the pursuit of happiness (2/3)whetstoneOctober 17 2010, 07:22:40 UTC
she’s watching bom and kush fight over an appetizer when jiyong sidles up next to her. he’s looking particularly g-dragonish today, clothes skimpier and more colorful than usual, but the goofy smile splashed across his face is really his; when he turns it on her, she can’t help but mirror it.
“they’re cute,” he yells over the music.
“he has a girlfriend!”
“it’s okay, they’ll never go anywhere.”
“how do you know?”
“i just know,” he says, grinning. “there are no secrets in this family.”
chaerin panics for a split-second. jiyong’s arm winds around her shoulders and she’s reminded of exactly one month in 2006, when her eyes were full of him and his hair and his clothes and his laugh, his pep-talks and the very tips of his fingers brushing against hers, sending shivers along her nerves to her spine.
if he knows that particular secret, he says nothing about it. so she crows, “oppa, i know something you don’t know.”
jiyong raises an eyebrow.
“don’t ever go for indie rock kids,” she says, and jiyong laughs. then she recounts the night with seunghyun, the both of them doped up on wine and sad music, and something in his face changes.
“it’s like kush-oppa and bommie,” she says. “you’re friends, and there’s that point where you could be more if you wanted to, but you really don’t want to. you know what i mean?”
“not really,” jiyong replies. he knuckles her knee, eyes flitting towards the crowd.
“oppa,” she says, and when she unfurls his fist there are half-moons in the skin of his palm. “do you like him?”
“yeah.” jiyong shrugs. he looks at her mouth then, like he’s trying to trace the path seunghyun had made there. “no secrets in this family.”
---
teddy plays all kinds of instruments, or at least that’s what it seems like. the mixing board can be a piano or a guitar, a harp or a violin, but mostly it pumps out what her father would laughingly dub “noise,” electronic bleeps teddy easily strings into songs.
when chaerin comes in with the rest of her group she pulls out her own chair. she props her chin in her hands and watches him work for a while as minji does vocal takes in the soundbooth.
“tired?” she asks.
teddy nods absentmindedly, mouth moving with lyrics chaerin’s sure she’ll have to memorize later.
“do you want some food?”
“order whatever you want, chaerin-ah. i’ll pay.”
“i’m not really hungry,” she says, but teddy’s gone back to the computer, eyes roving over the screen. when she turns back to the booth minji pouts at her, big eyes and blown-out cheeks from behind the microphone screen.
when it’s her turn behind the glass she does her best. the verse flies out of her like it’d always been there, waiting. bom punches a fist into the air and dara turns away from the camera, flashing her a thumbs up. chaerin saunters out of the booth, proud in her skintight jeans and leather jacket, but teddy’s eyes roam over the curves of her voice on the screen, not the ones on her body.
the next time she goes in to record she’s wearing her rattiest hoodie and an old pair of flared-legged jeans, leaving right after her part. she’s decided to take guitar lessons on her own, starting today. maybe piano, too.
“they’re cute,” he yells over the music.
“he has a girlfriend!”
“it’s okay, they’ll never go anywhere.”
“how do you know?”
“i just know,” he says, grinning. “there are no secrets in this family.”
chaerin panics for a split-second. jiyong’s arm winds around her shoulders and she’s reminded of exactly one month in 2006, when her eyes were full of him and his hair and his clothes and his laugh, his pep-talks and the very tips of his fingers brushing against hers, sending shivers along her nerves to her spine.
if he knows that particular secret, he says nothing about it. so she crows, “oppa, i know something you don’t know.”
jiyong raises an eyebrow.
“don’t ever go for indie rock kids,” she says, and jiyong laughs. then she recounts the night with seunghyun, the both of them doped up on wine and sad music, and something in his face changes.
“it’s like kush-oppa and bommie,” she says. “you’re friends, and there’s that point where you could be more if you wanted to, but you really don’t want to. you know what i mean?”
“not really,” jiyong replies. he knuckles her knee, eyes flitting towards the crowd.
“oppa,” she says, and when she unfurls his fist there are half-moons in the skin of his palm. “do you like him?”
“yeah.” jiyong shrugs. he looks at her mouth then, like he’s trying to trace the path seunghyun had made there. “no secrets in this family.”
---
teddy plays all kinds of instruments, or at least that’s what it seems like. the mixing board can be a piano or a guitar, a harp or a violin, but mostly it pumps out what her father would laughingly dub “noise,” electronic bleeps teddy easily strings into songs.
when chaerin comes in with the rest of her group she pulls out her own chair. she props her chin in her hands and watches him work for a while as minji does vocal takes in the soundbooth.
“tired?” she asks.
teddy nods absentmindedly, mouth moving with lyrics chaerin’s sure she’ll have to memorize later.
“do you want some food?”
“order whatever you want, chaerin-ah. i’ll pay.”
“i’m not really hungry,” she says, but teddy’s gone back to the computer, eyes roving over the screen. when she turns back to the booth minji pouts at her, big eyes and blown-out cheeks from behind the microphone screen.
when it’s her turn behind the glass she does her best. the verse flies out of her like it’d always been there, waiting. bom punches a fist into the air and dara turns away from the camera, flashing her a thumbs up. chaerin saunters out of the booth, proud in her skintight jeans and leather jacket, but teddy’s eyes roam over the curves of her voice on the screen, not the ones on her body.
the next time she goes in to record she’s wearing her rattiest hoodie and an old pair of flared-legged jeans, leaving right after her part. she’s decided to take guitar lessons on her own, starting today. maybe piano, too.
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