Ssamyen One Shots

Your Honor, She's Bleeding Again [1/2]

Chaewon always said that law was about control.

Control the facts. Control the argument. Control yourself.

It was why her notes were color-coded down to the comma. Why she had backup chargers, two alarm clocks, and a timer set for her thirty-minute afternoon coffee review.

Yena, on the other hand, showed up to their shared study lounge in mismatched socks and sometimes with a Band-Aid on her cheek because she’d fallen asleep on a pen.

“Why are you bleeding again?” Chaewon asked without looking up from her laptop.

“Anatomy lab,” Yena said cheerfully, plopping down beside her and stealing half her protein bar without asking. “Scalpel nick. Nothing major. I didn’t even cry this time.”

Chaewon gave her a deadpan look. “Congratulations on your personal growth.”

Yena grinned, unbothered.

They had met through Minju and Yujin, who had conspired to “balance out the chaos” by introducing Chaewon who is calm, composed, allergic to noise, to Yena,  who once performed a dramatic monologue in a lecture hall because she lost a bet.

“It’ll be fun,” Yujin had said. “Yena’ll drag her out of her shell.”

“It’s not a shell,” Chaewon grumbled, even now. “It’s structure.”

“She said that with so much passion,” Yena whispered dramatically, nudging Minju.

At first, they studied on opposite ends of the table. Law cases and med charts made for awkward small talk. But over time, proximity built a rhythm: coffee breaks at 9:15, shared playlists, Yena’s occasional unlicensed therapy sessions (“You’re NOT my doctor,” Chaewon would snap) and Chaewon’s dry, cutting encouragement whenever Yena forgot the difference between arteries and veins again.

“Just remember, arteries run away from the heart,” Chaewon muttered once, half-asleep during finals week.

Yena blinked. “That actually kind of makes sense.”

“You’re welcome. Now go save someone’s life.”

“Only if you promise not to sue me later.”

~~~~~~~~

Hitomi ran the best convenience store near campus. She had strawberry milk in stock before demand and always saved the last onigiri for Yena.

“Your girlfriend looks tired,” she said one night, nodding toward where Chaewon was slumped over a casebook.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Yena replied, distractedly. “But yeah. She gets that way before moot court.”

Hitomi handed her two rice balls instead of one.

“For her. She needs the carbs.”

Eunbi was Chaewon’s moot court coach, sharp-eyed and soft-spoken in a way that made you afraid and respected at the same time.

“She’s good,” Eunbi said to Chaewon after a practice match, gesturing toward Yena, who was sprawled on a couch nearby, fast asleep and snoring softly with flashcards stuck to her chest.

“Yena?” Chaewon asked, confused. “She’s not in law.”

“No, but she makes you better. Less rigid. You argue like someone who has something to lose now.”