"A Familiar Refrain"

The water hit her shoulders like static — sharp at first, then numbing. Ryujin tilted her head back, letting it run down her face, the droplets tracing paths down her skin. The shower was a small, enclosed space, with steam rising to fog the mirror and windows. The sound of water hitting tile was a constant hum, a white noise that blocked out everything else. The air was thick with moisture, making every sensation feel more intimate, more acute. She closed her eyes, letting the water wash over her. She didn’t even look up. The image of Yeji — eyes glued to her phone, smiling softly at whatever he texted — had been playing in Ryujin’s mind on a loop. Like a scene stuck in buffering. A dull ache had been growing in Ryujin’s chest, a slow-burning fire that refused to ignite into something more explosive. It was just a heaviness, a weight that settled in her stomach like a stone. Ryujin thought, What did I think was going to happen? That she’d… wake up one day and just know? Know that it’s me? She exhaled sharply through her nose, almost a laugh, but not quite. God. I’m pathetic. The thought was bitter, but not angry. Just resigned. Ryujin leaned against the wall, letting her forehead rest there, her body surrendering to the weight of her emotions. Her eyes were still closed, her face relaxed into a mask of exhaustion. The kind of weight people put down when they’re emotionally tired. She wasn’t mad at Yeji. Not really. It wasn’t Yeji’s fault that she didn’t know what she was doing. That she could say something like “you’re my safe space” and not realize what it meant. Not feel how it landed. But Ryujin had felt it. All of it. Ryujin thought, I can’t keep doing this. Not while she’s still with him. Not while I’m the second thought. The afterglow. A quiet realization settled in, like a shift in the air. She straightened, her fingers tightening in her hair as she rinsed out the shampoo, symbolic of making a decision. The water started to go cold. She turned the faucet off and stood there for a beat — eyes still closed, heart still sore. Then she grabbed her towel and stepped out. The dorm was still quiet when Ryujin returned from her shower, hair damp and towel slung over her shoulder. Her socks stuck slightly to the floor with each step. The air smelled faintly of shampoo and something sweet from the kitchen — maybe cereal someone left open. She stepped into the shared room. Yeji was exactly where Ryujin had left her. Still perched at the edge of the bed, knees tucked up, eyes locked on her phone screen. Her thumbs were moving fast. Face unreadable. Yeji murmured, “Hey.” Ryujin paused mid-step, heard the greeting, but decided not to acknowledge it. She shifted her bag higher on her shoulder instead, letting the silence answer for her. Yeji blinked. Paused for half a second. Then went back to her phone. “Guess she didn’t hear me,” she said to herself, soft. The door closed behind Yeji with a soft click, a definite sound in the silence. Inside the bathroom, Ryujin had been waiting. Listening. The second she heard the front door click, she exhaled slowly — a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She opened the door, stepping back into the now-empty room. Her expression was neutral, maybe a bit tight around the eyes. The room felt different now, without Yeji in it. Ryujin changed quickly, pulling on sweatpants and a practice tee, not bothering to do her hair. Then she grabbed her phone and left, slipping out the door and into the hallway without a word. The practice room was already alive with laughter when Ryujin arrived. Yuna was sprawled across the floor, halfway through a story that had Chaeryeong snorting into her sleeve and Lia shaking her head in amusement. Yuna grinned, “Unnie! You missed the drama!” Ryujin smiled dryly, “I always do.” As she sat down beside them, Ryujin let herself melt into the safety of the moment. The comfort of this space was a balm to her frazzled nerves, a contrast to the tension from earlier. She thought, She’s not here. There was something almost light about that. Like her chest could expand again. She didn’t have to brace herself for anything Yeji might say — or worse, not say. Not for now. Ryujin joined in on the group conversation, half present, half somewhere else — but not weighed down. For the first time in a long while, she felt a quiet moment of relief, like she could finally breathe without waiting for something more.