post #18

[seoulfulness]

Fics ( #17)

untitled f(x), krystal/sulli
Each Day That Passes EXO/SNSD, Baekhyun/Taeyeon
beneath the ice cracks super junior-m/f(x), zhou mi/victoria
food for the heart ze:a, kevin/siwan
don't forget me girl's day, sojin/yura
I would trust you (with my password) btob, peniel/sungjae
lesson one: always have a spare key exo, baekhyun/chen
burnt

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time goes quicker between the two of us, snsd, jessica/tiffany (part i)

[anonymous]

Jessica started boarding airplanes when she was six years old and her family went to visit relatives in South Korea. She saw the huge board in the terminal and saw all the places and numbers listed underneath the word “Departures” and Jessica thinks of all the places she’ll get to visit one day.

Comfort wins on every flight they get on. Once they clear the mobs of fans and get through security and to the gate, there’s a rush to the nearest restrooms where tight jeans, shirts and high heels are exchanged for sweatpants, hoodies and sneakers. They go like that, looking like teenagers, to the destination (“Ladies and Gentlemen, we have arrived in--”) where there’s a less enthusiastic run for the restrooms--the put on make-up, change clothing and prepare for the inevitable mob wanting outside once they clear the baggage claim.

Jessica starts boarding airplanes in her free time. She goes to New York, to Tokyo, to Jakarta, to Beijing, to Paris, to Berlin, to Moscow, to Los Angeles, to Rio de Janeiro, to La Paz, to--

Each and every time, Tiffany drives her to the airport. Each and every time, Tiffany tells her to be good, to look after herself, to stay safe and kisses her on the corner of her mouth. Each and every time, Jessica nods and knows she’s lying.

She listens to old 90s songs about leaving home on the way and hides her hair beneath a beanie and her small frame underneath baggie hoodies and skinny jeans and looks into mirrors and see a Jessica Jung who could have been--could have been a college girl and she’d look like she did now--young and fresh and innocent and she would have never met Tiffany, then.

Every time she lands in a different city, Jessica waits for the night. She waits for the night because it’s freedom that she could never have.

She waits for the nights in foreign cities where she wears cut-off denim shorts and tight tops and black eyeliner. There’s a pack of cigarette in her back pocket along with single-packed condoms and Jessica stands in line for a nightclub like everyone else (something she never has to do back home in Seoul).

Jessica waits. She waits for someone to walk up to her, ask if she wants to dance, ask if they can buy her a drink. Let men slip their hands to her inner thighs on the dance floor, let girls leave lipstick smears on her neck and her shoulders.

At night, in every foreign city she’s been to so far, there’s always someone. Someone she brings home, after a pool party, after one too many shots at a bar, after one too many tracks at a nightclub. Someone who’s face she can’t really recall once she’s boarded the plane home, but someone who, in those small hours, feels just like home.

There are girls who bear an uncanny resemblance to Tiffany at night. There are men who really are boys and remind Jessica of trainees who unsuccessfully try to pick their seniors--trying too hard and too fast. Those girls are the ones Jessica treats the nicest. She pays for their taxi, she bills the hotel room to her shiny, platinum American Express. She might order them breakfast from room-service. The boys--the men--are the ones she leaves in the hotel room, with the bill and remnants of her lipstick on the sheets. The ones she leaves with sour memories of a Korean girl they once picked up a classy downtown bar or a sleazy nightclub on the outskirts.