Seunghyun was brazen when it came to Jiyong. Normally he was quite mellow and considerate, but when Jiyong was near he could feel something nasty and dark unfurl in his stomach. They would fling cruel words back and forth; words with the intention to hurt and maim. It was only when both were panting; dizzy from the aftermath of destroying another person, that they would shakily build each other back up again. Soft whispers of, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” cracking and stuttering and raw.  Piecing each other back together; kissing fresh wounds. It would be those moments in which Seunghyun would question himself and Jiyong would question him too. 

 

“Why, hyung?”

 

His eyes would shine bright and unwavering, his mouth a hesitant curve of hope.

 

 But all Seunghyun can remember is Jiyong and Seungri, then a flash of something white-hot and blinding. His mother would say jealousy or love. Seunghyun isn’t stupid enough (brave enough) to let such words slip from his lips. So instead he says:

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Seunghyun can see, from the way the smile deteriorates from Jiyong’s chapped lips, that it was a bad choice of words.