Chapter 5
The first time Yuqi appeared in Soyeon’s room after midnight, it was nearly 1 a.m. Yuqi's parents had left to go on a business trip and Yuqi was in charge of looking after the Song estate. The only thing that gave Yuqi away was the soft shuffle of her slippers across the floorboards.
Soyeon sat up in bed instantly, wand in hand, only to catch the shimmer of a disillusionment charm dissolving into the air. A heartbeat later, Yuqi’s form emerged at the end of the bed—draped in a thick robe, hair tied into a loose braid, eyes glinting in the low moonlight that filtered through the narrow maid’s window.
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Soyeon whispered, still clutching her wand.
Yuqi rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Relax. I brought chocolate.”
And she did—two squares of honeydukes dark, wrapped clumsily in a silk handkerchief.
Soyeon blinked. “That’s not a reason.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Yuqi said simply, sliding into the chair beside her bed like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Too many thoughts. You’re the only one in this house who doesn’t give me a headache.”
It became a pattern after that.
The next night, Yuqi showed up claiming that her room was too drafty, which didn't make any sense as Soyeon's room was much colder and much more drafty than Yuqi's room. The night after that, she said she needed advice on a dream she’d had (“There were snakes. But they were my relatives. Honestly, a bit on the nose.”).
Soyeon didn’t argue. Not really.
She just raised a brow every time the excuses got more far-fetched. She offered Yuqi the spare blanket folded at the end of the bed. They’d sit in the dark, knees brushing, voices low and soft as they talked about everything and nothing—childhoods, favorite spells, dreams they never said out loud.
It was the fourth night in a row when Soyeon finally said, “You don’t need to make up reasons, you know.”
Yuqi glanced at her, eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Soyeon said, tucking her legs beneath her, “you don’t need to lie about why you come here.”
Yuqi opened her mouth, probably to fire off some sarcastic remark—but then she closed it again. Her gaze dropped to her lap.
After a pause, she said, “It’s quiet here.”
Soyeon smiled, just a little, raising an eyebrow. “It’s also freezing and there’s a draft under the door.”
Yuqi scoffed, but her voice was softer. “You know what I mean.”
Another beat passed.
“I just… I don’t like being alone with my own thoughts sometimes,” Yuqi admitted, surprising herself as much as Soyeon. “And you’re the only person in this house who doesn’t expect something from me. Or talk at me like I’m some heir to impress.”
Soyeon’s heart thudded once, quietly. “That’s what you think I am? Just someone to talk to?”
Yuqi’s eyes met hers. “No,” she said. “You’re someone I trust.”
Soyeon held her gaze for a long moment, the silence growing thick between them. She wanted to ask what that meant. She wanted to ask if it was just trust. If it was ever more.
But Yuqi was already shifting, pulling her feet up onto the chair, curling her arms around her knees like she didn’t want to be looked at too closely.
Soyeon didn’t push. She just said, “You can stay. If you want.”
And Yuqi did.
That night, she didn’t leave until the first rays of dawn crept across the floorboards. She cast the disillusionment charm in silence and slipped out like a whisper, the door clicking shut behind her.
But her warmth lingered in the air.
And Soyeon couldn’t help but feel—maybe—there was more behind those visits than just sleepless nights and soft-spoken trust.
It was nearly midnight when Yuqi slipped into Soyeon’s room again, the disillusionment charm breaking with a shimmer just inside the door. She expected to find Soyeon reading under the covers with a dimly lit wand tip or brushing out her hair at the tiny mirror.
Instead, she found her curled up under a heap of blankets, motionless except for the slow rise and fall of her shoulders.
Yuqi frowned.
“Soyeon?” she whispered.
There was no reply at first—just a quiet sound, a groggy exhale. Then, a muffled voice: “Sorry. Don’t feel too great tonight.”
Yuqi crossed the room quickly and knelt beside the bed. Up close, she could see Soyeon’s skin was pale, her forehead damp with a thin sheen of sweat. Her eyes fluttered open briefly.
“Just a bit of a fever,” Soyeon murmured. “Probably nothing.”
Yuqi stared at her for a moment. Then, without a word, she stood and left the room.
Soyeon blinked at the door after it shut, confused and slightly disoriented. But Yuqi was back within ten minutes, a small glass vial in hand and a towel draped over her arm.
“Where did you—”
“Doesn’t matter.” Yuqi uncorked the vial with a flick of her thumb. “Sit up. You’re taking this.”
Soyeon grimaced. “You know, bossing me around doesn’t make it taste any better.”
Yuqi raised an eyebrow. “You’re adorable when you’re sick. Now drink.”
Soyeon took it, wrinkling her nose as she swallowed. The potion was bitter, but warmth spread through her chest almost instantly, easing the throb in her head and the chill in her fingers.
Yuqi wiped her forehead gently with the cool towel.
“You’re good at this,” Soyeon murmured, eyes half-lidded. “You’d make a really great healer.”
Yuqi didn’t respond right away. She folded the towel and sat back on the edge of the bed, hands resting in her lap.
“I wanted to be,” she said finally. Her voice was low, almost careful. “When I was younger. After Hogwarts, I thought maybe I’d apply for training. I was good at Healing magic. Always top marks.”
Soyeon watched her silently.
“But my parents—” Yuqi’s lips curved bitterly. “They didn’t think it was… dignified. ‘Our bloodline doesn’t serve. It leads.’ That’s what my mother said. Said it was a waste of talent. Of lineage.”
There was a quiet between them for a while, broken only by the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall.
Soyeon reached out, fingers brushing Yuqi’s. “You’d be brilliant at it.”
Yuqi glanced over at her, expression unreadable. “And what about you? What did you want to do before…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. Before this. Before the maid’s apron and the too-thin walls.
Soyeon offered a small smile. “I wanted to be an Auror.”
Yuqi’s eyes widened slightly. “Really?”
“Yeah. I liked the idea of protecting people. Of making things right. I’m good at Defence and tracking charms, but…” She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Life’s complicated.”
Yuqi looked at her for a long moment. Then, softly: “It’s not over yet.”
Soyeon’s smile lingered, quiet and tired. “Not if you keep bringing me illicit potions, it’s not.”
Yuqi chuckled and tucked the blanket a little closer around her.
“Sleep,” she said. “I’ll stay.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
And so Yuqi stayed—curled in the chair beside the bed, head tilted against the wall, watching Soyeon until her breathing evened out and the fever broke.
She didn’t know what to call whatever this was between them.
But it was the most honest thing she had.