He prefers sour candies to be honest.

eighteen is two years (too young)

| cigarettes and lollipops |

Jiyong lights up his cigarette and Seungri scrunches his nose in mild disgust at the smell.

It's adorable, and Jiyong laughs delightedly, and Seungri huffs and pouts and scrambles back with all the elegance of a newborn fawn. He looks so young against the curl of smoke and Jiyong wants to come closer and .

Jiyong blows a slow stream of smoke and watches Seungri cough exaggeratedly with a smirk. Seungri frowns. “I could never date someone who smokes,” he declares.

Jiyong stops.

That was weeks ago. Sixteen days and two hours. Sixteen days and two hours of contemplating and frustration that Jiyong will never admit to.

How could Seungri realistically expect to follow that? Around 45% of males in South Korea are smokers, doesn't he know he just cut his dating pool in half? Jiyong studiously ignores that the percentage of women who smoke is only around 8%.

Seungri doesn't want to date someone who smokes, hah, just thinking about it is laughable. Societal norms say he won't ever find a boyfriend with that kind of picky attitude. (Societal norms also say he won't need to, because he's not supposed to be gay.)

He picks up a cigarette and lighter and scowls. Jiyong's fingers are jittery and he hates it.

The first time he went on stage as G-Dragon, his hands didn't shake. The first time he performed beneath YG's gaze, his hands didn't shake. The first time BIGBANG perfomed together, his hands didn't shake.

So why is it, after hearing Seungri's blunt declaration, Jiyong finds that he can't hold his cigarette without shivering.

“I'm so stupid,” Jiyong mutters. Just because his maknae said he didn't like smokers. Just because... Jiyong wants to say he doesn't care, but when he remembers Seungri's soft admiring eyes, and thinks about that disappearing, he suddenly can't breathe.

There is a persistent crow living in his chest, and it constantly rattles its feathers, dark and itchy, whenever he tries to speak. Jiyong ruffles his hair and grits his teeth in irritation. He growls and drops the cigarette on the ground, grinds it with the heel of his shoe, “Fine.”

Jiyong bites his lip. “Fine. If he doesn't like it, that's fine,” he says curtly. “It's not like I liked smoking that much anyway.”

Something about it (“I could never date someone who smokes”) makes Jiyong irritated. But he can admit he doesn't like the idea of relying on something so much, so maybe quitting isn't a bad idea.

There are rumors of the government passing stricter smoking laws anyway, so it was only a matter of time before Jiyong was going to have to quit; deciding to do it now — well, it has little to do with Seungri.

Jiyong's just making sure BIGBANG doesn't have any internal problems or future scandals, he reasons. He's not going to risk it all for a pack of cigarettes.

(This is what he tells himself.)

The nicotine patches burn a little. Sort of like heat patches, except not, and Jiyong pictures a fire— a slow simmering birth of a heat eating at his skin. Picking and devouring and making its way towards his lungs, and with each exhale Jiyong makes, he can almost see the smoke coming out.

It leaves him feeling empty. Feeling hollow.

Not smoking has left Jiyong realizing how much he depended on it. There is a space inside him, that needs to be filled. It is a huge gaping hole, a great crack that Jiyong had unknowingly fed with dripping ink words and cancerous smoke.

It's a startling realization.

“Hyung, have this.” He feels something smooth pressed against his lips. It smells sweet. Jiyong blinks rapidly at the confectionary.

Seungri grins at him, eyes crinkling with infectious cheer, and Jiyong automatically smiles back. It's baffling how easily Seungri is able to coax a smile from him.

Jiyong opens his mouth and lets the lollipop fall onto his tongue; bursts of tangy sweetness pop like tiny sparklers and fireworks. Strawberry.

“It's my favorite; strawberry delight,” Seungri says, as if Jiyong didn't already know. “It's better than gritting your teeth.”

“Yeah, it'll just rot my teeth instead,” Jiyong retorts, instead of telling him about the nicotine patches. And he's not sure why, but Jiyong doesn't want him to remember their conversation weeks ago. “Besides, aren't you supposed to use gum for that? This'll turn my teeth yellow.”

“Oh I don't know,” and Seungri smiles like a cat, all long lashes and devil-may-care voice. “I think it'll be an improvement hyung.”

Jiyong barks