The G-Major Scale - Oneshot (Tablo/Jong Wan)
Title: The G-Major Scale
Author: kayjayloves
Length: 1/1
Pairing: Tablo/Jong Wan
Band: Epik High; Nell
Genre: romance
Rating: PG-13
Warning: cussing
Disclaimer: Don't own these people, just my interpretations of them.
Synopsis: let's take this one moment/and forget we're running out of time/let's keep talking; anything to stop clockwatching
Comments: Fic #3 Hopefully it's a nice variety of pairings/fics? xD And this one... this one is just random. *sweat*
one.
Jong Wan fits easily into his side on the couch, when it’s late and they’re not really watching anything on the screen. It’s two a.m. and early enough; Tablo could’ve been curled in bed in Mithra’s apartment, or writing shitty lyrics under the glow of a desk light, but instead he’s comparing the dark circles under his eyes to the ones on Jong Wan’s face.
"You’re winning," he tells him; Jong Wan blinks.
"What?"
A half-yawn. "We’re too tired."
(It was during that awkward leap between coworkers and friends that they started getting together; as just two musicians from Nell and Epik High. The personas were shed during late nights - the only time they have - where everything becomes first names and random thoughts and Tablo passed out on Jong Wan’s couch or Jong Wan making coffee in Tablo’s small kitchen.
It just makes sense, Tablo had decided.)
two.
Tablo drops by while Nell’s recording their sixth album and Jong Wan says, "We’re getting old."
And Tablo really wants to say something stupid like, "No, we’re getting younger," but he knows it’s true - they’re perpetually propelled towards a future that’s anything and everything (and maybe not music). "A couple more years, still," he says, and both of them know what he’s talking about. Duty. Military. A two year vow of silence.
"Tomorrow," Jong Wan says, "let’s really take the train."
("We’re two normal guys, no one will notice us," Tablo had told him once, when they’d agreed to meet after recording - an instance where they both had a rare bit of time on their hands.
"Yeah," Jong Wan had said, laughed a little. Two average, normal guys - nothing too noticeable. They hadn’t made it past two blocks that day, stopped by one of those near-fucking-scary fans, suddenly promising autographs in a hassle they hadn’t been expecting.)
three.
They spend Friday afternoon in the shade of Jong Wan’s kitchen, a laptop spread on the table and the volume turned high.
Jong Wan likes English rock songs - ones with strong compositions and heavy lyrics. Tablo plays him classical and rap and a song from an old broadway musical and they both listen and try to pinpoint the meaning - the concept. The beauty.
"I like this," Jong Wan says to something french and provocative. Tablo adds his own rap over the soft chorus and it’s full of sorry love and will the sun set?
"Me too," he says.
(Tablo hasn’t told anyone his favorite song - maybe, he thinks, because he doesn’t really have one. Music is music and it’s all beautiful in some form or another, but tonight he’s listening through their older tracks.
Halfway through the third album, he stops and puts Let It Rain on repeat. Just for the night.)
four.
"Maybe I should write her a letter," Mithra is saying, rubbing his temples. Jong Wan is looking at the text message on Mithra’s phone, frowning, and Tukutz is tapping out a rhythm on his knee. Tablo is thinking.
He remembers the torn pages in his trash can, years ago; the words to a friend long gone, buried under piles of dirt and leaving only a hospital bills and the return of a promise. Make music for me, okay? Fulfill both our dreams. And yeah, he'd said. Yeah he would.
"I give up," Mithra says, pulls Tablo out of his thoughts - he's thinking and now I'm here. "Girls are crazy, maybe I should play the other field."
He throws a glance at Tablo. Jong Wan smiles.
("I could date you," Tablo had said. He was lining up the pens on his desk; a single point of order in the paper chaos.
"Oh." Jong Wan had replied. "I thought we were."
"Huh." He scratched out a sentence, love is pain. Added you’re my destiny. "I guess we are.")
Author: kayjayloves
Length: 1/1
Pairing: Tablo/Jong Wan
Band: Epik High; Nell
Genre: romance
Rating: PG-13
Warning: cussing
Disclaimer: Don't own these people, just my interpretations of them.
Synopsis: let's take this one moment/and forget we're running out of time/let's keep talking; anything to stop clockwatching
Comments: Fic #3 Hopefully it's a nice variety of pairings/fics? xD And this one... this one is just random. *sweat*
one.
Jong Wan fits easily into his side on the couch, when it’s late and they’re not really watching anything on the screen. It’s two a.m. and early enough; Tablo could’ve been curled in bed in Mithra’s apartment, or writing shitty lyrics under the glow of a desk light, but instead he’s comparing the dark circles under his eyes to the ones on Jong Wan’s face.
"You’re winning," he tells him; Jong Wan blinks.
"What?"
A half-yawn. "We’re too tired."
(It was during that awkward leap between coworkers and friends that they started getting together; as just two musicians from Nell and Epik High. The personas were shed during late nights - the only time they have - where everything becomes first names and random thoughts and Tablo passed out on Jong Wan’s couch or Jong Wan making coffee in Tablo’s small kitchen.
It just makes sense, Tablo had decided.)
two.
Tablo drops by while Nell’s recording their sixth album and Jong Wan says, "We’re getting old."
And Tablo really wants to say something stupid like, "No, we’re getting younger," but he knows it’s true - they’re perpetually propelled towards a future that’s anything and everything (and maybe not music). "A couple more years, still," he says, and both of them know what he’s talking about. Duty. Military. A two year vow of silence.
"Tomorrow," Jong Wan says, "let’s really take the train."
("We’re two normal guys, no one will notice us," Tablo had told him once, when they’d agreed to meet after recording - an instance where they both had a rare bit of time on their hands.
"Yeah," Jong Wan had said, laughed a little. Two average, normal guys - nothing too noticeable. They hadn’t made it past two blocks that day, stopped by one of those near-fucking-scary fans, suddenly promising autographs in a hassle they hadn’t been expecting.)
three.
They spend Friday afternoon in the shade of Jong Wan’s kitchen, a laptop spread on the table and the volume turned high.
Jong Wan likes English rock songs - ones with strong compositions and heavy lyrics. Tablo plays him classical and rap and a song from an old broadway musical and they both listen and try to pinpoint the meaning - the concept. The beauty.
"I like this," Jong Wan says to something french and provocative. Tablo adds his own rap over the soft chorus and it’s full of sorry love and will the sun set?
"Me too," he says.
(Tablo hasn’t told anyone his favorite song - maybe, he thinks, because he doesn’t really have one. Music is music and it’s all beautiful in some form or another, but tonight he’s listening through their older tracks.
Halfway through the third album, he stops and puts Let It Rain on repeat. Just for the night.)
four.
"Maybe I should write her a letter," Mithra is saying, rubbing his temples. Jong Wan is looking at the text message on Mithra’s phone, frowning, and Tukutz is tapping out a rhythm on his knee. Tablo is thinking.
He remembers the torn pages in his trash can, years ago; the words to a friend long gone, buried under piles of dirt and leaving only a hospital bills and the return of a promise. Make music for me, okay? Fulfill both our dreams. And yeah, he'd said. Yeah he would.
"I give up," Mithra says, pulls Tablo out of his thoughts - he's thinking and now I'm here. "Girls are crazy, maybe I should play the other field."
He throws a glance at Tablo. Jong Wan smiles.
("I could date you," Tablo had said. He was lining up the pens on his desk; a single point of order in the paper chaos.
"Oh." Jong Wan had replied. "I thought we were."
"Huh." He scratched out a sentence, love is pain. Added you’re my destiny. "I guess we are.")