[oneshot] this town is colder now + seouldout drabbles
Title: should've given you a reason to stay
Fandom and Pairing: yg ent; jinusean
Rating: pg
Word Count: 100 x 2
Summary: on your machine i slur a plea for you to come home.
Warnings: swearing
the subway station smells like old french fries and cheap perfume is the first sentence out of jinu's mouth, and he's surprised sean doesn't hang up on him immediately.
say something, he pleads, i can hear you breathing. sean doesn't reply, but he's still listening, so jinu keeps murmuring vague nothings; things like fuck-fuck-fuck and you should come out with us more often and god, you're such a self-righteous bitch.
things like i love you, i miss you, and he's sobbing into the receiver now, wet heaves erratic like the fluttering of his pulse. come get me. let's go home.
- - -
jinu's drunken voice crescendos over the line, and before he realizes it, sean's already halfway out the door in just a pair of pajama pants, car keys in hand.
he has to force himself back inside, and he leans his feverish forehead against the cool cement wall. he isn't young or naive like he was before; he won't be fooled by pretty words. he can't just drop everything for jinu anymore. he has his own obligations and responsibilities.
in the end, (as usual), he hangs up and climbs back into bed, tossing and turning every time the phone rings again.
Title: just another day in another coffeeshop
Fandom and Pairing: yg ent; sean/perry
Rating: pg
Word Count: 200
Summary: what was, is, could have been.
Warnings: au verse
There's a mocking courtesy in his gaze, a deep resentment nestled in the folds of years of maturity that Sean's never seen on him before. All movement in the Starbucks slows down, the hard edges blurring out of focus, corners contorting like he’s seeing the world through Technicolor beer goggles.
Something is pulling at the inside of Sean's ribcage with a rhythmic ONEtwothree ONEtwothree---he remembers dreaming about the world together, Perry’s eyes bright and beautiful with painful longing. He remembers being so in love that it hurt, a palpable ache every time Perry touched him, ran fingers through his hair, down the slope of his back.
And then he remembers marriage and kids and joining the rat race; he remembers cotton-candy daydreams thrown away, forgetting about the things he used to treasure until it was too late, past lives lost in a sea of regrets.
He blinks and the shadow of a shadow is gone, as if he'd never really been there at all, a mere figment of Sean's overactive imagination. In his place sits Perry's untouched drink, an iced latte with too much cream and sugar and about fifty pumps of cinnamon, the way Sean had always liked.
Title: when the music died
Fandom and Pairing: yg ent; slight yb/teddy
Rating: pg
Word Count: 200
Summary: flashbulb memories last forever.
Warnings: - -
june 26th, 2009, 6:30AM KST
they're in the recording studio together (they usually are on the rare days big bang is back in seoul) when youngbae gets the call. teddy watches as his face turns ashen, his hands shaking as he snaps the cell shut, letting it drop onto the table.
his first instinct is to scream; his second is to shut himself in his room for the next few days. his third is to roll over and die. how do you cope, youngbae thinks, when someone you’ve looked up to for so long just isn't there anymore?
"hyung." somehow, he manages to speak. "jiyong says that michael jackson is dead."
the sudden pressure in teddy's chest is making it hard for him to breathe. his grip on the edge of his desk chair is tight enough that his whole arm goes numb, and his brain takes a snapshot of this moment in time, the flash of his memory illuminating every excruciating detail of the dim room.
without a word, he pulls the top shelf of his desk open, takes out two concert tickets and lets them flutter gently into the wastepaper basket, like the broken remains of butterflies' wings.
Title: this town is colder now (i think it’s sick of us)
Characters: G-Dragon, TOP
Rating: PG13
Genre: au, sci-fi, angst
Warnings: swearing
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: a weird mixture of eagle eye verse/isaac asimov's supercomputer short stories verse, keys to the kingdom verse, and aldous huxley’s brave new world verse. idek, tbh >__> and really, if you dislike angst (hint hint hint) please don’t click in.
The winter wind is biting at Jiyong’s extremities tonight, and he twists the black scarf tighter around his neck, cursing under his breath. He’s in the capitol of the world, some nameless, sprawling metropolis called City Zero by its citizens and home to over fifty million people - and no one is out on the street except him.
Him, and the taxi that he is meant to board, marked by the flashing crown on its windshield as part of the night shift transportation work force. It’s as if the very bare branches of the trees can feel something buzzing in the air, and the lack of company gives Jiyong the illusion of privacy, this queer stillness outside, but he knows better; there is no such thing as privacy (not anymore) because Big Brother is always watching. He runs to the cab and ducks in the open door, slamming it shut behind him.
“Cold night, eh?” Familiar, deep-set eyes cast him a side-long glance before focusing on the road. “Where to?”
Jiyong surveys the driver with increasing dubiousness; his bangs are long and unkempt under his cap, and individual strands fall into his eyes, but despite his general state of disarray, he’s still too good-looking for his work. This kind of menial labor doesn’t suit him. He turns to look at Jiyong patiently, and with a start, Jiyong realizes he’s been staring for too long. “Sorry, um. Government Building E, Sector III. The technician wing.”
The driver nods in agreement and banks a sharp right. “I know what you’re thinking. I should be an Alpha at least; I’m too tall and well-built to be an Epsilon caddy.”
Jiyong inclines his head. “It’s none of my business-”
“I’m Seunghyun,” (I know, Jiyong wants to say), “and I was told that I’m a washed-between-the-ears Beta engineer.” He chuckles. “I don’t know what I did, but apparently it was pretty bad. Bad enough to have my memory erased.”
“Ah,” Jiyong grimaces. “Mind-wiped.”
Seunghyun doesn’t say anything and Jiyong fidgets in his seat, uncomfortable. The driver glances at him again and grins. “So, last job of the year?”
“Huh?” Jiyong responds intelligently.
Seunghyun shrugs. “You’re one of those high-ranking government officials, aren’t you? I thought you’d have a personal convoy or something, you’re going to the office pretty late. Must be your last job of the year.”
He’s always been eerily observant, Jiyong thinks, rueful, and he scratches the back of his head in lieu of a reply.
“This is my last job,” Seunghyun goes on. “After this, I get to go home and meet my family to celebrate the coming of the new year.” A childish smile graces his features, and there’s a sort of pang in Jiyong’s chest even though he’s not supposed to feel, not anymore.
“You’re one of the nicer ones, you know,” Seunghyun continues, voice calm and even. “Usually the others spit in my face or step on my shoes if I get too talkative.”
“Oh,” Jiyong says.
“What do you do?” Seunghyun asks, and Jiyong’s shoulders automatically come up and scrunch together, like those of a bird about to take flight.
The caddy looks at him askance and pats him on the shoulder. “Dude, relax.” It just makes Jiyong even tenser, and he clenches his teeth against the sudden desire to punch Seunghyun in the face and shut him up.
“I do maintenance work on ARIIA.”
“Wow.” Seunghyun whistles. “The computer that runs the world.”
“Yeah, basically.” ARIIA, he thinks, ARIIA who knows everything about everyone so as to better predict the possibility of crime all over the globe in real time, updating her own archives from second to second; ARIIA, the invisible dictator that everyone loves because no one knows better, and because she pretends to protect them. At least, he thinks grimly, the crime rate is zero. Jiyong tries to loosen up and leans back against the cashmere seat rest. “That’s the one.”
“What does it look like?” Seunghyun says in awe, and Jiyong wants to scream in his ear, wants to shake him by the shoulders and say you know, jackass! You know what it looks like, you made it!
But Seunghyun isn’t Seunghyun anymore, and he doesn’t know. “Really big,” Jiyong says vaguely. “It’s got dials and gears and thousands of silicon chips that keep it going. She’s amazing.”
The vacant, airy smile is back on Seunghyun’s face. “I imagine so,” he sighs. There is a beat of silence, and then, “Do you have one of those programmer chips in your head?”
“No,” Jiyong admits. “I was too old to get one when the government started issuing them en masse. I get the injected equivalent every half year.”
“Oh,” Seunghyun says. “I’ve forgotten what I have.” His brow furrows as he tries to remember, and after a while, he shakes his head and laughs. “I probably don’t have anything, my brain’s so messed up already. Whoever washed me between the ears didn’t do a very good job of it.”
“Why do you say that?”
Seunghyun shrugs and brakes the car to a full stop, the red light flashing in front of them. “Sometimes I think I can remember things from before.” He turns to scan over Jiyong’s features, eyes narrowed in concentration. “Like now, I feel like I know who you are, like I’ve seen you before somewhere, but I can’t place it.” Jiyong bites his lip and grips the handle of the door.
The light turns green and they shoot forward again, roadside lights casting lazy silhouettes that march slowly across the dashboard. Jiyong doesn’t speak.
Seunghyun shrugs once more. “Maybe it’s just déjà vu. Sometimes, I hope I don’t remember, because I’m happy now. I’m content with my life and my family.” Jiyong catches sight of a familiar street sign and tenses up again. “And then other times I wish I did, because then that part of my life would be unlocked again. You know?”
He’s about to open his mouth and tell Seunghyun everything, but the vehicle is skidding to a stop and they pull up next to a group of buildings that reach so high up into the sky that their tops are perpetually obscured by dreary gray clouds.
“We’re here,” Seunghyun announces, and he tips his hat as Jiyong steps out of the cab. “Thanks for listening to me ramble.”
Jiyong pulls out a hundred-dollar bill and presses it into Seunghyun’s mitten-clad hands. “Keep the change,” he murmurs.
“Hey!” He can hear the happiness and incredulity in Seunghyun’s voice, can see it in the crinkle of his eyes and the wideness of his smile. “Cheers, man! Happy New Year!” The window rolls up and the car pulls away.
Jiyong walks to the curb, wanting to be anywhere except where he is now, but the car skids to a stop and its front door clicks open. “Wait!” There is something frantic and recognizable in that husky voice, and Jiyong squeezes his eyes shut against the biting wind and the sudden pressure in his head. “Wait, is your name Kwon Ji-” The cracking sound of a knee hitting the pavement is heard, along with a harsh, inward rasp of breath.
“Happy New Year, Seunghyun,” he whispers, walking away. He presses a dusty bronze button in his pocket.
As a cathedral clock strikes distant twelve with its bells, the explosion rocks the street behind him, turns the evening sky a fiery red color for a few moments. No one comes out to investigate. They have learned not to question anything that happens at night, for better or for worse.
Jiyong doesn’t turn around, but his heart sinks at the sight of a burnt wad of cash that flutters to the ground next to his shoes. Among them is his crisp, clean hundred-dollar bill.
The set of traffic lights in front of him blink twice and a congratulatory message scrolls across the screens: WELL DONE, AGENT. Then, YOU HAVE ELIMINATED ENEMY OF THE STATE #8492-E2, CHOI SEUNGHYUN, FORMER SECRETARY OF TECHNOLOGY OF THE OLD WORLD ORDER AND MY CREATOR-
“I know who he fucking is,” Jiyong hisses into the cold air. Was, he thinks. Who he was. “He was my boss and my friend and I had to wipe his memory to get him away from you, but you found him anyway, forced me to kill him. Don’t talk to me about Seunghyun.”
VERY WELL, THOUGH IT WOULD BE BETTER FOR YOU TO FORGET ABOUT HIM, the traffic lights read, and somehow the supercomputer manages to convey volumes of disdain and apathy through those simple words. PLEASE COME INSIDE. THERE IS WORK TO BE DONE.
He salutes bitterly and steps into the shadows of the dark buildings rising above him.
A/N: i’m sorry i fail so hard at scifi haha. i will entertain any and all questions! title of the oneshot is from onerepublic’s stop and stare. and okay i’m sorry this post is a clusterfuck of angst, i just realized lol :| i’ll… make up for it? ;~~~; hopefully nothing is too bad. anyway, i have an MUN resolution to complete in a little over an hour before it's late, so i'll crosspost this tomorrow :) finished the reso! (it's so shitty though lol).
Fandom and Pairing: yg ent; jinusean
Rating: pg
Word Count: 100 x 2
Summary: on your machine i slur a plea for you to come home.
Warnings: swearing
the subway station smells like old french fries and cheap perfume is the first sentence out of jinu's mouth, and he's surprised sean doesn't hang up on him immediately.
say something, he pleads, i can hear you breathing. sean doesn't reply, but he's still listening, so jinu keeps murmuring vague nothings; things like fuck-fuck-fuck and you should come out with us more often and god, you're such a self-righteous bitch.
things like i love you, i miss you, and he's sobbing into the receiver now, wet heaves erratic like the fluttering of his pulse. come get me. let's go home.
- - -
jinu's drunken voice crescendos over the line, and before he realizes it, sean's already halfway out the door in just a pair of pajama pants, car keys in hand.
he has to force himself back inside, and he leans his feverish forehead against the cool cement wall. he isn't young or naive like he was before; he won't be fooled by pretty words. he can't just drop everything for jinu anymore. he has his own obligations and responsibilities.
in the end, (as usual), he hangs up and climbs back into bed, tossing and turning every time the phone rings again.
Title: just another day in another coffeeshop
Fandom and Pairing: yg ent; sean/perry
Rating: pg
Word Count: 200
Summary: what was, is, could have been.
Warnings: au verse
There's a mocking courtesy in his gaze, a deep resentment nestled in the folds of years of maturity that Sean's never seen on him before. All movement in the Starbucks slows down, the hard edges blurring out of focus, corners contorting like he’s seeing the world through Technicolor beer goggles.
Something is pulling at the inside of Sean's ribcage with a rhythmic ONEtwothree ONEtwothree---he remembers dreaming about the world together, Perry’s eyes bright and beautiful with painful longing. He remembers being so in love that it hurt, a palpable ache every time Perry touched him, ran fingers through his hair, down the slope of his back.
And then he remembers marriage and kids and joining the rat race; he remembers cotton-candy daydreams thrown away, forgetting about the things he used to treasure until it was too late, past lives lost in a sea of regrets.
He blinks and the shadow of a shadow is gone, as if he'd never really been there at all, a mere figment of Sean's overactive imagination. In his place sits Perry's untouched drink, an iced latte with too much cream and sugar and about fifty pumps of cinnamon, the way Sean had always liked.
Title: when the music died
Fandom and Pairing: yg ent; slight yb/teddy
Rating: pg
Word Count: 200
Summary: flashbulb memories last forever.
Warnings: - -
june 26th, 2009, 6:30AM KST
they're in the recording studio together (they usually are on the rare days big bang is back in seoul) when youngbae gets the call. teddy watches as his face turns ashen, his hands shaking as he snaps the cell shut, letting it drop onto the table.
his first instinct is to scream; his second is to shut himself in his room for the next few days. his third is to roll over and die. how do you cope, youngbae thinks, when someone you’ve looked up to for so long just isn't there anymore?
"hyung." somehow, he manages to speak. "jiyong says that michael jackson is dead."
the sudden pressure in teddy's chest is making it hard for him to breathe. his grip on the edge of his desk chair is tight enough that his whole arm goes numb, and his brain takes a snapshot of this moment in time, the flash of his memory illuminating every excruciating detail of the dim room.
without a word, he pulls the top shelf of his desk open, takes out two concert tickets and lets them flutter gently into the wastepaper basket, like the broken remains of butterflies' wings.
Title: this town is colder now (i think it’s sick of us)
Characters: G-Dragon, TOP
Rating: PG13
Genre: au, sci-fi, angst
Warnings: swearing
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: a weird mixture of eagle eye verse/isaac asimov's supercomputer short stories verse, keys to the kingdom verse, and aldous huxley’s brave new world verse. idek, tbh >__> and really, if you dislike angst (hint hint hint) please don’t click in.
The winter wind is biting at Jiyong’s extremities tonight, and he twists the black scarf tighter around his neck, cursing under his breath. He’s in the capitol of the world, some nameless, sprawling metropolis called City Zero by its citizens and home to over fifty million people - and no one is out on the street except him.
Him, and the taxi that he is meant to board, marked by the flashing crown on its windshield as part of the night shift transportation work force. It’s as if the very bare branches of the trees can feel something buzzing in the air, and the lack of company gives Jiyong the illusion of privacy, this queer stillness outside, but he knows better; there is no such thing as privacy (not anymore) because Big Brother is always watching. He runs to the cab and ducks in the open door, slamming it shut behind him.
“Cold night, eh?” Familiar, deep-set eyes cast him a side-long glance before focusing on the road. “Where to?”
Jiyong surveys the driver with increasing dubiousness; his bangs are long and unkempt under his cap, and individual strands fall into his eyes, but despite his general state of disarray, he’s still too good-looking for his work. This kind of menial labor doesn’t suit him. He turns to look at Jiyong patiently, and with a start, Jiyong realizes he’s been staring for too long. “Sorry, um. Government Building E, Sector III. The technician wing.”
The driver nods in agreement and banks a sharp right. “I know what you’re thinking. I should be an Alpha at least; I’m too tall and well-built to be an Epsilon caddy.”
Jiyong inclines his head. “It’s none of my business-”
“I’m Seunghyun,” (I know, Jiyong wants to say), “and I was told that I’m a washed-between-the-ears Beta engineer.” He chuckles. “I don’t know what I did, but apparently it was pretty bad. Bad enough to have my memory erased.”
“Ah,” Jiyong grimaces. “Mind-wiped.”
Seunghyun doesn’t say anything and Jiyong fidgets in his seat, uncomfortable. The driver glances at him again and grins. “So, last job of the year?”
“Huh?” Jiyong responds intelligently.
Seunghyun shrugs. “You’re one of those high-ranking government officials, aren’t you? I thought you’d have a personal convoy or something, you’re going to the office pretty late. Must be your last job of the year.”
He’s always been eerily observant, Jiyong thinks, rueful, and he scratches the back of his head in lieu of a reply.
“This is my last job,” Seunghyun goes on. “After this, I get to go home and meet my family to celebrate the coming of the new year.” A childish smile graces his features, and there’s a sort of pang in Jiyong’s chest even though he’s not supposed to feel, not anymore.
“You’re one of the nicer ones, you know,” Seunghyun continues, voice calm and even. “Usually the others spit in my face or step on my shoes if I get too talkative.”
“Oh,” Jiyong says.
“What do you do?” Seunghyun asks, and Jiyong’s shoulders automatically come up and scrunch together, like those of a bird about to take flight.
The caddy looks at him askance and pats him on the shoulder. “Dude, relax.” It just makes Jiyong even tenser, and he clenches his teeth against the sudden desire to punch Seunghyun in the face and shut him up.
“I do maintenance work on ARIIA.”
“Wow.” Seunghyun whistles. “The computer that runs the world.”
“Yeah, basically.” ARIIA, he thinks, ARIIA who knows everything about everyone so as to better predict the possibility of crime all over the globe in real time, updating her own archives from second to second; ARIIA, the invisible dictator that everyone loves because no one knows better, and because she pretends to protect them. At least, he thinks grimly, the crime rate is zero. Jiyong tries to loosen up and leans back against the cashmere seat rest. “That’s the one.”
“What does it look like?” Seunghyun says in awe, and Jiyong wants to scream in his ear, wants to shake him by the shoulders and say you know, jackass! You know what it looks like, you made it!
But Seunghyun isn’t Seunghyun anymore, and he doesn’t know. “Really big,” Jiyong says vaguely. “It’s got dials and gears and thousands of silicon chips that keep it going. She’s amazing.”
The vacant, airy smile is back on Seunghyun’s face. “I imagine so,” he sighs. There is a beat of silence, and then, “Do you have one of those programmer chips in your head?”
“No,” Jiyong admits. “I was too old to get one when the government started issuing them en masse. I get the injected equivalent every half year.”
“Oh,” Seunghyun says. “I’ve forgotten what I have.” His brow furrows as he tries to remember, and after a while, he shakes his head and laughs. “I probably don’t have anything, my brain’s so messed up already. Whoever washed me between the ears didn’t do a very good job of it.”
“Why do you say that?”
Seunghyun shrugs and brakes the car to a full stop, the red light flashing in front of them. “Sometimes I think I can remember things from before.” He turns to scan over Jiyong’s features, eyes narrowed in concentration. “Like now, I feel like I know who you are, like I’ve seen you before somewhere, but I can’t place it.” Jiyong bites his lip and grips the handle of the door.
The light turns green and they shoot forward again, roadside lights casting lazy silhouettes that march slowly across the dashboard. Jiyong doesn’t speak.
Seunghyun shrugs once more. “Maybe it’s just déjà vu. Sometimes, I hope I don’t remember, because I’m happy now. I’m content with my life and my family.” Jiyong catches sight of a familiar street sign and tenses up again. “And then other times I wish I did, because then that part of my life would be unlocked again. You know?”
He’s about to open his mouth and tell Seunghyun everything, but the vehicle is skidding to a stop and they pull up next to a group of buildings that reach so high up into the sky that their tops are perpetually obscured by dreary gray clouds.
“We’re here,” Seunghyun announces, and he tips his hat as Jiyong steps out of the cab. “Thanks for listening to me ramble.”
Jiyong pulls out a hundred-dollar bill and presses it into Seunghyun’s mitten-clad hands. “Keep the change,” he murmurs.
“Hey!” He can hear the happiness and incredulity in Seunghyun’s voice, can see it in the crinkle of his eyes and the wideness of his smile. “Cheers, man! Happy New Year!” The window rolls up and the car pulls away.
Jiyong walks to the curb, wanting to be anywhere except where he is now, but the car skids to a stop and its front door clicks open. “Wait!” There is something frantic and recognizable in that husky voice, and Jiyong squeezes his eyes shut against the biting wind and the sudden pressure in his head. “Wait, is your name Kwon Ji-” The cracking sound of a knee hitting the pavement is heard, along with a harsh, inward rasp of breath.
“Happy New Year, Seunghyun,” he whispers, walking away. He presses a dusty bronze button in his pocket.
As a cathedral clock strikes distant twelve with its bells, the explosion rocks the street behind him, turns the evening sky a fiery red color for a few moments. No one comes out to investigate. They have learned not to question anything that happens at night, for better or for worse.
Jiyong doesn’t turn around, but his heart sinks at the sight of a burnt wad of cash that flutters to the ground next to his shoes. Among them is his crisp, clean hundred-dollar bill.
The set of traffic lights in front of him blink twice and a congratulatory message scrolls across the screens: WELL DONE, AGENT. Then, YOU HAVE ELIMINATED ENEMY OF THE STATE #8492-E2, CHOI SEUNGHYUN, FORMER SECRETARY OF TECHNOLOGY OF THE OLD WORLD ORDER AND MY CREATOR-
“I know who he fucking is,” Jiyong hisses into the cold air. Was, he thinks. Who he was. “He was my boss and my friend and I had to wipe his memory to get him away from you, but you found him anyway, forced me to kill him. Don’t talk to me about Seunghyun.”
VERY WELL, THOUGH IT WOULD BE BETTER FOR YOU TO FORGET ABOUT HIM, the traffic lights read, and somehow the supercomputer manages to convey volumes of disdain and apathy through those simple words. PLEASE COME INSIDE. THERE IS WORK TO BE DONE.
He salutes bitterly and steps into the shadows of the dark buildings rising above him.
A/N: i’m sorry i fail so hard at scifi haha. i will entertain any and all questions! title of the oneshot is from onerepublic’s stop and stare. and okay i’m sorry this post is a clusterfuck of angst, i just realized lol :| i’ll… make up for it? ;~~~; hopefully nothing is too bad. anyway, i have an MUN resolution to complete in a little over an hour before it's late, so i'll crosspost this tomorrow :) finished the reso! (it's so shitty though lol).