round 04, challenge eight: entry #1
Title: the 1920's are disneyland
Fandom and Pairing: big bang, g-top
Rating: pg-13
Word Count: 1000
Summary: "this can go up to forty miles per hour. we can go anywhere now."
Warnings: historical inaccuracies.
Model A’s engine roars under them, tires spitting dirt and smoke past the countryside manors and onto the unpaved road. The sun glints off the glass and gets into their eyes like any typical Seoul summer day; the smell of ripe orange blossoms is heady. Seunghyun reaches over to wipe the sheen from Jiyong’s nose.
Jiyong smiles a bit, loosens his tattered bowtie, and undoes the first button of his rigidity. “I’m fine,” he says. “Keep your eyes on the road.”
“Do you even know where this road leads?” Seunghyun asks, reluctantly returning his hand to the wheel, and taps his fingers to the steady pounding of blood in his temples. He knows the answer even before Jiyong nods his head.
“Away,” Jiyong mumbles, then clears his throat and says it louder, “We’re going away.”
There had been a girl. There is always a girl; one with curly hair the color of blackberries and large, dark eyes, and a tongue that can speak four languages, approved by his mother and his ancestors four generations back. Wedding date set in late spring, honeymoon in the works.
“Really, mother?” Jiyong holds the phone with his shoulder and rummages through the pile on his desk for a pen. “No, I promise I’ll be home for dinner. Where are they from again? New York? I’m busy right now.”
“Sir, you have visitors,” his secretary tells him from the doorway. Jiyong sees the yellow billow of a chiffon dress and a suit through the glass window separating his office from the lobby. He sets the phone back into its cradle and nods. The girl marches in, confident and all smiles, and her butler rushes in after her, her plaid designer bag on one arm and an apologetic look on his face.
“I told her we’d meet you at dinner, but she insisted-“
“Hush now, Seunghyun. We’re here for casual introductions and then we’ll be on our way.”
The girl, beautiful and smart as rumoured, continues her polite talk. Jiyong keeps a smile plastered on his face, and glances up from the page he’d been absently reviewing since noon. Instead of catching Seo-yoon’s gaze, he ends up looking at her butler standing nervously beside her, fiddling with the strap of her purse. Seunghyun’s eyes flicker up to catch Jiyong’s.
“-pple or cherry pie?”
Jiyong switches his focus to Seo-yoon. “Dinner’s going to be catered. You don’t need to bring dessert.”
“Sir, she asked you, apple or cherry?” Seunghyun hastily cuts in.
For a moment, there is nothing but tension, with all eyes on Jiyong and Jiyong’s sight nearer to Seunghyun than Seo-yoon. “Cherry, I suppose,” Jiyong says after a minute and waves them out so he can pour himself a mid-afternoon tonic and gin.
Six months later at the engagement party, Seunghyun says, “Hi” and holds up his glass of wine.
“Hi,” Jiyong says, slightly taken aback but holds up his glass as well. If anybody asks, they’re mingling by the coat closet. Lines have worn into both of their faces, but the look is more than familiar by now. Daily office visits from Seunghyun delivering lunch made by Seo-yoon and sometimes a quick after-work drink. The company is nice. They have a lot in common: piano, always doing the crossword puzzles in the daily paper, Yahtzee.
“So, uh, what do you think of that Disney guy?” Seunghyun strikes up the small talk. He’s good at that. “Alice Comedies. He made that series.”
“I haven’t seen it yet,” Jiyong tells him. “But he did Plane Crazy too, right? Mickey Mouse? I can tell he’s going to be iconic.”
The front door opens and Jiyong steps aside, inviting the new guest and his wife to pass through the foyer. When it’s just the two of them again, they circle each other, following the age-old ritual patterns in the tile until Seunghyun is backed up into the wall under the stairs.
“Hi,” Seunghyun breathes.
“Hi,” Jiyong murmurs, and presses their dry lips together.
Seunghyun is walking out of the downtown bakery with a cherry pie when a car, black and brand new and straight from the West, pulls up next to him and the driver reaches over to open the passenger door.
“Get in,” Jiyong says, wearing a top hat, grinning and pointing at the gray sky. “It’s going to rain.”
“Sir, where is your chauffeur?” Seunghyun stands close enough so the door won’t close but doesn’t get in.
“It’s Jiyong, not sir. I took a driving lesson from my chauffeur and paid him to go help the gardener plant the tulips,” Jiyong quickly explains and revs up the engine again. “Model A isn’t going to wait around all day for you to decide. This thing can go up to forty miles per hour. We can go anywhere now.”
Their car runs out of gas in the parking lot of a motel. It’s no Waldorf Astoria, but it’s close. The peeling paint and worn bedsprings are just “Quirks,” says Jiyong, and pulls Seunghyun on top of him, hot and heavy and willing.
They stop by the gas station the next morning and manage to return to the manor before breakfast is served.
“I already told Seo-yoon I’m not going to marry her,” Jiyong says. “She said it was okay.”
A little birdie tells Jiyong’s father. World War One and a Half shows up on Jiyong’s doorstep, armed with pistols and Bibles and a sense of self-righteousness. They’re given no time to run. The room door swings open, easy, and all there is a made-up bed and an empty armoire.
“Does anybody even live in this room?” one of the men dares to ask.
“We’re going to Hell,” Seunghyun tells Jiyong in Model A hidden under the dappled shadow of the orange trees just outside of the estate.
“Norway’s pretty far from here,” Jiyong points out, and pushes the steering wheel in Seunghyun’s hands left onto the open road.
Fandom and Pairing: big bang, g-top
Rating: pg-13
Word Count: 1000
Summary: "this can go up to forty miles per hour. we can go anywhere now."
Warnings: historical inaccuracies.
Model A’s engine roars under them, tires spitting dirt and smoke past the countryside manors and onto the unpaved road. The sun glints off the glass and gets into their eyes like any typical Seoul summer day; the smell of ripe orange blossoms is heady. Seunghyun reaches over to wipe the sheen from Jiyong’s nose.
Jiyong smiles a bit, loosens his tattered bowtie, and undoes the first button of his rigidity. “I’m fine,” he says. “Keep your eyes on the road.”
“Do you even know where this road leads?” Seunghyun asks, reluctantly returning his hand to the wheel, and taps his fingers to the steady pounding of blood in his temples. He knows the answer even before Jiyong nods his head.
“Away,” Jiyong mumbles, then clears his throat and says it louder, “We’re going away.”
There had been a girl. There is always a girl; one with curly hair the color of blackberries and large, dark eyes, and a tongue that can speak four languages, approved by his mother and his ancestors four generations back. Wedding date set in late spring, honeymoon in the works.
“Really, mother?” Jiyong holds the phone with his shoulder and rummages through the pile on his desk for a pen. “No, I promise I’ll be home for dinner. Where are they from again? New York? I’m busy right now.”
“Sir, you have visitors,” his secretary tells him from the doorway. Jiyong sees the yellow billow of a chiffon dress and a suit through the glass window separating his office from the lobby. He sets the phone back into its cradle and nods. The girl marches in, confident and all smiles, and her butler rushes in after her, her plaid designer bag on one arm and an apologetic look on his face.
“I told her we’d meet you at dinner, but she insisted-“
“Hush now, Seunghyun. We’re here for casual introductions and then we’ll be on our way.”
The girl, beautiful and smart as rumoured, continues her polite talk. Jiyong keeps a smile plastered on his face, and glances up from the page he’d been absently reviewing since noon. Instead of catching Seo-yoon’s gaze, he ends up looking at her butler standing nervously beside her, fiddling with the strap of her purse. Seunghyun’s eyes flicker up to catch Jiyong’s.
“-pple or cherry pie?”
Jiyong switches his focus to Seo-yoon. “Dinner’s going to be catered. You don’t need to bring dessert.”
“Sir, she asked you, apple or cherry?” Seunghyun hastily cuts in.
For a moment, there is nothing but tension, with all eyes on Jiyong and Jiyong’s sight nearer to Seunghyun than Seo-yoon. “Cherry, I suppose,” Jiyong says after a minute and waves them out so he can pour himself a mid-afternoon tonic and gin.
Six months later at the engagement party, Seunghyun says, “Hi” and holds up his glass of wine.
“Hi,” Jiyong says, slightly taken aback but holds up his glass as well. If anybody asks, they’re mingling by the coat closet. Lines have worn into both of their faces, but the look is more than familiar by now. Daily office visits from Seunghyun delivering lunch made by Seo-yoon and sometimes a quick after-work drink. The company is nice. They have a lot in common: piano, always doing the crossword puzzles in the daily paper, Yahtzee.
“So, uh, what do you think of that Disney guy?” Seunghyun strikes up the small talk. He’s good at that. “Alice Comedies. He made that series.”
“I haven’t seen it yet,” Jiyong tells him. “But he did Plane Crazy too, right? Mickey Mouse? I can tell he’s going to be iconic.”
The front door opens and Jiyong steps aside, inviting the new guest and his wife to pass through the foyer. When it’s just the two of them again, they circle each other, following the age-old ritual patterns in the tile until Seunghyun is backed up into the wall under the stairs.
“Hi,” Seunghyun breathes.
“Hi,” Jiyong murmurs, and presses their dry lips together.
Seunghyun is walking out of the downtown bakery with a cherry pie when a car, black and brand new and straight from the West, pulls up next to him and the driver reaches over to open the passenger door.
“Get in,” Jiyong says, wearing a top hat, grinning and pointing at the gray sky. “It’s going to rain.”
“Sir, where is your chauffeur?” Seunghyun stands close enough so the door won’t close but doesn’t get in.
“It’s Jiyong, not sir. I took a driving lesson from my chauffeur and paid him to go help the gardener plant the tulips,” Jiyong quickly explains and revs up the engine again. “Model A isn’t going to wait around all day for you to decide. This thing can go up to forty miles per hour. We can go anywhere now.”
Their car runs out of gas in the parking lot of a motel. It’s no Waldorf Astoria, but it’s close. The peeling paint and worn bedsprings are just “Quirks,” says Jiyong, and pulls Seunghyun on top of him, hot and heavy and willing.
They stop by the gas station the next morning and manage to return to the manor before breakfast is served.
“I already told Seo-yoon I’m not going to marry her,” Jiyong says. “She said it was okay.”
A little birdie tells Jiyong’s father. World War One and a Half shows up on Jiyong’s doorstep, armed with pistols and Bibles and a sense of self-righteousness. They’re given no time to run. The room door swings open, easy, and all there is a made-up bed and an empty armoire.
“Does anybody even live in this room?” one of the men dares to ask.
“We’re going to Hell,” Seunghyun tells Jiyong in Model A hidden under the dappled shadow of the orange trees just outside of the estate.
“Norway’s pretty far from here,” Jiyong points out, and pushes the steering wheel in Seunghyun’s hands left onto the open road.