There hadn’t been a specific point in his life when Seungri had realised he loves Kwon Jiyong. There hadn’t been a heart-stopping epiphany, nor a life-changing dawn of realisation. The fact had just gradually become part of his life, and he carries it around with him every day like it’s a piece of himself ever since.

Perhaps Seungri had started loving him right from the beginning. From the first moment he had lay eyes upon the boy, much too wise to only be two years older than himself, Seungri had placed him atop a pedestal. Seungri had responded to his cold stares with eager-to-please smiles and a fiery propulsion. And slowly, Jiyong’s iciness had melted into warm puddles, no, oceans.

To others, it may seem like Jiyong is constantly giving and giving to Seungri, but to Seungri, it feels more like Jiyong is taking and taking. With every touch or smile or look from Jiyong that Seungri feels like is only meant for him, Seungri loses himself a bit more.

Seungri reminds himself that he is content. Seungri does treasure what they have. He wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

But sometimes, in rare moments where he falters, he thinks it’s not enough. Seungri tells himself that it is, it has to be. But Seungri doesn’t know any other way of filling the gaping hole in his chest.

~

Seungri stands outside Jiyong’s door, holding a plastic bag with a box of takeout. Seungri figures that Jiyong isn’t eating well, so he thought he’d show up at his house with a decent meal and tempt him into filling his stomach. Sometimes Seungri feels like the leader instead.

He hasn’t seen Jiyong since that night, which had been four days ago, and Jiyong hasn’t once brought it up during their short conversations over text. Seungri hadn’t expected him to, anyway. Perhaps Jiyong had forgotten about it. Which, Seungri thinks, would be for the better.

He punches in the code to Jiyong’s house and enters with a tiny excited smile. The smile shrivels on his face as soon as he hears faint giggling. A nauseating sugary sound that stabs into his chest and pierces right through his heart.

A woman’s voice. Specifically, hers.

A man’s laugh follows. Specifically, Jiyong’s.

That was quick, Seungri thinks. Normally it takes them months to get back together. Seungri’s not surprised, really. He shouldn’t be. He knows that Jiyong’s too much of a coward to let go of her.

Seungri’s hand tightens around the door knob in a white-knuckled grip. His body almost tears in two, one half on the verge of slipping back out the door and disappearing like he was never here, and the other half determinedly pulling his conflicted body right into the storm to brave the damage.

It doesn’t matter, he reasons in his head. The plastic bag in his other hand suddenly feels very heavy, but not nearly as cumbersome as his heart feels. It doesn’t matter that she’s here.

So he does what he’s good at: pretending.

Seungri soundlessly strolls into the kitchen and watches, unnoticed, as she slices vegetables on a chopping board with Jiyong’s arms wrapped around her small waist from behind, chin resting comfortably on her shoulder.

Sensing eyes on him, Jiyong looks up and catches Seungri’s gaze. The smile melts off Jiyong’s face.

Seungri can’t read his expression. Jiyong’s good at pretending too.

“Maknae,” Jiyong says.

“Jiyong hyung,” Seungri greets. She halts her cutting and looks up too. Seungri gives her a casual nod, and he hopes that she’ll buy into his forced smile. “Mizuhara!”

“Seungri-san! It’s good to see you again!” she exclaims in Japanese, grin lighting up her face.

Seungri wishes he could hate her and curse her, but the truth is that it’s so hard to dislike a cheery face like hers. Which makes matters all the more worse.

“What are you doing here?” Jiyong questions him. Perhaps his voice comes out gruffer than he had intended, but S