content: you bring your bf!jisung to dinner with your parents, which ends up going horribly wrong (yet exactly how he expected). fem!reader x idol!jisung
warnings: lots of arguing, y/n has lots of family issues (particularly mommy issues), very moody jisung, y/n is kind of lowk not that smart, not a heartwarming moment at any point in this lol
a/n: this kind of fic is pretty out of the realm of what i usually enjoy writing (angst and over 1k words lol) but after watching a particular show for the gazillionth time i was inspired to write this (try and guess what show to get nothing)
You fidget with the hem of your skirt before lacing your fingers together in your lap, forcing a smile as you make awkward eye contact with the sour frown worn by your mother. Her eyes move to the floor as she takes a sip of her wine. You look to your father, who returns an equally forced and awkward smile to you.
“I’m sure he’ll be here any second…” you try to brush off the rigidness of the moment, this setting, the same rigidness you’ve always felt growing up in this rigid house with your rigid parents, but the slight tremble in your voice gives your concern away. Jisung was supposed to meet you at your parents’ house tonight to meet them for the first time– after you begged him for hours on end until he reluctantly agreed.
He had heard plenty of horror stories straight from your own mouth about how cold and unforgiving your parents were. How they never uttered a kind word to you, or placed a comforting hand on you. Rarely looked at you unless they were scolding you for not sitting properly or for talking too much or laughing too loud. Jisung’s jaw was on the floor when you told him that you couldn’t even recognize your father until you were 8 years old because he was always at work or in his home office, and you could only recognize your mother out of fear instinct. You told him how they were ashamed when you couldn’t hack it at your expensive private high school, disappointed when you graduated from a trade school instead of an ivy league university, and how any success you experience that you share with them is met with condescending confusion and passive-aggressive comments about your wasted potential.
So Jisung was more than completely lost when you insisted that he come with you to dinner at your parents’ house. But after you explained that they’re still your parents, and this was important to you, and so on and so on, he promised you he’d be there.
But he didn’t mention that he would be an hour late.
Surely he remembered you warning him about how easy it is to leave a bad impression on your incredibly high-strung parents, right? You told him the exact time he’d be expected there, and even watched as he set a reminder on his phone.
Your father looks out the window, the white blankets of snow seeming a lot warmer than the stiff couch you were sitting on. “He’s probably stuck in this awful weather. I swear, it snows the tiniest bit and suddenly everyone in the area forgets how to drive.”
“A little bit of traffic wouldn’t cause anyone with a working brain to be an hour late.” Your mother sets her wine down, the clink of the glass on the coaster making you wince.
“I’m sure he’s rushing to get here, mom.” You rummage through your purse, looking for your phone. “Maybe I should call–”
“Do not call him, y/n,” your mother scolds you, “if he is driving, you should not distract him with a phone call. It’s dangerous.”
“Sorry.” You place your hands back in your lap. You then remember that he’s taking the subway anyway, so you could call him if you wanted to. But you decide it’s not worth trying to correct your mother.
“Honey, I’m starving.” Your father pours himself another glass of wine.
“We are not eating until y/n’s guest arrives, that’s rude.”
“He’s already an hour late, so I’ve already been hungry for an hour more than necessary.”
“We do not begin eating a meal before the guest arrives, dear.”
“Well I certainly don’t want to wait another hour!”
You ignore your parents bickering and pull out your phone, just to double check if Jisung texted you or tried to call, but it's just the same vague message he sent before.
Practice ran long, frustrating day, might be late
Just as you toss your phone onto the couch, you hear the doorbell. You ignore your father’s muttering and your mother scolding you for rushing to answer (apparently, a lady never rushes).
You open the door to see your boyfriend, although you almost don’t recognize him with the deep eyebags and uncharacteristic frown he’s sporting.
“Ji? What’s wrong, are you okay?”
“I just wanna get this over with.” He walks past you without another word, or even a glance in your direction.
After you get over a few seconds of being stunned by your boyfriend’s behavior, you shut the door and walk with him towards the living room. “Jisung, what’s wrong, honey?” No response. You lace your arm in his, which is usually a surefire way to get a smile from him. But now, nothing.
“Ji.” You pull him against the wall before your parents spot you. “I know you had a bad day, and I’m sorry about that, but just… take a deep breath and refocus, okay baby? Because you definitely can’t meet my parents looking this pouty.”
Jisung sighs, then plasters a lazy, disingenuous smile on his face. “Okay.”
After uncomfortable introductions and Jisung offering an apathetic apology for his tardiness, you were sat at the dinner table across from your boyfriend, who clearly would rather be anywhere else right now and was too exhausted to hide it.
“So, Jisung,” your father breaks the ice, “y/n says that you’re a dancer.”
“No, dad, I said he’s an idol.”
Your father just stares at you.
“He’s an idol, he’s not just a dancer.”
He keeps staring at you, now furrowing his brows as if you’re speaking a foreign language.
“So he also sings, and raps, and goes on tours and a whole bunch of other stuff, dad.”
“I do dance, though. So I can be considered a dancer.” Jisung finally contributes, although it feels more like he’s correcting you than chatting with your father.
“That’s nice. I’ve always admired dancers. I, for one, don’t have a rhythmic bone in my body.” Your father laughs at himself.
“Well, it's nice for a hobby.” Your mother’s fork scrapes across her plate, and you see Jisung’s eye twitch at the grating noise. “So what are your career plans?”
Jisung looks over at you, silently pleading for your help. “Uh, what do you mean?”
“You do have a career in mind, don’t you?”
“Well, my idol career is going pretty great, and I don’t see it ending anytime soon.” Jisung tries to smile, but it bounces off your mother’s tight-lipped grimace.
“Yes, but dancing–” she says the word as if it's a vulgar swear– “isn’t really a career. Surely you have an actual prospect lined up.”
“Mom, we just had this conversation. He does a lot more than dance, it's not just a hobby.”
“Does he make decent money?”
You look at Jisung, noticing how he’s consciously refraining from rolling his eyes. “Yes, he does, and that is a totally inappropriate question, mother.”
“It certainly is an appropriate question, y/n,” your father scolds you, “if this man is intending to be serious with you, then we must make sure he is good enough for you.”
“Good enough?” Jisung echoes your father, not breaking eye contact with you.
“It's no offense to you, Jisung, you understand. She’s our daughter, it's our duty to ensure she has a stable, comfortable life.”
“And that’s worked out well up to this point, hasn’t it?”
Your breath catches in your throat, completely shocked at the sarcasm dripping from Jisung’s voice.
“Well we certainly tried, but she was never exactly receptive.” Your mother’s tone is just as condescending as ever, but you’re too busy staring at your boyfriend in disbelief to notice. “We gave her everything she needed growing up, yet still, she was always getting into trouble. Staying out past curfew, skipping school with those hoodlum friends of hers, bringing home substandard boys…”
“Clearly that hasn’t changed.”
“Substandard. Wow.” Jisung laughs under his breath.
“Oh, excuse me one moment–” your father rushes to answer the phone ringing in his study– “I need to take this call.”
“How could you make a comment like that, mom? You don’t even know Jisung!”
“You know him? You asked him a single question, refused to understand his answer, and you somehow decided that you don’t like him? You know nothing about him!”
“I don’t need to, I know you. You always go for these types, boys who have no manners, don’t know how to have a conversation, and haven’t put a single thought into their future.”
“That is not anything like Jisung!”
“Isn’t it? He shows up an hour late with no warning or explanation, he sits there pouting as if he doesn’t even want to be here, and he lets you do all the talking for him, when he’s not muttering to himself like a moody child.”
“It's been, like, 10 minutes, and you’ve already decided you don’t like him. I think that’s a record, even for you, mom.”
“Honestly, y/n. Don’t you see how this is embarrassing for us? For our daughter to keep making mistake after mistake, constantly making a fool of herself, acting as if she’s had no discipline her entire life?”
You turn to look at Jisung, and that’s when you finally realized he snuck away at some point unnoticed. “Mom, I don’t care. I’m leaving.”
“For once, y/n, you should think about how your decisions make your father and I look!”
You ignore your mother’s ranting as you gather your coat and purse, walking out the front door without a goodbye. You step into the driveway to see Jisung, leaning against the hood of your car, hands in his jacket pockets, snow melting into his hair.
You approach him, rubbing his arm gently, but it elicits no response from him.
“I’m so sorry, Ji. I hate that they treated you that way.”
He looks you in the eye, but doesn’t say a word. His eyes meet the ground again.
“I really… I don’t know. I thought after all these years, after them always trying to decide things for me, and me always going against it, I thought they could finally see something good happen to me and just… be happy for me, you know?”
He still doesn’t say anything. Just nods, so little you almost miss it.
“I really am sorry. I had no idea they would do that to you–”
“Oh come on, y/n, yes you did!” Jisung tears your hand from his arm, moving away to stand tall next to your parents’ tacky topiaries. “I didn’t even want to come to this stupid dinner, but you insisted, and you just let them treat me like I was too dirty to even enter their house or something!”
You stand still, your legs feeling like they’re made of lead. “Why are you yelling at me? It's not like its my fault–”
“It is your fault! God, just think for a second, y/n! You were the one warning me about how horrible your parents are and how they’d never accept me, you can’t act shocked when they behave the exact way you knew they would.” He runs a hand through his hair, now refusing to even look in your direction, or at anything other than the asphalt under his feet. “And I told you that I would probably be tired after practice today anyway, but you still made me come here. And I had a really shitty day, practice ran late because of me being an idiot and not getting the choreography, and then I had to rush in the stupid snow to get here and listen to two people I don’t even like tell me how inadequate I am. As if I didn’t already know that.”
“I think I’m gonna stay at my parents’ house tonight.”
You cross your arms, trying to swallow back the sobs that were forming in your throat. “You’re not coming home?”
He shakes his head. “No. I don’t really wanna face you right now. I don’t wanna face the guys either after I ruined their days too. I just need to be alone I think.” He finally looks at you, his jaw tight, eyes glossy. “Can I leave now?”
You nod, which shakes a few tears loose from your eyes, but Jisung turns around too fast to notice.
“Ji, let me give you a ride, its freezing.”
“Its fine. I survived taking the subway here, I can do it again.” He calls back to you, without even turning to look at you. You just stare at his back as he walks off, his steps looking heavy on the icy sidewalk.
You hear the front door open behind you. “He’s leaving?” Your mother’s voice has never sounded so ugly to your ears. “He throws a fit and leaves. How fitting you would find a boy so similar to yourself.”
Before you can retort, she hands you your phone, which you didn’t realize you had left on the couch in your rush out the door. “You better get going, the snow is going to get worse. I’ll tell your father goodbye for you.”
Your phone feels like a brick loosely held in your hand, now freezing from the gentle attacks of snow flurries. Your mother shuts the door while you watch Jisung’s shadow walk further and further out of reach. You climb into your car, adjusting the hem of your skirt as you sit in the driver's seat, noticing just how empty it feels without Jisung in the passenger seat. How empty your home is going to feel when you enter without him. How empty your bed will feel when you try to sleep without him. How empty the home you grew up in always was, no matter how many people were in there. How the night you met Jisung at your friend’s house party, and you talked in the empty backyard alone for hours and hours, was the first time in your life you didn’t really feel empty anymore.
Your mouth feels dry. You grab the water bottle in your cup holder, but it's empty. As you drive the long way home, you contemplate if you should make a stop to buy some water or just wait until you get there, when you spot Jisung walking down into the subway. His posture exhausted, his expression completely empty.
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