He loves the bow of Seungri's mouth.

When Seungri smiles, he seems much younger that Jiyong can fool himself they don't have years of separation. When Seungri laughs, he gives out the same vibe that it's impossible not to laugh along with him. When Seungri speaks, his voice wants attention Jiyong can't help but giving.

When Seungri calls his name, Jiyong falls in love, again.

***

Love, Seungri thinks as he watches Jiyong scanning the isle for chips, is ink bleed in you. He doesn't know what color is his but it's staining him inside out that he can't remember how days were when Jiyong wasn't something he dreamt about; when the question running out in his mind wasn't about him, when he didn't wake up with a purpose to make someone else happy.

"Which one do you want?"

They didn't mean to shop for anything but dessert; which Seungri meant as cake but Jiyong interpreted as ice cream, which led to argument, a nice argument, which made them end up in a store looking for flour and eggs and any other ingredients for pancakes.

And of course, Jiyong has to get some snacks.

"I don't usually do snacking," he wheels the shopping cart until it settles beside Jiyong's slender figure, wrapped tight in a coat and face half hidden under his old Peaceminusone hat. "Which one do you want?"

"This one," Jiyong answers. When Seungri looks up, Jiyong's eyes are on him instead of anything else.

"Me too," Seungri's hand starts to shake and he has to grip the cart tighter. "This one."

***

Jiyong envied Seungri's thirst of many things because he would never be that young, that outsider to some part of the world. It's been his playgroud for long and everyone knew him to the point he felt gross for being a center of attention.

I don't know how to grill meat, he said and he didn't even pretend but Jiyong had to because he's expected to do the show, to be the most with knowledge.

I can't write it like you do, but Seungri folded the sheet of his ten lines song lyric neatly and Jiyong ripped his into two, four, and thousand because he shouldn't make a song like that.

I don't understand, Seungri stayed so late and drown himself in his Japanese homework given by their tutor while Jiyong had lines of people queuing to get him in a commercial for a product he couldn't even say the name.

Jiyong envied Seungri's thirst of him because he himself would never want to be in his skin as much as Seungri had told and proved he did, even during Jiyong's bad hair day or broken voice from smoking.

Jiyong envied Seungri for his thirst to tell Jiyong that it's okay to be not okay and his effort to make Jiyong loved himself a bit more than just G-Dragon he's supposed to be.

***

"What –" Jiyong tries hard to read the label. " –on earth is this?"

"Salt?" Seungri reaches for a spoon. "Isn't it?"

Jiyong looks at him as if he'd grown three heads. "I don't know you understand French."

"It's not salt?"

"I don't speak French either."

"Well, how about we just try to put it in?"

"Are we making pancakes or disaster, Seungri?" The name still rolls smoothly from his tongue even when his grin splits his face into two. For a moment, it feels more like home and not a five star hotel room with kitchenette.

"I hope it's edible," Seungri's eyes narrow as his eyebrows knitted together. Then he laughs and his hair falls, framing his face. Jiyong reaches to touch it because he wants. When he realizes what he'd done, it's too late and Seungri's silent questions grip tightly on his sanity.

"I'm sorry," Jiyong murmurs. "There's something in your hair."

"Well," Seungri's voice finds them after a while, Jiyong's heart stops as he waits. "I hope it's the recipe because I know we both don't really knowhow to make pancakes."

And he smiles.

***

It's an instinct to hurt someone as badly as they hurt you. It's natural, as human being, that when someone put you down, your reaction is to pull them to the same ground.

Love, however, makes it complicated. Because when he falls and bleed, it's your veins that ripped. When he hits the ground, it's your knees that broken. As you smash his heart, you know deep down that it's yours that shattered in pieces.

Because when you love someone, it's not memories of you that's important but theirs; how they start their days, how it's gonna end and how their adventure was.

When you love someone, you forget you.

***

"Are you going to be busy tomorrow too?"

Seungri watches him writing his initials on his pancakes using syrup and chocolates and sprinkles. He loves the way Jiyong's lips are pinched into thin line because he's concentrating even if it's just a food they kind of ruined in the process of making; because Jiyong, in everything, can't really stop trying to impress people. And because out of other people, eventhough Jiyong never told anyone about it, Seungri used to be the one he wanted to impress the most.

"Seungri?"

"Yes?"

"Are you going to be busy tomorrow too?"

"Maybe," his answer comes so slow it rolls his tongue like sin. "I need to ask my manager."

"I thought you're going to have a secretary," Jiyong teases and his laughter chimes against the floor like raindrops.

"I'll think about it," but what Seungri wants is tomorrow.

***

This is what Seungri knows : Memories find its way through daily routines, not special occasion.

It's when he opened his eyes and Jiyong wasn't there to tell him about the schedules he'd mess up if he didn't get his ass up from the bed.

Scent of coffee that's too strong coming from the café near his office while it's usually sweeter inside Jiyong's house.

The absence of toothbrush and Do-It-Yourself Vans' shoes.

Long messages that would never come.

No need to keep ashtray at home.

Or when he stared into the mirror and he couldn't recognize his reflection because it wasn't what he wanted to see.

Seungri thought it might be his curse for wanting to stay or his karma for running away.

Either way, he knew he's still in love.

***

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

They're watching nightlife through the window glass of Jiyong's hotel room with canned beer and chips.

"It always is," Seungri hums absentmindedly. It feels nice to be quiet and content. It feels nice to know Jiyong is within reach.

"Do you like it here?"

"Well, I don't stay in five-star hotel room everyday?"

"No," Jiyong chuckles. "I mean in Japan. Living here."

Seungri thinks of days he'd spent trying to get over what he'd left, trying to move on and in to a place his body stood. "Not always."

"Did you ever thought of coming back? Korea?" Jiyong watches his cigarette in the ashtray, burnt bright and tastes sweet but toxic. To me?

"Sometimes," Seungri's hand is cold when it brushes Jiyong's as he grabs his drink. Many times.

Jiyong picks his words carefully despite that he knows he's slowly losing control. "What do you miss the most?"

There's endless ocean between them, filled with answers and nothing is right for Jiyong's question.

The sandals I stole from you.

Broken spatula you insisted on keeping to remind us that neither mastering cooking.

Tiny cat statue that resembled IYE.

Peppermint toothpaste.

Your blue bathroom tiles.

Vase we used to keep our coins in.

You.

Us.

"Screams from our fangirls," Seungri tells him. "What else?"

"I'm sure you have so many of them too here, Seungri."

"Can't beat Daesung-hyung yet."

Jiyong laughs, puff of smoke escapes pass his lips like promises; thick then disappear. "That's your plan?"

"Now you know," Seungri laughs along because even if the world stops, his heart doesn't forget how it feels to be with Jiyong. "Don't tell him."

Jiyong's cheeks hurt and his limbs are tired but he'll trade his soul for this moment, when everything aches but his very heart. "Hey."

"Hmm?"

"Stay the night?"

***