Chapter Text
Jimin opens their hotel window just a crack, letting in a sharp gust of the Melbourne breeze, then turns back toward the room.
Minjeong's sprawled out on the couch, her legs dangling over the edge, hair still damp from practice. Her phone is balanced on her chest, and she's playing some YouTube video she isn't even watching.
"Are you pouting already?" Jimin asks, clearly amused.
Minjeong doesn't look up. "Shut it."
Jimin walks over, towel slung around her neck, and leans down to press a cold water bottle against Minjeong's cheek.
Minjeong squeaks and swats at her.
"You're so dramatic," Jimin says, grinning.
"You're dramatic," Minjeong mutters, sitting up. Her voice is sulky. "I saw the draw."
"Mm." Jimin tosses the bottle onto the coffee table and flops onto the couch beside her, tugging Minjeong's legs over her lap. "We might meet in the fourth round, huh?"
Minjeong scowls.
Jimin is already smiling. That cocky, lopsided grin that drives Minjeong insane, but also made her fall in love with her in the first place. "Think we'll make it that far?"
"I will. You're overdue for a shocking second round exit."
Jimin laughs, her head falling back against the cushion. "You say that every tournament."
"Maybe if I say it enough, the tennis gods will finally listen."
They both know how this usually goes. Their head-to-head sits at 5-1 in Jimin's favor. Technically, it's 5-1. But everyone, including Minjeong, knows that one win comes with a giant exception.
It was Madrid, last spring. Clay season. Minjeong had taken the first set in a tiebreak, playing some of her best tennis in months, and she'd felt…hopeful for once. Like maybe the mental block was finally cracking. Then Jimin had walked briskly to the net and retired from the match.
Food poisoning from dinner the night prior.
Minjeong had "won," but it didn't count in her eyes. She'd hardly celebrated. She spent more time holding Jimin's hair back in the bathroom that night than actually feeling proud of herself.
It's January now. The Australian Open. First Grand Slam of the year. "The Happy Slam," they call it. Everyone's fresh from the off season, eager to start the year off on a good note. Minjeong especially.
She's ranked fourteenth in the world. Her form is better than it's been in a while. She's playing some good fucking tennis. She reached the final in Adelaide just last week. She should be excited.
But Jimin's in her section of the draw. The World No. 1. The WTA's princess. Minjeong's kryptonite. On the court and off it.
She gets especially moody the night before her first round match. In the hotel room, she's pacing, toying with the strings of her racket, re-taping her grip for the third time just to keep her hands busy.
Jimin lounges on the bed like she's on vacation with her earbuds in, watching highlight reels of their old matches.
"Stop watching that," Minjeong snaps.
Jimin raises a brow. "Why?"
"Because it's annoying."
"You're the one who asked if I was studying tape."
"I didn't think you'd pick our matches. Focus on your first round opponent, for fuck's sake."
Jimin grins, pulling out one of the earbuds. "Come here."
"No."
"Minjeongie."
"What?"
"You're not gonna break up with me if I win again, right?"
Minjeong crosses her arms. "We haven't even made it to the fourth round yet."
"But you've already threatened to leave me. Isn't that a little premature?"
Minjeong glares. "I only said I'd consider it. If you beat me badly."
"Define badly."
"If I don't win at least five games total, I'm blocking you on everything."
Jimin cocks her head. "Even Insta?"
"Especially Insta."
"That's so cruel."
"You deserve it."
Jimin chuckles and reaches for her. Minjeong lets herself be pulled into bed, slipping under the sheets with a grumble. Their legs tangle naturally.
Jimin kisses the top of her head. "You'll beat me someday, you know."
Minjeong exhales. "Yeah. Someday."
The fourth round comes too quickly. Yu Jimin vs. Kim Minjeong. Rod Laver Arena.
Exactly what the draw predicted. Exactly what Minjeong hoped to avoid.
She's been on a roll. Breezed through her first round match in just over an hour. Took out a solid player in the second like it was nothing. Came back from a set down in the third round and closed it out convincingly.
But Jimin is different.
Never mind the fact that her girlfriend is ranked No. 1. Or that 5-1 head-to-head that haunts Minjeong in her dreams. Jimin always shows up all composed and unbothered. It's like nothing ever rattles her.
When Minjeong walks onto the court, her jaw is tight and her shoulders are rigid. She doesn't wave at the crowd or even crack a smile. She takes her seat on the bench and tightens her ponytail like she's about to fight.
And it's hectic from the very first point.
She goes for lines she doesn't need to go for. Tries to hit through Jimin when patience would serve her better. It's desperation disguised as aggression, and Jimin sees straight through it.
She holds that first service game by the skin of her teeth.
Jimin's first service game ends in less than a minute.
Then Minjeong double faults in her second.
She swears under her breath.
It's not that she's playing badly. The timing's there. The power. But every time she edges ahead, gets a break point, or a 30-0 lead, Jimin snatches it away from her.
A forehand winner that clips the baseline.
A second serve ace down the T.
A drop shot that dies just past the net.
Minjeong's sweat drenched hand slips on her grip and she barks out a curse. Her coach shifts in his seat and tries to encourage her.
At 3-3 in the second set, Jimin holds after a four deuce game that leaves Minjeong breathing heavily. She gets broken in the next game with a flurry of errors, the last of which lands wide by a foot.
Minjeong finally snaps.
Her racket hits the ground with a crack, and the crowd gasps. She knows the commentators up in the booth are already going off about her "losing it" and her "lack of mental toughness", even though she can't hear a thing.
The umpire calls for a code violation. Racket abuse. She doesn't argue.
Jimin watches her silently from across the net before she prepares to serve for the match.
Minjeong loses. 6-4, 6-3.
Not a blowout. Not a disaster. But still enough for it to sting like hell.
Minjeong doesn't stay for the handshake.
She doesn't even look at Jimin as she walks off the court with her head down.
That night, Jimin comes back to a dark hotel room.
Minjeong's curled up in bed, back to the door and a blanket pulled over her head.
Jimin sets her bag down quietly. She doesn't try to talk to her. She just changes into her pajamas and climbs into bed, resting a cautious hand on Minjeong's shoulder.
A long pause. Then, Minjeong finally speaks up.
"I blocked you on Insta."
Jimin huffs a laugh. "I noticed."
"I'm mad at you."
"I know."
Another beat of silence.
"You looked really hot today."
That pulls a smile from Jimin. "You too."
Minjeong peeks out from under the blanket, her hair a mess and her eyes puffy. "I mean it. You were, like...unplayable."
Jimin cups her cheek, brushing her thumb lightly along her jaw. "You almost broke me in the first set."
"Almost doesn't count."
"Almost means you're getting closer."
Minjeong doesn't answer. She just leans in and presses her face to Jimin's chest.
The next day, they're on the far end of the complex, alone on Court 17. It's one of the outer practice courts no one really cares about.
"I shouldn't even be here," Minjeong mutters, tossing a ball at the fence.
"You asked if I needed a hitting partner," Jimin says, not looking up as she ties her shoe.
"I was trying to be nice."
"You were trying to flirt."
"Please don't flatter yourself."
Jimin stands and offers her a smug grin. "I literally knocked you out of the tournament. You're still here. Still sleeping in my bed. Still watching my matches. That's love, baby."
Minjeong glares. "You're annoying."
"I'm right."
"You're so—" The words die on her tongue when Jimin steps into her space, tugging on the collar of Minjeong's tank top.
"Mm?" Jimin hums.
Minjeong tries to stay mad. She really does. But Jimin's hands are warm and stupidly gentle as they brush stray hairs behind her ears.
"I hate you," Minjeong whispers.
Jimin leans in with a crooked smirk. "No, you don't."
Minjeong kisses her. Hard.
Jimin's hand slides down to Minjeong's waist, fingers pressing above her hip, her thumb rubbing circles into her skin. Minjeong fists her hands in the back of Jimin's shirt and pulls her closer until they're almost chest to chest, their rackets forgotten on the ground.
They make out on the baseline like they have nowhere to be.
Eventually, Jimin breaks the kiss with a breathless laugh. "Are we even going to hit any balls today?"
Minjeong stares at her, flushed and a little dazed. "Like you even need the practice. Miss World No. 1."
Jimin laughs and kisses her again.
Minjeong pulls away with a small grunt and shoves her lightly. "Fine. Let's practice."
They hit for nearly an hour. It's not too intense, since Jimin's trying to save her legs for the quarterfinals, but productive enough that sweat clings to both of them. Minjeong's shots are landing deep. Her timing's clean.
Still, she can't help but roll her eyes every time Jimin offers her two cents.
"Baby, your wrist is too stiff on your backhand."
"I'm out of the tournament."
"Exactly. Might as well work on the things that got you knocked out."
Minjeong huffs. "Jackass."
But when Jimin comes up behind her, pressing in close to guide her arms through the motion, Minjeong doesn't stop her. She pretends to grumble, but her skin's already buzzing.
"This is stupid," she mutters.
"It's hot," Jimin breathes out against her ear.
"You're a menace."
"You love me."
"I do," Minjeong admits, her voice noticeably softer.
Jimin slides her arms fully around Minjeong's waist, pulling her flush against her chest, and Minjeong doesn't even have to see the grin on Jimin's lips to know it's there.
"Say it again."
Minjeong exhales, the last of her fake annoyance dissolving.
"I love you."
Jimin kisses her neck, then her jaw, then finally turns her so they're facing each other. "I love you too."
They collapse onto the bench near the sideline minutes later, sticky with sweat, their legs brushing. Jimin grabs a towel and drapes it over both their laps, then snatches Minjeong's water bottle.
"Hey!" Minjeong protests.
"You're here because of me. I get perks."
"Pest."
Jimin passes the bottle back after a long sip and stretches her arms behind her head. "Quarterfinals tomorrow. Night session."
Minjeong leans into her side, cheek resting on her shoulder. "You'll win."
"Mm. I hope so. I want to make the final."
"You will."
"You'll be rooting for me?"
"Duh." Minjeong threads their fingers together. "I may be out of the tournament, but I'm unfortunately still your biggest fan."
Jimin smiles.
They sit like that for a while, enjoying the comfortable silence between them.
"Hey," Jimin speaks up, her voice soft. "Next time we play… you're allowed to beat me."
Minjeong rolls her eyes. "Don't patronize me."
"I'm not. I mean it."
Minjeong sighs, but there's the faintest smile on her lips. "I'll believe it when it happens."
"It will," Jimin says, kissing the side of her head. "Eventually."
Minjeong hums. "Just don't fall in love with anyone else when I do."
"Not possible," Jimin murmurs. "I'm stupid for you. Always have been."
The lights in their hotel room are dim when they return. Not for the ambiance, but because Minjeong says the overhead lighting makes Jimin "look too pretty" and she finds it "distracting." Jimin, naturally, takes this as a compliment.
"Still can't believe you're hitting with me and sleeping with me," Jimin says, lying on her back, her hair splayed across the pillow. "What did I do to deserve such generosity?"
Minjeong, sitting with her legs crossed at the edge of the bed, throws a sock at her. "You knocked me out of a Grand Slam. I should be plotting your downfall."
"Instead you're eye-fucking me."
Minjeong doesn't even blink. "Who says I'm not doing both?"
That makes Jimin sit up, her lips pulling into a smirk. "You're dangerous."
Minjeong crawls up the bed. "You like it."
"I love it."
Jimin brings her in for a kiss, her mouth moving against Minjeong's slowly, delicately, but then Minjeong fists a hand in her shirt, and that changes the pace completely. The kiss becomes rougher, more desperate, like they haven't seen each other in weeks.
"Want you," Minjeong says, breathless.
"Yeah?" Jimin asks, kissing down the column of her throat, biting gently, then laving the area with her tongue.
Minjeong shudders, letting Jimin guide her onto her back, her head hitting the pillow with a soft thud. Jimin hovers above her, hands framing her face for a moment, just looking at Minjeong like she's trying to commit every inch of her to memory.
"I can't believe you're all mine," she murmurs. "You're so fucking perfect."
Minjeong's heart does a flip, and she tugs at the hem of Jimin's shirt. "Off."
Jimin peels it off and tosses it over her shoulder, then immediately reaches for Minjeong's top, dragging it up and over her head. She kisses Minjeong hard, then trails down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, sucking a mark just beneath Minjeong's throat.
"God, Jimin—"
"I love when you say my name like that," Jimin whispers, lips brushing Minjeong's breast.
She takes her time, kissing across Minjeong's chest, over one breast and then the other, tongue flicking, lips closing around her nipple until Minjeong gasps and threads her fingers in her hair. Her hips lift, naturally searching for more friction, but Jimin doesn't rush.
She worships Minjeong like she's earned it. And Minjeong lets her, whimpering when Jimin kisses her way lower. Her stomach, her hips, the sensitive spot just below her navel until she's kneeling between her legs, hooking her fingers into the waistband of Minjeong's shorts, and then her panties, tugging them down her legs with ease.
"You're trembling," Jimin teases softly.
"Maybe I'm cold," Minjeong says, her thighs parting wider, tipping her head back against the pillow.
Jimin chuckles, kisses the inside of her thigh, and then the other. "You're not."
She settles between them, her hands holding Minjeong open, breath warm against her heat, already slick and aching. And when she finally lowers her mouth to her, Minjeong curses, gripping the sheets so tightly her knuckles go white.
"Fuck—Ji—"
Jimin hums against her, her tongue dragging along her like she has all night. Like she doesn't have to play in one of the biggest matches of her life tomorrow. Minjeong chokes on a moan, and her hips twitch, but Jimin holds her steady, tongue circling, sucking, licking until Minjeong is a mess above her, writhing, panting, gasping her name.
"You're so good," Minjeong whimpers, her thighs trembling. "Too good—fuck— Jimin —"
Jimin doesn't slow down, not giving her a moment to breathe, just keeps pushing her closer and closer until that final flick of her tongue against Minjeong's clit brings her over the edge. Minjeong comes with a loud cry, her head thrown back, chest arching, body curling in on itself.
Jimin doesn't stop until she's sure Minjeong's wrung dry, until she's shaking and twitching with oversensitivity, hips jerking away with helpless little whines. Only then does she kiss her way back up, dragging her lips across her sweat damp skin, licking into Minjeong's mouth as she settles on top of her again.
Minjeong tastes herself on her, moaning softly into the kiss, her arms wrapping around Jimin's bare back.
They kiss like that for a while, until Jimin inevitably slides off, a satisfied grin forming over her lips as she cuddles up beside her.
"I really hate how good you are at everything," Minjeong murmurs.
Jimin grins. "Especially this?"
"Especially this."
"I love you," Jimin says.
Minjeong turns slightly to look at her, her hair a mess, and her face flushed pink.
"I love you too," she breathes. "Even though you ruin my life regularly."
Jimin chuckles, and wraps her arms around Minjeong until they fall asleep.
Minjeong wakes up alone that morning.
It's not unusual. Jimin likes to do her morning stretches in silence and take long, scalding showers to "open up her lungs," whatever that means. But still, the empty side of the bed is too cold. Minjeong reaches across the sheets anyway, like she might catch the last bit of warmth clinging to them.
She doesn't. So she sighs and sits up.
The quarterfinals are today. Jimin plays tonight.
She pads barefoot to the bathroom, just in time to hear Jimin humming under the spray of the shower. Minjeong leans against the doorframe and closes her eyes, letting herself breathe in the steam.
The water finally shuts off after a few minutes and Jimin steps out, wrapped in her towel and glowing from head to toe. Her hair's twisted up, loose strands falling around her face. Her skin is pink from the hot water. She looks fresh and soft and annoyingly perfect.
She sees Minjeong and smiles. "Staring again?"
Minjeong shrugs. "What can I say? You're a visual experience."
Jimin laughs and steps closer, a little water dripping from her collarbone. "You always get flirty when I have a match."
"I always get flirty when you look like that," Minjeong corrects her, trailing her fingers along the edge of the towel.
Jimin leans in, nosing against Minjeong's cheek. "Keep talking like that and I'll skip breakfast."
Minjeong smirks, but pulls away before things can escalate. "Save it for the court. You've got another tournament to win."
Jimin pouts in mock offense. "Is that all I am to you? A trophy magnet?"
"Pretty much." Minjeong steps around her, reaching for her toothbrush. "But you're my trophy magnet, so I guess it works out."
Jimin wraps her arms around Minjeong's waist from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder. "Are you gonna be in my box tonight?"
Minjeong meets her eyes in the mirror. "Obviously."
"Just checking," Jimin says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "You know I always play better when you're watching."
Minjeong scoffs. "You play better when anyone's watching. You're a show-off."
"So?"
Minjeong spits a little toothpaste into the sink. "We need to knock you down a few pegs."
They share the bathroom in easy silence, brushing their teeth shoulder to shoulder, stealing glances in the mirror all the while.
When Jimin finally pulls on her warm-ups and slings her racket bag over her shoulder, Minjeong's already there by the door, handing her a protein bar and tiptoeing to press a soft kiss to her lips.
"For luck," she says.
Jimin smiles against her mouth. "Don't need it."
She takes it anyway.
Rod Laver Arena is buzzing when Jimin walks onto the court later. She looks good. Fairly confident. Seriously hot in her navy blue kit. But Minjeong can still see the little tells. Jimin spending a second longer tying her shoelace. Her glancing toward the player's box a little more than she usually does during the warm-up.
She's nervous. Minjeong is too.
Her opponent today is Ekaterina Volkova. A Russian. Tall and intimidating, ripper of a forehand and a proper set of lungs on her. She screams "Davai!" every time she hits a winner, and Minjeong has to force herself not to visibly cringe.
Jimin, of course, is eating it up.
"She's pretty hot," Jimin had told her once, during breakfast at another tournament a few years back.
Minjeong had thrown a grape at her head.
Now, from her seat in the player's box, Minjeong watches their match unfold with bated breath. Jimin double faults once, early in the first set, and Minjeong's nails dig into her thigh, but it's fine. Jimin recovers. Yu Jimin always recovers. She's the World No. 1 for a reason.
She breaks Volkova at 4-4, lets out a guttural "COME ON!" that gives Minjeong goosebumps, and then holds for the set like it's just practice.
The second set is tighter. Volkova hits harder, screams louder. It's almost impressive, the sheer volume of her davais.
But Jimin doesn't blink. Doesn't roll her eyes. She just keeps hitting. Keeps moving. Keeps pushing. And then, at 5-5, she hits a crosscourt backhand past Volkova's outstretched racket to break and pumps her fist enthusiastically into the air.
Minjeong can barely breathe.
She holds for the match. 6-4, 7-5.
The moment the final ball sails long, Jimin drops her racket and tilts her head back, eyes closed. A tame celebration. She's simply taking it all in.
Minjeong rises from her seat, clapping wildly, her heart too full to sit still.
After the match, Minjeong finds Jimin practically glowing in the cool-down room.
"You survived the Davai," Jimin says, grinning as Minjeong walks toward her.
"I almost left," Minjeong deadpans. "Every time she screamed, I aged a year."
"She was kind of hot, though."
Minjeong narrows her eyes. "You wanna sleep alone tonight?"
Jimin just laughs and pulls her in by the hips, burying her face in the crook of Minjeong's neck. "You're the only one I want."
Minjeong melts. She threads her fingers through Jimin's damp hair and presses a kiss behind her ear.
"I'm so fucking proud of you," she whispers.
Jimin hums against her skin. "Thank you for being here."
"I'll always be here."
The following night, they're seated on the rooftop of a quiet restaurant tucked between Melbourne high-rises. Jimin had insisted on getting away, just to breathe a little before the semifinals.
"This feels illegal," Minjeong says, smirking at her.
Jimin sets her fork down. "What does?"
"We're literally gorging on pasta and wine before your semifinal."
"Exactly," Jimin says with a tilt of her head. "Might be the last calm moment I get. You're doing me a favor."
Minjeong rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I'm such a martyr. Sacrificing myself to eat carbs with my hot girlfriend under the stars."
Jimin grins lazily. "You think I'm hot?"
Minjeong kicks her lightly under the table. "Shut up and eat your pasta."
They eat quietly, and Minjeong watches the city lights flicker against Jimin's skin. At one point, she's even tempted to lean over and kiss her senseless.
But instead, she says, "You're gonna win tomorrow."
Jimin looks at her, eyes soft. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Even if she's ranked number three in the world and hits like a freight train?"
Minjeong leans forward, her foot finding Jimin's again under the table. "She's not you, baby."
On semifinal night, Minjeong is a bundle of nerves. Her eyes can't tear away from Jimin as she warms up on court. Her opponent is all power, a baseliner with legs for days and a ruthless backhand. But Jimin doesn't flinch.
Minjeong watches, perched on the edge of her seat like she might fall over into the court.
The match starts tight. Long rallies, deep balls, unforced errors on both sides. Minjeong can feel the tension vibrating off her.
But Jimin holds. And then breaks. She yells so loud after a crosscourt winner that Minjeong feels it in her bones.
First set, Yu. 6-3.
In the second set, Jimin falters. Drops a service game. Falls behind 2-4. Her opponent is screaming now, trying to claw her way back into the match, and the crowd is starting to get behind her too. They love an underdog.
Minjeong clutches the edge of her seat.
Then Jimin does what she always does.
She resets. Takes some deep breaths. Loosens her shoulders. And then she moves. Chases every ball, paints the lines, punishes pace with pace. She breaks back. Holds. Breaks again. Serves it out.
6-3, 6-4.
It's over.
Minjeong stands with the rest of the crowd as Jimin raises her arms. Her smile grows with the applause and cheers roaring throughout the stadium. Jimin doesn't even look toward her box right away. She just feels the moment. She's one match away from being crowned champion.
Eventually, she looks for Minjeong. Finds her instantly.
Minjeong is grinning like an idiot.
They don't talk until they're back in the tunnel.
Jimin's just finished her cool-down. Minjeong walks up with her arms crossed, and her heart impossibly full in her chest.
"You're ridiculous," she says.
Jimin raises an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Everything. The way you play. The way you fight. The way you act like you're not sweating when I know you are."
Jimin steps in, crowding her. "I'm definitely sweating."
"You're crazy."
"You love it."
Minjeong reaches for her wrist and grins. "I love you."
Jimin grins back and kisses her.
Their hotel room is quiet. Jimin is lying on her stomach across the bed, her head turned toward Minjeong, feet lazily swaying behind her. Her hair's damp from her shower, and she's wearing a faded t-shirt Minjeong swears she's going to "accidentally" throw out one day.
Minjeong's sitting up against the headboard, scrolling through her phone, not really reading anything.
Tomorrow night is the final.
"You ever think about how I could be one match away from having all four?" Jimin says suddenly.
Minjeong looks over, a little startled. "All four?"
Jimin rolls onto her side and props herself up on her elbow. "Slams. If I win tomorrow, I'll have the full set. Wimbledon, Roland Garros, the US Open, and finally—" She taps her fingers against the sheets. "The Australian Open."
Minjeong blinks. "Wow."
"I've come close. Finals two years ago, semis last year. But it's the only trophy that's still missing."
Minjeong hums, tucking a knee up to her chest. "God, you're greedy."
Jimin squints at her. "Excuse me?"
"You already have three slams. I haven't even won one."
"You've won me."
Minjeong groans. "That's not a trophy."
Jimin smirks, shifting closer. "Feels like one."
"You're insufferable."
Jimin chuckles, and then her smile softens. "I know it doesn't really matter. I've had an amazing career already. But... I want this one. Just once. Just to know what it feels like."
Minjeong reaches out and runs her fingers through her girlfriend's hair. "Then go get it."
The court is electric the night of the final. A perfect Melbourne summer night.
Jimin walks out like she belongs there.
Because she does.
She keeps her shoulders loose and her expression unreadable while her opponent paces around like a caged animal on the other side of the net. Big serve and a powerful forehand, younger than Jimin by two years and playing the tournament of her life.
But Jimin looks calm.
Minjeong is anything but.
Every part of her feels strung tight. She's leaning forward, elbows on her knees, praying that Jimin can finally pull this off.
Neither player gives an inch when it starts. The rallies stretch into twenty, thirty shots. Jimin plays deep and clever. Her opponent goes for broke. It's push and pull.
Jimin saves two break points early with unreturnable first serves, then scrambles for a backhand pass that leaves Minjeong's heart in her throat. She's still down love–30 in her next service game when she opens up the forehand wing and rips one down the line.
It clips the line.
Rod Laver Arena goes mad.
Minjeong exhales for the first time in minutes.
At 6-5, Jimin pushes forward on a short return, and slices a backhand that barely floats over the net. Her opponent tries to pass her, but Jimin's already there.
She sticks her racket out. Snaps the volley.
It lands just inside.
Set point.
Minjeong gets up from her seat and claps like a mad woman.
Jimin clenches her fist, her chest heaving and eyes burning.
First set, 7-5.
The second set, Jimin comes alive.
She moves around the court seamlessly. Rides the wave like she's never doubted it. At 2-1, she breaks with a backhand winner that threads the narrowest angle Minjeong's ever seen. At 4-2, she forces an error with a looping forehand that kicks up and rushes her opponent off the baseline.
It's breathtaking tennis. Gorgeous. Clinical.
Minjeong is simply frozen watching her.
At 5-3, with the crowd already shifting forward in their seats, Jimin steps up to serve on championship point. She misses her first serve, but doesn't panic. She just exhales and bounces the ball a few more times, whispering some words of encouragement to herself.
Then she serves again, the toss high. It kicks out wide, and the return floats short.
She doesn't wait.
Jimin steps in and crushes her forehand down the line, perhaps the cleanest one she's ever struck in her life.
Winner.
Game, set, match. Yu Jimin.
Then the arena explodes.
Jimin drops her racket and falls to her knees. Her hands come up to cover her face, then fall again. She looks up at the lights and smiles so wide Minjeong's own chest aches with it.
She's done it.
She's won the one she didn't have.
Yu Jimin, Australian Open champion.
Minjeong is on her feet, clapping until her palms sting, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.
Later, after the trophy ceremony, after countless photos, hugs, and confetti, Jimin meets Minjeong in the tunnel.
She's still in her match kit, wrinkled and a little stained from spilling one of her electrolyte drinks on herself during a changeover earlier. A white towel's draped around her shoulders, and the trophy is cradled in her arms.
Minjeong grins at the sight. She walks forward and grabs her, pulling Jimin in like it's second nature.
Jimin exhales sharply. Wraps an arm around her tightly.
Minjeong buries her face in Jimin's neck, breathing her in.
"You did it," she whispers.
Jimin laughs, but it's breathless. Shaky. "I really did."
"All four."
"Yeah."
Minjeong pulls back to look at her, her hands sliding up the back of Jimin's neck and into her hair, ruffling it a bit.
"You greedy fucking bitch," she murmurs, and Jimin laughs heartily.