checkinyourbra (checkinyourbra) wrote,

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In Good Taste [Part Four]

Title: In Good Taste [Part Four]

Pairing(s): YulTi

Rating/Genre: PG-13 + Language; Coming Out, Girl-Meets-Girl

Disclaimer: I don’t own Soshi. I don’t own anyone, in fact. All Fiction.

Warning(s): None come to mind.

Author’s Notes: We’re in Tiffany’s head for this chapter! It’s been rainy all week in NYC, but it provides a nice editing (and napping) mood.



Tiffany couldn’t have been more beguiled by Kwon Yuri if she tried. Because the noodle shop Yuri chose—somewhat larger than a one-car garage, yet accommodating more seats that legally relegated—had no candlelight. Not a maître d’ nor a sommelier in sight. Gusts of steam detailed the visible kitchen in hissed intervals. The packed, cramped space made her and the patron at her left’s elbows quite acquainted. Heat from the kitchen raised the shop’s temperature, compelling her her to discard the adorably light jacket she borrowed from Yoona (unbeknownst to Yoona, who hadn’t warmed to the idea of Yuri being a regular character in Tiffany’s life). Kwon Yuri didn’t shower Tiffany with luxuries on their second date. And it was unpretentious, romantic.

“It’s so lively here,” Tiffany shouted over a raucous group of grannies toasting to a birthday. “Is it a favorite of yours?”

Yuri put extra effort into her hair this evening, curled slightly and swept in a gentle wave. Grinning, she nodded and carefully tucked into her creamy ramyun. Clearly, she’d been ashamed of their meeting spot, citing a dip in money before even saying ‘hello.’ “Yeah, come by when I can. It’s kinda out of the way for me.”

“Well, it’s incredible,” Tiffany chewed another mouthful to prove her case. Honestly, sharing this corner of the bar, wedged into one another, stripped her of an appetite.

Yuri pointed to Tiffany’s bowl of seasoned redness. “Are you a huge fan of spice?”

“That I am.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

Tiffany grinned as wide as she knew how, pushing already touching arms. “Everyone needs some spice in their lives.”

She blushed, laughing. “I can’t stomach too much.”

God, was Yuri precious. Ignoring her hard heartbeats adding to the overall noise, Tiffany leaned in to whisper, “So, if I kissed you there—” The end of her chopstick dabbed Yuri’s bottom lip, “would you burst into flames?”

Tiffany went back to pretending to eat as Yuri giggled into both hands, probably on the brink of combustion. But, she loved teasing this one. Her actions weren’t coached by years of fake mannerisms and grooming. Which was sexy. “Tell me more about your day.”

Yuri coughed, sheepish at the topic. This seemed to be a theme. “We threw a surprise party for a coworker. She’s three months pregnant. Our manager ordered a shit-ton of food, meaning free lunch for days.”

“Do you want children?”

“Yeah.” Something about the sad stir of Yuri’s spoon affected the mood. “I doubt I’d be a suitable parent, though.”

Tiffany pouted. “Why not?”

“I’d…I’d like to provide for my child, you know? Can’t do that on a retail associate salary.”

“Your coworker is.”

“She and her husband make a great team. I believe in them.”

Grinning softly, Tiffany intoned, “It’s not economical, but I’d be thrilled to have at least three.”

Yuri’s jaw dropped. “At least?!”

“It’s an inkling. While shopping, I sometimes take a detour through the children’s section and pick out onesies or a little hat with frog eyes on top. It’s become a compulsion.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to just dress babies?”

Tiffany cackled and bumped Yuri’s shoulder, heart hiccupping at the contact. “Our generation’s cynicism about childbearing’s missed me. When I see kids, I…” She smiled shyly at her lap. “The domestic side of my future excites me. A devoted partner, homeowning, pregnancy or adoption. I swear I have all this love spilling over and it’s meant for a child.”

“Or three?”

“Or three.”

Nodding, Yuri scooped up some broth. “I see.”

“Am I scaring you off?”


“Thank god.”

“This could go unsaid, but,” Yuri met Tiffany’s gaze, looking both enamoured and vulnerable. Dark brown eyes deep enough to fall into. “you’d make a beautiful mother.”

Jesus, she needed to kiss her. “You’d make a beautiful anything.”


Electric spell broken, they turned around to a tall, gawky woman. Wobbling her hands within hoodie pockets, pipe cleaner legs crossed in a teeter-totter stance. On instinct, Tiffany smiled. Yuri smiled, too, but it came off unhinged—terrified.

“Sowon, hey,” Yuri muttered, bowing.

“I missed the Craftie’s baby party! I miss everything,” she whined, whipping around a pretty head. “Are there leftovers? I don’t feel like bringing lunch tomorrow.”

“Bet on it. They’re taking up ninety percent of the fridge.”

“Hella!” Sowon pumped her fist, upping her awkwardness. She angled towards Tiffany, blushing furiously. “Yuri unnie, you and your friends are too glamourous.”

Ah, so she didn’t catch them mooning over each other. Tiffany fought the urge to place a proud, flirty hand on Yuri’s knee. “With your proportions, you could rule the world. Do you two work together?”

Sowon glanced to either side as if searching for a chair to make herself comfortable. “Mmhm. I owe unnie for getting me the job.”

“Is that right?” Tiffany shot an approving grin at Yuri. Unfortunately, her date had gone from pale to ghostly.

Oblivious, Sowon resumed. “I’m cousins with Taekwoon’s best friend’s girlfriend and I’m strapped for cash, so Yuri put in a good word for me.”


“I remember his Facebook post of the vintage desk he bought you,” she gushed, shaking like a terrier. “He must be crazy strong to carry it up three flights.”

“Um,” Yuri folded her arms, eyeing the floor. “I helped him.”

A waiter lugging five bowls of ramyun on a platter swung in from the kitchen, heading to a table of girls close to Sowon’s age. She licked her lips after him. “That’s my cue. See ya in the AM, unnie!”

“Enjoy your meal.”

Two minutes. Two minutes of silence (amongst the noise) tolled by, second by wretched second. As they remained in their positions, sitting away from their dinner, waiting for the other to speak first.

Tiffany didn’t have the patience. “You live with this Taekwoon?”

Yuri whimpered. It’d be endearing if Tiffany’s blood wasn’t boiling. “Yeah, I do.”

“Is he…your brother?”


“An affectionate cousin?”



“Not at all.”

“Yuri,” she closed her eyes, praying to the bisexual gods, “are you gay?”

“I’m…I’m trying to figure that out.”

“Are you in an open relationship?”

Yuri’s arms clasped onto each other, denting skin. “No, we’re monogamous.”

“Then, what is this?” Tiffany gestured between them with a pointer finger. “Am I your experiment? B-because I can’t be the reason you make your little boyfriend jealous.”

“It’s not like that, at all.”

She rose from her seat, stuffing her arms through Yoona’s jacket sleeves. “Amazing.”

“Please, I was going to—”

“Tell me!?” she gritted out, unwilling to cause a scene. “When? After I start feeling…”

Dark circles had formed under Yuri’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Tiffany frantically rifled through her tote, counting out her share of the bill. “I thought you’d be different. I, I thought this could’ve gone somewhere.”

Tiffany took in the effects of that statement on Yuri—a trembling lip, slumping posture—irrationally pissed at herself for distressing this sweet, bashful woman.

“It can. It just—”

“No,” Tiffany interrupted eyes tearing of resentment. Damn, her luck with women was shit. “It can’t. I don’t date straight girls.”

With that, she left.

Tiffany Hwang had excellent credit. She enjoyed junk food in decent moderation. Her friends, without irony, described her as ‘intuitive’ and ‘emotionally available.’ Every month, she donated to local charity drives. She let dogs shyly sniff her hand before going in for the ear scratch.

Damnit, she had a 401k!

Alas, how did she get here? How did she wind up moping on Hyoyeon’s uncomfortable leather couch, sipping a weak screwdriver?

Had the fates erred on her side, Tiffany would still be out with Yuri. Possibly holding hands. Definitely giggling at one of a thousand stories they didn’t know of one another.

“A fresh new failure, huh?” Yoona asked, pouring herself a not-weak helping of vodka. “What’d she do?”

Hyoyeon hovered. Appraising with her head tipped to the side. “Or rather, how’d you break your own heart this time?”

Tiffany sighed into her glass. “And that means?”

Her friends exchanged smirks before Hyoyeon explained, “No offense, lady, but your heart’s too open too soon. Remember Taeyeon?”

“Ugh, stop,” Tiffany launched herself backwards into the hard seat. “Say that name three times fast and you’ll hear her missing soul wailing through every bank in Seoul.”

“Kim Taeyeon’s one twirling mustache away from a villain and yet, you two were sucking face twenty minutes into your first date.”


And she dumped you after two of the most—and I quote—‘mentally and spiritually depraved’ months of your life.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes at herself. She’d been such a lovesick knob. “Her…her agreeable moments made the hard times worth it?”

“Translation: Taeyeon’s a vajayjay whisperer.” Yoona shoulder nudged her, grinning. “Hot sex does not a girlfriend make.”

“I succumbed to a physical relationship. Sue me.”

“She was a human leech in Dior, babe.”

“Multiple orgasms every time.”

“Shut up. Every time?!”

“We’re derailing here,” Hyoyeon broke through a memory lane that’d lead them all downhill. “Taeyeon was bad for you because that’s not you. You have available feelings and shit. And being someone’s sex slave wouldn’t pay for all that damn therapy you’d need if the relationship lasted any longer.”

Yoona loudly swallowed a gulp of her drink, grimacing. “Can I just save you the time to say Yuri’s a disaster waiting to happen?”

“And you know that how?” Tiffany nibbled her straw, prepared for a snooty answer.

Thus, she delivered. “This woman works at that crafting place which screams ‘fast food dates forever,’ unless you foot each bill. She’s obviously an obtuse, awkward dweeb with a knock-off purse.”

Hyoyeon sneered at Yoona’s attitude, but she stayed on track for her interrogation. “Does she know you have money?”

Tiffany pieced long, lightened strands behind her ear, mumbling, “I may have told her I co-own THY.”


“Smug isn’t cute on you, Hyo.”

“When women find out you’re as financially stable as you are, they change.”


“The demons of dating past! There was,” Hyoyeon counted on her manicured fingertips, “Taeyeon the emotional vampire, Sunkyu the manipulator, Dasom the serial-cheater, Sunmi the identity thief, that fucking Jung Sooyeon you met in Prague who stole your handbag—”

“Not the things in my handbag. Just the handbag. It was limited edition.”

“How many of those snakes did you fall for?”

“My memories refreshed, okay?” Tiffany wiped at her cheeks, hoping tears illustrated her shame enough. “I thought I loved them all. And…and I can’t afford to let it happen again.”

Yoona’s long fingers fanned onto Tiffany’s legs, squeezing. “You’re a romantic, Fany. It’s a part of your DNA.”

“Please don’t say that. Then, it feels inevitable I’ll be scarred by every woman I bring home.” She accepted a tissue from Hyoyeon’s outstretched hand. “I thought Yuri would break the trend. She’s humble and considerate, unassuming. The kind of sexy where the woman’s not aware of how hot she is and reacts to the faintest hint of flirting. I doubt she even knew how to break me so early.”

“Then, what’s wrong with her?”

“She’s straight.”

The room froze for approximately fifteen seconds. Tiffany kept the boyfriend detail to herself. No telling why she did, but a small part of her cared to protect Yuri’s image, despite the recent news.

Hyoyeon shrugged as if it were a non-issue. “You gold stars are all the same.”

“Oh, shut up,” Yoona knocked back. “Closet cases are a total pain in the ass. Fany deserves a girlfriend who at least knows who she wants to fuck.”

“Bi and pansexual lovers exist,” she countered, flipping the blonde from her offended frown. “Queer people don’t all operate on the same timeline. What if Fany’s her gateway into the gay world?”

“Who’s the romantic now?”

“A gateway is not romantic,” Tiffany mentally played back how Yuri stared at her lips, how her body language defined mutual attraction. “She’s into me.”

Hyoyeon toppled onto the couch with them. The stiff cushions barely bent. “Has she contacted you since?”

Only a few hours had passed and already twelve text messages blinked under Kwon Yuri’s name. Tiffany avoided them, turning off her notification vibes. “She’s apologizing.”

“Really.” Hyoyeon spaced out, holding the glass in her hand as if it should’ve been a smoking pipe. “You should hear her out.”

Tiffany and Yoona’s necks almost broke to glare at her. Yoona snapped, “Okay, now I know you’ve lost it!”

“I was like Yuri once,” she muttered, watching what was probably her sexually-confused self in the swirl of her alcohol. “On the shitty side of retail, unsure of my future and these, you know, urges. If someone wiser, keen in her lesbian ways gave me closure, I would’ve grown up without so many hang-ups.”

“It’s not Fany’s responsibility to guide her to pussy, Hyo.”

“Yuri’s not out to get you like your exes,” Hyoyeon pressed. “You met her at a club. She had no idea—”

“Exactly, the club!” Yoona shuddered in disgust. “Fany played nurse for Yuri, which was, in a single word: sickening. If anything, the girl’s an all-around mess.”

Had they known Yuri’s taken status, the point would’ve been in Yoona’s goal. But, Tiffany knew her own chemistry. She wasn’t fond of shutting people off without considering their perspective, even if it spelled danger on her own part.

Mutely showing whose side she chose, Tiffany scrolled through Yuri’s messages, giving them a thorough read.

Yoona’s voice lowered to a tremble. “She’s going to hurt you.”

Shooting off a response text, Tiffany agreed. “Let’s get it over with, then.”

Tiffany: I’m mad, but I’ll talk to u. Lunch on Monday?

Yuri answered seconds later.

Yuri: yes pls.

Tiffany: Meet me at my job at 1.

Yuri: anything you say. Sorry again.

Tiffany: Good night.


Monday rolled around in record time. As much as Tiffany wanted to savor the hours until they’d meet again, higher site traffic and a brand-new line of garments led her straight to this moment. Standing outside THY’s front door (angry or not, she wouldn’t subject Yuri to Sinbi’s abuse again), fighting the conscience character on her shoulder telling her fluff her hair into an intentionally-effortless look.

The fight didn’t last long, though. For, she’d just finished dancing fingers through when her not-date lunch date arrived.

“Hey, you look nice,” Yuri mumbled to the sidewalk.

Tiffany’s heart beat some sappy tune and she contemplated punching herself in the ribs. Yuri’s black hair shimmered like an advertisement, loose and tousled. And she likely exhausted no conscious effort into it. “Where’s your uniform?”

Because the drabness of a Craftie’s Warehouse uniform would’ve helped. Before her, Yuri stood in a faux suede skirt, a simple striped top, and a jacket thrown over. Super charming and casual. Which sucked because Tiffany had gone for casual, too, in a patterned wrap dress. Fuck, they were the stock image of a cutesy femme couple.

Yuri patted the backpack hanging off her shoulder. “I’ll change when I get to work.”

Tiffany spun deftly on her heel for their restaurant, immediately regretting the flash of disappointment on the other woman’s face. In foolish haste to appease Yuri, she offered, “I like your regular clothes.”

“Uh, you do?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

They walked a block before Yuri replied, “I don’t own a lot of new clothes. I’m either working or attending something nonfancy, so I don’t see the point.”

Shit. Laying on the self-pity thick. Tiffany changed the subject despite her instincts to uplift her. “The place isn’t far.”

“What are we having?”

“American food.”

“Like what, vegan burgers and tater tots?”

“Ha,” she caught Yuri’s eye, smirking. “Is that all you think we eat over there?”

Yuri stroked her chin in a mock-thinking pose. “Yep. And peanut butter and jelly milkshakes to wash down all the Capitalism.”

“How dare,” Tiffany playfully poked Yuri in the cheek, ignoring how smooth it felt. “I hadn’t encountered your roast-my-country-of-origin side.”

“It’s the please-forgive-me-and-think-I’m-funny side.”

Ugh, that worked on Tiffany, too. Nearly everything about Yuri worked on her. “You’re funny. Quit stressing.”

They lingered on that until they stepped into the breezy, yet intimate lunch venue. For the cloudless, sunny weather, all the windows were opened for bright, natural light. A girl carrying two soups nodded for them to sit anywhere, so they chose a cozy section in a corner booth.

“I actually don’t eat out often,” Yuri mused as she sipped the complimentary water.

A dirty joke lay in that sentence. Tiffany dismissed it as low-hanging fruit. “Am I spoiling you?”

“Yes, kinda.”

They grinned pearly whites, understanding it as a jest.

Like last time, Tiffany confiscated Yuri’s menu. “May I order again?”

“Sure. You didn’t fail me last time.”

The service here, as she’d experienced, was quick, so she pointed to an item out of Yuri’s sight and asked for two. Once the server ducked out, Yuri continued apologizing.

“It’s no excuse b-but, I’m very confused and needed to…to experience women. Um, woman. You. It wasn’t fair to you and I’m sorry. A billion times sorry. I’m painfully ashamed and surprised you even agreed to see me again.”

“I thought I’d lend you my ears. In spite of circumstances, you’re fun to be around.”

“I like you, Tiffany. So much.”

Stupidly, goosebumps prickled every inch of Tiffany’s skin and she swore her blood pressure rocketed. This straight girl, sitting across from her, ripping her straw paper into bits that’d eventually blow all over the floor, turned out to be the heartbreaker she’d joked about. “It…it doesn’t matter, though, does it?”

Yuri flayed off her jacket, frowning. “It makes a difference to me.”

As a lesbian gateway. Tiffany sighed through her nose, searching Yuri’s face for a lie and loving the delicate tone of her arms.

In her own world, Yuri moved her ripping assault to the edge of a paper napkin. Switching gears to ask, “Did you major in fashion?”

“Yeah, my art and design school has a stellar program. I…” The words slipped out without prior thought, “I always worked, having to make up for what my scholarship didn’t cover.”

Yuri hesitated in an audible hick. She probably expected her to be a trust fund baby or something.

Tiffany laid a napkin onto her lap. “How about you?”

“Oh.” Color rose on her cheeks and neck, tentative smile withstanding. “I had to drop out two years in. My parents’ health problems escalated around the same time, so I moved in with them as caretaker, taking part-time jobs along the way. Eventually, my grades suffered, and priorities changed and…that’s life.” Yuri pushed the paper shreds into a little pile with gentle fingers. “My parents feel guilty about it, but they admit me chipping in with the bills prevented some major troubles.”

“That’s so fucking commendable, Yuri.” She leaned closer on her elbows, eyes soft. “You have a beautiful heart.”

“Here you go,” the server (not tuned into the gay energy) chirped, dishing out both plates. “Two chicken salad sandwiches.”

Tiffany didn’t even look at her own. She enjoyed Yuri’s eyes light up at the mixture of shredded chicken meat and artisan fixings sandwiched between two halves of a toasted croissant.

“Holy crap, there are pieces of grapes in this,” Yuri crooned in a thick bite. “You really do spoil me.”

“Oh, well, I couldn’t help myself.” She waved at her own flushed cheeks. Yuri scarfed her meal without putting on airs—elbows on the table’s edge and eyes bulged as if the whole concept of food enraptured her. Silently smitten, Tiffany could hardly concentrate on her rapidly depleting hunger. “Consider it a sneak peek into what I’m like as a girlfriend.”

Without skipping a beat, she responded, “You’re girlfriend goals, aren’t you?”

“No, I just love sharing dining experiences with someone special.”

“All the time?”

“All the time.”

“Hm. So, dating you is exactly like this.”

“More or less.” Tiffany kept her next statement calm after taking a tiny, noncommittal sip of water. “A glaring omission is all the sex we’d have afterwards.”

Per expected, the poor woman nearly choked on her food. Yuri struggled through a few hearty coughs that attracted enough curious stares to turn her tan cheeks crimson. Gaining her breath, she fake-glared at Tiffany munching on a fleck of croissant. “You did that on purpose.”

“As you’ve told me,” Tiffany regrouped to the work topic again with gentle ease, “you’ve been ‘Employee of the Month’ multiple times. You’re diligent, smart, more-than-likely organized. You’d be an expert on their supply by now. Have you gone for any managerial titles?”

Yuri chewed slower. Her glare dimmed to sadness. Or shyness? “C’mon. I’m not proactive. Like, at all.”

“Has it ever crossed your mind?”

“Often. For…for about a year.”

Tiffany finished a mouthful, shaking her head in a way that routinely irked Yoona. Her ‘disappointed parent’ head shake. “Take it from me. No business set on generating revenue will offer the position if you already perform the same roles for free. Keep an eye out for listings. Push yourself outside your comfort zone.”

“Do you owe your success to that?”

“Um, partially.”

“The gay club…” Flashbacks of Yuri in the bathroom, mascara teared over, suspiciously eyeing that old candy cane plastered a smile onto Tiffany’s face. “was my version of shaking up my boring life. S-so is sitting here. Spending time with you.”

“I can’t push you towards self-acceptance, Yuri.”

She tidied around her lips for crumbs, even when she didn’t need to. “I know this seems like a lose/lose situation for you. What with your stability on all fronts and my um…my…”

Tiffany bit the bullet and asked, “What’s your boyfriend like?”

If Yuri looked sad before, she’d presently fall under ‘devastated.’ Brows so dark, so obviously self-groomed, sinking downward. “Taekwoon’s a technophile. Games often. Athletic. Uh, faithful.”

“He treats you well.”

“He does.”

“And…” She cringed, wondering why she’d become a glutton for heartbreak. “you sleep in the same bed? Your sex life is good, possibly?”

Yuri shook her head emphatically. “No, sex with him gives me literal nausea. I hate it.”

Tiffany sighed in bittersweet relief. “I’d presume your taste in men to not suck, so why hurt him this way?”

That cracked a devastated woman into a weeping one. Yuri pressed a napkin over her eyes, held in place by both hands.

It attracted, pulled Tiffany to hurry to her side, to soothe her. Apparently, nobody else had been supplying this sort of straight (or not-straight) talk. If she’d be Yuri’s gateway, she’d fire on all cylinders. “If him touching you,” She bristled at that, “doesn’t excite or pleasure you, reevaluate your relationship first. Then you’re allowed show up at gay clubs, luring unsuspecting ladies like myself to fall for your attractive, ladylike wiles.”

“Oh, god.” Yuri’s gaze rose to Tiffany. “My wiles are underdeveloped.”

“Your wiles make me weak.”

Their server chose the following lull to gather their plates, boxing up Tiffany’s sandwich to-go, and settling a printed bill in the center of the table. Tiffany waved for Yuri to not hunt through her bag for cash. It didn’t matter. This would be their last lunch together, no?

And, emotionally available or not, this conversation drained Tiffany. She’d become too vulnerable, bound to shatter once she escaped to the private confines of her office. Yes, there would be much crying tonight. Might as well give herself a head start.

“What if I broke up with him?”

The pen in her hand stilled midway into a signature. Dolefully, Tiffany admitted, “I’m a biased party. You shouldn’t ask me.”

“I don’t feel like I belong with him, Tiffany. Through all the laughs and disagreements, triumphs, tests, he and I should enhance each other. Then, after moving in with him…being intimate with him…I’m only reminded I don’t know parts of myself at all. Or, the whole of me. The whole of me that’d want someone like you.”

Tiffany reviewed her friends’ scolding from last week. She needed to cage in her weaknesses, wall herself off from the drama.

But, her heart—as problematic as ever— prevailed. “Leave him.”


“Don’t live this fucking lie anymore. You’ll feel alone at first, then you won’t. Do it for yourself.”

Yuri blinked in thought for a solid five seconds, then winced as though a monkey wrench had been thrown into the plan. “I…can’t come out so soon. I’ll need more time.”

“The ‘right time’ to come out is a myth, Yuri.”

“But, it’s not practical. I’m at Craftie’s and my hours are unpredictable—”

“What?” Tiffany cut off. “Why does your job make a difference?”

“Taekwoon pays three quarters of our apartment’s rent. To live in the same metro area on my own, so close to my job, it’d bankrupt me over. Maybe I could start drifting away after saving more. T-to be viable for the market?”

It was here.

Here, this very moment. That marked when Tiffany saw red.

“That…” She scoffed, teeth bared in a mocking grin. “That is so fucking…”

Down, girl. Tiffany breathed in deeply through her nose, out through her mouth.

Still saw red.

“This boyfriend. Taekwoon, the man who’s in love with you, should not—cannot— be reduced to a paycheck, Yuri. It’s so disrespectful and frankly, cowardly. Your sexuality isn’t contingent on a few more bus stops from Craftie’s Warehouse.” Her voice crawled deeper, almost to a hiss. “He’s a person. He’s not your piggybank to joylessly fuck to keep a roof over your closeted little head. Don’t do that to people. We’re not sentient bank accounts. Don’t exploit us because you’re hot and you don’t mean to hurt others when you still fucking do, Yuri. You still do.”

Tears returned to Yuri’s eyes, unabated by a napkin this time. “You misunderstand—”

“Lunch is paid. I’m going now.”

“I’m done, too.”

“No, don’t walk with me.” Tiffany stood to full height and gulped back the rainfall that’d hit her eyes. Hopefully she’d last until she was alone. “I have a history of being used, Yuri. I…I can’t be around you or I’ll make the same mistakes.”

Yuri slid forward as if she’d bolt out, but stayed seated. “I’m sorry again. What I said came out wrong.”

“If you say so.”

“I guess…” Her smile was defeated. “I ruined this date, too. My habit.”

Tiffany threw her eyes to the ceiling, and muttered, more pissed off than she’d bargained, “Save it. You’re not my date and you’re not really my friend, either. You’re just…baggage. Lose my number.”

She’d shell herself off, that’s for sure. For the rest of the day. Left with shipment invoices, pages of unread emails,

and these stupid, self-sabotaging feelings.

[A/N]Look! Gorgeous gifs of Yuri to distract y’all from the angst, hehe. Any thoughts on YulTi’s date?

stolen from girls-generation

Tags: au, fic, pg-13, snsd, tiffany, yulti, yuri
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