The Playgirl (ft. LOONA’s Yves) [Part 4]

Month three.

Yves comes to school even more regularly now. She is a lot more attentive now that she knows the content. You’re teaching her less now. Instead, you’re working along with her, both of you crunching concepts and topics with absolute ease.

You spend a lot more time over at Yves’s place ever since that night. Most of the time, these study sessions end with a homemade dinner together, and you wonder when did this domestic behaviour feel so right. Yves doesn’t seem to be bothered, and sometimes, when she’s in a particularly good mood, she’ll come to you as you chop up some vegetables, or stir a pot on the stove, and wrap her arms around your waist, pulling you in for a deep hug. The line between friendship and lovers is so very thin, and the both of you toe the line every single day. You refuse to speak to her about it, fearing that you’d lose her, but you yearn for her. You yearn to touch her, to kiss her, to hold hands with her, to cuddle her. Gone were the days where you’d find her a pain.

Some days, she might even cuddle up with you for a movie. You seem to be the only one who’s affected by these things—Yves cuddles you regularly when it’s movie time, smiling through your (probably) obvious confusion. Sometimes, she throws stuff that you never knew into conversations, like the countries she’s been to, or little facts about foreign architecture that you’ve not heard of. You’re curious about how she knows all of this information, but Yves always just smiles and says “Secret!” before booping you on the nose.

One day though, she stands in front of a shelf, dusting off a box in her arms. When you round the corner post toilet trip, Yves holds the box up, grinning. She hands you the box, letting you discover the contents for yourself. You hesitantly take the box, and she gestures for you to open it.

When opened, there are photo frames, with photos of Yves with an older woman next to her. The photos span years—Yves has looked the same growing up, even when she was a young girl, to a teenager, and up to when she was becoming a young woman. The older woman next to her starts off having brown hair, but it grows to grey, then to white as more photos go by.

The albums are the same—dated by year, and the photos within contain the same duo of Yves and her grandmother. You browse the photo, fascinated with how Yves grew up along the way. Pictures of Yves flashing peace signs, Yves in her school uniforms, a teen Yves in Japan, wearing a kimono? You look up quizzically at her, and she pulls you to take a seat on her couch.

“Wanna learn about me, babygirl?”

—–

After dinner, Yves sits on the couch with you, pulling you against her body, placing a photo album on both of your laps.

“This album contains my younger years, when I was 5 to about 8.” She opens the album, her lips curling up in a smile when she gazes at the memories made physical. “My parents died young, leaving me to my grandmother. Granny was the best grandma ever. She took me everywhere, to work, to school, even overseas if she had the chance. That’s why I have so many albums. She loved taking photos of anythimg. I never understood why then, but now I do.”

Yves runs a finger down the photos, gazing at the bright smiles of both her child self and her grandmother’s. You note how she addresses her grandmother in the past tense, sensing a story there, but you don’t want to chase her for it.

“This was me graduating kindergarten. That’s me on the first day of primary school. I remember coming back so excited about learning new things. I know, surprising, right?” She laughs at your skeptical look. “I was so happy about school then, and about seeing Granny around at the gates everyday waiting for me.”

Yves leaves through the album with you, offering anecdote after anecdote about her personal life. You listen attentively, wanting to learn more about the person that caught your fancy.

“… tried to bake a cake for Granny and made a mess of the kitchen…”

“… first performance in school, where I sang some cringy song…”

“… got As for all my subjects and Granny took me to China…”

—–

Yves pulls out the final album, a wistful smile on her features this time.

“… started getting into this ‘cool kid’ thing I got going right now, and Granny loved it, though she gave me shit for it.”

Yves flashes air quotes with her fingers at the mention of “cool kid”, giggling when she mentions it.

When she stops at a photo of her Granny holding her hand on the first day of school over in Seoul U, she pauses for a short while before continuing on. Sadness flashes through her eyes as her stare goes glassy, and your heart hurts for her.

“The photos stop here because on the way home, Granny… She left me that day. She fell over on the way home, and she hit her head on the way down.” Yves leans back against her couch, sighing and staring at the ceiling. “And that’s why I’m living alone now. I can’t stand moving out and living anywhere else.”

“I’m sorry, Yves.”

“Thank you. It’s been a year though.”

Things start to make sense now—the reason she has so much stuff is because her grandma used to live with her. You think back to the cassette tapes, the CDs, the camera. Everything makes sense now. You start to gain a new appreciation for your surroundings. Every object here is a piece of history; something that someone used in times past. You get up, pulling Yves by the hand. She follows, and you wander about, looking at the old pieces of the past again, thinking about how much this means to Yves.

“Hey Yves.”

“Mm?”

“Tell me about these things. I wanna know the stories.”

“You sure, babe?”

“Positive. I wanna know everything. Don’t skimp on details, or I’ll hit you!”

—–

When you rise the next morning, it is not on a sticky, warm, uncomfortable couch. It is atop soft velvety sheets, under the weight of comfortable blankets. Weird, because you somewhat remember that you fell asleep on the couch last night when Yves left to go grab some water in the middle of the reminiscing session late into the night… or something like that. The haze of sleep still fights to reclaim you.

“Good morning, babygirl.”

An angel greets your eyes, her beautiful smile instinctively making you smile as well. You raise an arm from under the covers to stroke the cheeks of the angel.

“Good morning, angel. How may I help you today?”

The angel blushes, leaning into your touch.

“I ain’t no angel, but I’m glad you think I’m one.”

It is then that you realise that it’s Yves, and not an angel. You retract your hand immediately, as if Yves were scalding hot.

“Oh fuck!”

Yves laughs loudly, sitting on the side of the bed. She pulls you up, holding your left hand in both of hers.

“Breakfast is ready. Go freshen up, I’ll send you home after.”

—————

Month four.

Yves drops you a random call on a Saturday.

“Hey, babe.”

“Sooyoung, what’s up?”

You’ve taken to calling her Sooyoung after last month, when you stayed over at her place. Yves doesn’t seem to mind, and sometimes, she blushes when you slip and call her Sooyoungie.

“Hey babe, I’m taking you somewhere.”

“Where are we going? What about studying?”