[oneshot] Perfectly Flawed
Pairing: GD/OC
Rating: PG
Summary: Sleepless nights beget big fights.
He's gone in the morning, before first light, dancing his skinny ass off in that mirror-lined box they call a dance studio. It doesn't seem to matter to him whether it is day or night, morning or evening. It doesn't matter if it's cold outside, or blazing high summer. He'll dance till he's soaked in sweat, stripped down to a singlet, track pants and sneakers. The odd thing is, the beanie he wears through it all never seems to get warm or wet.
No one even dares to knock on the door to the recording studio when he's in there alone. It's like there's a neon sign screaming "GD @ Work" whenever he's cloistered in there, and the crime of interruption is invariably punished by a string of curses and a book or some such object to the head. A fire in the building might not be emergency enough to pry him from the room - only YG can, but today even YG steers clear. Seunghyun oppa texts to ask me what's wrong. I don't reply.
In the car to anywhere he's catching forty winks to make up for what he doesn't get at night. He's not allowed to lock the bathroom door in case he's drowned in his sleep with conditioner clinging to his hair. He tells everyone he sleeps the most among the five members, but then he doesn't mention how he turns nights into days, the eighteen butts jammed into a two tiny ashtrays and the shouting match in the wee hours after a forty-hour stretch awake cos I can't get any sleep when he's awake.
He's folded into a swivel chair when I arrive home, gnawed pencil-end between teeth and brows furrowed at the notebook on his knee. Nimble fingers strum the air silently as he goes through melodies in his head.
I want to kiss him for looking so industrious. Instead I say, "Fuck, JiYong, can't you just be lazy for one day? You make the rest of the world look slack."
"Shut up," he murmurs. But today he puts down his things, comes over to me and kisses me with smoke-stained lips. "I bought dinner."
I spy my favorite sushi sitting on the dining table. A pang of guilt drops anchor. "I'm sorry 'bout last night. Actually, I don't remember what I said," I confess.
"You called me a selfish, crazy monkey?" He sounds almost gentle, reminding me of the mean things I said as if it wasn't him I'd been calling names.
"I'm sorry," I repeat, resolving for three and a half minutes to never do that again.
Fingers in my hair soothe away all the stress of the day as I melt against his bony frame. "We're both tired, and I'm a lousy boyfriend."
"We're a match made in heaven then," I mutter. I know when I'm not receiving any prizes for best girlfriend anytime soon.
"I'm cute, talented, smart. I make music, I sing, I cook and I dance. You can't have everything."
"Right… " I nod in mock agreement. "Thank you, God."
He smirks and I can't help but smile back.
We eat and fall asleep on the sofa. Neither of us can be arsed to get up and turn the telly off.
I guess the fight is over.
Rating: PG
Summary: Sleepless nights beget big fights.
He's gone in the morning, before first light, dancing his skinny ass off in that mirror-lined box they call a dance studio. It doesn't seem to matter to him whether it is day or night, morning or evening. It doesn't matter if it's cold outside, or blazing high summer. He'll dance till he's soaked in sweat, stripped down to a singlet, track pants and sneakers. The odd thing is, the beanie he wears through it all never seems to get warm or wet.
No one even dares to knock on the door to the recording studio when he's in there alone. It's like there's a neon sign screaming "GD @ Work" whenever he's cloistered in there, and the crime of interruption is invariably punished by a string of curses and a book or some such object to the head. A fire in the building might not be emergency enough to pry him from the room - only YG can, but today even YG steers clear. Seunghyun oppa texts to ask me what's wrong. I don't reply.
In the car to anywhere he's catching forty winks to make up for what he doesn't get at night. He's not allowed to lock the bathroom door in case he's drowned in his sleep with conditioner clinging to his hair. He tells everyone he sleeps the most among the five members, but then he doesn't mention how he turns nights into days, the eighteen butts jammed into a two tiny ashtrays and the shouting match in the wee hours after a forty-hour stretch awake cos I can't get any sleep when he's awake.
He's folded into a swivel chair when I arrive home, gnawed pencil-end between teeth and brows furrowed at the notebook on his knee. Nimble fingers strum the air silently as he goes through melodies in his head.
I want to kiss him for looking so industrious. Instead I say, "Fuck, JiYong, can't you just be lazy for one day? You make the rest of the world look slack."
"Shut up," he murmurs. But today he puts down his things, comes over to me and kisses me with smoke-stained lips. "I bought dinner."
I spy my favorite sushi sitting on the dining table. A pang of guilt drops anchor. "I'm sorry 'bout last night. Actually, I don't remember what I said," I confess.
"You called me a selfish, crazy monkey?" He sounds almost gentle, reminding me of the mean things I said as if it wasn't him I'd been calling names.
"I'm sorry," I repeat, resolving for three and a half minutes to never do that again.
Fingers in my hair soothe away all the stress of the day as I melt against his bony frame. "We're both tired, and I'm a lousy boyfriend."
"We're a match made in heaven then," I mutter. I know when I'm not receiving any prizes for best girlfriend anytime soon.
"I'm cute, talented, smart. I make music, I sing, I cook and I dance. You can't have everything."
"Right… " I nod in mock agreement. "Thank you, God."
He smirks and I can't help but smile back.
We eat and fall asleep on the sofa. Neither of us can be arsed to get up and turn the telly off.
I guess the fight is over.