Someone like him.

eighteen is two years (too young)

| willfully ignorant of what it means |

Letting someone sit on your lap isn't as romantic as people make it out to be.

Jiyong should know, because honestly, for all his clinginess when it comes to him and what's his, Jiyong admits that it gets a little uncomfortable after a while. Sure it's nice at first, having someone that close to you, close enough to breathe in the same air. Being able to comfortably reach over and hug them or rest his chin on their head or shoulder, but the pins and needles that come afterwards… well.

Jiyong's not complaining about it, not really, because Jiyong thinks the pain shouldn't be so bad if you love them enough to make that sacrifice— that compromise— but that's the problem: Jiyong hasn't liked anyone enough to compromise like that.

Hasn't fallen in love with anyone like that before.

You see, Jiyong can be romantic: Jiyong can do intimate touches, and late-night phone calls, and chaste kisses after dates. Jiyong knows when to send fresh red roses and how to write poems with the perfect amount of cheesiness. Jiyong knows the difference between overblown displays of affection and subtle ones, and which type seemed to matter more to who. 

But sometimes, when he's up at night, murmuring sweet nothings into a phone and a girlfriend (or, on rarer occasions, boyfriend) on the other side, he finds himself, more often than not, distracted by a sleeping Seungri on his bed and how warm he is pressed against Jiyong's leg. 

Looking back and comprising the vast majority of his relationships, Jiyong notices that any affection he held for them paled against any feelings he had for Seungri. 

Jiyong guesses he should've taken it as a warning sign that the relationship wouldn't work out, but Jiyong's always had trouble putting his bonds in the correct order. 

Jiyong can't say why he likes being around Seungri more than he does his girlfriends. It's the same reason he doesn't understand what's wrong with worrying over Seungri in the middle of a date. 

Seungri needs the most protection and Jiyong's the leader, a big brother now. It's his job to watch over Seungri, to look out for the baby of their group.

So when they break up with him, Jiyong doesn't exactly regret it as much as he should. Jiyong's first love has always been music anyway, and Seungri is worth so much more than a relationship that wouldn't last.

“Hyung?”

Seungri is sitting on the couch. He's wearing an oversized shirt that bares his collarbone, and Jiyong remembers buying it for him, remembers hating everything about it because it said pants on the front and buying the matching set of pants that said shirt on its back pockets. Every inch of his fashionista soul had screamed at him when he brought them to the cash register.

Nine dollars and twenty cents, Jiyong recalls, nine dollars and twenty cents that Jiyong really shouldn't have been able to afford, but the look on Seungri's face when he gave them to him was well worth the next few meals he skipped. 

Jiyong sighs against Seungri's chest and nuzzles his face into his shirt. It's soft and smells like pomegranates. Youngbae shouldn't ever be allowed to buy the fabric softener anymore. 

He presses his face closer. ”Hyung? What are you doing?” Seungri asks awkwardly as Jiyong tries to become one with his shirt but doesn't move. Jiyong trained him so well.

Jiyong grunts plaintively. And then hums because he likes the vibration it makes, and when Seungri squirms at the sensation, Jiyong holds him by his hips. 

“Maknae,” Jiyong drags the last syllable into a whine. “I wanna fall in love.”

“Okay..?” Seungri pats him, and smiles with his usual brand of exasperation, “I'm sure you'll find someone hyung.” Jiyong gets distracted. Seungri has the best smiles, Jiyong thinks, and the prettiest dark eyes. 

Seungri would make a pretty girl. 

He has this innocence about him that makes Jiyong believe he could pull it off, and besides, Jiyong's a little tired with being the only one wearing a skirt in their parodies, especially since it's becoming more and more obvious that Jiyong's being delegated to the feminine roles. 

He makes a mental note to have one of their themes include schoolgirl uniforms: pleated skirts and sailor suits, white and black stockings, maybe yellow lipstick with red ribbons in their hair; it's been awhile since Jiyong last saw Seunghyun wearing a wig anyway. Serves him right for poking fun of his masculinity. 

(Wearing heels is the height of masculinity and anyone who says otherwise is wrong.)

“Oh no,” Seungri says, and then he pales in fear— as he should be. “Whatever it is you're thinking of hyung...”

“Yellow lipstick and red-and-black pleated skirts,” Jiyong sing-songs with a mischievous smile. He snickers at the face Seungri makes. “But don't worry maknae, you can wear red lipstick if you want. I'll make that sacrifice.” 

“What sacrifice?” 

“The color-coding of course, red