maayacolabackup

#

Yang Hyun Suk, without fail, always calls when Jiyong is sleeping.

This is sort of a feat, because Jiyong is hardly ever sleeping, because he doesn’t have time to sleep. He barely has time to do anything, when promotions are happening, and this time is worse than usual because they’re doing simultaneous promotions in two countries.

Besides, Jiyong sort of prioritizes changing his hair extensions over sleeping anyway. Especially because he knows that once he goes to sleep he is impossible to wake up.

But Jiyong’s at the end of his tether, exhaustion lying on top of him like a winter quilt, and all he wants to do is close his eyes and forget about working for the next five hours.

So, of course, that’s when Yang Hyun Suk calls. Jiyong thinks about ignoring the call, because his sheets are really soft, and as much as he likes this new apartment, it feels sort of like a hotel room because he’s only slept in it, like, twice or something, and all his boxes are still stacked haphazardly in the living room where Youngbae had left them back in January. But he can’t ignore the call, because Jiyong’s been an adult making adult decisions since he was twelve, so he moans pitifully to himself, because no one can hear him, and rolls over, until the sheets are wrapped around his legs and torso like a sleeping bag. He grabs his phone off the nightstand, and accidentally knocks two of his rings onto the floor, which isn’t a big deal, because it’s not like the things will get lost, as big as they are.

“Hello?” he mumbles into the receiver, and he remembers to use polite form, barely.

“Jiyong,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “Wake up.”

“What’s going on?” Jiyong asks, becoming more aware. It’s hot inside his cocoon of sheets, he realizes, and he kind of needs to use the restroom. But really, now he’s just worrying. The last time he got a call like this, his marijuana charge had hit the news. The time before that, Daesung had had an accident that had resulted in a death. “Is everyone okay? Am I okay?”

“Yes, of course,” Yang Hyun Suk says distractedly, his voice nasal and flat. “That’s not why I’m calling.”

“It’s four in the morning,” Jiyong whines, and his boss laughs.

“I have a five month old baby and a toddler,” he replies. “There’s no such thing as night anymore.” He clears his throat, and Jiyong wants to laugh, because it’s totally the same as Seungri’s impersonation of him, but laughing takes too much energy.

“I just got news from AVEX that my plan’s been approved.”

“Your plan?” Jiyong asks tentatively, because YG’s ‘plans’ are never simple, and they’re never expected.

“Yes,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “My devious, devious plan.” He clears his throat again, and Jiyong can faintly hear the sound of crying in the background. “When this promotion cycle finishes, you’re going to be part of a new unit group.”

“A new unit?” Jiyong asks, and he frowns. He was looking forward to a bit of free time, to write and regroup. The others had had vacation, but Jiyong had gone straight from ‘ALIVE’ to his solo album, and then they all had done the world tour, and then GD&TOP had done a mini-promotion in Japan, and now they’re all promoting the full-length album concurrently in Japan and Korea. Those two months in the middle, when everyone else had slept… Jiyong hadn’t had those. He had kind of been hoping maknae or Youngbae would be coming out with a solo album next, so he could take a moment to breathe.

But Papa YG is calling him, which means he’ll either be writing music or involved somehow in whatever is next.

“Yes,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “You and Seungri are going to be a unit, for a Japanese release.”

“Seungri?” Jiyong asks faintly, because he doesn’t really get it. “Why?”

“Seungri, you might have noticed, is the most popular in Japan,” he starts. “And you’re the one who can compose best for him.”

“So I could compose for him, and he could do a solo release,” Jiyong says, and lets his head fall back against the pillow in exhaustion. He looks over at his alarm clock, with its neon-blue numbers, and sighs. He’ll have to be out of bed and ready for the van to pick him up in two hours.

“No,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “There’s also the marketing issue.”

“You just said Seungri was the most popular,” Jiyong says. “And I’m already part of GD&TOP.”

“Yes,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “But Nyongtori is even more popular.”

Oh. Right. Jiyong knows that fanservice sells. He’s always known it, even though he’s never actually gone out of his way to do it. Still, whenever he cuts eyes at Seungri or Seunghyun pulls Daesung a little too close, the screaming girls are more than enough for him to get the picture.

It’s funny, he thinks, that the fans all love to pretend Seungri is something more to him, but if they even suspected that Jiyong liked kissing men outside of his professional life…

They never will though. Because Jiyong has far too much self-control and situational awareness for that. Because the marijuana incident has taught him that there aren’t any moments he’s off; there’s always a camera, and always someone watching. Always someone waiting for him to trip up. Jiyong won’t make that mistake again, thinking he can let his guard down.

Jiyong’s learned his lesson. You can’t trust anyone, in this business. Not even yourself, sometimes. Jiyong tucks the pain of that lesson into his pocket and saves it, along with his secrets and desires, for later. For after.

“You want to sell us like that, then,” Jiyong says, and he won’t be going back to sleep now. Not because he minds all this—no, it’s more that now that his brain is wrapping around it, he’s got all sorts of ideas.

“Don’t say it like that,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “You’ve probably got one track planning itself in your head already.”

“Three,” Jiyong admits. “We’ll sound really nice together. Maknae singing harmony with me.” The thought of it makes Jiyong shiver with a little bit of anticipation. He runs a hand through his hair. It’s getting a little long, but he likes it. It’s soft, and healthy. He’ll probably dye it soon, and the natural, soft texture will be lost, but he likes it right now; the way it parts easily for his fingers and threatens to misbehave for his hairstylists.

He wonders if Seungri will mind. Being with just Jiyong. After what happened…

“I want five tracks, Jiyong. We’ll do a mini-album. No solo tracks for either of you, and I want primarily English and Japanese language lyrics.”

“I know, I know,” Jiyong says distractedly. “I’ll probably write the tracks with maknae… he can at least speak Japanese.” His sheets are sticking to his skin now, and Jiyong wants to get up, and he wants to write. There’s a melody pulsing now, pounding at his skull.

It’s always like this. Jiyong gets ideas, and if he doesn’t get them out, right then, they stay there, hammering away at his attention span and his sanity until he can put pen to paper. Or fingers to keyboard, but that’s very literal and Jiyong is all about metaphors.

“I’ll let you go, then,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “I expect your usual standard of work.”

“Of course,” Jiyong says seriously. “I won’t let you down.”

“You never have,” Yang Hyun Suk says, and he hangs up the phone, leaving Jiyong to ponder half-written melodies and impossible standards he can’t help but want to meet.

#

Nyongtori is a nickname BIGBANG fans give them, a play on their names.

The first time Jiyong hears it, he’s holding hands with Seungri as they walk down the street. Seungri’s hand is small and warm, and Seungri’s the same height as him, hair floppy and spiky and all over the place, and his face is still round, baby fat hiding in his cheeks and in the set of his smile.

Seungri’s always surprised when Jiyong grabs his hand. Jiyong thinks it’s because it took him so long to accept that it would be Seungri instead of Hyunseung. That Seungri would be their fifth.

It’s because Jiyong doesn’t like change. Superficial change is something he embraces. He changes his clothes at least three times a day, and he’ll change his hair and his make-up and his favorite color on a whim as easily as anyone else, maybe easier. But Jiyong’s eaten the same brand of cereal his whole life, and he’s used the same brand of shampoo, and he won’t even consider using a different detergent on his laundry than the one his mother used when he lived at home. And he’d had the same vision of his perfect band since he’d found out BIGBANG was going to exist with himself as the leader.

Seungri wasn’t part of that vision, until he was, and as soon as Jiyong decided to let Seungri into his heart, Seungri had barreled in, bulldozing all the walls with his laugh that’s too loud and his smile that’s too wide. Seungri’s every action demands attention, and Jiyong can’t help but give it to him.

There’s something magnetic about Seungri, and Jiyong’s hands wander and always find Seungri, wrapping around his shoulder or grabbing at his cheeks. Jiyong doesn’t know why Seungri inspires this in him, only that even when Seungri dodges away, Jiyong doesn’t want to stop, grabbing his squirming form until Seungri gives in and lets Jiyong plant a kiss on his cheek. “Maknae is mine,” he’ll say to interviewers, dancers, or anyone else who is willing to listen, because every time he says it, a possessive thrill goes through him, and then stops in his chest, burning there bright and hot.

Jiyong realizes Seungri only doesn’t like Jiyong touching him in front of the cameras. When the cameras are off, Seungri will fold into Jiyong’s arms at even the slightest tug. When the cameras are off, Seungri will curl up in Jiyong’s bed with him and talk to him about everything, and Jiyong will just listen, letting Seungri’s voice wash over him until they both fall asleep,

Jiyong doesn’t care about the cameras, but Seungri does. So Jiyong just grabs Seungri’s hand whenever he wants, and Seungri always flushes, his eyes darting around to see if people notice.

Jiyong doesn’t understand why until he hears the whisper. “Are they dating?” he hears a girl ask her friend, as they walk down the street, and Seungri drops his hand like it’s on fire. Jiyong’s throat is dry, and his hand is lonely.

Later that night, Seungri slips under Jiyong’s blanket, knees banging into Jiyong’s as he makes himself fit, folding himself into the spaces Jiyong’s body leaves in the bed. He fits perfectly, and Jiyong sighs as Seungri’s head finds the space between Jiyong’s shoulder and chin.

“It really bothers you?” Jiyong asks, quietly, into Seungri’s fluffy hair. Little pieces of it work their way into Jiyong’s mouth, but Jiyong doesn’t mind. Seungri’s hair smells like lavender. “When people think that about us?”

“It’s not true,” Seungri says. “So yeah.”

“Does that mean it wouldn’t bother you if it were true?” Jiyong jokes, and Seungri doesn’t answer, just sighs and burrows closer, slipping a leg between Jiyong’s. “We’re getting too old for this,” Jiyong informs him, and Seungri ignores him.

“They call us Nyongtori,” Seungri says, just when Jiyong thinks he’s fallen asleep. Jiyong blinks.

“What?”

“Nyongtori. It’s our… couple-name.”

“You’ve been searching yourself on Naver again,” Jiyong chides, but really, it’s funny. “That’s so cute—the name, I mean. Nyongtori.”

“You’re not upset?” Seungri asks, and Jiyong sighs, even as he continues to chuckle.

“Why should I be?” Jiyong queries, and Seungri relaxes as Jiyong soothingly rubs his back. “Maknae is mine. At least if we have a couple name, everyone’s acknowledging it.”

“Okay,” Seungri says. “Maknae is yours.”

It’s the first time he’s acknowledged that Jiyong’s possessiveness is okay, and maybe that’s why Jiyong likes the name Nyongtori so much.

#

In the morning, Jiyong calls Seungri. “Have you heard?” he asks, and Seungri grunts into the phone.

“Hyung, it’s early,” Seungri whines, and Jiyong smiles, because their baby is cute, even if Jiyong wants to point out that Seungri should have been awake awhile ago if he plans on being on being ready when the van arrives to pick him up for rehearsal.

“You know it’s a shame if I am waking you up,” Jiyong laughs, and his hands toy casually with his rings, twisting them about his knuckles. “Me. Kwon Jiyong. Waking someone up.”

“You’re only hard to wake up because you work until you drop,” Seungri mumbles, and Jiyong chuckles when Seungri swears, probably because he’s tripping over his sheets. “Trust me, I know how you live.”

“I know, I know,” Jiyong says, and he bites on his lip. “So I take it you didn’t get a four am phone call from our boss?” Jiyong looks out the window. He’s still getting used to the street view. Unfortunately, he’d had to move out of his old apartment back in January, because somehow the address had leaked. Jiyong would still like to know how that happened, but what’s done is done. It’s not like he’d had time to get attached to the place, after all. Between touring and work, he’d felt more like a visitor than a resident. He’d been hoping this place would be different, but it’s more of the same.

“No,” Seungri says. “Or if I did, I slept right through it.” The tone of Seungri’s voice is playful, and Jiyong has a feeling that Seungri had rolled over and given the phone the finger last night. He can’t help but laugh.

“Naughty maknae,” Jiyong says. “What if something really bad had happened?” He hears Seungri huff, and the sound of rustling fabric lets Jiyong know that Seungri is doing that weird dance he does to wriggle into his tighter jeans. “You are so lucky you don’t have any hair.”

“I have hair,” Seungri protests. “It’s just not ridiculous.” Seungri sighs, and Jiyong can totally picture him zipping up his pants, relieved to have gotten them on without falling. It makes Jiyong feel kind of nostalgic for the times when he’d watched that circus from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and curlers in his hair. “Anyway, if it had been super important, there would have been something in our chat. I have it set to alert, so it would have been making noises.”

Jiyong files that piece of information away for later, and clears his throat. “We’re doing unit promotions.”

Seungri’s shuffling noises stop. “Who is we?” He asks, and Jiyong can hear him collapse onto his bed to listen more carefully.

“Me. And you.”

“But we aren’t a unit,” Seungri says slowly, and Jiyong rolls his eyes.

“We are now,” Jiyong says. “And I’ve already got all sorts of ideas and lyrics… And I’d like you to write some of the Japanese lyrics.”

Seungri is quiet for a moment, then he sighs. “You want… you want to write music with me?” Seungri sounds incredulous, and Jiyong wonders what the big deal is.

“Well, yes,” Jiyong says. “We’re a unit now.”

“But you’ve never written music with me,” Seungri repeats. “Only with TOP-hyung, or with Teddy, or… Not me.”

“Do you not want to?” Jiyong asks. He’s confused. Jiyong hadn’t considered that Seungri would mind writing with Jiyong. Or that Seungri might have some kind of issue… “Is this about-“

“No!” Seungri says. “Of course not! I’d love to!” Seungri says quickly, and it’s almost a shout, but Jiyong just looks quizzically at his phone for a second before he shrugs. The van pulls up outside, and Jiyong gathers his wallet and his backpack, slipping into his fuchsia and gold sneakers at the door. “I was just surprised, is all. That you’d want to.”

“Oh,” Jiyong says. “I thought it was about. Other things.” Jiyong locks the door, and notices his hands are shaking a bit. The key goes in smooth, but the lock is stiff, because Jiyong had new locks installed when he moved in. He licks his lips as he takes the stairs. “You know. Because of before.”

Seungri’s wide eyes, and Jiyong’s accelerated heart-rate. The way Seungri refused to meet his gaze for weeks and weeks. Everything seems okay now, but Jiyong sometimes wonders if it really is.

“Don’t be silly,” Seungri says. “You know I… don’t care about that.” Seungri’s voice is falsely cheerful.

“Right,” Jiyong says, slowly. “Anyway, I figured we’d get started as soon as possible.” He waves to the driver, and notices Daesung is already asleep in the back seat. He slips smoothly into his professional voice, and Seungri laughs.

“Oh my god, are you using your ‘interview voice’ on me?” Seungri snickers. “Don’t even, I have seen your song writing process. We’re going to be up at three in the morning, eating Starburst candies and playing drumbeats on the wall. I pity your new neighbors. I had such a hard life, hyung.”

Jiyong swallows, and relaxes. “Whatever,” Jiyong says. “We’re coming to get you next. Brush your teeth.”

“I always do,” Seungri grumbles, and Jiyong snorts.

“You always do it last,” Jiyong says. “You’ve only got six minutes, so you’ll have to skip the ‘stare at myself in the mirror for ten minutes’ part of your morning routine.”

“Damn,” Seungri says. “That really is my favorite part of the morning.”

“I know,” Jiyong replies. “But you should have woken up earlier.”

“Well, if you hadn’t called me-“ Seungri starts and Jiyong makes a tsking sound with his tongue against the back of his teeth.

“You’d still be asleep,” Jiyong interrupts. “You should thank me, maknae.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Seungri says. “Let me go brush my teeth. And find a jacket. Because it’s cold.”

“It is,” Jiyong said, and he pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up, sitting next to Daesung and putting his sunglasses on to hide his red eyes. The gentle purr of the car almost lulls him to sleep, but then Seungri is bounding into the car, crowding his space and waking Daesung.

“Jiyong-hyung? When’d you get here?” Daesung asks drowsily, as Seungri squeezes in between him and Jiyong. Seungri is wearing his skinny jeans, the ones with holes at the knees that Jiyong bought him last year for his birthday. Jiyong is pleased, because the pockets are fraying the way they always fray on Seungri’s favorite jeans, because Seungri likes to shove his hands in his pockets when he talks and it wears away at the edges until they’re a mess. “Morning, Seungri.”

“Morning!” Seungri says cheerfully, like he hadn’t been grumbling on the phone with Jiyong less than fifteen minutes ago, speech slurred with sleep. Jiyong turns to look out the window instead of saying hello, but Seungri doesn’t mind, pressing his thigh against Jiyong’s and leaning too close. Jiyong shifts uncomfortably for a moment before he relaxes.

If Seungri doesn’t mind the touching, why should he? “Morning, hyung,” Seungri says into Jiyong’s ear, and Jiyong shivers a bit as the minty smell of Seungri’s toothpaste washes over him, mixed with the musky smell of his aftershave.

“You’re old enough to shave, now?” Jiyong jokes, putting his hand on Seungri’s thigh, letting his hand rest right above the open patch of Seungri’s knee. The muscle there tightens, for the briefest moment, making Jiyong wonder if Seungri doesn’t want it there, but Seungri relaxes and leans closer to Jiyong.

“Don’t be mean to me,” Seungri says with a pout, and Jiyong finally turns to look at him. The circles under his eyes are dark, darker than usual, but his smile is mischievous and alert. “We’re a unit now.”

“Say what?” Youngbae says, as he climbs into the van. “You’re a unit?”

Seungri looks at Jiyong for answers, and Jiyong sighs. “We’re going to be promoting in Japan together. A mini-album. Got the call last night.”

“A whole mini-album? I thought it was one song?” Seungri says, and Jiyong frowns. “If you answered your phone…” he says testily, fingers tightening on Seungri’s thigh, and Seungri wriggles a bit, and smiles charmingly.

“I need my beauty sleep,” he says, and he bats his eyelashes at Jiyong in a way that does funny things to Jiyong’s stomach. “Plus you told me I had a bed-time, don’t you remember?”

Jiyong does, and it makes him smile. “Yes, but let’s be honest here; that was totally ‘go lock yourself in your room and watch lesbian porn and stop bothering me’ time, not bed-time.” Seungri laughs loudly and obnoxiously, and so does Daesung, as Youngbae winces.

“It’s too early in the morning for you,” Youngbae says, and he pops in his earphones in the front seat.

Seungri sticks his tongue out at the back of Youngbae’s seat, and Jiyong wants to pinch his cheeks. He wonders if he’s still allowed to do that.

“What?” Seungri says, and Jiyong realizes he’s been staring. Seungri knows despite Jiyong’s sunglasses, because Seungri always knows when someone is staring at him.

“Nothing,” Jiyong says, and he looks away, back out the window. They’re almost at Seunghyun’s place, he notices.

“It’ll be fun,” Seungri says quietly, after a few moments pass. Jiyong meets Seungri’s eyes, and Seungri’s expression is open and honest. It always is; Jiyong admires that. “To work together. Just us.” He pitches his voice soft, because Youngbae is listening to music and Daesung has nodded off again. “Don’t you think?”

Seungri’s fingers find Jiyong’s, and fiddle with Jiyong’s rings, same as Jiyong himself does when he’s nervous. The big ring on his middle finger is the one that Seungri focuses on, twisting it around and around on Jiyong’s finger. Jiyong feels his heartbeat inexplicably quicken, but he ignores it.

“Of course it will be,” Jiyong says, as the van pulls to a stop. “Maknae’s my favorite.”

“I know,” Seungri says. “It’s because I’m so cute.”

“Gross,” Seunghyun says as he curls his back, fitting his long body into the van and almost collapsing into the last seat, the one in front of Jiyong. “Someone’s been lying to maknae again.”

“It’s not me,” Jiyong says, and Seunghyun smirks. “Maknae lies to himself well enough for all of us.”

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” Seunghyun says, in a falsetto he clearly uses to imitate Seungri, and Jiyong covers his mouth with the hand Seungri doesn’t have possession of.

Seungri huffs, and releases Jiyong’s hand to cross his arms. “You’re just jealous.”

“Why, it’s T.O.P,” Seunghyun says, continuing with his play. “Seungri, you’re quite fair, but it is T.O.P., the rugged and handsome power-rapper of BIGBANG, who is the fairest in the land-“

Jiyong can’t help but laugh, and Seungri pretends to be put-out, but his eyes are sparkling and a half-smile is peeking up his face.

“So mean,” Seungri says. “We all know I’m the pretty one, no matter how much you narrow your eyes and waggle your eyebrows.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Seunghyun says, turning around in his seat, leaving Jiyong and Seungri pressed arm to arm in the back seat. Jiyong closes his eyes and leans his head back. After a while, Seungri falls into him, and he peeks out of one eye to investigate.

Seungri has fallen asleep, mouth slightly parted and eyelashes dark and heavy against the soft pink of his cheeks. He is rather pretty, Jiyong thinks, but he’s always known that. Seungri was pretty even as a kid. Jiyong had been awkward and strange, eyes too small and face too round for classic attractiveness, but Seungri had shown up beautiful, smooth skin and glowing smile and a face that made everyone want to trust him. The dark circles under his eyes only added to the charm, which Jiyong thought was totally unfair at the time, but now he gets it.

Jiyong gently frees his arm and wraps it around Seungri’s shoulders, and Seungri’s cheek presses into his chest.

If you’d asked Jiyong a month ago if he and Seungri would ever be sitting next to each other like this again, Jiyong’s hand curled around Seungri’s upper arm as Seungri curves into his side, he’d have been hard-pressed to answer.

That’s because two months ago, Jiyong had kissed him.

Jiyong remembers only parts of what happened. He’d been drunk, so drunk, and he had felt safe around Seungri. Like he could let his guard down around someone. Like it was okay to just be Jiyong around him. And Seungri had looked so pretty in the lamplight, as he’d waited for Jiyong outside the convenience store, hands in his pockets, thumbs through his belt-loops.

Still, Jiyong hadn’t meant to kiss him. Jiyong had just wanted to look at him a little closer. Or maybe to remind himself that maknae was still his. He’s not sure what happened, really, only that that suddenly his mouth was pressed against Seungri’s, and Seungri’s mouth was soft, so soft, and Seungri’s eyes were wide, and then he felt a little bit of return pressure, as Seungri’s hands had fisted in his jacket…

But then Seungri had pushed him off, same as he always does when they’re posing for the camera, and he had looked away from Jiyong. “You’re drunk,” Seungri says. “And you’ll be upset with yourself tomorrow.”

Seungri’s hands on his waist. Seungri’s breath on his neck. The smell of his lavender shampoo. Seungri. Seungri.

Jiyong had woken up with a hangover and a feeling in his gut that had nothing to do with how much he’d had to drink the night before.

“Seungri,” he’d said, when he walked out into his living room to find Seungri on the couch, arms around his legs, curled up into a ball. “I’m-“

“It’s nothing, right?” Seungri had asked. “You were drunk, right?” There was something strange in his voice, that Jiyong didn’t really understand. “You didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Maknae…” Jiyong had a million things he wanted to say, but Seungri wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it!” Seungri had said, and his cheerfulness had seemed… thin, like a layer over his actions that he usually reserved for the camera. Jiyong had reached out toward him, but Seungri had backed away from the touch, and that, more than anything, had told Jiyong it wasn’t okay.

And now, sometimes Jiyong feels like it was a dream. Like maybe it had never happened.

He looks down at their youngest, who breathes evenly, one arm finding its way across Jiyong’s waist, hand fisting in his shirt like they’re both still young enough that this isn’t weird, and his heart shivers.

Somehow, everything is like it was, and Jiyong wonders if Seungri’s managed to make himself forget.

Seungri always makes himself forget the things that hurt him. Jiyong hates knowing he’s been responsible for a lot of those things.

“You’re looking at him like he’s your girlfriend again,” Youngbae says. “Practicing for the camera?” He’s taken out one of his earbuds, and he’s got one eyebrow raised. “This is totally why you can’t keep a woman.”

“Are you giving me relationship advice?” Jiyong asks quietly, careful not to move too much. One of his hands slides into Seungri’s short hair, and Seungri sighs, and shifts, and Jiyong’s eyes flicker down to look at him for a moment before returning to Youngbae. “Because that would be ridiculous.”

“Just because I don’t date doesn’t mean I don’t have common sense,” Youngbae says defensively. Jiyong notes he’s also quiet, because both Daesung and Seungri are sleeping, and Seunghyun looks about halfway there. “Girls know you can look at someone like that, so when you don’t look like that at them, they feel unloved.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jiyong says. “I’m just looking after the maknae, is all. He’s mine.”

“See?” Youngbae says. “Possessive. It’s weird, Jiyong. Fanservice in private is not fanservice.”

“I just like taking care of him,” Jiyong says. “He’s a cute kid.”

“He’s not that much younger than you,” Seunghyun rumbles. “And he’s certainly not young enough for you to be petting him like that all the time.”

Jiyong’s throat feels dry. “He doesn’t seem to have a problem with it,” Jiyong says, and he’s glad he’s wearing sunglasses.

“Of course he doesn’t,” Youngbae says. “He doesn’t have a problem with anything you do. Because it’s you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jiyong says, and he’s glad he’s wearing sunglasses because he feels his eyes widen. He stops the motion of his hand in Seungri’s soft, soft hair, and his voice is too loud, because it makes Seungri shift, and Daesung’s eyes flutter open.

“It means you’re stupid,” Seunghyun says, and he doesn’t turn around. Jiyong glares half-heartedly at the back of his seat, but then Seungri moves again, arm tightening. Jiyong’s glad he’s just wearing a sweatshirt, otherwise he’s be conflicted about the way Seungri’s nails are digging into the fabric.

Daesung suddenly jolts up in his seat. Jiyong snickers lightly, because his hair is wild in the back. “Are we there yet?”

“Almost,” the driver says.

When they pull to a stop outside the building, Seungri slowly sits up, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hands and smiling at Jiyong. “You’re a good pillow,” Seungri whispers, and Jiyong would roll his eyes but no one would see.

“Too skinny,” Seunghyun says, climbing out of the van. “Sucky pillow.”

“How would you know?” Seungri says, cutting in front of Youngbae to follow Seunghyun out of the car.

“Jiyong and I spent long months together as GD&TOP,” Seunghyun says, and his voice trails off as he walks toward the building. “Long, romantic months—why the cool look, maknae? Are you jealous, maknae?” And then Jiyong can’t hear them anymore. He looks down, and one of his rings is wrong-side up. He smiles, and turns it, so it faces outward like the rest of them.

Jiyong waits until Youngbae and Daesung have exited the vehicle, the latter scratching sleepily at the back of his head, before grabbing his backpack and following them out.

Seungri, to his surprise, is waiting for him, eyes open and a little solemn. The others walk ahead, and Seungri, for the briefest moment, reaches down and snags Jiyong’s hand with his own, and squeezes. Then he lets go, and steps back again “Hey,” Seungri says, and his eyes follow the others as they walk through the glass doors. “I like our friendship the way it is,” Seungri says. “Doesn’t matter if other people think it’s weird.”

“You-“ Jiyong starts. “You weren’t really asleep?” Jiyong feels a sneaking tingle of embarrassment run up his spine, and recalls, vividly, the way Seungri’s hair felt like silk between his fingers. It always has. “Punk.”

Seungri grins cheekily. “I didn’t move, did I?” He scratches his chin like he’s thinking. “Maybe there’s a future for me in acting, after all.”

Jiyong pulls his shades down. “It’s really alright with you? After…”

“If it wasn’t, I would have said something,” Seungri says, turning his face away from Jiyong’s examination. “I’m not known for my silence.”

Jiyong kind of adores that Seungri won’t shut up, because he loves always knowing what Seungri is feeling or thinking. He loves the way Seungri looks when he’s explaining things, face lit up. Look at me, Seungri’s face seems to say, and Jiyong wants to. Jiyong does.

Maknae’s his favorite, after all.

“Okay then,” Jiyong says, and he nudges Seungri with his elbow. “Let’s catch up, maknae.”

#

Maknae is Jiyong’s favorite. If you ask Jiyong who his best friend is, he might say “Dong Youngbae.” And if you ask him which member he likes to talk to about nothing, he might say “Choi Seunghyun.” And if you ask Jiyong who he likes to spend quiet moments with, he might say “Kang Daesung.”

But if you ask Jiyong who his favorite is, it will always be Lee Seunghyun. It will always be Seungri.

Jiyong doesn’t really know why, only there’s something about Seungri that Jiyong can’t look away from. When Seungri sits on his lap and plays with his fingers, Jiyong’s pulse quickens, and his heart is so loud in his ears that he can’t imagine liking anyone more.

He tries. He goes out on dates with Japanese supermodels, and girls his sister sets him up with, and sometimes with music video dancers who smile at him just right when they’re filming, strong shoulders and full thighs and just enough facial hair to scratch along the upper edge of Jiyong’s top lip. Jiyong tries to fall in love with them, too.

But they all seem to know that Jiyong’s heart isn’t available for the taking. That Jiyong won’t fall in love with them. Jiyong’s not sure how they know, because Jiyong’s not even completely sure of it himself. All he knows is that if someone asks him if he’s in love, he’d never say yes, but it somehow feels untrue to say no.

Mizuhara Kiko comes close though. Something about her is charming, the way she arches her brow, and the way she knows how beautiful she is, and the way she jokes with him, and makes cute expressions to make him give her what she wants.

Jiyong realizes, after awhile, that the things he likes about her are the things he likes about Seungri, and the things he doesn’t like are the things that are different.

Kiko thinks he is perfect because she can’t see his flaws. Seungri thinks he is perfect because he knows all of Jiyong’s flaws, and how hard Jiyong’s worked to overcome them.

That ends because the media finds out, and Jiyong doesn’t want to destroy her career. Japan is harsh on its ladies, and Kiko wants to be an actress. Availability is key, Jiyong knows. He’s an idol, if a non-traditional one. He tells Yang Hyun Suk that they’re just friends, and the next day, he makes it true.

“Ahhh, but you really liked her,” Seunghyun says when Jiyong tells them, and Seungri is staring at his shoes, and Jiyong decides to examine his nails. “That’s too bad.”

“I like maknae better, anyway,” Jiyong says, and Youngbae makes a gagging noise.

“You’re just saying that,” Seungri says, still not looking up. “You’ll have a new girlfriend next week.”

“And you’ll have three,” Jiyong retorts, but he stands, and walks over to Seungri, squeezing into the same chair with him and tugging on Seungri’s shirt until Seungri leans closer. “But I’m not just saying that.” Jiyong whispers the last part into Seungri’s ear, and Seungri smiles a little, even as he goes red.

Jiyong’s pleased, and tries not to think about how much it’s true.

#

Yang Hyun Suk drops into their practice room as they rehearse for their final Inkigayo taping in three hours. “Everything looks good,” he says, when Jiyong collapses into a chair next to him, sweat dripping down his face. “Don’t make yourself too tired or the performance won’t look good.”

“Yes,” Jiyong says, and he looks up, and Seungri is running through the choreography again, eyes watching every line of his own body as he slowly slides from move to move. “I’ll go stop him.”

“Have you talked to him about the mini-album?” Yang Hyun Suk asks, and Jiyong nods.

“A little, this morning. He seems excited.”

“Of course he is,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “He idolizes you.”

“We’re friends,” Jiyong says. “And I’m his leader.”

“Mmm,” Yang Hyun Suk says, and there’s a weird look in his eyes, but then it’s gone, so Jiyong wonders if he’s imagined it. “Better go stop your little brother from wearing himself out.”

“Will do, hyung,” Jiyong says, and peels himself up from his seat.

Seungri is staring at himself, flexing his wrist. “It’s not the same every time,” Seungri says.

“It looks good, maknae,” Jiyong says. “Relax. This is the last time, not the first.”

“You frowned, after Tuesday’s,” Seungri says, and Jiyong doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

“What?”

“When we watched the taping last time. You frowned when I did this. So it must have looked wrong,” Seungri says distractedly. Jiyong licks his lips.

“So what?” Jiyong says. “If it was a problem, I would have told you.” Jiyong reaches up and grabs Seungri’s wrist, forcing it down. “I’m the perfectionist, not you.” Seungri’s pulse is quick beneath his fingers.

“I just want to make you happy, hyung,” Seungri says, and then he’s biting his lip, and Jiyong swallows. He turns away, but then he catches their reflection in the mirror. Seungri looks so tall, and Jiyong remembers when they were the same height. Seungri’s neck is flushed red, and Jiyong watches a drop of sweat slide down his clavicle and disappear below the v-neck of his black t-shirt.

Jiyong’s heart is beating too fast. He takes a deep breath. “I’m happy,” Jiyong says. “It looks good.”

“Yeah?” Seungri’s eyes grab a hold of his in the mirror, and Jiyong pulls away.

“Come on. Let’s cool down and talk to the boss about the mini-album.”

“Okay,” Seungri says, and he pulls away, trotting over to his tote-bag and retrieving a towel. Jiyong still doesn’t look at him, instead walking back over to Yang Hyun Suk, straddling his chair as he sits down. Seungri is there a minute later, dragging a chair with him.

“How long do you need to compose?” Yang Hyun Suk asks, and Jiyong taps his fingers along the wood. His rings clank against the metal screws.

“I’ve got the beginning sketched out for some things already. And some things I was already writing for Seungri.” Sometimes, when Jiyong wakes up at two in the morning with a melody buzzing in his head, he writes songs for the others. Sometimes he writes songs for himself, or for the band to do together, but mostly, he just writes songs for Seungri. Seungri’s doesn’t have the strongest vocals in the group, but they’re the sweetest… there’s purity and sweetness to his voice that makes Jiyong want to write things with really raunchy lyrics, because Jiyong likes the idea, sometimes, of messing things up.

Of messing Seungri up. He doesn’t give Seungri those songs, because Jiyong knows he’s not supposed to want that. So he just… doesn’t. Another thing he can’t do. He just adds it to the list.

“For me?” Seungri asks, leaning closer so their shoulders and knees touch. Seungri is resting his chin on he back of his own chair, and looking up at Jiyong through his lashes in a way that’s falsely coy. Seungri is always doing cutsey things because he knows it gets him what he wants. It works on Jiyong, too, so Jiyong doesn’t really blame him.

“Yes,” Jiyong says, pretending like he can barely spare Seungri a glance. Seungri hates that, Jiyong knows he does, and then Seungri moves his chair closer in retaliation, which makes Yang Hyun Suk look at him curiously.

“I can’t hear,” Seungri says facetiously, and Jiyong wants to laugh, because Seungri looks so smug and proud of himself, but he’s too busy trying to ignore the way they’re pressed together thigh to thigh.

“Then I’ll book the studio for you for two weeks from now. You can write and finish things up, and take a breather, too, Jiyong.”

“Seungri’s going to help me with the Japanese lyrics,” Jiyong says, and Yang Hyun Suk peers at Seungri.

“Oh really?” he says, and Seungri blushes, and it’s such a rare expression on his face that Jiyong takes a moment to enjoy it.

“Yes,” Seungri says. “He said I could.”

Yang Hyun Suk looks amused, and he gives Jiyong that look again, the one Jiyong saw earlier but couldn’t identify. He still doesn’t understand it.

“Well, I look forward to it,” Yang Hyun Suk says.

When he leaves, Youngbae comes over and slings an arm around Jiyong’s shoulder. “What was that about?”

“Seungri and I’s unit promotions,” Jiyong says. “In Japan.”

“I haven’t heard about this,” Seunghyun says, appearing out of nowhere despite the fact that he has a magenta-colored stripe in his faux-hawk and he’s taller than anyone else in the band. “Since when are you and the kid a unit group?”

“Since last night at four am,” Jiyong says. “Because I answered my phone.”

“Not my fault you’re a sucker,” Seungri says, but there’s a bit of apology in his smile when Jiyong gives him a tiny glare, and it’s adorable, the way he laughs, his tongue peeking out just a little and his eyes scrunching up. “Turn off your phone when you need sleep.”

“Jiyong can’t do that,” Seunghyun says. “Someone might make a decision without him about something, and then the world will end.” There’s a bit of sarcasm in it, understated the way Seunghyun’s sarcasm always is, and Jiyong controls his impulse to just stick his tongue out at the man.

“Shut up,” Jiyong says. “Four am calls have a way of being crises, around here.”

“Truth,” Youngbae says, sprawling on the floor in front of Seungri’s chair, kicking at the leg of it with his sneaker.

“Sorry,” Daesung says miserably. “Because of me, everyone is always worried now.”

“And me,” Jiyong says, and it stings because things aren’t supposed to be his fault. He’s supposed to be perfect when people are looking, and he wasn’t. It feels like failure, and Jiyong doesn’t want to feel it again.

He shifts his chair away from Seungri. “Anyway, maknae and I are going to be a unit group. Keep it quiet, for now,” Jiyong says, in his leader-voice, and Youngbae nods, crossing his arms behind his head.

“Sounds fun.”

“Sounds even gayer than usual,” Seunghyun says. “You guys should make it a competition.” He looks at Daesung, and Daesung’s face brightens.

“I’ll be Jiyong,” Daesung says, and Seunghyun immediately shoves his hands in his pockets and bounces on the balls of his feet.

“Hyung, hyung!” he says, and Daesung giggles before he schools his face into an indulgent smile and pinches Seunghyun’s cheek.

“Maknae,” Daesung says, in a terrible impersonation of Jiyong. “You are so cute I could eat you!”

“Hyung, you should drag me into that closet over there so we can talk about it!” Seunghyun screeches, and Daesung, who can barely restrain himself from cackling, crosses his arms.

“Why, when I can molest you right here in front of everyone?”

“Oh, hyung, not here, I’ll be so embarrassed~” Seunghyun wails, and Daesung leans forward and pretends to kiss him.

Youngbae is laughing so loud it echoes, and he pounds the floor as Jiyong wriggles uncomfortably in his seat. He sneaks a glance at Seungri, but Seungri is staunchly not looking at him, flushed and stiff, and Jiyong feels trapped and anxious.

“Stop it,” Jiyong says, and he tries not to get angry, because they’re just teasing. They don’t know about it, because Seungri would never have told them, and the way Seungri looks right now, maybe he wants people to know even less than Jiyong does. That hurts, a little, but Jiyong understands.

Maknae loves being a playboy, collecting girls’ phone numbers by the handful and having a different girlfriend every week when they’re in Japan. Maknae likes all of that, and Jiyong can understand not wanting it all to be ruined because of Jiyong’s lapse in judgment.

Jiyong can understand it, but as hard as he tries, he’s never been able to completely get rid of his feelings. Sometimes he thinks he’d like to, but he’s a songwriter. Songwriters need feelings. Jiyong spills it all onto paper and doesn’t otherwise let it affect his work.

Seunghyun chuckles and drops his pose, and Daesung plops on the floor next to Youngbae.

“Anyway,” Seunghyun says. “The moral of the story is that you can just do that. No one will care what you sing in Japan.”

“I’ll care,” Seungri says, and he’s looking down at the floor. “Excuse me for a moment.”

He disappears, to the bathroom or maybe to get water or something, and Seunghyun frowns. “I don’t get it,” he says. “He didn’t used to get so upset.”

“He’s older now,” Jiyong says, and his shirt is sticking to him. “I’m going to go shower.”

“Good idea,” Youngbae says. “Since your make-up takes hours.”

“It’s complicated,” Jiyong says, but it relaxes him a bit, to banter.

The shower relaxes him further, hot water pounding into his back and loosening his muscles. He concentrates on the way it feels as it hits his skin, instead of thinking about the way Seungri’s face had tensed. Or worse, the way Seungri’s mouth had felt beneath his own, that one early spring night, the taste of soju heavy on his tongue.

He towels off, slipping into his leather performance trousers, and quickly shakes the water out of his hair. He adds a fresh t-shirt, just until he can change into the cool belted shirt he acquired in France for the taping.

Seungri is normal again, laughing and doing a weird little dance with Daesung in the corner, and Seunghyun is reading a script. Youngbae is listening to music again, and playing with Twitter on his smartphone.

“That took forever, Jiyong,” Youngbae said. “You’re lucky the rest of us took showers in the other washroom while you took your Hollywood bath.”

“My appearance takes effort,” Jiyong says, and Seungri preens.

“Natural beauties like myself, of course, are wash and go!” He shouts across the room, and Youngbae shakes his fist at him, and Daesung shoves him into a chair, and Seungri laughs as he falls. Cute.

“Don’t touch my maknae,” Jiyong says, and he can play this game. Close, but not too close. It’s just a role, he thinks, not any different than the others. Jiyong’s got his own ways of keeping distance.

PART TWO