Yeji: Day One

a/n: Originally wrote this fic as a tribute to the lovely @mintwithchoco and @woollypoison for their wonderful work with the latest prompt session. I promised a Yeji thigh-highs fic, but got enthralled by the idea of dreams and before I knew what happened, this fic was born! I hope you enjoy it.

Special thanks to the inspirational @ducktoo, the wise @eightsh8pe, the transcendent @starconstruction, and the patient @erospandemos for beta-reading this fic. I am nothing without your guidance :rukapray:

Some days you regret quitting your stable office job to become a writer. 

You’re barely making ends meet with the near zero income, and you’re forced to take on copywriting and other freelance jobs to scrape enough moolah to continue living in a dingy apartment in the not-so-fancy side of town. 

Some days though, it's not too bad.

Being an unwilling audience to raccoons tap dancing on the roof every night sucks, but it feels like the karmic balance of the world has swung ever so slightly in your favour when you’re kicking it back on a lazy weekday afternoon, crushing a couple cans of beer with your best friend and roommate. 

“Cheers to your success, buddy!” Ryujin hollers as she slams her can onto yours with perhaps a bit more force than was necessary.

She’s the other reason why you’re able to afford rent. Though her own financial condition is precarious given her daytime job as a barista and her nighttime hobby as a drummer in a rock band. 

“It’s really not a big deal, but thanks anyways,” you mutter wryly.

Why were you two having an impromptu drinking session? You just released your first novel, and Ryujin insisted on celebrating the milestone even as you played it down. Your best friend has taken on the role of cheerleader, hyping you up after every completed chapter and promising to take you out after finishing the whole book. 

“You have to stop putting yourself down like that,” she nags, shaking her head as she tosses another can in your general direction. “The novel’s going to do great!”

You can only shake your head at her optimism. It was a rushed job, and you’re certain the editor greenlit the final copy just to get it off his docket. Desperate for further validation, you had posted snippets of the unfinished novel online under a pseudonym. The rush of comments were mixed. About what you should have expected, but the lack of clear affirmation still keeps you up at night.

The alcohol and vibes bring you into an introspective mood. It’s times like these when you think back to why you decided to take the plunge and chase after your childhood ambition – parents, colleagues, friends be damned! 

Well, you made an exception for Ryujin, who’s three cans down and poking your shoulder while squinting hard at your face.

“C’mon,” she whines. 

“No,” you reply, taking a swig of beer. Ryujin lets out a weary sigh (girl does a sick Chewbacca impression) and pokes your shoulder again.

“You never tell anyone.”

“There’s,” you pause to gulp down some more beer, “a reason for that.”

“But you tell me everything!”

That gets you thinking. 

She’s right. The two of you have been friends since freshman year in college. You’ve supported her through her lesbian awakening and become a staunch ally. She’s nursed you through countless heartbreaks. The shared trauma was instrumental in forging an ironclad bond – two losers grasping at each other to stay afloat. So there’s very little the two of you don’t share with each other.

Which becomes a sore point for Ryujin when, on one fine day, seemingly out of nowhere, you announced very loudly in the living room that you tendered your resignation from your dead-end job at the tax office. 

And then you declared that you will become, and she quotes, “The greatest writer since Frank Herbert.”

To say that it took her by surprise would be an understatement. Sure, you dabbled in some writing competitions back in the day and you loved to read, but your life trajectory afterwards was firmly arcing towards death by corporate. 

There was a lot of screaming and shouting and shoving that day, and then a lot of crying and hugging and stuff like “bros for life” and “fucking hell yeah let’s follow our dreams” type shit as the night wore on.

But still no explanation as to why you did it. Taking on the mantle of a struggling artist isn’t for shits and giggles. Ryujin would know, since she’s treading a similar path. You know her reason: she’s been banging on pots and pans since she was a baby, and the obsession with percussive instruments had only grown from then on. For Ryujin, joining a rock band was less about wanting to make it big (though she wouldn’t mind if some groupies slid into her DMs) and more about staying sane in this mad, mad world.

So she pokes and prods and whines some more.

“Fine, I’ll tell you!”

Ryujin stops her tantrum and stares at you. “I didn’t think you’d actually fold, heh.”

You look away for a moment. “Just…just don’t laugh, okay?”

“Scout’s honour,” she replied, slamming a fist on her chest.

You think you’re underwater, but you’re not. The air is thick like jelly, making every movement slow and cumbersome. The sound of a horn blares in the distance and you swear you can see the sound waves ripple from the idling train. You check the soles of your shoes for scuff marks and find none, which is odd. You swear you’ve been walking for hours to get to the station. But then again, you don’t remember arriving here in the first place.

There’s a girl standing to your right. Her features ebb and flow like everything else in this aquatic-but-not space. But some things stay fixed in place – the short black hair and the cat-like slant of her eyes. She looks straight ahead, and you feel strings tightening around your heart as she turns to stare at you.

“It’s now or never, right?” You drag the words out of your mouth despite the pain in your chest. 

“Yeah,” the girl replies. Her voice is smooth like velvet, quelling some of your discomfort.

“I’m scared.”

An easy smile spreads across her face. “That’s okay. Let’s be scared together.” She reaches out a hand and you grasp it. 

The two of you step into the waiting train.

And then you wake up.

***

“So, was she hot?”

Ryujin yelps as you land a solid punch on her arm. Not her dominant arm, because you’re not an asshole. But definitely on the side with the freshly-inked sleeve.

“Get serious, I’m baring my soul here!”

She lets out a cackle and dodges some more punches.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” Ryujin chuckles as she raises her hands in surrender. “So, if I’m getting this right, you dreamt about some hottie.” She shields her arm pre-emptively. 

“And this inspired you to—”

“Yep, to become a writer.” You nod as you purse your lips, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

“I think that’s pretty fucking cool.”

“Yeah I know it's dumb— wait, did you say it’s cool?”

“Hell yeah, dude! I think,” she pauses to collect her thoughts, “dreams are important. Gives us a purpose in life, you know?”