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maayacolabackupAt Inkigayo recording, Jiyong revels in the cheers of the crowd. It’s been two long years and Jiyong’s missed the stage, more than he’d ever thought he would.
Seungri has missed it too- he can see it in the fevered look in his eyes and the width of his smile before they start to sing, and the way he reaches out and touches outstretched fan hands before his manager demurely tells him he’s not supposed to rile them up like that. Jiyong does his usual blank face at them but on the inside he feels giddy.
When they start to sing though, Seungri looking into Jiyong’s eyes as he sings and Jiyong doing the same, Jiyong forgets about the crowd, and the screams, and how much this performance has to be exactly right, because singing in front of Seungri is the stage he missed most of all.
After they finish, in one take, which never happens because Jiyong is a perfectionist and there’s always something that can be better, Seungri blinks at him, quick in the way he always does when he’s nervous, and offers him a tentative smile. “The audience cried.”
“That’s why we can’t re-record,” Jiyong says. “It’s already perfect.”
“I missed a note, toward the end.”
“I didn’t notice,” Jiyong says, because he had been caught in some sort of spell. “Do you want to get lunch?” He doesn’t even think about the question, as he asks it, but afterwards he feels stupid.
Of course Seungri doesn’t want to get lunch. Jiyong had shown Seungri the worst, scariest sides of himself and if Seungri knew what was good for himself, he’d never want to spend more time with Jiyong than he had to.
“You’ve changed too,” Seungri says, after a pause that’s too long to be natural. “You used to be more like a bull in a china shop where people’s feelings were concerned.”
“Then I broke my favorite dishes, the really rare and expensive ones I’d kept for years, and I’ve felt the loss ever since,” Jiyong mumbles, and Seungri licks his lips.
“I have time for lunch,” Seungri says. “If you really want to.”
Jiyong does.
They sit across from each other in a waffle shop, both of them wearing hats and sunglasses to disguise themselves. Seungri, in Jiyong’s opinion, doesn’t really need a hat… It’s not like he has purple hair, but with how observant their fans are, Jiyong doesn’t begrudge him the extra one he always keeps in his car for emergencies.
They walk there from the studio, the August humidity making the walk a little uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as the space between them. Before, Seungri would have been walking close enough to jostle, and Jiyong would have held onto his elbow, or slung an arm around Seungri’s shoulders, pretending like Seungri wasn’t tall enough to make it a little uncomfortable.
They don’t speak until they order, and Jiyong, without thinking, orders Seungri’s favorite, and doesn’t really think about it until Seungri startles next to him.
“You still like that, right?” Jiyong asks, and Seungri nods, gnawing on his lower lip. Jiyong wraps his arms around himself and cocks his hip, waiting patiently for their order.
“I’m always surprised when you remember things like that,” Seungri says. “Friendships were never really your top priority.”
“I remember everything about you,” Jiyong says. “I missed you.”
Seungri doesn’t respond, but there’s a softening in his shoulders.
Seungri dives into the waffle, because Seungri has never been able to turn down desserts, and Jiyong wonders if this really counts as lunch. He’s not sure what to talk about. The silence isn’t comfortable.
Seungri looks up at him, and his eyes are over-bright, and it reminds Jiyong of years ago, when a treat like this was almost beyond their budget. Now Jiyong lives alone in a giant house outside of Seoul, drives a car that costs more than most people make in three years, and he’d trade it all to go back to that time.
Jiyong’s greed has always been different from other people’s greed.
Seungri has a bit of whipped cream on his upper lip. Jiyong’s eyes stick on it, and his hand trembles with the need to wipe it off.
“What?” Seungri asks, and Jiyong gives in to his urge, reaching forward and scraping his thumb across Seungri’s mouth.
Seungri freezes, and Jiyong doesn’t freeze too until his thumb is in his mouth. The cream is sweet, and Seungri’s eyes are round and staring.
Jiyong wants to keep him. Jiyong wants to grab him by the front of his shirt, and drag him across the table, and see if his lips taste the same as the cream.
Seungri licks at his lips, getting the remainder of the cream, and Jiyong wonders if looking at Seungri will ever be any easier.
“Thanks,” Seungri says, and he uses impolite speech, and Jiyong wants to correct him but he’s always sort of liked that about Seungri, because it’s never meant that Seungri didn’t respect him.
Jiyong misses being important to Seungri enough that it hurts to sit in front of him and mean nothing.
Jiyong gulps, and stands. “I just remembered I have something else to do,” Jiyong says shakily, and his body is flashing hot and cold. “I’m sorry to leave so suddenly.”
He practically runs out of the shop, and he doesn’t let himself think about it at all until he’s sitting in his car, driving home.
“I’m so stupid,” Jiyong says to himself, and the radio is off, so his words echo in the silence of the car. “I’m so stupid.”
Gaho greets him at the door, and Jiyong smiles a little, slipping out of his shoes and wandering into the kitchen where he keeps the treats.
His mobile beeps, alerting him of a text message.
i missed u 2 the message says, and Jiyong wants to take and take and take everything Seungri has until Seungri belongs to him.
He ignores the message, because he doesn’t know what to say that wouldn’t be horrifyingly transparent.
It’s weird to be anonymous.
It’s dark in the club, and all of them came out tonight, still on a high from a performance, and Seungri and Youngbae are showing off on the dance floor, while Daesung talks quietly with Chuljoon across the table. Jiyong is sitting next to Seunghyun, close enough that Seunghyun can feel the vibration of his arm as he shakes with leftover adrenaline.
Jiyong survives on the bread of audience cheers and the water of critical success, and maybe that’s why he’s been getting thinner and thinner, once round cheeks becoming drawn, and once bright eyes filled with an energy that’s more frenetic than joyous. He’s just too full on applause for there to be room in his belly for anything else.
There’s always another performance, another scandal, and another cigarette.
Jiyong would rather light up a joint, but it’s clear South Korea won’t accept that, now.
He’d been thinking about quitting music, when all of that went down, but it’d been a fleeting thought, not a serious one.
There’s nothing else Jiyong can really do, anyway. He was never really good at school, in the way that maknae was, and he never really wanted to do anything but make music.
“What are you thinking about so seriously?” Seunghyun asks, his deep voice carrying easily even in the rowdy club.
“Other career choices,” Jiyong says.
“You’d be a serial killer if you weren’t a musician,” Seunghyun says, and Jiyong laughs, but not too loud because it’s probably true. “You’re fixating and bizarre.”
“I just have an obsessive personality,” Jiyong says, and Seunghyun raises an eyebrow. Jiyong turns and looks out onto the dance floor below them, looking for Seungri.
He spots him, dancing with Youngbae, one of their dancers, Eunyoung, between them. Jiyong tries not to feel jealous, and it mostly works.
He hears Seunghyun laughing, and turns back to him. “What?”
“No, I have an obsessive personality. You know what I do? Collect toys.” Seunghyun takes a sip of his champagne. “You’ve got a creepy personality. You probably collect maknae’s hair in a shoebox under your bed.”
Jiyong frowns. “I do not.” He shifts in his seat, and makes him self not look back down at maknae, who somehow still has the energy to grind his hips against-
“You just hadn’t thought of it yet,” Seunghyun says. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Now you’ll start.”
“It’s not like that,” Jiyong defends, and his beer is getting a little warm. Jiyong won’t drink it if it gets any warmer, so he takes a sip.
“What’s Jiyong got that look on his face for?” Kush says, sliding into the booth and pushing Seunghyun into Jiyong’s side. Jiyong spills his beer and swears.
“It’s nothing. Just TOP-hyung picking on me.”
“Picking on you, huh?” Kush laughs. “About what?”
“How Jiyong is sort of crazy,” Seunghyun says without any reservation, and Jiyong swears again.
“Well, all the best artists are crazy,” Kush says. “It’s like, a prerequisite.”
“I’m not crazy,” Jiyong says. “I just… like everything a certain way.”
Seungri and Youngbae come back to the table, laughing and bumping elbows, and Jiyong watches a bead of sweat slowly slide down from Seungri’s temple to his neck, before it disappears into his black t-shirt.
“Right, of course,” Seunghyun says wryly, and Jiyong barely hears him.
Youngbae is touching Seungri too much. Jiyong wants to lock Seungri away and never let anyone touch him ever again.
And maybe he’s a little bit crazy.
Seungri meets Jiyong’s gaze, and flushes, licking his lips, and Jiyong remembers the way Seungri had looked, the night he’d caught Jiyong with that guy in the bathroom.
Jiyong’s not supposed to want Seungri like this.
“What are you doing, maknae?” Youngbae asks. “Sit down already.”
“Just playing a game,” Seungri says, and Jiyong’s heart is beating too fast.
And Jiyong thinks if he’s not crazy yet, he will be.
Seunghyun calls at eleven at night. “You haven’t had a birthday party yet,” he says, and Jiyong sighs.
“No time this year.”
“Teddy and I disagree. Teddy and I think you need to put on your fly-est kicks and get into Seoul right now instead of moping in your house.”
“Are you drunk?” Jiyong asks.
“If I say yes, will you come out?”
“Probably,” Jiyong says, and he’s already moving toward his closet, shuffling through his things looking for that t-shirt he likes with the naked woman on the front. “Give me an hour.”
“No,” Seunghyun says.
“Hyung, you know that’s me hurrying- I usually take an hour to get ready, let alone meet you somewhere.”
“Daesung said he’d be here in a half an hour, and he has thirty face-lotions he puts on from that princess make-up counter he’s got in his room.”
“Daesung’s coming out? Is it your birthday or mine?”
“Every day is my birthday,” Seunghyun says, and he slurs. “Come out. Come out twenty minutes ago.”
“Okay, okay,” Jiyong says, laughing, and he quickly call Youngbae to tell him to come along too, because he knows Seunghyun didn’t call Youngbae because he lives in constant fear of getting chewed out by him on the phone.
“TOP-hyung and Teddy are drunk and throwing me an impromptu birthday party,” Jiyong says, as soon as Youngbae answers the phone. “Hurry up and meet me.”
“Teddy already called me,” Youngbae says. “I’m going to pick you up so you don’t have to drive.”
Youngbae shows up twenty minutes later, wearing even more leather than usual, but still managing to be without a shirt. “You do realize wearing a jacket and no shirt under it is kind of ridiculous,” Jiyong says, and Youngbae checks his mohawk in the mirror.
“Says the man wearing women’s jeans with purple hair that’s permed into a lady-wave,” Youngbae replies, and Jiyong figures to each their own.
The drive into Seoul is loud, because Youngbae plays nasty R&B music at top volume as he drives, singing along to all the dirtiest lines in English, and Jiyong loves that this same man was in church this morning, and probably still hasn’t slept with his naïve, adorable girlfriend that Jiyong’d taken a liking to.
Jiyong, for the first time in a long time, feels twenty-eight and not fifty, and the night's only just begun.
When they arrive at the club, Jiyong realizes Seunghyun’s rented out the whole place, and it’s filled to the brim with actors and musicians that Jiyong’s only met a few times. Jiyong doesn’t have a million friends… he’s got a million acquaintances he’s friendly with, though, and it seems like they’re all here last minute.
Youngbae spots Seunghyun over by the stairs, talking to Jaejoong, who looks wasted, and Hyunjoong, whose eyes are drooping, but would pretty much go anywhere that Seunghyun asked him to because they’re tight like that.
Hands clap onto his shoulders as he starts to walk over, and it startles him, because as clingy as Jiyong is, Jiyong likes to initiate touch.
“Hyung, happy birthday!” It’s a familiar voice, and Jiyong turns around to see Hyunseung standing there, still wearing stage makeup. He’d forgotten Hyunseung’s group was on tour right now, but maybe Jiyong should call his manager to get him tickets.
Youngbae nods at Hyunseung and keeps walking, disappearing into the crowd, and Jiyong thinks he might’ve spotted Kush.
“You’re here, too? Just how well-planned was this?”
“You’re just lucky that Little Seunghyun is so well-organized,” Hyunseung says. “He pretty much knew everyone to call, and apparently he delegated all the arrangements like a champ.”
It takes a moment to register that Hyunseung has said Little Seunghyun and not just Seunghyun. “Seungri?”
“Yes, he called me this morning and said that Teddy had mentioned you hadn’t gotten to celebrate your birthday, and so he and Big Seunghyun had thought it might be fun to throw something together.”
“Seungri?” Jiyong says again, and Hyunseung doesn’t seem to see how surprised Jiyong is, maybe thanks to the dim club lights.
“Yeah,” Hyunseung says. “It was weird, because I’d heard you guys don’t really talk anymore; not that you’d said anything, and I never really was good friends with him.”
“Well, I’m glad you could make it,” Jiyong says. “I hope you have a good night tonight.”
Jiyong slips through the crowd, toward Seunghyun. “You lied to me, hyung,” Jiyong says, squinting at his band mate.
“About which thing?” Seunghyun says, and he’s really drunk. “I prefer to think of it as ‘misleading’.”
“Seungri planned this?”
“Seungri and I did it together, only Seungri is efficient and organized and I just drink from bottles of champagne and tell mildly entertaining jokes.”
“How long have you been drinking?”
“It was five o’clock in Australia,” Seunghyun replies, and Jiyong rolls his eyes and surveys the crowd. “Youngbae says your wife left you. Maybe you should go have a drink, too.”
“How many people has he told?” Jiyong frowns, because he’d not particularly wanted this to get around until after he was done with promotions. “And don’t shout!”
“Just me,” Seunghyun says. “Because I’d asked him why I couldn’t get a-hold of her.” He squints at Jiyong. “And how else are you supposed to hear me over the music?”
“She’s in Japan,” Jiyong says, and then he gives up on holding Seunghyun’s attention, as one of his actor friends walks over and engages him in conversation.
It’s kind of nice not to be the only famous person in the club. He finally spots Daesung, who’s dancing playfully with Hyori, a bright smile on both of their faces because they’re old friends. Daesung’s going to sing for her wedding next month, and Jiyong’s looking forward to the occasion, even if it’s only two weeks before Se7en’s. Jiyong wonders how it’ll feel, attending two weddings newly divorced.
But those are not birthday thoughts, and Jiyong’s here to celebrate. He makes his way to the bar, smiling at the bartender, who recognizes him as the birthday boy and immediately pours him a shot.
Jiyong takes it, liking the way it burns going down.
Seungri planned all this. He’d wondered how everything had come together so well. Of course their unofficial manager had been behind it.
“Having fun?” Seungri leans on the counter next to him, gesturing for his own shot, and the bartender brings two.
“I am,” Jiyong says. “I hear I have you to thank.”
“Wow, who gave me up?” Seungri asks, not looking at Jiyong. Their shots come, and neither of them drink.
“Hyunseung,” Jiyong says. “I think he thought I knew.”
“Ah,” Seungri says. “You’re not… mad, are you?”
“Of course not,” Jiyong says. “I’m just… I’m sort of shocked you’d go through this much effort for me. I kind of…”
“What?” Seungri asks, and Seungri’s cheeks are glowing, from alcohol already consumed, maybe.
“I kind of thought you hated me.”
“Oh,” Seungri says. “No.” He taps his fingers against the bar, and Jiyong notices that he’s wearing an expensive watch. Jiyong likes it, even though it looks too old for him. “I don’t know how to hate you, even when you’re so selfish and cruel I don’t know how to be around you any more.”
“So all the time, then,” Jiyong says, and Seungri laughs, and looks over at him, finally meeting his eyes.
“Not all the time, hyung.” Seungri smiles, just a bit. “Maybe just 75 percent.”
“I’ll take it,” Jiyong says, and there’s a fluttering in his chest that’s a little like hope. There’s been precious little of that in Jiyong’s life lately, so he doesn’t recognize it.
“I wish we were still friends,” Seungri says, and it’s Jiyong’s turn to look away. It feels like they’re all alone, despite the booming bass and the shrieking laughter.
“You want to be friends with me, even knowing…”
“Yes,” Seungri says, so quickly Jiyong almost gives himself whiplash looking back at the younger man. “Yes. At least… At least I’ll have that.”
“Okay,” Jiyong says, because even though he knows, for Seungri’s sake, that he should say no, Seungri has always made Jiyong a little bit rash. A little out of control.
“You can’t leave me at waffle shops,” Seungri says, and he picks up his shot between his first finger and his thumb. “I had to eat that whole waffle by myself, and you know I can’t say no to dessert. Hwangssabu was going to kill me.”
Jiyong picks up his shot too.
“To friendship?” Seungri looks at Jiyong like he thinks Jiyong is going to suddenly deny everything, or like he can’t believe he’s really offering.
Jiyong can’t believe it either. “To friendship,” he says, and they drink.
The ALIVE tour has them traveling from place to place, until Jiyong forgets where he is, where he was yesterday, and what language the people around him are speaking. One thing that is familiar is Seungri, doing push-ups in the center of the floor of his hotel room, back glistening with sweat.
“Ah, hyung,” Seungri says, and he stops, standing up. Jiyong admires the play of muscles beneath skin. “I didn’t know you’d come in.”
Jiyong approaches slowly, and Seungri probably hears him, but he doesn’t turn around, instead opting to stretch his neck slowly.
Jiyong wraps his arms around Seungri’s waist from behind, and Seungri doesn’t startle. Perhaps he’s used to Jiyong now, and the way Jiyong doesn’t really respect anyone’s personal space. Especially not Seungri’s, because Jiyong thinks all of Seungri’s space is his, just like Seungri is his, whether Seungri likes it or not.
“You’re so clingy.”
“You love me,” Jiyong says, and he presses closer, until he can feel Seungri’s warmth through his t-shirt, and feel Seungri’s bare shoulder blades digging into his chest. Seungri is tall and a little broad. Like an adult instead of a child.
It makes Jiyong nervous, because he doesn’t want Seungri to outgrow Jiyong’s embrace.
“Like me best forever,” Jiyong says, and his words tickle against the back of Seungri’s neck, and Seungri shivers. There’s a faint hit of perspiration, and it makes Jiyong want to pull Seungri closer.
“I don’t want to like you best forever,” Seungri says.
“Why not?” Jiyong teases, resting his head on Seungri’s shoulder. Seungri stares at the wall, but Jiyong can see the strange tilt to his lips. He’s not sure whether Seungri is smiling or frowning.
“Because you give a lot of love,” Seungri says, and there’s a catch in his voice. “But I think you give it just to prove how easily you can take it away.”
In some ways, Jiyong thinks, it’s true. People are complicated and Jiyong wants to be the most complicated of them all.
But Seungri isn’t complicated. Seungri is a humble boy who pretends to be boastful, because he doesn’t want people to think he’s afraid. Seungri is kind. Seungri is transparent and childlike and open. Seungri is simple, and the way Jiyong feels about Seungri can sometimes seem so simple, too.
Jiyong drops one hand from Seungri’s stomach, to tangle his fingers with Seungri’s. Seungri isn’t expecting that, and he blinks, twice, before he relaxes, letting Jiyong fit his fingers between. Seungri doesn’t complain about the way Jiyong’s rings must scratch at his knuckles.
“I will never take all my love away from you,” Jiyong says, and Seungri does a slow burn, the tips of his ears turning red just the way Jiyong likes. Jiyong likes this version of Seungri; the one that hangs on Jiyong’s every unpredictable word. He almost wishes he could use it on variety shows, but this isn’t for other people to see. This is just for Jiyong.
“I wish I could believe you,” Seungri says, and Jiyong presses a kiss to his cheek. “How many chits am I worth if I agree to your mad scheme? What do you win in your weird little game?”
“More than you can possibly imagine.”
“Do you use that line on all of us?”
“You’re mine,” Jiyong says, because Seungri is different. Seungri is more. “And you know how selfish I am with my things.”
“I’m not a thing,” Seungri says, and he tries to pull away, but Jiyong tightens the arm around Seungri’s waist, and Seungri doesn’t put up much of a fight.
“You’re mine,” Jiyong says again. “And I’m not going to let you go.”
“Okay,” Seungri says, and Jiyong hears something strange in Seungri’s voice that he can’t identify.
That’s all right though, because Jiyong can feel Seungri’s heartbeat where their palms meet, and that’s enough understanding for now.
Jiyong wakes up feeling sick to his stomach and dizzy, sure reminders of a night of heavy drinking, Seungri waving his hand in front of Jiyong’s face.
“Oh good, you’re not dead.”
“Maknae, your concern is touching.”
“I carried you home last night, hyung. I think I’ve shown you a lot of concern.”
“No segway this time?”
“You were way too drunk to operate a motor vehicle.”
“Did Youngbae make it home?”
“You weren’t ready to leave when he left, so I said I’d make sure you didn’t end up in a ditch or on the news.”
“Thanks,” Jiyong croaks, and Seungri hands him painkillers and a glass of water.
“I made you haejangguk,” Seungri says. “A little ‘hangover soup’ and you’ll be all right, hyung.”
Jiyong doesn’t remember anything that happened after one in the morning. “I didn’t do anything too stupid, did I?”
“Nothing you have to tell your wife about,” Seungri says, and his tongue trips over the word ‘wife’ like a part of him still can’t believe he has to say it. “Don’t worry.”
”To friendship,” Seungri had said, last night. Jiyong had lost Seungri the last time with partial truths and selfishness.
Jiyong can’t believe, after two years of silence, Seungri is speaking to him at all, let alone willing to be anything more than just coworkers.
“I don’t have a wife,” Jiyong says, and closes his eyes, preferring not to see Seungri’s face.
“Pretty sure I went to that wedding,” Seungri says. “Pretty sure I made myself put on a suit and smile in pictures and be a fucking groomsman in that wedding, hyung.”
“You did,” Jiyong says. “You didn’t speak to me the whole day, but you smiled in the pictures.”
“I’m a professional,” Seungri says, quoting Jiyong's favorite catchphrase.
“My wife is in Japan,” Jiyong says. “She’s doing a shoot there. She’s in love, there.”
“And not with you?” Seungri asks.
“She’s never been in love with me.” Jiyong opens his eyes, and the light is still too bright. Seungri has a nice flat, with big windows and simple white curtains and furniture. “Your place looks like a music video set.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Seungri says. “I won’t let you do that to me anymore. Tell me only half of what I need to know.”
“You need to know?” Jiyong says. “We don’t talk for two years, and all of a sudden you want to know about my life?”
“You didn’t try to talk to me, either,” Seungri says. “Not once. You didn’t even send me a letter.”
Seventeen pages Seungri would have wished he’d never received, if Jiyong had sent them.
Jiyong sits up and rubs at his face. He comes away with eyeliner and mascara on his fingers. He probably looks terrible, and his stomach is rolling.
“Maybe I should go,” Jiyong says, and he stands. He stumbles as he tries to straighten, and Seungri catches him, hands landing on Jiyong’s waist as Jiyong battles sudden dizziness.
“We don’t have to talk yet,” Seungri says. “Just sit down, and let me feed you.”
“No,” Jiyong says, and Seungri’s hands burn. “Don’t touch me.”
Seungri lets go, and looks at Jiyong like a kicked stray. “Okay,” Seungri says, and Jiyong wraps his arms around himself. He’s in Seungri’s bedroom, and he’s still a little tangled in the sheets. Those are white too. Everything is white; bright, bright white and Jiyong’s too dark to be here.
“I have to go,” Jiyong says, and he walks past Seungri, out into the living room. He sees his things in a pile by the door, and makes sure one of them is his wallet. It’s there, along with his phone. He slips into his shoes; his favorite ones, white with gold studs all over them, and fumbles with the fancy, complicated locks.
“Hyung-“ Seungri says, and Jiyong doesn’t know why he’s freaking out, when it’s Seungri who should be freaking out, but his heart is pounding painfully against his ribs and he’s going to throw up.
Seungri looks confused, and angry, and a little scared, and his hands are jammed into the pockets of pajama pants that fit all too well, and Jiyong can see the muscles of Seungri’s thighs and-
“I’m sorry,” Jiyong says, and then he’s out the door. He half expects Seungri to follow him, but he doesn’t, and the muggy air outside isn’t any more welcome than Jiyong had expected it to be. He still can’t breathe.
Jiyong knows this neighborhood. Seungri had told him before, about the great property values. He wonders if Seungri owns the whole building. It’s something Seungri would do.
Jiyong feels inexplicably hysterical.
He catches a cab, and leans against the backseat with his eyes closed, and tries not to move.
Youngbae knocks on his door about four minutes after he gets home. “Are you ever going to call before you come over?”
“Don’t hold out hope,” Youngbae says. “Now, be a good leader and call maknae and apologize.”
“He called you?” Jiyong still feels nauseous, and guilty, and lost.
“No,” Youngbae corrects, and he finally takes a good look at Jiyong over the top of his sunglasses, smiling cheerfully like Jiyong isn’t a train wreck. “I called him to check on you. And apparently you freaked out about something you’ve never talked about before, probably because you’ve been trying to deal with it on your own without involving anyone else because you still, after all these years, think you’ll owe us if you depend on us, and you don’t want to owe anyone anything.”
Jiyong just stares at Youngbae, and Youngbae shrugs. “At least, that’s how I explained it to maknae. Was I right?”
Jiyong doesn’t respond, just walks into the kitchen and fills himself a glass of water.
“Don’t feel too bad, Jiyong.” Youngbae reaches into the cabinet and grabs his own glass, before filling it from the water tank. “I’ve had sixteen years to figure you halfway out.”
“Only halfway?”
“Not like you’re too interested in sharing the rest of it,” Youngbae says. “But you should call and apologize to the kid that practically carried you back to his place last night. Took care of you while you were sick for six hours.”
The sour taste in Jiyong’s mouth. That’s what that is. Vomit.
“Shit,” Jiyong says, and he shakily runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t call him.”
“Do you not have his number?” Youngbae asks, pulling out his mobile. “I can give it to you.”
“I don’t want to call him.”
“Yes you do,” Youngbae says. “You’re just scared he won’t answer.” He scratches at his neck. “Or scared he will.”
Jiyong’s not sure which is more true, but he doesn’t pick up his phone.
Jiyong loses Seungri in Vegas, and when he finds him again, he doesn’t let him out of his sight.
Vegas is full of bright lights, but none are as bright as Seungri, whose eyes sparkle in a way that makes Jiyong feel so alive.
‘Shut the Door’ comes on the radio as Jiyong prepares for bed.
Jiyong turns the radio off, but he hears it still, echoing in his head, and that night, he dreams of adolescence, and Seungri, one warm hand slipping under Jiyong’s t-shirt to hug him close in the night.
When he wakes up, there is only Tom and Laura, and Jiyong’s cold bed, Gaho warming his feet at the end of it.
Seungri’s got a girlfriend in Japan. He shows up at the Hyundai card press conference for MONSTER with barely hidden hickeys, and Jiyong spends the entirety of the conference trying to swallow back the bile. It isn’t until they get back to the dorms that Jiyong cracks, anger seeping out in a way that has Daesung and Youngbae fleeing for their rooms, and Seunghyun obliviously disappearing to play with his toys after snagging a popsicle that’s totally against his diet from the fridge.
“What’s wrong with you?” Seungri asks. “You won’t look at me. And you’re so angry.”
Jiyong frowns and crosses his arms, eyes narrowing. “You know what’s wrong with me.”
“I wasn’t late.”
“Your neck,” Jiyong says, and Seungri’s right hand flies up to the mark that sneaks out of his collar. “Couldn’t even cover it with makeup.”
“I didn’t mean-“
“Disgusting,” Jiyong says, and he looks down, at Seungri’s clunky shoes, and his frown grows deeper.
“What’s disgusting? You know I have a girlfriend.”
“Oh, is she an official girlfriend now?” Jiyong asks, and Seungri rolls his eyes.
“She has been for a while, hyung.” He pulls out his phone, and Jiyong really hates that.
“Don’t pull out your phone when I’m talking to you, maknae.” Rage and something else are clawing their way up Jiyong’s chest and sinking their claws into his heart.
“But I need to answer a text.”
“From her.”
“Yes.”
“What if I tell you not to see her anymore?” Jiyong steps closer, and Seungri looks up from his phone in surprise.
“Hyung?” A faint pink blush suffuses Seungri’s cheeks, and yes, Jiyong at least still has that power. Seungri visibly tenses, and Jiyong drags his thumb across the mark on the neck.
Someone else has marked his maknae. It’s disgusting, and Jiyong is surprised his hands aren’t shaking.
“What- What are you doing?” Seungri asks, and his voice seems like it’s trapped in his throat. Seungri is loud, but right now he’s quiet, like he’s holding his breath. Jiyong’s thumb dips down beneath the collar of Seungri’s shirt, feeling the bruised skin, and Seungri shivers. Jiyong rubs at the spot like he can rub it away and make it disappear, but he can’t, and that leaves a bitter taste on the back of his tongue.
Suddenly, Seungri’s phone beeps, and it makes Jiyong so angry to see Seungri look down at it, and Jiyong hisses, snatching the phone from Seungri’s hand and throwing it on the ground. The screen breaks with an awful crunch. “That’s my phone!”
“You’re mine,” Jiyong says. “And you can fuck her but you can’t ignore me. You can’t put anyone before me.”
“You can’t just say things like that!” Seungri squats down and picks up his phone, cradling it in his hand for a moment before he looks up at Jiyong helplessly. “You can’t just… say I’m yours and then only pay attention to me when you feel like it, and ignore me the rest of the time!” Seungri runs his hand through his hair. It’s too short now to stick up all over the place like it used to. “I can’t… I don’t know what to think, when you do that.”
“I’m not ignoring you now,” Jiyong says, and reaches out so he can cup Seungri’s cheek. Seungri leans into the touch.
“It’s not fair,” Seungri says. “I don’t know all the rules.” Seungri sighs. “So you get to do random men in club bathrooms and I don’t get to have a girlfriend?”
“You don’t need to know any rules,” Jiyong says, because Seungri looks so resigned and gentle, on his knees in front of Jiyong. “You’re mine. That’s the only rule.”
“You don’t make any sense,” Seungri says. “I just want you to like me. What do you want from me?”
“Nothing,” Jiyong says, but as he says it, he thinks of a thousand, a million, an infinite number of things he wants from Seungri, and thinks the answer might be everything.
Jiyong has always thought of Seungri as his.
“It hurts,” Seungri says, and he reaches up and presses a hand to his chest, right above his heart. “Everything you do hurts so much.”
“That’s the kind of person I am,” Jiyong says, and Seungri looks up at him with those pretty eyes, and the shadows under them seem so very dark.
“Flat number,” Jiyong says, when Seungri answers the phone.
“What?” Seungri says, and he doesn’t ask who’s calling. Jiyong guesses that the other people Seungri talks to waste time on conversation fillers and pleasantries. But Jiyong’s got two heavy bags, and no time for that. Politeness is something he values, but Seungri is not a stranger.
“I can’t remember which flat is yours, and thus I cannot knock on the door,” Jiyong says impatiently. “And I’m not calling Seunghyun to ask, because he’s probably asleep, and Youngbae will make smug noises into the phone and Daesung didn’t answer, so. I’m calling you.”
“I was your last resort to figure out my flat number?” Seungri says dryly, and Jiyong frowns.
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Jiyong says. “You always find it harder to tell me no when you’re flustered.”
“818,” Seungri says quietly, and Jiyong presses eight on the elevator.
Seungri’s made a half-hearted attempt to clean himself up, hair freshly brushed and skin dewy like he’d quickly washed it in the sink. He’s still wearing his sleeping clothes, dark burgundy silk against the white backdrop of his flat.
Stunning in its simplicity. Jiyong wishes he could take credit for teaching him interior design, but Jiyong’s decorating tends toward the garish.
“I brought waffles,” Jiyong says. “The way you like them. And I promise not to run away.”
“Okay,” Seungri says. “Wine?”
Jiyong frowns. “It’s maybe better if I…”
“Right,” Seungri says. “Come in, sorry.”
Seungri’s carpet is soft beneath his bare feet.
Jiyong stands in the center of Seungri’s living room as Seungri retrieves napkins and forks, and when Seungri returns, lips pursed in contemplation as he thinks about how he wants to arrange things, Jiyong speaks.
“My wife married me because she thought she couldn’t have who she really wanted. She hoped to forget him with me.”
Seungri pauses, and then keeps moving, just silently letting Jiyong talk. That’s changed, too, because Seungri, before, would have peppered him with questions. Jiyong appreciates the quiet, but he misses Seungri’s voice.
Seungri clears off the small table by the sofa, taking the magazines and stacking them by the side of the couch before dragging the table out. He sets the forks down on it, and then looks up at Jiyong.
“Then it turned out she could, so she’s left me.”
“Without warning?” Seungri asks, and Jiyong shakes his head.
“No. It’s fine. I married her for the same reason.”
“That’s a terrible reason to get married,” Seungri says, and he takes the two bags from Jiyong’s hands, unpacking them.
“Shut up,” Jiyong says. “It made sense at the time. I’d begun to feel… unhinged.”
“You were,” Seungri says. “You were so crazy you even wanted me-“ Seungri coughs. “I don’t want to talk about that. Never mind.”
Jiyong sits where Seungri gestures. “I came here to tell you that. Because you had asked. I should have answered. A friend should answer.”
“I’m still in disbelief that you’re here right now,” Seungri says. “I keep thinking, that by disappearing, you’d forget all about me and find… someone else to be your Jerry.”
“I will never take all my love away from you,” Jiyong says. “You’re not like everyone else.”
If Seungri were like everyone else, Jiyong never would have played. Tom always loses, in Tom and Jerry episodes. Jiyong hates to lose.
“You’ve said that before,” Seungri says. “I have never believed you.”
“I don’t really expect you to,” Jiyong says, and the syrup on the waffles is too sweet. Sweet like Seungri’s voice.
“If I put you first, you’ll use it against me.”
“Yes,” Jiyong says. “I will.”
Jiyong has always been good at everything except loving. Jiyong can write hit songs, dance, rap, sing, and get dressed in the dark while completely stoned and still start a trend in airport fashion. Jiyong can climb mountains and run pretty fast and cook and clean and pretend to be nice, and all sorts of other important life skills, but Jiyong doesn’t know how to love.
When Jiyong loves, it’s always too much; the kind of love that eats him up inside and leaves him feeling empty and ready to be filled with new emotions. It’s like a roller coaster; that adrenaline rush of love where everything feels fresh and interesting and inspiring, and Jiyong lives for that thrill because it coalesces inside of him in the form of half-discovered poetry and melody. And Jiyong can’t control it. Instead he just rides it into terrifying obsession, until he suddenly can’t sleep or eat or concentrate on anything that is not that love. Jiyong finds himself digging the name of his love into wood with his bitten down fingernails until they bleed, and the blood stains the letters and it’s beautiful, because love, Jiyong thinks, should bleed, at least a little.
Seungri’s name is stained red on his bedroom floor, underneath his bed where no one has ever seen, not even his wife.
It’s been there for two years, since Jiyong bought the house.
When Jiyong loves, it’s always too intensely, a brightly burning flame that consumes all the kindling and then the whole forest before it goes out, so quickly that Jiyong is always so surprised when it’s gone, leaving nothing but ash and the memory of green flora in it’s wake. And he’s alone again, the poetry and melody having found a melancholy completion.
Jiyong loves, often and without reservation, and it is fierce, but the objects of it always leave. They always leave him because Jiyong is frightening when he is in love, and Jiyong can understand, when he steps out of himself, that no one can really be expected to stand up to the weight of it all.
Jiyong never regrets it, even when he’s been dumped for the hundredth time and left feeling just as empty as he’d started. Jiyong never regrets the way he loves, because the way he loves is just as important to his creative process as the way he hates and the way he takes. Regrets are useless unless you can do something about it, so Jiyong doesn’t waste his time.
Well, he almost never regrets it.
The one time he regrets, it is because of the way he traces the bow of Seungri’s upper lip as he sleeps, head pillowed on Jiyong’s lap. His hair is soft and wavy, and tomorrow Jiyong is going to take him to get it cut off, and then they’ll pierce his ear and make him look all grown up for their comeback.
The one time he regrets, it is because of the way Seungri’s mouth feels soft beneath Jiyong’s fingers, lush in a way that defies expectation. There are tiny lines forming around Seungri’s mouth, from laughter, Jiyong thinks, and they’re just as pretty as the rest of him.
The one time he regrets, it is because he knows that Seungri will wake up, and flush at the way he’s lying, like he’s Jiyong’s girlfriend, splayed across Jiyong’s lap, and then he will move away, and Jiyong won’t stop him. Seungri’ll sputter and apologize and Jiyong will pretend he doesn’t care one way or the other because it’s better that way.
Jiyong’s always been so very afraid that Seungri will leave, so Jiyong doesn’t love him, just in case it will help keep him close.
It doesn’t.
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