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“I’m not sure if you’re asking me an actual question,” Miyoung said, looking like she’d just stepped into a room on fire and had no idea how to put it out. Somin would have laughed if she wasn’t currently spiraling.

“I don’t really know if I’m asking one either,” Somin admitted as she filled two mugs with the steaming tea.

“Am I supposed to ask a question right now?” It sounded like Miyoung hated being part of this conversation, which made it that much more meaningful to Somin. Because however much her face said she wanted to run away, Miyoung stayed.

“I just can’t stop feeling... things,” Somin admitted. “Isn’t it weird for me to feel anything for him? He’s, like, hundreds of years old.”

“Do you really want me to answer?” Miyoung asked, still looking slightly perplexed.

Somin handed Miyoung a mug of boricha. “Yeah, sure.”

“Well, when it comes to immortals, just because someone’s lived for a long time doesn’t mean they’re mature,” Miyoung said, taking a sip and hissing through her teeth when the tea was still too hot.

“Are you talking about everyone? Or just Junu?” Somin asked.

“Someone who’s immortal doesn’t keep aging in the normal sense. They just keep existing.”

“What does that even mean?” Somin asked in frustration.

“My mother once explained it to me. I guess she wanted me to be prepared for what it would feel like once I stopped aging. I wouldn’t have felt old the way a human feels old when they age. I’d have felt... eternal.” Miyoung blew on her tea and tried another sip.

“Do you think that’s how Junu feels?”

“Junu has lived for a dozen lifetimes with a twenty-year-old face,” Miyoung said, and when Somin gave her a blank stare, she continued. “You can’t expect someone who’s physically unchanging to change emotionally the same way you would.”

“So you’re telling me that even though he’s lived for hundreds of years, he’s still got the emotional capacity of an immature boy?” Somin asked, and Miyoung smiled. “That checks out.”

“I’m saying that Junu has more emotional similarities with Jihoon than with your harabeoji.”

“You’re not so bad at this friendship thing,” Somin said, finally taking a sip of her tea. It was still a bit too hot, but it felt good going down, a warm comfort.

“Maybe not, but this whole caring-about-people thing is still really new to me, and I think it’s affecting Jihoon.” Miyoung blew out a frustrated breath.

“Should I be asking questions now?” Somin asked. She’d stopped worrying about Jihoon and Miyoung’s relationship after last spring. When two people are willing to risk their lives for each other, it seemed ridiculous to question their commitment to each other.

“I just have a hard time telling him how I feel. And I think that it’s upsetting him. I’m worried that’s why he felt like he needed to go with Junu. On some ridiculous, over-the-top attempt to prove his love.”

“Do you doubt his love?” Somin asked.

“Of course not.”

“Then, if you really think Jihoon is hurt because you can’t tell him how you feel, maybe you should just practice telling him what he means to you.”

“Practice?” Miyoung asked.

“Yeah.” Somin laughed, finally in a position she was comfortable with, confidante and advisor. “Let’s do it now. Tell me what Jihoon means to you.”

Miyoung started to shake her head. “I don’t think—”

“Come on, you can trust me. Do you love him?”

“Of course I do,” Miyoung said. “I just... it’s hard for me to say that word. Yena hated it. It feels so loaded.”

“Okay, then tell me how you feel about Jihoon without using that word.”

“How?” Miyoung glared into her tea.

“Just try. What does Jihoon mean to you?”