[oneshot] i got troubled thoughts
Title: i got troubled thoughts
Pairing: gtop
Rating: pg13
Genre: au, romance
Warnings: swearing
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: advent calendar day 20, for anonymous. sequel to the weekend au, and a self esteem to match (what a catch). modeled really loosely after a couple of plot points from before sunset. 2,166 words.
He'd known, of course, that the press tour for the book would take him to New York City eventually. The English-language translation enjoyed more staying power than any of them had anticipated, even Byungyung with all his charts and data. All things considered, given the subject matter, Seunghyun is still surprised that it'd gotten off the ground in Korea in the first place, but-somehow it had caught on with the cultural zeitgeist, and then the media had done the rest.
The whole affair probably isn't half as extravagant as it would've been for something that was originally written in English, but for a moment Seunghyun thinks he might understand how Murakami must have felt stepping foot onto American soil for the first time, armed with nothing but the written word and a tenuous grasp on conversational English.
He laughs at the sheer pretentiousness of the thought and orders another drink from the in-flight menu.
The plane touches down in LaGuardia two hours before the reading. Byungyung shoves him into the back of a taxi outside the airport and Seunghyun doesn't even really get to enjoy the feeling of riding one for the first time before he's tumbling out again, feet wobbling against the sidewalk and breath coming out in white plumes in the cold winter air, the big Barnes & Noble sign glaring him in the face.
"Go get a coffee from the café," Byungyung commands as they stroll inside, shedding outerwear. "Don't want you to pass out during the meet-and-greet."
"You're my agent, not my mother," Seunghyun retorts lightly, but acquiesces anyway. Starbucks in America tastes different, somehow-it's probably just all in his head, but the coffee seems to sit heavier on his tongue. Maybe it means the caffeine high will last longer, too.
More people than he'd expected show up for the reading. They line up between the stacks of books and sit on chairs pulled over from the café, all eyes on him.
"Thank you for coming," he says at 5PM, in halting English. The store manager says something too quick for him to follow, so he tunes out for a while, just scans the crowd with a curiosity he can see reflected back at him from their collective gazes. The scrutiny is a little disconcerting. He has to resist the urge to look down and see if he'd spilled something on himself.
Then, Byungyung's catching his eye and waving for him to start. Seunghyun cracks open the spine of the book and smiles.
"I will be reading from the very end of chapter six," he says carefully, still in English. "In Korean-sorry, my English-" he makes a face, and there are a couple of quiet chuckles from the back.
The passage is smack in the middle of the novel. He clears his throat before beginning.
"There's something I didn't tell you," Seunghyun reads. "I should've, but we were having a good time and I didn't want to ruin it.
"What is it? I asked. Oh, Jesus-you've already got a boyfriend, haven't you? Of course you do, I don't know why I assumed-
"No, don't be ridiculous. I don't do boyfriends."
And on and on he goes, until the reveal-and maybe the emotion of its fallout bleeds out too much from his voice because there's a sharp intake of breath and then a slow exhale all through the bookshop when he finishes, even though everyone here should know by now how the story ends.
"Thank you," Seunghyun says in English, smiling. When he bows, the room fills with applause.
There are a couple of journalists milling around afterward, and the manager arranges an impromptu question-and-answer session as Seunghyun's signing books. An earnest looking kid steps up and asks him something, and Byungyung bends over Seunghyun's shoulder to translate.
"He's asking if the narrator and the unnamed lover ever meet again. He's convinced they have to." Byungyung's grinning. "Love prevails, and all that shit."
"Ah, you're a romantic," Seunghyun notes, and waits for the delayed ripple of laughter that comes after Byungyung repeats this in English. "I couldn't tell you," he continues. "Death of the author, you know? If you think they meet again in some far off future, then they do. If you don't, they don't."
The kid thanks him, asks for a handshake (Seunghyun obliges), and totters away with his signed book. The next person in line's bundled up in about fifty layers, even though the heat's blasting through the entire shop. He tugs his beanie off just as Seunghyun glances up from the next copy of the book in his hands. His hair is a blinding shade of cyan, with pink tips.
In retrospect, that probably should've tipped him off. "What's your name?" Seunghyun asks instead, pen poised over the paper.
"Jiyong," comes the reply, as he unravels the thick scarf around his face.
"So you're a writer, now," Jiyong's saying, inhaling his lukewarm latte. "What prompted the career change?
"I was inspired," Seunghyun says drily. The meet-and-greet's been over for half an hour and Byungyung's in the back of the bookstore with the manager, discussing extra shipments or something. We leave for the airport at 9, he'd reminded Seunghyun meaningfully before he went, eyes flicking to Jiyong.
"I read your book," he offers.
"Oh?" Seunghyun blinks away his apprehension and fiddles with the salt and peppershakers on the table. "What did you think?"
"I was a little shit five years ago," Jiyong says, laughing when Seunghyun grins at him. "How long are you in the city?"
Seunghyun checks his watch, bites his bottom lip. "Two hours, give or take. There's a reading in LA tomorrow morning. But that's-" He swallows.
"Have you seen anything of the city?" Jiyong prompts when Seunghyun doesn't continue.
"Didn't have time," Seunghyun says. "We got here three hours ago."
"Let's go, then," Jiyong says, dumping his empty cup in the trash receptacle and tilting his head toward the exit. "Come on, two hours, let's make it count. We don't have all day."
Seunghyun hazards a glance at the back of the shop. Byungyung's still bent over a thick stack of paperwork, his back toward the door.
Jiyong's raising his eyebrows when Seunghyun turns back to gaze at him, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. "Coming?"
"Yeah," he says, and takes the hand Jiyong reaches out to him.
"You never came back," Seunghyun remarks. They're at the corner of Clinton Street and East Houston, staring down the road at all the eateries. "After the art school stuff, I mean."
Jiyong sends him a sidelong glance. "Did you really expect me to?"
"No," he says, which is the truth. Even now, in New York City, Jiyong seems too big for it, his hair too wild, the cut of his coat too outlandish. He'd never have let himself get shut away again. "Are you still, you know-doing art?"
"Yeah," Jiyong says. "I have a gallery opening this weekend, actually."
"Oh." They cross the street and duck into a storefront proclaiming Dessert Truck Works. "I'm sorry I won't be able to make it."
Jiyong shakes his head. "It's fine."
He orders the chocolate bread pudding, which is heavenly, and Jiyong gets the crème brûlée and some fancy donut holes that don't actually look that different from the regular ones he can pick up any old donut shop every other day of the week.
"Really?" Jiyong says. "Try one, then."
"Fuck," Seunghyun says when he bites into it, the vanilla cream flooding over his tongue. He has to close his eyes for a second just to deal with it.
When he opens them again, Jiyong is grinning. "Good, right?"
"How are your friends?" he asks later, in Times Square, across from the Hershey shop. "And mine, I guess. I assume they adopted you?"
"Kind of," Seunghyun says. "They're fine. Good. The same, really. What about you? Found yourself in America yet?"
Jiyong snorts. "I suppose I've found marriage equality."
"There is that."
"How'd people react to the book in the motherland?"
"Chaerin was really delighted that she made the final cut," Seunghyun says. "Daesung knew everything already, of course. You know, I didn't think-"
"It'd take off?" Jiyong sends him a shrewd look. "You don't give people enough credit."
"That's rich, coming from you," he points out, and Jiyong wrinkles his nose.
They grab hot dogs from a vendor outside the subway station, quintessential New York fare with gooey mustard and starchy bread and too much relish. When he checks his watch again, it's the wrong side of 8:30.
"Where's the gallery?" Seunghyun blurts out. Jiyong looks blindsided by the question, off-kilter in a way he doesn't really understand.
"It's not ready yet," Jiyong says.
"I know, but-" He shrugs. "We could go see it anyway. If it isn't far, or too much trouble."
Jiyong cocks his head to the side and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, pensive. Seunghyun shoves the last bite of his hotdog in his mouth and waits. "The gallery's owned by my ex-fiancé, just so you know."
Seunghyun nearly spits his food out on the sidewalk. "What?"
Jiyong raises his eyebrows. "I told you I found marriage equality."
Seunghyun swallows and sucks a bit of ketchup off his thumb. "Why did he-"
Jiyong rolls his eyes and ticks things off with his fingers. "I was too emotionally immature, volatile, standoffish, held people away at arm's length. Even him. Couldn't make it work."
"I'm sorry," is all he can think to say.
Jiyong shrugs. "It is what it is."
"If it helps at all, I tried to date girls for a while after you left."
Jiyong starts laughing so hard that Seunghyun feels like he should be offended.
"It isn't that absurd, is it?"
"It really is," Jiyong wheezes. "Oh, God. I'm sorry, I shouldn't-so how did that turn out for you?"
"One of the girls I dated got my manuscript to a publisher," he says, and Jiyong starts laughing all over again. "Shut up, man." He grabs Jiyong's shoulder and shakes a little. "Hey, I want to see your art. Are we gonna go or not?"
"The gallery's in SoHo," he says at last, wiping tears off his face. "Fifteen minutes away by cab, tops. Come on."
Jiyong lets him in through the back. There are half-built booths for listening to old tapes in one spacious corner of the gallery, an installation art exhibit that hasn't quite finished being set up yet. Seunghyun recognizes the tapes though, palms one from the box of them lying on the plywood paneling. "I remember these. I still have mine."
Jiyong looks vaguely embarrassed, but pleased all the same. The rest of it-more traditional, paintings and photographs and pop art-is already hanging off the walls in tasteful frames. There's an oil painting of Seoul at dusk, a view of the Han River looking east towards the cityscape, sequins sewn into the canvas. The space itself is fairly monochrome, but the art is all splashes of bright color in a way that surprisingly doesn't clash.
The last piece, hanging over the exit, is a set of photographs made to look like it was taken on analog film. One's a picture of a merry-go-round-Seunghyun belatedly recognizes the freeze-frame from Lotte World. The other, blurry and indistinct, is of an airport baggage claim, still going around in circles even though all the luggage is gone.
"Why'd you do it?" comes Jiyong's voice from behind him. It wavers a little over the question but rights itself again, threads of curiosity and determination intertwining. "Write the book, I mean. You never seemed like the type to air your personal life out in public. I mean, it was fictional, but-I didn't think-"
"People change," Seunghyun supplies. "You know that better than anyone."
"Not really. You knew how to find me and I knew where you were and we didn't do anything about it for five years. What does that make us?"
"Idiots?"
"Cowards, more like."
Seunghyun finally turns around. Jiyong's propped up against the wall, arms crossed, staring at the photographs overhead. "You want to know why I did it?"
Jiyong meets his gaze cautiously, as if he's afraid Seunghyun is going to bolt and run at any moment. Five years ago, he probably would've done it, too-but the time for that is long past.
"I wrote the book because I wanted you to read it," Seunghyun says, and steps forward.
Jiyong closes his eyes when Seunghyun lifts a hand to his neck. His mouth is a firm slant downward, even though his arms come around to rest against Seunghyun's hips, their coats rustling together softly. "There's something you should know."
"What's that?"
He exhales, a warm puff of air that hit Seunghyun's cheek. "You're going to miss your plane if you don't leave now."
"I know," Seunghyun says, and leans in to kiss him.
fin
A/N: SORRY ABOUT ME, SORRY ABOUT MY LIFE (rly tho this is a m e s s and i truly apologize)
Pairing: gtop
Rating: pg13
Genre: au, romance
Warnings: swearing
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: advent calendar day 20, for anonymous. sequel to the weekend au, and a self esteem to match (what a catch). modeled really loosely after a couple of plot points from before sunset. 2,166 words.
He'd known, of course, that the press tour for the book would take him to New York City eventually. The English-language translation enjoyed more staying power than any of them had anticipated, even Byungyung with all his charts and data. All things considered, given the subject matter, Seunghyun is still surprised that it'd gotten off the ground in Korea in the first place, but-somehow it had caught on with the cultural zeitgeist, and then the media had done the rest.
The whole affair probably isn't half as extravagant as it would've been for something that was originally written in English, but for a moment Seunghyun thinks he might understand how Murakami must have felt stepping foot onto American soil for the first time, armed with nothing but the written word and a tenuous grasp on conversational English.
He laughs at the sheer pretentiousness of the thought and orders another drink from the in-flight menu.
The plane touches down in LaGuardia two hours before the reading. Byungyung shoves him into the back of a taxi outside the airport and Seunghyun doesn't even really get to enjoy the feeling of riding one for the first time before he's tumbling out again, feet wobbling against the sidewalk and breath coming out in white plumes in the cold winter air, the big Barnes & Noble sign glaring him in the face.
"Go get a coffee from the café," Byungyung commands as they stroll inside, shedding outerwear. "Don't want you to pass out during the meet-and-greet."
"You're my agent, not my mother," Seunghyun retorts lightly, but acquiesces anyway. Starbucks in America tastes different, somehow-it's probably just all in his head, but the coffee seems to sit heavier on his tongue. Maybe it means the caffeine high will last longer, too.
More people than he'd expected show up for the reading. They line up between the stacks of books and sit on chairs pulled over from the café, all eyes on him.
"Thank you for coming," he says at 5PM, in halting English. The store manager says something too quick for him to follow, so he tunes out for a while, just scans the crowd with a curiosity he can see reflected back at him from their collective gazes. The scrutiny is a little disconcerting. He has to resist the urge to look down and see if he'd spilled something on himself.
Then, Byungyung's catching his eye and waving for him to start. Seunghyun cracks open the spine of the book and smiles.
"I will be reading from the very end of chapter six," he says carefully, still in English. "In Korean-sorry, my English-" he makes a face, and there are a couple of quiet chuckles from the back.
The passage is smack in the middle of the novel. He clears his throat before beginning.
"There's something I didn't tell you," Seunghyun reads. "I should've, but we were having a good time and I didn't want to ruin it.
"What is it? I asked. Oh, Jesus-you've already got a boyfriend, haven't you? Of course you do, I don't know why I assumed-
"No, don't be ridiculous. I don't do boyfriends."
And on and on he goes, until the reveal-and maybe the emotion of its fallout bleeds out too much from his voice because there's a sharp intake of breath and then a slow exhale all through the bookshop when he finishes, even though everyone here should know by now how the story ends.
"Thank you," Seunghyun says in English, smiling. When he bows, the room fills with applause.
There are a couple of journalists milling around afterward, and the manager arranges an impromptu question-and-answer session as Seunghyun's signing books. An earnest looking kid steps up and asks him something, and Byungyung bends over Seunghyun's shoulder to translate.
"He's asking if the narrator and the unnamed lover ever meet again. He's convinced they have to." Byungyung's grinning. "Love prevails, and all that shit."
"Ah, you're a romantic," Seunghyun notes, and waits for the delayed ripple of laughter that comes after Byungyung repeats this in English. "I couldn't tell you," he continues. "Death of the author, you know? If you think they meet again in some far off future, then they do. If you don't, they don't."
The kid thanks him, asks for a handshake (Seunghyun obliges), and totters away with his signed book. The next person in line's bundled up in about fifty layers, even though the heat's blasting through the entire shop. He tugs his beanie off just as Seunghyun glances up from the next copy of the book in his hands. His hair is a blinding shade of cyan, with pink tips.
In retrospect, that probably should've tipped him off. "What's your name?" Seunghyun asks instead, pen poised over the paper.
"Jiyong," comes the reply, as he unravels the thick scarf around his face.
"So you're a writer, now," Jiyong's saying, inhaling his lukewarm latte. "What prompted the career change?
"I was inspired," Seunghyun says drily. The meet-and-greet's been over for half an hour and Byungyung's in the back of the bookstore with the manager, discussing extra shipments or something. We leave for the airport at 9, he'd reminded Seunghyun meaningfully before he went, eyes flicking to Jiyong.
"I read your book," he offers.
"Oh?" Seunghyun blinks away his apprehension and fiddles with the salt and peppershakers on the table. "What did you think?"
"I was a little shit five years ago," Jiyong says, laughing when Seunghyun grins at him. "How long are you in the city?"
Seunghyun checks his watch, bites his bottom lip. "Two hours, give or take. There's a reading in LA tomorrow morning. But that's-" He swallows.
"Have you seen anything of the city?" Jiyong prompts when Seunghyun doesn't continue.
"Didn't have time," Seunghyun says. "We got here three hours ago."
"Let's go, then," Jiyong says, dumping his empty cup in the trash receptacle and tilting his head toward the exit. "Come on, two hours, let's make it count. We don't have all day."
Seunghyun hazards a glance at the back of the shop. Byungyung's still bent over a thick stack of paperwork, his back toward the door.
Jiyong's raising his eyebrows when Seunghyun turns back to gaze at him, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. "Coming?"
"Yeah," he says, and takes the hand Jiyong reaches out to him.
"You never came back," Seunghyun remarks. They're at the corner of Clinton Street and East Houston, staring down the road at all the eateries. "After the art school stuff, I mean."
Jiyong sends him a sidelong glance. "Did you really expect me to?"
"No," he says, which is the truth. Even now, in New York City, Jiyong seems too big for it, his hair too wild, the cut of his coat too outlandish. He'd never have let himself get shut away again. "Are you still, you know-doing art?"
"Yeah," Jiyong says. "I have a gallery opening this weekend, actually."
"Oh." They cross the street and duck into a storefront proclaiming Dessert Truck Works. "I'm sorry I won't be able to make it."
Jiyong shakes his head. "It's fine."
He orders the chocolate bread pudding, which is heavenly, and Jiyong gets the crème brûlée and some fancy donut holes that don't actually look that different from the regular ones he can pick up any old donut shop every other day of the week.
"Really?" Jiyong says. "Try one, then."
"Fuck," Seunghyun says when he bites into it, the vanilla cream flooding over his tongue. He has to close his eyes for a second just to deal with it.
When he opens them again, Jiyong is grinning. "Good, right?"
"How are your friends?" he asks later, in Times Square, across from the Hershey shop. "And mine, I guess. I assume they adopted you?"
"Kind of," Seunghyun says. "They're fine. Good. The same, really. What about you? Found yourself in America yet?"
Jiyong snorts. "I suppose I've found marriage equality."
"There is that."
"How'd people react to the book in the motherland?"
"Chaerin was really delighted that she made the final cut," Seunghyun says. "Daesung knew everything already, of course. You know, I didn't think-"
"It'd take off?" Jiyong sends him a shrewd look. "You don't give people enough credit."
"That's rich, coming from you," he points out, and Jiyong wrinkles his nose.
They grab hot dogs from a vendor outside the subway station, quintessential New York fare with gooey mustard and starchy bread and too much relish. When he checks his watch again, it's the wrong side of 8:30.
"Where's the gallery?" Seunghyun blurts out. Jiyong looks blindsided by the question, off-kilter in a way he doesn't really understand.
"It's not ready yet," Jiyong says.
"I know, but-" He shrugs. "We could go see it anyway. If it isn't far, or too much trouble."
Jiyong cocks his head to the side and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, pensive. Seunghyun shoves the last bite of his hotdog in his mouth and waits. "The gallery's owned by my ex-fiancé, just so you know."
Seunghyun nearly spits his food out on the sidewalk. "What?"
Jiyong raises his eyebrows. "I told you I found marriage equality."
Seunghyun swallows and sucks a bit of ketchup off his thumb. "Why did he-"
Jiyong rolls his eyes and ticks things off with his fingers. "I was too emotionally immature, volatile, standoffish, held people away at arm's length. Even him. Couldn't make it work."
"I'm sorry," is all he can think to say.
Jiyong shrugs. "It is what it is."
"If it helps at all, I tried to date girls for a while after you left."
Jiyong starts laughing so hard that Seunghyun feels like he should be offended.
"It isn't that absurd, is it?"
"It really is," Jiyong wheezes. "Oh, God. I'm sorry, I shouldn't-so how did that turn out for you?"
"One of the girls I dated got my manuscript to a publisher," he says, and Jiyong starts laughing all over again. "Shut up, man." He grabs Jiyong's shoulder and shakes a little. "Hey, I want to see your art. Are we gonna go or not?"
"The gallery's in SoHo," he says at last, wiping tears off his face. "Fifteen minutes away by cab, tops. Come on."
Jiyong lets him in through the back. There are half-built booths for listening to old tapes in one spacious corner of the gallery, an installation art exhibit that hasn't quite finished being set up yet. Seunghyun recognizes the tapes though, palms one from the box of them lying on the plywood paneling. "I remember these. I still have mine."
Jiyong looks vaguely embarrassed, but pleased all the same. The rest of it-more traditional, paintings and photographs and pop art-is already hanging off the walls in tasteful frames. There's an oil painting of Seoul at dusk, a view of the Han River looking east towards the cityscape, sequins sewn into the canvas. The space itself is fairly monochrome, but the art is all splashes of bright color in a way that surprisingly doesn't clash.
The last piece, hanging over the exit, is a set of photographs made to look like it was taken on analog film. One's a picture of a merry-go-round-Seunghyun belatedly recognizes the freeze-frame from Lotte World. The other, blurry and indistinct, is of an airport baggage claim, still going around in circles even though all the luggage is gone.
"Why'd you do it?" comes Jiyong's voice from behind him. It wavers a little over the question but rights itself again, threads of curiosity and determination intertwining. "Write the book, I mean. You never seemed like the type to air your personal life out in public. I mean, it was fictional, but-I didn't think-"
"People change," Seunghyun supplies. "You know that better than anyone."
"Not really. You knew how to find me and I knew where you were and we didn't do anything about it for five years. What does that make us?"
"Idiots?"
"Cowards, more like."
Seunghyun finally turns around. Jiyong's propped up against the wall, arms crossed, staring at the photographs overhead. "You want to know why I did it?"
Jiyong meets his gaze cautiously, as if he's afraid Seunghyun is going to bolt and run at any moment. Five years ago, he probably would've done it, too-but the time for that is long past.
"I wrote the book because I wanted you to read it," Seunghyun says, and steps forward.
Jiyong closes his eyes when Seunghyun lifts a hand to his neck. His mouth is a firm slant downward, even though his arms come around to rest against Seunghyun's hips, their coats rustling together softly. "There's something you should know."
"What's that?"
He exhales, a warm puff of air that hit Seunghyun's cheek. "You're going to miss your plane if you don't leave now."
"I know," Seunghyun says, and leans in to kiss him.
fin
A/N: SORRY ABOUT ME, SORRY ABOUT MY LIFE (rly tho this is a m e s s and i truly apologize)