Chapter Text
Jiyong~
The days blurred together; wake up, train, eat, train again, collapse into bed, repeat. That was the life of a YG trainee. Some nights, Jiyong swore he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen sunlight. Always rising before the sun and falling asleep when it had long disappeared into the darkness. The practice rooms had no windows, no clocks - just scuffed floors, mirrored walls, and the relentless hum of fluorescent lights. Sometimes it felt like time had stopped, and all that existed was work. And maybe it felt like that because it was true.
Being a trainee was supposed to be hard. He had prepared himself for that. This was what he wanted after all – to be the best. But for Jiyong, the weight pressed down differently. It wasn’t just about his own survival anymore. Once, it had been simple: him and Youngbae against the world, a duo with big dreams. That was the plan, the promise they had built everything on. Jiyong had grown up with Youngbae in these dorms, side by side through every exhausting day and sleepless night. He knew Youngbae’s work ethic, his stubborn determination, the way he threw himself into practice until his body gave out. Youngbae never needed chasing, never needed convincing - his drive matched Jiyong’s beat for beat. That was something Jiyong could put his faith into without question. With just the two of them, he could almost see the finish line.
Now, almost overnight, the dream had grown into something bigger, something heavier. A group. Six boys, all scrambling to prove themselves indispensable.
A collection of mismatched personalities and uneven skill – and even more uneven personalities. Sometimes it felt less like a team and more like a gamble YG was making, throwing different types together to see what stuck. One boy’s voice too raw, another’s rhythm shaky, all stumbling through choreography.
But the threat was real: if the group didn’t work, he would be the one held responsible. They could be cut, replaced, forgotten – and even he was not safe from that. In fact, it often felt like Jiyong’s mistakes would echo louder; if the group failed, so did he. Jiyong wore the title like armor - sharp and suffocating all at once. Every stumble, every off-beat, every mistake from any of them felt like a reflection on him. He could still hear Hyun-suk's voice, calm but cutting: if you can’t handle it, Youngbae will take over.
He hated that YG dangled Youngbae in front of him like that, as if leadership were a prize to be won instead of a weight they both carried. Youngbae wasn’t just another trainee - he was the closest thing Jiyong had to a brother. The last thing Jiyong wanted was for the company to twist them into rivals. That fear haunted him more than the aching muscles or the endless hours of rehearsal. And the idea of failing, of letting go of the role he had fought for, was unbearable. So, he doubled down. He kept himself sharp, unyielding, unwilling to show cracks. If he had to play the bad guy to keep them all afloat, then fine.
But the truth - the one he would never admit even to Youngbae - was that the hardest part wasn’t the schedule, or the pressure, or the burden of leadership. It was Choi Seunghyun.
Seunghyun, with his long limbs and clumsy footwork. Always half a beat behind, always struggling to keep up. Always grinning as if none of it mattered. It infuriated Jiyong - or at least that was what he told himself. He told himself it was annoyance that burned in his chest when he would accidentally meet Seunghyun’s eyes during practises. That it was frustration that clenched in his stomach when Seunghyun broke into laughter mid-practice, earning glares from the others. But deep down, Jiyong knew it wasn’t just that.
Because sometimes, Seunghyun smiled in a way that made Jiyong’s heart stumble faster than his feet ever had. A big, cheesy grin, wide enough to take up all the space in the room. It was ridiculous and it was dangerous. It was easier to keep him at arm’s length, to bark orders and roll his eyes, than to risk being pulled into that warmth. Because if Jiyong wasn’t careful, he knew he could drown in it. And that was something he couldn’t afford.
Besides, it wasn’t like Seunghyun could ever feel the same. Jiyong remembered months ago, the way Seunghyun had sulked around their cramped apartment after his girlfriend broke up with him, dragging his long body from couch to bed and back again like a wounded animal. Straight, uncomplicated, safely normal - that was Seunghyun.
Jiyong never cared for labels; never needed to. He was fluid in all things, drifting between desires as easily as he shifted between lyrics. But this this wasn’t just attraction. This was different. Messier. Maybe even dangerous. So, he told himself it was for the best. That nothing - not even the warmth of Seunghyun’s smile, not even the dizzy feeling that came when their shoulders brushed - was worth risking everything he had worked for. His music, his dream, his future - nothing could get in the way of that.
~
The evening meal in the apartment was as loud and chaotic as one would expect with a group of young men crammed around a tiny table. The clatter of bowls, the scrape of chopsticks, the constant chatter. It was overwhelming, exhausting even - but for a few minutes Jiyong let himself blend into the noise. He didn’t speak much; he didn’t have to, just listened.
Seungri and Youngbae were huddled to his left, voices low but intense, debating something trivial with the seriousness of generals. On his right, Daesung and Seunghyun were yelling over each other, laughter bouncing off the walls, almost as if they were competing to be louder. The sound was obnoxious, and yet it was soothing. For ten minutes, Jiyong allowed his exhausted brain to ease into it, to exist somewhere in the middle of the chaos, neither commanding nor correcting.
He knew the others probably thought of him as moody, boring, or unapproachable a lot of the time. In reality, most days, he didn’t have the energy to be anything else. Finding it hard to switch off in the down time, like the others did. The weight of leadership, of responsibility, of watching over a group of boys who could so easily stumble - it drained him. And somehow, that distance made it easier to deal with Seunghyun. To keep the pull of him at arm’s length.
Jiyong wondered what Seunghyun must think of him. He remembered how they had reconnected when the auditions for the group had begun. In an attempt to reclaim even a fraction of his and Youngbae’s future, he had persuaded Hyun-suk to watch Seunghyun audition. He already knew Seunghyun was talented - a decent rapper, a decent person - from their friendship years ago. Seunghyun was already well-known in the Seoul underground scene.
The auditions hadn’t been easy. Hyun-suk had been cruel, insisting Seunghyun return only after losing weight, forcing him to prove himself twice. Jiyong remembered his own disbelief the first time he saw him after the second audition. Seunghyun’s transformation was unbelievable; a thinner frame, sharper lines but it carried confidence too, a quiet assurance that hadn’t been there before.
That was when it had started. He found himself watching Seunghyun more closely, noticing the way he moved, the way he carried himself. And the first time they sang together as a group, Jiyong realized just how much it affected him. During Seunghyun’s rap, their eyes locked, and he felt heat creep up his neck, a rush of something he couldn’t name but couldn’t ignore. It only got worse. Every innocent touch - the brief collision of hands while adjusting microphones, the accidental brush of shoulders during dance practice - every maddening grin, every stupid joke, seemed to chip away at the wall he built around himself.
Jiyong forced himself to look away, to focus on something else, but his mind betrayed him. The weight of responsibility, the endless hours of practice, the fear of failure - all of it intertwined with thoughts of Seunghyun. It was exhausting and terrifying – impossible to ignore.
He pushed the last bite of food around his bowl, barely tasting it. Around him, the noise continued - laughing, shouting, teasing - but he felt detached, a silent observer in their chaotic little world. And yet, even in that exhaustion, even under the weight of responsibility and expectation, he couldn’t help the flicker of something dangerous in his chest whenever Seunghyun laughed, or caught his eye for just a fraction too long.
“Hey, you zoning out again?”
Jiyong jumped slightly as Youngbae’s hand landed firmly on his shoulder. His friend’s eyes were steady, grounding, as if he could read the exact storm swirling in Jiyong’s mind. “You okay?”
For a moment, Jiyong let himself breathe, the anchor of their friendship pulling him back from the edges of his thoughts. Somehow, he had to keep this in check. Somehow, he had to survive the group, the training, and himself. Somehow, he had to hold onto his dream without losing control.