fun facts: ji eun is the name of (big bang's, at least) actual stylist, at least as of 2012 lol.

requested by anon

"What do you mean Ji Eun-ssi's leaving?"

You wince slightly as Jiyong glares at his manager, holding a brightly-colored jacket in one hand and a pair of leather pants in the other. Clearly, he isn't taking the news very well—and who could blame him?

"She's moving to the countryside temporarily to take care of her parents," Jiyong's manager repeats, slowly. "She'll be back in a month."

Jiyong scowls, throwing the jacket and pants onto a chair. "And I suppose you have a fantastic solution to the fact that I have a music video to shoot in a month and I have no stylist? There's only so much I can do on my own."

“Ji Eun-ssi’s not stupid, you know. She asked one of her underlings to come.” His manager rolls his eyes, motioning for you to step forward.

The moment you do, Jiyong's eyes snap up, his eyebrows pushing together as he gives you a once-over, and you're somehow reminded of a lion sizing up its prey.

Suddenly, he smiles, and the wildcat becomes a kitten.

"She'll do."

Somehow, you're even more terrified now than you had been before.

“Come, come,” he says, beckoning you over, and you follow with some trepidation, tucking an errant strand of hair behind your ear. He leads you to a stack of clothes, each labeled with something or another (but each label is more cryptic than the last—you really have not yet the slightest idea what “channel the inner waterfall” pinned to a hot pink blazer means.)

“So tell me,” he says, holding up a leopard-print t-shirt, the waterfall-pink blazer, bright orange pants, and metallic brown shoes. “Yes or no?”

You cringe. “No.”

“But I—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

Jiyong sighs, but it’s not a bad sigh. “Well, you’ve passed the first test. Just fair warning, I can get extremely pushy sometimes and it’s your job to prevent me from having a disaster.”

“Duly noted,” you say, glancing around the room, eyes landing on biker jackets and boots and pants at random, mind already working to envision what would work and what wouldn’t.

Jiyong tracks your eyes, his face smooth and impassive as he tries to figure out what you’re thinking.

“The brown boots with the black leather pants and the pink blazer,” you both say at the same time, and he grins.

“Yep,” he says to his manager, “she’s a keeper.”

~*~*~*~*~

The next day when you walk in to one of YG’s offices, you see Jiyong sitting at one of the large tables, giant pieces of paper spread across it, scattered with concept ideas and sketches.

“Excellent,” he says, as you walk up behind him. “Here, take a seat.” He pulls out the chair next to him and pats the seat, and you sit down, hanging your bag on the back of the chair.

“So what have we got?” you say, running a hand through your hair and leaning forward to get a better look at Jiyong’s grand plans.

His drawings are neatly organized; the notations are anything but.

“What is this?” you ask, pointing to a picture of a person wearing a skirt with the label “bear” underneath it.

Jiyong leans in, squinting, and you try to ignore the fact that his face is mere centimeters from your own.

“That?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“That’s a good question.”

“Are you serious.”

“Yes.”

You drop your head onto the paper with a dull thud, and Jiyong laughs.

“Sorry,” he says, managing to sound not the slightest bit so, “I did this at four in the morning on my third can of Monster, so excuse me if things don’t make any sense.”

“Who’s supposed to be wearing the skirt, though?” You tilt your head to the side, peering up at Jiyong through your bangs.

He shrugs. “Does it matter? As long as you’re working it, who cares?”

“Might I suggest you shave your legs if you’re the one wearing it, then?”

“Well, now, who said it was going to be me wearing it?” The playful smirk is back, and he points to a sketch of a person wearing a hoodie and skinny jeans. “That’s me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Returning to a simple look? That’s new.”

“It’s unexpected,” he says, lifting a hand up to rub under his eyes, and for the first time, you notice the dark circles under them, unobscured by makeup. “Everyone expects me to do something crazy, but I want to strip it down.”

You keep your eyebrow raised, and he sighs.

“Okay, the jeans are ripped and zebra-printed and the hoodie is neon pink with plaid lining in the hood. You got me.”

“Thatta boy.”

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon poring over designs, nixing some and altering others, until Jiyong finally throws his pencil on the table.

“I’m hungry,” he says, glaring at a drawing of a furred stole. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Where?”

“The YG cafeteria, where else?”

Your forehead is quickly becoming familiar with the feeling of table.

“Come on, it’s really good. And I have coupons!”

You groan feebly at his nonsense, but your rumbling stomach convinces you to follow him out the door and through the winding hallways of the YG building to find a source of energy.

“What did I tell you?” Jiyong says, twenty minutes later, as the two of you sit across the table from each other, plates of food scattered across the table’s surface.

You roll your eyes at him, stuffing another piece of jeon into your mouth.

“Eat quickly, okay? We still need to finish this. But don’t eat too fast, you don’t want to get indigestion.”

You pause, mid-chew, and glare at him.

He reaches across the table and pokes one of your cheeks.

“Cute,” he says, and it takes everything you have to resist throwing a chopstick at his face.

~*~*~*~*~

As the days fly by in a blur of clothes and makeup and planning, you find yourself growing closer and closer to Jiyong—his smile is infectious, even when it’s three in the morning and all you want to do is crawl into a mass of blankets and sleep there forever; his boyish charm invigorating, even after hours of toiling over a jacket to make sure everything hangs just right; his perfect manners always on point and soothing, never failing to pull out your chair, or to make sure you eat on a regular schedule, or walking you to the bus stop every night when it’s time to go and waiting there until the train comes.

Before you know it, you’re standing behind cameras and a makeup artist is tweaking Jiyong's eyeliner with a brush, other staff members moving around assorted props.

“Ready!” the director calls, and Jiyong shoots you double finger-guns and a wink before the director calls action and the music starts booming.

It’s like Jiyong’s a whole new person on camera—he’s suddenly full of smirks and charismatic, cocky glares, dancing a bit to the beat as he lip-syncs to the song. Even though he’s not really performing it live, you realize in an instant why so many people love him.

He’s magnetic; without even trying, all eyes in the room are drawn to him.

You don’t even realize that the song’s over until the director yells “cut!” and Jiyong relaxes back into his normal state.

He flashes a grin at you before walking over to the director, watching the filming playback on a small screen and commenting on things he wants to fix.

They reshoot the scene four times, until both Jiyong and the director are satisfied with it, and then it’s time for a costume change.

“So what do you think?” he asks, dropping his pants and draping them over a chair as you hand him the next pair to change into. This is normal, you tell yourself, forcing your eyes to stay away from a certain area, this is normal, I am his stylist, and I am totally okay with this—

“Hand me that shirt, will you?” he asks, pulling the one he’s wearing over his head, and you’re left with no choice but to get a face-full of shirtless Jiyong.

Which is not a bad thing, of course, but it might not necessarily be a good thing either—

“Yo?” he says, waving a hand in front of your face, “you there?”

“Oh, sorry,” you mutter, whirling around and grabbing the shirt he needed to change into.

“You like what you see?” he laughs, flexing one arm weakly. “Pretty good, but I’ve got nothing on Youngbae.”

“Youngbae-ssi’s special,” you say, shrugging, and Jiyong laughs—it’s not a secret how much time Youngbae spends pumping iron.

“Let’s go!” Jiyong yells, punching one arm in the air, and you groan, because this shirt has particularly large arm holes and you’re pretty sure you can see Jiyong’s .

This may or may not end well, and you’re not sure if you want to find out.

~*~*~*~*~

It’s far too many hours (and almost as many cups of coffee) before the shooting is finally finished, and everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief when it’s all done.

“Come on,” he says, draping a hoodie (neon pink, with a plaid-lined hood, and you want to laugh, but you’re just so tired) over your shoulders. “I’ll walk you to the bus stop?”

You nod, pulling out your phone to check on the time. It’s an ungodly hour, but what catches your attention is the little notification that says you have a message from Ji Eun.

Coming back tomorrow~! I’ll be taking jiyongie off your hands soon ^^

“Hm?” Jiyong peers over your shoulder, chuckling at the message.

“Guess you won’t be seeing much of my face around anymore,” you joke weakly, pulling the hoodie tighter around yourself as the two of you step outside into the frigid night air. You’d know about the date for a while, but seeing such a concrete reminder of it makes you feel almost empty.

“I’ll miss your face, though,” he pouts, ruffling your hair. “You have a nice face.”

“You have a nice face, too,” you reply, grateful for the cover of night so Jiyong can’t see the dusting of red on your cheeks.

The two of you walk the rest of the way to the bus stop in silence, the only sounds the soft puffs of your breath and the tread of your shoes against the sidewalk.

“Since you’re no longer going to be working with me,” Jiyong finally breaks the silence, “how about I make a proposal?”

“What sort of proposal?”

“How about you be my girlfriend instead?”

“I—what?”

The bus, with its extremely unfortunate timing, chooses to pull up right at that moment, the doors opening.

Jiyong leans in and pecks you lightly on the lips, pushing you gently towards the bus. “Go on, you need to get home! See you tomorrow!”

You swipe your bus card in a daze, your lips burning even with just the brief touch.

He waves through the window as you take a seat, and you stick your tongue out at him as the bus drives by.

You knew you definitely wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night.

HAHAHAHA YES I'M ENDING IT LIKE THIS IDK HOW TO END THINGS