#9
In the middle of the night, a pale hand suddenly grabs onto Seung-ri’s sheets and rips them from off of his body. The boy wakes up, of course - he blinks in the dark and sees Ji-yong standing there with wild eyes and hair so light that it almost glows in the dark. He’s standing there and his narrow chest is rising and falling so quickly that it cannot possibly be healthy.
He is hyperventilating.
“Hyung?”
Seung-ri sits up, watching Ji-yong’s eyes, wanting to see them focus. “What are you doing?”
Ji-yong’s face is completely white and this, Seung-ri reminds himself, is without make-up. He reaches out, trying to catch Ji-yong’s hand to reel him in. “Breathe, Ji-yong, tell me what’s wrong,” he says, pulling at the boy until he, too, sits on the bed… half-collapses. Seung-ri has to keep calm for the both of them.
“Breathe.”
“I can’t… can’t---” Ji-yong is gasping, his fingers are twitching in a bad bad way and Seung-ri knows what this is. Ji-yong has been pushing and pushing himself again, and his pulse has started beating on the outside, on his skin.
It’s the fucking press, Seung-ri thinks and almost sneers. And it’s G-fucking-Dragon that doesn’t understand the meaning of “too much” and “too far”.
But no one breaks Ji-yong on Seung-ri’s watch. He reels his hand back and it smacks across Ji-yong’s cheek so hard the boy’s head rocks to the side with the force of the blow. The sound of it rings in Seung-ri’s ears and the back of his hand is hurting.
“Ouch,” Ji-yong whimpers.
Seung-ri looks at him quietly, and minutes tick by. Ji-yong starts breathing, irregularly at first but it slows and he finds his rhythm. Seung-ri’s knuckles burn.
“What do you want?”
Ji-yong lifts his eyes. “I…”
“Did you come to beg me?” Seung-ri asks.
Blonde hair dance around Ji-yong’s face as he shakes his head, his cheeks pink even in the dark. “I came for a hug,” he whispers.
And Seung-ri opens his arms. “I can do that,” he smiles.
Ends.
He is hyperventilating.
“Hyung?”
Seung-ri sits up, watching Ji-yong’s eyes, wanting to see them focus. “What are you doing?”
Ji-yong’s face is completely white and this, Seung-ri reminds himself, is without make-up. He reaches out, trying to catch Ji-yong’s hand to reel him in. “Breathe, Ji-yong, tell me what’s wrong,” he says, pulling at the boy until he, too, sits on the bed… half-collapses. Seung-ri has to keep calm for the both of them.
“Breathe.”
“I can’t… can’t---” Ji-yong is gasping, his fingers are twitching in a bad bad way and Seung-ri knows what this is. Ji-yong has been pushing and pushing himself again, and his pulse has started beating on the outside, on his skin.
It’s the fucking press, Seung-ri thinks and almost sneers. And it’s G-fucking-Dragon that doesn’t understand the meaning of “too much” and “too far”.
But no one breaks Ji-yong on Seung-ri’s watch. He reels his hand back and it smacks across Ji-yong’s cheek so hard the boy’s head rocks to the side with the force of the blow. The sound of it rings in Seung-ri’s ears and the back of his hand is hurting.
“Ouch,” Ji-yong whimpers.
Seung-ri looks at him quietly, and minutes tick by. Ji-yong starts breathing, irregularly at first but it slows and he finds his rhythm. Seung-ri’s knuckles burn.
“What do you want?”
Ji-yong lifts his eyes. “I…”
“Did you come to beg me?” Seung-ri asks.
Blonde hair dance around Ji-yong’s face as he shakes his head, his cheeks pink even in the dark. “I came for a hug,” he whispers.
And Seung-ri opens his arms. “I can do that,” he smiles.
Ends.