(no subject)
Nighttime Talks & Self-Discovery (of sorts).
he smokes because he can,
but he loves because they expect him to.
"don't conform don't conform don't," he tells himself,
but he gets. scared.
"Why not," Jaejoong says, "Try this."
The new brand tastes foul, stomach-sickening as it curls around his throat swallowing words that swallow lies that swallow wants and desire.
"nah," tablo says with a shake of his head, "i've heard those smokes are really gross.."
he prefers to stick to something he knows
tried, but true.
He coughs, yeah, maybe he should have stuck to his brand. Yoochun's tastes were terrible, even if he did smell good at three AM with coffee.
"Someone told me that when you move to a new country you go through brands until you settle for the sixth one.
Or was it seven-?" said Jaejoong, "It was the seventh. Yoochun said that was lucky."
"what, wouldn't that apply better if it was houses?"
or even friends, tablo thinks, helping himself to some beer.
"you don't mind, right, if i..?" he drinks it anyway, eyes closed, savouring, not waiting for an answer.
"you know, jaejoong, things coming from yoochun - they're usually bullshit."
alcohol makes him bolder.
He lets him with the alcohol, but he says, "I think you can be lucky sometimes."
The thought sits for a while. Jaejoong thinks about Tablo's boldness, how it doesn't sound cool like him, he sounds angry, but not at him or at Yoochun who did bullshit all the time but always got away with it; Tablo sounded like that maybe the seventh time wasn't enough and couldn't be- do birds ever fly without wings? Do people ever love without expecting anything back? Do you ever get used to something until it becomes nothing, and when it does, what do you do?
Those were the questions Jaejoong nursed into his drink. Tablo was sad and angry. He was just sad. And somewhere, no one was feeling either.
"lucky?" tablo doesn't really believe in luck.
he'd worked hard. korea loved him, but he'd worked hard.
"if there was a scale between lucky and unlucky, with normal at the middle, where would you want to be?" he doesn't notice that jaejoong has ceased to listen.
"i would want.. to be normal, because if you got to the top by being lucky, then what the shit are you good for? and if you're normal then you can still get a lucky break once in a while, without having to be so unlucky that you die in a freak accident while you're in your prime." he says the last sentence bitterly.
sometimes, just sometimes, tablo can imagine hating somebody like jaejoong, popular - more popular than tablo - for being a popstar. but then he remembers how hard jaejoong worked so he could learn to sing, and thinks that maybe the person he hates is himself.
"i don't believe in luck," he states, loudly and abruptly, and tablo often has a problem with verbosity ('verbal diarrhea' as mithra calls it) when he drinks. he just thinks so much that when he's drunk, he can't control it, it just all comes out.
"i don't believe in luck," he says again, but what he doesn't say is that there shouldn't have been allowed such thing as talent.
"Okay." Jaejoong says, nodding half awake half dreaming. In his hand there is a near empty bottle instead of a dishrag from when he used to bus tables, thirty-eight hour shifts between work, singing, and traveling from nowhere to somewhere, and back again.
What he really means about luck but doesn't say, he's too tired to tell. You are lucky if you find what you are looking for the first time. Not the sixth, not the seventh. The kind of luckiness that spins a globe and pinpoints a swirling mass that could be anywhere and say, "Okay, I will go there and I can be happy."
tablo sighs. "oh.. no, i don't know.." half-drunk, he mutters in response to something he is asking himself.
he shakes his head and turns to jaejoong, "are you drunk? ...looking tired." he feels empty (like the dark night). food.. it's only 2AM, he thinks, can't be getting weak already. can't really think though, i'm drunk? it comes as a surprise to him, he's barely finished his beer.
neither of them are saying anything, and slowly, inevitably, microsleep after microsleep, tablo nods off, his hands tight around the bottle, gripping its smooth surface. "why can't i," he says, dreaming but not, knuckles turning white.
There are three things you learn about people at three in the morning (more, actually, if they're still awake,) but Tablo isn't tonight and tonight Jaejoong learns Tablo snores, curls, and kicks like a motherfucker and it certainly hurts like one.
What a guy, he thinks, draping a flannel blanket over him. He plucks the bottle out of his hand and clears the table, wipes the ashes off. Rearranges the little irises in the little vase and pushes it towards the center.
He hopes they will be the first thing Tablo sees in the morning.
ORIGINAL co-written with bothers.
he smokes because he can,
but he loves because they expect him to.
"don't conform don't conform don't," he tells himself,
but he gets. scared.
"Why not," Jaejoong says, "Try this."
The new brand tastes foul, stomach-sickening as it curls around his throat swallowing words that swallow lies that swallow wants and desire.
"nah," tablo says with a shake of his head, "i've heard those smokes are really gross.."
he prefers to stick to something he knows
tried, but true.
He coughs, yeah, maybe he should have stuck to his brand. Yoochun's tastes were terrible, even if he did smell good at three AM with coffee.
"Someone told me that when you move to a new country you go through brands until you settle for the sixth one.
Or was it seven-?" said Jaejoong, "It was the seventh. Yoochun said that was lucky."
"what, wouldn't that apply better if it was houses?"
or even friends, tablo thinks, helping himself to some beer.
"you don't mind, right, if i..?" he drinks it anyway, eyes closed, savouring, not waiting for an answer.
"you know, jaejoong, things coming from yoochun - they're usually bullshit."
alcohol makes him bolder.
He lets him with the alcohol, but he says, "I think you can be lucky sometimes."
The thought sits for a while. Jaejoong thinks about Tablo's boldness, how it doesn't sound cool like him, he sounds angry, but not at him or at Yoochun who did bullshit all the time but always got away with it; Tablo sounded like that maybe the seventh time wasn't enough and couldn't be- do birds ever fly without wings? Do people ever love without expecting anything back? Do you ever get used to something until it becomes nothing, and when it does, what do you do?
Those were the questions Jaejoong nursed into his drink. Tablo was sad and angry. He was just sad. And somewhere, no one was feeling either.
"lucky?" tablo doesn't really believe in luck.
he'd worked hard. korea loved him, but he'd worked hard.
"if there was a scale between lucky and unlucky, with normal at the middle, where would you want to be?" he doesn't notice that jaejoong has ceased to listen.
"i would want.. to be normal, because if you got to the top by being lucky, then what the shit are you good for? and if you're normal then you can still get a lucky break once in a while, without having to be so unlucky that you die in a freak accident while you're in your prime." he says the last sentence bitterly.
sometimes, just sometimes, tablo can imagine hating somebody like jaejoong, popular - more popular than tablo - for being a popstar. but then he remembers how hard jaejoong worked so he could learn to sing, and thinks that maybe the person he hates is himself.
"i don't believe in luck," he states, loudly and abruptly, and tablo often has a problem with verbosity ('verbal diarrhea' as mithra calls it) when he drinks. he just thinks so much that when he's drunk, he can't control it, it just all comes out.
"i don't believe in luck," he says again, but what he doesn't say is that there shouldn't have been allowed such thing as talent.
"Okay." Jaejoong says, nodding half awake half dreaming. In his hand there is a near empty bottle instead of a dishrag from when he used to bus tables, thirty-eight hour shifts between work, singing, and traveling from nowhere to somewhere, and back again.
What he really means about luck but doesn't say, he's too tired to tell. You are lucky if you find what you are looking for the first time. Not the sixth, not the seventh. The kind of luckiness that spins a globe and pinpoints a swirling mass that could be anywhere and say, "Okay, I will go there and I can be happy."
tablo sighs. "oh.. no, i don't know.." half-drunk, he mutters in response to something he is asking himself.
he shakes his head and turns to jaejoong, "are you drunk? ...looking tired." he feels empty (like the dark night). food.. it's only 2AM, he thinks, can't be getting weak already. can't really think though, i'm drunk? it comes as a surprise to him, he's barely finished his beer.
neither of them are saying anything, and slowly, inevitably, microsleep after microsleep, tablo nods off, his hands tight around the bottle, gripping its smooth surface. "why can't i," he says, dreaming but not, knuckles turning white.
There are three things you learn about people at three in the morning (more, actually, if they're still awake,) but Tablo isn't tonight and tonight Jaejoong learns Tablo snores, curls, and kicks like a motherfucker and it certainly hurts like one.
What a guy, he thinks, draping a flannel blanket over him. He plucks the bottle out of his hand and clears the table, wipes the ashes off. Rearranges the little irises in the little vase and pushes it towards the center.
He hopes they will be the first thing Tablo sees in the morning.
ORIGINAL co-written with bothers.