WIPS
wip dump #1
boram/soyeon - quitting ain't easy
in which boram threatens to quit and soyeon doesn't believe her
“I’m going to quit,” her tiny legs teeter as much as her voice does, dropping low to the ground twenty floors below.
“Sure,” Soyeon answers back, diminutively with a great nod.
She’s supposed to be all knowing, and Boram despises that. She scratches a scab at the brink of her knee and pouts, lips becoming undefined.
“I am.”
Four multiplied by two equals eight and eight divided by one rehearsal room turns into a clusterfuck.
The eighth girl is nice; she’s got short hair and long legs, and one of those perpetually adorable eye smiles that the rest of T-ara lack.
Boram hates it.
A car, a luxury coupe with foreign detail and leather seats. She never splurges, but this is the exception to all the rules and she lays the money flat on the dealer’s desk - it’s easier that way, no messy trail, no chance to come back and regret.
Soyeon laughs. There are lifts on both sides off the ground and she has to pull herself up into the car. Boram pretends she doesn’t notice the difference in height.
onew/luna/sungmin - wedding woes
in which luna is envious of sungmin getting married and uses onew as a backup (au)
there's irony somewhere sitting alongside her in the back row at sungmin's wedding watching him saying marital bows to someone else, someone with long, black, flowing hair and a poignant little nose whose surgical indentations she could see even from the mile back she's at. luna sits sort of restlessly, knocking her knees and sometimes watching the leaves outside fall aimlessly to the ground whenever the ceremony got a little too sweet. she sits alone at the after party too, drawing fragmented pieces of hearts at the bar counter in between sips of her drink, a mojito, a gin and tonic, soju, whatever it was.
"hey, how are you?" sungmin pats her head affectionately like she's still that sixteen year old girl with uneven boobs and a lopsided grin and still in denial about losing baby fat who cried anytime her singing was critiqued. she sets her glass on the counter with a chink and looks up with a rehearsed smile disgusted at the way sungmin's teeth sparkle.
it could have been the teeth whitening session he had at the dentist last week. or it could have been the whole newly married and fully unavailable thing going around.
"congratulations, oppa."
"thanks for coming, luna. means the world to me that you did."
"sure," gratitude notwithstanding luna smiles again and somehow he's gone to the far side of the room, a loose hand around his lucky's bride's waist as he introduces her to kyuhyun, ryeowook, shindong: his family.
"hey," someone says again and there's a pair of fresh drinks placed in front of her. "great wedding."
something about onew looks more miserable than she does and it makes her swell with glee and she guzzles the drink down with expertise, ignoring the way his eyes widen through the bottom frame of her glass.
"easy there, sunyoung. we still got three hours last of the reception to contend with."
"you're not getting drunk fast enough oppa."
"is it just me or is everyone in this room too happy? what is the purpose of being happy for prolonged periods amount of time? where does it get you?"
luna orders another drink and practically shoves it down onew's throat before he shuts up. a song from the past comes on the speaker system, one about a beauty and a beast and suddenly luna feels weightless.
“the world is telling us it’s time to dance.”
minho/krystal - make me
in which krystal and siwon/minho's parents remarry and they grow up being neighbors but grow apart because of reasons (au)
It’s weird for her to be looking straight at him, but there Minho is, a head taller than her now, bent slightly towards her to hide the sun. He squints a little, and she squints back watching the rays hit the back of his ears making the tips of them feign red.
“I need you to take care of the wake,” his voice is shy and low, familiar, and he stops shifting his feet just long enough for her to take a good look at the sharp curve of his chin up to those harsh brown eyes that she used to be so scared of. Only now they appear weary and vulnerable, softer and bigger than she could remember.
She only nods, forgetting how to formulate a sentence with her mouth.
“You can make the calls right? It’s just-” His voice cracks a bit and she wonders if he’s going to be the one to cry first, but he remains stoic. “I told your mom I’d take care of the funeral matters and she’ll be busy with the will and Siwon’s just unreliable-”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry to ask this of you.” he fights another crack. Krystal tries to think of something clever to say, something comforting and memorable but nothing comes, not even the idea of a simple hug. She nods for awhile, hands fingering the withering porch railing behind her until a splinter catches into her skin. She lets out a dramatic yelp and squeezes her fingers close, afraid to see blood fall. She doesn’t get far because Minho takes her finger into his own hold, closely examining the skin for a splinter.
“It doesn’t look like it got in.”
She tingles at his first touch, pretends to ignore the strange jolts in her body when he brings his lips close to the tip of her finger and sucks it, tongue slowly scoping for any sign of an intruder. She wriggles uncomfortably until he stops, dropping her hand suddenly as if he never touched her in the first place.
“Thanks.”
“You should be careful.” He says after a while, and she instinctively tucks her hair back behind her ear when he doesn’t stop looking at her. It’s like an examination almost, the way he observes her from head to toe, trying to put the pieces of the last five years into place as if it’ll be there on the surface. She resists the urge to grab onto the porch again when his phone buzzes and Minho snaps out of his inquiry, only to look down and remember what’s urgent, what’s now.
“See you soon,” he looks over at her once again, saying something with his eyes that she can’t figure out, that she could never figure out, really.
“Europe’s done you well, Krystal.”
And with that, he leaves, under the fading white fence on the side of the house and into the grassy lawn beside.
She makes her way up to her old room, a room full of her favorite books and teddy bears, something her mother never bothered up cleaning and something she could never bear to clean before she left earlier. Her still packed suitcases stare up at her longingly begging her to unpack them, but she can’t bring herself to and she lays on the bed, legs straight and gaze up at the ceiling.
It’s full of those idiotic and tragic teen quotes she thought were memorable many years ago, all about loves lost and dreams to pursue, most of them stolen from the lyrics of whatever popular Green Day song was on the radio. There’s a couple of quotes mixed in that aren’t written in her signature cursive, the shorthand somewhat sloppy and barely legible - quotes and lyrics that match the books that sit on her bookshelf more than her teenaged anthems :Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both. She reads the quotes in the shorthand over and over, thumb distractedly tracing her finger where Minho had left his mark until she falls asleep.
When she finally comes to, it’s the next morning and her mother sits by the rocking chair near the window.
“Shit, mom!” She jumps up, clutching the uber-pink bedsheets to her heart. “You almost gave me a heart attack, what are you doing?”
“Someone had to tuck you into bed,” her mother smiles faintly, her voice a bit eerie as she sing-songs her way out into the hallway. “Breakfast’s ready.”
Krystal doesn’t miss the absent look in her mother’s eyes as she walks off, more distant than being miles apart.
She spends the first two hours after breakfast struggling to find a place in the house that doesn’t irritate her sinuses or creep her out or smell like jasmine to concentrate but after forcing herself into the crevice between the coffee table and curtains in the living room, she sighs frustrated at the only thing written on her notepad being: CALL?
She gets up and puts her sandals on, slamming the door behind. She finds herself at the edge of the property where the picket fences merge into one and the clear borderline of whose yard is whose becomes grey. She smiles a little, inching her way back to the other side like she used to and she can practically feel the freshness of the pool inviting her in if she goes back a couple of more steps -
but there’s a hard arm around hers that turns her around quick and with force and she finds herself face to face with Siwon, his eyebrows furrowed and his grip unyielding.
“Who do you think you are and what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“It’s me, Krystal-” she cries out, lifting her arm up in the air as much as he can before he loosens his grip. His eyebrows unfurl a bit as he registers her face into his memory.
“Holy shit, you’ve grown.” he gives her the once over unabashedly and more obvious than Minho.
“Didn’t expect to see you back here of all people. Sister.” He adds with a smirk, walking a crude circle around her. He leans close after he finishes, taking her notepad into his hands, laughing a little after he reads her progress. “So you here for a swim or what?”
“Are you drunk? Siwon, it’s like ten in the morning.”
“And? You guys used to get drink as soon as you woke up.” He returns her notepad smoothly but steals another look. “I remember.”
Krystal gulps a little, clutching her notebook and tries to remain unfazed. He looks more or less the same as she remembers, haggard at points but still built and foreboding and as incredibly good looking as one could be in a little off the map town like they were. He takes off his shirt and chucks it at her, waiting for her to take the bait.
“So you want to swim or what?”
She hesitates in answering, looking at the house for a replacement, the same tiles and shades and home staring back at her. She drops her notepad and strips, only letting a small smile escape, quickly diving into the pool before Siwon can get a good look. She backfloats easy, letting the sound of water cruise through her ears away from reality and away from Siwon’s advancing splashes.
She closes her eyes, one ear in the deep sea swimming next to a white and glorious humpback whale, the other ear vaguely hearing Siwon’s roars of laughter, the feel of his drunken stupor, the feel of someone watching overhead, the sound of someone asking Siwon what’s going on.
She opens her eyes after what feels like hours but what is only minutes in reality. Minho’s shadow overcasts her and a peculiar frown plays on his face.
“You want to join us?” she meekly invites, looking to Siwon for support. But somehow in the vast water he sits far aboard the diving pool enjoying the scene.
“Aww, the lovebirds.”
Krystal ignores Siwon’s cooing and pats her hand softly into the pool creating a ripple effect. Minho sort of shakes his head, frowning in Siwon’s general direction.
“You hate him.”
Krystal’s words get stuck in her throat again and never come out and she can only sheepishly look at Minho is disdain. Siwon chuckles and sends tidal waves throughout the pool as he points at Minho intentionally.
“You forget, little bro. She hates you too.”
Minho and Krystal share an exchange, slow and knowing. She can’t bring herself to deny Siwon’s statement, guilt and anger building up inside her with no words ever coming through and nothing from Minho either. He doesn’t move and his shadow upon her makes her more and more uncomfortable, enough so that she jumps out of the pool, shoving past him to grab her clothes and her measly notebook until she climbs past the fence away from the two boys and their lingering glances.
yunho/boa - grown up behavior
in which yunho and boa have a domestic relationship friendship bffery with benefits
They call themselves grown-ups. They’ve got a grown up relationship, one of those ones with no commitment, detached feelings, just feel good on the spot fun - freeing, flying, nothing with ambitions. They say it works.
Sometimes Yunho calls her in the middle of the night, wide-awake with tremors of his future crumbling before him, blank walls and blackness - nothing tangent. She always answers, and if they happen to be in the same country, she even comes over on a whim. BoA’s a good friend like that.
They happen to be in the same country more often now.
She takes his shirts often, large, overworn, dubious designer name brand sprawled in some tacky font somewhere - they suit her well, and Yunho watches as she does her morning stretches in front of his bed, licking his lips and laughing when she tries to do the splits but can’t. She’s too old now, and not as flexible, and it sort of physically hurts.
“Come back in bed, I’ll help make you more bendy,” he starts and she just rolls her eyes because he just wants round two. She goes in the kitchen, grabs the last bit of kimchi and takes it back to the bedroom eating it raw. Changmin’s there, unphased by the half-naked Boa, frowning but Boa doesn’t care if she’s eating his kimchi, Changmin owes her a lifetime of gratitude for helping Yunho not be so down lately and annoying.
jessica/jonghyun/krystal - my dearest stepbrother
in which jonghyun ends up being the stepbrother to the jungs (why was i so stuck on the stepsibling concept in the past? i have like pages full of them LOL so here is one alternate i couldn't finish) au
He’s fifteen when his father remarries, fifteen when he moves to the suburbs, fifteen when he meets his new stepsisters, fifteen when he learns how to live.
He doesn’t have much expectations when he moves into his new house, missing the wedding due to his rigorous boarding school schedule - his father is already married five months before he gets to meet his family. His new stepmother ambushes him into a heavy hug the moment he steps inside, box full of extremely rare comic books clamoring to the ground as her newly done and dangerously sharpened nails dig through the back of his neck, pulling him closer and closer for an embrace. She’s not old nor does she look like it, even with the gaudy styling and excessive make-up, underneath all that powder lies an attractive woman and he slightly feels himself blushing when she exaggerates how handsome and strong he is.
“They’re just comic books,” he says sheepishly and stepmother reaches over to pinch his cheeks real good, before stepping out for her next manicure.
“We’re going to have to get you a new hobby if you expect to fit in around here, dear.” And like that she’s gone, off into the driveway with her ridiculous red ferrari, something no doubt his own father had bought her as a Sunday present.
“Hey, it’s Sunday. Time for a present!” got real old real fast to his mother - an excess of fancy watches and raw cut diamonds didn’t really excuse much from cheating.
He however, has morals and tons of them, exacerbating from his mother most likely. She is a real gem among soot, still able to classify what the difference between right and wrong is and all that. It’s also a little her fault he grows up to be such a goody-goody, dinner at the table not the sofa, pray rituals daily, homework first then video games last, what is curfew, don’t break curfew, be a good boy and take out the trash. He’s standard, and he doesn’t mind because he’s so self-aware he doesn’t even realize that he’s like this at all, at least not until he meets his stepsisters.
At fifteen he stands right in the middle of them. Jessica is seventeen, primped for college right around the corner whilst Krystal is thirteen, on the cusp of puberty at every which way. He stands before them when he enters the kitchen and there’s a strangeness to it all; the way the two of them communicate without words. It’s like they test him from the get, eyes preening his body for any sort of signs of deformations or any extra limbs. He can feel their eyes bounce from him and then back at each other, a silent sign before the younger one slightly snickers in between sips of her low-fat low-calorie broth soup.