Multi-fandom drabbles.
tao/victoria ; somewhere only we know
“you look so tired.” she places a hand on his shoulder. the gesture is meant to soothe him but right now, he feels as if it an unneeded burden; another reminder of how he’s giving up the normalcy of life as he knows it for something that he (supposedly) has always wanted though he’s still not sure if he wants it for himself or for everyone else. and he’s forced to grow up so fast and know all the right things to say when he can’t even differentiate oppa and hyung.
he looks up into her eyes, making her breath catch in her throat. the weariness in them is impossible to miss and she’s seen it enough times - on all four faces of her girls - to know what it means.
“zitao,” she murmurs, bending down until they're eye-to-eye, “those are eyebags.” her voice, layered with sympathy and even the tiniest bit of anger (because he's choosing the path she did and look what the hell it's made of her), breaks in all the right places. “you weren't born with those.”
the short, sudden burst of laughter from him claws at her heart. “i know. i haven't slept properly in three days, those flips that i have to do in 'mama' are literally breaking my back, i get bullied because my korean is horrifying and i also barely have enough time to eat.” his eyes glistening, he glances at her. "is this what it is, qian-jie? because i don't think i'm fucking made for this.”
she's chinese, she's also from qingdao and she's pretty much forced to be wiser, better, perfect when she isn't (except that she's the leader of a group of mismatched, misunderstood girls and not the follower; he guesses that she has it even harder) so he figures that if anyone will understand, she will.
he also really, really appreciates the fact that she doesn't remind him to call her victoria-noona.
“tao-er.” it sounds like a whimper, almost. “i am so sorry.”
he ceases to say that her being unable to save him from this bottomless abyss that is being an idol isn't her fault - by the end of the day, it's his choice - because she's the type who'd admit to murder if it means aiding someone she cares about. that's just who she is, and he's grateful for that, so he simply responds: “i know.”
she nods, her head on his shoulder. as she absently draws circles all over his broad back, she announces, “to hell with yifan or joonmyun or whoever you're meant to be under the care of. you're coming with me, i'm making you dinner, and that's that.”
as he hovers (with her watching him closely, eyelashes damp) over a steaming plate of sea cucumbers stewed with shallots in the kitchen at f(x)'s dorm that night, he smiles for the first time in weeks.
jonghyun/jessica ; i’m coming home
jessica hates this thing between her and jonghyun because it's indefinable. there's a thin line separating something (love) and another thing (hate) that blurs and fades until she becomes too confused to comprehend her feelings properly. and whatever they share is so toxic until they both crumble together - and separately - but still reach out for the other half as time passes. it's a horrible, horrible cycle.
“i don't know what's happening.” his throaty voice is muffled by her pillow; tresses of her hair curling their way into his face.
“you're not the only one,” she answers, eyes hooded and lips swollen (the entire process if like cutting oneself; at first the pain is uncontrollable but after a while you learn to enjoy it) as she gazes at him in the darkness. every outline of his face she could trace even with her eyes closed; every breath he takes she could match with her own.
when she was seventeen, he was nobody to her. when she was nineteen, he became an idol. when she was twenty, they became something more. when she was twenty-one, he got a girlfriend. when she was twenty-two, his place in her heart was a gaping hole. by the time she turned twenty-three, he's back where he belongs. obviously, she has no fucking idea how her life functions because he enters it whenever he pleases and leaves when he's too overwhelmed by her acidity.
“what happened to us? what's happening to us, ‘sica?” the velvety texture of jonghyun's baritone distorts with worry (he doesn't even know who he's hurting or if he's even hurting anyone at all) and his forehead dents.
cheeks flushed and eyes ringed with smudged eyeliner, she shakes her head. “i don't know,” she admits, a little breathlessly, “but i think we just decided to come back.” to each other, she doesn't say, but she's sure that he, of all people, can hear her unsaid words by now. “i think you know where you belong. and i do, too?”
she sounds a bit uncertain, but it's only because she doesn't know how to string words together like he does, not because she's having second thoughts. because she's not, for the first time in the five years she's had him.
“i know now. i know. i think i always have.” he kisses her hair again, and jessica discovers that as she tries to piece her life (from sooyeon to soojung to jessica to girls' generation to him to sekyung to her to taecyeon to them) together in her mind, it actually forms a picture.
donghae/sunye ; every hello ends with a goodbye
“they’re forgetting us already.” he stiffens as he reaches for the mug of green tea that stands between them. it takes him a moment before he understands what she’s saying, and then he scoffs, “no, they aren’t. you’re being silly.”
she eyes him dully before dragging the coffee cup toward her. “you won't understand,” she protests. again, she glances at him and donghae feels a strong urge to look away (the red hair looks so off on her; a representation of someone she'll never be) but restrains himself. “you're a member of super junior. you’re loved by fans the world over who insist that they will never forget you guys because you are legends.”
there's no bitter resentment or even mockery in her words. they're just clipped and numb. which, in their own way, is even worse. there're so many things he could say in response to that - so many things that could potentially hurt her - so he stays silent and takes a sip of tea to soothe his nerves.
after a long noiseless pause, sunye prods, “say something.” prove me wrong and show me that you don't actually have it all.
“you, sunye, are the leader of the wonder girls - the first korean group to break into america, the first korean group to actually be successful of your own accord. you've achieved things no one ever has. you've been on tv shows the rest of us only get to watch. so you are the ones who have it all.
not me, and not super junior, because we're guys and we're fucking old and we're going to have to go to the army and rot there for two years and when we come back, no one is going to give a shit about us anymore. and that…is nothing but the truth.”
sunye opens her mouth, but he stops her (the heat builds up in him as he feels the need to make her realize how lucky she is because he can't have that luxury) with a rigid hand.
“you can do whatever you want with your life after all this” - he vaguely gesticulates but she gets that it's a signal for the idol life - “but i can't. you can get married, you can be a mom, you can have all that, but i can't.” and i can't have it with you, either.
“so you see,” he continues, throat burning as her red-rimmed eyes pool with tears, “you do have it all and you can and you will, because you need to do it. for me, because i have nothing at all.”
sehun/krystal ; better you than me
“you sure are good,” she says. he smirks, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a ragged blue towel. “not as good as you, though. is that what you want me to say in return?”
an instant cloud falls over krystal's face, drenching it with ice. “why must you do this? you keep bringing yourself down. that's my job, remember?” the joke falls flat (not like she actually expected it to work, because she hasn't even seen him smile in ages, let alone fool around) and he doesn't even respond to it. “if you want to have a proper conversation with someone who's good at everything,” he hisses, “go and find jongi - kai. i think he's in the cafeteria with d.o-hyung. go. go on.”
cherry explodes in her cheeks. “you're being a jackass, oh sehun,” she snaps exasperatedly. “i don't even know why because i can honestly see no reason for it. you've debuted, exo is successful - both k and m - and the fans love you. what is there to complain about?” she's showcasing a jagged, breakable quality that she despises.
there's a nanosecond of pure silence before his voice rises in pitch.
“i'm never going to be enough for them! you debuted when you were fifteen but they've loved you even before that. i am trying to make a name for myself in a group of six - twelve, whatever - people but i'm never going to be enough because i'm not the best. at anything.” his breathing is labored (it's like looking at herself because three years earlier, she was him) and his eyes accusing. he snorts harshly and remarks, “oh, and haven't you noticed? i have a fucking lisp, too. bonus!”
“if you think trying to make a name for myself when i have another name above mine is easier, then you need to sort your life out.” sehun's contracted face irons out somewhat at her soft, bitter confession. “even if you're not 'the best at anything', you're still oh sehun. you're you. me? if i fail, i'm jessica's sister. if i succeed, i'm jessica's sister,” she grouses. the final syllable is cracked, accompanied by a lone, angry tear.
they stand in the abandoned practice room, less than three feet apart, but somehow miles away from each other. “i'm destined to be jessica's sister for all eternity,” krystal mutters, “but you're not. so act like it. and i think you're a better dancer than jongin. he's too dramatic.”
he barks a laugh, and she looks up into his eyes (marveling over the foreign sound that is a thing of the past) before forcing her lips to curve upward into a smile. “and maybe - just maybe - your lisp is kinda endearing. kinda.”