you don't own sadness
you don't own sadness
~ 3,860 w, pg-13, (krystal/suzy/myungsoo/kai)
the difference between fucking and making love, lust and love, krystal thinks about that.
■ in response to harues prompt
Krystal comes back to Seoul for Suzy but after watching her sit at cafes surrounded by countless undergraduates and feeling less than fun and more of bored, she has to concede that perhaps she'd been acting rashly in returning at all. She should have stay cooped up in her studio apartment in Paris. It’s March, in Paris it would be Spring and it would be floral and elegant like the dresses she would wear when roaming the street. Krystal could have been like spring - warm and beautiful but instead, she’s in Seoul - cold and lonely.
“Remind me, how many more of these do you have left to do?” Krystal inquires, raising a mug of hot chocolate up to her lips.
Suzy smiles at Krystal like a mother at her daughter as she puts her pen down and reaches for her hand. “Patience is the key, Krys, not everyone can be as smart as you and skip two grades, plus a scholarship to Paris.”
Pouting a little, she says, “If you only study harder then you wouldn’t be stuck with high school kids.”
“Krystal,” Suzy closes her laptop too, eyes traveling over the spines of all the books in the library then back to her, “You are a high school kid.”
Haughtily, she interjects, “Who’s in Uni.”
Suzy laughs softly. "Yet you act like you’re in junior high.”
Her coffee tastes bitter with a plateful of Suzy’s comments instead of the usual Macarons.
So Kim Myungsoo opens his door for her.
Krystal breezes past him into the loft, her heels making as much noise as possible, and drops down
on the single-man couch. She won't address that he has moved in with Suzy; to her surprise, he won't either.
“Got bored of Paris and wearing beret?”
Krystal's arms are crossed. “No,” she says, resting her feet on the table. “Your girlfriend’s been begging me to visit since last year so I answer her prayer.”
Myungsoo laughs. “Had dinner?”
“You cook now?” Krystal asks, frowning.
“Yeah,” he replies, “I learned and no dirty shoes on furniture,” Myungsoo says, almost apologetic, pointing at her Monolos in warning, “Suzy hates that.”
Krystal refrains from rolling her eyes, retreating her feet as requested. “Is that what you do now? Let Suzy boss you around?”
Myungsoo tilts his head, raises an eyebrow that says really? “What would you like to have?”
“I never said I was hungry.” She says dryly and turns on the TV, flipping through the channels until MTV comes up.
He sighs. “Krystal”
“Myungsoo”
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Myungsoo shake his head and smiles that special smile she’s still not immune to after all this time. It’s something about the curve of his mouth, the crinkle of his eyes, the way it shows only two and a half of his front teeth - how her heart speeds up and drops to her feet.
“Ramyun,” Krystal says through gritted teeth, defeat and annoyance already twisting her voice, “And lots of egg yolks.”
Krystal curls around her laptop and hears a distant click that’s not a part of the movie and knows its
Suzy coming home much later than she said she would.
She runs through French verb conjugations in her head and thinks solemnly that there will never be enough verb conjugations in the world to extricate herself from what’s happening outside her door. The movie she so badly wanted to watch becomes only noiseless moving images and the movie she’s been avoiding comes to life, engulfs her reality whole and dislocates her fiction.
Mocking are Suzy’s giggles and insulting are the kisses Myungsoo gives her. She doesn’t need to open the door to be in that room, somehow Krystal’s already right there - watching them, hearing them. They’re like ghosts, haunting her with their happiness and disturbing her peaceful sadness.
Krystal lights a cigarette and surrenders to the sound of sloppy kisses, bare flesh slapping, bed creaking and cries for god and pleasures. Then she thinks about if he’s rough or gentle with her, if he presses loving kisses all over her skin afterward.
The difference between fucking and making love, lust and love, Krystal thinks about that.
Suzy goes to school, Myungsoo walks her and Krystal disappears before they could throw morning greetings her way.
Krystal likes walking, a lot. She enjoys going to new places, discovering and see new things. But she doesn’t like to think, that’s where the trouble starts. She starts thinking and thoughts entangle in her head, make a complicated, self-inflicting web.
That morning, she thinks about Myungsoo and Suzy and Krystal over her coffee. There was Suzy who has always been in love, Krystal who has always been a little too late and Myungsoo who has always been problematic.
Paris was her escape key from the ménage à trois but some loves are epic and theirs are everlasting.
Myungsoo is sitting nearby, in pitch black, sort of dead-eyed and despondent at his laptop.
His hey is hesitant; he sounds like he wants to say more, but he waits for her to speak.
“Got lost on your way to college? This is a high school library,” she smirks, tapping her fingers on the table noisily, “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs and says, “I don’t know. Does it matter?”
She pulls out the chair opposite his and sits, clears her throat. “Writing poetry?”
“Poetry?” Myungsoo chuckles, shaking his head a little, “I don’t write those anymore, I quit a long time ago.” He says emphasizing on the long and Krystal stares at him, not finding the same amusement that he does. Myungsoo turns to her with a raised eyebrow and one of those humourless expressions he's been giving her since high school. “Relax. I can’t recite poetry to you all my life.”
And somehow, just like that, the only part of him she ever owned is violently ripped away from her.
Krystal frowns at him, eyes narrowing, but doesn’t let her disappointment show through. “Why? That was the only thing you loved.”
“It wasn’t the only thing, Krystal,” He says, smiling a little. Krystal thinks she understands when she doesn’t want to. “What’s that look? Miss being my muse?”
She doesn’t answer him and fires on. “You cook, you lost your sense of humor, any other boring activities I should know of before my long-delayed heart attack kicks in?”
Myungsoo scoffs, lying back against the chair. “Why should I tell you?”
“What not?”
He tilts his head, observing her. “You left.”
“And?” She harrumphs a little and studies her nails, feeling anxiety bubbling up inside her, “Are you allowed to smoke in here by any chance?”
“You moved to Paris, without telling us,” he says venomously and the word us hits her right where it hurts most, “Why did you even come back, Krystal? I don’t have time for round two of childish girl fucking up her friendships. First time was enough for me.”
If hurt flashes across her face, she hides it quickly. Her jaw is tense when she says, “Fucking up friendships is better than fucking your loving girlfriend’s best friend.”
He laughs softly and she thinks somewhere in there must be the sound of his heart breaking. "Yeah, I know."
She’s breaking from head to toe, aching inside and out, words clawing under her skin and trying to scramble itself into apologies but Krystal is Krystal and she’s never been good at admitting her wrongs or doing what’s right, she walks away and cries tears of sins.
On her way back to Suzy’s place, Krystal makes one stop at the telephone booth and pulls a piece of crumbled up paper out of her coat pocket. The inks on it are smudge and unreadable, what looks like a number nine at the end isn’t really a nine. It’s only when the nine turns into a zero that the call goes through.
“Hello?”
He sounds like the pop of a champagne bottle and coffee machines in the early mornings - like Paris.
“Jung?” his voice resembles a lost little boy, trying not to get his hopes up, afraid to be let down.
“It’s me.” She chokes out.
He sighs into the phone, she knows there’s a smile on his face. “It’s three in the morning, Jung.”
“You sound happy to hear from me,” she chuckles into the phone, “Did I wake you up?”
Jong In gasps. “Sleep! Who needs sleep when I can trade it for a phone call with Jung Krystal?”
Krystal fights a grin. “Oh so you’ll go without sleep for me now, Kim?”
He snorts. “Do you even need to ask?” Then he says Krystal and sincerity oozes from it, “You know I would do just about anything to hear your voice.”
“This must be the wrong number then.” Krystal teases.
“No, I’m not a wrong number,” Jong In says, slowly, dangerously, “I am never the wrong number, Krystal, remember that.”
He’s the right number, she knows that.
Krystal finds him at the loft, buried behind work at his desk. It's nearing three in the morning and she doesn’t bother to turn on the light, the dark has always been a better company to her than the light. So at first he doesn’t see her, he’s too busy typing and contemplating but Myungsoo stops and stands like this is first time he has notices her.
“I -“
He closes the gap between them in a few short seconds and places his index finger on her lips before any more words could leave her. “Don’t say anything, just listen to me.”
She nods dumbly.
“I’m sorry” he says earnestly, “Let’s forget it ever happened?”
Again, she nods dumbly.
(Krystal knows neither of her or Myungsoo will be able forget what happened between them.)
The balcony is dim and quiet. Part of her didn’t expect to find Suzy awake and part of her is worried that she is; Krystal’s anxiousness increases at the sight of the brunette. She feels like she can’t breathe properly when Suzy’s presence is in existence within the same room as her. Krystal’s been thinking too much for the past few night, wandering absently around the loft, and, naturally, Krystal knows she’s been giving Myungsoo and Suzy indecent looks.
Here they are, either side of the room, Myungsoo at neither of their sides. It’s down to them, Suzy and Krystal, two girls with their friendship put to the test. Krystal had expected it, really. Maybe not at the time, but later, like now.
She's kind of paralysed by everything this could mean, everything that could change.
Suzy stirs her tea idly, not looking at her at all. “You can’t sleep either?”
“Yeah,” Krystal says, eyes on her cup of coffee, “Sleep just hasn’t been working out for me lately.”
She almost smiles. “You’ve been avoiding me, Krys.” Suzy says and swivels around, the directness of her gaze makes it hard for Krystal to blink or say anything. “Is it because of Myungsoo?”
Krystal sips her latte slowly. “You can say that.”
Suzy turns suddenly, setting down her cup before whirling back around to face her. “I knew about what happened that night,” she says, sounding like her usual calm and serene self, “Afterall, you’ve always been the smart one out of the two us, I won’t be surprise if you figured it out that I knew.”
Her eyes search Suzy’s face for a sign of - of nothing, ultimately. “No, I’ve always thought you had no idea of it.”
“How can I not?” Suzy raises her voice, her eyes meets Krystal’s, her own wide. Her hands are still carefully folded, her ankles crossed, and her surprise registers only in her eyes as if she would never in her life expect a no. “It’s always been the inevitable. I - I think it was a good thing you two slept together. At least now that it’s done and over with Myungsoo can get over you.”
"So that's how it is?" she says and admittedly, Krystal knows there’s pain in her voice. “I get to play the villain in your story? Just the storm he needed to get through to reach Bae Suji, the sunlight?”
“That’s how it is.”
Myungsoo drags her out for croissants and cappuccinos the next morning. “Anything like Paris?”
The cars stacked up outside the café are blowing their horns frantically. Krystal raises her brow and shoots him one of her bright fake smiles. “Yes, Myungsoo, it’s this loud and busy in Paris. Oh did I forget to mention it’s spring there right now? Must be even colder then Seoul is right now!”
He rolls his eyes and flicks a blueberry from his pancake plate at her. “Ok, I get it. Paris is great, Seoul can’t measure up to it.”
She sighs a little and says, “Well, I supposed the croissant is good. Thank you, Myungsoo, for bringing me here.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, smiles widening by the minute.
They barely stepped in the door before her phone is ringing. He doesn't even start with a greeting.
“I know you must in pain from missing me too much,” Jong In announces with shameless confidence,
“So I’m going to put you out of your misery, Jung.”
Krystal resists the temptation to roll her eyes and play along. “Oh yeah? How are you going to do that?”
Myungsoo’s watching her from the couch, his questioning stares hovering over her like a hawk. Krystal hates when he does that, he always seem to know when something’s coming. She gives him an unconvincing smile and escapes to her room.
He exaggerates a sigh. “I would tell you but I’m too hurt to say after you walked right pass me.”
She shakes her head and glances at her wrist watch. “The sun isn’t even down yet in Paris and you’re drunk already.” Krystal says and imagines him, walking down the street, drunk and yelling Korean into his phone.
“Look out your window, Jung.”
And the line clicks off.
Krystal looks out the window and sees Paris.
They’ve never been together (the push and pull never went away), officially and that’s what Krystal tells Suzy after school over banana cakes and calculus.
Suzy looks confused. “But you two basically live together.”
“You and Myungsoo, that’s what I call living together,” she says and points a stern finger at the brunette, “Jong In and I live next do -“
She lets out an incredulous laugh. “It’s a joint room, Krystal, you don’t even need to knock.”
Krystal looks up from the equation she’s been solving. “We have a rule and it requires knocking, alright?”
“But you guys still split the rent,” she insists, “How is that not living together?”
Her jaw tightens a little and she looks away. Fine. “What’s your point?”
Suzy opens his mouth and then shuts it, like she's not really sure if she should mention it. But all she’s been doing is talking, so he says anyway, “He is your lover.”
She dismisses her with a snide whatever and gathers up her armful of coat and scarf, leaving the door wide open and letting the coldness in as she goes.
He lets her invade his hotel room. She makes a mess of his bed, throwing the cover off with her two gloved fingers and rolls around on sheet until it’s all crumbled up. The ancient tv don’t pick up much, only some bizarre horoscope show. Jong In drinks beer and lines up the can in one straight row. He runs out eventually and decides to whip back the curtains then open the windows.
Krystal comes up behind him. “What are you doing? It’s freezing.”
He swivels around and sits down on the window bench. “Good, sit next to me so I can make you warm.”
“Still got the smooth talking down, huh?” she says with a glare but doesn’t go against his wish.
Jong In laughs and pulls her into his lap, his two arms loosely wrap around her neck. “Aren’t you impressed with me, Jung? Coming all the way from Paris just to see you?”
“A little.” She admits, “But,” there’s always the but, “It’s a waste of your money, I was going to head back in a week time.”
“A week’s too long,” he mumbles against her shoulder, pressing a light kiss on her neck, “And I had to tell you something urgent.”
She pushes back her own smile, leaning in, “When are you ever going to tell me that urgent thing?”
There’s something different about Jong In not being in Paris. It doesn’t feel like the usual them. Jong In’s always been flirtatious, in the morning, between meals, at night, in bed but never has he been this vulnerable with her before. He’s always full of jokes and empty words but now there’s truth in his chocolate eyes. Something has changed but Krystal can’t quite put her finger on it.
He pauses, starts to say something and then changes mid-stream. “Tell me you miss me.”
“I miss you.”
“Now tell me all you’ve been thinking of doing ever since you got here is jumping on the next plane back to Paris, to me.”
Krystal glances at him, smiles back and rolls her eyes. “Why are you extra cheesy today?”
He moves his hand to her lower back, wrapping an arm around her waist before she could get off him. “I’m not kidding around anymore, Krystal.”
“Jong I -“
“Listen to me, Krystal, we’ve started something, we couldn’t finish but now I’m going to,” his eyes melt into hers and it doesn’t sound much like a joke this time. “Up until two weeks ago, I’ve never spent a single day without you and when you got on that plane, it broke me.”
With more certainty than he ever had before, Jong In brushes her hair off her shoulder and settles his hand against the base of her neck. “I’m kind of in love with you, Jung. Not kind of, that’s just bullshit I’ve been cooking up for myself. I’m honestly in love with you.”
Krystal swallows, hard.
“Marry me,” Jong In says, his voice ringing with a note of sincerity he knows she can't deny. “If you don’t, I shall throw myself out this window right now.”
And it’s when Krystal’s getting ready to wave it off as alcohol influenced action that he pulls out a square shaped box.
He means it. God, he means it.
Myungsoo finds her at the hotel bar, a small half-glum, half-drunk figure with an empty cocktail glass in her hand.
“How come I’m not invited to your bride-to-be drinking feast?” he asks, trying to be comical and takes a seat next to her.
Krystal’s too tired to glare at him, instead she lets out a long, tired sigh and lays her head down on the oak wood bar tops. “Suzy told you?”
He nods and orders a bottle of coke, to sober her up, Krystal assumes.
“Did she sent you?”
He shakes his head and calls the bartender back for ice.
“You don’t love him.”
Which, okay, whatever, she probably does in her own way.
Krystal doesn’t think she can bear to talk about this topic much longer. “Talk about anything but him or just leave.”
“Okay,” he agrees and unclenches her fingers from the glass, “What are you majoring in? You never told me.”
“Law”
After a moment Myungsoo starts to laugh, shaking his head. “You’re drunk, I don’t believe you.”
Krystal’s brows knit together and she frowns. “Why not?”
“You’re always telling Suzy and I that you don’t want to end up like your parents,” he says, insistent. “They’re lawyers; you hated even the mentions of that career.”
She pauses and presses her lips together briefly. “I like it and I’m told I’m pretty good at it,” Krystal says without much care, “What about you? Apart from economics, anything else?”
Myungoo smiles but he's watching her more intently now, Krystal finds it uncomfortable that he’s gazing at her that way, like he sees some redeeming quality when they both know she’s just bad news. “French,” he says, sounding much too enthusiastic than she would have liked, “I’m studying French.”
“Why?”
Sounding fairly amused, he says, “I like it and I’m told I’m pretty good at it.”
She looks at him for a moment and takes a sip of the coke she swore off moments ago. “Okay…what happens when you finish the course? It’s just useless, you can’t even speak English that well.”
“Move to Paris.” He says simply, finishing up his cappuccino.
Krystal nods again and looks at the floor, at Myungsoo, at her hands, tries to shake the trembling fear that’s slowly sneaking its way into her head. This is good for her, this could be so good - she just needs to shut the fuck up.
“Why?”
“There’s the baguette, the coffee, the museums, the cultures,” Myungsoo pause and turns her hand over in his. He begins to trace the small button of her glove before opening it, and reveals the underside of her wrist. They don’t say a word and Krystal is very still as she watches him, feeling faint. He tugs the white satin up a little and leans over, presses his lips chastely against her warm skin, feeling the flutter of her pulse for a second before he pulls away. “And there’s you.”
So this is them, however many years later: the battle is over and she dominates and conquers. It’s never been her before but finally, he has picked her up and made her his queen.
She, who only remained a beautiful mistake until now.
She, who falls from elegance with a dull thud.
She, the broken one that’s been waiting to be fixed.
Krystal does not get married.
But Suzy and Myungsoo do.
They’re somewhere in the back row when Jong In whispers, “That could have been us up there, you know. Just with a more expensive dress and a lot less guest.”
"I said no. Not never. Learn the difference between the two." She brushes strands of hair out of his face and demands, softer than intended, "Just dance with me for now, Kim.”
The French once said - “Il y a deux manières d'être malheureux: ou désirer ce que l'on n'a pas, ou posséder ce que l'on désirait” This translates to, "There are two ways to become unhappy: to desire what you don't have or to have finally gotten what you have desired."
No one will ever understand this more than her, Krystal thinks and smiles back at Suzy and Myungsoo.
~ 3,860 w, pg-13, (krystal/suzy/myungsoo/kai)
the difference between fucking and making love, lust and love, krystal thinks about that.
■ in response to harues prompt
Krystal comes back to Seoul for Suzy but after watching her sit at cafes surrounded by countless undergraduates and feeling less than fun and more of bored, she has to concede that perhaps she'd been acting rashly in returning at all. She should have stay cooped up in her studio apartment in Paris. It’s March, in Paris it would be Spring and it would be floral and elegant like the dresses she would wear when roaming the street. Krystal could have been like spring - warm and beautiful but instead, she’s in Seoul - cold and lonely.
“Remind me, how many more of these do you have left to do?” Krystal inquires, raising a mug of hot chocolate up to her lips.
Suzy smiles at Krystal like a mother at her daughter as she puts her pen down and reaches for her hand. “Patience is the key, Krys, not everyone can be as smart as you and skip two grades, plus a scholarship to Paris.”
Pouting a little, she says, “If you only study harder then you wouldn’t be stuck with high school kids.”
“Krystal,” Suzy closes her laptop too, eyes traveling over the spines of all the books in the library then back to her, “You are a high school kid.”
Haughtily, she interjects, “Who’s in Uni.”
Suzy laughs softly. "Yet you act like you’re in junior high.”
Her coffee tastes bitter with a plateful of Suzy’s comments instead of the usual Macarons.
So Kim Myungsoo opens his door for her.
Krystal breezes past him into the loft, her heels making as much noise as possible, and drops down
on the single-man couch. She won't address that he has moved in with Suzy; to her surprise, he won't either.
“Got bored of Paris and wearing beret?”
Krystal's arms are crossed. “No,” she says, resting her feet on the table. “Your girlfriend’s been begging me to visit since last year so I answer her prayer.”
Myungsoo laughs. “Had dinner?”
“You cook now?” Krystal asks, frowning.
“Yeah,” he replies, “I learned and no dirty shoes on furniture,” Myungsoo says, almost apologetic, pointing at her Monolos in warning, “Suzy hates that.”
Krystal refrains from rolling her eyes, retreating her feet as requested. “Is that what you do now? Let Suzy boss you around?”
Myungsoo tilts his head, raises an eyebrow that says really? “What would you like to have?”
“I never said I was hungry.” She says dryly and turns on the TV, flipping through the channels until MTV comes up.
He sighs. “Krystal”
“Myungsoo”
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Myungsoo shake his head and smiles that special smile she’s still not immune to after all this time. It’s something about the curve of his mouth, the crinkle of his eyes, the way it shows only two and a half of his front teeth - how her heart speeds up and drops to her feet.
“Ramyun,” Krystal says through gritted teeth, defeat and annoyance already twisting her voice, “And lots of egg yolks.”
Krystal curls around her laptop and hears a distant click that’s not a part of the movie and knows its
Suzy coming home much later than she said she would.
She runs through French verb conjugations in her head and thinks solemnly that there will never be enough verb conjugations in the world to extricate herself from what’s happening outside her door. The movie she so badly wanted to watch becomes only noiseless moving images and the movie she’s been avoiding comes to life, engulfs her reality whole and dislocates her fiction.
Mocking are Suzy’s giggles and insulting are the kisses Myungsoo gives her. She doesn’t need to open the door to be in that room, somehow Krystal’s already right there - watching them, hearing them. They’re like ghosts, haunting her with their happiness and disturbing her peaceful sadness.
Krystal lights a cigarette and surrenders to the sound of sloppy kisses, bare flesh slapping, bed creaking and cries for god and pleasures. Then she thinks about if he’s rough or gentle with her, if he presses loving kisses all over her skin afterward.
The difference between fucking and making love, lust and love, Krystal thinks about that.
Suzy goes to school, Myungsoo walks her and Krystal disappears before they could throw morning greetings her way.
Krystal likes walking, a lot. She enjoys going to new places, discovering and see new things. But she doesn’t like to think, that’s where the trouble starts. She starts thinking and thoughts entangle in her head, make a complicated, self-inflicting web.
That morning, she thinks about Myungsoo and Suzy and Krystal over her coffee. There was Suzy who has always been in love, Krystal who has always been a little too late and Myungsoo who has always been problematic.
Paris was her escape key from the ménage à trois but some loves are epic and theirs are everlasting.
Myungsoo is sitting nearby, in pitch black, sort of dead-eyed and despondent at his laptop.
His hey is hesitant; he sounds like he wants to say more, but he waits for her to speak.
“Got lost on your way to college? This is a high school library,” she smirks, tapping her fingers on the table noisily, “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs and says, “I don’t know. Does it matter?”
She pulls out the chair opposite his and sits, clears her throat. “Writing poetry?”
“Poetry?” Myungsoo chuckles, shaking his head a little, “I don’t write those anymore, I quit a long time ago.” He says emphasizing on the long and Krystal stares at him, not finding the same amusement that he does. Myungsoo turns to her with a raised eyebrow and one of those humourless expressions he's been giving her since high school. “Relax. I can’t recite poetry to you all my life.”
And somehow, just like that, the only part of him she ever owned is violently ripped away from her.
Krystal frowns at him, eyes narrowing, but doesn’t let her disappointment show through. “Why? That was the only thing you loved.”
“It wasn’t the only thing, Krystal,” He says, smiling a little. Krystal thinks she understands when she doesn’t want to. “What’s that look? Miss being my muse?”
She doesn’t answer him and fires on. “You cook, you lost your sense of humor, any other boring activities I should know of before my long-delayed heart attack kicks in?”
Myungsoo scoffs, lying back against the chair. “Why should I tell you?”
“What not?”
He tilts his head, observing her. “You left.”
“And?” She harrumphs a little and studies her nails, feeling anxiety bubbling up inside her, “Are you allowed to smoke in here by any chance?”
“You moved to Paris, without telling us,” he says venomously and the word us hits her right where it hurts most, “Why did you even come back, Krystal? I don’t have time for round two of childish girl fucking up her friendships. First time was enough for me.”
If hurt flashes across her face, she hides it quickly. Her jaw is tense when she says, “Fucking up friendships is better than fucking your loving girlfriend’s best friend.”
He laughs softly and she thinks somewhere in there must be the sound of his heart breaking. "Yeah, I know."
She’s breaking from head to toe, aching inside and out, words clawing under her skin and trying to scramble itself into apologies but Krystal is Krystal and she’s never been good at admitting her wrongs or doing what’s right, she walks away and cries tears of sins.
On her way back to Suzy’s place, Krystal makes one stop at the telephone booth and pulls a piece of crumbled up paper out of her coat pocket. The inks on it are smudge and unreadable, what looks like a number nine at the end isn’t really a nine. It’s only when the nine turns into a zero that the call goes through.
“Hello?”
He sounds like the pop of a champagne bottle and coffee machines in the early mornings - like Paris.
“Jung?” his voice resembles a lost little boy, trying not to get his hopes up, afraid to be let down.
“It’s me.” She chokes out.
He sighs into the phone, she knows there’s a smile on his face. “It’s three in the morning, Jung.”
“You sound happy to hear from me,” she chuckles into the phone, “Did I wake you up?”
Jong In gasps. “Sleep! Who needs sleep when I can trade it for a phone call with Jung Krystal?”
Krystal fights a grin. “Oh so you’ll go without sleep for me now, Kim?”
He snorts. “Do you even need to ask?” Then he says Krystal and sincerity oozes from it, “You know I would do just about anything to hear your voice.”
“This must be the wrong number then.” Krystal teases.
“No, I’m not a wrong number,” Jong In says, slowly, dangerously, “I am never the wrong number, Krystal, remember that.”
He’s the right number, she knows that.
Krystal finds him at the loft, buried behind work at his desk. It's nearing three in the morning and she doesn’t bother to turn on the light, the dark has always been a better company to her than the light. So at first he doesn’t see her, he’s too busy typing and contemplating but Myungsoo stops and stands like this is first time he has notices her.
“I -“
He closes the gap between them in a few short seconds and places his index finger on her lips before any more words could leave her. “Don’t say anything, just listen to me.”
She nods dumbly.
“I’m sorry” he says earnestly, “Let’s forget it ever happened?”
Again, she nods dumbly.
(Krystal knows neither of her or Myungsoo will be able forget what happened between them.)
The balcony is dim and quiet. Part of her didn’t expect to find Suzy awake and part of her is worried that she is; Krystal’s anxiousness increases at the sight of the brunette. She feels like she can’t breathe properly when Suzy’s presence is in existence within the same room as her. Krystal’s been thinking too much for the past few night, wandering absently around the loft, and, naturally, Krystal knows she’s been giving Myungsoo and Suzy indecent looks.
Here they are, either side of the room, Myungsoo at neither of their sides. It’s down to them, Suzy and Krystal, two girls with their friendship put to the test. Krystal had expected it, really. Maybe not at the time, but later, like now.
She's kind of paralysed by everything this could mean, everything that could change.
Suzy stirs her tea idly, not looking at her at all. “You can’t sleep either?”
“Yeah,” Krystal says, eyes on her cup of coffee, “Sleep just hasn’t been working out for me lately.”
She almost smiles. “You’ve been avoiding me, Krys.” Suzy says and swivels around, the directness of her gaze makes it hard for Krystal to blink or say anything. “Is it because of Myungsoo?”
Krystal sips her latte slowly. “You can say that.”
Suzy turns suddenly, setting down her cup before whirling back around to face her. “I knew about what happened that night,” she says, sounding like her usual calm and serene self, “Afterall, you’ve always been the smart one out of the two us, I won’t be surprise if you figured it out that I knew.”
Her eyes search Suzy’s face for a sign of - of nothing, ultimately. “No, I’ve always thought you had no idea of it.”
“How can I not?” Suzy raises her voice, her eyes meets Krystal’s, her own wide. Her hands are still carefully folded, her ankles crossed, and her surprise registers only in her eyes as if she would never in her life expect a no. “It’s always been the inevitable. I - I think it was a good thing you two slept together. At least now that it’s done and over with Myungsoo can get over you.”
"So that's how it is?" she says and admittedly, Krystal knows there’s pain in her voice. “I get to play the villain in your story? Just the storm he needed to get through to reach Bae Suji, the sunlight?”
“That’s how it is.”
Myungsoo drags her out for croissants and cappuccinos the next morning. “Anything like Paris?”
The cars stacked up outside the café are blowing their horns frantically. Krystal raises her brow and shoots him one of her bright fake smiles. “Yes, Myungsoo, it’s this loud and busy in Paris. Oh did I forget to mention it’s spring there right now? Must be even colder then Seoul is right now!”
He rolls his eyes and flicks a blueberry from his pancake plate at her. “Ok, I get it. Paris is great, Seoul can’t measure up to it.”
She sighs a little and says, “Well, I supposed the croissant is good. Thank you, Myungsoo, for bringing me here.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, smiles widening by the minute.
They barely stepped in the door before her phone is ringing. He doesn't even start with a greeting.
“I know you must in pain from missing me too much,” Jong In announces with shameless confidence,
“So I’m going to put you out of your misery, Jung.”
Krystal resists the temptation to roll her eyes and play along. “Oh yeah? How are you going to do that?”
Myungsoo’s watching her from the couch, his questioning stares hovering over her like a hawk. Krystal hates when he does that, he always seem to know when something’s coming. She gives him an unconvincing smile and escapes to her room.
He exaggerates a sigh. “I would tell you but I’m too hurt to say after you walked right pass me.”
She shakes her head and glances at her wrist watch. “The sun isn’t even down yet in Paris and you’re drunk already.” Krystal says and imagines him, walking down the street, drunk and yelling Korean into his phone.
“Look out your window, Jung.”
And the line clicks off.
Krystal looks out the window and sees Paris.
They’ve never been together (the push and pull never went away), officially and that’s what Krystal tells Suzy after school over banana cakes and calculus.
Suzy looks confused. “But you two basically live together.”
“You and Myungsoo, that’s what I call living together,” she says and points a stern finger at the brunette, “Jong In and I live next do -“
She lets out an incredulous laugh. “It’s a joint room, Krystal, you don’t even need to knock.”
Krystal looks up from the equation she’s been solving. “We have a rule and it requires knocking, alright?”
“But you guys still split the rent,” she insists, “How is that not living together?”
Her jaw tightens a little and she looks away. Fine. “What’s your point?”
Suzy opens his mouth and then shuts it, like she's not really sure if she should mention it. But all she’s been doing is talking, so he says anyway, “He is your lover.”
She dismisses her with a snide whatever and gathers up her armful of coat and scarf, leaving the door wide open and letting the coldness in as she goes.
He lets her invade his hotel room. She makes a mess of his bed, throwing the cover off with her two gloved fingers and rolls around on sheet until it’s all crumbled up. The ancient tv don’t pick up much, only some bizarre horoscope show. Jong In drinks beer and lines up the can in one straight row. He runs out eventually and decides to whip back the curtains then open the windows.
Krystal comes up behind him. “What are you doing? It’s freezing.”
He swivels around and sits down on the window bench. “Good, sit next to me so I can make you warm.”
“Still got the smooth talking down, huh?” she says with a glare but doesn’t go against his wish.
Jong In laughs and pulls her into his lap, his two arms loosely wrap around her neck. “Aren’t you impressed with me, Jung? Coming all the way from Paris just to see you?”
“A little.” She admits, “But,” there’s always the but, “It’s a waste of your money, I was going to head back in a week time.”
“A week’s too long,” he mumbles against her shoulder, pressing a light kiss on her neck, “And I had to tell you something urgent.”
She pushes back her own smile, leaning in, “When are you ever going to tell me that urgent thing?”
There’s something different about Jong In not being in Paris. It doesn’t feel like the usual them. Jong In’s always been flirtatious, in the morning, between meals, at night, in bed but never has he been this vulnerable with her before. He’s always full of jokes and empty words but now there’s truth in his chocolate eyes. Something has changed but Krystal can’t quite put her finger on it.
He pauses, starts to say something and then changes mid-stream. “Tell me you miss me.”
“I miss you.”
“Now tell me all you’ve been thinking of doing ever since you got here is jumping on the next plane back to Paris, to me.”
Krystal glances at him, smiles back and rolls her eyes. “Why are you extra cheesy today?”
He moves his hand to her lower back, wrapping an arm around her waist before she could get off him. “I’m not kidding around anymore, Krystal.”
“Jong I -“
“Listen to me, Krystal, we’ve started something, we couldn’t finish but now I’m going to,” his eyes melt into hers and it doesn’t sound much like a joke this time. “Up until two weeks ago, I’ve never spent a single day without you and when you got on that plane, it broke me.”
With more certainty than he ever had before, Jong In brushes her hair off her shoulder and settles his hand against the base of her neck. “I’m kind of in love with you, Jung. Not kind of, that’s just bullshit I’ve been cooking up for myself. I’m honestly in love with you.”
Krystal swallows, hard.
“Marry me,” Jong In says, his voice ringing with a note of sincerity he knows she can't deny. “If you don’t, I shall throw myself out this window right now.”
And it’s when Krystal’s getting ready to wave it off as alcohol influenced action that he pulls out a square shaped box.
He means it. God, he means it.
Myungsoo finds her at the hotel bar, a small half-glum, half-drunk figure with an empty cocktail glass in her hand.
“How come I’m not invited to your bride-to-be drinking feast?” he asks, trying to be comical and takes a seat next to her.
Krystal’s too tired to glare at him, instead she lets out a long, tired sigh and lays her head down on the oak wood bar tops. “Suzy told you?”
He nods and orders a bottle of coke, to sober her up, Krystal assumes.
“Did she sent you?”
He shakes his head and calls the bartender back for ice.
“You don’t love him.”
Which, okay, whatever, she probably does in her own way.
Krystal doesn’t think she can bear to talk about this topic much longer. “Talk about anything but him or just leave.”
“Okay,” he agrees and unclenches her fingers from the glass, “What are you majoring in? You never told me.”
“Law”
After a moment Myungsoo starts to laugh, shaking his head. “You’re drunk, I don’t believe you.”
Krystal’s brows knit together and she frowns. “Why not?”
“You’re always telling Suzy and I that you don’t want to end up like your parents,” he says, insistent. “They’re lawyers; you hated even the mentions of that career.”
She pauses and presses her lips together briefly. “I like it and I’m told I’m pretty good at it,” Krystal says without much care, “What about you? Apart from economics, anything else?”
Myungoo smiles but he's watching her more intently now, Krystal finds it uncomfortable that he’s gazing at her that way, like he sees some redeeming quality when they both know she’s just bad news. “French,” he says, sounding much too enthusiastic than she would have liked, “I’m studying French.”
“Why?”
Sounding fairly amused, he says, “I like it and I’m told I’m pretty good at it.”
She looks at him for a moment and takes a sip of the coke she swore off moments ago. “Okay…what happens when you finish the course? It’s just useless, you can’t even speak English that well.”
“Move to Paris.” He says simply, finishing up his cappuccino.
Krystal nods again and looks at the floor, at Myungsoo, at her hands, tries to shake the trembling fear that’s slowly sneaking its way into her head. This is good for her, this could be so good - she just needs to shut the fuck up.
“Why?”
“There’s the baguette, the coffee, the museums, the cultures,” Myungsoo pause and turns her hand over in his. He begins to trace the small button of her glove before opening it, and reveals the underside of her wrist. They don’t say a word and Krystal is very still as she watches him, feeling faint. He tugs the white satin up a little and leans over, presses his lips chastely against her warm skin, feeling the flutter of her pulse for a second before he pulls away. “And there’s you.”
So this is them, however many years later: the battle is over and she dominates and conquers. It’s never been her before but finally, he has picked her up and made her his queen.
She, who only remained a beautiful mistake until now.
She, who falls from elegance with a dull thud.
She, the broken one that’s been waiting to be fixed.
Krystal does not get married.
But Suzy and Myungsoo do.
They’re somewhere in the back row when Jong In whispers, “That could have been us up there, you know. Just with a more expensive dress and a lot less guest.”
"I said no. Not never. Learn the difference between the two." She brushes strands of hair out of his face and demands, softer than intended, "Just dance with me for now, Kim.”
The French once said - “Il y a deux manières d'être malheureux: ou désirer ce que l'on n'a pas, ou posséder ce que l'on désirait” This translates to, "There are two ways to become unhappy: to desire what you don't have or to have finally gotten what you have desired."
No one will ever understand this more than her, Krystal thinks and smiles back at Suzy and Myungsoo.