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. Everything had become exhausting in a way it never used to be. 

The office still has the same sharp energy it always does - 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 outside. 

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 and 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 damn, they were boring. Profiles too polished, too rehearsed, all exactly the same. 

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 quite frankly, this was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous, and none of it was working.

Her gaze drifts toward the windows overlooking Manhattan. The city feels incredibly alive in a way she envies. People out there living instead of sitting alone, wondering about ‘what-ifs’.  She needed to get out of this apartment before she lost her mind completely.

Minjeong pushes herself upright from the couch 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 clings softly to Minjeong’s body as she stands in front of the mirror fastening an earring.

The dress was simple at first glance. Sleeveless and 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 showed her body rather than hiding it, curves she usually kept carefully concealed beneath structured tailoring now visible to all. 

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 to feel intoxicating when she moved.

She looks sexy, and that realisation unsettles her far more than it should’ve. Not polished. Not elegant. Not “well-preserved” in the backhanded way women her age were often described. Just undeniably sexy..

Somewhere over the past week, Minjeong had started wanting to feel desired again. 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 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 neck.

“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.’’

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

“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?”

Minjeong opens her mouth before realising she doesn’t actually know the answer to that yet.

Yizhuo makes a noise of vindication loud enough to make Minjeong pull the phone away from her ear again. “This is unbelievable. You’ve had one emotionally destabilising orgasm and suddenly you’re roaming Manhattan at midnight dressed like a Bond girl.”

“Firstly, you’re incredibly dramatic, you know that, Yizhuo. Secondly, you have no idea what I’m wearing.” 

“Please. I know you better than you know yourself Kim Minjeong. You’re totally in a sexy little black dress, aren’t you?” 

Minjeong freezes briefly in front of the mirror.

Yizhuo gasps through the speaker before Minjeong even answers. “Silence totally means yes.”

“It is not a little black dress,” Minjeong mutters automatically, reaching for her coat from the back of the chair.

“Minjeong.”

“It’s navy.”

“That is so not the point, Kim Minjeong.”