possibility days | bbangsaz

6

Persistent rustling wakes Minji, and when she opens one eye, she catches the clock on Hanni's bedside table: 3:15. That wasn't sleep - that felt like a five-minute nap, she thinks, before barely registering the warmth that is now pressed up against her.

Shit. Her eyes may be heavy, but her brain is now wide awake, as Hanni snuggles closer, backing into Minji and fitting herself into the careless curve of Minji's body on the bed. It isn't clear to Minji how they got from the kitchen to here - much less, from party dress to Hanni's oversized shirts - and the dull throb in her temple reminds her of the previous night's drinks. Damn. I am never drinking again, never drinking again, never--

Hanni shifts closer and Minji tries to stifle a groan. The last thing she wants is to wake Hanni in the middle of the night, and with a confusing sound at that. Minji tries to breathe in deeply, if only to calm herself - a mistake, actually, since the only thing it does is fill her with Hanni's scent, and if there's anything more damaging to her calm, it's that. Like this, Hanni smells so... human. Stripped of makeup and perfume and sunblock, this is Hanni at her purest form, and if Minji hadn't woken up with a racing heart, right now it throbs mercilessly against her chest.

Fuck. It's not even like this is supposed to be new - she's held Hanni hundreds of times: For dozens of on-cam scenes. While napping at the sidelines, waiting for their next turn to shoot. While in their trailers, after a full day's work. This thing right here, Minji reminds herself, trying to not be so attuned to the rhythmic rise and fall of Hanni's chest as she breathes, it isn't new. Get a grip. It means nothing.

Why would it, right?

Hanni sighs and stretches, and it freezes the blood in Minji's veins. Her hand stills where it is perched upon Hanni's hip lightly, forearm tensing as Hanni's shirt hikes up slowly along with her movement, sleepy and languorous, and fuck, Minji can't bring herself to take her hand away, not even when it is pressed against the bare skin of Hanni's side.

It means nothing.

Before Minji could even count down from ten, Hanni is shifting again, and Christ, how is this girl not awake yet? Minji thinks, lifting her hand momentarily off her so she can move however she likes - and by however, it means that Hanni soon ends up with her face buried in the crook of Minji's neck and her hand-

Christ. Minji does not hazard a look, but she feels Hanni's hand move anyhow, brushing against hers as it goes lower. It means nothing, Minji repeats in her head. Just a fantastic story to tell the grandkids, maybe - oh hey, I was a young actress once upon a time, and one night I got drunk with a co-star and ended up spooning her, and at one point in the night I woke to find her sleeping with her hand halfway down her pants. Yes, that is a terrific story to tell our grandchildren.

Minji shudders at the word "our." Fucking go back to sleep, Kim. Forget all of it in the morning.

Sleep comes for Minji after a handful of lifetimes. Hanni doesn't move from where she is nestled softly against Minji, legs tangled together under the covers, and at some point the steady rhythm of Hanni's breathing helps lull Minji into slipping back into slumber.

*

Morning comes harshly.

It's been a while since Minji was last startled out of bed - an acutely uncomfortable feeling, Minji is rediscovering, as she is jolted awake by the sunlight coming in through the window.

What the fuck. Minji blinks against the light, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she rolls out of bed, stomach grumbling. She hits something on the way down - damn it; where did that come from? - and it is only after a few moments that she remembers where she is.

Hanni. Minji looks around, heart racing in mild panic. The bed is empty.

Holy shit. What happened last night?