He came home a little late. Things had taken time longer than he predicted, and Kwon Jiyong wasn't very happy about things out of his prediction. He served himself a glass of water, Seungri's handwriting caught his attention.

Be back tomorrow.

It's not artistic or such, but Jiyong traced the words with his fingertip. Two days without Seungri, it wasn't new to him. He smiled and took the note with him, slipped is under his pillow as he let sleep pull him in.

He woke up with his own breathing resounding against the wall. His hand unconsciously roamed through the soft surface that usually bore the scent of Seungri. He would wake up first, he always did. He would let the younger man sleep a little bit more, shamelessly trying to picture the line of his face, the curve of his slightly open mouth. He would shake him gently, watching Seungri's eyes blinked open and the way his expression softened the moment he realized it's just Jiyong.

He would steal the blanket and Seungri, as always, would whine and shift closer. Seungri was muscles and fat while Jiyong was bones and skin and all the guts he couldn't spill out loud to the world without making people hating him even more. He loved it when Seungri's steady breaths hit his hair, when he crawled to Jiyong as if Jiyong was more a protection than the blanket; as if it wasn't Jiyong who stole it in the first place.

He loved when Seungri, out of everyone –everything –else in this world, would choose him without a single doubt. He loved it when Seungri, had more than a thousand people around him, would look for Jiyong out of the crowd.

With a deep sigh, he realized how much he loved having Seungri.

And being Seungri's.

The call came around noon. He was nursing himself with cereals and half–empty bottle of milk when his phone rang. It was not even a minute or a conversation but the words had gotten his curiosity to turn into anxiety.

Nyongtory is real.

It sounded like a joke. It could be a prank call. It could be their fans.

But it was a statement, not a question.

Then he got messages.

The more he scrolled through it, the slower his heart beat.

When the messages stopped coming, Jiyong looked behind him and wondered who hung the mistletoe last year, if the walls were always that broken white instead of shining bright, if everything –him –would ever be the same anymore.

He sat in the bathtub and thought how funny it was. It looked like a movie, one he'd snicker about of how dramatic it seemed. The shower was on and it's running hot water but all inside him was cold.

Was it possible to be frozen when everything around you crashing against the shore?

The fog got thick in the bathroom and Jiyong wondered if it's possible to be surrounded by clouds but he's still repeatedly hitting the ground.

Jiyong watched his frown dissolved into fear, the thin line of his mouth turned into an almost tear.

"You're running fever," Seungri said, his face pained.

Jiyong shrugged. "Maybe."

"And you've been smoking," Seungri pushed him to bed, tucked him in with blanket that smelled a lot like Jiyong and so less of Seungri. "Should I hire a maid everytime I go somewhere?"

"Panda maid," Jiyong teased him. "That'd be good."

"I was just gone for a day, hyung," he sounded tired and worried and every other emotion of sadness all at once that Jiyong had to squeeze his hand.

"I'll be alright," he said quietly. So quiet that he couldn't even believe it himself.

Seungri fell asleep on his chest. There would be print of Jiyong's shirt button on his cheek when he woke up later. Jiyong was supposed to wake him up but he's afraid the moment he got lost in Seungri's eyes, he would never be able to save them both. So he clutched onto Seungri's denim, counting the beats of his heart, calm and steady against Jiyong's side.

***

He closed his eyes as if it would dismiss his mind from remembering what he's holding. When he blinked them open and it's still there, he knew that he had made the best decision. It was ten and focus. It was like how Jiyong remembered it but with less of Summer air and sparks of Seungri's smile. He let the photographs lay on the table, staring at them without blinking until his eyes got watery that he could fool himself enough it wasn't happening.

The envelope fell from the table like feather but to Jiyong, it's a deafening sound that signaled it's the end of his fight.

***

"I don't think it's gonna work, Seungri," he heard himself saying. It's a script, it's printed in his mind already, he's not failing this.

"About what?" Seungri hummed.

"About us," the word was so familiar with him that it felt wrong to put it in a bad way. "You and me."

Seungri looked like he's about to cry but then he stood up, marching his way to him.

Jiyong thought he had felt the worst, that the journey would be less painful than the moment he decided to let go but he wasn't prepared for this, for a strong hold of Seungri's arms around him.

"It's me," Seungri whispered against his shoulder when Jiyong tried to break free. "It's Seungri, it's just me. Don't snap, don't be mad."

When he stroke Jiyong's hair, his words were clear and inaudible.

Don't be afraid.

Seungri kissed him on the cheek and Jiyong briefly pushed him away because it felt like sword between his ribs for everything he shouldn't want anymore.

***

"Are you sleeping?" the bed shifted and the scent invaded his senses mercilessly. Jiyong felt the skin he'd known for years danced on his cheeks, that when it's removed it left invisible scars.

A brand, he thought. From Seungri.

"Are you mad at me?" Seungri's voice was soft; so close to breaking. Jiyong couldn't answer, he pretended to be sleeping.

Maybe, if he pretended enough, it would be all over soon.

***

He'd wake up first. He'd turn to his side and Seungri's face would be so near, it hurt to feel his breath against his skin. He would reach to touch his forehead, to draw his jawline, to trace the shape of his lips. Seungri leaned to his touch, unconsciously and out of habit; Jiyong thought of when he'd give up, when Seungri's patience would wear off.

He didn't wake him up, he slipped from the bed instead, marching his way to his car, afraid that he wouldn't be able to stop wishing.

I wish you to be okay.

I wish you to stop loving me.

I wish you to never get hurt.

I wish you happiness.

I wish you days, months, years, all the time in this world.

I wish you love, so much that it wouldn't hurt you.

I wish you life, one without me.

Jiyong was afraid that he's wishing too much and one glance at Seungri would jinx it all.

***