million miles away
Feb. 16th, 2024 09:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kkotgalpi posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
sailorsongfandom: wjsn
pairing: yeoreum/dayoung/yeonjung
word count: 667w
inspired by: the sailor song
Dayoung lets her back hit the concrete wall, body giving up on its task to keep her up and slowly sliding downwards until she hits the floor, legs aching too much for her to worry about her clothes—they’re already drenched in sweat from all the running, anyway.
She rests her arms over her knees and rests her head against them, taking deep breaths and counting one, two, three until she feels like she has any sort of control over herself again. Her throat and lungs ache for some water, but alas, she’s miles away from the stadium she was supposed to be training with the rest of the team for their next match. The street is deserted and she barely knows any Spanish, too, so it’s not like she could communicate with someone and ask for help.
She doesn’t regret running away, though. At least that’s what she’s trying to tell herself as the scene of Yeoreum and Yeonjung making out in the locker room keeps replaying in her brain, sadistically, mockingly. It’d be worse if I stayed there, Dayoung thinks, teeth sinking into her lips in order not to cry. I’d talk too much, I’d ruin everything. I always do.
Dayoung glances down at her wrist and the tattoo she got with Yeoreum and Yeonjung last year glances back at her. A tiny three leaf clover that they got on the same day they earned their long awaited call-up for the world cup. They got drunk and decided to enter the first tattoo parlor they managed to find in Hongdae, hope spilling out of their mouths as they discussed which symbol to have ingrained on their skins forever.
Dayoung wants to kiss it. Dayoung wants to rip it out. They should’ve told her something, anything. She shouldn’t care, not that much. Why does she care? Why does it matter?
“Are you out of your mind?!”
Dayoung turns around at the words, stomach churning at the vision in front of her—Yeoreum and Yeonjung, limping their way towards her. From the rage that seeps into each syllable and the hurt in her eyes, Dayoung knows Yeonjung is about to start a storm, closes her eyes and braces herself for it.
“We’re losing hours of practice because of you. Precious hours. We’re in the national team now, Dayoung-ah, you can’t just get up and leave—”
“Are you okay?” Yeoreum cuts Yeonjung’s rant, hand resting under Dayoung’s chin to analyze her face. Dayoung’s breath gets stuck in her throat. The sunshine after the storm.
Dayoung nods, eyes fluttering open again. Yeoreum hands her a water bottle and Dayoung drinks it all in one gulp, stealing a look at Yeonjung as she wipes the corners of her mouth. Yeonjung has one hand against the concrete, the other on her waist, and she looks remorseful. Scared, too. She’s always been the stubborn one, sharp around the edges, never knowing when to take a step back and stop baring her teeth.
Yeoreum is the opposite. Kind, gentle, reserved. Always so busy taking care of everyone that she forgets to take care of herself, to worry about her own needs. She’s seen her and Yeonjung fight over their differences a thousand times throughout their years, ever since they met in middle school.
They always find their way back to each other, in the end. No wonder—
“We’re sorry,” Yeoreum says, interrupting Dayoung’s train of thought. “We’ll talk about it.”
“We really are,” Yeonjung says, quietly, hesitantly, not daring to meet Dayoung’s eyes. Dayoung knows she means it, though. Yeonjung isn’t one to apologize if she doesn’t mean it wholeheartedly. Then, she stops in front of Dayoung and offers her a hand. “Let’s go. The girls are waiting.”
Dayoung doesn’t want to go. She doesn’t want to deal with this, whatever it is. She takes Yeonjung’s hands anyway, accepts the side hug Yeoreum gives her even though it makes her limbs tremble with longing.
She’s not meant to win this fight. Not today, at least.
pairing: yeoreum/dayoung/yeonjung
word count: 667w
inspired by: the sailor song
Dayoung lets her back hit the concrete wall, body giving up on its task to keep her up and slowly sliding downwards until she hits the floor, legs aching too much for her to worry about her clothes—they’re already drenched in sweat from all the running, anyway.
She rests her arms over her knees and rests her head against them, taking deep breaths and counting one, two, three until she feels like she has any sort of control over herself again. Her throat and lungs ache for some water, but alas, she’s miles away from the stadium she was supposed to be training with the rest of the team for their next match. The street is deserted and she barely knows any Spanish, too, so it’s not like she could communicate with someone and ask for help.
She doesn’t regret running away, though. At least that’s what she’s trying to tell herself as the scene of Yeoreum and Yeonjung making out in the locker room keeps replaying in her brain, sadistically, mockingly. It’d be worse if I stayed there, Dayoung thinks, teeth sinking into her lips in order not to cry. I’d talk too much, I’d ruin everything. I always do.
Dayoung glances down at her wrist and the tattoo she got with Yeoreum and Yeonjung last year glances back at her. A tiny three leaf clover that they got on the same day they earned their long awaited call-up for the world cup. They got drunk and decided to enter the first tattoo parlor they managed to find in Hongdae, hope spilling out of their mouths as they discussed which symbol to have ingrained on their skins forever.
Dayoung wants to kiss it. Dayoung wants to rip it out. They should’ve told her something, anything. She shouldn’t care, not that much. Why does she care? Why does it matter?
“Are you out of your mind?!”
Dayoung turns around at the words, stomach churning at the vision in front of her—Yeoreum and Yeonjung, limping their way towards her. From the rage that seeps into each syllable and the hurt in her eyes, Dayoung knows Yeonjung is about to start a storm, closes her eyes and braces herself for it.
“We’re losing hours of practice because of you. Precious hours. We’re in the national team now, Dayoung-ah, you can’t just get up and leave—”
“Are you okay?” Yeoreum cuts Yeonjung’s rant, hand resting under Dayoung’s chin to analyze her face. Dayoung’s breath gets stuck in her throat. The sunshine after the storm.
Dayoung nods, eyes fluttering open again. Yeoreum hands her a water bottle and Dayoung drinks it all in one gulp, stealing a look at Yeonjung as she wipes the corners of her mouth. Yeonjung has one hand against the concrete, the other on her waist, and she looks remorseful. Scared, too. She’s always been the stubborn one, sharp around the edges, never knowing when to take a step back and stop baring her teeth.
Yeoreum is the opposite. Kind, gentle, reserved. Always so busy taking care of everyone that she forgets to take care of herself, to worry about her own needs. She’s seen her and Yeonjung fight over their differences a thousand times throughout their years, ever since they met in middle school.
They always find their way back to each other, in the end. No wonder—
“We’re sorry,” Yeoreum says, interrupting Dayoung’s train of thought. “We’ll talk about it.”
“We really are,” Yeonjung says, quietly, hesitantly, not daring to meet Dayoung’s eyes. Dayoung knows she means it, though. Yeonjung isn’t one to apologize if she doesn’t mean it wholeheartedly. Then, she stops in front of Dayoung and offers her a hand. “Let’s go. The girls are waiting.”
Dayoung doesn’t want to go. She doesn’t want to deal with this, whatever it is. She takes Yeonjung’s hands anyway, accepts the side hug Yeoreum gives her even though it makes her limbs tremble with longing.
She’s not meant to win this fight. Not today, at least.
