Episode 7:

Resignation

(TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of ual abuse and addiction. Again I have done my best to represent the subject matter in a way that is both sensative and realistic)

The first time Seungri had cheated on JiYong, it had been with his high school algebra teacher right after he graduated, while he was still in his cap and gown. No one knew about that. That algebra teacher whose name, he pretended, had erased from his memory had not been the first, but the fourth, in a seemingly endless line of much older men that had wanted his body but not his spirit. He had never told anyone about those men, not once, not even when he started wetting the bed at the age of fifteen. To keep it hidden was to keep his pride. To keep it buried was to maintain his sanity.

Somewhere along the line, in a hazy mix of alcohol filled parties and rooms that smelled thickly of cigarette smoke breathed out by underage kids he had stopped resisting. His life had been over since the moment he stopped crying and started seeking after the ambiguous ‘it’ that was attachment-less, dispassionate, meaningless .

And then there was Ji.

Ji with his bright smile and his cotton candy hair saying “What’ll it be cutie?” as he walked up in his apron at that stupid diner that his friend (with benefits of course) had dragged him out to.

Seungri was barely a legal adult, and it was mid December then, the 15^th to be exact. He remembered it like it had only been moments ago because it was the first time he had felt butterflies in his stomach at the sight of a toothy grin.

For a time, JiYong had been his salvation; his valiant knight in shining armor. All smiles, and delicious candy sweets, and JiYong had not just wanted his body. There had been blushing dates in the park, and midnight movie screenings and Seungri was sure he had escaped his endless cycle. Seungri was sure, at the age of eighteen that this man had saved him, and that he was perfect, and nothing could send him back to the prison of emotionless one night-stands that he had locked himself in. But the thing about putting people on pedestals, and expecting them to be the ideal is that eventually they were bound to fall.

Their relationship had been hard, and unhappy and so angry but not because he didn’t love Ji or because Ji didn’t love him. No, they had loved each other deeply, and as honestly as they could with such secrets dammed up inside. But Seungri was always pushing, he knew he was always pushing away.

Stories unfolded like antiqued yellow paper in his heart as water poured over his body and no matter how much he scrubbed he couldn’t wipe away the guilt, or the shame, or the frustration. No matter how much he cried, or how raw he rubbed his skin in that stupid iron bathtub he couldn’t take back what had been stolen from him. He couldn’t go back in time and fight harder or run faster, he could only accept it for what it was and cry into the shower until there was nothing left. Until he was empty and his nerves hurt, and his skin bloomed red under the weight of the brush he was raking over his back again and again and again.

Every time, every time he did this, to Ji, to himself, to the men and women he drank up and tossed away, he spent forever in the shower trying to blur away the filth and the stolen kisses. Every single day he raked spines of soap down his body until his skin was so dry it cracked in the cold of winter because he didn’t want to feel them anymore; but he couldn’t erase the memories with lavender shampoo or soap that smelled like the man he loved and broke and pushed and shattered and abused.

Lee SeungHyun was a selfish piece of dirt, and he hated himself more than anyone else ever possibly could.

He didn’t shut the water off until it ran cold as ice over his shoulders. YoungBae had been knocking on the door for probably ten minutes by then, calmly screaming at him to get out of the shower because they had a long drive.

The silver bond man kept asking himself if he really had to. If this was really an addiction, but he knew it was. He knew it was because he couldn’t stop. Because despite all of the love JiYong could offer he had been unable to stop himself from looking, and tasting, and touching.

He knew because there was something wrong with him that he hadn't been able to fix; that no amount of shame or guilt had been able to fix.

“Seungri,” Youngbae’s soft voice called out in the quiet and the hot air escaped the room leaving him with nothing but his body feeling trapped. Everything hurt.

“Yeah,” he croaked out, raw and wet on the end of a sniffle.

“Seungri what shirts do you want to take?” the older man asked so tenderly that the words landed like knives in his chest. Everyone was hurt.

The only answer he could really think to offer was “It doesn’t matter,” because it didn’t.

Gingerly he tugged at the shower curtain and half-tripped his way over the side of the tub. As he stepped out the cold washed over him and he wrapped his waist with a towel he sighed, breathing out the sickening mixture of nausea and emotional burn out that had wiggled its way into the angry raw red of his skin. He hadn’t realized that YoungBae was still there so when he turned around to face the door he jumped a little in panic. “You scared me,” he huffed.

“Clearly,” the mohawked man snorted, shoving his hands in the wide pocket of his soft blue hoodie. “Come on, Dae say’s its an hour drive to the place we’re taking you so we better get a move on.”

“A-an hour?” Seungri fidgeted as he stumbled towards the vanity, “Why so far away?” It had probably been a year since he’d left the neighborhood for anything but a safe (or not so safe) place to screw someone.

“It’s a place for people with the same kinds of problems,” he shrugged. YoungBae for his part, had suggested taking Seungri to rehab years ago, but no one had listened, “Besides, it’ll be good to get away from here for awhile.”

The barista took a gulp as he pulled a shirt of his aching body and asked, “How long will I be gone for exactly?”

He caught the reflection of a shrugging handyman in the mirror as he pulled his boxers on under the towel before letting it drop to the floor. Somehow he managed to remind himself to pick up because Ji hated when wet towels got left on the tile.

“You probably shouldn’t…exfoliate? So much,” the older man offered in the awkward silence that prevailed there after.

“Are you going to watch me take a piss or go pack a bag?” Seungri hissed limply, checking the purple bags under his eyes and the gaunt pale tone of his face.

YoungBae snorted because that was such a Seungri thing to do and slid his fingers around the cold brass doorknob to slip out. He was pretty sure that younger man was just trying to get rid of him, but whatever. The worn out spot where the door dragged across the carpet greeted the handyman’s feet briskly. Someday he was going to sand that stupid door down so it didn’t drag, someday.

With an agonizingly deep sigh, he ran a hand through his jet-black hair where it was splattered flat and also managing to stick out awkwardly on the top of his head as he wondered out into the room.

The way the room was set up the bed was actually tucked back in its own nook, but it still hung out about two feet, and Ji had stuck the dresser off to the left, right next to the door that lead out into the hallway. Youngbae reached out and started tearing open drawers to figure out which ones belonged to the barista and which belonged the orange haired baker.

He didn’t usually take his anger out on unsuspecting, poorly built, oak furniture, but he wasn’t particularly sure where else he could direct his rage. He didn’t usually have rage, but he was sleep deprived. Plus it was an ugly dresser, and built like children’s furniture (thought the man with the bunk bed).

No less than six sighs and four angry head bangs later, he had managed to rip one of the drawers completely off the safety track it was secured to. When it came loose he tripped backwards and ended up spewing the contents of the plywood vessel all over, letting them fly like a spray of confetti in the air. His back collided with the carpet in a resounding thud and a yelp that lacked all hints of masculinity passed through his lips when the drawer tried to land on his face. It only narrowly missed him.

“Ouch,” a giggling Daesung that appeared in room’s front door remarked, “You’re going to regret that choice.”

In response the haired man groaned. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” he whined.

To which Dae just laughed. Youngbae saw a radiant smile stretch across his lover’s face as he sat up on the floor. “How’s Ji?” he asked and the smile faded.

“SeungHyun is taking good care of him,” the younger man shrugged, “But I can’t grantee your safety when he sees what you did to his dresser.”

“This dresser is an affront to my existence,” Youngbae explained, “It’s hideous. He should have asked me to make one.”

“Because you’ve had so much time to be a shop rat since we opened,” Daesung snorted.

There was a pregnant silence that filled the air; each hollow breath was fat with ten thousand questions that fought for purchase in YoungBae’s mouth. He almost gasped with one of them finally won and the question that slipped out was neither about Seungri nor about Ji…and in fact, wasn’t really a question until he forced it to be. “It wasn’t fair for you to tell them like that you know?”

It wasn’t a fair thing to say thought, because nothing was fair right then. All of the people who didn’t deserve to be dried up with their souls bleeding out their emotional wounds were doing just that. Ji was dying softly of heartbreak, stabbed through by an ally in a war that slipped through his fingers in the dark of night. Seungri was rubbing his skin raw in the bathroom, broken down by the weight of his own secrets. And his beautiful Daesung was fighting against his own body just to stay alive. How was any of that fair?

Dong YoungBae could honestly say that his small world was sitting in a swamp made thickly of unfairness and sickness and pain in that exact moment and he regretted his words the instant his lover’s eyes went cold. Cold, but not unfeeling, and maybe a little understanding despite their bitterness, and when Dae started chewing on the already swollen corner of his lip the handyman guessed that he’d his a nerve with his truth.

“I couldn’t think of when else I would get the chance to,” The younger man offered, “It’s not exactly something that’s easy to bring up in conversation.”

“You called Suengri more problematic than cancer,” YoungBae pointed out. “You literally called him more problematic than blood deforming, infection causing cancer.”

“It doesn’t cause infections.”

“Not the point Dae.”

“I know,” the business manager confessed, “I know, but I didn’t want you to be right about everything.”

The black haired man snorted despite himself and started to stand up, leaving the four pieces of drawer that were scattered across the floor. He managed to pick up two shirts that were likely to belong to the barista he was supposed to be packing for.

“I brought you a duffle bag,” Daesung offered, tossing the tiny balled up bag in his hand. It kind of splayed out like a parachute as it sailed and landed lopsidedly on the ground half way between the two of them.

The sound of the door opening created a sudden void in the room as stillness wedged its way between Daesung and Youngbae. It peeled back like a portal to bitter reality, with a very tear stained, silver haired Suengri stepping out. His hair was still dripping as he opened his mouth to inform Daesung, “You really did call me worse than cancer.” His jeans were hanging funny and his shirt was clinging to his wet skin.

“Not worse than,” Dae defended, “Just more problematic than.” With a moment of careful consideration he added, “And I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay,” the barista sniffled, and his voice cracked in a way that betrayed him wholly, “I kind of am.” He threw his little leather bag of toiletries that no one had noticed he was carrying onto the bed as his eyes scrunched up and his face burned red again.

He practically ran, maybe he did actually, into Daesung’s arms, crying “I’m sorrys” and “I’ll do betters” into the young business manager’s shoulders.

YoungBae had to catch himself mid bitter sigh and tell himself to have hope this time. Even though he’d watched this scene play out a dozen and a half times with Ji standing where Dae was standing now.

I’m sorry.

I’ll do better.

He’d only know Ji and Ri for six years, but it had been six years of “I’m sorry. I’ll do better,” and that made it thoroughly difficult for YoungBae to believe the youngest member of their weird little family. Daesung shot him a look of death as the honey blonde’s hands ran trails up and down the barista’s back.

All Suengri could do was keep breathing, keep counting his breaths as they stuttered out his mouth in chunks and chokes and puffs. One, two, three, three and a half, four, cough, hold Daesung tighter, five, six. His lungs burned, his eyes burned, his heart burned, his back burned. The last time he had cried this much in front of someone he’d been sitting on a bathroom floor trying to explain why his face was bruised to his new boyfriend. He hadn’t thought about that in years. Old memories bled out of his eyes in crystal clear tears, streaking down his face and soaking into his friend’s shirt.

Daesung tried his best to hold on to Seungri, because no one else wanted to right then, but he still deserved it. Maybe it was cancer clouding his judgment, but he wouldn’t want to be tossed aside just for being sick either. And that’s what Seungri was, sick, as in ill.

“I’m sorry,” the barista repeated for the hundredth time in half a minute, “I’m sorry that I’m worse than cancer.”

“You are not worse than cancer,” Daesung sighed, “I shouldn’t have compared you to cancer.” It was true, what YoungBae had said, that it wasn’t fair of him to tell everyone he had cancer like that. It was true and it hurt, but so did everything else. So really, what was the difference? Truth hurt, lungs hurt, skin hurt. Life was unfair, and Suengri was clinging to his aching body, shaking like a child into his sore boney shoulders.

For a good solid five minutes after the bag was packed they all three waited for something to happen. YoungBae took up residence on the very corner of the bed, and Daesung braced himself against the doorframe for stability but nothing happened. Seungri kept crying, and time ticked on. JiYong and SeungHyun stayed downstairs and nothing changed.

The air in the room was bitter with regret and maybe resignation as the handyman finally made the choice to peel Seungri off of his boyfriend, pulling gently at the barista’s thin shoulders. “Come on kiddo, we’ve got to get going.”

Floating down the stairs was a wordless talk about the future, made entirely of longing glances and unspoken desires to curl up and ignore the heaviness of life. When they came out the door, they found JiYong with red eyes and tear streaked face helping SeungHyun pull all of the pastries out of the cases. They were lining them up neatly in boxes, probably to sell as day old tomorrow. It would be a waste to throw that much food away.

When the orange haired baker looked up he flinched. Visibly recoiled from the sight before him. His pink lips parted to say something but closed again and he stumbled over himself looking for something else to fix his gaze on.

“You don’t have to come,” Seungri offered, the silver-blond had to clear his throat to keep it from cracking like a pre-teen boy, “I don’t expect you to.”

For the first time in their entire relationship Ji didn’t take the bait. Everyone expected something snarky like ‘why do you always expect me to be petty’ to come tumbling out his mouth but instead, “We were together for eight years Seungri, I’m not so bitter that I wont see you off.”

“Eight and a half,” Seungri corrected, and the words bit into JiYongs back with all of the other words that were sharpened and pushed in like knives. At that rate he was going to develop a hunched back from all of the angry words.

“Eight years and ten months,” Ji sighed, “and fifteen days.” He paused between to remember what day of the month it was and then offered, “If you really want to be that person.”

Seungri cracked a weak smile, his mouth twitching in the heartbreak, “Sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair as he walked up to the counter.

Suddenly a cupcake that smelled of vanilla and glorious sugary orange appeared in front of his face. Seungri knew those cupcakes well, they were his favorite. The frosting matched Ji’s hair currently, and it had a candied orange slice that was covered in sticky melted sugar on top.  “Let’s not fight right now?” Ji asked rather than said. He looked drained, pale, makeup running down his face, holding out the sweet little cake as a peace offering, treaty, or maybe a pardon “Let’s try to be better apart than we were together.”

“That won’t take much will it?” the younger snorted, and SeugHyun chuckled too.

“Guess not.”

As the barista took the cake and smashed messy orange vanilla butter cream in his face he thought back on some of the things he’d done and added a sentence he never thought he would say. “It’s okay to not forgive me,” he said between breaths of orange salvation, “but I hope you can someday.”

Ji lacked an adequate response. His anger had long dissipated and been replaced with heavy sadness as anger tends to. SeugHyun ran a hand over the small of his back and he sighed, sinking into the top of the glass case as he often did in his afternoon exhaustion.

“Are we all ready?” Daesung asked with a sigh. “Who all is going?”

The whole room sighed. Not just the people but the walls, the counters, the art on the walls and probably a couple of the chairs in the next room.

“I’m staying,” SeugHyun almost whispered, “Someone has to clean up and get ready for tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Seungri snorted, “Someone has to pick the bakery first”

At first JiYong though he was being snide, but there was sincerity in his eyes that spoke of a maturity the barista rarely displayed. The youngest turned as he whipped the whipped orange frosting on his face.

“Yah,” SeugHyun called, diving under the counter and scrambling to his feet. The blue haired baker pulled Seungri into an abrupt hug sliding his arms awkwardly over the younger’s shoulders. . “You’re still family,” he said, “You’ll have a job when you make it home.”

“Always,” Daesung agreed.

As they pulled apart the white haired man looked up teary eyed at his ex-lover and choked out, “I really will do better this time. I’m sorry I didn’t try sooner.”

“Do it for you this time,” Ji encouraged as best he could, his own words stung, “Not for me.”

“Let’s just say our goodbye here,” the barista offered, “Let’s not drag this out again.”

The orange haired baker shoved an ‘I love you’ back down his throat as it tried desperately to spill out his mouth and said “Get better Seughyun, come back healthy.” It was rare that anyone used Seungri’s real name, mostly because it got confusing having two of them around.

“Take care of yourself JiYong,” he said after a distant pause, “And you’ll get better too.”

There was an echoing silence as Dae walked forward and gave a warm side hug to the blue haired baker. He then walked up to the counter planting a soft, wet, entirely unusual kiss on JiYong’s blotchy red cheek and throwing his arms around the elder’s head and shoulders. He was warm in the most comforting way, Ji almost wanted to step around the counter and snuggle him but he found he lacked the energy. It had been a good four or five years since he’d felt so used up.

Dae’s husky, gravel voice whispered a very gentle, “We’ll talk tomorrow okay?” as he withdrew.

“Stay out of trouble,” YoungBae sighed, warm fingers wiggled through Ji’s bright orange hairs, pulling them up in a way that made his scalp itch and letting them fall softly back down. “Try to remember that you like chocolate more than alcohol.”

“I make no promises,” Ji puffed out. He wasn’t sure that he actually did like chocolate better than alcohol in that moment. 

Shuffling feet filled the air, the loud bell on the door rang out and all at once everything deflated. Ji’s last shreds of remaining strength failed him. With a shock of desperate emptiness rumbling through him, he sank to the floor, settled on the squishy floor mat and curled his legs into his chest. “What are we going to do?” he asked more rhetorically than actually.

It was a little surprising when the elder baker answered, “We’ve needed to hire another barista for year JiYong,” SeugHyun reasoned.

The younger only spared a glance when a shadow shifted in front of him, wisping across his vision and his best friend came to stand before him. SeugHyun leaned forward softly and offered his hand out like the end of a rope tied safely to shore in the middle of a hurricane. The smaller, orange haired man took the offered hand skeptically. Air decided to revisit his lungs as he was hauled to his feet with quite a bit more force than he expected.

“You can sulk around or you can help me decorate a cake,” SeugHyun offered.

“Decorate a cake?” Ji snorted in reply, “For what?”

The taller man’s hair bounced as he shrugged his shoulders, “Because we can?”…the thought hadn’t occurred to JiYong in ages that he could just decorate a cake for no reason. No order required. Complete artistic freedom meant as many frills as his heart desired.

He followed his blue haired companion back into the kitchen and instantly felt the warmth of comforting familiarity blanket his weary body. With worn out fingers he pressed against the freezing cold steel table. Traced the lines of the brushed finish with the very tips of his nails even thought they were chewed down from stress and grabbed the cleaning supplies that had been forgotten earlier.

SeugHyun wondered towards the industrial walk in refrigerator that was next to the walk in freezer. A blast of chilled air wafted through the room as the door popped open with a resounding squeak of plastic and suction giving way.

The blue haired man came back out balancing three round cardboard trays of varied sizes with beautiful dark brown cake tiers on them. Ji could almost smell his raspberry filling from there. He knew it was raspberry not because he could see it but because SeugHyun always made sure to do something with leftover raspberry anything before it went bad. The elder balanced awkwardly on one leg, kicking the door backwards and wobbling ever so slightly.

“I think you could have been a ballerina in another life SeugHyun,” the orange haired frosting king laughed as he swept the last of the cinnamon roll mess into the rolling bin beside him with his kitchen rag.

“Maybe I am in another reality,” he replied, doing a very stiff sort of shimmy as he set the cakes down, “Dark chocolate and raspberry.”

“I figured,” the younger shrugged, “you always use the extra raspberry.” After a short lull, where he reached out to help poor SeugHyun get the smallest tier off of his forearm and onto the table he asked, “What ever you making this for anyway?”

“The day after tomorrow is our friend-a-versary,” the elder shrugged.

“You’re weird for remembering that,” Ji sassed, mostly because he always forgot, and always felt guilty for forgetting.

“Instead of feeling guilty for forgetting for the seventeenth year in a row,” SeugHyun said, “Why don’t you help me make this look like a something?”

JiYong started counting off the years in his head…when they were kids he had remembered, “It’s only been like thirteen years in a row you jerk.”

“Quit being a child and get the icing,” the blue haired man sighed.

Two hours in there were so many frosting ribbons on the fattest of the cakes that he was pretty sure it was actually ninety percent raspberry butter cream and ten percent cake. It looked like a little girl’s red tutu. The smallest looked like an obnoxious lace tablecloth and SeugHyun had put so many drop strings and chocolate pearls on the second that it looked like they might swing clear off if anyone bumped the table. It was a complete and utter waste of materials, and it was tedious work, slow going. So detailed that it made Ji’s neck ache in the most satisfying way.

As the orange haired man pulled back he fished his phone out of his apron pocket. He had a text message from Heechul, the banner of his lock screen read “So I see that you’re closed, so I guess the rumors are true?” When he swept his thumb across the screen and moved to unlock it he took in a deep breathe. The image that greeted him was of Seungri planting a kiss on his cheek back when the younger had still been sporting brown hair.

The message loaded as soon as the home screen came up and he felt obligated to answer, because telling Heechul was easier than having to explain everything to the whole block. The man was an infamous and truly incredible gossip. So his dainty fingers slid across the smooth surface easily, “Only if you haven’t added the Heenim touch to them,” he wrote back and then he clicked on ‘send picture’ and queued up his camera.

The younger baker snapped a quick picture of the frilled out, over piped, monstrosity of a cake adding “When life gives me lemons, I make raspberry cake with SeugHyun?”

The response came swiftly and was not what he had expected at all, “O.O well…at least your lemons made a beautiful one?”

He was about to reply again, had his fingers hovering over the imbedded touch screen ‘keys’ when something unpleasant and slimy and cold was smeared against the back of his neck. It shocked him, so abruptly that he dropped his phone on the mat under his feet. Warm fingers spread it around and pushed it down the back of his shirt. When he turned to look into the eyes of his attacker he knew exactly what if freaking was.

That…jerk, had just stuck a giant glob of cake down his back

“Oops?” SeugHyun asked, throwing his frosting covered hands up innocently.

“You just…did you really?” Ji hissed out a sigh, “Are you kidding me?”

“Apparently not,” the elder laughed.

The younger moved so swiftly his dear friend had no time to react as the entire lace tier was hurled at his head. The impact nearly knocked the taller man over. It only took the breath of half a second for him to realize his mistake. He’d just given the enemy ammo, sliding down off his jaw line. SeugHyun didn’t even bother to wipe the butter cream off of his glasses, he just picked up the remnants of ruined piping and raspberry filling and smiled.

“You’re going to regret that,” he offered as seriously as he could manage with cake all over his face.

The subsequent cake war was both glorious and disastrous. On the upside the cake was delicious, even when eaten between flinging. The raspberry sat on his tongue like a bitter friend as SeugHyun pinned him to the floor and wiped the last of the cake up his belly underneath his shirt. He’d tossed his apron to the side about ten minutes ago…big mistake. Geez it was cold.

“I give,” he screeched, wriggling under the weird feeling of frosting and filling and soft crumbs squishing into his belly button, “You win. I’m sorry I challenged you.”

The older man rolled off of him, laying flat on his back next to Ji on the concrete floor in the kitchen. Their kitchen. The kitchen they had built from nothing together. “Happy early friend-a-versary SeugHyunie,” JiYong offered.

“You shouldn’t call me that JiYongie, you should respect your elders.”

“Pft,” The younger hissed, “Like you care grandpa.”

It was true, he didn’t. In fact if SeugHyun was being honest with himself, it made him blush a little under his chocolate and butter mask.

The younger man sighed against as he sat up. “I think I’m going to wash up and go to 2NE1 and Over, want to come with?”

“I don’t drink Ji,” the older offered sitting up, “I haven’t since your parents accident.”

“I know, I thought you might want to sit with me,” he explained, “But that’s selfish of me.”

“Minzy’ll keep you company,” SeugHyun shrugged running a hand through his wrecked hair.

“Yeah,” the orange haired baker mused, “Chaerin owes me a couple of tequila shots too.” The sadness was back. The taller man watched it settle in his dear JiYongie’s bones, his shoulders slumped again and the joy left his face. “I think that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You get a free pass. I’ll clean the kitchen this time,” he offered, pulling his phone out of his pocket. The blue haired man had to wipe his hands so he pressed them hard on the back of Ji’s shirt, leaving a trail there.

“Yah!” Ji shouted with all of the venom of a fluffy baby bunny.

SeugHyun didn’t even respond as JiYong stood up, using the older man’s broad shoulders for balance. The only thing he could think to say was “Don’t over do it okay?” as that mess, brown and red covered orange hair disappeared out the door to the lobby.

“Sure thing SeugHyunie,” he laughed spinning around to wave with a bright dimpled smile.

“Yah,” SeugHyun called suddenly, “Your phone.” He explained, pulling it up from where it had been left on the floor.

“Thanks,” Ji grimaced with a sigh, “I need to change my screens.”

“You should use that picture you took of us yesterday,” the older man suggested.

“The sugar flower one?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, TOP,” the younger man teased as he fiddled with his phone, “Smile.”

“Ah?”

A flash went off in his face and Ji laughed like a child as he slid out of the room. The blue haired man thought he heard “What a great way to use a lemon cake” but that made literally no sense and JiYong was not that delirious.

SeugHyun was quick to flick on his phone and pull up Minzy’s number. His typing was a little slow and shaky because his fingers were trembling for reasons unknown “Hey kiddo, Ji is a mess and he’s headed your way in a half hour. Can you take care of him for me?”

The reply came right as he was standing up. “Aye Aye captain!” there was a little man saluting for an emoji on the end and he smiled a little, regretting only a little that he couldn’t go with JiYong.

~~~~

SO, this fic is slowly crushing my soul. It might, in fact, be the death of me. I thought I was going to explode trying to write this chapter. I put it off of a solid week. I am sorry for the late update. I had to take a break and work on other things because oh man, I was dying. I DIDN'T COME HERE TO WRITE ANGST! SOMEONE SEND HELP! A huge MASSIVE SHOUT OUT TO WhiteTigress for nagging me until I did the thing, and forcing me to get it done by wednesday. 

If you like the story pretty please comment! Comments give me life (as in keep me from dying when I no longer want to write this beast). Thank you guys so much for sticking with me through this wild ride of a fic. 

With inordinate amounts of love

RFL

(please please comment, I love feedback, it makes me a better writer)