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As soon as Jiyong arrived on set, he was pushed into hair and make up. He was late and kind of ruining the window of time for filming because of it. Stylists gave him the business about being on time while Jiyong inwardly groaned underneath his polite and understanding smile.
He knew that today was when they were going to doll him up. He read the script, shit, he had seen the show. Jiyong knew he was in for four more ridiculous outfits. It was all a part of playing the girl, he could handle it and play it off. However, when a stylist shoved him into the dressing room with the first outfit, he lost face.
Silk dress, fishnets, gloves, five inch heels.
The other outfits had been fine. Skinny jeans and sweat shirts were the regular. But these.
Jiyong looked at the items, then at his pale, undressed form in the mirror. His face and body contrasted. His smoky eye make up and fake eye lashes along with painted red lips didn't match his awkward, bony ribcage and broad, muscular shoulders. He sighed.
Why was he always the girl?
Jiyong took a deep breath before he reached for one of the fishnet stockings. He slowly rolled it up his leg, inch by inch and then did the same with the other. He had a giggle at how his boxers didn't match them at all.
He slipped the dress over his head. It was a bit awkward since the fake boobs had been attached to it. He straightened it out, pulling it over his small bottom and patting down the front. Next were the gloves, black and silky smooth. They slipped on easily enough.
All that was left were the heels. Jiyong took one look at them and seriously considered asking the stylist for something else. But that would be rude. They were all doing and wearing shit they didn't like for the sake of comedy. Jiyong hesitated before picking them up.
Once he sat down to put them on, he was a little surprised at how well they fit. But just because they fit nicely didn't mean they weren't a bitch to put on. How did girls do this shit every day?
Jiyong stood up, stumbled a bit before he was able to see himself in the mirror. He looked... good. No, he looked better than good. Jiyong did a full circle the best he could, admiring the way the dress hugged his body and how tall the heels made him.
The fake breasts were fun and silly but this, this was different. He felt like a convincing woman for once. A damn good looking one at that.
He strutted out of the room with a bit of pride in his step. It all came crashing down on him when the other members and crew saw him however. They laughed and made every joke possible. It didn't exactly hurt his newfound pride in his looks, but messed up his acting abilities. He knew it was supposed to be funny. Whenever he caught the weird look of someone on set, he cracked up. Or when he tried to be "sexy" he dissolved into giggles. It was only when he went back into his dressing room to take the outfit off that he actually felt like the role he was supposed to be playing again. The mirror didn't laugh at him.
Before Jiyong had left the set that day, he stole the outfit off the rack and shoved it into his bag before anyone noticed.
At home he didn't exactly have a wig. Nor was his make-up up to par. He only had a bit of eyeliner, mascara, and the wrong shade of eye shadow he managed to steal from a stylist because buying them himself was too weird.
But when he put the outfit on, he thought he still looked amazing.
Sometimes when Seungri wasn't home, or when Jiyong had time to actually be home for anything other than sleep, he would strut freely around the apartment in it. He even kept the heels on. He was a neat freak down to the core, especially about shoes in the house, but he could make an exception while he walked around the apartment doing mindless tasks just to catch himself in the mirror or a reflective surface.
He felt weird. It was weird for a guy to dress up as a girl and like it. But it was one of the few things he had that made him feel good about himself. Music was his occupation, which got in the way of it being his passion. Fashion was tiresome since he was constantly in the public eye being scrutinized for every piece he wore. But this was his and his alone. He could like something without someone telling him he was doing it wrong.
It took all his courage and then some to continue to steal girls clothes. They were all from noonas he knew and trusted. Coworkers and friends.
He loved every piece he could get his hands on. A nice, brightly colored skirt that fanned out on the sides. A blouse with a high waist belt. Colorful and clunky bracelets. A nice spring dress. All of them he cherished. He mixed and matched them with his regular clothes, some of which were already girls clothes that were just androgynous enough not to cause heads to turn.
Jiyong felt lost without them when Big Bang had left for Japan. They were like a drug, letting him escape from the woes of being rich and famous. He thought maybe he could just go shop for clothes here since being spotted wasn't as likely, but then again it's not like Big Bang was completely unknown there.
But surprisingly, Kiko contacted him. Jiyong thought, she would understand, she was a model, she knew what is was like to feel like he did. In a bit of desperation and stupidity, he told her everything over the phone, from the parody to the stealing. The line was silent for a moment.
"Jiyong?" she said.
"Yeah?"
"There's some people you should meet..."
Within a day, Jiyong finally had more than just one pair of heels and then some. Jiyong had learned that Kiko had a lot of generous friends within the drag community. A couple of which he was lucky to meet.
There was Chiaki who didn't wear anything other than six-inch stilettos. Jiyong thought he himself walked pretty well in heels but was amazed at Chiaki.
There was Riisa who loved flashy ballroom gowns and had some of the most gorgeous dresses Jiyong had ever seen. She let him try on some of the less extravagant ones. They were pretty but definitely not casual wear.
They made him feel better about himself and more confident. He met them, feeling like a complete newbie and waste of their time, but ended up being good friends with them. They never laughed at him or made him feel weird.
Kiko herself ended up helping him him with his make up, and let him model for her after they went shopping together. Clothes they acted like were for her were actually for him. It was a good thing they had a similar body type.
She, too, made him feel ok. Even though he was scared of being judged for the one good thing he had in his life, it was all ok. He didn't feel so lost in Japan anymore.
Being back in Korea was different. He had more clothes and shoes and make-up then he could have ever dreamed of, but he didn't have the friends. He didn't have the security of knowing that what he was doing was ok. He had met some new and amazing people in Japan, but now they were an entire country away.
It was just him and the mirror again. It was ok though, because he still felt pretty in front of it. He stood and admired the way one of his new dresses fit him in it, taking in all angles.
"Hyung."
Jiyong turned around to see Seungri gaping at him in the doorway of his walk-in closet. Jiyong didn't know what to say, what to do. Seungri just kept staring at him, eyes wide, shocked. It was a moment before Jiyong reacted.
"What the fuck, get out! Get the fuck out!" Jiyong yelled until Seungri ran out of the room. He shook with the force of his voice, breathing hard. He was furious that Seungri had the nerve to just waltz in wherever he pleased; that Seungri had to see him like this. But then Jiyong's anger quickly subsided to fear.
He was caught, Seungri knew.
Jiyong panicked. He practically ripped the dress off of himself, threw on some jeans and a tshirt and set out to talk to Seungri, to make sure he kept it a secret. He called for Seungri, looking everywhere in their apartment before he noticed a pair of Seungri's shoes were gone. Jiyong cursed to himself.
Jiyong texted him in a hurry, "Don't tell. Don't fucking tell" but never got a reply. He was too late. Jiyong sunk into the couch, feeling his world crash down around him.
By the next day, Seungri's knowledge became most of YG Family's knowledge. Jiyong couldn't even go into the studios without having to face the stares or the awkwardness. Teddy and Kush couldn't look him in the face. Seungri gave him a look like it was he who's pride was hurt. Seunghyun had laughed to Daesung about it like it was a joke. Youngbae fidgeted around him, trying not to touch him at all costs. Some people thought it was a joke and went as far as to laugh at him to his face. Jiyong never knew if he should laugh with them or tell them to fuck off but instead settled for ignoring them.
In less than a week, word got around that no, it was not a joke, and that yes, Kwon Jiyong liked to wear girls clothes. Jiyong tried his best to ignore the continued stares. He tried to keep his cool and to not start punching people left and right. It seemed like something that would mull over with time until there was the incident where someone slipped Jiyong a hate letter that he read one line of before throwing it in the trash.
Jiyong gathered all of his clothes, make-up, and everything else, threw it into a large trash bag and then into the dumpster outside of the dorms. It hurt to get rid of it all. It was like he was throwing away his confidence. He refused to let himself cry.
He stopped answering text messages from his friends in Japan. Kiko even tried calling him twice and both times he didn't answer. He couldn't bear to tell her how he had fucked up and had to throw everything away. She would hate him for being such a coward.
He finally cried when he actually felt ugly in front of the mirror, dressed in his regular, old clothes. No trace of femininity. His jeans were baggy, his coat was frumpy, and he even had a bit of stubble just because. Seeing himself like that made the tears flow uncontrollably, his body shook with sobs.
The stares or the awkwardness never got any better. People were good at pretending they were okay with it but Jiyong could see right through them. It didn't matter how much he altered his appearance, they all still saw him as a freak. He could even see it in his band mate's eyes no matter how understanding they tried to be.
Jiyong's depression got to a point where he refused to leave the apartment, his room. When people tried to talk to him about it, they talked down at him, like what he did was shameful and unrepeatable while pretending to understand. YG only ever asked when he was coming back to work. Sometimes there would be an "are you ok?" asked during their phone conversations. Jiyong always lied and said he was fine and just a little sick.
Jiyong eventually just ignored anyone who cared to visit or call him at all. Most of the time he kept his door locked and kept the world away from himself, drifting between sleep and thoughts of self-loathing. He thought a few times how he could convey these feelings into a song, but could never find the energy to get up. He didn't have the energy to do most things. The only time he ever ate was when food was brought to him, in silence of course because he refused to listen to anything anyone had to say.
"Jiyongie oppa," Chaerin called to him one day, knocking his bedroom door as she entered. Jiyong cursed to himself as he forgot to lock it. "I have something for you," she said.
He merely just looked at her from his bed, not curious enough to get up. She looked pretty, standing there all dolled up. Looking at her, he couldn't say he wasn't jealous.
"You have to come with me to see what it is. I can't bring it here." She walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. She didn't force him to get up, just merely waited. It was a good fifteen minutes of silence before Jiyong said something.
"I'm not getting up."
"Come on, please," Chaerin pleaded.
"No," Jiyong refused. Chaerin sighed, annoyed.
"I just want to help you," she said in a light, sad tone, like it was she who had the problem.
"That's what everyone else says," Jiyong said, tucking himself further into his bedding, hoping that she would take the hint to leave him alone.
"I really do. Look, I'm not here to-- I just thought that--." Her weak rant ended with a frustrated sigh. "Will you please just come with me? If you don't like it you can come straight back here and I won't bother you again." Chaerin stood up then, a motion that Jiyong was meant to follow.
After a few more moments of silence, Jiyong begrudgingly decided to humor her. It didn't seem like she was going to leave. She didn't give him the condescending looks and speeches like the others did, so he decided to trust her just this once.
He slowly unfurled himself from his bedding and stood up, his bones ached from the effort. She led the way and he cautiously followed her into the 2NE1 girl's apartment, into her own room. It was a nice room. Not as tidy as his own, but nice. She made him sit on the stool in front of her vanity mirror. Various beauty products and make-up and jewelry was on the stand. He tried not to look with interest.
"Go put this on," Chaerin said, handing him some clothes in a bag. Jiyong looked at it skeptically before taking it.
Jiyong helped himself to the bathroom to change. He fiddled with the lock that didn't work as he set the bag onto the sink counter. He stood there for a moment, hovering between the door and the bag, thinking about how he should just go back to bed because what was the point? It's not like whatever was in this bag was going to fix anything. But he was already here anyway, he figured he might as well see what was inside.
When he reached into the bag and pulled out a dress he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
It was beautiful. Decorated with colorful patterns and sewn to perfection at the seams. He starred at himself in the mirror and cried. He didn't deserve it.
"Oppa?" There was a knock at the door. "Are you ok?"
Jiyong didn't answer, just stood there red-eyed, tears lining his face. Chaerin gave a warning before she entered. She was surprised before she gave him a solemn look.
"Don't cry," she said as she hugged him, stroking his back and cooing at him. He let her do it, not making any motion to hug back or sink into the embrace. "Put it on, okay?"
"But-"
"Just do it," She said. "I won't laugh, promise."
Reluctantly, Jiyong stepped back and nodded, not making eye contact. She left the bathroom and he turned to the mirror again. He shrugged himself out of his sweats and sweatshirt, both much too large for his frame. He took a breath and closed his eyes before he slipped the dress over his head. He tried not to feel too good about the familiar feeling.
It was a long moment before he opened his eyes. When he did he was surprised at how the dress looked on him, much like the first time. He slowly turned to look at it from different angles and was impressed with the fit. Soon enough there was another knock at the door.
"Is it on?" Chaerin asked from the other side.
"Yeah," Jiyong mumbled.
Chaerin entered and beamed at him. She didn't say anything as she dragged him through the apartment back to her room. She forced him to sit down in front of the mirror again before wielding out a box of cosmetics.
Jiyong couldn't control his smile as Chaerin did his make up. It wasn't the same as when stylists did it. Her hands were warm and her small laugh was infectious. She may not have been a professional but she knew enough.
She never said anything apart from a "look this way" and a "close your eyes." Jiyong never initiated conversation either. He just let her work as he took in all the familiar feelings. He was reminded of his time in Japan when Kiko would do his make up and they would talk for hours about useless gossip.
When she was done, Jiyong looked in the mirror again and smiled as he choked back tears.
"You look pretty, Jiyongie," she complimented.
"Thank you," he mumbled. It wasn't until she said it that he felt it again. For the first time in weeks, he really did feel pretty.
"You need to shave though." She laughed. He laughed with her. Everything seemed like it was okay.
Jiyong felt better after that. Not good enough to leave the dorms, but good enough to get out of bed. He busied himself with cleaning the apartment since there was nothing interesting on TV. Cleaning was always a relaxing thing to him. Seungri had walked in when he was in the middle of dusting off various shelves.
"You're up," Seungri noted.
"Yeah."
"I talked to YG today," Seungri started. Jiyong hmm'd like he was listening. "He wants you to see a counselor."
"For what?" Jiyong hissed back, rubbing the dusting cloth harder over the surface. Seungri just gave him a look.
"You're not well."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Jiyong knocked over a picture in his furious swiping.
"Jiyong--"
"No, fuck you! I'm not seeing a fucking shrink just because you all think there's something wrong with me!" Jiyong yelled and threw the cloth at Seungri before returning to his room and slamming the door.
He seethed, walking around in circles for about a full minute before anger turned into depression and he broke into tears. Jiyong collapsed onto his bed, feeling worthless and ugly all over again. He tried to contain his sobs into his blanket, hoping Seungri wouldn't hear.
"Hyung," Seungri had said upon entering. Jiyong curled himself into his bedding, hoping Seungri would just leave. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Go. Away." Jiyong said sternly, his voice muffled by his blanket.
"We're not concerned because you... do that-did that. We're concerned because you won't leave the apartment-"
Jiyong shot up and yelled, "Concerned? You're concerned? Fuck you. You don't have to deal with people staring at you like you're a freak or have to deal with being so depressed that you can't even get out of bed!" He paused. "Don't fucking act like you know what I'm going through."
Seungri left without another word.
Jiyong stopped getting out of bed again after that. He stopped eating and even went so far as to lock his door so no one could come in. He refused to answer to Seungri or Youngbae or any of the other members. The only word they got out of him was "no" whenever they asked if he was alive. He felt bad when he heard Chaerin calling and knocking from the other side. He at least told her he was sorry, but still refused to open the door. He only snuck out when he knew Seungri was gone or sleeping to go to the bathroom and sometimes get water when he couldn't stand being thirsty anymore. Sometimes he would trip over containers of food outside his door, but he never picked them up.
Days turned into a week, then into a week and three days before someone actually managed to break the lock. Jiyong was so malnourished that he had no fight in him to fight off Seunghyun and Dongwook who dragged him out of bed and took him to the hospital.
He had weakly argued the whole way there that he was fine. Everyone else in the car was silent.
When Jiyong was in the hospital, it was the first time he saw YG in what felt like a decade. He cried. Yang Hyun Suk actually cried claiming he didn't know it was "that bad" and that he was "sorry." Everyone else came in with the same story.
Jiyong didn't feel guilty. They all came in with their tears and apologies. All the people who laughed or stared at him. He didn't feel apologetic for even his own band mates.
Youngbae, his best friend who was supposed to be there for him and understand him still touched him like he was diseased. Seungri, a dongsaeng who was like his own family, still had some sort of twisted reverse blame for him. Seunghyun never said anything either way, he ignored Jiyong's problems almost as good as his own. Daesung at least understood the feeling of being the odd one out, but offered nothing to help Jiyong's situation much like Seunghyun.
The only one he apologized to was Chaerin. He told her that too, that she was the only one. She had just smiled as made Jiyong promise that they better go shopping when he was better. He couldn't say no.
Jiyong agreed to see a psychiatrist after he had been released. He figured it couldn't get any worse from being dragged to the hospital.
"What do you think drove you to that point?" The man across the table from Jiyong asked. Jiyong thought it was a stupid question.
"I don't know. I just didn't feel good about myself anymore."
"Why did you stop feeling good about yourself?"
"I didn't feel pretty." Jiyong fiddled with a loose string in his jeans.
"What made you feel pretty?"
"Clothes. Girls clothes." Jiyong pulled the string out. "And make-up."
"I... see." The man scribbled something on his clipboard. "So you were doing those things and you stopped?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I didn't feel safe. Everyone knew--they found out. And it wasn't my secret anymore," Jiyong admitted.
"There was no one you could talk to about it?"
Jiyong hesitated, a few names came to mind. "Well... not really. They were too far away."
"How far?"
"Japan."
"What about using the phone?" The man asked.
"I...." Jiyong hesitated again. "I didn't answer their calls. I was afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"That they would hate me," Jiyong mumbled.
"Well it sounds like they cared enough about you to call you. Maybe you should try and get in contact with them again. Meanwhile I'm going to prescribe you some--"
Jiyong tuned the man out after that. He felt like shit for another reason. The man was right. He turned his back on the few people who actually supported him. Jiyong blindly took the prescription paper he was handed, blurted a "thank you," and left.
As soon as he left the office building, he took out his cell phone and dialed Kiko's number. She answered in two rings.
"Hello?"
"Kiko. I fucked up big time," Jiyong admitted as he let out a sigh.
"I know," she agreed.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be," she reassured him. He felt like an even bigger asshole.
"I threw out your clothes," he admitted as he climbed into the awaiting van.
"Why?"
"I couldn't do it anymore. They all found out." Jiyong almost choked on his words remembering it all. But he wouldn't allow himself to cry in front of her, not even on the phone.
"Oh, Jiyong." She sounded so sad and it made him feel even worse.
"Don't."
There was a long silence on the phone after that. Jiyong didn't know what else he could say to her. Should he tell her how bad it had actually gotten? That he was reduced to words written on prescription paper?
"I have to go," he lied.
"Ok. I'm here if you need to talk," she reassured again. Jiyong almost told her to stop, not used to anyone being so fucking understanding and actually meaning it. "Don't ignore me again," she half threatened, her words weakened by a small laugh.
"I won't." With that he hung up.
It got easier after that. The medication Jiyong was prescribed helped a lot. He actually felt well enough to return to his job, to the studios. YG had watched him like a hawk anytime he was in the building. Jiyong would have felt uneasy about it if the medication he was on wasn't messing with his brain.
In the back of his mind, he knew he was a mere shell of the person he was before, reduced to something pathetic and robotic. As a result his creativity suffered a blow and he was thankful to his fellow producers and band mates. Big Bang could no longer survive on his genius alone.
Sometimes Jiyong passed by boutiques on his chauffeured drives between the studios and TV stations or wherever, still not allowed to drive on his own. Whenever he saw a dress or an outfit he liked, he had a longing to do it all over again. He imagined what it would look like on him, what accessories would go with it, what shoes he would wear, how he would do his make-up--
He always ended up pushing those thoughts out of his head about as quickly as they came, still afraid of where that road would take him.