The night has breached the cusp, that line that crosses from reality to the embodiment of eternity. Yesterday, a hazy memory and tomorrow, a passing flight of fancy. The night feels like it has been stretching on forever and would continue to do so, outside of time and responsibility and enlistment. Here there is only half-dark shadows, soft yellow light, the muted sound of music emerging from somewhere and mumbled conversation.

Day is only a mirage, he thought, but then, Jiyong had long passed tipsy and was swimming in drunk.

He blinked and realized that Seunghyun had been talking for a little while. And they were alone. That's right, Youngbae disappeared off to call Hyorin. Daesung and Seungri, though?

He blinked again and the memory of them stumbling off to sleep surfaced.

So that left just him and Seunghyun.

"Everyone says its terrible, and it is," Seunghyun said, words finally making sense. Jiyong contemplated reaching for another drink but decided he wanted to not be a zombie when he woke whenever day returned from wherever it had wandered off to.

"The food wasn't too bad at my camp, though." Seunghyun was talking about basic training. "Not great but-"

"You know I've heard all this before, right?" Jiyong asked. Everyone and their dog had an opinion on military service. One learned these things as their enlistment arrived, he'd discovered. Women had opinions and stories of their husbands, or brothers, or boyfriends, or second cousins twice removed who served two decades ago. And men -

"I'm just telling you so you are prepared. It's scary," Seunghyun said, "especially going in older."

Jiyong pulled a face and curled into a ball on the couch, letting the room sway gently around Seunghyun's words. It was no different than what he'd been told before, by Dongwook, by Jae-sang, even by CEO Yang. For most of them it seemed just a bonding thing, the shared struggle of Korean men.

Looking at Seunghyun, though, watching him talk, listening with the ears of a childhood friend, turned lover, turned…whatever it was they were now, for him it wasn't bonding. There was an anxiety in his words, a pain to the shape of his eyes. Basic training had been difficult for Seunghyun, more than others. On top of the whole mess of last year.

He forwent listening to the actual words and instead listened to the rhythm of Seunghyun's speach, noted the way his fingers would flash as he spoke, a nervous tick.

I love you. The words percolated up from somewhere deep within him. It wasn't a realization as much as the emergence of a long unacknowledged truth. There was a time when those words were held close and secret in his heart, the words of a youth with a soul-searing crush. Then they were a confession. They spent time as an exclamation of passion and fire uttered in the throes of lust and desire.

And then they died and turned into ash in his mouth, replaced by the words 'I hate you', which were the same words, really, just in a different shape.

They'd returned, the words, after years and age, to claim the realm of brotherhood and camaraderie.

And somehow, at some indeterminate time, they'd shifted once again. There was passion again, and desire, but something much deeper. They were romance and want, yes, but also need and compassion. Give and take.

They were so many things but mostly they were a deep, welling ache that centered on his heart.

He should speak them, give them life, shape, sound. Simple words to say. "I love you."

He listened as Seunghyun continued to speak, detailing daily life in the barracks, the precise balance of humility and stubbornness to display with his squad, the exact level of deference to be paid to superiors. Maybe Seunghyun was saying 'I love you', too, right now.

And maybe Jiyong was too drunk to have any grasp on reality.

There had been a moment, months ago.

Seunghyun had invited him over that time, but Jiyong would have been camped out in Seunghyun's living room without the invite. They'd been talking and watching movies, and playing music, and sitting in silence as one day stretched into two. It had been late at night. Another eternity linked to the one we sit in now, perhaps. Jiyong's mind felt scrambled and he shook it to reclaim the memory.

Darkness had fallen around them but they hadn't bothered with light. There hadn't been alcohol, but they were a bit drunk anyways. On exhaustion, emotional fatigue, on the weight of the million things they wouldn't talk about. On eachother.

There had been a lull, a pause, and they had leaned in to one another. A warm hand had cupped his neck. Soft lips had pressed against his. Seunghyun had pressed their foreheads together as his fingers danced along Jiyong's nape, an old, old habit that had fallen away years before in disuse.

They'd slipped away to sleep shortly thereafter, to wake in a tangle of limbs and blankets and mid-morning sun. Nothing had been said or done, but the kiss lingered in the back of Jiyong's mind to bloom forth with the words-

I love you.

He was about to leave, be gone for two years, with only the barest handful of time in which he could see Seunghyun again. He wondered how far into the future he'd have to go before they could be like this again, wine on their tongues, music in the air, the comfort of knowing one another inside and out.

They had watched each other break apart in a million different ways over the years. Broken each other a few hundred different ways in that time. And then been there to see the rebuilding, had rebuilt some of it together.

He should say it. Confess it. Ask Seunghyun to wait for him to come back, to love him back, to be together again like they were before. But better this time, older and wiser and more patient.

Seunghyun had been quiet for a while. Looking at him, Jiyong recognized distress in the way he stared at his wine glass, the way his fist balled on the armrest. Jiyong half-stood and moved to join him on the couch.

"I'm gonna be ok, you know," Jiyong said, leaning against Seunghyun's arm. Seunghyun looked down at him and their eyes met for a moment. "I'm tough and strong." He offered up a pout then a smile. Seunghyun smiled back and moved his arm to envelop him, tuck Jiyong into his side. Seunghyun’s warmth surrounded him; the sent of his skin, his aftershave, the wine, destroyed him.

"I know, Jiyong-ah, I know." He rested his cheek on Jiyong's head and nuzzled a bit against the shortly shaved bristles of hair.

"You have to do a good job, Jiyong," he whispered, so soft Jiyong could barely hear it. “You have to, because I - I -”

Jiyong sat up, forestalling any blame that Seunghyun could heap upon himself, any failures Seunghyun could lay at his own feet. “Hey, I told you to stop that.” He punctuated with a slap to Seunghyun’s thigh.

Thoughts of confession gave way before concern. “I told you I’m going to be ok. We are going to be ok. Big Bang is ok, hyung.” He willed Seunghyun to believe him. “Say it.”

“We’ll be ok.” Seunghyun did try to sound convinced. Jiyong slid back into his spot at Seunghyun’s side.

"That's right."

“We’re going to miss you,” Seunghyun said, "you and Bae," he tacked on quickly. "The poor maknaes are only going to have me." He gave a self deprecating laugh and slid forward, pulling his arm out from around Jiyong and resting both elbows on his knees. He drained the last of his wine glass and looked around as if for another bottle.

"Come on," Jiyong said, standing. "I have to get up early. Are you still coming with?"

Seunghyun nodded and placed his glass on the coffee table. He looked at the hall down which the rest of their band had disappeared earlier in the night. It had been a flight of fancy laced with nostalgia that had driven him to suggest one last sleep over. It reminded him of them a decade gone, crammed into too-small living quarters. A house full of s, one last time.

They walked together, Seunghyun and Jiyong, down the hall. Daesung's snores chased Seungri's as they passed the first room. The low rumble of Youngbae's voice came through the door of the second. The dutiful new husband, calling his wife for a goodnight chat.

At the end of the hall were two bedrooms. One on the right and one on the left, Seunghyun's. Jiyong had to go right, of course.

Pull me left, pull me left, his mind begged. His mouth ached to ask but he clamped down on his tongue, unable to speak. It is our last night together, please take me into your room like you have so many times before.

"I'll see you in the morning," Jiyong managed He turned right towards his guest room.

"Yeah, uh," Seunghyun stopped and Jiyong stopped beside him, hand frozen over the door handle. "There are towels in your bathroom, should be at least. If you want to shower early. And I think my mom is bringing breakfast and - uh - probably your mom, too."

Jiyong looked up at him, desire fracturing in his heart. He attempted a smile; the darkness of the hallway masked his failure.

"Kay," Jiyong said. "Goodnight."

As he clicked the door shut behind him he hears Seunghyun's voice answer, "Goodnight."

 

The next morning was surreal. It reminded him of the morning of their debut. Long expected, exhaustively prepared for, seemingly never to come and then all of a sudden here. The morning was bright, the kind of bright only possible in winter. Yellow light of the sun offering only chilled promises of spring.

Look at the artist being profound, Jiyong said to himself.

With a sneer he rolled over and stretched. There was a dull ache at the back of his head but nothing too overwhelming. He'd been drunk last night but just enough to turn maudlin. Scrubbing a hand over his eyes he cringed. He'd been about to confess.

In the stark morning light he gaped at his drunk, stupid self. Why on earth would he want to confess? There were reasons he and Seunghyun hadn't worked out the last time.... and the time before that. There were reasons they were better friends than lovers.

Important reasons. Reasons he didn’t care to list because it was time to get up.

With a loud yawn he stretched and rolled, feet hitting the floor. Instinctively, his hand went up to tame his unruly mop only to meet a fistful of fuzz. Oh, right. His hair was gone.

Sounds of breakfast echoed down the hall from the kitchen. He could hear the high pitches of mother's voices and the clanging of pots and sizzle of frying. He figured he had enough time for a shower at least.

He opened the cabinet, hunting for the promised towels and froze. It could just be coincidence, random chance but - his hand settled on the plush pink towel on the top of the stack in the cabinet.

"This is mine, now," he'd said, the memory surfacing as he the towel's familiar softness.

Seunghyun had looked at him, parting the curtain of his own matching towel in white, tossed over his head. "I'm pretty sure all the towels in this home are mine, Ji." He'd returned to toweling off his hair with a snort, little droplets had fallen onto the ground. Absurdly, Jiyong remembered the way they'd glistened on the tile.

"Yeah, but this one is mine now." Jiyong had claimed the red towel. Claimed a small part of Seunghyun's immaculate home as his own. It had been early in their relationship, the first time. His mind made that painfully clear as he pulled the towel out. He made a point to use it every time he slept over, back when sleepovers meant shared beds and lots of .

The towel had been red when he'd claimed it.

He told himself it was nostalgia as he draped the towel on the rung by the shower. Nostalgia for youthful love against the maturity of age. That must be what it was.

He'd chalked the towel up as lost, sacrificed to the trash bin of bad break-ups. This was the first time he'd seen it since that last time, the last time that ended it all.

"I am not going to do this, again," he told himself firmly.

Ripping the towel off the hook, he folded it and put it back, grabbing for a grey towel instead. He paused, however, before taking it out. Maybe the towel was a sign. A message. Seunghyun was always doing meaningful things, imbuing things with meaning and emotion that he just never thought to see. Maybe Seunghyun put it here on purpose? How many fights had they had over Jiyong being obtuse, dense, emotionally blind? Maybe Seunghyun was suggesting - what?

"Dammit," he said to the sink. It was a ing towel in a ing spare bedroom. Probably chucked in here by Mama Choi and forgotten years ago. Growling, he grabbed the pink towel and returned it to the hook. "Dammit, hyung."

He could feel a break-down coming as he stepped into the shower. Two years, starting today. It was really here. It was going to be hard but that didn't scare him. He'd done hard. It was going to be physically brutal. But he'd done that too. It was going to be exhausting but he'd lived through the mad blur of debut and promotion.

He was probably going to be ridiculed, mocked, teased, looked down on. But he'd debuted in an idol group and now drove a Lamborghini.

No, none of that had him gripping the tile as the water stung his skin. It wasn't the military that made him feel like he was going to be sick.

Two years. Two years away from his family and friends, yes, but two years away from Youngbae, from Daesung, Seungri and - two years away from Seunghyun.

They'd said good bye a year ago only to have life pull them back together, however briefly, and now they were saying goodbye again.

Jiyong pressed his head to the tile and scrunched his eyes closed tight. Seunghyun was going to be ok. He liked his work at the museum, he had his mother and sister, he had his therapists and doctors. Seunghyun didn't need him.

Jiyong refused to contemplate that it was himself that needed Seunghyun. He shook the water out of his face and stood, squaring his shoulders and grabbing for the shampoo that sat on the shelf. There was no time for self-pity today. Instead he was going to appreciate that he was here. That Seunghyun had managed to get his leave approved and they were all together to enjoy one last breakfast.

His mother was shouting his name as he stepped out of the shower.

"Ya, I'm coming," he shouted back.

 

Jiyong's shirt clung to his damp skin as he sat at the table, claiming the seat between Daesung and Youngbae. His and Seunghyun's mother wove back and forth from the kitchen, loading the table up with banchon and soup and rice. A king's feast.

He looked up to thank them and a soft hand the top of his head. Jiyong beamed his most sincere smile at Mama Choi. "Thank you, mom." She gave him a little pat and returned his smile before going back to the kitchen.

Seunghyun emerged from the hallway a moment later, Seungri in a headlock and protesting loudly. Jiyong laughed and Seunghyun shot him a conspiratorial grin.

"Ya, leave the baby alone." Mama Choi smacked her son on the arm, releasing Seungri. "You ok baby?" She asked, patting his cheek.

Seungri pouted and glared at Seunghyun. Jiyong laughed again, loud and brash.

"Eat!" his mother said and gave him his own smack.

"Yes, mom," Jiyong said, ducking his head obediently. He dug his spoon into his rice and dunked it into the soup. He felt his mother squeeze his shoulder tight.

"It's good to feed you before you go," Mama Kwon said.

Seungri and Seunghyun took the seats on the open side of the table.

"Mama, stay and eat," Seunghyun said.

The mothers shook heads in unison. "The moms are having their own breakfast, thank you very much."

"Well, here, let me pay at least." Seunghyun stood and wandered to the entry foyer where his jacket lived.

Jiyong watched as his mother put on her shoes. He felt a tsunami of emotion wash over him. She was so small, aged, beautiful with her wrinkles and short permed hair. The woman who'd loved him and pushed him all his life stood in Seunghyun's foyer putting on her shoes.

He stood and went to her, socks sliding as he ran across the living room. He scooped her into his arms and held her tight, squeezing all his love into his arms. "Thank you, mama," he whispered into her hair.

She sniffed and a ringed hand clutched at his arm. "Good, strong, son, you will do well, right?" She pulled back to look at him.

"Don't worry, mama," Seunghyun said, putting a hand on Jiyong's shoulder. "I'll get him there just fine and he will do well. He's Kwon Jiyong."

Mama Kwon stepped out of her son's arms and stood beaming up at them. "Beautiful boys, I'm so proud of you."

"We are all proud of you," Mama Choi said, stepping into the foyer and slipping into her flats.

Seunghyun passed his mother his credit card and then stood beside Jiyong to see them out.

"Thank you, hyung," Jiyong said, turning with Seunghyun to look at the trio devouring breakfast at the table.

Seunghyun looked down at him, eyes quirked in confusion.

"Thanks for thinking of this," Jiyong waved to encompass everything, "of the sleepover with the gang, of breakfast, of taking leave and coming with." He stopped before tears could threaten.

"Ya, that's what friends do, right?" Seunghyun threw an arm over Jiyong's shoulder and pulled him back to the table.

 

Youngbae left first, standing as the last scrape of his spoon emptied his bowl.

“Kiss Hyorin for me,” Jiyong said, leaning back to look at his friend, his best-friend.

Youngbae looked at him, apologetic, and Jiyong realized, in that moment, that he didn’t know when he’d next see Youngbae. He was no longer in control of his own schedule. Of his commitments. The full weight of enlistment began to reveal itself as it settled on his shoulders. Tears were streaming down his face.

“Hyung,” Seungri whined.

“Sorry,” Jiyong said, as he wiped at his eyes with the end of his long sleeve. Seunghyun’s hand settled on his shoulder and gave him a tight squeeze, too-tight and the pressure, the pain, reassured him.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” Youngbae’s face was miserable.

“I know, Bae.” Jiyong stood and walked around the table to embrace him. He tried to remember everything, the way Youngbae felt, the way he smelled, the brush of hair against his cheek. He pressed a kiss into his cheek and pulled back.

“I’ll be going in soon, too,” Youngbae offered and Daesung chimed in behind him with a, “me too.”

Seungri huffed. “Aw, guys.”

“It’s ok Seungri, you can keep me company,” Seunghyun said.

“I really gotta go,” Youngbae said, unable to meet Jiyong’s eyes.

“Seriously,” Jiyong said, pushing him away. “Get out of here, go to your wife and give her a kiss from me.” He laughed at their maudlin mood. “C’mon guys I’m not going away forever. Sheesh.”

He let Youngbae go and turned to Seunghyun. “Should we get going?”

“Yeah,” Seunghyun said around a mouthful of food, “our ride is on its way. Sit and finish. Bae you okay?”

Youngbae nodded and waved, seeing himself out. They ate in silence after the front door closed.

“I don’t think the maknaes like you, hyung,” Jiyong said, flatly, to his rice bowl.

“Oh, I know that, dongsaeng,” Seunghyun deadpanned. “What makes you say that this time?”

“They weren’t nearly this bad when you left.”

“That’s because they knew they’d finally get peace.” He kicked at Seungri’s chair for good measure and was rewarded with an affronted squawk.

His phone pinged and he read the notification that popped up. “Time to go, Ji,” he said. “You guys ok cleaning up?”

“Hyung, we are not children.” Seungri pouted.

“It’s you I’m most worried about!” Seunghyun said, and gave Daesung a look.

“I got it, hyung, he won’t touch anything,” Daesung assured him.

“Hyung!” Seungri said.

Daesung ignored him and stood, arms open for Jiyong. While they embraced and said their goodbyes, Seunghyun went to put on his shoes and disappeared. Jiyong focused on Daesung and then Seungri, Hugging them both tight, just as he had Youngbae. He didn’t check his tears or his teasing.

Eventually, Seunghyun’s voice called to him. “Time, Ji.”

Jiyong nodded and clapped the shoulder of each man. “It’ll go by fast,” he promised.

And then he was out the door, climbing with Seunghyun into the back of Phillip Chun’s car. The drive seemed to speed by. It should have been a decently long drive but it seemed he blinked and the gate was across the street from where they parked.

He realized he should have tried to hold Seunghyun’s hand, something, done anything to bring them into contact as much as possible now that it was here: separation.

“Picture?” he suggested, desperate to not leave just yet, already mourning the lack of hand-holding or conversation on their drive over.

“Sure,” Seunghyun said. “Phillip?”

From the front seat, Phillip turned and snapped a few photos as they hugged, then posed arm in arm for the camera. Jiyong felt a little relief. At least he had photos of the moment. “Post them online,” he told Phillip and Seunghyun arched a brow in question. “The fans will like it.”

Seunghyun smiled, knowingly. “Yeah, they will,” he teased.

Jiyong sank into the fluff of his jacket to hide his blush. He didn’t need to, though, as Seunghyun pulled him into another hug, undocumented this time. A hug just for them.

“I’m going to miss you,” Seunghyun whispered.

“Me too,” Jiyong whispered back. The thoughts from last night surfaced.

-I love you

-I love you, too

He shook his head, clearing out the thoughts.

“I’ll email you whenever I find out about my first leave,” Jiyong said. Seunghyun snorted. “Ok I’ll email your mom.”

“Your mom,” snarked the lame insult.

With a sigh, Jiyong opened the door. This was it.

One step, another, shutting the car door, more steps and then - it was done. He turned to offer a wave as the car drove off. There were cameras, of course. Always cameras. But he didn’t see them. His mind was on the gate ahead of him, his heart with the car driving away.

 

 

---

 

 

---

 

 

Seunghyun rolled over in bed. Technically he could have worked today. Enlistment drop-offs always happen early in the morning. He could have made it in after dropping off Jiyong, and only been a few hours late, easy to make up. A half-day at least could have been manageable.

He dragged a hand over his burning eyes. Technically he was a ing mess. So. work. the military. Burn it all.

Thankfully, Daesung and Seungri had cleaned up before they left, allowing him to come home to a clean, empty home where he could strip in peace and crawl into bed and never leave.

He rolled back over to hug his pillow. The pillow Jiyong used to claim.

There’d been a moment, last night, before they’d all gone to bed when he’d been tempted, so tempted, to tell Jiyong, confess again like he had last time. Confess to love and desire and need.

He’d clammed up and tried to blame it on too much wine. As if he didn’t have reams written about how he felt.

Literal reams.

As he lay, tracking the time by the shadows on his bedroom wall, he mentally composed additions to the word document he kept on his work computer. It was likely stupid, but he was the only one who used it and he needed something to pass the time.

 

He must have dozed off because it was pitch black when he opened his eyes again. He groaned and rolled out of bed, not bothering to hunt for his slippers and regretting it when he got halfway down the hall. His floor tile was like a sheet of ice, so he cursed and whined at the empty living room as he made his way to the kitchen.

There was an unopened bottle on the kitchen island so Seunghyun popped it open to let it breathe as he microwaved the last frozen dinner in his freezer. He hopped from foot to foot before finally giving in and running to get a pair of slippers from the entryway. He grabbed a pair in the dark and tossed them to the ground, slipping into them as he ran back to save his dinner from burning. He never could remember how long he was supposed to put it in for.

“You know they print the instructions on the box,” Jiyong’s voice said in his memory. He couldn’t even remember when he’d said it. If they’d been in this house, or Jiyong’s, or any of the dozens of other kitchen’s they’d existed in together over the course of their lives. He couldn’t remember where or when, but as he stirred his almost crispy dinner, he could remember the way the overhead light had shone on Jiyong’s face, his expression of gentle mockery and affection. He’d been wearing something soft, Seunghyun remembered that, too, because he’d crushed Jiyong against his chest after he’d said it, just to shut him up.

“Aish,” Seunghyun cursed as he slopped half of the noodles and sauce over his hand and onto the counter.

Wine was an acceptable meal, he decided, abandoning the sad bowl to his morning self and shuffling to the living room with bottle and glass in hand. the little bit of sauce on the back of his fingers, he nudged pillows around on their couches until he heard the clatter of the remote on the ground. He retrieved it and settled into his favorite spot.

What should we watch? He asked himself but it was mostly bull. He knew what he was going to watch. Opening Youtube he managed to spell out La La La.

Their debut stage began playing. “Aw, look at how little Daesungie was,” he said aloud but his eyes saw only Jiyong. Little, precious Jiyong. “Aish, you were a back then.” Jiyong had been a . A that stole his damn heart.

He’d probably have regrets come morning, when, in five hours, he’d have to get ready for work, but Seunghyun poured a glass and settled in to sip it as their old videos played, one after another and his memories chased after them.

“You should have kissed him last night,” Seunghyun said aloud to the coffee table, of course, not himself. Shoulda kissed Jiyong goodbye. Not that it would have changed anything, led to anything, created anything like, maybe, a newborn phoenix to squawk in the ashes of their shared past. No, nothing like that. He should have kissed Jiyong last night just to feel the softness of his lips, again. Refresh the memory of what that was like, the way Jiyong could meld into him so he could never quite tell where one kiss turned into two, who was kissing who, who began it, who ended it, where he stopped and where Jiyong began.

He should have stolen a kiss so he could remember Jiyong’s particular flavor over the months of separation.

He’d done it once before, twice maybe. Whenever the feeling of Jiyong on his lips began to fade, he’d swoop in for another ‘friendly’ kiss too hold him over for a while.

“Shoulda,” he said again and the Haru Haru MV began to play. He laughed at his own stupidity. Coward, his brain mocked. “You know it,” he replied to himself and toasted to his cowardice, straight from the bottle. Screw the glass.

“You know you’re kinda crazy.” Jiyong’s voice, again, teasing from his memories.

Two years. Two years without Jiyong’s constant presence on the other end of a cell phone. Two years without knowing that he could just roll over and with a few button pushes he could have Jiyong’s voice in his ear, words in front of his eyes, body on his couch.

Damn right he needed today off.

He polished off the wine to a fan compilation of ‘GDnTop Best Moments’, set to Baby Good Night. Bless the fans.

 

“Seunghyun-ah if you don’t get up right now I’m going to just let you be late.” A pillow followed his mom’s voice and crashed into his head. With a jolt, Seunghyun sat up.

“I’m up, I’m up.” He waved a hand to fend off any following attacks. He smacked his lips. His mouth tasted of .

“Go shower, you are a mess,” his mother nagged and he nodded in agreement. He’d sent Jiyong off yesterday. Of course he was a mess. A gentle hand patted his head and he blearily eyed his mother. For the stern-ness of her voice her face was soft, compassionate. “It’ll be ok, son. Go, shower, breakfast will be ready when you are out.”

“Ji-”

She shushed him and gave him a nudge, propelling him off the couch. “It will be ok,” she repeated. “And no laying back in bed!” she shouted as he slumped back to his room and a shower. He growled at her, but softly so she couldn’t hear.

 

“Good morning, Choi Seunghyun-Sshi,” Eunji, the receptionist half stood to bow as he walked across the lobby of the National Museum, or as he called it, work.

He nodded back and gave her a small smile. His head was pounding and the light streaming in through the full height curtainwall was killing his eyes. Your own fault for being maudlin and morose past midnight. He winced at the alliteration and made sure to step very carefully. No shuffling or slouching where people could see.

“Would you mind opening the front doors?” Eunji asked before he could pass her, jingling the keys in the air. He took them and went to the doors. Miraculously no one was camped out front ready to charge in. The first few weeks he’d been working there’d been a few VIPs camped out front to be the first in, in hopes of seeing him. The fangirl rate had dropped to a roughly 50/50 chance they’d be there when he opened up.

Returning the keys to Eunji he took the folder she gave him and indicated he was heading back to the storage rooms. She nodded and waved him off. He made his way through the open exhibit areas to the back where he had what could only generously be termed his workstation. Tucked in between shelves of storage and dusty boxes of files was a heavy wood desk, also half covered with boxes of files. Sandwiched between them was an ancient computer, of operating system unknown.

He knew how to turn it on, how to check his email, how to navigate to the bookmarked intranet site that displayed the day’s schedule along with a few other pages necessary for work, and how to open his text file. Finding out how to make the text file had taken a whole afternoon.

He turned the beast of a machine on, its dull roar battling the building’s mechanical system for auditory supremacy, then went to make himself his morning coffee. He took his time. That old machine moved for no man. While the coffee brewed he thumbed through the file Eunji had given him, the entry logs from last week. He’d have to enter them into the Museum system and sign up those that wanted to be included on the Museum mailing list. Grunt work but it passed the time.

“Hey.”

Seunghyun looked up to see Parker, the museum’s computer guy. IT, that’s what it’s called.

“‘Morning, Parker,” Seunghyun said as he took his coffee from the Keurig.

“How’s that fossil treating you?” Parker asked, meaning his computer. “Still thumping?”

“Can’t you hear it from here?” Seunghyun deadpanned and Parker gave him a polite chuckle, pushing the dark-rimmed glasses up on his slender nose, the movement moving to a graceful sweep as he ran his hand through his hair. Seunghyun appreciated the visual; Parker was as pretty as any of his celebrity pals, with a brashness mixed with apprehension common in most Korean-American gyopos trying to find their place in the land of their origin.

Parker had offered to replace Seunghyun’s computer when Seunghyun had started but he’d turned it down. He really didn’t want to make trouble for anyone, even the computer guy.

A small chime came from Parker’s back pocket and he fished out his phone. “Oh, man,” he said as he read who was calling. He muted the phone, unanswered and returned it to his pocket.

“Everything ok?”

“Ms. Shin again.” Parker rolled his eyes. Ms. Shin was the old-battle axe that ran the museum and had been doing it for at least a century. Or at least it seemed that way.

Parker filled Seunghyun’s vacated spot at the coffee machine and set it brewing. “She probably lost another email.” Seunghyun just raised an eyebrow in question. “She insists on writing out her emails in text documents and having her assistant email them. And no matter how many times I explain it to her she just does it the same way. I don’t think she could even open her Outlook if it didn’t open on its own. And with Ms. Mikyung out on vacation this month - ” He sighed in exasperation.

Seunghyun grunted. For once he got what Parker was complaining about. He knew very little about computers but people assumed that at his age he understood their mystic ways. Grunting, nodding and meaningful gazes helped him maintain the facade of competence, but even he knew one was supposed to use the little blue ‘O’ icon to send emails and not the little notepad. The little notepad just saved things on the - he thought of the term - local machine. He smirked to himself.

“So what has she been doing?”

“Calling me every morning to do it for her.” He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. “Every morning I go in and there is desktop full of them. All the emails saved right to the damn desktop.” He started muttering under his breath. Cursing, most likely.

“You can’t just get her to-”

“I’ve tried!” he wailed. “I’ve tried everything, but she only knows how to get to notepad on her computer.”

Seunghyun clapped a comforting hand on Parker’s shoulder. “You’ll probably want to finish fixing your coffee before you go.”

Parker opened his eyes. “Old people, man,” he said and made his coffee.

Seunghyun hummed in sympathy and wandered to his desk. Poor Parker. Ms. Shin was … not a pleasant person.

Back at the computer he propped up his list and opened up the database, adjusted the lumbar pillow his mother had insisted he have and tabbed out of the database to open up his text file.

“G-Dragon-sshi,” it said on the top line. What followed read much like he imagined one of the girls that camped outside in the mornings would write. The same but for the details.

He’d started it on a whim just to have a place that wasn’t his head for his thoughts. And it had grown to become a daily habit. Better to be obsessive and creepy where no one else could see. Best to get out his hopeless dreams in a place where rejection was impossible. The first few pages were intentionally vague but after the first week he’d been unable to restrain himself, delving into the intensely specific and deeply personal. Really, he should delete this file.

“You left yesterday,” he wrote. “You left and I didn’t think until too late that I should have kissed you goodbye. Though I probably did that on purpose. Scared, you see, of starting something that will end in heartbreak again. We’ve done that too many times, you know, broken each other’s hearts. I don’t know if I could do that again, if we could do that again.”

How many times could they come back from the brink? How many times could he shatter his heart on the sight of Jiyong’s heart breaking? Things always started off so well, magical even. Loving Jiyong was the most beautiful thing he’d ever experienced. Every time. And then -

They’d been so young the first time. Naive, inexperienced. The first time in a secret relationship for both of them but more secret than just what was required of idols.

“I keep thinking of all the times we’ve tried. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Trying to figure out what went wrong, where we went wrong.”

He returned a few times, mind spinning over the thoughts he had held in his heart for - well, he didn’t even know how long.

“I’ve probably never stopped doing that, since the first time, really.”

Jealousy they’d thought then. Jiyong was a free spirit. Seunghyun was possessive. Jiyong was a flirt, Seunghyun suspicious of the world. Controlling, Jiyong had called him then. And he had been, he could see that now, he had seen it then. But there was more to it than that. Deeper things.

“Do you ever think about it? The things that broke us up. You probably don’t. Always looking forward. Though that ed us up too.”

That had been the problem the second time. He’d thought, then, that he could deal with jealousy, insecurity, that he could just love Jiyong enough that it over-rode those feelings. But he’d spent all his time in the past, in that first round of -ups.

“That’s what you said the second time. That I thought too much about the past. I do that. I know I do. , I sound like I’m trying to convince you to get back together. I’m not. I promise I’m not.”

Why was he bothering to apologize? I’m never going to send this, what does it matter? This isn’t for Jiyong, it’s for me. He started to backspace, to erase the apology.

His therapist had said it would be helpful to start a journal. Find a place for his thoughts. He was pretty sure this wasn’t what his therapist had had in mind. His relationship with Jiyong had nothing to do with the many, many other ways his life was a mess.

Or maybe it had everything to do with it.

No. Jiyong is his own person and I am responsible for me. Boundaries, he chastised himself. Then gave himself a pat on the back. He left the apology. Because he wanted it there. He needed to remind himself that this was processing, analysis. Not trying to get back together. Because that was hopeless.

“I just want to make sense of everything.

“So I was jealous, yes. I was controlling. But not because I didn’t trust you. I was scared. I was scared of my feelings. I was scared of fame.”

They had been so, so young then. They’d thought they knew what fame would be like. Just like being trainees at YG but a little more. They’d listen to Dongwook-hung explain it. They’d watched their sunbaes live their lives in the spotlight. They’d heard the horror-stories of the DBSK-hyungs and assured themselves that the YG fans were not like the SM fans. Things would be different. Their fans would be respectful and reasonable.

Nothing had prepared them for what it had been like, back then. Overworked and spent, living like they were poor, starving and crammed in on top of one another, all the while the entire world watched them. He’d discovered a feeling he’d never known existed, that of a bug burning under the sun’s beam focused under a magnifying glass.

Surely that had enlarged everything - all the problems that tore him and Jiyong apart the first time.

It was only lately he’d been able to come to terms with it. Fame. How could he have known how to manage it then? How could Jiyong? With women and men throwing themselves at the bright shining lights of Big Bang, for the money, for the fame, for the glory and their name. Not really for them - but knowing and understanding that were two different things when they’d been burning in the sun.

“It took us - me - a long time to work through that. I think I’m starting to, now. Things have been better - and worse really than ever - but I think I can get better at it, now that I know it isn’t really you I’m scared for, it isn’t really you I’m jealous over.

“I think it’s important to understand these things. Know them.

“I’m sure you’d mock me for it. Or maybe you wouldn’t. You aren’t as harsh as you were back then. Maybe as I’ve eased up you’ve chilled out a bit too. Maybe that is part of growing up, you think?”

He sat, thinking more thoughts but not writing. Somehow, things were starting to make more sense. This therapy thing - maybe it was what it was cracked out to be. That reminded him. He reached into his pocket for his packet of medication. He really should set a timer but - he tossed them back and resumed staring at the screen.

He pulled up his email and groaned. There was always more and he hated it so he started deleting the spam. Down a ways was an email from Daesung, he pulled it open.

“Hey hyung, I managed to get this from Ji’s mom! In case you want to send him any messages. Be good, tho, apparently there’s no one single email for him. It goes to his squad so like, nothing too crazy cuz people might see it. It’s apparently printed then given to him.”

Seunghyun copied the email address from Daesung’s message and pasted it to the top of the open document. He’d jot it down before he went home, for later. It would be good to message regularly.

That’s enough for today. He had actual work to do before the first class he was scheduled to assist with. He saved and closed out of the document and opened up the database he should have been working on the whole time.

The afternoon was rushed chaos. Apparently their little ceramics room had been double booked. So it was that Seunghyun didn’t make it back to his office before the end of the day and by the time it was all over, he’d just stumbled out to the car waiting for him. He didn’t even have the energy to protest as his mother nagged him all the way home.

 

It had been a few weeks and he settled into a routine - a routine without Jiyong but that couldn’t be helped. Work at the museum was nice if undemanding. He wasn’t sure exactly how to take it, really. Work and nearly unmanagable levels of stress seemed sonymous.

It was quiet, today, no classes, a few names to log. He pulled up and read through the letter and what it obviously represented about his ability to cope.

If he were to ask Daesung, he’d probably advise talking about it. He’d offer himself, of course, or worse, suggest bringing it up in therapy. Seunghyun shuddered. Knowing Daesung and how well Daesung knew him, he’d then suggest online searches for healthy coping strategies.

Seunghyun snorted. Everyone knew the internet was only good for .

Well, and art blogs, of course.

Yeah, no, he’d stick to writing his letter to Jiyong that he’d never mail. Dump all the feelings he couldn’t face any way else onto a nice, cold machine so that he could ignore them at all other times in peace.

Seunghyun was nothing if not deeply committed to following his instincts. And his instincts said keep it all to the letter. He’d started it on a whim when he’d first started working at the museum and whimsy had never yet led him astray.

It was, after all, a whim that had made him kiss Jiyong that first time. And that other time…. And that other time.

Refusing to follow those thoughts to their illogical conclusions he mentally thanked Imaginary Daesung for his advice. Seunghyun was going to miss ignoring his sage counsel over the next few years. Which reminded him -

He fished out his phone and sent a text to Seungri inquiring about farewell plans for Daesung. It was, after all, only a few days until he left. Surely the maknae hadn’t forgotten. They’d done something for all the other enlistments.

Seungri’s response was - terse, and emoji filled. Scowling, he pulled up the main group chat with all the members. He’d ignored it since Youngbae’d left as there was no sense being in a chatroom with half the people in it inaccessible.

Message after message from Seungri scrolled by, pestering him about getting together for Daesung’s farewell, and Daesung commiserating with him that hyung was probably very busy.

He informed Seungri that it was his own fault Seunghyun hadn’t responded for not texting him personally and depending on group-chat. He graciously offered his home, again, for a going away dinner. Seungri was snarky in his reply and Seunghyun glared at his phone.

Honestly, why would he check an almost empty group chat? Silly Seungri.

With a sigh he closed out the day’s letter with a couple gripes over Seungri.

“I miss you. I love you,” his fingers typed. He stared at the words, finger hovering over the backspace key. He shook his head and just closed the program, clicking yes when prompted. He did want to save.

 

Daesung slept over for a last time. Seungri had as well but had passed out almost as soon as he curled into a ball on Seunghyun’s couch.

“Poor maknae,” Daesung said, opting for the other couch and waving for Seunghyun to dim the lights.

“Poor maknae, my ,” Seunghyun said. But he did dim the lights before joining Daesung on the couch with a bottle of wine and a couple glasses.

He left the wine on the coffee table and laid on the couch, plopping his head in Daesung’s lap. Daesung casually began to thread his fingers through Seunghyun’s hair, an old habit, one Seunghyun would miss.

“So,” Daesung said after long enough that Seunghyun was beginning to doze. “You didn’t tell him.” Seunghyun blinked up at him in confusion.

“Tell him?”

“Jiyong,” Daesung said and he leaned forward, dislodging Seunghyun so he could pour the wine, now properly decanted.

Seunghyun sat and eyed Daesung. “Tell Jiyong what?”

“That you want to try again.” Daesung settled back and looked at Seunghyun over the top of his wine glass. Apparently he wouldn’t wait for Seunghyun to bring it all up. He cursed Daesung’s perceptiveness and sighed.

“I don’t even know if I want to try again. It never worked out for a reason.”

Daesung drank and then sat, contemplating. Seunghyun leaned forward to pour a drink for himself.

“We were all so young, back then,” he said and Seunghyun nodded.

“Basically kids,” he agreed. At thirty, nineteen seemed a lifetime away.

“We were stupid. You two were stupid.”

Seunghyun nodded again and drank. If anyone knew his and Jiyong’s exact shade of stupidity, it would be the boy, the man, who’d seen them up close, who’d picked up the pieces of their shattered hearts after the first time, and then again the second time.

“Feel like plucking us out of the depths of self-loathing a third time?” Bitterness flavored Seunghyun’s words.

“No, hyung, but I think that you both are so different now.”

“Wait, how did you even know that I was even wanting to try again?” Seunghyun felt like a very important part of this conversation was missing. Daesung merely looked at him flatly. “Ok, ok. Fine. Yes I still want to be with him. I still love him.” He paused. “I’ve always loved him,” he said, mostly to himself. He stared at the wine glass in his hands and slowly spun it in circles. “Even when there are other people, there is just him.”

“I know, hyung. I honestly thought you’d say something before he left. You’re just - just so in love with him.”

“That obvious?”

“To me, yeah.” He crooked his mouth in a smile. “And to Youngbae.”

“Not Seungri?”

“Oh, Seungri knows. We told him.” Affronted, Seunghyun threw a pillow at Daesung’s smirking face. “Come on, hyung, he didn’t even catch on the first time until he literally walked in on you two.”

“That damn restroom and its broken lock,” Seunghyun grumped, remembering Seungri’s literal shriek of horror upon walking into the shared dorm restroom at the exact moment he’d gotten Jiyong in the sweet spot.

Daesung laughed and repositioned the pillow to lean against. Then he thought better and placed the pillow on his lap, giving it a little pat and shooting a meaningful look at Seunghyun. He placed his glass safely on the table and curled back up - head on Daesung’s lap.

“Jiyong has changed so much this last year,” Daesung mused. “It is like something has clicked for him. He’s finally figured out the difference between G-Dragon and Jiyong.”

Seunghyun hummed an agreement. “Like he’s figured out how to be both and separate the two.”

“And he doesn’t party like he used to. He still goes out but-”

“It isn’t wild and reckless like it used to be.” Seunghyun remembered those days. They were intoxicating, alluring, and terrifying. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt the surge of fear and reckless abandon he used to feel going out drinking with Jiyong. “Most of the time he just chills on the side or in the back, watching.”

Daesung nodded and Seunghyun’s hair. “And you, hyung.”

“I’m still a freak,” Seunghyun snarked.

“Yes but, you’re calmer too,” Daesung said. “It’s hard to explain. You used to get so lost in yourself. Trapped in your head-”

“In my fears.”

“Yeah.”

He hadn’t realized it but it had been a while since he’d experienced that as well. He felt like he’d lost so much - had almost lost everything. It was like his twenties had stripped him down to the bone. “Things that used to matter so much, things that would send me into spirals of insecurity and panic just - don’t anymore.” He looked up at Daesung. “Is this growing up?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” He slumped back against the couch, warm hand falling on Seunghyun’s chest, warming his heart. “I just think, if it happened again, you wouldn’t make the mistakes you did last time. I think you both love each other-”

“Both?”

“Yes, I think - I know Jiyong loves you, too.”

A fist clamped Seunghyun’s heart tight. He suspected, he hoped, but he was so scared of deluding himself again.

“I’m scared, Dae. We’ve ed up so many times.”

“I know. And, believe me, I know how bad it can get when it’s bad. I just -” he paused, “you look at each other like Bae-hyung and Hyorin-noona but more, even, because you’ve known each other longer. And - the way you talk now it’s-”

“It’s like you know how to listen,” Seungri said, voice raw with sleep.

“I thought you were sleeping,” Seunghyun said, feeling embarrassed.

Seungri tilted his head to look at Seunghyun. “I think Daesung’s right. You don’t talk to each other like you used to. Used to just talk like you knew what each other was saying. Now it’s like you actually listen.”

“What do you know, you had to see us ing to know we were dating the first time,” Seunghyun said.

Seungri glared at him. “Thanks for the reminder.” He groaned as he stood. “Whatever. You two belong together. It’s going to happen eventually.” He shuffled down towards the bedrooms. “And at least if you breakup again - we know how to hold the group together while you both turn into blubbering messes.”

“Idiot,” Daesung hissed at Seungri’s back right before it disappeared down the hallway. “Don’t listen to him, but yes, he’s right.”

“I don’t think so Dae. I keep almost doing it. Almost confessing. Almost starting over and something keeps holding me back. Telling me it isn’t right. If it was right I would have done it already.”

“Maybe that’s just you getting stuck in your head, in your fear again.”

“I don’t know, Dae. I just don’t know.”

Maybe Daesung was right. Maybe it was just fear - a rational fear though. No sane person put their hand easily back on a burner having burned themselves twice, no matter how much their friends assured that it was off. He wanted - he thought of Jiyong, the way he felt in Seunghyun’s arms before falling asleep, the way he’d giggle at Seunghyun’s jokes early in the morning, the way he hummed happily as he ate food when only Seunghyun was around, the way he’d always know just how to touch Seunghyun to pull him out of himself. He remembered the agony of them falling apart, drowning in anger and resentment and loathing. He fell asleep with Daesung fingers through his hair, heart in turmoil and head confused and despairing.

 

The next morning, he felt resolved. His gut told him that the letter was obviously a bad idea. A terrible idea. It had been trying to tell him that since the moment he started the letter, he realized. Why did he always wrestle with whether or not he should even write it? Obviously if it were a good idea he wouldn’t constantly be questioning it.

He would never get over Jiyong, never move on if he didn’t actually move on. He was spending too much time pining over Jiyong, living in those feelings, living in hope. Jiyong had been right, Seunghyun spent too much time in the past and it was time to end that, else what good was their separation. Two years should be long enough to move on, get free. Free from the soul-destroying need to be together.

Daesung - and Seungri - had both sounded so sure but Seunghyun had woken unconvinced. And that was a sign. Time to say goodbye.

“Always so dramatic,” he chastised himself. He’d got it from Jiyong, he tried to reason. Must be ually transmitted, he thought and he smirked at himself.

Without giving himself time to stop and think he grabbed the email and dragged it to the recycle bin, deleting it forever.

 

No one had ever told Seunghyun about emptying the recycle bin.

 

 

---

 

 

---

 

 

Jiyong collapsed into his pile of blankets, sleep enticingly close, shimmering at the edges of his mind. Every muscle in his body ached and felt too warm. Well used - that’s what he’d called it.

It had been tough, at first. He’d missed the smell of his own room, the comforting pressure of Ayi curled up on his chest, listening to the gentle rumble of his purrs. But for all his enormous bed with its ‘best sleep money could buy’ technology and 1000 thread-count sheets, exhaustion was its own kind of sleep aid. No tossing and turning for hours, mind restlessly flitting from new song to new song, to the CEO’s demands, to whoever it was his mind had decided to obsess over lately. Seunghyun.

His mind blipped to Seunghyun as he had looked in the hallway, the night before he enlisted. It replayed the sound of Seunghyun’s voice, low and raw, saying, “goodnight”.

Jiyongs limbs melted into the cot and his mind slowed down to a crawl, Seunghyun slipping from memory to dream.

“You aren’t going to say it, are you,” Seunghyun said to his door and Jiyong opened the guest room door. “I guess I’ll have to, then.”

“Have to what?” Jiyong asked, turning to look up at him. The darkness rolled back to show his face, young and soft, the hair brushing his brows a dull blond. Jiyong had always loved that color. “Say what?” he asked and his hand brushed back the soft bangs of Seunghyun’s hair.

“ words,” Seunghyun said and wrapped Jiyong in his long arms pressing them close together. They were kissing, laying on Seunghyun’s bed. Seunghyun kept making those small grunting sounds that drove Jiyong insane; a half-growl that punctuated the end of every kiss as he lifted his head to look at Jiyong before swooping down for more.

Hands, it felt like Seunghyun had a dozen hands. He was being from shoulder to hip and fingers ran through his hair, grabbing fistfulls at his nape, pulling his neck back, exposing him for Seunghyun’s hungry lips.

With a shift of his hips, Jiyong pushed Seunghyun over onto his back and straddled his hips. He sat back on his heels, feeling Seunghyun’s pressed up against his . Jiyong rocked his hips, fire spreading in his own at the sound of Seunghyun’s groan.

With a blink Jiyong looked up. There was a window over the bed. He furrowed his brow. When had Seunghyun put that in? Moving his bathroom to the other side of the house must have cost a fortune.

Jiyong narrowed his eyes. Seungri was running across the yard behind Seunghyun’s house dressed in full military get-up.

“He hasn’t enlisted yet,” Jiyong said.

Seunghyun groaned and Jiyong looked down to see Seunghyun and at his exposed chest. He shook his head and gripped Seunghyun by the shoulders, pulling him back. Seunghyun looked up at him, lips red and raw and so, so full, hair standing up every which direction, a black mop on the top of his head.

His eyes - Jiyong wanted to drown in those eyes. He was so in love, looking at Jiyong like he was life itself.

“Say the words,” Jiyong begged, but he was begging himself. Seunghyun smiled up at him, face unchanged. “Why didn’t you say the words?” he cried.

Jiyong was looking up at Seunghyun. He was on the floor, he could feel the rough texture of the dark floor carpet underneath him. A hotel room, but a cheap one. Banal floral curtains framed Seunghyun, towering over him, a swirl of pink and beige and innocuous green.

Jiyong felt small, childlike, he was shrinking as Seunghyun grew. Unable to look up anymore, he looked away.

This wasn't how that night had gone. Wasn't it?

Seunghyun was yelling, incensed. Accusations rained down on him, mingling with his tears. Cheating, neglect, apathy, a litany of unforgivable sins.

They had been kissing - they had been and laughing, hadn’t they? He looked up, taking a risk. The world seemed to haze around the spectre of Seunghyun’s face, contorted in rage. He couldn’t hear the words Seunghyun shouted. Seunghyun's blue hair was in disarray.

"He needs to touch up the roots," Jiyong thought wildly, no longer hearing Seunghyun's words.

"No!" he shouted around the panic and fear clamping down on his heart. "No, this isn't how it happened!" But Jiyong couldn't remember how it had happened. He shook his head in confusion and stood to run, away from the terrible room, away from Seunghyun's anger, away from the hurt. His heart pounded in his chest, a thunder that echoed the fall of his feet on concrete.

"Hyung!" he shouted, panting as he pounded at the front door. The street behind him was dimly lit but still warm from the heat of the day, a heat that had seeped into his shoes. His feet felt like they were melting, soft jelly sliding down onto the landing. "Seunghyun, open the door!"

The door opened and Seunghyun’s dog greeted him. “Charlie?” he asked. The dog wagged his tail and jumped up on him, his face with effervescent joy. “Charlie where’s your hyungie? Where’s Seunghyun?”

The darkness from the street fell into Seunghyun’s foyer, spilling into and obliterating the light. Sick dread twisted Jiyong’s stomach. He shouldn’t be able to see, Seunghyun’s home was dark as pitch. It was a living, pulsing weight bearing down on him. He stepped into the living room.

“Jiyong.” He heard Seunghyun’s voice call his name, tone warm and soft, a whisper. “Ji-”

Jiyong finished sinking into the floor, held fast by marble, unable to enter any further. Seunghyun’s body lay sprawled on the floor of his living room, limbs askew, a heap that twisted Jiyong’s stomach around. He opened his mouth to shout for Seunghyun, to wake him up, to get him up, but no words came out. He gasped and no air came in.

Get up, Seunghyun, get up!

Seunghyun lay there, a collapsed heap of a body, discarded doll, forgotten, abandoned. Eternally out of Jiyong’s reach as he struggled to move his legs. Jiyong’s heart galloped in his chest. He tried, fought, screamed, cried and begged without sound. He was going to explode, he was -

Jiyong jerked up from his cot, limbs bound by the blanket twisted around him. He was drenched in sweat. Turning his head, he spit out the pillow he’d held clenched in his teeth.

“Hey,” a whisper pulled his focus and he narrowed his eyes in the dimness. “Hey, you ok?”

“What?” Jiyong fought through the confusion shrouding his mind. “Dongwoo?” His bunkmate smiled at him and nodded.

A tentative hand pressed on his forehead. They weren’t that close, he and Dongwoo, yet the racing of his heart began to slow, the tension in his body began to ease. “Should I take you to the infirmary?” Dongwoo asked.

Jiyong shook his head and sat up. Dongwoo removed his hand and Jiyong felt a small pang of loss. Pushing it aside, he threw his legs over the edge of his cot. “Is it my turn for watch?”

“Yea, but -” Dongwoo’s fingers fluttered nervously as if he were unsure what to do with his hands. Jiyong gave him a reassuring smile and gripped his hand, using it to stand. “I could cover your shift, tell them you’re sick. I don’t mind doing a double.”

“Nah.” Jiyong had no intention of getting a reputation for shirking. “No, I can go, just give me a bit.”

Dongwoo waited patiently as Jiyong gathered himself and changed, hovering just in case Jiyong really was sick and needed help, he supposed. People couldn’t seem to help themselves, it seemed. Everyone had to treat him differently one way or another. Jiyong gave himself a mental shake. He was being unfair. There was no saying Dongwoo wouldn’t do the exact same thing for someone else.

At least Dongwoo was nice. Honestly, the nicest guy in his group. It was just going to take a while to adjust, for him and the squad. The nightmare was just making him paranoid. Or more paranoid than usual.

He gave Dongwoo a smile and, slipping his feet into his shoes, stood and headed for the door. Dongwoo walked beside him and Jiyong gave him a look. “Just thought,” he stammered, then looked away, “maybe you’d want company,” he finished in a whisper.

Jiyong made his smile large and earnest. “Sure.”

Jiyong pulled his blanket tight over his sleeping mat and tiptoed out of the room, so as not to disturb the rest of his squad.

He was met with a stack of paper as soon as he walked by the office at the front of the barracks. “Here.” A staffer shoved the stack into his hands.

Confused, he looked down. “What’s-”

“Your fanmail.” The staffer did not look pleased. “It’s filling up the squad’s email account and we have to print every one of them.”

“Oh,” Jiyong said, and looked about, abashed.

“Yeah, that’s a lot of paper. And there’s more. Filling up even as we speak.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not his fault,” Dongwoo piped up. “It’s not his fault other people are sending him mail!”

Jiyong bowed low, clutching the stack of papers and kicking at Dongwoo’s ankle. “I’m very sorry, I will see what I can do about it.”

The staffer sniffed and turned back into the office.

“It isn’t your fault,” Dongwoo said. Jiyong appreciated having a supporter but-

“I know but if you make a big deal it just makes it worse,” Jiyong said. Dongwoo looked confused. “If I protest it looks like I’m arguing, being difficult.”

“Oh.”

“Better to just apologize.” Holding his stack of letters he made his way up to the guard station he was assigned to for night duty, Dongwoo falling in beside him.

“I guess,” he said after a few yards, “I guess you would have more experience with stuff like this.”

“People don’t like it when celebrities are difficult or full of themselves.”

“Yeah,” Dongwoo said. “Still it isn’t fair for you to get blamed.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jiyong huffed a chuckle. “But I’m sure that staffer would say my fancy car made it more than fair.”

“What kinda car?”

Jiyong blushed and ducked his head. “Lamborghini Aventador,” he said, cheeks burning.

Dongwoo whistled. “Yeah, I guess it’s fair then,” he said.

Jiyong laughed out loud. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“I guess that happens to you a lot then? People getting mad at you for things you didn’t do.”

Jiyong snorted, thinking about his endless scandals. “I mean - have you read the things they print about me?”

“Not - really?” Dongwoo kicked at the dirt as they walked and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Mostly I like your music but I don’t pay much attention to celebrities.”

“Which song do you like most?” Jiyong felt greedy.

“Blue,” Dongwoo fired out as soon as Jiyong asked. “And That XX, too.” Jiyong nodded, sagely. “I lost my ity to Love Song.”

“What!?” Jiyong nearly dropped the stack of papers in his arms.

“Sorry! Sorry, too much.” Dongwoo was so red as to be almost purple, flush reaching down his neck and up to his ears. “I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry.” He bowed almost in two and Jiyong reached a hand out to cup his shoulder.

“S’ok,” Jiyong said, gripping his stack of mail precariously with one hand. “Just - I’m going to log in for my watch.” He left Dongwoo to his embarrassment and walked into the station to relieve the guard who’d been holding Dongwoo’s post temporarily during the switch.

Technically Jiyong was supposed to relieve Dongwoo on his own but the last couple times he’d been late - nightmares had been a plague all throughout basic and they were starting to get worse. Rather than report him, get him in trouble, Dongwoo had somehow convinced another guard to cover his spot so Dongwoo could wake Jiyong personally. It was a small kindness but one Jiyong appreciated.

Waving the guard goodbye, Jiyong sat at the empty desk and wrote his name and the time in the log. Dongwoo came in and stood, nervously fidgeting in front of the desk as Jiyong hunted around for a file folder. Safely stashing the folder with his emails he turned to Dongwoo who’d managed to regain his composure. “I’m going to make a round.”

“Do you - do you want company?”

He gave a small nod and smile. “You know,” Jiyong said as he closed up the station, locking it with the key he took from the hook on the wall by the door, “when I relieve you, it means you can go back and sleep.”

“Oh, I know-” Dongwoo stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I just thought you might like the company? After?”

“I am ok,” Jiyong reassured. And he was. He wasn’t going to begrudge a burgeoning friendship, though. “But you can join me if you want.” Dongwoo beamed at him. “You should go after the first round though, get some sleep.”

Dongwoo nodded and fell in to step beside Jiyong.

 

Once the round was done and Dongwoo gone, Jiyong sat at the desk in the office and began scrolling through reports mindlessly. Nothing seemed amiss so he pulled out the folder with his emails and began reading them. It may be trite, or ridiculous, but he treasured every little bit of fanmail he got, even the ones he couldn’t read.

A little stack of emails in foreign languages was set to the side, to be saved for when he could find someone to translate. He could do well enough with English, he could fight through the Japanese, sometimes, but some of them would just be impossible. Though, not even Daesung could read Japanese at length without a headache.

He ruffled through the pages, not reading them in order but rather pulling sheets out at random. As always, reading fanmail unwound a little bit of the tension that always seemed to be spiraling around his heart. He smiled. One girl - woman actually, he amended - recounted how Flower Road had comforted her after her father’s loss. Another talked about how he’d inspired her through his struggles to work on the MADE album and now she was writing poetry again after years’ hiatus.

There were another subset - they were always a bit unsettling but he’d learned to see them as the compliment they were, though it would never be exactly comfortable to read explicit descriptions of exactly how some fans would show their appreciate for… his work.

Cheeks flushed, he flipped through to a letter with the questionable grammar of someone using an online translator to convert into Korean. These were always special.

Coming too, he realized he’d spent too long distracted. He tucked the letters away and set to work.

 

It was nearly morning when his shift finally ended. Not enough time to get back to sleep but enough time for an extra bit of time in the shower before the rest of the squad woke up.

Stepping into the barracks, he quickly retrieved a change of clothes and his shower gear, making sure to make as little noise as possible. He picked his way back through the sleeping soldiers, passing Dongwoo just as he turned over. Sleepy eyes parted for a second and focused on Jiyong. He gave a little smile and wave, short hair, impossibly, mussed. Jiyong smiled; Dongwoo looked cute when sleepy.

He made his way to the restroom then groaned as the hot water hit his back, then bit his lip. He was alone in the restroom and the sound of the water hitting the walls of his shower stall would probably mask the sound good enough but still, it wouldn’t do to get used to being noisy in the shower.

Perking his ears, he listened to ensure he really was alone. He dropped his hand, done soaping, to across his hip, inching towards his . It had been too long since he’d had any release. Certainly the rest of the squad would take time here or there to see to their needs, he was no different, surely.

Jiyong leaned against the wall of the shower, letting the water patter against the flat planes of his stomach. He closed his eyes and let his mind begin to wander.

“God, you’re so ing hot.” The memory of Seunghyun’s voice reverberating from the walls of another shower came to him. Jiyong remembered how he’d looked, platinum blond and on his knees, looking up worshipfully at him. That had been a good time.

His body began its natural response to memories of Seunghyun. For all his mind or his heart could war over whether being with Seunghyun was right, or healthy, or good, his always knew where it stood, and Seunghyun, gazing up at him, mouth him down was exactly what it wanted.

 

 

---

---

 

 

It had been a few months since Seunghyun deleted the letter. A few weeks since he’d thought about starting a new one. A few days since he’d found himself pining over Jiyong. With a grimace he chugged the last of his coffee and reset the mental timer on that last count.

Still, days was good. Days without pining meant he’d made the right choice. He was moving on. Daesung and Seungri had been wrong. That’s all there was to it.

Going to his workstation, he tossed his coffee and thumbed through the file of names to be logged from last week then went to turn on his computer.

“Uh, what the hell?”

His computer was missing. The whole thing just - gone.

He went in search of Parker, swinging by the break room on the way to grab a muffin.

“Oh, Seunghyun-sshi,” Parker said as Seunghyun leaned onto the frame of the glorified closet Parker called an office. “I meant to come down and talk to you.”

“So, I have no computer,” he drawled and raised a brow in question. His fingers plucked at his muffin and he offed a piece to Parker.

“Yeah,” Parker, waved a no then leaned back from his desk. “Ms. Shin spilled coffee over her computer and we currently don’t have any backups so I had to set her up with yours. I’m sorry.”

Seunghyun shrugged. “So no doing the logs? Oh no, what will I do?”

“Yeah, I know it is going to mess you up a bit. Hopefully the laptop I ordered for her comes in in a few days and you can get your computer back.”

“But how will I live without it?” Seunghyun snarked, grin coming naturally. “You’re going to have to make it up to me.” He let a sparkle creep into his eyes; he couldn’t stop it. Or, at least, he didn’t want to stop it. Parker was cute and Seunghyun liked flirting with cute.

Most guys usually just rolled with it dismissively, would laugh awkwardly and change the subject. The straight ones would at least.

“Yeah, well, do you like Sushi?” Parker asked, and stretched, and placed both hands behind his head. Seunghyun caught the distinct sparkle in his eye as he asked, “Lunch?. There’s a new place around the corner.”

 

Lunch was good. Conversation flowed well and the sake - well didn’t flow but was enjoyed in moderation because it was the middle of the day, afterall. Freed from doing the logs, however, he wound up spending the afternoon helping with the ceramics classes.

Days were easy, especially full ones: sleep late enough to have just enough time to get to work on time, spend the day helping helpless ajummas and starstruck fangirls make a mug then sweet talk them into buying something in the gift shop, take out the trash, clean up, meet someone for dinner (today it was his mom) and just like that a whole day would slip through his fingers.

The days of enlistment were easy. It was the nights that were hard.

Seunghyun opened the door to his empty home and kicked off his shoes. He didn’t bother with slippers, preferring to scoot around on his socks. It was the little pleasures.

And just like that he ran into it. Longing. Desire.

He remembered the night he and Jiyong had been drunk and giggly, skating around his living room, the Olympics playing on in the background. It had started with teasing that Jiyong had a crush on one of the Japanese skaters, which Jiyong vehemently denied, but nothing could dissuade Seunghyun from proving his obviously superior skating skills right then and there.

That was the thing about Jiyong, the magical thing that he loved. As ridiculous as Seunghyun ever was, as strange and child-like the paths his mind chose to meander, Jiyong would just laugh and smile at him with delight, like he’d caught the moon. No one else had been like that. Their laughs were exasperation or confusion, mockery or derision. Jiyong just enjoyed Seunghyun’s antics and sometimes joined him - to pirouette in socks beside him in his living room.

Seunghyun dropped his satchel by the door and set a bottle of wine to decant while he dug around for the tub of ice cream. Taking both, he shuffled into his recording room. It was going to be one of those nights.

“They’re all about Jiyong,” Youngbae had said on one of those rare nights it had just been the two of them hanging out. Seunghyun had mustered up the courage to share the personal album he’d been working on for a seeming eternity.

Youngbae had been right. It hadn’t been intentional but all of the songs the most intimate and personal he’d ever allowed himself to be, were all about Jiyong.

He could write about other things, he frequently did. There was a whole world of inspiration and he pulled from it greedily, but it seemed that the deepest parts of him wanted nothing more than to be in love with Jiyong.

Drinking from the bottle, he sat at the computer and pulled up the beat he’d been tinkering with. Once its rhythm filled the room he flipped open his notebook and began composing.

It was no coincidence that he’d become much more productive on the writing front once he’d gotten rid of the letter. One way or another, the feelings were going to manifest.

“You’re a drug in my veins,” he had said one night, running his fingers through Jiyong’s hair, the taste of Jiyong still on his tongue.

Jiyong had laughed in that lazy, languid way of his that only emerged post .

It had been such a cringy, stupidly romantic thing to say. “Only you can say something like that and make my heart race,” Jiyong had said.

Seunghyun lost himself in the act of creation and then, somewhere around midnight, right before he collapsed into bed, he sent a text to Parker thanking him for lunch and inviting him out for a drink.

One way or another he was going to move on.

 

Drinks turned into Dinners. Several dinners. Seunghyun had to repay Parker for getting him a swanky new computer, after all (Ms. Shin could keep the behemoth she’d taken from him).

Dinners eventually turned into actual dates. Parker was cute and charming and an amazing conversationalist who was as interested in taking things slow and easy and with as few strings attached as Seunghyun. He was also a stellar kisser.

So many points in his favor, but the largest one was that after a few weeks, Seunghyun found himself not constantly comparing him to Jiyong.

He mentally toasted himself to moving on, pointedly ignoring that it was easy to ‘move on’ when Jiyong wasn’t actively in his life.

 

They were snuggled on Seunghyun’s couch, large fluffy blanket over them, and Parker was regaling him with horror stories from his years working at the museum.

“So explain Ms. Shin’s thing with the email,” Seunghyun said.

Parker looked at him, confused.

“Something about how she has to have you send them?”

“Oh, my god, I haven’t told you all of this yet.” He dragged his hands over his face and made whimpering sounds of agony. “This is so the ing worst.”

Seunghyun laughed and wiggled to get closer to him. “Tell me.”

“Ok so, she’s like old but like there are plenty of old people at the museum and most of them have figured out how to send a damn email but her, no, not her. Did you know that when I started she couldn’t even work a computer?!”

“Like even to turn it on?”

“Ok well she could turn it on but one day she accidentally nudged my mouse and it hovered over a button and a tool-tip appeared and she freaked out and apologized if she messed up my computer.”

“No!” Seunghyun said with a perfectly calibrated level of horror. He had no clue what a tool tip was.

“Yes!” He sat forward, obviously agitated but laughing at the inanity of it all. “She wouldn’t even write emails, no. Do you know how she responded to emails?”

Seunghyun shook his head.

“She would have Mikyung print out all her emails, then she would sit and read them and hand write her response, or dictate them to Mikyung to send for her.”

“Wait, what? We can have her do that for us?”

Parker glared at him. “No, you can’t because not even Ms. Shin does it anymore.” Seunghyun pouted and got a smack on his arm. “Anyways someone apparently realized what a huge amount of time she was wasting and told her she would have to type her own emails. So somehow she has figured out how to make text documents on her desktop and she writes her emails there.”

“No, but why? She can just hit the reply button?” Seunghyun prided himself on knowing at least that much more than Ms. Shin.

“Apparently she’s been scarred for life because she did that once and the computer crashed or whatever who knows - no actually I think she accidentally replied all once and made a huge scandal over muffins, I don’t even know. ‘I do it this way and it never messes up,’” he sing-songed in a parody of her voice. “So now she just right clicks on her desktop and makes a new text document and she plucks out whatever message she has and -”

Seunghyun laughed, it was pretty spot on. “But she has to have you send them for her at the end of the day, doesn’t she? Isn’t that also a waste of time?”

“My salary isn’t as high as Mikyung’s,” he said with a shrug. “It's a step up at least. And it only takes me a couple minutes before I leave for the day. But still - did I tell you about the time she thought she got hacked?”

Seunghyun shook his head and leaned forward. “Tell, tell.” He was absolutely loving hearing stories of someone more technologically inept than himself.

“So, this was like a few weeks ago and she calls me up, all hysterical, screaming that she’s been hacked and lost all the emails she’d been working on and she needed me right this very instant or the world was going to end, Korea fall to the North and -” he waved wildly, “war was imminent or something, I don’t even know.

“Anyway, I head up there and she’s somehow lost the emails that she’d written that day. I was pretty sure she’d just accidentally deleted them but she made me run a virus scan and yeah, no hacking, no viruses. Sure enough I go and look in the Recycle Bin and she’s somehow accidentally deleted a bunch of text documents so I restore them and send them off for her and assure her that she wasn’t hacked.“

“Wait,” Seunghyun interrupted. “You did what?”

“I went into the Recycle Bin and restored the files.”

“I - I didn’t even know you could do that.” Seunghyun sank back into the couch in contemplation.

Parker laughed at him. “Wait, so you thought that you just delete it and that’s it, it’s gone forever?”

“Well, that’s what delete means doesn’t it?”

He laughed again. “Oh god what am I going to do with you techno-phobes.”

“Hey! At least I wouldn’t think that I had been hacked!”

“Alright, I guess.” He rolled his eyes but smiled and brought a tentative hand up to through Seunghyun’s hair. “You know, I don’t think I’m used to this.”

“What? Me?”

“Yeah, you, and me here.” He looked around at Seunghyun’s living room. “I never - thought - I don’t know what I am trying to say but, this is a little surreal, isn’t it? I’ve known who you are for a long time but now I know you can barely work a computer-”

“Hey!” Seunghyun protested.

“Ok you’re at least better than Ms. Shin, but, like, I actually know you now instead of just knowing about you and it’s kind of nice, if weird.”

Seunghyun shrugged. He didn’t normally like to think about his status, celebrity, this special thing that made him different from most other people. He didn’t normally hang out with non-celebrities just because the chasm sometimes felt insurmountable.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Really, you’re just Seunghyun from work but - sometimes it just hits me that I’ve known of you almost all my life and you -” His fingers toyed with the ends of Seunghyun’s hair, just over his ear.

Seunghyun leaned in to the touch, a reassurance. “Just means I get to listen to you talk a lot more. I like that.” Seunghyun did like it. It was different, common, basic but in a simple, heartwarming way. Parker lived a simple life: work, going out with friends sometimes, going home to his elderly mother, hiking on weekends. It was pleasant and full and all conducted in an obscurity that Seunghyun envied.

So very different than -

With a grimace he sat forward, breaking contact with Parker.

“Are you ok?” He asked and Seunghyun looked at him with an apologetic smile. “The ex?” he asked.

Seunghyun felt guilty, embarrassed. Parker didn’t know who the ex was, just that there was one, and that Seunghyun hadn’t completely let them go yet.

“You know, maybe - maybe there’s a reason you can’t move on.” His voice soft, patient.

“But there are even more reasons why ‘we’ are impossible.” He really let himself look at Parker, gaze into his eyes. “I’m sorry, you don’t deserve that, this, me.”

Parker moved forward and kissed him. Seunghyun leaned into the kiss, greadily pressing into him. “How about I decide what I deserve?” Parker whispered against his lips. They kissed again then broke off, foreheads pressed together. “Why don’t you make it up to me?”

Seunghyun chuckled and stood, bringing Parker up with him and pulling him back to the bedroom.

 

 

---

 

 

---

 

 

“The leg?” Dongwoo asked and Jiyong grimaced in response. He collapsed onto his bed and grunted at the shooting pain. “Here, I can-” Dongwoo moved from his bed to Jiyong’s and began to massage Jiyong’s calf and lower thigh, soft squeezes momentarily alleviating the pain.

“Yeah,” Jiyong whimpered and slumped back onto his bed, throwing a hand over his eyes. “The running assessment yesterday was terrible for my leg.”

“You should have taken Captain Yoo’s offer and sat it out.”

“The doctors cleared me for light activity.” Jiyong was still in recovery from ankle surgery but they had said he could participate in light exercises.

“Running assessments aren’t light.”

Jiyong grimaced. Dongwoo was right but he didn’t want to get in to it. He really could not afford to take any of the allowances he would be given, there’d been talk enough after his first surgery. Still, the pain was agony.

The rest of the squad was out at dinner but the pain had been so bad that he could barely eat, so he’d passed off his food to his neighbors and limped back to the barracks.

“So you not eating?” he asked and Dongwoo gave a soft hum. It wasn’t uncommon but there were times when Dongwoo chose to remain on his own - away from the rest of the squad. It was curious and he couldn’t quite figure out why. He seemed to get along well with the squad, and he’d never heard anyone bad-talking him, but - “So do you not get along with the rest of the squad?”

“What do you mean?” Dongwoo sounded confused and Jiyong opened his eyes to look at him.

“I mean - I dunno but you don’t seem really close with any of them except me and you didn’t go to dinner tonight - or other times-”

“Oh.” Dongwoo shifted to lean against the wall beside Jiyong’s bed, pulling Jiyong’s legs into his lap to continue massaging, but distractedly as he thought before he spoke. “I didn’t really think anyone had even noticed.”

“I mean you aren’t rude or anything-” Jiyong clarified, “I just noticed that you seem a bit distant from them. I thought I’d be the one that didn’t quite fit in but -” he realized what he’d said and rushed to clarify, “not that you don’t fit in but, like, I dunno, it’s like you keep a wall between you and them.”

“No, you’re right, I do.”

“They all seem to like you, though. At least I’ve never heard them say anything about you.”

“That’s good at least.”

Jiyong pursed his lips and watched Dongwoo for a bit. “So-”

“I just don’t usually fit in most places. Especially with other guys -” he paused as if about to say more, then lapsed into silence.

“Other- guys?” Jiyong asked, prying into the spaces between Dongwoo’s words.

“I have never really meshed well with certain types of guys.”

An assortment of previously unconnected facts about Dongwoo settled into place in Jiyong’s mind as they finally linked together. Dongwoo had blushed and demurred when the guys started swapping stories about their ual conquests; he had protested that he’d never kissed a girl and yet Jiyong distinctly remembered him talking about a first time; he’d always looked so uncomfortable when the squad started detailing the charms of various girl groups and digging at Jiyong to give up details or salacious stories.

“There are a lot of other types of guys that I work with,” Jiyong said, coding his language and hoping Dongwoo got it.

“Other?”

“Yeah they wouldn’t get along with most of the guys here. They don’t like talking about girls or things like that. Most of them like partying in Itaewon.”

Dongwoo’s blinked, recognizing Jiyong naming the hub of Seoul’s queer nightlife as a message. Realizing what Jiyong was saying, the tension that had been holding him together seemed to release in an instant. He smiled softly. Jiyong smiled back and gave his hand a little pat for comfort.

Jiyong had lost track of how many times he’d had this kind of conversation and it was never easy but one thing was universal to all of them: the absolute release that came when a queer person knew they were safe to be themselves. He mourned a little bit for the state of the world.

“Yeah-” he paused, unsure if he really wanted to follow through but then his mouth spoke for him, “sometimes I like partying there too.”

Dongwoo blinked again, taken aback as he understood exactly what it was Jiyong was saying.

“But I thought - you are always in the news for dating models or idols.”

“Oh I’ve dated them.”

“But-” he paused, “beards?”

Jiyong shook his head. “My heart does whatever it wants,” he said with a laugh.

“Oh.”

Jiyong pulled his legs off Dongwoo’s lap and sat up fully. “Come on, there’s still a little bit of time, you should eat.”

Dongwoo chuckled and nodded, moving to let Jiyong stand. Jiyong swung his legs off the bed and stood then collapsed with a scream, his ankle just giving up and shooting spikes of pain through the rest of his body.

“, Ji!” Dongwoo scooped Jiyong up, arms going under his shoulders. “This is bad?”

“No ,” Jiyong said and moved to try to stand again but Dongwoo held him down.

“No, I think you shouldn’t stand on it again.”

“I just moved too fast last time, I’ll go slow.”

“I think you are gonna go to the infirmary and you’re going to do it on my back.”

“No, it’s ok.” Jiyong hated to be a figurative burden on anyone, to literally be carried on someone’s back.

“No, seriously, I’m going to take you to the infirmary.”

“I’ll go there myself.” Stubbornly, Jiyong pushed himself out of Dongwoo’s arms and managed to stand. Gingerly he took a step and whimpered. “‘Woo,” he said, capitulating.

Dongwoo was there in an instant, hoisting Jiyong onto his back and walking to the infirmary like Jiyong weighed nothing.

 

So it was going to have to be surgery, again. Jiyong had been suspecting it and yet it was still distressing. He didn’t like when his body revealed its frailty. Still, if surgery would make the constant pain in his leg subside, if it would ensure he could keep performing after his military service, then surgery it would be.

Dongwoo had become particularly attentive after their conversation and Jiyong found himself with the beginnings of a little crush. They happened from time to time. He couldn’t help but fall for people that tried to care for him.

Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to wait long, only a few days. He dreaded having to call his mother who would then probably call YG who’d let it slip to news sites and then the whole world would know.

“Sometimes it being famous,” he griped, staring at the phone like it was a snake. “Can I just not call my mom?”

Dongwoo, who had volunteered to accompany him during his trip to the hospital gave him a sympathetic look. “Is she the type to freak out?”

“No, not really. I just don’t want the news to start going nuts when they find out.”

“Why would they go nuts? You need the surgery. You could wind up unable to walk properly without it.”

“Have you ever interacted with Netizens?” Jiyong laughed cynically. “They don’t care about reality.” He sighed. “The accusations of favoritism are going to be non-stop.”

“But if my ankle was as bad as yours I’d get leave and surgery just like you.”

“Yeah-” he shrugged, “they don't care. All they see is G-Dragon and ‘time off’.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jiyong looked at him and gave him a smile. Dongwoo gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder and Jiyong felt the tell-tale flutter in his chest.

“Alright, I’m gonna do this.”

Dongwoo nodded and stepped away. “I’ll go get the car.”

Jiyong squared his shoulders and called his mom. That done, he walked slowly to join Dongwoo, thinking about what it was he was feeling. He gave a gentle prod at his heart. It took a little digging but eventually, his feelings for Seunghyun bubbled to the surface. He’d spent so much of his life loving Seunghyun, even when he hated the very sight of him he’d loved him.

Part of him suspected - knew - Seunghyun felt the same. Life had taught them, however, that feelings were almost never enough.

He tried to remember the reasons why they’d broken up but they seemed so inconsequential now, though a part of him knew that there were very large things keeping them from ever being together, when drowning in his feelings it was hard to see those things as real. But they were real, as much as his heart tried to cover them up.

The war between his heart and mind felt like a never-ending struggle. And then there was Dongwoo. Not Dongwoo the person, but what he represented: a future with another person. Jiyong had dated and loved but the spectre of Seunghyun overshadowed almost all of those relationships.

Things had been falling into an easy routine, well, easy for the military. Away from Seunghyun’s constant presence he could start to forget, maybe, could stop worrying at his longing like a sore tooth. Then, when he got out he could, maybe, fall back into the camaraderie, the friendship he and Seunghyun had been crafting.

Coward, he told himself. And it was true. He was a coward. He’d been a coward the night before enlistment but that was for the best. It was the right choice. This path that he and Seunghyun had opted for seemed to give them everything, each other in their lives, companions, friends, brothers but also the possibility for a more acceptable life, one more palatable to the society that demanded so much from them.

He tucked his feelings away and stood on the steps of the military hospital, waiting for Dongwoo to bring the car around.

 

The surgery was set for a few days out, and his recovery would be longer, this time.

“Two whole weeks!” he whined to the empty room he’d been assigned. It was small and sparse, only a hospital bed with a small side table and chair in a room that could hold literally nothing else. There was a gentle knock at the door and he yelled, “come in!”

Dongwoo stuck his head in before stepping all the way in and closing the door behind him. “So you’re all set, right?”

Jiyong nodded and reclined on the pillows on his bed. “Yeah, I should be going in at like seven tomorrow morning. I don’t even know what I’m going to do stuck in this room for two weeks.”

“Well, there’s the therapy. Also,” Dongwoo slung the backpack he’d had over his shoulder down onto the bed at Jiyong’s feet and ped it. “So even though the army made that announcement, you’re still getting emails.”

Jiyong groaned. “No, don’t say that.”

“Well, there aren’t as many?” That fact did not make Jiyong feel any better. Then a wave of guilt washed over him. He shouldn’t begrudge any fan that wanted to reach out to him. Really, he loved them all, deeply. He owed so much to them and their words telling him how deeply he mattered to them had pulled him out of some of the darkest times of his life. Still.

“Maybe they’ll all get it out of their system soon and then the poor staffers that have to print them all will get a break.”

“You can hope,” Dongwoo teased. He handed Jiyong a 3-inch thick folder straining to contain all the letters. “At least reading them will keep you busy while you’re stuck here.”

“Yeah, it’s either this or daytime television,” he said with a wave at the small television mounted to the wall beside the door.

“At least you have a tv?”

“You know, you’re annoying me,” Jiyong teased with a grin and Dongwoo grinned back.

“Yeah, I know.” Dongwoo laughed then patted Jiyong’s shoulder. “I’ll try to visit and bring guys from the squad from time to time. I think you can get regular visitors here, too.”

“Oh, yeah, I can.” Jiyong’s mother had vowed to be in every day to make sure he was doing ok. He idly wondered if Seunghyun might come visit.

“Alright, well I’ll let you rest.”

Jiyong gave his leg a little pat and they shared a look before Dongwoo left.

He curled into the bed and opened up the folder to begin reading, guilt and embarrassment slipping away as he let himself bask in the love of his fans.

 

Sometime around ten he came to, he must have passed out shortly after the nurses came to take his dinner tray. He wiped at his mouth, smacking his lips as he tried to wake up a little bit. Well, he’d messed up his sleep pattern by napping so late, so there was no chance he’d be able to sleep again for several hours.

“You’ve gone soft,” he told himself. Gone were the days he could sleep the instant he laid down, though that was probably good as it meant he wasn’t going days without sleep.

He grabbed the folder of his letters that he’d started reading and flipped through towards the middle, reading at random.

“I remember the time we went to get Sushi that night in Japan. You looked so beautiful as you watched the chef prepare each dish.”

Jiyong’s blood was racing in his veins and panic squeezed on his heart. This was not a fan letter. He ruffled through the pages, fingers trembling. There seemed to be a dozen closely typed pages - all one letter. He flipped to what seemed to be the first page. The address was general@ycm . kr which told him nothing. He read back over where he’d first started then flipped back to the first page of the letter then through the many pages of the letter to what seemed to be the last page. His heart gave a pang as he recognized the icon and graphic. Yongsan Crafts Museum. Somehow, a letter from Seunghyun had come from a general email account.

He returned to the paragraph he’d begun reading.

I know I was supposed to be watching him too, he’s supposed to be a master. But I guess I didn't watch him at all because I don’t even remember what he looked like or what the rest of restaurant even looked like. All I remember is the way your eyes lit up, the way you smiled and pressed your wrist to the side of your mouth like you do when you’re trying to not smile -

He closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath around the sharp pain in his heart. This, after all the decisions he’d made earlier, was exactly what he did not need. He did not need to be confronted by Seunghyun’s feelings, stark on a cold page in text generated by a machine.

Helpless, he flipped to the beginning of the letter and began to read the whole thing.

 

---

 

 

---

 

Seunghyun sat in his living room, staring at his phone until it went dark.

“Hey,” Parker’s voice called him out of his thoughts and he looked up. Parker paused mid step then put his foot down but didn’t come closer. “Hey, are you ok?”

Seunghyun blinked and looked down at his phone. “My ex is having surgery.”

Suddenly, Parker was there, hand taking his. “Is it serious?”

“No.” Seunghyun gave him a sardonic grin. “No, it’s just ankle surgery. He had a surgery a few months ago but its still giving him troubles.”

“So - why are you sitting here in the half-dark staring at nothing?”

“Well, all surgery is dangerous,” Seunghyun said, deflecting.

“Yeah - but -”

“But.” Seunghyun had to finally confront what it was he’d been avoiding for so long. “I don’t know, he is a big baby when he’s sick and always wants pampering and cuddles. The princess.”

“Seunghyun-”

He dragged his hands over his face. “Parker, I don’t know what to do or what I want. Do I love him? Yes. But is love enough? I don’t think so. And I don’t really know that I want to find out how not enough it is.”

“And yet you’re sitting here.” Seunghyun nodded. He was just sitting here, paralyzed over a stupid ankle surgery. All his hard work moving on ended because of a stupid ankle surgery. Which, to be fair had been reset by the last ankle surgery.

Parker settled in next to him, warm and solid. “You should go see him.” Seunghyun scoffed. “No really, you’re bandmates, it wouldn’t look bad.”

Seunghyun gaped at him and Parker rolled his eyes. “Seunghyun, it is obvious. You didn’t hide who it was really well.”

“.”

“Well, no, maybe you did, I didn’t figure it out until a couple weeks ago but after knowing you, it could only be one person.”

Seunghyun did not feel reassured and that was part of the larger problems facing them.

“I should go see him.” Seunghyun was trying to convince himself it was a good idea. Maybe a week ago, when he’d felt he was moving on, he could have gone and visited Jiyong in the hospital, back when his feelings were nicely sublimated in ing Parker on the regular. But then, it was the hospital visit that had slapped him in the face with his feelings so - maybe there was no reality in which Jiyong could be hurt and Seunghyun could just be a close friend, could be anything but a lovesick ex-lover. “But what if I confess,” he whispered, giving voice to his deepest fear.

“Well, then maybe he feels the same way?”

“But then what?”

“Then maybe you get back together.” Seunghyun groaned. “Why would that be a bad thing?”

“Because I’m terrified.”

“Are you going to live your life like that? Scared?”

“No I’m gonna keep dating and ing you.”

“Well, as delightful as that is-” Parker let a touch of heat slip into his voice, “and while I wouldn’t mind because I’m an easy that way - is it what you want forever and ever? I’ll move on some day and someone else will take my place? Someone that isn’t him?”

“Yes.” Seunghyun tried for certainty. “Yes, and one day I’ll spend a whole life with someone and it will feel full and wonderful.”

“You know you could be right. Heck it could even be with me. I like you - a lot - I could probably love you given a bit more time. I like the way our life goes and I bet I could be ok being your well-kept secret.” Seunghyun gave him a look. “A very well-kept secret,” he said, giving a little wiggle of his wrist at the watch Seunghyun had gifted him on their last date.

Seunghyun knew very well that Parker had no clue and cared even less how much the watch cost and hadn’t even bothered to try to pronounce the name of the designer correctly. He gave an affectionate laugh.

“You know I could like that. How are you not jealous?”

Parker gave a self-deprecating smile. “I dunno. I’m just not. I’m not competing with anyone. I’m here if you want me here. I like you. You seem to like me. If that changes, we go back to chit-chatting at work and that’s that.”

They sat in silence and Seunghyun let himself slip in under Parker’s arm. “I’m going to go see him,” he said after a while. “I don’t know what will happen. Or what to do about us.”

“Oh, us is easy. If you get back together, then just don’t call me for your Saturday night booty-call and I’ll see you Monday.”

“Ya!” Seunghyun yelped in outrage. “It isn’t that easy.”

“Yeah, it is. I’m going to make it that easy. Pick the life that you want and have the courage to live it. And if it is just booty-calls and fantastic s-” Parker flicked his hair in an arrogant preen, “well I won’t blame you.”

“You are really good.”

“I know I am. So-” he stood, “are you going to go get some food with me before we do the fantastic thing or we gonna skip right to that?”

Seunghyun rolled his eyes and stood, walking to the foyer to get his shoes. “Food.”

“Maybe I should be concerned. Who picks food over my tongue?”

“Shut up and get your shoes on.”

 

True to his words, a few days later, Seunghyun took a cab to the Military Hospital address his mother had gotten from Jiyong’s mother, bearing an enormous flower arrangement. His mother had insisted it was absolutely necessary that she convey her best wishes in the gaudiest arrangement money could buy.

He felt like he was going to throw up. He could play it cool, be chill. Just ask in a friendly manner how Jiyong was holding up, give him news about the rest of the group, share pictures from Daesung and Youngbae’s recent performances. He could keep it light and fun. Friendly.

Or he could give voice to the words burned in his heart.

Either choice led to a different future. Possibly. There was nothing saying he had to confess now. He had a lifetime. There was no rush.

He gave a slight bow to the trio of soldiers walking down the hall. They wore the same insignia from Jiyong’s squad. It made him feel good to know that Jiyong had grown close to his unit. And then, he was at Jiyong’s door. Torn and yet whole, he raised his hand to knock.

 

---

 

 

---

 

 

The surgery had been successful, he’d been told, but then the doctors had said the same thing after the last one. Jiyong couldn’t go by the pain because he was on too many painkillers. Also, he couldn’t seem to make his mind actually care about his leg. Since the night before the surgery he’d been only able to think of Seunghyun’s letter.

How he had managed to get it no longer bothered him. It was the contents of the letter that haunted him, particularly the last passage.

I feel like I’m stuck in these feelings of you. I don’t know what to do with them. I should have kissed you the night before you left. But it was right that I didn’t. I don’t know what is right. I don’t know what I should do. I don’t know what I want. But I know I’m stuck and this can’t be healthy. I want to be healthy.

But I want to keep loving you.

I think I’m going to delete this.

But Seunghyun hadn’t deleted it. Jiyong had gotten it and read it all. Read Seunghyun’s deepest thoughts about him, felt the depth of his love but also the depth of his anguish and confusion and it left him feeling even more confused and at a loss.

Like Seunghyun he didn’t know what was right or wrong. He knew his heart. He knew he loved Seunghyun but he didn’t know if that was enough. He didn’t know what he should do.

There was a knock on his door and Seunghyun’s voice came from the other side.

“Jiyong-ah, it’s me.”

Suddenly the whole world seemed to collapse upon him and narrow to the door to his hospital room. Should he bring up the letter? Pretend it didn’t exist? Should he confess his feelings? Ignore them? Should they be together or continue as they were?

“Ji?” Seunghyun’s voice came.

Jiyong sat, torn but whole and called out, “Come in.”