Jiyong had forgotten how long it had been since he talked to someone else. With everything restricted, and the network constantly acting up, he had nothing except pre-read books and his own thoughts for company. On that particular day, he ended up thinking of Seunghyun's birthday a few years ago. Somehow, they had all ended up at Soohyuk’s flat, and when Taeyang had brought out the cake (an ice-cream cake, to no one's surprise) despite Seunghyun's original declinations for a proper celebration, Seungri stuck a lit cigarette instead of the traditional candle in the centre. Everyone except for Jiyong had been amused, even Daesung was laughing at it, and although he hated the fact that Tabi's proclivity for smoking had grown even more, he could let it pass just that once because of the smile that followed after his lips had parted away from it, smoke curling gently out of his mouth.

The one good thing about the rest letting loose, was that none of them were sober enough to realize exactly how much time Jiyong had spent looking at his hyung that night. The birthday boy man had let someone apply kohl and wine-coloured lipstick on his upper lip, or perhaps done it himself, judging by the slightly shaky lines. It would have looked ridiculous to have just one half of that delectable mouth tinted, but somehow it looked good on him that day. Jiyong remembered stifling a groan at the sight of him coming out of the room following the giggling pair of Bom and Chaerin. With his face looking like that­ and hair looking like they were begging to be tugged at, he had made it worse with his choice of outfit. On that day, somehow he had ended up wearing a sheer black button up (which was committing crimes against Jiyong's heartbeat) and a pair of emerald green trousers (God, why?). When he had looked down at Jiyong, it had been hard to not reach up to pull him close and , and bite at his lower lip till it matched the upper.

Seunghyun had reached up to pull at his collar to hide his embarrassment. “I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Jiyong remembered simply having shook his head in response. But the entire night he had not been able to take his eyes off of him.

Back in the present, he sat at the bench in the kitchen, with a slightly misshapen cake in front of him. “Happy birthday to me.” he whispered to the empty room, even though the ghosts of company danced around him, having bled through the memory.