[ficlet(s)] icarus wings (10/10)
Title: icarus wings
Pairing: GTOP
Genre: romance, angst
Rating: PG
Warnings: swearing
Author: gdgdbaby
Beta: lovelyable
Summary: Collection of PWPs & character sketches revolving around the GTOP pairing.
Parts: 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10
Notes: The end. Cross posted at bigbang_fanfic & g_top & yokshim .
The plane ride to Japan is all sorts of awkward, and it’s compounded by the fact that several members of the management and staff are also on board with them.
Daesung and Seungri are being idiots and using the complementary pretzels to make castles that collapse at every sign of movement; Youngbae’s curiously turning the dials of the in-flight radio. Seunghyun sits down at the front and grips the seat edge hard as out of his peripherals he can see Jiyong going to the very back of the plane.
Some SBS program’s PD has followed Jiyong inside to ask him a final question.
“If you had to choose, what age would you want to be forever, and why?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Seunghyun watches Jiyong’s brow furrow in flustered concentration. “Um, I’d like to be ten, or maybe one hundred. Because ten would be before I had to start dealing with publicity and growing up too early, and if I was a hundred, then all of this shit would be over already.”
Silence rings through the cabin, pervasive and off-tune, stale.
For good reason, Seunghyun thinks, that clip is never aired.
- -
The next few days are a blur of movement: halting, choppy Japanese and dance lessons, radio shows and recordings.
Tonight, Jiyong looks like he’s about to explode with the way he’s dancing, the fluidity compromised by angry jerks and sullen gaps. Jaewook, sighing, ends practice early and tells them to get some rest. Youngbae gives Seunghyun a pointed glance and ushers the two dongsaengs out the door, saying he’ll treat them to some street takoyaki.
Jiyong looks up and realizes that they’re alone, but before he can make a move to leave, Seunghyun is jabbing a finger into his bony chest.
“Why are you being such a hardass?”
Jiyong’s back snaps up, tension making his body spring to rigid attention, as if he’s been waiting for this. He takes a few steps backwards, face stony. “If I’m a hardass, then you’re a coward. You’re not serious about anything, so laidback about the whole thing that I don’t even know what to think. I don’t understand any of your cues, because you don’t fucking have any.”
Seunghyun’s jaw drops, not expecting the wall of words. He pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing hard. “People aren’t cue cards meant to be read, Ji. We all have our own problems, but there’s this thing called sharing. Maybe you haven’t heard of it before, because you’re so caught up in your own woe that you can’t see us. You can’t see us wanting to help you.”
Jiyong’s wound so tight he looks like he’s about to collapse (he’s not sure whether from sheer exhaustion or from Seunghyun’s words, but it’s probably a mixture of both). Seunghyun reaches him in three large steps, grabs his arm to steady him. For the first time since the morning after, Jiyong doesn’t pull away - but Seunghyun is on a roll with his spiel and it doesn’t really register.
It’s like a dam has finally been broken, and he goes on, words spilling, overflowing from his mouth.
“We want to know so badly - yeah, you heard right, it’s not just me. It’s so much more than me, it’s all of us. God, Jiyong. We understand each other like the backs of our own hands, we understand you, and yet you don’t trust us with anything. I know it’s gonna be hard, but this shield against the world shit has got to go.”
“What about you?”
It’s so soft and unexpected that Seunghyun nearly plows on.
“It’s not your place to try and make everything right, but you’re just so-wait, what?”
Jiyong’s eyes are hard and accusing. “I don’t get you. You do it with everyone else, that’s what you said, and then when I’m drunk out of my mind, you have sex with me.”
And Seunghyun nearly starts crying with relief, because he knows, finally knows what’s been bothering Jiyong, what he’s been too hesitant to voice.
“Oh my God, Jiyong, I was lying, I pulled that straight outta my ass. I have about as much time to screw around with random strangers as you do, and I’m not even doing any solo activities. I’m not cookie-cutter perfect, nobody is, and goodness, you should stop thinking you have to be-”
“Lying?” It’s the one word he seems to latch onto, and an indescribable look enters Jiyong’s eyes, something like a mixture of hope and fear and apprehension.
Seunghyun’s shaking a little bit, and he runs a hand through his hair. “For crying out l-yes, I was lying. I fucking love you, you stupid, oblivious, inconsiderate, self-centered, shitty bastard.”
Oh, holy fuck, he thinks, because Jiyong still looks scared shitless, but now it’s for completely different reasons. The whirring of the heating system is too loud in his ears, and the lack of response is stretching longer and longer-
Jiyong jerks his arm out of Seunghyun’s slack grip and sits down hard on the veneered floor, staring at something in the air that doesn’t exist for anyone but him.
He takes this at his signal to leave. “I’m glad we had this talk,” Seunghyun says, voice hoarse, and walks out of the room.
- -
The next day, he’s still annoyed as hell, and the way he rips open the package of instant noodles like it murdered his mother has everyone in the studio avoiding him with a five-foot radius.
The door clicks and slams open so fast that no one has time to react before a smear of color appears next to him and a fist smashes into the side of his head.
Seunghyun’s head snaps to the right at the impact, and he wrenches his face around to gawk up at Jiyong in incredulity because that seriously hurt - he doesn’t get a chance to yell at him, because Jiyong literally shoves his tongue down Seunghyun’s throat and the only thing that comes to mind is a line from a cheesy song he’d once heard.
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free.
Something large and heavy clunks down onto his lap, and he pulls away, sucking in air. Trying to catch his breath, Seunghun opens the box to reveal the biggest, ugliest cake he’s ever seen.
Jiyong’s always been indecipherable, and he figures it’s typical that he’d be even more so on occasions like these. “I hear it’s your birthday today,” Jiyong says nonchalantly, and Seunghyun nearly chokes on his own spit.
“Yes, and I hear you’re an OCD perfectionist with a hero-complex that won’t go away and a problem with self-blame.” He glares up at the other man, ignoring the cake and rubbing at the sore spot on his head. “Also, I can’t believe you punched me,” petulance coloring his angry tone.
There’s a beat of silence, but for some reason, it isn’t awkward, isn’t uncomfortable. The blond fiddles with the buttons on his jacket, slips into the seat next to his and sets a bony chin on Seunghyun’s shoulder.
“So what’s all this supposed to mean?” Seunghyun exhales at last.
He feels rather than sees Jiyong’s sharp gaze on his features.
Flailing hands appear in front of his face and start counting off, Jiyong’s jaw moving up and down on his shoulder, pressing down to the rhythm of his words.
“It means I'm angry that you didn't say anything before yesterday. And one, you’re not allowed sleep with anyone else, ever, as in we’re fucking exclusive; two, we’re taking things as slowly as we can because I have no idea what I’m doing and I doubt you do either; three, we’re not technically dating because that would be unprofessional and you can’t kiss me in front of other people; four, I'll try to tell you what's on my mind but no promises because I suck at that kind of stuff, and what kind of man has heart-to-hearts with other people-”
Jiyong’s rambling, not making any sense, being contradictory and clearly hasn’t thought this out, so Seunghyun shuts him with another kiss. The lack of coherent objection to this (given the very real presence of "other people" in the room) serves to prove his point.
He thinks about it, rolls his eyes, and doesn’t understand how he could ever have thought they’d be anything but dysfunctional.
He's alright with it for now, though, because Jiyong is here and he can feel him moving against his mouth, warm and firm and tangible.
They can always figure out the specifics later.
fin
- -
A/N: sorry it took so long for me to post this! thanks to everyone who read even one of the bits and pieces of this set of drabbles. i really appreciate the concrit and everything else mixed in between. y'all are awesome! (and so are you, summer, for putting up with my faily first draft ♥) one day i'll probably go back through the parts to make them flow better. until next time, guyss :)
Pairing: GTOP
Genre: romance, angst
Rating: PG
Warnings: swearing
Author: gdgdbaby
Beta: lovelyable
Summary: Collection of PWPs & character sketches revolving around the GTOP pairing.
Parts: 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10
Notes: The end. Cross posted at bigbang_fanfic & g_top & yokshim .
The plane ride to Japan is all sorts of awkward, and it’s compounded by the fact that several members of the management and staff are also on board with them.
Daesung and Seungri are being idiots and using the complementary pretzels to make castles that collapse at every sign of movement; Youngbae’s curiously turning the dials of the in-flight radio. Seunghyun sits down at the front and grips the seat edge hard as out of his peripherals he can see Jiyong going to the very back of the plane.
Some SBS program’s PD has followed Jiyong inside to ask him a final question.
“If you had to choose, what age would you want to be forever, and why?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Seunghyun watches Jiyong’s brow furrow in flustered concentration. “Um, I’d like to be ten, or maybe one hundred. Because ten would be before I had to start dealing with publicity and growing up too early, and if I was a hundred, then all of this shit would be over already.”
Silence rings through the cabin, pervasive and off-tune, stale.
For good reason, Seunghyun thinks, that clip is never aired.
- -
The next few days are a blur of movement: halting, choppy Japanese and dance lessons, radio shows and recordings.
Tonight, Jiyong looks like he’s about to explode with the way he’s dancing, the fluidity compromised by angry jerks and sullen gaps. Jaewook, sighing, ends practice early and tells them to get some rest. Youngbae gives Seunghyun a pointed glance and ushers the two dongsaengs out the door, saying he’ll treat them to some street takoyaki.
Jiyong looks up and realizes that they’re alone, but before he can make a move to leave, Seunghyun is jabbing a finger into his bony chest.
“Why are you being such a hardass?”
Jiyong’s back snaps up, tension making his body spring to rigid attention, as if he’s been waiting for this. He takes a few steps backwards, face stony. “If I’m a hardass, then you’re a coward. You’re not serious about anything, so laidback about the whole thing that I don’t even know what to think. I don’t understand any of your cues, because you don’t fucking have any.”
Seunghyun’s jaw drops, not expecting the wall of words. He pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing hard. “People aren’t cue cards meant to be read, Ji. We all have our own problems, but there’s this thing called sharing. Maybe you haven’t heard of it before, because you’re so caught up in your own woe that you can’t see us. You can’t see us wanting to help you.”
Jiyong’s wound so tight he looks like he’s about to collapse (he’s not sure whether from sheer exhaustion or from Seunghyun’s words, but it’s probably a mixture of both). Seunghyun reaches him in three large steps, grabs his arm to steady him. For the first time since the morning after, Jiyong doesn’t pull away - but Seunghyun is on a roll with his spiel and it doesn’t really register.
It’s like a dam has finally been broken, and he goes on, words spilling, overflowing from his mouth.
“We want to know so badly - yeah, you heard right, it’s not just me. It’s so much more than me, it’s all of us. God, Jiyong. We understand each other like the backs of our own hands, we understand you, and yet you don’t trust us with anything. I know it’s gonna be hard, but this shield against the world shit has got to go.”
“What about you?”
It’s so soft and unexpected that Seunghyun nearly plows on.
“It’s not your place to try and make everything right, but you’re just so-wait, what?”
Jiyong’s eyes are hard and accusing. “I don’t get you. You do it with everyone else, that’s what you said, and then when I’m drunk out of my mind, you have sex with me.”
And Seunghyun nearly starts crying with relief, because he knows, finally knows what’s been bothering Jiyong, what he’s been too hesitant to voice.
“Oh my God, Jiyong, I was lying, I pulled that straight outta my ass. I have about as much time to screw around with random strangers as you do, and I’m not even doing any solo activities. I’m not cookie-cutter perfect, nobody is, and goodness, you should stop thinking you have to be-”
“Lying?” It’s the one word he seems to latch onto, and an indescribable look enters Jiyong’s eyes, something like a mixture of hope and fear and apprehension.
Seunghyun’s shaking a little bit, and he runs a hand through his hair. “For crying out l-yes, I was lying. I fucking love you, you stupid, oblivious, inconsiderate, self-centered, shitty bastard.”
Oh, holy fuck, he thinks, because Jiyong still looks scared shitless, but now it’s for completely different reasons. The whirring of the heating system is too loud in his ears, and the lack of response is stretching longer and longer-
Jiyong jerks his arm out of Seunghyun’s slack grip and sits down hard on the veneered floor, staring at something in the air that doesn’t exist for anyone but him.
He takes this at his signal to leave. “I’m glad we had this talk,” Seunghyun says, voice hoarse, and walks out of the room.
- -
The next day, he’s still annoyed as hell, and the way he rips open the package of instant noodles like it murdered his mother has everyone in the studio avoiding him with a five-foot radius.
The door clicks and slams open so fast that no one has time to react before a smear of color appears next to him and a fist smashes into the side of his head.
Seunghyun’s head snaps to the right at the impact, and he wrenches his face around to gawk up at Jiyong in incredulity because that seriously hurt - he doesn’t get a chance to yell at him, because Jiyong literally shoves his tongue down Seunghyun’s throat and the only thing that comes to mind is a line from a cheesy song he’d once heard.
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free.
Something large and heavy clunks down onto his lap, and he pulls away, sucking in air. Trying to catch his breath, Seunghun opens the box to reveal the biggest, ugliest cake he’s ever seen.
Jiyong’s always been indecipherable, and he figures it’s typical that he’d be even more so on occasions like these. “I hear it’s your birthday today,” Jiyong says nonchalantly, and Seunghyun nearly chokes on his own spit.
“Yes, and I hear you’re an OCD perfectionist with a hero-complex that won’t go away and a problem with self-blame.” He glares up at the other man, ignoring the cake and rubbing at the sore spot on his head. “Also, I can’t believe you punched me,” petulance coloring his angry tone.
There’s a beat of silence, but for some reason, it isn’t awkward, isn’t uncomfortable. The blond fiddles with the buttons on his jacket, slips into the seat next to his and sets a bony chin on Seunghyun’s shoulder.
“So what’s all this supposed to mean?” Seunghyun exhales at last.
He feels rather than sees Jiyong’s sharp gaze on his features.
Flailing hands appear in front of his face and start counting off, Jiyong’s jaw moving up and down on his shoulder, pressing down to the rhythm of his words.
“It means I'm angry that you didn't say anything before yesterday. And one, you’re not allowed sleep with anyone else, ever, as in we’re fucking exclusive; two, we’re taking things as slowly as we can because I have no idea what I’m doing and I doubt you do either; three, we’re not technically dating because that would be unprofessional and you can’t kiss me in front of other people; four, I'll try to tell you what's on my mind but no promises because I suck at that kind of stuff, and what kind of man has heart-to-hearts with other people-”
Jiyong’s rambling, not making any sense, being contradictory and clearly hasn’t thought this out, so Seunghyun shuts him with another kiss. The lack of coherent objection to this (given the very real presence of "other people" in the room) serves to prove his point.
He thinks about it, rolls his eyes, and doesn’t understand how he could ever have thought they’d be anything but dysfunctional.
He's alright with it for now, though, because Jiyong is here and he can feel him moving against his mouth, warm and firm and tangible.
They can always figure out the specifics later.
fin
- -
A/N: sorry it took so long for me to post this! thanks to everyone who read even one of the bits and pieces of this set of drabbles. i really appreciate the concrit and everything else mixed in between. y'all are awesome! (and so are you, summer, for putting up with my faily first draft ♥) one day i'll probably go back through the parts to make them flow better. until next time, guyss :)