Untitled (for now): Part 3/?
Title: Untitled (for now)
Rating: Probably eventual R or NC-17
Pairing: GDYB, (ToDae?)
Notes: Thoughts were all over the place as I wrote this. Will definitely be edited and changed up in the future.
Jiyong had been hoping for a chance to mail his money off to his dad all week. When Jiyong returned home, his mother was finally out and the house was quiet so he bounded up the stairs and quickly dug around her desk to find a spare envelope and a few stamps. He carefully counted the money that he had saved and then scribbled a quick note-nothing too sappy. At the bottom of the letter, he contemplated on how he should sign off before deciding on “Love, Your Son”. He licked the envelope and stamps, and when everything was sealed and addressed, he was ready to head to the post office to mail off his package.
Or not.
Just as he was coming back down the stairs, the front door swung open. Jiyong’s mother surveyed the disappointment on his face and then eyed the envelope in his hands. “Where are you going?” she asked, closing the door behind her.
“Nowhere,” Jiyong answered a little too quickly, bit the inside of his cheek, and then tried to compose himself.
“Did you get mail?” she prompted, and when he didn’t answer, she guessed again. “You’re sending off mail?” she asked suspiciously, and Jiyong had a feeling that her suspicions were correct. “Don’t you kids all use email? Or is it not one of your school friends you’re sending that to?” She crossed her arms, barring the door.
Jiyong knew she wouldn’t stop without getting some answers, but he tried to get away anyway. He turned and bolted back up the stairs, attempting to barricade himself in his room. His mother followed, two steps behind him, and he was about to slam the door in her face when she grabbed onto the door frame, and he abruptly stopped the door from slamming, hesitant to hurt her. She stepped in and let the door close behind her. Fuck, he really didn’t feel like explaining himself.
“What are you hiding from me, Jiyong?”
“Nothing,” he bit out.
She tried again. “Why don’t you talk to me anymore?”
You’re a whore. Bring back my father. Wish I slammed the door on your hand. I hate you. Jiyong couldn’t put his anger into words and opted for glaring defiantly. His mother closed her eyes in frustration with a sigh and then cut to the chase.
“How did you get his address?” No response. “I know it’s him that you’re mailing.” Jiyong had no lie ready and had nothing he wanted to say, and when she snatched the envelope from him, he didn’t move to stop her. She tore open the still-wet seal and hesitated before pulling out the bundle of cash. She stared at the note before looking up at him.
“Where did you get the money?” she asked, her voice tight, and when Jiyong didn’t answer she pressed on. “Did you steal it?” Jiyong scoffed, looking away. “I didn’t raise you to be a thief,” she whispered, voice full of reproach.
“Fuck you,” Jiyong responded finally. “Don’t judge me, you hypocrite.”
“You stole it,” she breathed in disappointment.
“No, you’re the robber, stealing from my dad! I worked for it.”
“Work? You don’t have a job.”
“Sure I do.” Jiyong felt his anger give way to exhilaration, anticipating the hurt his confession would inflict. “Do you want to know what I do?” He wanted to see pain on his mother’s face, and wanted to hurt her, hurt her, hurt her. “I suck the boys off at school for money. Thirty bucks a pop, and a discount for regulars, and those I have plenty of.”
She gaped at him in disbelief, gaze dropping to his mouth for a second before her face contorted in disgust. “Boys-you do things with other boys.”
“That’s right mom. It’s because of women like you that I’m probably gay,” he spat out, though he never really contemplated his own sexuality.
“Your business-why-”
“It’s great money, though you probably already know that since you’re nice and cushy from all the money you made off from dad. And wait a second,” Jiyong said with a bitter laugh, “I correct myself: you’re not a thief because if seducing unsuspecting men and making off with their money makes me a whore, then I learned from the best mom.”
The blow that landed on his face snapped his head to the side.
“Idiot child, you’ve been fooled! You’re doing all of this for your beloved father, but don’t think for a second that he loves you back. Now that he’s in a ditch, all he wants is your money. If it hadn’t been for me, you would have been dead before you even had the chance to know life, so how dare you say such things to me!” Her shaking hands found the front of his shirt, and the next whispered words permanently changed Jiyong’s world as he knew it: “I raised you like my own!”
As if a dam had cracked after the first secret was spilled, she broke down and couldn’t stop the rest of the truth from spilling out. She shook him by the front of his shirt. “I forgave him again and again, only doing what’s best for you. I only wanted to protect you!” she babbled, and Jiyong couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever seen his mother look so distraught. “You stupid idiot! Why would you ever whore yourself for a man like that?-a monster who never wanted you in the first place!”
“What are you talking about mom?” he whispered, unable to wrap his mind around those implications, feeling his heart clench tighter by the moment.
“I’m not your mom!” she exploded, eyes blazing with tears before she crumpled to the floor. “I’m not your mom,” she repeated in a broken voice.
“How could you not be my mom?” Jiyong swayed on the spot and couldn’t think properly. “I have your nose,” he said blankly, repeating the words that his mother constantly told him, growing up.
She shook her head and pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes to stem the tears. Jiyong was dimly aware that his own face was wet with tears, too. He sunk onto his knees next to her. “Who are my real parents, then?” he asked in a broken whisper.
“Your dad brought you home one day. Said it was a mistake and I didn’t ask who the woman was.” She let out a crazed laugh. “He wanted to send you down the river in a basket like in ancient times. He drove to the riverbank and told me to do it, but I couldn’t.”
Jiyong really didn’t want to ask, but the question was voiced anyway. “Do you love me?” he asked in a small voice.
She choked on her tears, and closed her eyes, the rivulets of tears continuing to stream down her face. “I do. I love you, Jiyong.”
That’s all it took for Jiyong to collapse into her arms like a boy again. He cried, gripping her shirt and her arms and her shoulders, face pressed into her bosom because she was his mother and she loved him, and that was enough at the moment.
On Monday he went to school in a daze. He felt notes being slipped into his pocket and saw them piled up on the corner of his desk, but didn’t care to read them. At lunch, several of his regulars cornered him and demanded why he didn’t show up to the appointments they’ve made. He stood there, unresponsive, until Seungri came by and pulled him over to their lunch table.
“What’s wrong with you, man?” asked Big Seunghyun.
“I…” Jiyong didn’t know what to say. All he knew was that he didn’t want to go home yet and needed to get away from all of this emotional turmoil. “Can we hang out after school today?”
Seunghyun and Daesung exchanged uncomfortable looks with each other. Seungri’s eyes darted between the two of them in curiosity before looking back at Jiyong. “You can hang out with me.” Jiyong nodded in appreciation and went back to chewing his tasteless lunch.
After school, he and Seungri went down to the dance studio where Seungri had class. “They don’t usually allow spectators,” Seungri told him as he led Jiyong to one of the benches on the side, “but I’m sure they’ll make an exception for me”. They sat in comfortable silence as Seungri laced up each of his shoes, until a booming laugh made them both look up.
“That’s the director,” Seungri pointed out, indicating to the man that just walked into the studio with Dong Youngbae. The director laughed and patted Youngbae on the back, and the more friendly they got, the more Seungri’s face darkened.
“What’s the relationship between them, anyway?” Jiyong asked.
“I don’t really know.” Seungri went back to lacing his shoes, but with a little more force. “What Seunghyun says is probably not true because not once have I seen them touching the wrong way or give each other weird eye contact. I heard Youngbae’s trained here since he was little, and has no parents, so I guess the director kind of acts like his father?”
Jiyong felt his insides ache at the mention of fathers, and it must have shown on his face because Seungri frowned and pulled back to survey him better. “You look awful, Jiyong. You’ve got dark circles.” Jiyong tried to make a nonchalant sound, and Seungri patted him on the shoulder. Although his affirmation wasn’t at all convincing, Seungri still left him to do his warm up stretching.
Watching the entire dance class do the same moves in sync was hypnotic and soothing. The choreography made the group move as a whole, but within that whole, Jiyong could pick out the different energies that each person added to the group. As he watched them dance, he thought that each person’s dancing style might be a reflection of their life experiences. Seungri danced in a carefree way, focusing on the technicalities of the choreography; he came from a good home where all he really needed to care about is how to lead his own life. The boy next to Seungri danced as if he were throwing his entire being into the music, wanting to be consumed by it; maybe he was going through a tiresome time and wanted to be distracted from life for just a few minutes. A girl in the back row kept looking to the dancers by her side; she was probably a girl who always tries to seek approval from others-her parents, maybe-because she didn’t seem confident in what she was doing at all.
He wondered how his own dance would look like. Would the moves be weary and lacklustre like his current outlook on life? Maybe they would be angry and violent, the way he sometimes felt when he wanted to draw blood and throw things.
Jiyong’s attention was eventually drawn to Dong Youngbae. They’d been in the same class in second year; all Jiyong could remember was that he was a quiet student, but mostly due to the fact that he was often asleep in class. Dong Youngbae’s dancing was complicated to explain, and he was probably a complicated person, too. He danced like the moves came naturally to him, and Jiyong was mesmerized by the way a human body could move.
During the break, Seungri plopped down on the bench next to him. “Phew, I’m so glad everyone’s finally got the choreography down for this song; it’s one of the dances for the showcase. What do you think?”
“It’s good,” Jiyong replied. “I wish I could dance, too. Seems like a good way to express yourself.”
Seungri shrugged. “Eh, don’t worry about it: dancing’s not for everybody. See, Hyesung’s not good at it at all,” he said, motioning to the girl Jiyong had been watching dance. “Anyway, there are plenty of other ways to express yourself,” he said, patting Jiyong on the leg before standing to leave to buy a drink. Jiyong doesn’t look up again until a shadow looms over him. He first sees the worn in sneakers, before letting his gaze travel up.
“Dong Youngbae,” Jiyong says as a greeting.
Youngbae’s lips quirk up in a small smile. “Kwon Jiyong,” he says in return. Jiyong would be worried that Youngbae was trying to pick a fight with him, Seungri’s friend, but it struck Jiyong that Youngbae seemed to be much too calm a person for something childish like that.
“How old are you?” Jiyong blurted out.
“Seventeen,” Youngbae answered, unfazed by the random question.
“Oh. You dance so well that I was thinking you must have danced for at least a hundred years,” Jiyong teased.
Youngbae smiled brightly at the compliment, and Jiyong returned it, smiling for the first time since his argument with his mother.
Seungri returned with a bottle of juice and looked Youngbae up and down. “What do you want?”
“Just my bag,” answered Youngbae, reaching down to pick up his things. Jiyong quickly lifted his foot, realizing that he had been stepping on the straps. Youngbae pulled out a towel and a bottle of water before dropping the bag back down by Jiyong’s feet.
“Later,” he said, smiling at Jiyong, even giving Seungri a friendly quirk of the mouth, before turning away. Seungri returned the sentiment with a hard glare.
Rating: Probably eventual R or NC-17
Pairing: GDYB, (ToDae?)
Notes: Thoughts were all over the place as I wrote this. Will definitely be edited and changed up in the future.
Jiyong had been hoping for a chance to mail his money off to his dad all week. When Jiyong returned home, his mother was finally out and the house was quiet so he bounded up the stairs and quickly dug around her desk to find a spare envelope and a few stamps. He carefully counted the money that he had saved and then scribbled a quick note-nothing too sappy. At the bottom of the letter, he contemplated on how he should sign off before deciding on “Love, Your Son”. He licked the envelope and stamps, and when everything was sealed and addressed, he was ready to head to the post office to mail off his package.
Or not.
Just as he was coming back down the stairs, the front door swung open. Jiyong’s mother surveyed the disappointment on his face and then eyed the envelope in his hands. “Where are you going?” she asked, closing the door behind her.
“Nowhere,” Jiyong answered a little too quickly, bit the inside of his cheek, and then tried to compose himself.
“Did you get mail?” she prompted, and when he didn’t answer, she guessed again. “You’re sending off mail?” she asked suspiciously, and Jiyong had a feeling that her suspicions were correct. “Don’t you kids all use email? Or is it not one of your school friends you’re sending that to?” She crossed her arms, barring the door.
Jiyong knew she wouldn’t stop without getting some answers, but he tried to get away anyway. He turned and bolted back up the stairs, attempting to barricade himself in his room. His mother followed, two steps behind him, and he was about to slam the door in her face when she grabbed onto the door frame, and he abruptly stopped the door from slamming, hesitant to hurt her. She stepped in and let the door close behind her. Fuck, he really didn’t feel like explaining himself.
“What are you hiding from me, Jiyong?”
“Nothing,” he bit out.
She tried again. “Why don’t you talk to me anymore?”
You’re a whore. Bring back my father. Wish I slammed the door on your hand. I hate you. Jiyong couldn’t put his anger into words and opted for glaring defiantly. His mother closed her eyes in frustration with a sigh and then cut to the chase.
“How did you get his address?” No response. “I know it’s him that you’re mailing.” Jiyong had no lie ready and had nothing he wanted to say, and when she snatched the envelope from him, he didn’t move to stop her. She tore open the still-wet seal and hesitated before pulling out the bundle of cash. She stared at the note before looking up at him.
“Where did you get the money?” she asked, her voice tight, and when Jiyong didn’t answer she pressed on. “Did you steal it?” Jiyong scoffed, looking away. “I didn’t raise you to be a thief,” she whispered, voice full of reproach.
“Fuck you,” Jiyong responded finally. “Don’t judge me, you hypocrite.”
“You stole it,” she breathed in disappointment.
“No, you’re the robber, stealing from my dad! I worked for it.”
“Work? You don’t have a job.”
“Sure I do.” Jiyong felt his anger give way to exhilaration, anticipating the hurt his confession would inflict. “Do you want to know what I do?” He wanted to see pain on his mother’s face, and wanted to hurt her, hurt her, hurt her. “I suck the boys off at school for money. Thirty bucks a pop, and a discount for regulars, and those I have plenty of.”
She gaped at him in disbelief, gaze dropping to his mouth for a second before her face contorted in disgust. “Boys-you do things with other boys.”
“That’s right mom. It’s because of women like you that I’m probably gay,” he spat out, though he never really contemplated his own sexuality.
“Your business-why-”
“It’s great money, though you probably already know that since you’re nice and cushy from all the money you made off from dad. And wait a second,” Jiyong said with a bitter laugh, “I correct myself: you’re not a thief because if seducing unsuspecting men and making off with their money makes me a whore, then I learned from the best mom.”
The blow that landed on his face snapped his head to the side.
“Idiot child, you’ve been fooled! You’re doing all of this for your beloved father, but don’t think for a second that he loves you back. Now that he’s in a ditch, all he wants is your money. If it hadn’t been for me, you would have been dead before you even had the chance to know life, so how dare you say such things to me!” Her shaking hands found the front of his shirt, and the next whispered words permanently changed Jiyong’s world as he knew it: “I raised you like my own!”
As if a dam had cracked after the first secret was spilled, she broke down and couldn’t stop the rest of the truth from spilling out. She shook him by the front of his shirt. “I forgave him again and again, only doing what’s best for you. I only wanted to protect you!” she babbled, and Jiyong couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever seen his mother look so distraught. “You stupid idiot! Why would you ever whore yourself for a man like that?-a monster who never wanted you in the first place!”
“What are you talking about mom?” he whispered, unable to wrap his mind around those implications, feeling his heart clench tighter by the moment.
“I’m not your mom!” she exploded, eyes blazing with tears before she crumpled to the floor. “I’m not your mom,” she repeated in a broken voice.
“How could you not be my mom?” Jiyong swayed on the spot and couldn’t think properly. “I have your nose,” he said blankly, repeating the words that his mother constantly told him, growing up.
She shook her head and pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes to stem the tears. Jiyong was dimly aware that his own face was wet with tears, too. He sunk onto his knees next to her. “Who are my real parents, then?” he asked in a broken whisper.
“Your dad brought you home one day. Said it was a mistake and I didn’t ask who the woman was.” She let out a crazed laugh. “He wanted to send you down the river in a basket like in ancient times. He drove to the riverbank and told me to do it, but I couldn’t.”
Jiyong really didn’t want to ask, but the question was voiced anyway. “Do you love me?” he asked in a small voice.
She choked on her tears, and closed her eyes, the rivulets of tears continuing to stream down her face. “I do. I love you, Jiyong.”
That’s all it took for Jiyong to collapse into her arms like a boy again. He cried, gripping her shirt and her arms and her shoulders, face pressed into her bosom because she was his mother and she loved him, and that was enough at the moment.
On Monday he went to school in a daze. He felt notes being slipped into his pocket and saw them piled up on the corner of his desk, but didn’t care to read them. At lunch, several of his regulars cornered him and demanded why he didn’t show up to the appointments they’ve made. He stood there, unresponsive, until Seungri came by and pulled him over to their lunch table.
“What’s wrong with you, man?” asked Big Seunghyun.
“I…” Jiyong didn’t know what to say. All he knew was that he didn’t want to go home yet and needed to get away from all of this emotional turmoil. “Can we hang out after school today?”
Seunghyun and Daesung exchanged uncomfortable looks with each other. Seungri’s eyes darted between the two of them in curiosity before looking back at Jiyong. “You can hang out with me.” Jiyong nodded in appreciation and went back to chewing his tasteless lunch.
After school, he and Seungri went down to the dance studio where Seungri had class. “They don’t usually allow spectators,” Seungri told him as he led Jiyong to one of the benches on the side, “but I’m sure they’ll make an exception for me”. They sat in comfortable silence as Seungri laced up each of his shoes, until a booming laugh made them both look up.
“That’s the director,” Seungri pointed out, indicating to the man that just walked into the studio with Dong Youngbae. The director laughed and patted Youngbae on the back, and the more friendly they got, the more Seungri’s face darkened.
“What’s the relationship between them, anyway?” Jiyong asked.
“I don’t really know.” Seungri went back to lacing his shoes, but with a little more force. “What Seunghyun says is probably not true because not once have I seen them touching the wrong way or give each other weird eye contact. I heard Youngbae’s trained here since he was little, and has no parents, so I guess the director kind of acts like his father?”
Jiyong felt his insides ache at the mention of fathers, and it must have shown on his face because Seungri frowned and pulled back to survey him better. “You look awful, Jiyong. You’ve got dark circles.” Jiyong tried to make a nonchalant sound, and Seungri patted him on the shoulder. Although his affirmation wasn’t at all convincing, Seungri still left him to do his warm up stretching.
Watching the entire dance class do the same moves in sync was hypnotic and soothing. The choreography made the group move as a whole, but within that whole, Jiyong could pick out the different energies that each person added to the group. As he watched them dance, he thought that each person’s dancing style might be a reflection of their life experiences. Seungri danced in a carefree way, focusing on the technicalities of the choreography; he came from a good home where all he really needed to care about is how to lead his own life. The boy next to Seungri danced as if he were throwing his entire being into the music, wanting to be consumed by it; maybe he was going through a tiresome time and wanted to be distracted from life for just a few minutes. A girl in the back row kept looking to the dancers by her side; she was probably a girl who always tries to seek approval from others-her parents, maybe-because she didn’t seem confident in what she was doing at all.
He wondered how his own dance would look like. Would the moves be weary and lacklustre like his current outlook on life? Maybe they would be angry and violent, the way he sometimes felt when he wanted to draw blood and throw things.
Jiyong’s attention was eventually drawn to Dong Youngbae. They’d been in the same class in second year; all Jiyong could remember was that he was a quiet student, but mostly due to the fact that he was often asleep in class. Dong Youngbae’s dancing was complicated to explain, and he was probably a complicated person, too. He danced like the moves came naturally to him, and Jiyong was mesmerized by the way a human body could move.
During the break, Seungri plopped down on the bench next to him. “Phew, I’m so glad everyone’s finally got the choreography down for this song; it’s one of the dances for the showcase. What do you think?”
“It’s good,” Jiyong replied. “I wish I could dance, too. Seems like a good way to express yourself.”
Seungri shrugged. “Eh, don’t worry about it: dancing’s not for everybody. See, Hyesung’s not good at it at all,” he said, motioning to the girl Jiyong had been watching dance. “Anyway, there are plenty of other ways to express yourself,” he said, patting Jiyong on the leg before standing to leave to buy a drink. Jiyong doesn’t look up again until a shadow looms over him. He first sees the worn in sneakers, before letting his gaze travel up.
“Dong Youngbae,” Jiyong says as a greeting.
Youngbae’s lips quirk up in a small smile. “Kwon Jiyong,” he says in return. Jiyong would be worried that Youngbae was trying to pick a fight with him, Seungri’s friend, but it struck Jiyong that Youngbae seemed to be much too calm a person for something childish like that.
“How old are you?” Jiyong blurted out.
“Seventeen,” Youngbae answered, unfazed by the random question.
“Oh. You dance so well that I was thinking you must have danced for at least a hundred years,” Jiyong teased.
Youngbae smiled brightly at the compliment, and Jiyong returned it, smiling for the first time since his argument with his mother.
Seungri returned with a bottle of juice and looked Youngbae up and down. “What do you want?”
“Just my bag,” answered Youngbae, reaching down to pick up his things. Jiyong quickly lifted his foot, realizing that he had been stepping on the straps. Youngbae pulled out a towel and a bottle of water before dropping the bag back down by Jiyong’s feet.
“Later,” he said, smiling at Jiyong, even giving Seungri a friendly quirk of the mouth, before turning away. Seungri returned the sentiment with a hard glare.