Unsweetheart

You raise your palm. “Professor, I would like to propose an interpretation besides the literal.”

Besides the literal? Behind the lectern, the age-old literature professor contemplates the passage again before motioning for you to continue.

“While the author does well in establishing the heroine’s emotional detachment, I argue that she actually isn’t averse to philia, eros, or agape. In the latter paragraphs, it can be inferred that she does yield to the comforts of love; the tragedy of the story rests in her belief that all loves simply exist unmeant for her.” You pause. “Our heroine is not sociopathic, Professor. She’s just an unsweetheart.”

“An unsweetheart!” The professor laughs heartily in exalted surprise. “A brilliant interpretation, Miss L/N! It’s the first of its kind that I’ve heard in all my classes…”

At recess, you return from the bathroom to find a banana-flavored milk drink sitting innocently atop your desk.

Inspecting it thoroughly, you think, Is it from Hana? From Jimin?

There is no one else in the classroom but the Min twins, and given your brash history, you decide against asking them about your secret gift giver.

You poke the straw through and sip appreciatively.

Although, if this is some sort of sick ploy, at least you will be the first casualty of poisoning by banana milk, and what a way to go.

The following school day, you’re surprised to see the latest volume of the manga you’ve been reading in your shoe locker. You head to the council room to interrogate the only other person you know who reads Chihayafuru.

“Not me, but a certain pair of twins have been asking about you and the things you like.” Seokjin singsongs. “If that’s all, can you close the door on your way out? I’m… busy.”

There’s a hum of agreement from under the council table.

Your eyes narrow in disgust. “Stop making them suck you off here, you vile bastard,” you grumble. “Have some integrity.”

Seokjin’s laughter fades as you slam the door shut.

It turns out you don’t even have the time to ponder the implications of the Min twins asking around about you. Come dismissal time, you round the university lobby to see Min Yoonji already at the shoe locker area, idling right at your designated cabinet but feigning disinterest.

Apprehensive, you decide to ignore her presence as you change out of your indoor shoes. When you retrieve your schoolbag from the floor and turn to the exit doorways, Yoonji suddenly props her left leg against the opposing metal shelving, preventing your escape.

Sharply, you match her gaze full-on. Crossing your arms over your chest, you mutter low, “I thought you were waiting for your brother.”

Yoonji smirks. “My brother… The one whose eye you socked?”

“Of course. Is there any other?”

Yoonji surveys your face for a moment, before her own facial features relax and she stifles a small snort. “I wish. Are you walking home today, Y/N?”

You look at her weirdly. “Min Yoonji-ssi. We have not been introduced. You’re acting a lot like—”

“But we already know each other, don’t we?” Yoonji interjects. You’re evidently taken aback by her bluntness, and Yoonji clarifies, “You know. One unsweetheart to another.”

Your eyes narrow. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but—”

“Yoonji?” Min Yoongi’s voice interrupts, and the two of you turn see Yoonji’s twin arrive at what’s sure to be a strange-looking scene. “What’s this? What’s happening here?”

Yoonji barely spares her twin a glance. “I’m making friends,” she answers dryly. Finally, she puts her leg down and nudges at your gym bag. “Y/N. Need help with that?”

One unsweetheart to another, Yoonji had said. I’m making friends. You want to more time to consider what the hell is happening, decide how to take it, anticipate if it’s just another ruse to watch out for but—

You hum and hear yourself saying, “Sure.”

Surprisingly, Hana doesn’t have anything against your newfound friendship with the Min twins. Mainly because she’s too busy stuffing her tongue down Son Songgeuk’s throat at the practice studio during school hours and, well, not school hours.

One time, she catches Yoongi leaving an umbrella at your desk after you rush to the clinic to change out of your rain-soaked blouse, and so she tells you when you walk home together, “I think Yoongi likes you.”

There’s no contempt whatsoever in her tone. You take note of this and hum.

“Anyway, I think I learned my lesson…” Hana tells you. “Songgeuk. He’s nice. He helped me realize.”

You quirk a curious brow. “Realize what?”

“That there’s an insanity to me. To my girlness,” she clarifies. “And that makes me precious.”

You stare at Hana quietly before looking away, staring at a far distance.

You smile.

When you receive a text message from Yoonji that says Come over, let’s play during one weekend, you immediately know the video game she’s been waiting months for has been released. You’re pleased for her.

After having you over multiple times, Yoonji’s given you the keycode to her and Yoongi’s uptown apartment – a private place they stay in when they’re avoiding their parents’ presence at the main Min residence.

There’s a warm feeling inside you whenever you think about how comfortable they’ve become around you. You can’t help it – the Min twins have grown on you.

Without anything better to do, you decide to leave the solace of your bed and pay Yoonji a visit, except…

“Hnngh…”

You barely make it past the apartment entryway when you hear the unmistakable sounds of Yoonji… moaning?

Your steps take you closer but far enough. With the bedroom door slightly ajar, you can see Yoongi and Yoonji teasing each other, pale hands busily kneading, exploring.

Yoongi looks like he’s just gotten home from another ball game – skin slightly damp with sweat, cheeks flushed – and Yoonji’s her usual self: mocking, bratty.

Until she pulls her twin by the collar, pink lips on each other, and when they break apart, she murmurs, “I really wanna share her… oppa.”

Yoongi all but growls.

You only watch until you hear Yoongi’s zipper coming undone, and then you’re turning back to make your way home.

.-.-.-.

“Hey, how come you couldn’t make it last night?” Yoonji greets when you slide into your classroom seat the next morning.

You don’t meet her eyes when you answer, “My father was home. Naturally, mom wanted to play pretend family.” You sigh, as if annoyed. “You’d think being defense minister he’d stop terrorizing people at dinner, but no.”

Yoongi didn’t look up from his gameboy. “Are you an only child?”

“Not telling.”

He throws you an odd look. “Why not?”

“What, so you can analyze me?” You snap. Remembering to take a deep breath to calm yourself, you say in lieu of the turmoil in your mind, “Anyway, do you two want to come over after school?”

“To meet your father?”

“No, Yoongi.” you laugh. “He rarely stays when he visits.”

“To hang out, then.”

“Yeah?”

Yoonji grins. “Sounds fun.”

.-.-.-.

The townhouse you live in isn’t anything like the Min family’s residential mansion. But while you and your mother prepare simple snacks in the kitchenette, Yoongi and Yoonji stay back in your room to take in the practical size of it at their own pace.

You’re someone alone now, Yoongi realizes. With the sparsely placed photographs on your study desk, he puts together the timeline and the remaining pieces of a broken family. As the defense minister’s secret illegitimate child, it’s no surprise you’re someone who’s learned to stand up for yourself. You’ve probably had people use you before, threaten you, make you a weakness, tell you you’re weak.

Yoonji surmises you’ve been told to sit pretty all your life and accept it. In fact, there’s a pitying glaze to her eyes when you walk back into your room, and you roll your eyes at her when you set the tray of snacks down the table.

You’re about to tell her off, but then Yoongi picks up a stack of forms off of your study desk. “What’s all this?”

“I was looking into college scholarship programs,” you sheepishly admit. “I want to do interior design. It’s dumb, I know. I can’t afford it.”

Yoongi just hums. The twins themselves are doomed to inherit their parents’ multibillion-dollar empire. They have money but no ambition. Unlike you, they don’t have dreams. Just each other.

But still. There’s a sketchbook of flowers and watercolor animals on your desk. A basket of yarns and knitting needles in one corner, an unfinished blue scarf. A stack of self-learning books for Mandarin. A 56-key electronic piano.

You see Yoongi squinting at the single photo on the window ledge. You tell him it’s not you.

“I had a twin.” You say in the silence. “We used to share this room, but I burned her bed. Eomma threw it out.”

You continue, “She passed back when we were in our first year of high school. Suicide. Our father’s a big, important man, and some girls found out we weren’t… legitimate. You know how it is. She was the softer one. The bullying got to her.” Your jaw clenched as you remembered, “She threw this big tantrum for a week, trying to get appa to answer her calls. He wouldn’t, because what else would he say? We were the mistakes of an affair. He was married. He already had a step-son. A rightful heir. But my sister was so, so angry. It was all quick. I couldn’t reach her anymore.” Your voice quivered as you looked out the rocking chair out the small balcony. “I found her unresponsive, right there. She took a lot of sleeping pills. There was an unlit cigarette between her lips.” You think she was trying to poke fun at your mother’s vice that way one final time. “She was fifteen.”

“So… this is me.” You say without aplomb, gesturing around your mildly cluttered but otherwise simple room. “My life’s pretty fucked up. In my house, in my school, maybe even the old lady living the down the street, I’m surrounded by sociopaths. I don’t know how, but it doesn’t get to me. I’m just out here looking out for myself. I read, I knit, I tinker with the piano sometimes. You’ll bore of me eventually,” you tell them. “My bed’s not actually large enough for three-person sleepover, so when the two of you have had your fill of looking around, you can stop this nonsense with me and leave me alone.”

Yoonji looks up from one of your favorite books, old and annotated with your reflections through the years. She notes how white your knuckles are from how hard you’re clenching your fists onto the fabric of your trousers and places it down.

“Your bed fits a ten-year-old,” Yoongi agrees, softly. “Want to have the sleepover at ours instead?”

“The world is fucked up.” Yoonji places her hand on top of yours, her thumb passing back and forth your knuckles to soothe you. “And you’ve been so strong without anyone.” She tells you. “You don’t have to be.”

All at once, Yoonji remembers all the men who’d tried to hurt her. Use her. She remembers how satisfying it was to watch them realize she wasn’t just a spare.

When a tear falls from your unblinking eye, Yoonji leans forward and kisses it away. You keep your chin up, but your lips are trembling.

You’ve never been kissed that way before.

“If you hurt me at all,” you threaten, “I’ll rip your head right off. I’m not scared of you at all.”

Yoongi lets out a scoffing laugh, stands and dusts himself off. He offers his hand to you, and after staring him down you take it. Yoonji rises with you.

“If I hurt you at all,” Yoongi says, taking your wrist, “Stab me right here.” He taps at the middle of his left eye.

You hold his gaze and nod once, slow.

“You bet.” Yoonji smiles. “Break my shoulder, too.”

Jung Hoseok feels like he might just skin someone alive. His father is at the head of the table, lecturing him about what it means to be a virtuous man.

“Now I’ve made mistakes myself,” His father says, two hours in, “I’ve wronged my wife – who only stayed with me out of obligation – and although you were her son before you were mine, I had to take accountability for us. Our marriage. We live with the consequences of our actions, Hoseok.”

What his father has really been trying to say is this: Hoseok has a half-sister. Not even biological – Hoseok’s mother had him in her teenage years, too; two years before she met his step-father in a military base in Jeju.

“She’s four years your junior,” His father continues, ”She goes by the surname of her mother. I provide for them, but they live a simpler life. And as agreed upon with your mother, her mother, and myself, I mostly only provide for her education.”

There must be a reason his father is putting him through this long-winded hell of a lecture. Stone-faced, Hoseok asks, “Why are you telling me all this now? You know I don’t intrude in matters between you and mother.”

“Because in my last will… I leave half of everything to you, and half to her.” His father’s mouth twists. “You’re both my children. I want you to respect this.”

At this admission, Hoseok’s eyes darken.

But then he breathes in a new breath and the smile on his face is perfect again.

“A sister, you say?”

You find yourself sitting across your supposed half-brother at one of the dining rooms at a private, traditional restaurant.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I rushed to here from school.” you say. Kneeling into your seat, you glance at Jung Hoseok, and then at the vacant seat at the head of the table. You bow your head slightly. “My name is L/N Y/N.”

“Jung Hoseok.”

“How will you allow me to address you?”

The formally dressed man hums at that, lifting the jade teacup to his lips as he considers you. Appearance-wise, he sees you take after your mother, and with your behavior, he gathers that you’re civil and mature enough for your age.

“Well, how do you think you should address your older brother Hoseok?” He asks, daring.

Your mouth thins into a fine line, and Hoseok fights the urge to sneer.

At your silence, he notes the badge on your school blazer. “You go to Scouts’ Academy.” Your expression is so guarded that he laughs. “I did, too. Are you doing well in school?”

You give a curt nod. He notices you glance at the vacant seat again and he explains, “Ah, right, I lied. Father isn’t coming tonight.” You tense up and he smiles, angelic again. “I wanted to meet the girl that’s taking half of my inheritance.”

You drop your gaze, staring at your plate of untouched sashimi. “That’s what this is about? The inheritance?”

Hoseok actually sneers now. “Did you think I called you here as family?”

His bravado falters when you speak into the quiet, “...Yes. I guess that’s on me.”

Before Hoseok can consider that you may actually be one of the good ones, you open your mouth to speak again.

“You don’t have to antagonize me. Your mother and her friends have done very well on that regard for most of my life,” you say, standing up. “That inheritance… I don’t want any of it. Keep it all. I’m sure you have a legal contact who can write up a waiver for my half. I’ll sign it.” You pause. “If she were still here this would be a different conversation, but—” Your breathing shakes bad at her memory, so take your bag and move to leave instead.

You give a parting bow.

“It was nice to meet you, Jung Hoseok-ssi. Goodbye.”