Round 8: Miles to Nowhere
Title: Miles to Nowhere
Team: AU
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: f(x), SHINee, Super Junior-M
Pairing: Victoria-centric, Victoria/Minho, Victoria/Sulli
Summary: Victoria works at a restaurant. She meets a person she can depend on, and a person with bad habits.
Author's Note: Thank you to my ass-upending team.
Prompt Used: Ga - In - Irreversible
Victoria was supposed to be a boy. She can still stick her arms through jackets that used to swallow up her younger self, and the lizards and Mutant Ninja Turtles designs stretch over the chest that her parents always frowned at. The first paycheck she ever got, she cashed it in and littered her place with designer store bags. Store bags tied up with ribbons, store bags dressed down in glitter, store bags tag-teamed with two pastel colors. Store bags that didn’t appear in her childhood.
After counting how long she can put off her rent without starving (she’s adept at math, knows how to memorize and apply the rules), she splurges on a jacket. She first sees this jacket hanging unbalanced off the rack. She pulls it off its hanger and fills it out with her body, feeling leftover warmth in the sleeves. Her reflection bounces off the store windows and shoppers’ faces, and she thinks it looks perfect. She doesn’t bother exchanging it for the clean, unworn jacket behind it, and walks up to the store counter. A few seconds later, she’s walking out with another bag to add to her collection and a crumpled receipt she tosses in a trashcan.
She comes home to the little apartment that she can barely afford to occupy, and dumps everything on her bed. The couch is going to be uncomfortable sleeping on, and she tries wearing her new jacket over her pajamas to distract her from the leather screwing up her back. But it’s one of those things that look good, and that’s all it does.
In the middle of the night, she stands up and walks in circles. Then those circles lead her to the back of the closet, where there’s a faded dark blue jacket waiting. While she’s exchanging her new jacket for the old one with holes, she covers her nose with the sleeve, in the spot she assumes that her mother touched when she bought it for Victoria. For Victor, Victoria, whatever.
She sleeps in the jacket, with the blanket down at her feet. In her dreams, she searches for the smell of her mother.
The restaurant she works at now hired her instead of the freckle-faced redhead who shared a pen with her while they filled out their applications. She had more recommendations and was the better dishwasher, but Victoria got the uniform in the end. The other girl stormed out, and if Victoria hadn’t gotten stuck inside her new uniform pants, she would have ran after her. Now she has a pen she uses for everything: taking down customer’s orders, filling out her checks, and other things that involve writing in ink.
“That looks very unprofessional, you know," the manager breathes down her back while Victoria's trying to scrub dishes. The amount of proximity is almost romantic, and makesVictoria almost want to kiss her manager.
“What’s unprofessional?” she asks, taking her eyes off the pitcher her hands are gripping.
“The customers talking to you, and you not talking back.”
“I don’t know what they’re trying to say to me.”
“It’s Korean. Why don’t you learn it?”
The manager leaves, and the door swings behind her, screwing up the ebb of people’s voices and conversations outside. Victoria can’t feel her hands. She looks back at the sink to see what’s wrong, and sees water overflowing the pitcher and splashing down on her hands.
1. Buy How-to-speak-Korean book.
“You sure you want this edition?” the cashier asks her. Victoria stops sorting through the bookmarks, and stops smiling at Beatrix Potter’s designs of Mother Rabbit and Peter Rabbit.
“We’ve got the newer version,” he says, flipping through the Korean phrasebook she picked out of the shelves titled “LANGUAGE.” Dust stirs up and his face is wrinkled, trying not to taste it.
“I’m fine with this one,” she says, attempting to take the entire book back. She successfully retrieves a fourth of it, and the page numbers don’t even follow an order.
“I’ll get you the other version. Good thing I didn’t scan it,” he says, making his way around. “I think you ripped off the bar code, anyway.”
She follows him as they retrace her steps, passing by books on display and shelves that cave in. His body tightens so that his shoulders are barely skimming the titles, and Victoria suspiciously thinks she’s not in a real used bookstore but has entered some filler romantic comedy, where only guys with his face would be working here and knowing exactly where the Korean phrasebooks are.
“Is this where you found it?” he asks. Victoria looks over his shoulder and nods. She watches his hand grab the spine at first, then trail up to the top.
“I just got the one that was loose,” she says, but his teeth are still clenched and his knuckles are still white. He holds onto the entire shelf, and holds onto it tighter when he rips the book out. Victoria slaps her hands over her ears, and watches the shelf crash silent film-style.
“Damn,” he mutters, flipping the book right-side up. “Who puts a Japanese book in this section?”
He drops the book he’s holding and bends down to retrieve the correct one. Victoria also bends down to his level, and their hands touch on a Spanish ABC book. And then on a Tagalog dictionary. And finally stay on the phrasebook they’re looking for.
She runs into bookstore guy another day, but he’s wearing a uniform. His TurdPalace name tag says “Minho.” He hands Victoria the chocolate ice cream cone she called off the menu, except their fingers don’t brush each other this time. She licks a stripe off it.
“Wow, can’t believe I almost stepped into the Ben and Jerry’s on my way home,” Victoria says, eating it up. “This is really good.”
“It’s not great most of the time. I think I just tried harder to...”
“Scoop it up?”
“Yeah.” He waves the scooper, all slicked with milk and sugar.
“You didn’t have to,” she says, crunching on the cone. “You look tired. You almost would have had your hand in the strawberry flavor if I hadn’t told you.”
“Well,” Minho says. “That’s what I get for juggling three jobs.”
She swings by his workplace more. The more he tries to swish his mop on the floor and hand her her food at the same time, the sooner she brings up that she’s got a couch.
“You could sleep on mine. If you want,” Victoria says. “You just can’t mop the floor and try to scoop me some ice cream. If you’re losing your head, just crash at my place.”
After a few more of Victoria’s convincing faces, he takes a habit of sleeping on her place, and that’s where most of their conversations take place.
“Is that all you eat? Ice cream?” he asks, head resting on the flat armrest. “How come you’re not fat?”
She shrugs, then lifts her hands out from under her head. She rests them on her thighs and squeezes.
“All of the sugar goes to my legs,” she indicates. She closes her eyes, and Minho’s face disappears. She opens her eyes, and Minho’s face is still gone.
“Did you pay the electricity bill?” he asks. She shakes her head, and accidentally hits his nose. She almost apologizes, but instead wonders about how did their faces get so close.
After the number of times Minho wakes up on her couch and switches on the light, to find that there is no light, Victoria finds boxes in front of her door.
“Do you want me to help you bring up the rest?” she yells down the stairs.
“No!” he yells back. Victoria grips the banister and skips down anyway, stopping at two or three boxes keeping each other company. She picks up the biggest one, and Minho stops walking down the stairs. She drops the biggest one and picks up the smallest, and Minho walks down to retrieve the other one.
“What made you want to live with me?” Victoria asks, clearing space in her closet for his uniforms.
“Lots of reasons. I want to send home more money to my parents, I want more money to myself, I already sleep here enough as it is, it’s close, and-” he pauses, flips over and turns his head into the couch.
Victoria walks over and grabs his shoulders. “What? Say it.”
“I ran out of reasons,” he grins.
“Since you’re not going to say it, I care about you too,” she says, and squeezes his shoulders. His whole body jumps and twitches and she falls backwards.
“What just happened?” she asks. He winces in reply.
“My shoulders are sore,” he rasps, short breaths blending into an awkward silence. Victoria pats his chest.
“It’s probably the couch,” Victoria says. “You should sleep in my bed.”
Minho sits up. “Would that be okay?”
She helps him balance on his legs, and leads him under her covers. She lies on top of the blankets, separating their bodies.
“I can’t believe it’s dark outside,” Victoria whispers, hoping that they can get into a talk about weird customers and the working days where they got good tips. But the flowery patterns of her blankets stretch and she sees Minho craning his neck. He kisses her on the mouth, and she closes her eyes. When she opens them, it’s not pitch-black.
She steps inside TurdPalace, disappointed that the bell attached to the door isn’t working. She becomes even more disappointed that Minho’s transformed into an acne-devastated girl.
“I knew you were going to walk in here,” Minho says, and Victoria jumps at the chills he sends down her back. “I forgot to tell you, I work at the gas station now.”
“What?” she says. “What’s wrong with this place?”
“Nothing,” he replies. “I just get better money at the gas station. Better hours, too. Hey, don’t look down at the floor like that.” He takes her arm that’s hanging loosely to the side. “When you go here now, you won’t feel obligated to. We can actually go here on dates and not you just happening to drop by.”
“You’re right. Is that what you were planning on doing? Bringing me out on a date?” she smiles. Minho, however, swings around the toolbox his back was hiding.
“Actually, I’m here for one last gig,” he says.
Victoria watches him unclasp the toolbox, and push the lid back. “What do you do at the gas station?”
“Stand behind the counter. Check everything a lot. Try to sell cards and beef jerky to desperate travelers,” Minho mumbles, concentrating on the dingy bell. “Gas stations barely have job openings, you know.”
“How come there was one this time?” Victoria asks, following up with questions.
“Apparently, the person who runs the gas station had her daughter working the desk. But she left in her sight. Climbed into the passenger seat of some guy’s car and kicked gas in her mom’s face.”
Victoria perches her head up in interest. “Really? Her own mother? And what did she do about it?”
“Nothing. She told me she didn’t care. But I think when she told me that, she cared. Just a little.” Minho taps the upgraded bell, and it resonates. “Does it sound okay-hey, what’s with the face? Are you that hungry?”
Victoria sits up straight, and raises her arms up to the ceiling. Her hand accidentally clashes with one of the low, hanging lights and acne-devastated girl shoots her a lethal look.
“I’ve never sat at one of these tables,” Victoria yells across the empty scene. “I’ve always had my ice cream to-go.”
She turns to Minho. “And I’m just tired. Don’t worry. I see you worrying.”
“At least let me buy you something to eat,” Minho says, swinging his arm around her shoulder. She pecks him on the mouth, and sticks her tongue out at him after.
“It’s not just desperate travelers you’re feeding jerky to, isn’t it?” she grins. He pinches her neck when they play eenie-meenie-miney-mo with the menu, feeling dangerous.
There’s a new person that works on some of the same days as her. Victoria catches the new girl cutting into her uniform skirt with a pair of scissors from the kitchen.
“I’m not trying to get extra tips or anything. It’s just that my thighs really have to breathe when I’m waiting tables,” the new girl, Jinri, explains. She cuts a strip off and it lands on her lap.
“I understand,” Victoria says. “Just don’t let the boss see you in your underwear.”
“Okay,” Jinri says, beaming up at her. Victoria stops seeing her as the girl who just walked into the restaurant mid-morning, flicking her leftover candy wrappers into the fake plants. Jinri’s sweet, and introduces herself as “Sulli” to the kitchen and the customers. But Victoria likes the sound of Jinri, something original and certain.
“Want me to do yours?” Jinri asks, snipping the air with her scissors. “I’ll have them sewed up by tomorrow.”
Victoria stops stacking the dishes in the sink. Her gloves aren’t soaked yet, so she touches the pressure of the skirt that's binding her.
“Yeah, sure. If you want,” Victoria replies.
She doesn’t have an explanation for Minho when he opens the door and sees her wearing the flannel snow pants she found in her work-place's storage closet.
“I tell you to bring back-up clothes.”
“At least it wasn’t chilly walking home today.”
“I see that. You’re sweating.”
“You’re too pretty to work here,” Jinri says with a mouth full of smoke. The smoking doesn’t bother Victoria as much as it did the first time she dragged out the trashcan on Mondays and Thursdays, only to see Jinri trying to aim her used cigarette collection in the passing garbage truck. It’s hard to avoid the smoke now, since she and Jinri share the same break.
“Thanks,” Victoria replies, tucking strands of hair behind her ears. Jinri stares harder at the amount of face Victoria uncovers; Victoria shuffles her feet.
“You’re prettier, though. Like an aspiring actress working part-time until the next big thing comes along,” Victoria says, then puts a hand over her mouth. “I hope you don’t take that the wrong way. Sometimes, I watch TV in the reserved rooms.”
“I’m not,” Jinri says.
“Good,” Victoria says, smiling in relief.
Jinri points her cigarette at her. “You’re pretty. Like those foreign wives rich guys try to pursue.”
“Not you too.”
Minho closes the cigarette carton, and stashes it in his jeans. “Sorry. It’s just. My parents are begging me to visit.”
“And you’re smoking because-”
“My parents. They’re very stressful.”
Victoria laughs, and runs behind him. She slaps the shape of the cigarette box. “You shouldn’t take family for granted.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Um. You just don’t.” Victoria straightens up. “Hey, unscrew your face. I catch my co-worker smoking too.”
“Do you want to meet my parents?” he asks, bursting out with the question. Victoria’s eyes widen, almost comparable to Minho’s.
“I can’t have vacations yet,” she makes up really quick. “Sorry.”
“Vacations. I forgot, I need to call my boss to see if she’ll let me see them,” Minho laughs, urging her to laugh too.
While Minho’s ear is up against the phone receiver, Victoria is standing up against his back. She flexes her fingers into his broad shoulders, chewing her bottom lip at the same time. He doesn’t sleep on the couch anymore, but she needs this more than he does. She draws “thank you” into his back.
Victoria bangs the back door open with the trashcan. But she immediately sets the weight of the trashcan down, and flaps away the smoke with her two hands. Jinri politely aims the smoke in another direction.
“So why don’t you smoke?”
“I don’t know. Above the Influence?”
“Those ads don’t work. I watched TV all my life. Look at how I turned out.”
“Well, I have Minho. He helps me deal with stuff.” Victoria remembers Minho stashing the cigarette carton in his pants, stammering while she had asked questions. “You smoke to deal with stuff, right?”
“You have a boyfriend?” Jinri says, interrupting with her own question. Victoria nods slowly. Jinri catches on it.
“That’s great,” Jinri says, pushing past Victoria. Their shoulders knock out each other with the same force. When they stand still to rub their shoulders, Jinri lets one more thing slip out of her mouth.
“It’s good to be in love with someone.”
Victoria wakes up with her head on the floor, and her legs stretched out on the couch. The empty vase is sticking to the coffee table without a gravitational field, until Jinri crouches down on the floor.
“Do you always sleep like this?” Jinri whispers, but her breath is still strong enough to push some dust away.
“Not usually,” Victoria answers. She gets up in one single, painless motion. “There’s always him to hold onto.”
“You guys sleep together at night?” Jinri asks, springing herself up. “That’s cute. I wish I could do that.”
“Why can’t you?” Victoria asks. She only has hints of Jinri caring about someone, just by seeing her deflect her working hours to use the phone or gazing at the couples that walk in, especially the ones who request for someone to take their expensive jackets.
“We haven’t been spending time together. It’s only been lately, though,” Jinri says, wearing an indifferent expression that’s a shadow to her customer-service smiles.
“What are you up to, anyway? How did you even get in here?” Victoria asks, and Jinri grins.
“I kind of slipped in when your boyfriend was leaving. Told me to tell you that he’d call,” Jinri says. She climbs up on the couch, and sits on Victoria’s legs. Victoria’s mouth opens from the pressure, but the numbness takes over quickly
and the irritated noise dies in her throat.
“He’s rich, you know. Sometimes, he buys me things,” Jinri says. She opens up at random times, forcing Victoria to give up what she’s working on and open her ears. Another dish capsizes in the murky water.
“Is that how you got those earrings?” Victoria asks.
“These earrings? You mean, this excuse for never calling or telling me when-” Jinri pulls on her earrings. “You like these?”
“They’re pretty,” Victoria admits. She smiles while Sulli’s dips downward.
She finds the pair of gold earrings wrapped up in a fancy cloth napkin they’re supposed to stick on the tables. Victoria undoes the shape, wondering if Jinri put “knows how to fold a napkin” on her resume. Her finger skims one of the earrings. It's still cold from the alcohol cleanser.
“Do I cling to you?” Victoria asks, bringing the receiver to her mouth.
“You have a tendency to lean into me a lot,” Minho replies.
“Not physically. More like. Like-”
“We’re together a lot.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It’s a good thing.”
Victoria takes the phone off her ear, wiping off the sweat with the sleeve of her faded sweatshirt. She can’t sense doubt through her current phone service.
“Where did you work before you came here?” Victoria asks. “Or were you jobless?”
“No, I did stuff before,” Jinri says, flicking ash out of her cigarette. It falls into the snow, and never completely blends in. It stands out, and Victoria helplessly stares at it until her eyes learn to ignore it. Kind of like learning the smell of cigarettes when Jinri comes in, and learning to forget it whenever it’s not important.
“I used to work for my mom,” Jinri answers, and Victoria’s nose picks up the smoke.
“Your mother?”
“Well, not my biological parent. We weren’t even the same color. But she took me in, and gave me things to do, and taught me how to put on blue eyeliner. Come to think of it, she was a good mom,” Jinri says. “But she had a pole up her ass. Not literally, of course, because some people really do have that-”
“Did something happen?” Victoria asks. Her voice quivers, an excuse from the climate.
“Maybe. I didn’t give her time to say anything or apologize for yelling at me when I would fold napkins instead of mopping the floor-you want me to get to the point, huh? I can see it in your eyes,” Jinri says, and she leans closer. Their jackets brush off the ice that’s clinging to the wool of Victoria’s, and the leather of Jinri’s.
“I drove away. Well, in this case, someone drove me away,” Jinri says, and her chest puffs out, like the secret hurt from staying in there too long. “I can’t believe how easy it was.”
Jinri throws her head back, squeezes her eyes tightly, and bursts out in laughter. But her laughing is different. It doesn’t parallel the giggling that overcomes her when she trips over customers’ feet, and her smile doesn’t resemble the one she wears whenever she's secretly using the phone and twisting its cord. Her laughing is hollow and sounds like it hurts her throat. Her laughing is a cover.
Minho stares at Victoria through the window she’s cleaning. She grins when she splashes water down the glass, and it distorts his stupid grin. He leaves the window and walks over to the door.
“You’re back,” she says.
“I’m back,” he says, and holds out his arms. Victoria remembers not to hesitate before walking towards him, hitting her head on his chest.
“Victoria?”
Jinri touches her hand, still cold from not going in as early as Victoria did. “I’m going to leave.”
Victoria breaks away from Minho, signalling him with her eyes. She follows Jinri to the door.
“To go home, right?” she says, breaking out that smile that’s gotten customers to hush about their messed-up orders.
“Yeah. Home,” Jinri says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You have to. We get our paychecks tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah,” Jinri says. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“How were your parents?”
“Stressful.”
“Other than that?”
“Who was your friend? I think she came by when I was leaving.”
Victoria lifts her head. “Jinri? I told you about her. She smokes. Like you.”
“Doesn’t look like she does. Maybe those cigarette companies aren’t lying when they find those tan, happy-looking models and use them for their ads.”
“Yeah. And maybe they just want to be your best friend,” Victoria grins, and leans over to touch her toes. She gets bored. She lifts her leg over her head.
“Whoa, how did you do that?” Minho says, with eyes wide and jaw dropped.
“Funny,” Victoria smiles. “My mom said the same thing as you.”
It’s Monday. She comes out of the restaurant too early, and has time to slap her hands after she heaves the trash bag into the dumpster. There are still germs on her fingers, and she still needs to remember dropping a bottle of hand cleanser in her pockets.
“You didn’t wash your hands?”
Victoria turns around, and smiles when she sees Jinri standing behind her. Can’t contain the wide-eyed look when she notices Jinri’s blue eyeliner, though.
“So? You’re not even in uniform!” Victoria says.
“And what are you going to do about it?” Jinri asks, stepping closer.
Victoria smirks, and places a hand on Jinri’s arm. Apparently, it’s invitation when Jinri grabs her shoulder and kisses her. Not on the mouth. Just the corner of it.
“Wow, I backed out,” Jinri rasps. “I always wanted to do that.”
“It’s good that you missed,” Victoria laughs. “It won’t be awkward with us when we work tomorrow.”
Jinri wobbles on her heels backward, not even checking for shards of glass on the floor. “I won’t be coming in tomorrow.”
“Oh. I guess I should have saw it coming!” Victoria shouts, since Jinri’s face is getting harder too see.
“It’s okay if you didn’t. I regret not scrubbing my tables!”
“It’s okay. I regret not letting you put blue eyeliner on me!”
“I regret not showing you my boyfriend! I’m leaving with him, by the way! I’m going to be happy!”
“Good!” Victoria shouts, and waves. Jinri waves back until she has to turn around the corner. Victoria waves until her
arm cramps.
“You know I just got a job as a construction worker, right?” Minho says, trying to slide a cigarette out of the carton jailed in her fingertips. But his fingers are shaking and he ends up removing the whole box out of Victoria’s hand. He doesn’t return them and she doesn’t take them back.
“Yeah, what about it?” Victoria asks.
“First day, I fill in some cement for this house that’s got a million windows and a car I wish I had,” Minho says, lifting a lighter out of his pocket. Through the cheap see-through plastic, she sees that there’s barely any fluid moving, but the lighter’s still got enough to burn Minho’s cigarette, take one or two or three clicks.
“Then second day, we come back to check on the cement and there’s blood splattered all over this one area, but no body,” Minho says excitedly. “I’m pretty sure it’s the homeowner’s blood. He’s been gone for days.”
“Come to think of it, Jinri’s been gone for a while too. At least she took off with her paycheck. Smart girl,” Victoria compliments.
“Pretty, too.”
Victoria stares at Minho, and his cigarette almost falls out of his mouth. “What? I can’t call another girl pretty?”
“I don’t care about that! I didn’t even think about what you said,” Victoria snaps. “I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“That guy could have jumped a day before, when the cement wasn’t dry. Just one day, and he would have lived,” Victoria calculates.
“Then he would have been stuck,” Minho says. He exhales, and a cloud of smoke wraps around the both of them. “Just like where we are right now.”
Victoria calls in sick. The manager accuses her of not being sick, until Victoria sneezes on her. She forces Victoria to wipe off the snot with a napkin before going home.
Minho’s kinder. He helps her up the stairs, and drapes a jacket around her shoulders. She wipes her nose on it. The leather doesn’t absorb her sickness.
“Where’d you get this?” she asks.
“Garage sale,” Minho says, and leaves before her mouth opens.
“It smells like Jinri,” Victoria says, and shoves her hand down the pockets. Her fingers hit something hard, and she pulls out a half-empty cigarette carton.
She doesn’t realize she’s jolting in her sleep until she wakes up to Minho squeezing her arms, cutting the blood off.
“Shit. You were shaking,” Minho tells her.
“Oh my God,” Victoria pants. “We need to go to the supermarket. Pick up some sleeping pills. Is it open this late at night?”
“What’s with you talking about your mom in your sleep?” Minho asks, standing beside her as she hunts through the coats in her closet. “Is there something you need to be telling me?”
“Where’s my wallet?”
“I really don’t have enough patience for this.”
Victoria stops moving aside every jacket, holding the only hoodie she owns. Her fingers swell, and the hoodie drops from her hands, blending with the rest of the clothes. He notices the way her shoulders drop.
“Do you finally want to talk about it?” Minho asks.
“I haven’t seen my mom in over 10, 11, 12 years. Sometimes, she visits me,” Victoria says, choking on her spit.
Minho stands over her, drumming his fingers on the open door. “Is she visiting you now?”
“I hate her visits,” Victoria says, and falls forward. It’s the same as it was before, her mom falling in the stands, and Victoria falling off the balance beam. Except it’s soft and smells like dust in the closet. The only similarity is the darkness, and a ringing in her ears that resembles the sound of her mother’s flatline.
“Are you using me?” Minho asks, full of questions.
“Yes,” Victoria replies.
They avoid each other for days. Sometimes, they talk about it. But when they don't, he pastes post-it notes on the wall, all saying that he's got to work. When there's almost three layers of post-it notes, Victoria gathers all her things and stuffs them into a suitcase. She finds the Korean phrasebook stuck under her pillow, and almost leaves it there. But she thinks of the compliments that the manager said about her Korean, and pulls it out. She wraps it up in a shirt and tucks it in her suitcase. Then she walks out.
“I think I’m going to leave,” Victoria brings up as soon as she's outside.
“So you decided to tell me this when I’m taking out the trash?” Minho says, looking over his shoulder to see Victoria trailing behind him.
“A lot of things happen when people are taking out the trash,” Victoria says. “Congratulations on going back to school, by the way. I saw the letter. Don’t be surprised if you see a coffee stain on it.”
“Thanks,” Minho mumbles, and tries to pat down the redness of his cheeks. Then he realizes he was just holding a trash bag.
“It’s okay. Just wash your face and hands after,” Victoria laughs. Her hand reaches out and yanks down his jacket. “Hey, thanks for sticking around.”
He turns around, and holds out his arms. “Last one?”
She nods, and walks into him. She bends her neck, and presses her face into the curve of his neck.
“You’re not Jinri, you know. She got to say goodbye to her. You didn’t,” Minho says. He’s offering an agreement, a treaty, a chance to stay. But her bags are already packed, and she wants to know that the strain on her arm is going to be worth getting out of here before Minho did. Victoria lets go, and stumbles. It’s the first step to walking away in a straight line.
Victoria stabs the fork into the meat, twisting it until there’s some sauce coloring her sleeve and a mildly disgusted look on the restaurant manager’s face. She finally brings it up to her mouth, chewing up the food. While she chews, she glances up at the manager’s accommodating height. He probably doesn’t eat this food himself. The fork he fetched for her out of a ramen noodle cup is fatter than him.
“My mom makes this too,” Victoria mumbles. “She makes it better, though.”
“That’s probably true,” the manager says. “You think you can do better?”
“Does that you mean you’re not going to revoke my application?”
“If your cooking is shit, then I’ll revoke it.”
Victoria stands up, mouth still attached to the plate. She leaves the plastic fork behind, and he doesn’t bother getting it for her either.
“I’m going to be here for a long time, then. Just so you know,” she reminds him. When he smiles, his tie is crooked and his worry lines disappear.
“Wash that plate after you’re done,” he says, and leaves her in the empty restaurant. She looks around, and realizes that these are going to be the first menus she can read.
“Okay, we have a spare uniform, but you’re going to have to buy your own shoes,” he says, and holds out the folded uniform. “My name’s Zhou Mi.”
“My name’s Victoria, Mimi.”
“...I know.”
“I start tomorrow right?” Victoria asks. “I’ll see you then! Good night!”
She’s about to turn, but he grabs her arm. “Are you crazy? It’s dark!”
“Yes. I agree with you.”
“There are crazy people. And they like to take the bus.”
“I like to take the bus, too.”
“Let me give you a ride home. My cook is not going to die.”
Victoria shakes her head, remembering all the times she walked home with Minho. She hopes he’s doing well. She hopes he still sleeps on the couch, because she doesn’t have one to sleep on anymore. “That’s going against my standards.”
“Great, I hired someone with standards. Look, I’m going to drive you home. Just for today.”
Zhou Mi grabs his keys out of his pocket, and walks out. Victoria reads the whole entire menu five times, enjoying the ease. Then a car honk shakes her out of her thoughts.
“Geez. Shopaholic, much?” Victoria says, trying to push aside the shopping bags that sit in his seats.
“I work hard. I save up. It’s nice to buy things.”
“You know, you’re never going to wear all these things. You’re never going to repeat an outfit,” Victoria says, squishing her head into the seat. “The only things that are going to be overused is that jacket you’ve had since high school. Or that shirt someone else bought for you. Or that tie you can pair up with your uniform and the occasional tux.”
Zhou Mi moves into a line of cars, and stays quiet. “Put on your seat belt.”
She straps herself in, and looks ahead. The air conditioning inside the car feels good on her head.
Poll Round 8: Miles to Nowhere
Team: AU
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: f(x), SHINee, Super Junior-M
Pairing: Victoria-centric, Victoria/Minho, Victoria/Sulli
Summary: Victoria works at a restaurant. She meets a person she can depend on, and a person with bad habits.
Author's Note: Thank you to my ass-upending team.
Prompt Used: Ga - In - Irreversible
Victoria was supposed to be a boy. She can still stick her arms through jackets that used to swallow up her younger self, and the lizards and Mutant Ninja Turtles designs stretch over the chest that her parents always frowned at. The first paycheck she ever got, she cashed it in and littered her place with designer store bags. Store bags tied up with ribbons, store bags dressed down in glitter, store bags tag-teamed with two pastel colors. Store bags that didn’t appear in her childhood.
After counting how long she can put off her rent without starving (she’s adept at math, knows how to memorize and apply the rules), she splurges on a jacket. She first sees this jacket hanging unbalanced off the rack. She pulls it off its hanger and fills it out with her body, feeling leftover warmth in the sleeves. Her reflection bounces off the store windows and shoppers’ faces, and she thinks it looks perfect. She doesn’t bother exchanging it for the clean, unworn jacket behind it, and walks up to the store counter. A few seconds later, she’s walking out with another bag to add to her collection and a crumpled receipt she tosses in a trashcan.
She comes home to the little apartment that she can barely afford to occupy, and dumps everything on her bed. The couch is going to be uncomfortable sleeping on, and she tries wearing her new jacket over her pajamas to distract her from the leather screwing up her back. But it’s one of those things that look good, and that’s all it does.
In the middle of the night, she stands up and walks in circles. Then those circles lead her to the back of the closet, where there’s a faded dark blue jacket waiting. While she’s exchanging her new jacket for the old one with holes, she covers her nose with the sleeve, in the spot she assumes that her mother touched when she bought it for Victoria. For Victor, Victoria, whatever.
She sleeps in the jacket, with the blanket down at her feet. In her dreams, she searches for the smell of her mother.
The restaurant she works at now hired her instead of the freckle-faced redhead who shared a pen with her while they filled out their applications. She had more recommendations and was the better dishwasher, but Victoria got the uniform in the end. The other girl stormed out, and if Victoria hadn’t gotten stuck inside her new uniform pants, she would have ran after her. Now she has a pen she uses for everything: taking down customer’s orders, filling out her checks, and other things that involve writing in ink.
“That looks very unprofessional, you know," the manager breathes down her back while Victoria's trying to scrub dishes. The amount of proximity is almost romantic, and makesVictoria almost want to kiss her manager.
“What’s unprofessional?” she asks, taking her eyes off the pitcher her hands are gripping.
“The customers talking to you, and you not talking back.”
“I don’t know what they’re trying to say to me.”
“It’s Korean. Why don’t you learn it?”
The manager leaves, and the door swings behind her, screwing up the ebb of people’s voices and conversations outside. Victoria can’t feel her hands. She looks back at the sink to see what’s wrong, and sees water overflowing the pitcher and splashing down on her hands.
1. Buy How-to-speak-Korean book.
“You sure you want this edition?” the cashier asks her. Victoria stops sorting through the bookmarks, and stops smiling at Beatrix Potter’s designs of Mother Rabbit and Peter Rabbit.
“We’ve got the newer version,” he says, flipping through the Korean phrasebook she picked out of the shelves titled “LANGUAGE.” Dust stirs up and his face is wrinkled, trying not to taste it.
“I’m fine with this one,” she says, attempting to take the entire book back. She successfully retrieves a fourth of it, and the page numbers don’t even follow an order.
“I’ll get you the other version. Good thing I didn’t scan it,” he says, making his way around. “I think you ripped off the bar code, anyway.”
She follows him as they retrace her steps, passing by books on display and shelves that cave in. His body tightens so that his shoulders are barely skimming the titles, and Victoria suspiciously thinks she’s not in a real used bookstore but has entered some filler romantic comedy, where only guys with his face would be working here and knowing exactly where the Korean phrasebooks are.
“Is this where you found it?” he asks. Victoria looks over his shoulder and nods. She watches his hand grab the spine at first, then trail up to the top.
“I just got the one that was loose,” she says, but his teeth are still clenched and his knuckles are still white. He holds onto the entire shelf, and holds onto it tighter when he rips the book out. Victoria slaps her hands over her ears, and watches the shelf crash silent film-style.
“Damn,” he mutters, flipping the book right-side up. “Who puts a Japanese book in this section?”
He drops the book he’s holding and bends down to retrieve the correct one. Victoria also bends down to his level, and their hands touch on a Spanish ABC book. And then on a Tagalog dictionary. And finally stay on the phrasebook they’re looking for.
She runs into bookstore guy another day, but he’s wearing a uniform. His TurdPalace name tag says “Minho.” He hands Victoria the chocolate ice cream cone she called off the menu, except their fingers don’t brush each other this time. She licks a stripe off it.
“Wow, can’t believe I almost stepped into the Ben and Jerry’s on my way home,” Victoria says, eating it up. “This is really good.”
“It’s not great most of the time. I think I just tried harder to...”
“Scoop it up?”
“Yeah.” He waves the scooper, all slicked with milk and sugar.
“You didn’t have to,” she says, crunching on the cone. “You look tired. You almost would have had your hand in the strawberry flavor if I hadn’t told you.”
“Well,” Minho says. “That’s what I get for juggling three jobs.”
She swings by his workplace more. The more he tries to swish his mop on the floor and hand her her food at the same time, the sooner she brings up that she’s got a couch.
“You could sleep on mine. If you want,” Victoria says. “You just can’t mop the floor and try to scoop me some ice cream. If you’re losing your head, just crash at my place.”
After a few more of Victoria’s convincing faces, he takes a habit of sleeping on her place, and that’s where most of their conversations take place.
“Is that all you eat? Ice cream?” he asks, head resting on the flat armrest. “How come you’re not fat?”
She shrugs, then lifts her hands out from under her head. She rests them on her thighs and squeezes.
“All of the sugar goes to my legs,” she indicates. She closes her eyes, and Minho’s face disappears. She opens her eyes, and Minho’s face is still gone.
“Did you pay the electricity bill?” he asks. She shakes her head, and accidentally hits his nose. She almost apologizes, but instead wonders about how did their faces get so close.
After the number of times Minho wakes up on her couch and switches on the light, to find that there is no light, Victoria finds boxes in front of her door.
“Do you want me to help you bring up the rest?” she yells down the stairs.
“No!” he yells back. Victoria grips the banister and skips down anyway, stopping at two or three boxes keeping each other company. She picks up the biggest one, and Minho stops walking down the stairs. She drops the biggest one and picks up the smallest, and Minho walks down to retrieve the other one.
“What made you want to live with me?” Victoria asks, clearing space in her closet for his uniforms.
“Lots of reasons. I want to send home more money to my parents, I want more money to myself, I already sleep here enough as it is, it’s close, and-” he pauses, flips over and turns his head into the couch.
Victoria walks over and grabs his shoulders. “What? Say it.”
“I ran out of reasons,” he grins.
“Since you’re not going to say it, I care about you too,” she says, and squeezes his shoulders. His whole body jumps and twitches and she falls backwards.
“What just happened?” she asks. He winces in reply.
“My shoulders are sore,” he rasps, short breaths blending into an awkward silence. Victoria pats his chest.
“It’s probably the couch,” Victoria says. “You should sleep in my bed.”
Minho sits up. “Would that be okay?”
She helps him balance on his legs, and leads him under her covers. She lies on top of the blankets, separating their bodies.
“I can’t believe it’s dark outside,” Victoria whispers, hoping that they can get into a talk about weird customers and the working days where they got good tips. But the flowery patterns of her blankets stretch and she sees Minho craning his neck. He kisses her on the mouth, and she closes her eyes. When she opens them, it’s not pitch-black.
She steps inside TurdPalace, disappointed that the bell attached to the door isn’t working. She becomes even more disappointed that Minho’s transformed into an acne-devastated girl.
“I knew you were going to walk in here,” Minho says, and Victoria jumps at the chills he sends down her back. “I forgot to tell you, I work at the gas station now.”
“What?” she says. “What’s wrong with this place?”
“Nothing,” he replies. “I just get better money at the gas station. Better hours, too. Hey, don’t look down at the floor like that.” He takes her arm that’s hanging loosely to the side. “When you go here now, you won’t feel obligated to. We can actually go here on dates and not you just happening to drop by.”
“You’re right. Is that what you were planning on doing? Bringing me out on a date?” she smiles. Minho, however, swings around the toolbox his back was hiding.
“Actually, I’m here for one last gig,” he says.
Victoria watches him unclasp the toolbox, and push the lid back. “What do you do at the gas station?”
“Stand behind the counter. Check everything a lot. Try to sell cards and beef jerky to desperate travelers,” Minho mumbles, concentrating on the dingy bell. “Gas stations barely have job openings, you know.”
“How come there was one this time?” Victoria asks, following up with questions.
“Apparently, the person who runs the gas station had her daughter working the desk. But she left in her sight. Climbed into the passenger seat of some guy’s car and kicked gas in her mom’s face.”
Victoria perches her head up in interest. “Really? Her own mother? And what did she do about it?”
“Nothing. She told me she didn’t care. But I think when she told me that, she cared. Just a little.” Minho taps the upgraded bell, and it resonates. “Does it sound okay-hey, what’s with the face? Are you that hungry?”
Victoria sits up straight, and raises her arms up to the ceiling. Her hand accidentally clashes with one of the low, hanging lights and acne-devastated girl shoots her a lethal look.
“I’ve never sat at one of these tables,” Victoria yells across the empty scene. “I’ve always had my ice cream to-go.”
She turns to Minho. “And I’m just tired. Don’t worry. I see you worrying.”
“At least let me buy you something to eat,” Minho says, swinging his arm around her shoulder. She pecks him on the mouth, and sticks her tongue out at him after.
“It’s not just desperate travelers you’re feeding jerky to, isn’t it?” she grins. He pinches her neck when they play eenie-meenie-miney-mo with the menu, feeling dangerous.
There’s a new person that works on some of the same days as her. Victoria catches the new girl cutting into her uniform skirt with a pair of scissors from the kitchen.
“I’m not trying to get extra tips or anything. It’s just that my thighs really have to breathe when I’m waiting tables,” the new girl, Jinri, explains. She cuts a strip off and it lands on her lap.
“I understand,” Victoria says. “Just don’t let the boss see you in your underwear.”
“Okay,” Jinri says, beaming up at her. Victoria stops seeing her as the girl who just walked into the restaurant mid-morning, flicking her leftover candy wrappers into the fake plants. Jinri’s sweet, and introduces herself as “Sulli” to the kitchen and the customers. But Victoria likes the sound of Jinri, something original and certain.
“Want me to do yours?” Jinri asks, snipping the air with her scissors. “I’ll have them sewed up by tomorrow.”
Victoria stops stacking the dishes in the sink. Her gloves aren’t soaked yet, so she touches the pressure of the skirt that's binding her.
“Yeah, sure. If you want,” Victoria replies.
She doesn’t have an explanation for Minho when he opens the door and sees her wearing the flannel snow pants she found in her work-place's storage closet.
“I tell you to bring back-up clothes.”
“At least it wasn’t chilly walking home today.”
“I see that. You’re sweating.”
“You’re too pretty to work here,” Jinri says with a mouth full of smoke. The smoking doesn’t bother Victoria as much as it did the first time she dragged out the trashcan on Mondays and Thursdays, only to see Jinri trying to aim her used cigarette collection in the passing garbage truck. It’s hard to avoid the smoke now, since she and Jinri share the same break.
“Thanks,” Victoria replies, tucking strands of hair behind her ears. Jinri stares harder at the amount of face Victoria uncovers; Victoria shuffles her feet.
“You’re prettier, though. Like an aspiring actress working part-time until the next big thing comes along,” Victoria says, then puts a hand over her mouth. “I hope you don’t take that the wrong way. Sometimes, I watch TV in the reserved rooms.”
“I’m not,” Jinri says.
“Good,” Victoria says, smiling in relief.
Jinri points her cigarette at her. “You’re pretty. Like those foreign wives rich guys try to pursue.”
“Not you too.”
Minho closes the cigarette carton, and stashes it in his jeans. “Sorry. It’s just. My parents are begging me to visit.”
“And you’re smoking because-”
“My parents. They’re very stressful.”
Victoria laughs, and runs behind him. She slaps the shape of the cigarette box. “You shouldn’t take family for granted.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Um. You just don’t.” Victoria straightens up. “Hey, unscrew your face. I catch my co-worker smoking too.”
“Do you want to meet my parents?” he asks, bursting out with the question. Victoria’s eyes widen, almost comparable to Minho’s.
“I can’t have vacations yet,” she makes up really quick. “Sorry.”
“Vacations. I forgot, I need to call my boss to see if she’ll let me see them,” Minho laughs, urging her to laugh too.
While Minho’s ear is up against the phone receiver, Victoria is standing up against his back. She flexes her fingers into his broad shoulders, chewing her bottom lip at the same time. He doesn’t sleep on the couch anymore, but she needs this more than he does. She draws “thank you” into his back.
Victoria bangs the back door open with the trashcan. But she immediately sets the weight of the trashcan down, and flaps away the smoke with her two hands. Jinri politely aims the smoke in another direction.
“So why don’t you smoke?”
“I don’t know. Above the Influence?”
“Those ads don’t work. I watched TV all my life. Look at how I turned out.”
“Well, I have Minho. He helps me deal with stuff.” Victoria remembers Minho stashing the cigarette carton in his pants, stammering while she had asked questions. “You smoke to deal with stuff, right?”
“You have a boyfriend?” Jinri says, interrupting with her own question. Victoria nods slowly. Jinri catches on it.
“That’s great,” Jinri says, pushing past Victoria. Their shoulders knock out each other with the same force. When they stand still to rub their shoulders, Jinri lets one more thing slip out of her mouth.
“It’s good to be in love with someone.”
Victoria wakes up with her head on the floor, and her legs stretched out on the couch. The empty vase is sticking to the coffee table without a gravitational field, until Jinri crouches down on the floor.
“Do you always sleep like this?” Jinri whispers, but her breath is still strong enough to push some dust away.
“Not usually,” Victoria answers. She gets up in one single, painless motion. “There’s always him to hold onto.”
“You guys sleep together at night?” Jinri asks, springing herself up. “That’s cute. I wish I could do that.”
“Why can’t you?” Victoria asks. She only has hints of Jinri caring about someone, just by seeing her deflect her working hours to use the phone or gazing at the couples that walk in, especially the ones who request for someone to take their expensive jackets.
“We haven’t been spending time together. It’s only been lately, though,” Jinri says, wearing an indifferent expression that’s a shadow to her customer-service smiles.
“What are you up to, anyway? How did you even get in here?” Victoria asks, and Jinri grins.
“I kind of slipped in when your boyfriend was leaving. Told me to tell you that he’d call,” Jinri says. She climbs up on the couch, and sits on Victoria’s legs. Victoria’s mouth opens from the pressure, but the numbness takes over quickly
and the irritated noise dies in her throat.
“He’s rich, you know. Sometimes, he buys me things,” Jinri says. She opens up at random times, forcing Victoria to give up what she’s working on and open her ears. Another dish capsizes in the murky water.
“Is that how you got those earrings?” Victoria asks.
“These earrings? You mean, this excuse for never calling or telling me when-” Jinri pulls on her earrings. “You like these?”
“They’re pretty,” Victoria admits. She smiles while Sulli’s dips downward.
She finds the pair of gold earrings wrapped up in a fancy cloth napkin they’re supposed to stick on the tables. Victoria undoes the shape, wondering if Jinri put “knows how to fold a napkin” on her resume. Her finger skims one of the earrings. It's still cold from the alcohol cleanser.
“Do I cling to you?” Victoria asks, bringing the receiver to her mouth.
“You have a tendency to lean into me a lot,” Minho replies.
“Not physically. More like. Like-”
“We’re together a lot.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It’s a good thing.”
Victoria takes the phone off her ear, wiping off the sweat with the sleeve of her faded sweatshirt. She can’t sense doubt through her current phone service.
“Where did you work before you came here?” Victoria asks. “Or were you jobless?”
“No, I did stuff before,” Jinri says, flicking ash out of her cigarette. It falls into the snow, and never completely blends in. It stands out, and Victoria helplessly stares at it until her eyes learn to ignore it. Kind of like learning the smell of cigarettes when Jinri comes in, and learning to forget it whenever it’s not important.
“I used to work for my mom,” Jinri answers, and Victoria’s nose picks up the smoke.
“Your mother?”
“Well, not my biological parent. We weren’t even the same color. But she took me in, and gave me things to do, and taught me how to put on blue eyeliner. Come to think of it, she was a good mom,” Jinri says. “But she had a pole up her ass. Not literally, of course, because some people really do have that-”
“Did something happen?” Victoria asks. Her voice quivers, an excuse from the climate.
“Maybe. I didn’t give her time to say anything or apologize for yelling at me when I would fold napkins instead of mopping the floor-you want me to get to the point, huh? I can see it in your eyes,” Jinri says, and she leans closer. Their jackets brush off the ice that’s clinging to the wool of Victoria’s, and the leather of Jinri’s.
“I drove away. Well, in this case, someone drove me away,” Jinri says, and her chest puffs out, like the secret hurt from staying in there too long. “I can’t believe how easy it was.”
Jinri throws her head back, squeezes her eyes tightly, and bursts out in laughter. But her laughing is different. It doesn’t parallel the giggling that overcomes her when she trips over customers’ feet, and her smile doesn’t resemble the one she wears whenever she's secretly using the phone and twisting its cord. Her laughing is hollow and sounds like it hurts her throat. Her laughing is a cover.
Minho stares at Victoria through the window she’s cleaning. She grins when she splashes water down the glass, and it distorts his stupid grin. He leaves the window and walks over to the door.
“You’re back,” she says.
“I’m back,” he says, and holds out his arms. Victoria remembers not to hesitate before walking towards him, hitting her head on his chest.
“Victoria?”
Jinri touches her hand, still cold from not going in as early as Victoria did. “I’m going to leave.”
Victoria breaks away from Minho, signalling him with her eyes. She follows Jinri to the door.
“To go home, right?” she says, breaking out that smile that’s gotten customers to hush about their messed-up orders.
“Yeah. Home,” Jinri says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You have to. We get our paychecks tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah,” Jinri says. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“How were your parents?”
“Stressful.”
“Other than that?”
“Who was your friend? I think she came by when I was leaving.”
Victoria lifts her head. “Jinri? I told you about her. She smokes. Like you.”
“Doesn’t look like she does. Maybe those cigarette companies aren’t lying when they find those tan, happy-looking models and use them for their ads.”
“Yeah. And maybe they just want to be your best friend,” Victoria grins, and leans over to touch her toes. She gets bored. She lifts her leg over her head.
“Whoa, how did you do that?” Minho says, with eyes wide and jaw dropped.
“Funny,” Victoria smiles. “My mom said the same thing as you.”
It’s Monday. She comes out of the restaurant too early, and has time to slap her hands after she heaves the trash bag into the dumpster. There are still germs on her fingers, and she still needs to remember dropping a bottle of hand cleanser in her pockets.
“You didn’t wash your hands?”
Victoria turns around, and smiles when she sees Jinri standing behind her. Can’t contain the wide-eyed look when she notices Jinri’s blue eyeliner, though.
“So? You’re not even in uniform!” Victoria says.
“And what are you going to do about it?” Jinri asks, stepping closer.
Victoria smirks, and places a hand on Jinri’s arm. Apparently, it’s invitation when Jinri grabs her shoulder and kisses her. Not on the mouth. Just the corner of it.
“Wow, I backed out,” Jinri rasps. “I always wanted to do that.”
“It’s good that you missed,” Victoria laughs. “It won’t be awkward with us when we work tomorrow.”
Jinri wobbles on her heels backward, not even checking for shards of glass on the floor. “I won’t be coming in tomorrow.”
“Oh. I guess I should have saw it coming!” Victoria shouts, since Jinri’s face is getting harder too see.
“It’s okay if you didn’t. I regret not scrubbing my tables!”
“It’s okay. I regret not letting you put blue eyeliner on me!”
“I regret not showing you my boyfriend! I’m leaving with him, by the way! I’m going to be happy!”
“Good!” Victoria shouts, and waves. Jinri waves back until she has to turn around the corner. Victoria waves until her
arm cramps.
“You know I just got a job as a construction worker, right?” Minho says, trying to slide a cigarette out of the carton jailed in her fingertips. But his fingers are shaking and he ends up removing the whole box out of Victoria’s hand. He doesn’t return them and she doesn’t take them back.
“Yeah, what about it?” Victoria asks.
“First day, I fill in some cement for this house that’s got a million windows and a car I wish I had,” Minho says, lifting a lighter out of his pocket. Through the cheap see-through plastic, she sees that there’s barely any fluid moving, but the lighter’s still got enough to burn Minho’s cigarette, take one or two or three clicks.
“Then second day, we come back to check on the cement and there’s blood splattered all over this one area, but no body,” Minho says excitedly. “I’m pretty sure it’s the homeowner’s blood. He’s been gone for days.”
“Come to think of it, Jinri’s been gone for a while too. At least she took off with her paycheck. Smart girl,” Victoria compliments.
“Pretty, too.”
Victoria stares at Minho, and his cigarette almost falls out of his mouth. “What? I can’t call another girl pretty?”
“I don’t care about that! I didn’t even think about what you said,” Victoria snaps. “I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“That guy could have jumped a day before, when the cement wasn’t dry. Just one day, and he would have lived,” Victoria calculates.
“Then he would have been stuck,” Minho says. He exhales, and a cloud of smoke wraps around the both of them. “Just like where we are right now.”
Victoria calls in sick. The manager accuses her of not being sick, until Victoria sneezes on her. She forces Victoria to wipe off the snot with a napkin before going home.
Minho’s kinder. He helps her up the stairs, and drapes a jacket around her shoulders. She wipes her nose on it. The leather doesn’t absorb her sickness.
“Where’d you get this?” she asks.
“Garage sale,” Minho says, and leaves before her mouth opens.
“It smells like Jinri,” Victoria says, and shoves her hand down the pockets. Her fingers hit something hard, and she pulls out a half-empty cigarette carton.
She doesn’t realize she’s jolting in her sleep until she wakes up to Minho squeezing her arms, cutting the blood off.
“Shit. You were shaking,” Minho tells her.
“Oh my God,” Victoria pants. “We need to go to the supermarket. Pick up some sleeping pills. Is it open this late at night?”
“What’s with you talking about your mom in your sleep?” Minho asks, standing beside her as she hunts through the coats in her closet. “Is there something you need to be telling me?”
“Where’s my wallet?”
“I really don’t have enough patience for this.”
Victoria stops moving aside every jacket, holding the only hoodie she owns. Her fingers swell, and the hoodie drops from her hands, blending with the rest of the clothes. He notices the way her shoulders drop.
“Do you finally want to talk about it?” Minho asks.
“I haven’t seen my mom in over 10, 11, 12 years. Sometimes, she visits me,” Victoria says, choking on her spit.
Minho stands over her, drumming his fingers on the open door. “Is she visiting you now?”
“I hate her visits,” Victoria says, and falls forward. It’s the same as it was before, her mom falling in the stands, and Victoria falling off the balance beam. Except it’s soft and smells like dust in the closet. The only similarity is the darkness, and a ringing in her ears that resembles the sound of her mother’s flatline.
“Are you using me?” Minho asks, full of questions.
“Yes,” Victoria replies.
They avoid each other for days. Sometimes, they talk about it. But when they don't, he pastes post-it notes on the wall, all saying that he's got to work. When there's almost three layers of post-it notes, Victoria gathers all her things and stuffs them into a suitcase. She finds the Korean phrasebook stuck under her pillow, and almost leaves it there. But she thinks of the compliments that the manager said about her Korean, and pulls it out. She wraps it up in a shirt and tucks it in her suitcase. Then she walks out.
“I think I’m going to leave,” Victoria brings up as soon as she's outside.
“So you decided to tell me this when I’m taking out the trash?” Minho says, looking over his shoulder to see Victoria trailing behind him.
“A lot of things happen when people are taking out the trash,” Victoria says. “Congratulations on going back to school, by the way. I saw the letter. Don’t be surprised if you see a coffee stain on it.”
“Thanks,” Minho mumbles, and tries to pat down the redness of his cheeks. Then he realizes he was just holding a trash bag.
“It’s okay. Just wash your face and hands after,” Victoria laughs. Her hand reaches out and yanks down his jacket. “Hey, thanks for sticking around.”
He turns around, and holds out his arms. “Last one?”
She nods, and walks into him. She bends her neck, and presses her face into the curve of his neck.
“You’re not Jinri, you know. She got to say goodbye to her. You didn’t,” Minho says. He’s offering an agreement, a treaty, a chance to stay. But her bags are already packed, and she wants to know that the strain on her arm is going to be worth getting out of here before Minho did. Victoria lets go, and stumbles. It’s the first step to walking away in a straight line.
Victoria stabs the fork into the meat, twisting it until there’s some sauce coloring her sleeve and a mildly disgusted look on the restaurant manager’s face. She finally brings it up to her mouth, chewing up the food. While she chews, she glances up at the manager’s accommodating height. He probably doesn’t eat this food himself. The fork he fetched for her out of a ramen noodle cup is fatter than him.
“My mom makes this too,” Victoria mumbles. “She makes it better, though.”
“That’s probably true,” the manager says. “You think you can do better?”
“Does that you mean you’re not going to revoke my application?”
“If your cooking is shit, then I’ll revoke it.”
Victoria stands up, mouth still attached to the plate. She leaves the plastic fork behind, and he doesn’t bother getting it for her either.
“I’m going to be here for a long time, then. Just so you know,” she reminds him. When he smiles, his tie is crooked and his worry lines disappear.
“Wash that plate after you’re done,” he says, and leaves her in the empty restaurant. She looks around, and realizes that these are going to be the first menus she can read.
“Okay, we have a spare uniform, but you’re going to have to buy your own shoes,” he says, and holds out the folded uniform. “My name’s Zhou Mi.”
“My name’s Victoria, Mimi.”
“...I know.”
“I start tomorrow right?” Victoria asks. “I’ll see you then! Good night!”
She’s about to turn, but he grabs her arm. “Are you crazy? It’s dark!”
“Yes. I agree with you.”
“There are crazy people. And they like to take the bus.”
“I like to take the bus, too.”
“Let me give you a ride home. My cook is not going to die.”
Victoria shakes her head, remembering all the times she walked home with Minho. She hopes he’s doing well. She hopes he still sleeps on the couch, because she doesn’t have one to sleep on anymore. “That’s going against my standards.”
“Great, I hired someone with standards. Look, I’m going to drive you home. Just for today.”
Zhou Mi grabs his keys out of his pocket, and walks out. Victoria reads the whole entire menu five times, enjoying the ease. Then a car honk shakes her out of her thoughts.
“Geez. Shopaholic, much?” Victoria says, trying to push aside the shopping bags that sit in his seats.
“I work hard. I save up. It’s nice to buy things.”
“You know, you’re never going to wear all these things. You’re never going to repeat an outfit,” Victoria says, squishing her head into the seat. “The only things that are going to be overused is that jacket you’ve had since high school. Or that shirt someone else bought for you. Or that tie you can pair up with your uniform and the occasional tux.”
Zhou Mi moves into a line of cars, and stays quiet. “Put on your seat belt.”
She straps herself in, and looks ahead. The air conditioning inside the car feels good on her head.
Poll Round 8: Miles to Nowhere