this is me trying something new [ fic ]
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.
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.