how to pick a mom
Title: how to pick a mom
Rating: G
Pairing: joy/irene
Genre: crack
The day before weekend started has always been a hell for Irene, especially this week after she broke up with her boyfriend. Unfinished paperwork and piled up stress in her head combined with invitations to go out for drinking with officemates is never a good idea. It’s not like that Irene doesn’t like her officemates, rather she despises this thing brewed by devil called alcoholic drink. When Irene gets drunk, she’ll transform to such an ungraceful presence. She will talk in slurred speech, blabbering all content of her heart which usually locked in so tightly. All memories when she gets drunk will disappear the morning she wakes up with a severe headache and she won’t even remember how did she end up drunk (which is usually caused by half glass of beer. Yes, Irene is lame like that).
That’s why when on Saturday morning she wakes up in front of the door of her apartment, she has no recollection how she went home yesterday. The strangest thing is although she sleeps outside her apartment , Irene finds that her body is covered with a warm woolen coat.
How? This coat isn’t mine, she talks mentally.
But then a tall figure enters her field of vision. It is a girl with long hair in the color of pale sunrise, round cheeks, and bright eyes. She wears her uniform consisted of a mustard-colored blazer over white shirt with dark skirt and leggings. So she is a high schooler, Irene concludes in her mind.
The girl gives her a wide grin and greets her good morning.
“Morning, Mom.”
Irene stares blankly at the tall girl, jaw dropped, then in a second her face turns horrified.
“Who the hell did you just call mom!” Irene shouts in between of her headache. The girl squats down in front of Irene and tilts her head.
“I picked you up from the street, Mom.”
Irene feels like her eyes are about to escape from their sockets upon hearing her answer. What the fuck?
“You collapsed in front of the lobby, almost taken away by random tattooed guys to hell-knows-where before I picked you from there and we spent the night outside because you were too drunk to open the door,” she explains but it just makes Irene’s head suffers more painful headache.
“Wait! Okay, I mean, thank you for picking me up?” She isn’t even sure with the sounding of her own words. “But how am I your mom?”
The girl shrugs her shoulders and presses her lips together.
“That’s because I’m looking for someone to be my mom,” she says dryly.
Irene’s eyes twitch at her answer. Is she mental or what? What is the meaning of ‘I’m looking for someone to be my mom’? Doesn’t she have her own mother?
Forget about that, because now Irene’s headache just reaches a whole new level.
“You should go home, kid. Your mom would be worried about you.”
Far from what Irene expected, the girl puckers her lips and stomps her feet impatiently on the floor.
“You’re my mom! Because I picked you now you’re my mom. You should pick me back as your daughter. And mom, how long are we going to debate over this? I’m hungry.”
Don’t ask Irene why in her post-hangover state she’s standing before the stove and flipping frying pan in her hand, because Irene doesn’t know why herself. The orange-haired kid lies down on the sofa, reading lifestyle magazine from the stacks under the table. Irene glances at her over her shoulder and sighs.
“Why don’t you go home, really,” Irene complains. The girl peeks from the sofa, her bright eyes blink several times before answering.
“My parents are in their last stage of divorcing and I don’t wanna stay home,” she says. Irene's hand stops stirring the rice in the frying pan. She can’t help but feel a little pity for her.
“Uh, sorry.” Irene murmurs.
“That’s why I’m searching for a new home. Thank god I found you,” she says in an uncaring voice. Irene glares at her.
“You don’t know me yet you go around saying I’m your new mom. Aren’t you scared? I’m a stranger.” Irene tries to knock that kid to her senses. But the girl just snorts at Irene’s nagging.
“I know you, mom. You’re always going home drunk every Friday. You broke up with your boyfriend three days ago and cried for the whole night after he moved out. You do your laundry every day. You…”
“WAIT! What are you? Stalker?” Irene is on her way to hitting the girl with hot spatula in her hand when the girl points out to the window.
“My parents’ house or where I lived before is there, right across this apartment. I can’t help but pay attention to you especially after you got home drunk you’re so hilarious. You know Yeri?”
Irene nods.
Yeri is Irene’s neighbor, the daughter from the apartment next door. Irene is quite close with her because occasionally she will tutor
Yeri with her homework.
“Yeri told me everything. Well, I know you’re a good person so there’s no worry. You’re a perfect candidate for a mom.”
Irene should know about this already! That devil, Kim Yeri, of course!
“That’s why, Mom. Let me stay here. I’ll be a good daughter.” She ends her explanation. Irene slaps her own cheeks in frustration. But then again, talking to her somehow eases this nasty hangover. Perhaps she can let this girl stays for the weekend, to fill the empty room after her boyfriend , oh ex-boyfriend she meant, left. Maybe it's not that bad.
“You don’t need to call me Mom, though,” she mumbles in annoyance which makes the girl laughs hysterically.
“Nice to meet you, Mom. I’m Joy.”
i miss joyrene
Rating: G
Pairing: joy/irene
Genre: crack
The day before weekend started has always been a hell for Irene, especially this week after she broke up with her boyfriend. Unfinished paperwork and piled up stress in her head combined with invitations to go out for drinking with officemates is never a good idea. It’s not like that Irene doesn’t like her officemates, rather she despises this thing brewed by devil called alcoholic drink. When Irene gets drunk, she’ll transform to such an ungraceful presence. She will talk in slurred speech, blabbering all content of her heart which usually locked in so tightly. All memories when she gets drunk will disappear the morning she wakes up with a severe headache and she won’t even remember how did she end up drunk (which is usually caused by half glass of beer. Yes, Irene is lame like that).
That’s why when on Saturday morning she wakes up in front of the door of her apartment, she has no recollection how she went home yesterday. The strangest thing is although she sleeps outside her apartment , Irene finds that her body is covered with a warm woolen coat.
How? This coat isn’t mine, she talks mentally.
But then a tall figure enters her field of vision. It is a girl with long hair in the color of pale sunrise, round cheeks, and bright eyes. She wears her uniform consisted of a mustard-colored blazer over white shirt with dark skirt and leggings. So she is a high schooler, Irene concludes in her mind.
The girl gives her a wide grin and greets her good morning.
“Morning, Mom.”
Irene stares blankly at the tall girl, jaw dropped, then in a second her face turns horrified.
“Who the hell did you just call mom!” Irene shouts in between of her headache. The girl squats down in front of Irene and tilts her head.
“I picked you up from the street, Mom.”
Irene feels like her eyes are about to escape from their sockets upon hearing her answer. What the fuck?
“You collapsed in front of the lobby, almost taken away by random tattooed guys to hell-knows-where before I picked you from there and we spent the night outside because you were too drunk to open the door,” she explains but it just makes Irene’s head suffers more painful headache.
“Wait! Okay, I mean, thank you for picking me up?” She isn’t even sure with the sounding of her own words. “But how am I your mom?”
The girl shrugs her shoulders and presses her lips together.
“That’s because I’m looking for someone to be my mom,” she says dryly.
Irene’s eyes twitch at her answer. Is she mental or what? What is the meaning of ‘I’m looking for someone to be my mom’? Doesn’t she have her own mother?
Forget about that, because now Irene’s headache just reaches a whole new level.
“You should go home, kid. Your mom would be worried about you.”
Far from what Irene expected, the girl puckers her lips and stomps her feet impatiently on the floor.
“You’re my mom! Because I picked you now you’re my mom. You should pick me back as your daughter. And mom, how long are we going to debate over this? I’m hungry.”
Don’t ask Irene why in her post-hangover state she’s standing before the stove and flipping frying pan in her hand, because Irene doesn’t know why herself. The orange-haired kid lies down on the sofa, reading lifestyle magazine from the stacks under the table. Irene glances at her over her shoulder and sighs.
“Why don’t you go home, really,” Irene complains. The girl peeks from the sofa, her bright eyes blink several times before answering.
“My parents are in their last stage of divorcing and I don’t wanna stay home,” she says. Irene's hand stops stirring the rice in the frying pan. She can’t help but feel a little pity for her.
“Uh, sorry.” Irene murmurs.
“That’s why I’m searching for a new home. Thank god I found you,” she says in an uncaring voice. Irene glares at her.
“You don’t know me yet you go around saying I’m your new mom. Aren’t you scared? I’m a stranger.” Irene tries to knock that kid to her senses. But the girl just snorts at Irene’s nagging.
“I know you, mom. You’re always going home drunk every Friday. You broke up with your boyfriend three days ago and cried for the whole night after he moved out. You do your laundry every day. You…”
“WAIT! What are you? Stalker?” Irene is on her way to hitting the girl with hot spatula in her hand when the girl points out to the window.
“My parents’ house or where I lived before is there, right across this apartment. I can’t help but pay attention to you especially after you got home drunk you’re so hilarious. You know Yeri?”
Irene nods.
Yeri is Irene’s neighbor, the daughter from the apartment next door. Irene is quite close with her because occasionally she will tutor
Yeri with her homework.
“Yeri told me everything. Well, I know you’re a good person so there’s no worry. You’re a perfect candidate for a mom.”
Irene should know about this already! That devil, Kim Yeri, of course!
“That’s why, Mom. Let me stay here. I’ll be a good daughter.” She ends her explanation. Irene slaps her own cheeks in frustration. But then again, talking to her somehow eases this nasty hangover. Perhaps she can let this girl stays for the weekend, to fill the empty room after her boyfriend , oh ex-boyfriend she meant, left. Maybe it's not that bad.
“You don’t need to call me Mom, though,” she mumbles in annoyance which makes the girl laughs hysterically.
“Nice to meet you, Mom. I’m Joy.”
i miss joyrene