It was funny, really, how people don’t seem to realize how much they rely on the ability to speak until it was taken away from them.

They weren’t taken literally, of course; speech is too precious a gift to waste and it is one of the things that makes humans incredibly unique from all the other organisms in this planet.

The world relied too much on the gift of verbal communication that everything has become kind of superficial, to say the least. People nowadays don't exactly realize and value the things in between – those little smiles, the gestures, the facial expressions, the emotions sparkling within the eye – and it seemed that only those with speaking disabilities appreciate the elements above spoken words. It has come to the point where more and more problems abound and yet nothing good comes out of people’s mouths that the authorities (the East Asian countries’ governments acted on the issue first) decided that it’s time to take action.

So what the government did, then, was to allot each person one hundred and sixty-seven words per day.

No more, no less.

Apparently, the higher ups all thought that the hundred-something word count (a very random number indeed) is enough for people to use in their everyday lives.

Not for Kwon Jiyong, though.

Oh, he’d love to disagree.

You see, he's a person who's very much reliant on his ability to speak, not only because it is very relevant and important to his line of work (being an ingenious composer and producer on his steady way up the music industry), but also because he used this to communicate with the people that he love – most of whom are overseas, either working for a living or just settled down on a nice house overlooking the sea (and her, who is training under a famous dance instructor in Japan, of course he wouldn't forget about that).

What’s more, it’s hard to write a song that would fit within the word limit – and it’s even harder for the artists who’d have to save all their words for their recording sessions. Luckily, it seemed that the authorities had enough brains to recognize problems similar to this and consequently made certain exceptions regarding the verbal restrictions. One hundred sixty seven turned into five hundred, sometimes more, sometimes less, but all in all, it’s quite a relief that the authorities allowed such exceptions.

To receive the special alteration, however, one needs to carry out a load of paperwork and permits, which is insanely troublesome.

Needless to say, Jiyong still didn’t like it.

And it's very safe to say that one hundred and sixty-seven words are not enough for him.

He knew he couldn't go against the law and belt out a hundred thousand words as he would like, because there seemed to be something odd about those suspicious little chokers that the higher ups made them all wear.

They all think it’s with the single, little black gem sewn against the flexible material. It was that little gem that would beep in warning when they reached the word limit and would flash a bright red light whenever they reached the hundredth and sixty-eight word.

He didn’t try it himself of course: he heard of the recent incident wherein a drunkard spoke about one hundred and sixty-nine words – perhaps more, he couldn't remember what the onlookers said – before the witnesses saw a bright red light flashing from his throat. Not long after, the blue cops came wheeling by in their white-blue-and-red vehicles and dragged him off to somewhere. Needless to say, the disappearance of the man for over three days was enough to make them watch very carefully the number of words that they speak out. It’s safe to say that he didn’t want to know about the unfortunate man’s fate, nor would he like to experience the outcome himself.

Whatever it was that happened, he sure as hell wouldn't dare try to speak more than the amount of words allotted to them.

Not when he still has a lot of reasons to live, thank you very much.

And so he tries, he tries to adjust to this new lifestyle.

Every morning he wakes up with great difficulty (was the bed always this comfortable?), and slams his hand down on the stupid, annoying alarm clock. He would have rather smashed it against the opposite wall (well, he did it once – but to a different alarm clock, that is) but since she gave it to him in hopes of helping wake up from his heavy sleep, he settled with slamming the evil little thing down every morning.

He would then trudge out to the bathroom – eyes still heavy with sleep – and spend the next half hour trying to shake off the sleepiness and freshen himself up.

And then he’d walk out of the elevator, out from the apartment, with car keys twirling from one hand and his backpack in the other, slam the door to his car shut and drive off to his favorite breakfast chain to eat.

The first few days he'd open his mouth out of habit, about to spurt out his order, before catching himself just in time and instead resorting to pointing at his choice of meal (rice, kimchi, steamed egg, spicy stewed fish, an apple, pancakes for a Western kick to the dishes, and a hot cup of black coffee, extra strong as usual) at the counter.

And then he'd wait, he'd wait for the meal to come and while doing so, he'd stick a pair of headphones into his ears and fiddle with the songwriting application installed in his iPad, his fingers tapping the device, adding to the lyrics, revising them, experimenting with beats.

He'd listen to a song or two (almost always the ones that she  likes, the ballads, although he himself liked upbeat songs more but well, listening to them reminds him of her), and he noted that it almost always took about three songs before the waitress comes in with the tray containing his breakfast.

And then he'd dig in, pay up (with a nod towards the staff as a thank you for the delightfully scrumptious meal), walk towards his car start the engine to his car once again.

Normally, he’d just go back to his apartment, lock himself in his room and get the songs done in a few days’ time.  Most of the time though, he’d take a drive around Seoul, even visiting Busan on some occasions, and take inspiration in the places. Lately though, he took a liking to walking around, his feet carrying himself oftentimes to Myeongdong and the Han river, and he learned that ideas came to him just as easily, if not more (he wonders if it’s because of the fact that it’s where both of them first met, and perhaps it is).

It had already been five months after the passage of the new law but it still vexed him how . . . strangely silent Seoul had become. There was the usual sound of vehicles on the road but even that seemed empty now that people seldom talk on the streets. He lived practically twenty-five years of his life here and the sudden silence that seemed to envelope the city after the Limitation, as they all called it, sent him into a state of complete unease.

After all, Seoul is never silent.

Things, however, are always subject to change and over the days after the announcement of the Limitation, he slowly came to terms with the fact that he should try to get used to this environment. He’d like to think that this Seoul is still the Seoul he grew up in – just quieter.

Some days (mostly Wednesdays and Thursdays, it gets lonely very easily in his apartment) he’ll just drive up to YG Entertainment, the entertainment agency that he works at.

Jiyong would enter the building and would often come across Chaerin at the bottom floor, his high school friend and a trainee at the company. Sometimes he’d exchange a few words with her, other times he’d resort to just giving her a bright smile and a friendly hug before heading upstairs to his studio to start on his work.

He’d turn on the lights as well as the equipment in his studio, and glance at the clock out of habit.

Usually, he’d be there before the clock strikes 9:00am.

If there’s one striking thing that the silence brought him, it is that it made him more observant, more attentive to his surroundings.

He learned that it's almost always 10 minutes after that Young Bae, his best friend and also fellow employee in the company, pulls the door wide open and falls down the couch adjacent to the entrance, his heavy breathing indicating that his morning workout routine just finished and he's currently staying to catch his breath.

Jiyong would look over at him, one eyebrow raised in inquiry. It was amazing how well they know each other (he’d credit that to their friendship of over ten years), because Young Bae would answer his unspoken question.

And he understands just as clearly.

You ate already?

Yup, ate more than enough. You?

A nod, and then Jiyong would smile at his best friend’s answer, shake his head a little and turn back to the music sheets that begs for his attention (one flat note here and another G-clef starts off the whole speech of rhyming words and appealing rhythm).

Young Bae would stay there for another fifteen minutes, basking in the cool air flowing from the air conditioner in the room. Afterwards he’d push the door open and, with a clap on his best friend's shoulder, walk away, most probably towards one of the available stalls in the company building to take a shower, before changing into comfortable clothes and starting on the choreography he's intent on finishing by the day.

So Jiyong's left in the studio for thirty minutes, in complete silence, with nothing but a few clicks and taps every now and then from the mixers and other musical equipment in the room to break across the gloom.

The door opens not more than ten minutes after and, without even turning, he could already tell by the boisterous laughter and loud footsteps that the one who has entered his room is the mischievous maknae among their circle.

For once, Kwon Jiyong's thankful of the new policy, because now Lee Seunghyun (Seungri, he says it’s Seungri now because people often confused him for the eldest in their circle, the handsome Choi Seunghyun), songwriter and choreographer extraordinaire, couldn't even utter one word unless absolutely necessary. The younger Seunghyun is just as affected by the Limitation as the others, if not more, what with his penchant for talking practically all the time. Jiyong noticed though, that unlike before, he’s speaking a lot less than he did the days after the Limitation. All of them were beyond surprised, but he supposes it’s a good change, if the sudden attentiveness he’s displayed when conversing is any indication.

Said maknae would hover around his hyung's shoulder for a while, nudging him playfully, only to step and lean back every now and then to avoid the occasional swat that Jiyong annoyingly attempted to give him.

Seungri would then sit at the couch a couple of seconds after, and by the sound of fingers tapping against a screen he figures he's getting his work done too. Oftentimes he’s sorely tempted to kick the younger Seunghyun out of his studio, but he remembers the shadow of loneliness he’s seen adorning the maknae’s face when he passes by the latter’s own studio, and he just lets him be.

Young Bae will come in not long after and Seungri would stand right up as soon as the door opens. Young Bae would give a friendly hug to Jiyong before chuckling and playfully tackling the choreographer-slash-songwriter away, nodding to the composer before closing the door behind them.

Said composer would shake his head exasperatedly, a fond smile overtaking his features before he works again in silence for the next two hours, loud beats and catchy tunes enveloping the room every now and then as he experimented with it.

And by the time the clock strikes 12, he’d abandon the countless music sheets on their studio and go over to the other one beside his, which is occupied by his fellow songwriters Seunghyun (the older Seunghyun, the handsome Choi Seunghyun) and Daesung. And then they’d come prancing to Seungri and Young Bae in the practice rooms downstairs and together, the five of them would walk out the building for lunch (and drop by Starbuck’s for a nice cup of coffee on the way – it’s practically a staple in their lives now).

He’d go over the same routine as he did every breakfast – pointing at his order and waiting silently for his lunch to come. Seunghyun, Young Bae and Daesung would follow his example, and as for Seungri, well, sometimes he couldn’t really control his tongue what with a few girls as part of the staff (although now that he and Joo Hyun are together, they’ve all been noticing how he has come to control his old habits and hold himself back from flirting with the ladies). Some days the five of them would chat together openly, exchanging stories and jokes, all the while subtly counting their words. Other times they’d exchange only a few words, and then settle for communicating with one another through their phones.

Despite the obvious restrictions in speech communication, the five of them still remained the best of friends, and the new policy all but made their ties closer.

They even came up with new games to play with the implementation of the rule across the country. When they go to the bar, for example, they’d make a pair (usually Jiyong himself and Seungri) chug down their drinks while staring each other down – without spurting the liquid out, of course. Young Bae had the most wins among them, with Seungri coming off last as the loser one with the least number of wins (and Daesung receiving the “honorary award” of being the person on the usual receiving end of a huge spray of saliva and tequila).

Their most favorite one to do, however, comprised of playing a song to convey their thoughts or emotions to one another.

Jiyong had heard Fantastic Baby blasting from Seungri’s phone enough times to get completely sick of it (but he didn’t, he never will, not when it’s their songwriting team’s breakout song and practically the one thing that kick-started their road to fame). Seunghyun had stuck to playing Eyes, Nose, Lips for a solid three weeks after he and Tiffany broke up, while Young Bae, on the other hand, had played I Need a Girl countless times before he got together with Yuri.

They would then consume their food once it was delivered to them (again, Seungri’s getting better in controlling his flirtatious urges), and leave for YG Entertainment roughly fifteen and a half songs later.

Most of the time they’d go back to their respective studios, but on some occasions the three songwriters would drop by the practice rooms, watching (smirking at) Young Bae and Seungri as they lead the trainees in practicing locking and popping moves.

Seunghyun and Daesung would get bored a few moments later and would walk back up to their studio, with Jiyong opting to stay behind for a few more minutes, before walking around the building and back into his studio once more.

At least twice a month he’d have a few song recording sessions to handle, and with every finished session, whispers (though not as many as before the Limitation) about the talented although scary Kwon Jiyong would abound the clean corridors of the agency once more.

Notorious – him, that is – for being an absolute perfectionist when it comes to recording; one note out of place and you’re starting the recording over. He’d even gone to the extent of holding a recording session for almost the entirety of their working hours, but he’d always be off by the time his wristwatch ticks 5:30 pm.

Daesung would take over (oh, the relief), and Jiyong would rush across the room to gather his belongings, exclaiming reminders to him (remember, the song is in B minor, keep the tone in check and not a note out of place) before finally bidding his friend goodbye.

The younger man could only smile and shake his head in response, knowing why his hyung is in a rush to get back home (to catch her daily 7pm call – that is the one and only reason).

Jiyong would drive his car after racing out of the building then, often passing by the drive-thru at the famous food chain nearby to order takeout before rushing towards his apartment again.

He'd stumble into his room in his haste and hurriedly go over to the telephone on the desk beside the balcony, not even daring to turn away for a second to get dressed in his anticipation to receive her call.

The telephone would usually ring just as he sat down and he'd be there to receive it – almost always at the first ring – pressing the receiver against his ear in anticipation.

She'd almost always be the one to speak first, too, and then he'd follow – with careful consideration over the choice of words of course, one hundred and sixty seven is but a miniscule amount.

Other days though, it's different.

Like today.

"Yoona," he breathed first into the telephone (the fifty-sixth word he spoke that day), the device carrying his unique timbre over to the ears of his lover, who would smile in delight at the sound.

"Jiyong," she'd speak out, and they're left with smiles lighting their faces.

"Spent only fifty-five," Jiyong murmured, and Yoona's smile grew bigger, reaching her eyes and turning them into lovely crescents as she gripped the phone in anticipation.

The number of words he had spent before she’d call is almost always around a hundred, and this, to have him spend only fifty-five words that day, is a feat enough for him.

"Had a productive day," Jiyong began, getting comfortable as he settled back against the softness of his revolving office chair, "Got a new song done. Hip-hop. iKon’s debut single."

He heard her delighted laugh all the way from the other line, and then she replied, "That's awesome! As always, Kwon Jiyong's the best!!"

He laughed, and then went on to ask her how her day went.

"New choreography done," she states proudly, "Rino’s proud. Said I did a good job."

And it's his turn to smile proudly at his girl, and then he'd cheer her up and tell her what a job well done she's achieved.

He then asks her about her day and she goes on about it animatedly; her friend and roommate Sooyoung winning in the supermarket raffle so they received a huge stash of sweets and ramen to last them a month (he jokes that it'll last only a week given that the two of them are huge shikshins): how Rino complimented her about her dancing (here, she couldn’t hold back a delighted squeal): how her training period would be over in three months and she’d finally come back to South Korea again, work at an entertainment agency and then see him: how the milk ran out this morning and she'd have to jog all the way to the market in her pajamas because she obviously can't eat cereal without milk –

And then she stops, just stops abruptly and he briefly wonders what was wrong before he heard the breathing from the other line and that beeping noise of warning and he understands.

Of course he understands: one word more and he's sure her own black choker would flash a bright red.

And so he sighed, but with a soft, understanding smile on his face as he propped his feet up on the desk and glanced out at the rapidly darkening sky visible from his room’s balcony.

For a few minutes (four, he counted), they just listened to each other breathing, their inhales and exhales almost in sync – like hearts beating a singular rhythm – creating a beautiful melody of its own. And if he'd close his eyes and just concentrate, he could just picture her sitting here, right beside him – an unopened bag of chips ready in her hand and the phone balanced between her head and her shoulder (but she isn’t here, no, not when she’s in Japan working hard as one of the cream of the crop dancers who are training under the famous Rino Nakasone).

The imagined visage of the doe-eyed girl sent a warm feeling to his chest and he sighed softly.

At the fifth minute of silence, he spoke.

"Im Yoona," he started off softly, his voice dripping honey and milk and as soft as the light kiss of snow on skin, "I love you."

He'd hear her release her breath shakily, before he continued chanting the words out, like a daily mantra to keep her strong, to keep him strong, to remind her that he loves her, because he did, he does, he always will.

And no kind of verbal limitation would hinder him.

"I love you, I love you, I love you."

Oftentimes, when either of them ran out of words (one hundred and sixty-seven, no more, no less), he’d play his latest composition over the phone – not too loud for her to draw her ears away and not too soft for her to struggle to hear. He’d tap his foot to the beat, and he’d imagine her bobbing her head along to the tune, eyes slowly glazing over as the music worked its enchantment (because that’s Yoona, the music is her best friend, just like it is his).

A considerable wedge of his pieces, he noticed, were turning out to be of ballads – soft and mellow, like a leisurely stroll in the park, or the first snowfall of winter, and he’d like to think that it’s because of Yoona and her love for them that inspired him to take on the challenge of writing a song songs of the genre (because he’s a hip-hop kind of guy and she’s the ballad-lover and they both normally won’t mix but since it’s them, they just did).

This time though, he spends the last sixty-three words of today just whispering them, whispering the words ‘I love you’ continuously over the telephone and he knows she's listening, she always does. He wonders though, if she hears – all the way to Japan – how his heart is exclaiming more than a hundred and sixty seven words describing and proclaiming the love he has for her.

I love how your eyes just light up whenever you smile, the way you throw your head back when you laugh, how you tilt your head to the side when I talk about my compositions, how your nose crinkles the slightest when I tease you, the way your eyes glint with fierce determination whenever you’re mastering new choreography . . .

By the time he uttered the last word, the sun had already set completely with the sky colored in indigo ink and dark blue pastels, and he just sat there, staring at the twinkling gems in the crushed velvet above with a contented smile on his face (his lips mirroring the exact curve of her own on the other end of the line).

He'd inhale, and she'd exhale, and they would listen to each other's rhythmic breaths in contented silence.

And if one would concentrate hard enough, just hard and keenly enough, one could just hear how their hearts continuously beat in time – his for her, and hers for him – unrestricted by any kind of limitation.

Fin.

Author's Note: Hello! Thanks for reading this fic/drabble :) I actually wrote this one around a year ago but I posted it just now because of the recent G-Dragon/Jooyeon dating news. Here's a little something for GYoon shippers like me who wants to soothe their hearts. To be honest, nowadays I don't ship GYoon as hard as I used to but it still has a special place in my heart so yeah. (Also, did you guys notice those SoshiBang pairings that I inserted? :D)

I really, really appreciate comments so don't hesitate to drop one below! A huge thanks, too to those who suscribed! Again, thanks for reading! :)