Some people believe our world is not the only world to exist in the vast expanse of the universe. Many believe in the existence of endless amounts of parallel worlds. They say a new world is created every time someone makes a decision.

Perhaps in our world someone arrives at a forked road and chooses to go left. Another world is created where that same someone chooses to go right. And so on and so forth for every single decision ever made.

Some worlds are almost identical; changed only by a single man deciding to eat cereal for breakfast instead of toast. Others bear virtually no similarities.

For as long as Jiyong has been in jail, for as long as he lived with his crimes, for as long as he lived with his regrets, Jiyong has been forced to watch what could have been. Every night, Jiyong slept and he walked the worlds that existed outside his own, changed by a single decision, not chosen in the world he lived in. Jiyong followed those strings of fate every night, seeing the lives he could have lived.

And in every single of those worlds, one constant existed through them all. One thread was present in every single alternate life Jiyong could have lived. Lee Seungri.

It seemed in every universe and in every life, Kwon Jiyong would always meet Lee Seungri. And in every universe and in every life, Kwon Jiyong would always, without fail, fall in love with Lee Seungri.

And with every new Lee Seungri he met, Jiyong's heart broke a little further.

***

Jiyong opened his eyes to see the smiling face of Seungri in front of him. He quickly assessed his surroundings, noting the floor to ceiling windows, sparkling white floors and the beautiful grand piano he was sitting at. The sun shone brightly into the penthouse suite, making Seungri’s white hair shine and his pale skin glow. The view outside was glorious; all sky scrapers of endless blue and grey.

“You know, when you move in here, you can stare out the window for as long as you’d like,” Seungri said. Jiyong turned to look at Seungri.

Like all the Seungri’s before, Jiyong savoured the innocence in Seungri eyes. He basked in the love present on Seungri’s face, the gaze free of the judgment Jiyong was so used to receiving.

“I’m sure I could,” Jiyong admitted, but it wasn’t the window he would stare at all day. Seungri beamed.

“So can you, hyung?” Seungri asked, tilted his head in question. Jiyong couldn’t help but allow himself to forget all of his troubles.

“Can I what?” Jiyong said. Seungri pouted.

“You weren’t even listening to me! I was asking if you could teach me to play me the piano!” Seungri said. He picked up Jiyong’s hands and placed them on the keys. “Play me something!” Jiyong laughed.

“Anything for you, Seungri,” he said softly. “Always.” His hands flew automatically over the keys, playing a tune that seemed so foreign to Jiyong, yet so familiar at the same time. Words came to his mouth and Jiyong sang.

"Loving can hurt

Loving can hurt sometimes

But it's the only thing that I know

When it gets hard

You know it can get hard sometimes

It is the only thing that makes us feel alive

We keep this love in a photograph

We made these memories for ourselves

Where our eyes are never closing

Hearts are never broken

Times forever frozen still

So you can keep me

Inside the pocket

Of your ripped jeans

Holdin' me closer

'Til our eyes meet

You won't ever be alone

            Wait for me to come home …” Jiyong trailed off when he saw Seungri’s face -- the face present in every corner of Jiyong’s mind -- begin to fade.

“What’s wrong, hyung?” He heard Seungri ask. The voice sounded as if Jiyong was hearing it underwater, faint and garbled. Before Seungri disappeared completely, Jiyong leaned forward, pressing a firm kiss on Seungri’s lips. When he pulled back, the image faded to white, the white gave way to black and Jiyong’s eyes snapped open to see the white ceiling of his cell.

He lay on the bed, listening to the occasional banging of other convicts in the cells around him. If he listened carefully, he could hear more sounds of the organized chaos of the jail he was in; the endless buzz of disdain in the air mixed with a sense of arrogance and perhaps regret.

Regret.

Oh did Jiyong regret. He squeezed his eyes closed. In every universe existed a Jiyong and Seungri, but maybe in this world the fates decided Jiyong didn’t deserve a Seungri. Jiyong had committed so much wrong in his life, he wouldn’t be surprised if Seungri outright rejected him out of disgust.

The world of drugs and alcohol and temporary bliss. It was something Jiyong had lived for: the high, the life of no worries, free from the pressures of society. It had worked well, until he had accidently taken an innocent person’s life while drunk.

His hands were stained in blood. And that would never change.

***

That night, Jiyong opened his eyes to red. The red of the sky, the red of the ground, and the red on his hands. He could make out nothing but endless destruction, fallen buildings and shattered streets littered with dead bodies.

He ducked into a dark alley to avoid a search light from a helicopter overhead. The sound of gunfire echoed in his ears, louder than anything Jiyong had ever heard.

The rain of bullets behind the wall of concrete seemed to last ages, but as soon as it stopped, Jiyong was on the move. His legs moved with efficiency born from practice, darting from cover to cover, making their way to an uncertain destination. Jiyong let himself be carried for hours, moving tirelessly over fallen cars, bombed buildings, and empty stores.

He eventually slowed down, making his way through an abandoned town. The buildings seemed relatively intact. Jiyong avoided the main street, navigating through the back of the buildings. He broke the glass of the back door of a convenience store and helped himself to some bottled water and stale chips.

He managed to salvage a gun from a rotting body lying on the sidewalk in front of the store. Jiyong quickly grabbed the weapon from the man and made himself scarce.

He walked further into the heart of the town. When he arrived at an intersection, he stopped. Jiyong had no idea why, but somewhere in his gut, his instincts told him something was wrong. He carefully poked his head out to look out.

He could see, not even two meters away, a gang of men dress in uniform fighting a lone male. With some careful relocation, Jiyong ended up behind a road block next to the action. From his new location, Jiyong could make out the face of the target.

It was Seungri.

Seungri was fighting five soldiers. None of them were armed with guns, but it was obvious who was going to win the fight. Seungri, outnumbered and equipped with a baton was able to take out three of the men in an impressively short amount of time. He was preoccupied with the fourth when Jiyong could see the fifth pick up a discarded gun and aim. Without even thinking, Jiyong fired his own gun, effectively killing the fifth man in a spray of red.

Seungri looked startled, but made haste finishing off the soldier he had been fighting. When he did, he turned to look at Jiyong.

Seungri’s eyes were different in this world, a cold, hard gray as opposed to the warm brown Jiyong was used to. Black hair fell into Seungri’s eyes, some of it in little clumps hardened with blood. And yet he could still see the innocence that existed in every universe. The kind of trait that Jiyong never had and never could have.

“Jiyong?” Seungri asked, his normally higher voice was lower -- huskier. Jiyong shivered.

“Seungri,” Jiyong breathed. Seungri shorten the baton in a practiced movement and holstered it. Jiyong got the message and tucked his own weapon away. Seungri walked up him cautiously, his face guarded.

“I thought you left,” Seungri said. “What happened to me being dirty scum for betraying you?” For the first time since he woke in this world, Jiyong noticed his clothing. It was the same as the mass of soldiers Jiyong had passed countless times on his way here.

“I don’t care anymore,” Jiyong said. “It’s fine.” Seungri’s expression softened, a sort of vulnerability and sorrow taking over his face. Jiyong wanted