#aljiwon

[algyuri-blog]

mismatched. 

( @aljiwon )

living with a roommate wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t easy either. there was this sense of awkwardness in living with another person you knew next to nothing about, and gyuri could feel it. but it didn’t stop her from trying to be friendly with jiwon, especially given how much work jiwon was doing on a daily basis because of school and work. and gyuri, being selective as she was with the work she took on in addition to her working on her own manuscripts, usually had enough time on her hands to just take care of pretty much everything else in the apartment so arguments wouldn’t come up, but also so jiwon could at least rest when she got home.

and she was doing pretty well until she fucked up the laundry. taking both of theirs, she had gotten distracted by a phone call while loading and separating, not even noticing until she was sitting in the living room trying to fold what she thought where her clothes—coming to a quick realization to what she had done. and she didn’t even have time to try and figure out how to separate everything when she heard the sound of the door—now caught red handed by her roommate.

a moment of silence passed, gyuri a deer caught in headlights, til she finally sighed and held up a pair of underwear awkwardly. “is this yours by any chance?”

[alhyejin-blog]

@aljiwon

Saturday night starts off generously, held by the bottle green neck of Chamiseul and filled right up to the thin crystal rim, round one followed by the second. Looming over the roof is the sight of a full, dewy white winter moon, but after a couple of shots, it only fails to hold up against the bright burn of this room. There’s comfort in a joint as busy as this one, warm with the smell of fried batter and salt and everything a flavor way too red to be healthy—enough so that Hyejin feels the tension roll off of her shoulders like it’s nothing. 

She takes all of this in like it’s nothing. 

“Jiwon-aaah,” Even the gravel in her throat has loosened, smoothed out by the clear taste of soju. When everything else is deceptively composed—upright upper half, clothes pressed wrinkle free and neat—it’s the single thing to betray her. "Should we get one more?“ 

[alumnusrp-archived-blog]

BAEK JIWON CLASS OF 2009

DATE OF BIRTH  28/05/1991 PLACE OF BIRTH  Chuncheon, South Korea OCCUPATION  Ph.D candidate, Bartender

HOMETOWN  Hongcheon, South Korea FAMILY  

Baek Chanwoo (Father)

Park Jieun (Mother)

Baek Junyoung (Younger brother)

MARITAL STATUS  Single

BEST SUBJECT(S)  Home Economics WORST SUBJECT(S)  STEM, Music SPORTS  Volleyball CLUBS  Science Club, Baking Club

it’s funny how one step makes all the difference. one step and her heartbeat jumps from adagio to presto. one step and her stomach churns (and churns and churns). one step and her palms, dry and chapped thanks to yeongwol’s unforgiving winters, become clammy, suddenly slippery, with sweat. (she tries, unsuccessfully, to wipe her hands dry down the front of her skirt, but all that does is leave a vague, sad-looking handprint.)

her heartbeat now jumps to prestissimo. her knees almost fail her — and she clutches the door frame, holds onto it like it’s a lifeline.

everything is a warning — caution tape keeping her firmly outside, just barely within safety’s comforting grasp — but her hand, even stickier with sweat now, slips and she rips through the tape.

each rip is punctuated with a (no, no, no, no!)

it’s a thousand papercuts all at once, but what hurts the most is —

“i’m home.” the words are thick on her tongue, lead instead of silver, and those two words, oh they bleed her d r y.

it brings attention to her, not all of it (never all of it), but it’s just enough (and never ever the good kind). she’s given one glance, that’s all it takes, less than one full second for the realization to sink in — that what you wanted isn’t there at all.  

[“where’s junyeong? why isn’t he with you?” her mother was never the dawdling kind, she goes straight for the jugular.

“oh... he has student council business.” the rest of the conversation runs like a well-worn script, though occasionally, on days like today, there’s room for improvisation.

“and what about you? i thought you had the tennis thing.” (ah, there we go, act two, scene four.)

“it’s volleyball.”

“yes, volleyball, that’s what i said.” her mother doesn’t look up from the newspaper, but she doesn’t need to, the message is well-received (i dare you to say i’m wrong),  “well?”

“only the regulars are playing today...” she hesitates a beat too long.

“it’s a practice match with another school so —”

“did i ask for your excuses?” (strike one.)

“you can’t even make it on the team,” (strike two.) “what you’re doing is wasting time when you could be improving your grades.”

(strike three.)

“… yes.”]

a wave of the hand (and you’re out).

today, scene four ends a little early, but all the same, it ends just how it starts — with one step.

CONSCRIPTION  N/A EDUCATION

Sungkyunkwan University, Ph.D Chemistry 

KAIST, BS Chemistry

EMPLOYMENT HISTORY

78.5 °C (Seoul), Bartender, 2014–

Lotteria (Daejeon), General Employee, 2010–2013

Lee Chaerin (Yeongwol), Babysitter, 2007–2009

she wouldn’t call bartending a mundane job.

for one thing, the job is an art as much as it is a science. only instead of paintbrushes, easels, test tubes, and beakers, there’s cocktail shakers, strainers, and mixing glasses. she’s no picasso or mendeleev by any means, but the precision required there is the same.

and then there’s always something — a lot of vomit, mostly, but you have your occasional bar brawl, slurred yelling, failed pick-ups, successful pick-ups, shameless coupling from those pick-ups, crying, and always, without fail, there was A Guy that just couldn’t take no for an answer.

so after three years of this and that, very little shocked her on the job anymore. she’d just never thought to ask ‘who?’ instead of ‘what?’ after all, what could be worse than That Guy who would resort to drugging other people’s drinks? (very little.)

thing is, at least she knew how to properly deal with those unseemly types. protocol told her what to do.

protocol never prepared her for this.

the bar stool in front of her squeaks under the sudden weight of someone’s body sat on top of it and she speaks before she looks up, busy with wiping a glass clean. “what can i get for —” it’s not until that glass is safely set aside that the stranger’s flushed face registers. oh. oh no. words that came naturally to her before get stuck in her throat and she’s left grasping at straws — at words that no longer exist.

it’s a face she’s all too familiar with, of course; a face that’s haunted her dreams for y e a r s. it’s not a face she could easily forget, even after time’s done its work — turning rounded corners into sharp angles. (she takes a step back; too close and she’ll get cut.)

“do i — do i know you?” thankfully the drinks have done their job, and junyeong, somehow managing to look put together, even through his drunken stupor, squints not at her face, but at a spot on the wall just above her shoulder.

eight years have passed now between them, since they last saw each other, yet he succeeds to make her feel smaller even then. it only takes four words on his part before she’s a teenager all over again.

she has four of her own to give right back, but it possesses none of the confidence his words carry.  “n-no. i’m new here.”

“ah…” he nods, satisfied enough with her answer to pull his phone out and start flipping through it, “you just... seem… seem so familiar?”

it’s only there for a split second, but she doesn’t miss it — his lock screen. a family photo, recent by the looks of it, considering her absence.

... that’s right. baek jiwon didn’t exist anymore. only moon jiwon did.

and so, another four words more words between them, but with more conviction this time: “you must be mistaken.”