.”

Shift her leg higher over your side and snap your hips deeper. The new angle punches a broken cry from her throat. Her voice is a wrecked needy whimper you’ve never heard before.

“Oh, god, daddy! Right there!”

The word is a punch thrown in your gut. It shouldn’t make you feel like this. You didn’t even like being called daddy until you heard that desperate sound from her. Seeing her like this—completely undone, begging, vulnerable—while she calls you that… it sends a brutal surge of heat straight to your core. Your thrusts become more purposeful, harder.

“Say that again.” You don’t recognize your voice anymore. It’s filled with lust. It has infected the rest of your body, from your brain down to the cock that’s ruining her.

“Daddy… you feel so good, daddy. So fucking big inside me.”

You’re both hurtling toward the edge. Her moans are constant now, a sobbing, rhythmic chant of yes, yes, yes. Her body is tightening around you like a coiled spring. It’s stretched to its limits. You feel the exact moment it snaps.

“I’m—d-daddy, oh fuck, oh fuck I’m cumming!”

Her back arches clear off the bed with a raw cry. Yuri’s whole body shakes. Her cunt pulses around you in relentless waves. She clutches at you like you’re the only solid thing in the world. You hold her through it, watching her fall apart. Her cunt still clenches onto you. The sight of her, so thoroughly wrecked and peaceful, is what finally undoes you. A few ragged, deep thrusts later, you follow her over, your own release tearing through you with a groan you feel in your bones.

The only sound is your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city. You’re far too tired to make small talk. Yuri’s still catching her breath beside you.

You can’t move or remember much. It’s the tipsiness biting you back in the ass, you know it. Try to make up for it by kissing your girlfriend on the forehead goodnight. Yuri’s arms wrapped around your neck conjure you sweet dreams. Yuri isn’t crying or alone in them anymore. In this one, she’s still in this small bed with you. She’s not going anywhere.

And you like to believe it isn’t a dream when she murmurs, “You know that TA with the glasses? It was you. There was no one else but you.”