Tick, tick, tick. Jiyong feels like he might cry if the clock stops. He’s clinging to it like it's a heartbeat, pulsing, keeping him alive. Tick. Tick. Tick. He should be sick of this by now.
He isn’t.
Seungri on the other side of the room, looking at the curtains, the bed sheets, the moon. Anywhere Jiyong isn’t at. Jiyong wants to call him
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