Characters/Ship: Nayeon/Jeongyeon (TWICE) Tags: Unrequited Love, Female Friendship, Canon Compliant/Idolverse, romantic and platonic love as both the life buoy and the anchor tying you down Permission to Remix: Yes
Once, when they were trainees, Nayeon had brought over some embroidery floss to the agency. She was in crisis-management mode. 6mix been dashed to the rocks two weeks prior, leaving their whole debut situation in serious peril. Jeongyeon had practically one foot out the door: earlier in the week Jihyo had overheard her talking with her parents about dropping out of the agency to take her part-time baking job more seriously. The whole scenario was extremely awful in such a unique way it made Nayeon just straight up sad, so Nayeon didn’t hold it against her, but when Nayeon tried to picture what being a trainee would be like without Jeongyeon, she felt terribly wretched.
Nayeon needed her to stay more than anything, hence the embroidery floss. The night before, her younger sister showed her how to make a genuine, bonafide friendship bracelet—the special kind, the kind that would grant wishes. The idea was you would wear it until it fell off naturally, and then you could supplicate yourself to the cosmos and make a polite request. The longer the band had stayed on your wrist, the longer it lasted, the more likely the universe was to grant your desires. Or something.
In the afternoon Nayeon blocked out for arts-and-crafts purposes Jihyo found herself otherwise preoccupied, so it was only Nayeon and Jeongyeon sitting in the middle of one of the small individual practice rooms, alone together, making friendship bracelets. Both found the whole thing to be a little silly, but their streak of tough luck in the last few months had left Nayeon itchy with superstition. She didn’t say it with words, but she felt convinced her whole world might fall apart if she didn’t make these bracelets. Jeongyeon complained incessantly and with much annoyance, but seemed to see how important it was to Nayeon and concentrated on her task, even amidst all her griping.
It was hot in the practice room. They were sitting close enough that their knees touched, bare skin on bare skin. Jeongyeon wore these nylon shorts that rode up terribly on her thigh. It had been a while since Jeongyeon’s last company-mandated haircut, and whenever Nayeon looked at her she felt the inexplicable urge to take all of it and tie it up into a ponytail for her. Jeongyeon would swat her away whenever Nayeon moved to push her hair back, but she couldn’t help it.
By the end they both had come up with something, with differing results. Nayeon’s looked much better than Jeongyeon’s—probably because she had practice, but she claimed it was because she was more naturally gifted anyway.
Jeongyeon didn’t say anything, only rolling her eyes in response, but Nayeon’s strange mood had seemed to rub off on her too. Her touch was gentle and hands slow as she wrapped her bracelet around Nayeon’s wrist, fingers double-knotting and cinching tight. Her knuckles brushed against the inside of Nayeon’s wrist, and for a reason unnameable as-of-that-moment Nayeon felt her heart beating so loud and fast she felt close to passing out.
Years later, a guy brings flowers for Jeongyeon to their waiting room at a music show.
Well, not really. He brings flowers to his manager who brings the flowers to their manager who brings the flowers to their waiting room.
“From your friend,” manager-unnie tells Jeongyeon, her head tilted in some wise, all-knowing look. Friend, she says, an obvious misappropriation.
Uwah, Chaeyoung actually says, crawling across the floor to where Jeongyeon sits, cross-legged and hunched over in embarrassment. Chaeyoung’s on her hands and knees when she inspects the flowers, head tilting this way and that. It’s a lovely arrangement, for sure, maybe a little bit cliché—chrysanthemums and snapdragons and some foliage, all tied up in a bouquet good enough to get married with.
All of the staff in the waiting room are on the JYP payroll and therefore definitely likely to stay mum about the whole thing—but still, flowers? At a music show? If anyone in this room was unaware that Jeongyeon had something going on with somebody, now they do. What happened to subtlety? What happened to finesse? What happened to keeping the godforsaken peace?
Jeongyeon doesn’t even like romantic gestures like that. Too public. She would definitely prefer something private, something that could be shared between just her and whoever she’s with.
Nayeon’s friendship bracelet had fallen apart only two weeks after they made it. Publicly, she blamed Jeongyeon’s poor craftsmanship as the root cause, but she knew and Jeongyeon knew the truth: she wore the thing to its absolute limit. She refused to take it off. She would wear it everywhere: in the shower, to bed, during dance practice, even during evaluations.
Jeongyeon had said to her: It’s supposed to last, you dumbass. That’s the only way your wish can come true.
The day before they both had gotten good feedback on their evaluations, and as a reward had been given a weekday afternoon off. The both of them were too tired to go out, so instead they watched a movie at Nayeon’s house, huddled together on her bed, laptop perched precariously on their two knees. Nayeon had bought one singular cranberry bran muffin from the company canteen for them to split. She managed to needle Jeongyeon into feeding her bites until there was nothing but crumbs.
Later Jeongyeon would fall asleep on her shoulder, and Nayeon would feel such a nauseating mix of fondness and dread that it felt like she was dying.
Jeongyeon had taken better care of her bracelet—she would take it off during company-related things but left it alone otherwise—and it had lasted almost a year until it hit a snag and the whole thing unraveled. A week after that the company announced that the two of them, along with Jihyo and thirteen other girls, were slated to participate in an upcoming survival show where they would compete to debut.
After they received the news, they had both broken down sobbing in a public park right by the agency building. Nayeon had pressed her face into Jeongyeon’s shoulder and thought I want to be with you forever . Nayeon tried not to believe in superstition anymore because it fucked with her head, but she had taken Jeongyeon’s hand and wrapped it around her wrist, holding it there even as the other girl started to stared at her, confused.
“Thank you,” Nayeon had said, and kissed her.
That was the first and last time they kissed.
Jeongyeon places the flowers next to her things, face absolutely on fire. “No words,” she says, pointing an accusatory finger across their entire group, “from any of you.”
The group looks sincerely ready to take this whole situation and run wild with it, but Jeongyeon’s expression somehow manages to cower them all. They all go back to their previous conversations with reluctance. Nayeon positions her body so the flowers are no longer in her line of sight.
Jihyo taps her knee. You okay? her face says, eyebrows pinched in the middle, telegraphing clear concern. Nayeon just shrugs.
After their performance, when everyone’s out of costume and ready to brave the early morning chill back to their dorms, Nayeon catches Jeongyeon talking to a boy by a vending machine in some shadowy hallway off the commonly trodden path. Nayeon only knows this route because it’s the route to the only machine in the building that offers pre-packaged chewy gummies. Jeongyeon knows this too—it’s their post-show ritual.
Jeongyeon and the boy are speaking to each other like any pair of friends would, comfortable but not too close, smiling but not too much, talking but not too enthusiastically. At least, that’s what Nayeon thinks, until Jeongyeon’s leaning up to press an awfully sweet kiss to his cheek. Then she repeatedly knocks a fist into his chest, scolding him. Nayeon stays as the guy takes Jeongyeon’s wrist in his hand, playfully holding off her attacks until they come to a standstill, and then she simply can’t watch anymore. She keeps on walking until she’s sure she’s far enough away, and then focuses on her breathing until she’s sure she’s not dying anymore.
Jeongyeon sits next to her on the car ride home. Nayeon can’t look at her, so she doesn’t. A long moment stretches out between them, something Nayeon guesses is Jeongyeon just trying to figure her out. Eventually, instead of saying anything, she passes Nayeon a packet of sour gummies, her favourite kind, the kind the vending machine sells. Nayeon deflates, too touched by the gesture to stay hurt by something that’s not even completely Jeongyeon’s fault.
“Thanks,” she says, ripping open the packet and letting Jeongyeon take the first pick.
“I’m sorry,” Jeongyeon says.
Nayeon looks at her then, wondering how terrible it would be to say I don’t regret a single second of it, or maybe even, I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. “I’m okay,” she says instead. She knows in Jeongyeon’s apartment her friendship bracelet sits in a jewellery box on her dresser. “It’s really alright.”
Re: the classic f/f/m love triangle
Tags: Unrequited Love, Female Friendship, Canon Compliant/Idolverse, romantic and platonic love as both the life buoy and the anchor tying you down
Permission to Remix: Yes
(ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46648003)
-
Once, when they were trainees, Nayeon had brought over some embroidery floss to the agency. She was in crisis-management mode. 6mix been dashed to the rocks two weeks prior, leaving their whole debut situation in serious peril. Jeongyeon had practically one foot out the door: earlier in the week Jihyo had overheard her talking with her parents about dropping out of the agency to take her part-time baking job more seriously. The whole scenario was extremely awful in such a unique way it made Nayeon just straight up sad, so Nayeon didn’t hold it against her, but when Nayeon tried to picture what being a trainee would be like without Jeongyeon, she felt terribly wretched.
Nayeon needed her to stay more than anything, hence the embroidery floss. The night before, her younger sister showed her how to make a genuine, bonafide friendship bracelet—the special kind, the kind that would grant wishes. The idea was you would wear it until it fell off naturally, and then you could supplicate yourself to the cosmos and make a polite request. The longer the band had stayed on your wrist, the longer it lasted, the more likely the universe was to grant your desires. Or something.
In the afternoon Nayeon blocked out for arts-and-crafts purposes Jihyo found herself otherwise preoccupied, so it was only Nayeon and Jeongyeon sitting in the middle of one of the small individual practice rooms, alone together, making friendship bracelets. Both found the whole thing to be a little silly, but their streak of tough luck in the last few months had left Nayeon itchy with superstition. She didn’t say it with words, but she felt convinced her whole world might fall apart if she didn’t make these bracelets. Jeongyeon complained incessantly and with much annoyance, but seemed to see how important it was to Nayeon and concentrated on her task, even amidst all her griping.
It was hot in the practice room. They were sitting close enough that their knees touched, bare skin on bare skin. Jeongyeon wore these nylon shorts that rode up terribly on her thigh. It had been a while since Jeongyeon’s last company-mandated haircut, and whenever Nayeon looked at her she felt the inexplicable urge to take all of it and tie it up into a ponytail for her. Jeongyeon would swat her away whenever Nayeon moved to push her hair back, but she couldn’t help it.
By the end they both had come up with something, with differing results. Nayeon’s looked much better than Jeongyeon’s—probably because she had practice, but she claimed it was because she was more naturally gifted anyway.
Jeongyeon didn’t say anything, only rolling her eyes in response, but Nayeon’s strange mood had seemed to rub off on her too. Her touch was gentle and hands slow as she wrapped her bracelet around Nayeon’s wrist, fingers double-knotting and cinching tight. Her knuckles brushed against the inside of Nayeon’s wrist, and for a reason unnameable as-of-that-moment Nayeon felt her heart beating so loud and fast she felt close to passing out.
Years later, a guy brings flowers for Jeongyeon to their waiting room at a music show.
Well, not really. He brings flowers to his manager who brings the flowers to their manager who brings the flowers to their waiting room.
“From your friend,” manager-unnie tells Jeongyeon, her head tilted in some wise, all-knowing look. Friend, she says, an obvious misappropriation.
Uwah, Chaeyoung actually says, crawling across the floor to where Jeongyeon sits, cross-legged and hunched over in embarrassment. Chaeyoung’s on her hands and knees when she inspects the flowers, head tilting this way and that. It’s a lovely arrangement, for sure, maybe a little bit cliché—chrysanthemums and snapdragons and some foliage, all tied up in a bouquet good enough to get married with.
Nayeon feels sick.
“Wow,” Jihyo says, sounding genuinely impressed, “he’s got some serious guts.”
All of the staff in the waiting room are on the JYP payroll and therefore definitely likely to stay mum about the whole thing—but still, flowers? At a music show? If anyone in this room was unaware that Jeongyeon had something going on with somebody, now they do. What happened to subtlety? What happened to finesse? What happened to keeping the godforsaken peace?
Jeongyeon doesn’t even like romantic gestures like that. Too public. She would definitely prefer something private, something that could be shared between just her and whoever she’s with.
Nayeon’s friendship bracelet had fallen apart only two weeks after they made it. Publicly, she blamed Jeongyeon’s poor craftsmanship as the root cause, but she knew and Jeongyeon knew the truth: she wore the thing to its absolute limit. She refused to take it off. She would wear it everywhere: in the shower, to bed, during dance practice, even during evaluations.
Jeongyeon had said to her: It’s supposed to last, you dumbass. That’s the only way your wish can come true.
The day before they both had gotten good feedback on their evaluations, and as a reward had been given a weekday afternoon off. The both of them were too tired to go out, so instead they watched a movie at Nayeon’s house, huddled together on her bed, laptop perched precariously on their two knees. Nayeon had bought one singular cranberry bran muffin from the company canteen for them to split. She managed to needle Jeongyeon into feeding her bites until there was nothing but crumbs.
Later Jeongyeon would fall asleep on her shoulder, and Nayeon would feel such a nauseating mix of fondness and dread that it felt like she was dying.
Jeongyeon had taken better care of her bracelet—she would take it off during company-related things but left it alone otherwise—and it had lasted almost a year until it hit a snag and the whole thing unraveled. A week after that the company announced that the two of them, along with Jihyo and thirteen other girls, were slated to participate in an upcoming survival show where they would compete to debut.
After they received the news, they had both broken down sobbing in a public park right by the agency building. Nayeon had pressed her face into Jeongyeon’s shoulder and thought I want to be with you forever . Nayeon tried not to believe in superstition anymore because it fucked with her head, but she had taken Jeongyeon’s hand and wrapped it around her wrist, holding it there even as the other girl started to stared at her, confused.
“Thank you,” Nayeon had said, and kissed her.
That was the first and last time they kissed.
Jeongyeon places the flowers next to her things, face absolutely on fire. “No words,” she says, pointing an accusatory finger across their entire group, “from any of you.”
The group looks sincerely ready to take this whole situation and run wild with it, but Jeongyeon’s expression somehow manages to cower them all. They all go back to their previous conversations with reluctance. Nayeon positions her body so the flowers are no longer in her line of sight.
Jihyo taps her knee. You okay? her face says, eyebrows pinched in the middle, telegraphing clear concern. Nayeon just shrugs.
After their performance, when everyone’s out of costume and ready to brave the early morning chill back to their dorms, Nayeon catches Jeongyeon talking to a boy by a vending machine in some shadowy hallway off the commonly trodden path. Nayeon only knows this route because it’s the route to the only machine in the building that offers pre-packaged chewy gummies. Jeongyeon knows this too—it’s their post-show ritual.
Jeongyeon and the boy are speaking to each other like any pair of friends would, comfortable but not too close, smiling but not too much, talking but not too enthusiastically. At least, that’s what Nayeon thinks, until Jeongyeon’s leaning up to press an awfully sweet kiss to his cheek. Then she repeatedly knocks a fist into his chest, scolding him. Nayeon stays as the guy takes Jeongyeon’s wrist in his hand, playfully holding off her attacks until they come to a standstill, and then she simply can’t watch anymore. She keeps on walking until she’s sure she’s far enough away, and then focuses on her breathing until she’s sure she’s not dying anymore.
Jeongyeon sits next to her on the car ride home. Nayeon can’t look at her, so she doesn’t. A long moment stretches out between them, something Nayeon guesses is Jeongyeon just trying to figure her out. Eventually, instead of saying anything, she passes Nayeon a packet of sour gummies, her favourite kind, the kind the vending machine sells. Nayeon deflates, too touched by the gesture to stay hurt by something that’s not even completely Jeongyeon’s fault.
“Thanks,” she says, ripping open the packet and letting Jeongyeon take the first pick.
“I’m sorry,” Jeongyeon says.
Nayeon looks at her then, wondering how terrible it would be to say I don’t regret a single second of it, or maybe even, I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. “I’m okay,” she says instead. She knows in Jeongyeon’s apartment her friendship bracelet sits in a jewellery box on her dresser. “It’s really alright.”