By the time Seungri stumbled back to their flat, he was dying.

     ...Well, he felt like he was dying. Physically. Jiyong had taken him to a twenty-four hour gym and put him through one of the worst work-out regimes Seungri had ever experienced. And this had been after the leader had managed to exhaust Seungri spiritually with all the Blinking reps they had done. Seungri had more welts on his body from missed golf-balls than he had phalanges on which to count them, so he was already hurting by the time Jiyong took his arm (Seungri had winced) and Blinked him away to the gym.

     Seungri wasn't sure which he hated more – getting pelted with golf-balls or Blinking from treadmill to treadmill.

     “You want me to do what?” Seungri had asked, looking up from his bent over position. Sweat was trickling down the side of his face, and it tickled the little hairs on his cheek.

     “Blink from machine to machine,” Jiyong repeated, going over to the next machine and turning it on. He pressed some buttons on the control panel, and Seungri was certain, after taking a quick survey of the array of running machines that were now on, that Jiyong was setting them to different speeds.

     “Why? You think I have death wish or something?” Seungri snapped, not feeling up to the mat burns he was to receive.

     “You have to practice Blinking while running, or going from a Blink to a run,” Jiyong explained, ignoring Seungri's sass in favor of double-checking the machines. “It's important, trust me. Now, get up on one."

     Seungri straightened up and shot Jiyong a glare. When Jiyong coolly retained his blank expression, Seungri strode over to the what seemed to be the slowest machine and started a speed walk.

     “Blink,” Jiyong commanded, leaning against a biking machine.

     On the next step, Seungri did, appearing on the machine directly to his left, but he was so focused on Blinking and walking at such a fast pace at the same time that he forgot to account for the different speeds at which the machines were set.

     His feet tangled beneath him and he went down, spinning across the mat and getting dumped at the end of the machine, wheezing for air. Jiyong was suddenly over him, reaching out a hand to pull Seungri upright.

     “Come on, up you go,” the elder had grunted, taking on Seungri's full weight. “And this is why we practice. Take a couple of deep breaths and try again.”

     Seungri did eventually get the hang of moving from machine without wiping out every single time. By the time Jiyong decided it was time to call it quits, not only was Seungri covered in his previous injuries (which had now been aggravated), he now had a nice collection of rubbermat burns to go along with them.

     “How did it go?”  Daesung asked, turning around in his spot on the couch where he had been reading before his fellow Blinkers appeared. “You look like hell, Seungri,” he commented, his eyes flickering to take in Seungri's disheveled appearance. His shirt was soaked through with sweat and his hair was a mess. He probably smelled as horrible as he looked, but he tried not to dwell too much on that fact, as Daesung was across the room.

     “Thanks,” Seungri said sarcastically, giving him the stink eye. “I'm going to take a shower.”

     “Okay. Tae and Seunghyun should have lunch ready by then,” Daesung turned back around to return to his book.

     “It's only lunch time?” Seungri groaned on the way to his door. “I really hate these non-conforming time rules,” he muttered, turning the handle and letting himself in. His room was still a disaster, but he couldn't honestly find a to give, even in the mess.

     Once he had managed to grab his towel, he leaped in the shower and let the hot water sting his skin and wounds, grimacing in pain but knowing it was a necessary evil. He shampooed and soaped up gingerly (again with Seunghyun's supply), wincing and flinching at the sharp shooting pains of the soap cleaning his raw flesh.

     He spent longer than necessary in the shower, and he regretted it immensely when Jiyong came in, without a care in the world.

     “Jiyong! What the - “ Seungri shrieked, startled. He lost his footing when he jumped back in surprise, and he fell on his . His already aching bones protested and he moaned, reaching a hand back to massage his tailbone.

     “Don't you think you've fallen enough today, Seungri?” Jiyong reached into the shower and shut the water off.

     “Oh, shut up,” Seugnri hissed, getting to his feet. “What are you doing in here?”

     “I'm here to tend to your war wounds,” Jiyong answered breezily, holding up a first aid kit. “Come on, let's get you dried off.”

     Jiyong wrapped Seungri in a towel, and under the younger's wild protests, dragged him into Seunghyun's room.

     “My room is right there!”

     “And it looks like a tornado struck it. Just relax, Seungri,” Jiyong set the first aid kit on the made bed and took the towel from around Seungri's shoulders. He patted Seungri down gently, carefully touching his scrapes and bumps with the fabric.

     He returned to the bed, setting the towel down and opening the first aid kit to leaf around in it, leaving Seungri shivering and in the middle of the room. Although he knew Jiyong didn't really care (probably), he was still self-conscious about being in front of him. He didn't want to embarrass himself by trying to cover up his manhood (Jiyong would see right through it and mercilessly for it), so he settled for crossing his arms and covering his s. At least that looked natural for someone who was cold.

     Seungri took a quick look around Seunghyun's room. It was a total contrast to his own – the floor was a muc