After that day, he couldn't really picture him clearly; which side of his lips would curl up first when he smiled, if he loved the blue scarf more or the red one, how many eyelashes he had. The layer of separation grew hazier by time and on one Tuesday morning he found himself hastily rummaging through his drawer for a piece of thin paper already losing colors on its edge. It was his gift when they managed to sneak up a day to go to the amusement park. His heart pounded in his chest when the rollercoaster ride went up high but Seungri's palm were pressed against the back of his hand. Let go, the younger said, his voice unsettled. Even as he gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, he held Jiyong's hand tightly to give him comfort.

He finally found the photograph sandwiched between his books. It was taken in the photobooth Seungri insisted to try. He was afraid if they would be recognized but Seungri didn't have it. They had four shots and Jiyong had made the same pose for each pic with Seungri doing the opposite. Many years had passed, it's barely visible to see through the stained colors and blurred lines but it helped him to picture back the image of him –most of it, the one he used to be able to catalog even in his dreams.

Jiyong thought of it as his punishment, that he was cursed forever to never be able to map Seungri's jawline, or recalling which finger he'd prefer his ring to be, or when was Seungri's last dentist appointment. He was able to see his smile, the way his head titled back when he laughed but he couldn't hear the words Seungri mouthed to him as if he's forbidden to remember promises he couldn't keep.

***

Seungri hands him the microphone. Carved on it is his stage name, G-Dragon, twinkling gold. Jiyong mutters a thank you, the warmth of Seungri stays for a while in his grip.

"What song are you going to sing for us today?"

Jiyong looks at his fans. The triumph of being on top of the world had left him ages ago, news and scandals had buried him under weight of an idol. Today, however, he finds it return to his brain, peeks in between his veins, pumping adrenalines like it's never gone. He smiles and turns to Seungri.

"What do you want me to sing?"

***

Seungri's keys were heavy. It has a keychain attached to it, shaped of a panda, made of porcelain. One of its ears was gone when Seungri accidentally dropped it six months ago. Jiyong traced the black part of its eye, wondered where did Seungri's go. When was the last time he teased him about it? When was the last time he kissed Seungri's closed eyes, scolded him lightly for being too businessman?

The day Jiyong made the duplicate, it was simply because they were going to live together. Because they had different things to do and it's better for them to have one for each so they wouldn't bother each other. Since when it changed into him waiting for clicking sound and Seungri's light footsteps as he tip-toed, afraid of waking him up? Since when he didn't care of where his keys were because Seungri would not mind to take him home?

He carried it with him, tangled with his own set of keys. When he unlocked his door, he imagined Seungri would sneak up behind him, beat him to get the left side of the bed. When he set the keys on the counter, he knew he wouldn't let him in.

Maybe he wanted Seungri to turn away and gone.

Maybe he wanted Seungri to knock.

***

His legs are glued to the floor. Too many thoughts refusing to leave his mind, yet there are only few words making its way to his lips.

"Anything?"

Jiyong shrugs. "Anything. Which one is your favorite?"

Every single thing of you, Seungri realizes. No matter how hard he wished, he would never bring himself to run away. Standing in front of him is the man he thought was gone but always filling the spaces in his heart, the emptiness between his fingers. There is place in him that belongs to Jiyong, always.

"Black," he hears the audiences gasp and murmur. "Can you sing for us?"

Sing for me.

"It's been a long time," Jiyong smiles, the corner of his mouth twitches the way it used to whenever Seungri said something ridiculous. He'd tease him about it, a little and sometimes a lot, but he liked it, they liked it. "Sing with me."

Seungri moves to get himself a microphone. His throat isn't warmed up yet, he forgets half of the lyrics.

But then they sing.

***

They say people come and go. Lovers do too.

But love is a liquid substance, flow from your heart, along your veins, moving with your blood.

Jiyong sat in front of the fireplace, inside his house in London. Night crawled to the sky the way Seungri invaded his throughts; slowly, steadily. He wanted to know where was him, as much as he wished him to never come back. He wanted to know if Seungri too, felt like cars were moving too fast but days were passing too slow.

He wanted to bury his face on the crook of Seungri's neck, watching him playing stupid jelly games in his phone. He wanted to listen to Seungri's speech of his new kind of business, determination filled his voice as if he never was an idol. He wanted Seungri to wear his worn out jogging shoes and threw them away because it's full of things they could not go back into.

He wanted to ask if it was the other way around –if Seungri found out the threat first, if it was Seungri who opened the envelope instead of him, if it was Seungri whose phone blown up by constant messages –what would Seungri do?

Would Seungri thread his fingers around his, whispering apologies every night?

Would Seungri came out to face light and the press with head held high?

Would Seungri walk with pride or would sadness weighting his shoulders instead?

Would Seungri let him go?

Would he, Kwon Jiyong, want to stay?

***