010

JI YONG'S POV

The smoke burned as it slipped into my lungs, sharp and familiar. The taste lingered on my tongue, bitter and distracting. I closed my eyes and focused on the sounds below — cars honking, someone laughing on the street, the city alive and moving like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't almost—

The door creaked.

Shit.

I didn't move.

"Ji Yong."

Taeyang.

I groaned without turning around. "Why are you here? I told Dae I needed space."

He walked across the rooftop with those stupid quiet steps of his and sat beside me, pulling the cigarette straight out of my mouth.

"Hey!" I snapped, sitting up. "What the hell?"

"It's not even eight a.m.," he said, flicking the butt away.

"So what?"

"I'm not letting you smoke another one," he added, eyeing the other two cigarettes discarded by my feet like crime scene evidence.

I exhaled hard, dragging my hand down my face. "What do you want already?"

He didn't answer right away. Just stared at the skyline for a second, then let out a long sigh.

"It's about Seunghyun."

I rolled my eyes so hard it almost hurt. "What did he do now? Did he make a video saying how much he hates us? Or— no, no! Even better, I bet he did a press conference. Full suit, fake tears, the whole damn show."

"Ji Yong," he cut me off, firm now. "Stop. No."

I froze.

That tone wasn't casual. It wasn't gentle either. That was Taeyang's serious voice—the one he only pulls out when things are really bad.

I sat up a bit straighter, trying not to show that my chest tightened at the change.

"He texted me," Taeyang said.

I blinked. "Wait... he did?"

"Yeah. He was worried because you didn't answer."

I laughed, dry and sharp. "He was what?"

"He texted you and you didnt answer" Taeyang gave me a look, like I was being deliberately dense. Maybe I was. "Come on, give me your phone. I'll show you."

I hesitated.

"About that..." I muttered.

"What?" Taeyang raised an eyebrow.

"I... don't think we can get my phone."

"What do you mean?"

I rubbed the back of my neck and nodded toward the edge of the rooftop. "I tossed it."

He looked at me like I had grown a second head. "You what?"

"I'm pretty sure three cars already passed through it," I said, peering down at the street.

"Ji Yong, why the hell did you do that?"

I sighed, long and heavy. "I got on Instagram. And there was this video... of us. From a concert. Him and me." I bit the inside of my cheek. "I normally send those to him. Just... to laugh, to reminisce, I don't know. And when I tried, I realized I couldn't. Because he had unfollowed me."

I looked away.

"I don't know. It just hit me. I got so fucking mad. And it hurt. So I threw the damn phone. Stupid, right?"

Taeyang didn't answer immediately.

And in that silence, I hated myself a little more.

"So you're saying he texted me?"

"Yeah," Taeyang nodded. "He did."

I groaned and dropped my face into my hands. "God. I'm so stupid. I had my phone all night, and the one time he reaches out, I toss it into traffic. Great job, Ji Yong."

"Stop that," Taeyang said sharply.

"What? It's true. I'm a fucking mess. I don't even blame Seunghyun for not wanting to have anything to do with me."

"God, shut up. I hate when you do that."

I looked up at him, surprised. "Do what?"

"Talk about yourself like you're nothing."

I scoffed. "It's not like it's a lie, tho."

His voice cracked like a whip. "KWON JI YONG."

I flinched, raising my hands. "Okay, geez..."

Taeyang's jaw was tight. His eyes glistened, just a little.

I hadn't seen that look in years. Not since... well, the last time everything fell apart.

The night.

The one I kept shoving to the back of my mind only for it to crawl back every time I tried to convince myself I was fine. The night where everything almost happened. The night I let myself believe in something impossible.

The night I was stupid enough to think he was mine.

It had started like any other celebration in our world—loud, glamorous, chaotic. Someone's birthday, or maybe it was the launch of some new line—God, I don't even remember what we were celebrating. What I do remember is Seunghyun.

I remember him like he was the only thing in focus while the rest of the world blurred into light and noise.

He showed up late, as always. I was already a few drinks in, dancing, laughing, performing my role like a pro. But the moment he stepped into that place—fuck. Time stopped. My breath caught. He looked flawless.

Black suit. Tailored to perfection. Silver accents on his sleeves that shimmered under the strobe lights. Hair slicked back, exposing the sharp line of his jaw, his eyes shadowed and intense. And then—then I noticed it. His shirt.

Matching mine.

It wasn't anything loud—just a pattern, subtle, the kind that only someone really paying attention would notice. But I noticed. Of course I did. Because I had picked mine with care, hoping he'd like it. Sended him a picture. And he had matched it.

I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. My heart stuttered in that dumb way it always did with him. And when he walked over, straight to me, no hesitation, something fluttered deep in my chest like a moth drawn to the flame, knowing damn well it's gonna burn.

"Hey," he said, a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You matched with me," I blurted out, and he chuckled like it was nothing.

"Of course I did."

Of course.God, kill me now.

We danced all night.

I wasn't even drunk anymore—he was my intoxication. Every time he touched me, brushed against me, laughed into my ear, I was spiraling. And I kept thinking: maybe this is it. Maybe tonight is the night something shifts between us. Maybe he feels it too.

Then those two girls came up to him.

Tall. Gorgeous. One of them with lips like a cherry ad. The other with legs longer than my entire music career. They were bold—put their hands on his arm, smiled at him like he was a prize. Whispered things I didn't hear.

And I froze.My heart sank into my stomach like a stone.Of course, I thought. Why wouldn't he leave with them? Why wouldn't he pick someone who isn't... me?

I was already turning away, preparing my best fake smile, when I heard him say it:

"I'm sorry, he has me tonight."

I looked back. He was pointing at me. Me.His tone was playful, charming, but clear. Not open to debate. The girls pouted and walked away, and he turned back to me like nothing happened.

But everything had.

I must've looked like an idiot, standing there with my mouth open, my brain short-circuiting. He didn't even realize the damage he had done just by saying that. Or maybe the hope he had created. Because from that moment on, I wasn't on solid ground anymore. I was floating.

I told myself he chose me tonight. That this meant something. That he saw me. That maybe—just maybe—we could be something. Maybe I wasn't just the punchline. Maybe I was finally his person.

The way we laughed. The way he pulled me close during slow songs. The way he touched my waist. The way our fingers lingered when he handed me a drink. The way our knees knocked under the table and he didn't move away.

God, I wanted it to be real so badly.

The warmth of his voice, the way he laughed softly when I slurred my words, the strength of his arms around me. It was all so gentle, so careful. It felt like love — or something dangerously close to it.

I don't remember half of the things I said that night. Honestly, I was gone. Not just tipsy, not just having a good time — wasted. Everything blurred into neon and skin and music and Seunghyun's cologne. But there are fragments. Little things that linger like cigarette burns on silk. I remember falling — no idea if I tripped on someone or just lost my balance — but I remember falling, and I remember him catching me. Arms around my waist, steadying me. My head against his chest, his voice above the pounding music:

"Jesus, Ji, how much did you drink?"

His hand on the small of my back, guiding me. The cold shock of water being splashed on my face in some fancy-ass club bathroom. His fingers brushing hair out of my eyes, wiping my cheek gently with a paper towel like I was some fragile doll instead of a grown man with too many bad habits.

And then I remember black.

The kind of black that comes with exhaustion and heartbreak and alcohol working like poison in your bloodstream. And then... soft light. Car engine humming under me. Leather seat against my cheek. I must've mumbled something, because the next thing I knew, I was being lifted. Arms under me again. I opened my eyes halfway. We were in the elevator. His chest was against my side, his breathing calm, steady, like this was nothing for him. Like carrying me home wasn't weird or intimate or too much.

"Hyung...?" I murmured.

"Shh... sleep," he whispered, so quietly. "You drank too much. I'm getting you to bed, okay?"

I wanted to ask — Are you staying? Are you mine tonight? Do I get to keep this version of you when the sun comes up?

But my tongue felt too heavy and my throat burned from the vodka. So I just let him carry me like I weighed nothing. Like I was nothing. Like we weren't about to collapse under the weight of everything we didn't say.

He chuckled, barely. Like he knew I was trying to stay awake. Like he saw right through me.

And then the softness of my sheets. The familiar scent of my pillow. Home.

I blinked, struggling to sit up a little, but my limbs weren't cooperating. I watched through half-lidded eyes as he kneeled by the bed and started taking off my shoes. His long fingers undoing the laces. Delicate, almost.

"I can do that... myself," I slurred, pushing at his hands weakly.

"Yeah, right," he said, voice flat but not unkind. He finished pulling them off and set them aside.

Then a pause. His eyes scanned my face like he was trying to figure out what else needed fixing. Like I was a painting he wasn't sure he'd ever finish. I reached for his hand, not even thinking — just feeling the need to keep him there.

"Stay..." I whispered. Maybe he didn't hear me. Maybe he did.

He didn't reply.

He just stood, quietly, brushing off invisible dust from his pants. For a moment, he hovered in the doorway like he was considering something. His silhouette against the hall light. I remember the way my heart pounded in my ears.

Say something, Ji Yong.Say something real.

I leaned up, heart thundering in my chest. I didn't think. I just... moved.

My hand found the collar of his shirt, and I pulled him down, my lips crashing into his like it was the only thing that could save me. And for a moment—just a fleeting, burning second—he didn't pull away.

He kissed me back.

Soft, then harder. His hand cupped the side of my face and I swear my soul tried to escape through my mouth. My whole body felt like it might dissolve into light, into fire, into him. I could feel him breathing like I did, ragged and desperate, and I thought, maybe this is it. Maybe this is finally happening.

But then he stopped.

He pulled away like the moment had burnt him.

"No. Fuck," he said, breathless, standing just out of reach now. "You're not going to remember this tomorrow."

I blinked at him, confused, dizzy, lips still tingling. "What...?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and it sounded like it broke him to say it. "You're too drunk to think. I... I'm going to leave."

"No—wait—please." My hand shot out, barely catching his wrist. "Don't. I can think. I can—I know what I'm doing, please."

But he was already prying my fingers off him.

"You're not yourself right now, Ji," he said quietly. "And if I stay, and this happens... and then you forget it, or regret it, I'm going to hate myself."

I didn't know what to say to that. My throat felt like it was closing, heart pounding so loud I thought it might shatter me from the inside.

He stood there for a second, torn. His gaze lingered on me, on the bed, on my swollen lips and unfocused eyes. He looked at me like he wanted to remember everything about me in that moment and at the same time, like he wished he hadn't seen me like this at all.

"Goodnight," he whispered, finally, and then he was gone.

The door clicked shut.

And that was it.

After that night, Seunghyun was... different.

Not in a dramatic, storm-out-of-the-room way. Just distant. Quieter. He didn't sit next to me on the couch. He stopped looking at me for too long. Stopped lingering when we brushed past each other backstage. He still laughed with the others, still showed up, still existed like nothing had happened—but he wasn't with me anymore. Not really.

And I couldn't blame him.

I thought I'd scared him off. Thought I'd made it weird. I felt disgusting for it. Ashamed. Like I'd reached out too far, said too much, ruined something delicate and unspoken.

But then Taeyang and Daesung stepped in.

They'd noticed, of course. They always did. Taeyang cornered me with his usual no-bullshit tone, told me I needed to stop sulking like a ghost. That Seunghyun was not avoiding me because he was grossed out or uncomfortable. "It's the opposite," he said.

I didn't believe him. I told him he was lying. And he just gave me that stupid calm smile and said, "Fine. Don't believe me. But at least stop looking like the world ended."

Things got better after that and...

And now... here we are. Present day.

I blink against the hotel light as Taeyang walks back into the room holding my shattered phone like it personally offended him.

"This thing's a fucking fossil now," he mutters, tossing it onto the dresser. "I'm getting you a new one. You break everything you touch."

"Except hearts," I mumble, voice rough from sleep.

He snorts. "You've broken more of those than phones, hyung."

I roll onto my back and drape my arm over my eyes. My whole body aches. My throat's tight from last night's rehearsals—or maybe the crying. Maybe both.

"You need to sleep, Ji," he says gently, sitting down beside me. "Tonight's important."

"Yeah, I know."

"Like, actually sleep. Not just lie there and think about him."

I don't respond.

He doesn't push.

After a long silence, he pats my leg. "Rest. I'll be back in an hour with a phone and something that's not Red Bull and cigarettes."

I nod under my arm, too tired to argue. As he leaves, I hear him pause by the door.

"Hey, Ji."

"Mm?"

"He's not scared of you. He's scared for you."

And then the door clicks shut, and I'm alone again.

Just me, the ceiling, and the ache that never really leaves.

Okay this chapter may have killed me a bit jsjsjsj

Im so exited cause things are going out just as I planned

I hope you guys are enjoyng it !

Vote and comment for moree!!!