Archive of Our Own

The solider is there again. Dahyun is pretty sure it’s the same one. A woman, relatively short with her shoulder length hair pulled back into a neat, regulation ponytail. Last time Dahyun had seen her here, she’d be in her formal blacks but today she’s in her camouflage combat uniform. Her left arm is held in place by a black sling. The soldier kneels in front of Jeongyeon’s grave, the flowers she’d brought cradled against her chest as she bows her head.

Dahyun waits. The soldier is the perfect picture of grief. Dahyun wonders how she knew Jeongyeon. Were they in the same unit? Had she been there on the day Jeongyeon had died? Dahyun is curious but… she doesn’t want to be. After all, would knowing really make a difference? Jeongyeon will still be gone.

Eventually, the solider lifts her head and deposits the flowers gently at the foot of Jeongyeon’s headstone. She stays kneeling for an extra few seconds before rising to her feet. She stands at attention, bringing her hand up in a salute, and then bringing her arm down unsteadily.

Last time she’d seen her here, Dahyun had let her leave without talking to her. She’d been too distraught herself to try striking up a conversation. Too lost in her grief to be curious. And the solider had been a stranger then. She’s still a stranger now, but she’s a stranger Dahyun recognizes. She’s seen her twice. Both times here. The curiosity tickles at her.

Dahyun walks toward the grave. She doesn’t really think much of her approach, of how the grass is muffling her footsteps and her boots land softly, until she steps on a fallen branch, and it snaps loudly under her feet. The sound echoes around the quiet graveyard.

The solider whirls quickly, feet sliding into a fighting stance and her uninjured hand coming up in front of her face to protect herself. Her eyes are a little wild and for a split second Dahyun wonders if she’s accidentally engaged with someone dangerous. She’s met soldiers before who can’t get the battlefield out of their minds and has, on occasion been scared by them. But almost immediately the solider relaxes with a tired sigh.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to sneak up on a soldier?” 

Dahyun thinks of her father. How he never sat with his back to a door and was always a little bit on edge even in his home. He was the first person she’d heard that from. But he’d always been gentle with her and with Jeongyeon. This soldier speaks the same way he had when scolding them: exasperated but not angry.  

“Sorry,” Dahyun says. “I wasn’t trying to sneak.”

The solider regards her for a second. If Dahyun were less used to soldiers, particularly those who had recently returned from active combat, she might have been intimidated. But she knows this solider is just judging whether or not she’s a threat. She must be fresh from the battlefield to be this paranoid still. Or she’d been in a really bad situation. The fact that she’s still in her military dress points to the former.

“It’s okay. I’ll get out of your way,” the soldier says, bowing respectfully to her.

“How do you know my sister?” Dahyun asks, stopping her departure. 

The soldier freezes. A number of expressions pass over her face, too quickly for Dahyun to recognize most of them, but the one it settles on she understands easily. Guilt. The solider doesn’t meet Dahyun’s eyes though she makes a valiant attempt, focusing her vision firmly on a spot just behind Dahyun’s shoulder.

“I was her Lieutenant. She died under my command.”

She says the last part like a confession, as if Jeongyeon’s death were her fault. Dahyun knows that there was nothing she could have done. An ambush is what the official report sent to the families of the victims had said. Two vehicles obliterated before anyone even knew what was happening, a third flipping in an attempt to avoid the onslaught. The last two vehicles had managed to survive but only barely.

“I see,” Dahyun says. “Well, thank you for visiting her.”

“It’s the least I can do,” the soldier says. “I was careless that day. It was my fault-“

Survivor’s guilt. Almost impossible to escape for those that have to stand at their comrades graves. Especially for those in command, those who held the responsibility of their lives in their hands. Dahyun wants to soothe her. Knows it’s hopeless.

“I read the report,” she interrupts. “It didn’t seem like something that could have been avoided.”

The soldier clearly doesn’t agree but she doesn’t argue either.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she says instead.

“I’m sorry for yours,” Dahyun responds. “Were you close?”

“Staff Sargent Yoo… Jeongyeon was a really good friend of mine,” the soldier says. “She was one of the good ones.”

Dahyun feels her chest tighten and the familiar press of tears behind her eyes. She really doesn’t want to cry anymore. How much can someone cry in two weeks? How much sadness and grief can the body stand? Not much more than this, Dahyun thinks.

“Yeah,” she says, voice cracking. “She was. She was the best.”

The solider hesitates for a second and then places a comforting hand on Dahyun’s shoulder. It’s warm and steady and it weighs against her grief heavily. Dahyun leans into it a little, just enough that the soldier will know that it’s welcome. They stand there, joined only by the soldier’s hand as Dahyun valiantly tries to stop her tears from falling. A couple escape and she brushes them away quickly with the sleeve of her coat. The solider offers her a handkerchief.

“Thank you,” Dahyun sniffles.

“It’s no problem. I’ll, um, I’ll let you have some time with her.”

“Oh, but-“ Dahyun extends the now teary and snotty handkerchief back to the solder.

“Keep it.”

Dahyun nods, feeling the soft fabric between her fingers.

“Can I know your name?” she asks.

“Lieutenant Park Jihyo at your service, ma’am,” Jihyo says, bowing awkwardly due to her arm in its sling.

“Nice to meet you, Lieutenant Park.”

“You as well, ma’am.”

"Dahyun, my name is Dahyun." 

"Nice to meet you, Dahyun." 

Jihyo says the name like it doesn't quite fit on her tongue and Dahyun wonders if it's still the guilt that's twisting it. She doesn't get a chance to ask though as the soldier bows to her and turns on heel, all but marching away in that way so habitual to soldiers. Dahyun watches her leave only turning back to the grave once she’s out of sight.

“Hey unnie,” she says softly. “It’s Dahyun. I miss you.”

This place feels different to Dahyun today though she’s been here nearly every single Thursday night for the last few years. But seeing all these young soldiers, the ones that managed to make it back, only makes her think of how her sister didn’t. Someone else might resent them for it. In fact, she’s spoken to people who do. Who look at those that return and wonder why it wasn’t the one they love. They often feel guilty for the resentment but are drowning so much in their grief to stop it. Dahyun doesn’t resent them. She’s happy to see them. Grateful for their presence, especially the ones that have been coming for a while whose faces, names, and lives she knows.  Even if her sister couldn’t make it back, she’s glad they did.

“We missed you last week,” one of them says. “I’m so sorry about…”

Momo trails off. She flinches a little at her own words and shakes her head. She knows as well as anyone how hollow they can sound. She also knows that there really aren’t any good words. Grief is often deaf and blind to comfort. 

“Thank you,” Dahyun says. “I missed you guys too.”

She means it. They’re a little family here. A constantly changing, shifting one, but a family nonetheless.

“Will you speak today?” Momo asks.

Dahyun shakes her head.

“No, this is a veteran’s support group. I’m not a veteran.”

“Yeah, but you-“

“It’s okay, Momo,” Dahyun says. “There’s a family member’s support group as well. If I want to talk, I’ll go to them”

Momo bites her lip and nods. She looks shaken today, more than usual. Dahyun wonders if the reminder of death is weighing on her. Momo had never met Jeongyeon, but Dahyun spoke about her often enough that everyone who’d been coming for a while knew of her. They knew what her death would mean to Dahyun. The mood is often somber here, but today is certainly quieter than usual.

Dahyun makes herself a cup of coffee at the refreshments table, helping one of the older vets in a wheelchair with his as well and smiling at him as he thanks her. He’s been coming to these meetings for longer than Dahyun has been alive and has stories that Dahyun could listen to for days. He doesn’t mention her sister, but his kind eyes say more than enough.

It’s Sana, another volunteer, who finally calls the meeting to order. Like Dahyun, she’s the daughter of a military family. She’s lost people as well. She just wants to help where she can.

“Welcome back everyone,” Sana says. “And welcome to our new members.”

Dahyun glances around the room quickly, categorizing the faces she hasn’t seen before. There’s a young soldier, beautiful face marred with a scar across her cheek and sad eyes. Dahyun thinks she’s too young to be here. She wonders what could have happened for her to be discharged so early into her service.

There’s an older solider Dahyun has never seen before. He’s done a few tours for sure, from how closed off his expression is, how empty his eyes are. It’ll be difficult to get him to open up but that isn’t really the goal anyway. That’s for the therapists to do. This group is meant only to be a sanctuary for those who need it. A place to find people who understand.

There’s a third new face, and yet one that Dahyun recognizes. Lieutenant Park Jihyo, sat at the back of the room, eyes sorrowfully scanning the room. She looks sad. Dahyun is reminded that she’s also grieving.

They go around and do introductions, as they always do. The hope is that they will find other veterans here to connect with beyond the group. Most do. Some don’t but they come every week and get some time to share, to release their burdens to the group.

“Does anyone want to share this week?” Dahyun asks, as she always does, once Sana is done reading out the announcements for the week.

Momo’s hand tentatively goes up and Dahyun gestures at her to come to the front. Momo limps forward. Her leg has been getting better these days, the surgery and subsequent physical therapy doing wonders. She’ll never run again but she may be able to walk normally at the end of the healing process.

“It’s been raining a lot this week,” Momo says once she’s seated before them. “It makes my leg hurt more. It makes the nightmares worse too. There’s days where it feels like it’s getting better. The leg and the nightmares. But on weeks like this… I wonder if it ever will. Or if I’ll be stuck in a cycle of feeling better and worse again. I guess… It’s been a year since it happened … but it sometimes feels like forever ago and sometimes it feels like yesterday.”

A few of the older vets nod. They know the feeling. PTSD and depression have a way of messing with time.

“Thank you for sharing, Momo,” Dahyun says when it becomes clear that Momo doesn’t have more to say.

Momo nods and makes her way back to her seat. One of the older vets whispers something to her that makes her face relax a little. Dahyun looks out over the rest of the group.

“Anyone else?”

“Lieutenant Park,” Dahyun says. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Please, call me Jihyo,” she says. “We’re not… you don’t have to be formal here.”  

Dahyun nods.

“Well, we’re happy to have you here,” she says. “If you ever feel like you need people to talk to… this group is good. Everyone here understands.”

Jihyo looks around at the rag-tag group of ex-soldiers. Some had left as soon as the meeting was over, but many were hanging around, talking. Some about what had been shared, some just about their lives. There’s a group in the corner discussing going out for beers.

“It seems like a good group,” Jihyo says, noncommittally.

“It is,” Dahyun says.

Silence falls between them. Jihyo’s expression is far away, lost probably on some battlefield Dahyun can’t even imagine. Jihyo hadn’t shared today. Dahyun kind of wishes she had. Not just because she wants to know Jihyo’s thoughts, but also because she’d been hoping for some insight on her sister, on what life had been like for her before she’d-

Thinking of her sister’s death is hard. Partially because she doesn’t feel like she’s dead sometimes. She hadn’t been around much in the years before, multiple deployments taking her across the ocean sometimes to places with little access to communication. Dahyun had gotten used to her absence, but it had always come with the feeling that she’d come home eventually. It still doesn’t quite feel real that she’ll never see her again.

“Have you been volunteering here long?” Jihyo asks suddenly, snapping Dahyun out of her thoughts.

“Yeah,” Dahyun says. “Since right after Jeongyeon’s first deployment. I couldn’t enlist but I wanted to help somehow.”

“Couldn’t?” Jihyo asks.

Dahyun smiles a little wryly. She’d wanted to join the military when she’d been younger. Her father had always seemed like such a strong, honorable man in her eyes. She’d wanted to be like him. That was before she’d understood the sadness and pain he carried. But before she’d been able to make the decision one way or another, it had been made for her.

“Bad heart,” Dahyun says. “I wouldn’t make it past the physical.”

Jihyo glances down as if she might be able to see Dahyun’s weak valves through her shirt. Her eyes dart away quickly when she realizes what she’s doing.

“Thank you for helping here anyway,” she says. “The soldiers speak highly of you.”

Dahyun wonders when Jihyo had a chance to talk to them. She hadn’t seen her talking to anyone earlier.

“I do what I can,” Dahyun says.

Jihyo nods. She’s tense still. Has been tense from the moment Dahyun first met her in the graveyard but is even more tense in this room. There’s a lot of people and though no one is speaking loudly, the murmur of voices is constant. Jihyo seems to be ready to jump into action… though what kind of action she might be expecting is unclear. She probably couldn’t say either. It’s all instinct.

“I’ll see you next week?” Dahyun asks, giving her an easy escape since she seems to want it.

“Maybe,” Jihyo says.

There’s always flowers at Jeongyeon’s grave. The same ones. Camellias. They’re beautiful. The same flowers that Jihyo had left. Dahyun doesn’t see Jihyo there again, but she sees the flowers and knows that Jihyo is coming. They’re always fresh, always arranged nicely on the headstone. Dahyun wonders how often she visits and kind of hopes they’ll cross paths again.

“Nayeon is coming back to visit,” Sana says softly.

They’re sitting outside of the rec center. It’s late. Everyone had left a while ago, but Dahyun hadn’t wanted to be alone yet and Sana had been happy to stay by her side.

“Oh, that’s great! When?” Dahyun asks.

“In a couple weeks. She has some time off before she gets deployed again.”

“We should all grab dinner,” Dahyun says.

Sana nods. It seems off. She should be happy to see her fiancée again, but she’s too quiet.

“What’s wrong?” Dahyun asks.

“She’s thinking about re-enlisting,” Sana says. “She has to decide by the end of the year.”

It’s always hard for those left behind. Not harder than the battlefield. Dahyun has seen too many scarred and broken people to make that mistake. But it’s still hard. The waiting, the hoping. You get used to it sometimes, but then something happens, and the fear comes back. Jeongyeon’s death affects more people than just Dahyun and her family.

“I’m scared she won’t come back. Or that she’ll come back hurt,” Sana says. “I just… want her to be safe.”

Dahyun wants to cry. She wanted the same for Jeongyeon but… there’s no used in hoping for it now. She forces her tears away. She doesn’t want to make Sana feel bad.

“Have you told her that?” Dahyun asks.

“Doesn’t it go without saying?”

It should maybe. It should go without saying that the people that love you want you safe and alive more than anything. That they miss you. But soldiers forget sometimes when they’re out on the battle field. Just like those at home get used to waiting, the soldiers sometimes get used to being waited for. They need to be reminded that waiting isn’t everything.

“You should tell her,” Dahyun says. “When she visits. You should tell her.”

“Do you think it’ll make her stay?”

Dahyun thinks of Jeongyeon. Dahyun had never told her that she wanted her to stay, that she sometimes couldn’t sleep with the worries of never seeing her again. But it wouldn’t have mattered. There was nothing that could have said that would have made a difference. Jeongyeon believed in what she was doing. She believed she was helping people. She didn’t want to stop. And yet… if Dahyun had said something, would Jeongyeon still be here?

“Does it matter?” she asks. “She deserves to hear it anyway. She’ll decide what she wants to decide. But she should know how you feel, what she’s risking by going back.”

Sana nods and then sighs.

“It would be easier if I loved someone else,” she says.

Dahyun swallows past the lump in her throat. It would be easier. But Sana won’t be able to stop loving Nayeon any more than Dahyun could stop loving her sister. She has a feeling in her own heart… one doesn’t say it out loud because it would be cruel, only enforcing Sana’s fears instead of assuaging them. But Dahyun is also scared Nayeon won’t come back.

Dahyun prefers working nights. The emergency room is quieter. They get more drunk people, which can be hard to handle, especially when they get aggressive. But they get less of the horrible accidents usually during the hours that most people are snug in their beds. Fewer construction workers with missing fingers and bikers hit by cars. 

Dahyun finishes cleaning up the room and bed that had recently been vacated by the young man who had come in earlier for a twisted ankle during baseball practice. The sprain had been bad, swelling up more than enough to be concerning. The MRI took a while to get, and he’d waited anxiously the whole time. It had been Dahyun who delivered the bad news. He was lucky he probably wouldn’t need surgery, but that didn't change the result. His season was over. He’d cried.

“Nurse Kim,” the intern at the desk calls out to her. “Is room eight clean? We have a new patient.”

Dahyun gives him the affirmative. The next thing she knows, Lieutenant Park Jihyo is sitting in front of her, a blooming bruise under her eye and dried blood under her nose. She also has some cloth wrapped around her hand clenched tightly into a fist. With her is a beautiful young woman, glaring at her. Jihyo is very deliberately not looking her way.

“Could you tell me what happened?” Dahyun asks, examining the wounds on her face carefully.

“This idiot got into a bar fight,” the pretty woman says.

Jihyo neither confirms nor denies the statement but her jaw clenches a little. Dahyun has enough experience with ER stories to keep her expression smooth, though she’s surprised. It’s not uncommon for soldiers to get into fights. Especially at bars with a few drinks in them. But Jihyo had seemed the level-headed type, and she doesn’t seem that drunk.

“Where does it hurt?” Dahyun asks.

Jihyo finally looks at Dahyun. She looks tired. Not just the normal had a long day tired that Dahyun is feeling, but something more like sleepless nights and anxious days.

“It’s just a cut,” Jihyo says. “Mina is overreacting.”

The woman, Mina, scoffs. Dahyun almost smiles. The stubbornness of soldiers is something she knows well. She remembers Jeongyeon slipping and falling off a rock she’d been trying to climb and taking off the top layer of skin on a patch the size of a credit card on her skin. It had been red and dripping blood and Jeongyeon’s whole body would twitch while Dahyun had disinfected it. There had been tears in her eyes, as she’d sworn it didn’t hurt. She was twelve at the time.

“Can I see it?” she asks.

Jihyo holds her hand out and Dahyun carefully unwraps what she now recognizes as a handkerchief. It’s identical to the one Jihyo had given her at the graveyard, though stained a darkening red. She wonders briefly how many of these Jihyo has. Under the cloth is a lot of blood and under the blood is a cut, long and deep enough to be concerning, in Jihyo’s palm.

“You’re going to need stitches,” Dahyun says.

Jihyo sighs and Mina glares at her.

“I told you it was serious. You shouldn’t have gotten involved!”

“That guy was harassing you.”

“I had it handled.”

“You did not! He was grabbing you and-“

“I’ll get the doctor so he can get you sown up,” Dahyun interrupts, wanting to keep her patient from getting too agitated. “Would you like me to check your nose as well to make sure it’s not broken?”

The two women look at her, a slight tinting of blush on both their cheeks. Mina takes a calming breath and steps back.

“It’s not,” Jihyo says with certainty. “I’ve broken my nose before. It doesn’t feel like this.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Dahyun comes back quickly, and starts to tend to the wound carefully, cleaning around the area to make sure there’s no debris in the way and that the bleeding has mostly stopped.

“So, you’re a nurse?” Jihyo says.

“Yeah,” Dahyun says. “It pays the bills.”

Jihyo snorts.

“I have a feeling that’s not why you do it,” she says.

Dahyun glances at her and then focuses back on her hand.

“Oh?”

“You like helping people,” Jihyo says. “You always want to help.”

Dahyun smiles but doesn’t bother confirming Jihyo’s guess. She’s right, of course. When she’d found out the military wasn’t an option, she’d decided on nursing. Medical school would take too long and take her too far away from patients. She wanted to see them, talk to them, heal them not just in body but provide comfort when she can. She likes the work, even if it’s hard.

The doctor slips in a second later, quickly getting to business, numbing around the cleaned area and then gently stitching the wound closed. He leaves Dahyun to wrap it and explain carefully to Jihyo how to treat it for the next two weeks. Dahyun makes sure that Mina is listening as well, just in case. It’s always better to have more ears on care instructions, especially with stubborn patients.

“Thank you, Dahyun,” Jihyo says as she stands to leave.

“Of course,” Dahyun says. “I’d say anytime, but I really hope that you won’t end up back in my emergency room any time soon.”

“I’ll do my best not too,” Jihyo answers.

“Will I see you at group this week?”

Jihyo glances at her uncertainly. She hadn’t come again after the first time. Dahyun gets it. It can be hard at first, when the grief is still fresh, to be confronted with it. Sometimes the other grievers aren’t a comfort so much as a reminder. But Dahyun has always believed that community is the best antidote to sadness.

“I… I might,” Jihyo says.

She’s not a liar. Dahyun has figured that much out. Doesn’t want to promise anything she can’t keep. Dahyun won’t push her. She just smiles and bows to both her and Mina, who has been quietly watching the conversation. She doesn’t butt in but her eyes are sharp and analyzing. Dahyun wonders who she is to Jihyo.

They bow to her and then make their way over to the checkout desk to complete their paperwork. Dahyun turns her focus to cleaning the room. There another patient will need it soon enough.

“How’s the hand healing, Lieutenant Park?”

Dahyun is careful not to sneak up on Jihyo this time. Jihyo doesn’t startle.

“I thought I told you to call me Jihyo.”

Dahyun smiles.

“You did.”

Jihyo narrows her eyes, pursing her lips into something that could almost be called a pout.

“Call me Jihyo,” she says.

Dahyun has spent her whole life around soldiers. Her father, her sister, her uncles and cousins. Their friends, old comrades, current fellow soldiers. Can read the stars and stripes and insignias like they’re her native tongue. The urge to call people by rank is ingrained. But if Jihyo doesn’t want to hear it, she can fight against her instincts.

“How is the hand healing, Jihyo?”

Jihyo smiles.

“Good,” she says. “I had a really good nurse. Fixed me right up.”

It would be pointless to mention that it was the doctor who did her stitches. And well, Dahyun knows when she’s being teased.

“Must be some nurse,” Dahyun plays along easily.

Jihyo seems a little brighter today than she has before. Dahyun has been feeling brighter bit by bit as well. She feels guilty whenever she notices. Is it too quick to be losing grasp of the grief? It’s not gone. Not by a long shot and Dahyun still cries often. But she can also smile more easily. Does that make her a bad person? Would Jeongyeon resent her for it? She knows the answer is no, but…

“She was a pretty great nurse,” Jihyo says.

“Well, I’m glad you came today,” Dahyun says. “I’m glad to see you again.”

Jihyo smiles again, a little wider, a little brighter. She nods in acknowledgement. Silence simmers between them for a second and Jihyo opens her mouth to break it, but then Sana is calling the meeting to order.

The young soldier from a couple weeks back, the one with the scar on her face, shares first today. Her name is Tzuyu. She refers the incident that gave her the scar only as ‘it’ never going to into specifics about what had happened. The scar is deep on her face and, when Dahyun pays attention, she notices tracks down from the side of her face to past her chin and down her neck until it disappears into the collar of her shirt.

“Before I enlisted, I got recruited to a modeling agency,” Tzuyu shares. “They said that I could make it big but modeling work… it’s not consistent and my mother was sick. I thought I’d do this until she was better and then I’d go back. But she died when I was out there and now…” she gestures vaguely to her face.

“I don’t want to live with regret,” Tzuyu continues, words a little strangled. “But I can’t help but think…what if I hadn’t gone. What if I had stayed and modeled? … Could I have been here when she died? Would it have made a difference? Was it all a-a waste?”

The last sentence breaks off into tears and Sana steps forward to put her arms around the young soldier’s shoulders, speaking softly into her ear until Tzuyu stands and allows herself to be guided back to her seat. The room is heavily silent. It’s Jihyo who breaks it, standing quietly, yet in the dead silent room just the shuffling of her pants is loud. She moves to the front of the room and sits in the chair.

“I am not a veteran,” she says. “Yet.”

The room listens carefully, kindly.

“I am on assignment here in Seoul while my arm heals. I’m helping train some of the new recruits. I look at them and I see the face of my best friend. The one I let die.”

Dahyun’s heart rate picks up.

“I wonder if I’m wrong for encouraging them to join. And then I wonder if I’m wrong for thinking that way when I know that we're protecting people. I see her in their faces, and I don’t know how to feel. She… she wouldn’t have wanted me to be swayed by her death. She would have wanted me to keep fighting. I know this but I also…”

Jihyo trails off. She looks around the room, eyes finding Dahyun’s for a split second before her expression closes off and she’s looking away again.

“That’s all I had to say,” she finishes abruptly, standing and moving back to her seat.

She doesn’t look at Dahyun again for the rest of the session. Dahyun wishes she would.

Nayeon hugs Dahyun tightly as soon as she sets foot in her apartment. Sana trails behind her with a bottle of wine in her hands. Dahyun focuses back on Nayeon.

“I’m so sorry about Jeongyeon,” Nayeon says softly. “It should never have been her.”

Nayeon had met Jeongyeon twice, when their leaves overlapped. They’d gotten along well. Two soldiers, loud voices, big hearts. Birds of a feather really. Had they not been deployed more often than not they might have been good friends. Now they’ll never know. Dahyun doesn’t answer Nayeon’s sentiment, but she lets Nayeon squeeze her until she’s had her fill, smiling when she’s finally released.

“It’s good to see you,” she says warmly, ushering her and Sana into the apartment.

Nayeon steps past her and Dahyun can’t help but rake her eyes over her, checking for injuries, for damage of any kind. She looks fine. Healthy. Strong. It soothes something in Dahyun to see her physically in front of her.

“How much leave do you have this time?” she asks.

“A week,” Nayeon answers. “I’m wheels up on Monday.”

Dahyun nods. She wonders if Sana will tell Nayeon what she's been feeling while she’s here. Maybe she’ll wait until the end of the week in case it turns into a fight. It would be a shame to waste Nayeon’s precious leave fighting.

“Do you guys have any plans?”

Sana nods as Nayeon launches into an explanation on all the fun things she has planned for them to do together, to make the most of their limited time together. Sana is quiet. Too quiet for her, but Dahyun understands. Sana’s eyes don’t leave Nayeon’s face the whole evening, tracking her every move, drinking her in. Nayeon doesn’t seem to notice.

“Enough about us though,” Nayeon says. “What about you? What’s new?”

Dahyun shrugs. Nothing much, really. She lost her sister. That’s the only major change. She still works, still volunteers at the veteran’s group, still visits her parents as often as possible.

“There’s a cute soldier at group that she’s been flirting with,” Sana says.

Dahyun looks at her, affronted.

“I have not.”

“If your little conversations every week aren’t flirting, then I don’t know what is,” Sana says, the corners of her mouth tilting up mirthfully. “You like her.”

Dahyun rolls her eyes. Jihyo has been coming to group more often these days. Almost every week. She talks to Dahyun each time. She teases sometimes, smiles, sometimes Dahyun can even get a quiet laugh out of her. Conversations get easier between and Dahyun looks forward to her. Liking her though…

“Shut up,” she says, a poor defense if Nayeon’s laugh is anything to go by.

“Is she hot?” she asks her fiancée excitedly.

“Very,” Sana says honestly.

“Nice, Dahyun!”

“I got word yesterday,” Jihyo says, “That another member of my unit died.”

Dahyun feels her chest cave a little in empathy.

“He’s not technically in my unit anymore. After the ambush and my injury, everyone got shuffled around. Re-stationed. But he’s still my soldier. At least that’s how it feels. I should have been there. With him and the other remaining members of my unit, instead of doing paper work and teaching kids just out of high school how to lace up their boots properly.”

She’s angry. At herself. At the world. One of the stages of grief, Dahyun reminds herself. She hasn’t seen Jihyo angry before. The anger would burn if it weren’t directly entirely internally. Instead, it feels like watching an implosion in real time. Dahyun aches to soothe her, knows there isn’t much she can say.

“It should have been me out there.”

Jihyo whispers. A rustle goes through the room. That sentiment is one that whole group knows, feels, wishes they didn’t, wishes they could change. The older vets shake their heads, the younger ones duck theirs to hide their own pain. Dahyun watches Jihyo struggle with what she’s feeling and then sees her shut down, expression smooth again.

“Thank you for sharing,” Sana says as Jihyo makes her way back to her seat, but her voice shakes.

She’s thinking of Nayeon. Nayeon waiting for her in her apartment. Nayeon who will get Jihyo’s wish to be back in the action in a couple of days. She hasn’t told her that she wants her to stay yet, but she confessed to Dahyun that she thinks about it every second. She doesn’t know what’s right anymore. Jihyo’s story probably doesn’t help.

“Would you go for a walk with me?” Jihyo asks.

Everyone else is filing out of the rec center, some to grab drinks, some to go home to their loved ones. Dahyun had been planning on getting a drink with Nayeon and Sana, but Sana had texted her telling her that she needed a raincheck and that she was sorry. Dahyun understood.

“Sure,” Dahyun says.

The night air is cool, but tolerably so, the rain yesterday bringing with it a front of slightly warmer weather. Still, Jihyo insists on buying Dahyun a warm tea at the first café they walk by. Once they have drinks in hand, she falls silent. Dahyun waits, patiently, walking by her side at a slow amble.

This death has shaken Jihyo. Even if Dahyun hadn’t heard her speak earlier, she’d be able to tell just from Jihyo’s mannerisms. She’s learned them pretty well over the last few weeks. Knows them well enough to see them change. How the steady posture devolves into fidgeting, anxious small movements with her fingers and darting eyes. Her words come more slowly, smiles too. She’s trying to be strong. Dahyun wishes she knew she didn’t have to be when it’s just the two of them.

“It’s hard being here,” Jihyo says eventually. “Knowing that they’re out there without me.”

Dahyun hums softly to acknowledge that she’s heard but she doesn’t say anything. She thinks there’s more Jihyo could say, might want to say, and doesn’t want to derail it with her own words. Still, there’s a few minutes of silence again before Jihyo says anything more.

“This,” she lifts her slinged arm just a little, “it feels like weakness. Like someone stronger or better might not have gotten hurt. They might have seen the ambush coming, reacted faster. I wouldn’t have lost so many people that day and I’d have been out in the field now, protecting my people. But I can’t. Until it heals, I’m just here… filing papers and yelling at recruits who don’t even want to be there.”

She sighs deeply, a breath that feels like it’s pulled from the deepest part of her. Dahyun hopes that whatever she exhaled felt like relief. But her posture is just as tense and antsy as before.

“I’m sorry,” Jihyo says. “You just lost your sister and here I am unloading on you.”

“It’s okay,” Dahyun says. “I’m happy to listen. You lost people too.”

“I could go to someone else… like the therapist they’re requiring me to see.”

Dahyun snorts softly. She has to imagine Jihyo is just as reticent as Dahyun’s father is about therapy. It’s not funny, but it kind of is. The similarities between soldiers… Dahyun has often wondered how much of it is self-selection for a certain personality type and how much is molded into them during service.

“Why don’t you talk to them?” Dahyun asks.

“They talk to me like there’s something wrong with me. They tell me all the things that are fucked up in my brain… but they’ve never been out there. They don’t understand that it’s not just what you learn in a textbook it’s… real. For us it’s real. And it’s not so simple as ‘oh you have PTSD’.”

Jihyo looks up at the night sky. Dahyun follows her line of sight. There aren’t any stars though it’s a clear night. Too many city lights probably drowning them out. 

“Post-traumatic stress disorder…. Post. Like it’s over… but I have to go back. And I know people that are still there. It’s not post for us. It’s present. It’s now. It’s- My therapist tells me that it’s normal to be scared to go back. I don’t know how to explain to her that I’m not scared of being back. I’m scared of not going back, of what will happen if I don't. I want to go back. I didn’t come here because I wanted to. I was forced by this broken arm, and I left people and things behind that I… I don’t know if I can walk away from. Every second that I’m here, the feeling gets worse.”

Jeongyeon had said similar things when she’d re-enlisted, that she had unfinished business, that she had people that she couldn’t leave behind. But it had been in a different tone. Jeongyeon hadn’t been scared. She’d been sure. Sure that was she was doing was right, that her place was out on the battlefield. Jihyo sounds scared. Though whether it’s scared to return or scared of going back too late, Dahyun can’t tell.

“The kid that died,” Jihyo says. “I didn’t know him well. He had just joined the unit. Straight from basic training. He was a good kid though; his CO’s spoke highly of him and he was always respectful. He didn’t… he didn’t deserve it. None of them do. Your sister… she didn’t deserve it either.”

Dahyun’s throat tightens automatically at the mention of Jeongyeon. That part still hasn’t gotten better. Her eyes water and she glances away.

“I’m sorry, Dahyun,” Jihyo says, softly. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect her. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t bring her back to you.”

Dahyun shakes her head and stops so that she can pull Jihyo into a hug. She’s careful not to jostle Jihyo’s broken arm where it’s trapped between them. Jihyo tenses at first, her right hand hovering for a second before slipping around Dahyun’s waist and pulling her in tightly. After a breath, she relaxes into Dahyun.

“I’m so sorry,” she says again.

“It’s not your fault,” Dahyun promises. “It’s not your fault at all. You did your best. I don’t blame you.”

Jihyo sobs into her shoulder and her fingers curl into her waist. She hides her face into the collar of Dahyun’s coat and cries. Dahyun holds her, promising her that she’s okay, that it was never her fault, that Jeongyeon wouldn’t blame her, would love her anyway. Whether Jihyo accepts the words or not, Dahyun doesn’t know but she lets her cry, hoping that it will give her some relief.

Nayeon stumbles into Dahyun’s apartment a little past midnight, startling her awake. She looks haggard, eyes red and puffy, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Can spend the night here?”

Dahyun doesn’t say anything, but she drags Nayeon into the living room by her wrist, sitting her on the couch as she grabs a box of tissues. She takes a seat next to her and hands her one.

“What happened?” she asks.

“I fought with Sana,” Nayeon whimpers.

Dahyun had figured that much already. It was the only explanation that she could think of that would cause Nayeon to be away from her on her last night in town. She can guess, maybe, at the cause of the fight but she waits patiently for Nayeon to tell her.

“She told me she doesn’t want me to re-enlist,” Nayeon says eventually. “But I… I… if I don’t re-enlist I don’t know what I’ll do. She doesn’t get it. There’s so much I leave behind if I don’t. I love her but the soldiers I work with… I’m making an impact out there. I can feel it and there are people that need me there. I can help there. It feels like she isn’t even trying to understand where I’m coming from.” 

Dahyun has heard this all before. So many times. From people that made it back but also from people that didn’t. She doesn’t want to get angry. Nayeon doesn’t need anger right now. She needs a friend. She needs support. But Dahyun is scared. She sees too much of Jeongyeon in Nayeon and that fear… it curdles in her blood into an anger so poignant it makes her hands shake.

“Jeongyeon said the same thing before she left,” Dahyun says.

It’s not fair of Dahyun to say that. It’s a guilt trip for sure. But it’s also true. Nayeon’s words echo through Dahyun’s mind like a memory. She wonders what might have happened if she had fought her sister properly like Sana is doing now. Maybe the only difference is that Jeongyeon would have died with their last memory being an argument. Or maybe she’d have stayed and would still be alive today.

The words make Nayeon still entirely. She looks at Dahyun with lips parted and eyes wide. Her breath trembles as she regards her.

“You… and Jeongyeon… you always talk as if there’s nothing for you here. As if the only way your life can have meaning is out there, on the battlefield. Don’t you think you’re looking down on us too much, on the ones that stay behind? Do you really think that you can’t do anything worth doing here? Is the battlefield, in the line of danger, away from Sana… away from us really the only way you can conceive of being helpful?”

Nayeon pulls away from Dahyun further with every word she says, her expression filling with hurt and guilt. It forces Dahyun forces to take a breath and calm down.

“I’m not telling you what to do,” she says with a sigh. “You should do what you want. There’s merit to staying and there’s merit to going. But Sana… when she sees you leave, she’ll think of Jeongyeon. She’ll think of all the soldiers we see in group who only barely made it back, who live their lives in wheelchairs and in pain. She loves you.”

Nayeon is crying again now but its softer, sadder, no longer tinged with anger.

“I don’t want to leave her,” she sobs. “I love her too. So much. So, so much.”

“I know,” Dahyun says. “I know that. She knows that too. She would just rather you loved her from here.”

Nayeon nods, sniffling some more, wiping her nose and tears with the tissues that Dahyun hands her. Dahyun lets her cry, patting her back softly until Nayeon has calmed down.

“I don’t know what to do,” Nayeon whispers. “I don’t know what’s right.”

“Think about it,” Dahyun says. “Take your time and think. You have a month. So think about it and then decide. But right now… you shouldn’t be here. You should be with her.”

Nayeon nods slowly and then pushes herself to standing. Dahyun stands with her with the intent of walking her to the door, but Nayeon hugs her before she can, grip tight and unyielding.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “You’re a good friend. I’m glad… I’m glad you’re here, with Sana while I’m gone. I’m sorry.”

“Is Sana okay? She was quiet during group tonight,” Jihyo asks.

“Her fiancée got redeployed,” Dahyun says. “She left earlier this week. To the Middle East this time.”

Sana is not okay. She tells Dahyun quietly that she and Nayeon had reconciled after their fight, but she doesn’t talk about resolution. There wasn’t one. Nayeon has a month to decide. Until then, Sana is left wondering, hoping, and missing her. Dahyun doesn’t know how to help.

“My cast is coming off next week,” Jihyo says quietly.

Dahyun doesn’t say anything. She knows what the whispered words mean. As soon as the cast is off, Jihyo will become eligible to be deployed again. And someone of her rank and reputation is unlikely to be left on the sidelines for long. Jihyo herself is itching to return. Dahyun can feel it.

“That’s good,” Dahyun says, despite what she’s feeling. “I’m glad it’s healing well.”

Jihyo nods.

“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt at all these days. I’ll be glad to be able to use my hand again. Though I’m nervous that I’ve lost a lot of muscle.”

“You’ll regain it back quickly, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Jihyo says. “I hope so.”

Dahyun feels like she’s full of words she wants to say, but what right does she have to say them to Jihyo? Nayeon is Sana’s fiancée, Jeongyeon was Dahyun’s sister. They had rights to beg for them to stay, to infringe into their lives with their own selfish desires. Jihyo is… a friend maybe. But past that… she doesn’t need to care about Dahyun’s opinions. She doesn’t need to be burdened with Dahyun’s feelings.

So Dahyun bites back the words and takes a sip of the tea Jihyo had bought her. It’s gone a little cold.

Dahyun brings a balloon, a party hat, and two cupcakes to Jeongyeon’s grave on November 1^st. She ties the string of the balloon around a rock to hold it in place. She places the party hat onto her own head and then carefully unwraps one of the cupcakes and places it on the headstone.

“Happy birthday, sis,” Dahyun says.

She lays out a small blanket on the ground by the grave and sits. She eats the other cupcake slowly, speaking to Jeongyeon between bites.

“Sana has cried at group the last two weeks,” Dahyun says softly. “She didn’t use to, but Nayeon being gone… it’s harder for her this time. I’m worried about what will happen if Nayeon decides to re-enlist.”

Jeongyeon doesn’t answer, of course, but Dahyun feels listened to anyway. It’s easy to imagine her older sister perched on top of her head stone, eating the cupcake carefully to avoid getting icing on her fingers and face. Despite being tall and a little gangly, she always managed to sit comfortably in weird places, and she hated eating messily.

“I sometimes wonder what might have happened if I had begged you to stay. Would you have?”

She doesn’t get an answer.

“You wouldn’t have been happy here at first, but at least you would have been alive. And I’m sure you would have found something worthwhile to do. Something that made you happy. Nayeon would too, if she stayed. Jihyo… Jihyo as well. But all three of you are too stubborn for your own good.”

A bird swoops down and starts pecking at the cupcake on the headstone. Dahyun thinks of shooing it away but figures there’s no point. Jeongyeon isn’t actually going to eat it.

“I like Jihyo,” Dahyun confesses. “I wish… I wish I could talk to you about her. Properly I mean. You guys were friends, she says, but I don’t remember you mentioning her. You didn’t talk about your time out there much. But I really like her, and I'd like to know if you would have approved.”

Dahyun hears the snapping of a branch behind her and whirls around, hand flying to her chest, to find Jihyo looking at her, face red and clearly guilty. Her posture suggests she had been trying to back away rather than approach the grave but she’s holding her usual bouquet of camellias in her hand.

“Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a nurse?” Dahyun asks with a smile.

“Sorry,” Jihyo says, flushing even deeper.

Dahyun tries to pinpoint the reason for her blush and then feels her own face heat up the moment she realizes.

“How… um, how much did you just hear?” Dahyun asks.

Jihyo cringes and looks away.

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

Dahyun wonders if she prays hard enough, if she will just disappear.

“You can… you can pretend you didn’t hear anything. I would love it if you did actually.”

Jihyo looks panicked as Dahyun grabs her bag and makes to leave.

“You- you don’t have to leave. I can come back later. You should be able to spend time with her. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s… I wished her a happy birthday already,” Dahyun says. “I don’t really have much more to say.”

Jihyo looks guilty, and more than a little sorry.

“Really, it’s fine,” Dahyun tries to reassure.

Dahyun doesn’t wait for Jihyo’s response and speed walks out of the cemetery to her car. As soon as she’s behind the wheel she lets the embarrassment really hit her and rests her forehead against the steering wheel. Jihyo really has the most terrible timing. How the hell is Dahyun going to go to group this week?

“Is she in there?” Dahyun asks a giggling Sana.

Her friend didn’t seem to have a lot of empathy for Dahyun’s predicament. Apparently finding it funnier than anything else. But she’s willing to entertain her enough to peek around the corner to check to see who has already filed into the room.

“Yes,” Sana says. “Oh, her cast is off.”

Dahyun’s embarrassment takes the back seat immediately. Jihyo’s cast is off. She’s healed enough for active duty. How much more of Jihyo’s time will Dahyun get? How much more of her company until she’s somewhere far away? Can she bear it if Jihyo goes and doesn’t come back?

“Dahyun? Are you alright?” Sana asks.

Dahyun doesn’t bother answering but she squares her shoulders and walks into the room. There’s no use wasting their precious time on embarrassment.

“Three weeks,” Jihyo says. “I’m deploying in three weeks.”

Dahyun’s heart sinks down past her feet, sinking into the floor with how heavy it feels. Three weeks. That’s… soon. Too soon.

“Oh,” she says.

Other words fail her. She isn’t sure what Jihyo wants to hear from her now. If maybe it’s encouragement, a congratulations that she’s finally getting her wish to go back into the action. There’s no way Dahyun will be able to make it sound sincere.

“Yeah,” Jihyo says, also lost for words.

They sit side by side on the park bench, staring out over the grass, the dimly lit streetlamps giving it an almost golden hue.

“Where, um, where are they sending you?”

“Europe,” Jihyo says. “A few different countries.”

“For how long?”

“Four months.”

Dahyun breathes a sigh of relief. Four months isn’t too bad and Europe is safer… usually.

“I’d like… If this is asking too much or crossing a boundary or something, please let me know, but I’d like it if we kept in contact,” Jihyo says.

The grass flutters a little in the breeze and Dahyun tucks her chin into her coat collar. Her heart speeds up as her stomach twists and the two feelings are hard to balance. She wonders if she’s getting too involved with Jihyo. If it would be better if she cut ties now and didn’t let herself care. It would be easier for sure, to not have to think about her while she’s gone, to not wonder if she’s safe, and go through the heartbreak if she isn’t.

It would be easier if I loved someone else. It was too late for Sana. She couldn’t stop loving Nayeon at this point but Dahyun… she probably could. It was early enough with Jihyo that she could find someone else. Someone who would stay. If she cut ties now… she could avoid a lot of pain.

“I’d like that too.”

Dahyun isn’t the type to get clingy. She had assumed Jihyo wasn’t either. She realizes she’s wrong when Jihyo meets her outside of the hospital at 6am when her shift finishes. She’s holding Dahyun’s coffee order and a pastry that is still warm.

“I’ll drive you home,” she says softly. 

Dahyun takes the coffee and the pastry and slips into Jihyo’s car carefully. It’s meticulously clean, seeming almost brand new despite being a model from at least three years back.

“You can eat in here if you want,” Jihyo says. “I don’t mind.”

Dahyun takes a bite of the pastry, and the taste of strawberry jam and custard hits her like a wave. She’s always so hungry coming off shift and this pastry...

“Where did you get this?” she asks. “It’s amazing.”

Jihyo keeps her eyes on the road but smiles.

“There’s a bakery called Maman’s near my apartment. They have the best breads and pastries. I’ve been eating there almost every morning. It’s terrible for my diet.”

Dahyun looks at her t-shirt lying flat against her stomach and the sharp lines of her muscle in her arms and forearms. It doesn’t seem like there’s anything wrong with her diet and Dahyun almost points it out and then flushes when she realizes that it might reveal too much about how she’s been regarding Jihyo these days.

“It’s really good,” she says instead. “Thank you.”

The rest of the ride is silent. Dahyun tries to be surreptitious as she watches Jihyo. The city lights flash across her face, giving her a thousand different expressions. Dahyun thinks each one is beautiful.

“Today is my last day training the recruits,” Jihyo says softly as they approach Dahyun’s house. “They want me to join my new squadron starting tomorrow so that we have some time training together before deployment.”

Jihyo gives her updates like this gently as if she knows she needs to ease Dahyun into her inevitable departure. Dahyun appreciates it even if it hurts more each time.

“That’s good,” Dahyun says. “Your new squadron is lucky to have you.”

“I… I hope so. I hope I can do better this time.”

“You always do the best you can,” Dahyun says.

“Yeah, I guess… I hope it’s enough this time.”

There’s not much to be said about that so Dahyun doesn’t say anything. They pull in front of Dahyun’s building.

“I hope you sleep well,” Jihyo says. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I don’t really have anything to share this week,” Jihyo says slowly. “This is my last day here before I leave.”

A small rustle goes through the room. The people there have come to like Jihyo. She’s a soldier’s soldier. Always knows how to talk to them to reassure them best. Gives good advice and knows when to joke and when to be serious. They’re going to miss her. Tzuyu, in particular, looks upset. Dahyun hopes that she doesn’t take Jihyo leaving too hard. She’s been making a lot of progress with her recently.

“This group is really, really good,” she says. “This kind of community is- you can’t find it anywhere else. So I hope you all keep coming. I wanted to thank you all for listening and for talking with me. I wanted to thank our volunteers in particular. Sana and Dahyun… you guys are the heart and soul of this place. You may not be in uniform, but I wanted to thank you for your service.”

A round of applause scatters across the room. Dahyun ducks her head to hide the attention. She doesn’t feel like she deserves this. It’s not such a great, wonderful thing she’s doing. She’s just listening. That’s really all she and Sana have ever done.

“I will miss you all,” Jihyo says. “I hope I’ll get to see you all when I return.”

The uncertainty of the statement quiets the room and makes Dahyun want to cry.

“What time is your flight tomorrow?”

“Eight a.m.”

“I’ll drive you,” Dahyun promises. “I’ll pick you up at your place after work and-“

“You don’t have to,” Jihyo says.

“I know. I want to.”

Jihyo’s eyes are dark and intense as they regard her. She leans in a half centimeter and her eyes flicker down to Dahyun’s lips. For a second, Dahyun is certain she’s going to be kissed. Her heart races but then Jihyo is sitting up straight and exhaling softly.

“Okay,” she says. “I’d like that.”

“I know you can’t promise anything,” Dahyun says softly. “But please be safe.”

Jihyo doesn’t say anything because she isn’t the type to make empty promises. Instead, she pulls Dahyun into a hug. She’s warm and soft despite the strength in her. It’s the first time they’ve hugged since Jihyo’s arm healed and both arms wrap around her shoulders, firmly but not too tightly, gentle even as her fingers press into Dahyun’s shoulder blades.

“I’ll miss you,” Jihyo says. “I’ll message you when I can. And call.”

Dahyun squeezes her as acknowledgement and then they’re both pulling away. Jihyo nods twice and clears her throat.

“I should go before I miss my flight,” she says.

Dahyun nods and awkwardly lifts her hand in a half wave.

“Safe travels,” she says.

Jihyo smiles and then with a deep breath turns and walks away, pulling her suitcase behind her. Dahyun watches her go. She thinks of all the times she watched Jeongyeon make this exact journey, her military jacket hanging off her shoulders, making her seem bigger than she actually was. She remembers the last time she watched her walk away, not knowing that it would be the last. She doesn’t want to remember that now.

Jihyo glances back at her, smiles once and waves. She waits until Dahyun waves back to her and then she’s stepping through the sliding airport doors and Dahyun loses sight of her.

“I won’t re-enlist,” Nayeon says.

“You- really?”

“Yeah,” Nayeon says softly. “I… I thought about what you said, and also what Sana said. I never told you this because I was embarrassed I think. But when we fought that one time, she asked me why I proposed to her. I thought, well obviously I did it because I love her. But she said that wasn't a good enough reason. And I asked what she meant and she said that marriage, it’s a commitment. To one person. An acknowledgement that that person comes first, before anyone else. Before anything else.”

Nayeon’s voice crackles a little over the phone. She doesn’t always have good service where she's stationed. It’s a miracle actually that their call has lasted this long already.

“I know a lot of people who put the military before their families. Some will even say they’re married to the job. When I first started serving, I thought it was really sad when they said that. I didn’t… I didn’t realize that I was turning into them. So I won’t re-enlist. I want to marry Sana. And when I marry her I want to be with her. Like actually, physically with her. I want her to be the thing I put above everything else. I never want her to question that.”

Dahyun smiles. Nayeon is going to come back. She’s going to come back and she’s going to stay. Relief runs through her veins, making her feel lighter than any drug could. She can’t wait to see Sana tomorrow, to see her smile properly again.

“When does your enlistment officially end?” Dahyun asks.

“Two months. Deployment ends in a month and a half.”

“That’s really good news, Nayeon. I’m really-“

Dahyun hadn’t realized she’d been about to cry until her voice cracks.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Nayeon says.

“I’m just happy,” Dahyun manages to say. “I can’t wait till you’re back.”

“It’ll happen before you know it.”

“How was your shift?” Jihyo asks.

When accounting for the time difference and their schedules, the best time for them to talk is when Dahyun is driving home from the hospital. Parking sucks and traffic also sucks, even at this time of day, but Dahyun can’t talk to Jihyo while she’s on the subway, so she drives, connecting her phone to her car speakers.

“Long,” she says. “There was a car crash on the highway at around 2am. One person didn’t make it. The other two… hopefully they’ll be okay, but it was touch and go getting them into the OR.”

“That sounds stressful,” Jihyo says. “I hope you can sleep well today.”

“I hope so too,” Dahyun says. “There’s group later that I need to be bright and fresh for.”

“How is Tzuyu doing?” Jihyo asks.

Dahyun hadn’t realized the extent of Jihyo’s connection with the younger veteran until after she’d left, and they’d talk on the phone and Jihyo would mention that she’d just hopped off a call with her, or mention something they’d been talking about. But apparently they had been spending some time together outside of group, Tzuyu desperately looking for a role model to help her figure out what to do next. She’d been talking about re-enlisting, and Jihyo had been trying to talk her down.

“A purple heart is more than enough service,” Jihyo had said. “You’ve done your duty kid. Live your life now.”

It had stopped her immediate desire to go back, but Dahyun could still see it festering under the surface. She hopes that Jihyo is able to convince her in the end. 

“She’s good,” Dahyun says. “Still quieter than usual during group but she seems to be bonding with Momo a little. Momo needs the company as well so I’m glad.”

“That’s good,” Jihyo says, sounding genuinely relieved. “Momo seems like good people.”

“She is,” Dahyun agrees. “But, how have you been? Is Chaeyoung still causing trouble?”

Jihyo sighs deeply into the phone receiver and Dahyun has to suppress a laugh. Chaeyoung is a recent college grad and the cybersecurity liaison for Jihyo’s squad. A contractor who is a whiz with computers and smart as a whip but who doesn’t conform well to the normal military ideals that Jihyo liked to run her squad on. She believes too much in her own individualism and freedom. Though they didn’t have to interact that frequently, the young computer scientist had a knack for driving Jihyo up the wall.

“The same,” Jihyo’s voice rumbles with annoyance. “She keeps trying to convince me to let A.I. write my reports so that I have more time to go out and drink with her. As if that isn’t directly against regulations. She just says, 'what they don't know won't hurt them.' I don’t know why we hired her.”

Dahyun doesn’t bother mentioning that Chaeyoung is the best in the game according to Jihyo’s own description. Jihyo knows that. She’s just complaining because she can.

“Well, she’s a kid,” Dahyun says. “Don’t be too hard on her.”

“She’s not that much younger than you, you know?”

“Sure, but I’m very mature for my age.”

Jihyo laughs. It’s such a nice, warm sound. Dahyun finds herself grinning as she sits alone in her car like an idiot.

“Are you home yet?”

Dahyun has been sitting in her parked car for the last five minutes, but she hadn’t wanted to interrupt Jihyo, nor reach the end of their conversation. It’s not every day they get to talk like this, though they try. Dahyun has learned to cherish the moments she gets to hear Jihyo’s voice, but she won’t selfishly keep her for too long.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, good. Sleep well. I’ll try to call you again tomorrow as well.”

“I look forward to it. I hope you sleep well too.”

“I did squats at PT today,” Momo shares. “It’s the first time I’ve been able to do them properly without it hurting. My leg is sore now, but I don’t care. My PT says that it’ll start feeling better each time. I’ve been feeling weak for so long and I’m still nowhere near being able to squat what I could before, but I feel stronger. I feel better.”

A small round of applause greets Momo as she returns to her seat by Tzuyu. She smiles a little bashfully and Tzuyu nudges her playfully.

“Thank you for sharing Momo,” Sana says. “Would anyone else like to share this week?”

Dahyun just so happens to be at Sana’s when the news hits. They’d been cooking dinner with some shitty reality show that Sana was watching playing in the background. Then Sana’s phone had gone off. She had alerts set for news happening in the region Nayeon was stationed in. Most of it was nothing and the notifications were more of a nuisance than anything. But when Sana had picked up her phone, the ladle she’d been holding had hit the ground.

There had been an attack on a military convoy in the south of Lebanon. What had caught Sana’s eye was the town name where the attack had occurred. It was familiar only because Nayeon had mentioned it the last time they’d spoken.

Sana tries desperately to contact Nayeon in every way she knows how but there’s no answer. It doesn’t mean anything necessarily. If there had been a recent attack, their unit was likely scrambling to pull themselves together. It was possible that no one had died. Even if someone had. It might not be Nayeon.

“Please, please,” Sana begs into her phone, but it rings and rings until it finally cuts off and she sobs.

Dahyun holds her as she cries and does what she can to soothe her. Sana isn’t religious usually, but she prays from where she is in Dahyun’s arms.

“Please, not her, please,” she whispers. “I’ll do anything. Just don’t take her from me.”

Dahyun holds back her own tears as best she can.

“I’m sorry, Dahyun. There’s nothing I can do,” Jihyo says. “There’s protocols. Even if I could somehow get in contact with them, they wouldn’t give me the information.”

“I know,” Dahyun sighs.

She does. It’s not her first rodeo with this kind of thing. The first time Jeongyeon had deployed one of her unit members had died and the entire unit had gone on a communication blackout until the family had been notified. Dahyun had been terrified, crying into her father’s shoulder as he stoically say by the phone and waited.

“They’ll let us know,” he says. “If she’s dead they’ll let us know soon. There’s nothing we can do but wait.”

It was the first time Dahyun had realized how truly painful waiting could be. Agonizing. Eventually the notification had come through. Jeongyeon was alive. That hadn’t stopped the nightmares. For weeks, Dahyun had woken up in a cold sweat with the image of Jeongyeon covered in blood imprinted on her eyelids.

“I hope she’s okay,” Jihyo says softly. “I… wish I could help.”

“It’s okay,” Dahyun says.

She glances down at Sana’s sleeping form. She’d managed to coax her into bed and to sleep somewhere around 1am. Dahyun had fallen asleep soon after, but the sound of her ringing phone had woken her. She’d have been annoyed except Jihyo’s voice is exactly what she needs right now.

“When you find out,” Jihyo says. “Send me a message. I might not be able to check it immediately, but I’d like to know if she’s okay.”

“I will.”

Sana’s phone rings two hours later, waking Sana. Dahyun hadn’t been able to get back to sleep after her call with Jihyo and she feels exhausted but she’s awake in an instant as soon as she sees the number. A military number.

Sana fumbles with the phone as Dahyun switches on the lamp to give some light. Immediately Nayeon’s face fills the screen. It’s blurry and shaky and she keeps freezing but she’s there, dirt on her cheeks and something that could be blood along the side of her face but she’s there. Sana sobs as soon as she’s in sight.

“Sa-na,” Nayeon’s voice cuts out with the bad connection. “I’m –kay”

Sana just cries.

“I-sorry - worri- you.”

 Sana shakes her head and holds the phone so tightly that her fingers start to turn white. Dahyun feels her relief poignantly.

“I’ll com- back. Pr-mise” Nayeon says. “So don- worry.”

Sana nods.

“Got-a go. Call – later,” Nayeon says. “Lo- you”

“I love you too,” Sana sobs and then the line is cut.

The phone stays cradled against Sana’s chest as she sobs in relief. Dahyun feels it as well, finally letting the tears that she’d been holding back all night for Sana’s sake, flow from her eyes. She hugs Sana, breathing with her until they’ve both managed to calm themselves.

“Shall I make us breakfast?”

Sana’s voice is ragged, but she looks a lot lighter now. The worry is still etched across her brow and Dahyun knows it won’t fully disappear until Nayeon is back in her arms, but she manages a smile as she rolls out of bed.

“I’ll be there in a sec,” Dahyun promises, and she grabs her phone.

She pulls up Jihyo’s phone number and sends a quick text.

She’s safe.

“I’m going to be unreachable for the next couple weeks,” Jihyo says. “We’re doing some stuff. Can’t tell you details but we have to shut off all communication.”

Dahyun frowns. The call had been nice tonight, enough to soothe Dahyun after watching a nine year-old die from a gunshot wound before they’d even been able to figure out where all the blood was coming from. She hadn’t been able to find the words to talk to Jihyo about it, but Jihyo had heard her tone and had spoken to her softly and kindly until Dahyun had felt less disillusioned with the world.

But this news, stated casually at the end of the call just as Dahyun was about to rattle off a ‘talk to you soon’ makes her feel hopeless again.

“Oh,” she says. “I… I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Jihyo says. “I’ll contact you the minute the blackout is lifted. I promise.”

Jihyo doesn’t make promises she can’t keep so Dahyun holds this one close to her heart.

“Okay.”

Two weeks are torture. In that time, Dahyun realizes that if Jihyo dies, she won’t even be notified. She not listed under Jihyo’s emergency contacts, and she doesn’t know her family to get that information. She doesn’t know any of Jihyo’s friends. Other than Tzuyu who presumably also would not be notified.

She thinks too much in Jihyo’s absence. Thinks about what would happen if Jihyo were to die. How long until Dahyun found out? Would she only know by the lack of contact continuing past the allotted two weeks? Would someone, somehow find out about her and contact her?

But her thoughts soon spiral away from those questions to bigger ones, scarier ones. What does Dahyun mean to Jihyo? The regular phone calls, the soft voice, the texting. The ‘I miss you’s’. Dahyun is in too deep, she knows it. She knows that if she doesn’t hear from Jihyo again it’s going to break her heart. To lose her so soon after Jeongyeon… she’s not sure she’ll be able to pick herself back up. And is Jihyo in this deep as well? Does she itch to see Dahyun again as badly as Dahyun does?

Dahyun doesn’t know. If Jihyo dies in these two weeks, she’ll never know. She’ll be left with this hanging what-if. The thought terrifies her.

“You’re Dahyun right?”

Dahyun nearly jumps out of her skin. She’d thought everyone had left already as she’d lagged behind putting the chairs away after group. Usually someone would stay and help but this week there had been fewer people and those that had come had left quickly to go to a happy hour. Dahyun doesn’t mind it. She’d been wanting some alone time anyway.

She turns to find a somewhat familiar, and yet hard to place, young woman standing behind her. She looks entirely out of place in the dingy rec center with her expensive jewelry and beautiful wool coat.

“Uh, yeah. How can I help you?”

“I’m Mina,” the woman extends her hand. “I’m a friend of Jihyo’s.”

That’s all Dahyun needs to place her face.

“Oh, right, I remember. From the hospital.”

Mina smiles and it somehow makes her prettier. Dahyun hadn’t thought it was possible.

“I was wondering if you had time to talk,” Mina says.

“Sure, just let me finish putting these chairs away.”

“Of course,” Mina says graciously.

Dahyun smiles at her and then turns to fold the next chair. Out of the periphery she sees Mina doing the same.

“Oh, you don’t have to-“

“I don’t mind,” Mina says before Dahyun can even complete the thought.

She sounds like she means it, so Dahyun lets her do as she pleases. When they’re done, she follows Mina out of the rec center to a nearby ramen shop. It’s a small hole in the wall that Dahyun had never noticed before, and again, Dahyun has the thought that Mina looks out of place here. But Mina doesn’t seem to feel out of place in the slightest, moving quickly to sit at the bar.

“Do you mind if I order for you?” she asks. “I just… I know what all the best stuff here is.”

Dahyun isn’t picky so she shrugs and gestures at Mina to go ahead. Mina rattles off the order quickly in what Dahyun recognizes belatedly as Japanese. The person behind the bar speaks to her familiarly, gesturing at Dahyun with a question. Mina shakes her head and Dahyun thinks she catches Jihyo’s name in her response. The guy nods and grins, giving her a thumbs up that Dahyun isn’t sure what she did to deserve.

“I apologize for disturbing your night,” Mina says once the guy has ambled off to start preparing their food. “Jihyo told me a lot about you, and I’ve been wanting to reach out.”

“She- she told you about me?”

Mina smiles softly, warmly, a little indulgently.

“Of course,” she says. “She speaks highly of you.”

Dahyun isn’t quite sure what to do with the new information and she takes a long drink of the complimentary water to give herself an out. It shouldn’t be surprising really that Jihyo talks about Dahyun to her friends, but it’s the first Dahyun has heard of it.

“She also… She told me not to tell you this. And I wasn’t going to but, well, it feels silly to keep it hidden. But she asked me to check on you during the comms blackout,” Mina adds. “That’s the real reason I’m here. She told me that you get out of group at 7 usually and that you always stay back to stack the chairs.”

“Oh, well,” Dahyun says. “I’m okay. I don’t… she didn’t need to check on me.”

“I know. She knows too. She just worries. She’s always been like that.”

“She should worry about herself,” Dahyun mumbles. “I’m not the one in the military.”

Mina laughs.

“She’s annoying like that. She is always the last person she’ll worry about. That’s why she needs us to worry about her instead,” Mina says.

“How long have you known her?”

“Since high school. She was class president, you know? She was voted the most likely to be dictator of a small island nation. She’s mellowed out a lot with the military believe it or not. Actually having to lead and also with just getting older. But she was a bit of a tyrant back then.”

Dahyun snorts. She kind of gets it. The Jihyo she knows now isn’t like that, but she’s got a strength about her, a confidence and stubbornness that betrays hints of that past.

“When she told me she wanted to enlist I was really upset, you know? Not just because she was going to leave me but also because I hated how much sense it made. I hated that I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop her.”

Jeongyeon was the same. Dahyun hadn’t wanted to stop her when she first enlisted, their military blood running too deep to allow thoughts like that but even if she had wanted to, there was no way. Jeongyeon was born for this. Jihyo, it seems, is as well. Dahyun hates it too.

“But I think I was wrong back then,” Mina says. “This stuff hurts her more than she shows. She pretends it doesn’t. And she’s good at pretending, at being strong. But I see every time she comes back. She’s quieter, sadder. It’s eating away at her.”

Dahyun had assumed Jihyo’s sadness in the time they’d known each other was the same as hers. Grief in the face of losing a loved one. But at the same time, she’d suspected that there was more. There were times where Jihyo’s gaze would go so far away that Dahyun felt she was unreachable.

“I didn’t come tonight to say any of this actually,” Mina says, waving her hand to dispel the tense mood. “I don’t think we should be sad. Jihyo wouldn’t want that. Let’s just…eat yummy food and I’ll tell you embarrassing stories of Jihyo from high school. How does that sound?”

As soon as Dahyun is out of the hospital, she calls Jihyo. The text announcing her return to communication had come by earlier. Hours earlier while Dahyun had been neck deep in the late night car crash rush. People really needed to stop driving drunk and tired. There’s only so much carnage Dahyun can take in a night. But the promise of getting to talk to Jihyo had kept her afloat through it all, and now her voice- it soothes something deep in her.

“You’re back,” Dahyun whispers.

“I am,” Jihyo says softly. “I’m back. The mission went well. Everyone is safe and healthy.”

“I’m so glad,” Dahyun breathes.

“How was work today? How were the last two weeks? Did anything fun happen? Tell me everything.”

As soon as Sana releases her, Dahyun hugs Nayeon so tightly that the soldier complains about broken ribs and the danger of suffocation. Dahyun ignores her. Nayeon has suffered through much worse than her hugs and it feels good to hold her now. Feel her warm and alive under her fingers and know that she’s here to stay.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

Nayeon pries Dahyun off her with no little difficulty and makes a show of panting as if Dahyun had truly squeezed every last breath out of her.

“Just for that you get to carry my bag to the car,” Nayeon says.

Sana giggles, and then giggles some more when Nayeon slings her arm over her shoulder and presses a kiss to her cheek.

“I’m starving. Let’s go get some barbeque.”

“How are you doing?”

Tzuyu had been even quieter than usual at group this week. She hadn’t shared and hadn’t smiled even when Momo had smiled at her. When Dahyun had greeted her she’d been met only with a sideways glance and a grimace. So Dahyun had begged Sana and Nayeon to put the chairs back for her so that she could catch Tzuyu on her way out. She’d offered her a ride and Tzuyu had only hesitated briefly before agreeing.

“I’m alright,” Tzuyu answers.

“How are you really?” Dahyun asks.

Tzuyu sighs and looks out the window. Dahyun thinks Tzuyu might ignore her. She does that sometimes, her age showing in slight acts of rebellion and petulance. Dahyun won’t push her if she doesn’t want to answer. But she hopes that she does.

“I got fired.”

Oh. That’s not good. Tzuyu’s restaurant job had been good for her. It kept her busy and paid the bills. She’d been good at it too. At least Dahyun had thought so when she and Sana had gone to eat there to support her.

“What happened?”

“I didn’t do anything bad they said,” Tzuyu says. “They needed to make personal cuts and I’m the newest at the restaurant and, well, I guess I wasn’t good enough to keep around.”

“We’ll find you a new job. You should have said something at group. Usually someone knows someone who’s hiring. We’ll ask next week.”

“I- I might just re-enlist.”

It takes everything in Dahyun to not react to that in a way that would make Tzuyu clam up again. She wants to slam on the breaks and shake her. She wants to scream at her. She just tightens her grip on the steering wheel and takes a subtle, calming breath.

“There are other options.”

“They aren’t as good,” Tzuyu says. “I don’t have a college diploma. I won’t be able to find a job with better pay or benefits than this without that. And… the scar… I think people don’t like it. When I go in for interviews people stare at it. I think it scares them.”

It’s so unfair, but Dahyun knows that the discrimination is real. Tzuyu isn’t the first veteran who has said something similar too. Momo, though her injury hadn’t left any scars, mentioned that her limp definitely made people think a certain way about her. She’d shared only a couple weeks ago that now that the limp was better, people were treating her more nicely. Dahyun had been happy for her, but furious with the injustice of it all.

“The VA will help you pay for college if that’s something you want to do,” Dahyun says.

Tzuyu doesn’t say anything, just stares out the window.

“Have you been talking to Jihyo about this?” Dahyun asks.

Tzuyu shrugs.

“I didn’t want to bother her. She has her own re-enlistment to worry about.”

“Her- Her own re-enlistment?”

Tzuyu turns to Dahyun slowly with her eyes wide like a deer in the headlights.

“Uh, do you think you could pretend to not have heard that?”

Dahyun looks at her incredulously.

“No, I don’t think I can.”

The guilt look on Tzuyu’s face is clear enough for Dahyun to know that Jihyo had absolutely no intention of letting Dahyun know about this. She had definitely asked Tzuyu to keep her in the dark.

“Tzuyu. What do mean by that?”

“Jihyo asked me not to tell,” Tzuyu says weakly.

“Well, you already told. So keep talking.”

There’s a moment of indecision as Tzuyu fidgets with her jeans and chews at her bottom lip but then she’s sighing and turning to Dahyun.

“Jihyo needs to apply for re-enlistment next week if she wants to stay. I don’t think she’s decided anything yet but she’s considering…”

“She’s considering staying?”

Tzuyu shrugs. Dahyun feels tears building behind her eyes, but she forces them away. She’s still driving. The last thing she needs to do is get in a car crash with Tzuyu in the car. But she can’t think about anything but Jihyo anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Tzuyu says when Dahyun drops her off.

“It’s not your fault, Tzuyu,” Dahyun says in what she hopes is a genuinely reassuring voice. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Tzuyu looks at her miserably for a second and Dahyun can’t stop the urge to brush a thumb against the corner of her pout to wipe it away.

“You’re okay,” she comforts. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Dahyun debates letting Jihyo come to her first. Then she considers that maybe Jihyo never will and will make the decision on her own without hearing Dahyun’s opinion. And then Dahyun wonders if she’s being presumptuous in thinking that Jihyo would want her opinion at all. It’s an important life decision and Dahyun is just… some girl she met at a veterans’ group a couple months ago.

But she’s only five words into their usual after-shift phone call and Jihyo is asking her what’s wrong. Dahyun could lie. She doesn’t want to.

“Tzuyu told me about your enlistment ending.”

Jihyo is silent for a disturbing amount of time on the other side of the line until Dahyun hears a deep sigh.

“She wasn’t supposed to tell,” Jihyo says.

It hurts to hear it from Jihyo directly. Dahyun can’t help but think that it just shows that she isn’t as important to her as she might want. The hurt renders her mute, throat far too tight to even consider trying to say something.

“I- I haven’t decided what to do yet,” Jihyo says. “I was going to tell you once I knew.”

It’s not much comfort, though Dahyun isn’t sure if Jihyo is trying to be comforting or just come up with an excuse. She still doesn’t say anything. Jihyo takes her silence heavily.

“Are you mad?” she asks.

“No.”

It’s not a lie. Dahyun isn’t mad. Just hurt. And scared that Jihyo is going to make a decision that she doesn’t like. She thinks of all the times Jihyo had shared with her how badly she wanted to go back into the field, how the cast on her arm had been her biggest enemy in the weeks following Jeongyeon’s death.

“Dahyun.”

Jihyo’s voice is pleading.

“I’m not mad,” Dahyun repeats. “I’m just… I wish you’d told me. I wish you’d talk to me. Maybe I’m- Maybe I’m wishing for too much.”

“You’re not,” Jihyo says quickly. “You’re- I’m sorry Dahyun. I wasn’t trying to shut you out. I want to talk to you but I just… with Jeongyeon and Nayeon I thought that maybe-“

“Nayeon’s back,” Dahyun interrupts. “She’s back and she’s staying, and I’ve never seen Sana happier. They found Nayeon a job as a consultant. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but she seems to like it. And I get to see her often now.”

“That’s- that’s great.”

Dahyun wonders what she can stay to make that reality true for Jihyo. To convince her that it’s worth it. She doesn’t have the words to even being to think about it.

“I just… I’m not Nayeon, you know?” Jihyo says. “I don’t have anything like Sana, you know? I don’t have anything worth going back for.”

Dahyun can’t stop a sob this time. It’s quiet thanks to her best efforts to muffle it and she hopes Jihyo didn’t hear it. She pulls off into a supermarket parking lot and leans her head back against the seat rest.

“That’s… you can be really mean you know?” she says.

“What? I didn’t-”

“Is Tzuyu not worth it?” she asks angrily. “Momo? Sana? Is Mina not worth it?”

“Dahyun, I-“

“Am I not worth it?”

Dahyun regrets asking as soon as the words are out of her mouth. It’s presumptuous and self-centered to ask that. It sounds like a guilt trip. But most of all, Dahyun is afraid to hear the answer.

“Of course you are,” Jihyo says gently, earnestly. “You are so- You’re worth it. You are. I just…”

“I need to go.”

Dahyun can’t hear another excuse. She can’t hear Jihyo say again how she isn’t enough to keep her there. It’ll hurt too much. She knows what it’s like coming second to the military, but it’s never hurt as much as it does from Jihyo. With her father, with Jeongyeon, with Nayeon, she’d been able to handle it but with Jihyo… Dahyun doesn’t want to come second to anything or to anyone. But that’s too much to ask.

“Wait, Dahyun.”

“Look, you… you decide on what’s best for you, okay? I’ll support you either way, but I need… I need to go right now.”

“I- Okay,” Jihyo says. “I hope you sleep well.”

“You too.”

Dahyun hangs up. The tears are still streaming down her face and the ache in her chest is only getting worse. She thinks of feeling this again, of having to walk Jihyo to the airport again and wave her goodbye over and over. She thinks of living through communication blackouts and difficult time differences. She imagines herself standing at Jihyo’s funeral.

She can’t do it. She wishes she were stronger. Wishes she could stand by Jihyo regardless of what she decides but she knows that she won’t be able to take it. If Jihyo decides to re-enlist, Dahyun is going to have to do what she needs to protect herself.

“She sent you to check on me?”

Mina has the conscience to look embarrassed, but she nods. And then, maybe to get away from Dahyun’s eyes, she starts folding and stacking the chairs.

“She said you guys fought.”

Dahyun shrugs.

“I guess.”

“She didn’t tell me what about.”

“I told her not to re-enlist,” Dahyun says. “She… she kept making excuses for why she hadn’t decided yet. I got mad.”

“Her enlistment is up?”

The confusion in Mina’s voice is selfishly comforting to Dahyun. She hadn’t been the only one that didn’t know. At least she and Mina were on equal footing there.

“Apparently. She didn’t tell me. Tzuyu spilled the beans and so I confronted her and… I guess it was a fight. I… I told her that I needed space, and she hasn’t called me since.”

Mina doesn’t say anything for a minute, digesting Dahyun’s words. She doesn’t speak again until the last chair is carefully stored away and Dahyun is shutting off the lights of the meeting room.

“When you told her not to re-enlist, what did she say?”

“She said she didn’t have anything worth coming back for.”

Mina sighs.

“What an idiot. Is that why you got mad?”

“I… I thought I was worth something to her,” Dahyun says. “I guess… maybe I was overestima-“

“You weren’t,” Mina says. “You’re worth a hell of a lot more than she’s able to say. You know she mentions you almost every time we talk? It’s the opposite really. When she says that she isn’t sure she has anything worth coming back for, she means that she doesn’t think she’s worth it.”

Dahyun doesn’t say anything.

“Did you… did you make her feel like she’s worth it?” Mina asks.

Dahyun thinks back to their call. She mostly just remembers being angry. She wonders if Jihyo understood that anger for what it really was – an aching fear of losing her.

“I don’t know.”

Can I call?

Jihyo normally doesn’t ask but after the way their last call ended, her hesitancy makes sense. Dahyun presses the call button without needing to think about it. If Jihyo hadn’t texted her, she would have called anyway. She owed Jihyo an apology anyway.

“Hello?”

Jihyo’s voice is warm as always. She sounds tired maybe too, making it a little gravellier. It rests in Dahyun’s mind like a weighted blanket, soothing jitters she didn’t even know she had.

“Hi,” she responds.

“I… I’m sorry for what I said last time,” Jihyo says.

“It’s ok-“

“Do you mind waiting to forgive me?” Jihyo says. “I have a few more things I need to say.”

“I… Okay.”

“I’m sorry for what I said, and for how much I’ve been worrying you and for keeping the enlistment ending to myself. You… you are worth it. You are worth so much more than you know. I just… I’m not going to re-enlist. I won’t re-enlist because you’re right. You are worth it and Mina is too and Tzuyu and everyone else. So… will you wait?”

“Wait?”

“Wait for me to come back? They extended my deployment by two months. So I won’t be back until May but after that… after that I’ll be done. So, will you wait? For me?”

Dahyun takes a deep breath. Relief floods into her veins. Even the news of Jihyo’s prolonged deployment isn’t enough to dampen it. Jihyo is going to come back. She’s going to stay. She thinks Dahyun is worth it. Right now, Dahyun would promise Jihyo anything she asked.

“I’ll wait,” Dahyun says. “I’ll wait for you.”

“I’ll come back to you,” Jihyo says. “I promise.”

Jihyo doesn’t make promises she can’t keep. Dahyun smiles.

“Um, Dahyun…” Tzuyu stands fidgeting in front of Dahyun at the end of group. Dahyun hasn’t seen her this nervous in a while.

“What’s up?”

Tzuyu fidgets some more, clears her throat and shifts her weight.

“Would you… would you mind helping me write a college essay?”

A smile breaks across Dahyun’s face. She feels like laughing.

“Of course,” she says. “I’d be happy to.”

“Happy birthday, Jihyo!!”

Tzuyu and Mina’s voices are quiet but they still ring in Dahyun’s ears as they squeeze close to her so that they all fit into the narrow window of Dahyun’s phone camera. Jihyo is blurry but clearly grinning on the other end.

“Did you have a good birthday?” Dahyun asks.

“Yup! The squad got me some beer and we drank them as soon as I was off duty. We’ll celebrate a little more over the weekend when we have more time off. One of the guys suggested finding a Korean barbeque place so we can enjoy the taste of home, so we’ll probably do that.”

“Sounds great,” Dahyun says.

“Did you get the cake I had delivered?” Mina asks.

“I did,” Jihyo says. “It was delicious. I shared it with the squad, but I kept a few slices to myself to enjoy over the next few days.”

“Good,” Mina says. “I’m glad I could do something to celebrate you even from so far away.”

“You and Tzuyu waking up early so that you could wish me a happy birthday with Dahyun is already enough celebration for me.”

“We wanted to have a party,” Tzuyu says. “This was as close as we could get.”

Jihyo smiles softly at her.

“Thank you guys,” she says. “We’ll have a real party next year.” 

“I got a dog. He’s small and bouncy and energetic and he makes my apartment less quiet,” Momo says. “He’s a rescue and the shelter said he has PTSD and anxiety from his last owners and that it might make him difficult to work with, but he isn’t difficult at all. He just doesn’t like loud noises. I don’t either so it works out. His name is Boo. I’m going to try to help him get better with people and then I’ll bring him in for you all to meet. He’s an angel.”

“I’ve been talking to my career counselor. She said I’d make a good PE teacher.”

There is pure derision in Jihyo’s tone and Dahyun nearly laughs, but she bites her lip.

“I mean, I get that my career experience has been a lot of physical work and wrangling unruly recruits but is that really the only transfer of skills she can think of? I got a degree in engineering in college.”

“I’m sure there’s more options out there,” Dahyun says. “I can also try to find something for you if you tell me what you’re interested in.”

Jihyo sighs deeply.

“No, no, there’s no need. My counselor will help me find a job because that’s her job. I just need to convince her that I have other skills.”

“You have lots of skills, Jihyo,” Dahyun reassures. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I know that. I just need her to know it as well. I don’t have that much time left before I won’t be cashing these army checks.”

Dahyun’s heart jumps a little at the mention of how little time there is left until Jihyo is back. Only a month now. Jihyo already has her ticket booked, the information saved on Dahyun’s phone and in her calendar. She’s already promised to pick her up at the airport despite Jihyo’s protests that she doesn’t need it. Dahyun had essentially told her to shut up and just accept the ride. After that, Jihyo had shut up.

“I’m excited to see you soon,” Dahyun says.

“I… Dahyun, I’m really, really excited to see you too,” Jihyo says, her voice softening considerably to almost a whisper. “I want to see you so badly.”

“Soon,” Dahyun promises. “Soon you’ll see me.”

Sana asks Dahyun to go out to dinner with her at a nice restaurant and fidgets with her dress and then her fork so much that Dahyun is actually worried. If Dahyun didn’t know any better, she’d say that Sana is acting like they are on a first date but that obviously doesn’t make any sense.

“Are you okay?” Dahyun asks.

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” Sana says.

It’s about zero percent believable.

“Okaaay,” Dahyun says. “What is actually going on?” 

“I just… I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Huh? A favor?”

A favor that warranted a nice dinner and Sana more nervous than Dahyun had ever seen her? That could not bode well. Dahyun isn’t sure she’s willing to bury any bodies.

“Yeah. It’s… just… would you be my Maid of Honor?”

“Maid of- You and Nayeon are finally getting married??”

Sana laughs. It shouldn’t be surprising. They’ve been engaged for the last couple years, but they’d never quite had concrete conversations about their wedding.

“Yeah, we had been delaying because of her service but now that she’s back… no time like the present right? We want to try for some time next winter. So… would you? You’re the reason she stayed and-“

“You’re the reason she stayed,” Dahyun says. “I didn’t do anything. But yes! Of course, I’d love to be your Maid of Honor. Is that what you’ve been so nervous about? Did you think I’d say no?”

Sana laughs again and this time it sounds like relief. Her fidgeting finally stops, and she relaxes back into her seat.

“No, I just… Nayeon suggested that I do something nice to ask you. It felt more meaningful that way but then we spent the last two weeks planning this dinner and I think I hyped it up too much in my head. I wasn’t nervous at all when we first started but then today I was losing my mind. Nayeon complained that she hadn’t even seen me this nervous for any of our dates.”

Dahyun snorts. Sana hadn’t been nervous for her dates with Nayeon only because the minute they’d first met she’d known that Nayeon was her person. She’d fit with her so well that nerves hadn’t even come into the picture until months later when Nayeon had first talked about enlisting for the army to help pay off her student loans.

“Well, I’m honored by the effort,” Dahyun says. “And I’m super excited! Have you and Nayeon started planning at all? Do you have any ideas for venues and stuff?”

“A few. I made a Pinterest board. Here, let me show you.”

“I got a Save the Date for Nayeon and Sana’s wedding today,” Jihyo says. “But can you explain to me why it says that I’m invited to her wedding but that I won’t get a real invitation because I can only come as someone’s plus one?” Jihyo asks dryly.

Dahyun laughs.

“I have a feeling it’s related to the way they keep asking me who my plus one will be.”

“Oh? What did you tell them?”

“Just that I have someone in mind, but I haven’t asked her yet,” Dahyun answers. “She’s kind of far away right now and I wanted to ask her in person.”

Jihyo chuckles warmly.

“Well, when you do ask, I'm sure she’ll say yes.”

“You’re picking Jihyo up from the airport right?” Mina asks.

“Yes.”

“Okay, her flight lands at 6:15. I would get there a little before that so you can find parking. You have her home address, right?”

“Mina, relax,” Dahyun says soothingly. “I do have her home address. I also assume that I can just ask her since she’ll be in the car with me. And I’ll leave extra early to account for traffic and everything. Don’t worry.”

Mina sighs.

“Sorry, sorry, I don’t even know why I’m so nervous. The last time she came back from deployment I was away on a business trip, and she had to make it home on her own and she had a broken arm.”

Dahyun thinks back to Jihyo’s broken arm. To her last deployment that had ended in a funeral. The memory is sour but just the thought of Jihyo softens it a little.

“Exactly,” Dahyun says. “She made it home fine then and she will again now. Don’t stress.”

“Jihyo is finally coming home tomorrow,” Dahyun says. “I’ll bring her by with me sometime so she can say hi.”

Spring is kind to Jeongyeon’s grave, little buttercups and clovers growing around the edges of her headstone and the grass turning back from winter yellow to a warm green. These days when Dahyun comes by she imagines a picnic with her sister. Ham and cheese sandwiches and bags of chips and popsicles. She hadn’t been on a picnic like that with her sister since grade school, but she can picture it clearly.

“I’m really nervous for her to be back,” Dahyun continues. “I just… I got so used to her being gone. Having her here again is going to be weird. Good weird though. I hope.”

Jeongyeon doesn’t say anything, but the breeze rustles the leaves in the trees and it’s almost an answer.

Both the small sign reading ‘Lieutenant Park Jihyo’ and the flowers that Dahyun had brought fall to the ground as Jihyo pulls her into a bone crushing hug. She’s warm and steady and healthy in Dahyun’s arms. Dahyun realizes only now that there had still been a part of her that was afraid Jihyo wouldn’t come back until she felt the vibrancy of her under her palms.

“You’re here,” she says a little breathlessly. 

Jihyo pulls back just enough so that she can look at her. Her eyes are steady and warm and wonderful. Her smile is soft.

“I’m here,” Jihyo says. “Thank you for waiting.”

And then she’s kissing her. And Dahyun scrambles to hold onto her sanity because she’d hoped for this, expected it from how they’d been talking and the subtle promises they’d made but she hadn’t expected it in the airport baggage claim. But it doesn’t matter. Jihyo can kiss her wherever she wants. Dahyun isn’t even aware of her surroundings anymore. Her whole brain is just preoccupied only with the feel of Jihyo’s lips moving against hers.

Jihyo kisses like she walks, steady and confident and measured. Her fingers are firm on Dahyun’s waist but she holds Dahyun like she’s precious as they slide to the small of Dahyun’s back to pull her closer. It is distracting. It is addicting.

Dahyun’s fingers twist into the lapels of Jihyo’s military jacket and tugging her in and deepening the kiss past what is probably appropriate for where they are but there’s so much she needs to convey. I love you. I missed you. Thank you for coming back to me. She thinks she understands what Jihyo is saying too. I love you too. I missed you too. Thank you for waiting.