]

He dreams about a monster.

Heavy, huge, and white. Walking in a screaming light, trampling everything that’s trying to stop it. He hears screaming from distance, people running away to every direction, them who are not stupid enough to compete. He can’t see the creature’s face, can’t hear it clearly but it’s saying something.

Something familiar.

It’s me.

He blinks, he wonders why he’s not blind yet. The wind carries the sentence one more time.

It’s me.

He wants to run too, but–

It’s me.

He has to take a step back. Probably a hundred, a thousand and miles back. Turn everything to the point when…when?

It’s me.

White, he whispers. Black is a hole but white is emptiness, is death. White is alone, white is wanting–needing–the colors, white is him.

It’s me.

It’s me, he parrots.

Me.

.

.

.

Jiyong wakes up with a start and a cold can of soda on his cheeks.

“I need my coffee,” he says, his voice cracked at the end and causing hairlines of concern to spread all over Seungri’s round face.

“I’ll get you some,” Seungri sighs, fingers tracing the rose pattern of Jiyong’s bed sheet. “How was your sleep?”

“Scary,” Jiyong answers but that’s not what Seungri’s been asking for. “Terrifying,” he repeats because he can’t give what’s the boy has been wishing for. There’s nothing he could give and Seungri had agreed to that. Seungri is supposed to agree with him.

“I can get you some food too,” he offers, like always. “Hyung,” added like an afterthought; innocent as if he doesn’t know Jiyong at all.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Jiyong closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see. “I need to work.”

Seungri runs his thumb on the back of Jiyong’s hand because he knows best but he can’t make things better.

“Aren’t you going to go out?” Jiyong warns him softly, it’s not the first time.

Seungri doesn’t flinch anymore like he used to. “Later.”

“When I’m sleeping,” Jiyong breathes out another smoke and another when Seungri stays still. “You always left whenever I didn’t watch.”

“You don’t want me to leave,” Seungri shrugs, shoulders square with apologies. “You just don’t want to say it out loud.”

“I say what I want to hear,” Jiyong laughs. His nails are plain color of his own, he needs to get it done by now. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“Hmm,” Seungri ignores the remark and saves them both from breaking.

“It’s creepy,” Jiyong turns his head away. “Stop staring.”

“I’m not staring at you,” Seungri claims.

“You are,” Jiyong sneers. “I can feel it.”

“It’s not like you’re not used to it.”

“It’s because I’m used to it, Seunghyun,” Jiyong swallows hard. “Quit looking at me.”

Seungri can’t but he tries.

“How’s your business?”

Seungri frowns. “We don’t talk business in your house, hyung.”

“We do, I do now,” Jiyong presses the heels of his palm to his eyes until the back of his eyelids sprouting dancing light of black. “We talk.”

“Until you decide we don’t?”

“How’s business, Seungri?”

“It is fine,” Seungri trades his card. “I’m doing great. How about you?”

“My business,” Jiyong corrects him briefly, sternly. “I need to learn from you.”

The corner of Seungri’s mouth rises up and Jiyong has to learn to forget it all, to forgive himself. He is ruining them all.

.

.

.

In his opinion, rain always came suddenly and unpredictable. Even with grey skies, the cold wind, and season –no, it’s still ing unpredictable.

“Didn’t you watch the news?” Seungri’s eyes scolded him softly. “Get inside, hyung.”

Jiyong shook his head, hair flipping wet, the air was heavy of earth scent. “No time.”

“I’ll get you something to wear,” Seungri urged him to the shower. “You can’t get sick.”

Jiyong laughed, his stomach exploded into ribbons. “You’re taking care of me well.”

“I’m not,” Seungri hesitated. “I can’t. You never let me.”

“I won’t,” Jiyong smiled, understood. “That’s not how things are supposed to be.”

.

.

.

“This is my house,” Jiyong sets himself on the carpeted floor. The scent of delivered meal nags his appetite.

“Yes, it is, hyung,” Seungri hands him the chopsticks.

“Are you playing mother now?” but he is already scooping rice into his bowl.

“No.”

Jiyong lets the question why falls apart onto silence as a joke, flies out the window into the storm of things he’d rather forget.

“Jiyong hyung?”

Jiyong knows that he can’t slow down his heartbeat to zero, that we can’t kill ourselves by holding our breaths. His eyes are closed, but his human senses are functioning just fine. There are things he can’t accept and things he has to.

“Are you sleeping?” Seungri’s tone goes quieter until it’s millimeter away from Jiyong’s cheeks, soft like skin of a rose. His fingertips come to brush Jiyong’s bangs, fluttering butterfly touches on his forehead, thousand thorns of heartache when they hover momentarily upon Jiyong’s lips.

Twice, Jiyong schools himself before he runs after Seungri. There’s a tiniest slam of door, distant footsteps like rock skipping on water and finally the hums of car engine. It happened only twice.

And it was not yesterday. Not today. Not anymore.

He turns on the light, his shadow whimpers a secret he lets Seungri ponder about.

.

.

.

“Hyung,” Seungri’s voice was weak, frightened. His hands were trembling when Jiyong reached for it and the knife hit the floor with a sound of thunder. “What are you doing?”

“Sometimes,” Jiyong didn’t recognize his own reflection in the mirror so he stared down at their feet. Seungri’s shoes shone beside his slippers. “Nothing.”

Seungri’s breaths were shallow against his ears; the kind Jiyong would not allow him to show on stage. It was also the kind Jiyong didn’t want to witness himself.

“I’m sorry,” he lied. “Momentarily distracted.”

“By what?” Seungri’s voice high, his grip around Jiyong’s wrist tightened, a personal cuff. “Hyung, what were you thinking?!”

If Jiyong closed his eyes now, he would see everything. His title, his fame, his life paths, his plans, his future, his past, his world, his fate, his responsibilities, his fight; his. “Nothing,” he answered. “Nothing.”

Seungri’s touch felt like silk, rich and thin. “Don’t do that.”

Jiyong looked up to see Seungri’s combed hair, the corner of his eyes, the concentration in his gaze, the frown of his mouth, the disappointment he had placed upon the younger’s shoulder. “You can’t tame me, Seunghyun.”

Seungri was lost and Jiyong liked it that way because it meant Seungri would be searching for something, mostly for Jiyong. “Hyung…”

“Okay,” Jiyong led them both out as if he hadn’t wanted it to end there in the first place. If there’s anything Jiyong would pretend to be in this world, it’s the same man Seungri used to think that hung up the stars in the night sky.

His old self.