#gdragon

[porktop]

if i don’t get bigbang tickets im beating gdragon tf up

[chel-seunghyun]

If I had a podcast, it would be called "Chel Me, Juseyo" 🎙️

The concept? Mukbang while interviewing my guests. And my first guests would definitely be GD&TOP.

My first question: GD&TOP Volume 2, when?

[2bird-go-away]

Part 1

[chaot1c-b1tch]

24┗━━━⊱ 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉! ⊰━━━┛

WORDS: 4987 WARNINGS: Emotional conflict, unhealthy coping mechanism, sexual connotes

A/N: FUCKING FINALLY GUYS. At this point, if you guys dont like it imma just die atp, I had to rewrite it three times, this shii was hard. Im having a lot of doubts about the fic, I feel like I even got a crisis and changed my writting style a bit... or a bunch. Sadly I have to say that this fic... Is comming to an end soon.

Dont forget to leave a comment as always please!

---------------------------------------------

The warmth of his body contouring against your back should have been a comfort. On any other day, the heavy, possessive drape of Ji-yong’s arm around your waist and the soft, sleepy friction of his lips pressing against the sensitive skin beneath your ear would have had you melting back into the mattress, chasing his touch.

But today, you were entirely rigid.

Your eyes, gritty and heavy from the mere two hours of restless sleep you’d managed to steal, stared blankly at the sunlit wall. Every time his chest expanded against your shoulder blades, your brain didn't register the intimacy—it registered the image of his inked chest heaving violently in the dark, his hand clamped over his mouth to choke back his own pleasure.

The phantom sound of his ragged, lonely gasps seemed to echo louder than the quiet rustle of the sheets.

"Morning, baby," Ji-yong murmured, his voice a low, gravelly bedroom purr that vibrated directly against your skin. 

He squeezed your waist, nuzzling deeper into your hair with a contented sigh. He felt warm, relaxed, and entirely satisfied. Or, at least, he was putting on a flawless performance of it.

You swallowed past the dry lump in your throat, forcing your voice to remain level. "Morning."

"What do you want for breakfast?" he asked, his fingers tracing a lazy, feather-light pattern over your hip, entirely unaware of the absolute war zone inside your head.

"Um... I don't know, choose," you muttered, shifting slightly under the guise of stretching, just to put an inch of agonizing distance between your bodies. You couldn't handle the friction of his skin right now. It felt like a lie. It felt like a barrier.

Ji-yong hummed, a thoughtful, quiet sound as his hand came to a rest on your thigh. "Mm... I'm feeling like something sweet."

"Sounds good," you replied, your tone completely flat.

The mattress shifted as Ji-yong propped himself up on one elbow, the sudden loss of his body heat leaving you feeling strangely cold. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw his brows knit together, a faint shadow of concern crossing his sharp features as he looked down at your profile. He was incredibly perceptive; he knew your rhythms, knew exactly how you reacted to him.

He could tell something was off, but you could see the exact moment his brain miscalculated why.

"Hey," he said softly, his thumb gently catching your chin to turn your face toward him. His smile was sweet, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You okay? You look like you're a million miles away."

You forced yourself to meet his gaze. Dark eyes. Messy hair. Sleep-soft features. The faint imprint of the pillow still pressed against his cheek.

He looked exactly like the man who had tucked you into bed the night before. Exactly like the man who had kissed your forehead and whispered goodnight. Exactly like the man who had held your face in his hands and told you he'd loved making you feel good. Exactly like the man sitting in a bathroom with one hand over his mouth because he'd rather choke on his own pleasure than ask you for anything.

The knot in your throat tightened. "I'm okay," you lied.

Ji-yong studied you for another second. Then another. He'd always been good at reading people. Too good.

You watched him searching through possibilities behind his eyes.

Did I say something wrong?

Did I move too fast?

Was she uncomfortable?

Did she regret it?

Each possibility crossed his face in subtle flickers. Never once landing on the truth. Finally, his expression softened.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

It came out too quickly. Too rehearsed.

His brows furrowed. "You don't sound sure."

Your chest tightened painfully. Because the irony of it all nearly made you laugh. For weeks—months—you had been learning how to trust him. Learning that his touch didn't come with expectations. That wanting didn't automatically become taking. That love wasn't measured in how much of yourself you gave away before someone left.

And somehow...the first real crack between you wasn't caused by him wanting too much. It was caused by him refusing to want anything at all.

You sat up slowly.

"I should probably get ready for work."

"Oh." The disappointment slipped out before he could stop it. Small. Instinctive. He recovered immediately.

"Right. Yeah."

He smiled. It looked practiced. "I'll make breakfast while you shower."

You nodded. "Okay."

He leaned over instinctively, pressing a soft kiss against your shoulder before climbing out of bed.

The familiar gesture made your stomach twist.

"French toast?" he asked over his shoulder.

"You said sweet."

"French toast sounds good."

"Okay."

He smiled at you. That beautiful smile everyone knew. The one cameras adored. The one that reassured everyone around him that everything was fine. Then he disappeared into the kitchen.

You listened to his footsteps moving around the apartment. The opening and closing of cupboards. The refrigerator door. The soft hum of him singing under his breath. Completely normal. Like nothing had changed. Meanwhile, you sat frozen in bed, tangled in sheets that still smelled like him.

Your eyes drifted toward the closed bathroom door. And suddenly, against your will, the memory returned.

The crack of yellow light beneath the frame. His shoulders shaking. His fingers pressed hard against his mouth. The desperate, muffled sounds of someone trying not to take up too much space.

Your eyes burned. "What am I supposed to do with this?" you whispered into the empty bedroom.

Because you weren't angry. That would have been easier. You weren't disgusted. You weren't afraid. You understood exactly why he'd done it. That was the problem. You understood him too well. You understood what it meant to make yourself smaller. To swallow your needs. To decide for other people what they could handle. To carry things alone because being inconvenient felt more terrifying than being lonely.

You knew that version of survival intimately. And maybe that's why it hurt so much. Because sitting on that bathroom floor...he had looked exactly like you used to. And you had no idea what to do about it.

----------------------------------------

The hot water of the shower did nothing to wash away the chill in your bones. Standing in the small en-suite, your eyes kept dragging back to the closed toilet lid. It looked completely benign now, just porcelain in the morning sun, but the image of him unraveled and desperate remained burned into the back of your eyelids.

By the time you dressed in your stiff work clothes—putting on your own version of armor—the scent of cinnamon and caramelized sugar filled the apartment.

Ji-yong was at the stove, his back to you. He had thrown on a baggy hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to reveal the heavy ink on his forearms as he expertly flipped a piece of golden-brown bread. He looked so grounded. So entirely at home...

"Perfect timing," he said without looking back, hearing your footsteps. He plated the food and turned around, offering you a bright, easy smile that hit you like a physical blow. He set the plate on the small table, pulling out your chair for you. "Careful, it's hot."

You sat down, the fabric of your slacks feeling suddenly suffocating compared to the soft sheets you'd just left. "Thank you."

"Of course, baby." He poured you a cup of coffee, setting it exactly how you liked it before sitting across from you with his own mug. 

He didn't take much food for himself. He just watched you, his dark eyes brimming with that quiet, intense affection that usually made your heart skip.

Today, it just made your chest ache.

"I was thinking," Ji-yong started softly, cradling his mug between both hands. "You have that big quarterly review with Si-woo today, right? You're probably going to be exhausted after. I can head back to my studio after breakfast, let you have the apartment to yourself tonight so you can actually sleep."

He said it so gently. Like it was a gift. He was offering to remove himself from your equation before you could even ask, sacrificing the time he clearly wanted with you just to ensure he wasn't an inconvenience.

You gripped your fork a little tighter, staring down at the French toast.

To decide for other people what they could handle.

He was doing it right now. He was sitting across from you, bleeding out from his own anxiety, and trying to patch up your scratches instead.

"Ji-yong," you said, your voice cutting through the quiet hum of the kitchen. It wasn't loud, but it had that distinct, unyielding weight—the tone you used when a project was veering off course and you refused to let it fail.

He blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the air. "Yeah?"

You set your fork down with a quiet clink against the ceramic. You leaned forward slightly, forcing his gaze to lock with yours.

Part of you wanted to rip the band-aid off right here. To demand to know why he’d lied.

But you glanced at the clock on the microwave. You had to leave for the office in twenty minutes. If you broke the silence now, you’d leave a shattered, spiraling man alone in your kitchen all day, and you’d be trapped in a corporate boardroom unable to fix it.

No. You weren't going to let him run away to his studio to hide behind his superstar persona, either.

"No," you said, your voice cutting through the quiet hum of the kitchen. It wasn't loud, but it had that distinct, unyielding weight—the tone that used to make clients sit up straight during your initial consultations.

Ji-yong blinked, holding his mug halfway to his lips, caught off guard by the sudden finality in your tone. "No?"

"Don't go to your studio," you said, meeting his gaze with a steady, unblinking focus. "Stay here. Cancel whatever you have tonight, or push it to tomorrow. I want you here when I get back from work."

A subtle shift went through him. The relaxed posture disappeared, replaced by a sudden, rigid alertness. You could practically hear the gears in his head grinding to a halt, his anxious mind immediately scrambling to catalog every potential mistake he’d made in the last twelve hours.

"O-okay," he murmured, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He looked suddenly younger somehow, sitting there in his oversized hoodie with sleep-tousled hair, his fingers tightening around the ceramic mug. "I'll be here."

"Good."

You picked up your fork again.

"It's really good, by the way," you said after a moment, forcing the words past the knot lodged in your throat. "Thank you."

Ji-yong's expression softened immediately. Relief. Even if it was only a fraction of it.

"I'm glad," he said quietly.

Silence settled over the kitchen again. Sunlight streamed through the windows, catching on the abandoned coffee pot and the stack of dishes beside the sink. The apartment smelled like cinnamon and vanilla and home.

Across from you, Ji-yong finally took a bite of his own breakfast.Then another. His shoulders remained tense.

His smile, whenever he glanced up at you, never quite reached his eyes. He was trying. He was always trying.

Trying to make himself smaller. Trying to anticipate needs before they became disappointments. Trying to fix problems before anyone realized they existed. Trying to be easy.

The realization sat heavy in your chest. Because he had no idea. No idea that you weren't angry. No idea that this wasn't punishment. No idea that when you asked him to stay, it wasn't because you wanted to confront him.

It was because you refused to let him disappear.

He thought you were asking him to wait for a verdict.

The truth was much simpler. You wanted him there. When you got home. You wanted to sit him down on the couch. You wanted to take his face in your hands. You wanted to ask him why he'd hidden. You wanted to understand. And maybe, selfishly, you wanted him to understand something too.

That loving someone wasn't just accepting the parts of them that were convenient. It was accepting the uncomfortable parts. The messy parts. The needy parts. The parts that asked. The parts that wanted.

You finished the last bite of French toast before setting your fork down.

"I should get going."

Ji-yong stood immediately. "I'll drive you."

"You don't have to."

"I know."

His answer came quickly. Without hesitation.

Then, quieter, as if correcting himself before the words could become an obligation: "But I'd like to."

Something inside your chest cracked. Because there it was.Small. Almost insignificant. But different. Not because he thought he should. Not because it was expected. Not because he was trying to earn anything. Because he'd stopped long enough to ask himself what he wanted. And the answer had been simple. He wanted a few more minutes with you.

"Okay," you said softly.

His smile this time was genuine. Tiny. Tentative. But real.

"Okay."

He reached for your bag before you could stop him, slipping it over his shoulder as though it weighed nothing at all.

You rolled your eyes automatically. "I can carry my own things."

"I know."

"You literally just said—"

"I know," he repeated, glancing back at you as he opened the apartment door. Then, with a sheepish little shrug that somehow looked both boyish and devastating on him, he admitted, "...but I'd like to."

You stared at him. Then snatched your bag back anyway. "No."

His eyes widened. "Oh."

"You can carry my coffee."

He blinked. Then smiled. Slowly. Warmly.

"...Okay."

And as you followed him out of the apartment, watching him carefully balance two travel mugs in one hand while locking the door with the other, your stomach twisted painfully.

Because in a few hours, you were going to ask him why he had hidden himself from you. And you weren't entirely sure which one of you was more afraid of the answer.

-------------------------------------------

The click of the key turning in the deadbolt felt abnormally loud in the quiet hallway.

You pushed the door open, stepping into the apartment, and were immediately met with total, unyielding darkness. The sun had set hours ago, leaving the space illuminated only by the cold, pale glow of the city skyline filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

There was no music playing. No low hum of the television. Just a heavy, stagnant silence that settled over your shoulders the second the door clicked shut behind you.

You dropped your keys into the bowl by the door—a sharp, metallic chime that echoed through the shadows. You kicked off your heels, slipped into your house slippers, and let your heavy work bag slide off your shoulder to the floor. You didn't turn on the lights. You didn't need to. Your eyes adjusted to the dimness, tracking the silhouette of the living room.

And there he was.

Ji-yong was sitting exactly where you had left him that morning. He hadn't moved to the bedroom. He hadn't gone to the studio. He was hunched over on the center of the couch, his knees pulled up slightly, staring blankly at the dark screen of the television. His phone sat entirely untouched on the coffee table.

As the rustle of your coat broke the silence, his head snapped up. His dark eyes immediately found yours through the gloom, wide and hyper-alert.

"...Hey."

His voice was terrifyingly hoarse, rough and scraping against the quiet air like he hadn't used it a single time since you walked out the door at eight o’clock this morning.

"Hey," you replied softly.

Ji-yong stood up immediately. Too quickly. His knees caught the edge of the coffee table, a clumsy, uncharacteristic rattle of ceramic mugs shifting in the dark, but he didn't even seem to notice. He practically bolted to his feet, his hands instinctively shoving deep into the pockets of his oversized hoodie as if trying to keep himself from reaching out, or maybe just trying to keep his fingers from shaking.

"You—how was your day?" he asked, forcing a light, casual cadence into his tone that completely crumbled under the weight of his exhaustion.

You stood by the entryway, watching him. In the pale moonlight, you could see the dark purple shadows under his eyes. He looked entirely unraveled. He didn't look like G-Dragon. He looked like a man who had spent the last ten hours sitting in a dark room, pacing the floorboards of his own mind, waiting for a executioner to walk through the door.

He thinks this is a breakup, the realization hit you with a painful twist of your stomach. He thinks I brought him back here to discard him.

Ji-yong swallowed hard, his throat bobbing over the collar of his hoodie. He tried to smile—that practiced, beautiful G-Dragon smile—but it fractured instantly, his lips trembling before flattening into a thin, desperate line.

"You wanted to talk," he murmured, his voice dropping into a quiet, resigned register. He didn't let you speak. He couldn't. The panic inside him had clearly reached its boiling point, and he needed to beat you to the punch, needed to soften the blow before you could shatter him entirely.

"If this is because of last night..." he started, the words tumbling out in a breathless, frantic rush, "...I'm sorry. I know I—I overstepped. I got carried away, and I shouldn't have—"

"I woke up," you interrupted cleanly, your voice cutting through his spiraling apology like a scalpel.

Ji-yong froze. "What?"

"Last night. After you tucked me in," you said, taking a slow, deliberate step out of the entryway and into the living room. "I woke up. You were gone too long. I went to check on you."

The silence that followed was absolute.

You watched the blood drain from his face in real-time. In the dim light of the apartment, his skin went a ghostly, translucent pale. A look of actual, physical horror flashed across his features—a raw, naked shame so intense it looked like a physical blow to his chest.

"Y/N—" he choked out, his voice cracking.

"The door wasn't fully closed," you continued, your voice steady, unyielding, refusing to let him hide behind a lie a second time. "I saw you, Ji-yong."

He looked away instantly. His head snapped toward the floor, his chin dropping toward his chest as his shoulders folded inward, attempting to make his frame as small and unnoticeable as humanly possible. 

The sheer weight of the shame radiating off him was suffocating. It wasn't sexual embarrassment; it was the deep, agonizing humiliation of a man who believed his hidden, ugly flaws had finally been exposed to the light.

"I didn't want to pressure you," he whispered fiercely to the floorboards, his knuckles white inside his hoodie pockets. "I didn't. I wanted it to be about you."

"You weren't pressuring me."

"You have history with your ex," he shot back, his voice rising, growing more frantic as he desperately tried to justify the wall he’d built. "You have trauma. I know how I am, Y/N. I know what people say. I didn't want you to feel guilty, or think that I expected—"

"You weren't."

"I didn't want you to think that's all I wanted from you! I wanted it to be perfect, I wanted to show you that you could trust me, and I know it was selfish to do that in the bathroom, I know it was gross and—"

"Ji-yong."

"—and it wasn't your responsibility to deal with that, I can handle myself, I've always handled myself, it's fine, I just didn't want to be a burden—"

"Ji-yong."

"—and if it made you uncomfortable, if it made you regret dating me, I can leave, I'll go back to the studio and we can just—"

"JI-YONG."

The shout wasn't loud, but it slammed through the empty apartment like a thunderclap.

Ji-yong stopped dead. The manic torrent of words died instantly in his throat, a sharp, choked gasp leaving his lips. He froze, his entire body rigid, because you never raised your voice. Ever. 

Slowly, painfully, he lifted his head. He finally looked at you.

His dark eyes were wide, glittering with unshed tears, filled with a raw, agonizing vulnerability that made him look like someone standing in front of a firing squad, waiting for the impact. He was entirely defenseless.

You closed the distance between you, stepping up to the edge of the couch until you were standing less than a foot away from him. You looked up into his shattered face, your chest aching with a pain so sharp it made your eyes burn.

"Why didn't you let me love you?" you asked.

For a moment, Ji-yong simply stared at you.

The city lights filtered through the windows behind him, painting fractured shadows across his face, catching in the wetness gathering along his lower lashes.

His mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

Nothing came out.

You had seen him speechless before. Flustered. Embarrassed. Caught off guard by teasing remarks and unexpected affection.

This wasn't that.

This looked like someone had reached into his chest and ripped out a truth he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying.

"Im not mad Ji, Im just confused" you repeated softly. Not accusing. Not angry. Just...heartbroken.

His lips parted. "I..."

The single syllable cracked apart halfway through. His gaze dropped somewhere over your shoulder.

"You do love me." The answer came out so quietly you almost missed it.

Your brows pulled together. "Ji-yong—"

"You do," he insisted quickly, like he needed you to understand this part before anything else. "I know that. I know you do."

His fingers finally slipped out of his hoodie pockets. They hovered uselessly at his sides. Twisting. Restless.

"I know you love me."

"Then why?" you whispered.

He swallowed. You watched the movement of his throat. The way his eyes squeezed shut for half a second. As if he was trying to force himself to look directly at something he'd spent years avoiding.

"When people love me..." he started slowly, voice trembling around the edges, "they already have to deal with a lot."

You didn't interrupt.

"They deal with schedules." His laugh came out hollow. "Security. The media. My work."

"The fact that sometimes I disappear for days because something comes up…The fact that I can't go places normally." His eyes finally lifted to yours. "The fact that I'm me."

Your chest tightened painfully.

"So..." He looked down again. "If I can make one thing easier..." His voice dropped lower. Smaller. "...why wouldn't I?"

Silence settled heavily between you. "Ji-yong..."

"You already had to work through so much to trust me," he rushed out, words stumbling over each other again. "Your ex. Everything he did. The first time we—" His voice caught. "The first time we did anything like that..." A shaky breath escaped him. "You finally looked happy."

His eyes glistened. "You weren't scared. You smiled at me. You told me it was good." The corner of his mouth twitched upward before immediately collapsing.

"And I thought..." He laughed weakly. "I thought maybe I could just keep giving you that."

You felt your own eyes begin to burn.

"Without asking for anything back."

The apartment fell silent. Outside, somewhere below, a car horn echoed through the city streets. Inside, the world narrowed to the man standing in front of you. The man who had spent his entire career giving people pieces of himself. The man who bought dumplings he hated because you'd mentioned liking them once. Who memorized how you took your coffee. Who drove you to work because he'd like to. Who kissed your forehead every morning. Who held himself together with practiced smiles and gentle hands and the absolute certainty that wanting less made him easier to love.

"You know what the worst part is?" he whispered. His eyes finally met yours again. "I wasn't even unhappy."

Your breath caught.

"I wanted to do it." His face twisted. "I liked making you feel good. I loved it, I really did."

His cheeks flushed. "I loved hearing you laugh afterwards. I loved that you trusted me. I loved that you fell asleep next to me." His voice cracked completely. "And I honestly didn't think..." He blinked rapidly. "...that you'd want that part too."

Something inside your chest broke.

"You thought I'd be disgusted by you or something like that?"

"No." The answer came immediately. Fierce. Almost offended.

"I just..." His shoulders slumped. "You already gave me so much." He looked down at his own hands. "I didn't know I was allowed to ask for more."

The tears burning behind your eyes finally spilled over. "Oh, Ji-yong."

His expression crumpled at the sight. Instant panic replacing vulnerability. "I'm sorry."

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"No."

"If I'd known you'd see me—"

"Ji-yong."

"I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable—"

"No."

You closed the remaining distance between you. Your hands rose to cradle his face before he could retreat again. He froze instantly beneath your touch. Wide-eyed. Silent.

"You don't get to apologize for wanting things."

His breath caught.

"You don't get to decide what I'm capable of giving you."

A tear slipped down his cheek. You wiped it away with your thumb.

"You don't get to love me like I'm something precious..." your own voice broke, "...while treating yourself like you're something I have to tolerate."

He stared at you. Completely still. Like he'd forgotten how to breathe.

"You don't get to make that choice for me."

His lower lip trembled. "I don't know how," he admitted finally.

The confession shattered between you. Small. Terrified. Honest.

His eyes searched yours desperately. "I don't know how to ask."

"Then I'll help you," you whispered against his skin, the first real spark of your new dynamic snapping into place. "From now on, you don't ask. You just let me take care of it."

His breath hitched violently, his fingers finally coming up to grip your wrists like a drowning man catching a lifeline.

"We'll learn," you promised softly. "Together."

You leaned up just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to the bridge of his nose.

Ji-yong let out a watery, startled chuckle, his shoulders finally dropping an inch. The sound was small, but it cut through the heavy remnants of the angst in the room like a breath of fresh air.

With your hands still cradling his face, you used your thumbs to gently wipe away the last of the tears tracing down his sharp cheekbones. Ji-yong watched you, his dark eyes intensely focused on your face, before his own hands slowly lifted from your wrists. His fingers were still trembling slightly as he reached up, his thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek to catch the tears that had spilled from your own eyes.

"I'm sorry," you whispered against the small space between you.

Ji-yong’s brows knit together, his thumb pausing against your skin. "For what?"

"For acting that way this morning," you admitted, the guilt twisting mildly in your stomach now that you saw the full scope of what he’d been carrying. "You were worried, right?"

Ji-yong didn't try to lie this time. He just nodded, a small, vulnerable movement of his head against your palms. "I was. I thought... I thought I messed up. I thought I scared you off."

A soft, breathless chuckle escaped your lips, and you slid one of your hands up, burying your fingers into his messy, sleep-tousled hair. The second your fingers massaged against his scalp, Ji-yong let out a low, shuddering sigh. He instinctively leaned heavily into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut as his face tilted into your palm, looking so much like a cat craving affection that it made your heart ache with pure fondness.

"You really need to let go more," you murmured, your thumb smoothing over his temple while your fingers gently tangled in his dark locks. "Let me take care of you, too."

Ji-yong hummed softly, his body warmth radiating against yours in the dim room. "Don't know how to do that either," he whispered, his long lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones as he kept his eyes closed, entirely content to just bask in the safety of your hands.

"I know," you said, your voice dropping into a low, smooth register that made his breath hitch. "That's why I'm taking the choice away. Open your eyes, Ji-yong."

He obeyed instantly. His eyelids fluttered open, his dark, dilated pupils searching yours in the moonlight, completely captured by the sudden, unyielding authority in your eyes.

"We're going to the bedroom," you told him, your hand sliding from his hair down to his nape, your fingers gripping him just firmly enough to let him know you meant every word. "And you aren't going to think about what I want, or what's 'too much,' or how to be easy. You're just going to lay down, and you're going to let me do whatever I want to you. Understand?"

A visible shiver ran straight down Ji-yong's spine. His lips parted, his dark, dilated pupils searching yours in the moonlight, completely captured by the unyielding authority in your eyes.

"...Okay," he whispered. The word left him like a prayer, a breathless, desperate surrender.

You tightened your fingers just a fraction against the warm skin at the nape of his neck, anchoring him to the command. "Good."

You let your hand slip away from his skin, the sudden absence of your touch leaving him visibly breathless.

"Now go to the bedroom."

And for the first time since the day you had met him... Ji-yong obeyed without trying to take care of you first. He didn't offer to carry anything. He didn't try to open the door for you. He didn't look back to ensure you were following. He simply turned, his broad shoulders slightly curved under his heavy hoodie, and walked down the short hallway toward the bedroom.

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TAGS! :3

@mockingjaybirdd @daesungsleftnostril  @mmmmaabbc @gdtabibaby @arisha-shhh  @imsleepingwhataboutu @memloz @miss-worlddd @megs-orbittt @honeymoonheartt @missleezylou @nothing-is-real-inmy-world @gds-lost-petal @supertrouble143 @hrtswon @kittietyongie @gd1888 @bradfordmyworld @chocomintlatey@stealthyutopiaabyss

[lanterninthedusk]

I LOVE IT Pt. 13

Summary: She's nervous, inexperienced, and trying to be professional. He's confident, teasing, and maybe falling faster than he expected.

Warnings: age gap (legal), angst, miscommunication, emotional distance, slight jealousy, they're so bad at talking

Pairing: Kwon Jiyong x reader

a/n: Congratulations to Jiyong on his breakthrough. Condolences to Jiyong for what comes next.

The care ride to the venue is shorter than you would like it to be. Or maybe it only feels that way because you spent most of it caught up in your own head, thoughts running wild, jumping from one emotion to the next in a way that makes it hard to keep up with. 

There is one feeling in particular that won’t let you go. You keep circling back to it, over and over again, turning it over until it wears you thin. Dread.  

You’re not sure if you can take another night of feeling like an afterthought in a room where you are supposed to belong. 

When the car slows to a stop, it feels far too soon. 

I don’t want to do this. 

The realisation hits you with an intensity that catches you off guard, but before you can dwell on it too long, your manager is already moving, already talking, reminding you of names, of expectations, reminders keep spilling out one after the other. 

You nod when you’re supposed to, listen when you can. But none of her words really stick. 

The car door opens, and cold air rushes in, sharp enough to pull you back into your body. 

For a moment, you remain seated, fingers tightening around your clutch, grounding yourself in the pressure. You close your eyes, inhale deeply once, and step out of the vehicle.   

Flashes of light follow almost immediately. Voices rise and overlap, shouts and calls and camera clicks crashing into each other until they dissolve into indistinct static in your ears. 

It’s overwhelming. Not in the way you expected, but overwhelming all the same. 

When you hesitate for half a beat too long, your manager nudges you forward gently but firmly. You fall into step beside her, letting her guide you inside before you can second-guess yourself. 

The shift in atmosphere is immediate. 

Music hums low beneath the sound of conversation, glasses clink softly somewhere in the background, laughter rising and falling in waves that never quite reach the level of chaos from outside, but never settle into silence either. 

People turn when you pass, not all at once, but you still feel it. The way their attention brushes over you, lingers longer than you’re used to.

“Keep your chin up,” your manager murmurs quietly. “And don’t forget to smile.” Her hand presses briefly against your back before she moves ahead, already greeting someone else.

You follow behind her. You smile when she introduces you to yet another supposedly important industry contact. You bow when it’s expected. Say just enough to garner polite curiosity from the people around you. 

And for the first time, no one questions why you’re here. No one looks at you like you’ve wandered into a room you don’t belong in. They look at you like you do. It’s a heady feeling. 

“The girl from the track, right?” “I liked your part. You have a great voice.” “We should work together some time.” “You were in the video too, weren’t you?”

You thank them. You smile. Because that is what is expected of you. 

And still, somewhere in the back of your mind you can’t help but wonder whether they’re seeing you, or simply your association with G-Dragon, and what that proximity might offer them. 

Time passes strangely after that. You move from one conversation to the next, drifting more than participating, your attention splitting in ways that make it hard to stay fully present. It feels like hours have passed before you finally see him. 

It happens in the middle of a conversation you’re only half listening to, your gaze slipping past the person in front of you, catching on movement across the room. 

And suddenly there he is.

Standing in the center of it all, exactly where you knew he would be, and yet he somehow feels different from the version you had been building up in your head. 

He fits there even more effortlessly than you would’ve thought possible. People gravitate toward him without thinking, conversations bending around him, attention settling on him as naturally as breathing. 

He’s laughing at something someone says, head tipping back slightly, one hand wrapped loosely around a glass, the other resting against the edge of the table behind him like he owns the space without needing to prove it. 

For a moment, you forget everything else. Every worry that has been slowly worming its way through your thoughts, through your every interaction. 

Until you notice who’s standing beside him. 

Misun.

She’s standing close again, too close. Her hand rests lightly against his arm as she leans in, saying something that makes him smile again. Her expression is relaxed, like this kind of proximity comes easily to her, like it doesn’t mean anything even in a room full of people. 

Jiyong doesn’t move away, doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. And that is what makes it hurt. Because when it’s you he’s always careful, measured, always aware. But with anyone else…

Your fingers tighten around your glass. Don’t. You force yourself to look away, to breathe. You remind yourself that it doesn’t matter anymore anyway. That deep down you always knew what this was. Something temporary.  

You don’t realise how long you’ve been staring until someone else does.

Taeyang. It’s not Jiyong who notices you, but Taeyang. 

His gaze meets yours from across the room, steady, perceptive in a way that makes it feel like he’s seeing more than you intended to show. 

There’s a brief flicker of recognition. Then something else. Understanding, maybe. He doesn’t call out, doesn’t make it obvious.

Instead, he nudges Jiyong beside him, saying something under his breath, subtle enough that no one else would notice, and tilts his head ever so slightly in your direction. 

It happens quickly after that. One second Jiyong is mid-conversation, the next his expression shifts, barely noticeable to anyone who doesn’t really know him. But you see it. 

The way his attention slips. The way his eyes move across the room and find you.  

For a moment, everything else seems to fall away. The noise, the people the distance, all of it fades into the background as his gaze settles fully on you. And just like that, the familiar warmth blooms in your chest. The same feeling you’ve been trying so hard to outrun. The distance between you doesn’t feel all that far, but it might as well be. 

You avert your gaze quickly, forcing your attention back to the conversation you so masterfully had been pretending to follow, nodding at the right moments, offering quiet responses that don’t require too much of you. 

He’s still looking at you. You can feel it.

His eyes on you lingering long enough that you give in, letting your gaze lift again, and there he is, still looking.   

But then a hand claps against his shoulder, pulling his attention sideways, and the thread between you snaps. Not gone completely but stretched thin as he’s drawn back into the orbit around him. 

And you're left standing there, wondering why you ever expected anything else in the first place. Because that’s how it always is, isn’t it? He’s at the center, and everything else adjusts around him. 

Jiyong says something to the person beside him, distracted again, nodding along, but there’s something off in the way he moves now, something else lingering in his frame, something that feels like he isn’t quite satisfied with how the moment ended. 

It doesn’t matter, it ended anyway. 

Another person steps in, then another. And you remain where you are, watching a little too long before something tightens in your chest, forcing you to look away.    

“If you’ll excuse me,” you murmur softly, offering a polite smile to the group in front of you, even though it barely reaches your eyes. 

They nod, already moving on, the circle closing again without you. 

You step aside, letting the movement of the room carry you, weaving through bodies and conversations without really hearing any of them. 

You shouldn’t be watching him. Even still, you can’t help but glance in his direction ever so often. 

Across the room, Jiyong finally manages to extract himself just enough to move, his gaze flicking back toward where you had been standing. There’s a brief pause when he realises you’re no longer there. Then he finds you again. This time, he doesn’t hesitate. He starts straight towards you.

Your breath catches, just enough for you to notice it, and for a second everything else fades again, the noise dulling, the distance between you finally closing in a way that feels almost inevitable. 

Until someone steps into his path. 

She’s unfamiliar but the way she moves, the way she feels entitled to his space suggests otherwise. She offers him a drink, her hand settling lightly against his arm as she laughs at something he hadn’t even said. 

He slows, clearly caught off guard for a minute, glancing down at her before looking back up again. 

She says something, too far away for you to hear, but whatever it is, is enough to pull a response from him. When he answers polite and brief, it becomes clear that it won’t end there. 

She lingers, moves closer. Her arm slides around his waist like it’s the most natural thing in the word. 

From where you’re standing it looks easy, effortless. Like he doesn’t actually mind that much. Like he’s used to it. 

And when she pulls out her phone, hands it off to someone nearby before rising onto her toes, presses a kiss to his cheek, and he still doesn’t make any move to pull away, something inside you breaks. 

The sharp sensation is immediate. A sting so intense it’s hard to ignore. 

Because suddenly everything clicks neatly into place. The comments, the looks, the way people talk about you when they think you won’t hear. The way you’ve been reduced to something you’ve been too afraid to name. Something small and temporary. 

You’re not special. Maybe you never were. Maybe this was always meant to end like this, quietly, without ever needing to be acknowledged. Maybe you really were just… convenient.  

Easy to reach for. Easy keep around, never asking for too much, because you didn't know you could. And just as easy to forget when something else takes your place. Maybe you just mistook his closeness for something it never actually was. 

Across the room, Jiyong finally shifts, stepping back just enough to put space between them, saying something that makes her laugh again before she lets him go. 

He starts moving towards you again. This time, nothing stops him. And when he reaches you, it’s immediate, how much familiarity he assumes. 

“Hey.” 

His voice is warmer than anything else in the room, softer in a way that feels almost unfair after everything that came before it. His hand lifts instinctively, reaching for you like it always does. 

Your body reacts before your mind does, and you take a step back. 

His hand stills mid-air, the motion halting just short of touching you, confusion flickering across his face almost instantly. 

And for a second, you almost falter. Almost let everything go, and fall back into the ease of just accepting what he gives. But then you remember, the people, the way it feels to stand there and watch him belong to anyone but you.  

Your expression smooths over.

“Sunbaenim,” you say softly, dipping your head just slightly, the word clearly landing exactly the way you intended it to. 

He freezes, something in him recoiling almost immediately. 

“You know I don't like it when you call me that” he says, brows pulling together faintly. There is confusion there and something suspiciously close to hurt. 

You keep your smile in place. 

“We’re at a public event,” you reply lightly. “It’s only appropriate.”

It sounds reasonable enough. You just hope he can’t tell that it isn’t the whole truth. 

He studies you for a moment longer, like he’s trying to find something underneath what you’re showing him. And for a moment you almost fear that he can tell that something is off. 

“If that’s what you want,” he says eventually, but it doesn’t sound convinced. 

You want to shake him, force him to look closer, to make him see what’s right in front of him, to make him understand how far off that is from what you actually want. Because can’t he tell that you want the exact opposite? Can’t he tell that all you want is to pull him closer? To stop caring about who’s watching. To make it undeniable that he’s yours and you're his. 

But instead, you shift your weight, taking a small step back, creating just a bit more distance. 

“Congratulations, by the way. The album… it turned out really well.” 

The words sound too polite, too distant for what the two of you actually are, but you don’t correct yourself. Because you don’t want to, not anymore.  

Jiyong’s frown deepens.

“You heard it already?” he asks. 

“I did,” you nod. “Like everyone else here. That’s what this event is for, isn’t it?”

That gets him. You see it in the way his expression shifts again, something tightening beneath the overling confusion. You’ve never been this openly distant with him.

A small silence stretches between you.

“You didn’t come to me,” he says then, more direct now. “I wanted to listen to it together.” 

You meet his gaze evenly. 

“I didn’t think it mattered.” 

That drives the final nail in the coffin. You can see the way his demeanour shifts. His posture more closed off now, more on guard than ever before. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, not harsh, but no longer soft either. 

You shake your head slightly.

“Nothing,” you lie, obviously so, but you don’t give him anything else. 

He exhales, running a hand through his hair, frustration threaded through the motion now.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says finally. 

There it is. The truth you’ve both been carefully dancing around. He doesn’t phrase it as a question, and you don’t deny it. 

You just tilt your head slightly, like you’re considering your next words. 

“I’ve been busy.”

He lets out a short breath, somewhere between disbelief and irritation. 

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Clearly.”

There’s a pause. Then, quieter, “Did I do something?”

The question almost breaks you. Because he sounds so genuine. Because he truly doesn’t seem to know how you’ve been feeling. And that’s almost worse. His blatant obliviousness, while you have been struggling, carrying the weight all alone. 

You want to tell him the truth, pour out your heart, tell him everything that has been bothering you. But then the thought hits.

What if it won’t change anything? 

So you shake your head. Because for once, it’s not even a lie entirely. He didn’t do one thing. He just never did anything to try to make it different.

You force a small smile again. 

“You should go back,” you say gently, nodding toward the people waiting for him. “They’re waiting for you.” 

It’s clearly an exit, but he doesn’t take it immediately. He just continues to look at you. 

“Don’t disappear,” he says, before adding, quieter, “please.”

And for the first time tonight, he looks unsure. Like he doesn’t know how to handle this situation. Handle you. 

You nod. 

He doesn’t leave immediately, hesitating. Then someone calls his name again. And like every time before, he lets himself be pulled away.  

***

Taeyang notices her long before Jiyong does. Not immediately when she walks in, but a few moments after, when the room shifts subtly around the entrance and a handful of heads turn, suggesting that someone new has arrived. His attention is naturally drawn towards the movement, curiosity more than anything else, and that’s when he sees her standing beside her manager near the doorway. 

He recognises her immediately. How could he not? She is all that Jiyong has been talking about these past few months, besides his album, of course. 

She looks beautiful tonight. That much is undeniable. Styled in a way that suits her naturally, instead of overwhelming her. She looks like she belongs in a room like this. And yet, beneath that perfectly polished exterior, Taeyang cannot help but notice the way she carries herself. Like she is still just waiting for the moment someone tells her she doesn’t. 

Most people probably wouldn’t notice it. They would only see the polite smiles, the careful bows, the composed way she greets everyone introduced to her. But Taeyang notices the slight stiffness in her shoulders, the way her fingers tighten briefly around her clutch whenever attention lingers on her for too long, the faint hesitation before every new interaction like she is mentally preparing herself each time. Notices because he knows what to look for. Notices because he knows someone else who carries discomfort the exact same way, burying it beneath a facade so thoroughly that most people never realise it’s there at all. 

She looks confident enough to fool everyone else in the room. Just not him. 

His gaze eventually flickers away from her, shifting instead toward the center of the room where Jiyong has been stationed for most of the evening already, surrounded as always. It’s not surprising. This is his party after all, and where else would he be if not at the centre of it?

Jiyong is laughing easily, a glass loose in one hand while he moves through conversations with the same effortless charisma he has carried for years, slipping between people and expectations so naturally that most no longer question how exhausting it must be to constantly perform at that level. He looks relaxed and comfortable. Entirely in his element.

But Taeyang has known him for far too long to mistake performance for ease. Because beneath it, there are small things that feel off.

The way Jiyong keeps adjusting his rings absentmindedly whenever conversations drag on too long. The way his attention shifts every few minutes, gaze drifting toward the entrance before snapping back fast enough that nobody else seems to register it. The way he’s drinking just slightly more than usual, not enough to be concerning, but enough that Taeyang notices the pattern after the second refill. 

Restless, that's the word that comes to Taeyang’s mind after watching him for long enough. 

Taeyang leans back slightly against the table behind him, eyes drifting between the two of them again as another group approaches Jiyong. And slowly, very slowly, something starts to feel strange to him. 

Because usually, by now, she would already be beside Jiyong. Not clinging to him constantly, but near enough for him to feel her presence. Taeyang had seen it often enough over the past months to recognise the pattern for what it was. Jiyong subconsciously gravitating toward her, relaxing differently around her. Allowing himself to soften in ways he rarely does with anyone else. 

But tonight it is different. She stays away deliberately, is careful to remain just outside Jiyong's radar. Even when her gaze inevitably finds him across the room, she never moves closer afterward. Instead she looks away quickly every single time and distracts herself with another polite conversation. 

And Jiyong, somehow, still hasn’t noticed. 

Taeyang frowns faintly at the realisation, doesn't think that Jiyong is intentionally ignoring her, but the disconnect itself feels strange, unlike him. 

Excusing himself quietly, Taeyang makes his way across the room toward Jiyong. His attention shifting back to her again just in time to catch the exact moment her expression changes. 

Misun has leaned closer to Jiyong once again, smiling at something he says while her hand rests easily against his arm. Taeyang knows Misun has always hovered around Jiyong in that particular way some people do when they are waiting for an opening, flirting just subtly enough to maintain plausible deniability while still making their interest obvious to everyone paying attention. He also knows Jiyong has never once looked at Misun that way. In fact, Taeyang is not entirely sure Jiyong even interprets her behavior as flirting at all. 

It looks harmless enough from the outside, but then he sees the way her fingers tighten around her glass almost immediately afterward. The way her gaze lingers on them before she forces herself to look away. 

His attention shifts back toward Jiyong, who still looks entirely unaware, laughing again as someone beside him launches into another story. Taeyang hesitates for a moment before finally nudging him lightly with his elbow.

Jiyong barely reacts at first. “What?” he mutters distractedly, already halfway through lifting his drink again. 

Taeyang tilts his head subtly toward the other side of the room. “She’s here.”

The shift in Jiyong is immediate. Not dramatic enough for most people to notice, but Taeyang sees it instantly, the way his attention snaps into focus, gaze cutting through the room almost urgently before landing on her. And the second it does, something in him visibly settles. 

The restless energy that had been lingering around him all evening suddenly narrows into something steadier, more grounded, his body already angling toward her before the conversation around him has even fully ended. 

And yet Taeyang cannot ignore the fact that it took this long. That Jiyong had obviously been searching for something all night without even realising what it was until someone else pointed it out to him.

Jiyong says something distracted to the people around him before finally starting toward her, and for a second Taeyang thinks that might be the end of it. A simple misunderstanding correcting itself naturally. 

Then someone steps into Jiyong’s path. 

Taeyang doesn’t recognise the woman, only notices how confidently she enters Jiyong’s space, how naturally she reaches for his arm while smiling up at him. Jiyong slows, clearly caught off guard, polite enough to respond even if his attention is clearly elsewhere. 

And that’s where the problem starts. Because it’s not like Jiyong is encouraging it, not really. Taeyang can see that much clearly. His answers are brief and distracted, his gaze keeps drifting across the room every few seconds. 

But Jiyong also doesn’t shut it down quickly enough. He doesn’t step away when the woman moves closer. Doesn’t remove or redirect her hand when it settles against his waist. And doesn’t seem to realise how it might look from the outside when she kisses his cheek while someone nearby takes a photo. 

Taeyang’s eyes instinctively shift toward her afterward. And immediately he regrets looking. Because even from a distance he can see it, the subtle way her expression closes off, the way something visibly retreats behind her eyes despite how composed she remains outwardly.  

That’s when Taeyang starts understanding that this may be worse than he originally thought. 

It’s not jealousy or at least not in the way most people would expect. The look on her face is not anger. It’s resignation. As though something she had been trying very hard not to believe had just quietly confirmed itself. 

By the time Jiyong finally reaches her, Taeyang is still watching carefully. He cannot hear their conversation from where he stands, but he doesn’t need to. Their body language alone says enough.

Jiyong approaches her openly, instinctively, with the same familiarity Taeyang has watched him use around her for months now. And she immediately steps back. 

Taeyang sees Jiyong freeze almost instantly afterward, confusion flashing across his face so openly that it would almost be amusing under different circumstances. 

Then comes the second shift. 

She calls him sunbaenim.

Jiyong physically recoils at the word, brows drawing together almost immediately. 

The conversation stretches on, and Taeyang watches the confusion deepen further, sees the way Jiyong glances around briefly like he’s trying to understand why there is suddenly distance where there had never been any before. And with every passing moment, Jiyong’s posture closes further, uncertainty threading its way through him. 

Meanwhile, she only seems to grow more composed, more careful, the longer it goes on. Which somehow makes it worse. Because she doesn't even seem to be angry. Anger, at least, still reaches outward. It means someone still cares enough to fight, still believes there is something left worth fixing. But this feels different. This feels like withdrawal. 

Eventually someone calls for Jiyong again, pulling his attention away once more, and even from here Taeyang can see the hesitation in him this time, the visible reluctance before he finally allows himself to be dragged away. 

She watches Jiyong leave for exactly one second before looking away first. 

Taeyang exhales quietly through his nose, gaze lowering to the drink in his hand. He still isn’t entirely sure what happened between them. But one thing is becoming painfully obvious. 

Jiyong does not understand the gravity of what is happening here. Worse, like always, he thinks he does. And that, Taeyang realises as he watches his oldest friend disappear back into the crowd, has always been Jiyong’s biggest problem. 

***

Jiyong doesn’t properly find his way back into conversations after that. He tries, or at least he thinks he does. Another person congratulates him on the album, another joke is told, another glass is being pressed into his hand, and he responds automatically, smiling when he’s supposed to, nodding at the right moments, slipping back into the familiar rhythm of the G-Dragon persona so naturally that no one around him seems to notice anything is off. But his attention keeps drifting anyway. 

All night he’s been stretched thin, pulled into eight different directions at once, balancing expectations and conversations and obligations until it all starts blending together. And through all of it, some part of him had been waiting for her. Looking for her without fully realising how much he was doing it. 

And when she finally did show up, instead of grounding him the way she usually does, their interaction leaves him more unsettled than before. 

Because something about the last few weeks has felt off between them. Strange in a way he hasn’t properly been able to define. If he’s honest with himself, he probably never stopped long enough to really examine it. It had always been easier to assume things would settle back into place on their own. 

But tonight it feels impossible to ignore. 

The distance in her voice. The way she stepped back from him.  The way she looked at him like he was someone unfamiliar. And worst of all, the fucking sunbaenim. 

It had bothered him the first time she used it, and it bothers him even more now. Probably more than it should. The word itself is harmless. Expected even, in a room like this. He knows that logically. But hearing it today felt wrong in a way he can’t fully explain, like she had deliberately used it to place something formal and cold between them. Like she had drawn a line that wasn’t there before. 

His jaw tightens slightly at the thought as he takes another sip from his drink, gaze drifting across the room almost involuntarily.

He finds her immediately. Of course he does. She’s like a magnet his attention keeps returning to no matter how much he tries to focus elsewhere. Usually he likes that feeling. Likes how naturally she occupies space in his mind. But tonight he is not so sure. 

She’s standing near one of the side tables now, speaking to someone Jiyong vaguely recognises from another label. She’s smiling politely in that soft restrained way she does whenever she’s trying not to draw too much attention. 

She looks beautiful, distractingly so, in a way that still catches him off guard even after months of seeing her almost daily. 

The dress hugs her figure perfectly, her hair falling softly over her shoulders, her makeup is subtle enough that it still looks like her. People keep gravitating toward her despite how quietly she carries herself. She fits into the room better than he expected she would. Better than she probably realises herself. 

And it’s not like she had been unaffected by him before. Jiyong had always enjoyed the quiet push and pull between them, the way she used to get flustered around him despite trying so hard to hide it, the way she would eventually melt whenever he got close enough. 

But tonight it hadn’t felt like them at all. She had looked uncomfortable standing near him. Had even stepped back, distanced herself from him. 

That thought keeps replaying in his head and it irritates him more the longer he sits with it. His fingers tap once against the side of the glass. 

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“You look miserable.”

The voice beside him pulls him from his thoughts.

Taeyang appears at his side without much warning, leaning casually against the edge of the nearby counter as he glances toward Jiyong’s untouched drink.

Jiyong scoffs quietly. “I’m not miserable.” 

“Sure.”

Jiyong exhales through his nose, already irritated by the fact that apparently his mood is visible enough to be noticed. 

The room suddenly feels too loud again. Too crowded. Without really thinking about it, he jerks his head slightly toward the quieter hallway leading out to the terrasse.

Taeyang follows without comment.

The noise dulls the second the glass doors slide shut behind them, muting the music and overlapping voices into something distant enough that Jiyong can finally hear himself think again. Cool air brushes against his skin as he exhales slowly, leaning both hands against the railing for a moment before dragging one through his hair. 

Taeyang stays quiet at first, giving him space the same way he always does. It’s almost like he knows that if he pushes, Jiyong just won’t open up at all. 

“Did you see how weird she was acting tonight?”  

The words come out sharper than he means them to. 

Taeyang glances at him. “The trainee?”

Jiyong shoots him a look. “Stop calling her that.”

A faint smile flickers across Taeyang’s face before disappearing just as quickly.

“Weird how?” he asks instead.

Jiyong lets out a quiet scoff, frustrated more by the fact that he doesn’t fully understand the answer himself.

“I don’t know,” he mutters honestly. “She’s just…”

Closed off, distant, withdrawn. 

The words sit unpleasantly in his throat, and he rubs a hand over his mouth briefly before continuing. 

“She’s been avoiding me for days, and every time I try talking to her lately it feels like she doesn’t even want to be there.”

Saying it out loud leaves something bitter sitting in his chest. 

“And tonight…” He shakes his head once. “What the fuck was that?” 

Taeyang raises an eyebrow slightly. “The sunbaenim thing?”

Jiyong looks over immediately, “Yes.”

He exhales again, gaze dropping toward the city below.

“She never used to be like that with me,” he says quieter now. “Not unless other people are around.” 

“There are a lot of people around tonight,” Taeyang replies. 

“That’s not the point.”

Taeyang studies him for a moment before speaking again. “Then what is?”

“I told her that I don’t like it. And she called me that anyway. It feels like she did it deliberately just to piss me off.” 

Jiyong opens his mouth to go on, only to realise he doesn’t actually know how to explain further. Because none of this should bother him as much as it does. She came to the party. She congratulated him. She wasn’t angry or dramatic or accusing. 

And that makes it worse, because now he looks like an asshole, who can’t put his ego aside, even for a second. 

“She just…” He exhales sharply. “She felt far away.” 

Taeyang stays quiet for a second longer before asking carefully, “Did something happen between you two?”

Jiyong frowns immediately. “No.”

“You sure?” 

Jiyong pushes himself upright from the railing, irritation flickering again beneath his skin.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“And did she say you did?”  

He laughs quietly then, though there’s very little humor in it. “Two weeks ago she was practically living at my place.”

“Then maybe it’s not about what you did, but what you didn’t do.”

Jiyong frowns deeper at that, already feeling the frustration curling tighter in his chest again because none of this makes sense to him. He cares about her. More than he’s probably cared about anyone in a very long time. He’s spent months making space for her in his life without even realising he was doing it. So why does it suddenly feel like she’s slipping away from him anyway?

Inside, someone calls his name through the partially opened terrace door. Jiyong barely reacts.

Taeyang watches him quietly for another moment before speaking again, voice calm and measured in that way that somehow always makes Jiyong feel both understood and irritated at the same time.

“You keep saying she’s acting different,” he says slowly. “But have you actually asked yourself why?”

Jiyong lets out a quiet scoff, leaning back against the railing again.

“You’re making this sound way more serious than it is.” 

“Am I?”

“Yes.” The answer comes too quickly. “She’s probably just stressed or overthinking something again.”

Taeyang’s gaze lingers on him for a moment longer than comfortable. “And what exactly is she overthinking?”

Jiyong opens his mouth immediately, only to stop. Because he doesn’t actually know.

He exhales sharply instead, looking away toward the city lights below. “I don’t know,” he mutters.

The silence that follows stretches just long enough for the distant music behind the glass doors to become noticeable again.

Then Taeyang says carefully, “You remember what I told you the other day?”

Jiyong frowns faintly. “What part?”

“That if you want her somewhere, you should tell her.”

Something in Jiyong’s expression tightens immediately. “I do tell her.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” He straightens slightly, irritation surfacing again. “Maybe not word for word, but she knows I want her with me.”

Taeyang hums quietly, unconvinced. “And how would she know that?”

Jiyong stares at him. “What do you mean, how would she know?”

“She didn’t even know if she was supposed to come over to your place the other night unless you specifically asked her,” Taeyang points out evenly. “And tonight she came because management invited her.” 

Jiyong’s brows pull together harder. “She’s in the music video and on the track. Of course she was invited.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The frustration in Jiyong spikes instantly now, sharp and defensive because suddenly the conversation feels like it’s slipping somewhere he doesn’t like. Somewhere where he is somehow the villain in all of this. 

“I don’t understand what point you’re trying to make.” 

“My point is that maybe you assume she understands things that you’ve never actually said out loud.”

Jiyong lets out a disbelieving laugh under his breath, shaking his head once. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” He pushes away from the railing again, pacing a step before turning back toward him. “We spend almost every day together. She sleeps at my place half the week. I rearrange my schedule for her constantly.”

The words come easier now the more worked up he gets, irritation loosening his tongue faster than he can properly filter himself.

“I let her hear unfinished tracks before anyone else. I let her into my life in a way I’ve not let anyone in a long time. Hell, one of the songs is practically about her.” 

Taeyang stays quiet.

And somehow that only frustrates Jiyong more.

“So no, I didn’t think I needed to formally invite her to a fucking party,” he says sharply. “She’s my girlfriend. Of course she’s fucking invited.”

The words leave him without hesitation, and the second they do, the space between them goes still. 

Taeyang looks at him for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face.

Then finally, “Did you ever ask her to be?”

Jiyong’s expression falters slightly.

Taeyang’s voice remains calm, “Or did you just assume,” he says quietly, “like you did now?” 

The irritation drains from Jiyong’s face almost instantly, confusion taking its place so quickly it’s almost disorienting. Because of course she is. What else would she be?

His thoughts suddenly start turning over themselves too fast to properly keep up with, replaying moments he had never once questioned before. The late nights, the mornings tangled together in his sheets, the way she fit into his space so naturally that he stopped noticing when she didn’t anymore. The way he reached for her instinctively, and simply expected her to be there always. 

And beneath all of that another realisation starts quietly unfolding, even less comforting. 

He never actually asked her. Not properly, not in a way that left no room for doubt. 

The silence between them stretches long enough that Jiyong starts hating it. Not because Taeyang is judging him. In some way that would almost be easier to deal with. But Taeyang is looking at him with something dangerously close to pity, and Jiyong finds that infinitely worse. 

The city lights blur faintly in his peripheral vision as his thoughts continue circling back over themselves. The way she never once initiated anything first, and the one time she did, he shut her down. How she would linger quietly beside him without ever demanding more, simply existing in his space in a way that had begun to feel so natural to him, he never once considered the possibility that she might not realise how important she had become to him. 

Had he really never said it? 

Behind them, the terrace door slides open briefly before shutting again. Someone calling his name, but neither of them react immediately.  

“Give me a minute,” Jiyong calls back distractedly when they try again. 

Taeyang speaks once more, quieter this time, aware of the staff lingering nearby. 

“You care about her.”

Jiyong scoffs softly through his nose, almost insulted by how evident that should be. “Obviously.”

Taeyang nods once. “I know that.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Jiyong asks, more frustrated than he intends. 

“The problem is that you know how you feel,” he says calmly. “But I don’t think she does.”

Jiyong shakes his head immediately, still denying what is so painfully obvious, because the alternative, him being completely oblivious to what she has been feeling all this time, is so much worse. 

“That’s impossible.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” His answer comes instinctively. “She has to know.”

But even as he says it, he knows in his heart, Taeyang is right. Because now all he can think about is the way she looked at him earlier.

She hadn’t looked angry, or disappointed. Not even jealous in the way he had grown used to from others before her. She had looked resigned. Like she had already started convincing herself to let him go. The realisation hits unpleasantly hard. 

“She thought I didn’t actually want her. All of her,” he says suddenly, the thought forming clearly for the first time as the words leave him. 

Taeyang doesn’t answer him, which is answer enough. 

Jiyong drags a hand down his face slowly. “Fuck.” 

Inside the venue, applause erupts faintly through the glass doors, but Jiyong barely registers it. 

She hadn’t distanced herself because she wanted to hurt him. She had done it because she genuinely didn’t know where she stood anymore. 

Someone calls for him again, more urgently this time. “Jiyong-ssi! They’re ready for your speech."

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.” he replies, mentally visibly somewhere else still.

He starts walking back toward the sliding door, Taeyang falling into step beside him before briefly catching his shoulder, squeezing gently.   

When they reach the staff member waiting for him, Jiyong barely even registers the nervous smile she gives him. All he can think about is her. Not his stupid speech, not his guests, not even the album launch he had worked so hard for. Just her. 

He wants to fix this now, immediately if possible, but instead he’s still being pulled from one obligation to the next. 

“Is Y/N still here?” he asks suddenly. 

Taeyang nudges lightly against his side, faint amusement surfacing across his face for the first time all evening.

“There it is.”

Jiyong frowns. “What?”

“You finally asked the right question.”

Under any other circumstances Jiyong probably would have rolled his eyes. Now he’s just impatient. 

“Well?” he asks again when nobody answers quickly enough.

The staff member blinks before nodding. “Uh-  yes. I think she was near the back lounge a few minutes ago.”

Jiyong nods automatically, already turning in that direction before she hurriedly stops him.

“Jiyong-ssi, this way please. Everyone’s waiting.”

He exhales sharply in frustration. Right, the speech. 

“Make sure everyone’s in the main room first,” he says absently before starting toward the doors again. 

“Jiyong.”

He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder.

Taeyang watches him carefully for a moment before speaking. “Don’t do anything too rash.”

Something in Jiyong stills briefly at that. Then slowly, a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. Because he’s not about to leave this up to chance anymore. Not now that he finally understands what almost losing her actually feels like. 

For months she had been surviving almost entirely on assumption while he expected her to simply understand what he had never properly said out loud. 

Jiyong swallows once, jaw tightening faintly before finally pushing the doors open again, his intentions suddenly painfully clear. 

***

After your disastrous conversation with Jiyong all you had wanted to do was leave. You didn’t have it in you anymore to keep pretending, to hold together the careful facade expected of you tonight, acting as though your chest wasn’t quietly caving in on itself beneath the surface. 

You didn’t leave, of course. You couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been polite, and it’s not like your manager would have allowed it anyway.What would people think if one of the artists featured on the album disappeared before the mandatory speech had even happened? 

And if you were being honest with yourself, a part of you probably would have stayed regardless. Because despite everything, despite how confused and hurt and exhausted you felt, some part of you still wanted to support Jiyong. Even if it had to be from a distance. 

You regret that decision more and more as people gradually begin streaming into the main room. The crowd thickens slowly until even the farthest corners of the venue no longer feel empty, conversations lowering into a softer hum as attention steadily redirects toward the small stage near the center of the room, lit by warm amber lights. The loud and almost chaotic networking energy from earlier in the evening shifting into something more intimate. 

You remain near the back almost like it’s second nature, close enough to see everything clearly, but far enough that nobody pays much attention to you. After earlier, you don’t trust yourself enough to stand any closer than this.

Part of you regrets the distance you forced between the two of you. Another part insists it had been necessary. Because no matter how soft he looked when he asked if he had done something wrong, no matter how confused he sounded, it didn’t erase the fact that you had spent weeks slowly feeling yourself disappear beside him. 

You had wanted tonight to be some sort of quiet ending. One final reminder to yourself, of why things had to end. 

But somehow your conversation had only made things harder. Because if he had been dismissive, careless or cruel, this would have hurt less. Instead he had looked genuinely lost, like he truly didn’t understand how deeply all of this had been affecting you. 

The thought lingers unpleasantly in your chest as the lights near the stage dim slightly. 

A ripple moves through the room almost immediately afterward, conversations tapering off further as people turn their attention toward the front just as Jiyong finally steps onto the stage.

And despite everything, despite how determined you had been to keep your distance tonight, your breath still catches the second you see him. 

He looks unfairly beautiful beneath the low amber lighting, dressed in dark layers that for some reason make him stand out even more instead of blending in. Comfortable in front of a crowd in the way only someone like him could be, though now that you know him better, you can still pick apart the smaller details beneath the surface. The slight adjustments of his clothes before he reaches for the microphone. The brief glance downward before he looks back up again. Tiny tells that betray he isn’t quite as unfazed as he wants everyone to believe. 

The room quiets almost instantly once he starts speaking. 

At first it’s exactly what you expect. 

He thanks the staff, the producers, the artists who worked on the album alongside him, slipping easily between sincerity and humor in the way he always does publicly. The crowd laughs at the right moments, completely at ease beneath the version of himself he presents so effortlessly to the world. 

You listen quietly from the back, arms folded loosely across yourself more for comfort than anything else. 

“This album took longer than it probably should have,” Jiyong says at one point, smiling faintly as soft laughter moves through the room. “There were moments where honestly even I got tired of hearing my own songs.”

More laughter follows.

He continues smoothly after that, talking about creative burnout, pressure, expectations, the strange loneliness that comes with making something deeply personal while knowing millions of people will eventually consume it casually.

And like everyone else in the room, you find your attention fully settling on him. Because this version of Jiyong has always been the most dangerous for you. Not the celebrity, not G-Dragon, but the actual person behind all of it. The thoughtful, honest version beneath everything else. 

You glance down briefly, fingers tightening slightly around the stem of your glass. You shouldn’t let yourself get pulled in again so easily.

On stage, Jiyong exhales softly through his nose before glancing down toward the cards someone had prepared for him earlier. He stares at them for a second, then suddenly he lets out a quiet laugh.

“Ah, fuck it.”

The room erupts into startled laughter, surprised by the sudden break in polish. Even you blink in confusion before looking back up at him fully. 

Jiyong shakes his head once, running a hand briefly through his hair before stepping away from the prepared speech entirely. 

“I had something way more professional planned,” he admits, voice lighter now, though there’s something underneath it that feels different. Like he’s nervous about what comes next. “But honestly, everyone here already knows how much work went into this album, so listening to me thank the company for five more minutes is probably unnecessary.” 

More laughter spreads through the room.

Jiyong glances down briefly again before continuing.

“There’s actually someone else I should probably thank.” 

“There were a lot of nights while working on this album where I was...” He pauses briefly, searching for the right word before smiling faintly to himself. “Honestly unbearable to be around.” 

Soft amusement ripples through the crowd again.

“And somehow she still stayed.”

Something in your chest tightens unexpectedly, and you look at him fully now. 

Jiyong’s expression has changed subtly. The easy public persona is still there, but softened around the edges in a way that feels familiar. Like the version of him you only ever got to see when it was just the two of you alone together. 

“She listened to unfinished demos at three in the morning,” he continues. “Sat through the same songs over and over again while I kept changing tiny details nobody else would even notice. She heard versions of this album no one else did.” 

Your heartbeat stutters once painfully hard.

Around you, people are still listening comfortably unaware. All but one person. From across the room Taeyang’s eyes flick briefly toward you before returning to Jiyong again. 

Jiyong smiles faintly to himself again before continuing.

“There was one point during the album where I barely even noticed what was happening around me anymore,” he says lightly. “I forgot to eat half the time, forgot to answer messages, forgot basically everything except work.”

Soft laughter moves through the room again.

“But somehow my cats were still perfectly taken care of.”

Your body stills completely.

Jiyong glances down briefly before shaking his head once, smiling to himself again like he still finds it unbelievable.

“And if you know anything about Zoa, then you know she hates almost everyone. Honestly, she barely even likes me most days.”

The crowd laughs louder this time.

But you can barely hear any of it anymore.

Because suddenly your mind is somewhere else entirely, pulled backward into memories you hadn’t realised still lived so vividly inside you. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of his apartment while Zoa curled up against your lap like she had known you forever. Jiyong pretending not to look jealous every single time one of the cats chose you over him.

“She liked her immediately though,” Jiyong says quietly. “More than me, actually.”

Your throat tightens painfully.

“Which honestly should’ve told me everything I needed to know right there.”

And suddenly the room feels too small. Nobody else would understand the significance of that story. Nobody else would know what those moments meant.

“I don’t think she realises this, but this album would’ve looked a whole lot different without her.”

The room grows quieter, so much so that you suddenly become aware of your own breathing. Your fingers tighten around your glass so hard it almost hurts.

“She made the process less lonely,” he says after a moment, voice strangely fragile. “And that’s not something I say lightly.”

Something warm and painful twists sharply through your chest all at once. Because suddenly none of this feels vague anymore. The realisation hits slowly at first, then all at once so intensely that you need to steady yourself against the nearest table.

He’s talking about you. 

And judging by the subtle shift happening throughout the room now, other people are beginning to realise it too. You notice a few curious glances beginning to turn quietly toward you. A few exchanged looks. Someone murmuring softly nearby.

But Jiyong doesn’t seem to notice any of it anymore, or maybe he does and just doesn’t care. His eyes drift across the room slowly, searching until they finally find you near the back. And the second they do, everything else around you seems to disappear again.

For a moment he says nothing. Then continues, honest in a way that feels almost terrifying beneath this many watching eyes. 

“One of the songs on this album exists because I met her.”

The words settle over the room heavily. Because he sounds so sincere, so certain, like hiding it, hiding you, no longer even occurs to him. 

Your throat tightens painfully. 

Because suddenly every horrible thought you had spent weeks trying to prepare yourself for begins unraveling all at once, and beneath it lies something far more destabilising. 

Jiyong hadn’t been using you, he hadn’t been trying to keep you at arms length. 

If anything, he had already pulled you so deeply into his life he no longer seemed capable of seeing the line between where he ended and you began. And despite all of that, he had still managed to make you feel unwanted while also loving you enough to stand in front of an entire room of people, claiming you as his without ever once asking if you were ready for that too. 

After that, you don’t really register much of anything else.

The room around you dissolves into indistinct noise, conversations blurring together beneath the pounding rush of your heartbeat until even Jiyong’s voice begins sounding distant, muffled and warped like you’re hearing him from underwater instead of only a few meters away.

You’re vaguely aware that he keeps speaking. That people around keep laughing softly, reacting to whatever he says next. But none of it settles properly inside your mind anymore. All you can think about is the fact that everyone here suddenly knows. Or at least knows enough.

Your chest feels unbearably tight now, breathing is strangely difficult despite the cool air in the room. You curl your fingers tightly around the cool glass once more, trying to ground yourself, anything to fight the aching feeling. 

You don’t know how much time passes like that before a sudden burst of applause cuts sharply through the haze surrounding you, loud enough that your body physically flinches.

And then you look up. 

Jiyong is walking straight towards you.

[captain-jensen]

The fact that BigBang isn't coming to my city despite it having the biggest Asian population in North America is heartbreaking. Everyone being like "there's no LA dates" at least they're in your country bro. The closest to me is Oakland, and I'm definitely not going to the US rn. Tf is going on.

[anthonyed]

Okay I just learned that GD designed South Korea football team's outfit this World Cup and as his fan, I'm fucking ecstatic about it. Wildly proud of him!

Although I'm personally a more minimalist kinda person but I think his maximalist vision for this design is kinda refreshing and I'm pretty sure it will stick cause bro is the trendsetter so whatever he says or does is gonna sell in korea and since western countries are heavily influenced by korean fashion these days, feels like safe to predict this is gonna spill over to the other side too

kinda still salty about never being able to get me my own paranoise tho. the very first pmo x nike collab also was dope but i was so enamoured by paranoise and its fade-out design

[headsinthecloudforever]

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