fic: throw on the lights
Title: Throw On the Lights
Pairing: G-Dragon/Seungri...or is it?
Rating: PG
Notes: I think this fic ran away from me in the last section. I apologize for that, and I hope it makes sense, in some way, nonetheless. 2641 words of nonsense. For noelliex, since I owe you fic from who knows how long ago.
Summary: It is only after years together that Seungri finally sees behind the glamour of Jiyong. Unfortunately, what he sees isn't much dimmer.
It was one of those questions interviewers are always fond of asking musicians - ‘where do you see yourself ten years from now? Twenty? Thirty?’
The answer’s always the same. No matter how much sincerity there is behind the words, no matter how much truth. It’s always ‘still making music. Never going to stop. Producing, songwriting, maybe a solo act...’
Sometimes there’s a family attached. Sometimes love. Never the two together. Seungri doesn’t want to think about what that means.
Seungri watches Jiyong when asked this question (the smaller, more terrible part of him says that he’s always watching Jiyong). Sees the uncertainty before the light flickers on, before the genius that almost never seems to stop kick in again.
Seungri’s almost disappointed when the answer comes out of Jiyong’s mouth is the same as the one he would’ve said, or Youngbae or Daesung or Seunghyun.
Seungri knows it’s bad, he does. But somehow he can’t stop it - there’s just something about Jiyong that gets him somewhere he doesn’t want to think about. There’s something about Jiyong Seungri’s always admired, always wanted.
Somewhere along the line, Seungri doesn’t know where, he’d put Jiyong on a pedestal too high for him to climb up on. He’d built Jiyong up to something more than human in his mind (or maybe less human, more music - maybe it was fitting, what Jiyong had said. Seungri could never see Jiyong without music but still. But still).
He asks him afterwards, though he knows it’s going to cost him his perfectly styled hair and a few quick heartbeats - “hey hyung. Hyung? What do you really, really see yourself doing in twenty years?”
Jiyong doesn’t answer and Seungri’s sneaking suspicion that maybe Jiyong’s more afraid of time passing than any of them is confirmed.
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Jiyong finally snaps. “Are you an interviewer? What the hell are you thinking about the future for? I’d suggest you work on your singing now, magnae.”
Jiyong stalks away, uncharacteristically vicious even in his leaving.
-
It’s embarrassing for Seungri when Daesung and Jiyong out him about his - admiration. (In his mind, he’d hoped Jiyong wouldn’t notice. The fact that Daesung did as well makes it a little worse.)
“Why’d you have to do that hyung?” Seungri asks Jiyong flatly after the interview.
Jiyong doesn’t even look up. “It’s annoying,” he replies, shrugging.
Ouch, Seungri thinks. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “Sorry. You should’ve told me. I won’t do it again.”
Jiyong’s head swings up so fast it almost connects with Seungri’s chin. “Why are you being so goddamn agreeable?”
Seungri blinks and takes a step back. Jiyong matches it with one of his own frustrated movements, never willing to do anything without some intense flair of emotion. “What are you talking about?” Seungri asks, nettled. “You told me to stop and I’m going to stop. I don’t want you to say things like that again.”
“But why?” Jiyong repeats insistently. “Since when do you listen to me? Since when do you care? Fuck, Seunghyun. When was the last time you listened to anyone?”
Seungri looks down, spreads his shaking fingers out against his thigh, thinks about holding Jiyong’s hand. A stupid thought at any other time but especially inappropriate now. He curls his fingers back into a fist, his nails digging into his palm so hard that it hurts. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
-
“Are you sick?” Jiyong asks Seungri incredulously, hand automatically moving to his forehead in typical band-leader fashion. “Aish, magnae, you’re burning up. What the hell is wrong with you? You have to take care of yourself, you know.”
Seungri makes a noncommittal sound, too tired to argue with Jiyong. He throws an arm over his eyes and hopes that his death will be quick and painless and that Jiyong doesn’t try to drag it out.
“Tell manager-hyung we’re not going today. I’m going to stay home and make sure he doesn’t die.” Jiyong nods at Seungri, who does look quite pitiful, laid out and boneless-looking on the couch. He tries to protest weakly but he’s shot down by a glare from Jiyong.
“What,” Youngbae says, frowning. “We can’t go on a radio missing two members.”
“Like hell you can’t,” Jiyong replies, rolling his eyes. “Not when Seungri’s like this. Just tell them what’s happening - cute magnae home sick with the flu or some virus or AIDS or whatever, the more life-threatening and creative the better, and loving leader-sshi taking care of him.”
Seungri snorts derisively from his position on the couch and Jiyong whips around to point a thermometer at him threateningly. “I hold your life in my hands, magnae,” Jiyong warns Seungri dangerously.
Seungri shuts up.
“I’m never sick,” he tells Jiyong morosely and slurred later, eyes falling shut. “Like, really, never. The last time I was sick was when I was ten.”
“I guess all those years are finally catching up to you,” Jiyong says briskly. “Aish, magnae, don’t go to sleep yet. Here, put this in your mouth.”
“Wouldn’t you like that,” Seungri mutters, blearily and more than just a little out of it. Jiyong snickers and flicks his forehead. He opens his mouth so Jiyong can slip the pill in his mouth though and accepts the glass of water.
He feels Jiyong get up to leave and watch TV or write lyrics or take future blackmailing pictures or whatever when he is suddenly seized with a feeling of homesickness. He manages to link his fingers with Jiyong’s just as his eyes slip shut. “Please stay,” he pleads, not even trying to keep the note of desperation out of his voice.
Jiyong hesitates and Seungri squeezes his eyes closed - how stupid of him, what the hell is he thinking -
“Okay,” Jiyong says softly. “Don’t worry, magnae. I’m here. Whatever you want.”
You. You, you, always always you. Any part of you. Any part at all, Seungri thinks, hoping it’s just the fever speaking.
-
Seungri’s fine the next morning, and he hopes against hope that Jiyong will just count last night an uncharacteristic and isolated incident in both of their lives.
“Have some toast.” Seungri gingerly takes the hot bread Jiyong offers him, blowing on his fingers when he almost drops it. Jiyong snickers at him, miming his fumble and over-exaggerating his movements. Seunghyun snorts into his coffee when Jiyong accidentally hits Daesung.
“Thanks hyung.” Seungri rolls his eyes and eats his toast with as much dignity as he can.
When he licks the butter off his fingers, he catches Jiyong - for lack of a better word - staring, who shakes off the interest and instead looks slightly startled to be caught. He scowls, imperceptible if you didn’t know his facial expressions and annoyance as well as Seungri did (which he only knew because of how often he’s been on the receiving end of said annoyance), and turns to Youngbae.
It hits Seungri a little too late - the fact that Kwon Jiyong is human, just like him.
He tries to swallow the bitter taste of disappointment (he can’t) - he just remembers a few years ago when he met Jiyong and thinking, with more than just a little longing, that he’d never, ever be like this. It’s years of admiration that brought him to this moment. Years of thinking he’d never be good enough. Years of hoping he’d never be good enough, because Seungri has never dared to think about the alternative possibility.
Five seconds of - oh, oh. Five seconds of crushing disappointment.
Seungri feels a little like someone just told him God’s just human, just like the rest of us.
(Then he realizes Jiyong had been looking at him. At him. Seungri doesn’t know if he should feel disappointed or flattered.)
-
Jiyong’s birthday sneaks up on them in between ending promotions for their last album and a wave of talk show appearances.
One day, Jiyong walks into the kitchen and announces grandly, “Today is my birthday. I am going to take the day off and go out with my friends. You can’t stop me.” He - there is no other word for it - flounces out of the kitchen, head held high.
“How irresponsible,” Seungri grumbles, smile tugging at his mouth.
“How typical, you mean,” Seunghyun says affectionately, rolling his eyes. “Manager-hyung probably would’ve given him the day off anyway. Hey Jiyong!” He yells. “Happy birthday! I’ll buy you a drink later!”
“You better buy me five!” comes Jiyong’s muffled (but delighted) shout. “Thanks hyung!”
Seungri listens to this exchange without just a bit of jealousy. “Not fair,” he says quietly to his cup.
Unfortunately, Daesung has the hearing of a dog and he nudges Seungri. “What’s not fair?”
Seungri flaps his hands a bit. “All of this,” he finally grumbles. “All of your - your legality and the fact that I’m not.” He hunches down in his seat, sticking his hands in his armpits. “I hate being the magnae,” he huffs.
“But you’re our magnae,” Jiyong says cheerfully, having caught the tail end of Seungri’s tirade. “Cheer up, Seunghyunnie! It’s my birthday!”
A peek up at Jiyong’s smile has Seungri smiling too. He doesn’t realize how fucking stupid he must look until Jiyong’s bouncing out the door and he comes back down to earth only to see Daesung, Youngbae, and Seunghyun eyeing him amusedly.
“So,” Seunghyun begins, wicked smile spreading over his face.
“We always knew you liked hyung but…really, Seungri?” Daesung asks, waggling his eyebrows for added effect.
“No!” Seungri protests, too quickly, too loudly. “No, what the hell. Why would I ever like Jiyong-hyung. Hmph. I’m not fifteen anymore you know.” Seungri crosses his arms indignantly, looking at Seunghyun, Daesung, Youngbae until Seunghyun’s smile flickers and Daesung starts looking guilty. “Yeah,” he says, nose held high. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
-
Jiyong comes home, drunk off his ass and stumbling into everything. He stumbles his way into Seungri’s room, even though they haven’t shared it in ages and collapses in a heap on top of Seungri.
“Oh my God, ew,” Seungri says, when he realizes who it is. “Hyung, you smell disgusting. And I was sleeping. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“That’s my line,” Jiyong groans. “Shove over, Seungri, I’m tired.”
“This isn’t your room anymore,” Seungri grumbles, but he moves over readily enough, feeling rather than seeing Jiyong fold his thin limbs under his blankets. He’s not prepared for Jiyong winding wiry arms around him and Seungri suddenly feels as if Jiyong is reaching under his skin, fingers mapping out everything he can touch.
“What are you doing, hyung,” Seungri asks, voice high-pitched and quick and - damn it - hopeful.
“Cuddling,” is Jiyong’s sleepy reply. “Wanted some company.”
The cheerful disappointment in Jiyong’s voice clues Seungri in and he wonders bitterly who he’s a replacement for tonight; which pretty girl with flashing eyes, which beautiful boy with long fingers. Whose room he would’ve sought out had Seungri’s not been closest to the door.
“I’m not your backup, hyung,” Seungri says softly, disappointment creeping around the statement like vines.
“Oh no,” Jiyong breathes, propping himself on his elbows and looking at Seungri, eyes bright but hazy with alcohol. “No, magnae, never. First choice, always.” He presses his face into Seungri’s thin chest, leaning his forehead against Seungri’s collarbone.
“Cute, hyung,” Seungri mutters when he hears Jiyong’s snores a second afterwards. “Cute. Is this how you charm your girls?”
Jiyong is smaller than Seungri had thought - thinner, more fragile, more beautiful. Jiyong’s normally such a ball of indestructible energy and genius that Seungri is almost afraid of this Jiyong, the one who snuffles in his sleep and scratches fingers through Seungri’s hair idly.
-
It’s not so much a fall from grace as it is a wake-up call. Jiyong has always been Seungri’s favorite hyung, has always been exactly what Seungri wanted to be, just as good a dancer as he is a singer as he is a rapper as he is a songwriter. But Jiyong is also human and maybe he isn’t the genius Seungri always thought he was.
“Magnae, you expect too much of me,” he sighs, a rare moment of intimacy. He doesn’t even look up from the paper he is attacking, still holding on to that facsimile of artistry in front of Seungri, the ash from his cigarette silencing any protests from Youngbae about the dangers of smoking. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I can’t humor you anymore.”
Seungri at one time might have been impressed enough by Jiyong that this would have meant an end to his almost annoyingly incessant questioning but he is older now, more mature; more inclined to doubt than he is to believe. “Hyung, maybe you expect too much of me,” he replies quietly, and even when Jiyong’s pen stops scratching what may be either nonsense or something that would put even Shakespeare to shame, Seungri feels no sense of triumph. “I never asked you to humor me.”
“Seunghyun,” Jiyong finally says, evenly. “Whatever could I expect from you?” There is blank curiosity in his voice, and the question is cruel like honesty usually is. Seungri thinks about taking offense but drops it - it is a fair question. What could he offer Jiyong?
The walk to Jiyong is excruciating, almost, the three or so meters the longest Seungri’s ever walked in his life. When Seungri fits his mouth to Jiyong, he waits for the old familiar rush and is not disappointed when it comes. He removes himself just as gently and stands in front of Jiyong, waiting.
When Jiyong closes his eyes and lets his breath escape from between his lips like the resigned sigh of a man who has given up the chase, Seungri does not feel like he’s won, or caught, anything. This suits Jiyong, he knows. The thrill of seeing a boy who used to admire him so much finally take initiative must fit in with all of Jiyong’s requirements but Seungri has no intention of being another aspect of Jiyong’s image, not unless he has some promise of sincerity.
“Nothing,” he says, just as Jiyong’s mouth comes so close to his and when Jiyong stills in possibly surprise, Seungri feels a strange sense of satisfaction in being able to prove him wrong. “You could expect nothing from me and even that would be too much.” He gets up, rests his hands on Jiyong’s shoulders for a second before turning away. Now that he has confronted and more or less defeated all his fears (regarding Jiyong, anyway, he has a million more otherwise), he feels vindicated in walking away.
“Hey, Seungri.” Jiyong’s voice is aggressive, judgmental, nonchalant, and so typical it makes Seungri smile.
“Yes, hyung?” Seungri turns to Jiyong like he is a sunflower and Jiyong the goddamn sun (always, always, no matter what he tries - it is this predictability that shames himself), smile bright on his lips.
“Where do you want to be, ten years from now?” Jiyong’s expression is soft, almost tender, and Seungri realizes that he’s never been asked this question, saved as it is for the older members of the group, the ones more likely to keep a good hold of fame and not eventually slip into anonymity after their turn is over.
“Where I want to be?” Seungri ponders. The answer is easy and sincere, if not completely predictable. “Making music. Dancing. Doing something I love. Fame, love - that comes second.”
The smile that Jiyong graces Seungri with is lovelier than all the smiles Jiyong has worn in the years Seungri has known him. “Do you?” He asks, and there is a note of delight in the way the question turns and the expression on his face softens when Seungri nods. “I’m proud of you, magnae. Everything I expected and more.”
Pairing: G-Dragon/Seungri...or is it?
Rating: PG
Notes: I think this fic ran away from me in the last section. I apologize for that, and I hope it makes sense, in some way, nonetheless. 2641 words of nonsense. For noelliex, since I owe you fic from who knows how long ago.
Summary: It is only after years together that Seungri finally sees behind the glamour of Jiyong. Unfortunately, what he sees isn't much dimmer.
It was one of those questions interviewers are always fond of asking musicians - ‘where do you see yourself ten years from now? Twenty? Thirty?’
The answer’s always the same. No matter how much sincerity there is behind the words, no matter how much truth. It’s always ‘still making music. Never going to stop. Producing, songwriting, maybe a solo act...’
Sometimes there’s a family attached. Sometimes love. Never the two together. Seungri doesn’t want to think about what that means.
Seungri watches Jiyong when asked this question (the smaller, more terrible part of him says that he’s always watching Jiyong). Sees the uncertainty before the light flickers on, before the genius that almost never seems to stop kick in again.
Seungri’s almost disappointed when the answer comes out of Jiyong’s mouth is the same as the one he would’ve said, or Youngbae or Daesung or Seunghyun.
Seungri knows it’s bad, he does. But somehow he can’t stop it - there’s just something about Jiyong that gets him somewhere he doesn’t want to think about. There’s something about Jiyong Seungri’s always admired, always wanted.
Somewhere along the line, Seungri doesn’t know where, he’d put Jiyong on a pedestal too high for him to climb up on. He’d built Jiyong up to something more than human in his mind (or maybe less human, more music - maybe it was fitting, what Jiyong had said. Seungri could never see Jiyong without music but still. But still).
He asks him afterwards, though he knows it’s going to cost him his perfectly styled hair and a few quick heartbeats - “hey hyung. Hyung? What do you really, really see yourself doing in twenty years?”
Jiyong doesn’t answer and Seungri’s sneaking suspicion that maybe Jiyong’s more afraid of time passing than any of them is confirmed.
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Jiyong finally snaps. “Are you an interviewer? What the hell are you thinking about the future for? I’d suggest you work on your singing now, magnae.”
Jiyong stalks away, uncharacteristically vicious even in his leaving.
-
It’s embarrassing for Seungri when Daesung and Jiyong out him about his - admiration. (In his mind, he’d hoped Jiyong wouldn’t notice. The fact that Daesung did as well makes it a little worse.)
“Why’d you have to do that hyung?” Seungri asks Jiyong flatly after the interview.
Jiyong doesn’t even look up. “It’s annoying,” he replies, shrugging.
Ouch, Seungri thinks. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “Sorry. You should’ve told me. I won’t do it again.”
Jiyong’s head swings up so fast it almost connects with Seungri’s chin. “Why are you being so goddamn agreeable?”
Seungri blinks and takes a step back. Jiyong matches it with one of his own frustrated movements, never willing to do anything without some intense flair of emotion. “What are you talking about?” Seungri asks, nettled. “You told me to stop and I’m going to stop. I don’t want you to say things like that again.”
“But why?” Jiyong repeats insistently. “Since when do you listen to me? Since when do you care? Fuck, Seunghyun. When was the last time you listened to anyone?”
Seungri looks down, spreads his shaking fingers out against his thigh, thinks about holding Jiyong’s hand. A stupid thought at any other time but especially inappropriate now. He curls his fingers back into a fist, his nails digging into his palm so hard that it hurts. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
-
“Are you sick?” Jiyong asks Seungri incredulously, hand automatically moving to his forehead in typical band-leader fashion. “Aish, magnae, you’re burning up. What the hell is wrong with you? You have to take care of yourself, you know.”
Seungri makes a noncommittal sound, too tired to argue with Jiyong. He throws an arm over his eyes and hopes that his death will be quick and painless and that Jiyong doesn’t try to drag it out.
“Tell manager-hyung we’re not going today. I’m going to stay home and make sure he doesn’t die.” Jiyong nods at Seungri, who does look quite pitiful, laid out and boneless-looking on the couch. He tries to protest weakly but he’s shot down by a glare from Jiyong.
“What,” Youngbae says, frowning. “We can’t go on a radio missing two members.”
“Like hell you can’t,” Jiyong replies, rolling his eyes. “Not when Seungri’s like this. Just tell them what’s happening - cute magnae home sick with the flu or some virus or AIDS or whatever, the more life-threatening and creative the better, and loving leader-sshi taking care of him.”
Seungri snorts derisively from his position on the couch and Jiyong whips around to point a thermometer at him threateningly. “I hold your life in my hands, magnae,” Jiyong warns Seungri dangerously.
Seungri shuts up.
“I’m never sick,” he tells Jiyong morosely and slurred later, eyes falling shut. “Like, really, never. The last time I was sick was when I was ten.”
“I guess all those years are finally catching up to you,” Jiyong says briskly. “Aish, magnae, don’t go to sleep yet. Here, put this in your mouth.”
“Wouldn’t you like that,” Seungri mutters, blearily and more than just a little out of it. Jiyong snickers and flicks his forehead. He opens his mouth so Jiyong can slip the pill in his mouth though and accepts the glass of water.
He feels Jiyong get up to leave and watch TV or write lyrics or take future blackmailing pictures or whatever when he is suddenly seized with a feeling of homesickness. He manages to link his fingers with Jiyong’s just as his eyes slip shut. “Please stay,” he pleads, not even trying to keep the note of desperation out of his voice.
Jiyong hesitates and Seungri squeezes his eyes closed - how stupid of him, what the hell is he thinking -
“Okay,” Jiyong says softly. “Don’t worry, magnae. I’m here. Whatever you want.”
You. You, you, always always you. Any part of you. Any part at all, Seungri thinks, hoping it’s just the fever speaking.
-
Seungri’s fine the next morning, and he hopes against hope that Jiyong will just count last night an uncharacteristic and isolated incident in both of their lives.
“Have some toast.” Seungri gingerly takes the hot bread Jiyong offers him, blowing on his fingers when he almost drops it. Jiyong snickers at him, miming his fumble and over-exaggerating his movements. Seunghyun snorts into his coffee when Jiyong accidentally hits Daesung.
“Thanks hyung.” Seungri rolls his eyes and eats his toast with as much dignity as he can.
When he licks the butter off his fingers, he catches Jiyong - for lack of a better word - staring, who shakes off the interest and instead looks slightly startled to be caught. He scowls, imperceptible if you didn’t know his facial expressions and annoyance as well as Seungri did (which he only knew because of how often he’s been on the receiving end of said annoyance), and turns to Youngbae.
It hits Seungri a little too late - the fact that Kwon Jiyong is human, just like him.
He tries to swallow the bitter taste of disappointment (he can’t) - he just remembers a few years ago when he met Jiyong and thinking, with more than just a little longing, that he’d never, ever be like this. It’s years of admiration that brought him to this moment. Years of thinking he’d never be good enough. Years of hoping he’d never be good enough, because Seungri has never dared to think about the alternative possibility.
Five seconds of - oh, oh. Five seconds of crushing disappointment.
Seungri feels a little like someone just told him God’s just human, just like the rest of us.
(Then he realizes Jiyong had been looking at him. At him. Seungri doesn’t know if he should feel disappointed or flattered.)
-
Jiyong’s birthday sneaks up on them in between ending promotions for their last album and a wave of talk show appearances.
One day, Jiyong walks into the kitchen and announces grandly, “Today is my birthday. I am going to take the day off and go out with my friends. You can’t stop me.” He - there is no other word for it - flounces out of the kitchen, head held high.
“How irresponsible,” Seungri grumbles, smile tugging at his mouth.
“How typical, you mean,” Seunghyun says affectionately, rolling his eyes. “Manager-hyung probably would’ve given him the day off anyway. Hey Jiyong!” He yells. “Happy birthday! I’ll buy you a drink later!”
“You better buy me five!” comes Jiyong’s muffled (but delighted) shout. “Thanks hyung!”
Seungri listens to this exchange without just a bit of jealousy. “Not fair,” he says quietly to his cup.
Unfortunately, Daesung has the hearing of a dog and he nudges Seungri. “What’s not fair?”
Seungri flaps his hands a bit. “All of this,” he finally grumbles. “All of your - your legality and the fact that I’m not.” He hunches down in his seat, sticking his hands in his armpits. “I hate being the magnae,” he huffs.
“But you’re our magnae,” Jiyong says cheerfully, having caught the tail end of Seungri’s tirade. “Cheer up, Seunghyunnie! It’s my birthday!”
A peek up at Jiyong’s smile has Seungri smiling too. He doesn’t realize how fucking stupid he must look until Jiyong’s bouncing out the door and he comes back down to earth only to see Daesung, Youngbae, and Seunghyun eyeing him amusedly.
“So,” Seunghyun begins, wicked smile spreading over his face.
“We always knew you liked hyung but…really, Seungri?” Daesung asks, waggling his eyebrows for added effect.
“No!” Seungri protests, too quickly, too loudly. “No, what the hell. Why would I ever like Jiyong-hyung. Hmph. I’m not fifteen anymore you know.” Seungri crosses his arms indignantly, looking at Seunghyun, Daesung, Youngbae until Seunghyun’s smile flickers and Daesung starts looking guilty. “Yeah,” he says, nose held high. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
-
Jiyong comes home, drunk off his ass and stumbling into everything. He stumbles his way into Seungri’s room, even though they haven’t shared it in ages and collapses in a heap on top of Seungri.
“Oh my God, ew,” Seungri says, when he realizes who it is. “Hyung, you smell disgusting. And I was sleeping. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“That’s my line,” Jiyong groans. “Shove over, Seungri, I’m tired.”
“This isn’t your room anymore,” Seungri grumbles, but he moves over readily enough, feeling rather than seeing Jiyong fold his thin limbs under his blankets. He’s not prepared for Jiyong winding wiry arms around him and Seungri suddenly feels as if Jiyong is reaching under his skin, fingers mapping out everything he can touch.
“What are you doing, hyung,” Seungri asks, voice high-pitched and quick and - damn it - hopeful.
“Cuddling,” is Jiyong’s sleepy reply. “Wanted some company.”
The cheerful disappointment in Jiyong’s voice clues Seungri in and he wonders bitterly who he’s a replacement for tonight; which pretty girl with flashing eyes, which beautiful boy with long fingers. Whose room he would’ve sought out had Seungri’s not been closest to the door.
“I’m not your backup, hyung,” Seungri says softly, disappointment creeping around the statement like vines.
“Oh no,” Jiyong breathes, propping himself on his elbows and looking at Seungri, eyes bright but hazy with alcohol. “No, magnae, never. First choice, always.” He presses his face into Seungri’s thin chest, leaning his forehead against Seungri’s collarbone.
“Cute, hyung,” Seungri mutters when he hears Jiyong’s snores a second afterwards. “Cute. Is this how you charm your girls?”
Jiyong is smaller than Seungri had thought - thinner, more fragile, more beautiful. Jiyong’s normally such a ball of indestructible energy and genius that Seungri is almost afraid of this Jiyong, the one who snuffles in his sleep and scratches fingers through Seungri’s hair idly.
-
It’s not so much a fall from grace as it is a wake-up call. Jiyong has always been Seungri’s favorite hyung, has always been exactly what Seungri wanted to be, just as good a dancer as he is a singer as he is a rapper as he is a songwriter. But Jiyong is also human and maybe he isn’t the genius Seungri always thought he was.
“Magnae, you expect too much of me,” he sighs, a rare moment of intimacy. He doesn’t even look up from the paper he is attacking, still holding on to that facsimile of artistry in front of Seungri, the ash from his cigarette silencing any protests from Youngbae about the dangers of smoking. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I can’t humor you anymore.”
Seungri at one time might have been impressed enough by Jiyong that this would have meant an end to his almost annoyingly incessant questioning but he is older now, more mature; more inclined to doubt than he is to believe. “Hyung, maybe you expect too much of me,” he replies quietly, and even when Jiyong’s pen stops scratching what may be either nonsense or something that would put even Shakespeare to shame, Seungri feels no sense of triumph. “I never asked you to humor me.”
“Seunghyun,” Jiyong finally says, evenly. “Whatever could I expect from you?” There is blank curiosity in his voice, and the question is cruel like honesty usually is. Seungri thinks about taking offense but drops it - it is a fair question. What could he offer Jiyong?
The walk to Jiyong is excruciating, almost, the three or so meters the longest Seungri’s ever walked in his life. When Seungri fits his mouth to Jiyong, he waits for the old familiar rush and is not disappointed when it comes. He removes himself just as gently and stands in front of Jiyong, waiting.
When Jiyong closes his eyes and lets his breath escape from between his lips like the resigned sigh of a man who has given up the chase, Seungri does not feel like he’s won, or caught, anything. This suits Jiyong, he knows. The thrill of seeing a boy who used to admire him so much finally take initiative must fit in with all of Jiyong’s requirements but Seungri has no intention of being another aspect of Jiyong’s image, not unless he has some promise of sincerity.
“Nothing,” he says, just as Jiyong’s mouth comes so close to his and when Jiyong stills in possibly surprise, Seungri feels a strange sense of satisfaction in being able to prove him wrong. “You could expect nothing from me and even that would be too much.” He gets up, rests his hands on Jiyong’s shoulders for a second before turning away. Now that he has confronted and more or less defeated all his fears (regarding Jiyong, anyway, he has a million more otherwise), he feels vindicated in walking away.
“Hey, Seungri.” Jiyong’s voice is aggressive, judgmental, nonchalant, and so typical it makes Seungri smile.
“Yes, hyung?” Seungri turns to Jiyong like he is a sunflower and Jiyong the goddamn sun (always, always, no matter what he tries - it is this predictability that shames himself), smile bright on his lips.
“Where do you want to be, ten years from now?” Jiyong’s expression is soft, almost tender, and Seungri realizes that he’s never been asked this question, saved as it is for the older members of the group, the ones more likely to keep a good hold of fame and not eventually slip into anonymity after their turn is over.
“Where I want to be?” Seungri ponders. The answer is easy and sincere, if not completely predictable. “Making music. Dancing. Doing something I love. Fame, love - that comes second.”
The smile that Jiyong graces Seungri with is lovelier than all the smiles Jiyong has worn in the years Seungri has known him. “Do you?” He asks, and there is a note of delight in the way the question turns and the expression on his face softens when Seungri nods. “I’m proud of you, magnae. Everything I expected and more.”