wish you were here ✈

learn to 21st century please [ fic ]

lovelyable — Sat, 18 Aug 2012 21:50:45 GMT

you've got mail
gd/top | pg, 1722 words, canon
gd turns 25 years old.

bet you got it all planned, right
five years by your side
so i know you really don't mind
DON'T YOU EVAH/SPOON

from: maknae, 8/18/2012 12:00:11 AM
HAPPY BIRTHDAY HYUNGNIM~ am i first kekekeke ^^

from: youngbae, 8/18/2012 12:00:34 AM
happy g-day!! :) :) i'll b back soon w ur present

from: chaerinnie, 8/18/20 1212:00:36 AM
happy birthday! kk

from: bom-noona, 8/18/2012 12:00:36 AM
jiyong-goon!!!!!! happy happy bday~~~~ from 2ne1 in america^^!!!

from: daesung, 8/18/2012 12:01:02 AM
hyung happy 25th! sorry i can't be there to celebrate.. have fun!! see you soon~

from: kush-hyung, 8/18/2012 12:01:13 AM
YO GD HAPPY BDAY C U 2NITE KE… wat r we doin tho

you have 53 unread messages
you have 27 missed calls
you have 73 unread emails

you have 1 new voicemail from seunghyun hyung

it was probably a mistake to leave his phone on after the clock hit midnight. jiyong means to work until he can't keep his eyes open anymore - which has been his unofficial "schedule" for the last 80 hours - but he makes a bad judgment call to just read a few messages during a bathroom break.

that turns into reading a few more, which turns into reading all of them which turns into reading a few emails turns into skimming every single one until he's watching a video message from 2NE1in pajamas at the foot of a hotel bed shouting the birthday anthem at him. (rather badly, he notes; for professional singers, they can't seem to hold a note tonight. though the mostly empty bottle of champagne bom is swinging around probably has a lot to do with it.)

seungho and justar send belated texts in the same vein as kush, asking what exactly they're doing tonight and should they dress up. not sure, maybe something next wknd.. jiyong replies. it isn't like him to not make a big deal about celebrations, but with most of yg family overseas, he's fine postponing it in favor of some sleep instead.

by the time he makes it back to the studio, jiyong is thoroughly distracted and can't even remember the name of his album, much less what he was working on. it's now past one o'clock in the morning, and he has one voicemail left.

jiyong makes a face at his phone. voicemails went obsolete a few years ago - he's even told seunghyun he never bothers checking them, has even shown him the '43 voicemails' notification he's got as proof - but of course seunghyun would leave him one anyway. it's what he does when he's not replying to jiyong's texts four hours late.

learn the 21st century!! i have no idea what your voicemail says jiyong types - then deletes. seunghyun has as many unread SMS's as jiyong does voicemails. he contemplates calling him instead - but seunghyun's been shooting on location for the past couple months, and he heard boram and byeongyeong murmuring something about no sleep and flu medicine the other day, so he puts the phone down; scrubs a hand tiredly over his face and rolls his chair back up to the computer screen, squinting at the scratches of audio he still has to polish up.

and then he hears scuffling behind him, the sound of someone clearly laughing while trying to muffle it. "wha-" he manages before the lights in the room go out completely and his title track tune is replaced with the sound of "happy birthday to you" in a badly sung chorus.

"oh my god," jiyong croaks, as teddy, choice 37, and dongwook shuffle into the room with the most lopsided cake in the world, lit by pink, flickering "25" candles. there's a stick figure on it with pink spaghetti hair and something written in english in wobbly block letters - CONGRATS ITS ABOy he reads.

"um. thanks?" he says, though the grin on his face probably gives him away. teddy shrugs, points at choice, who's holding an icing tube in his hand.

"he did it. i just bought the candles."

"i didn't know you changed your hair," says choice. "anyway, they only had pink and orange at the store, and i wrote 'congrats' too big, so...."

after jiyong blows out the candles, they all stare down at the small cake ("from dairy queen," says dongwook - "it kind of got smashed in the car.") for a second before teddy sets it down beside the switcher and claps jiyong on the arm.

"you know what? never mind. you're not a five year old. we're taking you out."

"but i have to-" says jiyong, then changes his mind halfway and reaches for his hat instead. he hasn't showered in a day and a half and is pretty much running on an empty stomach to be boozing, but - "okay."

dongwook makes a few calls in the cab, and kush, hyuksoo, and justar are already at the lounge when they get there, three pitchers of soju and several shopping bags littering the table.

"dude," justar says, jumping up out of his seat before jiyong's even had a chance to say hi. "i thought you said you weren't doing anything today? what the fuck?"

"i didn't know anything about it," jiyong answers, scooting into the booth beside hyuksoo. "how'd you guys get here so fast?"

kush, on the other side of the table, raises a hand. "i thought we were late so i drove really fucking fast." he looks extra proud of himself when he adds, "may or may not have ran seven red lights."

"you counted?" choice says, the same time teddy tells him jiyong will pay for any traffic tickets he receives.

they end up opening up the grill for samgyupsal and ordering three more pitchers, forgoing shot glasses for full-sized glass tumblers of lemon soju, and lychee soju, and yogurt soju instead. kush takes it upon himself to make everyone toast jiyong every few minutes, which jiyong finds a bit obnoxious, but hey, who is he to complain, really? he's only 25 once.

he's feeling somewhere between buzzed and completely sloshed when there's a commotion at the door. all of the sudden, justar springs out of his seat again, and kush is shouting something, so jiyong glances over his shoulder, sure it's yulia or seungho. but - what the fuck, he thinks vaguely, nerves jumping into shockwaves - it's seunghyun.

he's in the door, greeting dongwook, and setting down a carrier bag with rick owens printed on the outside before jiyong can even process an appropriate response. seunghyun slides past hyuksoo into the seat next to jiyong's, a smile on his lips and his hair making him look even younger than jiyong last remembers - and jiyong realizes whatever witty remark he's got is moot, negated by the wide grin that's suddenly appeared his own face, damn.

"hi," seunghyun says, look about his face quirking towards smug when he notices jiyong's empty glass. "are you soju drunk?"

"shut up," jiyong says (slurs, damn), and pushes halfheartedly at his shoulder. "i thought you couldn't come."

seunghyun blinks. "when did i say that?"

jiyong tries really hard to think back to an hour ago. "i don't know," he says. maybe he should've listened to that voicemail. "but you were 'on location.' or whatever." seunghyun's face breaks, and jiyong frowns. "shut up."

seunghyun joining in means another round of drinks - this time, frothy, cheap beer next to the candy-flavored alcohol. and it has to be the alcohol in his system, jiyong thinks - for fuck's sake, he saw seunghyun two weeks ago, this is ridiculous - but jiyong finds his eyes following his movements as he takes a glass, rubs briefly at his eyes, chews at his bottom lip. god.

seunghyun settles into him as the night goes on, comfortable amidst the sizzling meat and chatter; the next round of birthday toasts, he cheers obnoxiously, singing raucously above everyone else. a few times, his hand settles on jiyong's knee under the table, and stays - though, when jiyong stares up at him, curious, he doesn't give anything away.

the impromptu "party" ends at a quarter to five, when jiyong's tipped all the way over to utterly drunk and everyone realizes they have real lives to get back to in about three hours. jiyong hangs back with seunghyun as they wait for a cab, cigarette between his lips. a light wind has started up, whipping seunghyun's hair into his eyes and the scent of him towards jiyong. it's been weeks since he saw him for longer than a concert, jiyong realizes, for longer than ten minutes at any given costume change backstage.

"god, i'm tired," jiyong says. "what's your schedule like?"

"dunno." seunghyun says. "i think it starts in a few hours." he drops his cigarette stub to the ground, stamping it out; his eyes slide over to where jiyong's fidgeting next to him. "what?"

"you really didn't have to come," jiyong says. "i mean. boram said you're really busy, and it wasn't even a real party. and like, the others just texted me, and you left me a message already, so... i mean." he trails off, makes some sort of aborted gesture that he hopes finishes his sentence appropriately enough.

"okay," seunghyun agrees, "but - you don't check your messages, so." then seunghyun's suddenly closer than jiyong remembers and his hand is on jiyong's neck, fingers brushing against the scruff of hair below his hat. his fingers are cold, and jiyong shivers, eyes dropping closed - and then seunghyun's kissing him, tasting like beer and cigarettes and yogurt and exactly like jiyong remembers.

it's over too soon, jiyong grasping at seunghyun's collar and his elbows and his fingers to keep them together, still. "you should come home," jiyong says, nose buried in seunghyun's cheek. "you haven't even heard my album."

"i'll be back soon," says seunghyun.

"you have no idea, do you?"

"we're almost finished," seunghyun insists. he taps at the brim of jiyong's hat, thumb skimming over his bangs. "i like your hair, by the way."

"yea?" jiyong pushes forward until the both of them stumble, noise of protest dropping from seunghyun's lips. "if you checked your texts you would've seen it already."

"i don't like the touchpad," seunghyun explains. "i end up sending the wrong things."

"use the voice dictator."

"that's weird, though."

"hyung," jiyong says, then seunghyun is laughing and saying okay and then they're kissing again and jiyong's brain shuts down.

when their cab pulls up, jiyong falls asleep in the back seat against the air conditioned leather and seunghyun's shoulder, the feel of seunghyun's fingers interlaced in his, purposeful this time, a sure answer instead of multiple choice.

seunghyun wakes him when they get to jiyong's apartment, and then he's gone.

when jiyong gets out of the shower, he stares at his phone with 37 more text messages, from kyungil and laurieann and jeremy scott - and pauses. at the bottom of the list, there's one more name he has to double-check to make sure it's who he thinks it is.

from: seunghyun-hyung, 8/18/2012 5:21:09 AM
happy bday jiyongie. see you soon :)

-
bonus..
from: juuuuustar, 8/18/2012 5:10:29 AM
saw u kissing kkkkkkkkkk

from: teddy-hyung, 8/18/2012 5:16:01 AM
thx 4 waitin till we left 2 get gross. 2 bad i still saw u frm the car = ="

notes: good god it's been over a year since i've posted fic... and this isn't part two of happy together or any of the other ongoing projects i have, either. i'm so incredibly sorry ;_; i'll try harder! anyway, i haven't abandoned anything, it's just that i seem to have forgotten how to write and am trying to get back into the practice of things. hence! lighthearted gratuitous gtop birthday fic. as always, tysm whetstone, without whom i seem to be able to get nothing done ♥. i'm also posting my fic wips and scraps at this tumblr, so you can follow that if you like what i write or have any questions to ask me about fic or.. whatever. happy happy birthday gd :'D

meltdowns, changes, and holes of doom

lovelyable — Wed, 13 Jun 2012 12:51:09 GMT

YOU GUYS. lol i have no idea how to start this sentence. welp. i'm flying out to see big bang in LA in november! november 3rd to be exact!! and celebrate choomtop's bday!!! with whetstone!!!! ad infinitum. aaahhh. i've been waiting for this day since they announced the alive tour. and it's happening!!!!!!!!!! i kind of jumped the gun by booking my plane tix and waking melissa up at some god-awful hour (the joys of working overnight! never end!!) to talk about schedules. and i don't even have tickets to the show yet. i wondered for a second what i would do if i didn't end up getting a ticket - but apparently the honda center in anaheim seats 18,900, so if i don't nab one out of almost 19,000 spots then maybe i don't deserve to go. haha. anyway, i'm so excited to see big bang for the second time, to hang out with melissa, and to experience LA/anaheim i guess, neither of which i've been to before. what am i going to wear?????

also, i've changed my hair yet again.

i think i want more blonde. + the majority of my hair is a warmer shade of mahogany than the pic shows.

finally, i've been in the writing rut of my life, if you couldn't tell. i've been in some but have always managed to dig my way out - except this one is endless. it's like the friggin rabbit hole. i keep setting deadlines for myself and then missing it. anyway, i was super inspired (like everybody else golly) by the monster mv so i'm writing something, or trying to, based on that. except it's super complex and will probably be like 500k and i'm melting. plus i keep waffling between whether i want to finish that first or happy together (or the rewrite of mercury in my veins?) i suck. i'm sorry.

but i get to see big bang!!!

the adventures of rain-dance summer

lovelyable — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 06:16:30 GMT

this is going to sound incredibly naive and (...blanking on the right word right now, omg) well-to-do/first-world/ignorant of me, but i've been so incredibly happy the past few months and would just like to mark this point in time. so, when i'm still jobless and a stay at home child and crying myself to sleep every night in 2013, i can look back and remember right now. T____T ANYWAY, MEME that has hit my flist like a wildfire today:

give me a reference to one of my fics/wips/abandoned scraps, and i'll give you details that didn't make it into the fic. background canon, deleted scenes, or a look into the future. my choice, but if you have a specific question you can ask it in your request.

1. the fic list &

2. wips/abandoned thingies:

kpop

- gd/top, happy together parts 2 & 3, happy together!verse, canon
- yb/cl/seungri, the one where cl and seungri are possessive over yb but accidentally fall for each other, canon
- cl/daesung, trapped in an elevator cliche, canon
- teddy/kush bromance, the adventures of teddy and kush ft. choice and sometimes yb, crack!canon*
- gd/top, the one where top takes on a controversial movie role playing a gay man, future!fic, canon
- gd/top, some fluffy thing about the high high performance interludes that FAILED MISERABLY, canon

- gd/top & cl/jay/seungri, mercury in my veins redux, drugsex/streetgang/crime, ar
- bom/kush & cl/jay, the one where bom owns a barbershop and kush has no hair, ar
- gd/top, the one where gd has a personality disorder, based off his song "nightmare/obsession", ar
- seungri!centric, big bang ot5, almost famous!verse, ar
- gd/top ft. cha seungwon & seungho, the one where top is a model and gd is a starry-eyed student, nyc ar
- gd/top, the sky is falling/end of the world (except it's not, and gd is just going crazy), ar
- teddy/dara/cl, the one where dara is psychic and teddy doesn't like it, ar
- gd/top, the one where top is a TA and gd is a biology student, ar

- gd/top, the one where top has the kiss of death (everyone he falls in love with dies), au
- gd/top, the island!verse, au*
- cl/seungri, a dystopic world where emotions are taken as pills and seungri is a love-pill addict, au
- big bang/2ne1/ygfamily, the vampire diaries!verse, au
- the return of gossip girl verse, au

footie (dismal... list.... :|)

- cesc/villa, the one where cesc gets over david before david realizes how he feels, canon
- villa-centric, the one where david accidentally says wrong english words and insults various people, crack!canon
- c.ron-centric, the one where cron gets his heart broken five times, canon

- xabi-centric, the one where xabi's beard is magical and he becomes a reluctant genie, ar*

- spanish nt, five possible high school au situations, au*

*=i don't actually have a whole lot on the starred ones so you might want to ask about something else in addition to these.

so happy i could die [ fic ]

lovelyable — Fri, 27 May 2011 04:28:12 GMT

happy together, part 1
gd/top | r, 4229 words, canon
imagine me and you, i do.

(I can't see me loving nobody but you for all my life)

Jiyong tells him he's in love with him for the second time exactly six minutes before New Year's, six seconds before they're due for their encore.

"No you don't," says Seunghyun automatically, and then they're back on stage and Jiyong is saying "love is pain," into a microphone, which sounds about right. Lies is easy, familiar; it's timed to a fault and almost an art form, and they make it backstage again to celebrate with college party cups full of Dom Perignon with twenty extra seconds to spare. Teddy has turned the television to the station broadcasting the countdown. Jiyong corners Seunghyun by the sink in the back.

"I'm so sorry but I love you," he half-sings, eyes crazy with left-over adrenalin and one arm out of his t-shirt. Seunghyun shoves champagne at his face.

"Fourteen," screams Seungri as he pushes past them with an armful of party poppers. "Thirteen! Twelve!"

Jiyong downs the whole cup and wipes at his mouth, undeterred. "I can keep singing if you want."

"Is this just so you'll have somebody to kiss in six seconds?"

"No," Jiyong says.

"FIVE! FOUR! THREE!" The entire room is thundering loud - as even Hyunsuk, and Master Hwang, and the security guards join in the chanting - "TWO! ONE--"

On "HAPPY-NEW-YEAR," Seunghyun tries feigning to the right, but Jiyong knows him almost as well as Lies and goes left in time to catch and press him against the wall.

"Don't." At the last second he slows, like he's suddenly a bit shy - Seunghyun watches Jiyong's eyelids flicker before he then resolutely tightens his grip on Seunghyun's arm and closes the last millimeters of distance between them. He tastes like champagne and sweat and smeared lip gloss, and he combs careful fingers through Seunghyun's hair. When he trips over his own feet trying to get closer he starts laughing against Seunghyun's mouth and almost accidentally knees him in the crotch.

"Can you learn how to handle your alcohol now?" Seunghyun says sourly, but he gets a faceful of smile before Jiyong buries his head in Seunghyun's neck, the ha-ha-ha's now vibrating against Seunghyun's throat.

"I love you more, more," he says after he's calmed down. Seunghyun rolls his eyes. Jiyong starts laughing all over again.

Jiyong tells him to get out of the car forty minutes outside Tokyo.

Seunghyun is two-thirds asleep with an outdated road map crumpled in his lap and his forehead pressed against the window. It doesn't register in his head until Jiyong pulls off the road onto gravel and starts losing speed. "Wait, are you - what? Here?"

To his left is a yellow field with a few bales of hay and a red Coke can stuck in the ground, shadows of what are maybe houses, or barns, or fucking vortexes for all he knows, in the distance. To his right are Jiyong's knuckles on the steering wheel, sharp and white.

"Seriously? Can we just--"

"No." Jiyong keeps his eyes on the road, five-hundred-dollar Persols over his eyes even though the sky has been overcast all day. "I can't, fucking can't right now, and you just--"

"What the hell am I supposed to do here, walk?"

"--need to get out of the car." He hits the brakes too hard, and they both lurch forward; the map tumbles off Seunghyun's legs and onto the mat.

For a moment neither of them move, the only sounds the idling engine and the static-y between-cities radio reception of an upbeat pop song. Outside, the fog is starting to curl towards them, and Seunghyun doesn't do well with no road signs; he'll end up spiraling in circles.

"Jiyong." No answer - but when he tries to touch Jiyong he snaps back, shoves him away like he's scared.

Seunghyun wipes a hand over his face and tries to be the Hyung. "Our apartment is, like, half an hour away."

Jiyong doesn't even look at him.

Seunghyun gets out of the car. Barely counts to to three before it's engulfed by the fog.

It takes Jaejoong two hours to find him. By the time he pulls up, day has melted into evening and Seunghyun's fingers are about to fall off from the cold.

"Look, you're going to have to be a little more descriptive than 'I'm by a haystack and probably a barn' next time." Jaejoong is wearing his glasses, and the hair that is usually styled over his eyes is in a top-bun. He aims the heating vents at Seunghyun's face and presses 'return journey' on the GPS. "And you're out in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere because..."

"We haven't broken up in the country yet," Seunghyun mutters. "Thought it'd be fun."

"Loads of fun," Jaejoong agrees, squinting at the six feet in front of him that he can see. "For future reference, can you tell Jiyong to start ditching you right outside my lobby? I don't like being your hero anymore."

"Yea," Seunghyun mumbles as they merge onto a highway he might actually recognize, "I don't know. Don't think I want to do this anymore."

Jaejoong decides to keep his mouth shut. He turns up the speakers instead, and Seunghyun nods off listening to him singing along to SS501, warm air fanning his face. When he next opens his eyes, they're at Jaejoong's apartment complex (sorry, Jaejoong says, I don't remember which street you live on) and Seunghyun decides to stay.

He thinks about it later, in the darkness of Jaejoong's spare room and freshly laundered sheets, and can't remember how they got here. He can't ever really remember, whether it's because the good things are big enough to blot out the bad things, or if it's just because everything is so jumbled together - the good and the bad and the in-between and the separations - that it's impossible to pull any one thread out of the fray.

They fought in the car because Jiyong got them lost. And then Seunghyun couldn't read the map and Jiyong wouldn't ask for directions and Seunghyun fell asleep instead of doing it for him. They were in the car because... because Jiyong wanted to go to Chiba to see the sun over the coastline. Because there had been a tune, or a poem, or - something, some stupid written thing that Seunghyun translated for their tutor last week that said something about the beach in Chiba and made it sound disgusting and over-the-top and incredibly Jiyong. Seunghyun didn't care. The sun was the sun, they had oceans in Korea, and the only Japanese he was okay with in public was "please," "how much," and "bathroom," but he made a playlist for the road all the same. After three hours of being lost and looping through it four times, they were both sick of the songs.

Before that, Seunghyun had made Jiyong laugh at the rest stop. Jiyong wove their fingers together from the stretch of road between Ichikawa and Funabashi, when they were still sure they were en route. The night before that, Jiyong had crawled into his bed. They'd laid kissing for a long time and then Jiyong had curled into him and slid his hand underneath Seunghyun's shirt, cold fingers stinging his belly like a reminder that he was there. Before that they hadn't talked for a week.

Why? Seunghyun doesn't remember.

They'd veered off course somewhere outside Yachiyo. Jiyong took his hand away to drive. Seunghyun pulled out the map and said I think you were supposed to turn right at the last exit. Jiyong said you don't even know the characters for Chiba, let me concentrate where is a fucking gas station my meter is low. He tried calling Youngbae but there was no reception. Seunghyun fell asleep.

It always ends with Seunghyun falling asleep.

It's raining the next morning. It takes Seunghyun longer than usual to wake up, twice as long to wash his face and stuff himself back in yesterday's clothes. Twice as long to open the door and see Jiyong sitting against the wall right outside his room.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi."

There's an open pack of cigarettes next to Jiyong's feet, haggard lines on his face. He looks like he hasn't slept much. "Jaejoong-hyung told me you were here."

"Yea."

Jiyong nods, chews on his lip, smoothes out invisible wrinkles on his khaki pants, then his mismatched jacket, then his (or is it Seunghyun's) shirt. "We were worried."

Seunghyun sighs. He's tired. "Jiyong--"

"Why didn't," Jiyong interrupts, "Why didn't you call me?" He has trouble meeting Seunghyun's eyes, and talks instead into his lap. "I kept thinking you would call. But you didn't."

"You didn't, either."

Jiyong's hands twist inside his jacket pockets. It is quiet for a long moment. The rain turns into television static, downpour bouncing off the apartment's large windows like a drumbeat and casting distorted shadows that pockmark their faces.

"I know you don't want to see me," Jiyong says - and maybe it's half-true, Seunghyun still has one hand on the doorknob and is thinking about rolling back into bed and sleeping until dinner - but Jiyong, when he says "hyung" a second later and reaches for him, Seunghyun drops down next to him on the hardwood floor. Jiyong pauses before scooting closer to carefully lean against him, red hair tickling his cheek. Seunghyun remembers sitting with him at the salon when he picked the color, remembers calling him Hamtaro all night and slowly combing his fingers through the red strands in the cab home. Sleeping is never an option.

"Have you been here long?" Seunghyun eventually says. Jiyong shrugs, his shoulder knocking into Seunghyun's back.

"No. I don't know. It's okay."

Seunghyun shifts a little, uncomfortable on the hardwood floor. "Jaejoong-hyung has couches."

"Uh-huh."

"You could've sat on them."

"I didn't want to fall asleep." Jiyong rubs his eyes, irony in the way he yawns halfway through his sentence. "And I was trying to make a gesture."

Despite everything, Seunghyun feels a surge of ridiculous affection at Jiyong's inability to ever apologize straight. "Is that how it works?"

"Yes." A second passes by before Jiyong adds, "Also Jaejoong's creepy cat lives out there and it kept staring at me."

Seunghyun chuckles. Some of the knotted tension in Jiyong's body immediately eases, and one of his hands flies up over his eyes like he's embarrassed - though really, it's for Seunghyun's benefit.

They leave a little later because they have schedules today. Seunghyun steals an umbrella from Jaejoong's hall closet before following Jiyong out of the apartment building and into the rain, Jiyong turning his collar up for him before they run to the rental car across the street.

By the time they shut the doors and Jiyong turns on the ignition, it has started to sleet. "I hate this weather," Jiyong says. "I hate this car."

Seunghyun snorts. "You're mad no one recognizes you in a Nissan."

"Up yours," Jiyong says, but he sounds amused, relieved that they're back here again.

They meet the others in the lobby two minutes late for the van to take them to their radio show/talk show/whatever. The other three look relatively unsurprised when Seunghyun climbs into the car, even moreso when Jiyong follows him in and sits next to him in the back. The Boy who Cried Wolf, said Daesung once, when Seunghyun came back after a week-long absence and nobody even looked up from their dinners.

Show, tutoring, rehearsal, music station, tutoring, sleep. The rest of the week falls neatly between the lines of their written-out schedule, and Jiyong stays near to him for most of it. By the time they pack up for Korea, Seunghyun hasn't added any Japanese to his vocabulary except a list of sex words that Jiyong tears out of Youngbae's hand dictionary one night and passes to Seunghyun like illicit drugs.

"Funny, I don't think I'll ever use this," Seunghyun says. Jiyong is too busy snickering over the slang for "someone with frequent erections" (binbin daze) to hear him, so Seunghyun pulls Jiyong's vocabulary notebook towards him and copies "fellatio" into the blank squares twenty times before moving onto "tit-fuck." I like to tit-fuck. You like to tit-fuck. He/she likes to tit-fuck. Jiyong keeps rolling away from him on his bed to laugh and rolling back to comment on his terrible handwriting.

"Why're you being so loud?" Seungri whines, poking his head into Jiyong's room. "It's three in the morning."

Seunghyun looks up from carving we like to tit-fuck into Jiyong's arm with a marker.

"Binbin daze?" Jiyong says, and points to Seungri. Seunghyun stares at him for a moment before - he can't help it - he starts to laugh.

"What? What did you say? What's that mean?" Seungri says. "What?"

Jiyong knocks Seunghyun in the hip and rolls closer, hands in Seunghyun's hoodie and his own laugh muffled against Seunghyun's ribcage, and then Seungri is giving up and stomping out of Jiyong's room as they laugh, laugh, laugh harder. Seunghyun knows Jiyong does it on purpose, this, trying too hard to make Seunghyun laugh after they fight - as if it can smooth over the ridges Jiyong can't otherwise fix.

Maybe it will. Jiyong has tit-fuck imprinted backwards on his cheek the next morning and after sniggering for fifteen minutes straight, Seunghyun helps him scrub it off over the bathroom sink. Jiyong's smile is wide and bright against the sunlight streaming in from the windows; Seunghyun has trouble seeing anything else. (So maybe it will.)

Another time, another fight. Why can't you ever just tell me what's wrong, says Jiyong, I'm not a mind reader. Nothing's wrong, says Seunghyun, and heads for the door. Stop saying that. I'm not a little kid. Don't just fucking go again. Don't go.

They all start to sound the same after a while, except this time Seunghyun leaves for his movie and Jiyong finds somebody else to be with.

He has weird hair, shaved on one side, and broad shoulders, like he's competing with Youngbae. This is according to Daesung, through text messages and random fifteen minute phone calls that Seunghyun can spare between shooting schedules and press conferences.

It's good to keep busy. Seunghyun has no time to think. Sangwoo and Seungwon sometimes ask him if he's feeling all right, but Seunghyun chalks it up to exhaustion, the movie, post traumatic stress disorder. Too many bombs on the staged war field. He cracks a few jokes and they leave him alone.

"He seems nice," says Dongwook.

Information trickles into his phone when Seunghyun is in places with reception. He's tall, he takes Jiyong to weird underground raves, he shows up on obscure style section blogs and supposedly helped out with the detailing in this year's Prabal Gurung pre-fall collection. He studied abroad in Turkey and can tie cherry stems in knots with his tongue (you know what that means). He possibly makes Jiyong a little bit happy.

"He's not you," says Youngbae.

Seunghyun stops checking his phone. The director commends him on his dedication.

Last of all is the Seoul premiere. Seunghyun ducks out as soon as the credits stop rolling and hails a cab back to his apartment, legs unsteady at the sudden appearance of the lights. It seems strange, here at home again with his dog-eared script tucked away in a box and nothing on the agenda for tomorrow. He's still in his designer party clothes when the buzzer rings.

Jiyong's hair is messy, and he's dressed in plain clothes too short to be Seunghyun's, too loose to be his own. They stare at each other for a second before Jiyong breaks the silence. "You weren't there," he says, and gestures vaguely behind him. "At the after party, I mean."

"...I was kind of tired." Seunghyun says. "Do you wanna come inside?"

Jiyong shakes his head. "No, I just, I just wanted to see if you were... so are you, like, back now? Everything's done?"

Not really; YG's told him to rest for a few weeks, but Seunghyun's going stir crazy after two minutes and has already made plans to meet with a list of directors he wants to work with. "Pretty much."

Jiyong smiles briefly. He takes a step forward into the light spilling out to the corridor from Seunghyun's apartment, and when he meets his eye Seunghyun sees how red they are. "So you liked the movie?"

"Oh," says Jiyong, and looks like he's been caught off-guard for a second, blinking a few times. "Yea, um, it was really great, the part with--" and then he glimpses of Seunghyun's expression and looks affronted. "Oh, fuck you, I wasn't - Seungri just kept, like, slapping me every time he choked up, and Bom was crying herself blind right behind me, and like--"

"Some of it got in your eye?"

Jiyong dissolves into laughter in the middle of describing Youngbae hiding behind his sunglasses. "Whatever. It wasn't anything you did, anyway."

"Of course," Seunghyun agrees. "All for Sangwoo-hyung, right?"

Jiyong's phone buzzes before he can answer. His fingers fumble to pull it out from his back pocket, and he stares down at it for a second, something familiar and simultaneously strange flickering across his face before he presses the silencer and puts it away again. Seunghyun clears his throat. "Is that..."

"Yea."

Yea. Seunghyun drops his arms, feeling awkward as he keeps his face pleasant. "I'm glad things worked out for you."

Jiyong stares at him - and in an instant, his expression changes, sours. "No you're not," he says.

"What?"

"You're not glad." Jiyong comes forward, steps over the threshold so he's standing on Seunghyun's welcome mat. "Are you fucking kidding me? You're not glad."

"Ji--" Seunghyun says, but Jiyong cuts him off.

"You're not fucking glad!" He pushes him back so he knocks against the doorknob before he roughly grabs his arms, face inches away and furious.

"Jiyong--"

"Just shut the fuck up, Seunghyun! You don't think I know how you kept asking people about me? How you kept tabs on me even when you were all the way in fucking Mongolia? What, you don't think people talk? They're my friends too, remember?" His voice reverberates around the concrete of the hall, sounding louder, angrier, and he shakes Seunghyun hard, door rattling in the frame with the effort.

Seunghyun tries shrugging him off but Jiyong only tightens his grip, breath hot against Seunghyun's face, cheeks flushed.

"You wanna know what I know about you? Huh? I mean besides the fact that you're still a shitty liar."

"Get off me."

"I know you're not glad." Jiyong's fingernails dig into his arms. "You're not glad things worked out for me - you wish I were as fucking miserable as you are so I'd just follow you inside and let you fuck me and then we could go back to that fucking trainwreck of a relationship!"

Seunghyun averts his eyes. "Stop it."

Jiyong crashes his lips into Seunghyun's, kisses him harsh and violent till their teeth scrape together and his tongue is in his mouth. His hands scrabble at Seunghyun's back, and he uses it to grind his hips up and into Seunghyun's, again when it makes Seunghyun's breath catch in his throat, again, again. Seunghyun's ears are ringing, he can't think. Everything in his brain is turned off, pinnacled to Jiyong pressed against him and how he's already half-hard inside his clothes, how much he wants it.

"Fuck--" Jiyong slides a hand around to Seunghyun's stomach, down between his legs to rub him through the stiff material of his suit. He mouths wetly at Seunghyun's neck, nips his ear, perfect in the way he just fits against him - and then Seunghyun smells somebody else on Jiyong's skin. He jerks back and pushes Jiyong off him, hard, till Jiyong stumbles backwards and collides with the railing.

There's white-hot pain at his bottom lip; when Seunghyun wipes at it with a finger, it comes away smeared with blood. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Jiyong doesn't answer. He's shaking, his eyes hooded and seemingly disoriented as he hunches over, panting.

After a second he turns around and leaves - or Seunghyun closes the door first - and either way, it's over.

Jiyong tells Seunghyun he's in love with him for the first time right before the last take of the Haru Haru video shoot.

"What?" Seunghyun says, "you what?" They're sitting on the floor of a hospital and it's three in the morning, fourteen hours into their day, so he thinks that he can't possibly have heard him right, except then Jiyong says it again.

"I think I have been for, like, a really long fucking time now," he continues, "but I just thought it was like, you know, you were my hyung, and you were really cool. So idol worship or whatever. But it's not." His eyes look too clear behind the smudged makeup on his face, even though his cheeks are red and he's fidgeting, uncrossing and re-crossing his legs so he doesn't have to look Seunghyun in the face. "Is that weird?"

Seunghyun wonders what in the fuck to say, but the director tells them to line up for the shot again and then he doesn't have to. The last shot turns into another shot, then another, until Daesung falls asleep sprawled on a row of plastic chairs and Seungri is asking Youngbae under his breath why Seunghyun keeps messing up.

Jiyong manages to keep quiet in the ride back home, but as soon as they make it inside and kick their shoes off, he pulls Seunghyun into his room and shuts the door. "Hyung," he says, and he starts in all over again, all the reasons and the small details until Seunghyun cuts him off.

"You can't be," he says. "Not with me. That's--"

"Insane, fucking insane, I know, okay?" Jiyong says, and he grabs Seunghyun's wrist, the touch timid and quiet, like he's conscious of overstepping his boundaries. "But, hyung, can you just think about it for a second? Because it could be kind of great, at least I think so, and I can't stop thinking about you, and--"

"Are you shitting me?" Seunghyun says. A misplaced, terribly unkind laugh flies from his throat and Jiyong blinks, looking a little deflated. "I don't even - look," he says, and tries to get his bearings. "Why do you even think you like me? Or - yea, whatever."

Jiyong pauses. "I don't - I don't think I like you. Jesus, hyung, I'm not a little kid." When Seunghyun doesn't answer, Jiyong tries to laugh, his fingers slipping away and into his pockets. "I... okay, I have to have a list of reasons now? I don't--"

"Don't, then." Seunghyun says. "You're wrong." Except Jiyong's hair is in his eyes and Seunghyun is suddenly remembering how he kept knocking Jiyong's hat off during the fight scene earlier in the day, and how every time he helped Jiyong put it back on, he'd comb his hair back and his fingers would graze Jiyong's cheek and Jiyong would smile, almost giddy.

"If you would just let me--"

"No." Seunghyun says, and his voice sounds panicked, even to him. "Stop. Just stop."

The silence that follows is long, broken by sounds of Daesung saying goodnight to Youngbae outside.

Seunghyun eventually pushes past Jiyong and leaves the room. But it's a catalyst, and once something like this has been set in motion, Seunghyun knows that it never really stops.

You have no new messages.

You have no new messages.

You have no new messages.

Nothing for twelve days, except his lip eventually stops bleeding and scabs over. He hears Jiyong working in Kush's studio, hears him laugh sometimes and echoes of his voice from inside the booth, but he stays four doors down, keeps his eyes trained on a notebook until he doesn't know what he's writing anymore and Teddy tells him to go home.

It's five thirty-two in the morning on a Wednesday when his phone rings. Seunghyun gropes around on his night stand for it, squints at the light-up display till goes silent and he drops his head back down on his pillow, shutting his eyes.

It starts to ring again. Jiyong, jiyong, kwon jiyong.

"Hello?"

"Hyung," Jiyong says - and maybe it's the exhaustion transparent in his voice when he usually knows exactly how to hide it, maybe how he's heard Jiyong's been drinking Red Bulls and vodka and coffee instead of going to bed and maybe it's none of it, maybe it's just that it's Jiyong. It is five thirty-seven in the morning and Seunghyun is wide awake.

"You okay?"

"Yea, I'm okay," Jiyong says. Something sounds in the background - an intercom, somebody yelling - and Jiyong laughs, but it comes out sounding more like a cough. "It's, stupid, I know it's really early but they made me go to the hospital and now they're, now I have to leave and I - just." Seunghyun hears his breath hit the phone, coming out as static through the line. "Can you... come pick me up?"

"...What about your boyfriend?"

"He's, we're..." he hears. A pause - when Jiyong speaks again, there's disappointment riding on the fatigue in his voice. "Nevermind. Go back to sleep." He hangs up.

Seunghyun is wide awake.

to be continued

notes: heavily inspired by the amazing cantonese movie of the same title. the title, summary, and beginning quote in parenthesis are also taken from "happy together" by the turtles. alskdjf this wasn't supposed to be this long. whetstone is a bully and also the best beta as always, and without her i definitely would not have accomplished this. i'm sorry my behavior as far as posting fic here is so erratic. hopefully i will become more consistent. ♥

so be a heathen [ fic ]

lovelyable — Sat, 26 Feb 2011 03:19:06 GMT

no good deed goes unpunished
(how kush made his life hard)
gd/top (+ kush/bom) | pg-13, 5844 words, canon
kush plays cupid for jiyong and seunghyun.

notes: i've been telling whetstone i'd write this for her for a while now and it finally got done, with help from her for the ending when i wrote myself into a hole lmao. obvs, not really my usual style but ohhh well. i realized i used a lot of names that might not be familiar to some of you so i put a key down at the bottom after the fic for your perusal if you need it :)

Kim Byunghoon, affectionately known as Kush, is in a pickle.

Ever since he stopped actively promoting as an artist and instead joined the ranks as one of five - sometimes more - in-house producers, he has a lot more free time on his hands to sit in the background and watch everybody, which means two things. One, since YGE isn't exactly known as being a drama-free zone, he unintentionally finds out a ton of gossip he never wanted to know. Two, everybody, for some reason, finds it necessary to spill their guts to him about all the other shit that he didn't happen to catch with his own eyes like he's got "therapist" written across his forehead.

Like how he finds out about Daniel leaving way before everyone else. Or when he gets stuck in an elevator with Hyunsuk and ends up hearing about his baby (and Baby Mama) basically right after the moment of conception. Or the one time he has to buy twelve EPT tests for Jihye after he walks in on her crying in the bathroom.

Or, like, this thing with Jiyong.

First of all, Kush knows Jiyong way too well (knows all of his different moods, what causes them, when he's bluffing, certain mannerisms he adopts in which situations and what they mean, etcetera) for him to ignore things that are this obvious. Second of all, the tedium of the studios - when they're halfway through recording an album and are just slogging along day after day - makes for a lot of sitting around and accidentally noticing things. Especially when it's just him, Jiyong, and Seunghyun in the room for extended periods of time.

This thing with Jiyong is, he smiles bigger when Seunghyun is around. Seunghyun, with his tailored blazers and stupid-nonchalant demeanor, he pushes the door open, and Jiyong's eyes will flicker and something in the atmosphere will change: becomes more alive and familiar and warm and shit. At first, Kush thought he was being paranoid, because maybe this was just the way Jiyong-and-Seunghyun always were around each other. But after a couple months of seeing Jiyong's fingers linger on Seunghyun's and his eyes fixating on Seunghyun through the glass windows and half-closed blinds of the recording booth, Kush is otherwise convinced.

This definitely wasn't going on when they were sixteen, and this is definitely not nothing.

As for Seunghyun, he tells a lot more stupid jokes around Jiyong and he smiles back at him a lot, but it's that same smile that all attractive bastards like Choi Seunghyun are gifted with at birth and hone over time, the same one he uses for the cameras and with the groupies at the bars or the ahjummas when he wants the price tag slashed. And Kush hasn't seen the uncertain desperation leave Jiyong's eyes yet, which means nothing's changed.

So when Seunghyun scribbles out a fresh set of lyrics for one of their new songs and disappears into the booth today, Kush leans over and slaps the back of Jiyong's chair.

"Yo," he says, mostly because he can't stand being around smells-like-teenage angst anymore, "you know he--"

Actually, this all starts a couple months prior, at a club during Seungho's bon-voyage party (1). Kush spends most of the night alternating between threatening to tattle to Hwang-ssabu about Bom eating breaded shrimp, and smoking with Teddy and Daniel. However, around two in the morning, he takes a bathroom break, gets disoriented, and wanders back over to the bar to get his bearings - where, predictably, Seunghyun is situated, a glass tumbler in his hand.

"Where've you been?" Kush shouts over the music. He gestures vaguely towards where he thinks he came from. "Wanna hookah?"

Seunghyun shakes his head. "Not in the mood tonight."

That's new.

Kush doesn't like to play favorites with dongsaengs, but he is kind of slating Seunghyun to be Kush 2.0 in five-ish years (and Seunghyun is always in the mood to hookah), so instead of leaving as per first instinct, he decides to flop into the next barstool and order himself a beer. They spend the next half-hour talking about music, the album, how Seunghyun's trying to find this particular chain of stores that he liked in Japan, Kush's three-day smoke-free streak before he quit quitting.

Seunghyun keeps darting glances every once in a while over his shoulder - also, after a while he starts looking as though he's three seconds away from falling asleep.

"You want me to find your manager so you can go home?" Kush says.

"'S okay. I feel bad when I wake him up."

"I can drive you." Kush looks down at the mug in his hand pauses to reconsider that thought. "Or maybe in, like, a half hour."

Seunghyun's eyes wander again. "I'm okay, hyung."

"Dude." Kush squints his eyes through the disco-lights and smoke, following Seunghyun's line of vision to a dark corner of the club. "Who do you keep checking out?" He expects to see one of Seungho's model friends stretched out by a railing, maybe a YG dancer or - or Dara, even, since she looked really good tonight - but besides some of the Nuthang crew and a few of the coordi-noonas, there's only drunk Jiyong and drunker Chaerin at one of the tables with a bottle of Absolut and a camera phone. Kush snorts. "Please don't say CL."

Seunghyun looks appropriately amused. "No."

"Then who? Is there a mirror back there? Is it Eunhye noona? Or - don't tell me, it's Jiyong, isn't it? You have a big fat gay crush on Jiyongie?" Kush obnoxiously jabs Seunghyun in the ribs a couple times over, expecting Seunghyun to shove him off and roll his eyes before letting Kush steal his scotch and change the subject.

Instead, Seunghyun almost looks like he wants to smile - before he drops his eyes with something about his mouth that looks more like subdued guilt instead. Kush's laugh peters out in a hacking cough.

"Oh." His voice comes out way too high to be nonchalant. "Really?"

Anyway, Jiyong is staring at him over the dark bags under his eyes and the glow of the computer screen shining green onto his face, and Kush says it because - because his working environment isn't going to turn into some domestic soap opera if he can help it, goddammit.

So, "yo," he says, "you know he likes you, right?"

There's a split second where stark relief flashes across Jiyong's face - and then it disappears into confusion. "Who likes me?"

Kush stares at him. "Jesus," he says dryly. "Actually, Jesus loves you, so Seunghyun likes you, dumbass."

Jiyong blinks at him once, twice - and then he jerks his eyes away, pulls his upper lip between his teeth, and starts clicking aimlessly around on the computer screen (and effectively ruining the audio lineup for Seunghyun's recording). "I don't know what you - what you're - what that's supposed to -"

"Oh, get out," Kush says. "You know what it's supposed to mean. I'm not dumb, you know."

Despite himself, a corner of a smile appears on Jiyong's lips. "Yea? Had me fooled--"

"Okay-y, thank you, my intelligence is fine," Kush exclaims loudly. He hoists himself into a standing position, waving a hand at the sound booth. "So, that's what I had to say, so. I think I'm just gonna go to Starbucks, for like an hour, so. Don't pussy out 'cause I don't actually have anything to do at Starbucks."

Grabbing his bag from where he'd tossed it onto the couches behind them, Kush has his hand on the door latch already when Seunghyun's voice comes from the speakers. "Ya... are we ready to start, or--"

It seems to catch Jiyong off guard, who fumbles for the booth's remote intercom before his fingers finally catch the button. "Yea - yea, shit, hold on--"

Kush thinks of something and clears his throat. "Hello, sexy guy-ido, Hello, handsome boy-ido~"

The remote hits him square in the face, which is when he decides to take his leave.

After he wanders into the coffee shop and orders his American coffee and flips through the few men's magazines they offer, he runs out of things do (and it's only been twelve minutes, forty-nine seconds). He texts Choice, pretends to browse the shelf of overpriced coffee mugs and tea strainers, almost falls asleep sprawled out on one of the squashy sofas by the windows in the back - and then decides to order drinks for Jiyong and Seunghyun because he's a good hyung (and because he still has to waste twenty-three minutes, twelve seconds).

By the time he gets back to the YGE building, he still has ten minutes to kill, which means he ends up taking a leisurely stroll through the cafeterias, up the rows and rows of marketing headquarters and down another floor to the hall of practice rooms where he happens in on a 2NE1 rehearsal and lets Chaerin steal Seunghyun's black coffee, no sugar, two creams, out of the cardboard holder in his hand.

By now, Kush is feeling completely foolish ("don't you have a job?" Bom asks). Luckily, it's now been exactly an hour and fifty-seven seconds, so he skips the elevators to hike up the stairs back to his studio. With any luck, Jiyong and Seunghyun will have this nonsense all sorted, and they can just go back to being the normal, twenty-something-year-old men like they are instead of two fifteen-year-old girls and a chaperone.

The studio hallway is uncharacteristically quiet as he rounds the corner. Hyunsuk had the studios designed to be relatively soundproof, but usually Kush can still feel the bass reverberating up the soles of his shoes and some distant, tinny sounds of the trumpets that they use a lot these days. But right now, there's nothing.

Weird, he thinks, then kicks the door open with his foot. "Hey," he says, "you're gonna have to share Jiyong's girly drink 'cause CL--"

The ensuing scuffle happens so quickly Kush isn't even sure he sees anything at all - but well except for he has, because he manages to see a split second of Jiyong and Seunghyun pressed up against each other by the keyboards definitely kissing - now, they're twenty-five feet apart trying to look innocent on opposite ends of the room and Jiyong's biting his swollen lip and Seunghyun's eyes are on the floor - but the imprint of what he just most definitely saw are on the insides of his eyelids and Kush kind of wants to die.

"Hyung, we--" Jiyong starts, and Kush throws his hands in front of his face.

"NOIT'SGREATI'MGOOD." Something explodes at his feet: when he looks down, Jiyong's caramel macchiato, previously in his hands, is now splashed all over his new suede Pierre Hardy's, the cup rolling to a stop by his chair.

"Hey," says Seunghyun, after they all spend a second staring at Kush's ruined 560,000 won, "you didn't get me anything?"

Bom doesn't help.

Kush catches her in the gym after he bolts out of his own studio, but all she says (squeals) after he tells her is, "that's so sweet!"

Kush blinks at her. "Are you kidding me?"

"Well, it is," Bom says, then towel-whips him on the arm when he's unresponsive except for a grunt in her general direction. "Why are you being weird about it? You set them up."

"And I should've stayed the fuck out of it and let them angst for a few more years." He winces when Bom smacks him again. Either Hwang-ssabu's been making her work out too much, or he's just extra-sensitive to any type of sensory stimulation right now.

The funny thing Kush remembers later that night after he's had a few hours (and a few beers on his balcony) to process is once, a few years ago at Seungho and Daniel's apartment, after everyone had had too many drinks and perhaps a couple hits of a substance that may or may not have been illegal. Hyuksoo's girlfriend (and the only female in the vicinity) had just left, and Taeji - champagne flute full of vodka in one hand - was telling them some dumb story about how he'd accidentally kissed one of the temporary dancers used for Last Farewell promotions, and somehow in the process of things it had turned to who was shitfaced - and man! - enough to kiss who else.

"No, no, listen," Taeji slurred, because Kyungil's face pinched instantaneously, "you don't have to actually do it, I just wanna know," and Jiyong was pink in the face because of the alcohol and because Taeji then proceeded to bring up Youngbae's outstanding physical traits.

"He has good kissing lips," Taeji said. Jiyong scrunched up his nose.

"Don't lie, Jiyongie, you would totally kiss him!"

"He's almost my brother," Jiyong said, "and you're a disgusting pervert."

"What about Daesung?" Taeji said.

Jiyong actually thought about it for a second before Justar started cackling and Jiyong made some mumbled comment about how Daesung wasn't exactly his type--and anyway he'd probably punch Jiyong in the face if he ever tried. Seungri got vetoed too, because Jiyong showed Seungri a lot of love anyway and it wasn't exactly a new thing to kiss maknaes, if only to fluster them. Which meant, in the logical order of things, they all turned to stare at half-awake Seunghyun sprawled on the futon next to Jiyong.

"I think I'm attractive," Seunghyun drawled over his cigarette.

"Well, I'd definitely kiss you," Taeji said.

"Your hat bothers me," Jiyong said. (To which Seunghyun took off the multi-colored knit beanie.)

"Also you smell like hash." (Seunghyun sniffed his sleeve, which was rather pointless since the entire room smelled like hash.)

("Wouldn't you kiss him?" Taeji was asking Daniel.)

"I know how to shower," Seunghyun said.

"You should try it then," Jiyong joked, passing around a face like he'd just said the most clever thing in the world. And because they were all inebriated, it was hilarious - so they laughed, and Kush slapped Jiyong on the leg, and Jiyong tumbled across Seunghyun's lap to bury his face somewhere by Seunghyun's left knee.

The important part is, after that, Jiyong looked Seunghyun in the eye for a moment, shrugged, and said, "Yea, okay then," and Seunghyun grinned at him and Kush felt vaguely uncomfortable.

But they'd quickly moved on to ask Seungho if he'd ever make out with Kush, so he'd forgotten about it until now, which, in retrospect could have at least saved him a pair of new shoes. Kush makes a face and decides to turn in early.

Sender: Jiyongie
Time: 01:23:57 AM
Subject: (none)

hyung they rnt selling the pierre hardys u want nemore & i cnt find them online TT i can get u another pair tho. nethin u want~~ ke

Sender: Jiyongie
Time: 01:35:02 AM
Subject: (none)

ok.............. guess ur prob asleep. c u tmr? ^^

Kush considers skipping work and calling in sick the next morning, but he really does have work to get done and since yesterday only turned out to be a half-day, he puts on his most opaque shades, drinks a triple shot of espresso, and knocks loudly on his own studio door before opening it.

"Can I come in?" he calls. "Nothing funny going on in there?"

"It's fine," he hears Jiyong say, sounding a little exasperated.

He's alone at the soundboard when Kush pokes his head inside, dark bags staining the undersides of his eyes as usual and a huge venti Starbucks cup next to his elbow. One of his fingers is tap-tapping a beat out on the desk, the other hand is tangled in his red hair.

"I can't figure this out," he mutters. Kush sits stiffly down next to him and leans in to look at the sheet of lyrics trapped in by Jiyong's arms. Everything seems the same. Jiyong is acting the same. Maybe yesterday was all a bad psychedelically-aided dream.

Or not, because after about half a minute during which Kush is sounding out the verse in his mind, Jiyong says, "Did you get my texts?"

"Uh," Kush says, but then the door is opening again to reveal Seunghyun, phone in one hand and his Goyard bag in the other.

"Hey." Seunghyun brushes past Kush to tussle Jiyong's bedhead. Kush watches as Seunghyun's fingers catch on Jiyong's and hold there for a second before he draws away. Any reaction Jiyong has to this deflates, however, when his eyes snag on Kush's less than amused expression.

"Can we actually get shit done now?" He says loudly into the ensuing silence. The rest of the morning is spent working in awkward silence except for the music from the speakers. Kush considers disappearing again, if only to get rid of the tension in his shoulders, but then again he doesn't want to cede his territory to two horny (or in-love! or whatever) kids with no boundaries or concept of time. Even if he did play Cupid.

"I don't get why it's a big deal," Teddy says, and Kush wonders if he should walk right back out again.

It's later in the day, after Jiyong decided to catch a nap back at his apartment and Seunghyun got a call away for dinner with Kim Hyunjoong. Kush is sitting on Teddy's couch at his apartment pouting, and Teddy apparently doesn't get why it's a Big Deal.

"You don't think it's weird?" Kush prompts. "At all? Jiyong? And Seunghyun? Like... like this?" He twists his middle and index finger around each other for a second before feeling stupid and dropping his hand back in his lap.

"You hang out with Nuthang more than any of your girlfriends and you think this is weird?"

"You trying to imply something, hyung?"

"No." Teddy shoots him a strange look from where he is in the kitchen, riffling around the refrigerator for some semblance of dinner. "I'm just sayin', you've seen weirder shit. 'K, my fridge is empty, you want delivery?"

"You didn't see them, okay," Kush says, flinging Teddy a takeout menu to his favorite Chinese restaurant. "It was like, like--like walking in on your parents. Just 'cause you know they do it doesn't mean you wanna see it." He casts around for something else when all Teddy does is raise his eyebrows. "Or your grandparents."

"Dude--"

"OR. Your kids. Yea, yea, it's like walking in on your two male children macking on each other."

By now, Teddy is paused with his cell phone halfway to his ear, the takeout menu hanging limply from his fingers. He's looking at Kush like he's just smelled something incredibly rank. "You always have to take it there."

"Sorry." But Kush doesn't actually feel sorry because Teddy now looks about as miserable as Kush feels.

Eventually, when they're halfway through their takeout Szechuan noodles and a little buzzed from Tsingtao, Teddy tells him to calm down. It was an accident, and he probably won't see it again because Jiyong and Seunghyun most likely want to keep everything on the down low for a while.

"So don't go yelling it to everybody yet," he says. Kush feels a little hurt. If only Teddy knew just how many YG Family secrets Kush could've yelled about already.

It's Seungri's day to record with Kush. Usually, he shows up an hour or two later than scheduled, so Kush spends his time getting breakfast and bothering two of the coordi-noonas about getting him a new Hype cap before heading into the studio--where Seungri is already sitting, rather white-faced, on the leather couch against the wall.

"'Ey," Kush says, and pats him on the back, at which Seungri jerks upright before blinking rather rapidly a few times. Kush frowns at him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Um, I just, um," Seungri clears his throat. "Hyung, I think I saw, something."

Kush blinks. "Something... what?"

"I," Seungri says. "Something I shouldn't have. I don't know what to do with it, at all, and I can't tell Youngbae-hyung because he'd probably take it the wrong way, so, is it okay if I tell you, um, something."

"Something." Great. More secrets that Kush doesn't want. He wonders if maybe he can start charging in exchange for confessions.

"And I wasn't supposed to be up that early," Seungri is saying, "which is how I saw them in the bathroom. But I don't think they saw me. Because, see, they thought I was in bed, because I never get up and Jiyong-hyungnim's room is right across from the bathroom and it's really far from my room. But I did get up. Because I didn't want to be late."

Seungri pauses and searches Kush's face like he's looking for approval or for Kush to impart upon him some sage advice. Kush's eyebrows are in his hair. He narrows his eyes in an attempt to look the part, sucks in a breath, and tries to think up something wise and vague to say - before all of the sudden Jiyong bursts into the room in a hooded Galliano zip-up three sizes too big for him and rather flushed cheeks.

"MAKNAE," he says, "I NEED TO TALK TO YOU."

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what Seungri is stuttering about. Kush pats him sympathetically on the back when Jiyong is dragging him out of the room.

A few days later it's Chaerin, outside the publication offices.

"My turn to write some big Thanks To," she says. Kush isn't actually sure why he's here at all, apart from giving moral support to Bom, who's writing hers in the next cubicle over and keeps weeping over it and forgetting people.

"Write your Kush-oppa something nice," Kush tells Chaerin. He turns to remind Bom to add her dog into her dedication, and doesn't realize when Chaerin leaves until she's back again and tugging on Bom's ponytail, leaning on the wall of the cubicle next to him.

"Guess what I just saw," she says, shadow of a Cheshire-like grin on her face. Bom looks confused, and Chaerin sings, "Jiyong-and-Seunghyun sitting in a tree."

Bom is reduced to a squealing, aigoo-ing mess, both girls get distracted texting Dara about it, and Kush ends up having to add his name into both Chaerin's and Bom's dedications himself.

Choice is next, but to be fair, it's entirely his own fault because he just happens to look out the window at the exact same time they're down in the dark alleyway, carrying a couple of plastic shopping bags with their hoods pulled up over their faces.

"How the fuck did you even know it was them!?" Kush says, incredulous. Choice says something about Jiyong's voice being distinct and carrying in the wind, and how Seunghyun is the only guy in the company who is that tall except for Dongwook.

"And he has a girlfriend," he says, shrugging, "so I assumed it was TOP." After a few minutes of silence, he adds, "So is this, really... normal for you guys... or..."

Teddy snorts into his coffee. Kush is quiet for a second before he pulling up a random scrap he hasn't touched since 2007 and asking Choice to mix it for him.

Basically, the gist of it all is after about three weeks, everybody knows about Jiyong-and-Seunghyun. Jaewook catches them in a rather compromising position in one of the practice rooms, Youngdeuk ends up with an up-close-and-personal waiting their corner table at Yeolbong Chicken at three o'clock in the morning, the English tutor accidentally shows up to Seunghyun's apartment an hour early when Jiyong is there -and while Kush isn't one hundred percent sure if Youngbae knows, he has been kind of moody lately and Teddy says he's been sleeping on the cot in his studio for the past week.

And Kush knows all of it because, obviously, everybody tells him about it. (If he remembers correctly, Jaewook's exact words were, "at least I have definite proof now that there's more underneath Seunghyun's shirts than just a vortex," right before Kush decided he really didn't need a smoke break after all and abandoned Jaewook on the roof.)

The worst part is, except for maybe Seungri, nobody really seems to mind all that much. Sometimes there will be five or so minutes of initial shock! and awe! but after that, the overall reaction is rather disappointing. Kush hasn't found anybody to commiserate with (except for, again, Seungri, but even he's calmed down by now, though whether that was by his own free will or by force is unclear.) Jaewook (obviously) thinks it's amusing, Youngdeuk just complains about Seunghyun being off the market, and as the very marvelous cherry on top, Bom says Dara and Minji have kind of maybe started an unofficial GD&TOP fanclub.

Actually, the for real worst part is he stopped caring about the entire thing somewhere between having nobody to bounce his dirty jokes off of anymore and Seunghyun shooting looks at him similar those of kicked dogs. But he doesn't exactly know how to give up and he can't remember the last time he pulled off an apology without humiliating himself, so he's spending most of his time working from home and listening to Bom talk about Dara and Minji's fanclub posters over the phone.

"They don't really do anything with them, though," she tells him.

Kush frowns at his new best friend the television and sinks lower in his seat.

"Oh, wait, they made up this fan-chant last night that was cute, though." Bom starts reciting it but then trails off when she notices he's not talking anymore. "Ya, what is wrong with you? Are you still pouting over there?"

"I don't pout," Kush automatically corrects. Or at least he didn't used to, seeing as Teddy is out with Jiyong and Seunghyun right now at some bar in Gangnam and he's... been sitting at home with his arms crossed for the last three days.

"Jiyong told me he sent you new shoes."

Which are currently sitting in the box outside of his front door because Kush refuses to be bribed into submission, either.

"He said he knocked but he didn't think you were home." Kush can practically feel Bom's judgment pinging from across the cell phone towers, her apartment to his. "What's the problem, Kim Byunghoon?"

The last time she called him his real name was after he accidentally killed her spider fern. He plays with a stray thread on his ratty t-shirt and shrugs. "It's weird for me, okay? Do I have to think up another disgusting analogy for you?"

"So, what, you're gonna break them up? Tell YG?"

Which has been a scenario Kush mulled over a couple times - but then he keeps seeing Jiyong with that stupid happy grin on his face and he just can't do it. Last week Seunghyun came in wearing a hat that Kush distinctly remembers buying Jiyong for Christmas, and he actually felt a little warm and fuzzy, and came this close to chuffing Seunghyun on the shoulder like some proud uncle before he managed to catch himself at the last second. "No, I don't - it's all fine and, I'm," he stutters, and then, at a loss for words, kicks the coffee table and stubs his toe. "Look what they're turning me into!"

Over shooting pains jolting up his knee, he hears the snuffles of Bom's laughter in his ear. "Baby's first grudge," she says.

An hour later she's at his place, despite the fact that it's well past midnight and she's got an early schedule the next day. Ice cream, she says, holding up a Family Mart shopping bag in her hands, to which, Kush isn't sure if it's supposed to be a selling point to let her in. When he says he's not hungry, however, she tells him that eating isn't the point, crams a spoon into his hand, and force-feeds him Ben and Jerry's until he's lying on the floor of his kitchen groaning with what is probably permanent brain freeze.

"Eat some more," Bom commands. She digs out another spoonful. "This always works with Chaerin."

"Do I look like a nineteen-year-old girl to you?" When Bom looks like she's trying to think up a dig off that line, he hastily switches the topic of conversation. "Isn't this off your diet?"

"Yes," Bom says, "so if you tell Hwang-ssabu I'm going to lock you in a room with Jiyong and Seunghyun till you're blind." She kicks the toe of his slipper after a minute, setting her spoon down on the linoleum tiling. "They still feel weird around you. Are you going to apologize to them?"

"Yea, yea," Kush grumbles. "Whatever. I'll figure it out."

"I don't even know why you got so touchy over it, honestly." Bom says. "Last time Justar took you to the gay bars at Itaewon he said you had more fun than he did."

"Justar was too drunk to even remember where we were, much less how much fun I supposedly had," Kush says sourly. He picks little chips off the ice cream with the tip of his spoon for a minute before adding, "Teddy says I spend more time with Nuthang than with my girlfriends."

"Maybe that's why they always break up with you."

Kush blinks. "Well, look at you. How come there aren't ever any cameras to catch this shit?" He says, but Bom is already laughing too hard at her own joke to respond. He reaches out to flick her in the arm, she tries to swat him away, and somehow in the process their limbs tangle and she ends up falling over to lie perpendicular to him on his (not particularly clean) kitchen floor, where she stays for a second, her ha-ha-ha's bouncing off the ceiling and shaking her entire frame.

"I'm glad my being single brings you so much happiness," Kush grumbles.

"Stop it, my ribs hurt." After a moment she scoots forward so she's lying next to him, sweeping her hair out of the way to rest her head on his arm. She smells like ice cream this close; he can see a few places her eyeliner has smudged from laughing so hard.

"I'm just kidding, though," she says, and widens her eyes in classic aegyo. "And I won't ever break up with you."

Kush feels his stomach do half a flip. "Uh, Bom, I think you missed a few steps to do that," he says, his neck growing hot. He tries laughing, tries breaking eye contact and scooting backward, but only gets a few centimeters before his back hits the refrigerator and makes his teeth click together. What the fuck is the layout of his own house? But it works: Bom is giggling at him again before sitting back up to hunt for the ice cream carton.

"So, you should call Jiyong right now. I'll even tell you what to say. And oh, also," here, she suddenly narrows her eyes and balls her hand into a fist before punching him full on the shoulder, "tell me next time you're being a baby about something and I'll have more time to cheer you up instead of bringing over some stupid ice cream that's gonna make me gain three pounds."

Kush wants to say something back but unfortunately his jaw is locked together in pain.

Sender: Jiyongie
Time: 02:58:01 AM
Subject: (none)

sry didnt pick up, the bar is 2 loud but i got ur msg. its fine, glad we're cool agn.... c u soon?

Sender: Seunghyun
Time: 03:02:12 AM
Subject: (none)

hyung........... took you long enough.

Sender: Teddy
Time: 03:04:18 AM
Subject: (none)

lol look @ ur life look @ ur choices....... get ur ass here, we @ club garden

A few weeks later is Seungho's homecoming party. Kush is confused because he could've sworn he just got shipped off to the army, but apparently he has some sort of Fashion Reputation to uphold or... something. Either way, Kush is back in a club on a Saturday with YG Family and friends, different bar, same scene, his new Pierre Hardy's on his feet. There's a lot less time spent this time hounding Bom about eating breaded food items, and more time at the bar letting Jiyong buy him expensive cocktails.

"You give me shit for caramel macchiatos and you drink this fruity crap?" Jiyong pushes his own Fuzzy Navel away from him and makes a face. "Is there even alcohol in this?"

"Hey, you little bastard," Kush says lightly, "I may have apologized, but don't push it." He sticks a straw in the one Jiyong rejected and waves the bartender over. "I'll have another."

Also, it's not his fault he needs something to make up for catching Seungri making eyes at Chaerin, or knocking over Miran's bag and finding six speeding tickets in it or Minji asking him if he thought it was okay for her to get a tattoo and kind of not tell YG.

Six Fuzzy Navels later, Seunghyun comes in from the patio smelling like a chimney. He raises an eyebrow at the row of empty glasses in front of them and side-eyes Jiyong. "What are you drinking?"

Jiyong kicks him. "They're not mine," he says, and Kush doesn't even need to look at him to know that he still smiles like a fool whenever Seunghyun is in the room. Only now Seunghyun mirrors the exact same smile, and Kush just has to deal with it. Seunghyun asks if Jiyong wants to find Dongwook and Teddy and the bong they smuggled in and Jiyong nods, smacks a few extra thousand won down on the bar-top before he slides off his stool to trail Seunghyun upstairs.

"You coming?"

Kush shakes his head. "I'm good, maybe later."

Jiyong looks at him for a second, bottom lip pulled in between his teeth, before he seems to have decided on something and leans forward, placing a hand on Kush's shoulder. "You know she likes you right, hyung?"

Bom is on the second floor balcony, leaning against the railing talking to Gummy and Jihye and she looks really, really--

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kush says, and Jiyong rolls his eyes.

"Please. Anyway, she told me a few weeks ago. I'm not supposed to say anything but I know you like her too, so, just... fucking do something." And then he smiles like the infuriating little bastard he is, pats Kush on the back, and disappears upstairs with his perfect little life that Kush helped make happen.

He sneaks a look at Bom, who catches his eye. She waves, and for the second time in under a year, Kim Byunghoon, affectionately known as Kush, is in a pickle.

(Which actually works out pretty quickly, because newly strong Bom who can punch Kush so hard he bruises also knows how to tap him on the shoulder when he's coming back from the bathroom and kiss him so hard he sees stars.)
__________________________________
in order of appearance:
daniel: former 2ne1 stylist along with seungho. in the nuthang group.
jihye, miran: yge backup dancers.
hyuksoo, justar, kyungil: all members of the nuthang group with daniel and seungho, as well as gd and top. hyuksoo and kyungil are models, justar is a stylist i believe.
taeji: aka jo sungmin. taeji is a nickname. yge backup dancer. has been unofficially adopted into nuthang.
jaewook: yge's main choreographer.
youngdeuk: yge backup dancer along with his twin, youngdon. waiter at se7en's yeolbong chicken restaurant.

(1) the bon voyage party for seungho (for his leaving for his military duty) links from one that whetstone wrote about in a prompt fill for me. credit for the idea goes to her.

with more feeling and gusto [ fic ]

lovelyable — Sat, 22 Jan 2011 05:55:50 GMT

all together now
gd/top | r, 2193 words, canon
no one else will have me like you do.

you and i got something but it's all and then it's nothing to me
i got my defenses when it comes to your intentions to me
and we wake up in the breakdown in the things we never thought we could be
HERE IS GONE/THE GOOGOO DOLLS

August.

"Happy birthday," Seunghyun says, and he slides into the booth directly behind yours, flicks you a package that is the size of your pinkie and lands in your lap. The wrapping paper is sparse, folded over where it shouldn't be and taped so badly it takes you longer than it should to open. A mouse keychain.

"Wow," you say, "that's original."

Seunghyun laughs, you laugh, and you both smell like beer, still. Chaerin and Taeji are singing Kanye West on the portable karaoke machine when you dig your fingers in a fistful of his shirt and press your mouths together.

September.

The best part of smoking is the high you get. The best part of smoking is how it feels flying out of your mouth and curling into the night air, past your teeth and blooming outwards like an ink stain. Is coughing and coughing and coughing again the first time, skulking out at three AM, when nobody is looking, for those lites like a baby before graduating to the Reds that you carry proudly outside of your pockets.

Seunghyun laughs at you because he smokes the imported kind, but he lets you take up most of the room on the balcony swing, slippered feet balanced on the metal posts from which it's propped. You take your iPod, too: one earbud for him, one for you, and press play on the playlist you made. He comments on the music each time a new song starts ("I don't really like this song," "reminds me of middle school," "my ear hurts," "what is this, I kind of like it,"), until he gets tired of it and leans back into the cushions. Sometimes he taps ash off the end of his cigarette before bringing it to your lips.

The best part of smoking is when you don't have to because Seunghyun does it for you. The best part of smoking is he does it too.

November.

"Read this over for me," Seunghyun says. He slides his notebook across the table, and you wonder how long its been from the last time you both slept. Judging from the status of his hair, the way your eyes keep blurring out underneath the studio lights, you're guessing too long. You blink down at the page.

"Your handwriting is too messy." Wrinkle your nose, push it away from you, keep prodding at the spot above his elbow with your ragged nail until he looks away from the computer screen. Seunghyun is silent for a minute. You wait for it.

"Maybe your eyes are too neat," he decides mildly - and there it is, the laugh wrenching out of your throat even though you're too tired to think about why (or if) it's funny. Who knows, anymore.

"Read this over for me," Seunghyun says again, half an hour later. You take the notebook from his hands - distracted, annoyed, in the middle of a lyric that's stuttering too much to get out from your fingertips - so it takes you a minute to work out that the shit on the page aren't words, but a terrible, jagged, disproportionate drawing of - "Jiyongie" it reads, underneath what you think is your desk chair. Jiyongie, with feet as big as your head and Seungri-sized bags under your Daesung-sized eyes.

Seunghyun is the one waiting for it this time - for you to laugh - before he does too.

February.

You get kind of drunk doing shots with Yoochun on the counter of a Japanese bar because you just finished another fucking album (and you don't know anybody else in Japan).

"Jiyong-sshi," Jaejoong says, "pace yourself, you're turning purple," but you don't listen because it's time to celebrate. You drink more and you spill things and Hyunjoong snorts and Seunghyun sighs and Yoochun pours you another even though Jaejoong is yelling at him about too much vodka. You end up drooling all over Seunghyun's shoulder in the cab back, the directions to your apartment that Youngbae wrote smeared all over your cheek instead of the back of your hand.

"Youuuu foundit," you remember crowing when you stumble out onto the pavement. The sound of fabric tearing, fingers in the snow, someone saying fuck - then Seunghyun's helping you up the front steps.

"You're a belligerent little shit," he grumbles.

"Shuddsup," you say, frowning, and then you sit down.

(And pass out.)

When you come to, you're sleeping on the floor of the elevator with a pillow from Seunghyun's bed beneath your head, currently traveling between the fifth and sixth floors. Seunghyun's sitting with his back against the steel walls. His shoes are off and his leather jacket has been replaced with a bright hoodie. A mouse keychain dangles from your phone in his hands.

"What the fuck," you slur.

Ding. The doors wobble open to an unfamiliar hallway.

Seunghyun shrugs, the corners of his mouth curling up on his hungover face. "I couldn't lift you." He presses the button for 8.

May.

"You're not supposed to," Youngbae protests, but it's halfhearted. You break your fish-shaped waffle that Dara scavenged off the streets into two anyway and stuff the bigger half in Seunghyun's hands.

"Don't tell Master Hwang," you whisper. He chuckles.

"Guess I'm Bom-noona."

Seunghyun doesn't eat it, but it's really the look on his face (the look that doesn't happen a whole lot, the one you've learned to recognize and tell apart from other shades of happiness even though you'd like to think nobody else can) that you wanted.

July.

You keep thinking all the stupid schoolboy infatuation will go away. You even know all the signs, now. When Seunghyun's about to kiss you his eyes flicker a lot to, not your lips, but the freckle below your eye. And he purses his lips like he's unsure, but his laugh fills and settles deep inside of you somewhere, and his hands are always the opposite, always sure, when he brushes underneath your jaw or on the back of your neck, in your hair or palming the front of your jeans, depending.

Sometimes he tastes like mint from his toothpaste, oranges from the fruit Daesung cut up for after dinner, or wine after you make him turn off his computer and stop working for the night. Lozenges when he's sick and you don't care, gross in the mornings and you're hogging his blankets. Or smoke from the cigs, weed when he has it - and those times are frantic, rushed, sloppy - like grade-schoolers doing it in the back-seat of their best friend's car.

You've tried to figure him out before, but it makes no sense. A jumble of letters with no vowels; no words.

You keep thinking all the stupid in you will go away, but it doesn't. He says your name and you forget what you were going to say back. The grin makes your face hurt.

August.

When you break up, you forget why.

You forget the constant prickling annoyance, the not being good for each other in the studio and the passive aggressive arguments;

(November. Your nails finally break Seunghyun's skin and draw blood after he stops paying attention to you. You hang out in Kush's studio for a week after that, duck your head and work until you get stuck again and again; he doesn't come to see you and his only communication is by means of text. Finished the song.)

The way he'd make you feel like shit because of the offhand comments he didn't know were offensive;

(September. You thought Seunghyun liked your music, the two of you still in the mindset of sixteen year olds with your Run DMC and your Wutang and your "this is gonna be us someday." But he starts saying more of "this song is weird" and "this is so loud" than anything else, and after a few weeks, Seunghyun starts bringing his own iPod to the balcony. Yours lays untouched in your room next to the unsettled feeling in your stomach, Seunghyun's left earbud tucked into your ear while you watch him smoke.)

How you kept worming your way into his life outside of Big Bang, outside of you, and wouldn't quit;

(February. Seunghyun likes Hyunjoong, likes Jaejoong and Yoochun so you show up because you like them, too. You ignore Hyunjoong's clipped politeness in his tone of voice when he speaks to you or that Jaejoong looks a little disappointed every time Seunghyun has to go home early because of your schedules, that Yoochun doesn't understand your sense of humor. That Seunghyun doesn't always tell you when they get together. The night Jaejoong and Hyunjoong leave for Canada, you tell Seunghyun it's okay because you can spend more time together, working and stuff. And stuff. You can ignore Seunghyun's terrible poker face, too: just bury your face into his neck until it's gone.)

How you kept him up too long when he was sick, how he wasn't concerned enough when you were - when you would disappear and he would go the other way and how the only good moments after a while were the ones in between, when you slipped him little fifty-won snacks he couldn't eat instead of I'm-sorry's or when he kissed you or fucked you or tried to make you laugh because he didn't know how to fix it either.

(May, June, July - you know he has a penchance for street food. He says he's sticking to his diet but he's not. He's a terrible liar.)

Yea, it was bad, they (Youngbae, Seungho, Chaerin, Seungri) tell you. It got really bad, sometimes.

But to you, it's what Seunghyun sounded like when he laughed. The look on his face that was so different from everything else, even if nobody else could see the difference. How you felt when you were together, so happy it hurt - even if it was far and rare and in between.

You wouldn't have cared about any of the bad things if he hadn't.

"Happy birthday," Seunghyun says. Inside the box he gives you is a pair of shoes; an expensive, expensive pair of shoes.

August again.

The keychain this year is an American-style hot-dog, a squiggle of yellow mustard down the middle and four stubbly legs. It emits a high-pitched squeal when you press on it.

Seunghyun is sitting a few tables down, between Hyuksoo and Kyungil. Underneath the dim lights of the restaurant he looks like somebody else, dark blazer he'd never wear a year ago, hair in the eyes that are softer and stranger now when he looks at you. You texted him to bring a date but the chair across from his is vacant. You shift your eyes to your drink and wind the hot-dog around your finger. Squeak. It starts annoying Seungri halfway through the appetizers.

He stops by your table before you cut the cake to say hi, and you tell him a sausage isn't a present, but then he's gone and you don't see him again until the end of the night, in the hallway between the exit and the party. He smells like smoke and the thick summer air outside. You've given up trying to figure him out.

The hot-dog bounces against your leg and chirps; you laugh, he laughs. "I got you something else, it's in the pile," he says, "but I didn't want that to get lost."

"I don't get it."

"The mouse on your phone," he explains, "it's falling off."

"Oh." You have nothing to say to that. "You didn't bring a date."

Seunghyun blinks, confused, but after a second his mouth twists into what you think is a smile. "Nope," he agrees. Or maybe it's a grimace, maybe it's holding back how tired he is because he's been trying more, working on the album with you in the studio when everyone else is sleeping and even Teddy has gone home. Maybe it's something else entirely because you're another year older and so is he, your hair is different and he's not the same, either. He notices when your cell phone charms wear off and buys you something else, something equally as ridiculous.

You say, "I thought you were seeing that girl."

"I was, but we broke up."

"Why?"

And then he looks at you - looks at you like he used to. Your breath hitches in your throat. "Because," he says. "Because it's always been you, Ji," and then you forget entirely what you were going to say back. Two years later and nothing in you has changed. You still stop when he says your name and you still want to buy him street snacks just to keep that look on his face. Changed, and older, and softer like his eyes, but still the one you want.

When you kiss him, sounds from the other room float back to you; Chaerin and Taeji are singing some old love song in the karaoke machine.

note: hi again :) i'm not entirely sure that this is a good first fic ~back into fandom~ lmao. it was originally supposed to be a lot shorter than it turned out being, and i wrote most of it in under an hour but the ending took me a while to figure out. i hope i have more to offer this year ;A;. this is dedicated to whetstone, who has held my hand for the past four months while i struggled with the entire writing process and complained to her way more than i should have. also, because she beta'd this and made me rewrite the ending three times lol. ♥

hey, my sun-eyed girl (i've landed) [ fic ]

lovelyable — Tue, 21 Sep 2010 20:05:55 GMT

hey, my sun-eyed girl
cl/seungri | pg-13, 2459 words, canon
crushes can crush you.

for pause and envoler with this prompt. originally posted here, 09/20/2010.

i saw her yea, i saw her, her black tongue tied round the roses.
fist pounding on a vending machine, toy diamond ring stuck on her finger.
a noose she can hang from the sun, put it with her dark sun-glasses.
and i know i'm gonna steal her eye - nothing that i wouldn't try.
GIRL/BECK

this is what seungri remembers:

1
standing at a vending machine alternatively kicking and cursing at it for eating kush's money, half-gripping at the sides in a fruitless effort to shake out the damn soda he knows is in there - before chaerin, in full stage makeup and stilettos so high they could probably cut seungri's heart out, sighs and motions for him to get out of the way.

she braces her hands against both sides of the machine ("like you can do any better," seungri mutters, eyes still glued to her shoes) and gives it a vigorous shake, once, twice - with such force seungri almost swallows his tongue - and cue instantaneous telltale thunk as the aluminum can hits the bottom of the machine.

then, chaerin beats out a very embarrassed and flustered seungri in grabbing the soda can from the slot, and she smugly waves it in his face before saying something along the lines of "nice seeing you, seungri-yah" like she's the cheshire cat.

"you can't take it," seungri says;

"why not?" chaerin asks, pressing the can close to her chest;

"i paid for it," seungri says;

"finder's keepers," chaerin answers, and seungri wants to strangle her and pull her hair and tell on her all at the same time.

he is interrupted by chaerin's signature snort. "i'm only kidding, don't start crying." she tosses the beverage at seungri, who fumbles to catch it with rather embarrassing flaily arms. before she walks off, she raises a brow, though seungri can't see her eyes from behind her oversized shades. "by the way, i thought we weren't allowed to have soda."

chaerin's heels are already clicking sharply down the hall by the time seungri finds an answer ("well it's not for me! and call me oppa!") and it's so not what he wanted to say. stupid kush. stupid soda.

2
"here," chaerin says flatly, and seungri can't hardly believe his eyes.

it's not often that during breaks in practice the 2ne1 girls drop by, much less with tupperware of snacks. technically they're not supposed to eat for another two hours, but seunghyun-hyung and bom-noona manage to badger hwang-ssabu into letting the girls stay. seungri looks down at the plastic container chaerin is shoving at his nose and blinks at the pieces of fruit and vegetables, neatly cut into different shapes. chaerin, who can't even sit still long enough to sign autographs.

"you did this?" he says suspiciously, and chaerin whacks him in the shoulder with her lacquered nails.

"don't get too excited, loser," she says, and slides her eyes over to the side. "i thought i was giving mine to - well, basically, not you."

seungri supposes he should feel hurt, but whatever, it's not like he's not used to being treated this way - he's pretty sure the place on his shoulder she always hits has a chaerin's-palm-sized indentation on it - and anyway, he spots pieces of dragonfruit in the mix. he plops down next to minji and daesung-hyung to pick out the pieces and shovel them into his mouth.

after a moment, chaerin slides down into a sitting position too, hood over her face and her arms clasped over her knees. "you're gross," she says, and he jabs her in the side.

"i'm not the one who cut pears into little tiny hearts," he says, mouth stuffed full of peach and apple.

chaerin gives him a rather sour look in answer, and they then sit in silence for a moment, listening to minji and daesung-hyung laugh about whatever on seungri's other side. eventually chaerin starts fidgeting, and finally motions to youngbae-hyung on the other side of the room. "so, uh," she starts.

before seungri can stop himself, he accidentally blurts, "or you can just stay here." chaerin stares at him, pointer finger still in the air, and seungri shrugs, already starting to regret his words. "or not, whatever."

but chaerin shrugs too - a little halfheartedly and too late for seungri to think she actually wants to. but the important thing is chaerin stays.

3
every other week, they somehow end up in the studios while jiyong-hyung, or youngbae-hyung, or choice-hyung is laying down a track or mixing a beat or working on a lyric. sometimes seungri and chaerin are surrounded by others who drop by, same time they do - other times seungri is in there doing his homework when dara and chaerin swing by after their voice lessons - still other times chaerin is spinning in teddy's desk chair and seungri will just make some snide comment about it to see her turn a little red - but in any case seungri-and-chaerin gets to be routine.

chaerin still doesn't call him oppa, so whatever they first start off awkwardly talking about, it quickly descends to nothing except -

"it's oppa! not seungri-yah!"

"sorry, seungri-yah."

"...shut up, chaerin."

"you shut up."

"you shut up, oppa," he corrects.

and then chaerin smirks and says, "aww, that's okay, you don't have to use any honorifics on me for today, seungri-yah."

it takes seungri a million years to come up with a comeback, usually when chaerin has moved onto something else.

and it always ends with them getting kicked out of the studio for being a "fucking disturbance when some of us are actually trying to do something productive" (jiyong-hyung when he's being g-dragon) and then, out in the hall, chaerin remembers her real life and that it's her turn to cook dinner and she leaves without saying goodbye, but that's all right with him. after a while it's not so awkward anymore; chaerin starts to come by for no reason at all.

4
chaerin's hair. it changes so often these days seungri is worried she's trying for jiyong version 2.0 and that it's all just going to start falling out one day. but whichever color it is, chaerin shakes it out of her ponytails and seungri smells lavender. it's not anything new, he's heard her talking about the shampoo with dara-noona when they run out and apparently all four of them use it, but something about chaerin's hair - brown, black, red, highlighted, blonde, even if it were alien green and striped with pink - seungri likes the lavender on her best.

this is what happens - rather quickly - after that:

5
being woken up by his phone buzzing somewhere near his right ear and picking it up to blearily read, rise & shine! come 4 a run, ur getting fat.

since he is half-asleep stumbling out of bed and into his shoes, it isn't until seungri sees chaerin in her sweatpants waiting on the ground floor lobby by the car, extra water bottle for him, that he wakes up enough to feel like maybe she is getting the wrong idea about things, and also, maybe he should talk to her about it because that's the grown-up thing to do.

and then minji sticks her head out of the backseat window and says, "we're going to the river, oppa!" and seungri silently amends that maybe chaerin's not the one with the wrong idea.

6
"look, seungri-yah," jiyong-hyung says, "i don't think it's such a good idea. you're really not her type."

"you mean he's not teddy," seunghyun-hyung summarizes.

jiyong-hyung scrolls through seungri's phone that he doesn't remember giving, chewing on his bottom lip and every so often stopping at a contact to show it to seungri and say, "what about goo hara? i thought you guys were friends and all that. she's cute."

no thanks.

"or nicole? i'm sure she would introduce you... hmm, or gyuri?"

"you really think she'd go for seungri?" seunghyun-hyung comments, and jiyong kicks his shin.

"do you know gyuri's numbe - are you paying attention? look seungri, i'm trying to help you, you little fucker. come on."

but seungri doesn't care, because it's taken him a week and a half to decide not to hang himself on the closet rod, to figure out that it's not gross and incestuous and weird and all things self-deprecating (well, maybe a little), to hope that maybe it can work out and maybe she will understand and that it's actually kind of beautiful and precious and something he wants, something worth hanging onto. and seungri is not going to let jiyong-hyung talk him out of it this time.

so he stands and plucks his phone from jiyong's fingers, and he says no thanks.

7
he ends up phoning hara anyway, but only because her number was still highlighted when he took his phone back, and he accidentally presses the call button (and hangs up two seconds afterwards. but the call had already patched through, so he calls her back in hopes of not seeming suspicious. plus she's a girl, and girls have insights).

hara is indeed more understanding than seungri's hyungs, but when he tells her who it is, her tone becomes a little dubious.

"chaerin?" she says. "lee chaerin? i thought you hated her."

"well, i don't anymore," seungri says. "most of the time, anyway."

"but doesn't she hate you?"

seungri stops short. "why would you say that? did she tell you that?"

"no-o-o," hara says, and now she just sounds a tiny bit exasperated. "you told me that, stupid."

"oh, yea." he thinks he hears hara smothering a laugh on the other end of the line, or maybe the connection is just faulty. either way, hara isn't exactly uplifting afterwards ("your last names are both lee" is the best thing she can think of to say) so seungri decides to give it a few more days.

he and chaerin go on a few more runs, slap each other around a few more times, and still the only 2ne1 girl who respects seungri is minji (and that's still only when they're around other people). seungri sometimes hears her in jiyong-hyung's room playing video games, and she won't ever ask him to join - or he goes over to pick up boss from her room and she'll call him a name when he asks bom-noona if he can stay for dinner - and seungri keeps looking for a - a difference, something changed in her face or her walk or whatever - or maybe chaerin's just a good liar.

anyway, when he's hauling a fatter-by-the-day dog out the door, he hears dara-noona say, "you guys are spending a lot of time together, lately, huh, cl-roo!"

chaerin just says, "yea," and seungri can picture her usual shrug. when he chances a look over his shoulder, she isn't the slightest shade of red.

8
he decides on a soda.

this time the coca-cola drops down into the slot smoothly, and by the time chaerin arrives at the studio with her backpack, make-up free and hair tight in a knot on top of her head, seungri's wiped all the condensation off the sides in lines of anxiety.

"okay," she says, "we're definitely not allowed to have soda. i checked." she knocks on the side of the can. "aka, throw it out before i tell on you."

"um," seungri says, and in a fit of panic, offers it to her. "you can have it."

chaerin frowns first at the soda in his hands, then at his face. "i'm not allowed to have it either, hello? we're under the same diet regimen?"

"yea," seungri says, flustered and blinking rapidly, "right, but," and then he drops the entire thing in favor of looking the least amount of stupid he can at this point. the worst times of his life is when he tries to make a gesture.

they're in teddy-hyung's studio today. aforementioned man and youngbae-hyung are the ones at the forefront of the room, hunched over the computer monitor muttering at each other and playing three seconds of noise over and over again while chaerin and seungri watch in silence.

"hey," she says, tapping him on the hand with a finger, "you okay, seungri? you look weird."

"fine," seungri says.

"dude, you can have the coke if you're gonna pout all day." she grins, leaning forward so her eyelashes are all seungri sees for a split second. "i was just kidding about telling hwang-ssabu."

before seungri can answer her, teddy-hyung and youngbae-hyung lean back in their chairs at almost exactly the same time, identically satisfied looks on their faces. "take a break, yb," teddy-hyung says, and claps the shorter man on the back. "take a break."

youngbae-hyung asks chaerin and seungri if they want anything from the machines on his way out, and after chaerin says she's fine and seungri holds up his soda, youngbae-hyung disappears down the hallway. teddy-hyung does too after a minute, stretching and muttering something about coffee and how he's been here since eight this morning.

as soon as they're alone, chaerin sits up straighter and shifts in her seat so she's facing seungri, one leg folded underneath her body. "okay, look." she closes a hand around seungri's wrist. seungri has no idea why all of the sudden she is whispering - until finally - finally, he sees the difference in her face he's been looking for. it's so apparent he feels a bit foolish, and then abruptly remembers that chaerin has always been somewhat of a terrible liar the same time he realizes she would never, ever look this way about him.

"it's teddy-hyung, right?"

"teddy-oppa?" chaerin laughs. "no, that's way too obvious. no, not teddy, actually." her eyes unconsciously flick over to the other chair in the room, and seungri feels his stomach drop a few more feet. he wonders if jiyong-hyung knew, if seunghyun-hyung knew, if everybody knew and their way of telling him was to push him onto hara (or nicole, or gyuri, not that seunghyun-hyung thinks she'd go for him, seungri thinks).

chaerin still has her hand on his wrist. "so you think," she stutters, "you think i should give up, right? i wasn't gonna do anything about it."

nah, seungri thinks, don't do anything. "i think you should," he says, and lies because it's chaerin. "he kind of likes you, too."

chaerin looks surprised just as youngbae-hyung walks back in with (as it turns out, because youngbae-hyung always knows what to do) three herbal teas, one for each of them. as youngbae-hyung sits back down on his chair and rolls it up in front of the computer, seungri steals a look at chaerin. she catches his eye and flushes, head dipping down to sip at her tea.

at a loss of what to do, seungri holds up one fist in a lame victory punch. "hwaiting," he whispers.

chaerin grins over the rim of her mug. "thanks, oppa."

it's the first time seungri misses being seungri-yah.</blockquote>

landed
gd-centric | pg-13, 823 words, canon
five vacations jiyong promised himself.

for pause, originally posted here, 09/14/2010.

i opened my eyes and walked out the door
and the clouds came tumbling down. and it's bye, bye,
goodbye, i tried. treading a sea of a troubled mind
had to leave myself behind. i've been on some other planet
so come pick me up... i've landed.
LANDED/BEN FOLDS

1.
when we finally get our big break: THE WORLD!!!

(and why wouldn't he want it, when jiyong has consistently seen nothing except the inside of a dusty practice room for what seems like his entire childhood? hyunsuk doesn't ever promise anything, but jiyong's gotten good at reading the lines of his face and he just knows that yg means big things for the six - no, five - of them.

los angeles isn't the world, but it's seas of fair-skinned people, bigger buildings and brighter lights, and the air is different enough that jiyong figures he can embellish a few more cities into the mix when he calls his umma to tell her about it. never mind that daesung gets airsick, or that seungri embarrasses himself gawking at the billboards of scantily clad women. or that youngbae's stomach can't handle the food, or even that all seunghyun picks up is a penchance for american swear words.

never mind that jiyong doesn't sleep the entire time and falls ill on the plane ride back.

it's the best time jiyong's ever had in his life.)

2.
when i finish my solo album: europe (england, italy!!!!, spain, amsterdam? czech republic? [prague] FRANCE.)

(this is the reason why jiyong says he'll rest tomorrow. this is the reason why the pads of his fingers are bruised with computer keys and soundboard controls and why his fingernails are stained yellow from coffee and cigarettes - how predictable. this is why jiyong says i just need three more days, i just need three more weeks, it'll get done, it'll get done, and the reason why he starts stuttering in rhyme and chorus, why the words start burning into his retinas until they blur into the slightly worn leather couch in studio b.

this is the reason why, when hyunsuk finally shakes him awake and says, "i've heard you always wanted to go," jiyong feels like he is taking everything away from him.

"it'll be good for you," hyunsuk says, but not like this, jiyong thinks, not like this, not when his album is three-fourths of the way complete shit and he's inching his way around in the dark and god please don't make him go, please don't make me go. like every other word that he tries to say these days, jiyong can't.

so he gets london. he gets blocks of fashion powerhouses in milan. he gets his bull fights in spain and, in the crowd chanting ole, ole, the foreign words spill easily from his tongue. jiyong gets a hotel room in france, dines at the coffeehouses he'd envied in daul's pictures and carriage rides in prague. hell, he even spends a day in luxembourg.

when they pick him up at the airport, they keep asking him how it was with these hopeful looks on their faces, so jiyong tells them it was good.)

3.
~~when 2ne1 debuts: japan; tokyo in particular~~
japan.

(japan comes later, much later, and stays on jiyong's list long after he knows the streets of shinjuku like the back of his hand.

he'd crossed it off, once, after big bang spend practically their entire summer and every other holiday in tokyo. he gets a few days off, and goes shopping with seunghyun. youngbae brings him to his favorite steakhouses, and he plays car games with seungri when they travel from one island to the next. i have seen enough of japan, jiyong thinks; i know japan.

and then he talks to dami on the phone, once, when she says she's thinking of going for a weekend with a few of her friends and her boyfriend, and it isn't until dami asks if he's all right that jiyong realizes he's stopped talking.

eventually, jiyong writes it in again, nihon, in the kanji he knows more by number of strokes than appearance.

he'd like to visit japan sometime, as a korean, as someone who doesn't know much more than kohnnichiwa and sayonara. maybe he'll stay in a themed hotel, maybe he'll go to the countryside and stay the winter, marvel at the quiet snow.)

4.
when i'm done with this ~~song~~ ~~beat~~ ~~chorus~~ line: the moon

(no one really knows about this except seunghyun and seungho. at first it's just cigarettes, whenever he can duck down to the corner store and buy a pack when nobody's looking. he'll have one on the balcony after dinner when he's feeling really swamped with work.

then it's cigarettes and cigarettes and cigarettes, and his manager asks him to cut back, please, you're getting yellow under the eyes, so jiyong shrugs and says he was never addicted anyway.

cigarettes, cigarettes, his hood over his head, cold air so sharp against his skin he can't feel his ears.

seungri finds his list once and asks jiyong if he's talking about rocket ships. jiyong laughs.)

5.
when all of this is over: home

i dont even know what this is [ fic ]

lovelyable — Fri, 03 Sep 2010 05:43:44 GMT

we both put our hands up
gd/top | pg, 411 words, canon
so there's this dream jiyong has sometimes, see.

so there's this dream jiyong has, sometimes, see.

in it he's sprawled out on some sort of scratchy carpet underneath the half-light watching the rain fall down outside. or he's in the back seat of a taxi cab when the rain gets heavier, eyes swollen and half-lidded and the window cracked open for his cigarette smoke that hangs off his bottom lip, condensation dripping heavy down the pane. or he's totally submerged in this pool they used to own, when their house was bigger and the days stretched longer and his parents were happier. wherever.

the point is, jiyong is someplace with a lot of water and a little-known fact about jiyong is that he doesn't exactly like water. nobody knows about it, not anyone, not his mother nor youngbae nor hyunsuk and he'd rather die than admit it, but jiyong hates getting his shoes wet and at that pool he always had those bright orange floaties around his arms (and even then he always went kicking and screaming).

so, anyway, it's jiyong plus water. but it's not a nightmare, because of the general okay-ness he feels, like when he's sedated, or high, or - or, oh, like he does when there is some sort of soundtrack playing, humming, wrapped like white noise at the backs of his ears. the music that he listens to without taking any part in.

yea. that's it.

so there's that, and then also there's something else, real and closed in around him - something he hangs onto and occasionally remembers to lean back into, something that steals his cigarette and is eyes-closed on the carpet, something noise-static and real that says, "i got you," when he's about to wake up, "i got you, ji. i got you," in this baritone pianissimo kind of like the one jiyong always pushes up on the soundboard first when he's working to get that ambience he'll forget is even there until he pulls it back again.

"i got you."

so there's this waking-up thing seunghyun gets, sometimes, see.

in it he's woken up before his radio-alarm and doesn't understand, maybe chalks it up to his fucked up internal clock, until he sees somebody skinny, somebody who never stays, in the bathroom adjacent using his toothpaste. the entire bathroom counter with all its shit is straightened and ten thousand cleaning products are scattered around the tile floor, and jiyong always starts to look up just as seunghyun's radio begins to warm up and play.

set the roof on fire
cesc/villa | pg, 528 words, canon
so there's this dream cesc has sometimes, see.

so there's this dream cesc has sometimes, see.

before he starts using pills he's always had more nightmares than dreams - and also probably the whole entire point of taking pills is so he won't have to dream - but lately he's been having them again. and he thinks maybe he should switch his medicine, but they're not exactly bad dreams: no monsters inside his closet like when he was six or falling off of skyrises when he was a little older or playing on a team full of his sister's teddy bears when he was even older than that.

unless, well, david counts as a teddy bear. but most likely not, because david, when he falls into cesc and winds his arms around cesc and rolls over a couple times with cesc entangled so tight around him he has to gasp for air, doesn't feel like a stuffed animal. no cushioning the fall, or ears and eyes and nose but no mouth, or moving - waddling, really - as fast as teddy bears go, which is pretty much the pace of molasses.

no.

david, his limbs and joints are bone and hard, and colliding with cesc feels like cesc is breaking a few more ribs than he bargained for. david likes to scream when he shoots the ball into the net, loud and shattering, his eyes closing and his nose scrunching and his body lifted up on cesc's shoulders so high he's flying. david arrives the same way he leaves, fast. fast, and cesc can't process it, like a winding strip of meteor light.

most of the times, in cesc's dreams volumes one through six, it'll be on a pitch and it'll be at a game, cue the lights and miscellaneous team chants and a red-and-yellow flag and sometimes, yes, even fucking vuvuzelas. it'll be cesc and david against some opponent that they win against easily, through one-twos and shouts across the field and slippery tugs at the collar of his jersey. after he sees the ball through deep into the net, david streaks in and flies, cesc sometimes bruising something against the catch of david's elbow, but then david is gone. and all that's left is a burning sensation between cesc's fourth and fifth rib.

volume seven, though - and this only happens when cesc tosses and turns until he finds the right page - david says, in the locker room, "good play," and chuffs him on the back. and then there are magically shot glasses in their hands that they click together before cesc dances too much and blacks out. sometimes "good play" is what cesc smiles at, and other times it sounds like david is saying something else, something with more incredible's and breathtaking's and beautiful's and less play, and instead of doing something stupid like smile, cesc will pull david closer until it's not about the game anymore. just to see what the view is like up on someone else's shoulders.

"i had another dream last night," cesc says when they're changing.

"i really don't think that's supposed to happen," david says, and pulls out a pen. "maybe you should try what i'm using."

(david doesn't need to dream.)

caught between that proverbial rock and [ fic ]

lovelyable — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 09:39:42 GMT

a vice, a hard place
gd/top | hard r, 2362 words, ar
more tinman than terminator.

all the gold and the guns and the girls couldn't get you off
all the boys, all the choices in the world couldn't get you off
GOLD GUNS GIRLS/METRIC

Don't get involved.

Don't get involved. It's what you remember most whispered from your mother's bruised mouth; what somebody says to you when you're young and in school, wandering back alleyways and hearing the sirens blink blue and red in the distance; what you repeat from the bars to the four-in-the-mornings, from the four-in-the-mornings to the girls slinking out your front door.

Don't get involved, when Jiyong enters from your peripheral vision and carves himself a place somewhere between your ribcage and your head, and you find yourself veering a little bit more off-course each time Jiyong finds you again.

One week: he likes you, he says, after he decides he knows you enough to say so. Cigarette smoke is in the air and your cheek is pressed against the cold window of a taxi homeward (or somewhere with a bed) bound, and Jiyong, with his head lolling against the headrest in front of him, says he likes you, because you're like a machine. Machines, he slurs, they don't eat or sleep or go soft in the arms after a few weeks or fuck you badly or - or - puke all over your living room floor because they've had too much to drink.

And, Jiyong adds, machines don't disappoint you (until you have to change the battery or something, but whatever, that's not that complicated). This is accompanied by some semblance of trying to clean up your soiled floor with the hems of his shirt and his clammy palms, and you think about kicking him out. But his eyes are glazed, bottom lip caught between his teeth, and he looks like those lost children ads on the milk cartons you hate even through all the smeared eyeliner, so you get the mop and show him where the shower is.

Taking a girl home would've been easier, but the ones you like don't instinctively curl up around you when you lie down. And your sheets already smell like booze, so.

So Jiyong is knock-down drag-out drunk, and you let him stay.

Two weeks: he might love you. Or so he means, when you're high enough to stumble and he's somewhere down on your lap with the joint and this close to lighting your crotch on fire. You tip your head up so the ceiling can catch the drift of dirty gray smoke from your mouth before you let him kiss you. You return it, and he hums low against your mouth.

"I'll call you a cab," you say after you pull away.

Three months: he hates you.

"You're an asshole," he says, "you're a fucking asshole," he says, and you're thinking this is a total waste of a night and a thousand-dollar jacket when he pulls you from the couch and slams you against the back wall so hard your head knocks against it a few extra times.

"This isn't how it's supposed to go," he says. Maybe he's a little younger than you previously imagined. It must've been the eyeliner, or maybe he's one of those jealous fucks who carries a .45 around in his pants waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You roll your eyes. "Tell me how it's supposed to go, then," you say, too far over the moon to care, and his short nails dig into your shoulders. Normally, it'd probably hurt; tonight, it feels vaguely incredible and for a moment you are tempted to throw him on the couch instead. Or, whoever, two legs, one mouth, it's all the same.

"You're an asshole."

"And, you're - what - eighteen? nineteen?" Or maybe he was a virgin before you and got sentimental. You look around his skinny frame, but the bar-top dancer whose body heat you can still feel has already pulled her bra straps straight and fixed her lip gloss, has already stumbled into her platform shoes and back down the stairs into the strobing lights.

Jiyong takes a step back and pauses. "Fuck you." It's less scathing and more wounded, and you let him get five paces before catching him by the wrist and resentfully dragging him to the small bathroom at the back.

"Look," you say, resigned, reluctant - but you pull out a small bag of what look like skittles from your back pocket all the same. "There's this thing you should try." This is going to be a good night if it kills you.

It is. Twelve minutes before Jiyong is sprawled on the tiled floor; thirty before he sits up and belts his pants again, red in the face. He doesn't look at you now. The worn-down rubber soles of his shoes squeak against the linoleum on his way out.

It's not the same after that. (Not that you ever had constance, but ecstasy doesn't really ever begin to smell like old times or vodka, and you start missing it at some point.)

And then he decides he doesn't know you.

The girl has long hair, a slinky dress, and looks too deep-set in the eyes to be native. She's pretty, you think, except she has her legs wrapped around Jiyong like she's been paid. He's not any better, either, fingers in her longhairslinkydress, running down her arms and back up her thigh. They're breathing the same air but for however close they are their eyes might as well be miles away, staring past each other like they're out to prove something.

Jiyong brushes his lips across her neck a few times, traps her into the corner with his arms and spindly fingers spread out, but his mouth never quite makes it to hers.

Mostly, you just watch them from a situated distance, letting the crowd in between you mass and then clear out again. You see the lighter in his hand, the diamond on her finger.

They don't even leave together - after a while she untangles herself with a breathy smile and slips away - but after she's gone you swear to God he catches your eye over the cupped hand lighting his cigarette. His cheeks look flushed, a proud-little-boy in his stance - which, after a moment, melts to shifting feet before he turns away. You feel something steel itself in you despite yourself (your jaw clenches, or your fist tightens) and are seized by a mad impulse to jump the railing and punch him across the face.

Eventually you reset, and then you're the guy who doesn't care (who just happens to bump into someone's fiance in a parking lot and decides to be a good samaritan).

The fiance's name is Youngbae. He doesn't help.

At first, you didn't even think he cared, but after a couple of days you realize it's actually a fucking contrary: occasionally, daughter-son business mergers end up with somebody falling in love.

He calls you, sometimes. Just in case you're interested in things.

"They're in my living room." Take tonight. Apparently, Jiyong has taken extra measures to light up all the lamps in her apartment like christmas morning and conduct business against the glass. It's probably not a coincidence that they live on the third floor and have ceiling-to-floor length windows. Tonight, live peep show, free for all!

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sit up in bed, and wish you were still asleep. "Where are you?"

"Outside. God - anybody could look up and see this -" Youngbae's voice cuts off; for a moment all you hear from his end is a brief wash of white noise, a car passing by on the asphalt. "I don't want to deal with it tonight. Not tonight." His tone is carefully flat. "I'm leaving."

So sometimes it ends like this, with you flopping backwards on your pillow and tossing your phone into a cabinet after you turn it off.

Other times, it culminates into watching the pair of them at some after-hours bar or back alleyway or subway station (etc, etc) with Youngbae next to you, eyes narrowed and sharp profile of a future conglomerate CEO sawed to a point.

After he starts shaking out the prescription pills into the palm of his hand, you briefly wonder if you should've told him at all, but with a missus like that, you figure it's better for Youngbae's health to get used to it while he's still young.

When Jiyong kisses her, his eyes stay open.

You take the pill bottle from Youngbae's hand and tip a couple down your throat without ever breaking your gaze. It washes down nicely with your scotch.

Champagne for celebration leads to vodka for liquid courage leads to dirty martinis for her which finally leads to scotch for a long night in, bring a weekend bag. Jiyong stops looking for you by the time the weather gets cold.

Youngbae stops calling after he finds them in his bed, skin white and writhing in the darkness.

You wait till Jiyong works his way up to whiskey by the gallon, dry, before you decide you can stop, too, any time you want.

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

You pause at the door. Something that looks like candy is scattered all over the floor; a few curtains are torn down. Jiyong is spread-eagle on your bed, in a white shirt too big for him with a hand on his temples. You add up costs in your head and look annoyed. "Is this a trick question?"

"Don't give me that." Jiyong, he shoots up like he's been waiting for this, rushes you and pins you against the wall, and oh dear, how this brings back memories. Your shoulders might still have those half-moon scars, five on each, in fact!

"Do you think it's funny, getting her boyfriend involved? Think it's hilarious she's in the hospital or do you enjoy getting off on this shit?" His breath smells like beer this close. There are traces of white powder below his nose. He's degenerated, you think, a broken-down tin man you can't escape on the fucking yellow brick road.

"You're even more insane than I thought." You push him off only to have him press against you even tighter with a heavy grunt.

"Why can't you just leave me alone, huh, Seunghyun? Huh?" His hands scrabble at the bottom of your shirt, digging underneath until he's got those two ice-cold palms against your chest, right on top of your pulse. He roughly nips at your ear, licks your jaw, breathes you in. "You like what you saw? You like when I'm fucking her in her dumbass boyfriend's little apartment and she's screaming my name, you sick fuck? Do you?"

Jiyong, however angry, is smaller and forever clumsier when he's distracted - and it's easy enough to brace a hand on his neck and twist around until he's the one up on the wall. Smash his head against a sharp corner where protruding window ledge meets plaster till he hisses, eyes screwing shut, and then you wedge your knee between his legs to keep him there. Both of you are breathing hard. After staring at him for a second, you bite the inside of your cheek and snort. "Don't flatter yourself."

But he doesn't let up. "You wanna know what she was like under me, Seunghyun? When her legs were around me and my dick was in her mouth?" Another slam against the wall doesn't deter him - only makes him twist forward an inch until your noses touch, his breath hitting your cheek too hot, too high. "You know," he says, so low you have to read his lips to understand, "I think the best part about it was her boyfriend, what the fuck was his name, listening outside the door - or was it you on the phone, listening along, too -"

You hit him.

Smash him hard from his pretty little cheek to the edge of his jaw. He stumbles a few feet, caught off guard, yet almost looks like he expected nothing less when he wipes a smear of blood from his lips.

"Get a fucking hold of yourself," you snarl. "Don't try and act like you give half a shit about her."

"Yea. Right." He hunches forward, panting slightly, his hands braced on his knees. "I forgot you wrote the whole damn book on how to lie to yourself."

When you reach for him this time, you don't know what's going to happen. So when you end up with your lips crushed against his on top of him on your scuffed wood paneling, you figure it's as good as any.

He's already turned on and you're not very far behind, if how fast you unbuckle his pants and help him kick his boxers down is any indication. Your shirt goes above your head easily and the blood on his lip stains your mouth, the hollow between neck and shoulder that he used to like, your fingers, your body.

And where is your resolve, where is your resolve?

His phone rings. "It's the hospital," he says.

He hoists himself up to a standing position, tugging his shirt back over his head.

"You're still gonna keep that up?" Maybe you catch him grinning for a second, maybe it's just a grimace as he belts his pants.

If you've taught him anything, it's to linger by the door and say something cutting. But he doesn't look back, and though he leaves one of his rings behind, you're pretty sure it's not on purpose. This is what happens when you give too much away.

Some time later you get a text message, though you don't remember ever giving him your number.

stay out of it this time. tell your friend youngbae not to get involved either.

Two years, and you might like him, might love or hate him, or maybe you never really knew him well enough to judge and you're the proverbial tin man who for some reason is still pining after a ticking heart.

The same week your car breaks down, if any of it is connected. If any of it means anything.

note: inspired by big bang's beautiful hangover music video, originally supposed to be a challenge response but i didn't finish in time. however! i actually wrote this pretty fast considering i usually go the pace of molasses. idk whether to be proud of myself or not :| anyway, thanks so much to whetstone for looking it over and reassuring me i don't suck :) :|

who would you rather be? [ fic ]

lovelyable — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 23:29:18 GMT

we've got the sun
cesc-centric | pg-13, 892 words, canon
why cesc didn't pass science. (never rely on hearsay.)

(he) lives in a daydream where i don't belong

multi-vitamins, warm glass of milk (sometimes two), one large sleeping pill (sometimes more and you wonder if you are getting increasingly immune), stamp down your pillow, keep the hall light on, tuck in your earbuds, turn the volume up, leave the door open. close your eyes.

dream.

they are always the same, these days. maybe it's just too many of those headlines in your mind, too many paparazzi crowding your house and quotes your friends claim to have never said - or maybe it's as simple as carlota's physics text you glanced at over her shoulder during dinner, but your ipod shorts out after a few hours and then everything is pass, go; opposite and equal reaction; every action, every reaction, go.

opposite and equal reaction means somewhere out there is cesc fabregas telling the sun times exactly how he feels. opposite and equal reaction means cesc fabregas is snapping at them all to leave his family alone. means cesc fabregas letting himself break the fingers of the reporter who asks his mother why he has no sense of loyalty to his home roots, and then not giving a damn. means cesc fabregas doesn't rehearse every answer in his head (english, spanish, catalan, english, english) five times before saying them, means sometimes saying i don't know or i don't care or i am not yet twenty-five. opposite and equal reaction means somewhere out there is cesc fabregas charging a flight to greece, greenland, georgia, or somewhere they don't care about football, somewhere they don't know about football (alaska? antarctica) on his credit card.

opposite and equal reaction means somewhere out there is cesc fabregas pulling his brand new kit over his head and smoothing it down his chest, blood-red like spain yet not spain, something entirely different than blood filling his veins and feeling present, english, his still-slight accent the absolute furthest thing in his mind. means somewhere out there is cesc fabregas saying he's fine and ready for the gunners, fine and ready, ready, ready for years and years and years without hesitation at the tip of his lips threatening to tumble forth like water (like vomit, like bile). somewhere is cesc fabregas screaming at bacary and theo and feeling them respond from yards away, the grass shifting underneath his feet and the resounding we've got cesc fabregas, we've got cesc fabregas billowing at his ears and feeling that entirely different thing pounding out of his chest and deep into the goal. (they've got cesc fabregas, they've got him - but do you?)

if right is leaving, i'd rather be wrong -

opposite and equal reaction means. somewhere out there is cesc fabregas waking up without the lingering noise of too-loud music in his ears, his hallway lights turned off and no empty stained glasses of milk crust at his bedside, and him breathing in another type of air that feels a little faster like home. somewhere out there is cesc fabregas ignoring a text from gerard asking him if he wants to carpool to the stadium. is cesc fabregas not having to worry about forgetting a word or not remembering how to say something right or that nicky might laugh at him if he stutters - until he forgets every little drop of his hello's and how are you's, is bartering lionel for the number ten shirt until he gives up, is letting xavi call him empanado however many times he wants and being included in all david's excuses of blaming everything they do wrong on being new and pushing away zlatan when he wants to go drinking (on a wednesday, jesus) and following carles' shouts instead of the ones in his head.

opposite and equal reaction means somewhere out there is cesc fabregas hearing that in science texts, deoxygenated blood is blue and oxygenated blood is red, and without both running through your system from your heart to your head to the very tips of your toes and fingers, one cannot live. opposite and equal reaction is cesc fabregas pulling both down past his shoulders, is giving in, is feeling it wash over him like he's home -

(he) is tomorrow and i am today -

(one of the laws of physics is a fifteen-year-old francesc fabregas i soler being none too spoiled and none too eager to remember something about camp nou other than what comes out of internet search engines and old faded pictures.)

opposite and equal reaction means somewhere out there is cesc fabregas learning that there is no such thing as blue blood.

wake up.

untangle the cords of your earphones from around your neck. wash out the dirty glasses. stow away your pills and vitamins for another day, make your bed, pay your electric bill.

why don't you just sleep sometime, robin says when you pick him up on the way to the stadium. you're too young to be an insomniac, man. you're psyching yourself out here.

you'll be all right. it's silly things, you say, just worn out from south africa.

it's a public training session today. (we've got cesc fabregas, we've got cesc fabregas.)

tomorrow will be as it always has been -

and then the sun sets and you're feeling like it's a three pill night.

dream.

(you would find me
each hour
the same)

notes: first football fic i guess eeeee. this is in no way meant to offend any arsenal fans who think differently about cesc's feelings about the whole cescgate situation - it's just my personal interpretation, though i think i read too much into it. oh well. thanks to envoler for being awesome in general and reading it over :). interspersed lyrics are © trading yesterday.

my kingdom for a horse [ fic ]

lovelyable — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 01:55:07 GMT

it's all static, baby (a year's progress)
gd/top, pg-13, 3442 words, canon
how to get over somebody, told backwards. for kpop_olymfics

something always brings me back to you, it never takes too long
no matter what i say or do, i'll still feel you till the moment i'm gone
GRAVITY/SARA BAREILLES

dec
Jiyong wakes up thinking about a song.

There is snow in the ground, and he slides the door to the balcony open, spends most of the morning ankle-deep in fresh powder with a cigarette between his fingers.

"You're insane," Daesung says when he checks on him at around noon, but by then Jiyong has thought it out.

By then, Jiyong is back inside, neck-deep in blankets and lyrics and says, "I'm writing us something new," and then the stupid, red-nosed grin on his face alone is enough to make Daesung shut up and smile back. Daesung can't keep his mouth shut forever though, and soon Seungri is bringing him peppermint hot chocolate from Starbucks, Youngbae pokes his head in to say hi, and Seunghyun stays asleep until the afternoon.

By the time he wakes up, Jiyong is done.

nov
Jiyong can kind of smile at him from across the room now, but he still can't sit next to him. Not in the van, not during interviews where all he and Seunghyun do (at least in Japan) is sit and make stupid hand gestures, not during dinner when Seunghyun suffers through his diet like a martyr and Jiyong wants to hit him.

Somewhere in the midst, their interviewer figures it out after Jiyong purposely switches seats with Youngbae. "Oh," she says, and looks uncomfortable, fidgeting with her skirt. "You two, were. Um." She's cute, Jiyong thinks; more of Seungri's type than his, but he likes the pinkness of her nails and cheeks. He catches himself staring at her legs and wonders if this is it, if this is all.

She's still searching for a graceful way to end her sentence that doesn't result in pointing at Jiyong and Seunghyun like they're in a cage, and after a minute Youngbae decides to save her. "It's okay," he says. "Don't worry about it."

"We used to have sex, if that's what you wanted to know," Jiyong interrupts loudly. "Lots of sex. All night long."

Seungri stares at him wide-eyed.

"Tons. Really rough and shit," Seunghyun says.

There is a minute of horribly awkward silence, but then one of them catches the other's eye and both of them start laughing on their opposite ends of the room and Jiyong can't breathe and he has to tilt his head back and press his hand over his mouth until it hurts. Seungri decidedly switches his stare to somewhere off-camera, but even Youngbae chuckles.

It's progress.

When they get back to their hostel, Seunghyun's laugh has faded into a thoughtful twist of the mouth. He says he's going for samgyupsal around the corner with Daesung, and the two of them slink off, hoodies pulled over their faces and shoving at each other just like old times except Jiyong is just watching this time, and some big part of the memory is displaced, far away from him where he can't touch anymore. Jiyong winds up on the couch with his hands shoved into his pockets, knees drawn up to his chest and watching Youngbae flip idly through channels on the television.

"I don't want samgyupsal," he says, more to his sneakers kicked off on the floor than anything. "I'm not even hungry."

"I know," Youngbae says, his voice low, and nobody talks again for the rest of the night.

Two days later is Seunghyun's birthday. Jiyong is a little drunker than usual when he says, just as a joke with his arms thrown around Seunghyun's shoulders, "happy birthday, TOP-sama!"

And Seunghyun is a little too sober when he sighs and gently holds Jiyong at arm's length and says, "Jiyong, don't."

oct
Seunghyun is away filming again.

Maybe the four years prior has turned this into another bad habit that he (they) too easily fall into, or maybe it's Jiyong's fault, but it's only been a few days when Jiyong's phone rings at a little past midnight.

"Hyung," Jiyong says. "You okay?"

"Yea, I'm fine," Seunghyun says. The line must be faulty because his voice crackles a little too much, sounds a little too far away and tinny and thin. "It's weird being out here for so long," he continues. "By myself, I mean. Is it late over there?"

Jiyong snorts. "You're in China, not across the world. There's only an hour difference."

"Oh," Seunghyun says. "It feels farther than that, though." Jiyong imagines Seunghyun shrugging, mouth quirked upwards; in the background the television is going in a language he doesn't recognize though it feels like only yesterday he was younger and doing his Mandarin homework in the basement of YGE while Seunghyun fell asleep over sheets of half-finished algebra next to him. He should remember something, at least - 'hi', or 'how are you' - but it's all far away, foreign and heavy on his tongue.

"Are you writing yet?" Seunghyun asks. "YG says you started on a few s--"

"Nah," Jiyong says. "Nothing good."

They fall into silence. Jiyong flops down onto his pillow and closes his eyes; after a while the phone starts digging into the side of his face and he puts Seunghyun's breathing on speakerphone, setting it on the pillow next to his.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Seunghyun asks, sometime later. Jiyong has no idea what he's talking about because he dozed off for a minute, but he figures the safe answer is yes.

Yea, he can listen to Seunghyun tell him about the dog meat restaurant some of his castmates took him to, how shitty the motel he's staying in is with sheets that smell perpetually like smoke and sex, how the sun is red here and the sky is gray and the smog eats up the skyscrapers in the city so nobody can tell how tall they really are. Jiyong shudders and laughs and gives reactions at the right times, and it's as if nothing has happened at all. Maybe this is growing up or going forward or flying to China.

"I can't do this, actually." Jiyong says, three weeks later. "Sorry."

Maybe he forgot Mandarin for a reason.

sep
Seunghyun brings a girl home in the middle of the month, right when it's starting to get chilly out.

She has silky hair down her back, bright eyes, a peacoat from Italy, and no bones that stick awkwardly out of her skin like they're trying to escape. Jiyong hasn't washed his hair and is wearing a pair of Seungri's old shorts.

It's an asshole move, perhaps. Jiyong tries ignoring them for an uncomfortable fifteen minutes until he realizes there is no good way to go about doing this, and besides, Seungri is doing enough scowling for the both of them because 'you're-an-asshole-how-dare-you-do-this-to-hyungnim' is written all across his face.

Daesung carries his desk chair out to the table so she can sit down. Seunghyun actually helps set the table. And it's like Seunghyun gave her advance lessons on how to do everything right, because she laughs at Daesung's jokes, is interested in Youngbae's solo album, and tells Seungri she likes his shirt. She finishes all her rice and offers to help wash the dishes, but Youngbae pushes her out to the couch with a bucket of ice cream that she scoops up for everyone without even getting her hands sticky.

It's weird, seeing the corners of Seunghyun's eyes crinkling like when he's really happy, his hand resting lightly on her back. Jiyong used to think things like that were one-time-use and thrown away when the relationship ended, but no, it's all just recycling; the expressions, and laughs, and looks, and movements stay the exact same. The only thing different is how he looks at Jiyong: how he looks at Jiyong now is how he looks at Daesung, how he looks at Youngbae, at Seungri, at Chaerin.

Later, she pulls Jiyong into the kitchen under the guise of helping her clear away the dirty ice cream bowls.

"You're Ji," she says.

Jiyong blinks. "Jiyong, actually."

She hooks a piece of hair behind her ear and bites her lip like she doesn't know what to say for the first time that night. "Are you okay with - I don't mean to intrude, and," she begins. Jiyong shrugs.

"It's fine." He doesn't bother to ask how she knows already. "We're friends."

"Okay." A corner of a smile appears on her perfect lips. "I just, I really like him."

"He likes you too," Jiyong says. "I can tell."

She looks surprised, confused - and he feels slightly odd knowing that by the time she figures out how to tell, too, it'll be in retrospect.

Or who knows, maybe Seunghyun will marry her. (Probably not, but Jiyong still feels a little satisfaction at Seungri shooting glares at the back of her head until she leaves.)

aug
Jiyong doesn't cut off all his hair and bleach what's left blond.

Jiyong doesn't stay up until six in the morning in the studio trying to write lyrics just to get up three hours later to record something else.

Jiyong doesn't fill his entire fucking head in the darkness for three hours with Seunghyun's eyes and Seunghyun's lips and Seunghyun's stupid crumbly laugh and Seunghyun's hands on his hands and Seunghyun's breath on his cheek and Seunghyun next to him and underneath him and on top of him and sleeping and awake and running hands through his hair and calling him names and piss-drunk stumbling home and three years ago and now and Seunghyun and Seunghyun and Seunghyunchoiseunghyunchoiseunghyunchoiseunghyun.

Jiyong doesn't stare at his blank album cover for five hours and then name it Heartbreaker.

jul
Seungho tells him he needs a day off to regroup. "We're going to a bar tonight," he says over the phone. "You're coming."

"I'm flying back to Tokyo tomorrow morning," Jiyong answers, and he can almost hear Seungho rolling his eyes underneath the static of the line.

"Kwon Jiyong. You've been broken up for five entire months. Jesus."

Jiyong scowls. "I'm hanging up, you asshole."

Ten hours later, it's somehow six a.m. and Jiyong is stumbling his way up the stairs with the contents of an entire pitcher of soju dribbled down the front of his sparkly shirt and his makeup smeared across his face. He isn't entirely sure if he paid the cab driver or threw his credit card at him, and alternates between taking a step and falling down two, take one, fall down two, and then fumbling with his keys and missing the lock seven times before he finally makes it in the door and notices a light is on in Seunghyun's room.

It takes a minute for his eyes to adjust, but he's there. A suitcase is on the floor half-unpacked and a bottle of wine is opened on the windowsill. Seunghyun looks thinner and his hair is a quarter of an inch longer, but it's Seunghyun. He turns when Jiyong knocks his shin against his nightstand, initial surprise melting into amusement as Jiyong all but trips over his Louboutins.

"Hey," he says, then wrinkles his nose. "I can smell you from all the way over here."

"I'm not that far away," Jiyong slurs indignantly. "I missed you, though."

Seunghyun sighs. "Yea," he says, and he looks a little somber, or maybe it's just the alcohol in Jiyong's system. "Yea," Seunghyun says. "Me too."

And then Jiyong pushes past the bed and falls into him and kisses him and they pick up where they left off, like during his month-long absence Seunghyun has forgotten everything but the scripted lines he's been filming and they're okay and Jiyong just doesn't give a shit anymore. Everything is all right. Seunghyun is just the same, pushing him backwards into bed before he crawls over him, wine in his breath and quarter-of-an-inch longer hair brushing against Jiyong's forehead.

Take a step, fall down two.

jun
When Jaejoong tells Jiyong he's here for him, call him anytime he wants, Jiyong thinks that he's about a month too late to play the role of 'helpful-older-brother' but can't resist calling him out on his offer.

"Anytime." He repeats flatly.

"Anytime," Jaejoong affirms.

"Even if it's five a.m. and all I want is a pint of ice cream or something."

"Even if I'm in Gwangju and I've just fallen asleep," Jaejoong says confidently.

He sounds far less confident and more on the cranky side, however, when Jiyong dials his number three days later and says Ben and Jerry's, Cherry Garcia, asap. And bring Yoochun.

Jiyong is waiting at the door to his apartment so he won't wake Seungri when Jaejoong pounds on his door; when he opens it, Jaejoong is standing there with his hair in a bandanna lugging a Family Mart plastic shopping bag in one hand and Yoochun, swaying on his feet and looking as if he's three seconds away from passing out in the hallway, in the other.

"This better be good," Jaejoong snarls. "I better see tears." He pushes past him to rummage around in the wet bar while Yoochun drifts to his couch and sprawls out on it without a word.

Jiyong reaches over Jaejoong to pull out the good vodka and gets him a glass. "I just wanted ice cream," he says, "but I can cry if you want."

Jaejoong stares at him. "You little bastard," he says. After a second, he seems to have worked something out in his early-morning frame of mind and suspiciously jabs a finger at Jiyong's chest. "Wait. Ice cream? You don't like ice cream. Seunghyun is the one who likes ice cream. And Yoochun. ... You're not... Jiyongie, this isn't, like, some twisted--"

"Your brain is twisted," Jiyong scoffs, and flops on the couch on top of Yoochun's legs. "I'm fine."

"What about your lyrics?" Jaejoong asks immediately. "What are they saying?"

"What are you, my psychotherapist?" Jiyong says irritably. "I've moved on, okay?"

"Good," Yoochun mumbles, "so's Seunghyun."

And Jiyong can laugh it off and pretend like that little scrape doesn't hurt, but it'd be nice if Jaejoong told him Seunghyun is still crying into his shoulder and asking him how to get Jiyong back.

Instead, Jiyong pours himself a shot and falls asleep tangled between Yoochun, Jaejoong, a half-empty bottle of alcohol, and a puddle of melted Cherry Garcia (because Jaejoong is right, Jiyong doesn't actually like ice cream).

may
Nothing happens in May. Youngbae makes a comment about Jiyong's hair getting long, YG gives them an itinerary, and Seunghyun still doesn't look at him, Jiyong still can't smile.

He packs a bag and hides his hair under a beanie, figuring he can deal with it tomorrow, and then they're in Japan and the air is changed, a little sharper and more metallic, like the snow hasn't stopped falling here yet and this is a warning. Jiyong listens to the static of the white noise below them from his skyrise and thinks that this is it.

He's sixty floors above sea level; he's finally done.

apr
Welcome to Paris, the sign over the airport terminal says.

Fuck YG, Jiyong thinks, and hoists his bag over his shoulder as he tries thinking that maybe he does need this vacation. Everything sounds better in French. He can be French. If he likes it enough, maybe he'll just rip apart his return ticket and stay.

Daul is there when he pulls up to her apartment, and her hair is a flippant shade of blonde that hurts Jiyong's eyes when it's under the sun. "Just broke up with my douchebag boyfriend," she tells him as she's helping him hoist his luggage up the stairs, cigarette stained pink from her lipstick. "Figured it'd help bleach my brain or something. How are you, Jiyongie? I haven't talked to you in forever."

"I'm," Jiyong says, and runs out of things to say.

Daul sighs and says don't worry, mon frere, she'll take him bar-hopping and they'll drink their brains out.

And they do, so much so that Jiyong kisses a random stranger with hooded eyes and a patterned hoodie until Daul drags him away, and then he's comatose on her couch until the next afternoon. Shopping (the majority of which is at a Fendi store that has a partnership with Bearbrick), eating at a small restaurant right below the Eiffel Tower (ice cream, Daul says, you have to try their ice cream), clubbing at one of the best places in France (another stranger, this time with a gravelly voice and awkward hand gestures). Even Daul, even their bored mornings when they're just selca-ing in her bedroom and she's pulling faces, because she makes the same faces, and Jiyong starts wondering if this is a conspiracy or if he's truly going nuts.

After five days, Jiyong decides to get out while he still can.

"Love ya, Jiyong," she says when she kisses him goodbye at the airport. "Come back soon, okay? If you see that asshole tell him I don't give a shit."

Farewell, Paris, Welcome to Prague. Welcome to Zurich. To Glasgow. They're all the same.

mar
It feels like he sleeps the entire month away.

feb
It's four in the morning and Jiyong is outside Seunghyun's room until he opens the door. He looks like he hasn't slept at all.

"I'm sorry," Jiyong says, and he reaches for him and touches Seunghyun's shirt, his collarbones, his neck. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Ji," Seunghyun says, and Jiyong thinks that maybe he was sleeping after all, because his voice is edged with sandpaper and gravel, like he hasn't used it in a while, like it is when he's on stage except not on purpose.

"Another day," Jiyong says. "Just another day. Please, please, god, just. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please."

Seunghyun sighs. "Jiyong, I can't," he says.

Jiyong presses his face into Seunghyun's chest and Seunghyun lets him and Seunghyun holds him and Seunghyun brushes a hand through Jiyong's hair but he's a million miles away separated by a wall and an ocean and it's not the same, not the same. Jiyong can't breathe.

He wakes up in his own bed and doesn't remember how he got there, sun shining in his face and hurting his eyes.

He accidentally knocks things over, tells his mom everything is fine, and doesn't eat dinner when Seunghyun is home. Five stages of grief, but he's Kwon Jiyong and he cycles through them so fast he's left with nothing to do by day three. Seungri tries tempting him with coffee but Jiyong slams the door in his face and continues scribbling nonsense down on his notepad. Daesung and Youngbae start exchanging Looks like this is some big dramatic thing and they are the parents except they have no fucking clue how to take care of things.

It's almost the end of the month when Teddy catches Jiyong swinging aimless circles in his studio chair on a Sunday with a pen in his hand when everybody else is sleeping in.

"Jiyong," he says, and stops the chair. "Jiyong, go home."

"I don't want to," Jiyong says. He shoves Teddy's hand away and continues en route to dizziness, but Teddy hoists him up onto his feet and slaps at his face.

"Jiyong, wake the fuck up."

Jiyong walks home and goes to bed.

jan
It's a day when it should be snowing but it's like the sky is waiting for something and holds it in instead.

Jiyong has barely woken up when Seunghyun steps into his room and shuts the door, but he knows enough that he's still annoyed at him, and rolls over to face the wall. A hand presses softly against his back.

"Ji, I need to talk to you."

"Go away."

"Ji." Seunghyun pauses, takes a breath. "Jiyong, I can't do this anymore."

Jiyong freezes.

Another pause. "I'm gonna leave, okay?"

And he does.

(dec)
"I'm writing us something new," Jiyong tells Daesung, boots melting puddles onto his wood paneling and he doesn't care. Seungri brings him hot chocolate and Youngbae comes in to say hi and Daesung smiles at him.

Seunghyun is the last to wake up, well when the December sun is stretching lines of light across their living room, and Jiyong shoves his notebook at him and tells him to read.

It takes him the better part of an hour. "This is good," he says, and the smile on his face, in the corners of his eyes, is something Jiyong hasn't seen in almost a year.

"Are you sure?" Jiyong says.

"Yea." Seunghyun says. He smiles wider and drapes an arm around his shoulders, says, "You're always good, Ji," and that's all it takes (all it ever takes) for Jiyong's heart to start all over again.

note: originally posted at kpop_olymfics with song prompt of 2pm's heartbeat and a secondary prompt of "you keep telling me to be glad for what we had while we had it. that the brightest flame burns quickest. which means you saw us as a candle. and i saw us as the sun."

hey now, hey now, when the world comes in [ fic ]

lovelyable — Sat, 19 Jun 2010 08:36:55 GMT

for the (dis)quiet days
top-centric (+ gd/top), pg, 2365 words, canon
things happen, people change.

there is freedom within, there is freedom without; try to catch the deluge in a paper cup
you'll never reach the end of the road while you're traveling with me
DON'T DREAM/SIXPENCE NONE THE RICHER

there is something different about today.

today, choi seunghyun wakes up at six in the morning fifteen minutes ahead of his alarm clock and stares at the shadows on the ceiling until it's time to go.

they're shuttled into the van and seunghyun's head lolls against the back of his seat as they bump down a highway towards a corporate building. somewhere between the end of a song on a radio and a commercial, jiyong comments on seunghyun's nondescript hoodie and jeans.

they're given steaming coffees in the lobby of their destination, bitter espresso that shoots down seunghyun's tired spine and burns his tongue; he stumbles over his feet and is the last in line to their interview where he stares at the journalist's imitation-lacroix shoes and forgets the lines he's supposed to relay.

"are you okay?" youngbae says, during a break, or is it lunch, a hand on his shoulder and his small eyes concerned beneath the bill of his cap, "are you sick?"

no, he's not sick.

the sky is covered with clouds by early afternoon, but seunghyun can barely see it from between the gaps of the tall buildings, the road signs that bleed into the gray with their fluorescent colors and the spindly power lines winding like a spider web across the horizons. he falls asleep en route to their second destination.

and then jiyong is kicking him in the shin, studded sneakers catching him on a bruise, and seungri is apologizing to the photographer with a line about how seunghyun has been ever since he got back from filming, and seunghyun feels it again at daesung's shoulder, wrapped in a smile and a shirt that costs more than his first paycheck.

on their way home, they fall into a single-file line with corresponding footsteps. seunghyun mumbles bathroom, and then he backtracks down the hallway and finds a back door.

the scream is painted on a wall by a bus station. seunghyun doesn't believe in signs, but he pulls the door open anyway and scans the departure times, ignoring the buzzing of his phone in his pocket.

"where are you? where are you?" jiyong says. "are you hurt?"

the alarm in his voice hurts seunghyun's ears, a tinny whine loud enough to catch from the seat across the aisle even over the rumble of the bus engine. seunghyun pulls the mobile slightly away from his face and looks out the plexiglass for maybe a street sign, but all he sees are stacks of crumbling buildings, the side of an alley, a few children with backpacks chasing a dirty white dog.

"i'm fine." seunghyun catches a glimpse of himself in the window as the sun flashes out from behind a block of trees, naked fingers coming up to rub at the puffiness under his eyes. "i don't know."

"what do you mean you--well then what do you--what," jiyong splutters; seunghyun imagines them all sitting on the hard leather couches in the living room huddled around jiyong's phone, dinners untouched, and feels a little bad.

"i just," he says, and searches for the right answer. "i need a little time."

"we don't have time! we have a fucking schedule, or did you forget that too in your fit of insanity?" jiyong stops short. seunghyun thinks that youngbae must have jabbed him in the ribs because when he speaks again, his tone is lower, harder around the edges like he's biting his tongue. "i haven't told hyunsuk yet." he pauses. "should i?"

the bus turns a bumpy corner and rumbles to a stop. cheonhae street, the driver says, this is the cheonhae stop.

maybe jiyong heard that. maybe he is already looking it up online.

"if you want to." seunghyun shrugs, a gesture he is too familiar using around all of them even when he can't see any of them, and he tucks his phone back in his pocket before hoisting himself up, down the steps, and onto the asphalt.

the outside air stings his face, penetrates through his thin hoodie straight to bone. seunghyun wonders how seoul can even call this spring. if he's even in seoul anymore.

he learns to stop looking for designer boutiques and fast food chains as landmarks in a couple hours, because out here, there are none. out here, he passes stone buildings splashed with the remnants of whitewash and flood stains, painted over with neon-brite graffiti marks signifying construction points that have yet to happen, perhaps never will happen.

a lone family mart on the corner block surrounded by chain-link fence and teenagers ditching class buzzes on and off, open-notopen, open-notopen. seunghyun hangs a left and cautiously tugs the hood off his face to see where he's going better. for once, he's forgotten his ipod, and a faint wind brushes around his ears.

nobody even looks at him twice.

at the end of the road is a small park dotted with people in the distance; a vendor sells bean-paste buns, 600 won for four. seunghyun hands the elderly woman a thousand and tells her to keep the change, then sits down on a metal bench to eat and warm his hands.

even the knock-offs haven't made it this far out. a few girls with pretty faces pass by, toting nameless cloth bags, their hands left free, vacant.

he wonders what it'd be like here. youngbae would finally get some fresh air. seungri could work at the family mart and complain about nobody recognizing him, stock shelves, and fall asleep at the register. maybe daesung would like it, he thinks. jiyong wouldn't. jiyong would try and mail-order his galliano, would write and rap and record until three in the morning and sleep till three in the afternoon and whine about the quiet and leave cigarette butts all over the gutters. jiyong would gloss the town over in a week before he packed his bags again. jiyong probably wouldn't even come at all.

so maybe if it were just him, then. maybe without the ipod.

the bean paste is sticky on his lips, rolling sweet over his tongue and between his teeth; seunghyun crumbles up the wax paper and watches the sun dip into the sky before he stands. cheonhae street. there would be too much space between his fingers, but he files it away in his mind for future reference anyway, just in case.

on his way out of the town, seunghyun loses his pack of cigarettes. it doesn't matter; he can never seem to remember where his lighters are.

a girl recognizes him on the bus.

"oh my god," is all that comes out of her mouth, full of ohmygodohmygod and pointing, and seunghyun gets this so often he knows what she means to say. it's his fault for letting his guard down, his fault he'd dozed off for a moment and forgotten that they were heading towards the city again.

"you're, you're," she's stuttering.

he stares up at her, and in his disorientation of half-sleep, isn't sure who she wants him to be, who she expects to see and what he's supposed to give. he isn't ready, he can't remember, doesn't have the respective supporting cast(s) at his elbows or the right clothes on and his music is on his desk at home. for a second seunghyun's brain is scattergories. war, sweat, thousand-dollar shoes, metal chain around his neck - gunshots and fireworks and his sister screaming look at you, look at you.

the camera flash doesn't help - he's not even sure if he sees spotlight, searchlight, or just the light from his mother's room slatted in the darkness of the hallway (or, on the off chance, the flickering neon sign of the family mart) - but in the end, the fan doesn't expect anything at all from him except a face on her camera phone. he could've been anybody.

seunghyun scribbles something unrecognizable on the notepad she shoves at him before handing it back to her, and he gets off at the next stop. there will always be another bus.

while he's waiting, he receives a text message.

please come home. did i do something wrong???

this isn't about you, seunghyun sends, and idly plays with the mobile in his hands for ten minutes before it buzzes again.

seungri says sorry. you know he doesn't think before he opens his mouth.

and maybe it's the physical distance that makes him feel like a third-party observer, but for the first time in a long time, seunghyun thinks that they're all doing it wrong. gwangju, busan, tokyo, los angeles, plus countless cities in europe for jiyong - and all it's done is close their world in tighter.

seunghyun doesn't know how to tell jiyong that it's bigger than just the last few weeks. that it's more than him spending more time on the balcony zoning out, or wearing muted clothes, or keeping the door to his room shut; more than some careless comment seungri said that maybe years ago would have bothered him for a month but that now he doesn't even remember hearing.

sometimes he thinks jiyong has said enough, grown up enough, to understand things like this, but after he slides into an empty row of another bus, seunghyun concludes that he doesn't even know what this is. maybe it's only ever as big as himself.

this isn't about any of you, he types.

the bus merges onto the freeway. after reading the marquee five times, seunghyun realizes they're airport-bound.

they're almost to the terminal when a good man starts playing from the bus speakers. something jolts in his stomach, and seunghyun still remembers feeling for this song from the first time.

it's still a good high.

(geoure bichin nae moseup na oemyeoneul hane, (1) he mouths. for three minutes, he's back on stage.)

on a map, illuminated by backlighting and aesthetically pleasing colors, it looks so easy to fly from korea to, say, switzerland. only two hand-spans of a graceful red arch before he's somewhere less like seoul, somewhere more like cheonhae street. and it's not that seunghyun thinks switzerland will have molding buildings, or empty parks with smiling old grandmothers selling snacks. but he could sit down for a while, there, too.

his finger slips over to greece. what would his name be in greek? maybe it'd be easier to figure out than it is here in the korean he's been speaking for too long, in seoul. seunghyun traces a connect-the-dots from athens to sicily, then london, down to cairo, to morocco.

the automatic ticketing counter tells him it's a little over a million won to fly, and seunghyun cards a hand through his hair. he probably has about five times that in his checking account right now. and he can just buy clothes over there. they have clothes there. and food, and hotels, and places to see, things to do.

he'll probably come back five shades darker. everyone will probably be jealous. he'll probably be happy, or at least everything else will be sun-baked out of mind, out of soul. or something.

"can i help you, sir?" the woman behind the korea air counter says.

yg will probably send him to counseling. seunghyun will probably refuse to go. they'll probably think he's nuts.

he probably is.

seunghyun is the one who calls and says hi first, this time.

"hi," jiyong says back, sounding like he does when he works all night. there's a brief lull before he speaks again. "how are you?"

seunghyun chews on his lower lip and stares down at the stapled papers in his lap. "i just bought a non-refundable ticket to abu dhabi."

"you what?"

"i'm not using it," seunghyun says, "i'm coming back, i just." his head bumps against the pane of glass that he is sitting against, watching people flying the red-eye hurry past him with their rolling louis vuitton suitcases and their matching manolo blahnik heels.

jiyong is silent, and seunghyun feels like he should at least try. "i just," he says again. "i needed..." he shakes his head, amends his statement. "actually, i'm not sure what i need, so. i thought i should - at least - see if... this was it."

"abu dhabi?"

"i guess."

he hears jiyong sigh, breath blowing so slow and close to his ear he almost feels it. "i'm not sure i get it."

"yea," seunghyun says. "me, neither." it comes out heavier than he means for it to. in some space of his head, seunghyun still likes things explained to him, still likes falling in line behind someone and likes relying on someone smaller and younger and more restricted than he because kwon jiyong knows things that he doesn't, like the choruses of songs, and movements of the choreography, and where g-dragon goes and how t.o.p stands and when taeyang and daesung and seungri come in. but at the end of the day kwon jiyong goes places like europe to unknot everything that isn't scripted, and he maybe knows even less than seunghyun does.

there's a rustling in the background that could be blankets; seunghyun looks over his shoulder at the night outside and all of the sudden wishes he were home. and maybe that's progress, or maybe that's circling back around to square one.

"can i do anything?" jiyong says.

seunghyun shakes his head. "this is enough," he says.

they fall into silence, then, but jiyong stays with him on the line until the cab arrives twenty minutes later.

"sajangnim is going to kill me," seunghyun says.

"he doesn't know. i didn't tell him." jiyong yawns, scoots in closer and rests his forehead on seunghyun's chest, arm tangled somewhere between his sheets and seunghyun's hair.

"things will get better tomorrow." jiyong says. "or we'll go to cheonhae street."

for the similar days

jiyong hates cheonhae street and all its cracking foundations. he chain-smokes, scoffs at the teenagers, gets bored after ten minutes in the park, says the bean paste is too sweet for him, prods seunghyun to go looking for a club as soon as it gets passably dark.

but he walks with seunghyun in the park, fingers linked around his and both of them quiet, and he's there.

(he's there every time.)

_____________
(1) = lyrics from a good man: "my reflection in the mirror ignores me"

note: aufwoeirle;glsk. this came out a lot more all over the place and unsure and odd than i initially meant for it to be. born out of recent interviews with top like this and this, particularly lines like "the hardest thing is all the different roles inside of me.... in order to become like oh jangbum, i can't not lose myself." lastly, to quote envoler (though her fic that followed this quote didn't suck at all), i realize this may be terrible, but i mostly did it to help myself get over a long period of writer's block.

make it work! holla atcha boi! [ fic ]

lovelyable — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 06:13:55 GMT

that boy is a monster
gd/top | pg-13, 1794 words, canon
taec, meet your rival in fashion terrorism.

Only Choi Seunghyun will walk into any given clothing/accessory/shoe store and manage to pull out the ugliest piece of whatever there is in the place, every single time.

It's almost like the man has a radar built to hone in on the most pitiful looking things the designers made in a fit of rage against the machine or in the midst of a party with Jack Daniels after their boyfriends/girlfriends left them. The things he leaves with look like they aren't even supposed to be on the shelves but sit there anyways, because, well. Designers need to take out the trash too. Might as well slap a price tag on it and wait for some bumbling fashion victim to pay for it.

Jiyong isn't even sure why he still goes shopping with him.

The last time, he almost had an aneurism after they came out of SPX with Seunghyun toting a pair of bright orange-to-yellow gradated high-tops that looked like one of his lollipops melted down. The time before that, Seunghyun accidentally swapped bags with him in Joy Rich and Jiyong pulled out what he thought was his black cardigan to show Seungri and instead closed his hand around Seunghyun's stupid pink mesh track jacket.

The time before that, they didn't even make it into the shops because Seunghyun spent five hundred thousand won too many on another fucking bear toy the size of Jiyong's middle finger. (Which he made explicitly clear.)

If he's in a good mood, Jiyong laughs until he's clutching at his stomach and when they're back at the hostel, makes Seunghyun model all his new shit at once so he can watch Youngbae's and Daesung's and Seungri's horrified faces when Seunghyun comes strolling out in his tie-dye pants and hoodies with ears.

If he's in a bad mood, he ends up with a headache.

He has a headache.

"I need a coffee the size of my head," he says, and slaps the zebra print blazer Seunghyun's looking at out of his reach. "You get that, you're walking home."

Seunghyun raises his eyebrows. "Can you stop doing that? You don't have to baby me."

"Then stop acting like one," Jiyong snaps. "You're a public icon, hyung, the point is to not look like you shop at Salvation Army."

"I don't shop at--" Cutting himself off, Seunghyun instead looks at the racks around them before grabbing a navy blue jacket off the one to his right and holding it in front of him. "Look. No weird prints. Can I go now?"

Jiyong scowls at him. "You're only buying that so I'll leave you alone."

"Yea," Seunghyun admits. "Whatever, though. if I don't like it I'll just give it to Seungri."

Jiyong presses his lips into a thin line, and Seunghyun sighs. "I'm kidding, Ji. Just go do your own thing, okay?" He pushes his shoulder, Jiyong swaying a little at his touch. "You haven't even shopped at all yet."

Jiyong gives in after a minute, figuring that buying something will clear his head. "No zebra print," he says firmly, and then walks off in the opposite direction to try on a v-neck that's caught his eye.

He twists around to check on Seunghyun a few times over the next hour, but doesn't see him anywhere and assumes he must be in the changing rooms. He tells himself that he'll just catch Seunghyun at the cash register so he can pull out everything he doesn't approve of before he has a chance to buy it.

At the checkout, Seunghyun only has a few solids and neutral colors in his arms, and Jiyong grows a little suspicious when the loudest thing he sees are the gold buttons on a striped button-down, but it isn't until they slide the van door open and Jiyong sees three carrier bags already sitting in the trunk that he finally twists around and points at them accusingly.

"What are those?"

To his fury, Seunghyun only shrugs, the beginning of his familiar Cheshire-cat grin unwinding on his face as he pushes past him and climbs into the vehicle. "I just bought some stuff while you were changing."

Jiyong scrambles in after him and grabs at the nearest bag. The topmost layer of neon yellow graphic print tells him just about all he needs to know and he pushes it away, disgusted and reminded strangely of finger paint. The second one is full chains and bling and sparkles that Seunghyun is probably going to attempt to wear at the same time, and as for the third bag, Jiyong unfolds the first article of clothing with a strange oriental rug-like print on it and--

"Are these," he says, look of disbelief on his face, "are these pants?" He stares at them for a second, mouth open and absolutely everything he has to say is wiped out of his head.

"Yea." Seunghyun leans back, draping an arm across the back of the seat. "Oh, don't hate. You're just mad I didn't get you a matching pair."

And it all comes crashing back. Jiyong holds the pants in front of his face. "You got pants made out of Aladdin's fucking magic carpet?"

"Calm down," Seunghyun snorts, "they're not that bad."

"Not that--" Jiyong stops short as something suddenly dawns on him, and his eyes narrow as he swivels his head around to scrutinize the other infuriatingly calm man as they bump down the road. "You don't even like shopping, do you? You just like pissing me off."

"What?" Seunghyun blinks and he looks meaningfully at the seven carrier bags littering the floor of the van, six of which are his, before he looks back up at Jiyong like he's dangerously close to laughter. "Are you serious?"

As they turn a corner, a ray of sunlight shines through the tinted windows of the car onto the carpet pants, and Jiyong discovers that the pattern is even more offensive under full daylight. He crosses his arms and retreats as far away as possible, scowling at his shoes. "I can't believe you."

"Jiyong," Seunghyun says, and uses the hand closest to Jiyong's head to flick him in the ear. "Not everything revolves around you. I like shopping, and I got the pants because I like them too, okay."

"I can't believe you."

Seunghyun sighs, sits up straight, and the rest of the car ride home is silent.

Jiyong tugs his cell phone out of his pocket after a few icy minutes and tries venting some of his fury at Seungho with i cnt believe justar still shu shops w/ fashn-tard choi seunghyun :|||, only to have his phone buzz a moment later with Seungho's rather blase reply of justar thinks leopard print is formal attire. what u expect.

When the van pulls up to the new YG building, Jiyong slides the van door open and promptly stomps upstairs without waiting for Seunghyun and his bags of trash. Daesung is in the kitchen and sees Jiyong storm past first after he doesn't even bother kicking his shoes off, and his unanswered greeting of "hey, hyung," prompts Seungri to come out of his bedroom.

"Hyungnim! You're back! Where's..." His head cranes around the corner at the empty hallway. "...Top-hyung?"

Jiyong frowns at him "I don't want to talk about it." He stops in front of Youngbae on the floor in the living room with the dogs to scoop Gaho up in his arms, and then shuts them both in his room.

A few minutes later he hears muffled noises of Seunghyun coming in and greeting everyone with what appears to be a more subdued tone than usual, but Jiyong busies himself with (absolutely nothing) things of importance on his computer and ignores the thumps that signal Seunghyun setting his purchases down on the floor.

He's still glaring at his screen without seeing much of anything fifteen minutes later when there's a knock on his door. "Go away."

It opens anyway, and Youngbae peeks his head in. "Hey, Seunghyun-hyung wants to to show you a jacket."

Jiyong rolls his eyes.

Youngbae sighs, a small smile on his face. "What'd he buy this time?"

"RuPaul's wardrobe," Jiyong mutters, and tries to look busy by deleting a file on his desktop he hopes isn't important.

"Oh." Youngbae looks slightly confused, but he shrugs after a minute and opens the door wider. "Well, I don't think the jacket is that bad. Maybe you should come look at it."

Jiyong doesn't answer, and Youngbae shakes his head. "You guys have to stop fighting about this."

When he leaves, Jiyong doesn't get up to close his door again, either, figuring nobody will bother him in his current mood until at least dinnertime. His head has stopped pounding just long enough for him to actually concentrate on an email from Choice, when--

"God, you are such a drama queen."

Jiyong's head jerks around to tell him off, but before any words make it out of his mouth he notices what Seunghyun, leaning against his door frame with his arms crossed, is wearing. The blue jacket he pulled off the racks to divert Jiyong's attention is one of the plainest things Jiyong has ever seen Seunghyun in not counting when they have to wear suits, but it fits him well, and, actually--

"You look nice," he says, a bit stupidly. "You look good."

Seunghyun purses his lips, unreadable expression on his face. "You sound surprised."

"Uhh. I'mmm."

It prompts a chuckle, and then Seunghyun comes in to sit across from Jiyong at the edge of his bed. "Can you get over the pants now? They're just pants."

"Really ugly pants," Jiyong mumbles, but Seunghyun is used to his snark.

"I hope Seungri likes this jacket."

"Can you not." But then Jiyong catches Seunghyun's eye, and he lets his face split into the grin he can never seem to stave off for long in situations like these. "Okay, okay. Sorry. Jeez." After a minute, he thinks of something, and adds, "Why can't you just give the pants to Seungri? He'd probably take them, just tell him they're Dior Homme."

Seunghyun rolls his eyes. "Here, I got you something." Reaching into his (really nice) jacket pocket, he takes out a blob of bronze and drops it into Jiyong's hand.

Jiyong squints at it. "It's a bear ring."

Getting up, Seunghyun shrugs and scuffing his toes on Jiyong's rug, sticking both hands into his pants pockets. "Since you always call my bear shit stupid. Now you can't." His stupid satisfied grin makes his dimples show, and characteristic of Choi Seunghyun, he lets the silence linger on for a bit too long, just past comfortable and nice and lingering into awkward and tense, before he speaks up again. "Anyway, it's dinner time. Come on, skinny."

Jiyong opens his mouth to throw "fatass" back at him, but after a moment settles for just setting the ring on his windowsill next to his Heartbreaker album and quietly following Seunghyun out instead.

note: idkidk. summer, stop writing things that are not on your wip list!!!!!!!! DDDD:< roar

this is how we'll sing out [ fic ]

lovelyable — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 17:16:02 GMT

beautiful
hyori/daesung | pg, 1704 words, canon
daesung shoots for the stars. (you always give me a dream)

Daesung likes to daydream when he sings. Sometimes he doesn’t do it on purpose, and sometimes he does, but when he has a microphone to his lips and lyrics scrawled on a sheet in front of him, he likes to close his eyes and imagine something that means more than just a melody.

When he first started, back when he was still in school and had no idea what he was doing, all of his stories involved his father. Disapproval, fighting and lectures and pursed lips and slamming doors, all behind his eyelids as he sang things like I love you and never let me go and foreign English songs that were heavy and thick on his tongue, and no wonder everybody told him his voice always sounded a little sad. After joining Big Bang, his father slowly slipped away and was replaced by fantasies of lives he’d never lived, from a back-alley street rat with hope against hope of something more, to a club kid whose entire world exists inside the rank atmosphere of the bar he can’t stay away from.

Now, it’s just Hyori.

Daesung doesn’t know when everything changes, when all the walls of his alternate realities collapse and give way to white space with just Hyori, Hyori, Hyori, but when he slides the headphones over his ears and opens his mouth now, it’s her hair slipping over her eyes, the way she throws her head back to laugh and shoves him when he does something stupid, the feel of her hand in his, the feel of her body against his, the feel of her eyelashes fluttering against his cheek.

He knows it’s unrealistic, knows she’s Lee Hyori which means he’s shooting for the stars. But Daesung sings I want you to stay and thinks about her. Sings let me hear your voice and thinks of her. Sings say B-I-G to the bang and somehow ends up relating it back to Lee Hyori.

He sings, and dreams, sings, dreams, and everyone tells him how beautiful his voice is, how lovely and amazing it is, how unique and soulful and Daesung sighs because it’s not, anymore. It’s not even a story.

It’s just all he has, because everything him and Hyori have is imaginary, tied to the chords of a song and over in three minutes after he opens his eyes and becomes just ordinary, ugly Kang Daesung again, Kang Daesung whose only redeeming quality is his voice. He opens his eyes, and is alone in a recording booth with headphones over his ears squinting against the fluorescent lighting.

When Hyori calls and asks him to sing a duet with her for her album, he isn’t sure it’s a good idea for his well being but still, a couple weekends later he’s shuffling into another recording room with lyrics in his hand.

Except this time it’s at her company, and she’s there - on the other side of a glass partition while he digs his nails into his palms and has partial paranoia that his subconscious will be projected all over the glass and she’ll see it all and laugh at him, or be repulsed, or -

“Daesung-ah,” she says, “are you ready?”

He stares down at the sheet on the music stand and feels naked. He wonders if it’s too late to back out (except he would never); wonders if he can maybe think about something else this time (except he can’t).

Hyori scrunches her brow when he doesn’t answer for a minute. “Yah! Kang Daesung? Are you okay?”

Daesung thinks she’s beautiful, in her ratty sweatshirt and baseball cap she saves for Sunday mornings and when she’s hung over, bags under her eyes and face clean of makeup.

“Ready, noona,” he says. He flashes her a thumbs up and a too wide grin because... because he’s Daesung and it’s his defense mechanism, and all he has is a song she doesn’t know is for her.

Shut up, Daesung, he thinks. He makes himself close his eyes, and he doesn’t even have to open his mouth yet for Hyori to fill his mind.

Minji swings by the Big Bang hostel on a Saturday morning a week later to ask if she can walk the dogs. Jiyong stares at her from the door, bleary-eyed and uncomprehending, until Daesung offers to go with her and gets up from his spot on the couch.

“Don’t be long,” Jiyong slurs, and then stumbles back into his bedroom and closes the door.

The early morning air is cool on his face. Minji leads all three dogs and chatters about dance lessons and the all-health food dinner Bom made them last night and Chaerin’s ridiculous pair of new shoes for most of the trail, but she pauses when he doesn’t respond to ask if something’s bothering him.

“I’m okay,” he says, and smiles briefly. “Just a little tired.”

His cell phone unexpectedly vibrates, and when Daesung pulls it out of his jacket pocket, his fingers pause a little on the keypad when he realizes who it's from.

kang daesung! duet is done! noona sent a copy 2 ur email. listen & tell me wat u think! ^o^

“What is it?” Minji asks. Daesung shows her his phone, and she breaks into a smile, clapping her hands.

“Our great Daesung-oppa, in a duet with the great Lee Hyori,” she crows, hands coming up to rest on both his shoulders while she bounces on the balls of her feet and almost kicks Boss in the process.

Daesung feels familiar awkwardness creeping up his spine. “I’m not, Minji-yah,” he says, and she rolls her eyes.

“I wish you’d stop saying that all the time, oppa,” she tells him. “You’re great. Great Daesung-oppa!”

And he tries to laugh, but Daesung is just left with an overwhelming feeling like Minji is misled instead, and the expression stops a little short on his face. “But I’m not though,” he says. “It’s just flattering.”

“Oppa, your phrases are expired.” Minji stops jumping and crosses her arms. “You’re not great, you don’t have charm, and you’re not handsome. Why not? I see it, why don’t you?”

It’s not the first time Minji has lectured him about things like this, and it’s not the first time Daesung has promised her he’d think about it only to brush her words off because he doesn’t believe her and she’s only fifteen and god, how much she has left to learn.

But, he thinks when he changes the subject and they turn around on the cement path to start back to the building, it’d be nice to have some of her confidence for a day. He’s not sure he’d make it even a full hour like that without calling himself ridiculous, but at least it’d be something new. Maybe, if Minji thinks this way, Hyori also thinks Daesung is... is -

Or maybe he doesn’t even believe that.

Maybe he should just forget it altogether.

It only takes another day and a half before Daesung can’t not pick up her calls anymore, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s at a coffeehouse sitting across from her while she scolds him playfully for making her call him six times without answer.

“I can’t believe you, Kang Daesung,” she says, and pokes him on the arm repeatedly while he laughs. “You know I don’t have all day to spend on the phone? Who do you think I am? People thought I was being blown off by my boyfriend!”

Daesung feels himself stiffen, but pushes the thought away and covers it by staring down at his menu. “I know, it’s my fault. Sorry, noona.”

“Hey!” She taps the table until he looks back up at her. “That’s not the point, anyway. Did you even listen to the song? I had to persuade them to send it to you early, Daesung-ah, you better have listened!”

“Yea, I listened. You were really good, noona.” Daesung doesn’t mention how he played it over and over until he couldn’t stand the sound of his own voice anymore, until it was four in the morning and he skipped only to her parts and fell asleep listening to how alive and absolutely like her it sounded.

Hyori laughs, fingers flying up to cover her mouth. “That’s nice, but I was nothing compared to you. You make me sound bad.” And she must see the hesitation on his face, because she starts telling him exactly how much she loves his voice and how she’s always marveled at it, always admired it and wanted him to duet with her ever since he debuted because she thinks one of the most gorgeous sounds she’s ever heard. “It’s why I asked for you,” she says, and takes his hand from across the table. “You don’t think it’s selfish, do you?”

Daesung feels himself sink a little lower in his seat. Always and only his voice.

“You know what, though?” Hyori reaches out her other hand, encloses it around Daesung’s hand that’s already wrapped in her grip; her fingers brush across his knuckles. “I was listening to it with my headphones on last night, after I went home, and... I felt like, I don’t know.” She turns his hand over to trace small circles around the callouses in his palm Daesung has from his microphone, and his hand tingles in the wake of her touch. “I felt,” she continues, “like you were singing to just me.”

“I...” Daesung’s voice catches in his throat, and he has nothing to say, nothing, nothing. He is just Kang Daesung, and his dreams are all over the glass panel for Lee Hyori to see after all. Her expression is unreadable. Nothing to say, nothing. “...Is that bad? I can record it over.”

Hyori raises her brows. “Daesung, it’s beautiful,” she says, and doesn’t even give him time to be relieved before she leans forward in her chair.

And then she is suddenly cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing his chin, the curves of his lips, the shaggy hair out of his eyes, stealing his breath and everything with it from his throat.

“Daesung-ah,” she repeats, and her voice is just a whisper, just to him. “Beautiful.”

note: written in a fit of fangirly joy after hearing hyori/daesung's "how did we get" duet and realizing that i now ship these two so hard. ridiculous. i wrote it kind of fast and it's a little too hopeless romantic....... but i like hyori/daesung that way? ;~;

three drabbles ... and a rant [ fic ]

lovelyable — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 22:43:32 GMT

three fifteen-minute challenges from kpopficwank.

here's to the next ten
cl/teddy | pg, 314 words, canon
from this prompt, originally posted here

when she's twelve years old, alone in her bedroom with his cd in her hands, chaerin finds it easy enough to trace the outline of his lips and imagine what it'd be like if maybe she was a little older, a little taller, a little closer. she makes it to the part when he'd brush her hair away from her eyes with his rough hands before she bursts into laughter and shakes the thought from her head.

sixteen, she shakes his hand for the first time and discovers they're calloused, like she's imagined. she sits across from him at four a.m. in the studio going over her lines for her recording, the dots of stubble on his chin especially apparent underneath the flourescent lighting, and misses a beat because she's too busy memorizing the curves of his jaw.

another two years. he lets her tease him, now, lets her curl up underneath his arms and punch him in the shoulder and steal the cap off his head. she borrows a sweatshirt when it's too cold in the studio and she's only wearing a tank top, and accidentally-on-purpose doesn't return it for a few weeks. he smells like honeysuckle and smoke, mint and stars.

when chaerin blows out the candles on her twenty-second birthday cake, there is a second of flashing light before it goes suddenly dark. teddy is standing across from her, eyes shining, laughter rough and soft as he stumbles over the lines to 'happy birthday', and she holds onto the tail end of a promise and inches forward, step by step, into the darkness until she smells him, feels him, presses against him,

kisses him, kisses him, kisses him.

teddy smells like sugar. teddy is clean-shaven, tastes like cake and stale alcohol and exhaustion. his hands stay at his side and her hair falls into her eyes, and there is nobody to fix any of it.

breathe in
gd/top | pg-13, 237 words, au
from this prompt, originally posted here with minor edits

the sun sets one day and never comes back, and the last dredges of the air slips quietly away with it. doomed, is what everybody thinks; we're doomed.

within the first thirty seconds as people hold their last full breath comes panic, silent screams passed only through the terror in each other's eyes, the tremble in their footsteps. what do we do, they gesture, clutch at their faces, what do we do?

and then life, as in times of chaos, is suddenly set onto a rampant fast-forward, quite literally being as short as the blink of an eye.

some choose to go quickly, breathing out and dropping to the ground a second later, their eyes glazing over before their bodies even hit the floor. some search for empty promise in sealed lockers, empty closets and basement cellars, for that last vestige of oxygen and hope--only to die sprawled in some empty container alone.

and then there are those who find each other.

jiyong watches the dark world with his hand in seunghyun's hand from at their bedroom window--pulls it up to his chest and writes in his palm instead of says i love you, you big idiot, and waits for that glimmer of familiar humor, for seunghyun's eyes to say it back.

their noses brush when jiyong raises himself up to press their lips together; the last thing he feels is seunghyun kissing him as jiyong breathes love into his mouth.

ps i love you
gd/top| pg-13, 376 words, canon
from this prompt, originally posted here

when jiyong is sent to europe, seunghyun is expecting some sort of sentiment to come from it all. jiyong has never been exactly quiet about how he feels, good or bad, and yet when he leaves with his bulky suitcases, the goodbye he gives boss is longer than the one for seunghyun.

he watches jiyong step into the van - watches the van back out of the driveway, head down the street, turn the corner, disappear - the spot on his elbow where jiyong briefly touched still burning from his icy fingers.

life goes on. seunghyun occasionally receives a random cross-continental text - tried escargot today, that's something even you wouldn't eat - fuck the french for making everything so goddamn expensive - i just saw the parisian version of seungri what the hell - but never anything substantial, never anything that tells him how he is, if he's getting better from the downward spiral yg called depression that prompted the entire trip in the first place.

he wonders if jiyong is just too tired to feel anymore.

seunghyun's replies are always the same: a simple i miss you that he never sends in the end because he doesn't want jiyong to feel suffocated or obligated to fly back to a place he associates with stress. so seunghyun just tucks his phone away.

the week before jiyong comes back, the doorbell rings early in the morning and a minute later youngbae is knocking on seunghyun's door to place a small package the size of his thumb in his hand.

seunghyun stares at it confusedly through the haze of sleep for a second before ripping open the cardboard.

when he sees the tiny figurine of the eiffel tower and the note attached in jiyong's messy scrawl that says something pretty for your stupid toy wall, seunghyun is tempted to just grimace and throw it in the trash.

he is setting it down when something else flutters out of the box, and he manages to catch the piece of white scrap paper in his hands before it hits the floor.

wish you were here.

the eiffel tower is hidden by a mound of bearbricks, but seunghyun likes it anyways. when jiyong shows up at the door exactly a week later, he is smiling.

rant.
it's been brought to my attention that people are bashing on the gd/top pairing, because, i don't know, they think people who ship gd/top only do it because we're jumping on some sort of bandwagon (since gd/top has gained a bit of popularity/more readership in fic). i've read things like "they only ship them because they're attractive", "gd and top don't even interact so the whole ship is baseless", and "other ships challenge you more as an author because it forces top to stop being badass/gd to stop being a damsel in distress".

the bandwagon claim: it's not the author's fault if her ship has become mainstream, especially rather suddenly as in this case. back when i first started getting into gd/top, i couldn't find fic anywhere except butterflyweb's, and that is primarily the reason why i started writing them myself. and i'm not calling myself a pioneer, but i (and anybody else who really does ship gd/top) am continue to write them because i like the pairing, not because i am jumping on some sort of prolific bandwagon to gain comments. it should be the same case for anybody. if you like a pairing, write your fuckin' pairing. it's fine if you want to try others to analyze them or to up your skills or to fulfill a request or whatever, but if you're writing something just because it's popular and you feel the pressure to 'conform' because otherwise you'll get no readership, it's a really bad reason. as far as i know this is a hobby, and something you should enjoy doing.

only shipping gd/top because they look good together, and the ship is baseless because they don't interact anyways: i feel like i've had to defend this so many times, so sorry if this comes off a bit bitter. i do not ship gd/top on a purely superficial level. i ship them because i like that their friendship is based on laughter, because gd and top were friends even when top was a fattie and gd had a snaggletooth and gd still thought top was cool, because gd and top have stupid inside jokes and crack the fuck up at each other when nobody else around them gets it and if you want to see visual proof i will show you, but the point is, i like and appreciate and remember moments like those. they aren't like gdragon/seungri in that their friendship is displayed for you to see, but remember that they've known each other since middle school, that gd was the one who recruited top into yg, that they hang out in the same group of friends and go shopping and out drinking and god knows what else. it would be churlish of me to not admit they don't look good on a superficial level together either, so yes, i like that too. again, forgive me if i sound stannish and angry but i've lost count of the times somebody has brushed them off as shallow and baseless when it's not. (and anyways, it's fiction, so i don't understand why this would be any less real or fake than any other ship.)

gd/top with each other are badass mafia asshole/helpless woman, and don't challenge you as much as other ships: i admit that it's the way i wrote gd/top in mercury in my veins, which is the reason why i'm redoing that fic altogether. but since then, i don't remember the last time i read a good fic with them in those stereotypical roles. i've read gd as a black friday maniac and top as his bag boy with sunscreen on his nose; top as a dead-end bartender and gd as a lonely art student; top coming home from army camp slightly jaded and gd still the same; top as a slave with no real idea of home and gd a naive leader hoping for a friend. gd and top are as challenging to write as any other pair. and i am more than offended when people suggest that maybe we're writing them because they think it's an easy opt-out and that it doesn't spark creativity. perhaps you, the accusers, just aren't inspired by them as a pair. and that's fine. just find somebody else that does inspire you instead of putting the rest of us down.

sorry this is so long, but it's been all sitting on my chest for a while and i'm sick of constantly having to defend gd/top when it's marginalized by so many people. basically, don't bash my ship and i won't bash yours. if you feel the need to, at least do it somewhere where i can't see it.

okay that's it.

i won't hesitate no more [ fic ]

lovelyable — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 06:35:06 GMT

heads/tails
gd/top | r, 1247 words, canon
say what you mean, mean what you say.

and everything looks perfect from far away; "come down now," but we'll stay
SUCH GREAT HEIGHTS/THE POSTAL SERVICE

It's never taken much to push Jiyong into making it World War Three.

"Are you serious?" Seunghyun barely sees the blur of movement as Jiyong shoots off the couch like it's scalded him, scowl etched deep into the grooves of his face. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

"What?" Seunghyun, doesn't understand what he just said, or what he just did--but then again, as Jiyong so kindly reminds him,

"You never fucking understand!" Jiyong scratches at his forehead, bares his teeth, shakes out his arms and steps forward two steps, back again - Seunghyun vaguely thinks how it's like when he can't stop moving on stage, except this is a battlefield, and it's centered around making Seunghyun feel like shit instead of a spotlight.

"Maybe you should try explaining it to me once," he says irritably, but in Jiyong's eyes, Seunghyun is a lost cause who is always one step behind, one note off, one minute late, and the golden child of YGE can't be bothered to explain what the fuck crime somebody as slow as he might have committed to set him off.

Anyway, he's just cut Jiyong off in the middle of some rant about how Seunghyun is a dumbass, and that doesn't sit well with him, either.

It eventually implodes, ending with Jiyong's door slamming so hard the flat-screen bolted to the wall shakes, and Seunghyun curls up in bed with a sour taste in his mouth and forgets to turn down Sparklehorse before he falls asleep (which probably doesn't help things).

The world is quieter when it's cold outside, when he's this high up above ground. The futon he's dragged out onto their balcony is frayed and splashed with stains, but it's comfortable and Seunghyun's more concerned with watching the smoke stream out his mouth and into the gray sky.

"Weed? Seriously?"

Seunghyun looks up. Jiyong is still in his pajama bottoms and barefoot, eyes wan and hood of one of Youngbae's black sweatshirts pulled up and drawstringed tight over his face. Already halfway to a languid high, Seunghyun raises and drops a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.

Jiyong squints at him for a minute, chewing on his bottom lip intently before he finally seems to have decided on something. "Move over."

He sits so far away from Seunghyun that he's almost falling off the edge, ass barely touching the dirty futon that he wrinkles his nose at. Seunghyun is tempted to tell him he might as well fuck off because he's not in the mood to share, but when Jiyong holds out his fingers, he takes a last drag and passes it over just like old times.

Three hits, and the tension eases from Jiyong's muscles; five, and he scoots back and over some until he's sprawled on the thin mat, bent leg overlapping Seunghyun's like a deadweight. For somebody so bony, Seunghyun thinks, he weighs a fucking ton, and he tells him so.

Jiyong hits him on the shoulder with a dull thump. "What's that make you?" He snipes, but it's warm, offset by the haze of smoke and a lopsided grin uncurling at the corner of his lips, and when Seunghyun looks appropriately hurt, it turns into a laugh pressed into the side of his shoulder. "I'm kidding, god, stop being such a girl about your weight."

Eighth drag, and Jiyong's coughing, and making faces, and shouting ridiculous shit like "your mom" and "fuck Flo Rida" and repeating half-phrases like "bling bling like L.E.D" over and over again, which makes Seunghyun crumble into laughter.

The middle of the second joint, and he climbs onto Seunghyun's lap, pressing it into his lips and telling Seunghyun to suck in, and Seunghyun is too blazed to even care.

He lets Jiyong lean in close, pluck the blunt away from Seunghyun's lips, and hold his chin steady with icy fingers; he thinks that, from this close, he can count the individual lashes rimming Jiyong's eyes. "This is weird." A stupid snicker escapes him along with the rest of the smoke, and Jiyong smacks him through the silly smile stuck permanently to his face.

"Stop talking. Fuck. Do it again."

Seunghyun does it again. This time, Jiyong holds his mouth closed with one hand, tossing the joint down the balcony with the other. And then he leans in and presses his own mouth on the other side of his fingers; his eyelashes tickle Seunghyun's cheek. Seunghyun can feel the slight vibration of his voice against his lips when Jiyong talks, and all of the sudden, he is a little bit tense again.

"Breathe out," Jiyong whispers; Seunghyun barely notices as his hand slips down around his chin to nudge his mouth open, can't really think to do anything except comply. Jiyong's eyes flutter closed as he inhales, his lips soft and slightly wet against Seunghyun's, slightly insistent. The low moan in his throat as he drinks the secondhand smoke curls deep and foreign as it settles at the pit of Seunghyun's stomach.

After a moment, he slumps over to press his face somewhere between Seunghyun's jaw and collarbone, and breathes. When he speaks, his voice is low, slurred; his hands slide down Seunghyun's chest to drop at his sides. "Sorry. For yelling at you. I didn't mean to."

Seunghyun snorts, shakes his head, and doesn't know what to say. He never means to.

Another short silence, and then Jiyong laughs. "Godddd, I'm so high."

When he braces his hands against Seunghyun's shoulders to raise himself up and meets his eyes with a pout worthy of the Breathe music video, Seunghyun can't help the grin that surfaces on his own face.

And then Seunghyun says something or does something or looks at Jiyong wrong, and he starts another war.

This time, there is no kicking and screaming and slamming doors and too-loud music blasting from Seunghyun's iHome afterwards. Instead, it's Jiyong scoffing and rolling his eyes over a too-quiet dinner as Seunghyun pretends to ignore it and the other three are sandwiched in between, and apparently it's too much because Jiyong barely eats three bites of his food before he disappears into his room.

He ignores Seunghyun for an entire week, and it takes Youngbae four days of prodding before he manages to shove Seunghyun through the door of Jiyong's bedroom to "talk".

Talk, which means Seunghyun asking Jiyong - who is turned away completely at his computer with his headphones on - when he'll apologize this time.

Jiyong sneers. "You fucking apologize. It's your fault. I have nothing to say."

Seunghyun feels the doorknob digging into his back, Gaho scratching from the other side to be let in. "You did it last time," he points out. "Just do it again."

Jiyong abruptly rips the headphones off his ears, gets up, and stalks over to where Seunghyun is standing, blank look on his face. "I was high," he says, like it's obvious, like Seunghyun is a step behind again and he doesn't understand.

He pushes Seunghyun out of the way, opens the door, and scoops Gaho into his arms before stomping off rather melodramatically down the hall.

Seunghyun sighs. So much for talking.

The next time they're on the balcony, it barely takes two drags of weed before Jiyong is straddling him and his hands are tangled inside his shirt, lips crashing together so hard their teeth click and neither of them even halfway to stoned yet.

Afterwards, he slurs a sorry when they're down another joint and he's playing with Seunghyun's fingers.

notes:inspired by this postsecret ; mostly unedited, sorryyyy. for whetstone bc she made me, & gdgdbaby bc i miss her ♥

rock rock fashion baby [ fic ]

lovelyable — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 08:19:48 GMT

cover and spread
cl/seungri | r, 3946 words, ar
seungri's on a sinking ship.

your skin is so white underneath the black night
your voice calls out for the coup de grace
when the lights go out will there be a trace
SILVIA/MIIKE SNOW

She's already dying when Seungri meets her. There is a bigger picture, and she's just a smaller part contributing to it, hoping to change something, to mean something. Like one of those sacrifices in a colony of ants when they have to make it over an obstacle and some of them have to sacrifice themselves so the other ones can get across.

Or at least, it's what's written all over her face two seconds after Seungri says hi backstage at the Christian Lacroix show. "You're really not trying to pick me up on the job, are you?" She grimaces, though it may be because one of the many assistants bustling around her is lacing her into a corset. "Because that's really tacky." The assistant shouts into her ear to suck in, suck your stomach in. She holds her breath. Seungri sees too many ribs.

"I just want to know where the bathroom is," Seungri says.

"My name's Chaerin."

"No," Seungri says, and raises his voice, slows it down. "The bathroom."

"I'm nineteen." Chaerin smiles, cat-like, then turns her lips down again when makeup artist number thirty-four shouts at her to stop talking so she can fix her lips, god, she only has fifteen seconds per model and Chaerin is existing too much.

"No, I dont - what? I just, no, I want the bathroom," Seungri repeats, louder still, leaning in and annoyed and feeling like a fool and thinking maybe he should just find it himself. "The bathroom."

"I live in Hongdae, and I'm a model. But," she says, and leans in the rest of the way, a hand coming in through the chaos to slide down Seungri's arm to rest on his wrist, "you already know that part."

Seungri pauses, taken aback by how close she is for a second. "I was just--"

"We don't have any bathrooms back here," she says. "I heard you. Nobody eats or drinks shit at least twelve hours before a show."

Her grip is strong for someone so slender, for someone whose bones Seungri can count from here. Seungri is losing circulation in his hand by the time Chaerin lets him go to hand her arms off to the assistants who wrap them in black leather.

"Okay, sorry I bothered you," he mutters, and turns on his heel, but then Chaerin is sliding past him, hair slicked back and smelling like smoke and the free champagne they hand out by the bottle that nobody actually drinks until later.

"You didn't." She gets in line behind a procession of bones and couture, all like her, all pale, and when she smiles again, it looks out of place against so many blank stares. "I hope you do it again at the after party." Her voice is a little too hopeful behind the disdain, and it's why - it becomes the reason why, always - Seungri stays.

Chaerin says the best part of Seungri is that he doesn't try to change her. Says she's had way too many of those, those girls and boys who said they loved her just the way she was and then always tried to fit her in a space where she didn't fit. Seungri takes it as a forewarning, seeing as this comes right after he tells Chaerin that her cigarettes are killing her.

"Please, tell it to someone who cares," she scoffs, propped up against the metal railings of his balcony with her hands stretched towards the ground. "Everything is killing me."

"Maybe if you'd stop smoking so much you'd get there a lot slower," Seungri tries, but Chaerin will never have it. Chaerin just pats his cheek and tells him he's cute and goes back to posing in her three-thousand dollar Dolce and Gabbana underwear even though there are no agents here.

Practice, she says. "You don't know who's watching. Live life like it's a big fucking stage."

These quotes are always spouted at him in a slightly broken manner, colorful expletives added in where she can't remember the exact phrasing because she dropped out of school who knows how long ago.

"You're nineteen," Seungri says. He feels like a hypocrite because the sun shines when he tells her these things after he's skipped another day of class to watch her in his apartment. But at least he's enrolled. "You can go back to school. They have these programs where you can get your degree. I looked it up online."

"I don't want my degree," Chaerin says; she kicks a magazine cutout at her feet towards where he is standing at the edge of the balcony, between indoor and outdoor, and points to it with her lacquered toe. "I'm in Vogue. What the fuck do I need a piece of paper telling me I'm smart for?" The smoke streams from the corners of her mouth; when she sneezes, it turns into a cough.

"See," Seungri says. "It's killing you."

Chaerin closes the distance between them until Seungri can smell last night's hairspray and champagne after-party on her collarbones. Her shirt is too big for her (but it says Alexander Wang on a tiny cut-out square in the back which is what matters), and he can see the faint outline of her breasts pressed against the thin fabric when she stands on her tiptoes and tilts her face towards his so their noses touch.

There's a new freckle on her face, right below her eye. Chaerin licks her lips, deliberately takes a long drag of her Marlboro Slim, and then presses their lips together, fistful of Seungri's collar.

His mouth automatically opens as he drinks her in, searching for her taste like he knows too much of already - but this time it's all smoke, smoke and gray and fog streaming down his throat into his lungs instead of her--

He tears himself away and collapses against the sliding door frame to hack for ten minutes straight while she laughs at him, while she brushes a hand affectionately through his hair and pats his back to help get the coughs out.

"There," she says. The triumph is obvious in her voice. "Now it's killing you, too."

Chaerin has four tattoos. Seungri discovers the first when he's behind her getting dressed one morning and she ties her hair up. The Chanel symbol inked black on the back of her neck stands out like a brand burn, and after a second, he realizes that it's nothing less.

The second and third are identical: Christian on one ankle, Dior on the other, seen when he takes her shoes and socks off for her when she's too tired after a Stella McCartney show.

"Why do you materialize yourself like that?" He asks. He's sitting on the toilet seat with his knees pulled up to his chest, listening to her shower behind the plastic curtain. "You're not a sweater, or a pair of pants."

When Chaerin laughs, the broken sound bounces off the tile. "I guess you won't want to see the other one, then."

"What other one?"

She sticks her head out of the bath tub, hair matted to her face and only halfway free of shampoo, and she grins at him before sticking her foot out too that spreads puddles on his floor. Her hand comes to rest against her right leg, index finger pointing at a smudge of ink on her inner thigh.

"It's... a barcode." Seungri blinks. "Really?"

Chaerin shrugs before disappearing back behind the curtain again. "Maybe she's born with it," she sings.

Chaerin books a job walking a tribute show for Alexander McQueen. If she's nervous she doesn't say anything, but her palms feel a little too dry when she lets Seungri take her hand for a second, right before they turn the corner to the dressing room and she lets go to take her model pass instead.

He takes her scarf, and her huge Audrey Hepburn-esque sunglasses, and her genuine leather Fendi bag she spent half her savings on, and hands her back her Starbucks before he sits on a couch with the other spectators to watch.

It's a circus. Seungri's been in the middle of a mob stampede, been in a mosh pit at a gothica concert and stood high above the stands in the nosebleed section right after their baseball team pulled off a regionwide championship, but he thinks that maybe all the waif-thin girls and their noisy assistants could give all of them a run for their money. It goes so quickly he thinks they're on fast forward, or he's in slow motion, watching hair pulling and dress-stitching and eye-shadowing. He wonders how they manage it, all of it.

Chaerin transforms into something he doesn't recognize. The next time she reappears out of the crowd, she is five inches taller and can barely open her eyes with how tight her hair has been pulled back. her skin is dusted over with a fine coat of white powder over a voluminous white dress, and nothing except her eyebrows are touched with a faint gray color.

She holds her name board with her polaroids in her hands; Seungri thinks she looks a little like an ice queen lining up for mug shots.

"Product of a big fucking fashion house," she says, sticking her arms out like a Barbie doll. He does his best to smile at her and tell her she looks beautiful, and the frown she gives him tells him it might not be what she wanted to hear.

Which may ring a little ironic, when he wakes up in the middle of the night to a crack of light streaming from his bathroom door, and stumbles towards it to push it open and see her sniffing a line of white up her nose. She catches him staring and wipes at her nostrils with two fingers.

"I'm on a diet," she tells him.

Seungri jerks backward, knocks his shin against the door. As he's clutching his leg against the backdrop of her laughing lazily at how clumsy he is, he surges forward and knocks the rest of the powder - the razor, baggie, small hand mirror, all of it - into the toilet.

Chaerin screams, jumping upright and dropping the tiny plastic straw onto the ground tile. The sound seems magnified as both of them stare, horrified, at the contents of her buzz sinking gently to the bottom of the porcelain bowl, powder diffusing into a cloudy white.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing!" She grabs his arm, shakes him hard, her eyes flashing more furious than he's ever seen her look in her life. "You fucking piece of shit, do you know how goddamn much that fucking cost me!" Another scream, guttural and raw; her bitten nails dig into his skin and he flinches.

"It's dangerous," he grits his teeth, not meeting her eyes. "It's not good for you, Chaerin! I'm trying to help - please, Chaerin, please, let me,"

"I don't need your motherfucking help you naive little bastard!" Her face scares him, eyes rimmed with red and lips flecked with red and voice red. "What gives you the right--"

"It was killing you," he says again, and her nails dig in harder.

"EVERYTHING IS KILLING ME!" She flings his arm away, fingers coming up to tear at her face and hair instead as she paces around the small room. It isn't until she starts to gasp little sobs that he realizes she's crying.

"Chaerin," He says. His voice echoes around the room and comes back to him in the silence. She doesn't answer, and he tries again, stretching forward to pat her timidly on the shoulder, smoothing awkwardly onto her back as far as he dares to go, "Chaerin, Chaerin. Chaerin-ah."

"Just get out." The same quiver in her voice strays to Seungri's legs as he stumbles backwards out of the flourescence all the way back to bed.

Their fights are more or less the same, and in between, Seungri always has battle wounds to nurse. He's considered telling his friends at school about how he got them, but thinks again that maybe he should take them to witness backstage at a fashion event themselves before he decides to sport 'a supermodel bit/hit/punched/kicked/otherwise hurt me' proudly on his chest.

Sometimes, Chaerin will stay away - where, Seungri would rather not think about - for months on end, and sometimes, she'll come back, sliding between the sheets to reach for him blindly in the half-light when he should be in class.

And no matter how at odds they are, Seungri always thinks that there is something right and contradictory to all the bad things in the way Chaerin's too-thin body fits neatly underneath his. In how she'll let him kiss her slow and gasping, tongues tangling halfway in between their mouths as she sighs and shudders, her hands smoothing the dark circles from under his eyes away. How their breaths match when he's clutching at her hip and she's mouthing wet at his neck and panting his name, Seungri, Seungri, Seungri, how she clenches around him and grinds up into his body until it's all white heat and he doesn't know where he ends and she begins.

Afterwards, she lets him see her, just her, stripped clean and naked from all the powerhouse brands she wears on a daily basis. She's never shy, even tugs Seungri's hands to press against her flat stomach, down the curve of her hip and and up again to smooth over her breasts as he flushes a dull pink.

"You're not a disney prince, Seungri," she says. "You can't save me."

But at the end of the day he likes to think he can. Because she may tell him different, but the way she leans into his every touch and lets her eyes flutter closed says she's begging to be swept away.

The thought expands, maybe, when she tells him just why she's not going to the house party on his college campus with him.

She is sitting in her Prada dress, in a heap on the floor of the stairwell staining it charcoal gray, and he's on the steps below her in his pressed shirt and jeans, and all her makeup has run off her face. Her Louboutin shoes are somewhere behind him from when she threw them at his head. She's muttering to the ground about how she used to lust after Hermes, but didn't have enough money until Changbae said he did - so she asked him how she could borrow some money and he said he'd have to have her do something for her - so then she's down on her knees with his cock in her mouth and she's crying and shes fourteen years old as he hands her fifty thousand won - and the next thing she knows it's seven months later and she's fucking some girl she used to be lab partners with from fifth period science class as Changbae and his friends hoot and holler and throw won at her face and - stuff it into her bra and - the room closes on her - and she just--

By now, her face is pressed into the palm of her hand, and the other hangs limp in Seungri's as she shakes her head.

"That was what school was for me," she says.

Seungri changes into a t-shirt.

He takes her to a small samgyupsul place around the corner because she says she needs to get drunk and he doesn't even have beer in his fridge. The manager brings them two bottles of soju to start off with and Chaerin tips hers back, head tilted towards the ceiling until it's all gone. Seungri is still holding her hand when she finishes her fifth bottle. He helps her wipe away a stripe of liquor on her chin, keeping his fingers light on her skin.

Afterwards he grills some meat and she plays with the strings of onion that come with their order, bending two back until the purple-edged skins make the Chanel symbol. She shows him.

"Do you always think about that stuff?" He says.

When she leans forward to grip at the hair at the back of his head and kiss him sloppy at the corner of his mouth, she tastes like alcohol and smoke. "I'm thinking about you right now," she slurs, then stops short. "Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm not." He's not sure what he's denying.

"Yea you are. You think this means something." She narrows her eyes at him. "This isn't Pretty Woman, okay?"

"Okay, because I don't have a million dollars, anyway." When it earns him one of her crumbled laughs, he tells her she's drunk but likes how warm her touch is on his knee.

They go to bed and she doesn't say anything of her usual manner, except to tell him goodnight and thank you, and to kiss his his nose, her eyelashes fluttering against his cheek.

Seungri comes home from class one afternoon to find Chaerin throwing up in the bathroom.

"Are you sick?" His mind turns to panic, wondering what he's missed over the past few weeks, the used condoms in his trash can. "Oh my god - are you - are you pr--"

"Relax. I'm fine. And I'm definitely not having your fucking child." Chaerin sits back on the white linoleum floor, one arm draped across the seat as the other roughly wipes at her mouth and nose. The bags under her eyes are darker than his own.

The first of his guilt alleviated, he feels his brow knit. "Then... what?"

She sighs, staring up at him from underneath her eyelashes like she doesn't want to tell him. "I ate too much," she says.

"Oh," he replies, relieved, and then the muscles in his arms tense. "But I don't have any food in the house. Did you go out and buy some?"

Her gaze is unwavering, steady, stark in the aftermath of puking her guts out in a toilet not her own. "I ate too much," she repeats. Simple.

The individual vertebrae of her spine leads directly up to the double back-to-back c's at her neck, cutting, harsh, and it makes her look almost alien to him as he realizes just what - as he stares at her ribs - as he drops his backpack and sits on the lip of the bath tub a long time after she has flushed the toilet and gargled into the sink and left, the sour after-smell a rather sick realization of what his life is now.

"Jesus, can you look any more surprised," she says, a roll of her eyes right before she gets up.

(And he tries to tell her, he does, but all he gets back is, "I told you not to try and change me.")

The last Seungri sees of Chaerin is at the afterparty of a Max Azria show when he comes by to drop off the last of her things. She looks a little yellowed around the edges but he guesses it's just the makeup, or the lighting of the bar, maybe, with her downing shot after shot in a game with a few other models and a bartender.

She barely looks at him when he sets her things down on the floor by her feet, but when he straightens up to leave she catches him by the wrist.

"You should stay a while," she says. "I'll buy you that fizzy soda shit you like."

Seungri shrugs, avoiding Chaerin's glassy, unfocused eyes. "You probably don't want to. I'm sorry, I have a paper to work on."

"Paper?" Chaerin's head cocks to the side. "As in school? You're actually going to class now?"

He nods. There's a moment of uncomfortable silence between them, Seungri staring at Chaerin's fingers still clamped around his wrist. It's broken by a burst of laughter from the models sitting behind her after the bartender tells them a joke, and Chaerin seems to jerk out of a trance before she drops his hand with a snort, bony fingers slipping past his before they're back on the bar top.

"So I'll ... I'll go," Seungri says. He takes a step backwards.

"Okay."

Seungri thinks she looks a little sad as she opens and closes her mouth, out of things and couplets and advice to spout for once, and then he turns and walks away.

A few years later he sees a vague mention of her in a television report as one of the youngest South Korean models ever to walk in Venice fashion week, and he turns the volume up to see a girl with sharp cheek-and-shoulderbones strut down a catwalk swathed in million dollar fabric, looking like she's about three seconds away from crumbling to dust. Her eyes are huge against her gaunt face; the biggest part of her arms are her wristbones.

She is translucent, the veins of her body standing out an ugly green against beige.

Seungri has to change the channel.

The Christian Lacroix show on that first night is when Seungri stands lost and Chaerin is the first person who will make eye contact with him. Before he knows what he's doing, he's asking her where the bathroom is and she's telling him there is none back here, silly boy, and to stay for the after-party.

Which he does, feeling fantastically out of place at her side amongst the People Who Mean Something and the hors d'oeuvres that probably cost more than a month's rent. She blows a stream of smoke from her mouth and grins at him, Cheshire beneath a face scrubbed clean of makeup.

Seungri thinks he's never seen anybody this beautiful. Maybe there is something to dating supermodels.

"You sure you don't want one?" Seungri shakes his head at the pack of cigarettes she offers with a wrinkled nose, and she laughs. "God, you really don't belong here. How the hell did you get backstage, anyway?"

He shows her his press pass. "I work on our campus web blog and um, I'm doing an article on materialism and how it dehumanizes people, so. So they said I could come watch." Actually, this probably isn't the best thing to be telling somebody like Chaerin, he thinks. "I'm Seungri," he adds hopefully, maybe as an attempt to change the subject.

Her eyes stay amused. "Deep," she says. "So, Seungri. Did you finally get to pee?" And when he looks at her blankly, she snorts and shakes her head, looking past him at something over his shoulder. "I knew you really didn't have to go to the bathroom. What a terrible line to use, really."

Seungri feels the color rush to his cheeks, and before he can let himself subside to shame and slinking away with his tail between his legs, he reminds himself that she still wants him here. "I want to see you again," he says.

That snaps her attention back to him, cigarette poised in her fingers halfway to her mouth. "You." Her tone is condescending, but a glint in her eyes says maybe she's not one-hundred percent blowing him off yet.

"Yes." He fidgets under her stare. "Please."

And then she leans in, and he breathes (and she smells like new leather seats and silk charmeuse, like thousand-dollar perfume and factory smoke). There are a few freckles scattered around her cheeks, he notes; they make her human. "You probably can't handle me, you know."

It's after she kisses him, cold, by the curb, with the parties and the lights behind them and the goosebumps rising on his neck that he has a surefire answer for her. "I can take it," he says.

note: cl/seungri, what am i doing ;~;

this is how we could be [ fic ]

lovelyable — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 08:04:54 GMT

a few drabbles just reposted from seouldout and kpopficwangst.

skylights
gd/top | g, 200 words, canon
everything you've ever wanted. for seouldout

You are eleven when you meet Jiyong on the floor of the dance studio. He pulls you down to stare at the skylights and the ceiling-to-floor mirrors, and your distorted reflections look to you like monsters. “Isn’t this something?” he says, breathless, fingers slipping into yours. “Isn’t this everything you’ve ever wanted?”

Your throat is dry, but you shrug and say maybe.

It takes you a few months to adjust to going without sleep in favor of headphones over your ears and a microphone to your lips, but you tuck your chin down and do what you’re told. He nudges your arm across the music stand when you have to redo the chorus for the fifth time. “C’mon. I know you can do better.”

You don’t see him smile again, not for a long time, until you’re holding your album in your hands. Even then, it’s full of cracks and disappears underneath the makeup, wrapped neatly beneath glitter and powerhouse brands you itch against backstage.

Afterwards, he walks the scuffed concrete of the empty stadium as you watch, and you can barely recognize him when he turns back to you. “Everything we’ve ever wanted.”

It hurts that he was right.

a crystal-gilded feint
gd/top | pg-13, 200 words, ar
for what we'll never have and never be. for seouldout

“Look.” Jiyong flops onto the bed, five-hundred-dollar tie loosened and limbs sprawling over the Classifieds in Seunghyun’s lap. He waves a square of something that smells like chocolate but looks like a gold mine in Seunghyun’s face. “Two-hundred a piece.”

“You’re fucking us over,” Seunghyun informs him. The electricity’s been off for a week and he’s still showering in ice water, but the dirty floor of their closet apartment is littered with Armani, Swarovski, Gaultier, and anyway, Jiyong is happy.

“I’m saving us,” Jiyong corrects; he slips money-coated fingers in between Seunghyun’s lips, and then Seunghyun can taste it, too.

The alarm goes off at 6:30 every morning, and Jiyong is at the mirror fixing his blazer by 7. Gucci wallet in his back pocket; Prada phone in his front. He is a walking grenade, but doesn’t know what else to do.

The sun is settled on Seunghyun’s closed eyes when he leaves.

At noon, when he is shivering in the back of another unknown Wall-Streeter’s Bentley, Jiyong grips five hundred dollars to his chest and dials Seunghyun’s mobile before he can stop himself. “Hi,” he chokes, and imagines buying him that really expensive chocolate until Seunghyun hears him smile.

untitled
gd-centric | g, 266 words, canon
i am the best. for kpopficwangst

It's so easy when you're little to imagine you can conquer the world. Take a dandelion, blow the puffballs away with the might only a child has, and watch the individual whispers fly away to bring you what you've always wanted.

Easy, when you worry about things like being It during tag at recess and king of the world means climbing on top of a molehill with your momma's hand in yours and the quilted cape that she stitched you fluttering behind your back. "Now I'm the best," you say, and everyone believes you.

But you outgrow your Superman costume, and eventually your Flintstones vitamins stop giving you special powers, and all you are left with is a pen in your hand and a notebook filled with ink against a thousand screaming reporters flashing cameras in your eyes.

They even take your lines from you. He thinks he's the best, they sneer; he thinks he's some sort of prodigy, some genius, some work of art and superhero, and they stamp a red mark across your chest and label you a villain instead, villain, villain, villain--

After a while you wish you can go back to that child in the field and amend your dreams so they fit into a box instead of a sky.

"I'm not the best, I know that," you find yourself saying one day. You are three feet, six inches taller, and there are no more ground flowers that grant wishes. Just paved-over cement that has trouble sliding down your throat when you speak. "I'm just trying to do the best I can."

don't poke sleeping dragons in the eye
gd/top | pg, 1106 words, canon
maybe he should have just stuck to laughing at him. for kpopficwangst

okay fine, so he really shouldn't be laughing. yg had scolded him about that last time, and seunghyun had stumbled over his lines even more and it had cost them all an extra twenty minutes at the shoot set because jiyong couldn't keep his mouth shut.

but really. if the trying-to-pass-seunghyun-off-as-a-bad-ass-club-goer thing didn't work the last time, what makes anybody think it'll work on a take two?

the director of the music video set has been sighing for the past half hour as he tries varying up the smoke, the disco-ball colors, the strobe light, the anything effects in an effort to frame seunghyun so he spells effortless, dangerous, feral instead of awkward, awkward, some more awkward, and everyone is tired. seungri walked off into the back of the rented-out club ten minutes ago mumbling something about a nap and hasn't reappeared since, daesung is zoned out with his cell phone and his earbuds meters away, and even the supportive smile has faded off youngbae's face.

jiyong, on the other hand, has sore cheeks and stitches in his side. it's only getting worse the more he watches seunghyun being rubbed up and bumped against by his fellow female clubgoers, and he's shouted out suggestions a couple times, like "grab her waist!" or "look at her, look her in the eye!" but so far it hasn't helped any, and he's chosen to subside into laughing and pointing instead.

seunghyun, the director, youngbae, have shot him dirty looks, but the the mirth keeps tearing its way from his stomach straight out his lips and between the fingers clamped over his mouth.

take forty-two. their song cues in in low volume from a stereo behind them and the girls dressed in high-end couture start to pose, strut, dance, limbs out and eyes flashing and hair in their faces, and it's enough to capture the feel of any high-end club - except for seunghyun, who looks the part, but is not actually doing anything except bobbing his head in his seat.

jiyong snorts. it echoes. and then is pretty sure he's ruined yet another take (well, him plus one very stiff-looking seunghyun) as the director yells cut and for a fifteen minute recess.

jiyong watches seunghyun slump over and he sighs; he supposes he should maybe do something to actually help, as fun as this is. he can practically hear daesung's stomach growling from across the floor.

he slips off his stool and pushes his way past the back-up dancers to seunghyun, who is running irritated hands through his hair.

jiyong catches his fingers before they can tousle the gel out any more. "don't," he says, "noona will have to do it over and we'll be here on overtime." seunghyun shoots him an irritated look.

"yea, that's the thing holding me back," he mutters. "my hair." he frowns as jiyong picks up a water from a nearby table and passes it to him. "what am i even doing here? i told hyunsuk i was okay not being in this part."

"he wants you involved." jiyong grips seunghyun by his shoulders, squeezes them a little until seunghyun has lifted his shamefaced gaze from his shoes. "come on, it's not that hard. you just have to loosen up a little."

"easy for you to say."

"no really, hyung. i've seen you in the practice rooms, you're better than this. just..." the background music is still playing; jiyong turns and gestures at one of the sound techs to turn it up, way up - which they do, and their song is suddenly booming around them so loud jiyong can feel the beat vibrating up his feet, through his body all the way to the tips of his fingers.

"okay. just pretend we're at a real club." he drops his hands to seunghyun's waist, pulls the both of them closer a fraction of an inch so they're standing practically toe-to-toe, breathing in the same air on the already packed floor. "you and me."

seunghyun still looks hesitant so jiyong grins and looks elsewhere, giving the older boy a little room to figure it out; his hands are firm against seunghyun's hips and he demonstrates what he means with his own body, the bass pounding through his veins. it's easy to pretend this is a real clueeasy to pretend he's just here with his flavor of the week and nobody recognizes him. the crew has done a nice job setting up the atmosphere.

his eyes flutter closed and he moves unconsciously fits himself closer - and all of the sudden he can feel seunghyun's pulse beneath his chin. the lights flash hot around them. he breathes; the tension in seunghyun's bones start to melt.

he feels seunghyun's chest puff out in a sigh, and then a hand stops at a rest around the small of jiyong's back; encouraged, he moves faster as the music speeds up - something is thrown off balance - and almost unconsciously, jiyong grinds against, him, fisting the edges of seunghyun's shirt - the hand on his back snakes around his waist in an almost crushing grip - this is the boy that comes to the clubs in his bentley and dark eyes, the one who the girls and party bitches crowd around and can't get enough of, even jiyong believes it -

something in seunghyun's breath catches as jiyong presses their bodies together, closer still; seunghyun's lips brush his ear and he he tilts his head into the touch, their song in his head and his eyes, and for a moment he has no idea where they are -

and then the flourescent overhead lighting snaps back on and the music is cut off mid-verse.

"like that, top-goon," the director says in the chair behind them. he sounds a little shell-shocked. "like that! exactly like that! let's take it again!"

jiyong meets seunghyun's eyes with difficulty before he feels a sudden awkwardness underneath the harsh lighting of the music set. none of this is real. seunghyun opens his mouth to say something, but jiyong cuts him off.

"see? told you you could do it." he quickly untangles himself from the mess, ignores seunghyun's bewildered stare, and almost trips on his own feet on his way back to the sidelines where youngbae is shooting him confused looks of his own.

"what was that?"

jiyong shrugs; the fingers that grip his chair shake and he isn't really sure what to say. "just trying to help."
___
ugh lmao, i give up with this one.

when am i ever??? [ fic ]

lovelyable — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 05:32:08 GMT

this is me trying to get my mojo back ;~;. i've lost inspiration to write for about a month (except facebook fic lmao) and i'm trying to slowly wean it back so this is probably not that great but i wanted to get it out in time for raenism's birthday (which i'm still about half an hour late for, gdi). anyway, i don't ship yb/teddy either so idk lmao oh well have it here you go. for raenism (happy bday ♥), envoler, and whetstone who all wanted some yb/teddy, sobs, i'm sorry if this isn't what you wanted :(. mostly unedited.

serious (but it aint srs so don't take it srs)
yb/teddy | pg-13, 3925 words, canon
the show before and after big show 2010.

Youngbae is still in the middle of makeup when Teddy shows up backstage.

"'Eyyyy," he hears, somewhere between closing his eyes for shadow and looking up at the ceiling for liner, and he feels Jiyong shift out of the seat beside him to greet their hyung. The sound of hands slapping against each other and noisy greetings in English that are as foreign to them as Teddy's area of Brooklyn greet his ears, and he breaks into a smile when Seunghyun asks if Teddy remembered to bring them beer this time.

"What, you nervous, T.O.P?" Teddy says, and when Seunghyun mutters something about taking the edge off and just joking, Youngbae sees Teddy's reflection in the mirror chuff Seunghyun good-naturedly on the back. "Naw, man, I'd be nervous too if I was coming back from a year's break and basically everything was riding on this concert."

"Oh, lay off him," Jiyong rolls his eyes through the mess of chuckling and the giveaway smile on his own face.

"Youngbae-yah," his makeup noona chides, and Youngbae realizes he's supposed to be keeping his mouth still for lip tint and has accidentally grinned again. He straightens his face and lets her wipe off the excess product on the corner of his mouth.

"Sorry."

"Stop making Top-hyung sweat through his suit and go bother your favorite dongsaeng," he hears Jiyong say.

"You're all my favorite," Teddy corrects, but then three steps and his hands are on the back of Youngbae's swivel-chair. He's dressed in his usual hoodie (checkered today), cap (HYPE), and sagging pants, his reflection filling Youngbae's mirror underneath the hot lights from the Hollywood-style bulbs. "Sup," he declares, patting Youngbae's arm. "You look pretty."

Youngbae blinks. "Pretty?" Teddy is never lacking with the amount of compliments he doles out to him, but 'pretty' is one he's never heard before.

"All that makeup," Teddy says, waving his index finger in a circular motion around his face for emphasis. Makeup-noona motions for Youngbae to close his eyes again before Teddy adds, "Kinda scary close-up, actually," and then a minute later, "I used to just go onstage barefaced."

"Well, you shouldn't have," Youngbae says. He means it as a general stage suggestion and doesn't realize he's made a low cut at Teddy's looks until he cracks one eye open and sees the surprise on his face.

"Well, well," he says, drawing the sound out and pretending to look affronted, "look who's been spending too much time with Jiyong," and then Youngbae can't help the laugh that bubbles from his lips that draws out another exasperated, "Aiiish, Youngbae," from the noona.

"I didn't mean it that way," he says.

"No, no, too late to take it back now," Teddy says. A cameraman, no doubt for behind-the-scenes dvd footage, has drifted onto their exchange, and Teddy leans down closer to Youngbae and drapes an arm carelessly over his shoulder. "You girls watch out for this one," he says, pointing into the camera and then shaking his finger at Youngbae's face. "You think he's a nice guy? He just called me ugly."

Youngbae nudges his finger away from his nose. "You're being melodramatic."

"Boy, after all I've done for you," Teddy exclaims, and then a faceful of his frown passes from Youngbae line of vision, currently trapped by Teddy's almost-headlock with how close he's holding him steady, to where Teddy asks the makeup-noona if he's lying, tell the camera please if Teddy or Youngbae is lying. His fingers on the front of Youngbae's shirt tighten and Youngbae can feel the laugh whooshing out of Teddy's chest, breath tickling his ears.

"I was joking," Youngbae explains, then switches eye contact to the black camera lens. "I think Teddy-hyung is handsome."

Teddy releases him with a "y'hear that" into the camera before something in his pocket buzzes and he takes out his phone, concentrating on the LG screen; the cameraman moves onto Daesung eating his bento dinner with Minji on the couches instead.

"Yo, Top," Teddy calls, "Kush says he's got beer!"

Against protests from Jiyong that he would rather Seunghyun not be drunk onstage and make a complete fool of himself, to Seunghyun rebutting that he wouldn't be drunk off a beer or two - at most, he'd only be cheerfully tipsy, Teddy brushes a hand on Youngbae's shoulder and squeezes lightly once before walking away.

"Are you okay?"

Youngbae looks up from adjusting his fingerless riding gloves. "I'm fine," he says.

"Your hands are shaking." Teddy raises a brow and removes Youngbae's fumbling fingers before doing up his glove straps himself. "You sure?"

"Yes," Youngbae answers automatically, but the smile he means to do doesn't quite make it there and ends up as a second-long twitch of the mouth instead.

Teddy stares at him. "I believe that," he says dryly, the same second the stage director calls out, "Ten minutes!"

"I'm..." Youngbae's not really sure what to say. It should all be comfortable to him, this backstage joint rush right before lights-camera-action that he's been through so many times before - coordi-noonas fixing last-minute costume details and dusting bits of anti-shine powder on everything that moves, Jiyong going over set changes with the assistant director, Chaerin and Dara-noona taping each other's earpiece cords onto the backs of their necks and Master Hwang massaging Daesung's biceps, Jinu mopping his forehead in the corner - but something in the air feels different, like everything has evolved ahead of them and Youngbae's Rip Van Winkle trying to catch up to currency.

He shrugs, fiddling with the edge of his costume and trying to look nonchalant when he regurgitates Teddy's words back at him. "We've been gone a long time. And, we... everything depends on this."

"Aish," Teddy sighs. "Don't listen to that, that wasn't for you. Just Top-goon."

"You give terrible advice."

"Man, I'm a producer, not a shrink." Teddy grins and grabs Youngbae's hands, jiggling them so his arms now shake in rhythm with the butterflies pounding in his stomach. "It's gonna be fine. You'll be great. 'Cause you're always great." He swings Youngbae's left arm out to the side and back again, repeating the awkward motion in the other arm. "I'm never worried about Taeyang."

"Thanks, hyung, I'm kind of..." Youngbae trails off at his Teddy-controlled arm motions. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you to lighten up, dumbass," Teddy says, and doesn't look at all embarrassed when he starts jostling Youngbae back and forth in some sort of homemade swing-dance step that makes Youngbae feel ridiculous, but it melts into a snort when Teddy starts humming to go along with their nonsensical choreography.

"Feel better yet?" The older man says in singsong melody.

Not really, but he's distracted, and he's laughing, and it's nice that Teddy always tries his lousy best no matter how small his crisis.

Somebody yells something from behind him about getting ready to take their positions backstage.

Teddy stops moving. "Go get 'em," he says, and pulls Youngbae in by his elbows for a hug. Despite himself, Youngbae resents how the top of his head almost neatly fits underneath Teddy's chin; years of developing tricks to make himself look taller (but this is only so his makeup doesn't smear, he tells himself) has him automatically tilting his head up and off to the side so it doesn't happen - and he's not exactly sure what occurs next.

Teddy says something he doesn't hear, so he turns his head, mouth open to ask Teddy to repeat it - and then Teddy must've done the exact same thing at the same time because the next thing Youngbae knows, his lips are tangled with Teddy's and they're kissing and he's frozen in place, his arms still around Teddy's middle.

He meets Teddy's eyes for one startled moment before he wrenches himself away, mouth burning white-hot and Teddy's breath on his flushed cheeks.

There's a burst of laughter from the opposite corner of the room, and he whips his head around, only to see Kush and Seunghyun chortling at Seungri attempting to taste (and choking on) the Heineken Kush brought. And then he attempts to say something that will right the situation and not scare the both of them into never talking to each other for the rest of their YG lives, but nothing comes out except a rather strangled "um".

"Youngbae-yah." Jiyong is halfway out the room with Daesung and half the backstage crew dressed in black. He waves at him. "It's time, we have to go. Top-hyung, Seungri! Stop messing around!"

"You should go," Teddy prompts; Youngbae blinks and has no idea how in God's name the other man looks so infuriatingly undisturbed, a tiny smile even crooking the left side of his mouth - his mouth that had just been on Youngbae's - and how was he so calm? It wasn't like this sort of thing happened every day (unless, Youngbae suddenly thinks, it did) - but then Teddy is pushing him Jiyong's way and he doesn't have time to dwell on it anymore.

Seungri, smelling like fermented buckwheat, appears behind him to throw him a cheery, "hwaiting!" his way, and a moment later their manager is jostling them down the hall towards the stage, the background noise punctuated by Jiyong's yells at Seungri about the beer.

And then Youngbae is awash in the black of the stage risers, the booms of the speakers, the screams of the crowd, all of it hitting him at lightspeed and filling his mind and body until everything else is pushed away.

It's at the third costume change, all of them harried and sweaty and too focused to do much except lift their arms and turn around, that Jiyong catches him, a light frown on his face.

"Hey," he says, a bit breathless as he nudges Youngbae on the arm. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Fine." It's almost a little sad how automatic his answer is, four-letter answer always at the tip of his tongue without pausing to think about it. Youngbae accepts the bottle of water a noona gives him. "Why, am I doing something wrong?"

Jiyong shakes his head and uncaps his own water. "It's not that." He drinks deeply from the bottle before wiping at his lips and shrugging. "Just... something in your face. You've been really quiet. I don't know."

Youngbae can't think about anything except the moves and the hook to the next song they're performing, but when something is bothering their leader, Jiyong usually doesn't just let these things go without an explanation. "Probably just the pressure," Youngbae supplies. "We have something to prove with this show."

His answer seems to satisfy Jiyong. "We're doing good," he reassures him with another pat to the arm, and Youngbae returns the smile he offers.

The rest of Big Show 2010 goes by without a hitch. It's enough to make Youngbae temporarily forget about anything other than celebrating, at least while he is running on pure adrenalin after the lights go down, sprinting right behind Daesung and in front of Jihye and hearing the whoops from Jiyong and Seungri's throats echo around the corridors as they rush past the line of supporters backstage and straight into a confetti-and-silly-string storm.

He sees Teddy a couple of times in the midst of the crowd when everybody is taking pictures, bouncing off the walls, popping bottles of champagne and screaming notes of congratulations at each other, but he doesn't meet his eyes, and there are too many people between them, too many bodies to push through. It might be a good thing since Youngbae doesn't exactly know what he'd say. He's too exhausted, too happy to deal with it at the moment.

He lets Dara pull him into another selca instead.

When he finally makes it into the dressing room to change and scrub the stage makeup off his face, Teddy isn't there anymore.

He lets the aftershock of the concert, the ignorant happiness that fills him to his toes, buoy him for another three days, just long enough for him to wake up Thursday morning and remember that he's supposed to go into the studio to work on a few final tracks on his album that morning. He contemplates calling in to cancel, but winces at how impolite that would sound, and in the end, he showers, scribbles a note telling the other four where he'll be, and hitches a ride with 2NE1's manager to the YG Building.

He pauses with his hand on the door to the studio. His mind runs through everything he's prepared to say in situations like this - but he has, in actuality, no idea what to say in situations like this because as far as Youngbae's love life goes, this is a monumental step and he's not even sure if it was intentional. Or if he's okay with it.

He's considered calling Jiyong and asking him for help, but Youngbae's pretty sure he would rather know as little has he can of Jiyong's love endeavors. Hard, since they share a wall and Jiyong's not always the quietest person in the world, but accidentally hearing things and actually talking to him about something like - something not having to do with the perfect girl, or the other female celebrities on stage he might like, but their almost-thirty male producer - makes him drop his phone back into his pocket and tentatively crack open the studio door instead.

Teddy is sitting at the computer with Choice 37 to his left at the mixing board, and both of them have just burst into laughter about something. He doesn't even look up as Youngbae walks in and sets his backpack down on the couch behind them.

They seem to be in the middle of some English joke, so Youngbae sits quietly down and pretends to look normal even though his hands are shaking a little bit; he wonders if Teddy is feeling just as awkward and if perhaps he should just leave. Maybe he got the date of his album work wrong, and he's not supposed to be here at all.

But then Teddy swivels around on his office chair and holds out a hand. "YB! You ready to work?"

Youngbae pauses uncertainly before taking it in usual greeting. "Um." He meets Teddy's eyes for a second, and there's nothing there out of the ordinary - just leftover fatigue, mirth from whatever he and Choice were just laughing about, and that look Teddy calls "in the zone" when he's working. "Yes."

"Hey," Choice comments, "I heard the concert went really well."

"Thanks, hyung," Youngbae returns politely. "We did our best."

"Yea, man," Choice nods. "I'm sad I missed it. Anything really great happen?"

Youngbae freezes. His eyes flicker over to Teddy, but there's nothing on his face indicating that he told Choice anything at all.

"You aight in there?" Teddy asks, knocking on the bill of Youngbae's cap when he doesn't speak. He answers Choice for him. "It was all good, you know. Hey, YB, let's work on your last track. We wrote a new coda for you."

And then Youngbae is handed a sheet of paper scrawled with lyrics and notes, and is walking towards the recording booth as Teddy and Choice lapse back into English about lunch or something, and for the second time in a week feels thoroughly confused out of his mind.

Watching Chaerin dance is a good distraction.

Youngbae doesn't exactly know what about the studio has driven him out and into the confines of the practice rooms, but the fact that Teddy is acting like nothing happened isn't sitting right with him. So until one of them gets their heads on straight, Youngbae has temporarily planted himself on a window ledge in the biggest dance room until he deems it appropriate to go home.

He'd been sitting there brooding, not even able to remember his own footwork, when Chaerin had come in and asked if she could practice for a little while before popping in a CD of what turned out to be Aaliyah circa 2000. And for the past hour and a half, she's just been doing drills, over and over, face set and concentrated on the mirrors in front of her and only stopping to shake out her limbs every so often before starting over. The similarity to Jiyong is a little frightening.

Youngbae is pretty sure neither Jiyong nor Chaerin would let anything like his current issue at hand bother them silently for almost a week. He grimaces just as Chaerin turns off the stereo, cutting Aaliyah off mid-croon, and plops down beside Youngbae with her water bottle, breathing hard.

"Any suggestions, oppa?" She asks, and Youngbae shrugs.

"You were good."

Chaerin blinks at him. "But you were staring at me like I was doing something wrong the whole time. Are you okay?"

"Fine," Youngbae returns, a bit more bite in his tone than he'd intended, and it's like he's not even trying anymore. Chaerin frowns.

"Are you sure, oppa? Because you... don't look fine."

Youngbae sighs, wondering exactly what is on his face or behavior that seems to be registering with everybody else as 'not fine' except him. And Teddy, apparently. "I'm okay, just a little tired." The lie sounds even more transparent echoing back to him in the empty dance studio, but he's not about to say any different.

Chaerin looks like she wants to say more, but instead she shrugs and wipes her face down with the pink towel slung over her shoulder. "Okay. Hey, you going to see Teddy-oppa to record some more?"

Youngbae coughs. "No, probably not." He pauses for a second, coughs, and abruptly adds, "We kissed."

"What?" Chaerin almost drops her gym bag. "You what?"

Not exactly sure why what just came out of his mouth came out of his mouth, Youngbae fixes his glance somewhere between the toe of his shoes and the air vent right below it. "I think it was an accident."

Chaerin's nostrils flare. Youngbae suddenly remembers her rather vocal crush on Teddy she's been harboring for the past however-many years, and decides that maybe telling her was not the best idea. "Sorry," he mutters, and she shakes her head, the motion jerky and irregular.

"No, it's - well. Have you - are you guys, um, dating?"

"No. Of course not." His hands dig into the pockets of his fleece hoodie until he musters up enough gusto to say something else. "I haven't talked to him about what happened."

"Okay." It takes her another two minutes or so to speak, the only noise in between Youngbae's shoes scuffing repeatedly on the polished floor and the clicking of the heat turning off. She finally sucks in a breath and clutches his forearm, her hands cold to the touch. "Does this mean you're... Teddy-oppa is... gay?"

Youngbae's eyes drift back to his shoes again. "It was an accident," he mumbles to the floor.

Chaerin is silent for a little longer. "I think you need to talk to him, oppa," she finally says. "If he's the one making you like this, then you need to talk."

Judging by the somewhat somber look on her face, Youngbae wonders if he should have just sucked it up and talked to Jiyong instead of his female counterpart. But then again, he probably would have gotten the exact same answer, albeit with a little more whooping and running to Seunghyun's and Daesung's rooms to rat him out and celebrate with whatever alcohol they could find in the pantry.

And God must have a very cruel sense of humor, because Youngbae has no other ideas as to how Teddy would be in the studio that following Saturday morning exactly the same time Youngbae passes by, especially when the older man has never been known to wake up before noon on weekends.

He hasn't even registered the door opening before Teddy is stepping out and coming towards him, a notebook in his hands.

Youngbae blinks. "What are you doing here?"

"Working." Teddy gives him a strange look. "What're you doing here?"

"I was...." Youngbae gestures vaguely towards the studio, looks at Teddy, and pivots on his heel. "Leaving."

"Okay then.... Hey," Teddy's voice follows him down the hallway. "You okay, man?"

"Fine." Youngbae inwardly berates himself for sounding like a wind-up toy, then makes himself turn back around and stop pretending. "We." He stops, clears his throat, starts again, eyes flitting past Teddy and concentrating on the Exit sign behind him instead. "Kissed."

With the way Teddy's been acting the past week, he expects him to play it down with a 'what are you talking about' or 'I think you have me confused with another Teddy Park' or something equally as ridiculous. What Youngbae doesn't expect is for a fleeting look of embarrassment to cross the older man's face before he looks away and attempts to laugh. "Oh," he says, and Youngbae swears he rocks back a little on his feet. "Yea."

Yea? Youngbae feels his face fall. "Is that... all?"

"Well, I don't know," Teddy answers almost immediately; his hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck, and he laughs again, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I mean, what d'you want me to say, YB? It was an accident. I figured you wouldn't talk about it so I was giving you space."

"I need to talk about it," Youngbae says firmly. He retraces his steps until they're facing each other again, and then a moment later he tacks on a belated, "sorry."

"It's okay." Teddy smiles reassuringly, albeit a little awkward as he shifts his weight around on his feet. "So, um."

"Yes. So." No wonder Youngbae's never had a relationship before if this is how he deals with things. Again, he finds his stare fixating on the floor and his voice at barely above a mutter. "I guess - I just, I don't want things to change. But acting like nothing happened isn't a great way to deal with it either."

He sees Teddy's shadow nodding. "Okay."

"I'm, I don't, I'm not sure where to go, either. From here. But I don't. I don't not like what happened. At Big Show." He can't bring himself to say the K word a third time, but he hopes Teddy understands enough of his stumbling around to know what he means.

"Okay, look." Youngbae feels the other man's hands on his shoulders, steadying him - and he thinks to himself that he likes this too, likes that Teddy's touch is comfortable - that this, at least, hasn't changed. Teddy coughs. "We'll take it slow, all right? Shit, I don't know what to do either."

"You don't?"

Teddy shrugs, on the whole unconcerned. "Nah, but we'll figure it together. We're smart. We make albums, we can do this."

Youngbae smiles; the tension seems to lift off his shoulders and blow away down the corridor. "So, we're okay?"

Teddy nods, a certain gesture of bravado behind it but Youngbae likes that they can do this together. "We okay."

When he slings an arm back around Youngbae's shoulder and starts leading them back towards the studio room, talking about how he wants Youngbae to give his final okay on one of the tracks off his album he's about to send to YG, Youngbae is sure that something is definitely different. Changed, just like the atmosphere backstage at Big Show, and he can't put his finger on what this is, either, but this time, with Teddy's chest pressed to his back and listening to him chuckle at his own jokes, the difference is not unwelcome at all.

this is me trying something new [ fic ]

lovelyable — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 01:26:22 GMT

parenthesis
gd/top | g, 279 words, a quiet world au
one hundred and sixty seven words a day.
sister fic to this with permission

"I love you," Seunghyun says. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Jiyong has no words left again.

He used to keep track of them with a marker and the palm of his hand, the edges of napkins and the backs of business cards and the toes of his shoes, but day after day of counting up one hundred and sixty seven tally marks in the fading light and he presses his face into his knees, wondering where all his words went and when he will learn.

"I love you - I love you."

Jiyong pictures the hardwood floors of Seunghyun's apartment, the way he is undoubtedly slumped against the crumbling wall that faces the biggest window, phone pressed to his ear and fingers twisting in the cord. He can still feel those fingers combing through his hair and smoothing down his face, back when they didn't need words to speak and laws of the government were just things to laugh at.

"I love you." Seunghyun's voice is just a whisper, cracked from disuse because he saves his words for this, and Jiyong hates that he's able to do something that he can't. I love you too, he wants to say back, I love you I love you I love you all the hundreds of thousands of times he hasn't said it, I love you until he's screaming panting breathless at the top of his lungs and the words are indistinguishable and his voice is gone, and Seunghyun doesn't have to play make believe anymore.

Instead, he cradles the phone and breathes. And for another night, Seunghyun stays on the line with him and makes it enough.

in retrospect
doojoon-centric | g, 200 words, canon
it always comes back to this. for seouldout

It always comes back to the same thing when Yoon Doojoon has too much free time on his hands. Three simple keys in a search engine, and it’s like he's flipping through old family photo albums, with brothers he hasn't seen in centuries.

He's often surprised by how much they've changed, like Chansung's buffer body, or Junsu’s new face with barely any scars. Or by how much they haven't, with Taekyeon still a fashion terrorist, or Junho's eyes still disappearing when he smiles big and genuine.

If he’s not careful, he’ll see that space just big enough for him between Wooyoung and Nichkhun when they perform, hear Jaebum telling embarrassing stories about him followed by Taekyeon's raucous laughter during interviews.

Doojoon still feels the pull. He cries with them, laughs with them. Is them.

Until Yoseob, (or Gikwang, or somebody), comes home. Then it takes him a minute to snap back into this (his) new place.

See, Yoon Doojoon, he’s happy. He turns the computer off and he likes where he’s ended up.

Just sometimes, he watches his almost-life through a screen and wonders if they can feel him in the shadows behind them still close enough to touch.

gravitation
gd/yb | pg, 200 words, canon
unequal magnetic pull. for seouldout

Change.

It's the Hermes replacing the Hanes; department-store makeup like a mask when he used to protest at powder; the sneer that seeps into his eyes one morning and then never really leaves.

Youngbae can convince himself he’s reading too much into things, but denial only works for so long. It disappears altogether with the gaunt bags under Jiyong’s eyes over another lyric that pounds like everything else on the radio. With Jiyong shaving lines into his skull in an attempt to start another Trend, with commonalities and staying in on weekends becoming a foreign concept - with the counting of socialites instead of sheep.

Youngbae feels like he’s a top spinning out of balance, with Jiyong determined to fly a direction he’s never wanted to explore.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jiyong will say when Youngbae tries to tell him (but doesn’t exactly know how, apart from I wish I could say you still influenced me, I wish you still needed me like I need you). Jiyong laughs and calls him crazy.

But Youngbae’s not crazy; he’s just the same. And apparently that stopped being good enough for Jiyong somewhere around the time when the lines between fame and success started to bleed.

at least we're dreaming
gd/top | pg-13, 200 words, canon
a heart in exchange for something pretty. for seouldout

The way it goes is Seunghyun will say something like “stop”, or “don’t”, except he doesn’t even know if he means it anymore, and anyways Jiyong’s the boy who doesn’t listen. Jiyong’s the boy who whispers sweet nothings into Seunghyun’s ear in the dark when he’s too blind to do anything except let him, and Seunghyun might as well be bound and gagged and fifteen years old again.

Jiyong’s breath always smells of smoke, and he’ll press a chaste kiss to Seunghyun’s jaw; his fingers will slide up his side. He’ll reassure him with, “it’s okay”, or “don’t worry."

And then he’ll reach into Seunghyun’s chest -

And he’ll pull.

This is how it goes. The warning signs are always there, always the same, but Seunghyun lets it happen. It doesn’t hurt anymore, either, except for that brief second of you are a doll on his shelf, a notch on his bedpost, but Seunghyun finds he can easily push it aside - especially after Jiyong tucks Seunghyun's heart into his breast pocket and starts talking fairy-tales starring them as the main characters, suburbia and babies and happily-ever-afters that won’t ever pan out.

Seunghyun just likes the thrill of getting carried away, sometimes.

let's tear down some walls
yb/cl | g, 200 words, canon
hide and go seek. for

“Call, don’t call,” they say. “Whatever.”

And Chaerin can’t help but treat it like a game. Their nonchalance is her crossword, their lies her cornfield maze, their feigned indifference and hidden meanings a thrill with every secret level she passes.

I don’t really know yet (says boy number twenty-five). We’ll just see what happens (adds boy number thirty-seven). Boy after boy after boy. Chaerin rides the tonal fluctuations in their voices and calculates the distance between the splays of their fingers until the keypad on her cell phone rusts and the corners of her mascara smears watercolors onto her cheeks.

And then, somewhere along the way comes Youngbae. Youngbae, who smiles too big and tells Chaerin he likes it when she sings. Youngbae, who says his Friday nights are free for whenever she wants to hang out, who flushes a dull pink when he admits he has no idea what he’s doing and maybe needs a little help.

“I really like you,” he says, and it’s funny how Chaerin thinks she knows all the tricks of the trade by now, yet still knocks her heel against the concrete and tumbles off the edge of the pavement at this one.

note: the first one was from a prompt whetstone posted at kpopficwangst 4.0. the other four are entries i submitted for the seouldout drabble fic challenge. please don't take offense at the doojoon-centric, it is in no way meant to say b2st is sub-par.

fic trackback: 2009

lovelyable — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 01:00:36 GMT

2 0 0 9 fic meme

total word count: lmfao i'm not even attempting to figure this one out. let's just say it's in the hundred thousands and leave it at that.

fandoms written in: primarily big bang, attempted (and have yet to post) 2pm, other yg family like 2ne1 and teddy and kush, one little doojoon-centric b2st drabble for seouldout, fahrenheit, a ton of original fic

favorite fic: the placebo effect | i'm not sure why i like this one so much, and i guess in terms of technicalities it's not perfect either or anything. i just felt like it was surprisingly easy to write and i succeeded in conveying every single thing i wanted to, which is rare when i write.

best fic: c i t i e s | i had a huge message i wanted to write out in this one, and i tried new techniques and went deeper than just a fic about love, or death, or etc. i like how epic it turned out? and how it was a complete mindfuck but how you were able to interpret different things from it depending on what you personally saw. lmfao ok i'm giving myself too much credit.

most underappreciated fic: awake | only because nobody on my flist really reads fahrenheit m/m. this is kind of sad though because awake is another one of my favorites and i think it really marked a turning point in my writing, sort of? before that i had never written anything like this. and it came relatively easy as well - no big rewrites/edits of anything.

most fun fic: blonds have it better | obviously. well it was between this and alphabet soup, but this one won because i had too much fun thinking up text messages and everybody's writing styles, and seungri's amount of fail. the srs bsns parts were a little hard to insert in just because the rest of the fic is ridiculous, but yea.

sexiest fic: mercury in my veins | still ongoing. i think this one wins by default because i don't normally write smut and this has it. lmfao. plus there's the whole world of drugs and alcohol and deception and grunge and such. sexy? :D?

fic that shifted my own perception of the character/s: the way we were | thinking up this fic just made me expand upon seungri's character. i think it was all because i wanted to write this that i started un-hating him because i realized he was more like me than i thought. (which is kind of scary.)

fic i'm most proud of: c i t i e s | again. for the same reasons.

biggest disappointment: the sky is falling | it was between this and the pinocchio folk which i still have no idea why people like so much... um anyway, this was supposed to be a reflection on jiyong's growing older, and hardly anybody knows about it which is okay because i just hate how blocky and unorganized and essay-like it got. :|

biggest surprise: the way we were | again. i was going to say c i t i e s a third time but this one because i didn't know people's reactions to this would be this great. i actually thought it was kind of just whatever. so i'm glad people liked it so much that it even got recced on bulchibyung.

hardest fic to write: symphonetic | LAMOGSSLKD. this fic gave me fuckin endless grief like you would not believe. it's my own fault, i said i'd post part 2 in two days and then i changed the concept over and over and just got continuously stuck :|. actually, mercury is pretty hard to write too :'|

fic i want remembered: c i t i e s | lmfao. i guess when i'm proud of something, i'm really proud of something.

goals for 2010: be more versatile in style and try more things than just angst. i like where i'm going with stories like alphabet soup and symphonetic, so i hope i can keep the weird ideas coming, but also on the flipside be able to write band fic. i want to branch out in fandom (maybe just yg fandom, and 2pm, but you know).

fic i wrote in 2009:
big bang/yg
mercury in my veins ; 01 | 02 | 03 | (still in progress) ; gd/top
requiem for the rising tied ; gd/top
ten shorts ; gd/top
the sky is falling ; gd-centric
the placebo effect ; gd/top
they were gods, once ; gd/top
the pinocchio folk ; gd/top
c i t i e s ; gd/top
blonds have it better ; gd/top
the way we were ; taeyang/seungri
sing me to sleep ; taeyang/daesung
the end of the world in five ways ; gd/top
symphonetic ; 01 | 02 ; gd/top
flagrancy in slow ; gd/top
alphabet soup ; gd/top ; kpfw_ss
gravitation ; gd/taeyang ; seouldout

other fandom
1sentence, 1/2 ; fahrenheit, donglun
awake ; fahrenheit, donglun
donglun, a history ; 01 | (hiatus) ; fahrenheit, donglun
in retrospect ; b2st, doojoon-centric ; seouldout

original
the nicotine flowers have been taken away
milk on the window ; flickrfic
a small symphony on atlantic street ; flickrfic
the fall of troy ; flickrfic

i wish i could take credit for:
32 steps to coming back together by primroseshows | 2pm, jay-leaving fic
this one is long, but it's so, so worth it. after jay left i went on a hunting spree for goodfic (how masochistic am i) about it and this is one of the only good ones i found. it made me cry. and i almost never cry in fic.

the morning after by gdgdbaby | big bang, gd/top
okay honestly i was going to choose something else but this one is just. the dialogue is genius. gd is hilarious. the ending is hilariously cute. and i always go back to this one. so sorry lucy, but i love this one. the end.

motivation by cupcake4mafia | big bang, top/taeyang
everything about this is so perfect, and natural, and omg the ending killed me. every single person's characterizations are also spot-on, which is hard to do in a fic that's borderlining humor.

fucked-up plans by bitterwhitejam | big bang, gd/top, haru haru mv based
deceptively simple. i love her take on it and how it's pulled off based on top's emotions rather than concentrating on the setting. my heart broke for him in it. :(

diaspora oratorio by butterflyweb & rawthorne | big bang, gd/top (and taeyang/boa, daesung/hyori)
so. so. so good. the collab is pretty famous in big bang ficdom, and through this fic (though i loved a measure of salvation too) you can definitely see why. they are better than some published authors i've read. the au is very fitting, gd as a cursed leader of a post-apocalyptic world tribe and top as his slave.

car crash hearts by cranperryjuice | big bang, gd/top
this is why josh is great. because he has all the guy's characterizations and their relationships with each other down in his head and he's able to invite all of us into his headspace through his fic, too. ACK this is just everything in my personal canon of gd/top ever, epitomized in one fic. i LOVE this one.

a little privacy by quirke | big bang/2ne1, top/bom
the whole fic was just so, so cute. like bom. all of big bang and the 2ne1 girls are in this, with a side of gd humor as usual that made me laugh. i wanted to be a part of big bang and 2ne1's world because of this fic. i'm not sure if i believe in the pairing but she made a hell of a case for it.

shadowplay by whetstone | big bang, gd/top, incomplete
i dont even care that she hasn't finished it yet, the details of this fic really get me. she has an attention for just the right amount to put in and make real, and i love her version of top and how she rarely lets gd, flamboyant personality and all, outshadow him. i'm waiting for you to finish, melissa.

baby, baby by noelliex | big bang, gd/seungri
i know this wasn't written in 2009 but i found it in 09 so it counts. this one made me shiver, and cry like a baby. lmfao ok this is not making a good case for "i rarely cry in fic". i'm just so impressed by the amount she manages to say in such a little space. so haunting and real and probably the best deathfic i've ever read. PLEASE DON'T LET THIS HAPPEN TO GD.

when i think of you i don't feel so alone [ fic ]

lovelyable — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 09:28:23 GMT

alphabet soup
gd/top | pg-13, 4411 words, canon/au?
sorry, gd; no rosetta stones for this.

i'll find repose in new ways though i haven't slept in two days
'cause cold nostalgia chills me to the bone
waist deep in thought because when i think of you i don't feel so alone.
VANILLA TWILIGHT/OWL CITY

One night Jiyong falls asleep sprawled across his desk with his cheek pressed against a sheet full of lyrics, and the next morning he wakes up and has no idea what the scrawl in his own handwriting says.

He's tired, he rations as he squints down at it. He's also kind of dizzy and marginally sleep deprived and maybe a little hungover if he's being completely honest. But after he splashes some water on his face in the bathroom and stumbles back to his desk, he still can't read a single thing on the page.

Latori furo pashka idur, he sounds out. He wonders what exactly he had to drink last night, because whatever it is, he's never buying it again.

"Seungri," he calls with a yawn, rubbing at his eyes and giving up for now in favor of wandering out of his room to bother the maknae, "you better have remembered to make breakfast today."

On cue, Seungri waves from the kitchen, a pair of chopsticks in one hand and a smear of chili sauce on his cheek. "Itomen taer ejiroi!" He chirps. "Tasken so?"

Jiyong blinks. "Excuse me?" Tries to remember if Seungri's ever mentioned picking up another language - but draws a complete blank.

And anyways, Seungri is frowning too, now, his expression mirroring Jiyong's. "Reyu? Krou sue bui so?"

Something clicks.

Oh no, Jiyong thinks; oh no, oh no, oh no.

Oh yes.

It's confirmed when Jiyong marches into Youngbae's room and shakes him awake with a "say something" only to have the sleepy man with a bedhead-flattened mohawk slur "ifkuran tobit tas" - when he catches Daesung coming out of the bathroom and a "emanin, soirel" drops from his lips - when Chaerin swings by to bum some chili sauce and asks a rather concerned-sounding "sulitor deto so?" when she sees Jiyong's face.

Don't panic. He pulls out his phone, ignores the fact that he doesn't understand the gibberish on the screen, and presses speed dial number 4 for Seungho. The greeting he gets is, "ipekva?" and Jiyong stuffs the mobile back into his pocket, frustrated.

"What's happening," he mutters to himself. By now, Daesung and Youngbae are alternating between staring confusedly at him and at then each other from the couch as Jiyong paces around in front of the television.

"CAN YOU UNDERSTAND ME YET?" Jiyong tries gesturing to his ears and then to them and then his mouth - but when all it warrants is an eyebrow quirk from Youngbae and a nervous smile from Daesung followed by more foreign words, Jiyong gives up.

It's all right. It's all fine. So everybody else has suddenly caught onto another language and left him behind. Or maybe his brain has a tumor and it's just not processing things right, and he'll die in three months. Or maybe he's still dreaming and this is just a sick joke from God. Or something.

Nothing major. No reason to panic.

"Aw, fuck," Jiyong says anyway. Seungri jumps about a foot into the air and drops his chopsticks onto the floor. And Seunghyun, who Jiyong unsurprisingly wasn't able to wake up earlier, finally pokes his head out from his bedroom, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low over his eyes.

"'S wrong witchu?"

His speech is so slurred that it takes Jiyong a minute to realize he can understand him. And then he does - and then he is so relieved he runs at him and bowls Seunghyun over. The ensuing pain that follows in the next second from them crashing gracelessly tangled onto the floor informs him that this is definitely not a dream.

"I don't get it," Seunghyun says again.

"I don't either." Jiyong rubs at the raw spot on his chin where it collided with the wood paneling and winces. "Ow."

They're sitting on the floor of Seunghyun's room at the foot of his bed, the first aid kit Bom brought them at their feet, and Jiyong is watching Seunghyun peel a Sponge-Bob band-aid to stick it over the rug burn on his elbow.

"So everyone else in the entire world just... speaks something else now?"

"Not the entire world," Jiyong reasons. "All of Korea, maybe. Or maybe just Seoul. I don't know. I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone."

"Maybe they're playing a joke on us," Seunghyun says. After a moment he adds, "though I'm the one who usually comes up with this stuff...." He thoughtfully sticks a Where's Waldo band-aid on top of Sponge-Bob to form an X.

But neither Youngbae nor Bom can lie to save their own lives, and by the worried confusion all over their faces, Jiyong's already thought of and immediately nixed it as an option.

A few silent minutes go by as they listen to the others talk in low voices, watch their manager come through the front door and join the throng, gesturing in their direction. Jiyong starts feeling like the loser in school everybody gossips about. "What do you think they're saying?"

"Wondering what's going on, probably," Seunghyun says. Seungri suddenly gets smacked upside the head by Chaerin a few feet away, and Seunghyun breaks into a smile. "Well, at least that hasn't changed."

Jiyong frowns at him. "How can you even think about that right now? Do you understand what's happening to us right now?"

It's a stupid question, really. Years of being Choi Seunghyun's friend has learned him that nothing short of the world ending (or one of his toys breaking, as Daesung once found out the hard way) can faze the man. It's a qualities Jiyong's always secretly wanted - and simultaneously one of the things about Seunghyun that will never fail to piss him off.

True to form, Seunghyun merely shrugs. "Not entirely. Have you eaten yet?"

"What do you - No I'm not - do you get that we could be stuck like this forever," Jiyong says. But Seunghyun only shifts onto the balls of his feet, pads out into the living room, and collects two bowls of rice, spooning egg and kimchi into them before coming back to hand Jiyong his food.

"Eat first, freak out later," he suggests.

Jiyong wonders how Seunghyun got to be like this, why him, what to do next - and, as his eyes wander over the shelves and countertops in Seunghyun's room, when exactly he accumulated all these creepy toys.

Eventually news reaches Hyunsuk. Big Bang is put on hold for a while on the account of - well - the language barrier.

Once they determine that it's not actually a shared case of terminal brain cancer, Jiyong shuts himself in his room and hunkers over his computer. Never mind the fact that he can't exactly read anything on the internet anymore nor completely successfully operate the keyboard - eventually Jiyong finds an article with his and Seunghyun's pictures splashed all over the front, three-thousand reader comments and counting. He leans in, squints at the text, and scrolls through all the comments and the bold, the huge font, the ellipses.

Two and a half hours later, Seunghyun finds him.

"What're you doing?" Jiyong hears. He doesn't bother sitting back in his seat.

"Making up headlines," he croaks, and scrolls back up to show Seunghyun the one in red that cuts across a particularly unflattering picture of the both of them. "Big Bang members lose their mind, shame and laughingstock of Korea," he says, tracing a finger across the text. "Good, right?"

Seunghyun rolls his eyes, and then Jiyong notices his windbreaker, the street shoes on his feet. "I'm going shopping."

"Good for you.". He blinks when Seunghyun tosses a pair of shoes at him. "Uh, I'm not going out there."

"Yes you are. You need to calm down and get your marbles back," Seunghyun says, ignoring Jiyong as he disappears briefly into his closet to fish out a pair of nondescript shades and a black woolen scarf. "And Youngbae kept charading that you should go shopping - I think - anyway, that's what we're doing."

"I really don't want to," Jiyong argues, but Seunghyun fixes him with an are-you-serious stare, and really, even he himself doesn't buy that one. After a minute silence, he grumbles something about Seunghyun needing to learn the concept of personal space and yanks an arm through a hooded sweatshirt.

Going incognito in the streets has never posed as much of a problem before, especially with their hair unstyled and their clothes plain and muted, but Jiyong is today sort of paranoid that people have him figured out - and the worst part is, they don't even have to keep their voices down.

The shop names are also unreadable now, and the only way he knows they're at Phillip Lim, or Alexander Wang, is because of the window displays. Inside, Jiyong almost blends in - that is, until he has to ask the sales girl for his size out of the storeroom - and then shopping turns into somewhat of a brawl. The employee keeps shrugging and pinching her lips, Jiyong has his own shoe off his foot and the one from the store he wants in his hands, and both of them keep repeating the same thing at each other. Jiyong wonders what a more obvious way to tell her he wants a size 42 is, without debasing himself to gesturing like a deaf-mute (even though he might as well be one).

Just when he is about to throw the shoe at her head, Seunghyun appears, shoeless, from the other side of the store, with a stumbling phrase in the others' language on his lips that dawns recognition on the sales girls' face. She takes the shoe with her to the back, and leaves Jiyong gaping at his bandmate.

"The fuck was that?"

There's a mixture of guilt and embarrassment on Seunghyun's face. "Daesung helped me with some words while you were sulking in your room."

"I wasn't sulking," Jiyong retorts, offended. The girl comes back with the appropriate size of shoe, at which he scowls. "Whatever, I didn't really want these."

It happens again at the coffeehouse they stop by later, when Jiyong can't relay that he wants half-and-half instead of whole milk; when they buy cigarettes and Seunghyun asks for menthols that they then sit at a street corner lighting, surrounded by carrier bags Jiyong doesn't even remember the contents of.

"You're turning into one of them," he accuses. "Where'd you get those fancy words?" He watches the haze escape from his lips into the matching sky. Seunghyun blinks, and then chuckles.

"It's not a disease, Jiyongie. And I only learned a few. So we won't get lost."

Jiyong inhales another puff and feels an acrid burn low in his chest that doesn't entirely feel like it's from the cigarette. "This is such bullshit," he comments. Exhales, watches the smoke blending with the steady stream from Seunghyun's mouth until it all just becomes the sky again. "If you leave me all by myself, I will kill you."

Beside him, Seunghyun starts to laugh again, the crackled sound one of the only noises still anchoring Jiyong to the old world.

All of the sudden, Teddy, the 2NE1 girls, and on occasion, Jinu, start dropping by more often. Like with the absence of a schedule and more importantly, two of their louder members, the very walls seem as though they need to make up for it with replacement YG Family.

Teddy brings beer, Chaerin lugs up her Playstation 3, and Jinu always remembers to pick up a pizza or two. Jiyong doesn't exactly feel right by telling them to please leave, especially when Seunghyun's nose perks up at the smell of cheese and sauce. Seunghyun looks perfectly at ease with the rest of them, on the floor by Seungri's feet and laughing with Gummy as she tries to teach him how to ask for a bathroom.

It's picture perfect until they run out of funny phrases, and run into the inevitable language barrier. Then their smiles freeze, and Seunghyun brushes his hands free of pizza crumbs and excuses himself for his room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Jiyong contemplates taking his spot and asking them to repeat the word 'where' or something - but when he reaches the brim of their circle and their eyes turn towards him half-expectantly, half-cautiously, for some reason they seem like strangers.

He winds up pivoting on his heel to go lock himself in Seunghyun's room, too.

Ironically, they don't really talk much. Jiyong takes over his computer and Seunghyun puts his earbuds in to music that melodically sounds the same, but verbally is, like everything else now, gibberish. It feels childish and immature, that he is comforted in knowing that someone in this room can understand him, and yet they're not even speaking; Jiyong suddenly thinks that if it were Youngbae, or Seungri, or Chaerin instead of Seunghyun, that they'd probably never run out of words.

He leaves without saying goodbye when it's time for bed, but then finds himself knocking at Seunghyun's door again at a quarter to three in the morning, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

It opens before long, Seunghyun's hair flattened to his skull on one side and eyes hooded.

"Couldn't sleep?" It's a commonly-known fact that Choi Seunghyun sleeps like the dead, and the fact that he could hear his miniscule, shamefaced knocks at the door make Jiyong wonder if he was waiting for them. Though really, there's no reason, with how well Seunghyun seems to be adjusting.

Seunghyun blinks once, twice. Makes a face. "I was sleeping," he insists somewhat weakly; "I just woke up a couple times."

Jiyong gives him a stare of disbelief and pushes past him and into the room, immediately flopping down on Seunghyun's mattress with a muffled oomph and closing his eyes. When there is no movement beside him, he cracks one eye open to see Seunghyun still at the foot of the bed staring at him confusedly, but the next moment he is easing himself back into a lying position on the bed, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt back over his face.

It's silent for a few minutes. Jiyong's done this often enough to know the breathing patterns (and snoring rhythms) Seunghyun takes on when he's asleep, so when all he hears is shallow inhale-exhales, he breaks the silence with a well-turned guess. "You're not adjusting as well as you thought, are you?"

He expects defensive indignation, but in the dark, even Seunghyun gives up the act in favor of honesty. "I think it just took a while to actually hit me," he says slowly, and despite it all, Jiyong feels himself grin.

He fumbles around in the dark between pillows and sheets and Seunghyun's many layers of clothing before he finds his hand, and squeezes it lightly to contradict what he says next. "Told you so."

"How long have you been waiting to say that?"

Things get a little easier after that, since Jiyong knows they're both on the same page. He supposes he's just the epitome of 'misery loves company', but now that Seunghyun's not on his everything-is-okay mode, Jiyong isn't so frantic, either.

Weird, the push-pull way things operate, but they're able to work out a sort of system with the others of a broken mix of charades, diagrams, and lots of confusion. The other boys, and sometimes Minji, or Bom, when they're on breaks and wander upstairs to check on their verbally-impaired oppas, teach Jiyong and Seunghyun vocabulary.

Jiyong once wakes up a rather unwilling Seungri to ask him how to say "how much is this" but after getting dirty looks in four department stores, calls Youngbae and finds out that the ungrateful bastard of a maknae had actually taught him how to say "why are your boobs so small". Seunghyun laughs so hard he cries, but he helps Jiyong put Seungri in his place afterwards.

The paranoia gradually ebbs away, but just in case, Jiyong still drags Seunghyun with him whenever he goes out. Maybe it'd be a smarter thing to take somebody who can actually speak the language on his errands to Chanel, or Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, but it's become somewhat of a comfort thing to royally screw up a phrase and hear Seunghyun's sandpaper chuckles behind him, or to sit back and watch Seunghyun's awkward arms motioning around in the air as he tries to communicate.

One night he tries an experiment, and finds out that, oddly, the others can't even seem to form the words of Jiyong's (and what used to be their) language on their tongues. "Hello, my name is" turns into "arol, ei taime sho"; "have you eaten" into "as in iktel". After a few tries, Jiyong gives up.

"I wonder why," Seunghyun muses later in the darkness of his room, and Jiyong shrugs, determined not to think about it.

"Because we're the better developed species," he says.

Seunghyun is the one to grab his hand, this time.

Everything is fine now, he supposes. He shops, and eats out, and abuses Seungri, and even feels up to going out sometimes with Nuthang. Just like before.

Except, his computer stays off, his pens and notepads stay blank, and his mind won't shut up with music trapped inside his brain with nowhere to go.

Once during dinner, Seungri asks when Big Bang will be back in business, now that him and Seunghyun are on the path to recovery. After that, he gets the feeling that Youngbae is constantly trodding on Seungri's feet, the way the maknae will open his mouth but then winces and tucks his chin down again.

He listens to Dara and Chaerin tell him how their Music Bank performance went that day, or how they're traveling to China again next week to promote. He has to make himself sit there with something passing as proud on his face instead of marching into his room and slamming the door.

Even the seasons are changing outside his window. Jiyong feels like he's standing still.

"Just write it down."

Somehow, Jiyong knew Seunghyun would say that. "Why? It's not like it'll amount to anything but a huge waste of my time." He scowls into the pillow pressing against his cheek. "Unless, like, you want me to just sing it to you or something. Maybe we can end up on that one show, Korea's Got Talent, as some freak duo."

Seunghyun sighs. "You should write it down because it'll make you feel better. Music is what you do."

"But nobody will understand--"

"If you let this language thing kill it, then you're probably not Jiyong. Who are you?"

Jiyong can't help laughing. "What the fuck!"

"I have many charms." Seunghyun is grinning too, Jiyong can see through the slots of moonlight in the dark. "Just write them, okay? Maybe the world will go back to how it was sometime." He pauses for a thoughtful second. "Worst comes to worst we can give the tune to Teddy or Kush or somebody and they'll work out the lyrics for it."

Jiyong sighs, scooting closer to Seunghyun to rest his chin on his shoulder. It's like running up against a brick wall, arguing with this one. "Okay, fine," he grumbles against the other man's neck, "I'll write when I get up tomorrow."

It's hard to describe how he feels after he listens to himself say that - almost like something has been suddenly set into motion, like something's changed and they're going in a different direction - or perhaps just back where they came from. Or something. Maybe it's just late. Jiyong's hand slides up Seunghyun's arm to rest against the crook of his elbow, human contact and touch even more of a security blanket to him these days than it was before.

Seunghyun has adjusted to this, too, and he relaxes against him after a moment with a soft sigh, the distant noise of someone rummaging around in the fridge in the background.

"Hey," Jiyong says.

Seunghyun opens an eye to peer down at him. "What?"

"Uh, you know." Jiyong swallows. "Thanks." It sounds cheesy and disingenuous, but he hopes Seunghyun knows it's anything but, and that he's not just thanking him for the pep talk.

"Sure." Seunghyun grins crookedly, and rolls onto his side so they're face to face. "Calming you down with stupid jokes is in my contract."

When Jiyong hits him on the arm, Seunghyun laughs, but it's tired-sounding, drawn out, and his eyes flutter to a close after a moment.

Jiyong, however, isn't even close to sleep. He listens to the silence, the sound of their breaths in-out-in-out, on each other's cheeks. Another thought crosses his mind.

"Hey." Seunghyun's eyes don't open. "Wake up."

"Nnh."

Jiyong swallows again. "Can I try something?"

Seunghyun's shoulder rises up and down in the barest of a fraction of a shrug, not even bothering to open his eyes. Though, when Jiyong closes the centimeter distance between them with a fist on the front of Seunghyun's shirt to press their lips together, he feels Seunghyun's eyelashes startled against his cheek.

It takes the older man a second to react with a push back on Jiyong's shoulder, eyes wide. "Ji--" His voice comes out a little strangled. "What're - I--"

Apparently, this is an end-of-the-world case that has managed to faze Seunghyun.

Jiyong shrugs. "I don't know," he says. Maybe it's the thought that the world might not change, and it'll just be them versus the world forever - unless on the slim chance somebody else happens to take pity on their speech disorders. Not that that's the only reason why - honestly, Jiyong thinks that maybe if he'd bothered to do this sooner, end of their world as they know it or not, all roads probably would have led to this eventually. Whatever this is, anyway. He tilts his head curiously. "Did you not like it?"

"I don't - it..." Seunghyun fumbles for words and doesn't know where to look. "...It was over too fast," he finally manages, and Jiyong almost laughs. Leave it to Seunghyun.

"That was your fault," he informs him, and then he is brushing his nose against Seunghyun's, is kissing him just as languid and slow as before to give Seunghyun (and maybe himself) time to get used to this. For a minute, Seunghyun doesn't respond. But then Jiyong feels his cold fingers brushing his jawline, feels his mouth open when Jiyong grazes his lips with his tongue, and ultimately Seunghyun is the one to move a little bit closer, go a little bit faster.

The next morning, Jiyong bumps into Youngbae on his way to get his notebook from his room, and almost falls onto his ass.

"God - I mean," he says as Youngbae gives him a look, "roskusio, tersa. Uh... quisen, uh--" and he gestures to his room, takes a few steps that way and expects Youngbae to smile and let him go.

What he doesn't expect is for Youngbae to frown and stare at him like he's suddenly grown a second head. "Jiyong? What're you saying?"

"I'm, fuck. Wait, quisen, quisen - wait WHAT." Jiyong gapes at him. "What did you say."

"I don't know," Youngbae frowns deeper. "What did you say?"

"Good morning," Daesung stops in his tracks at the looks Youngbae and Jiyong are shooting each other. "Um, what's wrong?"

"Are you learning a new language?" Youngbae asks Jiyong, who has just whirled around to stare in turn at Daesung.

Daesung fidgets underneath Jiyong's unwavering stare. "Oh, um... what language?"

"No, I'm not learning any - you guys are the ones who--" Jiyong feels a rather impending sense of deja vu as Youngbae and Daesung shoot each other confused looks. "This is a joke. Hold on."

Seungho is still speed-dial four, and it takes him a ring and a half to pick up with a, "'Ey, Jiyong, wass good?" at about the same time the door opens and Minji races in, calling, "Sorry, oppa, I have to use the bathroom and all of ours are taken!" before she disappears.

"WHAT," Jiyong says, before he hangs up and charges back into Seunghyun's room, hitting the sleeping man on the back. "Get up get up."

"Nnrf," Seunghyun says, and one of his eyes opens blearily. "Wuh."

"The world," Jiyong says, and gestures outside Seunghyun's door. "It's back. People speak our language again."

He's hoping it at least warrants a quick sitting upright in bed, or Seunghyun's jaw dropping in joyous shock or something, but instead, Seunghyun just grins until Jiyong sees dimples, and rubs at one of his eyes. "Told you so."

"Are you serious," Jiyong starts, and after a moment figures there's no point. It'll probably sink into his skull again in about two weeks.

"Hey," Seunghyun says drowsily, "You gonna work on that song?"

Not yet: I'm going to pay a visit to Hyunsuk and yell at him - I'm checking on the girls and then going out with Chaerin - I'm going to be in Seungri's room verbally assaulting him for all the months I've missed.

There are a mountain of words in Jiyong's head, and he picks one of them to say after a moment of rummaging. "Not yet," he says, and flops into Seunghyun's bed again, pulling the covers over his head and finding Seunghyun's fingers to hold onto in the mayhem. "I like it here with your creepy toys."

Seunghyun laughs, sleepy and slow. Hearing that, Jiyong strangely feels like maybe nothing ever changed in the first place.

note: for gdgdbaby, aka spencer reid anon, kpfw_ss 2009. ♥ originally posted here, with a few minor edits & changes.

take my soul, take my heart [ fic ]

lovelyable — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 19:20:12 GMT

flagrancy in slow
gd/top | r, 2016 words, ar
a last attempt at something worthwhile.

in slow motion, even death is beautiful
SLOW MOTION/EPIK HIGH

Diagnosis: three months.

i.

Three months now.

That's twelve weeks. Or ninety one days. Or two thousand, one hundred and eighty four hours, or one hundred thirty one thousand and forty seconds - Seunghyun writes the numbers onto his hand, multiplying and multiplying them until they almost touch that infinity, until Jiyong is practically made immortal.

Sometimes Seunghyun tries staying awake at night to count and see how long he can make it before the time slips between his top and bottom lash lines and into the cracks in the floor panels. He pretends he doesn't hear the coughs next door coming through those same gaps in the wood, pretends he doesn't spend the whole night with his ear pressed to the ground with a bottle of wine hugged to his chest like a bedfellow, cold and smooth against his fingertips. Pretends that he isn't counting the seconds that Jiyong has left instead of just reciting numbers. Just numbers for the simple sake of saying their names aloud.

He falls asleep before he makes it.

In the mornings he has back aches from the hard surface, and unintelligible trace marks smeared from his hands onto his face, his chest, the walls around him. And Jiyong is the one who notices the final smudge of black Seunghyun doesn't see, Jiyong is the one with tired eyes and sallow skin who still exerts enough force to rub the ink from the corner of Seunghyun's mouth.

"Hyung," he says disapprovingly, "that's four days in a row now. What are you doing in there every night, writing songs?" And he'll smile, heartbreak and dry irony because Kwon Jiyong doesn't care enough to tread eggshells, not now, not ever, not for others, and certainly not for himself. "Hey, if you finish in the next week, I think I'll still be around to record them with you."

No, Seunghyun thinks, because you're counting too.

(number the stars and count them how you like they're still just a piece of a second in the end)

ii.

Two months now.

Jiyong wonders, in spare moments sitting in the van and laying in his bed, what he has left.

(Youngbae and Seungri and Seunghyun and Daesung, who will cry at his funeral; Chaerin with the backs of her hands in her eyes until she sees stars; Seungho who will probably drink himself into oblivion and forget to come. Hyunsuk-hyung, sent to the poorhouse trying to build some sort of ridiculously gaudy shrine with too many gold and diamonds. His father will never fully recover; maybe his mother will follow him to the grave. And the VIP's; Jiyong is a little morbidly curious, those poor VIP's, at how big a dent he'll be leaving on their little hearts.)

It's enough to tide him over until his nails break, until his hair starts to go and his vision blurs a little at the edges. Maybe that's the trigger, the pushing over the edge that corrects what he has left into what he's leaving behind, sends him looking between the door and wall of the bathroom after Seunghyun goes inside. "Enough" is not a word Jiyong has ever held in value: at the end, he just wants to do something worthwhile.

So there is Seunghyun, with his careful eyes, and his fisted hands, and his wobbly breath on the other side of the wall, all of which spell maybe I can be worthwhile. Maybe it's a little too convenient - that Jiyong's noticed for a while, now - that being discreet has never been one of the older boy's strong suits.

Seunghyun is bent over the sink, sleeves rolled up and eyes closed face wet with water when Jiyong reaches over and turns the tap off.

His eyes snap open at the sudden absence of noise. "Jiyong," he says, surprise in his voice and droplets of water sliding from the tips of his lashes. "Do you need the bathroom? Jiyong," he repeats when Jiyong steps closer, when Jiyong cups the back of Seunghyun's head and crushes their lips together and feels the tap water transfer onto his own rough skin.

"Wha - I--" Seunghyun manages, and then he falls backwards trying to get away. He pulls Jiyong and one of the towel racks down with him, and all of them go crashing onto the floor in a heap of tangled limbs and clanging metal.

Seunghyun scrambles up onto his elbows before the spots have even disappeared from Jiyong's vision. "Shit, I didn't - Jiyong, are you - I didn't," and Jiyong swears that he's getting little of his breath back when he feels a laugh tumble from his lips.

"Oh my god," he says, "you're so damn clumsy," and then he raises himself up until they're pressed together again to kiss Seunghyun, undeterred.

Their lips taste like his medicine that stopped working months ago, and the hospital he quit going to after they told him so. It's quiet, Seunghyun's breaths hitting Jiyong's chin and the bathroom tile, his hands clinging to Jiyong's thin hair. The next time he says Jiyong's name, it's from the sounds of a sob, his eyes wet against Jiyong's chest.

"I want to do this for you," Jiyong says. He might actually believe he is doing it for Seunghyun's sake, too, but in reality - and he knows this, at the back of his mind - he is just another slowly dying man with too little left in his system to be anything else but selfish.

(take what you can and leave behind what you can't when you're hanging by this thin a thread)

iii.

One month now.

Seunghyun has no idea what is happening, except that he's falling for it.

He's known Jiyong for so long that his intent should be painfully obvious, but given the timing, he fools himself into a circular lull of maybe, if I don't need it then at least Jiyong might, but if Jiyong needs it then maybe I do, too, unless I don't but still maybe Jiyong does -

Around and around, replay and rewind. He avoids the other members' eyes and takes painkillers from the drugstore when the ache starts. It doesn't do anything but make him lightheaded, but maybe that's not such a bad thing.

Jiyong's hair falls out in bunches, now, clogging the sinks and the showers and mixing with his vomit in the basins until somebody like Youngbae manages to pick them out and throw them away. Seunghyun half expects for Jiyong to wear this as another statement badge on his skinny chest, for him to find some powerhouse publisher to set up a controversial photoshoot and stage fearless death as the concept.

Instead, he catches Jiyong in the mirror staring at his shadow of a colorless face like it's someone foreign. And before long, Jiyong starts wearing his old collection of knitted beanies and caps again, not even shedding them when he crawls into bed with Seunghyun in the dark.

Jiyong doesn't taste like medicine anymore, even that fading away into another ghost for another corner. Jiyong doesn't taste like much of anything, and most nights he grows tired of kissing after only a few minutes and instead will lie on his side, eyes half-open as he runs bony fingers up and down Seunghyun's body.

"You should touch me," Jiyong whispers, and when Seunghyun's fingers shake, he'll purse his lips, voice unkind. "Pretend I'm healthy. You always had a good imagination." Sometimes he'll punctuate this with a laugh, like doing so is like saying 'just kidding,' like it makes what he is saying okay.

Seunghyun smokes on the balcony and Jiyong leans on the railings beside him, follows the gray clouds with his hands and stretching out his fingers to curl them around the smoke before it dissipates.

"God, I hope these make you die sooner than later so we can haunt things together," he jokes, frostbitten and lost inside his thin sweater, and yet it is Seunghyun who shivers and stubs out his cigarette and asks to go inside.

Between the bedsheets and bones, Seunghyun feels too close to the surface of Jiyong's skin, like they're fighting to be freed.

"You love me," Jiyong says, "don't you?"

Seunghyun nods. The ache starts when he means it.

He wonders how he let himself get so invested in this mockery; wonders which one of them is the one dying now.

(say something worth it to your brother your friend college educations yet we create our own hells)

iv.

One week now.

Jiyong can't understand why Seunghyun's under-eye circles look darker than his. Why Seunghyun's clothes don't fit him as well anymore, why he skips dinner in favor of staying with Jiyong in his room when he's not the one with a body that won't take in any.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were doing it for sympathy," Jiyong says, voice like old crinkled paper, and doesn't like the look Seunghyun throws him, crazy written all over his gaunt face.

Seunghyun makes to leave sometimes but Jiyong won't let him stay away for long, because he can't leave the insides of his room anymore and he can't stand the silence inside his own head. There's nothing inside but white noise and wisps of air where music used to fill the space, like even the wires to his own thoughts are short-fusing one by one. Seunghyun helps take away some of the horrible quiet, even though he barely talks to him anymore.

The older boy skips another meal, stays up another night, and Jiyong doesn't like it. "I won't let you follow me," he tells him. "I'm doing this by myself." Because he wants Seunghyun to live - or because Kwon Jiyong doesn't share.

When Seunghyun stiffens, Jiyong knows how to smooth things over. "I'm sorry I did this to you," he says. Like clockwork, he feels Seunghyun's fingers around his own.

Jiyong wonders if he is lying. If Seunghyun knows. If he cares. If either of them, at this point, can afford to.

(keep the lies hidden in the framework of your mind sometimes in the dark nothing works out well)

v.

One day now.

Right before it happens Seunghyun is in a narrow alley, Jiyong standing in the middle with his head tilted upwards to the sky. The closeness of the walls on both sides has them pressed against each other, chests alternating between inhale and exhale so both of them can breathe. Seunghyun can't seem to find how to escape the maze except by going up, a strip of blue sky high above them between the buildings that trap them in.

Then Jiyong jumps up - and up, and up until he is soaring in the sky and all Seunghyun sees are his shoes, the knitted cap on his head that he tosses back down to him.

He waits for what seems like hours in the alley, neck stiff from staring up at that tiny little sky, but Jiyong doesn't come back. After a while he starts to count the seconds that pass him by, one-mississippi, two-mississippi, three.

He stops when he gets to one hundred thirty one thousand and forty, trailing off mid-number.

(maybe you have to believe it was something worthwhile while it lasted what do you leave behind but your time?)

When Seunghyun wakes up, it's because Jiyong doesn't (need to anymore).

note: thanks to unsospiro for inspiring me with one of her epik high icons she put up today. fic love meme :D?

your voice was the soundtrack of my summer [ fic ]

lovelyable — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 19:40:44 GMT

symphonetic, part 2
gd/top | nc-17, 5003 words, ar
how to turn lies into music.

i'll be the sky that lights up with fireworks
whenever november comes. and you could be
the greatest thing that has happened to me
though i don't know you now
DON'T HOLD YOUR BREATH/ATHLETE

two. phonies  

The kids outside the rather standard black clubhouse are pissing Seunghyun off, and god help him he's going to turn around and slam all their faces into the wall behind them the next time one of them mentions ass and felching that breaks all of them into another fit of giggles.

He flicks another cigarette butt onto the asphalt, blowing the last of his smoke into the night. Now he's out, with nothing but five Marlboro stubs at his toes and an empty carton in his pocket. There isn't even a gas station in sight to stock up - actually, there's nothing on this street besides the apparent ‘rave', except a few backsides of corporate buildings and tow-away zone, do not park signs.

Maybe he'll just go home.

And maybe Jiyong just thinks he's a superhero in neon and glitter, the way the blond almost takes it as a cue to show up the very next second, a touch to his arm and smile on his face like he isn't half an hour late. "Hey," he says, and Seunghyun sighs loudly.

"What were you doing, powdering your nose?" The sad part is it wouldn't even surprise him. Sadder still is that a face full of makeup suits the shorter boy, tonight his usual metallic kohl with a burnt orange in the corners of his eyes like fire.

Jiyong just shows his teeth. "If you wanna call it that," he agrees, and he unclenches his fist to reveal a small plastic bag full of what looks like salt. (It's not salt.)

Seunghyun blinks. "Hardcore," he says sarcastically, and Jiyong pockets it, rolling his dilated pupils.

"It's cold as fuck out here," he says, and grabs Seunghyun's wrist to pull him forward, past the teenagers and the bouncers at the door into the melted darkness of the club.

Honestly, Seunghyun doesn't understand why they have to always do this before they stumble back to his apartment since Jiyong can barely last a full hour with his hands to himself thanks to the e, but the sweaty dance floors and bartended drinks have almost become like a poor-man's prerequisite they have to perform beforehand. Maybe Jiyong needs validation for being more than a booty call and if that's the case, he'll play along if it means another completed song or two at the end. He is grateful, however, that nobody he even remotely knows would ever set foot in a place like this. He'd never live it down.

They make it to the bottom of the steps to reveal an ice palace, falling "snow" (how appropriate) dusting everything with a fine coat of sparkling silver and fog pouring out of machines screwed to the corner; Jiyong slips a candy necklace between his lips and Seunghyun thinks it's a good thing he's not actually a superhero. 

Another time, another dimly-lit place with too-loud bass and music Seunghyun doesn't even consider to be music so much as what you'd get if you combined womb noises and fire sirens.

Tonight's theme seems to be gore, snuff films projected onto the four sky-rise walls and the drink orders pertaining to ways to die that makes Seunghyun's stomach turn. Most everybody around him has overdosed on fake blood and stick-on injuries, and a few turn their noses up at Seunghyun's jeans, the only contributing effort he made tonight having unconsciously been the black Saber-tooth gauges in his ears.

The lights change and then Jiyong pushes himself out of the crowd to stand beside him at the bar.

"You should come dance," he says. Seunghyun nods at his unfinished drink on the countertop - and then remains unsurprised as Jiyong reaches over with his rainbow nails and downs the rest of the murky cocktail in a gulp. "Come on, it could be fun. All you ever do is get wasted."

Seunghyun looks at Jiyong like he's slow. "Because it helps me deal with the shit you call music."

"Then why do you keep coming?" It's obvious Jiyong's looking for one specific answer that Seunghyun doesn't have. Meaning, he lets Jiyong cajole him, lets him pull him up and away from the bar by his belt loops and weave through the bodies until he finds them a spot.

The blond starts to dance, reaching an arm behind him and pulling Seunghyun close so that his back fits against the curve of Seunghyun's chest and their bodies are aligned. Seunghyun can hear his breath next to his ear, and his hands rest lightly on Jiyong's hips. It feels kind of stupid, but it's not that bad and about four steps away from their next activity, so he figures it's a good form of foreplay and that it'll last for all of one song before they move on.

True to form, Jiyong flips back around before the song changes, his lips against Seunghyun's collarbone and his tongue darting out to taste skin, and Seunghyun works his hands into Jiyong's back pockets and feels Jiyong's heart rate increasing, and deduces they're about there.

He pulls Jiyong in for a kiss, drawn out and teasing, before retracting his hands and turning to leave, but Jiyong tugs him back and shakes his head.

"Let's just stay," he smiles. Seunghyun arches a brow.

"Okay, you wanna find a back alley, or just do it here?" he asks (jokes).

"Neither," Jiyong frowns, and his hand finds Seunghyun's in the darkness, fingers lacing together before Seunghyun is entirely sure what he's holding. "Let's just dance tonight."

"Just dance?" He nudges Jiyong back. "You shitting me?"

Jiyong is innocence pre-packaged in nylon, except Seunghyun knows better. "It could be fun," he says.

"That's what you said about this," Seunghyun cards a hand through his hair and it comes away damp with sweat and something bright red that's rubbed off from people posing as train wreck victims. "Can we go now?"

"Seunghyun, what are we doing?"

The question throws Seunghyun for a loop, and Jiyong looks suddenly awkward as he hastily backtracks.

"I just, this is weird. I've never done this before, and," here he takes a breath, dropping his eyes to the floor against a backdrop of a man blowing his head off, brain spilling onto the wall behind him, "I don't know. I'd just like a heads up now if - if I'm just, like, gonna be a good fuck to you, and that's it." He doesn't sound angry, just curious mixed with something else Seunghyun can't place.

Seunghyun snorts and goes the safe route. "Who says you're good?"

Jiyong blinks. "Come on," he says, exasperated, and Seunghyun sighs.

"What if you are?"

The other boy shrugs one-shouldered, lip catching between his teeth. "I don't know." He laughs, and it doesn't sound like a laugh. "This is totally the wrong conversation to be having." It's a little apologetic, but Seunghyun steps back.

"No, if you can't deal with what it is then - whatever." It's his turn to shrug now - feels something tightening on his fingers and at the last second remembers he's somehow still holding Jiyong's hand, and wrenches his fingers away - and then he slips between the cracks of pale skin and outstretched arms all the way out the door.

The music is giving him a headache. 

Fifteen minutes and he's next door on the steps of a convenience store, bottle of soju and a cigarette hanging from his lips as he wonders where the fuck all the cabs are.

It's not like Seunghyun is one of those douches with commitment phobias. Yea, it's rare, and too much drama for him to like doing it much, but he isn't one to jump ship if he really wants somebody. He just isn't entirely sure it's in the stars for him to start shit with a club-kid who mostly pisses him off and who his intentions with aren't exactly honest.

"Hey." A pair of heeled boots click onto the stone steps where he's sitting. Seunghyun looks up to see a girl with star-struck written all over her face, and she's pointing at him with dark, filed nails. "You're not Choi Seunghyun, from like, that one band, are you?"

She's wearing jeans tucked into her knee-highs and a leather bustier, and her hair is teased, streaked with white that matches the shadow on her eyelids. That one band. Seunghyun sighs.

"It's your lucky night," he mutters flatly.

The groupie seems to take this almost literally because her eyes light up. "Is it?" The smile on her lips is blood red.

Seunghyun lets her drape herself off him in the cab she snags for them. Maybe all this bullshit about Jiyong being some weird supernatural muse is just that: bullshit. Maybe it's just all in the timing.

She pretends to show interest in talking to him when they get there, but he's not feeling it and pushes her onto the bed three seconds after closing the door.

He doesn't bother remembering her name, and she doesn't seem to care the way she writhes underneath him, bites back moans when he thrusts into her again, again, leaves lipstick on Seunghyun's chest, rolls them over to straddle him and tell him she's not scared of doing the work, just sit back and enjoy it baby, pulls his hand up to grip her breast - and she's better than Jiyong if he's honest with himself.

But no songs come. And he can't help but feel disappointed, restlessness bubbling up underneath the satiation.

She leaves when the sun comes up, jeans unzipped and one boot still in her hand with a hasty grin on her lips. Seunghyun doesn't see her off. He figures it's light enough outside that she can find her own way around.

It's after noon when he finally wakes up, eyes crusted over and a hangover that grows exponentially the longer he's conscious. Two o'clock, and he finally pulls on a pair of jeans and attempts to function (which means stumbling to the bathroom and drowning his face in sink-water); three-thirty and he presses ignore on a message waiting on his machine and goes out to get coffee because his kitchen has nothing but ice cubes, alcohol, and a jar of mustard.

Still no songs.

Seunghyun grimaces, stuffing his hands in his pockets; his hair blows into his eyes with the wind, and he turns a corner and shakes it away - and suddenly he's looking at Kwon Jiyong, leaning against the brick wall outside his usual coffee shop in last night's clothes with a jacket thrown haphazardly over his shoulders for the cold, makeup caked and smudged around the edges.

He looks just as surprised to see Seunghyun, but breaks into the grin Seunghyun knows like the back of his hand by now a second later. "Classy," he smirks.

Seunghyun has no idea what the hell he's talking about until Jiyong brings a hand up and exaggerates the motion of brushing his neck.

When Seunghyun mimics him, his fingers come away full of greasy lipstick. He shrugs, wipes it on the edge of his shirt, and doesn't feel that sorry
as he pulls the door to the café open.

The door jingles behind him when Seunghyun is waiting for his black coffee, no cream, no sugar.

"So, look, I was wondering," says Jiyong, silhouetted against the door, "how good is your memory?"

"Uh." Seunghyun frowns. "What?"

"It wouldn't happen to be really bad, would it?"

"Are you still high?"

Jiyong ignores him and closes the distance. "'Cause, like, I'm just wondering if you've forgotten what I said yesterday." His eyes are clear, if a little red-rimmed, but unreadable when he smiles again. "'Cause that would be cool."

Seunghyun snorts. "I think that's a little too easy." He knows he shouldn't be anything except accommodating since his fingers are itching to write, but usually his mouth runs faster than his common sense on account of his pride, or something.

"Why can't it be easy?" Jiyong's eyes flash. "You're not gonna tell me you have feelings for me or something?"

Seunghyun doesn't take the bait. "I'm just saying, maybe it is weird. What this is."

It prompts an eye roll from the blond, like he wasn't the one who came up with the whole damn cloud over their heads last night. "So stop reading into it, then. It is what it is." His fingers brush against Seunghyun's collarbone and dip just inside his shirt, hands cold as ever on Seunghyun's skin and breath alternatively hot. "You missed a spot." His voice is soft, he shows Seunghyun the lipstick on his fingers, and his eyes read please.

Oh, what the hell. Seunghyun's empty brain needs its fix.

"Fine," he says, and Jiyong grins, looking completely different in the light. 

Seunghyun is discovering he really doesn't give a shit about technical performance, he'd rather have familiarity and comfort and I know this I know you I know your body.

The last of Jiyong's makeup comes off on Seunghyun's sheets, sweat and grime from the night before. Afterwards Seunghyun smoothes a hand over the blond's hair and sweat and swollen lips, wondering just in how deep of shit he's treading in.

He tries to sleep but ends up at his desk at one in the morning, words pouring out of the ends of his ballpoint faster than he can keep up with them. The sentences come out fragmented and nonsensical but he figures he'll decode what he'll trying to say later because right now he doesn't have the energy or will to.

He casts a glance over at the boy sleeping underneath the slotted moonlight from his windows when he crawls back into bed. Yea, it is what it is, but that's never really the case.

Then again, nobody ever said show business was a romp in a field of daisies and happiness, either. 

He knows he's right when he wakes up to a raging thunderstorm like even the Lord God Almighty wants this to happen.

Jiyong says he can just call a taxi but his eyes keep giving him away, and Seunghyun isn't that much of an asshole. So. The rain stays, and so does Jiyong.

Two o'clock (boxes of takeout scattered across the tabletops and television remotes lost in the couch cushions), and Jiyong is digging around his music collection, and Seunghyun is bent over on the floor writing in his third notebook, making corrections to last night's word jumble and adding things. Because apparently Jiyong doesn't even need to be doing much of anything for there to be music.

"You have five copies of the same Bob Dylan album," Jiyong says. He piles them on the ground by Seunghyun's head, and then gets sidetracked. "What're you doing, writing in your diary?"

"Yes." Seunghyun doesn't even look up as Jiyong flops onto the floor across from him and studies his notebook.

"So you write your own songs." Seunghyun can hear the surprise in Jiyong's voice. "Don't people use a keyboard or something to figure this out?"

He shrugs. "Not when they're good."

"I didn't know you were such an elitist." A few more minutes, and the silence breaks again. "Hey, I took a music composition class a few years ago."

"Good for you," Seunghyun quips, and Jiyong smacks him, hard, on the arm.

"I'm just saying. I could help you if you want."

Seunghyun snorts. "No thanks," he says, but Jiyong starts saying the ends of the lyrics aloud anyways like they're still in grade school and quality comes in the forms of a-b-a-b rhyme schemes.

"Lines. You could use vines, mines..." It's a good thing the blond's eyes are concentrated on the paper in front of him and not Seunghyun's face, or else he would've cut himself off already. "Silence runs along phone lines... how about 'don't pick up they're landmines'? What?" He says, because he finally looks up and it's right about now Seunghyun can't help the are-you-serious look on his face anymore.

"Waiting for you to tell me how bad you failed that class," he says, and Jiyong glares at him.

"Fuck you, I did great." He rolls over onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

Almost ten full minutes, and then, "the dark throws me a lifeline."

Seunghyun stops writing. "What?"

"The dark throws me a lifeline." Jiyong rolls back over, jabbing a finger at the sheet of lyrics. "Kind of cheating since it's the same word, but it works."

"Did you just spend the last ten minutes thinking that up?" Seunghyun grins cockily when Jiyong just looks indignant. "Cute."

"They're good lyrics!"

"Sure, kid."

"You're a pretentious asshole."

"At least I'm not a cock-sucking bitch." Jiyong looks like he's about to storm out so Seunghyun rolls his eyes and deliberately writes it in, the dark throws me a lifeline, underneath the bottom of the verse. "Stop being a drama queen, all right? I'm fuckin' around."

And it takes a while to work the scowl off his face, but in the end Jiyong smiles and calls him a jackass and keeps his hand a little cautiously by Seunghyun's, the one that's not writing, just enough that Seunghyun can feel the heat from his arm - like he's waiting for Seunghyun to pull away, but Seunghyun doesn't. Call it distraction or apathy or... something.

One or twice he looks over and Jiyong's just reading over his shoulder, absentmindedly mouthing the words to himself.

That's pretty much how the rest of the day goes, give or take a few more boxes of delivery pizza.

Maybe it's some sort of accidental trigger, because three days later, he scrambles a few sentences on the seventh song and doesn't know how to fix them, and then paces around his apartment for a few minutes before his phone rings like fucking magic, what the hell.

It's Jiyong, sounding hesitant as he asks if Seunghyun wants to just, maybe do something that doesn't involve strobe lights and glow sticks, because he's kind of wandering around between his classes and doesn't exactly know what to do with himself.

"I'm not sure if this is allowed," he says, but Seunghyun just shrugs and it couldn't be better timing as he tugs on his jacket and asks Jiyong where exactly he is. 

Another two days and they end up on a rooftop at all obscene hours of the morning right in the half-light before the sun comes up, watching the telephone lines and blowing smoke into the city below them. Seunghyun lets Jiyong pull himself up from the ledge and kiss him, tasting like ash and coffee and mint and a little sloppy at the seams, hand gripping the front of Seunghyun's shirt like always. There is knowledge at the back of his mind that this is a slippery slope and they're sliding off the edges.

He keeps ignoring his phone, keeps deleting messages without listening to them as he works. 

His days become a sort of odd routine that isn't routine at all.

The weather gets colder, and Seunghyun trails Jiyong to places like playgrounds at PS-239 and the basement stacks around the corner.

He picks up things in the snow along the way, like, Jiyong hates sharing his earphones, and Jiyong hasn't actually seen his dad for more than five minutes at a time since he was twelve, and Jiyong likes watching weird late-night history documentaries on television. And, Jiyong is self-conscious about stupid things like his knees, and Jiyong likes figuring people out.

He doesn't give anything back except the appropriate emotions, but short of being a total parasite, he feels like that's all he can get behind, so far.

He's still not past thinking that he'll wake up one day to real life with some sort of hangover from the ninth circle of hell and the remnants of a homemade drug that he is never doing again in his hand.

 And then it's five in the evening and he pens the last word of the last verse of the last song he has to write - and he's done.

You have reached the residence of, three-one-seven-six-two -

Seunghyun throws his keys on the kitchen counter and actually contemplates picking up the landline.

- please leave a message after the beep. Beep.

"If I know you, Choi Seunghyun, you're on the couch, probably watching TV, with a bottle of whatever alcohol you have left after - how long has it been, two months and twelve days? - so, cooking sherry, I'm guessing - but you're probably still coherent enough to answer your goddamn phone. Which you'd better do now, or I'm getting us a new lead with a built-in GPS tracking device."

Seunghyun sighs, shakes his left arm out of his jacket, and takes the phone in his hand as Junhyung is still rattling off how well he knows him. "I'm not getting drunk on my couch you dumbass," he says matter-of-factly, "and you'd never replace me."

"Nah," Junhyung agrees without missing a beat or the fact that he hasn't heard from him in a century, "but you always pick up when we threaten to." There's a pause and a scuffling noise, and Seunghyun can imagine that he's swatting Jaebum's outstretched fingers away from the receiver, that he's telling Chaerin to stop clawing on his arm. "How's that sherry? Your balls invert yet?"

"Oh, suck me," Seunghyun says, and Junhyung actually laughs.

"Seriously. You okay?"

And then he figures out why he has finally picked up the phone. "I'm sitting on top of a whole album, so yea, I'd say I'm okay." It takes remarkable self-restraint not to add an I-told-you-so.

It is unnaturally silent on the other end.

Seunghyun finishes dryly, "So, assuming I'm allowed to come back, I'll see you bitches Monday."

Junhyung says something along the lines of "shit, son" before Seunghyun hangs up, but he's not actually too sure because he's too busy kicking his heels together like a five-year-old. 

three. phonetics

"Big crowd outside," Chaerin says.

Seunghyun tightens his A string, tries out the sound again, and gives the guy at the soundboard an okay. "That's good," he says, and Chaerin shakes her head, adjusting her microphone for the fifteenth time.

"You think you'd be a little more nervous," she tells him, "since it's kind of your head on the chopping block if we get booed off this stage."

"You're a good friend."

"Hey, still, Jaebum said he'd write our next album for us, and anything you wrote can't be worse than the shit that'll come out of that." She grins at Seunghyun's blank expression.

"Jaebum's writing the next album?"

"Jaebum is not writing the next album. Stop encouraging him," Junhyung growls, appearing from the back room lugging another speaker for his guitar and a few cables slung over his shoulders.

Behind him is Jaebum, carrying absolutely nothing at all except for his drumsticks, and he flashes an enthusiastic thumbs-up behind Junhyung's back as Chaerin snorts and Seunghyun rolls his eyes.

Chaerin stops fiddling with her mic stand and nudges his elbow. "Look, I think the songs are really, really good." She crosses her arms, takes a step closer to him. "Did you actually write them? I won't tell."

Seunghyun blinks underneath the multi-colored lights they're testing out. "You're a really good friend," he repeats, and she kicks him in the heel.

"You know what I mean, bitch."

"Yea, I wrote them," he says, and turns away to take a few cables Junhyung tosses at him to plug in. "Or, I think I did." 

Jiyong is in the crowd. Seunghyun spots him when Chaerin is shouting out hello's and introductions, splashed in the blue and pink and gold lights, looking out of place in frighteningly normal clothes.

He stays throughout the first song, the second, the third - he stays through half a set, and Seunghyun swears the boy has his shit-eating grin pasted onto his face, especially when he sings the line he made up - but then towards the end, it fades and Seunghyun looks over and he's gone before the end, slipped out the door and not even a gap in the audience.

He skips the encore because he can. He tells Junhyung he isn't feeling well, and then goes out the back door and pulls out his phone. 

Somehow it gets to be four in the morning. Four in the morning, with them on the ground in Seunghyun's apartment in the almost-dark. Scraps of paper are scattered like fall leaves around their sprawled bodies and it's almost pathetically poetic as they count the cracks in the ceiling, watch scattered car-lights that wave across the walls every so often from below.

Seunghyun is close to sleep when (a still partially high) Jiyong shifts, paper crumpling beneath him, to slur, "I have to tell you something."

"It better not be ‘I'm in love you'," Seunghyun replies automatically (because he's a little drunk).

He hears Jiyong shaking his head. "You're a dumbass."

"Good."

It's silent, and Seunghyun counts to twenty before tilting his head up. "So, you telling me, or what?"

"Don't laugh," Jiyong says.

"If you wouldn't be such a woman about it, I wouldn't laugh," Seunghyun says.

Jiyong frowns down at him. "Jackass."

"Pussy."

"Faggot."

"Cock-sucking bitch," and then Jiyong laughs, and Seunghyun does too.

It takes Jiyong a while to speak again. "I like myself better when I'm high." The sound has nowhere to go but down. And then he shrugs, puts a pacifier in his mouth that's been hanging on a chain and sorely missed. "Your turn."

There are so many things Seunghyun can do with that, so many cracks he can make and stupid easy-ways-out he can take that'll probably finally lead to a quick fuck and fumble against the window, because tonight they're suddenly in the dark again, after he catches Jiyong come out of a midtown rave, barely ten words exchanged. He can laugh - should laugh, and then let Jiyong be the one to walk out to make everything easy and definitive.

"I used you to write all thirteen of the songs we played tonight." Or, in light of the dark, he can go the shit-show route.

For a second he thinks Jiyong's bolted already until he glances over and sees the blond hair splayed on the floor amidst the ink and paper.   And Jiyong's eyes are set on the ceiling instead of him when he says, "I know."

Seunghyun decides that he doesn't believe in the existence of charades anymore.

The sound of another car passes by underneath their feet - and he feels Jiyong's hand brush his, a sigh of hot air on his neck - and then he is rolling over, feeling Jiyong's fist clamping familiarly on his shirt for security as he crashes their lips together, teeth clicking as his hands push into Jiyong's shirt to feel his heart and count the ribs, down to his jeans to cup him and rub through the heat.

In version two Jiyong is impatient and reaches down to help him tug pants and boxers down and kick them away, helps Seunghyun pull his own shirt over his head and his jeans down to his feet. The hooded need in his eyes borderlines on almost crazed before Seunghyun remembers he's still flying on ecstasy.

To Jiyong right now, he's just ten thousand points of magnified contact and skin-on-skin.

A part of him is not okay with this even as he scrabbles for the condoms and packet of lubricant from his coat pocket, watches Jiyong spread for him and barely breathing as he coats his fingers and sticks two, three fingers inside him.

He positions himself above him god he doesn't even know what he's doing, and Jiyong pulls him up for another sloppy kiss, tongue brushing over Seunghyun's teeth and hands tangled in Seunghyun's hair - and Seunghyun pushes in.

Jiyong doesn't speak except a few breathy moans of "fuck" against Seunghyun's neck as Seunghyun thrusts into him, legs hooked around his waist and eyes fluttering closed. Seunghyun can't help the own noise that tears its way from his throat when Jiyong sucks wetly on his neck, grabs one of Seunghyun's hands to close it around his own dick and start him off at the pace he wants.

It's just like this, Seunghyun breathing him in and finding his mouth again to kiss him, limbs twisted and both of them grappling for some sort of purchase, as he rides the wave all the way to orgasm.

He pulls out and breathes hard, wiping Jiyong's come off his hands.

Rolling over to lie on his side, Jiyong on his back, Seunghyun watches him watch the ceiling, counting cracks still.

"What would you have said?" Seunghyun doesn't know what Jiyong's talking about (but he does), and Jiyong's eyebrows knot a fraction of an inch. "If I had said I was in love with you."

Seunghyun has nothing in his head, nothing comes out of his mouth, nothing nothing nothing.

After a moment, Jiyong rolls to face him, and he is only smiling with one corner of his mouth. "It's okay," he says, "It is what it is, right?"

The sunlight streaming into Seunghyun's eyes is what wakes him. When he rolls over on his floor he crushes paper underneath his elbows and heels before he realizes he's alone.

He gets up, brushes his teeth, and pushes his feet into his shoes for a coffee down the street.

When he is back again, his desk is still empty, you have no new messages on his voicemail, and.

  (Maybe you'd only given me a chance to answer you maybe it would have been different.)  

At the end of the day, he's back to square one with a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand (it's what happens during breakdowns) and marveling a little at the irony.

symphonetic /ˈsɪmfəˈnɛtɪk/ n. the infrastructure of a false or misleading harmony of sound.

note: i'm really sorry about the delay! the lyrics jiyong and seunghyun come up with are © athlete; the word "symphonetic" however, is made up by me :).

stop calling, i don't wanna think anymore [ fic ]

lovelyable — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 18:38:50 GMT

symphonetic, part 1
gd/top | nc-17, 3221 words, ar
how to turn lies into music.

don't hold your breath we're running in circles
silence runs along phone lines
i feel like i am swimming through pavements
and then the dark throws me a lifeline
DON'T HOLD YOUR BREATH/ATHLETE

one. symphonies

Try something new, they say. Slumps don't last forever. Take some time away from the band, put down your guitar, and think.

The lyrics will come.

It's been a month and a half. There are no lyrics, and the notebooks spread out on every countertop in Choi Seunghyun's grungy apartment stay blank, gather dust, and fade from white to yellow.

He wastes away for another day in his beer and his eyeliner crumbling away from the corners of his eyes, sleeps till two in the afternoon, and feels like he's dying before he sees the red light blinking on his voicemail between trips to the fridge for more booze.

Beep. Seunghyun, I was reading this self-help book for you today (well that's not embarrassing at all, Seunghyun thinks with a roll of his eyes) and it says you should try this thing called love. It's supposed to be the source of all inspiration or something. That's a direct quote, by the way. Do you wanna borrow it? I won't tell anyone or anything.

Beep. Hey, you know I was talking to Junsu and he says he writes better when he's getting laid. Oh, and he's married, so I'm guessing it's not meaningless sex either, so you'll maybe have to figure a situation out.

Beep. My psychic says to find somebody you can emotionally and physically connect with. DO IT NOW, WE'RE RECORDING IN THREE MONTHS, and I know you've gotten jack-shit done so far and are probably getting wasted on your couch as I speak. IT'S TOO EARLY TO BE DRINKING. GO FIND YOUR PERSON.

No more messages.

He scowls and takes another swig of the Jack Daniels in his hand, because oh yes, he has resorted to chugging straight from the bottle now. It's what he hears happens during mental breakdowns. 

 Four hours later, the blank pages burned into the backs of his irises, and he's wondering what the fuck somebody wears to make a person fall in love with them.

It's the cheesiest thing he's heard in his life, but he's out of ideas and Google wasn't helpful at all unless he wants to show up at the club in a leopard-print banana hammock greased up like a pig.

Fuck it, Seunghyun thinks in the middle of wondering if maybe he should at least take out his gauges, and doesn't even bother to change out of his black on black. He's heard bedhead is still sexy.

 Two minutes of walking through the haze of smoke and writhing bodies and furiously strobing lights and Seunghyun practically body slams a boy with blond hair on his way to get himself a beer with how hard he accidentally crashes into him.

"Sorry," he says, and the shorter boy shakes his head and grins around the pacifier in his mouth in an offhand kind of way, even though the drink he was holding is now spilled all over his flimsy shirt.

"Whatever." He has a slight accent Seunghyun can't situate but which makes him sound all sorts of proper and out of place amongst the sweaty, pulsating limbs and low-ceilinged room. On the other hand, he has electric-shock blond hair and is dressed to the raver-nines, bleeding kohl from the edges of his eyes, neon neckband and glitter on his cheeks and loose white tank cut so low he might as well be naked from the waist up.

There is also the shameless way he checks him out, eyes quickly scanning Seunghyun once from head to toe rather appreciatively before he smiles and bites slightly on his bottom lip. "Feel free to buy me another drink later, though," he whispers directly in Seunghyun's ear, and disappears back into the crowd before Seunghyun even has time to react. 

 Another hour and six beers alone later with no success except a few trashy girls who proposition him for sex (which is not the way to go, as much as his instant reflex tells him different), Seunghyun has to pee and stumbles his way into the bathroom. He squints against the bright light tubes, the annoying kind that feel the need to make constant buzzing noises, and is about to flick the switch off and just pee in the dark when he sees the blonde boy clutching at the sides of the sink, head slumped between his shoulders and breathing hard, all perfume-stained sweat and sharp angles.

Noob. "Rollin' too hard?" Seunghyun drawls. He reaches over the hot mess to turn the tap on. The blond glares at Seunghyun from underneath his matted hair.

"I'm fine," he says in a pitch too breathless to be. "I just - need to clean my shirt." He unlatches one bony hand (fingernails painted rainbow shades), makes a swipe at the paper towel dispenser, and misses by several inches.

Seunghyun rolls his eyes. "Yea, don't let me get in your way, champ."

"Shut up," the other boy snaps, anger and acridity on legs. Another grab for the towels, and another miss, this time accompanied by a stumble s
sideways straight into the wall. Seunghyun feels like laughing. Instead, he leans against the wall opposite to watch.

And somewhere between the blonde cussing at the towel machine and gagging into the sink basin, Seunghyun finds himself exasperatedly dabbing at the pink stains on the other boy's shirt after he finally gives up. The pacifier has worked its way back into the boy's mouth and his head has dropped forward to rest on Seunghyun's shoulder, eyelashes fluttering against Seunghyun's neck while he moans headaches and stomach pains, scratches at his decorated arms.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you to stay away from drugs?" Seunghyun mutters, irritably lobbing another used up wad of napkins into the trash.

"My mother OD'd on heroin before she got around to it." His voice is still borderline shaky but the bite in the blonde's voice sounds like he's on the verge of coming down from his high. "Feel like an asshole yet?"

Seunghyun snorts. "Sorry, I don't play that game."

"Aren't you special," is the sarcastic answer he gets. A second later there is a muffled crunch as the dumb fuck propped up against Seunghyun bites clean through his pacifier. 

 Seunghyun ends up fucking him against the door of his apartment because they don't make it all the way to the bed. The boy likes kissing more than anybody else Seunghyun's ever been with and is as loud as people like him promise to be. He tastes like peppermint and lets Seunghyun run his tongue over his jutting collarbones and pin his hands above him, the bracelets stacked on his wrists digging into the skin of Seunghyun's palms. He moans Seunghyun's name, over and over, his slight accent getting Seunghyun off quicker than normal. Or maybe it's the way noises seem to catch in his throat, or how he bites, hard, on his lip before transferring his teeth to Seunghyun instead.

Still pissed off, Seunghyun admittedly doesn't handle him that carefully, but residual guilt has him carrying the boy to his bed afterwards and tucking him in - only to have him slide down on the mattress and close his swollen lips around Seunghyun's cock to suck him off.

It feels good. No lyrics, or tunes, or even half a usable phrase drifts into his head but at least the night isn't a total loss, and he figures he can worry about his work and (plus) love life again tomorrow.

He doesn't mind that the blond tells him his name (Kwon Jiyong) or that he presses himself against Seunghyun's side when they finally drift off to sleep.

 In the morning, Seunghyun wakes up to an empty bed underneath a rather fluorescent sunlight and a brilliantly stabbing pain in his head that feels like he's about to puke all of his internal organs onto the floor. He can't get his legs untangled from his sheets fast enough.

Instead of collapsing in front of the toilet, he opens his eyes from a blind run in time to realize he's about to collide headlong into his desk - and for some reason, he fumbles for a pen, collapses into the leather chair, and it seems to fit.

An hour and a half later, he's penned almost an entire song and has the tune to a possible chorus for another before he runs out of things to say.

Seunghyun stares at the untidy scrawl on the page for a second, blinks, and then cusses so loud he hears his neighbor yelp through the walls.

He's definitely not in 'love' or whatever the hell they told him to go do, but what's on the page is on the page, and he can't deny the source behind it. He considers for a moment that it's just the fact that he got laid, but throws that theory out the window a moment later, because he got plenty of action before Jiyong, with no tangible results like this.

So it's not love - hell, it makes a rather shoddy case for lust - and Seunghyun is sure of that. But some fuse in his brain has finally started up again, and he can't wrap his mind around the fact that a dumb little shit with an ecstasy problem (who handles it like a complete noob, to top it off) is the catalyst. 

 Red light for one new message.

Chaerin sounds halfway between pissed off and worried about him as she asks (snaps) in rather clipped tones where the fuck their new songs are and where he is. She tells him that Junhyung says he's supposed to have three songs by now, so that better be where he is or she's going to rip him a new one.

The message ends with "or, like, we don't have to have a musical career. That's cool too," before she hangs up, and Seunghyun remembers the vocalist-bassist telling him she'd rather resort to singing children's songs dressed up as a friendly purple dinosaur on national television than go back to bagging groceries at the local market. Which is saying something, because Chaerin hates kids.

He cards a hand through his hair because he's two songs short, and the newly bloomed genius inside his chest deflates.

Motherfucker. 

 Rue. Filthy, boarded-up windows, mold eating up at the foundations and weeds dead on the lawn. It doesn't even have a real sign, just the word spray painted in haphazard pink above the metal pull-up door to the…

Warehouse, Seunghyun decides once he makes it inside and realizes that the dark blocks scattered around in a seemingly random order are rusting shells of what were once cars. He wonders when the last time he got a tetanus booster was, but it's the only rave happening anywhere inside city boundaries tonight - that he knows about, anyway - and if he's going to find the blonde junkie anywhere, it'll be here.

In the meantime, it's in his best interest to get as drunk as possible. He heads for the bar, pushing past pale-thin bodies and makeup-darkened eyes, and sets a hand on the flipped-over hood of an antique fire truck to order a gin and tonic. It tastes like actual medicine and burns its way down his throat.

Still, a man on a mission is a man on a mission, and an hour later, he's successfully shitfaced. He searches for the music to hit him again, for something, anything because he has to still be able to pull inspiration from somewhere else - but so far nothing's working in his head save a phrase telling him over and over that he's boarding the train to has-been-ville before he's even hit 25.

He scans the room a few times for anybody with unnatural hair color sucking on baby toys, but then feels rather pathetic and gives up after a couple of minutes, going back to his drinks. Besides, he's not even sure what he'd say to a one-night stand on the day after. Maybe he should just give up and go home, write some half-assery about rusting cars, and tell his whole band to go fuck themselves.

And then somebody sits down next to him, and all of the sudden Seunghyun is turning his head to look at familiar blonde hair tonight spiked into a hawk and smudged, unfocused eyes, a different pacifier dangling from around Jiyong's neck as he grins. "What, you couldn't stay away?"

Seunghyun snorts and downs another shot. Now that he's found him, he's not exactly thrilled, nor is he sure where to go from here besides an awkward hi, I need to do this thing called love with you or something. "Shouldn't you be in bed recovering?"

"From the x or from you?" The shit-eating grin on Jiyong's face expands when it gets him a mildly surprised eyebrow raise, and he shrugs and steals one of the small glasses in Seunghyun's row. "I've been through worse. Jesus, this tastes like acid."

"You would know," Seunghyun agrees, and Jiyong backhands him on the arm before stealing another glass. He finishes the entire row of vodka without a hitch and drags a self-satisfied hand across the back of his mouth, slumping onto the barstool next to Seunghyun and swiveling around to watch the crowd.

"What're you doing here, anyways?" He asks, accented speech slurred and slow. "You don't rave, the concept of this thing is shitty, and you can get better alcohol at, like, a gas station."

"Wow," Seunghyun comments sarcastically, "you're fun when you drink."

"Thanks. Just trying to match your energy level." Jiyong doesn't let him off the hook easily. "But I'm actually curious. Unless glow sticks and candy kids are secretly your thing."

Seunghyun shakes his head. "Looking for someone." Lets that hang in the air, looks the blonde suggestively in the eye.

And like this was just always supposed to happen, like they're in the Twilight Zone and he's walking some weird-ass voodoo card, Jiyong takes the bait. "Who?" His interest is thinly veiled when he's this high, this drunk, both the alcohol and the drugs in his system making him undoubtedly horny; Seunghyun knows he's right when he sees the blatant want already skimming the surface of the other boy's soot-smudged eyes.

He doesn't know what to say because he's not exactly interested in Jiyong for the reasons he thinks and Seunghyun's never been one to pursue something like this, but his band is at his fingertips and he needs to pull himself and them back onto the fucking ledge.

So he doesn't say anything, continues to stare at Jiyong with the look he's used thousands of times and knows for a fact works, and he lets Jiyong come to him.

Which he does, and it's like persuading a three year old how Jiyong immediately slides off his stool, nudges Seunghyun's knees apart to stand between them, so close Seunghyun can feel his breath fanning his face when he whispers. "Now what?"

Seunghyun shrugs, acting nonchalant, looking away.

And then Jiyong leans forward to close the last few millimeters between them and press their mouths together, fisting the front of Seunghyun's shirt. Seunghyun responds, pressing a hand to the back of the other boy's neck to pull him closer and slide his tongue in his mouth, tasting lime and looking for music, and it's almost pleasant, just, this, and this is going to be easier than I thought.

 This time, they get as far as the coffee table in the living room, Seunghyun sweeping the mahogany clear of the papers and empty cans and old records he'll regret breaking later to push Jiyong down on it and crawl over him instead. It's sloppy but Seunghyun doesn't give a damn, especially not when Jiyong's naked underneath him with one leg hooked around his waist and even more eager and willing than the night before, grinding, arching his back, shivering when Seunghyun sticks his lubed fingers inside him to prep and opening his mouth to drink him in whenever Seunghyun kisses him hard.

They somehow tumble to the floor, slick with sweat and sticking to the crumpled beginnings of papers and things, and Seunghyun closes his eyes and dreams in lights, crashes, white noise and underground rhythms and dimensions made of sound -

He blinks awake with his head about to explode and for a second, he can't process it all. Instead, he squints at something almost illegible scrawled on the back of his hand in a rather offending shade of green that hurts his eyes.

After a few seconds he realizes it's a phone number, with a name underneath that he hasn't yet used aloud and another written line that reads 'just in case'. 

 Five hours later, the unfinished second song, along with the beginning melodies to a third, is written on his desktop and bleeding through the pages of his notebook. Seunghyun's eyes are spinning and he feels like Ludwig van fucking Beethoven after finishing his very first symphony.

He sits and stares at the sheaf of papers in front of him for a while, vocalizing it in his head and feeling the last of the music leak out of his ears. It's possibly the best thing he's ever written, songs that helped land them their original fan base and then a record deal included.

It isn't until a bird chirps and he looks up to squint at the sun that he realizes it's dawn; his clock reads somewhere past seven, and the last coherent thought Seunghyun has before he passes out atop his mattress is that he's a pawn fighting a motherfucking war that makes absolutely no sense. It belongs in a nursery rhyme, inside Disney, behind the covers of a bad romance novel.

And if he can help things, he's done. 

 Two days, five espressos, nine packs of ramyun, seventeen thousand beers, and more dents in his wall than he can count, and he's thinking maybe shutting himself in the apartment until he figures this shit out all by himself isn't looking so bright and shiny anymore.

A hurricane has hit his desk in the form of words he's tried to come up with himself. After staring at the mess of scribbles and tangents and different colored pens and a corner of what ended up being nothing more than obscene doodles at one point, his brain becomes the collateral damage. The headache hits square between the eyes and sends him digging through his medicine cabinet after the lyrics in front of him start to blur.

Two Vicoden go down easily enough, and he turns the tap on to splash some water on his tired face and slump against the basin, wondering why his brain by itself is filled with nothing but crash collisions and dead ends.

You have one new message. Seunghyun listens to Jaebum's recorded voice tell him how practice is going ("terrible as shit, 'cause we have nothing to play so it's more like us fuckin' around in Junhyung's garage bangin' things for a couple hours. But no pressure, man,") as he trashes everything on his desk.

He pours himself a glass of scotch, takes it with four extra pills and his dignity, and then dials Jiyong's number on the back of his hand.

next: phonies/phonetics

note: thanks to xinliyoushu for putting up with me during this. something unrelated that i should mention is a few cases of plagiarism. i'm not calling anyone out but please don't do it. if you like an idea of mine and want to do a spin-off, just ask. thanks guys.