This story take a quite different take on Nyongtory. It doesn't reflect any truth. But I always love writing in as many perspectives posible, and with many possibilities open. So this is one take on Nyongtory of many. So with that said, enjoy. 

Everyone carries some kind of sadness inside their hearts. The sadness of failing. The sadness of not being good enough. The sadness of defeat. And despite so many heartbreaks hidden inside the soft sound of a sigh during rainy nights, despite all of it, there is hope. Because nothing has an eternal existence. Not even sadness. Yes, it can be there, always appearing and disappearing between times, between lives. Like a candle that is burned only when the sun goes down and the room is filled with darkness. Sadness has the consistency of its flame. It ignites and then it vanishes. And when it is there it flickers. Sometimes it is painfully strong, burning everything that dares to get close, burning every memory, every smile, and every laughter. Sometimes is as faint as the caress of a tear running down our cheek. Almost invisible to the heart. Sadness flickers. That is how it is. That’s how Seungri lived it. Every single day of his life.

He had words jammed inside his throat. They wouldn’t let him breath at times. He had pleas too, that went mostly unheard. Because what are thoughts but pleas never listened by anyone but ourselves. He could write letters. Many of them. But he always chose not to. He could have told him to stop. But he, also, chose not to. So he preferred his flickering sadness. He embraced it.

Please, don’t hate me

He could have said that very first thing. Now, ten years later, the thoughts of “if” seems so far away they make him laugh. But he could have. That’s true. Dreams shouldn’t be mocked upon, or the efforts of a young soul shouldn’t be stepped over. But that’s how things should not go, not how it goes. There are so many ways life should be, and none of those have ever happened to him.

He should have been accepted the first time. He shouldn’t have been asked to fight for an embarrassing last place in the group. He should have been accepted happily by the rest of them. He should have been less innocent and see things for what they were. He shouldn’t have been fascinated by the very same person who seemed to have made his life purpose to despise every single thing he did.

But Seungri had never been smart enough to back off. He pushed. He was stubborn. Now he cries, because that same trait is what never allowed him happiness in the end.  

He has the memory of angered stolen glances, of hands pushing him even when he had done nothing wrong, of hurtful words, made only to carve wounds that would leave scars. If anyone asked Seungri how his loved started, he would said fed by hate. Wasn’t that a sign to be careful? Seungri shakes his head now. It should. But then again, we return to the useless “should”.

Please don’t hug me

But if he thinks harder, if he gives himself time to consider things. He can answer differently to the question of how his love started. He would say, the day he stopped hating me. The day he, to surprise of all, got a fixation on him.

Seungri was sure he liked the soft curves of women. He liked cute voices and long hair. But after three nights with a body pressed against him, a body without curves, with stubble and strong hands, he knew he liked other things too. And he kept that as his most sacred secret.

At times he wanted to scream, please, don’t hug me anymore. Maybe he wasn’t good enough at concealing his desperation because they would mock him about it. Jiyong would say, he hates it. And Seungri would shut up because the truth was more horrible, more despicable. He didn’t hate it. He loved it. He wanted more. He wanted better.

The nights his bed was lonesome were the worst. It smelled of him. He dreamed of him. And when morning came Seungri would hide his face inside the blankets and bit his tongue, embarrassed. Because his thoughts were horrible. He deserved the worst. He deserved what fans said he did, not to be part of them. A freak like him didn’t deserve to be part of them.

Please, don’t say I’m yours

He saved the video and would watch it several times when he felt like falling. He couldn’t understand. Jiyong liked every one of them. Jiyong was the way he was, clingy, needy, and selfish. And he had found the best entertainment in him. Because Seungri was so confused he would shiver and blush whenever Jiyong’s hands touched him. And Jiyong loved it, because it was funny to look at the youngest member all flushed and shy. It was just funny. Seungri thought it was cruel.

So the day Jiyong decided to shout to the world Seungri was his, Seungri thought it was the cruelest thing he could have done. And he also thought, I am, I want to, but of course he didn’t say those things. He covered his face and tried his best to appear disgusted. What if he let it be known. What if somehow Jiyong found out his despicable truth? Seungri stood with the story of being disgusted. It was safe. It was so safe and yet so saddening.

Jiyong tried many times to steal a kiss from him and always laughed at his failed attempts. Seungri would frown, and scream to his pillow at night, hidden from the lights and cameras, only to himself. Strength. He would ask for strength. Because he wanted a kiss so much, it made him sincerely disgusted of himself. And he ended up hating Jiyong’s laugh, because it se