racing past @ryujcngsuk !
gaeul looks the part of the perfect debutante, dress elegant and still youthful, hair done in an updo that wouldn’t look out of place in a fashion magazine. or — she would, if she wasn’t rebelliously slouched in a corner of the hall. it’s a social function for someone or other her parents work with, and she can hear the tittering of social niceties passed back and forth endlessly. the cardinal sin of boredom looms over her like a depressing raincloud, but there must be something palpable about her mood that wards everyone off from infecting her with the inane fluff of such gatherings, at least.
what she counts as a blessing is a black mark on her parents’ otherwise spotless reputation, the wastrel daughter who’s made nothing of herself. there’s a scar courtesy of her most recent accident peeking out from under the long sleeves of her dress, not quite able to hide it. someone gasps when they notice, grabbing their friend to gesture far too obviously, because high society places gossip right above social etiquette. gaeul just winks at the girls, roguish and pleased; her parents blanch.
“roh gaeul!” is what her father starts with, while her mother makes coy non-sequiturs and drags the both of them off to the side. “how did this even happen?” two fingers lift up the lace of her sleeve to check, like the scarring might be contagious. her mother worries her fingers over the edge of the sleeve. “it’s the sort of people you’ve been seeing, isn’t it?”
her father’s anger deflates in the face of his wife’s upset, and he sighs. “you’re throwing away our family’s face like this,” he mutters, but his words lack the heat, just as they always have. this clearly isn’t a new concern, but gaeul’s always managed to slip away before they could confront her about it; they’ve chosen a good place to bring it up, she supposes. no escape route in sight.
“do you need,” a sensitive, sucked in breath, “help to deal with... anything? at all?” the genuine concern in her parents’ eyes prick at her conscience, prodding at her to divulge something that could explain her behaviour for the past year. “you have to tell us,” her mum pleads, “you’re always out late and oh, all these injuries...” she’s wringing her hands, worries for her child overtaking the shame of having this conversation in public.
guilt wells up before she can stop it, but she knows she can’t give a flimsy excuse that won’t be torn to shreds. she’s panicking. “wait!” gaeul grabs her saviour, her diversion, her escape route from the parental fucking inquisition of 2020 by the arm and drags him in front of her. “jongsuk! uh,” all thought is escaping her, “we’ve been... hanging out...?” her eyes are pleading but her manicured nails demand, digging shallowly into his bicep.
