Seungri could feel the car shook around him as he slipped in and out of consciousness. He heard something —or someone— rolled down the embarkment and then a rushed footsteps approaching. 

His heart jolted.

Someone’s here! Someone’s helping him!

Seungri wanted to shout —he’s here! He’s stuck! Help!— but his own voice stuck at his throat. It’s either pain or fear or maybe some combination of the two that forced his vision to tunnel when he forced his eyes opened and he saw everything in flashes like some sort of morbid slideshow. 

The car shook violently again. The sound of metal grinding echoed in the still air and almost at the same exact second he could feel a sudden, cold wind blew at his exposed skin, but before he could even shiver, a warm hand suddenly was at his neck, pressing against his pulse.

Seungri in another breath while the checker let out a relief breath. Pain was searing through his arm. He wanted to cry out and tell his helper about that but he’s afraid he wouldn’t have enough breath to spare to do it.

His lifeless body was pulled up carefully, supported by two hands that felt thin yet sturdy to prevent him from crashing down to the car roof as the seatbelt got yanked away, finally releasing him from hanging upside down state. Just like that, he’s free and immediately getting dragged away from the car. One of his shoes must’ve came off in the process because his foot felt cold and wet instantly. 

When they stopped a few metres away, in his insensible state, Seungri noticed the detached driver’s side door lying on the road, like it had been torn apart but he’s more thankful on the smell of gasoline fading away to think more on that. 

An abrupt burst of pain stung him as someone hauled him in close.

“Ri—“

Jiyong, his mind told him. 

“—okay, you’re okay,” Jiyong whispered as Seungri fought hard to blink his eyes open, trying to focus his blurry sight on Jiyong above him. 

Jiyong’s hand went everywhere before stopping on his cheek. “I got you,” Jiyong breathed out, “you’re okay, Ri, you’re okay. I got you..”

Seungri wanted to talk so bad, but his mouth won’t open. He wanted to ask Jiyong so much —what happened to you? Didn’t you got thrown out of the car? How are you okay? Also, why did your voice sound different? Why are your eyes looked entirely black?— but those questions were drowned by his drowsiness. 

Jiyong gathered Seungri up against him. His warmth flooded Seungri, who winced at the sudden change in temperature but he shushed him. 

“I got you, Ri. I’m here. I got you—“ Jiyong repeated that over and over again in his ears. 

The pain was indeed fading from his head, replaced by numbness and fatigue and of course, warmth all over his body, and he could barely kept his eyes opened. 

Is he dying? He didn’t want to die just yet...

“Ji—“ Seungri managed to whisper as he lifted his right hand up toward Jiyong’s face with all he had left, rewarded by the feeling of Jiyong’s stubble on the chin under his fingernails.

Jiyong placed his hand under that hand, pressing it right onto his cheek. “I promise you’re okay, Ri.”

Jiyong sounded so calm and sure, and if the kiss he got on the palm of his hand didn’t say so, Jiyong’s determined eyes did. 

“I got you, Ri.”

That was the last thing he heard before he lost the strength to keep his eyes open.

Jiyong could be lying. Seungri could be actually dying, and there’s no way he could stop it now. Yet, lying here, half of his body on Jiyong’s lap, embraced by Jiyong, numb and peaceful and warm, Seungri thought to himself that maybe, just maybe, dying didn’t seem to be all that bad. 

Sure, there’s a lot he didn’t do just yet, there’s so much he hadn’t accomplish yet, he didn’t have his own production company just yet, he hadn’t bought his dream car yet, he didn’t get to tell Jiyong about his feelings... but he’s already proud of what he’s became now and as for the last part, he pretty sure Jiyong was already well aware of that.

Or, maybe, he already died. He’s positive Jiyong died too —that man got thrown out of the car, for sake— so it’s all good. Better, even. ‘Cause that means they’re both ghosts now and Seungri could spend an eternity clapping on Jiyong’s face on how wrong that man was.

Ghosts are real, Ji. Oh, how would I know, you ask? Because we’re both ghosts! Boom!

Jiyong snorted softly on top of him and Seungri thought that he might’ve said that aloud, but he didn’t get to think for long because as soon as Jiyong ran his fingers at his temples and whispered faintly in his ear, “you can let go now, Ri”, Seungri succumbed to the darkness behind his eyes. 

*****

When consciousness came back to Seungri, it came back slowly, creeping from one part of his body to another. 

The first thing he heard was a distant beeping of machines, then he heard his own breathing, slow but steady and not as painful as before, and also Tv, and muffled voices, not from this room but maybe down the hallway. 

Then, he started feeling. The pressure of IV needle in the crook of his elbow, the brush of fabric on his skin, the unfamiliar coldness of this room, the subdued pain all over his body, his right feet that felt heavy caused by cast, everything.

Seungri tried to open his eyes, but the lids were so heavy. He tried to lift up one finger but he could something moved beside him and someone’s warm hand closed around his. 

Jiyong? He asked in his heart. But... Jiyong’s dead.

Remembering that, Seungri’s eyes now hot with tears, clumping his eyelashes together, making it harder and harder to open them, but he fell asleep again before they could flow out from beneath his eyelids. 

When he’s finally awaken, that hand was still there. Seungri opened his eyes but quickly closed it again, blinded by the bright light above hm. He made a groan and shifted against the bed. He tried again, this time slowly, and he managed to see a blurry figure, sitting on a chair at the side of his bed. 

“Hey.” 

Seungri knew that voice so well, so he blinked harder to clear his vision, and saw Jiyong with one hand gripping on his. The grip was tight, it hurt a little but he’s glad regardless, because that touch was real, and so was Jiyong in front of him.

“You’re—“ the harsh dryness in his throat cut his sentence and he started coughing relentlessly. 

“Here,” Jiyong murmured as he lifted the back of Seungri’s neck, a cup of water in his other hand. He helped Seungri drank until the cup’s empty, watching in silent as Seungri spilled some water on himself because of how shaky he was. 

“You should be dead.” Seungri grouched at him as soon as his back was against the pillow.

Jiyong stared at him long enough to know that he was saying this out of fear —fear that Seungri was only imagining this, fear that this was only a dream, fear that he actually lost Jiyong for real, not because he’s spiteful. Jiyong, his hand once again curled around his fingers, sighed an exasperated laugh. 

Seungri followed his every movement, squeezing Jiyong’s hand as hard he could and let out a quivering breath. 

It’s real. It had to be real. Jiyong’s here. Jiyong’s alive.

“Sorry but I won’t be haunting you just yet.” Jiyong spoke quietly, his smile faded, and Seungri almost shuddered at the uncomfortable seriousness in his voice.

“You went out the windshield.” 

Jiyong shook his head. 

“I saw you.”

“Ri—“

“I saw you. What happened to you?”

Jiyong looked... fine. There’s a heavy bruise on his right temple that he clearly tried hard to cover by wearing beanie and glasses, but other than that and the prominent tiredness in his eyes, Jiyong didn’t even look like he was involved in the same car accident that put Seungri in the hospital, let alone as someone who went through a windshield. He looked like he got punched or hit by a baseball at best.

“You hit your head pretty hard,” Jiyong told him. “Your airbag didn’t deploy.” He added, speaking over when Seungri tried to interrupt him.

Seungri could only stared at him then, his breathing turned a bit ragged. That accident flashed before his eyes. Another set of headlights coming fast towards their car, the sound of impact, the car flipping over, him hanging upside down, him whimpering in pain alone—

“You pulled me out of the car.”

Jiyong nodded. His thumb brushed over Seungri’s knuckles. 

Seungri stared at their hands together, watching that pale hand rubbed against his slightly tanned skin. The weird calmness he kept feeling lately made a comeback, soothing, almost hypnotising him. 

Maybe Jiyong was right. Maybe Seungri was delusional. Maybe he was only imagining that, caused by the fear of losing Jiyong with nothing but himself to be blamed because he was the one behind the wheel. 

“You don’t have to feel guilty.” Jiyong leaned closer to the bed, to him, probably noticing the b tears in his eyes.

“I should’ve been more careful...” Seungri lost his voice at the end of his sentence, biting down a sob at the back of his throat. “I swore I didn’t see—“

“What matters now is that we’re both fine.” Jiyong cut him off. He eyed Seungri casted right leg and immediately corrected himself, “well, alive. I don’t blame you and you shouldn’t too.”

Jiyong’s other hand moved on top of their entangled hand, sandwiching his hand and the heaviness in Seungri’s chest started to loosened its grip. Jiyong’s right. They’re both fine. They’re both will be fine. They’re both alive, and that’s all that mattered.

Ridiculously, he wanted to hug Jiyong. He wanted to sit up and threw himself into Jiyong’s arms but the burst of pain when he tried to lift one of his arm drew him short.

Jiyong let go of his hand, inching closer and closer to him, only stopping when he was close enough to brush Seungri’s hair off his forehead with ease. He set his head on his palm, supported by elbow on the bed, staring at Seungri as if Seungri’s that fascinating to watch.

Seungri’s breathing slowed down, and he could feel the sleepiness weighing down his eyelids again, but he needed to know something before he fell asleep again. “Tell me...”

“Hm?”

“Where’s everybody?”

“I sent our team to rest at a nearby hotel, they’re tired as hell. They came shortly after you, um, fainted and took care of everything. The ambulance, the police, the other car—everything.”

Seungri sighed, at peace hearing that. “You... what you do?” He asked jokingly, battling his already half-closed eyelids to stay open. 

“I took care of you.”

“Useless.”

Jiyong snorted. “Should’ve let you die alone in the snow.”

Seungri managed to slip in a small laugh before slowly letting his sleepiness took over. Jiyong, who noticed he was at the brink of falling asleep again, said something along the line of asking Seungri to dream of him but he couldn’t be sure. He already took off to the land of dreams.

*****

“You sure this would be a good idea?” Jiyong asked as he sat on the stool across the kitchen counter where Seungri was chopping on the green onion.

Seungri pouted, not liking the uncertainty in Jiyong’s voice. “It’s samgyetang. How hard could it be?”

“I don’t know. I can’t cook.”

“It’s a rhetorical question.” Seungri rolled his eyes. “But, yeah, I know, you don’t have to cook, you just make a wish and it’ll be appear on your dining table.” He added mockingly, “gosh, must be good to be rich...”

“What’s that gotta do with anything?” Jiyong scoffed. “You said it yourself, it’s samgyetang, we could order it from a restaurant, or better yet, we could go to one right now, I’ll take you! It’ll probably taste better anyway.”

“Don’t come for my samgyetang!”

“You’re missing the point here, Ri.”

“No, you’re missing the point!” Seungri pointed the knife at Jiyong. “I don’t want it to be from somewhere! I want it to be homemade! I wanna make it myself!”

Jiyong didn’t look at all bothered by the tip of the knife being so close to the tip of his nose, only pushing it away from him using one finger. 

“The point I was trying to make is you should probably not do any heavy work still—“

“Relax!” Seungri waved the hand with the knife dismissively and Jiyong leaned away from the counter promptly, probably not risking the face of KJY to lose one of his eyes. “It’s just samgyetang!”

“How many times are we gonna say the word samgyetang...” Jiyong murmured but changed his tone when he spoke again, “samgyetang or not, it’s probably not a good idea for you to be limping around your kitchen with hot water and you know,” he side-eyed the knife, “sharp tools around.”

Seungri threw the knife into the sink as he’s done chopping, producing loud clanking noises, purposely annoying Jiyong who absolutely hated exactly that.

“Was that really necessary?” Jiyong asked, one hand massaging the area above his eyebrows, his tone heavy with irritation. 

“For my entertainment?” Seungri pushed the chopping board into the sink next, causing Jiyong’s left eye to twitch when another series of clanking noises echoed in the kitchen. “Very.” He grinned cheekily before turning away to the stove, ready to boil the stuffed chicken next.

“You’re not yet fully recovered yet you’re this annoying...” Jiyong whispered to himself behind him.

“You know what’s interesting, though?” Seungri turned back to him after setting the stove to medium heat, resting his back on the counter and crossing his arms at his chest. 

“What?”

“You keep nagging at me but not once did you help— or at least try to help me.”

Jiyong raised his shoulders, unfazed by that statement. “Told you I can’t cook.”

“You can at least try to be useful.”

Jiyong jumped from the stool, finally entering the kitchen. “Where do you wish me to be, Sire?” Jiyong mockingly asked as he got closer. 

“Um,” Seungri hesitated, “the dishes?” He said after a while. 

Jiyong said nothing more, settling himself at the sink after putting on an apron and gloves. Watching that, suddenly, Seungri regretted ever asking Jiyong to do it. The two of them, in a tight space that of his kitchen, was probably not good idea to begin with, but this? Jiyong in an apron, looking all domesticated and sweet and , only a few inches away from him, was worse.

Seungri cleared his throat and moved slightly