(no subject)
For Sale || jiyong/seungri ||
It was midnight on a Tuesday evening when Jiyong decided he needed a vacation from his own head.
At first he tried to convince himself otherwise. He denied the sudden weight-loss, he ignored the darkening smudges reaching across prominent cheeks, and he blamed long hours on the wilting smiles. The red-rimmed eyes and the not-so-silent sobs were a backing-track he’d learnt to work with. The broken mirrors and the blood on the carpet and the un-touched food and the empty stomach and the knees scratched from nights above the toilet; they were all just pieces in a passing phase.
The internet and the management team and the fans used words like disorder and psychological and anorexic but Jiyong knew better, he was G-Dragon for fucks sake and he would damn well know if his maknae was hurting. He was G-Dragon, his mind was chanting fine, fine, fine and his heart was breaking as his arms tightened around skin and bones.
At first he tried to convince himself otherwise. But then his fragile, make-believe world had shattered; just as easily as Seungri’s bones when the boy collapsed from the stage and onto the cold cement floor.
------
“I’m alright, hyung,” Seungri had grinned, his lips torn and bloodied and dry. “They say it was ‘cause of the stress.”
They say it was ‘cause of the malnutrition. They say it was ‘cause of the insomnia. They say it was ‘cause of the diet pills and the exercise regime and the broken, broken mind.
Jiyong doesn’t answer. He sits in this white-washed hell and he thinks how well Seungri blends in with his pale skin and his loose hospital gown.
“Really, I’m fine. I’ll be ready to sing tomorrow, I’m sure. You can pull some strings for me with the doctor can’t you, hyung?”
“The tour’s cancelled,” Jiyong answered into the palm of his hands as he cradled his head above his knees. “Television appearances have been cancelled. The new album has been postponed. The others are with family. They’ve given us as much time as we need. To get better.”
“What?”
Jiyong sighed, his eyes wet and his chest tight. “You’re sick, Seunghyun. You’re so fucking sick and I did absolutely nothing.”
“I’m not sick, Ji. Just stressed. They said it was stress. I’m fine, I’m healthy.”
Jiyong tried to ignore the hysteric note in the younger man’s tone as he raised his eyes from his lap to the ceiling, as he took a breath in, breath out, breath in. “You’re starving yourself. You’re clothes don’t fit. You body doesn’t work and your mind is breaking. You don’t talk as much, you don’t smile at all, you don’t dance as well and you don’t sing like you used to.”
“Hyung.”
“I don’t know what to do. I tried to ignore it, you were my stupid, little maknae and you’d get over your stupid, fucking insecurities and it would be fine. And then it got worse and I didn’t know what to do.”
“I’m not...”
“You are sick!” Jiyong snapped. “Anorexia. You have anorexia and your heart stopped beating. You have no fat, your organs are destroying themselves, your body is dying and I didn’t do a single thing.”
He rose from his seat on unstable legs and the beeping of Seungri’s machines reached deafening levels in his ears. This was very real, he thought momentarily, and every turn of his head and shrug of his shoulders up until now had allowed Seungri to reach this stage. He glanced to the boy that had risen in his bed, the boy gazing back at him with widened-eyes. This boy that looked so different from the kid he had fallen in love with. This boy that had taken Seungri’s skin and pulled it over his own broken skeleton. This boy that was Lee Seunghyun and that was not.
He shut the door behind him and thought of soap operas and women’s novels and Hollywood. These things were supposed to live there, worlds away from him and those that he loved. Not behind the closed doors of his own life. He slid down the door to the tiles beneath his feet and resisted the urge to scream and cry and break and punch and hurt, hurt, hurt.
This wasn’t his life and he wasn’t used to the pain. He held back the tears and listened in silence to those being sniffled behind the door.
------
The meetings started. The interventions and psychologist interviews and television announcements and fake assurances started. And Jiyong passed through each day, day after day, not an inch from Seungri’s side. The boy cried and fought and hissed hateful words at his hyung and Jiyong took each with open arms, leaving his heart unprotected as the younger cried hate, hate, hate, hate.
He’d failed his maknae and he hadn’t forgiven himself. Seungri’s body remained paper-thin and ghastly pale and he hadn’t forgiven himself.
He woke each day, his body stiff with nerves and nightmares, and lay silent as he listened for the low inhale, exhale of Seungri’s breathing. His heartbeat calming as his sleep-ridden mind realised the warmth of the bed was not his alone, that his maknae was still alive. Some days his heart thundered in his chest as his arms searched blindly for a body that was not there, only to relax a moment later at the soft pit-pat of the shower in the bathroom down the hallway.
Some days he smiled and grinned and almost-laughed and he felt that things were getting better. Seungri ate whatever little morsel Jiyong presented him with and they giggled together like old times. They’d watch television like they used to, long into the night, Seungri’s body warm against Jiyong’s side, his head against his shoulder.
Other days, he felt like leaving.
Seungri would cry and scream. Food would be strewn, tears would run and Jiyong’s heart would freeze with the loss of Seungri’s touch.
It was as if with each step forward they would take five steps back.
------
Weeks had passed and it came time to celebrate their anniversary as a band. A tradition they had kept since their very first year together. It had always been a quiet affair; the five of them, a bottle of something rich and warming, and a night of love and laughs.
Seungri hadn’t left his bed that morning and Jiyong was on his fourth cup of coffee. Taeyang was the first to arrive. Mumbling his greetings as he wrapped Jiyong in a tight embrace, not bothering with the how are yous and has he eaten in the past weeks. They talk quietly in the small kitchen, Jiyong pouring himself another cup of coffee as he leans against the kitchen bench, his eyes red and his shoulders slumped.
Their silence is interrupted with the gentle pat of Seungri’s slippers as he peers into the kitchen with wide eyes, pausing a moment before shuffling into Taeyang’s steady arms.
“Good afternoon, pretty-baby,” Taeyang whispers into Seungri’s neck.
Seungri’s fingers clutch at Taeyang’s shirt as he presses closer, closer, closer. Jiyong watches on with a sad smile, the filthy green of his jealousy rising in his throat as he wishes himself into Taeyang’s place.
Taeyang lifts his arms from Seungri’s hips as he cradles the boys head, directing Seungri’s gaze to meet with own.
“Did you sleep well?”
Seungri nods quickly, earnestly and Taeyang smiles happily. It’s like watching a father-son exchange and Jiyong hurts.
“And Jiyong? How’s Jiyong been?”
Jiyong’s eyes widen at the mention of his name, his glance meeting Taeyang’s over Seungri’s shoulder.
“Hyung is good,” Seungri replies, his voice soft and perfect and lilting. Jiyong ignores the rapid beating of his heart. “I think Hyung is tired of me,” Seungri continues in a whisper.
It takes Jiyong five minutes to walk the three steps between himself and his two band-mates, five minutes for him to slide his arms around Seungri’s waist, five minutes for him to kiss the back of Seungri’s neck and five minutes for him to murmur into to shell of Seungri’s ear, “I’ll never tire of my maknae, my perfect maknae.”
It takes Daesung and Seunghyun twenty seconds to ruin their loving silence.
------
The five of them are settled in a circle around the table, their heads bent in unison as Daesung babbles a prayer of thanks before they pop open the wine and the food is served, the food Taeyang had slaved over all afternoon while Seungri worked hard to be a replacement shadow.
Jiyong ate slowly as he surveyed his four best-friends, his family. Daesung clucking about some pretty girl he’d spotted at the record store, Taeyang listening patiently, his eyes crinkled in a smile. Seunghyun sitting close to his maknae as Seungri whispered a quiet conversation, his bony hands and skinny wrists accentuating his soft words. It was all quite beautiful, he thought as he resisted the urge to drink himself into a stupor, all quite fucking beautiful.
And then it happened.
Seungri, almost mindlessly, raised a spoonful of soup to his chatting lips. Swallow and repeat. Jiyong stared. It wasn’t much food, half a bowl of luke-warm soup, but it was the first time Jiyong could remember watching Seungri eat without a look of self-hate and tears of disgust.
Later that night Jiyong sat under the shower-head until the water ran cold and his skin wrinkled, his eyes closed and his mind blank.
------
“Hyung?”
“Hmm?”
“Tonight was nice, wasn’t it?”
“It was.”
“Jiyong?”
“Yes?”
“Do you wanna go out tomorrow? With me. We could go to the park. I think I would like that.”
Jiyong opened his eyes, gazing at Seungri through the dark. The other boy’s eyes were downcast, his fingertips tracing the patterns of their shared blanket.
“I think that would be nice, maknae. Just the two of us.”
Seungri smiled and it was the most gorgeous thing Jiyong could remember seeing in a long while, his heart warmed. “Now come here, closer to me and get some sleep.”
Seungri raised his eyes to meet Jiyong’s before wriggling closer in their twin-bed, his arms tucked tight between their bodies, his head sharing Jiyong’s pillow.
Jiyong smiled at the moon peering through the crack in the curtains, his heart hopeful.
------
Weeks turned into months and the management had started to become agitated. Meetings were called and Jiyong was dragged away from Seungri’s side, not without much anger and annoyance.
“It’s been six months, Jiyong, and Big Bang hasn’t made a single appearance. The fans are becoming anxious. We need to be able to give them a schedule for the tour, the album. We think it’s time we moved on. Seunghyun can call an interview, it can be very formal, it won’t look like it was forced. We can bring in a replacement, and then hold auditions. We’ll broadcast the auditions, that’ll put Big Bang back in the forefront of people’s minds. We can start the new album, get on the road. It’ll all be fine.”
Jiyong’s body shook with disgust. “Excuse me?” He questioned, his voice low.
The man sighed, resting his elbows on his desk as he gazed at Jiyong in silence. “We know you’re all very close. But it’s just not economical for a band to be this quiet for this long. We know of Seunghyun’s health issues. We know the success rate of beating anorexia is close to only forty-percent. This move would be the best for all. We’re not asking you to sign the papers today; we want you to consider it though. Go home, talk to the rest of the band. We’ll schedule a meeting later this week.”
“I don’t know who you think you are, but you are sorely mistaken if you think any one of us will even consider substituting Seungri for some half-assed replacement. You can take your economy and your percentages and your schedule and you can get fucked.”
The door slammed behind Jiyong as he strode from the room, his breath coming in short, furious puffs as he waited for the elevator, or to be called back, or to be handed his redundancy forms, or to be escorted by security to the sidewalk and onto his ass.
The elevator door pinged open and he entered.
------
“What’s the matter, Ji-Hyung?” Seungri questioned as Jiyong slammed his way into their apartment and into the kitchen, the sounds of his coffee-brewing multiplied in his anger.
“Fucking management and their god-damned plans. Who the fuck do they think they are?”
“Ji? What happened, Jiyong?”
Jiyong sighed heavily as he crouched on his heels, the kettle whistling as it boiled. “Seungri,” he whispered into his hands. “Come here, Seungri.”
Seungri knelt in front of Jiyong, placing his hands on the older boy’s shoulders as Jiyong leaned into him. They sat in silence, Jiyong listening to the soft thump, thump of Seungri’s heart from where his head lay against Seungri’s chest. He wrapped Seungri’s waist in a loose hug, spreading his thighs wide and pulling Seungri closer, between his legs.
“What happened, hyung?”
“No matter what, Seungri, no matter what anyone says to you, no matter who they are, I will always love you and you will always be a part of Big Bang. Anyone who even suggests otherwise is not worth the time it takes to listen to them, okay? They don’t have a fucking clue.”
“Jiyong, who said-“
“No-one. Don’t you worry about anything. I’ve dealt with it.”
“Dealt with what, Jiyong. I’m confused.”
Jiyong raised his head from Seungri’s chest, lifting his gaze to Seungri’s face. Seungri’s brow was furrowed in confusion and worry, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, his hair a mess from the night before and his shirt - his borrowed shirt - hanging off one shoulder, revealing a prominent collar bone and shoulder. Jiyong smiled in amazement and despair.
“No-one could replace Big Bang’s favourite baby, could they?”
Seungri scowled in mock-anger as he raised a loose fist to hit Jiyong’s head. “If it wasn’t two in the afternoon I’d think you were drunk.”
Jiyong laughed and laughed and laughed.
------
“I got a call from management today,” Taeyang says in way of greeting when Jiyong picks up the phone that afternoon.
“It seems everyone got a call from management today,” Jiyong mutters, as he settles into the living-room lounge. “What did the assholes want this time?”
There was silence on the other side of the line, Jiyong could make out Taeyang’s soft breaths and matched his own to the same beat. “I know what they wanted to talk to you about. I know what you said.”
“If you rang to scold me, don’t even begin to bother, ‘cause I’ve had it up to here today.”
“I haven’t rung to scold you, Ji. I rang to see how you are.”
“I’m fine. I haven’t told Seungri what they wanted. I was right though, wasn’t I? I’m not doing this shit with a replacement. You agree with me?”
“Of course I agree. Perhaps I wouldn’t have used the words you did, but the general gist would have been the same.”
Jiyong sighed in almost-relief, his cheeks flushing with affection for his band-mate. “Big Bang without Seungri, what the fuck is that anyway? They wanted to have tryouts, make a big deal about it. Seungri was supposed to go out quietly. They made is sound as if he were dead, six-feet-under already. I was ready to punch his smarmy face.”
“I can’t image that would have gone down too well,” Taeyang answered and Jiyong could imagine his light grin. “How’s Seungri today? He called me about your day out. He loved it.”
Jiyong smiled in memory as he coiled the phone-cord through his fingers. “It was brilliant. One of those really good days, you know? No fights, no tears; perfect,” he paused a moment in silent thought before continuing, “I think he’s doing better, Tae. I feel like progress is being made, you know? I think that’s why I got so angry at the office today. Like, I’m the one at home with him twenty-four hours a day, I know what he’s going through and I know that he’s improving and then I go into this meeting to have someone I don’t even fucking know tell me he’s not worth the effort. It’s like, forget it Jiyong, you’ve just wasted six months of your life and you’ve made shit-all progress and we want some money. It drives me mental.”
“He is worth it though, Ji, and you know that. You know that more than anyone else, so why does it matter what they say? It doesn’t. Seungri is worth the world.”
Jiyong was silent. He felt like crying and he felt like laughing. “Worth the world.”
“The world and more, Ji. Don’t listen to what anyone else says, ‘cause you know that. What’s the baby doing now?”
Jiyong glanced in the direction of the bedroom over his shoulder. “I picked up some records for him on my way home this morning, he’s listening in the bedroom, I think.”
“Hmmm. Think you could drag him away for a bit? I want you both to come over for dinner tonight. It’s been too long since these four walls have seen you guys.”
Jiyong laughed softly, “Sure, Tae. The others as well?”
“Just us three tonight, the other two Casanova’s have dates.”
“Sure they do. We’ll be there, six-ish? Seven-ish?”
“Get here earlier and we’ll cook dinner together, get drunk, watch movies and you can pretend to get angry when Seungri falls asleep in your lap.”
Jiyong’s grin widened as he replied, “See you at six then.”
“See you there, and Jiyong, don’t worry about a thing, we’ve all got your back, we’ve all got Seungri’s. Big Bang is nothing without him, without him there will be no Big Bang, okay?”
“Thanks, Tae, thanks a lot.”
“No worries, dude. Bye.”
Jiyong hung up, his cheeks crimson with happiness and his grin wide. “Ri-baby, you feel up for a visit to Taeyang’s?” Jiyong called as he made his way down the hall toward the bedroom, knowing Seungri wouldn’t be able to hear him over the music he probably had pumping at full-volume through his headphones but yelling anyway.
------
“Jiyong! What are you doing! I said onions first, you idiot!” Taeyang snapped with a grin as Jiyong danced out of his reach, mushrooms in hand.
Seungri laughed from where he sat at the kitchen table, a pile of cut and uncut carrots before him. Jiyong, now imitating a slightly deranged monkey, was hugging himself tight against Seungri’s back as he made faces at Taeyang over the boys shoulder.
Taeyang grinned as he went back to the stovetop, glancing at the other two as he continued to stir his slowly simmering pot. It had been too long since he had seen them as at ease with each other as they were tonight. Too long since he had seen Jiyong press kiss after kiss after kiss to Seungri’s blushing cheeks. Too long since he had seen Seungri frown as he pushed at Jiyong’s shoulders in pretend-disgust as the other tried to lift Seungri over his shoulders to carry him to the lounge.
“Dinner’s served!”
------
Jiyong was slightly buzzed. He was slightly buzzed and more and Seungri was a solid warmth against his side in the back of the speeding taxicab. It was nice, he thought, this was nice. Dinners and drink and laughs and Seungri trying to pretend he could do shots with Taeyang. It was like old-times, almost.
“Ya, hyung?” Seungri mumbled into the soft of Jiyong’s shoulder.
“Hmm?”
Seungri was silent as he continued to press closer toward the other, his hands tugging Jiyong’s arm into their embrace. “I’m drunk.”
“I know you are.”
Seungri nodded, his eyes half-closed, his lips upturned and his frail body so, so warm. Jiyong was kinda fucking buzzed and was unbelievably turned-on. Fuck.
------
Seungri was soft and perfect and naked and above Jiyong in the dark, all curvy lines and coy smiles and tight, tight heat over Jiyong’s cock. Thrust, thrust, thrust...
Thrust.
Jiyong fell off the bed to the sound of Seungri’s retching before rolling over and falling back to sleep, his head resting on the sole of one of Seungri’s slippers. Life was pretty fucked-up this early in the morning, he though, before closing his eyes.
------
“I’m sick.”
“You’re hung-over.”
“My head hurts. I want drugs.”
“I finished them.”
“Hyuuung! Can you get me some?”
------
Sometimes Jiyong wondered why the fuck he ever let Seungri tell him what to do and, more prominently at this moment, what the fuck he was doing outside in the middle of winter on the corner of some alleyway that smelt like piss and toads, looking for a chemist he didn’t even know existed.
He thanked Christ that even fan-girls had the sense to sleep past ten-am on Saturday mornings and cursed God for the clusterfuck of endorphins, pain-killers and alcohol he had wreaking havoc in his brain.
His baggy jumper, over-sized glasses, and torn beanie must have looked ridiculous but the cashier didn’t bat an eyelid as he collected Jiyong’s cash, obviously used to Friday-night partiers with killer hangovers and the friends (lovers, partners, fuck-buddies?) they convinced to buy them pills and orange-juice.
Jiyong walked back to the apartment with a unrecognizable tune in his head and made sure to jump in every puddle on the way, just ‘cause he could, the plastic bag weighing heavily on his wrist; leaving little red-lines in its wake. He smiled, a self-deprecating, unamused twist of his lips, as he thought of all the decidedly x-rated things Seungri should be made to do for him in repayment for this bitch of a hill he was now climbing.
It was kind of ridiculous, he though. Falling in love. Who the fuck wanted to deal with that shit, anyway?
Seungri was perfect and Seungri was the only constant in Jiyong’s life at the moment and he supposed these feelings were maybe some screwed-up hybrids of love, a result of the twenty-four hour, seven days a week, best-friends routine they had going on right now.
He also supposed that if he ate all the tiny pills of pain-relief he had in his bag right this second, poured the juice down the sidewalk in rivers and bought a ticket to some asshole rural town in outback Australia the annoying, fluttering butterflies of maybe-love would follow him regardless; that maybe if he never saw Seungri again he might very well still be in love.
Mother of fuck.
------
They lay on the shag-carpet Jiyong had bought over the internet on a whim, because anything that cost 8.88$US including shipping was bound to be a bargain and the colour reminded him of Seungri’s panda-bags.
They lay and they made pretend snow-angels and Jiyong blew raspberries against Seungri’s thigh and Seungri giggled and giggled and poured orange-juice/vodka cocktails down Jiyong’s throat and kissed the drops that spilled down Jiyong’s neck and giggled, giggled, giggled.
“I think I’ve lost my mind, maknae. I think I’m going mental.”
“Sometimes I used to lie on the floor at night, when you were all asleep. I’d lie on the floor in the hallway; you know how you can sometimes see the ramen-sign through the window in the hallway? I’d lie there, in my boxers, and I would just close my eyes. I wouldn’t cry or anything. And I’d just hold my breath until my head went dizzy and I’d just keep doing this until I nearly collapsed, then I’d have a shower and pretend I was drowning.”
Jiyong listened to Seungri’s voice with the beating of his heart rushing in his ears.
“And then, when I was in the shower, I would hate myself so much. Like, I couldn’t even explain how much I hated everything about me. I couldn’t explain what I was doing and I was always so scared. That one of you would wake-up and see me and just get so fucking annoyed, or something.”
“Baby...”
“And then it just became easier. I was never good enough and I was so scared that you’d all realise sooner or later and leave me. And I loved you so much my heart would ache. I hated my skin and my voice and my dancing and I thought it would be so easy to drown myself for real. I made myself sick, I was horrible and I wanted to hurt so that maybe I’d come out better.”
Seungri’s tears slipped from the corners of eyes, past the curl of his ears and into the folds of the carpet.
“I never did. I was always Big Bang’s stupid, dispensable, not-as-good-as-Jiyong, nearly-didn’t-make-it maknae and it made me so sick I could throw up.”
Jiyong curled on his side, hating the way his world spun with his alcohol-ridden mind and breaking heart, hating the way he had ignored Seungri killing himself.
“It’s funny though. I’m so selfish. Sometimes I wake up now and I remember how disgusting I am and it’s like it’s just another day on tour with me sharing you with the fans and the stage and your limelight and I hate it. Then other days I cling to you and you don’t go anywhere and I love you so much and I love what I did to myself because now you’re mine and I don’t have to share. And it’s so selfish you should hate me, so much. But I don’t say that, ‘cause I don’t want you to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Seungri. I’m right here.”
“But you shouldn’t be!” Seungri cried. “You should hate me for what I’m doing to you.”
“I should hate myself for allowing you to do what you did to yourself. I should hate myself for ever letting you feel like you came in second-best to the fans. I love the fans, Seungri, and I love every freaking millisecond I spend on stage, but if you asked me to give it all up, I would. In less than a second, I would give it all up, because you mean the world and more to me, Seungri.”
Seungri was silent, but for the soft inhale, exhale of his breath, not-quite sobs.
“Let’s go out, Seungri. I’m sick of this fucking apartment.”
------
It was about halfway to the subway station that Jiyong realised he had no clue where he was going or how much change he had in his pockets for tickets.
It was about thirty seconds into the train ride that he realised he really just didn’t care.
They sat in silence for what seemed like days, watching the ins-and-outs of daily life, pretending they weren’t holding hands, pretending they weren’t Jiyong-and-Seungri of Big Bang, pretending Seungri’s breaths weren’t still catching in his throat from the steep uphill climb on the way to the station fifteen-minutes prior.
“I think I’m turning part-vampire or something, my eyes can’t handle this shit,” Jiyong muttered as he held his hand up against the afternoon sun.
Seungri laughed, before rising from his seat to stand in front of Jiyong, blocking the sun’s shine with his body. “Better?”
Jiyong smiled, reaching up his hands to rest on either side of Seungri’s hips. “Much,” he answered.
A moment of quiet passed between them before Seungri spoke. “What do you suppose management would say if we just never went back? I mean, if we just stayed on this train until the end and then caught another and another and another. Forever.”
“What could they say? Not much.”
“I think I would miss the others too much, though.”
“We could bring them with us.”
Seungri paused. “But then it wouldn’t just be me and you.”
Jiyong tightened his fingers around Seungri’s waist.
------
It was midnight on a Tuesday evening when Jiyong decided he needed a vacation from his own head.
------
Seungri had come home from a management-scheduled doctor’s appointment and had spent the rest of the afternoon, quivering, under the blankets of their single bed.
Jiyong turned the lights low and placed his well-worn Beatles album into his well-worn record player and slipped between the sheets, curling his body around Seungri’s near-naked form. He kissed the lyrics, in his own broken-English, down Seungri’s pale spine, over each distinct vertebra and tried not to sob.
“I’ll follow the sun...”
The music was soft and perfect in that way Jiyong couldn’t comprehend and Seungri was the tiny centre of warmth Jiyong’s body curled around.
“When I was a kid I used to watch the older kids and I used to think how lame they all really were. I used to think that’d I’d definitely be cooler than all of them, because hello! I’m G-Dragon and that was that. Then I got into this business and now I see people every day that awe the shit out of me. And sometimes that gets me down and sometimes I don’t sleep and sometimes I tear up lyrics that weren’t all that bad.”
Jiyong paused, tightening his arms around Seungri’s waistline, wishing that he could still feel the baby-soft flesh of Seungri’s vanished stomach.
“I don’t know the pain you know; to the extent you know it. I probably never will. But on some smaller, watered-down scale, I understand. I want you to know, though, that you’re wrong. That you’re beautiful and gorgeous and perfect and you have so many people that love you and cherish you. You’re my baby, Seungri, you’re my pretty-baby and I love you.”
Jiyong could feel the shudder of Seungri’s tears.
“I love you and we love you. No matter what you think, you’re as much a part of Big Bang as I am. To me, you are Big Bang. You’re part of the reason I get up every morning. I love doing this, Seungri, I love music and performing, but if I couldn’t do it with you, I don’t know if I would want to anymore. There’s no-one else I’d want more, to be by my side when I release another song, begin another tour, whatever. You may not see it, but you make me strong, Seungri. I’d fail without you by my side. My heart stopped when I saw you fall off that stage and I wasn’t there to catch you, I wasn’t there to be your hyung like I was supposed to.”
Jiyong’s head pulsed and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. His heart jolted when he heard the first whispers of Seungri’s response.
“The doctor said I put on two ounces.”
Jiyong cried the tears he’d wanted to since that first day in hospital.
------
It had been a year and a week since Seungri’s collapse and for a year and week Jiyong had been helping him heal.
Seungri was still frail and he still cried and he still clung to Jiyong like his life was ending, but Jiyong held onto the little changes like a life-support. The smiles and the laughs and the gentle iloveyous; the tiny appearances of the old-Seungri are what give Jiyong the courage to wake up each morning, the urge to hug Seungri a little tighter each evening.
The management team are threatening a terminated contract and a cut to their wage in the letters Jiyong burns each morning before Seungri wakes. Taeyang receives the same letters and destroys them through the paper shredder he keeps in his office. His text to Jiyong is always a mix of the same words, the same meaning. Kiss the baby good morning for me. Love you. Jiyong lets the burnt curls of paper fly out the kitchen window and taps his response. <33.
The five of them meet each week and they sing and they dance and Jiyong finds himself watching Seungri move with such grace his heart swells. His clothes are loose and they move around him like wings, like the flowing robes of angels and Jiyong accepts that he is very much in love.
Seungri has put on a further ounce and sings the lyrics of Jiyong’s favourite album against Jiyong’s smiling lips and life isn’t good, but it’s better. It’s getting there.
------