i won't hesitate no more [ fic ]
heads/tails
gd/top | r, 1247 words, canon
say what you mean, mean what you say.
and everything looks perfect from far away; "come down now," but we'll stay
SUCH GREAT HEIGHTS/THE POSTAL SERVICE
It's never taken much to push Jiyong into making it World War Three.
"Are you serious?" Seunghyun barely sees the blur of movement as Jiyong shoots off the couch like it's scalded him, scowl etched deep into the grooves of his face. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"
"What?" Seunghyun, doesn't understand what he just said, or what he just did--but then again, as Jiyong so kindly reminds him,
"You never fucking understand!" Jiyong scratches at his forehead, bares his teeth, shakes out his arms and steps forward two steps, back again - Seunghyun vaguely thinks how it's like when he can't stop moving on stage, except this is a battlefield, and it's centered around making Seunghyun feel like shit instead of a spotlight.
"Maybe you should try explaining it to me once," he says irritably, but in Jiyong's eyes, Seunghyun is a lost cause who is always one step behind, one note off, one minute late, and the golden child of YGE can't be bothered to explain what the fuck crime somebody as slow as he might have committed to set him off.
Anyway, he's just cut Jiyong off in the middle of some rant about how Seunghyun is a dumbass, and that doesn't sit well with him, either.
It eventually implodes, ending with Jiyong's door slamming so hard the flat-screen bolted to the wall shakes, and Seunghyun curls up in bed with a sour taste in his mouth and forgets to turn down Sparklehorse before he falls asleep (which probably doesn't help things).
The world is quieter when it's cold outside, when he's this high up above ground. The futon he's dragged out onto their balcony is frayed and splashed with stains, but it's comfortable and Seunghyun's more concerned with watching the smoke stream out his mouth and into the gray sky.
"Weed? Seriously?"
Seunghyun looks up. Jiyong is still in his pajama bottoms and barefoot, eyes wan and hood of one of Youngbae's black sweatshirts pulled up and drawstringed tight over his face. Already halfway to a languid high, Seunghyun raises and drops a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.
Jiyong squints at him for a minute, chewing on his bottom lip intently before he finally seems to have decided on something. "Move over."
He sits so far away from Seunghyun that he's almost falling off the edge, ass barely touching the dirty futon that he wrinkles his nose at. Seunghyun is tempted to tell him he might as well fuck off because he's not in the mood to share, but when Jiyong holds out his fingers, he takes a last drag and passes it over just like old times.
Three hits, and the tension eases from Jiyong's muscles; five, and he scoots back and over some until he's sprawled on the thin mat, bent leg overlapping Seunghyun's like a deadweight. For somebody so bony, Seunghyun thinks, he weighs a fucking ton, and he tells him so.
Jiyong hits him on the shoulder with a dull thump. "What's that make you?" He snipes, but it's warm, offset by the haze of smoke and a lopsided grin uncurling at the corner of his lips, and when Seunghyun looks appropriately hurt, it turns into a laugh pressed into the side of his shoulder. "I'm kidding, god, stop being such a girl about your weight."
Eighth drag, and Jiyong's coughing, and making faces, and shouting ridiculous shit like "your mom" and "fuck Flo Rida" and repeating half-phrases like "bling bling like L.E.D" over and over again, which makes Seunghyun crumble into laughter.
The middle of the second joint, and he climbs onto Seunghyun's lap, pressing it into his lips and telling Seunghyun to suck in, and Seunghyun is too blazed to even care.
He lets Jiyong lean in close, pluck the blunt away from Seunghyun's lips, and hold his chin steady with icy fingers; he thinks that, from this close, he can count the individual lashes rimming Jiyong's eyes. "This is weird." A stupid snicker escapes him along with the rest of the smoke, and Jiyong smacks him through the silly smile stuck permanently to his face.
"Stop talking. Fuck. Do it again."
Seunghyun does it again. This time, Jiyong holds his mouth closed with one hand, tossing the joint down the balcony with the other. And then he leans in and presses his own mouth on the other side of his fingers; his eyelashes tickle Seunghyun's cheek. Seunghyun can feel the slight vibration of his voice against his lips when Jiyong talks, and all of the sudden, he is a little bit tense again.
"Breathe out," Jiyong whispers; Seunghyun barely notices as his hand slips down around his chin to nudge his mouth open, can't really think to do anything except comply. Jiyong's eyes flutter closed as he inhales, his lips soft and slightly wet against Seunghyun's, slightly insistent. The low moan in his throat as he drinks the secondhand smoke curls deep and foreign as it settles at the pit of Seunghyun's stomach.
After a moment, he slumps over to press his face somewhere between Seunghyun's jaw and collarbone, and breathes. When he speaks, his voice is low, slurred; his hands slide down Seunghyun's chest to drop at his sides. "Sorry. For yelling at you. I didn't mean to."
Seunghyun snorts, shakes his head, and doesn't know what to say. He never means to.
Another short silence, and then Jiyong laughs. "Godddd, I'm so high."
When he braces his hands against Seunghyun's shoulders to raise himself up and meets his eyes with a pout worthy of the Breathe music video, Seunghyun can't help the grin that surfaces on his own face.
And then Seunghyun says something or does something or looks at Jiyong wrong, and he starts another war.
This time, there is no kicking and screaming and slamming doors and too-loud music blasting from Seunghyun's iHome afterwards. Instead, it's Jiyong scoffing and rolling his eyes over a too-quiet dinner as Seunghyun pretends to ignore it and the other three are sandwiched in between, and apparently it's too much because Jiyong barely eats three bites of his food before he disappears into his room.
He ignores Seunghyun for an entire week, and it takes Youngbae four days of prodding before he manages to shove Seunghyun through the door of Jiyong's bedroom to "talk".
Talk, which means Seunghyun asking Jiyong - who is turned away completely at his computer with his headphones on - when he'll apologize this time.
Jiyong sneers. "You fucking apologize. It's your fault. I have nothing to say."
Seunghyun feels the doorknob digging into his back, Gaho scratching from the other side to be let in. "You did it last time," he points out. "Just do it again."
Jiyong abruptly rips the headphones off his ears, gets up, and stalks over to where Seunghyun is standing, blank look on his face. "I was high," he says, like it's obvious, like Seunghyun is a step behind again and he doesn't understand.
He pushes Seunghyun out of the way, opens the door, and scoops Gaho into his arms before stomping off rather melodramatically down the hall.
Seunghyun sighs. So much for talking.
The next time they're on the balcony, it barely takes two drags of weed before Jiyong is straddling him and his hands are tangled inside his shirt, lips crashing together so hard their teeth click and neither of them even halfway to stoned yet.
Afterwards, he slurs a sorry when they're down another joint and he's playing with Seunghyun's fingers.
notes:inspired by this postsecret ; mostly unedited, sorryyyy. for jandi bc she made me, & gdgdbaby bc i miss her ♥
gd/top | r, 1247 words, canon
say what you mean, mean what you say.
and everything looks perfect from far away; "come down now," but we'll stay
SUCH GREAT HEIGHTS/THE POSTAL SERVICE
It's never taken much to push Jiyong into making it World War Three.
"Are you serious?" Seunghyun barely sees the blur of movement as Jiyong shoots off the couch like it's scalded him, scowl etched deep into the grooves of his face. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"
"What?" Seunghyun, doesn't understand what he just said, or what he just did--but then again, as Jiyong so kindly reminds him,
"You never fucking understand!" Jiyong scratches at his forehead, bares his teeth, shakes out his arms and steps forward two steps, back again - Seunghyun vaguely thinks how it's like when he can't stop moving on stage, except this is a battlefield, and it's centered around making Seunghyun feel like shit instead of a spotlight.
"Maybe you should try explaining it to me once," he says irritably, but in Jiyong's eyes, Seunghyun is a lost cause who is always one step behind, one note off, one minute late, and the golden child of YGE can't be bothered to explain what the fuck crime somebody as slow as he might have committed to set him off.
Anyway, he's just cut Jiyong off in the middle of some rant about how Seunghyun is a dumbass, and that doesn't sit well with him, either.
It eventually implodes, ending with Jiyong's door slamming so hard the flat-screen bolted to the wall shakes, and Seunghyun curls up in bed with a sour taste in his mouth and forgets to turn down Sparklehorse before he falls asleep (which probably doesn't help things).
The world is quieter when it's cold outside, when he's this high up above ground. The futon he's dragged out onto their balcony is frayed and splashed with stains, but it's comfortable and Seunghyun's more concerned with watching the smoke stream out his mouth and into the gray sky.
"Weed? Seriously?"
Seunghyun looks up. Jiyong is still in his pajama bottoms and barefoot, eyes wan and hood of one of Youngbae's black sweatshirts pulled up and drawstringed tight over his face. Already halfway to a languid high, Seunghyun raises and drops a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.
Jiyong squints at him for a minute, chewing on his bottom lip intently before he finally seems to have decided on something. "Move over."
He sits so far away from Seunghyun that he's almost falling off the edge, ass barely touching the dirty futon that he wrinkles his nose at. Seunghyun is tempted to tell him he might as well fuck off because he's not in the mood to share, but when Jiyong holds out his fingers, he takes a last drag and passes it over just like old times.
Three hits, and the tension eases from Jiyong's muscles; five, and he scoots back and over some until he's sprawled on the thin mat, bent leg overlapping Seunghyun's like a deadweight. For somebody so bony, Seunghyun thinks, he weighs a fucking ton, and he tells him so.
Jiyong hits him on the shoulder with a dull thump. "What's that make you?" He snipes, but it's warm, offset by the haze of smoke and a lopsided grin uncurling at the corner of his lips, and when Seunghyun looks appropriately hurt, it turns into a laugh pressed into the side of his shoulder. "I'm kidding, god, stop being such a girl about your weight."
Eighth drag, and Jiyong's coughing, and making faces, and shouting ridiculous shit like "your mom" and "fuck Flo Rida" and repeating half-phrases like "bling bling like L.E.D" over and over again, which makes Seunghyun crumble into laughter.
The middle of the second joint, and he climbs onto Seunghyun's lap, pressing it into his lips and telling Seunghyun to suck in, and Seunghyun is too blazed to even care.
He lets Jiyong lean in close, pluck the blunt away from Seunghyun's lips, and hold his chin steady with icy fingers; he thinks that, from this close, he can count the individual lashes rimming Jiyong's eyes. "This is weird." A stupid snicker escapes him along with the rest of the smoke, and Jiyong smacks him through the silly smile stuck permanently to his face.
"Stop talking. Fuck. Do it again."
Seunghyun does it again. This time, Jiyong holds his mouth closed with one hand, tossing the joint down the balcony with the other. And then he leans in and presses his own mouth on the other side of his fingers; his eyelashes tickle Seunghyun's cheek. Seunghyun can feel the slight vibration of his voice against his lips when Jiyong talks, and all of the sudden, he is a little bit tense again.
"Breathe out," Jiyong whispers; Seunghyun barely notices as his hand slips down around his chin to nudge his mouth open, can't really think to do anything except comply. Jiyong's eyes flutter closed as he inhales, his lips soft and slightly wet against Seunghyun's, slightly insistent. The low moan in his throat as he drinks the secondhand smoke curls deep and foreign as it settles at the pit of Seunghyun's stomach.
After a moment, he slumps over to press his face somewhere between Seunghyun's jaw and collarbone, and breathes. When he speaks, his voice is low, slurred; his hands slide down Seunghyun's chest to drop at his sides. "Sorry. For yelling at you. I didn't mean to."
Seunghyun snorts, shakes his head, and doesn't know what to say. He never means to.
Another short silence, and then Jiyong laughs. "Godddd, I'm so high."
When he braces his hands against Seunghyun's shoulders to raise himself up and meets his eyes with a pout worthy of the Breathe music video, Seunghyun can't help the grin that surfaces on his own face.
And then Seunghyun says something or does something or looks at Jiyong wrong, and he starts another war.
This time, there is no kicking and screaming and slamming doors and too-loud music blasting from Seunghyun's iHome afterwards. Instead, it's Jiyong scoffing and rolling his eyes over a too-quiet dinner as Seunghyun pretends to ignore it and the other three are sandwiched in between, and apparently it's too much because Jiyong barely eats three bites of his food before he disappears into his room.
He ignores Seunghyun for an entire week, and it takes Youngbae four days of prodding before he manages to shove Seunghyun through the door of Jiyong's bedroom to "talk".
Talk, which means Seunghyun asking Jiyong - who is turned away completely at his computer with his headphones on - when he'll apologize this time.
Jiyong sneers. "You fucking apologize. It's your fault. I have nothing to say."
Seunghyun feels the doorknob digging into his back, Gaho scratching from the other side to be let in. "You did it last time," he points out. "Just do it again."
Jiyong abruptly rips the headphones off his ears, gets up, and stalks over to where Seunghyun is standing, blank look on his face. "I was high," he says, like it's obvious, like Seunghyun is a step behind again and he doesn't understand.
He pushes Seunghyun out of the way, opens the door, and scoops Gaho into his arms before stomping off rather melodramatically down the hall.
Seunghyun sighs. So much for talking.
The next time they're on the balcony, it barely takes two drags of weed before Jiyong is straddling him and his hands are tangled inside his shirt, lips crashing together so hard their teeth click and neither of them even halfway to stoned yet.
Afterwards, he slurs a sorry when they're down another joint and he's playing with Seunghyun's fingers.
notes:inspired by this postsecret ; mostly unedited, sorryyyy. for jandi bc she made me, & gdgdbaby bc i miss her ♥
