Roseanne hates early morning practices.
Having to wake up before sunrise and braving the cold, especially when her body still hasn’t recovered from the previous football match, already tires her out.
But she tries not to complain, at the very least. She's the captain after all. Roseanne has no room to slack off when she’s carrying their team for the entire season, with a championship trophy awaiting their gallery of excellence and her scholarship on the line.
She blinks, slow and deliberate, the weight of sleep dissolving like the mist in the morning.
She tries to stretch, but something warm and familiar restricts her from moving too much.
“Why are you here?" Roseanne asks in a hushed tone, careful and soft, not wanting to disrupt any of her remaining sleep.
A small, quiet grunt reaches her ear. Roseanne's slight motion was seemingly enough to rouse Jennie from slumber. Her arm is draped over her waist, her face nestled into the crook of Roseanne’s neck.
“Your mom told me to come,” Jennie mumbles, slowly reeling her head back to get a glimpse of her.
Roseanne feels Jennie's eyes settle on her, their legs tangling under the blanket, Jennie’s foot tucking against her shin. She looks down and sees her other leg peeking out of the cover, elevated. Her gaze then lands on the empty ice packs placed on the chair next to her bed.
Huh.
“She said you sprained your ankle," Jennie continues.
Roseanne hums, fighting back a smile at the thought of Jennie nursing her ankle and taking care of her the entire night while she was knocked out to sleep.
"You didn't have to stay the night, you know?" Roseanne's tone devoid of glee, bitterness takes over.
Sleepovers aren’t foreign to them. They’ve done this a hundred times since they were kids. They can sleep wherever they crash—on couches, beds, camping tents, even on the hardwood floor of Jennie’s room when they first move into the neighborhood.
They're always this close.
Always tangled.
Jennie missing her previous game is why she's upset more than she should have. The game Jennie was supposed to cover for an article in the sports section of their school paper.
She always comes, even though Roseanne convinces herself that Jennie only watches the game out of obligation—as a school journalist—and not because she's Roseanne's childhood friend who has been with her since they were in diapers and honoring their pact requires them to be present in each of their important events (she knows Jennie will fully deny the former no matter how she insists).
She vividly remembers how she sprained her ankle. How she’s been off her game the entire afternoon. How she aggressively charges towards the ball with her mind drifting somewhere else—or someone .
She said she would come.
The weight pressing on her chest grows heavier when the game is in its second half, and still no signs of Jennie appear on the bench. No Jennie holding her lame ass pen and paper, taking notes, her camera dangling on her neck, her glasses perching on the bridge of her nose. No Jennie talking her coach out for a substitution every time she notices Roseanne's exhaustion, knowing how the younger pressures herself on the field and insisting on playing despite.
She has never missed a single game. Why didn't she tell me she couldn’t make it?
Jennie’s absence fuels Roseanne’s frustration in a way that her actions become more forceful, dashing towards every open space that meets her eyes.
Only when she feels a pain shoot up her ankle does her mind come back to reality. She miscalculates her footing and lands on an uneven ground, and even before she could balance herself, she collapsed.
And was it unfortunate that the first person she expected to run up to the field was nowhere in sight.
“Are you upset, Rosie?”
Jennie’s warm breath against her skin jolts her out of her thoughts. Jennie's head is already resting on her chest.
Roseanne looks down, her cheeks brushing against Jennie’s hair. The faint smell of lavander lingers, and her upset demeanor softens.
“No, I’m not,” she denies.
“Your mom said you cried," Jennie says.
Roseanne releases a sigh, embarrassed about Jennie finding it out from her mom.
"Why must she tell you everything?"
She hears Jennie lightly chuckle. The action suddenly made Roseanne hyperaware of everything. Of how close Jennie is. Of how warmth suddenly pools around her chest. Of how weird things are in her stomach.
"Even if your mom doesn't tell, I still would've crashed here to check on you like I always do.”
“Well, for the record, everyone cries when you sprain an ankle.”
“Really, Rosie? Last time I checked, you've had worse. You even broke an arm, yet never have I seen you weep over that,” she softly argues.
Jennie doesn't want to push anyone's buttons this early. “Your mom told me you were still crying even when your ankle already received care. Did I really make you upset? You even cried yourself to sleep—”
“Well, it hurts . You wouldn’t know," Roseanne cuts off. She hates how the girl knows her like the back of her hand.
She also knows that the tears come not just from disappointment and frustration but from the realization of how deeply she relies on Jennie. Of how much her presence matters to her in ways she might not have fully acknowledged before.
It's already their last year in college. She worries about a lot of things—her future, what comes next for her football journey, her hobby for writing, Jennie, and her fear of losing their connection. It all comes to the surface. And it's something she can no longer ignore.
Jennie moves away, slowly untangling her arms. Her body makes a slight shift, creating distance from the younger; the warmth gradually leaves, and Roseanne feels a punch in her gut.
She watches as Jennie pushes herself up to sit, scooting backwards until she reaches the headboard. Roseanne then feels a hand run down her locks. She closes her eyes at the contact.
“I’m sorry, Rosie,” Jennie apologises. "I wouldn't miss your game for the world, you know that. I just had an abrupt meeting with Mr. Baek that I badly needed to tend to, and I'm sorry for not being able to tell you in time.”
Roseanne listens, guilt creeping on her.
"It was my break or make game, Jennie. You know how important the elimination game is to me," she quietly responds.
"I know, lovie," Jennie coos. "I know."
Roseanne doesn't like how her body reacts. How easy it is to give in when it comes to Jennie. How her body moves closer, her arm seemingly has a life of its own and starts wrapping it around Jennie's waist. How her head rests on her stomach. And how her frustration fully subsides.
This is Jennie. Jennie, who calms the fire in her. Jennie, who takes care of her. Jennie, who draws out the best of her. Jennie, ever the supportive ally who wants her to pursue her love for writing even though it's only a hobby. Jennie, whom her parents trust. Jennie, a keeper of secrets; the only person who gets her. Jennie, who always understands. Always.
Jennie, who remembers the little things .
"Please let me know next time." Roseanne's voice comes in a whisper. "No matter what. You know how much of an overthinker I am."
Jennie hums, continuously brushing her hair.
"Well, to compensate for that, I did ask Evan to cover for me," Jennie says. "It's a fair trade, don't you think?"
Roseanne looks up at her. She doesn't even remember seeing the guy on the field.
"What does that even mean?"
"What more of a good trade than having your crush witness your game, right?" Jennie responds. "Though he says it's not your best game this season, a win is still a win."
"You still remembered?" Roseanne forces a laugh. "That silly crush was like centuries ago."
Of course Jennie remembers. It's what has gone out of Roseanne's mouth the past couple of years every time she visits their office.
"For all I know you've been dying to talk to him," Jennie points out. "And this is me doing you a favor."
Rosenne tries to shove the idea by playfully slapping Jennie. Doesn't know why she feels annoyed at the teasing.
"Whatever," she says and sits down. "I'm going to prep now."
Jennie looks at Roseanne; her eyes now lace with concern.
"Will you be okay? What about your ankle?"
"It's all good now."
Jennie is skeptical, but she hums of approval and stands up.
"Where are you going?" Roseanne asks.
"Have breakfast with me?"
"I would want to. But it's still early for you, love. Go back to sleep," Roseanne says as she makes her way to the bathroom. "I'll tell mom to wake you up just in time for your class."
She hears Jennie sigh as she slumps back on her bed. The older doesn't protest. Roseanne can tell she is still sleepy.
True to her words, she asked her mom to wake Jennie up an hour before her class starts to spare her enough time to get ready. Roseanne ate her breakfast, tidied up, waited for the school's service, mumbled goodbye, and pecked Jennie's head before leaving for training.
Roseanne thought of the teasing, trying to brush off the way it made her stomach react in ways she doesn't fully understand but can't dismiss.
But it's just Jennie being herself—playful, teasing, protective.
Roseanne buries the thoughts away. It's normal for Jennie to react that way. After all, she's like a sister, practically a family .
The teasing hasn’t died down since Evan showed up at the last elimination game. It caught not just Jennie’s eyes but the attention of the entire football team, with the members setting their captain up to the writer.
It started when Lisa, the team’s winger and second-best player, noticed Evan on the sidelines instead of Jennie. The subtle shift suddenly piqued her interest when the guy frequently shows up, even during the team’s practices, rather than Jennie herself, who had always been a constant presence. It intrigued her more when Roseanne told them that Evan’s taking over Jennie for the rest of the season because the older had something “big” to focus on. And knowing how close Lisa and Roseanne are in the field, she playfully pairs them up, which leads to the entire team being fully supportive of this banter.
Evan isn’t bad himself. Aside from his articulate thinkpieces, he also has the natural charm that swoons almost half of the women in their university.
Roseanne’s keen attention to details shows what a great observer she is. But with Evan, she can’t seem to read the guy. That’s why she often asks Jennie about him every time she lounges inside their office.
Evan being serious when working on an article and how passionate he is with storytelling, something that Jennie respects, is the reason why Roseanne admires him as someone who also writes but as a hobby.
Roseanne also has her share of written stories. She writes not only for the sheer joy of it but to explore and express herself better. She writes whether it’s during a break from the football practice or when she’s alone at night, with her thoughts all scattered and unorganized.
In a sense, her writing tends to be personal—raw, unpolished, but full of truths. It’s the only way she allows herself to be fully vulnerable; her heart spilled with open verses.
“Chaeyoung,” a baritone voice from behind spoke. “Great play you got there, by the way.”
“Thanks, Evan. We still have to try and practice the new play,” she responds, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
The guy jogs to match her pace. “Finals in a week, right?”
“Is this still part of the interview?” Roseanne lightly jokes.
Practice ended early, and both of them are now heading towards the office. It has been like that for weeks—Roseanne and Evan walking side by side in the quiet hallways, sometimes talking about things that mostly end up with them laughing about it, or just them being silent until they reach the door.
Evan radiates thrill. Everything about him feels like an adventure. Dangerous, unpredictable, yet fun.
But Roseanne, well, she's not really fond of thrills.
She wants it easy. She wants it safe.
She wants something familiar.
"No, I'm just plain curious," Evan answers, laughing at how she teases him.
They stop when they reach the office.
"Wanna go inside?"
Roseanne contemplates. Usually, at this hour, the office is still occupied and busy. And as someone who has no business being in the room full of journalists, she’ll wait for the crowd to disperse before she’ll enter.
It's better that way, she thinks. It would only be her and Jennie, and their shared interest in writing. Kind of like their safe space where she gets to enjoy her hobby and drops the weight of being the captain on the field.
Evan peeks inside and goes back to where Roseanne is.
"It’s just Jennie,” Evan assures, fully knowing the reason why she hesitates. She mentioned these things to him when they had the talk. “And I won’t stay long. I’ll just have to get the papers and leave.”
"Okay." She agrees and smiles at the gesture. Evan hums and pushes the door for them.
Inside, Jennie is bent over the desk, her fingers a blur racing across the keyboard. The light from the monitor illuminates her face, concentration etched into her features.
Roseanne's stomach fluttered at the sight of Jennie. There is something captivating about seeing her completely in her element—exuding confidence and purpose, like the world around her ceased to exist, and she's in her own bubble. Something Roseanne wants to be a part of.
Jennie was so engrossed in her work that she wasn't able to notice them enter. If it wasn't for Evan announcing their arrival, she would still be absorbed in her work.
"Lovie!" Jennie calls.
Jennie's tense and serious expressions earlier relax, and Roseanne feels a sense of relief. She sees Jennie immediately get rid of her desk and get up, welcoming her with the tightest hug she could muster.
This is my energy transfer.
She does this every time the younger finishes training in hopes of giving Roseanne the charge she needs. But right now, it appears that Jennie needs it more than her.
"How's practice?"
"It was fine, I guess?"
They hear Evan scoff, prompting Jennie to pull away from the hug.
"I think you meant fire ," Evan corrects. "They were doing so great out there on the field, Jennie. You should've seen them."
Roseanne looks at Jennie, whose eyes were already on hers.
She looks proud . The younger feels heat rise to her cheeks, her heart galloping out of her chest, and her insides appear to be doing some sort of somersault.
What the fuck is wrong with you, Rosie?
This is just Jennie! The one you grew up with. The one who writes terrible poems—she can't even find a good rhyming word to match. The one who has weird food combinations, I almost flushed myself out the drain. The reason why I had a dried, rotting flower pressed in my notebook because it's the first flower she gave me when I won my first football match, and I just had to keep it because I am that sentimental.
It's nothing special, really. Just Jennie and her antics. So what hell am I crushing for?
"They were trying a new play. Chaeyoung’s gonna pull off one of the best shots this season," Evan adds.
Jennie’s gaze doesn’t leave Roseanne, and though she softly laughs at Evan’s comment, her eyes speak volume.
“Of course she is,” the older comment. “She always does.”
Roseanne breaks the contact.
“It wasn’t that great,” she downplays. “We still have to practice. Besides, don’t you have something to do, Evan?”
Evan hums and nods his head. “Right, right. Also, I didn’t know Chaeyoung writes. I’ve seen her write during breaks. She had this cute little notebook with her.”
Roseanne was about to respond, but Jennie cuts her off. She makes a mental note to smack Evan next practice.
“She does it out of hobby, but she writes so well. She writes better than I do, actually, and I write for the school paper. Let that sink in,” Jennie utters, her voice calm and full of quiet pride. “I keep pushing her to join the team, but she wouldn’t.”
He stacks the papers and empties his desk. “You should write with me sometimes. I just know we’ll make a good team,” he teased. “Anyway, I’ll get going.”
Before Evan completely goes out of sight, he leans in to whisper, “See you next practice, Rosie .” The words, however, don’t escape Jennie’s notice.
Now that they are alone, Roseanne can still feel her pulse being unsteady. Jennie keeps stealing glances. And every time their eyes meet, even just for a brief second, the world around them seems to still.
"So, Rosie ,” Jennie breaks the silence. “What’s the score between you and Evan?”
Not ‘lovie’ anymore?
“I thought we’re past that, Jennie ,” she responds, giving stress on the older’s name.
Jennie shrugs, avoiding her eyes. “I don’t know. You seem pretty close now. Everyone’s talking about it. I mean, I just heard Lisa teasing you two just awhile back.”
“Since when do you care about what everyone is talking about?”
“I’m a journalist, it’s pretty obvious,” Jennie responds. “Also, I don’t care. Not really. I only care about you .”
Jennie finally looks at her. There’s something about her gaze. A mix of sharpness and vulnerability. Like she was holding back.
“You know Evan and I are just friends, right?”
She raises her brows. “I don’t know. You tell me, lovie .”
God, she’s making it harder to breathe.
“E-evan’s just a friend,” Roseanne manages to say. “Why are you suddenly asking this question? Why does it matter so much?”
She hits a nerve. Jennie’s lips parted from the last question. She wants to say something but decides to let it go.
For a moment, they stare at each other, the air between them thick with something unspoken. Then Jennie shakes her head.
“I was just curious,” she mumbles. “It matters because I’m your best friend, and I care for you and the people you love and will love .”
Roseanne feels like it isn’t just curiosity, and there’s more to it. She wants to press it on her. To ask why she kind of sounds disappointed. But the words are stuck in her throat.
“And if it's him, then it's okay. Don’t worry, I can vouch for Evan,” Jennie continues. “He’s a good guy.”
“It’s not like that with him,” Roseanne quickly points out.
Jennie nods, her smile faint and tight. She’s not convinced.
“You know it’s okay, right? You don’t have to hide things from me—”
“ Love ,” Roseanne interjects. “I promise. We’re just friends.”
Jennie is taken aback. She looks at the younger, her eyes searching hers like she needs to hear it again. Louder this time. Clearer.
Then, without a warning, she steps forward and wraps her arms around Roseanne. Jennie had always been the affectionate one growing up. But Roseanne doesn’t know why the hug feels different, like Jennie’s not just hugging her.
She’s holding her. So tight, Roseanne almost believes it's not platonic anymore.
“Good,” Jennie whispers quietly; Roseanne barely catches it. “I’m glad.”
She was about to ask what Jennie meant, but the latter already pulled away and grabbed her things.
“Let’s go home ?” Jennie asks while stretching her hand out for her to take.
Roseanne hums and reaches for it, her heart still racing as she tries to absorb the warmth that Jennie’s hand brings.
She’s starting to hate this—whatever the hell Jennie means by that. How Jennie’s actions stir something deep within her, unsettling and unfamiliar. Something that blurs the boundary between friendship and something she can’t name yet or refuses to admit.
What frustrates her even more is how everything suddenly doesn't make sense. It’s confusing—how she can no longer separate what’s familial from what’s romantic.
And it scares her. It terrifies her that for Jennie, it may all be the former. That Roseanne may mistook everything as more than just a sibling-like affection. And that she’ll never get to escape the role of a “younger sister” in her eyes.
She’s afraid that what she feels goes deeper than she’s willing to admit. That this is far from infatuation. And she knows that Jennie’s reaction earlier was more than just relief, and she needs to know why.
"Hey, captain!"
The crowd roars. The whole stadium now fills with deafening noise from people's cheers and chants, each of them rooting for their college football team.
It's the finals. And once again, their team is up against the previous year's Collegiate Cup Champion. Roseanne has yet to be reminded of their loss last season.
Lisa claps to regain her attention.
"Focus, Chaeng!"
The final whistle looms closer. She looks at the sideline and sees everyone—Evan, who is busy covering the game, her juniors, her parents with her childhood friend's parents, waving at her enthusiastically—but Jennie.
Her last message crosses her mind. Jennie apologizes for being swamped with work, saying she has to comply because her future’s on the line but will try to make it to the game.
Roseanne has been receiving the same message from Jennie ever since she missed that one game , and every time, she was left staring at the same empty seat.
She feels another pat from Lisa.
"Please, cap. This is our last game. Let's win this."
Roseanne forces a smile and nods. Her teammates work hard for this, and she’s not going to ruin that for them just because of someone .
The ‘someone’ who used to drop everything for me.
"Alright, let's do this."
As the referee's whistle blew, Roseanne couldn't shake the thought of disappointment. They could win this; in fact, she’s certain they would. Yet, it is such a shame that Jennie wouldn't be there to witness it—their first victory after a string series of unfortunate losses.
What could be the end of painful defeats for Roseanne might be the beginning of Jennie’s missed victories.
Just like clockwork, Jennie finishes the last article and submits it to Mr. Baek. Her gaze keeps hovering over her wristwatch and then back to the monitor, waiting for an email confirmation from the latter.
She was running out of time. All the articles she needed to write as a requirement for an opportunity in the biggest broadcasting network in Korea had consumed her month; each deadline drags her further away from the field, further away from Roseanne.
When she receives the go signal, she bolts out of the office and immediately hails a cab.
The venue, which is held across the city, doesn't help much with her situation. She's glad that her mother keeps her updated while she's still away from the game.
"Come on," Jennie mumbles under her breath when she receives yet another update from her mother, saying there's only 10 minutes left before the end of the game.
When she reached the venue, she sprinted inside the stadium just in time to witness the final whistle. People inside erupt in cheers.
Jennie scans the field searching for her. She pushes through the crowd until she reaches her supposed seat. Roseanne's and her parents acknowledge her presence. They are happy that she made it, barely .
Jennie glances over the field and sees Roseanne being tackled playfully by Lisa, her teammates following. Her eyes then shift to the scoreboard, displaying their team's victory.
Oh my god. She did it. They won.
Jennie returns her gaze to the field and sees Evan approaching Roseanne. She sees her turn to him, her smile as bright as the stadium lights, and exchanges a few words before they share a laugh, with Evan ruffling her hair shortly after.
Jennie stands on the sidelines; her heart aches. She clenches the strap of her bag as she watches Roseanne bask in the celebration of their triumph with people who clearly adore her.
This is all about Rosie and her wins, Jennie. She reminds herself.
She lets her lips curve in a smile, pride swelling in her chest. Seeing Roseanne like this—confident, effortless, radiant, and undeniably in her field—made every frantic second spent to finish her work and get there worth it.
As Roseanne lifted their trophy with her teammates, her head turns toward the sidelines, unexpectedly meeting her eyes.
Across the field, she sees the younger halt and freeze, her ecstatic expression softening into something vulnerable. Jennie lifts a hand and waves. The younger's face lights up with recognition.
With all the noise filling the venue, Jennie knows her voice wouldn’t be heard, no matter how loud she shouts. Instead, she mouthed the words:
I'm so proud of you
Jennie's heart softens when Roseanne's smile grows. It feels like the entire world had paused, and it was just the two of them.
She doesn't move, letting Roseanne come to her whenever she's ready. She wants her to know that she's not going anywhere. That she'll just be there.
Then came a buzz from her phone, snapping her out of her reverie. An email from the broadcasting network forwarded by Mr. Baek flashes on the screen.
Congratulations on your acceptance—MBC Internship Program , the subject reads.
Jennie's heart rejoices. She didn't expect the news to come this soon.
She stares at the screen again, reading the message, feeling her chest swell with excitement. She then looks back at the field and witnesses the same smile mirroring hers.
Jennie wants to tell Roseanne. But tonight isn't about her.
She slides her phone back into her pocket. For now, she just wants to share this moment with Roseanne. Nothing mattered more than being there for her.
The rest could wait.
The drive home fills with a buzz of excitement, the evening air carrying the faint scent of victory. Roseanne and Jennie sit side by side in the backseat while Roseanne’s dad drives their seven-seater car. Jennie’s dad occupies the passenger’s while their moms sit in the middle.
“That was such a good game out there, Chaeng,” Jennie’s dad compliments.
“You’ve made us all so proud,” his dad adds.
Roseanne smiles at the praises. “Thank you, Dad, Uncle. It was a team effort, so props to them too.”
Jennie nudges her, their shoulders brushing while their hands intertwine.
“I’m sorry I missed most of it,” she mumbles, trying not to ruin the celebratory energy inside the car. “I did my best to make it, but I was short of time.”
“It’s fine, love. We won, and I’m glad you were there when that happened.”
Jennie hums and squeezes her hand. The gesture sends another flare into her chest.
"Speaking of wins, we've got some good news!" Roseanne's mom announces. "Do you want me to break it to them, honey?"
Roseanne suddenly feels uneasy, knowing what's about to come next.
Right, how could I forget?
"Just do it for her, darling," his dad chimes in.
"Okay, so the good news is, we've heard back from the scouts last week. They said they're interested in training Chaeyoung overseas!"
"Overseas?" Jennie's mom asks in excitement.
"Yes. Europe to be exact."
Roseanne feels Jennie's grip loose.
"Rosie…that's amazing," Jennie mutters.
She sees Jennie's eyes flicker, but the latter quickly recovers, forcing a smile.
"You deserve it."
Roseanne's attention doesn't leave Jennie, trying to read her reaction. And when she avoids her gaze, her chest tightens. This isn't exactly how she pictured tonight's celebration would be.
"And when will that be?" Jennie's dad asks.
"We decide it's best if she leaves right after graduation so that Chaeyoung can slowly adjust," his dad responds. "This is gonna be her big break."
She tries to reach for Jennie's hand, but the latter, as if sensing her action, immediately retracts. She feels her scooting further away, her gaze locked on the scenery outside.
"Well, it appears that Chaeyoung is not the only one who received good news," Jennie's mom mentions. "Jennie was also accepted to an internship in the biggest broadcasting network in Seoul."
"Really?" amusement fills Roseanne's voice.
"Yeah, I just found out," Jennie answers, her gaze now to their parents but her.
"That is a big deal, Jennie," Roseanne's dad says. “Both of you are now going separate places.”
"Beyond amazing," Roseanne's mom adds. "Tonight, we're celebrating the two of you."
When both of their parents shifted the topic, the weight of unspoken things between them hangs in the air like a thick fog. She feels the pull of a future that appears to stretch further away from the city. Away from Jennie, with every passing second.
Roseanne knows there isn't an easy way out of this.
Roseanne is sitting cross-legged on her bed, her hair wet from the post-graduation shower. Jennie stands in front, leaning on the door frame, with Roseanne’s cap and gown slung around her arm.
Their parents are downstairs, cleaning up and chatting with their invited guests. They just celebrated their graduation as well as a send-off party for Roseanne.
“So, you’re letting me keep these instead of putting it inside your closet?”
Roseanne hums. “Don’t I have my own space in your closet?”
“Point taken. Besides, I have your trophies in my room. I’ll probably just hang it there. My closet’s already full of your clothes; I may need to declutter.”
She doesn’t respond. Roseanne has a lot to say, but none of the words come out. With each passing moment, the weight pressing on her chest became heavier, a knot of emotions twisting her gut.
“Won’t you take something from me, too?” Jennie asks, finally breaking the silence. “Just for…remembrance?”
The room is dimly lit, and her bags are all ready packed on the floor. She looks up and motions for the older to sit beside her.
Jennie closes the door behind her, and instead of following Roseanne, she lays the cap and gown on her desk as she goes straight to the wall where Roseanne’s football-related posters, pictures of her team, and scattered polaroids of them—one of where little Roseanne and Jennie posed for the camera, grinning from ear to ear, covered in mud post-football match—hang.
She sees Jennie blink, stepping closer to the neatly taped newsprint. It is the article she’d written years ago, her first one, where she highlighted Roseanne’s starting journey as a highschool football player.
The article really wasn’t just all about her skills on the field and the praises she receive. Jennie’s words go beyond; sometimes Roseanne makes it hard to believe that Jennie sees her that way. Like it wasn’t meant for others to read. Like it was written just for her.
“Wait, where did the rest of my articles go?” Jennie asks when she notices that it was the only one pasted on the wall.
“Before you even asked me to take something from you, I already kept a collection of your written articles in my journal,” Roseanne answers. “I figured I’d leave that one here and take the rest with me.”
Jennie didn’t say anything more. She quietly turns around and sits on the bed, mirroring Roseanne. Now they’re facing each other. Jennie slowly leans forward, resting her head against Roseanne’s shoulder.
Roseanne doesn’t move; the gesture barely registers. She’s afraid Jennie notices the stiffness of her body before it relaxes.
“You’re really going, huh?”
Her throat tightens. No matter how much she tries to avoid this, she also thinks it’s the right time to have the talk. The only time. She doesn’t want to admit it’ll be the last.
“Yeah,” she exhales. “It still feels unreal, to be honest.”
“You think we’ll be okay?” Jennie mumbles softly, like she’s asking herself.
The words linger, a quiet recognition of the distance that is about to separate them.
It takes her back to the night of their first camping trip. They were both lying on the grass, staring up at the stars. Only the rustles of leaves can be heard, and the crackles of fire from the distance.
“You think we’ll always be like this? Together?” Young Jennie asked.
“Lying on the grass? Counting the stars?” Roseanne mumbles, her voice teasing. “I hope so.”
“No. Come on, I’m serious here,” Jennie points out. “What if we grow up and everything changes? ”
Roseanne glances over at her. “You know, mom told me some things don’t change, Jennie.”
“I hope we’re like that.”
Her heart sinks at the memory. She’s always been the strong one among them, but right now, she feels like she’s breaking.
“We’ll be okay, love.”
She feels Jennie move back. Slow, gentle. Their faces are still inches apart.
“I…I never wanted you to go,” she confesses.
Her eyes search for Roseanne, prompting her to say something.
“You don’t have to go, lovie.”
Roseanne’s breath hitches, her heart pounding. There it is again: the confusion, her emotions swirling.
She wants to risk it all now. To tell Jennie that she’s afraid. That she never wanted to go, too. That she’ll unpack right away and spend every waking day with her instead if she told her to.
But she’s not ready to take that step yet. Doesn’t know if Jennie is even on board with this.
“I…I can’t,” she responds. “I can’t stay, Jennie.”
Jennie's gaze doesn’t leave her for a moment. It lingered for a while until she saw liquid forming on her lashes. Jennie immediately blinks, her head now low.
“I know,” she says, her voice full of resignation…and acceptance.
Silence drapes over them again. But this time, it feels different. It’s a comfortable silence, carrying the quiet understanding that even without words, they both know the truth.
Roseanne finally allows herself to admit—Jennie is more than just a childhood friend. More than the girl she grew up with. More than just a face she's grown accustomed to.
Jennie holds her heart, and that’s what makes leaving terrifying—because it means leaving her .
Jennie never showed up.
Not on the porch of their residence. Not when Roseanne’s dad was still warming up the engine. Not during the ride to the airport.
Roseanne has expected it. Deep down, she knows. The signs were all there—Jennie’s quiet distance last night, the absence in her eyes, the sorrow in her voice.
Yet she still searches for her.
Inside the gates. At the crowd. At the people rushing by.
She closes her eyes for a moment, her breath shaky.
She isn’t mad. After all, Jennie has put her first. Always.
It was Jennie who told me to chase my dreams.
With her boarding announcement, Roseanne turns toward the gate, each step heavier.
Inside the plane, with her being thousands of feet above, Roseanne stares at the notebook on her tray table—a gift from Jennie, given to her the night before she left.
Taking a deep breath, she flips it open, leaving the first page as it is, and turns to the next. She picks her pen, the weight of it grounding her, and begins to write.
When she reaches half of the paper, she pauses, her pen hovering over the page. She feels a sting on the corner of her eyes and blinks rapidly, inhaling deeply before she continues.
Jennie, I fear that loving you this much has its consequences. Has its sacrifices.
Perhaps it never occurred to me.
To love you this much is to lose you, too.
Roseanne lay stretched out on her apartment, her body tired from the previous match. She glances outside the window, seeing the landscapes now covered with snow. The hum of the city outside is muffled, and the chilly weather prompts her to make herself a coffee.
It has been years—five, maybe six—since she’d last heard of Jennie. It was the night before her departure.
As soon as she sets her mug on the desk, she opens her laptop and hovers over MBC’s latest news. It has become her habit to check Jennie’s latest article. Every time she sees her name, she immediately opens the link; she’s that familiar that she’s not even surprised if she’s asked to do it with her eyes closed.
It’s how she keeps updates from the older. The bitter truth sits in her throat. She'll be lucky if she ever finds a recent photograph of her from the credits.
Roseanne reaches for her mug, but the warmth has already left. She shakes her head, closes the laptop, and makes her way into the kitchen, pouring the cold coffee down the sink.
Her gaze suddenly shifts over the pile of mail in front of her.
Her blood leaves her body when her fingers brush over an envelope. Her heart picks up when she finds Jennie’s name written on it.
Her hand finds its way onto the envelope, grazing over the looping handwriting of her name. The delicate curls are staring back at her; the faint smudge of ink is quite telling.
It’s as if someone’s hand has trembled while writing it.
“To Roseanne,” she mumbles under her breath.
Roseanne hesitates. Part of her wants to set it aside, to save herself from the emotions Jennie may stir. But another part—a stronger, more desperate part—craves to know what lies within.
With a shaking hand, she opens the envelope and finds multiple letters.
She sits on her desk and reads the first one.
To my dearest Roseanne,
I honestly don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe it’s the quiet of the night, and the stillness makes me ache for the sound of your voice. Maybe I’ve had enough drinks that I’m starting to see your face everywhere.
Or maybe because I’ve had an epiphany.
When your mom asked me for a favor, I didn’t hesitate to visit home. Besides, Seoul is only kilometers away from Busan. She insists I stay in your room to spend the night.
I couldn’t help but rummage through your things. I missed you too much; your almost empty room brought so much ache within me. That’s where I found the notebook I gifted you when you turned 15. I remembered it was the start of your interest in writing. You even mentioned it as your new rant space because you know I won’t always be there to listen and that you needed a makeshift place for your vulnerability.
I later found out that the favor was actually just your mom asking me to come home because she missed you and I'm the closest thing that reminds her of you.
I realized, how can someone so far away still take up so much space in mind?
The words you wrote here only bring me back to the summers we spent beneath the trees. Of quiet autumn evenings. Of laughter shared in secret spaces. Of couches we crashed, all spent bearing our weights.
Well, I don't mean to make this letter long. I should probably end here. The way I can hear your laughter even if you’re miles apart gave it away.
I’m happy where you are right now, Rosie. I really do.
But I hope you haven’t forgotten home.
Always with you,
Jennie.
The words swim before her eyes as she blinks rapidly, forcing herself to keep going. She can’t break on the first letter. Not when she finally had the chance to know what’s going on with Jennie.
She holds the letter close to her chest for a moment before carefully unfolding the next.
Every letter felt like a part of Jennie’s soul; a glimpse of her emotions kept locked away for so long. Some were about her reminiscing. Others were congratulatory messages of every match she won. Mostly it’s about everyone back home missing her.
By the time she reached the last letter, she felt a sinking feeling in her chest. Her heart aches with the realization of how much she has missed.
To my dearest Roseanne,
I fear that the letters before this only contain my longing for you. I wouldn't even deny that.
I'm also not sure if I should write again without making this letter revolve entirely around missing you. The truth is, I find this harder than I thought it would be. Harder than the articles I've written. I realized words don't come as easily as they used to. Not when it comes to you.
The night before you left still haunts me. It was also the last time we spoke to each other.
When we sat on your bed, I felt you holding back. Neither of us said what we really wanted to say.
I think about that moment a lot, you know? About the words I should have spoken. About the words I should have heard from you.
Remember when you asked me why I always show up for you? Why do things about Evan matter? Why do I care so much?
The truth is, I care because you're someone whom I treasure so much, I'd carry every memory I have with you in my grave. I always make sure you're okay, without even asking myself the same thing. If I am okay without you here. Rosie, I couldn't see myself in a world without you in it. I never could imagine.
I don't know if this is also something you want to hear, but I know I have to say this.
I love you, Rosie.
I love you in every way I know how.
It reaches for you, stretching across my chest with the weight of a thousand wishes.
And by the time you received these letters, years probably had passed, as I intended it to be. Knowing you, you’d drop everything and book the earliest flight to Busan once you read my confession. I couldn't afford to ruin your dreams. Not when you're starting to build a name for yourself.
If I was wrong and that you don’t feel the same, write me back. Tell me the things I have missed so that I won't ask for your presence here, because I don't know how far this thing with me could go. I don't know how many letters will be left unsent after this.
Rosie, I fear it may fall shy of forever.
But if I'm right, I'll wait for you. No matter how long it takes. Because one thing's for sure: I will always love you. Always.
Yours,
Jennie
Jennie sits by the window, the glow of warm string lights illuminates their front porch. It’s a holiday, and it has been a long-held tradition to celebrate Christmas with her and Roseanne’s family in Busan.
The letters were sent months ago, yet she never heard any response from her. She remembered writing those years ago with the intention of keeping it to herself. But, as she finally writes her unspoken confession, she decides it’s about time Roseanne knew of it.
It took Jennie years to admit her feelings. When Roseanne left, she felt the distance grow between them. She was convinced that it was better that way. She’ll let Roseanne move on and thrive in her profession without Jennie ruining it for her. Besides, she believed she didn’t deserve Roseanne for not showing up to her when it mattered the most.
Writing the letters was not as easy as she thinks it should be. Though it was bearable compared to sending it, because writing it doesn’t require an immediate response.
She tells herself she isn’t waiting. But deep down, she just doesn’t want to spend yet another Christmas without her.
“Honey, will you please tend to the porch?” Jennie’s mom asks when a car engine hums outside. “It’s probably them.”
Jennie hurries outside, expecting only the Parks. She doesn’t even entertain the idea of anyone else. It seems too far-fetched.
So imagine her surprise when she sees Roseanne trailing behind her parents, bundled in a thick coat, a cozy scarf snuggly wrapped around her neck.
“Hi,” Roseanne greets.
Jennie blinks. Roseanne’s parents already invited themselves inside, leaving only the two of them on the porch.
“H–hello,” Jennie responds, her voice trembling. “You’re…here.”
“I’m here,” she confirms.
“Rosie, I didn’t think you'd come home.”
The younger hesitantly takes a step closer, reaching for the hand that has been begging to be held.
“You were right when you said I’d take the earliest flight; have I known sooner about that letter, Jennie.”
Jennie swallows hard, her chest tightening. Is this even real?
“I couldn’t stay away,” Roseanne continues. “Not after your letter. Not after everything.”
Her breath hitches, her eyes searching Roseanne’s face. She thinks it’s time to let her know what she truly feels, even though it was all in the letter.
Jennie shifts closer, their boots touching. She feels her heart pounding against her chest.
“I love you, Rosie,” she confesses, her voice soft but sure. “I have loved you for as long as I can remember.”
She feels a hand cupping her cheek, her thumb grazing over her skin.
“I know,” Roseanne says. “I love you, too. I’ve been in love with you for years.”
“Really?”
Roseanne nods, her smile breaking through her tears.
“Even before I knew it.”
Jennie smiles, her chest swells with warmth.
What they have is messy, yet real. All their shared histories, quiet heartbreaks, and undeniable truths can attest to that.
They love so deeply that sometimes it hurts more than it heals. But neither of them can imagine a life without the other.
Heaven wouldn’t even know what to do with them.
She feels the younger leans in. Jennie meets her halfway, their foreheads touching. Then, with a softness that feels unfamiliar yet intimate, their lips meet.
It was a kiss that feels like coming home. As if all the longing, all the unspoken feelings buried deep down for so long, has led them to this moment. It was everything they had ever hoped for.
The past, the fears, the years of silence—it all melted away with that kiss, leaving nothing but a promise of what is to come.