We Aren't Homewreckers
WE AREN'T HOMEWRECKERS; G
written for withoutchange as requested here! wrote a couple of qri-centric fics but finally settled on a boram/qri au setting, hope you like! =)
They were strangers once, the kind that would walk on opposites sidewalks of the street, under large umbrellas without ever making any sort of contact, the type that would exit the taxi from one door right as the other entered from another, visit the same coffee store and never once at the same minute.
"You're sitting in my seat."
One sat in the other's seat and that's how they met, met on campus in Chemistry class, neither of which particularly enjoyed, but they took the class anyway, there to meet their parents' expectations and not their own. Jihyun waited for Boram to move over to her own assigned seat before properly taking out her organized assortment of pink school supplies; pink pencils, pink pens, pink notebook, pink folder, pink Prada purse, pink glasses. Boram took out one piece of paper and an old pencil, the eraser fallen off with mysterious chew bites. They were not of the same kind, and they had no need to become anything to each other than perfect strangers.
"I saw your ad yesterday."
They meet again when Boram looked for a roommate, desperate and last minute, putting the wanted ads anywhere the college would let her, anywhere the local stores would let her, even the campus bakery that Jihyun frequented every morning before class, for her usual green tea and red bean bun and energy boost. She saw the flyer there, and didn't see Boram, and she took it, she took it as a sign to move out from her parents and move on with her life, and she moved in with Boram, despite the messiness, and cluttering and lack of caring, because these were all things she could change.
"This requires teamwork, okay?"
She'd clean at first, clean with quietness, until the place was sickly speck free and then she'd study in the corner like her life depended on it. Boram would watch from the distance and eat her banana chips; it's only school, she'd say, it's only temporary. Then the place would get messy again, as if it was never possible for it to be spotless to begin with, and Jihyun would scrunch her hair up with a fist and stay silent still, frowning when she'd gotten the epiphany that Boram was just that other kind of person, set in their ways. And she moved out, real fast.
"You can call me Qri, now, not Jihyun."
When she was twenty-five, Jihyun got her first real career going, entry-level job as an art collector in Seoul. She'd learnt all the names of the famous up and comers in the industry, memorized the artwork and different textures that amassed the walls of the gallery she worked at, Ninety-Nine. Boram was this mousy woman, real short, kidlike bangs, always wearing overgrown sweaters that went past her knees and Jihyun sighed because she recognized her instantly and was hoping the similiar name on the artist list wasn't really her. Boram merely smiled and accepted Jihyun's request of calling her something new.
And Jihyun liked Boram's paintings. Really liked them.
They were beautiful, you see, splashes of color and meaningful context. Dolls in war, seven drops of blood dropping from a waterfall, a ribbon entangled in an entrapment of pink books. Boram was creative despite looking dull, and she sucked on a lollipop while staring out the front window as everyone looked enthralled with her designs on opening night.
"I'd like to commission one of of your paintings for myself. The pink one, with the ribbon of books."
She hung it right on her mantle piece, the center for her living room and invited Boram over to approve of it, putting out a bowl of licorice because she remembered that Boram was fond of that candy from before. Boram didn't say much and Jihyun speculated that she might have talked less than Jihyun did at times, which was rare within itself and the silence between the two of them was almost unbecoming. "You inspired that painting you know. I never knew liking pink that much could be a thing." A movie was on the cable that night, some old black and white Chinese noir, where the woman wore a dramatic hat and swung herself into the arms of a brash man with a dated mustache, and they fell asleep watching it, the lights still on when they woke up, curled into one side of the sofa, pools of hair linked together.
"Your living ways are deplorable, you can't just lick your fingers after you eat Cheetos on a plane, think about the germs."
They fought over an airplane seat, the window one because they both felt light headed in high elevations, their only ever verbal fight, and they said some catty things to each other, and while Jihyun picked at Boram for her unkempt habits, Boram dug harder and stroke Jihyun where it hurt, telling her the lack of talent is what made her work in her line of field, 'admiring the work of others while having none of your own,' and they didn't talk to each other for their whole trip overseas after that.
(They sat in the tour bus together, watching the buildings of New York fly by from the top of a red double decker, and they would take pictures too, nothing to brag about, but pictures nonetheless of the typical landmarks that their parents would ask them if they saw.)
Jihyun ordered a plate of fried clams, enjoying their last day of vacation with some fine wine and Boram didn't order anything, just sat and watched Jihyun eat with her legs crossed and her arms folded, and it made Jihyun feel uncomfortable. "I'm thinking about going on a diet, because I want to start maintaining myself better," Boram finally spoke and made a gesture to Jihyun like she was the one who inspired it with her maintained locks and manicured nails and lipstick the perfected shade of pastel magenta. Jihyun offered Boram some of the clams, practically begged she have some of them before they went back to the airport and back to home and Boram graciously ate until the bowl was empty and their stomachs were equally content.
"You can only borrow my vacuum cleaner if you promise to actually use it and return it."
Jihyun's apartment was across from Boram's before they got married to men in their thirties and she borrowed Boram's latest pieces to hang around her place before Boram would sell them off to the highest bidder, and the pieces always went fast. Boram didn't get annoyed ever at the borrowing, she enjoyed seeing her pieces there, hung proudly as the centerpiece to the complimentary pink wallpapers, as they would watch some show and Jihyun wrapped them in a blanket together and their hands would be clasped underneath, tight and squeezed like it meant something. They called each other best friends, not lovers, but not strangers, and sometimes Jihyun let Boram call her Jihyun instead of Qri when no one else was listening, to which they hardly did.
--
written for withoutchange as requested here! wrote a couple of qri-centric fics but finally settled on a boram/qri au setting, hope you like! =)
They were strangers once, the kind that would walk on opposites sidewalks of the street, under large umbrellas without ever making any sort of contact, the type that would exit the taxi from one door right as the other entered from another, visit the same coffee store and never once at the same minute.
"You're sitting in my seat."
One sat in the other's seat and that's how they met, met on campus in Chemistry class, neither of which particularly enjoyed, but they took the class anyway, there to meet their parents' expectations and not their own. Jihyun waited for Boram to move over to her own assigned seat before properly taking out her organized assortment of pink school supplies; pink pencils, pink pens, pink notebook, pink folder, pink Prada purse, pink glasses. Boram took out one piece of paper and an old pencil, the eraser fallen off with mysterious chew bites. They were not of the same kind, and they had no need to become anything to each other than perfect strangers.
"I saw your ad yesterday."
They meet again when Boram looked for a roommate, desperate and last minute, putting the wanted ads anywhere the college would let her, anywhere the local stores would let her, even the campus bakery that Jihyun frequented every morning before class, for her usual green tea and red bean bun and energy boost. She saw the flyer there, and didn't see Boram, and she took it, she took it as a sign to move out from her parents and move on with her life, and she moved in with Boram, despite the messiness, and cluttering and lack of caring, because these were all things she could change.
"This requires teamwork, okay?"
She'd clean at first, clean with quietness, until the place was sickly speck free and then she'd study in the corner like her life depended on it. Boram would watch from the distance and eat her banana chips; it's only school, she'd say, it's only temporary. Then the place would get messy again, as if it was never possible for it to be spotless to begin with, and Jihyun would scrunch her hair up with a fist and stay silent still, frowning when she'd gotten the epiphany that Boram was just that other kind of person, set in their ways. And she moved out, real fast.
"You can call me Qri, now, not Jihyun."
When she was twenty-five, Jihyun got her first real career going, entry-level job as an art collector in Seoul. She'd learnt all the names of the famous up and comers in the industry, memorized the artwork and different textures that amassed the walls of the gallery she worked at, Ninety-Nine. Boram was this mousy woman, real short, kidlike bangs, always wearing overgrown sweaters that went past her knees and Jihyun sighed because she recognized her instantly and was hoping the similiar name on the artist list wasn't really her. Boram merely smiled and accepted Jihyun's request of calling her something new.
And Jihyun liked Boram's paintings. Really liked them.
They were beautiful, you see, splashes of color and meaningful context. Dolls in war, seven drops of blood dropping from a waterfall, a ribbon entangled in an entrapment of pink books. Boram was creative despite looking dull, and she sucked on a lollipop while staring out the front window as everyone looked enthralled with her designs on opening night.
"I'd like to commission one of of your paintings for myself. The pink one, with the ribbon of books."
She hung it right on her mantle piece, the center for her living room and invited Boram over to approve of it, putting out a bowl of licorice because she remembered that Boram was fond of that candy from before. Boram didn't say much and Jihyun speculated that she might have talked less than Jihyun did at times, which was rare within itself and the silence between the two of them was almost unbecoming. "You inspired that painting you know. I never knew liking pink that much could be a thing." A movie was on the cable that night, some old black and white Chinese noir, where the woman wore a dramatic hat and swung herself into the arms of a brash man with a dated mustache, and they fell asleep watching it, the lights still on when they woke up, curled into one side of the sofa, pools of hair linked together.
"Your living ways are deplorable, you can't just lick your fingers after you eat Cheetos on a plane, think about the germs."
They fought over an airplane seat, the window one because they both felt light headed in high elevations, their only ever verbal fight, and they said some catty things to each other, and while Jihyun picked at Boram for her unkempt habits, Boram dug harder and stroke Jihyun where it hurt, telling her the lack of talent is what made her work in her line of field, 'admiring the work of others while having none of your own,' and they didn't talk to each other for their whole trip overseas after that.
(They sat in the tour bus together, watching the buildings of New York fly by from the top of a red double decker, and they would take pictures too, nothing to brag about, but pictures nonetheless of the typical landmarks that their parents would ask them if they saw.)
Jihyun ordered a plate of fried clams, enjoying their last day of vacation with some fine wine and Boram didn't order anything, just sat and watched Jihyun eat with her legs crossed and her arms folded, and it made Jihyun feel uncomfortable. "I'm thinking about going on a diet, because I want to start maintaining myself better," Boram finally spoke and made a gesture to Jihyun like she was the one who inspired it with her maintained locks and manicured nails and lipstick the perfected shade of pastel magenta. Jihyun offered Boram some of the clams, practically begged she have some of them before they went back to the airport and back to home and Boram graciously ate until the bowl was empty and their stomachs were equally content.
"You can only borrow my vacuum cleaner if you promise to actually use it and return it."
Jihyun's apartment was across from Boram's before they got married to men in their thirties and she borrowed Boram's latest pieces to hang around her place before Boram would sell them off to the highest bidder, and the pieces always went fast. Boram didn't get annoyed ever at the borrowing, she enjoyed seeing her pieces there, hung proudly as the centerpiece to the complimentary pink wallpapers, as they would watch some show and Jihyun wrapped them in a blanket together and their hands would be clasped underneath, tight and squeezed like it meant something. They called each other best friends, not lovers, but not strangers, and sometimes Jihyun let Boram call her Jihyun instead of Qri when no one else was listening, to which they hardly did.
--