A/N - double update! Haha not really, this is all mostly prewritten, so it's mostly copying and pasting and editing. There's a lot more to come, so stay tuned and let me know what you think! Thank you for all your support! Saranghaeyo!

<3 mei

It was sometime around early October when he made his first appearance (to my knowledge). It was a Monday, late afternoon, and we technically weren’t open yet but I knew he was someone important because the bouncers let him in anyway (most likely an idol seeking sanctuary). I was the only one in the building at the time, and wasn’t really sure how to approach this customer. I had had bad experiences with men in the past and always had my guard up, but felt safe enough knowing the bouncers let him by. He was clad in dark skinny jeans, loosely tied combat boots, a “Supreme” ball cap, and a tattered hoodie that dwarfed his frail, paled appearance. He wore dark shades and had the hood pulled over his cap, and the only thing I could think was how hot he must feel in this still-humid Seoul heat (though I shouldn’t be one to talk, since I almost always wore long-sleeved shirts to hide the carvings and scars that decorated my arms. My legs were another issue, but being behind a counter most of the time made shorts permissible). He took a seat at the bar where I was cleaning glasses and stared aimlessly at the shelves of alcohol (I think. His sunglasses made it impossible to tell where exactly he was looking).

“Do you know who I am?” his voice croaked, breaking the silence. Though I wasn’t 100% sure who he was, I knew he was an idol, and I could tell with that one sentence that he had been crying. A lot. And that narrowed it down to only one.

I nodded my head apprehensively. If the rumors I had heard on the TV and read in the papers were true, then this man was in a great deal of hurt.

“Good. Give me the strongest thing you’ve got. Ppali.”

I made a move toward the cabinet where we kept the highest proof liquors, but hesitated. If he really was who I thought he was, and if he had just endured what I thought he did, I knew liquor was not going to help.

I swallowed hard and turned to face him. “Mianhae ajusshi, but I can’t help you.”

The man stiffened and lowered his head to the counter. With a shaky hand he pulled off his glasses and slowly raised his head. I was met by swollen, red eyes and a substantial gash on his right cheek. I recognized him in an instant.

“I’m Kwon JiYong, but you probably know me as G-Dragon. And I’ve just had the worst day anyone can possibly have, so if you don’t mind, I’d like that drink. Now.”

I had heard about his “scandal” and how it was going to court and charges were/were not being pressed, how the company was extremely displeased, blah blah blah. But what bothered me most was how he was treated like a second-class citizen because of all of this. Yes, is illegal in South Korea (a bit too conservative if you ask me), and I respect their laws, but to completely ruin one’s career, reputation, and life - that’s just wrong. Call it my rebellious, left-slanted views (courtesy of a right-winged upbringing), but it just seemed so immoral, inconsiderate, and inhumane to me. So I decided to say something about it.

“Look, Kwon JiYong ssi, I heard about what you’re going through, and while-”

JiYong gave me an angry stare and opened his mouth to speak, but I boldly raised a finger and finished my statement.

“...and while I don’t understand first hand the pain you’re in, I can tell you that I’m very sorry it happened the way it did. I know that right now all you probably want is an escape from reality, even if just temporary, but please trust me when  I say I know from experience that drowning away in alcohol to numb the hurt will just compound the issue.”

He stared at me with fire in his eyes, but I wasn’t going to back down. I was not going to see another person injure himself the way I habitually injured myself.

“No one has ever denied me anything, much less alcohol,” his icy voice stated. “What makes you think you know so much about me and my situation that you can deny a hurting man something to ease the pain?”

I swallowed hard. How the hell did I get myself into this mess? Why didn’t you just serve him the damn liquor, you idiot? I blinked rapidly, searching for the “correct” response. I knew of only one.

With slow, deliberate actions, I began to roll up my sleeves as I made my way out from behind the bar. By the time I reached him on the other side, my sleeves were past my elbows, far up enough to show the obsessive tic marks of various blades and the “fat” carved into my forearms in three languages. My shorts were so short they exposed the long, puffy scars that were once red canyons that really should have required stitches, along with the “disgusting” and “failure” etched forever into my skin.

His eyes quickly darted up and down my body, but not in the way a man’s eyes do when the normally “check out” a woman. His eyes narrowed in puzzlement as opposed to lust. I had some fresh marks on my stomach and arms and was hoping he wouldn’t notice. I wanted to close my eyes and recoil in fear and shame, but I felt I had a point to prove, and for better or for worse, my self-righteousness took the best of me, so I stood fast.

His tired, bloodshot eyes met mine once again, only now the indignant look was replaced with one of confusion.

“Wae? Wae geurae?”

I shrugged. “You called for alcohol when you’re in times of stress. I call for blades. Pills, booze, , razors - they’re all means of coping and can numb us out or make us feel alive for a while, but are they really helping?”

His eyes flitted back down to my left thigh where the Hanja character for “ugly” was carved. He shook his head.

“You’re not any of those things you know.”

I smirked. “Who’s giving who the advice now?”

I saw his lips turn up at corners, and a