[ficlet] the perfect place to hide
Title: the perfect place to hide
Pairing: jiyong-centric
Rating: PG
Genre: character sketching, slice-of-life
Warnings: swearing, lapslock
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: thoughts about thoughts. switchfoot was my muse tonight. if only the world was this perfect :( cross-posted at yokshim & bigbang_fanfic.
last week saw me living for nothing but deadlines with my dead beat sky
but this town doesn't look the same tonight
these dreams started singing to me out of nowhere
and all my life i don't know that i've ever felt so alive, alive
- - awakening, switchfoot
he doesn’t know when it started being about the money, the fame, the glory. his original dreams, his ultimate goals, the lofty plans he’d talked about breathlessly with youngbae when they’d been young-they blur too easily behind the hazy smoke of businessmen’s deals and managers’ deadlines.
he doesn’t remember how it happens, but suddenly it’s all about the highest-grossing album, the most marketable song, shock-value to impress and amaze the masses, what will make the fangirls scream for more and the ajummas scream bloody murder. blond goldilocks curls? sure. flying back and forth three times, ping-ponging between japan and korea all in one morning? no problem, it’s for the good of the company, isn’t it? and what’s next? checkered leggings, bright orange boots?
jiyong-ah, comes the niggling voice in the back of his mind. it’s always been - it always needs to be - about the music, the melodic flow from one note to the next, the careful selection of chord progressions and juggling of beats that make his whole body vibrate. it’s the basest (and yet most meaningful) aspect of his profession; stripped of all its pretty packaging and autotune and witty lyrics, this is what he does and this is what it should have always been about.
it becomes too much too fast, and the controversies jar him out of his calculated lethargy, his habitual blind-eye to the mistakes they’ve all made.
over the weekend, he tells a stunned yang-goon that he’s taking the next couple of days off and pointedly instructs him not to send any annoying, unwanted people after.
(here we are now with the falling sky and the rain - we're awakening
here we are now with the desperate youth and pain - we're awakening)
- -
it feels good to run for miles and miles through empty corn fields, following the well-beaten trails of countless before him-it gives him some priceless time to stop and think, something that is never available in the rush of schedules or the presence of the sheer amount of people that want to talk. to. him.
it lets him finally think about the trial, the subpoena, the fallout of what he’s done. he rolls around in scraggly piles of grass, picks lazily at stray dandelions scattered haphazardly over the landscape. there’ll be a fee to pay, definitely-yang-goon could have told him as much, no matter how stupid it is.
he’d like to think the reason for all of this is that he’s just too progressive for conservative korea: too contemporary and frankly, too extreme for its delicate sensibilities. but if he’s honest with himself, he’s only one kid, only an infinitesimal dot in the grand scheme of things. the cold and judging panel won’t hold back just because he is a gasoo, and he admits that such favoritism would be unfair. it’s just that he’s still confident enough that without anyone telling him, he knows without a doubt that he will not be going to jail; he is kwon fucking jiyong and he doesn’t like to lose.
the situation kind of excites him, gets the stagnant, languid blood in his veins pumping faster. finally, a small part of his brain thinks. it’s been too long since the last challenge.
or, maybe he’s reading all the signals wrong and he’s going crazy (just a little bit). people have been saying it for years, anyway.
(i wanna wake up kicking and screaming
i wanna live like i know what i'm leaving
i wanna know that my heart's still beating)
- -
he returns two days late, expecting pandemonium and search parties and coordis pulling their hair out, but there are no questions asked, no fusses made (unless he counts when seungri asks him if he brought back any souvenirs). it’s rather refreshing, people not making a big deal out of his offhanded actions, his impromptu decisions.
at the dorm, seunghyun gives him his slow, silent looks, youngbae grants him a gracefully uplifted eyebrow. daesung cracks lame jokes and seungri sidesteps him whenever they’re alone in the apartment. jiyong doesn’t get it, and the walking on eggshells makes him want to throw a brick at their wide-screen tv.
the mantra lodged in his brain rears its head, makes itself known: i want to make music for music’s sake. he repeats it out loud, over and over again.
baby steps, youngbae murmurs, but afterwards, there is a forward bounce in his step that jiyong hasn’t seen in a long time. seunghyun smiles with his eyes, says they can take it from there after the dust from the trial settles.
there are no regrets.
(maybe it's called ambition
but you've been talking in your sleep about a dream
we’re awakening.)
A/N: um yeah idk where this came from ;__;
Pairing: jiyong-centric
Rating: PG
Genre: character sketching, slice-of-life
Warnings: swearing, lapslock
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: thoughts about thoughts. switchfoot was my muse tonight. if only the world was this perfect :( cross-posted at yokshim & bigbang_fanfic.
last week saw me living for nothing but deadlines with my dead beat sky
but this town doesn't look the same tonight
these dreams started singing to me out of nowhere
and all my life i don't know that i've ever felt so alive, alive
- - awakening, switchfoot
he doesn’t know when it started being about the money, the fame, the glory. his original dreams, his ultimate goals, the lofty plans he’d talked about breathlessly with youngbae when they’d been young-they blur too easily behind the hazy smoke of businessmen’s deals and managers’ deadlines.
he doesn’t remember how it happens, but suddenly it’s all about the highest-grossing album, the most marketable song, shock-value to impress and amaze the masses, what will make the fangirls scream for more and the ajummas scream bloody murder. blond goldilocks curls? sure. flying back and forth three times, ping-ponging between japan and korea all in one morning? no problem, it’s for the good of the company, isn’t it? and what’s next? checkered leggings, bright orange boots?
jiyong-ah, comes the niggling voice in the back of his mind. it’s always been - it always needs to be - about the music, the melodic flow from one note to the next, the careful selection of chord progressions and juggling of beats that make his whole body vibrate. it’s the basest (and yet most meaningful) aspect of his profession; stripped of all its pretty packaging and autotune and witty lyrics, this is what he does and this is what it should have always been about.
it becomes too much too fast, and the controversies jar him out of his calculated lethargy, his habitual blind-eye to the mistakes they’ve all made.
over the weekend, he tells a stunned yang-goon that he’s taking the next couple of days off and pointedly instructs him not to send any annoying, unwanted people after.
(here we are now with the falling sky and the rain - we're awakening
here we are now with the desperate youth and pain - we're awakening)
- -
it feels good to run for miles and miles through empty corn fields, following the well-beaten trails of countless before him-it gives him some priceless time to stop and think, something that is never available in the rush of schedules or the presence of the sheer amount of people that want to talk. to. him.
it lets him finally think about the trial, the subpoena, the fallout of what he’s done. he rolls around in scraggly piles of grass, picks lazily at stray dandelions scattered haphazardly over the landscape. there’ll be a fee to pay, definitely-yang-goon could have told him as much, no matter how stupid it is.
he’d like to think the reason for all of this is that he’s just too progressive for conservative korea: too contemporary and frankly, too extreme for its delicate sensibilities. but if he’s honest with himself, he’s only one kid, only an infinitesimal dot in the grand scheme of things. the cold and judging panel won’t hold back just because he is a gasoo, and he admits that such favoritism would be unfair. it’s just that he’s still confident enough that without anyone telling him, he knows without a doubt that he will not be going to jail; he is kwon fucking jiyong and he doesn’t like to lose.
the situation kind of excites him, gets the stagnant, languid blood in his veins pumping faster. finally, a small part of his brain thinks. it’s been too long since the last challenge.
or, maybe he’s reading all the signals wrong and he’s going crazy (just a little bit). people have been saying it for years, anyway.
(i wanna wake up kicking and screaming
i wanna live like i know what i'm leaving
i wanna know that my heart's still beating)
- -
he returns two days late, expecting pandemonium and search parties and coordis pulling their hair out, but there are no questions asked, no fusses made (unless he counts when seungri asks him if he brought back any souvenirs). it’s rather refreshing, people not making a big deal out of his offhanded actions, his impromptu decisions.
at the dorm, seunghyun gives him his slow, silent looks, youngbae grants him a gracefully uplifted eyebrow. daesung cracks lame jokes and seungri sidesteps him whenever they’re alone in the apartment. jiyong doesn’t get it, and the walking on eggshells makes him want to throw a brick at their wide-screen tv.
the mantra lodged in his brain rears its head, makes itself known: i want to make music for music’s sake. he repeats it out loud, over and over again.
baby steps, youngbae murmurs, but afterwards, there is a forward bounce in his step that jiyong hasn’t seen in a long time. seunghyun smiles with his eyes, says they can take it from there after the dust from the trial settles.
there are no regrets.
(maybe it's called ambition
but you've been talking in your sleep about a dream
we’re awakening.)
A/N: um yeah idk where this came from ;__;