Log in

No account? Create an account
:.:.:.:: :...:.
  Viewing 0 - 10  
Lenn [userpic]

Title: GD⊤ Vol. 2
Author: [info]lenn_ssi
Pairing: GTOP
Genre: angst
Rating: R
Summary: it's more of why did you come back than why did you leave now.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8+end


Title: Mon Loup En Sucre
Author: [info]lenn_ssi
Pairing: GTOP
Genre: fluff, romance
Summary: Seunghyun was a new kid in town. His encounter with the blonde barista who giggled too much-- well it's coffeeshop cuteness and stuff.

read here

Current Mood: hungryhungry
Lenn [userpic]

since I'm too tired to post it here... I'll just link you to it, okay?

Chapter 8 + Ending on AFF.

Current Mood: tiredtired
Current Music: Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head
Lenn [userpic]

Track 02

Seunghyun was left in Jiyong’s room as soon as the latter locked himself up in the other bedroom, and felt like a kid being punished for what he had done. He didn’t even dare to go out of that room to apologize to Jiyong, because he didn’t think he deserved any forgiveness anyway. He wanted to, though. He really wanted to fix whatever was broken between them, he wanted to fix Jiyong.

But then he realized how stupid that was, because he was the reason why. He damaged Jiyong in the first place, and he didn’t even know. And he came back, all innocent, oblivious of the pain he had inflicted.

When Seunghyun decided to meet Jiyong, it was out of a goddamn ice cream. He didn’t plan it out, he didn’t prepare for anything because that was how it always been with Jiyong. He didn’t need to be cautious or wary about anything when it was Jiyong. This made him feel even stupider because it was simply selfish— he was too busy with getting himself together over the years that he didn’t consider the impact to Jiyong in the process.

Last year when they met at the party, Jiyong still shone when he smiled, gums showing and eyes into cute crescents. He laughed, he clapped with mirth, he was enjoying the night; Seunghyun was sure, he was with him the whole night.

No no no Seunghyun, you just didn’t see it. He must’ve hated you that he needed to wear his pokerface around you.

It was a night of self-loathing and pointless contemplation. Maybe sleep could’ve cleared his thoughts a little, but it was hard when the sheets smelled like Jiyong. He was close to crying but he didn’t think he deserved to shed any tears either, although the guilt was clawing at his chest, murky things eating him slowly from the inside until there was nothing left but feeling like pure shit. He held his hair with both hands; face covered with his arms, and curled into a foetal position.

How stupid. How insensitive. How selfish. You should never show your face again. You just fuck things up. You just fuck himup.


Jiyong is tired. He’s used to being physically tired, but the last three days have mentally drained him.

He walks into Seunghyun sleeping in his bed, wishing he pushed the man out of his room last night instead of leaving the place so dramatically. Tip-toeing everywhere inside his own room while gathering his clothes and things feels dumb, like he’s stealing his own possessions, but he doesn’t want to deal with the sleeping man right now. Or later. Or anytime really.

Although, there is one particular thing he’s curious about, which leaves him with no choice but to confront Seunghyun if he wants the answer. So today he decided to leave a note on the fridge before leaving.

Jiyong swivels in his chair, staring at the book he’s holding above his face, eyeing it like it’s a foreign object. The studio soothes him, he feels more laid-back, calmer. He had spent the last night thinking and peeking at this book and now he needs to make sure about one thing; those pages and verses of rhymes and rhythm.

The computer finishes booting and he clicks on his folder, the one where wordless songs are saved in, the product of his insomnia and apathy. His dumpster for feelings that were almost washed down with liquids and chemicals. Using his middle finger to flick down the scroll wheel while leaning forward closer to the screen, he searches down the list until he finds it. Ah, there it is.

The exact same words are written in capital letters in Seunghyun’s book, on the top of one page, ‘TRACK 02’. It’s the title to Jiyong’s song, the one song he’s never able to finish. Jiyong spent a year on that song, and it’s not that he gave up working on it— he just couldn’t find the perfect piece to complete it; so he saved it and left it there. He double-clicks on the audio file and opens the white book. He squirms a bit before pulling his knees to his chest, reading as the music plays.


‘at the studio’, on a yellow note, stuck on the fridge, and to Seunghyun, it almost looks like an invitation. He hesitates, shifting his weight from one foot to another, staring at the square paper like it’s going to help him decide. He doesn’t really want to meet Jiyong. He wants to hide. He wants to run away, and he thinks it’s ironic because before yesterday, he had been the one fussing about the younger man avoiding him.

In the end he leaves to the studio after a cup of coffee. He had thought enough last night, and he thought again when drinking his coffee and he figures if Jiyong hates him, then so be it. He should be hated. Hate is such a strong word, but he thinks it compensates for what he had done. This will be the last time he’s showing his face to Jiyong, and then he’ll be gone for good.

At least that’s what he thinks he should do. Because there are other feelings beside remorse and shame, the feelings he keeps safe for the boy he has always loved. The feelings he almost betrayed because of his own selfishness, his act of self-perseverance. Seunghyun can’t just dismiss those feelings.

He lost count of his sighs as he drags his feet on the pavement, thoughts and desperation weighing him down like gravity.

When he opens the door, not expectant for anything, Jiyong is reading his notebook— which he has completely forgotten about— with Track 02 blasting from the speakers. Jiyong looks up at Seunghyun before turning the volume down and bringing his eyes back at the man, who’s now pointing his index finger at the book in Jiyong’s left hand. He waves the book at Seunghyun and beckons him to come closer.

“Yeah so… you wrote this?” Jiyong rubs the page with his palm, and cranes his neck to look at Seunghyun who’s standing behind him now. The taller man nods.

Jiyong takes a deep breath before shooting another question, “Did you write this,” points at the book, “to this?” points at the computer screen. Another nod.

Jiyong shoves the book to Seunghyun’s stomach, surprising him, really surprising him because he didn’t expect any of this. Maybe rejection, or a silent treatment, maybe a cold attitude, or something like fuck you Seunghyun, I hate you. But no, it’s Jiyong taking hostage of his notebook, and it’s being shoved into his torso, and he nervously takes it with both hands.

“Sing it.” Jiyong commands him, while looking at the computer screen.


“Let me listen to it. I wanna hear it.”

Seunghyun is not surprised anymore, he’s flabbergasted. But there’s no saying no to Kwon Jiyong, and the music is starting anyway, so he lets out an exaggerated sigh and waits for the intro to end.

Then he starts rapping, his voice small and shaky at first, but he gradually becomes one with the rhythm, each line flowing with so much certainty, articulating his feelings more than he could explain, more than he could ever say. His words become thunderous in his ears; he pours his heart onto his tongue, each and every syllable so raw and true— lines like,

It’s tearing me apart, hearts stretched for miles

What does it take for our feelings to reconcile?

When the music ends he’s catching his breath and wiping his watery eyes, and there’s a brief silence before he gains his composure to look at Jiyong. The man in the chair doesn’t say anything, just stares at the screen and when Seunghyun leans closer to look at his face, to see a reaction or some sort, his eyes went wide.

Jiyong is crying and he looks so much like a child, hugging his knees and tears silently running down his cheeks. He blinks, wet lashes and furrowed eyebrows, and he asks, with a quivering voice,

“Why, Seunghyun? Why did you come back? When Big Bang broke up I thought you would be there, I thought at least I would have you, but you left— and I thought— I thought I’d never—”

Seunghyun grabs him by the hair, pulls him down roughly and kisses him upside down. His lips meet Jiyong’s, sucks the air out of his lungs, and when he pulls away Jiyong closes the distance between their lips again, clutching at his collar.

“I’m sorry, Ji,” Seunghyun lets go of Jiyong’s hair, and looks into his eyes, wipes the tears with his thumb. “I’m really sorry. I understand if you hate me, if you don’t want me here. I’ll go.”

Jiyong’s grip on his collar tightens, and he lashes out, “No! No, please don’t. Fuck, Seunghyun don’t even think of leaving again.” He gulps and inhales, feelings so uncontrollable they break through his tear ducts. Jiyong knows he can’t hate Seunghyun, no matter how much he had hurt him, no matter how long they hadn’t seen each other. Jiyong understands, so well, that his feelings for Seunghyun never faded. He will never hate Seunghyun— especially now that his song sounds so perfect, so good with Seunghyun’s lyrics. Track 02 is done, now that Seunghyun wrote lyrics to it and he feels complete. That’s all he needs to realize how much he needs Seunghyun, how much that bastard means to him.

Seunghyun wraps his arms around Jiyong’s small body, pulling him up so he’s standing, pressing his chest against the other into a tight hug. He whispers chants of apologies to Jiyong’s hair while rubbing his back, feeling a little shittier than he already is because Jiyong doesn’t reject him, doesn’t want him away.

“I hate you.” Jiyong says, but his knuckles tighten on Seunghyun’s shirt.

Current Mood: amusedamused
Lenn [userpic]


The night wind is chilly against his face. Jiyong is sitting by the window, looking out to city lights beneath a starless sky. It’s about 3 am, but his sleeping pills are in his drawer, the one that’s only an arm length away from his bed— the bed that Seunghyun is probably sleeping in right now.

Jiyong chooses not sleeping over going anywhere near him.

When he flicks his cigarette on the ashtray, he notices filters of something he doesn’t usually smoke. Must be Seunghyun. The ashes his remains of worries and frustrations. He imagines that bastard chain-smoking in the spot he’s sitting in now, not wanting to admit that the other man is probably as fucked up as he is. He rests his head on his knee that’s pulled up to his chest, like a sulking child (which he probably is).


Why did you come back?


It was the maknae who told him that Seunghyun was in Japan. That he had moved to Japan. That was about three months after his disappearance, and Jiyong had given up looking for him, and tried forgetting about him instead. Jiyong was enjoying his night out with Seungri at a barbecue restaurant, until the meat slipped from his chopsticks into the sauce dish when his name was brought up.


Seungri also mentioned how fluent his Japanese was, because they spoke in Japanese on the phone and Jiyong only chewed his food slowly as the young entrepreneur continued yapping about where Seunghyun lived, or what Seunghyun did. It pissed him off that he had to find out about this from Seungri.

He wondered if everyone else knew about this, but him. Seunghyun could’ve called him; told him how he was doing, told him he was alright. Could’ve told him to wait. If he did, Jiyong would’ve waited patiently. But Seunghyun didn’t say anything and just fucking vanished; no trace, no message about where he was going or how long he was going away.

Or when he’s coming back.

But it seemed that he wasn’t coming back. He resided in Japan. He didn’t go there for vacation, for a break, for whatever. He lived there now.

It was difficult for Jiyong to fully understand Seunghyun. They’ve known each other for years but it was impossible to grasp that breathing paradox completely. Which was probably why Jiyong fell for him in the first place; Seunghyun and all his weirdness. Seunghyun is simple, but there was more to him than that. He was a complex being, always calculating his actions and thinking of the outcome of his every move, a person who’s always in control. The person who will never be in Jiyong’s control.

At some point, Jiyong was drawn to that. He was drawn to how complicated yet blunt Seunghyun was. Because at the same time, that oldest hyung was a big baby. At the same time, he could do surprising things, spontaneous little things that would result in a goofy grin or dorky laugh, which always made Jiyong laugh too.

They’ve always had each other, Seunghyun and Jiyong. They were equal. They were almost dependent on each other’s presence, because back then, that’s all there was for them. When Seunghyun was with Jiyong, he’s easy. Not wary or guarded like when he was around other people. Jiyong didn’t feel the need to be perfect around Seunghyun either, because Seunghyun accepted him even when he looked or felt like shit. And although the company consisted of Jiyong talking too much and Seunghyun not talking enough, it was enough for them.

That bond was all they had. There were too much at risk, and they both understood that well enough not to cross the line.

After Big Bang broke up, Jiyong secretly wished that there would be something for the both of them then. They weren’t G-Dragon and T.O.P anymore. There was nothing holding them down, no responsibilities, no borders, nothing. And since there was nothing, he thought they could be something.

But he couldn’t bring it up. Seunghyun fell into a breakdown not long after the official breakup. He couldn’t make music anymore, couldn’t write anymore. He went into a semi-shutdown state and the fatigue was always written on his face. No one saw it, but Jiyong did.

Jiyong remembers sitting side by side with him on the rooftop. The air was cold, much like this one. Jiyong remembers the way his eyes, the same color as the night sky, didn’t glow like they used to. Jiyong remembers those eyes, looking somewhere distant, somewhere that’s not anywhere really, as he spoke between the nicotine-induced company.

“I’m so fed up, Ji.

I feel like fading away.”

Jiyong didn’t think he was serious. He thought it was a hyperbole, a metaphor maybe; he never thought that Seunghyun literally wanted to go away. It never crossed his mind that Seunghyun would go *poof!*.

Jiyong tried looking for him, really. He had called him again and again and left hundreds of voicemails, ranging from “Hyung where are you? I’m worried.” to “Motherfucker! Why the fuck are you doing this?!”. He sent him emails and called his house but he was never home. He asked everyone he knew, but no one seemed to know, and Jiyong wished it was just a joke. A big joke that everyone was playing on him because he couldn’t handle this.

Seunghyun was a part of him he got accustomed to having around, and he didn’t even know if that part of him was still alive.

Eventually, Jiyong stopped searching. He had nowhere to look, no clue, nothing. He stopped complaining to Seunghyun’s voicemail, stopped treating his email as a diary. He stopped wishing that Seunghyun would come back.

He pretended he didn’t miss Seunghyun or his stupid jokes, or his stupid smile. He pretended he had forgotten about the absurd and stupid things Seunghyun would usually do, or the stupid rhymes he would randomly write when they were alone. Or the stupid, or stupid, or—

Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

Of course he missed that stupid asshole.

One week became two, became three, became a month, one month became two, became three, and so on and so forth until Jiyong forgot how long it had been since Seunghyun disappeared. Jiyong didn’t care. He spent most of his time at home, in bed, hoping to sink into a quiet nonexistence.

He was almost thirty, and he should’ve found himself a girlfriend, plan on getting married or something. Should’ve moved on. But he doesn’t. He just brought guys or girls home when he feels like it, but he eventually stopped that too. He stopped going to parties, which earned him a lot of questions from a lot of people because he’s Kwon Jiyong, the life of the party. But mingling and dancing with people who don’t matter became too pointless or tiring for him, so he stopped. Whenever he went though, he always made sure to drink until he forgets his name.

He stopped coloring his hair, too. He had stayed with black for more than a year now, and that was ultimately strange for everyone around him. Sure he wasn’t an idol anymore, but that shouldn’t stop him from being the colourful, bright mess that he was.

It really felt like he stopped. He just stopped. Like he refused to move forward with time.

And then there’s that insomnia. He took sleeping pills, a generous amount of them. But then he got sick of taking pills, and when he didn’t take it, he would be forced to stay awake, concentrating on not thinking about Seunghyun through sleepless nights. But then it frightened him to fall asleep too, because when he does, he dreams of the man he never wants to think about.

It started showing physically. He lost a lot of weight from skipping meals, and gained dark circles instead. People started asking what was wrong, and he lied, easily. People would ask if he was upset, or angry, or maybe lonely, because he didn’t hang around anymore. Jiyong didn’t think there were any emotions he didn’t feel, but he would lie, nothing, nothing, I’m just a little tired. Don’t worry! I’m okay.

I’m okay.

He lied when he said he was okay, but he lied so much he believed it. He believed he was okay without Seunghyun. He lied when he smiled until he believed he could smile without Seunghyun. There was no more wishing, or hoping, or waiting. There was just lying. Lying to strangers, lying to his friends, and mostly, lying to himself.

Bit by bit, he adjusted. He didn’t learn to let go. He just learnt to live. He didn’t even really live; just existed. For so long he moved through the days, poisoning himself with chemicals and meaningless words. In the end emptiness was all he was afraid of, so he made a decision to fill his life— his mind and his body to the brink. It didn’t mean anything, he didn’t have a goal, a target, a purpose, and he found a liking to that; filling himself with nothing.

So he went through the days like that. Hazed and numb.

He was fucking numb.

The only thing that kept him sane was working. It was the only thing he did not stop doing. Music. He wrote songs for other artists, he wrote songs that will never be published. He wrote songs that he would never show anyone, he spilled everything in his head into sounds and harmonies. He never wrote lyrics anymore though, because they would be too dark, too melancholic, or too about Seunghyun.

Jiyong has always known that he likes Seunghyun, likes him a lot. No, Jiyong loves him. You don’t know what you got until it’s gone, Jiyong once thought, because he didn’t know that Seunghyun meant that much to him.That much. That Jiyong needed him. That the impact of him not being there is… is this. Jiyong deteriorating.

He survived living that way though, until-

“Hello? It’s me, Seunghyun.

What the—

…Yeah, it’s been a long time! I miss you. So hey, I’m coming in three days, come pick me up?

Why, what the—

…Okay, see you in three days, Ji!”

Oh god.

Seunghyun’s voice over the phone that Jiyong held with shaking hand. Seunghyun was okay. That was his voice, and he sounded happy, and okay, like he just had ice cream. He was coming. Three days.

And everything was crazy after he came. The kiss, the handjob, getting picked up in the rain. Jiyong’s world was shaken, he was not okay anymore. He was filled with feelings and emotions and hopes he had kept in the dustiest corner of his mind. He was happy, angry, miserable and fucked up at the same time. Jiyong didn’t understand how he was supposed to feel, what he was supposed to do. Jiyong didn’t understand shit.

Jiyong didn’t— doesn’t understand Seunghyun.


“Fuck.” He curses out loud, before taking the last drag of his cigarette. He’s getting bored and irritated from thinking too much. He doesn’t even know why he’s thinking, because there’s no solution to this problem. It’s not even an actual problem; Jiyong is just, hurt. And confused. And it’s more of why did you come back than why did you leave me now. He doesn’t know if he could forgive Seunghyun.

He’s reaching for his lighter on the table when he notices a small white book on the other end. It doesn’t belong to him, so it must belong to Seunghyun. So out of sheer boredom he leaps off the chair, stretches his arm to take it and falls back into his seat.

He knows Seunghyun is strict on privacy, but if this is trespassing, he’s doing it anyway.

Because, lights up another cigarette, fuck him, that’s why.

thanks for Zara for writing a poem based on my fic, I've used some of it on here n__n

Current Mood: accomplishedaccomplished
Current Music: Zico - Attention
Lenn [userpic]


“Go get changed, I’ll make coffee.”

Seunghyun takes off his coat and walks to the kitchen while Jiyong goes inside his room, soaked and cold and a little anxious. He changes into an oversized hoodie and pyjama pants, sits on his bed and dries his hair with a small towel. Wishes he could just stay here and avoid whatever that’s coming for him. He wraps himself in his blanket and reluctantly heads out.

He sits on one of the stools behind the counter; watches Seunghyun pour coffee, heat smouldering into steam as the liquid caffeine flows into the mug, forming soft, bubbly foam. Jiyong closes his eyes and breathes in deep, the creamy aroma calming his nerves. The other man continues to fill the other mug while staring at him, whose upper body is completely enveloped in thick blanket, head jutting out of the covers. He snorts and puts the pot down.

“What? It’s cold.”

Seunghyun just smiles endearingly. He takes hold of both mugs and tilts his head, gesturing Jiyong to follow him into the living room. Jiyong tails behind him, hands gripping the sheets to keep it tight around him, as if it’s going to protect him from whatever he’s scared of.

Jiyong takes the mug from Seunghyun’s hand as he sits on the sofa, knee pulled up to his chest. He takes a sip, indulging in the warmth on his palms and in his throat. Seunghyun places his coffee on the table and sits close to him, too close, but Jiyong doesn’t do anything so he snuggles closer. He pulls the covers from Jiyong’s hands and stretches it above them, letting it hover and fall slowly onto their heads and shoulders.


“You have to share.”

Jiyong pouts at him and Seunghyun chuckles, reaching for the TV remote from the table. They sit there, side by side under their blanket-tent, drinking instant mochaccino. The pitter-patter of the rain outside hasn’t decreased its tempo.

Jiyong comes up with a song in his mind, humming a spontaneous melody as he leans on the bigger man. He cherishes this, being warm and close to Seunghyun, though at the same time, it’s make-believe. So far nothing is happening and everything is okay, so he pretends a little more.

To Jiyong, it feels like the rain is slowly coming to a stop, and that’s good.

Seunghyun is trying to guess what Jiyong has in mind, but there’s cold, damp hair on his shoulder and he stops guessing. He wants to be content with this but he knows Jiyong is not the same person he was. Still unpredictable— but broken, unstable; Seunghyun doesn’t know what changed him. Doesn’t know what’s in store for him. Seunghyun has to be careful.

To Seunghyun, this is just calm before the storm.


Seunghyun has been hanging out near the rain, ashtray on the windowsill, since Jiyong retreated back to his own room after dinner. He smoked, wrote and thought but eventually the box ran out of sticks, his head ran out of words, and he ran out of patience. He hasn’t brought anything up because he’s afraid of Jiyong leaving again, but he can’t stand not working them out. Everything seems to be fine when he doesn’t say anything. Jiyong won’t break if Seunghyun doesn’t touch him.

The problem is, Seunghyun wants to. Seunghyun wants to touch him without cracking him, and if possible, wants to mend the fissures, wants to fix him. But first he needs to know what made Jiyong this way. What decayed him from the fire he used to be to the ashes he is now. What made him stay with this normal hair color for a whole year, what made him lose sleep and lose weight.

He crushes the filter onto the ashtray until the ember dies. Closes the window, muting the drizzle outside and leaves his book on the table, dragging his feet past the living room, to the hallway, to Jiyong’s room.

He doesn’t know what to do. It’s not like it’s all simple to him, it’s not like it’s easy. His forehead is pressed against Jiyong’s door, and he’s just standing there face down like it takes his everything to open the door. But he figures there’s no other way to reach Jiyong other than this entrance, so with one deep breath he knocks on the white wood and wrenches the silver handle, making a small creak as he peeks through the small space.

“Come in.”

Jiyong is lying in bed on his stomach, tinkering with another song on his laptop and he doesn’t tear his disinterested gaze away from the screen when Seunghyun shuts the door with his back.

“Productive as ever, huh?”

Seunghyun plops onto the mattress, everything on it bounces a little and Jiyong doesn’t budge.

“Well, it’s all I’ve got, hyung.”

“You got me, you know?”

Seunghyun half-joked, but Jiyong stiffens for a moment at that before clicking around on his laptop again.

“So why were you there where I found you anyway?” Seunghyun strokes Jiyong’s hair, long fingers through short black strands. It’s soft.

“I dunno.”

Seunghyun sighs. Jiyong’s brows are furrowed, either from concentration or displeasure. “Oh come on, Ji. I’m trying to talk to you.”

Jiyong slams his laptop screen and clicks his tongue. “Fine,” He sits up and finally looks into Seunghyun’s eyes, chin a little raised. ”talk.”

So there’s some of the Kwon Leadah still left there, Seunghyun thinks. The annoying chunks. Seunghyun didn’t really have a script although he came here to talk, and when Jiyong commands him to, his mind goes blank. He takes Jiyong’s hand, just in case Jiyong is leaving again after whatever he’ll be saying. Because he doesn’t know, and it’s normal to be afraid of things you don’t know, right? He rubs the back of Jiyong’s hand with his thumb, the silence overwhelming and his heart is on his tongue and he can only manage to say,

“I miss you, Jiyong.”

Jiyong runs a hand through his hair, the hand that Seunghyun held moments ago, and his eyes dart from one wall to another and his other hand is fidgeting with the sheets underneath him, but he knows there’s nowhere to hide. He’s back to the present Jiyong; something’s creeping back onto him and Seunghyun tries to soothe him but Jiyong snatches his hand away, like Seunghyun’s touch burns on his skin.


The damage is done. Jiyong breaks again. He props his head on his hand, his elbow on his knee, like he’s waiting.

“Is that all you wanted to say, hyung?”

Jiyong is fragile. Seunghyun doesn’t know how he’s supposed to handle him. Jiyong is childish. Seunghyun won’t take his shit anymore.

“Why do you keep running away, Jiyong? I came all the way here but all you do is disappear every morning.”

There’s that headache again. Jiyong holds on to a cluster of hair as he listens.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Jiyong’s eyes widen and he stares at Seunghyun with something that can only be recognized as bewilderment, and he breaks out into laughter. A laugh that cuts with every wheeze, a laugh that means nothing— a laugh that hurts. A hand over his eyes and he laughs until he cries, until he can’t. He wipes the tears on the corner of his eyes, still grinning, and he stares at Seunghyun again.

“You tell me, hyung.”

Seunghyun doesn’t know what to say, or even how to react. He’s searching for answers in Jiyong’s eyes, but there’s nothing. There’s nothing there, just dead brown pupils, and his reflection.

Jiyong snorts and speaks again, dry and dreary. “You are one to talk about disappearing.”

He leaps off the bed and walks to the door but Seunghyun grabs his wrist before he reaches the handle. He instantly turns to face the taller man, bony wrist still in strong grasp.

“Let go.”

“No, Jiyong. I won’t let you leave again.”

And that’s all it takes for Jiyong to completely lose it.

“Fuck you, Seunghyun. I’ll leave when I want to, who are you to stop me? It’s not like I stopped you when you left!”

Seunghyun loosens his grip on Jiyong’s wrist because that’s a crushing blow to his chest; it hit him so hard he almost staggers. Jiyong jerks his arm away from the fingers that encircled it and runs the hand through his hair.

“And what’s wrong with me? I don’t know about me but maybe there’s something wrong with you too, because how the fuck could you do that? You were gone for so long, and suddenly you waltzed into my life, so fucking innocent,”

His breathing is ragged throughout the rambling, and when he inhales it’s a half-sob. He swallows hard.

“and, kissed me, and I don’t get it—“

He’s no longer shouting. The more he speaks the harder the words are choking him from the inside, and his voice just sounds softer and softer until it becomes faint and quiet. He feels sick; now the words are forcing their way out along with his guts and his head is pounding again and it’s all too much, so he stops there.

There’s a sound of door being slammed shut and a clink of a lock, everything around him is too loud, even Jiyong’s thoughts are too loud, because Seunghyun almost can’t hear himself screaming, echoes of guilt resounding inside his head, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Because there’s a wound somewhere in distant past that can’t seem to heal.

There’s a scratch in their record and it’s painful to go through that broken part of the track list.

Current Mood: relaxedwifi-ing around at a friend's~
Current Music: Spongebob OST =__="
Lenn [userpic]

Playing Tag


Jiyong doesn’t know why he did all the things he had done, doesn’t know what he’s feeling or why he’s feeling it. He doesn’t know shit, and he doesn’t like not knowing. But if there was one thing he wished he didn’t know, it would be his stupid alcohol-driven handjob the night before.

Just like the other day, he woke up earlier than Seunghyun but unlike that other day, this morning was unpleasant. Firstly, he was hungover, and it was still horrible even though he saw it coming. Secondly, the sight of a sleeping Seunghyun lying beside him almost made him shriek. Because, well— ashy bedhead and angelic face, lips parted slightly, uttering a pattern of soft, undisturbed breathing; so pretty, except that when Jiyong’s eyes moved downwards, he found  that Seunghyun’s pants were halfway down his legs.


Then his mind made its way through the throbbing headache and when he remembered everything; starting from how he shouted his tagline from the door until coming in his boxers, he wished he didn’t remember, wished he didn’t know. And again, he ditched the apartment after a cold shower. This time, he didn’t leave any post-it on the fridge, but left his cellphone on the bedside table instead. He didn’t want to be found. He even thought of never coming back to his apartment because goddamnit, the things he had done, the things he had said.

If he could, he would’ve swallowed those words, along with his vomit from this morning’s hangover. At least the taste of bile would be better than having to face Seunghyun again.


Seunghyun has assembled nouns and verbs into his little notebook but the jumbled words can’t help him and he scribbles and scratches and eventually casts his pen aside. Streaks of black ink over disposed sentences, crumpled pages just as messy as his mind. It’s his second day in Seoul and Jiyong is gone again. He had called Jiyong’s phone but 5 seconds to the buzzing vibration from the nightstand, he flung his own phone to the bed. He had been thinking, thinking and preparing the right words to say and more thinking, but the thinking just stresses him out. And writing just worsens the tension.

Usually writing helps him at pitfalls like this, but now, when he finally seeks salvation from it, the words seem to evade him. Can’t find the right words. Can’t catch them. They’re floating above his head, a swirl of disorder and he can’t reach them.

Well, it has been 3 years. No wonder the words neglect him— he did just the same to them.

He leans back on the couch and turns his head to the window at his left, directs his gaze at the landscape stretched before him. It’s gloomy outside. The sun is nowhere to be seen, and the blue expanse seems washed out. Signs of rain. Beneath the sky were tall buildings and people; people walking, chattering, doing what people do, and they were so… insignificant.

The only person that matters is Jiyong. That’s what he came here for. He understands that much.

He blinks, once, twice— like he finally sees something in the distance and he’s making sure— like he realizes what he wants and what he’s going to do. He checks the time. Twelve o clock. He pops off the couch, slumps his little notebook into the back pocket of his jeans, then returns to the bedroom to take a coat and immediately leaves for the front door while putting it on. It’s almost like he’s hurrying. He slips on a pair of red converse, kicking his toes to the floor to make sure his foot is all the way in while he reaches for an umbrella from the stand next to the shoe rack.

He’s making his move, because nothing will change by waiting. Gotta go, he speaks in his head, and sets out to find Jiyong.


“Ramyun okay? It’s all I got now, I should’ve gone shopping yesterday…”

“Yeah that’s fine. Thanks.”

Jiyong is sprawled on Teddy’s couch like a puppet, limbs everywhere, a leg over the armrest, another on the floor. His friend is in the kitchen, turning on the stove, preparing food for him. He barged into Teddy’s place half an hour ago without a warning, but he was welcome, he has always been. Teddy didn’t inquire him too much, and he’s grateful for that.

He’s a coward, and he needed somewhere to go. He hung out in the recording studio earlier but he couldn’t stay calm— he was afraid that Seunghyun would find him there, so when the clock’s shorter hand pointed at 12, he scurried out of the building, to Teddy’s place. Scared that Seunghyun would be awake by then. He hated himself for being such a pussy but he didn’t want to think too much of it.

In fact, he doesn’t think too much of anything anymore. When he has a problem, he just ignores it. Forgets it. Pretends that it’s not bothering him.

He wasn’t like this. Something changed him over the years, something sort of died inside him, and he has been living this way; pretentious, indifferent. But since he’s comfortable with being the pussy he is, he just, ignores it again. So here he is, after running away from the drunken night, from Seunghyun, from the studio. Lying down on Teddy’s sofa, shoving his thoughts into the dimmed corner of his mind where the other dusty thoughts are living.


Not here. Jiyong is not here. Seunghyun was almost 100% sure that he would find Jiyong here, but he’s wrong.

The studio is empty, but the computer is still switched on. Seunghyun lets out a deep sigh, wondering where he should go next. His eyes are fixed on the screen saver that reads “PROPERTY OF MR KWON”— Mr Kwon was probably here. The fact that he’s alone in the studio only draws him to the chair, the same chair he hasn’t sat in since his breakdown. But he isn’t thinking about the past right now, he’s thinking of Jiyong. So he sits, curious of traces of traces of Jiyong; he rests his palm on the mouse and the screen blinks to life.

Seunghyun doesn’t recognize the software, but he knows that a song is in progress. Jiyong’s song in progress. Clicks play. Listens.

A steady kick. Allegro moderato. Some minor chords fade in, bass synth in the background and a mellow melody on electric guitar laces the sound and it’s a harmony.

Seunghyun listens. He’s listening to Jiyong, things Jiyong can’t vocalize, and it sounds wistful and lost, and Seunghyun is tapping his fingers on the table, trying to understand the beat Jiyong is skipping to.

And there’s a surge of words, falling into place, so many words, and Seunghyun pulls out the notebook from his pocket, clicks play when the song ends and sets it to repeat. He starts writing to the music, the first time he’s in touch with music, the first time he’s writing lyrics in years; but the flow doesn’t stop at all so he doesn’t get off the chair, just bobs his head to the rhythm and writes.


“Thanks, Teddy hyung.”

“You sure you’re okay?”


“You know you can always—“

“Talk to you if I need to. But I’m good, thanks anyway.”

A sigh. “Alright. Call me if you need someone to drink with.”

Jiyong doubts he’s going to drink again anytime soon, but nods anyway, and starts walking, although he hasn’t decided on a destination.


Seunghyun didn’t realize he had been writing for two hours straight, four different rap verses, 6 pages in his little book. He read them all over again, satisfied, and thought, Jiyong, it’s because of him that he could write again.

He wanted to look for Jiyong again, and since he could only think of Teddy, who would be with Jiyong most of the time in this room, he searched the whole place for Teddy’s number. All he earned was Teddy’s refusal to believe that it really was Seunghyun on the other line, and that Jiyong just left his place 5 minutes before he called.

So Seunghyun is walking around the neighbourhood under his transparent umbrella. The drizzle won’t stop him, and he’s not going back until he finds Jiyong.


Jiyong feels like the weather today. Grey and cloudy and cold and wet. He was just treading the sidewalk aimlessly when the drizzle tempered into a deluge. He scampered off to the nearest canopy and he’s standing in the same place now, hood over his head and arms hugging himself. Cursing silently because everything sucks, and he just wants to go back to living without a worry in his head. Without Seunghyun in his head.

Even now he can’t stop thinking of Seunghyun. It’s easy to disregard everything else in his mind, but not Seunghyun. And that bothers him.

He shakes the hood off his head and watches the rain pour. Slides his hand to the back pocket of his pants for cigarette. Lights one up and tries to enjoy his solitude; still better than being home.

He’s lighting up a second stick, covering the end with his hand so the cold air doesn’t blow the flicker off, when he senses someone approaching him. He doesn’t turn his head to see who it is, probably just another passerby sheltering from the rain— until the man spoke.


Jiyong sucks with all his might, holding the slender cancer stick between his index and middle finger, stay calm, stay calm. Inside his head, he’s experiencing hysteria. His mind is hyperventilating; why are you here, why the FUCK are you here, nothing could get worse than this, what do I do, I can’t run now I’ll look like an idiot, I really juts lkhy;l akshd ldklgh rlhs— kh— sdafhdlkjsh—


“Hey, hyung.”

Easy. He’s getting good at this. Pushing his thoughts and words away.

Seunghyun wants to ask too, why are you out here, but he remembers the way Jiyong flinches and breaks at his questions, and how Jiyong left the last time he brought distance up, so he doesn’t. Just ruffles Jiyong’s wet hair and smiles, because at least he found him.

“Let’s go home.”

Jiyong just nods and starts walking under the umbrella. Seunghyun hooks an arm and pulls Jiyong closer that their shoulders are touching, shielding him from the rain. Jiyong exhales, smoke puffing out into the rain, and although he had been avoiding this all day, being close to Seunghyun, this feels so right. He feels safe. Like being close to Seunghyun is the perfect place to be.

He knows they’re still a few blocks away from his apartment, they're not home yet. But here, in Seunghyun's arm, under Seunghyun's transparent umbrella, Jiyong feels home.

Lenn [userpic]

What About You?

His eyelids weigh more than his restlessness. It must be the wine. Seunghyun almost gave away to his drowsiness when the door slams open with a loud bang, making him jump in his seat and his notebook drop from his lap.

“Gureumeul gareugo dagaon, G-Dragon!”

Jiyong is standing on the doorway with his arms open, like he really just descended from the clouds. Or the clubs, actually.

Seunghyun rubs his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater and sighs, picking up his notebook as he stands to watch a drunken Jiyong on wobbly legs- as if he drank so much that the liquid pooled up from his knee down. Seunghyun knows this too well, a scene so familiar he’s even relieved that it’s happening. He remembers the procedure; take the little man back to his room, bring him water, change his clothes, tuck him to bed. He hasn’t done this in years but it feels so natural, to be taking care of Jiyong.

Jiyong is trying to walk steady towards the couch, his leather jacket close to falling from his shoulders, his hair a mess- strands sticking up in abstract angles. He stumbles face first into Seunghyun’s chest, then tilts his head back to identify the wall he ran into.

“Ooh, hyuuung!” and he rests his head back on his hyung’s chest.

Seunghyun snorts and wraps his arms around Jiyong and holds him there for a while, lets him hear the heart that’s beating just a little faster under his ear- even though he’s drunk as fuck and he probably won’t remember tomorrow. Seunghyun reluctantly pushes lanky shoulders back to sling this helpless man’s arm over his shoulder, grabs him by the waist and drags him to his bedroom.

Jiyong knocks his Versace high tops off his feet and collapses onto the soft mattress. His eyes are closed and his head is spinning, and it’s too hot but he can’t even coordinate his limbs properly so he just complains.  “Hyuuung, thirsty.”

The sight makes Seunghyun chuckle. He grumbles an “alright, alright” and leaves to the kitchen, kicking Jiyong’s shoes as he walks to the door.

He takes out a glass and holds it out under the water dispenser, pressing the blue lever with his thumb. He misses this. Moments where Jiyong is annoyingly dependent on him. Everyone knows how tough Jiyong is- there lies a dragon inside those childlike features. He takes care of everyone and everything, never showing any sign of weakness. Everyone depends on him, and that’s not a problem.

The thing is, when he takes care of everyone, who’s going to take care of Jiyong?

That’s Seunghyun’s job. When Jiyong wears himself out, he’ll crawl back to his hyung, somehow the only one he can be comfortably weak with. Seunghyun likes it when Jiyong needs him. Likes occasions where he has to babysit Jiyong. Likes it when he is Jiyong’s lifeline, even in the slightest.

He misses this.

He misses Jiyong.

He’s so lost in the sappy feeling that he doesn’t realize the glass is full until the cold water starts leaking onto his fingers. He drinks a little so the water won’t spill anymore and returns to the room.

Jiyong is still in the same position, legs dangling from the edge of the bed, a hand on his forehead. Seunghyun sets the glass on the nightstand and taps on Jiyong’s knee. “Ji, get up.”

“Noooohhh.” Jiyong just brings his other hand to his forehead.

Seunghyun shakes his head and positions himself between Jiyong’s open legs. “Get,” he takes Jiyong’s wrists with both hands, “up!” and yanks hard until Jiyong is sitting up.

“Hyung, you bastard.” Jiyong groans and punches Seunghyun's chest but he has no power; a little girl could've punched better.

Seunghyun just hands him the glass and crouches to remove socks from Jiyong’s feet. Jiyong gulps the water in seconds, puts the glass down and watches the model at his feet— how could he look that gorgeous doing something so degrading? Seunghyun proceeds to slide the jacket off Jiyong’s shoulders and commands him to raise his arms. Tugs the white tee over his head, leaving him bare-chested-- scrawny arms, prominent collarbones. So skinny, Seunghyun thinks, and wonders if Jiyong hasn't been eating.

“Where have you been?” Seunghyun asks casually, unbuttoning Jiyong’s cigarette pants while Jiyong is still watching his every move. Jiyong lifts his ass a little so Seunghyun can take the pants off— he’s so used to this, being pampered— he feels so fucking special from these little things.

But Jiyong doesn’t answer, and when Seunghyun’s done with the whole undressing routine, Jiyong asks back, wasted brown eyes fixed on the man staring puzzled at him.

“What about you?”

And he pulls Seunghyun by the sweater and kisses him hard. The kiss is angry and thirsty— like this is what he meant before. It’s teeth and tongues everywhere, wanting and biting, and it hurts but it’s good and Seunghyun just accepts it, shuts his eyes and moans into the kiss. The stench of vodka and black menthol doesn’t bother him.

Jiyong clenches his teeth on Seunghyun’s lower lip, hard, before breaking the contact and throwing the taller man onto the bed. Seunghyun wants to fight back, wants to regain control, because this is wrong; Jiyong is drunk, and things will be fucked up the next day but he could only watch as Jiyong crawls on top of him.

“What about you, hyung? Where have you been?” Jiyong murmurs, sounding like a sad puppy, his mouth ghosting on Seunghyun’s ear. He caresses Seunghyun’s jawline with his left hand while the other is fumbling with the zipper underneath him.

“Ji, you should stop—“

“No, fuck you, Seunghyun. You think you can do whatever you want? I’m doing whatever the fuck I want then.”

Seunghyun had something to say, but there’s a hand on his cock, squeezing, and his protests evaporate, leaving his mouth as a whimper.

Jiyong moves to kiss Seunghyun, sliding his tongue into parted lips and begins stroking a slow rhythm. Seunghyun thrusts his hips into Jiyong’s hand, because it’s so slow, it’s painfully slow and he wants this, it’s not right but he fucking wants this.

Jiyong is hard and Seunghyun can feel it through his boxers as Jiyong grinds against his thigh. He cups the erection and rubs it over the fabric, and Jiyong gasps and his eyelashes flutter and fuck, he’s so beautiful. He moans into Seunghyun’s neck and pumps harder, the man beneath him breathing heavier, hips rocking more frantically.

“It’s, ngh— it’s unfair, hyung.” He speaks, before jamming his tongue into Seunghyun’s throat, like he’s trying to choke him with it but  Seunghyun just moans and sucks on the tongue, accepting it. With that he feels himself getting closer, another heat building up from his cock and Jiyong tightens his grip on the hard shaft. Seunghyun's free hand scratches down Jiyong’s back and with a final thrust he comes into Jiyong’s hand, head thrown back into the sheets and Jiyong comes soon after, just from the nails digging and trailing the pale skin on his back.

“It’s so unfair.” He repeats, panting and rolling off Seunghyun.

With all the energy he has left, Seunghyun reaches for tissue from the nightstand and cleans the mess they’ve made— although he’s more afraid of the mess that’s coming in the morning.

He’s so tired, so sleepy, and he sinks into unconsciousness with Jiyong’s cheek on his arm.


chapter 4~

Lenn [userpic]


This is it,


Glass walls losing their fortitude, exposing an opening and Jiyong bites his lip at the sudden vulnerability. Jiyong knows. Knows what he has been not-feeling the past 3 years, knows the source of his anxiety. Knows why something inside him was reduced to rubbles overnight. He knows a lot, but not enough to put the pieces back, he doesn’t know how it works for them to fit together. There’s a sting at the back of his head and he doesn’t know whether that’s his regular migraine or something else.

When he woke up that morning he carefully wriggled out of Seunghyun’s arms and sat on the edge of the bed, the taste of the man sleeping behind him still lingering on his lips. Wondered what awkward conversation was coming for both of them. Wondered why he was an idiot to respond to the lips pressing against his. He took a quick cold shower, stuck a note on the fridge to let Seunghyun know where he would be, and dashed out of the building after putting on a leather jacket.

He didn’t need to be in the studio so early, but he had to be somewhere. Anywhere but his apartment.

All that gone to waste, because he didn’t see this coming; Seunghyun, curled up on the sofa with him, his lap as a pillow- like it’s natural to do so after years of barely talking.

Something snapped inside him.

“What the fuck.” Jiyong curses under his breath.


“I said what the fuck, Seunghyun,” Jiyong lifts himself from the couch and runs a hand through his hair. Seunghyun is sitting straight now, brows knitted, his eyes searching Jiyong’s for an explanation for his outburst. “why are you here anyway?”

“I said I just wanted to be close to—”

He doesn’t want that.

“No, why are you here, in Seoul?”

Seunghyun leans back, searching for an answer on the ceiling. He huffs and looks back at Jiyong.

“No particular reason really, I’m on break for two months and I figured I’d visit Korea. What’s wrong with you?”

Jiyong’s head is pounding and it doesn’t help his agitation. It’s pounding and telling him to get out, forcing a question to surface- a question he doesn’t want to ask but his head is hurting and he can’t focus. He falls back onto the couch like it’s dragging him down and covers his eyes with the back of his arm.

“Why did you kiss me?”

Fuck, I shouldn’t have asked.

A hand touches his arm, holds it and places it on his thigh. He doesn’t shove the arm away although he doesn’t want Seunghyun to see the pain on his face (it might be the migraine, it might be something else. He’s unsure). He doesn’t want to be seen losing his shit like this.

“I’m sorry.”

Jiyong doesn’t know what the apology was for; he doesn’t know why he should forgive Seunghyun. He doesn’t know what to say to that, he doesn’t know why he kissed him back. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what’s going to happen, doesn’t know where the limits are- he just does not know.

He also doesn’t know what he’ll find in Seunghyun’s eyes if he looks at him now, and instead of finding out, he takes his arm out of the gentle grip, sighs and gets up on his feet for the second time.

“My head hurts.”

And with that, he walks out of the room. Seunghyun doesn’t follow him.


He was tired. He had overexerted himself before he realized it. He was granted two months of break- he had spent his precious first three days as a sloth, lazing around his apartment.

So he put on a trench coat over his grey sweater, a pair of shades and a beanie. He wanted to go for a walk before the day ended- felt somewhat guilty wasting away when there’s air to breathe outside.

So far no one noticed him— Choi Seunghyun the model, strolling through the streets of Tokyo, one hand in his coat pocket, the other carrying a shopping bag full of little things he didn’t really need. He had bought a book of poems, its cover a clean white with a black silhouette of a tree in the center. He also bought a pocket notebook to write his thoughts in (sometimes in rhymes, sometimes in proses). Then he bought these little furry dolls that he thought was cute, he remembered the shopkeeper called it ‘arpakasso’ and he got them in two colors, white and blue, because he couldn’t choose just one. And a bunch of other things he bought on an impulse, because he’s happy like that.

He was humming a cheery melody when his steps ended in front of an ice cream stand. He took his time deciding on a flavor, and settled with vanilla (with sprinkles on top) and when his lips made contact with the soft, cold sweetness, flavors lighted up in his brain.

“What did you get for me?”

“It’s Kwon Jiyong-flavored.”

He snorted, and took the popsicle from his leader’s hand. They had just finished a shooting and GD promised to treat him an ice cream because he had to wear a pair of uncomfortable white stockings and he almost couldn’t bear rapping in a prince costume while the others were wearing much more tolerable outfits.

He laughed right after he ripped the plastic open, because the ice cream was red, the color of the other rapper’s weave. GD was swinging his fake hair towards TOP, emphasizing what’s obvious, and he laughed again.

“Mine is Choi Seunghyun-flavored.” He said, showing it off just inches from TOP’s face, a turquoise on a stick. He giggled, ruffled TOP’s hair of the same color and took a bite from his ice cream, turned around and walked towards their van.

TOP walked behind him, taking a bite from his own ice cream.

Strawberry. Sweet, and little sour, but still delicious nevertheless.

He wondered what Kwon Jiyong really tastes like.

An ice cream made him hurry home to book a flight to Korea and search for Jiyong’s number. As soon as he was on the line with Jiyong, he was so ecstatic he almost couldn’t hear the disbelief from the other side. He told Jiyong he was coming in three days and informed him the time of his arrival. As soon as he hung up though, he felt a pang in his chest, a longing he didn’t know was there. But he ignored it, because he was going to see Jiyong soon.

He was flying to Korea, he was meeting Jiyong, all from an ice cream, from an impulse.


When he got back to the apartment, Jiyong wasn’t there. Seunghyun called at least 10 times, but no answer.

Tick tock, tick tock. It’s almost eleven.

Jiyong is still somewhere out there. Seunghyun is waiting in the living room, a glass of wine on the table, flicking through channels he’s not really watching. He has replayed last night again and again inside his head; the first time he really tasted Kwon Jiyong. He almost regrets it, but remembers that Strawberry actually kissed back. He doesn’t know what to make of it.

The kiss, he realizes, wasn't so different from buying arpakasso dolls, or booking a flight to korea.

He couldn’t help but to press his body against the other, wanted to hold him dear. He couldn’t stand the laughter that was coming out of his old friend’s mouth— it was bitter, and he wanted to say he wouldn’t mind cuddling Jiyong every single night if that’s what it takes to erase the eyebags and the sleepless nights; but instead he brought his lips to Jiyong’s.

Seunghyun likes Jiyong, and Seunghyun knows. He knows that much, even before 3 years ago. Now that he’s thinking it through, things begin to seem a little complicated, and he made up his mind to simplify things as soon as Jiyong gets home.

So he pours himself another glass of wine and with the TV playing in the background, he writes into his notebook.

Lenn [userpic]

Title: GD⊤ Vol. 2
Pairing: GTOP
Genre: too angst to live too fluff to die
Rating: R
Warning: smut
Summary: Jiyong knows but refuses to understand, Seunghyun undersands but there are some things he doesn't know.

He's Fine With This

It’s 8 in the morning and Jiyong is perched in front of keyboards and synthesizers, making beats and harmonies, sketches and bits of a song in progress looping and echoing inside the studio.

It’s what he does now. He makes music for other YG artists, trains newbies, manages almost anything; he’s almost everything really, everything but a leader of an idol group. You won’t see him on stage anymore, no. You won’t see him swing his tiny frame, swaying to the beat. You won’t see him hammer a guitar when Tonight is playing. You won’t see him spitting rhythmic lyrics like he owns the words. Not since Big Bang disbanded 3 years ago. Like their album cover, they were rusting; and at some point everyone agreed to let it go. So each of them walked down their own paths, but Jiyong stays. He stays here, in YG, in its recording studio, in his comfortable chair. He’s fine with this.

Jiyong sips on his coffee, closes his eyes and leans back on his chair, trying to relish in the weird perfection of his morning. He’s refreshed, and he rarely is, so he shoves this thing that’s nagging him to the farthest corner at the back of his head (like he always did when he was still in Big Bang) and sighs as he sets his mind afloat.

But it drops mid-air as he hears a click from the door, and he jerks his eyes open to find Seunghyun in a grey hoodie and perfect bedhead, sauntering inside like a sleepy little child who has all the time in the world. He flops onto the black couch behind Jiyong.

“Good morning.” he spoke, and Jiyong secretly shudders in his seat. Hearing his voice in this room feels like something new. He’s not used to it, he doesn’t feel at ease- but he doesn’t dislike it. A two-word greeting and Jiyong had to inhale a mist of composure before spinning in his chair to face Seunghyun, smiling, “Hey.”

Jiyong’s morning was perfect until his gaze meet Seunghyun’s. Deep, dark pupils behind half-lidded eyes that contain enough gravity for Jiyong to grab onto the hem of  his tee, doing his best not to fall and crush into his former bandmate and see stars and comets and whatever galaxies exist inside of him. Seunghyun smirks tenderly and Jiyong feels asteroids collide inside his stomach. Great, now his morning is ruined with a space invader, he thinks.

This is too much.

“So, what brings you here, Hyung? It’s early.” Jiyong bounces off the office chair to sit cross-legged at the vacant space next to Seunghyun.

It feels a bit weird to Jiyong that Seunghyun is there, right beside him. He won’t say it’s unreal, but the company is still kind of weird to him. He’s all jittery and little shocks, he thinks they’ve been separate for too long. He doesn’t think of Seunghyun of a stranger, and awkward is not the right word, but ugh.

In the secluded corner of his mind, he knows. But he pushes it back again. Further back, back behind his thoughts, his worries, his consciousness until he believes it’s not there, or that he has forgotten. It’s the least thing he needs on the surface of his mind.

“Nothing,” Seunghyun shifts and rests his head on Jiyong’s lap.

“I’ve just had enough distance from you.”

For a second the words gripped his heart so tightly that he felt tears welling up from the muffled pounding under his chest, but he doesn’t let them fall. And thinks, shit, this is it.


Incheon Airport, previous night.

Hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, back against the front door of his white Bentley. Jiyong waits. He’s waiting, already for 30 minutes now, and he feels oddly nervous. Tries to shake it off, but he has been unsettled since the phone call that he can almost admit the wait had begun the second he hung up- that’s three days ago.

The last time they saw each other was at some huge party Hyunsuk threw a year ago. He can’t remember what the celebration was about because as soon as he spotted Seunghyun in the crowd, he couldn’t set his focus on anything else. They stayed side by side then, along with the other three ex-Big Bang members; laughing at old memories and old jokes, making nostalgic remarks, holding their glasses but not really drinking until they eventually got sick of the loud music and loud strangers, and left the building, just the two of them. Then they sat outside, shared a box of cigarettes and talked some more. Like the old times. It was good. Bonding through lung-rotting substances with Seunghyun is always good.

It was a short meeting, because Seunghyun had to leave first flight in the morning. It was good seeing him again, but that’s that.

That’s all—just that—like the old times.

Jiyong checks the time on his watch again. For the 15th time now. 22:43. He should be here soon. He turns his head to the right and—

There he is.

A tall figure, hauling a luggage behind white-rimmed glasses, a mop of fading ashy color hangs to his forehead— Jiyong instantly straightens up, waves a hand at him, not realizing the magnet pull while his feet are already dragging him. The other man picks up his pace, almost running now— closing the distance like the empty space between them should’ve never been there. Jiyong sees a smile and he feels himself grinning too, the beat of his heart twice faster than his steps and suddenly there are arms around his waist, on his back, broad chest against his, a warm pulsing neck—so close. He’s sure that the rapid pounding in his heart is audible to the man holding him but all he managed to do is wrap his arms in return, pulling him even closer, tighter, if it’s even possible.

“Hi, Hyung.” Jiyong speaks softly, his voice vibrating under his skin and Seunghyun feels it on his neck.

“Hi,” he takes a deep, relieved breath. “I’ve missed you.”

Jiyong inhales and Seunghyun smells like vanilla and cigarettes, foreign smokes he doesn’t recognize.

“I’ve missed you too.”

Seunghyun releases Jiyong from the hug to look him in the eyes, still clutching the smaller man’s arms. “Wow, you’re all bones now.”

Jiyong snorts. “What a nice thing to say at such a touching moment.”

The short walk to the car is full of insults and elbowing each other. Jiyong notices a lump of warmth in his stomach, slowly rising and spreading to his chest. He’s a little uneasy, but happy nevertheless. He knows this too well, but doesn’t do anything about it. As always.


Seunghyun is lying down in his boxers on the center of Jiyong’s bed. He’s exhausted and he won’t bother moving to another room. Spending a night with an old friend wouldn’t hurt, would it? He stares at the apartment owner’s bare back who is changing into something more comfortable.

“Jiyong-ah, you really got skinnier.”

Jiyong turns around so he’s facing Seunghyun while he puts on a loose white tee, inserting both his arms first into the holes, then pulls it down over his head.

“Ahh, what do you know? We haven’t seen each other for a while.” He said it with a light-hearted tone, not meaning to denote anything from it, but immediately regrets it when he detects a glint of hurt from the look Seunghyun’s giving him.

The tired man just shrugs and continues. “You have panda eyes, too. You’re starting to look like Seungri.”

Jiyong chuckles at that as he walks to the bed, beckoning Seunghyun to scoot over and make space for him.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got a pretty bad problem sleeping, and I can’t just keep taking pills.” He’s lying next to Seunghyun now, staring at the ceiling, while Seunghyun is staring at him.

“What’s wrong? You have something in your mind?”

The insomniac catches his friend’s concerned look and replies jokingly with a soft laughter, “More like I have no one to cuddle with.”

He wasn’t expecting what he’s seeing now when he said that. A mixture of worry, hurt and guilt swirling in a pair of bottomless eyes and he can’t look away. He didn’t realize that Seunghyun had shifted his position, so close to him now that they’re almost sharing a breath.

Seunghyun smooths a hand on Jiyong’s cheek, dark eyes penetrating Jiyong and he swears he can almost feel the stab.

“I’m here, Ji.”

The hand glides from his cheek to his temple, then to his hair, and it stays there to stroke his black strands while Seunghyun plants a feathery kiss on his forehead. He doesn’t react, and Seunghyun pulls him closer—his kitten lips barely brushing against Jiyong’s, and Jiyong’s guts melt as he kisses back, almost desperately. He throws an arm over Seunghyun’s shoulder and runs his fingers through blonde locks, tongue grazing over the older boy’s lower lips. A new tangy taste and soon their tongues are exploring the caves of each other’s mouths, passionate and needy.

Seunghyun nibbles and pulls on Jiyong's lower lip delicately before  breaking the kiss to brace him into a cuddle, placing Jiyong’s head on the crook of his neck. Strokes his hair and hums into it, “I’m here.”

Jiyong can feel the rush forcing out from his tear ducts. He shuts his eyes, resisting them from spilling.

He wants to stay this way. Maybe he will stress about it tomorrow, but right now, he's fine with this.

He drifted off to sleep that night. He finally sleeps.

chapter 2! n___n

Lenn [userpic]

I finally made an lj. I'm going to be posting my fic here, and uh, yeah, I guess. I'm still tinkering with this website, the fuck is this, the fuck is that.

Current Mood: curiouscurious
Current Music: Unicorn Kid - Pure Space
  Viewing 0 - 10