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No Work Wednesdays
• Top (Big Bang) / Park Bom (2NE1)
• Non-AU ; ~2100 words ; PG rated
• confused, ranty and unbeta'd!
• Following a certain hubby's request for a little spark of Park Bom jealousy and a promise to myself to keep it entirely crack-free.
• Non-AU ; ~2100 words ; PG rated
• confused, ranty and unbeta'd!
• Following a certain hubby's request for a little spark of Park Bom jealousy and a promise to myself to keep it entirely crack-free.
It’s one of those lazy Sundays for them that are spent in worn out, but oh-so-comfortable sweaters with blankets hugging their knees and coffee mugs pressed between their palms. Or maybe it’s a Tuesday or a Wednesday. Bom remembers there being a lot of No Work Wednesdays to share with him, because why get a normal weekend like everybody else when nothing about them was average to begin with.
The faint noise of plastic sliding over plastic pulls her from the thoughts and she tilts her head to watch him sort through a handful of movies with his mouth slightly agape and that look of concentration in his eyes that she knows makes him forget the entire world around him. It never fails to make her smile, subtly and mostly to herself, as she taps a manicured finger against her mug and waits for that moment when he’ll hold up his choice.
It’s his own movie that he finally picks and Bom can tell by the way he averts his eyes once, twice that he wants to ask her if it might be awkward and if she’s really okay with watching it. But he also knows his never-ending sweet consideration for her flares her up on bad days, so he hesitates and it’s her turn to go and make a grab for the DVD case with vigor and a matching broad grin.
She tells herself it’s for diplomatic reasons and not because of the way his face will light up and make her heart beat a little faster even after all these months.
She notices the giddiness that he usually likes to suppress in his movements as he puts in the movie and hurries back to her side, ready to awkwardly retell every detail of the shooting he can recall. Because he knows that's what she likes to listen to and he's aware of how much his unconcealed joy to share what he loves warms her heart in turn. He’s so proud and she doesn't hesitate to praise him abundantly - even after so many scenes that she starts repeating herself and points out the most ridiculous things she likes, just to see those dimples of his deepen a little more when his grin broadens. Even all the way through the romantic parts that make it a bit harder for her to breathe.
She can’t help but stiffen the more she watches him, no, his character interact with her despite her hardest efforts to stay as nonchalant as humanly possible. It’s part of the job after all and Bom is the mature and sophisticated girlfriend that can handle all this, because it’s just a kiss taken in front of a dozen camera lenses and not real at all. He probably thought of good angles and his next lines while pressing his lips against hers, right? And not about how perfect she was.
He has stopped his narration by now and she finds herself unable to concentrate on the advancing plot flickering across the screen. It’s strange how she can feel her neck prickle uncomfortably instead, his warm breath notable absent for a few beats until she forces herself to move and slip her palm over his thigh in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture for them both.
Everything is okay after all, it’s just a movie, it’s just characters, it’s just acting, it’s just the job, and she’d be an idiot if she’d get jealous over something silly like this.
Yet somehow it’s hard to convince herself enough to voice these thoughts aloud or even crack a joke about how only she will ever get to see how passionate he can really be. At another time she probably would have and he would have chuckled, in that particular way that stirs her pride and makes her feel the pleasant rumble deep in his chest every time she’s leaning in more closely. But she stays silent and it’s okay, because he still squeezes her shoulder and breathes out what she knows is a masked sigh of relief.
His low mumbling picks up again after an action scene or two, to tell her about how much time it took for him to get these moves right and how hard it had been on all of them to brave the cold on that particular day of shooting. It’s steady and comforting and a part of her really wants to know and retrace these steps with him, and yet can’t quite get the mood right. Bom takes a big sip of her sweetened lukewarm coffee as if that will get rid of the bitter taste in her mouth and smoothen out the tight knot in the pit of her stomach.
She believes she’s being very brave and sits through another passionate kiss with some more knee patting. And a growing lump in her throat. She even conjures up a wide smile for him after a particularly tough scene that he stubbornly refused to take a stunt double for.
And he beams at her and, oh god, she loves him so.
Even with all his passions and talents unraveled before her so many times before, she can’t help but think about how he’s so much more an actor than he is a rapper. Maybe it’s the gentleman demeanor and his impeccable manners, or his taste and grace that set him apart from everyone else with every little step he takes. It’s the sharp handsome features and the tall lean stature, the youthful humor and the purity of his heart.
And then there’s her, with her volatile moods and her unspectacular taste. The girl who likes pretty things simply for being pretty and can’t hold up a noble farce for too long. Impatience, stubbornness and a big mouth telling ordinary tales. The one who’ll rather steal his sweater than wrap herself in a sophisticated dress, who’ll have insight on all currently airing dramas but no special taste in fine wines.
He’d match so much better with one of them instead of her.
She has everything. It’s this natural beauty and innate grace that would never witness temper flares or thrown pillows. There would be no ugly sobs over cheap flicks, but educated discussions about art galleries. No unknown, erratic at best, diva future, but one wrapped in peace and security, with little girls in princess dresses that learn about appropriate manners and good education from a gentle and serene voice.
Did she enjoy herself when she kissed him? Did she sense how much she would fit just right, like a harmonious mirror image to him and everything that was so mesmerizing and beautiful about him? Did she secretly hope for him to feel a spark when he touched her and intertwined their fingers? Did she think he’d maybe even start falling for her if they worked together just a little longer, kissed a bit more often and talked a bit deeper? Did she realize that he wasn’t interested and that he was hers, hers, hers, hers, hers.
Bom would never know. And she would never mention these thoughts aloud, because the loathing passes as quickly as it has consumed her mind before, leaving a harsh pang of guilt in its wake. Who was she to accuse someone she hasn’t met and spoken to even once? Why is she even worried when she knows that he would never look at another woman the way he looks at her? Isn’t she supposed to trust in him and his love for her, whole-heartedly and unconditionally?
That is why she can’t bring herself to utter a single word, never give him even the slightest hint. She knows he would be apologetic and peer at her with this crestfallen look that she can’t bear to see. He would feel bad for upsetting her although there isn’t anything to be for her to be upset about to begin with. It's all mere imagery and ghosts in her head, so how could she possibly fault him for doing what he loves? Acting is his special passion.
And sometimes he has to kiss people for it.
No big deal.
Bom simply can’t be the kind of girlfriend that freaks out and conjures up invisible chains for imaginary ghosts. She wants to have at least that little bit of that grace and inner beauty. All these pure thoughts that crack open the ugly shell around her heart to let out the unconditional support and trust that he really deserves. Because she loves him so.
Yet from time to time, jealousy raises its ugly green head.
And she fumes. Silently. When he’s not around she will turn on the TV again and rewatch these scenes. She’ll scowl at her flawless face when she kisses him. Too often. Too long. Too intently. That’s when she wants to pick up her phone to call him with spiteful questions tumbling out before he even manages to say hello. She wants to ask him how many takes they did, how often he kissed her and how much he liked holding her in his arms.
If he thought of his ugly girlfriend sitting at home even once.
It would be devastating and unfair, but it would make her feel so much better before treacherous tears will prickle in her eyes and betray her. She hates herself for even feeling this way, with so many awful and selfish thoughts spinning in her head while this man right beside her, the one that loves her to the moon and back, is pure and honest to the core.
It just stings so horribly.
It’s not even the way her lips touch his, Bom realizes when she is really honest with herself, or how good they look together when they hold hands and walk through these fictional streets with a fictional story up to their fictional happy ending.
It’s how she can never be that woman with him on the screen, seen by thousands.
Hell, she can’t even be the woman he can hold hands with in front of a few. Freely and openly, out there in the streets when they go grab lunch with their dogs in tow. Just like he can never be the man she gives a loving peck when they stroll down that familiar alley towards the park they both like the most.
They can only be themselves, hiding within the comfort of their own home where no one can spot them, and the way she looks at him when he’s about to wake up. And the way he looks at her when he walks through the door and sees her for the first time after days of separation.
She probably wouldn’t even really notice the way his lips curl and his eyes light up when he’s amused but tries not to say anything. She doesn’t know what waking up next to him feels like, when the sunlight barely highlights his features and his hair sticks up in all directions, only for her to smooth out with fingers delicately running over every little strand. It’s not her he sees when he stirs minutes later and cracks a sleepy eye open, entirely lost in thoughts and dreams. And it’s not her he gives his first smile of the day to so easily, before pulling her close again with a content sigh.
This thought calms her and her heavy heart again and she tries to hold onto the little bit comfort it provides. She offers him a small smile as he returns from fetching fresh coffee from the kitchen and finds that she doesn’t even have to pretend. He sets both mugs down before scooting close again to provide an arm around her shoulders and a source of never-ending warmth. Needy for this kind of touch Bom seeks him out and curls into his side, and soon she receives that light kiss to her temple that soothes her like no string of words ever could.
She tilts her head and notices that he, unaware of her inner turmoil before, wears this particular child-like grin on his face again, his dark eyes sparkling with unhidden pride. He's staring at the screen that she barely pays attention to, apparently showing one of his older co-actors in action. And he continues his little tale again, with words leaving this slight rumbling echo in his chest that she feels when her hand splays out over the fabric of his shirt.
And he tells her about how he stood behind the cameras to watch this happen, because it’s just so inspiring to learn from this kind of talent. As if he’s not blessed with just as much skill and genius, she wants to say. But he doesn’t think of himself, he never really does, he’s just so happy and excited and that’s when his smile broadens a certain way that makes his dimples really show.
She loves him so.
It’s safe here on their No Work Wednesdays, curled up in sweaters with blankets hugging their knees and coffee mugs pressed between their palms.
It’s where he is all hers and she is all his, and nothing can touch them, not even imaginary ghosts.
The faint noise of plastic sliding over plastic pulls her from the thoughts and she tilts her head to watch him sort through a handful of movies with his mouth slightly agape and that look of concentration in his eyes that she knows makes him forget the entire world around him. It never fails to make her smile, subtly and mostly to herself, as she taps a manicured finger against her mug and waits for that moment when he’ll hold up his choice.
It’s his own movie that he finally picks and Bom can tell by the way he averts his eyes once, twice that he wants to ask her if it might be awkward and if she’s really okay with watching it. But he also knows his never-ending sweet consideration for her flares her up on bad days, so he hesitates and it’s her turn to go and make a grab for the DVD case with vigor and a matching broad grin.
She tells herself it’s for diplomatic reasons and not because of the way his face will light up and make her heart beat a little faster even after all these months.
She notices the giddiness that he usually likes to suppress in his movements as he puts in the movie and hurries back to her side, ready to awkwardly retell every detail of the shooting he can recall. Because he knows that's what she likes to listen to and he's aware of how much his unconcealed joy to share what he loves warms her heart in turn. He’s so proud and she doesn't hesitate to praise him abundantly - even after so many scenes that she starts repeating herself and points out the most ridiculous things she likes, just to see those dimples of his deepen a little more when his grin broadens. Even all the way through the romantic parts that make it a bit harder for her to breathe.
She can’t help but stiffen the more she watches him, no, his character interact with her despite her hardest efforts to stay as nonchalant as humanly possible. It’s part of the job after all and Bom is the mature and sophisticated girlfriend that can handle all this, because it’s just a kiss taken in front of a dozen camera lenses and not real at all. He probably thought of good angles and his next lines while pressing his lips against hers, right? And not about how perfect she was.
He has stopped his narration by now and she finds herself unable to concentrate on the advancing plot flickering across the screen. It’s strange how she can feel her neck prickle uncomfortably instead, his warm breath notable absent for a few beats until she forces herself to move and slip her palm over his thigh in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture for them both.
Everything is okay after all, it’s just a movie, it’s just characters, it’s just acting, it’s just the job, and she’d be an idiot if she’d get jealous over something silly like this.
Yet somehow it’s hard to convince herself enough to voice these thoughts aloud or even crack a joke about how only she will ever get to see how passionate he can really be. At another time she probably would have and he would have chuckled, in that particular way that stirs her pride and makes her feel the pleasant rumble deep in his chest every time she’s leaning in more closely. But she stays silent and it’s okay, because he still squeezes her shoulder and breathes out what she knows is a masked sigh of relief.
His low mumbling picks up again after an action scene or two, to tell her about how much time it took for him to get these moves right and how hard it had been on all of them to brave the cold on that particular day of shooting. It’s steady and comforting and a part of her really wants to know and retrace these steps with him, and yet can’t quite get the mood right. Bom takes a big sip of her sweetened lukewarm coffee as if that will get rid of the bitter taste in her mouth and smoothen out the tight knot in the pit of her stomach.
She believes she’s being very brave and sits through another passionate kiss with some more knee patting. And a growing lump in her throat. She even conjures up a wide smile for him after a particularly tough scene that he stubbornly refused to take a stunt double for.
And he beams at her and, oh god, she loves him so.
Even with all his passions and talents unraveled before her so many times before, she can’t help but think about how he’s so much more an actor than he is a rapper. Maybe it’s the gentleman demeanor and his impeccable manners, or his taste and grace that set him apart from everyone else with every little step he takes. It’s the sharp handsome features and the tall lean stature, the youthful humor and the purity of his heart.
And then there’s her, with her volatile moods and her unspectacular taste. The girl who likes pretty things simply for being pretty and can’t hold up a noble farce for too long. Impatience, stubbornness and a big mouth telling ordinary tales. The one who’ll rather steal his sweater than wrap herself in a sophisticated dress, who’ll have insight on all currently airing dramas but no special taste in fine wines.
He’d match so much better with one of them instead of her.
She has everything. It’s this natural beauty and innate grace that would never witness temper flares or thrown pillows. There would be no ugly sobs over cheap flicks, but educated discussions about art galleries. No unknown, erratic at best, diva future, but one wrapped in peace and security, with little girls in princess dresses that learn about appropriate manners and good education from a gentle and serene voice.
Did she enjoy herself when she kissed him? Did she sense how much she would fit just right, like a harmonious mirror image to him and everything that was so mesmerizing and beautiful about him? Did she secretly hope for him to feel a spark when he touched her and intertwined their fingers? Did she think he’d maybe even start falling for her if they worked together just a little longer, kissed a bit more often and talked a bit deeper? Did she realize that he wasn’t interested and that he was hers, hers, hers, hers, hers.
Bom would never know. And she would never mention these thoughts aloud, because the loathing passes as quickly as it has consumed her mind before, leaving a harsh pang of guilt in its wake. Who was she to accuse someone she hasn’t met and spoken to even once? Why is she even worried when she knows that he would never look at another woman the way he looks at her? Isn’t she supposed to trust in him and his love for her, whole-heartedly and unconditionally?
That is why she can’t bring herself to utter a single word, never give him even the slightest hint. She knows he would be apologetic and peer at her with this crestfallen look that she can’t bear to see. He would feel bad for upsetting her although there isn’t anything to be for her to be upset about to begin with. It's all mere imagery and ghosts in her head, so how could she possibly fault him for doing what he loves? Acting is his special passion.
And sometimes he has to kiss people for it.
No big deal.
Bom simply can’t be the kind of girlfriend that freaks out and conjures up invisible chains for imaginary ghosts. She wants to have at least that little bit of that grace and inner beauty. All these pure thoughts that crack open the ugly shell around her heart to let out the unconditional support and trust that he really deserves. Because she loves him so.
Yet from time to time, jealousy raises its ugly green head.
And she fumes. Silently. When he’s not around she will turn on the TV again and rewatch these scenes. She’ll scowl at her flawless face when she kisses him. Too often. Too long. Too intently. That’s when she wants to pick up her phone to call him with spiteful questions tumbling out before he even manages to say hello. She wants to ask him how many takes they did, how often he kissed her and how much he liked holding her in his arms.
If he thought of his ugly girlfriend sitting at home even once.
It would be devastating and unfair, but it would make her feel so much better before treacherous tears will prickle in her eyes and betray her. She hates herself for even feeling this way, with so many awful and selfish thoughts spinning in her head while this man right beside her, the one that loves her to the moon and back, is pure and honest to the core.
It just stings so horribly.
It’s not even the way her lips touch his, Bom realizes when she is really honest with herself, or how good they look together when they hold hands and walk through these fictional streets with a fictional story up to their fictional happy ending.
It’s how she can never be that woman with him on the screen, seen by thousands.
Hell, she can’t even be the woman he can hold hands with in front of a few. Freely and openly, out there in the streets when they go grab lunch with their dogs in tow. Just like he can never be the man she gives a loving peck when they stroll down that familiar alley towards the park they both like the most.
They can only be themselves, hiding within the comfort of their own home where no one can spot them, and the way she looks at him when he’s about to wake up. And the way he looks at her when he walks through the door and sees her for the first time after days of separation.
She probably wouldn’t even really notice the way his lips curl and his eyes light up when he’s amused but tries not to say anything. She doesn’t know what waking up next to him feels like, when the sunlight barely highlights his features and his hair sticks up in all directions, only for her to smooth out with fingers delicately running over every little strand. It’s not her he sees when he stirs minutes later and cracks a sleepy eye open, entirely lost in thoughts and dreams. And it’s not her he gives his first smile of the day to so easily, before pulling her close again with a content sigh.
This thought calms her and her heavy heart again and she tries to hold onto the little bit comfort it provides. She offers him a small smile as he returns from fetching fresh coffee from the kitchen and finds that she doesn’t even have to pretend. He sets both mugs down before scooting close again to provide an arm around her shoulders and a source of never-ending warmth. Needy for this kind of touch Bom seeks him out and curls into his side, and soon she receives that light kiss to her temple that soothes her like no string of words ever could.
She tilts her head and notices that he, unaware of her inner turmoil before, wears this particular child-like grin on his face again, his dark eyes sparkling with unhidden pride. He's staring at the screen that she barely pays attention to, apparently showing one of his older co-actors in action. And he continues his little tale again, with words leaving this slight rumbling echo in his chest that she feels when her hand splays out over the fabric of his shirt.
And he tells her about how he stood behind the cameras to watch this happen, because it’s just so inspiring to learn from this kind of talent. As if he’s not blessed with just as much skill and genius, she wants to say. But he doesn’t think of himself, he never really does, he’s just so happy and excited and that’s when his smile broadens a certain way that makes his dimples really show.
She loves him so.
It’s safe here on their No Work Wednesdays, curled up in sweaters with blankets hugging their knees and coffee mugs pressed between their palms.
It’s where he is all hers and she is all his, and nothing can touch them, not even imaginary ghosts.
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it made me feel so much you should be proud. :[ it's been a very long time since i've empathized with a character/muse who wasn't my own.
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oppa-approved.
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(Anonymous) 2013-05-15 12:08 pm (UTC)(link)There's not much of a comment to make other than... THIS WAS AMAZING! T~T Awww, it was cute and funny and realistic. Three hard things to capture all in one fic. 8) And if this is you writing without a beta, then... dayum girl, you better insure those fingers of yours for writing gold!
Okay, my lame comment is done. n_n <3
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And that's not a lame comment at all, because oh my god. Thank you very much! It's a first try and there's much to improve on, but I'll just revel in the encouragement for a bit now before working on more /)_(\