The bar is thick with energy, every corner alive with laughter and conversation, as if the whole city has crammed itself into this one vibrant spot. There's a low haze in the air from the endless clinking of drinks, the thump of bass-heavy music, and a warmth that feels like the city breathing, exhaling its long week into this pocket of the night.
Jennie and Roseanne sit shoulder to shoulder in the booth, hemmed in by their friends, who seem engrossed in loud, overlapping conversations about everything from work stress to the best places to eat in the area. Yet, for Jennie, all the sounds blur into one low hum. She's barely hearing a word they're saying—her attention is on Roseanne, the feeling of her arm brushing lightly against her own. It's not like this is unusual; they've been in countless bars, crowded into countless booths, with these same friends, in a similar scene. But something is different tonight, a magnetic current between them, a pull that has her hyper-aware of every breath Roseanne takes beside her.
Jennie sips from her glass, letting her gaze shift casually to Roseanne, who's stirring her drink, lost in thought. Roseanne's fingers play over her glass absentmindedly, her thumb tracing the rim as she watches the straw slowly spin in circles. Jennie finds herself caught in the gesture, the rhythm of it almost hypnotic, and she wonders—not for the first time—if Roseanne feels it, too. If she's caught up in the same unspoken something that's kept them both hovering around this undefined line, too afraid to push forward, yet reluctant to pull back.
She doesn't know how long she's been watching Roseanne, but when Roseanne finally glances up, their eyes meet, and neither of them looks away. A thrill rushes through Jennie, making her heart beat a little quicker, a little harder. It's like they're having an entire conversation in that moment—one that neither of them seems ready to speak out loud.
Jennie's chest tightens, feeling the same familiar longing she's been carrying for what feels like forever. She wants to reach out, to say something real, but instead, she bites her lip, taking a longer sip of her drink to mask her nerves. How is it that Roseanne always manages to disarm her with a single glance? Even when they're surrounded by friends, in a crowded, noisy bar, it's like they're the only two people there.
Their friend Minseok cracks a joke that sends laughter erupting around the table, and Jennie can't help but laugh, too, her body tipping slightly as she shifts to catch her breath. She feels herself lean just a little too close, and before she can pull back, Roseanne's hand is already there, slipping around her waist, steadying her. The touch is casual, innocent enough, but the warmth of Roseanne's hand feels electric, a surge that spreads through Jennie's whole body, rooting her in place.
Jennie's heart races as she lets herself sink into the touch, her head resting, just for a moment, against Roseanne's shoulder. The world outside their little bubble fades, and all she can focus on is the softness of Roseanne's touch, the warmth radiating from her body. She could stay like this forever, held in that gentle embrace, feeling that quiet connection that seems to grow with every passing second.
"Comfortable?" Roseanne's voice breaks through, low and a little teasing, though Jennie can sense something more beneath it—a hint of hesitation, maybe a hope that Jennie won't pull away.
Jennie straightens, turning slightly to meet Roseanne's gaze, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. She gives a small smile, playful but loaded, as if daring Roseanne to read between the lines. "I could get used to it," she says softly, her voice light, yet her eyes asking a silent question, one she doesn't dare voice.
They sit in the afterglow of that exchange, holding each other's gaze for a long moment, the laughter and conversation around them fading into background noise. Jennie wants to say something more, to push just a little further, but the words catch in her throat, too risky, too loaded.
