distance into daylight
krystal-centric
g, 664w
“But I’m not special,” she’d protested. “I’m just me.”
a/n: it’s 2023 and ellie is dragging me back into fic by my hair, tq ellie
When Soojung was in high school, she’d once proposed starting a club called “The Wallflower Social Club”. As a joke. Maybe.
Taemin had laughed and called her an idiot when she gave him the membership sheet to sign, with the excuse that he had his hands full with dance practices and vocal practices and fashion practices and whatever other practices he had. Well so did she, she’d pointed out; in this school where half the year were already in entertainment agencies, he was hardly special.
“And you think you aren’t?” he’d scoffed. “You’re literally the It Girl of South Korea right now.”
“But I’m not special,” she’d protested. “I’m just me.”
He’d given her a mystified look. “Why don’t you ask Suji?” He waved her off.
Suji flat out said no. Ilhoon was too lively, Taehyun too cool.
So it ended where it began - The Wallflower Social Club, membership: one.
Maybe she was an idiot, attempting to create a space for introverts in an industry that fed itself on extroversion. She didn’t know why that stupid club suddenly snuck its way into her consciousness anyway, as she stood smiling on the red carpet at Cannes: not a strand of hair out of place, beguiling smile on point, a thousand cameras flashing at her. Maybe it was that her dress wasn’t really her shade of pink. Maybe it was that her extensions were pulling at her scalp. Maybe it was just the 14 year old buried deep inside her in absolute disbelief that she had clawed her way out of the idol industry, and she had done it with grace. Maybe it was the chilling acceptance that maybe she was special.
The afterparty was a blur, not because she got especially drunk, but because the disbelief stuck itself somewhere between her throat and her solar plexus, and any word anyone said to her seeped somewhere out the back of her head before she could solidify it. She knew she’d chipped her nail polish getting out of the car, and it worried at the surface of her thoughts until somewhere past 3am when Yeo-been tripped and almost ripped the hem of her ridiculously expensive dress. Then she just wanted to go home.
And now azure blue sea and sky, searing golden sand under her feet, the breeze of a lifetime of hopes and dreams whispering against her cheek. If she closes her eyes she can imagine she is alone on this beach, except this isn’t a holiday, this is her job, and her job is to make it look like a holiday. The camera clicks. She angles her chin a few degrees to the right. The team from Ralph Lauren looks satisfied, so she is too. She doesn’t even really know what the end game is, just that it’s important to keep up her endorsements and contacts for the unknown future. "Where do you see yourself in 10 years?" ask the online quizzes Jessica sometimes sends her about goals and direction in life. Posing in front of a camera? Maybe. She has always felt a little like the wallflower of her own life, looking on as it rushes along.
Maybe if Jinri was in the same school she would have joined the club, not because she would’ve wanted to but probably just to keep her company, because Jinri was that kind of person. Her smile wobbles for a second before she hauls it back up. Better not to think about that now.
Memories are like the sea, she thinks as she crunches on some ice one of the staff has given her, staring out at the rolling blue waves as sweat drips down the side of her face. They give and they take. And sometimes they swallow you whole. “I’m not special,” she insists. “I’m just me.” Her head aches. It's hot, and she bites the inside of her cheek.
Tomorrow, she’ll go home.
The Wallflower Social Club, membership: one.