Jiyong sleeps.

He dreams.

He wakes and it’s reality, a new day in the now, what used to be a dreamed future, what’s seconds away from being past.

Jiyong breathes.

Jiyong laughs.
He smiles and smiles and mostly he doesn’t have to fake.

Jiyong writes. Lyrics and songs and words, is called a genius and knows he’s overrated so keeps his modesty in check.

He goes to the interview with his fellow members, smiles and smiles, and mostly he has to fake. For the cameras. For the fans. For the world to see.

Jiyong drinks, stops at his limit.

Jiyong eats, stops before his limit.

Jiyong trains, beyond his limit.

Jiyong tries.

He tries.

Jiyong sleeps.

He dreams.

He wakes.

Jiyong looks in the mirror. He looks away.

He hurts, he cries, not in that order.

He feels.

Jiyong loves.

He aches from it, smiles and smiles and the fake gets tangled with the genuine until even he can’t make the difference anymore.

He breathes.

He breathes.

Jiyong stares.

He looks at him, like millions of his fans, thinks ‘he’s my special person’, thinks ‘he doesn’t know how much I ing-‘ and stops thinking for a while ( because there are things Jiyong isn’t allowed).

Jiyong sleeps.

He dreams.

Jiyong kisses him, slow and burning and almost painful but not quite.

Jiyong calls his name “Seungri”.

He sobs his name and-

And he wakes.

Jiyong smokes.

Jiyong breathes.

Jiyong says “You look good together”, tells him “ I’m happy for you, maknae”.

And smiles. He smiles and smiles and smiles till his cheeks hurt, and it’s not fake, because that word is too weak, there must be an other term to translate that state where he cries inside when his lips are forever upturned.

Jiyong sleeps.

He dreams.