requested by anon

"Give me another shot."

The alcohol is numbing down my throat as I knock it down; I've become so used to this that I don't even taste it anymore, barely feel the burn, but it's comforting nonetheless.

"Seunghyun, that's enough."

"Oh, Youngwon, it's never enough," I sigh.

And we both know that I'm right, seeing as we've been on a first-name basis with each other for the past three years, give or take a few months.

"What's wrong this time?" he asks, dropping a small white rag behind the bar and sitting down, his hands folded neatly atop the polished wood surface. The bar is mostly empty tonight, like it is most nights, and that's why I chose it. Because sometimes, I just need to be Lee Seunghyun, a twenty-two year old man from Gwangju, instead of Seungri, a singing and dancing sensation from YG Entertainment.

"It's her, Youngwon," I whisper, and my eyes drop downward, to my legs clad in designer jeans that probably cost more than some people make in an entire day, to my feet, covered by custom-made tennis shoes, and I feel remarkably out of place in the world.

He sighs, reaching out to put a large hand on my shoulder. "Talk to me, Seunghyun."

"I don't know what to do. We haven't spoken in ages. And it's my fault, I know it is."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Youngwon says, his dark eyes speaking of years of age and experience. "Things have a way of working out in the end."

"Not this end."

"Then explain," he says, "explain to me what's wrong."

But I'm tongue-tied, there are really no words to explain how badly I treated you, how I thought you'd just come back to me after everything I'd done.

"I let fame get to me," I finally say, sliding off the chair and reaching for my wallet. I throw a few bills on the counter and leave without another word, knowing that if I'd paid extra, Youngwon would just give me the equivalent in alcohol the next time I came, and if it wasn't enough, I could just pay again next time.

I hail a cab and slip in, telling the driver the correct address before closing my eyes and letting my shame wash over me.

Once again, I'm grateful but also cursed by the distance of Youngwon's bar to our apartment, because it's the perfect distance for thoughts to flood my mind in my somewhat inebriated state, but sometimes I just don't want to think.

Because I know I'll be walking into an empty apartment again, like I have for so long now. Your belongings are still there, and you still pay for part of the rent, no matter how many times I tell you not to, and that's the only bit of hope I have that you're still trying to hold on.

I know I've cheated on you, and you know it too—who hasn't seen the Japanese tabloids? But we both try to shift the blame elsewhere; on distance, on desire, on anything else besides the fact that maybe we're just not interested in each other anymore.

Because without you, I will have nothing left in my life to ground me, nothing left to keep me from drifting away into the incessant pull of stardom.

Because every time I think I've reached the edge of the cliff, you pull me back, reminding me that it's not quite my time to go yet.

But I still keep walking.

But I still keep going forward, going up.

Someday, I'm going to have to fall.

But what I don't know is if you'll be there for me when I do.

Two years ago, I would have said 'yes,' resounding and firm.

Now, though, all that's left in my future is uncertain darkness, save for a faint light that seems to leap farther and farther away every time I try to grasp for it.