your head'll collapse (there's nothing in it)

The days that follow all blur into one for Minjeong. Fending off disasters, drafting frameworks for company expansions, herding interns, putting out fires left and right - Minjeong can barely distinguish one from the next.  She remembers a time when this was all she ever wanted. Senior partner in one of the biggest firms in the city. Now all she can think about is how mundane it's all become. Emails. Meetings. Contracts. Repeat. Exhausting in a way it never used to be. 

The office still buzzes with the same sharp energy it always had - assistants rushing between glass offices, phones ringing endlessly, heels clicking against polished floors - but lately, Minjeong feels oddly detached from all of it, like she’s watching her own life happen from somewhere slightly outside herself. 

The memory of his touch doesn’t fade with time, if anything it grows stronger. He’s there when she closes her eyes at night, and when she opens them again in the morning. There when her fingers trail beneath the covers in an attempt to feel half as good as that night. 

Minjeong had spent years mastering self-control. Discipline. Emotional restraint. Yet somehow, one night with a younger man from Queens had managed to destabilise her entire nervous system. 

Ugh.

How humiliating.

At eleven-thirty on a Thursday night, Minjeong decides the best way to get over someone is probably to get under someone else. 

With that thought in mind, Minjeong curls up on her sofa and swipes through a selection of men. For what feels like hours - but is really more like minutes - she swipes and swipes to no avail. A collection of age-appropriate men with good jobs. But ugh, they were boring. Profiles too polished, too rehearsed, all exactly the same. 

Why are all dating apps filled with men holding fish? 

Minjeong tosses the phone onto the couch beside her with a deep sigh, rubbing both hands over her face.

Maybe Yizhuo was right. Maybe she was spiralling. Because this was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. This wasn’t working. None of it was working.

Her gaze drifts toward the windows overlooking Manhattan. The city glows endlessly outside - alive in a way she suddenly envies. Music somewhere in the distance. Headlights sliding through wet streets. People still out there living instead of sitting alone, wondering about ‘what-ifs’. 

Ugh.

She needed to get out of this apartment before she lost her mind completely.

Minjeong pushes herself upright from the couch with a sharp exhale before she can overthink it. If she was going to spiral, she could at least do it somewhere with decent lighting and overpriced cocktails. 

Twenty minutes later, navy satin clung softly to Minjeong’s body as she stood in front of the mirror fastening an earring, the fabric catching the warm bathroom light every time she moved.

The dress was simple at first glance. Sleeveless. Elegant. The kind of thing she normally reserved for expensive dinners or work events where people pretended not to stare. But the neckline dipped lower than what she usually wore. The slit along one thigh showed flashes of skin every time she shifted her weight. The material skimmed her body rather than hiding it, soft and fluid against curves she usually kept carefully concealed beneath structured tailoring. 

Minjeong smooths a hand over the fabric once before reaching for her lipstick, applying it slowly while studying her own reflection. Minimal jewellery. Dark hair falling loose over bare shoulders. Enough perfume at her throat to feel intoxicating when she moved.

She looked-

Her thoughts stop abruptly.

Sexy.

The realisation unsettles her  far more than it should. Not polished. Not elegant. Not “well-preserved” in the backhanded way women her age were often described. Just undeniably sexy.

And maybe that was the real problem.

Because somewhere over the past week, Minjeong had started wanting to feel desired again. The thought lingers uncomfortably long after she sets the lipstick down.

Not admired politely across boardroom tables. Not appreciated in the detached, clinical way men her age tended to compliment women now. Elegant. Sophisticated. Successful. Words that always sounded suspiciously close to old if you listened carefully enough. 

She wanted to be desired in the reckless, all-consuming kind of way. 

Her phone lights up against the bathroom counter suddenly, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Yizhuo. 

Minjeong closes her eyes briefly before answering the call. “You know,” she says dryly, pressing the phone between her shoulder and ear while reaching for her perfume again, “normal people usually text before calling this late.”

“No one has ever accused me of being normal,” Yizhuo replies instantly. “And anyway, can’t a girl be concerned about her friend?” 

Minjeong sighs through her nose, spraying perfume lightly against her throat.

“Anyway, less about me.” Yizhuo continues. “What are you wearing?” 

Minjeong stills slightly. 

‘’Ning, I love you and all, but if you had some needs that you wanted satisfying, I think you should be calling Aeri.” 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line before Yizhuo bursts into laughter loud enough that Minjeong has to pull the phone slightly away from her ear. 

“Oh my God,” Yizhuo wheezes. “I was wondering if the Kim Minjeong I know and love was going to make a reappearance. There she is.’’

“Why did you call, Yizhuo?” Minjeong replies, rolling her eyes as she reaches for her clutch from the bathroom counter.  

“Because,” Yizhuo says slowly, dragging the word out suspiciously, “you’ve been weird all week. Oh, and my spidey senses were tingling.”

“I’m always weird, Ning.”

“No. Usually you’re intimidating and emotionally constipated. This is different.”

Minjeong snorts softly, slipping her heels on near the apartment door, phone still pressed between her ear and neck. “That’s incredibly rude of you.” 

 “And accurate.” A pause. “Wait. Are you going out?” 

Minjeong hesitates just long enough to answer the question for her. 

“Oh my God,” Yizhuo gasps dramatically. “You are. Kim Minjeong, are you about to rebound?”

“It’s not a rebound if there wasn’t a relationship first.”

“Mm. Spoken exactly like someone about to make terrible decisions in a very expensive dress.”

Minjeong grabs her keys from the bowl near the door. “I’m just getting a drink.”

“Sure you are.”

“I am.”

“Alone?”