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Episodes of Tom + JerryI'M STILL ALIIIIVEEEE! (badum-tss.) and i am a terrible, terrible author, i know.
hey everyone! just thought i'd get a lot of requests done in this chapter >.< if you'd like to give me a prompt, a request, or just chat ;D hit me up! comment, wallpost, whatever~ if you seriously want to remain anonymous, go here. :)
(yes some of these are from mooonths ago asjdkhfkjhfjksf i'm sorry T_T)
26
Dear Seungri,
I miss you.
Love, Jiyong.
He frowns. No. Too direct. Too honest. Too everything. He crosses the entire thing out and pitches the letter into the bin. “Okay, take two.”
Dear Seungri,
How are you? The weather’s been -
He barely writes a sentence before discarding the second letter. “The weather. Really?” he mutters to himself, and tears off a fresh sheet of paper.
Dear Seungri,
It’s been three days since you left, and Seunghyun already cracked the password on your laptop. “yback” isn’t really all that secure, you know. You should at least have two numbers and ten characters. Anyway, I’m really interested to know why you have seven remixes of your own song on iTunes. And what the hell, who has a photo of themselves as the screensaver?
Are you having fun? You’ve probably landed yourself in a heap of trouble already, without me looking out for you. I hope you’re not out picking up girls, or something, because yesterday I read on the internet about this girl who went home with some guy, stole all his valuables and then burnt all his clothes (including socks!!) in a backyard bonfire. I’m not saying that’ll happen to you, or anything, but I think the moral of the story is: don’t pick up girls.
Come back in one piece, okay? Or I’ll throw out your Lego, even the Limited Edition one - and I know you keep it underneath the mattress. Real sneaky, Seungri.
Love, Jiyong.
PS. I’m missing my orange jeans, did you take them? You’re dead, maknae. I take back what I said about you looking good in them.
He rereads it, tilts his head, and scrunches the paper up in his hands. Too long. He sounds like an overbearing girlfriend. (Which he isn’t, of course.)
Dear Seungri,
The pen pauses, poised on the next line.
I miss you.
Love, Jiyong.
27
It’s too big - the sleeves hang down past his thighs, swamp him in folds of cloth, and wearing it makes him look completely and utterly ridiculous - but it’s warm, and smells like Jiyong and cigarettes. Seungri hates the smell of tobacco but in all honesty, there’s nothing else he’d rather wear on a cold Seoul morning.
They’re backstage, high off the adrenaline rush and the fan chants still ringing in their ears. Seungri breathes hard, smelling sweat and tears and running make up, and staggers into their joint change room, blinking in the sharp fluorescent lighting.
“Phew,” he says, collapsing into a sprawled mess on the wooden floor. He’s hot and the floor is so cool and smooth, so he presses his cheek against the boards, feeling them vibrate whenever someone takes a step. For a moment it’s quiet, just Seungri, Big Bang, and the sound of even breathing.
Of course, two seconds later, Seungri is choking under the weight of an entire South Korean boy band as they pile on top of him, Jiyong across his stomach, Daesung’s platinum blonde hair tickling his chin, Seunghyun looking decidedly unfazed and Youngbae stretched out across the lot.
“What the-” He can’t even force the words out. He’s torn between laughing and crying at his misfortune when he hears “Say cheese!” and the sound of an iPhone camera - and he settles on doing both, tears running down his cheeks as he wheezes.
“This is going on Twitter, isn’t it,” he groans. Jiyong giggles and Youngbae nods, eyes twinkling, as he wraps his arms - as much as he can - over the Big Bang Hamburger.
“We’ll be Big Bang forever,” says - promises Youngbae. “A giant hamburger, and no one can tear us apart.”
“Cut it with the cheesy crap, hyung,” Seungri moans, but he lifts his arms in a feeble attempt to return the hug. “Now everybody get off, I can’t breathe.”
Seungri stands up as the weights roll off him, stretching his legs and feeling to make sure none of his ribs are broken. They aren’t, and he’s glad, because otherwise he feels like his heart might have burst right out of his chest.
“Why am I always on the bottom, anyway,” he mutters.
“Practice for later, right, Seungri?” says Jiyong as he takes a swig from Seungri’s vitamin water.
“Hyung!”
“Joking, joking!”
“That’s going on Twitter,” cackles Youngbae, and runs as fast as his short legs will carry him as Seungri lunges for the iPhone. Seunghyun snickers and Daesung shakes his head. The manager mumbles vaguely about having to look after a bunch of hyperactive five-year-olds.
( It’s Big Bang in their finest moments. )
Daesung pokes around in the tiny refrigerator, rearranging half-empty cartons of milk and a container of week-old Chinese takeaway no one had volunteered to throw out. He finally locates the jar of kimchi hiding in the furthest corner - amazing, he thinks, how a fridge so small can hold so much - and fishes it out, only to find it is completely empty save for the pathetic looking remains of a cabbage slice.
“Hey,” he frowns. “Who ate the last bit of kimchi?”
There are denials all round. He crosses Youngbae off his mental list of suspects - he’d rather go a month without kimchi than lie. As for Seunghyun, he simply doesn’t like the stuff, and Jiyong... Jiyong is smirking furiously on the couch.
“Ah, Seungri,” he says in a sing-song voice, legs and baggy sweatpants tangled in Seungri’s, “I knew you tasted kind of different last night.”
“H-Hey, hyung!” Seungri aims a sock at Jiyong and misses spectacularly. “You said you wouldn’t tell!”
Daesung rolls his eyes, pitches the empty jar in the bin and thinks that maybe this one time, he’ll skip out on the kim chi.
30
Fear is something Seungri is more than acquainted with - he’s all too familiar with the dull thudding in his ears that is his heart; the sensation that feels very much like his stomach is tying itself into knots privy to only the most elite Boy Scouts, and the constant urge to find a nice, dark hole to throw himself into. He’s standing moments before the highly anticipated BIGBANG debut performance, to be broadcasted to millions waiting, watching, expecting; Fear certainly chose the wrong moment to come and pay a visit. Seungri closes his eyes and thinks of happy things: butterflies, and rainbows, and pretty girls, all dancing across the backdrop of his eyelids, but they dissolve and shatter within seconds.
“Hyung,” he whispers. “Hyung.” The words get stuck in his throat, jumbling into a boulder which refuses to budge, no matter how many times he swallows. What if I mess up what if I dance the wrong steps at the wrong time what if I sing the wrong notes for the wrong song what if what if what if -
“Fighting, maknae,” Jiyong murmurs, and they hear the crowd’s excited cheers, muffled by walls and plaster but still so loud. And Jiyong takes Seungri’s hand in his, gives a reassuring squeeze, grips fingers tightly until the shaking stops and he is still.
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