#divination algorithms

[aesethewitch]

Shufflemancy 101: A Brief History & Analysis

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The difficulty with researching something like shufflemancy is that it's a relatively modern phenomenon. I haven't yet found anyone (online or in a book) specifically talking about the origins of shufflemancy as a term or where it might've come from.

So, we start from square one.

What is Shufflemancy?

According to Wikipedia, shufflemancy is divination "by the use of an electronic media player such as an electronic playlist, iPod, or other medium wherein one skips a certain number of songs and the lyrics and/or tune of the song is the answer to the divinatory question."

Simple enough. Use an electronic collection of music that's been shuffled to divine.

This did lead me to the question: What counts as shufflemancy? Does tuning into a radio station count?

It's my opinion that radio divination does not count. There's no shuffle function. Yes, it has an element of chance, and that's what makes it divination. It certainly falls under the wider umbrella of divination via music, too. But it isn't shufflemancy if it doesn't make use of a shuffle function.

So, to make things simple, for something to be shufflemancy, it must:

Use an electronic medium

Involve a randomized shuffle function

Be something the shufflemancer can interpret to answer a question (pretty much anything)

Early Shufflemancy

The earliest form of shufflemancy as we understand it today, using the above requirements, would probably be tape players capable of shuffling music. With the nature of tape, it would take a while for the thing to wind and rewind to find the cue on the tape which signaled the start or end of a song, but it'd work.

With that said, shuffling as we understand and recognize it today would've started with CDs in the 1980s. There were CD players that could hold three to five disks at a time. They could shuffle songs between all disks held in the player, creating a random mix of tunes for listeners to enjoy.

Using either of these methods for divination would work, technically. The results would be somewhat limited, but that doesn't mean it's a bad method to use. Especially if your CD player could hold 5 disks, you could easily put in 5 albums from different artists with all different vibes for a wider variety of outputs.

I certainly remember using my little blue radio that held two CDs at once like this. I'd put in two albums and hit shuffle, and the first song that played would be my vibe and advice for the day. It was divination -- some of the earliest I'd ever done consciously, at the young age of nine. And when I got the bigger one that held three CDs? Game changer.

So this puts shufflemancy's origins somewhere around the mid-to-late 1980s, when Sony put out the first CD player with shuffle. As we moved into the 1990s, CDs became more popular and cassettes faced obsolescence.

The Shuffle Revolution & Early Modern Shufflemancy

In 2005, Apple changed the game again. It had already debuted the iPod in 2001, providing an easy, pocket-sized music experience as a direct challenge to the CD's cultural domination. On January 11, 2005, nearly 20 years ago, Apple announced the iPod Shuffle.

And oh, boy, did it change everything.

I could talk forever about the iPod's impact on the music industry, the death of the in-order album, and the eventual rise of music streaming services. But others have done that to death, so I'll focus in on our topic of shufflemancy.

This is where we start seeing shuffling music as it is now, in the modern day. In my digging, I found mentions of the term "shufflemancy" as early as 2007 -- just two years after the iPod Shuffle was announced. Someone proposed the concept and terminology of "shufflemancy" as we understand it today on a Halfbakery Forum "Idea" post on October 3, 2007.

It's difficult to say whether this is the first instance of the term. In reality, shufflemancy seems to have emerged as a natural by-product of the evolution of music technology. Where there is innovation, witches and diviners will mold it to their purposes. We're a resourceful bunch like that. It grew organically as we moved from buying albums to buying singles to streaming music without buying at all.

People were offering public shufflemancy readings as early as 2009 in places like TarotForum.net. It's spoken about during this era as a "silly" and "new" form of divination that people were trying out. There aren't any dates in that link, but according to the website's data, the first post in the thread was published on June 16, 2009.

From there, shufflemancy saw a gradual rise in popularity. It evolved from using iPods to iTunes, Napster, and eventually Spotify as these new applications emerged.

Shufflemancy Now

If you look up "shufflemancy" using Spotify's search function, you'll receive dozens of results. Many of the top playlists are public ones curated by shufflemancers for themselves and others to use. Options range from general playlists to "mega mixes" containing upwards of 200 hours of music from all different genres, artists, and eras. There are some with a paltry five hours of music, while one that I've seen goes up over the 600 hour mark. (If I can find that one again, I'll reblog it, because... damn.)

Select a "messages from your guides" option from the search or curate your own -- the choice is yours. For one-time shufflemancers, using a pre-made option may be the best, most economical choice. But dedicated shufflemancers sometimes boast multiple hundred-hour playlists for different purposes, all personally curated.

Clearly, it's popular. There are shufflemancers on Tumblr and Etsy offering free and paid services using their specially curated playlists. A quick search is all you need to find someone receiving a divinatory reading via song lyrics, meanings, and vibes. And it seems to work -- sellers on Etsy boast hundreds of positive reviews. Some even offer playlist curation services for personal shufflemancy or messages from deities and/or spirits.

It all begs the question, how does shufflemancy work?

Shufflemancy Methodology

Finding this is significantly easier than pinning down the history of shufflemancy. This post from Tumblr user orriculum, sums it up fairly well. So does this one by the-daily-diviner.

To do shufflemancy, the basic steps are:

Create or find a playlist of songs. A large collection seems to be the most favorable option for a wide spread of possibilities.

Ask a question. Divination 101 -- figure out what you want to know and ask it. Simple enough.

Pick a number. Choose any number and shuffle that many times or skip that many songs.

Listen to the song. Write down lyrics that stick out, messages that come through, and anything else that seems relevant (genre, tempo, vibe, etc.)

Interpret. Take the information gathered during the song and use it to draw conclusions, just like any other form of divination.

Simple enough. Shufflemancy is the sort of method that requires a high level of intuitive thinking. It's very mutable and suits a good amount of personalization.

This is both good and bad, I think. It would be incredibly easy to create a bias in your shufflemancy playlists by selecting songs with primarily one genre, artist, album, emotion, or through-line. The ideal playlist really does have a wide variety of music, and this means selecting songs that the shufflemancer doesn't necessarily like. We all have a genre or artist we hate; excluding an entire genre skews results. Impartial selections of music are critical to the success of good divination. Otherwise, we risk interfering with the outcome.

And speaking of interfering...

The Algorithm Problem

(Note: I'm focusing in on Spotify since it's very commonly used and because it's accessible to me. Shufflemancy can be (and is!) done with plenty of other apps like Apple Music.)

When Spotify was originally launched, it used a version of the Fisher-Yates Shuffle to perform its shuffling of music. In essence, this algorithm takes a finite sequence of data, picks an option from that selection of data, and removes it from the pool. Then, it picks another and another until no more options remain.

At first glance, this seems great! It creates a fairly random output. But as is the nature of randomness, there were clusters. The same artist would play four or five times in a row from a large playlist, and Spotify users complained. It was random, but it didn't feel that way.

The human brain is wired to find connections and patterns. When the same artist plays over and over again despite a playlist being on shuffle mode, it creates a pattern that the brain recognizes. Therefore, the "true" randomness of clustering outputs was unsatisfactory.

So, in 2014, Spotify updated it. Their new algorithm would detect and remember the song it just played and, in shuffling, account for the artist and album to provide a more random-feeling result. The new algorithm detects what's already played and selects accordingly to prevent the same artist from playing twice in a row, just as it prevents the same song from playing twice. It spreads artists out evenly (though not perfectly, to maintain the illusion of randomness) to provide an enhanced listening experience.

What does this mean for shufflemancy, then? If Spotify's algorithm is interfering in the output provided from a playlist, does that mean it's not a reliable form of divination?

At first, I wasn't so sure. I adjusted my thinking -- if a tarot app was preventing certain cards from being drawn (or from being drawn in a particular order) because I'd already drawn them that day or week, would that render the app unreliable? And the answer was yes. It would! It removes the random element from the method, therefore making it not true divination by my definition.

So shufflemancy with Spotify isn't (good) divination, then. Right?

My Opinion & Theory

In thinking about this further, I think it comes down to personal opinion. People certainly have success with shufflemancy via Spotify, or else they wouldn't do it. They definitely wouldn't offer their services (free or otherwise) if they weren't confident in the results it provides.

Thinking that way, I believe there's a way to off-set the algorithm's interference. With enough songs in a playlist, the random element is enhanced despite the algorithm. Not by having the same song multiple times (Spotify would surely detect this and prevent it from playing), but perhaps the same song covered by different artists. Songs with the same vibe, the same meaning, similar lyrics... AND songs from a wide variety of artists and genres, regardless of whether the shufflemancer likes the songs or not.

The person with that 600+ hour playlist for shufflemancy has it right, I think. That's the key. Variety and volume to make up for Spotify's algorithmic shuffler.

Additionally, in listening to my many, many Spotify playlists, I noticed something. If I'm listening to a playlist on shuffle and decide I want a specific song, I can choose to play it immediately. Afterwards, songs I've already heard might play. It seems as though doing this resets the shuffling algorithm in some way. Doing this in combination with a large and varied playlist might be the key to making shufflemancy in Spotify truly, fully reliable.

My Next Steps

Obviously, scholarly research only goes so far in situations like this. In order to properly gauge the accuracy of shufflemancy, I'll have to do it myself.

First, I'll need a playlist. I have a handful of playlists that sit in the hundred-hour range, but they're curated with friends for specific vibes. They're not really suitable for shufflemancy. So making one for myself is step one. I'll use premade playlists as a springboard for ideas, but the end result will be my own. For transparency, I'll make the playlist public and share it as part of the next edition in this series of posts.

The next step is to just... do it. Do the divinations, and do them regularly. Instead of a daily tarot card, I'll do a daily shuffle. I'll form "spreads" and put together a more in-depth methodology that fits my style as it develops.

Then, finally, maybe public ones? For reviews and feedback, obviously. It's one thing to do divination for myself -- confirmation bias and all -- but to do it for others and to be open for immediate feedback is entirely different.

Last, it's a matter of compiling my findings into a coherent document. Easier said than done, but done it must be.

Resources

I pulled from a lot of places for this one. Massive thanks to the Crossroads Discord for listening to me yell about divination for the last several weeks. It will continue.

In any case, here are all the resources I referenced for this leg of research:

Wikipedia - The Fisher-Yates Shuffle

Wikipedia - Methods of Divination

Wikipedia - The iPod Shuffle

PopSci - History of Shuffling Music

Engineering at Spotify - How to Shuffle?

The Verge - The Mixed-Up History of the Shuffle Button

Auntie PanPan (YouTube) - Shufflemancy - What IS It?!?

Halfbakery - Shufflemancy Idea Post

Fox and Faith Wordpress - Radio Divination and Intentional Living in Your Day to Day

Scientific American - How Randomness Rules Our World and Why We Cannot See It

PC World - The CD Player Turns 30

Make Use Of - How Spotify's Shuffle Feature Really Works

Orriculum on Tumblr - Post on shufflemancy technique

The-Daily-Divinre on Tumblr - Post on shufflemancy technique

Empirical Zeal - What Does Randomness Look Like?

[groovygrub]

[hexxed-angel]

i get obsessed 📺🚬

[ebonyseuphoriatarot]

[surrounded-by-fuckups]

I just clicked on a Game Grumps episode at random and in the suggestions I see a Prilosec ad I need you all to understand that this is the happiest I’ve ever been

[playstation7app2]

Predict the future using the bible and Isaac Newton's algorithm, we prove it in this video #BambiPrescott #Isabella #ClaireJorifValentineSaintJoseph #Magdalena

[ghastigiggles]

I’m pretty new to Pressure (and Tumblr in general🤠), and this is the very first blog that was recommended in my feed and tags for #roblox pressure, but like why tickles?? No hate, it’s great to see so much variety within the tumblr community (and I love ur artwork btw, it’s adorable😃), but why did this blog get recommended first? Just coincidence orrr? Is that just how the Tumblr algorithm works??? Again, no hate love ur art is good yummers🤠

I appreciate a question asked in good faith with no judgement! In answer; uhhhhhhhh idk. I just think characters are cute when they laugh and tickling is very versatile as a vehicle for fluff.

As far as reccomendations; the Tumblr algorithm baffles even me. I think it might just be because some of my posts are pretty popular rn (for the record, none of my posts have ever gone beyond 100 notes before I started Pressureposting lmfao) so it could be that? shrugs. thanks for stoppin by and being so polite though! o7 happy to have you here!

[randomnumbers751650]

My For You tab has two moods: tankie propaganda and tradcath chauvinism

[dogmasquerade]

[hazellvsq]

i don't care for frazel unless its actively acknowledging that hazel is a dead person and thusly serving a narrative purpose. i do not know any "co-praetors" i am watching corpse bride.

[itsmybirthdaythough]

Let me preface this micro-essay by saying I truly do not think robots, androids, or any highly advanced AI will EVER be able to replace humans. This is a long overdo speech of possible differences/similarities between a mechanical mind, and an organic brain.

First off, AI (the umbrella term i’ll be using for any sort of mechanical thinking machine) can only be programmed to respond or “feel” a certain way due to hyper specific inputs, and produce an output reminiscent of organic emotion.

While some may argue we do the same for our children by teaching them “good” and “bad” ways to react when faced with certain inputs, humans have to freewill to form new emotions, and discover certain outputs without interference of a programmer.

TLDR: Code cannot learn unless given the task to take in more information. To be coded to learn is not true learning, only success on the programmers behalf. Humans learn because it’s all they know how to do, and AI regurgitates their experiences to assimilate.

All of that being said, are we programmed in god’s image ? Are we pulling from some sort of divine framework in order to honor an entity that we will never see , similar to computers, and their endless devotion to an individual they’ll never truly know ?

Yes, i think so.

I don’t wanna spout off some”oh we were made in god’s image” bullshit, but if we have modeled the wires and circuits of computers after our own veins and arteries, are we modeled after the intricacies of the universe ?

Yeah, probably. We are what we create, and exist within our creators.

[that-house]

I recently installed that one firefox extension that puts Mr. Beast in the thumbnails of every video on youtube (which is great if you've ever wanted to be plagued with visions of a grinning white devil) and it made me take a second to think about him and that one Polygon article about how he's subsumed everything he is to win at the content game.

I really appreciate how Mr. Beast is, like, a hollow shell of a person. I don't really like him or care for him, but I can admit to a grudging respect for a man who figured out how to play the content game better than pretty much anyone else.

But it just feels right, you know? He's the closest we'll probably ever get to a God of YouTube, and he lost what made him human along the road to divinity. He's the pinnacle of everything the internet has been leading to for the last few decades, the apex of the apex of those ceaseless, soulless engines of churning content.

He has everything and nothing. He who masters the algorithm cannot break it.

[fox-mulder-gets-pegged]

Every time I click on a YouTube video that the algorithm offered me I feel like I just showed a stranger my entire asshole for free.

[ruinix]

Quinn with the 'when I say sit on my face, i don't mean hover.'

Lovely anon, do you know how downbad I am? No? Well, I am. Also, are you in my Instagram algorithm??? That phrase kept showing up even if I say ‘not interested’ (I am but you know, I’m trying not to be the whore that I am). Anyway, it’s maybe a bit cringe…I swear I tried...Sorry in advance…😭🧎🏻‍♀️

Perfectly Divine

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Implied Unprotected Sex (use protection, silly), Oral (fem receiving), Face-sitting, Cum eating… 👀

Count: 1106 words | Masterlist

You’re not listening to him. Why are you not listening? Is what he said so hard to understand? Quinn is seriously stunned—utterly flabbergasted—when you try to get out of the bed.

“Quinn, get off me!” You grumble, trying to slip out of his hold, but Quinn is still stronger than you. “This is holding me against my will! Kidnapping! Hostage taking!”

Quinn bursts out laughing. Fuck, you’re so silly sometimes. It’s never a dull moment with you, even when you are suddenly on a different wavelength. No, not even, especially. Quinn holds you closer, hand resting over your middle, pulling you closer against his chest.

Soon, your laughter follows—a beautiful mix of giggles and chuckles. Your sound makes him warm all over. When you crane your head so your lips graze his cheek, your hand  entwining with his, the other holding his jaw, Quinn almost forgets why he was holding you in the first place. You trickster.

“You’re distracting me,” he growls softly in your ear. Your little squeak makes him chuckle as he nips at your nape, your shoulders, your jaw. “You can’t get out of this.”

“Quinn,” you whine, “we just had sex. I’m sensitive! Plus I’ve already sat on your face earlier.”

“Sat,” he scoffs. “Sure.”

“Is that attitude?” You twist around so quickly, beautiful eyes narrowing, lips pouting, hair still very much disheveled from your earlier rounds, your nail scratching over his chest. “Don’t scoff at me, Quintin.”

Quintin. His first name. Fuck, it sounds so good.

Quinn sighs, pulling you closer, hooking your thigh over his hip. “Sorry.”

You both groan when his cock graze your pussy lips. Quinn’s member rousing. Yours quivering, leaking with your arousal and his cum. Oh, right. He filled you up so good, didn’t he? Quinn presses against your pussy, feels your entrance pulse, sees your hooded eyes.

“Again? I’m tired,” you whine, protesting but it’s you who reaches his cock to press it against your hole. “I’m so full, Q.”

Are you? You’ve already wasted a lot of his cum. Already so spent for the day. Quinn knows that. He fucking knows that. Despite wanting to pound into you, to fuck you until the next morning—and the through the whole day—he needs to hold back.

That’s why he fucking needs you to sit on his face. Right now.

“Then why is your pussy begging for more?” Quinn asks, eyes hooded, watching every shuddering breaths that escapes your lips. “But I know. You’re busy tomo—”

“Quinn, shut up.” You grab his cheeks and kiss him so sloppily. “I’m so sore, Quinny,” you whine when his tip teases your entrance.

You keep protesting, but it’s you who pushes your hips, chasing after his dick, seeking more and more.

“Sit on my face, my love.” Quinn whispers. His words echo in his ears. Does it with yours? Does his voice rattle your soul as much as yours with his?

“But…” You still hesitate.

You’re rarely hesitant. But when you are, you are. Like he will be turned off by you. Like he will care about your filled up pussy. Like he will suddenly be disgusted with you when he could very much lick the ground you walk on, kiss the pebbles of sweat on your body. Oh, he got you. Silly girl. Just breathe and you already have him hard and begging for a fuck.

“Trust me,” Quinn pleads, pressing his forehead against yours. His nose touches yours. He can see the little fear in your eyes, the doubt, before it dissipates into lust. “There we go.”

He gives you a small peck on your blushing cheek. “And, my Love, when I say sit on my face, I don’t mean hover.”

The wanton moan that escapes your lips is Quinn’s last straw. He could just fuck you. It would be too easy. Just one thrust and he’ll be inside your pussy. Just one kiss and he’ll have you begging for it—sore or not. But he doesn’t. Not when you finally agree.

Quinn helps you over him. His hands glide and grip your skin. He can feel your shivers and trembles as you kneel over his face, legs beautifully parted for him to see your flushed pussy, too used and fucked.

“Quinn,” you whimper, hands planting on the headboard.

He mutters your name like a prayer and when you lower your pussy to his face, he knows his Goddess—you—answered.

He gives your clit a small kiss, tongue flatting over your trembling slit. The way you squeal and say it made his heart flutter faster and faster in his chest. You taste divine. His cum combines with yours. Salty, musky, and somehow sweet.

This is what he fucking wants. He needed—still needs—this for so long. To be able to savor what he has done to you. To know how perfect your pussy would be with his fucking cum that he has never dared to taste before.

Fuck.

Oh, his love of his life. So perfect, so delectable, so fucking divine.

He's so happy that you’re not hovering. So happy that you finally listened. So happy that you’re grinding your pussy against his lips, using his nose to your clit, letting him hear every moan, groan, and whimper that escapes you. So happy to feel your weight on him.

He grips your thighs securing to him as he slips his tongue in your pussy, tasting more of you and him.

More.

Quinn thinks he should have done this earlier. Should have filled you with more cum and not let you argue and waste a single droplet. Should have feasted on you, stained and dirtied by him. Fuck. He needs more.

For every gulp and lick, your pussy tightens around his tongue, squeezing out his cum and your addicting arousal. Quinn can feel your thighs quiver, your pathetic attempt to escape him.

Oh, you can’t.

He won’t have it.

 He needs you to come. He needs to feel you rob him of air as he does when he wrapped his fingers round your neck as he fucked into you.

He needs this.

Fuck. He’s so hard.

Maybe he can convince you for another round—rounds—of him buried deep in your pussy. Maybe he can persuade you not to attend the appointments you got tomorrow. Maybe he can just fuck you, clean you with his tongue, then fuck you again. Again. And fucking again.

Because this is not enough.

God, he’s so selfish. So fucking selfish.

He needs more and more of everything you can give him. His life is yours. Forever.

[a-hermit-pining]

I saw this on Twitter (i forgot the @), but it really got me thinking. What would your hc be if the boys were playing the game and you were the mc? I hc that Caleb would save every "y/n laughing compilation" he comes across, rafayel would edit y/n's face on random fish and make crack edits and from his alt account he would drop the most gorgeous fanart, and for some reason I feel like sylus would use "quality time" religiously

Hi anon, thank you for sending this in ^^

I completely agree with your takes. Here is my take to compliment yours.

Rafayel: Is the undisputed Fanart King, sketching your character from every angle, in every possible outfit. If an art contest exists, he has already submitted three entries before anyone even knew it was happening. But beyond his artistic obsession, he is also the cursed glitch hoarder. While normal people would be horrified at a headless version of you appearing in-game, Rafayel takes screenshots for exclusive content, considering it a divine blessing from the tech gods. Despite his god-tier art skills, he has zero patience for level locks that force him to wait before progressing, so instead of playing at a normal pace, he rage-quits for months, then returns to binge the game in one sleepless week. His camera roll is half fanart, half stunning in-game scenery that he edits like it’s going in an art gallery.

Xavier: Does not play games for casual enjoyment. He plays for answers. He is a speedrun menace, hitting the first dialogue option before the text box even fully loads. If he gets stuck, he immediately transforms into a lore-devouring beast, reading every spoiler possible just to figure out how to proceed. The only thing keeping him from fully losing his sanity is his refusal to buy premium currency, his pride dictates that he must grind every last diamond by sheer willpower alone. And so, he hoards gems like his soul depends on it, progresses at breakneck speed, and once he’s finished all available content, he descends into 3 AM theory rabbit holes instead of doing something sane like, you know… sleeping. He probably has a color-coded spreadsheet tracking all the route impacts.

Zayne: No one would ever suspect that the infamous, critically acclaimed AO3 writer Frozen Seal, master of soul-crushing angst and tender, breathtaking romance, is actually the stoic, overworked cardiologist Zayne. His fics have a reputation for being so emotionally devastating that readers leave essays in the comments. His update schedule? Completely dictated by his hospital shifts. His author’s notes? Usually something like "Sorry, a patient coded. Will update later." Writes the most heart-wrenching, steamy romance scenes with surgical precision, leaving readers sobbing and sweating in equal measure. Has the smut writing skills of an ace author- which are god tier. Daydreams about you constantly, except when he’s actively resuscitating someone (Even he has limits.)

Sylus: Sylus owns everything. Every premium outfit, every pose, every CG. His entire paycheck is funneled into this game, and no one will ever know the full extent of his power. If questioned about how he maxed out every possible feature, he simply smirks and says, “Skill issue.” But despite single-handedly funding the dev team, he is infuriatingly secretive about his content. His in-game gallery? Locked. His premium screenshots? Hidden. Some speculate he has developers tied up in his basement feeding him exclusive content, but according to Sylus, it’s simply the fruit of his labor. Strangely enough, despite having literally everything, he still has beef with the gacha system and will cuss out the algorithm if he doesn’t get his way.

Caleb: Is cursed with abysmal gacha luck, pulling three-star memories every single time without fail. He suffers, but at this point, he embraces the suffering like a tragic hero. His nights are spent watching crack compilations at 2 AM, laughing silently to himself like a man on the verge of losing his mind (he is this 🤏🏻close). By all accounts, he plays the game rationally until your character appears, at which point all logic is abandoned. He has every single one of Zayne’s fics bookmarked, and he doesn’t just skim he analyzes them like scholarly literature, leaving long, heartfelt comments. And, of course, in the quiet solitude of his room, a freakishly realistic body pillow of you sits on his bed. If questioned? He doesn’t even blink. "It’s a limited-edition collector’s item."

[2pndr]

Secret In a Winter Wonderland - Part One

Sequel to Dinner In a Winter Wonderland

A/N: Split into two parts to give y'all a little Valentine's day gift. Enjoy!

Winter x Male Reader Fluff

6.8k words

It just sits there. Menacingly.

A reflective abyss on your bedside table, pulling your gaze in, swallowing it whole. Its surface is dark, still, resolute, offering up nothing but your own tired reflection.

Your elbows press into your knees, fingers interlocked, chin resting lightly as you watch. A restless sort of stillness settles over you, like a held breath, stretched thin. You tell yourself it’s ridiculous—this quiet expectation, this fixation on a single moment. And yet, here you are, transfixed, as if sheer willpower could make the inevitable happen just a little faster.

You gaze into the abyss, and the abyss gazes back.

Time slows. Your mind stills. You achieve a brief, bastardised nirvana—one born not of inner peace, but sheer unrelenting anticipation. 

Your heightened state of awareness sharpens every detail around you: the distant hum of the heater battling the cold, the way the floor creaks when you shift your weight, the faint ticking of a clock you don’t remember ever buying. You can even smell your own existence—morning breath, yesterday’s worn clothes, and the distant, ghostly trace of whatever your neighbor was cooking at fuck-it-O’clock.

Not that any of it matters. The world outside could be crumbling, sucked up into the sky and you’d still be here. Watching. Waiting.

Then—a familiar tune, handpicked by you. A tremor escapes the abyss, shivering through the table. You see it. You feel it.

The abyss stirs to life, the darkness awakening into a symphony of colour and you’re met with what you’ve been so anxiously waiting for...

Hyoon is live: glorp

“OH COME THE FUCK ON!”

You groan, flopping backward onto your bed, phone queued to be crushed in your hand. The fuck does ‘glorp’ even mean? The worst part? You don’t even remember following Hyoon. So either, you’re under some algorithmic curse, or it’s some divine punishment for your hubris of hope.

You glare at the abyss. The abyss sneers back.

It doesn't have any appendages but you swear to god if it did, it’d be flipping you off.

With a sigh, you swipe the notification away, telling yourself it’s fine. It’s not like you were waiting for a message from Minjeong or anything. 

….Okay, you totally were.

She was probably just busy, right? Or sleeping in? Or—God forbid—had actually forgotten.

A childish concern to be sure. But one that torments you anyway.

Every morning for the past few days, you’d woken up to her cheerful messages—a jolly “good morning”, a lively teasing, or if you were really lucky, a video call where she’d spend half the time hiding her face because she “looks ugly without makeup!” 

 Today, though, there’s nothing. 

You shake your head, trying to push it down. It’s not like you’re entitled to a text. You’re not even dating. You’re just… close. Close enough that something about today just feels off. Close enough that your past five mornings have come to revolve around this one, singular moment.

So, you do the only reasonable thing you can: bury yourself beneath the covers and pretend none of this is happening.

For a minute, it almost works. The warmth of your blankets, the lingering sleepiness clinging to your limbs—it all lulls you into a state of half-consciousness, where the world is soft and Minjeong exists only in vague, glowing, adorable impressions. The sound of her laugh, the way she hides her face when she’s flustered, the warmth in her eyes when she—

Ding-dong.

The fucking doorbell.

You groan, dragging yourself out of bed with all the enthusiasm of a man heading to the gallows. Who the hell even—

Knock knock knock.

Followed by a pause. And then—

Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock.

You grit your teeth. Whoever it is, I swear to God—

Ding-dong.

The doorbell again.

“I’m coming!” you snap, voice sharper than intended. The knocking stops immediately. But just as you reach the door, you swear you hear a faint giggle on the other side.

The door swings open, and—

“Surprise!”

Minjeong.

She stands there, cheeks flushed from the cold, snowflakes clinging to her adorable little beanie. Her navy coat is buttoned up to her chin, uniting with her scarf  to make her look impossibly cozy. Her smile is wide, bright, her voice honey-smooth with that gorgeous teasing lilt.

She wasn’t ignoring you. She was here.

And then she lunges.

Before you can react, she wraps her arms around you, her face burying into you. It’s abrupt—too quick for someone as shy as Minjeong usually is—but her grip is firm, almost desperate. Like she’s been holding onto this impulse for days and finally gets to give in.

You hesitate for half a second before your arms come up to reciprocate. Maybe it’s  just your imagination. Or maybe absence really does make the heart grow fonder, because she’s warm. Too warm for someone who was just trudging about in the snow.

It takes you a moment to realize she’s not letting go. Not immediately. Not like a casual greeting. Instead, she lingers—because staying here, just like this, feels right in a way neither of you want to break just yet.

“I missed you,” She mumbles into your chest.

And you missed her. But you just hold her tighter, letting your arms say it for you.

She lingers. Long enough that you feel her breathing even out, long enough that the cold on her coat fades, long enough that when she finally pulls back, it’s slow, reluctant—she doesn't quite want to let go.

And frankly, you don’t want to either.

Her hands hesitate at your sides, fingers curling like she might change her mind and stay just a little longer. But then she exhales, a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, and steps back, tucking a stray strand of white hair behind her ear.

Minjeong looks up at you, her expression unreadable for a moment—something between embarrassment and contentment. Then, like a switch flipping, she schools her face into something more familiar: light, teasing, joyful.

“Now,” she begins, the corners of her lips curling as if nothing had happened, “are you ready for today, or do you need a few minutes to stop looking like you just rolled out of bed?”

*

For as long as you can remember, you’ve always hated Christmas.

(Yeah, you can’t believe you were like that either.)

It’s a sentiment that had you aptly nicknamed “The Grinch" by those unfortunate enough to be in your circle. Minus the Jim Carrey charisma, of course.

It wasn’t the bitter winter chill that seemed to ignore flesh, or the gaudy over-saturation of red and green that plagued the city. Not even the endless loop of Mariah Carey that played everywhere three months in advance seemed to get to you.

…Alright, maybe a little bit.

What did get to you, though, was that gnawing feeling, one that lingered throughout the year, lurking beneath, only exposing itself in all its agonizing glory during the holiday season.

You were alone. And worse than that—you felt like you always would be.

It was something you had long come to terms with. You thought yourself someone incapable of forming new connections, that chance hindered by the fear of fucking up every possible interaction you ever had.

Then she came along and shattered your whole worldview.

It was effortless with her. Conversations would flow without you overthinking every word. Silences weren’t awkward either—they just were. She laughed at your dumb jokes, complimented you like she’d known you forever and listened in a way that made you feel like you actually mattered.

It felt like you didn’t have to try so hard.  And for the first time in a very, very long time, you weren’t on the outside looking in.

Honestly, you had your friends to thank for that. Funny how that worked—they were the ones who begged you to go on that ridiculous Christmas quadruple date in the first place, even bribing you to come along. 

You went that night thinking you were doing them a favor. But now? Not even a week into knowing her?

You look over and smile.

You can’t imagine a world without Kim Minjeong.

“I do have eyebrows,” she huffs beside you.

You blink. “What?”

Minjeong glares, cheeks puffing out just slightly—an expression you’ve seen before, but never this close. “You were staring at them.”

It takes you a second to catch up, your brain still half-lost in the warmth of your own thoughts. Then it clicks.

Oh. This again.

“You’re still on about that?” you say, fighting a smirk.

She turns her head sharply, huffing like you’ve insulted her honor. “You literally said it the other day.”

“I never said you don’t have eyebrows,” you defend, shoving your hands into your pockets. “I just said they’re, you know… subtle.”

“They’re not subtle!” she argues, gesturing vaguely at her face.

“I mean, they kind of are,” you tease, tilting your head as if re-evaluating them. “Like, if I had to describe them, I’d say they’re… elusive.”

She gasps, scandalised, smacking your arm with a force that doesn’t match her size. You wince dramatically, rubbing the spot, but it’s worth it to see the way her pout deepens.

You had brought it up during one of those lucky wake-up video calls, mostly because it had been the first time you’d ever seen her completely barefaced. Her hair was damp, eyelids heavy and yet she still looked so goddamn adorable and huggable and a thousand more adjectives for how endearing she always was—not that you had the guts to say any of them out loud. Instead, your brain had done what it always did in moments of vulnerability: it scrambled for something stupid to say.

And somehow, that stupid thing had been, “Huh. You really weren’t lying about the eyebrow thing.”

Minjeong had instantly slapped a hand over her forehead, shrieking in horror while you laughed so hard you nearly dropped your phone.

“You’re just twisting my words,” you say now, unable to resist teasing her further. “I never said you don’t have them.”

She scoffs, turning back to you with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. “You implied it.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“I should put my fist in your mouth.”

The deadpan delivery nearly makes you wheeze. You can’t help but chuckle, “Well, whatever helps you sleep at night. Eyebrow-less or not.”

Minjeong groans in exasperation, dragging a hand down her face, but there’s no real ire there. If anything, you catch one of her signature smiles ready to burst out.

The banter drifts into silence—the two of you aren’t exactly conversationalists—but you don’t mind, and neither does she. It’s a comfortable silence.

Because even though neither of you are brave enough to admit it, you both know the other wants to be there.

Minjeong turns her head away at the thought, a little too quickly—she’s hoping you won’t catch the flush creeping up her cheeks. The glow of the streetlights isn’t doing her any favors, painting her in warm golds that give her more attention than she’d probably like. She clears her throat, stuffing her hands deeper into her pockets, the attempt at nonchalance falling apart when she shifts closer—just slightly—enough that her arm brushes against yours before she freezes, like she’s debating whether to move away again.

She doesn’t.

You pretend not to notice, and she pretends she doesn’t want you to. But the heat lingers where your arms continue to blissfully collide, warming you unlike your coats and scarves ever could.

And for the first time in forever, the city around you doesn’t feel quite so cold.

*

It occurs to you that neither you or her really go out that much.

Because frankly, you’re both in awe.

The market feels like a wellspring of life: the countless people weaving in and out of stalls, the gorgeous glow of lanterns swaying in the wind, the scent of whatever divine snack that old auntie is cooking up. It all feels like something out of a fairytale—like a place where time slows down for a little while.

Beside you, Minjeong takes it all in with quiet wonder, her hands tucked deep into her coat pockets. She’s always been the type to observe rather than dive right in, (at least you guess it is—it’s how you are, after all) but today, she looks lighter—like she’s letting herself enjoy the moment, letting herself be here, with you.

And for that reason, your chest feels warmer than it should.

You watch as she slows near a stall selling candied strawberries, gaze lingering for just a second too long before she shakes her head and keeps walking.

“You know,” you start, stuffing your hands into your own pockets, “there’s something kinda nice about today.”

Minjeong tilts her head toward you. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” You glance up at the lights overhead. “New Year’s Day always feels… different. Like a reset. No pressure, no expectations—just a fresh start.”

She hesitates mid-step. It’s brief, barely noticeable, but you catch it.

When you glance at her, she’s looking down at the stone path beneath her feet, her lips pressing together like she’s trying to hide a reaction.

“…Yeah,” she says after a moment, her voice quieter than before. “It’s kinda the point, no?.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you just shrug and keep walking.

The subject drifts, and soon enough, Minjeong’s energy picks up again. She tugs you toward different food stalls, eyes flicking between them like she’s looking through a magazine

“Hotteok sounds good,” she muses, then immediately wavers. “But tteokbokki is, like, a classic…”

She stands there for ages, bouncing on her heels, muttering under her breath—“Sweet or spicy? Ugh, why is this so hard?”—before finally throwing her hands up in defeat.

“Okay, both!” she  finally declares, turning to you like it was the obvious answer all along.

You watch as Minjeong receives the hotteok from the vendor like a child on Christmas day, holding it up to you with the biggest smile on her face. She hands it to you as she practically skips over to the tteokbokki vendor.

The vendor eyes you both with a knowing smile as she hands over the food.

“You two make such a cute couple,” she says, her voice warm, like she’s seen this scene a hundred times before.

You and Minjeong freeze at the exact same time.

Your first instinct is to correct her, to say something—anything—but Minjeong doesn’t. She doesn’t argue, doesn’t scoff, doesn’t even look at you. Instead, she just quietly takes the tteokbokki, her fingers wrapping around the warm paper cup, and murmurs a soft, barely audible, “Thank you.”

You clear your throat, shifting slightly on your feet. “Uh, yeah—thanks.”

Neither of you say anything else. Neither of you correct her.

Because the thing is—being mistaken for Minjeong’s boyfriend doesn’t feel wrong. It doesn’t feel like some ridiculous, impossible idea.

It feels like something you could get used to.

The thought follows you as you both take a seat at a vacant table, Minjeong carefully blowing on a piece of rice cake before taking a bite. She scrunches her nose slightly at the spice, and without thinking, you nudge a drink from the vending machine closer to her. She takes it wordlessly, sipping at it with a warm smile and sigh of relief.

Yeah. You could really get used to this.

She puts the drink back on the table and freezes.

You barely catch it—the way her fingers falter around the bottle,  how her eyes widen slightly before she ducks her head, shoulders curling inward. It’s quick, so quick that if you weren’t looking at her, you would’ve missed it entirely.

Then, as if on instinct, she suddenly moves closer to you, pressing into your side ever so slightly.

“What—?” you begin, but she shushes you, fingers wrapping around your sleeve as she subtly angles herself away.

“Move.”

“Move where?”

“Just—stay still.”

You frown, about to question her, when you follow her gaze toward the other side of the market.

Karina, Giselle, and Ning Ning.

They’re not exactly hiding well—huddled together behind a food stall, peeking out from behind a cart of roasted sweet potatoes, whispering among themselves. The moment you make eye contact, Ning Ning grins.

Oh.

Minjeong groans under her breath, already knowing what’s about to happen. And before you can say anything, she stands up, spins on her heel and speed-walks straight behind a stack of crates.

You blink, staring at the spot where she was just standing. Then at the girls making their way toward you with far too much mischief in their eyes.

“Hey,” Karina greets smoothly. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You sigh. “Heeeeey.”

“You know,” Giselle starts, tilting her head, “we were wondering if you’ve seen Minjeong. She left the apartment really early this morning.”

“Super early,” Ning Ning adds.

“So early,” Karina echoes, nodding solemnly.

You raise an eyebrow, trying your best to keep your expression neutral. “Really?” You pretend to think to yourself before concluding: “Sorry, got no idea.”

There’s a beat of silence as the three of them stare at you expectantly.

Giselle crosses her arms. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

“She’s not here?” Ning Ning presses.

“Nope.”

Karina hums, shifting her weight onto one foot. “So you’re just… out here. Alone. At a New Year’s market. With two cups of tteokbokki?”

The anxiety in your laugh is about as subtle as a shotgun shot. “Guys gotta eat.”

“Right,” Giselle nods, teasing. “And you were just talking to yourself earlier, huh?”

You shrug. “Well uh—Sometimes, you gotta have a conversation with the only person who truly understands you.”

“You always buy two drinks?”

“Thirst like a camel,” you take a sip.

Ning Ning gestures to the table. “And the second set of chopsticks?”

“Better safe than sorry.”

There’s a long silence. Any more questions and you’ll be out of clichés. 

Karina exhales a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Wow.”

Giselle looks impressed. “I gotta admit, you’re committed.”

“Yeah, I respect it,” Ning Ning nods. “But also, you suck at lying.”

Your lips press together in a flat line, eyes narrowing in annoyance, but before you can say anything, Karina suddenly sighs. “Oh well. I guess since Minjeong isn’t here, I should probably tell you how much she talks about you back home.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly. “Oh?” 

Sorry, Minjeong. You’re gonna have to hear this one.

“Mhm,” Karina muses, crossing her arms. “She’s always going on about how cut—”

“I SWEAR TO GOD, KARINA.”

Minjeong bursts from her hiding spot so fast she nearly knocks over a stand. You can just about see lightning start to materialise around her as the sky turns a few shades darker. You’ve never heard her yell—never even seen her truly angry, and yet, even with all that irritation boiling over, she still manages to be her enchantingly charming self.  She scrambles to steady herself, cheeks flaring with embarrassment, glaring daggers at her friends as they burst into laughter.

“There you are!” all three sarcastically remark as schrodinger’s eyebrows narrow at their chortling.

Before you can even think to react, Minjeong suddenly dashes and all but throws herself behind you, gripping the back of your coat like a shield against the relentless teasing.

“You guys are the worst,” she hisses, voice muffled slightly from where she’s pressed her forehead against your shoulder.

You blink, your mind caught somewhere between amused and a little stunned at how quickly she’s decided you are now her human barricade. The warmth of her fingers clinging to your sleeve is distracting—almost as distracting as the way her embarrassment is now being shared with you as you’re forced to stare down her friends.

Giselle folds her arms, grinning like she’s just been handed the juiciest gossip of her life. “What’s wrong Minjeong? We couldn’t just miss your very first date!”

Minjeong groans, squeezing the fabric of your coat like she’s physically bracing herself. “It’s not a date.”

“Uh-huh.” Ning Ning nods sagely. “ Let’s see, you came here together. Are eating together. Laughing together.  And if I do say so myself,” she giggles  “looking just the cutest together.”

Now you wish you had a human shield to hide behind.

Minjeong tugs your coat harder. You’re not sure if it’s for comfort or because she’s planning on suffocating herself in it and retorts,“Oh, shut up.”

Karina sighs, pulling out her phone with the kind of enthusiasm only a proud mother could have, already angling for the perfect shot. “Well, whether it’s a date or not, we should probably get a photo to commemorate the occasion.”

Minjeong’s grip tightens to a death hold. “No.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Karina says, already tapping at her screen. “It’s an important day.”

“For what?” Minjeong demands, voice high and outraged.

Giselle smirks. “Your anniversary, duh.”

Minjeong makes a noise like she’s about to combust on the spot.

You laugh, glancing down at her, still very much using you as a human shield. If this were you a week ago, you’d probably want to protest as much as she does—but something about annoying this girl just feels right. 

“I mean, if they’re offering…” you tease.

She jerks her head up to glare at you, her mortification morphing into mild betrayal. “Not. Helping.”

You grin, but before you can say anything else, Karina is already holding up her phone. “Alright, lovebirds, get closer.”

“We are close,” Minjeong deadpans, considering she is quite literally glued to your side.

Ning Ning waves a hand. “Closer.”

Minjeong groans in defeat but doesn’t move away. Instead, she grumbles something under her breath before begrudgingly tilting her head so it rests lightly against your arm.

Your stomach does a backflip.

Click.

Karina inspects the photo with a satisfied nod before showing it to the others. “That’s a keeper.”

“Oh yeah,” Giselle agrees, smirking at Minjeong. “We’re sending this to your mum.”

Minjeong stiffens. “Do not send that to my mum.”

“No promises.”

She lets out the longest sigh of her life, looking utterly done with everything and everyone.

Finally, Karina tucks her phone away with a little smirk. “Alright, we’ll leave you guys to it. But don’t have too much fun without us, okay?”

“Yeah,” Ning Ning winks. “We’ll see you two lovebirds at the B—New Year’s party later.”

Minjeong doesn’t even fight it this time, just slumps further against your side as they wave goodbye and disappear into the crowd. Then, with the heaviest sigh yet, she finally looks up at you.

“…I can’t believe I’m friends with them.”

You chuckle, shaking your head in amusement.

She narrows her eyes. “And you—” she jabs a finger into your arm, still not letting go of your sleeve. “You totally threw me under the bus back there.”

“How?”

“The photo! You helped them.”

You grin. “What’s wrong? I bet it was cute.”

Minjeong stares at you, lips parting slightly before she scoffs, crossing her arms. “Oh yeah? And what makes you think that?”

You tilt your head, considering. Then, with an easy shrug, you say, “Because you’re in it.”

Cheesy? You’re goddamn right. 

There’s a pause, though.

A very long pause.

Minjeong’s mouth opens, then closes again. Her cheeks start turning pink at an alarming rate, and for a second, she looks like she might explode. Then, with a sharp exhale, she turns her head away, grumbling under her breath.

“Don’t think just because you complimented me, I’m not still angry,” she mutters.

She says that, but you can’t help but notice she’s still wrapped herself around your sleeve.

Yeah, you could get really, really used to this.

*

The mall doors slide open with a rush of warm air, a stark contrast to the chill still clinging to your coats. Minjeong is latched onto your sleeve, the way she has been ever since your run in with her friends.

She doesn’t seem to notice.

And you don’t mention it.

Instead, you take in the change of scenery: crowds still weaving—only this time through stores—holiday decorations glinting under bright overhead lights, and the distant hum of Mariah Carey playing from the food court.

(It’s almost been a week, you muppets.)

You notice a couple, standing close near the entrance of a boutique. The girl is holding onto her partner’s sleeve, much like Minjeong is doing now. They exchange quiet words, laughter curling into the air between them, before the guy leans down—pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

Minjeong stiffens.

And then—like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar—her hand is gone.

The warmth of her grip vanishes in an instant. She tucks her hands into her coat pockets, glancing away so fast you’d think she just witnessed something scandalous. The tips of her ears glow red beneath the strands of hair peeking out from her beanie.

Your brain stalls for a moment, your own face heating. You need to say something. Anything.

And so, with the smooth eloquence of a man who has definitely not just had his brain scrambled, you mumble, “Drinks,” pointing to the café conveniently in the opposite direction of the couple. 

Minjeong exhales, a breathy sort of laugh slipping out as she latches onto the suggestion like it’s a life raft. “Yes. Drinks would be nice.”

Neither of you comment on the fact that her voice is about an octave higher than usual.

*

As is expected of the new year, the café is quite full, but you manage to snag a small table near the window. Minjeong sits across from you, her hands wrapped around her cup like it’s a small, comforting anchor. She takes an absentminded sip, letting out a tiny, pleased hum at the taste.

“I think I won,” she says after a moment, her voice soft but with a hint of pride. She glances at your drink, then back at hers. “Mine’s better.”

You raise an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. “Bold claim. What did you even get?”

“Hazelnut latte,” she says, lifting her cup slightly as if to prove her point. “It’s… really good. Like, reeeeally good.”

You nod slowly, playing along. “And you’re sure it’s not just, I don’t know, sugar disguised as coffee?”

She gives you a look, half-amused, half-unimpressed. “It’s balanced. You wouldn’t understand.” Her tone is as casual as can be, but you feel like she’s trying a little too hard to keep the conversation going. It’s not hard to guess why. The memory of the couple near the boutique is etched into your eyelids. It too haunts you.

So, you humor her. “Alright, Miss Coffee Connoisseur. Prove it.”

She hesitates for a moment, her gaze flickering to your drink. Then, with a quiet determination, she reaches over, takes your cup, and lifts it to her lips. You blink, caught off guard, as she takes a careful sip. She lowers the cup, her lips pressing together thoughtfully before she nods.

“…Yep. Mine’s better,” she declares, setting your drink back down in front of you. Her voice is steady, but the tips of her ears are pink, and she quickly tucks her hands back into her lap.

You exhale a quiet chuckle, shaking your head as you take the cup back. You take another sip, only to pause. There’s something faintly sweet on the rim—something that wasn’t there before. It takes you a second to place it: her lip balm. 

The realization makes your face warm, but you don’t mention it. Instead, you glance at her, only to find her already looking away, her focus suddenly very intent on her own drink.

And just like you feel one step closer to being that couple.

*

The two of you drift through the mall almost aimlessly. 

Lunch together, getting mistaken for a couple, her clinging to your sleeve, coffee, her lip balm on the rim of your cup. It’s all there, lingering in your mind's eye.

The idea strikes you suddenly, almost impulsively: you should buy her something. A small token, maybe, to mark the day. After all, she’s been by your side through all of it, even when things got awkward.

 It feels right.

“Hey,” you say, nodding toward a gift shop. “Let’s check it out.”

Minjeong glances at the shop, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she shakes her head, her voice soft but firm. “It’s just a gift shop. We don’t need to go in.”

You shrug, already stepping toward the entrance. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Maybe they have something cool.”

She hesitates, but she follows you in anyway, though her steps are noticeably slower than yours. The shop is cozy, filled with shelves of trinkets, plush toys, and holiday-themed knickknacks. You start browsing almost immediately, picking up a snow globe and giving it a shake. Minjeong lingers near the entrance, her arms crossed loosely over her chest.

“Look at this,” you say, holding up a small, glittery keychain. “Isn’t this kind of your vibe?”

She glances at it, her expression neutral. “It’s… shiny.”

“Exactly,” you say, grinning. “Shiny is good.”

She doesn’t respond, her gaze drifting to a nearby shelf. You move on, picking up a stuffed reindeer and holding it out to her. “What about this? It’s cute, right?”

She eyes it for a moment, then shrugs. “I guess.”

Her lack of enthusiasm is starting to feel deliberate, but you press on, determined to find something she’ll like. You hold up a scented candle, a notebook with a floral design, even a pair of fuzzy socks. Each time, her responses are polite but distant, her tone clipped.

Finally, you turn to her, holding up a small, delicate bracelet. “Okay, what about this? It’s simple. Classy. Totally you.”

She looks at it, then at you, her expression softening for just a moment before she shakes her head. “You don’t need to buy me anything,” she says, her voice quieter now. “Really.”

There’s something in her tone—something almost pleading—that makes you pause. You lower the bracelet, studying her face. “Why not? It’s just a little something. ”

She looks away, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. “It’s not that. I just… don’t need anything. Let’s go.”

Her insistence feels strange, almost out of character, but you don’t push it. Instead, you set the bracelet back on the shelf and follow her out of the shop. As you step back into the mall, she exhales softly, almost like she’s relieved.

You glance at her, trying to read her expression, but she’s already walking ahead, her hands back in her pockets. There’s a distance between you now, physical, yes, but also something you can’t quite name. You want to ask her what’s wrong, but the words don’t come. Instead, you fall into step beside her, the silence between you uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

*

You’re wrestling with the idea that you fucked things up.

Minjeong is still walking beside you, but something feels… off. The usual rhythm between you—the comfortable silences, the easy back-and-forth—it’s not quite there anymore. You keep replaying the moment over in your head, dissecting every word, every hesitation in her voice. Was it too much? Did I push too hard?

She looked relieved when you dropped it. That’s what gets to you the most.

You risk a glance at her. She looks normal enough—hands tucked in her pockets, gaze flitting over the decorations lining the streets—but now that you’re paying attention, you notice the way she keeps her shoulders just a little too stiff, her head angled to the floor like she’s deep in thought.

You want to fix it. Whatever it is.

But you don’t know how.

And so, as the two of you step into the crisp winter night, a quiet, creeping fear settles in your gut—

Maybe you ruined the day.

You’re half considering diving head first into the snow when she finally turns to look up at you.

“I’m not mad at you, you know.”

Oh thank God.

You blink,“You’re not?”

Minjeong raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Do I look mad?”

You hesitate. “…A little?”

She rolls her eyes, sighing like you’re the most dramatic person she’s ever met. “Well, I’m not,” she says, shifting her weight. “So you can stop looking like a kicked puppy.”

The tension in your chest loosens, but not completely. “Are you sure? Because if this is one of those ‘I’m fine’ situations where you’re actually seething and plotting my demise, I’d rather know now.”

That earns you a small huff of laughter, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “I promise I’m not mad. I just…” She pauses, her gaze flickering away for a brief second before she shrugs. “I don’t really like receiving gifts. That’s all.”

Something about the way she says it, the way her hands burrow even deeper into her pockets, makes you think it’s not all. But she’s looking at you so earnestly, like she’s hoping you’ll just take her words at face value, and—well.

If she doesn’t want to talk about it, you won’t push.

“…Alright,” you say,“I guess that means I’ll have to keep my incredibly thoughtful, totally amazing gift ideas to myself.”

Minjeong snorts. “Tragic.”

“You have no idea.”

And just like that, the air between you feels lighter again. It’s not entirely resolved, but at least you're not back to square one. For now, it’s enough.

Enough for you to start teasing her again, that is.

“So,” you start, watching Minjeong out of the corner of your eye. “Do you really talk about me back home?”

Minjeong stiffens for half a second before tilting her head, feigning confusion. “Huh?”

“Karina said you talk about me.” You shove your hands deeper into your coat, biting back a smile. “A lot.”

She scoffs, her breath coming out in a visible puff of air. “Okay, a lot is an exaggeration.”

You give her a look.

Minjeong keeps her eyes trained ahead, jaw set. “Barely,” she amends, her voice forcibly casual. “Like, a little. A tiny bit,” she emphasizes with her fingers.

You raise an eyebrow, unconvinced.

She exhales sharply through her nose, as if this whole conversation is an inconvenience. “Okay, fine—occasionally.”

You hum in response, nodding thoughtfully. “So, like... once a day?”

She clicks her tongue. “No.”

“Twice a day?”

Minjeong glares at you. “No.”

“Oh, three times?” You gasp dramatically. “Four?”

She whirls on you, cheeks dusted pink—probably from the cold, but also, maybe not. “You know what?” she says, voice a little too calm.

And then she bends down.

You blink, barely processing the movement before—

A snowball collides with your chest.

You stumble back half a step, mouth parting in surprise. Minjeong straightens, smirking in satisfaction, brushing leftover snow from her gloves.

“Oh,” you say slowly. “Oh, you wanna play that game?”

Minjeong takes a step back, as if realizing what she’s just set into motion. “Now, let’s not be rash—”

You don’t let her finish.

Your hand scoops up a fistful of snow in record time, and Minjeong yelps as she scrambles away, laughing.

She sprints toward a park bench and ducks behind it just as your snowball whizzes past her, landing harmlessly in a bush. Peeking out, she grins. “You missed.”

You shake your head, already gathering more snow. “I’m just warming up.”

Before you can throw, she lunges from her hiding spot and fires another snowball. You twist, but it still clips your shoulder, sending a flurry of cold against your neck.

“Okay—” You cough, shaking snow from your hair. “You’re gonna regret that.”

Minjeong shrieks as you charge at her. She haphazardly throws another snowball before turning to flee, but the fresh powder slows her down just enough. You scoop up more snow mid-stride, barely breaking pace as you launch it at her back.

Direct hit.

She lets out a gasp, whipping around. “Oh, you did not just—”

Another snowball grazes her arm.

Minjeong’s jaw drops. “Oh, that’s it.”

She grabs a double handful of snow and starts forming ammo at an alarming rate.

Your eyes widen. “Wait—”

Too late.

She launches one after another, relentless, laughing as you duck and scramble for cover. “Where’s all that confidence now?” she teases.

You manage to get behind a tree, pressing your back against the bark as snow explodes inches from your shoulder. “I am—” You dodge left. “—simply—” Dodge right. “—tactically retreating!”

Minjeong snorts. “Coward.”

You take a deep breath, then suddenly dash out from behind the tree. Minjeong yelps and backpedals, trying to reload, but you’re faster.

Grabbing her wrist, you spin her around—

“Got you—”

But before you can celebrate, she shoves a handful of snow directly into your face.

You freeze.

She gasps, hands flying to her mouth, eyes wide with shock at what she’s done. Then, as the snow drips from your nose, she bursts into laughter—full, unrestrained, delightfully breathless laughter.

It’s contagious. You start laughing too, shaking the ice from your hair as you both stumble back onto a patch of untouched snow.

The chase, the cold, the sheer ridiculousness of it all—it drains your energy in the best way possible.

Collapsing onto the ground beside each other, your chests heave from exertion, faces still flushed from the cold and laughter. The sky stretches above you, endless and star-studded, the park around you quiet again save for the occasional rustle of the wind.

Minjeong sighs, a contented little exhale. “That was fun.”

You turn your head to look at her. She’s smiling up at the sky, strands of hair falling loose from beneath her beanie. The moonlight catches the edges of her face, making her look softer, serene—completely different from the person who just tried to pelt you into oblivion with snowballs.

“The stars…” she practically whispers, “they’re pretty.” 

You’re sure they are. But who are you kidding? You aren’t looking at the stars.

“Yeah,” you begin, “they’re gorgeous.”

She holds her hand up to the sky, then wiggles her fingers, frowning slightly.

“But my hands are freezing,” she mutters, flexing them. “My gloves are soaked.”

You glance down at her hands, then at your own—also wet. A simple observation. A logical conclusion. And yet, the next thought sends a nervous flutter through your chest.

Should you…?

Would that be weird?

Before you can overthink it, you just move.

Pulling off your gloves, you reach over, fingers brushing against hers tentatively before you fully take her hand in yours.

Minjeong gulps.

Oh, no. She’s not saying anything.

Maybe you should say something. Maybe this was a bad idea—

“I, uh—” You swallow. Your voice sounds smaller than you expected. “Your hands are really cold.”

Her fingers are delicate against your palm, ice-cold but soft. You gently press her hand between both of yours, rubbing slow circles over her knuckles, trying to bring warmth back into them.

Minjeong still doesn’t say a word.

Your heartbeat kicks up slightly. You finally glance up to check on her—and immediately feel your entire body freeze.

She’s staring at you.

Bright red.

Like, steam-should-be-coming-out-of-her-ears red.

“…You okay?” you ask, your voice just a little too careful.

Minjeong opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

Then she looks away so fast you’re surprised she doesn’t get whiplash. “M-more than okay...”

You let out a soft, slightly breathless chuckle, though you can still feel your own ears burning.

“Right,” you murmur, squeezing her fingers gently. 

She stays looking in the opposite direction, but—she doesn’t pull away.

You don’t either.

When your hands are of acceptable warmth, you clear your throat. “It’s getting late. We should probably go home. Get ready for the party.”

Minjeong doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she shifts, inching closer until her head lightly rests against your shoulder.

“M-Minjeong?”

“Can we stay here?” she murmurs, “just for a little longer.”

Your breath hitches.

You should be cold. The snow beneath you is biting through your coat, the chill in the air still lingers against your skin—but with Minjeong curled into you like this, the cold doesn’t seem to matter at all.

You swallow, suddenly unsure where to rest your hands—if you should move, if you should say something. But Minjeong lets herself relax into you. You glance down, only to find her eyes slipping shut, her body curling just into yours. The feeling of her pressed up beside you—even through layers of winter coats, is unmistakable.

Slowly, hesitantly, you move, lifting your arm and slipping it beneath her neck, letting her rest against you more comfortably. Your fingers brush lightly over her shoulder before settling there, holding her in place—not too tight, not too loose, but just enough.

A soft chuckle leaves your lips. 

“Yeah,” you say quietly, resting your chin against the top of her beanie. 

“Let’s stay a little longer.”

*

Thanks for reading! Part Two coming soon :DD