Lost in your lens - Minji x M!Reader

Ch. 2 - Gwangjang Market

"You've never been to Gwangjang Market?" Hyein's gasp was so dramatic that several students in the library turned to stare. "This is unacceptable. We're going. Now."

"We have a study session," Haerin reminded her quietly, not looking up from her notes.

"Exactly! We need brain food. Good food makes for good studying." Hyein was already packing up her books with the determination of someone who'd made up not just her own mind, but everyone else's too.

I glanced at Minji, who'd been quietly reviewing her photos beside me. She caught my eye and smiled that now-familiar smile – the one that somehow managed to be both apologetic and amused.

"Resistance is futile," she said in English, her accent making the phrase sound oddly endearing. "Besides, she's not wrong about the food."

That's how I found myself being swept along with five girls who'd somehow become my friends in the span of a week, walking through Seoul's evening streets toward what Hyein promised was "the best food you'll ever eat, or I'll personally apologize to your taste buds."

The market was a sensory overload in the best possible way. Crowds moved in organized chaos between stalls, the air thick with the smell of street food and the sound of vendors calling out to customers. Neon signs cast multicolored glows across everything, making the whole scene look like a painting coming to life.

Click.

I turned to find Minji's camera pointed in my direction. She lowered it with a slightly sheepish expression.

"Sorry," she said, though we both knew she wasn't. "You looked... surprised. In a good way."

Before I could respond, Danielle appeared with what looked like enough food for a small army. "First round!" she announced proudly. "We're starting with the basics."

"Basics?" I eyed the overwhelming spread of dishes she was somehow balancing.

"Trust the process," Hanni advised, already reaching for something that looked deliciously fried. "Danielle takes food education very seriously."

What followed was a crash course in Korean street food, with five very enthusiastic teachers. Hyein provided dramatic backstories for each dish ("These noodles? Historically ICONIC."). Haerin quietly corrected her more creative embellishments. Danielle explained cooking techniques with professional precision. Hanni documented everything for what she claimed was "future educational purposes" but seemed more like blackmail material of us trying to eat messily wrapped food.

And Minji... Minji kept taking photos, but I noticed they weren't all of the food.

"Your Korean's getting better," she commented as we walked between stalls, having fallen slightly behind the others. The evening air was cooling, but the market's warmth kept any chill away.

"Still sounds like a textbook though," I admitted, watching a vendor skillfully flip hotteok.

"Mm, not so much anymore." She adjusted her camera strap, a habit I'd started to notice she had when thinking. "Now it sounds more like... you. Just in Korean."

Something about the way she said it made me look at her, but she was already raising her camera to capture Hyein's dramatic reaction to finding her favorite rice cake stall.

The "study session" eventually relocated to a cozy café near the market, our table crowded with books, notes, and the remnants of our food adventure. Hyein was struggling through English homework, making faces at irregular verbs like they'd personally offended her.

"Why can't English just make sense?" she groaned, flopping dramatically across her textbook.

"Here," I offered, sliding her notebook closer. "Think of it like..."

I found myself explaining grammar patterns, the others occasionally chiming in with questions or comments. It felt natural in a way that would have seemed impossible three weeks ago – this easy back-and-forth, the casual mix of Korean and English, the comfortable feeling of belonging.

"Your handwriting's really nice," Minji observed, leaning over to look at my notes. She was close enough that I could smell her vanilla-scented shampoo, could see the tiny mole near her ear that her hair usually covered.

"Thanks," I managed, suddenly very conscious of every stroke of my pen. "Yours is too."

She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear in a gesture I was starting to recognize as slightly nervous. "You should see my photo captions. Terrible. That's why I stick to visual stories."

"Speaking of," Hanni called from across the table, "show him the ones from last week's dance showcase!"

Minji's photos turned out to be stunning – capturing movement and emotion in still frames that somehow felt more alive than the moments they preserved. Hanni's dance looked like floating, Haerin's quiet presence became magnetic, Hyein's energy was perfectly contained in mid-motion, and Danielle's grace was frozen in time.

"These are amazing," I said honestly, watching her flip through them on her camera's small screen.

"She's being modest," Haerin spoke up softly. "She won the university's art prize last year."

"It was just a small exhibition," Minji protested, but I could see the pride in her eyes.

The evening wound down naturally, everyone packing up as the café began its closing routine. Outside, the night air had grown properly cool, Seoul's lights creating a soft glow against low clouds.

"This way?" Minji gestured toward the subway station I usually took. The others had already split off in different directions, Hyein's loud goodbye echoing down the street.

We walked in comfortable silence for a while, the kind that doesn't need to be filled. I was starting to appreciate these moments – the quiet spaces between conversations where nothing needed to be said.

"Thank you," I said finally, as we neared the station. "For today. For... everything, really."

She looked at me curiously, camera hanging silent for once. "What do you mean?"

"Just..." I searched for the right words in either language. "A week ago I was eating lunch alone and pretending to text people. Now I have photos of myself failing to eat bindaetteok properly."

Her laugh was soft but genuine. "Well, we couldn't let you keep pretending to text. Your acting needs work."

"That obvious?"

"Let's just say..." She smiled that smile again – the one that made Seoul feel a little more like home. "You're easier to read than you think."

*Click.*

The sound of her camera was so subtle I almost missed it.

"Sorry," she said, not looking sorry at all. "The lighting was perfect."

"You say that a lot," I observed. "'Sorry.'"

"Only about the things I'm not actually sorry for," she admitted, and something about her honesty made us both laugh.

At the station entrance, she hesitated for a moment. "Same time tomorrow? For studying, I mean. The real kind, not Hyein's 'we need brain food' kind."

"Yeah," I nodded, trying not to sound too eager. "Same time."

She turned to go, then paused. "Oh, and Y/N?"

"Mm?"

"Your Korean?" Her smile was soft in the station's fluorescent lighting. "It's starting to sound like home."

Before I could process what that meant, she was gone, leaving me with the echo of her words and the strange feeling that maybe she wasn't just talking about the language.

My phone buzzed with a group chat notification – Hanni had already shared photos from the evening, including several I hadn't noticed being taken. There I was, looking more comfortable than I'd felt in weeks, surrounded by people who'd somehow decided to make me part of their world.

And in more than a few of them, in the background or edges, was Minji, her camera raised but her eyes visible just over it, watching not the scene but the person she was pretending not to photograph.

I saved those ones first.