The Lost Year (1/?)
the lost year (1/?)
~4680, pg-13, (krystal-centric + jessica, kai, sulli, t.o.p)
someone accidentally refers to her as ‘Soojung’ on the shoot and she forgets to respond.
■ there will be less than 10 parts, promise.
She stops hurting for a while. And by that, she doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about it from time to time or that she forgets she still loves him.
In her defence, she was grieving more than one loss at the time. If she didn’t have to split that time between her sister leaving the lifestyle she introduced to both of them and her best friend leaving the team she never wanted to be a part of. Maybe - just maybe, the process of recovery would have been much quicker. Although she admits she did do a detour with that petty attempt at a rebound (‘I don’t care anymore,’ she shows it to anyone who cares with a man on her arm, ‘Oh who? Him? Darling, that was so four months ago.’)
Still, she shivers sometimes in the middle of the night when she rolls over and can’t feel him next to her.
-
She lets the newly earned title of ‘it girl’ gets to her head. Men look at her like she’s untouchable and the ground beneath her feet is worth their kisses (because that’s the only piece of her they will ever get) and women plasters a cut out of her magazine pictorials on their walls for gym inspiration. She doesn’t need him - of course, she doesn’t. She doesn’t even need her own sister. So he can go, who cares? She finds out the hard way that in fact, no one does.
The limelight shines down too much on her until she feels suffocated instead of invincible. (“It’s not Girls Generation’s Jessica’s little sister anymore,” the PR woman says, patronizing as she pats the hands folded too tightly on her lap, “It’s f(x)’s Krystal’s has-been older sister.”) She floats in between events and pretends to not look for him in all of them. He’s one table behind, he’s four seats away, he’s across the stage, he’s a reach away - she cannot touch him because he refuses to be moved by it.
-
One day she wakes up and pauses for a moment to look at herself in the mirror. She assesses every pore and flaws marring her flesh. There are some but she does not hate them, Soojung decides with a nod and decides that this is the pivotal point of the aftermath of them. She spends the rest of the day shopping. She buys clothes that are too entirely too sexy to fit into her tomboy styled closet (but she looks good - better than good actually) and pays for them with her sister’s credit card.
-
She goes ‘clubbing’ because it has dawned on her recently that she is a good dancer and she is doing a great disservice to those jazz classes by lazing around on the couch, watching Cannes nominated films and dreaming of attending art school (it is much too late now.) Once she gets through the door, there is a girly cocktail shoved in hand and a boy next to her, yelling over the thumping bass. She nods once in a while to look like she is listening (“Oh yeah, it is really crowded tonight.” “No, sorry, I think I’m going to stay inside.”) She moves to the music, even if she is not familiar with the pop anthem like everyone else in this crowd. One and a half song later, she feels a body grinding up against her and it is not him.
She spends the next three hours crowd watching from the bar, trying not to hate him for making her feel this way - like she is cheating and worse, clinging onto something that is not hers anymore.
-
(She watches him in rehearsal the next afternoon. No one will ever dance the way he does and she doesn’t want to dance with anyone if it’s not him.)
-
Someone accidentally refers to her as ‘Soojung’ on the shoot and she forgets to respond. (Who is that anyway?) It is not a big deal, she finds herself saying to herself when changing into another outfit, but considers calling him. She doesn’t. He wouldn’t know the answer to that one.
-
Jessica sucks at giving directions. So she gives up on the whole thing and barks out a random name of a random place into the phone and assumes her Google search will be helpful enough. It isn’t.
She drives around the same block twice (half an hour minute by car, my ass) until she spots a couple coming out of motel and rolls down the window to ask for help. (Of course, it’s that red sign that people often miss because the yellow sign of the karaoke bar next to the club distracts them.)
Name, the bouncer asked her and taps his pen impatiently against the guest list. She can give him a whole discography and a photo book and he still wouldn’t let her in. Oh, money - right, that little thing. Oh wait, she left her wallet in the car - oops. She takes a deep breath and rules out the option of ringing up one of their parents. That’s not what people in control do, they handle complications in their own terms. She’s an adult now - those years of pubescent gangly body is behind her or she curses for them to be gone anyway. Isn’t it about time she loses the introversion that makes it hard for her look into the eyes of a stranger, let alone speak in their presence? Oh god -
“No, no, it’s okay - yeah, it’s fine, let her in.”
She doesn’t recognize him at first or two looks. If she ever tells this story to anyone, they’d probably laugh in her face and call bullshit. It should be other way around, really. He openly stares at her, which she cannot help but squirm at as she squeezes through the entrance.
“H - hello,” she mumbles or squeaks (she’s not entirely sure) and bows at him in courtesy - seniority still counts after work hours, “Um…I’m looking for my sister. Have you seen her?”
He’s still staring at her in surprise - the pleasant or uncomfortable kind, she’s not entirely sure.
“Yeah, she’s in here somewhere,” he finally says, craning his next to the side to get a look behind her, “It’s been a couple of hours since I last saw her. I’m on my way out now.”
“Oh right,” she replies awkwardly.
Admittedly, she’s grateful for the loud music coming from the other side of the wall. It’s doing a good job at filling the silence between the two of them as they stand in the middle of the corridor, her fidgeting and him watching her.
“Do you want me to come with you?” He asks after a long pause.
YES, she screams internally at the nauseous thought of the sheer amount of people packed into one tiny little room. To make it worse, she knows no one of this crowd - apart from maybe Jiyoung oppa and judging by her luck so far this evening, she wouldn’t bet on getting a hold of him anytime soon. And him, after what happened last time when they were at the same place at the same time - nothing good can come out of this. His offer is out of common courtesy, she should know better but to be an inconvenience to him.
“I’ll come with you,” he confirms before her brain could ramble on for a little bit longer and for that, she is thankful.
Silently, he leads her out of the corridor and onto the dance floor. Taking in the size of tonight’s crowd, she realizes how dumb it would have been to reject his help.
“I’ve been trying to call her for over an hour now,” she tells him helplessly; she wouldn’t want her to think she’s silly or anything like that.
He nods and leans closer so she can hear him over the EDM track. “Let’s ask around.”
She follows him around like a lost puppy, hiding behind his taller frame as they are pushed and shoved by the sway of the dance floor. (“Have you seen Jessica?” “Yeah, Tyler’s girlfriend.” “Yeah, she was in that girl group.” “I’m busy, maybe some other time.”) She is, the least to say, surprise at how stiffly he is a mingling with the in-crowd - he is short and blunt and onto the point, nervous at times even but somehow manage to avoid coming off as rude or hostile. If it was her, they would have turned away and in a much too loud whisper, they’d say “no manners at all.” So she was born with a chronic bitch resting face - how is any of this fair again?
“Maybe you should just go home, I’ve already wasted so much of your time,” she whispers behind him.
Abruptly, he pulls her to the side and promptly dodging the drunken guy that would have crashed right into them if he had been any slower. He starts to say something but there is some incoherent yelling nearby that buries his voice completely.
“Yah! You lied!”
A petite girl waltzes up to him and cutting in between them. She is facing this stranger’s backside when said girl shoves him on the shoulder; not too hard but not gently either.
“You said you were calling it a night,” she accuses, crossing an arm on her chest to show the extent of her irritation, “First, Jiyoung leaves me behind and now you too.”
“Uh…actually,” she interrupts in a small voice, “He was on his way out when he ran into me. So this whole thing is kind of my fault.”
The girl swivels around and assesses her for what seems like minutes before her eyes begin to widen.
“Aren’t you Jessica’s little sister?”
Caught off guard by the question, she musters up a simple ‘yes’.
“I didn’t know you were invited!” The girl exclaims in excitement, taking a hold of her hands. Upon a closer inspection of her chic bob cut and infectious grin, she recognizes her to be Kiko Mizuhara - a fellow ‘it girl’ and Jiyoung’s girlfriend of forever and ever. “Jessica didn’t even mention you were here.”
“You’ve seen her?” she asks quickly, suddenly flooded with relief when the girl gives a nod, “Do you know where she is?”
“Yeah, she’s in the VIP room,” she informs her and drags her pass the large group of people closing in on the DJ deck, “The girls and I put her there so she can you know, recover.”
The door opens and the sight of her own sister makes her want to throw up and run out of this place and back into the safety of her own car. She wants to drive away and disappear into the night, never to come back to anything because in all honesty, she has nothing to come back to anyway. The thought of leaving her sister here - drunk and ready to be discovered by the paparazzi, leaves a nasty taste in her mouth but it sure as hell would teach her a lesson.
(She knows she’s just making excuses but if he was here, he wouldn’t have let this happen. He fixes things, that’s just what he does.)
Slowly but steadily, she moves to the couch where Jessica lays. Her matte hair is plastered to her forehead, her lipstick is smudged along the edge of her cupid bow and there is a trace of pink on her cream blouse.
She whimpers in protest at the sound of her own name but opens her eyes after a few more attempts. “Soojung…hey…how’s life now a days?”
All she wants to do is yank her up right by the hair and shakes her while screaming over and over: “Why are you such a fuckup?” Instead, all she does is gets down on her knees and pours an entire
bottle of mineral water down her drunken sister’s throat.
This is what growing up feels like
-
She doesn’t sleep that night. She dumps her sister’s limp body in bed, throws a blanket over her and jumps back into her car. She doesn’t drive to the middle of nowhere like she wants to. No, the responsible thing to do at a time like this is to head to the dance studio.
She practices the same steps until she no longer thinks when the music comes on. This is the hardest she has ever pushed herself since debut. She knows this because her knees are bruised and her feet are bleeding when she takes her socks off.
If only he could see, he’d be proud of her.
All he has to do is tell her ‘how’, because she would do anything to be that girl again.
-
The interviewer asks her questions that are too calculated and vague to satisfy anyone’s curiosity. (“I love fashion. I’m into skinny jeans lately. Did I mention I’ve been into them since I was fifteen?”).
Answering them makes her feel vapid and hollow but she plasters a smile on her face, robotically reciting to the lady something that sounds akin to a politically correct reply that she’s been prepped prior (except not).
She assures the public that f(x) is having a comeback this year - repeat: soon (not specified), this year (confirmed, for now), number of members (no comments).
It occurs to her that nothing in her life is secure ever.
-
On a rainy day, her father takes her out for lunch and drives them into the inner city.
She sits in the front seat (because she’s a grown girl, he teases when she buckles her seatbelt) so she can change the radio station after every couple of songs. It’s an annoying thing to do but her father doesn’t complain. He knows how much she despises modern music and how picky she is with throw back tunes.
The traffic is not bad (this is Seoul, it could be a lot worse). Nevertheless, they’ve been stuck around the same area for fifteen minutes now and stopped by the same red light for at least four times.
She almost doesn't notice that the advertisement on the bus stop. It is big and it is in your face but she could have missed it. For example, if the lights had turned green and they have made the nearest U turn or if her father wasn’t saying something about the weather and a Carpenter’s song that made her look over on his side.
Outside his window is SM’s extraordinaire, E-X-O - future of South Korea’s meaningless pop music and every high school girls’ wet dream. She tries to think of how much they made just standing there, posing on a couple of chairs. Numbers are supposed to confuse her enough to stop her from going there. She does anyway.
With her eyes, she traces the outline of his face and remembers the feel of his cheeks when cupped between her two hands.
-
Contrary to popular (or the tabloid’s) beliefs, none of them hate Jinri - not in a sense that it’s enough for them to hold a grudge and banish her from their lives. They didn’t even fight nor protest when she announces her leave - ‘adios’, see you later, good riddance to learning intricate choreographies and maintaining cutesy image to lure in middle-aged creeps.
(Still, she hates Jinri for calling every other day.)
It isn’t Jinri’s fault, she reminds herself and presses ignore, but she can’t help that it feels like betrayal.
-
(What makes Jinri thinks it’s okay to date publicly while the rest of them are meeting in tinted vans and having lunch dates at eleven at night? How dare she be that brave? How dare she loves that much?)
-
He’s hiding behind the door of a vacant practice room, watching her and oblivious to her doing the same from the other side. (How many times she has caught him doing this? How many times is he going to keep doing this? How many times is he going to deny her what she wants?) What she wants to do is run into his arms and dumps onto him eight months worth of her own little hell but what she does is not see him and walk away.
She puts on the headphones and goes back to perfecting the steps she’s already perfected.
(She’s getting better at pretending)
-
She cannot fathom how unfair it is that her sister gets to skip out on a visit to family’s friends and she’s stuck carrying a fruit basket and a box of homemade cookies (that she wasn’t allowed to have any of).
(“I have to stay in China for a couple of days longer for work” That would have more convincing if Tyler Kwon didn’t just arrive there the night before.)
The walk from the elevator to the mansion itself is a form of torture. Her legs sag behind and drags against the carpeted floor, it is as if her whole body is rejecting this whole idea to be a bad one and rightly so. Even the hallway is making her feel claustrophobic; at this point she’d be clawing at the walls to get out once they find the room.
She would whine like a kid (“But mom, do I really have to?”) but she remembers that wouldn’t be age appropriate anymore. Hence why she settles upon biting her lip and staring down at her highly uncomfortable three-inch pair of Jimmy Choo’s when her parents knock thrice at the door.
The opening line goes something like this: “Oh it is so lovely to see you! No, oh but - no, you shouldn’t have brought anything [cue sickly sweet smile]. My husband is such a silly goose, I told him to call and say to come empty handed [cues fake laughter].”
Her lips quirk into a smile so stiff her jaw clicks. It wasn’t like she’s any good at hiding visible disgust or contempt - that’s never been this family’s forte.
“The wine! That’s what we left in the car,” her mother throws her arms in exasperation, because how irresponsible of them, really.
She watches Missus Lee’s eyes flicker to her, those pitched black orbs gleaming with nosiness and possible itchiness to the mouth.
With a swallow, she offers in a small voice, “I’ll go get it.”
She doesn’t wait for an answer. She might as well have been running down the hallway, fleeing from the horror of the probing questions that will undoubtedly be asked upon her return.
She thinks she’s been reasonably calm until the elevator goes ‘ding’ and she realizes she doesn’t know she got in one in the first place or that she’s now standing in the middle of the parking lot. She’s not panicking, she swears - hyperventilation and throat closing up are definitely not sure signs that - oh god, she should have just faked sick or something.
“Soojung?”
For a second, she’s convinced it’s her mind playing tricks on her. She’s not star struck by any means but to say this is coincidental, is an understatement of the century.
“Oh,” she breathes, sounding very intelligent, “Hello”
He only needs to take a few long strides to reach her. She had not taken notice of it before but he is exceptionally tall; he towers over her with unintended intimidation and she feels so incredibly small in front of him. His hands are tucked in the pocket of his neatly pressed cigarette pants and hanging off his arm is a very expensive looking coat. This, however did not slip her attention - he has impeccable taste.
“Do you…” he brain has gone completely numb, “Do you…uh…live here?”
Of course, he does - only South Korea’s richest can afford to reside here. She bets Jessica will move here too if (when) her boyfriend puts a ring on it.
“Yeah,” he nods, “On the sixteenth floor”
A fleeting pause passes between them - her, looking at the ceiling like she could see anything in the dark and him, looking at her like he did just the other night.
“How’s Jessica?”
She almost rolls her eyes at his generic conversation starter when she registers that he is most likely referring to her sister’s drunken antic.
“She’s fine,” she informs him curtly.
“That’s good then,” he replies, “Did you have trouble getting home?”
She shakes her head ‘no’. “We got home fine.” Then adds quickly, “Sorry for troubling you that other time.“
“Don’t worry about it,” he dismisses easily with a smile to match, “How have you been?”
“M - me?” because why would he ask about her - she’s fine, she’s great, she’s - “I’m okay. You?”
“Fine,” he replies shortly, “What are you doing here?”
“We have a family friends who are residence here,” she gives him the short version to save him the messy explanation of how she got herself roped into this dinner in the first place, “We’re supposed to have dinner.”
He blinks, brows furrowing. “But you’re not anymore?”
“Oh, no - I mean yeah, the dinner is still happening,” she badly wants to bash her head against the wall behind her, “My parents bought them a bottle of wine as house warming present. We accidentally left in the car, I just came down to get it.”
If the shift in his expression is anything to go by, she can assume that she has garnered a fraction more of his attention. Not that he had ever look unkind to her but she feels elevated at his visibly relaxed demeanor.
“What kind did you get?”
Oh shit, it isn’t like she’s a complete amateur when it comes to wine but she’s starting to accept that she can’t think straight when he’s around. “Cabernet Sauvignon…?”
“What year?”
(What the hell is this? Twenty questions?)
“I - um…I don’t know actually,” she declares with a sheepish chuckle, “Hold on, give me a minute.”
Quickly, she runs over to the car and yanks open the door to the backseat, fumbling around the floor until she feels the coolness of the glass against her skin. Holding the phone up, she shines enough light on the bottle to find what she was after.
“2010,” she shouts aloud, “Napa Valley”
He takes it from her hand once she is back by his side. “Your parents must have practical taste.”
“Practical?”
“It’s a good year, agreeable to most people’s taste buds and reasonably priced,” he explains,“ It’s a good one to bring if you’re ever invited over to dinner at someone’s house.”
She gapes at him like he has grown a second head, because he might as well have if he’s going to talk like that. “Are you an expert or something?”
He turns the bottle over in his hand, shyly smiling down at his patent leather shoes. “No, it’s a hobby.”
“Drinking or studying wine?” she doesn’t know where it comes from but nevertheless, this is her best attempt at a joke.
She holds in a shriek when he reaches over her shoulder, which makes her paranoid (or delusional) because it was only to press the elevator button. He emits a sound like a low chuckle. She hopes to god that’s not at her but specifically, at her dry sense of humor.
“I enjoy both,” he finally answers once they both get in and the door slides shut, “Which floor are you going to?”
“Thirteenth”
They don’t speak after that and surprisingly, the silence they share is pleasant (enough not to turn her palms all sweaty). The alert sound and the halt of the enclosed space snap her out of her reverie.
As a gesture of farewell, she musters a polite little smile (similar to the one that will undoubtedly be fixed upon her face when dinner commences) and readies herself to leave him to his evening.
“Wait,” he calls out after she lands one foot on the carpet.
Making sure she is stable enough that she won’t make a fool of herself, she turns back to him with quizzical look. Wordlessly, he hands her the bottle of alcoholic beverage that had previously served as a topic of conversation. And to think, she was convinced she was playing it cool.
“Thanks,” she mumbles hurriedly, snatching the bottle from him.
She doesn’t wait long enough to hear a ‘goodbye’, if there is one.
-
Sehun corners her outside of the recording studio. She doesn’t buy it that he has enough spare time on his hand to be just happen to be “hanging around.” But she doesn’t call bullshit on him either.
“How’s life?”
“Great,” she tries to sound genuine but it only sounds sarcastic, “How’s life?”
“Better than yours,” he murmurs under his breath, she hears him loud and clear, “Are you done for the day?”
“Yeah, I’ve been here since eight in the morning,” she heaves a sigh as they start walking down the corridor, “What about you?”
“Rehearsing for the concert for the past three hours,” he scratches the back of his head the rubs his eyes along with the bags under them, “So I guess you win.”
“Yeah?” she scoffs, bumping him on the shoulder with her sore one, “I have to come in tomorrow at sick for mine too.”
Sehun glares at her for that harmless display of violence then asks, rather dubiously, “Are you prepared?”
She hears the double entendre in his question. She hates it when he tries to be sneaky with these things - why can’t he just ask? So she won’t answer!
She levels with him with a discerning look. “Out with it”
“With what?” He scratches the back of his head - a classic move when he plays dumb.
Stopping in the middle of her step, she crosses an arm on her chest and taps her feet with impatience. He starts to whistle (how does he not know that that’s a dead giveaway?), avoiding her pointed gaze which she decides to correct by pinching the skin of forearm.
“Ow” Sehun screams like a little bitch (sometimes he is exactly that), “Ow, okay, stop, stop! I only wanted to make sure you’ll be okay by the time the tour starts, okay?”
“That wasn’t that hard,” she rolls her eyes and lets him go, “And yes, I’ll be alright.”
“You don’t seem fine, Soojung,” he says meaningfully - a little bit too meaningfully that it makes her bristles, “You’ve been avoiding me like -“
“No, nope,” she shushes him, quickening her pace, “I haven’t. If I was, we wouldn’t even be having this talk - or,” she raises her voice over his effort to interrupt, “Or I wouldn’t have texted you back “Yeah, Sehun, sure! Let’s chill and get ice coffee.” That just proves that I’m not avoiding - like at all.”
“Jesus,” he rubs his temple like he feels an incoming headache - if that’s the case, then him and her both, alright, “How many times over the last six months did you make some excuses about not being able to come to - I don’t know, everything? Sure, you reply to my texts but it’s not like you’re in any hurry to see me.”
She groans, running a hand through her hair. “Well, you’ve been busy, alright? Sorry if I don’t want to be a nuisance.”
“Yes, you’re right!” Sehun throws his arms in the air in frustration, “I am busy! More busy than you are and I have the time to go for lunch but you don’t?”
Putting her hands on her hip, her shoulders drop in exhaustion and so does her guard. She’s so tired- mentally, physically and emotionally. Why is he doing this to her? They’ve drained her dry and now there’s nothing but a shell of herself to cling to. He can’t be doing this to her.
“I’m not him, Soojung. Don’t take it out on me like I’m the one who walked away from you.”
“I -“ she is about to start round two of their argument but finds that there is nothing left to say. She clamps her jaw shut, placing a reluctant hand on his shoulder and squeezes in feeble reassurance, “I know, I know.”
(She knows but that doesn’t change anything.)
-
(It’s tiring pushing people away.)
>>>
~4680, pg-13, (krystal-centric + jessica, kai, sulli, t.o.p)
someone accidentally refers to her as ‘Soojung’ on the shoot and she forgets to respond.
■ there will be less than 10 parts, promise.
She stops hurting for a while. And by that, she doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about it from time to time or that she forgets she still loves him.
In her defence, she was grieving more than one loss at the time. If she didn’t have to split that time between her sister leaving the lifestyle she introduced to both of them and her best friend leaving the team she never wanted to be a part of. Maybe - just maybe, the process of recovery would have been much quicker. Although she admits she did do a detour with that petty attempt at a rebound (‘I don’t care anymore,’ she shows it to anyone who cares with a man on her arm, ‘Oh who? Him? Darling, that was so four months ago.’)
Still, she shivers sometimes in the middle of the night when she rolls over and can’t feel him next to her.
-
She lets the newly earned title of ‘it girl’ gets to her head. Men look at her like she’s untouchable and the ground beneath her feet is worth their kisses (because that’s the only piece of her they will ever get) and women plasters a cut out of her magazine pictorials on their walls for gym inspiration. She doesn’t need him - of course, she doesn’t. She doesn’t even need her own sister. So he can go, who cares? She finds out the hard way that in fact, no one does.
The limelight shines down too much on her until she feels suffocated instead of invincible. (“It’s not Girls Generation’s Jessica’s little sister anymore,” the PR woman says, patronizing as she pats the hands folded too tightly on her lap, “It’s f(x)’s Krystal’s has-been older sister.”) She floats in between events and pretends to not look for him in all of them. He’s one table behind, he’s four seats away, he’s across the stage, he’s a reach away - she cannot touch him because he refuses to be moved by it.
-
One day she wakes up and pauses for a moment to look at herself in the mirror. She assesses every pore and flaws marring her flesh. There are some but she does not hate them, Soojung decides with a nod and decides that this is the pivotal point of the aftermath of them. She spends the rest of the day shopping. She buys clothes that are too entirely too sexy to fit into her tomboy styled closet (but she looks good - better than good actually) and pays for them with her sister’s credit card.
-
She goes ‘clubbing’ because it has dawned on her recently that she is a good dancer and she is doing a great disservice to those jazz classes by lazing around on the couch, watching Cannes nominated films and dreaming of attending art school (it is much too late now.) Once she gets through the door, there is a girly cocktail shoved in hand and a boy next to her, yelling over the thumping bass. She nods once in a while to look like she is listening (“Oh yeah, it is really crowded tonight.” “No, sorry, I think I’m going to stay inside.”) She moves to the music, even if she is not familiar with the pop anthem like everyone else in this crowd. One and a half song later, she feels a body grinding up against her and it is not him.
She spends the next three hours crowd watching from the bar, trying not to hate him for making her feel this way - like she is cheating and worse, clinging onto something that is not hers anymore.
-
(She watches him in rehearsal the next afternoon. No one will ever dance the way he does and she doesn’t want to dance with anyone if it’s not him.)
-
Someone accidentally refers to her as ‘Soojung’ on the shoot and she forgets to respond. (Who is that anyway?) It is not a big deal, she finds herself saying to herself when changing into another outfit, but considers calling him. She doesn’t. He wouldn’t know the answer to that one.
-
Jessica sucks at giving directions. So she gives up on the whole thing and barks out a random name of a random place into the phone and assumes her Google search will be helpful enough. It isn’t.
She drives around the same block twice (half an hour minute by car, my ass) until she spots a couple coming out of motel and rolls down the window to ask for help. (Of course, it’s that red sign that people often miss because the yellow sign of the karaoke bar next to the club distracts them.)
Name, the bouncer asked her and taps his pen impatiently against the guest list. She can give him a whole discography and a photo book and he still wouldn’t let her in. Oh, money - right, that little thing. Oh wait, she left her wallet in the car - oops. She takes a deep breath and rules out the option of ringing up one of their parents. That’s not what people in control do, they handle complications in their own terms. She’s an adult now - those years of pubescent gangly body is behind her or she curses for them to be gone anyway. Isn’t it about time she loses the introversion that makes it hard for her look into the eyes of a stranger, let alone speak in their presence? Oh god -
“No, no, it’s okay - yeah, it’s fine, let her in.”
She doesn’t recognize him at first or two looks. If she ever tells this story to anyone, they’d probably laugh in her face and call bullshit. It should be other way around, really. He openly stares at her, which she cannot help but squirm at as she squeezes through the entrance.
“H - hello,” she mumbles or squeaks (she’s not entirely sure) and bows at him in courtesy - seniority still counts after work hours, “Um…I’m looking for my sister. Have you seen her?”
He’s still staring at her in surprise - the pleasant or uncomfortable kind, she’s not entirely sure.
“Yeah, she’s in here somewhere,” he finally says, craning his next to the side to get a look behind her, “It’s been a couple of hours since I last saw her. I’m on my way out now.”
“Oh right,” she replies awkwardly.
Admittedly, she’s grateful for the loud music coming from the other side of the wall. It’s doing a good job at filling the silence between the two of them as they stand in the middle of the corridor, her fidgeting and him watching her.
“Do you want me to come with you?” He asks after a long pause.
YES, she screams internally at the nauseous thought of the sheer amount of people packed into one tiny little room. To make it worse, she knows no one of this crowd - apart from maybe Jiyoung oppa and judging by her luck so far this evening, she wouldn’t bet on getting a hold of him anytime soon. And him, after what happened last time when they were at the same place at the same time - nothing good can come out of this. His offer is out of common courtesy, she should know better but to be an inconvenience to him.
“I’ll come with you,” he confirms before her brain could ramble on for a little bit longer and for that, she is thankful.
Silently, he leads her out of the corridor and onto the dance floor. Taking in the size of tonight’s crowd, she realizes how dumb it would have been to reject his help.
“I’ve been trying to call her for over an hour now,” she tells him helplessly; she wouldn’t want her to think she’s silly or anything like that.
He nods and leans closer so she can hear him over the EDM track. “Let’s ask around.”
She follows him around like a lost puppy, hiding behind his taller frame as they are pushed and shoved by the sway of the dance floor. (“Have you seen Jessica?” “Yeah, Tyler’s girlfriend.” “Yeah, she was in that girl group.” “I’m busy, maybe some other time.”) She is, the least to say, surprise at how stiffly he is a mingling with the in-crowd - he is short and blunt and onto the point, nervous at times even but somehow manage to avoid coming off as rude or hostile. If it was her, they would have turned away and in a much too loud whisper, they’d say “no manners at all.” So she was born with a chronic bitch resting face - how is any of this fair again?
“Maybe you should just go home, I’ve already wasted so much of your time,” she whispers behind him.
Abruptly, he pulls her to the side and promptly dodging the drunken guy that would have crashed right into them if he had been any slower. He starts to say something but there is some incoherent yelling nearby that buries his voice completely.
“Yah! You lied!”
A petite girl waltzes up to him and cutting in between them. She is facing this stranger’s backside when said girl shoves him on the shoulder; not too hard but not gently either.
“You said you were calling it a night,” she accuses, crossing an arm on her chest to show the extent of her irritation, “First, Jiyoung leaves me behind and now you too.”
“Uh…actually,” she interrupts in a small voice, “He was on his way out when he ran into me. So this whole thing is kind of my fault.”
The girl swivels around and assesses her for what seems like minutes before her eyes begin to widen.
“Aren’t you Jessica’s little sister?”
Caught off guard by the question, she musters up a simple ‘yes’.
“I didn’t know you were invited!” The girl exclaims in excitement, taking a hold of her hands. Upon a closer inspection of her chic bob cut and infectious grin, she recognizes her to be Kiko Mizuhara - a fellow ‘it girl’ and Jiyoung’s girlfriend of forever and ever. “Jessica didn’t even mention you were here.”
“You’ve seen her?” she asks quickly, suddenly flooded with relief when the girl gives a nod, “Do you know where she is?”
“Yeah, she’s in the VIP room,” she informs her and drags her pass the large group of people closing in on the DJ deck, “The girls and I put her there so she can you know, recover.”
The door opens and the sight of her own sister makes her want to throw up and run out of this place and back into the safety of her own car. She wants to drive away and disappear into the night, never to come back to anything because in all honesty, she has nothing to come back to anyway. The thought of leaving her sister here - drunk and ready to be discovered by the paparazzi, leaves a nasty taste in her mouth but it sure as hell would teach her a lesson.
(She knows she’s just making excuses but if he was here, he wouldn’t have let this happen. He fixes things, that’s just what he does.)
Slowly but steadily, she moves to the couch where Jessica lays. Her matte hair is plastered to her forehead, her lipstick is smudged along the edge of her cupid bow and there is a trace of pink on her cream blouse.
She whimpers in protest at the sound of her own name but opens her eyes after a few more attempts. “Soojung…hey…how’s life now a days?”
All she wants to do is yank her up right by the hair and shakes her while screaming over and over: “Why are you such a fuckup?” Instead, all she does is gets down on her knees and pours an entire
bottle of mineral water down her drunken sister’s throat.
This is what growing up feels like
-
She doesn’t sleep that night. She dumps her sister’s limp body in bed, throws a blanket over her and jumps back into her car. She doesn’t drive to the middle of nowhere like she wants to. No, the responsible thing to do at a time like this is to head to the dance studio.
She practices the same steps until she no longer thinks when the music comes on. This is the hardest she has ever pushed herself since debut. She knows this because her knees are bruised and her feet are bleeding when she takes her socks off.
If only he could see, he’d be proud of her.
All he has to do is tell her ‘how’, because she would do anything to be that girl again.
-
The interviewer asks her questions that are too calculated and vague to satisfy anyone’s curiosity. (“I love fashion. I’m into skinny jeans lately. Did I mention I’ve been into them since I was fifteen?”).
Answering them makes her feel vapid and hollow but she plasters a smile on her face, robotically reciting to the lady something that sounds akin to a politically correct reply that she’s been prepped prior (except not).
She assures the public that f(x) is having a comeback this year - repeat: soon (not specified), this year (confirmed, for now), number of members (no comments).
It occurs to her that nothing in her life is secure ever.
-
On a rainy day, her father takes her out for lunch and drives them into the inner city.
She sits in the front seat (because she’s a grown girl, he teases when she buckles her seatbelt) so she can change the radio station after every couple of songs. It’s an annoying thing to do but her father doesn’t complain. He knows how much she despises modern music and how picky she is with throw back tunes.
The traffic is not bad (this is Seoul, it could be a lot worse). Nevertheless, they’ve been stuck around the same area for fifteen minutes now and stopped by the same red light for at least four times.
She almost doesn't notice that the advertisement on the bus stop. It is big and it is in your face but she could have missed it. For example, if the lights had turned green and they have made the nearest U turn or if her father wasn’t saying something about the weather and a Carpenter’s song that made her look over on his side.
Outside his window is SM’s extraordinaire, E-X-O - future of South Korea’s meaningless pop music and every high school girls’ wet dream. She tries to think of how much they made just standing there, posing on a couple of chairs. Numbers are supposed to confuse her enough to stop her from going there. She does anyway.
With her eyes, she traces the outline of his face and remembers the feel of his cheeks when cupped between her two hands.
-
Contrary to popular (or the tabloid’s) beliefs, none of them hate Jinri - not in a sense that it’s enough for them to hold a grudge and banish her from their lives. They didn’t even fight nor protest when she announces her leave - ‘adios’, see you later, good riddance to learning intricate choreographies and maintaining cutesy image to lure in middle-aged creeps.
(Still, she hates Jinri for calling every other day.)
It isn’t Jinri’s fault, she reminds herself and presses ignore, but she can’t help that it feels like betrayal.
-
(What makes Jinri thinks it’s okay to date publicly while the rest of them are meeting in tinted vans and having lunch dates at eleven at night? How dare she be that brave? How dare she loves that much?)
-
He’s hiding behind the door of a vacant practice room, watching her and oblivious to her doing the same from the other side. (How many times she has caught him doing this? How many times is he going to keep doing this? How many times is he going to deny her what she wants?) What she wants to do is run into his arms and dumps onto him eight months worth of her own little hell but what she does is not see him and walk away.
She puts on the headphones and goes back to perfecting the steps she’s already perfected.
(She’s getting better at pretending)
-
She cannot fathom how unfair it is that her sister gets to skip out on a visit to family’s friends and she’s stuck carrying a fruit basket and a box of homemade cookies (that she wasn’t allowed to have any of).
(“I have to stay in China for a couple of days longer for work” That would have more convincing if Tyler Kwon didn’t just arrive there the night before.)
The walk from the elevator to the mansion itself is a form of torture. Her legs sag behind and drags against the carpeted floor, it is as if her whole body is rejecting this whole idea to be a bad one and rightly so. Even the hallway is making her feel claustrophobic; at this point she’d be clawing at the walls to get out once they find the room.
She would whine like a kid (“But mom, do I really have to?”) but she remembers that wouldn’t be age appropriate anymore. Hence why she settles upon biting her lip and staring down at her highly uncomfortable three-inch pair of Jimmy Choo’s when her parents knock thrice at the door.
The opening line goes something like this: “Oh it is so lovely to see you! No, oh but - no, you shouldn’t have brought anything [cue sickly sweet smile]. My husband is such a silly goose, I told him to call and say to come empty handed [cues fake laughter].”
Her lips quirk into a smile so stiff her jaw clicks. It wasn’t like she’s any good at hiding visible disgust or contempt - that’s never been this family’s forte.
“The wine! That’s what we left in the car,” her mother throws her arms in exasperation, because how irresponsible of them, really.
She watches Missus Lee’s eyes flicker to her, those pitched black orbs gleaming with nosiness and possible itchiness to the mouth.
With a swallow, she offers in a small voice, “I’ll go get it.”
She doesn’t wait for an answer. She might as well have been running down the hallway, fleeing from the horror of the probing questions that will undoubtedly be asked upon her return.
She thinks she’s been reasonably calm until the elevator goes ‘ding’ and she realizes she doesn’t know she got in one in the first place or that she’s now standing in the middle of the parking lot. She’s not panicking, she swears - hyperventilation and throat closing up are definitely not sure signs that - oh god, she should have just faked sick or something.
“Soojung?”
For a second, she’s convinced it’s her mind playing tricks on her. She’s not star struck by any means but to say this is coincidental, is an understatement of the century.
“Oh,” she breathes, sounding very intelligent, “Hello”
He only needs to take a few long strides to reach her. She had not taken notice of it before but he is exceptionally tall; he towers over her with unintended intimidation and she feels so incredibly small in front of him. His hands are tucked in the pocket of his neatly pressed cigarette pants and hanging off his arm is a very expensive looking coat. This, however did not slip her attention - he has impeccable taste.
“Do you…” he brain has gone completely numb, “Do you…uh…live here?”
Of course, he does - only South Korea’s richest can afford to reside here. She bets Jessica will move here too if (when) her boyfriend puts a ring on it.
“Yeah,” he nods, “On the sixteenth floor”
A fleeting pause passes between them - her, looking at the ceiling like she could see anything in the dark and him, looking at her like he did just the other night.
“How’s Jessica?”
She almost rolls her eyes at his generic conversation starter when she registers that he is most likely referring to her sister’s drunken antic.
“She’s fine,” she informs him curtly.
“That’s good then,” he replies, “Did you have trouble getting home?”
She shakes her head ‘no’. “We got home fine.” Then adds quickly, “Sorry for troubling you that other time.“
“Don’t worry about it,” he dismisses easily with a smile to match, “How have you been?”
“M - me?” because why would he ask about her - she’s fine, she’s great, she’s - “I’m okay. You?”
“Fine,” he replies shortly, “What are you doing here?”
“We have a family friends who are residence here,” she gives him the short version to save him the messy explanation of how she got herself roped into this dinner in the first place, “We’re supposed to have dinner.”
He blinks, brows furrowing. “But you’re not anymore?”
“Oh, no - I mean yeah, the dinner is still happening,” she badly wants to bash her head against the wall behind her, “My parents bought them a bottle of wine as house warming present. We accidentally left in the car, I just came down to get it.”
If the shift in his expression is anything to go by, she can assume that she has garnered a fraction more of his attention. Not that he had ever look unkind to her but she feels elevated at his visibly relaxed demeanor.
“What kind did you get?”
Oh shit, it isn’t like she’s a complete amateur when it comes to wine but she’s starting to accept that she can’t think straight when he’s around. “Cabernet Sauvignon…?”
“What year?”
(What the hell is this? Twenty questions?)
“I - um…I don’t know actually,” she declares with a sheepish chuckle, “Hold on, give me a minute.”
Quickly, she runs over to the car and yanks open the door to the backseat, fumbling around the floor until she feels the coolness of the glass against her skin. Holding the phone up, she shines enough light on the bottle to find what she was after.
“2010,” she shouts aloud, “Napa Valley”
He takes it from her hand once she is back by his side. “Your parents must have practical taste.”
“Practical?”
“It’s a good year, agreeable to most people’s taste buds and reasonably priced,” he explains,“ It’s a good one to bring if you’re ever invited over to dinner at someone’s house.”
She gapes at him like he has grown a second head, because he might as well have if he’s going to talk like that. “Are you an expert or something?”
He turns the bottle over in his hand, shyly smiling down at his patent leather shoes. “No, it’s a hobby.”
“Drinking or studying wine?” she doesn’t know where it comes from but nevertheless, this is her best attempt at a joke.
She holds in a shriek when he reaches over her shoulder, which makes her paranoid (or delusional) because it was only to press the elevator button. He emits a sound like a low chuckle. She hopes to god that’s not at her but specifically, at her dry sense of humor.
“I enjoy both,” he finally answers once they both get in and the door slides shut, “Which floor are you going to?”
“Thirteenth”
They don’t speak after that and surprisingly, the silence they share is pleasant (enough not to turn her palms all sweaty). The alert sound and the halt of the enclosed space snap her out of her reverie.
As a gesture of farewell, she musters a polite little smile (similar to the one that will undoubtedly be fixed upon her face when dinner commences) and readies herself to leave him to his evening.
“Wait,” he calls out after she lands one foot on the carpet.
Making sure she is stable enough that she won’t make a fool of herself, she turns back to him with quizzical look. Wordlessly, he hands her the bottle of alcoholic beverage that had previously served as a topic of conversation. And to think, she was convinced she was playing it cool.
“Thanks,” she mumbles hurriedly, snatching the bottle from him.
She doesn’t wait long enough to hear a ‘goodbye’, if there is one.
-
Sehun corners her outside of the recording studio. She doesn’t buy it that he has enough spare time on his hand to be just happen to be “hanging around.” But she doesn’t call bullshit on him either.
“How’s life?”
“Great,” she tries to sound genuine but it only sounds sarcastic, “How’s life?”
“Better than yours,” he murmurs under his breath, she hears him loud and clear, “Are you done for the day?”
“Yeah, I’ve been here since eight in the morning,” she heaves a sigh as they start walking down the corridor, “What about you?”
“Rehearsing for the concert for the past three hours,” he scratches the back of his head the rubs his eyes along with the bags under them, “So I guess you win.”
“Yeah?” she scoffs, bumping him on the shoulder with her sore one, “I have to come in tomorrow at sick for mine too.”
Sehun glares at her for that harmless display of violence then asks, rather dubiously, “Are you prepared?”
She hears the double entendre in his question. She hates it when he tries to be sneaky with these things - why can’t he just ask? So she won’t answer!
She levels with him with a discerning look. “Out with it”
“With what?” He scratches the back of his head - a classic move when he plays dumb.
Stopping in the middle of her step, she crosses an arm on her chest and taps her feet with impatience. He starts to whistle (how does he not know that that’s a dead giveaway?), avoiding her pointed gaze which she decides to correct by pinching the skin of forearm.
“Ow” Sehun screams like a little bitch (sometimes he is exactly that), “Ow, okay, stop, stop! I only wanted to make sure you’ll be okay by the time the tour starts, okay?”
“That wasn’t that hard,” she rolls her eyes and lets him go, “And yes, I’ll be alright.”
“You don’t seem fine, Soojung,” he says meaningfully - a little bit too meaningfully that it makes her bristles, “You’ve been avoiding me like -“
“No, nope,” she shushes him, quickening her pace, “I haven’t. If I was, we wouldn’t even be having this talk - or,” she raises her voice over his effort to interrupt, “Or I wouldn’t have texted you back “Yeah, Sehun, sure! Let’s chill and get ice coffee.” That just proves that I’m not avoiding - like at all.”
“Jesus,” he rubs his temple like he feels an incoming headache - if that’s the case, then him and her both, alright, “How many times over the last six months did you make some excuses about not being able to come to - I don’t know, everything? Sure, you reply to my texts but it’s not like you’re in any hurry to see me.”
She groans, running a hand through her hair. “Well, you’ve been busy, alright? Sorry if I don’t want to be a nuisance.”
“Yes, you’re right!” Sehun throws his arms in the air in frustration, “I am busy! More busy than you are and I have the time to go for lunch but you don’t?”
Putting her hands on her hip, her shoulders drop in exhaustion and so does her guard. She’s so tired- mentally, physically and emotionally. Why is he doing this to her? They’ve drained her dry and now there’s nothing but a shell of herself to cling to. He can’t be doing this to her.
“I’m not him, Soojung. Don’t take it out on me like I’m the one who walked away from you.”
“I -“ she is about to start round two of their argument but finds that there is nothing left to say. She clamps her jaw shut, placing a reluctant hand on his shoulder and squeezes in feeble reassurance, “I know, I know.”
(She knows but that doesn’t change anything.)
-
(It’s tiring pushing people away.)
>>>