Close my eyes, fantasize; 3 clicks and I'm home

Minjeong was angry, not the kind of anger that burned hot and fast. The worst kind. The kind that sat in her chest for days, growing heavier every time she looked at her phone. It’d been three whole days since she’d heard from Jimin. 

Three days since she'd cancelled their dinner plans with a text that simply read:

Sorry. 

Something came up.

No explanation, no phone call, no messages since. Nothing. Just silence that Minjeong was just expected to be okay with. 

She wasn’t.

The front door clicked open. Minjeong didn't look up from her textbook to acknowledge the sound of shoes being kicked off. She didn't acknowledge the familiar footsteps approaching the kitchen.

"Hey," Jimin finally spoke, sounding tired, scraping a chair across the floor. 

Minjeong didn’t reply, opting to remain silent and keep reading her textbook. Well, pretending to read it anyway. Eventually, Jimin sighed.

"You're mad."

"What gave it away, Sherlock?"

"You've been reading the same page upside down for the last five minutes."

Minjeong glanced down to the textbook that was indeed upside down. She hated that Jimin noticed things like that. Across the table, she heard the faint sound of a jacket being shrugged off. 

"That's not the point."

"It feels like it's at least a little bit the point."

Minjeong finally looked at her. Jimin looked awful. Not injured. Not visibly, anyway. Just tired. The kind of tiredness that settled into a person's bones. 

As Jimin reached for the mug sitting on the table, the sleeve of her jacket shifted slightly. Purple bruising flashed briefly along her wrist before disappearing beneath the cuff again. The bruising wrapped around the wrist in distinct finger-shaped marks. Someone had grabbed her hard enough to leave an imprint.

Minjeong's eyes narrowed. Now that she'd noticed one thing, she couldn't stop noticing the rest.

The skin across Jimin's knuckles was split in several places, half-healed cuts disappearing beneath dried blood. There was a faint shadow of yellowing bruises along one side of her jaw, old enough to be fading. When she reached for the mug, she favoured her left side slightly, careful in a way people only became when something hurt.

None of it looked accidental.

"What happened to your arm?"

Jimin glanced down. "Nothing."

"That doesn't look like nothing."

Jimin looked at the bruise as though she'd only just noticed it herself. "Huh."

"Jimin."

"I walked into a door."

"A door."

"Mm."

Minjeong stared at her.

"The door won," Jimin eventually replied, the corner of her mouth twitching.

Minjeong rolled her eyes. Of course. She should've known asking would get her absolutely nowhere. Jimin always had an excuse. None of them ever made any sense.

For one brief, traitorous moment, concern threatened to overpower her anger. Then she remembered how she’d felt for the past three days of silence. Three days of wondering whether she was hurt, dead, cheating on her, or simply didn't care enough to send a text.  Her concern vanished immediately.

"Don't."

Jimin blinked. "Don't what?"

"Give me that look."

"What look?"

"The one where you show up looking pathetic and exhausted so I feel guilty for being angry."

A pause.

"Unfortunately that is just my face, baby."

Minjeong stared at her. Jimin stared back.

"That wasn't funny."

"A little funny."

"Not even remotely."

"A tiny bit."

"Jimin."

"Okay, fine." The corner of Jimin's mouth twitched anyway.

Minjeong hated it. Not the smile itself, but the fact that it still worked. Three days of suffering, for what? Three whole days of silence and somehow Jimin could still smile at her like that. Soft around the edges. Familiar. Like she hadn't spent the last seventy-two hours imagining every possible terrible thing that could have happened.  

Her vision blurred unexpectedly. Oh no, absolutely not. Minjeong looked away immediately, blinking hard. She was not about to cry. Not over this. Not over someone who apparently thought disappearing for three days without warning was a perfectly acceptable way to conduct a relationship.

Across the table, Jimin's expression changed instantly, amusement vanishing completely.

"Hey."

Minjeong hated how soft her voice became whenever she noticed something was wrong.

"Don't."

"Baby."

"Don't do that either."

"Do what?" Jimin replied with a frown, eyebrows knitted.

"Act concerned now," Minjeong replied sharply. "You don't get to vanish for three days and then suddenly remember I exist."

Jimin looked away first, and that alone should've worried Minjeong. Usually, Jimin could hold eye contact through anything. Arguments. Interrogations. Awkward family dinners. The end of the world itself, probably. Now she stared down at the table instead. 

"Yeah. You're right. I'm sorry" Jimin eventually spoke, voice cracking slightly.

Minjeong had spent the last three days rehearsing this argument. Every angry speech. Every cutting remark. Every perfectly reasonable explanation for why disappearing for seventy-two hours without warning was unacceptable behaviour. None of them accounted for Jimin apologising immediately.

The fight faltered. Not because Minjeong wasn't angry anymore. Because she was, she was furious. But anger was much easier to maintain when the other person fought back. Jimin just sat there. Quiet, tired, sad eyes. 

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

The words sounded strange coming from her. Jimin wasn't stubborn exactly. But she wasn't the type to apologise just because someone wanted her to. If she thought she was right, she'd argue until the Big Freeze.  Which meant she genuinely felt bad, something that should’ve made Minjeong feel better. Instead, it somehow made everything worse.

"That's all you have to say?" she asked.

Jimin frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"That's it?" Minjeong continued. "You’re not even going to try to defend yourself? Give an explanation?"

Another silence followed, the kind that stretched too long. Minjeong watched it happen. The hesitation, the way Jimin's jaw tightened. The way her fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table. For a brief moment, she looked almost nervous.

And that irritated Minjeong even more.

"Seriously?"

Jimin exhaled slowly. "Minjeong, baby, it's complicated."

Minjeong laughed – a short, humourless sound. "Right, sure. Of course it is." 

"Minjeong–"

"No, actually, let's hear it," Minjeong cut her off, folding her arms. "I'm fascinated as to what possible explanation could justify this."

Jimin closed her eyes briefly. The sight of it made something uncomfortable twist in Minjeong's chest. 

"You disappear for three days."

Silence.

"You don't answer your phone."

Silence.

"You cancel plans."

Silence.

"You come back looking like you've been dragged through hell."

Still silence.

"And somehow I'm supposed to just accept that it's complicated?" Minjeong's voice cracked slightly on the last word.

Jimin looked at her then, really looked at her. The exhaustion in her eyes was suddenly overshadowed by something else. Guilt, the raw and ugly kind. It knocked some of the anger out of Minjeong immediately. Not enough, but enough to make it hurt.

"I know," Jimin said quietly.

"You know what, Jimin?"

"I know I keep doing this."

The honesty caught Minjeong off guard. No attempt at an excuse, a deflection. Just a simple  admission, which somehow felt worse than any attempt at a lie.

"Then stop."

The words came out softer than she'd intended. Because that was the real problem. Not the disappearing, not the secrecy. The fact that she kept coming back looking exhausted and sorry every time. Looking at Minjeong like she was the only light in her life. And then repeating it all over again.

Something flickered across Jimin's face. Pain. Gone almost immediately.

"If I could," she said softly, "I would."

Minjeong frowned.

"What does that even mean?"

Jimin looked away. For a moment, she looked older than twenty-six. Tired in a way that no amount of sleep could fix. Then the expression vanished. The walls went back up.

"It means I'm sorry."

For several long moments, neither of them spoke. The apartment suddenly felt too quiet. Minjeong stared at her; Jimin stared at the table. The argument wasn't resolved, and nothing had been fixed. The anger was still there, sitting heavily in Minjeong's chest, but exhaustion had started creeping in around the edges of it. 

She had an exam in two days. A twelve-hour hospital placement tomorrow. Yet somehow she'd spent the entire evening waiting for someone who apparently couldn't tell her where she'd been. 

Minjeong pushed her chair back, the sound made Jimin look up immediately.

"Where are you going?"

The question irritated her more than it should have. "To bed. See how easy it is to just give a simple answer?"

Jimin blinked. "Oh."

Minjeong stood and gathered her textbook, the pages feeling heavier than they had a few hours ago.

"Minjeong."

She paused. Not because she wanted to. Because she always paused when Jimin said her name like that. Quiet, careful, like she’d break if she said it any louder. Like she was standing in the middle of a minefield.

"What?" she asked without turning around.

"I love you." 

Something inside Minjeong twisted painfully, because she believed her. That was the problem. She did truly believe Jimin loved her. She just didn't know if love was enough anymore.

"Goodnight, Jimin."

The words came out flat. Not cruel, but somehow, worse. 

She heard Jimin inhale sharply behind her. "Goodnight, baby."

Without another word, Minjeong walked away, the bedroom door clicked shut behind her.

The apartment fell silent.

Jimin remained at the kitchen table long after she'd gone. The chair across from her sat empty, Minjeong's mug still there. Her highlighter, notes. Evidence that she'd been waiting. Three days. Three fucking days.

Jimin dragged both hands over her face, the exhaustion she'd been holding back crashed into her all at once. Aching ribs, shoulders, split knuckles that had started bleeding again sometime during their argument. She hadn’t noticed until Minjeong left.

Slowly, she looked toward the hallway, toward the closed bedroom door. Behind that door was the only person in the world who still believed she was good. The only place in the world that had ever felt safe. The only person she'd ever loved was hurting because of her.

A humourless laugh escaped her. "Great job, Jimin."

The apartment offered no response, of course. Minjeong was angry, and she had every right to be. Jimin would've been angry too. Fuck, she would’ve been furious. Three days without calls, explanations, or messages. Just silence. Because what was she supposed to text? 

Sorry I missed dinner baby. I was busy helping dispose of a body?

Sorry I didn't reply. I spent twenty hours tracking down a man who thought stealing from the wrong people was a good idea?

Hope your exam went well. I may have broken someone's jaw today.

Her stomach turned. The worst part wasn't the lying. It was how easy it was becoming. Every year it got easier. Every year Karina took up a little more space and Jimin disappeared a little further. Only Minjeong ever seemed capable of dragging her back.

Jimin stared at the bedroom door for a long time. Part of her wanted to follow, to crawl into bed with Minjeong, wrap her arms around her, and pretend everything was okay. That they’d be okay. But she could still see the look on Minjeong's face – the tears she'd tried so hard not to let fall, the hurt, the disappointment, the pain of Jimin’s lies.

So instead, Jimin stayed where she was, alone in the kitchen with her thoughts. For the first time in a very long time, she wasn't afraid of the people who could kill her. She was afraid of losing the one person who never would. 

Her phone buzzed against the table, breaking her from her thoughts. One message. Her stomach dropped. Not because she didn't know who sent it, but because she did. 

Need you at the warehouse.

No greetings, no explanations, just an address. Jimin stared at it, then looked toward the bedroom door. Toward Minjeong. For a moment she considered ignoring it, turning her phone off and crawling into bed, pretending none of this existed for just one night. 

Her phone buzzed again, reality reminding her that people like her didn't get nights off. Jimin slowly picked up her phone to reply.

On my way.

The response arrived almost instantly.

Good.

No please, no thank you. Just expectations.

—

Thirty minutes later, Jimin was still sitting at the kitchen table beside an untouched mug of coffee. Karina arrived at the warehouse alone. 

The warehouse sat on the edge of the industrial district, hidden among rusting shipping containers and abandoned buildings. Rain tapped softly against corrugated metal roofing overhead. By the time she stepped through the doors, the exhaustion was still there. The bruised ribs, the split knuckles, the ache sitting behind her eyes. None of it mattered. 

Because Karina had arrived.

Conversations died almost immediately. Not all at once, one by one. Heads turned. A few men straightened instinctively. Someone killed their cigarette halfway through a drag. Someone quickly stepped out of her path. One of the younger guys immediately looked down at the floor.

Karina didn't acknowledge any of them.

She walked past without a word, dark jacket still buttoned, expression unreadable. No smile, no warmth, no feeling. No trace of the woman who had stood in her kitchen less than an hour ago arguing with her girlfriend. 

That version of her remained behind a closed bedroom door. 

"The boss is waiting."

Karina kept walking. The man moved aside so quickly he nearly stumbled over his own feet. She never broke stride.

Behind her, somebody muttered, "Who pissed her off?" 

Nobody answered, because nobody was stupid enough to speculate about Karina within earshot. As she disappeared deeper into the warehouse, the man beside the entrance let out a breath he'd apparently been holding.

"Jesus Christ."

His friend glanced toward the hallway she'd vanished down. "What?"

The man shook his head. "Nothing."

Neither of them said what they were both thinking. Karina was in a bad mood. And that meant somebody was about to have a very long night.

—

The warehouse office door opened before Karina had a chance to knock.

"You're late."

The boss sat behind a large wooden desk shoved awkwardly into the corner of the warehouse office, cigar smoke curling lazily toward the exposed metal ceiling. Several men occupied the room already. Most stood; none looked particularly happy to be there.

Karina checked the time. "Thirty-seven seconds."

The man stared at her. Karina stared back. Eventually, he waved a dismissive hand. "Close the door."

She did, and the room immediately felt smaller. Beyond the thin office walls, machinery hummed somewhere in the warehouse. Metal groaned, and voices echoed faintly through the cavernous building.

On the floor, tied to a chair, sat a man Karina didn't recognise. Mid-thirties, expensive suit, split lip. The terror in his eyes only increased substantially when he noticed her.

"What did he do?" Karina asked, slipping her hands into her pockets.

"I didn't do anything," the man in the chair immediately spoke.  

Karina looked at him, looked at the boss, then back at him.

The silence stretched.

"Ah," she said finally. "One of those." 

The man swallowed, visibly paling. 

"I swear to God, I don't even know why I'm here."

Karina pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down, one of the younger members standing against the wall suddenly found the floor fascinating. They all knew what was coming.

The man was sweating; Karina could smell it from where she sat. Fear had a scent – sharp, sour, distinct. 

The room remained silent. The man's eyes darted between her and the others. Nobody helped him, nobody spoke, and nobody even looked particularly sympathetic. Karina rested one ankle over her knee – comfortable, patient, like she had all the time in the world. 

"What's your name?" she asked.

The question seemed to catch him off guard. "...Joshua."

Karina nodded. "Hi, Joshua."

Joshua blinked at her. Somehow, that was worse than if she'd shouted.

Karina leaned back in the chair, studying him with mild interest, like he was a puzzle she'd already solved and was only humouring out of politeness. Joshua's throat bobbed.

"Do you know who I am?"

"No."

A lie. Karina smiled faintly – not warmly, almost eerily. 

"That's okay," she said. "Most people lie the first time."

Nobody in the room moved. Joshua's eyes flicked toward the boss, then toward the men by the wall, searching for someone less frightening to look at. 

Karina rested her hands loosely in her lap. Her knuckles had started bleeding again. A thin line of red slipped down the side of her finger. They both noticed.

"So Joshua, you're going to tell me what happened," she said softly. "And I'm going to decide whether or not I believe you."

Joshua’s breathing grew faster. Karina's remained perfectly steady.

"And if you don't?" Joshua choked out.

Karina tilted her head. For one second, something tired moved behind her eyes. Something almost human.

It disappeared just as quickly.

"Then we stop having a conversation."