can’t stay here (but you can’t go home)

::

oh, just take it easy

hold onto this feeling

all our friends are leaving

and we ain’t got nowhere to go

caught up in the afterglow

afterglow; all time low

::

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::

wheein agrees to attend her high school reunion, convinced that there’s no way that ahn hyejin will attend. she was wrong. and there’s not enough alcohol to help her when her ex-bestfriend talks with her

aka the mamamoo hip 4th universe au with artist!wheein and singer!hyejin

::

It hurts her pride whenever she runs into someone from her hometown or knew a few years back and automatically slip hey, how are you and Hyejin? Have you heard her new song? after their hi’s and hello’s, and the awkward turn in the conversation when Wheein replies with a:

“Yeah, I have, and we actually aren’t friends anymore, so.”

There’s always pity one way or another, from the way they shut up or reach out for Wheein’s arm and say something as predictable as oh, I’m so sorry.

It used to sting, especially when she was drowning in university and broke down while on a phone call with her mom, complaining because the café she frequents to de-stress played Hyejin’s debut song.

That was years ago, though.

She’s gotten better at handling the hurt.

::

“I don’t get the big deal, it’s just high school,” Byulyi says, dipping her meat in too much sauce that has Wheein cringing as the older woman’s sleeves dips, too. “If you’re one of the types that compares yourself to others, don’t even start. You have more money than me and you’re a freelancer. I have a stable job.”

Wheein grumbles, tossing a napkin to Byulyi’s direction and juts her chin angrily at the sauce-dipped sweater. “’S not that.”

Byulyi raises an eyebrow. Then she puts down her chopsticks.

“Alright, I’m sensing that there’s more to it than that. Spill.”

Wheein on the inside of her cheek. It’s not that it’s a secret but she still preferred to be able to control how much salt she’ll put in the wound that is the topic of Ahn Hyejin. Only her old high school classmates and her mom knows about their history but the night seems to be leading up to Byul being in on that particular secret, too.

“It’s Ahn Hyejin,” she exhales after thinking about it, mulling over that fact that Byulyi has been a staple friend of hers since the older woman opened her dance studio and needed a few decorative paintings scattered in the space a few years ago.

“The singer? Why, you know her?”

Her face twists, Byul barking out a laugh and pinching a cheek. “More like, we were best friends when we were in high school but when I told her I’ll go to college in Seoul and gave her my number, she never texted me.”

Byulyi barks out a laugh, startling the table next to them, not even bothering to apologize, but as she sees the unchanging expression on her friend’s face, she sobers up. “Oh , you’re not kidding.”

Wheein hums, focusing more on grilling more meat.

“You got ghosted?”

“Shut the up and eat. I hate you so much.”

::

She met up with her mom for lunch a few days later. After being sufficiently coddled, she spills about the reunion invitation.

Her mother gives her a knowing look.

“Honey, you can always say no.”

When she decides a day before the actual reunion to send a last-minute RSVP to their old class president, Wheein concluded that she’s a masochist. But there’s also no way that South Korea’s new daring darling will come.

::

She never really went back to Jeonju all that much, can count in one hand the times she went back just for the occasional visit to her grandparents. Her mom lives in Seoul, too, but not with her. Having moved two years after Wheein started college in a hysteric bout of separation anxiety.

And their reunion was originally planned to be at their old school’s auditorium but now it’s set in a swanky hotel in Seoul, since everyone in her class mostly moved to the city either for college or for work.

It’s been an hour since they started and Wheein left some of her old acquaintances in the table where her bag’s occupying her seat, opting to trudge in the natural call of the open bar to her, the itching in her palm wanting the press of a cold glass and the burn in .

Alcohol has long lost its bite, serving more of a comfort to Wheein than anything else. She wonders briefly if she should worry about dependency issues.

The music picks up, a sudden feedback as Choi Daijin’s—their old class president—booms over the speakers a moment after, the DJ dropping the music volume and Wheein feels a cold feel of dread swoop in her stomach as she turns towards a commotion of women squealing and Choi’s cheer of ah! Our class’s star has arrived!

She’s beautiful, Wheein drowns the thought in another swig, eyes betraying her and keeps on following Hyejin’s easy grace, short-cropped hair for her upcoming comeback barely touching the tops of her shoulders that looks so deliciously tan.

Wheein needs to be a little more drunk with how dangerous her thoughts are careening towards.

Being attracted to Hyejin was as simple as breathing, even when they were at a young age and Wheein can’t put into explanation why she has sudden moments of wanting to keep Hyejin in her pocket even if the other woman has a few inches on her.

It was when she was at university, learning the vast world of the big city and life and love and its sheer diversity, is when she discover the very core of most of her career masterpieces: love comes in many shapes, ideas of love melting and infinite, like how one’s brush can swivel and create in any and each way.

With the acceptance of that childish attraction, however, comes the heavy feeling of being reminded that the first girl she fell in love—her ex-best friend—never bothered to reach out for her.

She hears her name thrown in the throng of people away from her and she makes the mistake of looking, accidentally catching Hyejin’s eyes and she looks so shocked, eyes wide and stuck on Wheein’s.

Hyejin’s whisked away by a group just as she takes a step towards Wheein’s direction.

It’s fine.

::

It’s well into the night, some already swaying tipsily into the music and Wheein checks the time. It’s still relatively early in the night, just fifteen minutes past ten, but she doesn’t have any intention of staying for the whole night, doing a math of when the last train’s leaving.

Wheein motions for another glass, happy for her choice when suddenly, Hyejin, all expensive perfume and figure-hugging dress, sits on the chair next to hers, clutching the cold glass before she does something stupid with her hands and mouth like shaking Hyejin’s hand or blurting out why.

“Hi,” a voice drifts to her ears, unfamiliar with age yet familiar with how—a