the plan is always rearranged [mademoiselle yulia/kato miliyah +]
title: the plan is always rearranged
rated: swearing
fandom/pairing: rpf; residual kato miliyah/mademoiselle yulia + mentions of yulia/lee chaerin
spoilers/warnings: n/a; see above
summary: yulia doesn't call miliyah a lot. miliyah doesn't really blame her.
words: ~1400
disclaimer: this is a work of fiction; title comes from the hsm2 song/imo the best of all their breakup songs
a/n: last one. takes place in the same verse as this previous entry because i got hooked on one throwaway idea and also it's 6am. this title was almost a patti smith lyric before divine inspiration struck lololol. i want to write in this verse again sometime but mostly i just want to write about cl and yulia banging so that might happen
“‘liyah,” yulia says, miliyah’s name a perpetual accusation on her tongue, even when it’s just supposed to be a greeting. miliyah tries to take those two syllabic thirds of her name and place them, tries to imagine yulia’s circumstances at that very moment like she can prepare herself for whatever’s going to follow if she just has the right mental image.
all she comes up with is the image of yulia smoking on miliyah’s bedroom porch, that first day that miliyah moved in. she remembers flyaway teal hairs in a sweaty ponytail and a white tshirt that miliyah was certain was somehow still too chic for hauling boxes, even if yulia pretended like it was no big deal and like she never really cared how she looked in front of miliyah anyway. miliyah remembers yulia’s tan midriff beneath the temporarily-cropped hem of said white t, gathered in the back and tucked under, probably pressing uncomfortably against the black rectangular railing of the deck. miliyah pictures all that and a cigarette between two fingers, slowly being singed away.
“hey,” miliyah says, arm crossed across her stomach like she’s still trying to stave away butterflies and nausea. on some level, she is, but this time, if she loses, she’s on her own with hair-related matters. “haven’t heard from you in a while,” she says, trying to sound casual and not accusatory (unlike some people). “how’s it going?”
yulia is slow to respond but miliyah has confidence that something will always come. “yeah, sorry,” she says, like she doesn’t mean it but knows that miliyah would like to hear it anyway. “i’ve just been… you know. life, and shit.”
“oh, yeah,” miliyah says quickly, because she gets it. life, and shit. the comfort of knowing that neither could currently be her fault is not really that satisfying, but it’s one of those things that miliyah can accept. “yeah, totally, i understand, i just meant - yeah, how have things been? what have you been up to?”
it’s not like miliyah doesn’t care what yulia’s been up to, because she does. but what she really means by the question is why are you calling? she’s just too polite to ask, but maybe manners are just another way she excuses fear.
“same old, same old, i guess,” yulia says, and miliyah could scream because she doesn’t know what that means, either. doesn’t know if it’s really just the same old yulia doing the same old things, or if she’s started a whole other life that miliyah will never really be involved with so yulia’s already judged it to be not worth explaining. “i’m finally in a class with g - jiyong,” she notes.
something familiar. miliyah snorts before she can think about it. “oh no,” she groans, playfully sympathetic. she imagines yulia in her dingy, once-sunshiney (probably) yellow kitchen with the bare fluorescent bulb lighting the room, bent over the rickety, scratched-up plastic top dining table. miliyah imagines yulia’s hair in a floppy bun, a strip of headband keeping her bangs out of her eyes as she strokes long lines onto paper, her phone in the center but not in the way. “well hell, five semesters is a long time, at least, right? i’m sure you’re holding a record for avoidance of fellow majors, or something,” she teases.
yulia laughs a little and miliyah’s heart chokes on a palpitation. “yeah, doesn’t make me feel much better about it though.”
“he’s that insufferable?” miliyah asks, leaning back in her desk chair and halfheartedly glancing at the files she has spread out. now that she’s not focused on them, it looks messy, but she knows if she neatens them, it’ll be harder for her when she focuses on them again.
“ugh,” yulia says, with vehement disgust. “i could probably even deal with him if he wasn’t so fucking talented. i mean, christ, don’t i have egg on my face? it turns out, he’s not just an uppity little twat who lets his ass get him places,” she complains, and miliyah can’t help but grin.
“i’m really sorry to hear that,” she starts to say, but yulia continues in a rush of breath, and miliyah thinks that yulia wouldn’t say it at all if she didn’t say it in that moment.
“he’s chaerin’s best friend, though, so i - you know, i’m learning to be polite, or some shit.”
miliyah hesitates, and stares at the colorful monet of stickynotes on her desk calendar. “oh,” she says simply. “well...there are worse things, yeah? you could end up working with him someday, so it’s better to figure out how to interact sooner rather than later,” she reasons, her voice sounding funny in her ear. the mention of chaerin shouldn’t be a big deal, but if yulia thinks that it is, then miliyah can probably take safe, logical steps from there.
miliyah imagines yulia lying on chaerin’s bed with her head hanging off the end, hair naturally wavy and not quite brushing the floor. she imagines yulia wearing a worn and tattered black tanktop that shifts to reveal a breast every time she moves too much, and imagines the muffled sound of chaerin’s singing from under the sound of running water, behind a squeaky wood door. miliyah remembers seeing nothing special or tender on yulia’s face and feeling warm satisfaction mingling with the bile in her throat when yulia looks over at her with a smile that means more than anything a body can provide.
“yeah,” yulia agrees, voice firm. “yeah, there are.”
the mature one, the sensible one, the one who deals with feelings instead of pretending they have no effect on things - “is navigating things with me one of those things?” miliyah asks.
on the other end, yulia snorts.
“that’s kinda conceited, don’t you think?” she asks, haughty and malicious and defensive all in the same moment.
miliyah could sigh, but patience is something she’s always been good at and yulia will never be someone who’s not attached to memories of a person who’s worth it. “sorry,” she says, cautiously. “i thought that was where this phone call was going. like i said, it’s been a while since i’ve heard anything from you, so i figured that…”
another pause, and then, the reluctance and sullen tone of someone easy to decipher. “yeah, well.... i cared a lot about you, asshole.”
“i know,” miliyah says softly. “i’m sorry.” there’s more to it than that - it’s not just i’m sorry, it’s i cared about you too and you’re not the only one hurting and this isn’t anyone’s fault, sometimes things just happen and it’s shitty - but they would all do more harm than good and all miliyah wants is for it to be really, comfortably over.
yulia sighs, annoyed and tired and all miliyah remembers ismoving into her current apartment. she remembers yulia swearing over ikea instructions and grinning through manual labor, right up until the moment when it was done and miliyah was home. miliyah imagines yulia kissing her hard, uncharacteristically short nails scraping her jaw and teeth breaking skin on miliyah’s lower lip but miliyah doesn’t remember complaining with her own hands gripping yulia’s hips, peeling off that sweaty white tshirt and mapping contours and birthmarks and everything she never wanted.
“chaerin asked me to move in,” yulia says finally, and miliyah bites her own lip this time. “dara got an internship in seattle so she’s subletting to this little freshman chick and chaerin figures splitting rent three ways is more reasonable than two, anyway, so -”
“oh,” miliyah interrupts accidentally, her mind catching up with the logic of the explanation. “so you’re not just going to be...a new roommate, you’ll be - moving in, moving in.”
another pause. it feels like the last. “yeah,” yulia says.
miliyah doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say. there’s no question, really. it’s only information.
“well that,” she starts to say eventually, and her voice catches but miliyah catches herself. “that sounds like a great idea! it’s a spacious apartment, and it’s so close to the design building, so it makes a lot of sense. is that what you want to do?”
miliyah misjudged the heaviness of the previous pause, and feels like she’s waiting an eternity of heartbeats for yulia to respond.
“yeah,” she says, “it is.” it feels like something she doesn’t really mean but that she knows miliyah wants to hear it anyway.
miliyah smiles. “then i think you should do it. i’m really happy for you, yulia.”
before miliyah goes to bed, she stacks her files neatly away and washes her face and closes the curtain in front of her porch door.
rated: swearing
fandom/pairing: rpf; residual kato miliyah/mademoiselle yulia + mentions of yulia/lee chaerin
spoilers/warnings: n/a; see above
summary: yulia doesn't call miliyah a lot. miliyah doesn't really blame her.
words: ~1400
disclaimer: this is a work of fiction; title comes from the hsm2 song/imo the best of all their breakup songs
a/n: last one. takes place in the same verse as this previous entry because i got hooked on one throwaway idea and also it's 6am. this title was almost a patti smith lyric before divine inspiration struck lololol. i want to write in this verse again sometime but mostly i just want to write about cl and yulia banging so that might happen
“‘liyah,” yulia says, miliyah’s name a perpetual accusation on her tongue, even when it’s just supposed to be a greeting. miliyah tries to take those two syllabic thirds of her name and place them, tries to imagine yulia’s circumstances at that very moment like she can prepare herself for whatever’s going to follow if she just has the right mental image.
all she comes up with is the image of yulia smoking on miliyah’s bedroom porch, that first day that miliyah moved in. she remembers flyaway teal hairs in a sweaty ponytail and a white tshirt that miliyah was certain was somehow still too chic for hauling boxes, even if yulia pretended like it was no big deal and like she never really cared how she looked in front of miliyah anyway. miliyah remembers yulia’s tan midriff beneath the temporarily-cropped hem of said white t, gathered in the back and tucked under, probably pressing uncomfortably against the black rectangular railing of the deck. miliyah pictures all that and a cigarette between two fingers, slowly being singed away.
“hey,” miliyah says, arm crossed across her stomach like she’s still trying to stave away butterflies and nausea. on some level, she is, but this time, if she loses, she’s on her own with hair-related matters. “haven’t heard from you in a while,” she says, trying to sound casual and not accusatory (unlike some people). “how’s it going?”
yulia is slow to respond but miliyah has confidence that something will always come. “yeah, sorry,” she says, like she doesn’t mean it but knows that miliyah would like to hear it anyway. “i’ve just been… you know. life, and shit.”
“oh, yeah,” miliyah says quickly, because she gets it. life, and shit. the comfort of knowing that neither could currently be her fault is not really that satisfying, but it’s one of those things that miliyah can accept. “yeah, totally, i understand, i just meant - yeah, how have things been? what have you been up to?”
it’s not like miliyah doesn’t care what yulia’s been up to, because she does. but what she really means by the question is why are you calling? she’s just too polite to ask, but maybe manners are just another way she excuses fear.
“same old, same old, i guess,” yulia says, and miliyah could scream because she doesn’t know what that means, either. doesn’t know if it’s really just the same old yulia doing the same old things, or if she’s started a whole other life that miliyah will never really be involved with so yulia’s already judged it to be not worth explaining. “i’m finally in a class with g - jiyong,” she notes.
something familiar. miliyah snorts before she can think about it. “oh no,” she groans, playfully sympathetic. she imagines yulia in her dingy, once-sunshiney (probably) yellow kitchen with the bare fluorescent bulb lighting the room, bent over the rickety, scratched-up plastic top dining table. miliyah imagines yulia’s hair in a floppy bun, a strip of headband keeping her bangs out of her eyes as she strokes long lines onto paper, her phone in the center but not in the way. “well hell, five semesters is a long time, at least, right? i’m sure you’re holding a record for avoidance of fellow majors, or something,” she teases.
yulia laughs a little and miliyah’s heart chokes on a palpitation. “yeah, doesn’t make me feel much better about it though.”
“he’s that insufferable?” miliyah asks, leaning back in her desk chair and halfheartedly glancing at the files she has spread out. now that she’s not focused on them, it looks messy, but she knows if she neatens them, it’ll be harder for her when she focuses on them again.
“ugh,” yulia says, with vehement disgust. “i could probably even deal with him if he wasn’t so fucking talented. i mean, christ, don’t i have egg on my face? it turns out, he’s not just an uppity little twat who lets his ass get him places,” she complains, and miliyah can’t help but grin.
“i’m really sorry to hear that,” she starts to say, but yulia continues in a rush of breath, and miliyah thinks that yulia wouldn’t say it at all if she didn’t say it in that moment.
“he’s chaerin’s best friend, though, so i - you know, i’m learning to be polite, or some shit.”
miliyah hesitates, and stares at the colorful monet of stickynotes on her desk calendar. “oh,” she says simply. “well...there are worse things, yeah? you could end up working with him someday, so it’s better to figure out how to interact sooner rather than later,” she reasons, her voice sounding funny in her ear. the mention of chaerin shouldn’t be a big deal, but if yulia thinks that it is, then miliyah can probably take safe, logical steps from there.
miliyah imagines yulia lying on chaerin’s bed with her head hanging off the end, hair naturally wavy and not quite brushing the floor. she imagines yulia wearing a worn and tattered black tanktop that shifts to reveal a breast every time she moves too much, and imagines the muffled sound of chaerin’s singing from under the sound of running water, behind a squeaky wood door. miliyah remembers seeing nothing special or tender on yulia’s face and feeling warm satisfaction mingling with the bile in her throat when yulia looks over at her with a smile that means more than anything a body can provide.
“yeah,” yulia agrees, voice firm. “yeah, there are.”
the mature one, the sensible one, the one who deals with feelings instead of pretending they have no effect on things - “is navigating things with me one of those things?” miliyah asks.
on the other end, yulia snorts.
“that’s kinda conceited, don’t you think?” she asks, haughty and malicious and defensive all in the same moment.
miliyah could sigh, but patience is something she’s always been good at and yulia will never be someone who’s not attached to memories of a person who’s worth it. “sorry,” she says, cautiously. “i thought that was where this phone call was going. like i said, it’s been a while since i’ve heard anything from you, so i figured that…”
another pause, and then, the reluctance and sullen tone of someone easy to decipher. “yeah, well.... i cared a lot about you, asshole.”
“i know,” miliyah says softly. “i’m sorry.” there’s more to it than that - it’s not just i’m sorry, it’s i cared about you too and you’re not the only one hurting and this isn’t anyone’s fault, sometimes things just happen and it’s shitty - but they would all do more harm than good and all miliyah wants is for it to be really, comfortably over.
yulia sighs, annoyed and tired and all miliyah remembers ismoving into her current apartment. she remembers yulia swearing over ikea instructions and grinning through manual labor, right up until the moment when it was done and miliyah was home. miliyah imagines yulia kissing her hard, uncharacteristically short nails scraping her jaw and teeth breaking skin on miliyah’s lower lip but miliyah doesn’t remember complaining with her own hands gripping yulia’s hips, peeling off that sweaty white tshirt and mapping contours and birthmarks and everything she never wanted.
“chaerin asked me to move in,” yulia says finally, and miliyah bites her own lip this time. “dara got an internship in seattle so she’s subletting to this little freshman chick and chaerin figures splitting rent three ways is more reasonable than two, anyway, so -”
“oh,” miliyah interrupts accidentally, her mind catching up with the logic of the explanation. “so you’re not just going to be...a new roommate, you’ll be - moving in, moving in.”
another pause. it feels like the last. “yeah,” yulia says.
miliyah doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say. there’s no question, really. it’s only information.
“well that,” she starts to say eventually, and her voice catches but miliyah catches herself. “that sounds like a great idea! it’s a spacious apartment, and it’s so close to the design building, so it makes a lot of sense. is that what you want to do?”
miliyah misjudged the heaviness of the previous pause, and feels like she’s waiting an eternity of heartbeats for yulia to respond.
“yeah,” she says, “it is.” it feels like something she doesn’t really mean but that she knows miliyah wants to hear it anyway.
miliyah smiles. “then i think you should do it. i’m really happy for you, yulia.”
before miliyah goes to bed, she stacks her files neatly away and washes her face and closes the curtain in front of her porch door.