The One I Love

22:00

Jennie stares at her reflection in the mirror. A wig sits atop her head—it feels awkward and obvious. She hasn't had the courage to fully shave but chunks of hair have been slowly falling out, leaving behind increasingly noticeable bald spots.

Her sister's deft fingers had helped her style the wig, carefully teasing the roots and brushing out the bangs. Lisa twisted her lips in thought before ruffling the edges slightly and stepping back to admire her work.

"It looks pretty," Jennie had told her with gritted teeth as she ran her own fingers through the wig. It was strange—it felt like hair, but she knew it wasn't her hair.

Jennie methodically applies her makeup, attempting to return color to her features.

Her skin is sallow and paper thin as the pads of her fingers press exploratorily. The image in the mirror looks like an uncanny valley version of herself. All the parts individually are her own, but somehow when pieced together she only looks like a poorly manufactured counterfeit.

The burgundy dress hangs more generously over her body than she had remembered. She knew she'd lost weight—she hadn't realized to what extent.

Jennie felt like a mannequin: nothing more than a prettily decorated skeleton.

The feeling of being an impostor, a stranger parading herself around as Jennie Kim, relents even as she sees Minho. In his suit and tie he tells her she looks pretty.

(He, too, has become thin. Jennie pretends not to notice.)

"What's wrong?" Minho intuits her shift in mood, gliding his hand cautiously across her wrist as they sit in the taxi.

"It's silly." She gives him a small glance. Her fingers self consciously touch at her hairline. "I'm worried everyone will know I'm wearing a wig."

"You are?" He raises a brow in a clumsy act of surprise, not doing anything to calm her nerves. Jennie frowns, and Minho squeezes her hand more reassuringly. "No one will notice."

The taxi comes to a stop as Jennie gives him a scrutinizing glare.

"How can you be so sure?"

She steps out, taking Minho's chair from the vehicle's trunk and placing it by his opened door. He lifts himself from the taxi and into the chair.

"Somehow I think they'll be focused on something else." He laughs humorlessly, swiveling the chair in order to join her in entering the venue.

Once inside the wedding hall they're greeted by a large portrait of Nayeon and Yoongi staring longingly at one another. Jennie smiles, despite the discomfort still swirling in her stomach. Her eyes dart to the rest of the guests mounting marble stairs. She shares a quick look with Minho before finding a staff member.

"There's an elevator, we'll just have to go down this corridor." Jennie reports, holding onto the handles of Minho's chair. As he predicted, the curious gazes are focused exclusively on him.

Yoongi greets them at the entrance to the ceremony hall. An uneasy smile finds its way onto Jennie's features. She hadn't fully considered that it might be awkward to attend her ex-boyfriend's wedding with the man she had cheated on him with. Her current companionship with Minho is so radically different than the feelings of blind infatuation she had once held for him that it almost felt like a non-issue.

"You look good, Jennie." Yoongi tells her sincerely, giving her a small hug. Within his arms is a kind of pity—Nayeon must have said something. Or maybe it's the wig.

"Congrats, Yoongi." Minho speaks up, holding out his hand. The other man takes it, leaning forward to embrace him as well.

Jungyeon is waiting for them at their table like an overly excited puppy. Jennie greets her with a smile. Her shorthaired friend's complete disregard for the sickly elephant in the room is refreshing and comforting.

The ceremony makes Jennie cry. Nayeon looks like a goddess—Jennie couldn't imagine a bride that would ever be as beautiful as her childhood friend. Minho rests his hand on her knee under the table but neither acknowledge it other than an act of kindness.

It's easy to let her regrets melt away while watching the way Yoongi and Nayeon look at each other. Each glance holds more intimacy and sincerity than any relationship Jennie's ever been in.

At the conclusion of the ceremony and the call for pictures, Jennie realizes that not only are their classmates seeing Minho in his chair for the first time but that most were not even aware he'd been in an accident at all. The questions are heavy and intrusive, causing Jennie to grip defensively onto the rubber-coated handles.

Minho's hand once again finds her own, causing her tightly wound fists to loosen and relax.

"I'll tell you all the story over drinks sometime," Minho promises his prying classmates with an easy laugh that Jennie knows must not come easily at all. His lips pull taut over his teeth. He'd used that smile on her before: it was undeniably polite and bitingly insincere. "Instead of me, you should focus on Yoongi and Nayeon today."

No one even bats a lash at Jennie's stupid wig.

She feels vapid and foolish for it later, once Minho and herself have retreated to a private world of their own. He invites her to his apartment for the first time, and she hates the satisfaction she feels when Hayi's presence is nowhere to be seen. No shoes by the door. No mugs in pairs on the counter.

"I'm sorry for only worrying about myself earlier." Jennie apologizes as she sits across from him at the kitchen table. "I should have realized you'd obviously have it harder than me, having to put up with all of their stares and stupid questions."

Minho lets out a long sigh—not necessarily tired or annoyed, just a release.

"Jennie, don't worry about it." He tells her. "I know it's hard to see straight after your world's been turned upside down."

Without touching her, his gaze reaches across the table.

. . .

When she was a little girl her mother would sit her in front of a mirror and brush out her long black hair. Back then she remembered wiggling around and crying out, hating the way the teeth of the comb felt against her scalp.

Minho carefully gathers her hair into a plait at the nape of her neck. She sits with her back to him on the floor, watching his movements through the full length mirror propped against a wall. She feels the cool metallic of the scissors, a moment of hesitation, before the unmistakable crunch of cut hair.

Minho hands her the chopped off braid, placing it onto her outstretched palm with a sort of reverence.

Before she can adjust to the sudden change, the razor whirs to life. The vibrations tingle against her neck as she watches Minho's wrinkled brow concentration in the mirror. He has her turn around as he finishes the front of her head, carefully shaving her hairline. Jennie finds herself lulled into a trance by the buzz of the razor and Minho's strong arms that move with experience and care. The moment is at once spiritual and sensual: he treats her both like a monk and a lover.

Minho brushes the excess clippings from her shoulders and smooths his hands across her freshly shaven head. He leans back to look at her the way an artist admires a completed piece.

"You've already had such long, beautiful hair... How does it feel?"

"Lighter," She answers honestly.

Minho leans forward, his chest nearly touching her own. He presses his lips against her bare skin. His kiss feels like a painter signing his work.

His warm breath feels strange against her now exposed skin. Jennie shivers—she knows that things would never be the way she'd imagined they would.

But in the imperfect world they've created for themselves, she almost doesn't mind.