round 03, challenge six: drabble seven
Title: skylights
Fandom and Pairing: big bang, gd/top
Rating: g
Word Count: 200
Summary: everything you've ever wanted.
Warnings: none
You are eleven when you meet Jiyong on the floor of the dance studio. He pulls you down to stare at the skylights and the ceiling-to-floor mirrors, and your distorted reflections look to you like monsters. “Isn’t this something?” he says, breathless, fingers slipping into yours. “Isn’t this everything you’ve ever wanted?”
Your throat is dry, but you shrug and say maybe.
It takes you a few months to adjust to going without sleep in favor of headphones over your ears and a microphone to your lips, but you tuck your chin down and do what you’re told. He nudges your arm across the music stand when you have to redo the chorus for the fifth time. “C’mon. I know you can do better.”
You don’t see him smile again, not for a long time, until you’re holding your album in your hands. Even then, it’s full of cracks and disappears underneath the makeup, wrapped neatly beneath glitter and powerhouse brands you itch against backstage.
Afterwards, he walks the scuffed concrete of the empty stadium as you watch, and you can barely recognize him when he turns back to you. “Everything we’ve ever wanted.”
It hurts that he was right.
Fandom and Pairing: big bang, gd/top
Rating: g
Word Count: 200
Summary: everything you've ever wanted.
Warnings: none
You are eleven when you meet Jiyong on the floor of the dance studio. He pulls you down to stare at the skylights and the ceiling-to-floor mirrors, and your distorted reflections look to you like monsters. “Isn’t this something?” he says, breathless, fingers slipping into yours. “Isn’t this everything you’ve ever wanted?”
Your throat is dry, but you shrug and say maybe.
It takes you a few months to adjust to going without sleep in favor of headphones over your ears and a microphone to your lips, but you tuck your chin down and do what you’re told. He nudges your arm across the music stand when you have to redo the chorus for the fifth time. “C’mon. I know you can do better.”
You don’t see him smile again, not for a long time, until you’re holding your album in your hands. Even then, it’s full of cracks and disappears underneath the makeup, wrapped neatly beneath glitter and powerhouse brands you itch against backstage.
Afterwards, he walks the scuffed concrete of the empty stadium as you watch, and you can barely recognize him when he turns back to you. “Everything we’ve ever wanted.”
It hurts that he was right.