a/n: i haven't written in months please bear with me... tw for blood metaphor (?) at the end but it's not actual blood don't worry. title from sorry by dodie
It's one of those days, Jessica realizes.
There was no way it wouldn't be, given the occasion. There she is, in the living room, sitting on the table with a half-empty glass of wine in one hand while the other holds her phone. YouTube is open, and she's wondering if she should do this—if she should throw salt in her wounds like that.
It's been almost four years since she left the group, a full year since she stopped checking on anything related to the eight of them and driving herself insane as she wonders what if, what if, what if in the dead of night, but all of her development flew out of the window the second she learnt Tiffany was in America—not only that, but that she was about to release a new single, followed by a music video.
It takes her back to the old, innocent days, where she'd share a single bed with Tiffany when they couldn't sleep and they'd spend hours gushing about their dreams and hopes.
("I want more than this, Jessica," Tiffany would say, and Jessica didn't need to face her to know her eyes were sparkling, putting the stars shining outside their window to shame. "I can see it all."
"We've barely debuted and you're already thinking of going solo?" Jessica scoffed, choosing the teasing path, trying to hide how much the idea of growing up and not being able to be around Tiffany every day bothered her. "I'll let the others know. Taeyeon won't be happy."
"Shut up," Tiffany laughed, gave her shoulder a playful shove, and Jessica could only force out a giggle through the knot forming in her throat. They remain in silence for a while until Tiffany, vulnerably and shaky this time, asks, "You'll be there for me, right? When it happens?"
"What are you talking about?" Jessica groaned and rolled her eyes, annoyed that Tiffany even considered a future where she wouldn't be by her side every step of the way, even if she'd have to swim across the ocean to get to her. "Of course I will. Idiot.")
God, Jessica thinks bitterfly, Soojung would kill me if she knew.
Jessica's ruined, and the alcohol running through her veins isn't helping. She takes one last sip and grips the glass tighter as memories of the worst September of her life start flooding her brain—the missed calls, the messages that begged we can still fix this, just talk to me, the letter she received and threw in the trash after letting her tears fall over the paper, ruining Tiffany's handwriting and leaving the I love you at the end of it covered in smeared, black ink.
Every inch of her body aches with longing and grief for what she once had at the palm of her hands, and the thing is, she hasn't even pressed the play button yet. The title of the song and the name of the woman she spent half of her life loving stares back at her, each word whispering this is what you get, this is what you deserve, tearing her heartstrings apart.
But, to her own surprise, she decides she won't. Not today, at least. She takes what's left of her strength, gets up, leaves the now empty glass by the kitchen, and decides to call it a night.
She tore the wound open again, anyway—unspoken confessions of love dripping from her skin, spreading red all over her pristine, white floors.
bleeding out, then it was done – jessica/tiffany – canon
It's one of those days, Jessica realizes.
There was no way it wouldn't be, given the occasion. There she is, in the living room, sitting on the table with a half-empty glass of wine in one hand while the other holds her phone. YouTube is open, and she's wondering if she should do this—if she should throw salt in her wounds like that.
It's been almost four years since she left the group, a full year since she stopped checking on anything related to the eight of them and driving herself insane as she wonders what if, what if, what if in the dead of night, but all of her development flew out of the window the second she learnt Tiffany was in America—not only that, but that she was about to release a new single, followed by a music video.
It takes her back to the old, innocent days, where she'd share a single bed with Tiffany when they couldn't sleep and they'd spend hours gushing about their dreams and hopes.
("I want more than this, Jessica," Tiffany would say, and Jessica didn't need to face her to know her eyes were sparkling, putting the stars shining outside their window to shame. "I can see it all."
"We've barely debuted and you're already thinking of going solo?" Jessica scoffed, choosing the teasing path, trying to hide how much the idea of growing up and not being able to be around Tiffany every day bothered her. "I'll let the others know. Taeyeon won't be happy."
"Shut up," Tiffany laughed, gave her shoulder a playful shove, and Jessica could only force out a giggle through the knot forming in her throat. They remain in silence for a while until Tiffany, vulnerably and shaky this time, asks, "You'll be there for me, right? When it happens?"
"What are you talking about?" Jessica groaned and rolled her eyes, annoyed that Tiffany even considered a future where she wouldn't be by her side every step of the way, even if she'd have to swim across the ocean to get to her. "Of course I will. Idiot.")
God, Jessica thinks bitterfly, Soojung would kill me if she knew.
Jessica's ruined, and the alcohol running through her veins isn't helping. She takes one last sip and grips the glass tighter as memories of the worst September of her life start flooding her brain—the missed calls, the messages that begged we can still fix this, just talk to me, the letter she received and threw in the trash after letting her tears fall over the paper, ruining Tiffany's handwriting and leaving the I love you at the end of it covered in smeared, black ink.
Every inch of her body aches with longing and grief for what she once had at the palm of her hands, and the thing is, she hasn't even pressed the play button yet. The title of the song and the name of the woman she spent half of her life loving stares back at her, each word whispering this is what you get, this is what you deserve, tearing her heartstrings apart.
But, to her own surprise, she decides she won't. Not today, at least. She takes what's left of her strength, gets up, leaves the now empty glass by the kitchen, and decides to call it a night.
She tore the wound open again, anyway—unspoken confessions of love dripping from her skin, spreading red all over her pristine, white floors.
She can bleed herself dry tomorrow.