latitude, longitude
latitude, longitude
gdragon/top
rated pg
694 words
warnings: lapslock, copious amounts of fluff.
manchester is a crowded city, council estates and plate glass dotting the skyline. in the rain the city washes out into faded grey concrete and wilted old grass. jiyong snaps a picture with his cell phone.
thought you’d like this, he types. the same color as that spray-on in your hair.
---
new york is loud; they forego times square and the statue of liberty. seungho laughs when jiyong mentions williamsburg and they trawl through boutiques, wired from caffeine and the big barney’s that sits downtown.
jiyong takes a photo of a pair of pierre hardy sneakers sitting under glass. getting these, the message reads, so don’t bother looking.
---
the photographer suggests something rugged, something derelict, so on the way to california they stop in detroit.
michigan central station is empty, unused. jiyong squats under a crumbling pillar and follows the curve up to the ceiling. there’s tile overhead, shades of green making some sort of an ocean scene, and when he looks out of the window there’s no city, just empty, rippling grass and broken brick foundation. the cameraman asks him to face the other way so the sun can hit his cheekbones better.
jiyong sends a picture of a spiderweb strung through a half-rotted service counter. destroy something beautiful, he writes. after ten minutes his pocket vibrates.
you can do better than palahniuk.
after photoshopping the screen glare out the photographer declares the last photo, the one with jiyong’s smile in it, will be the one on the single’s front insert.
---
jiyong likes san francisco.
he likes wearing scarves and the grey-red trains and the crammed-together houses. he likes walking down the big, steep hills that wind snakelike through the city and the millions of coffee shops strewn across the streets, the fog that settles into the sky first thing in the morning.
over a cup of coffee they trace fingers over subway maps and end up in japantown.
i’ll get this for you if you can tell me what it says. he makes a slow loop around the giant toy as he waits.
“what are you laughing about?” seungho asks. “i thought you couldn’t read japanese.”
“i can’t.”
---
in l.a. he goes to koreatown under a mask and looks up his cd at the galleria. there’s only one left and the fact makes pride buoy up in his chest, so much so that he buys that last copy, the casing going slippery with sweat as he carries it up to the register.
over a plate of mandu in the food court jiyong sends a photo of the receipt. since you didn’t buy your own.
what’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine. the screen is filled with a thumb and half of a pillow, the knee of a pajama and a heartbreaker hoodie. he can see tom’s head and gaho’s paw and the bottle of water he’d left on the nightstand before he’d gone.
jiyong hands his shopping bag to a girl in a nii hoodie and winks, jogging out quick as she begins to scream.
---
jiyong’s got two messages left before they shut his service off. too much money, they said, why didn’t you get a calling card?
he bounds up the steps, louis vuitton suitcase clattering onto the polished floor. the house is quiet, empty except for the furniture and boss, curled up in his kennel in the corner. jiyong chews on his lip; he thinks that if seungho were here to see him now he’d never hear the end of it.
seunghyun’s door has a new sticker on it: his stage name’s logo for his solo album. jiyong tilts his head, turns on the sound on his phone, takes a picture and hits send.
his palms itch and his lips twitch and he cocks his brow, tries on an impassive expression but then the door opens and it all flies away. instead it’s replaced with a shrug, three bags of toys shoved into arms unprepared for them and jiyong’s big, irrepressible grin.
gdragon/top
rated pg
694 words
warnings: lapslock, copious amounts of fluff.
manchester is a crowded city, council estates and plate glass dotting the skyline. in the rain the city washes out into faded grey concrete and wilted old grass. jiyong snaps a picture with his cell phone.
thought you’d like this, he types. the same color as that spray-on in your hair.
---
new york is loud; they forego times square and the statue of liberty. seungho laughs when jiyong mentions williamsburg and they trawl through boutiques, wired from caffeine and the big barney’s that sits downtown.
jiyong takes a photo of a pair of pierre hardy sneakers sitting under glass. getting these, the message reads, so don’t bother looking.
---
the photographer suggests something rugged, something derelict, so on the way to california they stop in detroit.
michigan central station is empty, unused. jiyong squats under a crumbling pillar and follows the curve up to the ceiling. there’s tile overhead, shades of green making some sort of an ocean scene, and when he looks out of the window there’s no city, just empty, rippling grass and broken brick foundation. the cameraman asks him to face the other way so the sun can hit his cheekbones better.
jiyong sends a picture of a spiderweb strung through a half-rotted service counter. destroy something beautiful, he writes. after ten minutes his pocket vibrates.
you can do better than palahniuk.
after photoshopping the screen glare out the photographer declares the last photo, the one with jiyong’s smile in it, will be the one on the single’s front insert.
---
jiyong likes san francisco.
he likes wearing scarves and the grey-red trains and the crammed-together houses. he likes walking down the big, steep hills that wind snakelike through the city and the millions of coffee shops strewn across the streets, the fog that settles into the sky first thing in the morning.
over a cup of coffee they trace fingers over subway maps and end up in japantown.
i’ll get this for you if you can tell me what it says. he makes a slow loop around the giant toy as he waits.
“what are you laughing about?” seungho asks. “i thought you couldn’t read japanese.”
“i can’t.”
---
in l.a. he goes to koreatown under a mask and looks up his cd at the galleria. there’s only one left and the fact makes pride buoy up in his chest, so much so that he buys that last copy, the casing going slippery with sweat as he carries it up to the register.
over a plate of mandu in the food court jiyong sends a photo of the receipt. since you didn’t buy your own.
what’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine. the screen is filled with a thumb and half of a pillow, the knee of a pajama and a heartbreaker hoodie. he can see tom’s head and gaho’s paw and the bottle of water he’d left on the nightstand before he’d gone.
jiyong hands his shopping bag to a girl in a nii hoodie and winks, jogging out quick as she begins to scream.
---
jiyong’s got two messages left before they shut his service off. too much money, they said, why didn’t you get a calling card?
he bounds up the steps, louis vuitton suitcase clattering onto the polished floor. the house is quiet, empty except for the furniture and boss, curled up in his kennel in the corner. jiyong chews on his lip; he thinks that if seungho were here to see him now he’d never hear the end of it.
seunghyun’s door has a new sticker on it: his stage name’s logo for his solo album. jiyong tilts his head, turns on the sound on his phone, takes a picture and hits send.
his palms itch and his lips twitch and he cocks his brow, tries on an impassive expression but then the door opens and it all flies away. instead it’s replaced with a shrug, three bags of toys shoved into arms unprepared for them and jiyong’s big, irrepressible grin.