three drabbles
memorandum
gtop
pg
hey dumbass,
there’s coffee in the pot. if you wake up in time it’ll still be warm.
finish your album already.
p.s. i ripped your givenchy hoodie pocket. sucks for you.
-jiyong
he used to find slips of paper in his shirt sleeves, rolled into his cigarette boxes, crinkled into his wallet.
one in katakana; he spent two hours with his japanese textbook until he puzzled out toilet is clogged and it’s probably your fault.
one that crinkled against his ear when he rolled over that morning, sharpie on the blank silver foil of last night’s condom wrapper: that was good, but we can do better.
one was stapled into his favorite blazer. when he’d cursed and pulled at it, a section of thread unraveled. don’t ever wear this again, it said. your shoulders look huge. you don’t even like the rolling stones.
one was a post-it taped to a box of chocopies: master hwang says you’re on a diet; one bookmarked into the novel he’d been reading, you look good with glasses on.
now it just kind of hurts.
seunghyun starts when his starbucks receipts rustle in his pockets. he stares at the tallies for black coffee or mint tea and makes anagrams out of the words while the van ferries him around the city. the paper cuts heal but his memory just gets worse; he thinks his brain is doing it on purpose.
one day he opens the door to find a planner propped up against it, plastic wrapping ripped open and cover bent back, words already scribbled inside.
so you don’t forget.
---
ice cream headaches
gtop
pg
based on top and speedmotion's drunken shenanigans.
“Put that back,” he hisses, grabbing at Seunghyun’s wrist. Seunghyun has a strawberry shortcake ice cream bar stuck halfway into his mouth, the wrapper crumpled into the closed fist holding onto the stick.
“Tastes good, though,” he mumbles, the smell of beer wafting out from under his breath. “Want some?” The half-congealed popsicle is shoved into Jiyong’s face and he leans as far away from it as possible, nose wrinkled.
“Let’s just...”
Seunghyun slings an arm around Jiyong’s shoulders and he falls silent as Seunghyun nuzzles his nose through his hair. “You smell nice,” he declares. He’s getting ice cream in there, Jiyong guesses, but the rare flash of bodily contact has him frozen, at least until the cashier reappears from the back room.
“Go pay for that,” Jiyong says, undoing himself from the messy tangle of gangly limbs wrapped around him. “Now.” He follows as Seunghyun meanders towards the counter and the middle-aged woman eyeing them from behind the register.
“3,000 won,” she says. Seunghyun stares at her and then turns to look at Jiyong, who sighs melodramatically before reaching for his wallet. Seunghyun grabs his hand, then, and shoves the ice cream into it. “But cashier,” he says, “I’m Big BANG!” His hand flies out with the greeting they’ve practiced a million times, inches from the woman’s nonplussed face. Jiyong sputters and slaps more money than he should have on the counter, bodily dragging Seunghyun away and out of the store before he can begin to freestyle.
---
untitled
gtop
pg
jiyong the adrenaline junkie.
“I don’t get it.”
“When do you ever?” Jiyong replies. He watches Seunghyun tongue the inside of his cheek, overlarge brows knitting together as he frowns and falls silent.
It’s true, really. Jiyong likes to tease him about it. Sometimes he laughs in response, shrugging bunched-up shoulders; other times, like this one, he quiets down, fingers digging into the tassels of his scarf or playing at the hinges of his sunglasses.
Sometimes Jiyong just likes to hurt him, watch the bewildered play of eyelashes that are too long for the eyes that they decorate or hear the scoff that seems to get lower the more cigarettes Seunghyun consumes.
It’s a balance he likes to tightrope and loves to flout, because Seunghyun is the draft that slaps him as he freefalls and the cushion that’s there when he lands.
When he falls this time, he relishes the whistle of wind in his ears, the patchwork of blue and white that drops around him. Adrenaline rushes through his stomach and into his chest, his throat, his heart.
Then he lands.
It’s a sickly crunch into the dank, empty grass.
gtop
pg
hey dumbass,
there’s coffee in the pot. if you wake up in time it’ll still be warm.
finish your album already.
p.s. i ripped your givenchy hoodie pocket. sucks for you.
-jiyong
he used to find slips of paper in his shirt sleeves, rolled into his cigarette boxes, crinkled into his wallet.
one in katakana; he spent two hours with his japanese textbook until he puzzled out toilet is clogged and it’s probably your fault.
one that crinkled against his ear when he rolled over that morning, sharpie on the blank silver foil of last night’s condom wrapper: that was good, but we can do better.
one was stapled into his favorite blazer. when he’d cursed and pulled at it, a section of thread unraveled. don’t ever wear this again, it said. your shoulders look huge. you don’t even like the rolling stones.
one was a post-it taped to a box of chocopies: master hwang says you’re on a diet; one bookmarked into the novel he’d been reading, you look good with glasses on.
now it just kind of hurts.
seunghyun starts when his starbucks receipts rustle in his pockets. he stares at the tallies for black coffee or mint tea and makes anagrams out of the words while the van ferries him around the city. the paper cuts heal but his memory just gets worse; he thinks his brain is doing it on purpose.
one day he opens the door to find a planner propped up against it, plastic wrapping ripped open and cover bent back, words already scribbled inside.
so you don’t forget.
---
ice cream headaches
gtop
pg
based on top and speedmotion's drunken shenanigans.
“Put that back,” he hisses, grabbing at Seunghyun’s wrist. Seunghyun has a strawberry shortcake ice cream bar stuck halfway into his mouth, the wrapper crumpled into the closed fist holding onto the stick.
“Tastes good, though,” he mumbles, the smell of beer wafting out from under his breath. “Want some?” The half-congealed popsicle is shoved into Jiyong’s face and he leans as far away from it as possible, nose wrinkled.
“Let’s just...”
Seunghyun slings an arm around Jiyong’s shoulders and he falls silent as Seunghyun nuzzles his nose through his hair. “You smell nice,” he declares. He’s getting ice cream in there, Jiyong guesses, but the rare flash of bodily contact has him frozen, at least until the cashier reappears from the back room.
“Go pay for that,” Jiyong says, undoing himself from the messy tangle of gangly limbs wrapped around him. “Now.” He follows as Seunghyun meanders towards the counter and the middle-aged woman eyeing them from behind the register.
“3,000 won,” she says. Seunghyun stares at her and then turns to look at Jiyong, who sighs melodramatically before reaching for his wallet. Seunghyun grabs his hand, then, and shoves the ice cream into it. “But cashier,” he says, “I’m Big BANG!” His hand flies out with the greeting they’ve practiced a million times, inches from the woman’s nonplussed face. Jiyong sputters and slaps more money than he should have on the counter, bodily dragging Seunghyun away and out of the store before he can begin to freestyle.
---
untitled
gtop
pg
jiyong the adrenaline junkie.
“I don’t get it.”
“When do you ever?” Jiyong replies. He watches Seunghyun tongue the inside of his cheek, overlarge brows knitting together as he frowns and falls silent.
It’s true, really. Jiyong likes to tease him about it. Sometimes he laughs in response, shrugging bunched-up shoulders; other times, like this one, he quiets down, fingers digging into the tassels of his scarf or playing at the hinges of his sunglasses.
Sometimes Jiyong just likes to hurt him, watch the bewildered play of eyelashes that are too long for the eyes that they decorate or hear the scoff that seems to get lower the more cigarettes Seunghyun consumes.
It’s a balance he likes to tightrope and loves to flout, because Seunghyun is the draft that slaps him as he freefalls and the cushion that’s there when he lands.
When he falls this time, he relishes the whistle of wind in his ears, the patchwork of blue and white that drops around him. Adrenaline rushes through his stomach and into his chest, his throat, his heart.
Then he lands.
It’s a sickly crunch into the dank, empty grass.