A/N: Sorry if the last chapter came out as a tease but I wanted the heavy feel of the pause such a chapter could bring. The next chapter might be the last. I'm not too sure yet. 

Your comments have been amazing and so very sweet. They give me inspiration and immense joy, no matter how short.

Thank you. :)

When Jiyong was 15, he had his first taste of alcohol.

He had been an independent lad since the age of 12, with his parents far away as he lived his life as a trainee for YG Entertainment. His other trainee-hyungs took him and Youngbae out to celebrate something or the other (he forgot, it wasn’t important) when he got handed an ice-cold bottle of liquid courage.

“Beer,” one of the older guys had said. “The true man’s poison.”

Youngbae shook his head. “I don’t think… I don’t think we should.”

Jiyong pouted at that because as much as he promised to always side by Youngbae, he’s always wondered what alcohol tasted like.

“Don’t be such a spoilsport, champ,” one of the others said. “Just one bottle, yeah? Jiyongie here wants to do it.”

Jiyong was the type who wasn’t afraid to try new things; new experiences led to fresh ideas and fresh ideas led to deeper songs. It wasn’t like he could sincerely write about something he knew nothing about. It all added up to the totality of his human experience and societal knowledge, which couldn’t be bad for a person who was on the same career path as him.

That is, at least that’s what he told himself whenever he had an unquenchable curiosity when it came to these things.

Youngbae’s head swiveled towards him. Jiyong gave him a smile, and knowing Youngbae – dear potty-mouthed Youngbae who liked to think and act innocent when all Jiyong had to ever really do was give a slight push – he would do this with him because it wasn’t like he could be stopped.

Youngbae, ever loyal, would go down with his best friend in the times when he couldn’t lift him up.

But really, Youngbae wasn’t that much different from him except that he needed a little bit more persuasion, just because he had a god to impress while Jiyong relied on the power of forgiveness.

“C’mon, Bae,” Jiyong coaxed. “One bottle couldn’t hurt. We’ll do it together, hm?”

Youngbae pursed his lips then. “Together?” he clarified.

“Together,” Jiyong reassured.

“Like always?”

“Like always.”

Youngbae grinned. There was a voice at the back of Jiyong’s head that told him about how they would always be like this, that in every important milestone in his life, Youngbae would be there behind him, beside him, sometimes in front of him. They would be each other’s guide, and be each other’s friend.

They’d always have a special kind of love, as special and as rare as the romantic kind, but not quite that.

(Jiyong never looked at Youngbae that way, and Youngbae liked his partners with s and nothing dangling between their legs.)

Jiyong raised the bottle to his lips at the same time as his best friend. The cold liquid smoothly slipped down on his throat, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant taste, and he wondered why people were addicted to it. Youngbae almost immediately sputtered out his mouthful, which had the whole table laughing at the poor kid.

“Ugh,” he sounded, face scrunched unattractively. “What the is that?”

One of the guys pulled his bottle away from him. “It’s an acquired taste,” he shrugged.

Youngbae shivered in revulsion. Jiyong kept a tight hold around his.

Years down the line, Jiyong had to laugh at how Youngbae became one of the heavier drinkers of the group, that there were more pleasant tasting alcohol, and that it was addictive because of its effect.

Needless to say he found all that out through personal experience.

When Jiyong was 16, he wrapped his lips around his first stick of cigarette and he had never regretted so quickly in his life. Seunghyun had allowed him a hit when he visited him in one of his gigs, late at night and totally beyond his curfew.

It’ll all be worth it, he thought, if Seunghyun agreed.

Seunghyun pat his friend’s back consolingly as he tried to hack his lungs out. “There, there, child,” he said through his puffy cheeks. “It’ll all be over soon.”

“God, you’re an ,” Jiyong rasped out, once he was able to. They were in some alley in the more dingy parts of town. Jiyong had no idea how Seunghyun’s parents had allowed him to stay out too late somewhere pickpocketing was tradition. Then again, he shouldn’t have wondered because they saw him as the responsible young man he’d convinced them to be.

Plus, he always had done what he wanted.

“So,” Jiyong wheezed. “What do you say?”

Seunghyun breathed from the stick with an ease Jiyong would soon have. “I don’t know, Ji.”

Jiyong punched him in his soft belly. Seunghyun dropped the cigarette on the floor and doubled slightly over. “I did not just risk seeing my lungs on the floor just for you to say no!” Jiyong yelled.

Seunghyun punched him right back on the hip. “When the hell did I say no, you stupid head?”

Jiyong leaned on the wall and looked to the skies. He didn’t know why Seunghyun was being so difficult. If he’d only agreed to his proposition from the start, then Jiyong would have been back at the dorms by now and sleeping peacefully. He still had dance training. He prayed that he’d at least be able to stay awake enough for the whole thing.

Seunghyun sighed as he got back up, crushing the almost-gone cigarette underneath his foot. “I’m not saying no, Jiyong-ah. I’m saying I don’t know.”

Jiyong scrunched his nose, failing to see how Seunghyun was failing to see how good his proposal was. “Hyung, you’re one of the most talented people I know! You’re potential is just amazing and I know people would eat you right up like you do your mom’s cookies.”

“All I know is how to rap,” Seunghyun replied with an eye roll.

“So?”

“And I’m not that good at it.”

“You’re ing great!”

“Will you stop?”

“Nope.”

Seunghyun snorted. “Figures.”

“Look, Seunghyun,” Jiyong tried one last time. “The President of the company adores me. I’m sure my recommendation would go a long way. Plus, what have you got to lose? You’ve got nothing at stake and you have everything to win. I believe in you, man.”

There were a few seconds of silence before Seunghyun smiled at him. “Thought you were training to be an idol,” he said, “not a talent scout.”

Jiyong grinned with the knowledge that he got what he wanted.

Seunghyun got rejected when he auditioned. The company said he was too fat to become an idol.

The following year, no friend was prouder for Seunghyun than Jiyong when the eldest proved to everyone that hard work and dedication paid off.

When Jiyong was17, he discovered that he had an affinity for cuteness and a certain knack (and need) for superiority and leadership.

He met Hyunseung first, who was young and attractive, could dance and sing, and was very bendable to his will. He never talked back, always acted like a little lost pup wanting for Jiyong’s direction. He let Jiyong shower him with praises and compliments, and paid him back with cute blushes and shy smiles. He was putty in Jiyong’s hands, just the way Jiyong liked it. So even though he hated the idea that he and Youngbae wouldn’t be GDYB anymore, he thought it’d be okay ‘cause at least they had Seunghyun and he wouldn’t mind Hyunseung coming along.

Then he met Daesung who always smiled, even when he was scolding him, screaming at him for one thing or another. He couldn’t read Daesung, and he couldn’t control what he couldn’t read, but when the boy sang and reached notes none of them could, Jiyong had to step aside and respect talent. Jiyong’s young mind perked at the possibilities their songs could become, so even if Jiyong gave him the cold shoulder, he gave Daesung the praise he was due. They needed a voice like Daesung’s, that he couldn’t deny.

After that, Lee Seunghyun came into his life and ruined it. The boy had a loose mouth and an ego with nothing to back it up. His voice was nothing note-worthy and though his dancing was good, they didn’t need him. But most of all, he hated him for the fact that he took Hyunseung away from him. Even his name mocked him with constant laughter in the background:

You can’t have Hyunseung. Only Seunghyun. And let’s name him after victory just so we can rub it into your face.

Seungri, he spat more than enough times with vehemence and hate.

He hadn’t deserved to win. He hadn’t deserved to be in BigBang.

He hadn’t deserved to be with Jiyong.

Whenever Youngbae had told him to go easier on the boy, that although he knew he hated him because of ruining the whole GDYB thing, he still had to be fair because it was only Little Seunghyun he shut out completely – not Big Seunghyun nor Daesung. Youngbae would shake his head at him. Youngbae didn’t get it; Youngbae was so kind. He just didn’t see how Seungri had no right to be with them.

Seunghyun didn’t really get what his problem was either. Of course he wouldn’t. It was obvious to Jiyong how he was ever so slowly, but just as surely, falling for the boy. And that was what, in turn, Jiyong didn’t get. There was nothing remotely attractive about him. He was too much of everything: too loud, too arrogant, too nosy, too rash, too stupid, too accentuated, too dedicated it grated on his nerves every time he has to see him spend more time in the practice room than anyone else.

if that didn’t make him want to punch the kid’s face in, because for all the things he’s hated Little Seunghyun for, he hated him the most when he was making him like him involuntarily.

(Well, not really because Seungri has always been the biggest for Jiyong’s attention.)

Jiyong couldn’t handle liking Seungri (because maybe Seungri was everything he could have wanted, but he didn’t know that until it was too late).

But he did, and he had no hand in it. Seungri just eventually wormed his way into his heart in a manner no one could and in a capacity Jiyong had no idea to interpret. So he just let it happen because it looked like he couldn’t stop it anyway. Friendship in the band could only lead to great things, his leader mind supplied.

Besides, turned out that Seungri was more putty in his hands than anyone ever was, which fed his ego and superiority complex to fullness and health, and Seungri could be the most adorable person he has laid his eyes on, if they hadn’t been clouded by pre-judgmental hate. Plus, apparently, his talent didn’t shine until they were singing as a group, when their songs just didn’t have that feel of completeness if his voice didn’t support theirs in the background – his especially.

Jiyong, admittedly, had been wrong.

(But he has rarely been right so far when it came to Seungri.)

When Jiyong was 18, he figured that the rush of performing on stage and the excitement of were awfully the same. The way his fans cheered for him brought him to the edge as much as any girl could while groaning out his name. He’d lost his ity a few years back to some girl he couldn’t even remember the name of anymore. He’d always been a boy too eager to grow up, and did so listening to songs about , drugs, and money.

Performing on stage wasn’t anything like he’d thought it would be; He could never have figured that singing B to the I to the G, B to the A-N-G would have been so fulfilling, but it was. It was a feeling he’d never trade anything for. Blood pumped through his veins and in a few minutes that melted into barely two hours, all his years of training had been worth it.

Being on stage was so much like that it was all about the performance: knowing how to tease if only to bring his partner to their most pleasurable limit and give that final push to make them fall for him, into his arms where it was almost impossible to break free from. Coming down was the same as they both left him breathless, exhausted, high, and always wanting for more.

He went home once, at 3AM, because the girl just couldn’t get enough of him, wasn’t satisfied with just three rounds. His body was aching everywhere, from his jaw to his fingertips, from his hips to calves. His scalp was still tingling and he was sure his back wasn’t in a pretty shape, either – she hadn’t been that careful with her nails. He made her pass out. He was terribly proud.

He didn’t have a key to their dorm then, and he didn’t have any idea how the hell he would be able to get in, but he was feeling too good about himself to really care.

He knocked on their front door, and surprisingly he didn’t have to wait long for someone to open it. Daesung met him with a look that no hyung deserved from his dongsaeng.

He hadn’t acted like a hyung, anyway.

“Annyeong,” he greeted with a grin, leaning on the doorway as he waited for Dae to let him in.

Daesung’s frown deepened. “Good to know you’re at least not dead,” he said without any respect for the older. He had lost precious beauty sleep for Jiyong’s actions. If Jiyong didn’t respect them enough to at least tell them where he was heading or that he was going to be out until early morning, then Jiyong didn’t deserve a respectful greeting. Daesung sneered at him.

“I’m sorry, Daesung-ah,” Jiyong pleaded, bringing his hands together like in a prayer. “Won’t happen again, promise.”

Daesung scoffed and left the door open for Jiyong as he retreated to his room. Jiyong sighed.

He was tired, but at least his compulsiveness obligated him to lay his shoes neatly by the entryway, double-lock the door, and turn off all the unnecessary lights before heading to sleep. His room was illuminated only by the moonlight from the window, and after removing his coat, he plopped himself onto his bed.

“Ack!” something screamed from underneath him. Jiyong’s muscles were straining so much that he wouldn’t have noticed the body if it hadn’t made a noise. Then again, he was so used to holding that body close not to recognize it sooner or later. He slipped under the covers.

“Hyung,” Seungri croaked. “Is that you?”

Jiyong hummed in affirmation. His hands found purchase on Seungri’s shoulder so he pulled himself further onto the younger’s chest, burying his nose by the crook of his neck. Seungri smelled so much like his bed, like home, like he’d been waiting for Jiyong all night long.

“You smell good, Riri,” he purred, his mouth working without much interaction with his brain.

“And you don’t,” Seungri whined. “You smell weird, hyung. Like too sweet perfume and something else.”

Jiyong giggled, pressing his lips on the juncture of Seungri’s neck. He wanted to dart his tongue out, just to taste the boy, even just a little, but his mind wasn’t so out of it to think it wasn’t inappropriate. “It’s called , baby,” he murmured instead, the nickname slipping unintentionally from his lips.

Seungri stiffened. Then he tried to push Jiyong away, but the older was a deadweight made heavier by fatigue and gravity. “Get off me,” the maknae said. “Take a shower or whatever.”

He shook his head. “Too tired,” he excused. “And you feel too good.”

Seungri huffed. He turned away after a while, facing his back to his leader. Jiyong wrapped his arms around the maknae possessively in clear refusal to have anything between them. He had Seungri trapped between the wall and his body, his heart getting a little assurance from that fact.

“You’re too much, hyung,” Seungri whispered before he fell asleep with Jiyong.

Hours later, when Youngbae finally woke him up, scolding him for being irresponsible and setting a bad example, all Jiyong could think about was how Seungri was not in his bed anymore, and why it seemed like his bed smelled like Seungri instead of the other way around.

It took him years to finally understand, but back then, during their next performance after that particular one night stand, when he looked into Seungri’s eyes and automatically wondered how they would look like as he pounded into him, maybe that should have given him a clue.

When Jiyong was 19, he got his first tattoo: Vita Dolce – Italian, Symbolic, inked on the inside of his right forearm, and apparently, wrong.

Lies had just catapulted the group into the road to becoming a national sensation, and no one can really blame him if his creation made him proud. Add to that the fact that he was officially an adult, and though he hadn’t been a stranger to smoke and alcohol, it was his first year being able to enter a club legally.

There had been a whole week straight when he went out clubbing – dancing and drinking and doing god knows what else – and the members couldn’t even tell him anything because he always told them where he was, when he’d be back, that he’d brought his manager, and carry himself well enough the next day not to let his hangover get the best of himself during training.

By Wednesday the next week, Seungri had begged him to cancel his Thursday night plans. It had been difficult, considering that he really wanted to go, but the maknae really wanted him to stay in with him.

In the end, he relented with a disclaimer that, “I have to be at the studio until 8PM, though, sajangnim’s orders,” to which Seungri replied with a, “I’ll wait for you, hyung, however how long.”

(In the end, he would always lose to Seungri.)

He got home by 9:30 and was greeted by Seunghyun at the door.

“Finally!” he said, exasperated. “I got so hungry waiting for you Youngbae had to physically restrain me just so Seungri can have his dinner party.”

Jiyong eyed him from head to toe. He was wearing slacks and a button up finished with a slim black tie and even his hair was gelled up. Not that Jiyong had anything to say – Seunghyun looked good – but it was nevertheless weird.

He stepped in and was led to the living room, where the lights were turned off and a substantial amount of candles were lit. White Christmas lights were hung, more for decoration than illumination. It had been relatively cleared to make space for the little dinner party Seungri had insisted on. There were five plates on the coffee table and a pitcher of water. Daesung was there, politely setting the utensils and arranging the cushions for them.

“Ah, Jiyong-hyung,” grinned Daesung when he saw him. “The glasses are still in the kitchen, can you please get them?”

Daesung was wearing one of his Sunday shirts – pearl, pristine, and pressed. His legs were clad in his best jeans, the ones even Youngbae couldn’t help but check his out in. Jiyong’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion. When Seungri asked him to stay for dinner, this wasn’t what he had in mind.

“You too, Dae?” he questioned. His hands instinctively went to his simple tee.

“What?” Youngbae interrupted from behind him, bringing in the glasses sought for. “Gonna get all possessive again and hog maknae all for yourself?”

Not that Jiyong never did that, but, “what?”

Daesung rolled his eyes, grabbing two of the glasses from Youngbae. “He meant yes, Ji-hyung. We all got invited by Ri-ah.”

“Yes, but,” Jiyong haltingly said because Youngbae was wearing a dark blue ing turtle neck he was sure Seungri would drool over. “Why are you all dressed so formally?”

Seunghyun brought over food from the kitchen, still steaming and smelling so good. “Seungri insisted. Least we could do since he cooked us dinner.”

Jiyong scoffed. “You mean he forced you with his puppy dog eyes and you gave in and even helped convincing Youngbae and Dae?”

Seunghyun shrugged. “Close enough.”

He felt a small hand settle on his back. He turned to his right and got faced with Seungri’s sweet smile, gentle lights dancing in his eyes and reflected in his glasses. “What are you all doing standing up? Take a seat. I’ll bring the rest out.”

Jiyong eyed the almost-full table and squawked. “You mean there’s more?”

Seungri’s hand flew bashfully up to his deliciously unkempt hair. “My mom might have helped me.”

The rest of the members nodded in understanding; they all knew Seungri’s mom tended to go overboard when it came to feeding them.

Seungri pushed Jiyong to take a seat, the others following soon after. Seungri retreated back to the kitchen and Jiyong couldn’t take his eyes off him. He was wearing a dark grey suit jacket over a pastel blue dress shirt tucked under ripped shorts that showed off his smooth knees and the contours of his thighs. He was wearing a black polka dotted bowtie.

Jiyong bit his lip. “Who the dressed you, Riri?” he called, unable to help the snicker that built up in his throat. Youngbae laughed beside him.

“Seung-hyung did!” Seungri yelled accusingly. “I was only forced into this, I swear.”

Jiyong bubbled in laughter.

Seunghyun winked at him. “You’re welcome,” he said.

Seungri came back out with a final dish and a bottle of soju. Jiyong was willing to bet it was Seunghyun who got it for them.

“Aren’t I underdressed then?” he asked as he helped Seungri sit down beside him.

Seungri eyed him. “No, you’re fine.”

“Hey, that’s unfair!” Youngbae protested. “Why does he get an exception?”

Jiyong glared at him. Seungri pouted in contemplation.

The maknae removed his jacket – and he was wearing goddamn suspenders – to which he guided Jiyong into. He gave the leader a gentle pat on the shoulder. “There,” he said. “That should do fine, right?”

“Yes!” Daesung interrupted before Youngbae could protest further. “Finally, we could eat!”

Later that night, when Jiyong has settled down and wrapped his arms around Seungri, there was a buzz running through his system that the alcohol had no fault of. Their maknae line was still underage, so he had been considerate and not drunk much (he couldn’t say the same for Seunghyun, though). He breathed in Seungri’s soapy scent, fresh out of the shower, much like he was, and felt overwhelmingly content.

“Thanks for this, maknae,” he began. “I didn’t think I needed this.”

Seungri faced him. “You liked it, hyung?”

“You’re cooking could do better,” he said honestly, “but dinner with you and the band was better than a party with my friends.”

Seungri nuzzled deeper into Jiyong’s arms, something he’d often do now that he was used to sleeping with the clingy rapper. “That’s because we’re not just friends, hyung,” he faintly reminded. “We’re family.”

Within the week, Jiyong got himself another tattoo: Italian, Symbolic, inked on the inside of his left forearm, right.

Moderato.

When Jiyong was 20, Jiyong started to look at the moon and dream. It had been a bad day at the studio when inspiration just won’t come to him and everything he did felt like a failure. Hyunsuk was starting to talk to him about producing for other bands, but he couldn’t even produce properly for himself, he thought. Maybe he should have just gone home.

It had just passed midnight when he took a break on the rooftop, marveling at the night sky before he went home. The sky was cloudless, so he made his own with puffs of smoke that warmed him despite the fact that every time he breathed in, cold air filled his lungs.

The moon was beautiful.

That was how Seungri found him.

“Hi,” he said simply, not knowing what else there is to say.

“Hi,” Seungri greeted back.

They had those moments too, when they were quiet although they were the noisiest of the band. Jiyong felt it, the strange need to be together, just that and nothing else: like everything will crumble at the excess.

He knew that Seungri looked for him, just like he knew that he’d wait for him as well. Jiyong wasn’t stupid; he knew what those little lights in Seungri’s eyes meant. He knew that the little things he only let Jiyong get away with – the hugging, the kissing, the abundance of skinship – wasn’t all for fanservice.

Jiyong loved it. Jiyong loved that Seungri loved him.

He might not have said it in words, but Seungri was unknowingly confessing everyday.

(It made Jiyong proud, superior.)

Seungri had that look on his face that told Jiyong he had a question. Jiyong waited for his boy to have courage.

“Hyung,” Seungri began cautiously, “I wanted to know.”

“Hm?”

“What do you dream of?”

Jiyong smiled. “When I’m asleep?”

Seungri stared at him. “When you’re awake.”

Jiyong contemplated about it, but the truth was he already knew. “A wife, my own kids, stability, and music.”

It might have been too simple, he thought, but he’s learned that in the harsh world of the idol business, keeping your head in the game was key. It was knowing what you wanted and striving for it. The world never gave him anything. He worked hard for them, every single one of them.

“A wife, your own kids, stability, and music,” Seungri repeated quietly, more for himself than anything.

Jiyong felt the turning of tables, how it went from Seungri staring at him to him staring at Seungri. The boy looked up to the sky with sad eyes filled with wishes Jiyong could only hope to know. Jiyong wondered if he’d said the wrong thing, if he dreamt the wrong dreams.

But then Seungri smiled at him and he was lost.

“I’ll help you with those dreams, hyung,” he promised.

He typed the lyrics for Butterfly on his phone on their way home while he had Seungri’s head on his lap. Seungri never knew; Jiyong never forgot.

When Jiyong was 21, and Seungri had just turned 19, as the latter’s birthday was coming to an end, he decided to gift Seungri with one more thing.

They’d just gotten home from Seungri’s first official night spent out clubbing when the younger pushed him to bed, moving his legs on both sides of Jiyong’s body. Seungri grinded down on him so suggestively, Jiyong’s next breath was taken sober.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what Seungri meant.

“Are you sure, Ri-ah?” he had asked, caution slowly melting from his body, replaced with a feeling so much more invigorating than anything he has ever felt before. “Are you sure you want this?”

“No,” Seungri confessed. “But I don’t want to regret letting this chance slip away from me if I can help it.”

Jiyong gulped. “I can’t give you what you want, Ri.”

“And what’s that, hyung?”

Jiyong looked into his eyes because he couldn’t look anywhere else. Seungri was so sinfully tempting it hurt. Jiyong his lips. “I can’t give you a relationship,” he reiterated.

Seungri bent into him slowly, his mouth landing just below Jiyong’s jaw. “I know,” he whispered. “I just want my first time to be with you.”

Jiyong’s hands dug into Seungri’s hips brutally. He was sure they were going to bruise. He kissed the boy, heart thundering in his chest, Seungri feeling so good above him. The smell of alcohol was strong between them, but he didn’t care.

He was willing to bet then that neither he nor Seungri had a moment spent more sober in their lives.

Seungri slipped his tongue between his lips and Jiyong was reminded that although Seungri had never had with a guy before, that didn’t mean he was inexperienced.

He pushed the boy off of him, both of their breaths harsh from deprivation. Seungri’s eyes were pained.

“Strip for me,” Jiyong said, because if he was going to do this, he was going to do it his way.

He knew he should have stopped. He knew that sleeping with Seungri would eventually break the boy’s heart because Jiyong was a player. Jiyong liked control and loved . He wouldn’t have touched Seungri at all, but Seungri had offered. He should have declined. He should have been responsible and avoided all the drama that could potentially ruin the group.

But this was Seungri. Seungri had always made him do the most foolish of things, make the stupidest of decisions. Seungri had always made him want and take and grab and devour.

Seungri had always made him into a selfish man.

He counted the lashes of Seungri’s eyes afterward, while the maknae was asleep, and wondered how to turn back time if only to relieve those moments again, or for the morning to forget to come, or for Seungri to wake up and want him some more.

Jiyong finally found out what Seungri’s eyes looked like as he pounded into him, and it only led him to a single conclusion: that performing on stage was never better than , at least if it was with Seungri.

When Jiyong was 22, he’s accepted the fact that he was obsessed with a certain Lee Seunghyun. It was like ever since Seungri gave him a little taste of the tongue behind his mouth, Jiyong couldn’t help himself spiral into the oblivion of pleasure that was Seungri.

It wasn’t like Jiyong tried to hump him every time he could – which wasn’t very often because Seungri was a pro at saying no to his advances – but more often than not, he found himself thinking of Seungri whenever he slept with anyone. The worst of it was when his ual frustration translated into petty jealousy, one that he took out even on his bandmates who had to be as used to Seungri’s clingy antics as he was.

Especially Youngbae, ‘cause Seungri still hasn’t gotten over his crush over that man’s pecs.

Something eats at him, though, because the idea kept running through his head when it shouldn’t. So he asked Seungri one night, when Jiyong was scheduled for a flight to Japan in the early morning with Youngbae.

Seungri was so beautiful chasing his breath under him. Jiyong’s lungs were faring no better, but who can really blame him when the boy took his breath away just by existing. Unable to control himself, Jiyong plunged his tongue into the dip of Seungri’s collarbones, lapping up the sweat that has gathered from the heat of their still-connected bodies.

Seungri squirmed as Jiyong trailed kisses up his neck and languidly under his jaw. “Sensitive,” he protested weakly.

Jiyong brought himself up, slipping out of the younger, and stared at his boy, illuminated by the stars of the night sky. He’d always insisted they make love with the curtains open. Seungri never declined.

Jiyong has no idea either when his mind figured that they were making love instead of just having . It didn’t matter anyway. Whatever they had, he was certain it was special.

So he had to ask.

“Are you mine, Seunghyun-ah?”

Seungri stared at him wide-eyed, his mouth formed words his mind has yet to provide. Then he looked to the side. “Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”

Jiyong smiled. Of course. Seungri had to be one of the rare people who didn’t like to be called by their real name by their lover. Or perhaps, it was only with Jiyong, because Jiyong called T.O.P Seunghyun too, and that never sat well with the panda boy.

Yeah, it was probably just because of that.

“Then, Seungri-ah, tell me. Are you mine?”

Jiyong’s hand slid down slowly between them. He traced a line from the side of Seungri’s neck, to the middle of his chest, to the flatness of his stomach, to the center of his hips, and down to the inside of his thigh. Jiyong felt the evidence of his claim on behind Seungri – coated his fingers with it, rubbed it further against the boy