Warning(s): some cursing
Length: 4.4k words

Gif credit

SEUNGEUN PRO-TIP #01:

If you’re ever in a bind for money, marry the richest person you know. If it doesn’t go well, wait for their death, or if it’ll take too much time, get a divorce. Rinse, wash, repeat.

Note: If it hurts, then it hurts. Would you rather not be able to afford rent?

“Congratulations,” Naeun mutters to her younger sister. “On your third divorce, you spent 26 million won on a shopping spree. That’s 10 million more than the second one.”

“Stop,” Seungeun hisses, glaring at her sister, “mentioning numbers around me.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” Naeun retorts. “You called me for moral support, so I came. I thought we would watch movies and gossip about below-average boys, not…” Naeun trails off as she motions towards the dozens of bags Seungeun brought with her from the mall. They’re sitting right outside of the elevator of the penthouse right where the bellhop left them. “Do you see the problem?” Naeun squints at her sister. “You’re losing it.”

“Like I’m losing my man,” Seungeun murmurs as she sits in the middle of the mess of the shopping bags. She feels like crying, but she knows she shouldn’t, so she promptly pouts and starts tearing the paper tissue that comes with each purse.

“You’re not losing him. He’s losing you.”

“That’s the same thing!”

“No, it’s not.” Naeun sits beside her sister and places a warm hand around her shoulders. “Look, you had your shopping spree. Obviously, it didn’t make you feel that much better—”

“That’s false. I feel much better, thank you very much.”

Naeun shakes her head. “The sister I know would be matching her new purses with her new outfits as soon as she got them if she really was feeling herself again. But you’re not.”

Seungeun sighs and squeezes her legs together. She bought everything she could possibly get her hands on, and she still doesn’t feel like she can get through this mess of a divorce. “I’m not,” she finally admits to her sister. “I feel like , and I want to get drunk. Really drunk.”

“You are the queen of terrible decisions.” Naeun does a little tsk. “I’m not going to let my baby sister get drunk because of some man. Hell no.” She grins, and Seungeun immediately knows that she’s in for some trouble. “Remember when we were younger?”

And there it is.

“Yes…” Seungeun guardedly mutters. “I remember living in Bucheon.”

“Well, in Bucheon,” Naeun stresses, “we always went to the music festivals they had, and we always had fun. Always. If I recall correctly, you even dated a singer that one time.” Seungeun narrows her eyes at her sister. She feels as if she already knows what her sister will propose, but she still wants to listen. “I was thinking,” Naeun says slowly, “that maybe we could go to a club tonight and listen in to some underground—”

“No.”

Naeun breaks into a whine. “It’ll make you feel better, Eun.”

“Nothing can make me feel better, okay? Nothing—except getting drunk. Which,” Seungeun stands up, “I think I’ll go do since I can tell Yeri to buy me soju.”

“No, stop.” Naeun yanks her by the wrist, and Seungeun unwillingly turns around to roll her eyes at her sister. “Just come with me, okay? It’ll be like the good old days where you didn’t have,” she motions towards the looming extravagance of Seungeun’s penthouse, “all this.” Naeun lowers her voice like someone will hear. “I think,” she whispers, “you need to get away from all this fancy stuff and go back to your roots.”

“Blah, blah, blah…” Seungeun mocks her older sister in English. “I like my life the way it is. I’m perfectly happy spending my night in my penthouse alone. I’m telling you—I’ll feel better when I’m drunk.”

“I’m not going to let you get drunk, though.”

“I’m going to do what I want, thank you very much.”

“Eun.”

“I’m also going to tell Yeri to buy me plane tickets to Paris because I can’t stand Korean air anymore—”

“Seung, listen to me.” Naeun grabs Seungeun by the wrist again and squeezes to keep her from moving away. “I know you’re hurt, and I know you’ve got your own weird coping methods, but I am not going to let you destroy yourself.”

Seungeun exaggerates her sign. “I’m not going to become an alcoholic, for god’s sake. I just want to get drunk.”

“Getting drunk isn’t going to fix anything,” Naeun abruptly exclaims. “I think you need to take a step back from everything that led up to this divorce.” Seungeun winces at the ugly word, but the look on Naeun’s face says she doesn’t care. In fact, she probably wants it to sting. “You’ve been hiding everything you feel with…” Naeun eyes a random shopping bag on the floor. “…with Gucci, Eun. You’re hiding bags of emotional in bags of Gucci, and it’s not working out. Clearly.” Naeun once more lowers her voice into a soothing whisper, and Seungeun almost feels young again—like Naeun will sing her a lullaby to get her to stop crying. “Let’s just go unwind,” Naeun continues, “at a small club. Listen to music, dance a little—”

“Drink,” Seungeun interjects.

“But not enough to get drunk,” Naeun corrects. “So what do you say?”

Seungeun no longer wants to say no. Her husband (and soon to be ex-husband) Junmyeon bought her this penthouse, and being in it only reminds her of him. As much as she hates to admit it, she does have to get away from everything in her life or else she’ll burst into tears.

“I’m in,” Seungeun acquiesces. “But I can leave any time I want.”

“Good enough for me.” Naeun engulfs her sister in a tight hug. “I just want my sister back. Not whoever this Chanel-wearing spoiled brat is.”

Seungeun knows how much of a loudmouth her sister is, but hearing those words—spoiled brat—makes her think: is that how she really feels?

- - - - -

“I told you to come dressed casually!” Naeun hisses at Seungeun. “What the hell are you wearing, Seung?”

“This is casual,” Seungeun asserts defiantly. Naeun chose to go with ripped jeans and a leather jacket—all thing she suggested for Seungeun to do—but Seungeun isn’t the ripped jeans type, so she found it suitable to switch it up just a tad bit. “I’m only wearing Helmut Lang and Balenciaga,” Seungeun claims, rearranging her tight leather skirt. “This is streetwear, not haute couture.”

“And what about that flashy Hermès purse?” Naeun shakes her head with disapproval. “You know what? I don’t even care. Tonight is about unwinding, not about getting you in touch with reality.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Naeun ignores Seungeun and ushers her to the line leading to the “club.” Seungeun has hardly been to the average “club” since she prefers upscale jazz establishments where there’s dress does and invitation lists. That’s not to say that she hasn’t wandered into one of these dirtier, more raucous “clubs” for the sake of getting drunk or finding a paramour… But this really isn’t her scene—unlike Naeun who is clearly more connected to these underground clubs.

“Who’s performing tonight?” Naeun asks the man—or boy, Seungeun thinks, since this one is particularly short—standing by the entrance. “Please tell me Carla or Anda is going to be here tonight.”

“Sorry, Naeun,” the man replies, shaking his head. “We’ve got Knave and this other guy, though.” The man takes out a crumpled piece of paper from out of his jacket pocket, causing Seungeun to frown. Once again, she prefers jazz establishments where they actually have a setlist—not a short man at the front telling people who’s performing for the night. “Oh,” the man quips, “alongside Knave, we have the classic Bevy Maco and a new guy—B. Hundred.”

“Ooo,” Naeun gushes. “I love Bevy Maco!”

Naeun and the man start chatting about whoever the hell Bevy Maco (seriously, what kind of stage name is that?) is, so Seungeun focuses her attention on the “club’s” outer appearance. They’re in Seoul right now, but even Seoul has its darker areas with neon-lit doorways and signs. And even if it is Seoul, something about this club does remind Seungeun of her old life in Bucheon and those nights of sitting on rooftops and watching pirated movies with homemade projectors. It’s unnervingly calming to think about those memories.

While Seungeun thinks of the past, Naeun finally stops talking to the short man. “I’ll see you later, Jihoon!” She waves to him and pushes Seungeun into the club where it’s surprisingly full with a good 50 or 60 people. “So,” Naeun yells over the dancing and chattering crowds, “welcome to Club Key! I found this place when I was trying to track down Gyeong Ree.”

“Okay…” Seungeun murmurs absentmindedly. She’s too busy at observing the scene before her. It’s familiar since she’s been to places like these before, but seeing it in the flesh brings back a flurry of old memories from Bucheon. “When does the first performance start?”

“9:30,” Naeun answers. “That means we still have 10 minutes. Do you want to go and mingle?”

“Mingle.”

“Mingle,” Naeun confirms with a shrug. “That’s the word for meeting new people, right? I can introduce you to some of my friends.”

Seungeun curls a lip in disgust. She doesn’t want to be rude to her older sister of all people, but Naeun’s crowd doesn’t really fit the mold of Seungeun’s. Mingling with Naeun’s unruly friends would paint a terrible picture to the media. In fact, Seungeun can already see the headlines on Dispatch’s website: Dior ambassador Son Seungeun seen at Seoul underground music club!

How disastrous would that be to her reputation? Answer: absolutely ing degrading.

“I’m fine,” Seungeun says with a shake of her head. “I’ll just wait until the first performer. Who is it again?”

“Knave, and then Jihoon told me ‘B. Hundred’ would go after. Bevy Maco is the last one for the night.”

Seungeun nods like she’s entertained. “Hm.”

Naeun rolls her eyes at her sister and softly pushes her against the bar. “You’re so stuck up, Seung. You used to love seeing unknown artists.”

“Yeah, I used to. People change.”

Fortunately for Seungeun, Naeun has no answer to that quip. The two of them sit by the bar wordlessly until the first perfo