As a trainee, Seunghyun had never been quite aware of the kind of soft social condemnation Jiyong faced. 

He was the third member of Bigbang when they were formed, Jiyong and Yongbae already being close friends and well-rounded associates. It had been a long time since he'd seen her and time had only made her more beautiful, even when he barely cracked his eighteenth year. She was small, sure, but she worked just as hard, if not harder, than her male counterparts, even after Daesung and Seungri were added. 

None of the members put up a fuss when they were informed Jiyong would be their leader. None of them made any comments, either right there or in secret later, doubting her ability to lead them and she had never failed to live up to her promise - she walked ahead of them bravely, breaking down all of their barriers and forcing them into the spotlight. She never touted herself as above any other member, especially after they all settled down together and had established enough common ground to form a loose, rowdy kind of rag-tag friendship. She kept them in line, held them to her high standards, but was never afraid to give them the push or boost they needed to reach it. She guided them towards flawlessness and wasn't afraid to tell them that, to work them harder and get dirty right along with them, force herself just as hard. She was their leader, not their mother. They were all on the same level, all equals and all valued for their individual talents and skills. Maybe without even knowing it, Jiyong was the colourful mortar that kept the slightly crooked mosaic of Bigbang intact.

It took a while, though, for Seunghyun to notice why Jiyong was always tense before interviews, always quiet after them.

"What's it like being the only girl in Bigbang?"

"You're good friends with the girls from 2NE1, wouldn't you be more comfortable in that group?"

"Do you plan on working with 2NE1 in the future?"

"Has it been hard as a girl to lead this group of talented men?"

"Do you ever feel out of place as the only girl?"

"Do you ever wish you could join 2NE1?"

"I imagine your men get rowdy once you leave. Have you ever been caught in their activities?"

"Would you ever consider dating one of the members?"

"When do you think you'll have children?"

"Who writes the songs in Bigbang? Who writes the songs on your solo albums?"

"You must have a large hand in the style coordination of the group."

"How did a girl make it into a male group?"

Jiyong always bore her burdens so effortlessly. She didn't let the other members know that the questions struck chords in her, enflamed a surge of resentment in her chest, sometimes made her feel inferior. No, she would never let anyone know that. That would mean she was fumbling as a leader, and she would never forgive herself for that. No matter what anyone had to say, how many times the subject of her gender was brought up, she was the face of Bigbang and she would make others crawl just to be in her presence. 

It was around the seventh year after their debut that it finally struck Seunghyun, though, how much blatant ism was directed Jiyong's way, how they minimized her role in the group, subtly inserted Yongbae into her place as the leader, sometimes even Seunghyun himself (God knows if he was in charge of the group, it would have crashed and burned a long time ago - there was no one more qualified in Bigbang to lead it than Jiyong herself).

"TOP, how much of this album did you write?" One of the hosts asked,  ism veiled in politeness.

"Almost none of it." He answered, deciding last-second to throw the bland truth in their faces. "I mean, we all work with Jiyong on the verses we plan on performing, but she's constantly writing, mixing. Jiyong does almost all the work. I just show up and rap."

She cast him a look from the side, faint surprise deep in those chocolate depths. 

"Really?" The host was taken aback.

His brows furrowed. "Why is that so unbelievable?"

The host tried to backpedal, called out on his . "She just doesn't seem like the kind of person to stay up all hours writing and composing songs with how good she looks."

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow instead of getting angry. "You could ask her directly, you know. She's right here beside me."

The host shut up, another one quickly trying to recover the light mood of the show. Seunghyun caught Jiyong's small smile, though, the fire that sprang up in her eyes and the silent thank you that passed between them when he met her gaze out of the corner of his eye. A small, curt nod and her smile became a grin.

That had been a while ago, now.

After that interview, the questions had come stronger. This time, Jiyong stood against them, broke through the barrier with her boys at her back, helping to push her forward. When a host would subtly insult her, Seungri would leap in, his words a biting whip made of his signature brand of sarcasm, sass, indignation and just enough playfulness to not be offensive but to sink home his point. Yongbae would politely repeat the question, think for a moment, then pass it off to Jiyong as though he hadn't the answer. Daesung would pull the audience in, hook the hosts, then slide the topic Jiyong's way, especially if it was music/composition related. And Seunghyun . . . Well, he defended her when she wasn't there to protect herself. Since the launch of his newest album, he was splattered all over billboards and variety shows. And, at least once, Jiyong's gender and group role was called into question. He got particularly biting during that time, never one to temper the expression of his emotions. 

He had walked in from the kitchen one evening while his bandmates were over to find them situated around his television, watching an interview he had forgotten he'd done. He clearly remembered why he had wanted to forget it, though. 

"Be honest with me, TOP."

"Of course."

"Do you work closely with your bandmates during projects?"

"We come and go as we're needed, sleeping at all different hours of the day. A lot of the time, though, we're all there together, working collectively."

"What's recording like?"

"Hectic, I think would be the best word. The only thing that keeps us together during recording is G-Dragon. She almost never leaves the studio when we're doing projects. She's constantly writing and composing and mixing - I can never keep up with her pace."

"Does it bother you?"

"What?"

"That G-Dragon controls your recording so firmly?"

On-screen, his face scrunched up, mildly offended. "Why would it?"

"Well, what does she really know about recording? She's the second-oldest only and she's a woman."

Seunghyun watched the tension in Jiyong, Yongbae's hand unconsciously coming to her thigh. He settled his own on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. On screen, TOP's face fell into a perfect mask. He stood, bowed stiff and formal, before doing up his suit jacket and proceeding to walk off-stage. "Thank you for interviewing me."

"TOP, wait! Come back! We're not finished."

He paused just within the camera's range, face still blank, but eyes ablaze. "Bigbang and its members owe their collective and individual success solely to Kwon Jiyong, the woman I am fortunate enough to get to call my leader and my friend. For the effort and passion she pours into her work, her members, Bigbang and the VIPs, she deserves infinitely more fame and love than what she gets. I can't stop you from speaking down on or slandering her, but I'll have no part of it. She is my leader, from the moment Bigbang assembled to the moment we disband. Long before that and long after, she was and will be one of my most beloved friends." And he left with ten more minutes of scheduled time left. 

The show cut to ads and Jiyong was standing, rounding the couch and pulling him into a crushing hug. He didn't make mention of the wetness he could feel soaking into his shirt, only wrapped his arms around her in return.

"Oh, noona." Daesung cooed, coming from behind to wrap his arms around her too, softly kissing her head. 

Seungri was stuck, looking like he wanted to swaddle Jiyong and hug her to death while also glaring at the tv like he would put his fist through it any moment. Yongbae simply patted Seunghyun's shoulder, kissed Jiyong's purple hair and excused himself to the kitchen. 

Jiyong never cried in front of them, hid all the weakness she could. This was dangerously close to the edge for her and they all knew it. 

The spotlights blinded him for a moment as he snapped back to the present, Jiyong's unmistakeable entrance onto the MAMA stage just as brilliant, flashy and crazy as every one before. 

Her hair was a fiery red, her shoes six-inch stiletto heels, shiny and bright white. She strutted across the stage, never missing a bit, the opening rap falling from her lips with practised ease. Her black skinny jeans fitted her just this side of loose, her black turtleneck much tighter. The neon paint splattered white dress shirt was open and hanging off her shoulders, a red skirt falling off her hips the same colour as her hair. 

He smiled a little ruefully to himself - Jiyong never kept the same hairstyle long enough to let it grow out any significant length, forever changing and re-dying it. 

It had been a few years since he had returned from his military service, ecstatic when he had to find Jiyong waiting for him at the airport, leaning against her Ferrari with teal hair and his engagement ring shimmering splendidly in the sunlight. 

Up there now, whipping the audience into a ravenous frenzy, her wedding band caught the light just as well. It was one of the few pieces of jewelry she never took off, never exchanged for something new, always on her person. She rocked the stage, getting the audience to scream out her name loud enough to rock the foundations of the earth. 

Over the years, she had spoken up for herself more and more often, until the hosts were nervous to ask her to perform female group songs on variety shows. She made press statements defending her validity not only as an artist, leader and member of Bigbang, but as a human being with talent worth ackowledging.

Seunghyun was more than lucky to have her, in all of her eccentric glory, to come home to or to wait at home for. She was all he had ever wished for in a leader, in a friend, in a woman, in a wife. She understood his strange version of art, accepted his nuances, never stifled his creativity and worked tirelessly to help him in any way she could. 

He had never been totally away of when friend turned into lover and frankly, he didn't think she knew either. It had felt as natural as breathing when he'd slipped the engagement ring on her finger. She didn't even look really surprised, just smiled that dorky gap-smile of hers and threaded their fingers together, going back to working the soundboard. 

She caught his gaze in the crowd and winked his way, rolling her hips just that much more with a flirty grin before she was back across the stage. 

Even now, five years into marriage and almost seventeen (could you believe it) as groupmates, he only grinned back, comfortable standing behind her to help her reach the spotlight. Even if she didn't have to, she always reached back, pulled him along with her. Every time she did, it only reinforced why he loved her so much.