Chapter Text
The late morning sunlight spilled softly through the window, casting warm pools of light over the quiet room. Seunghyun sat curled on the couch, a steaming mug of coffee cradled between his hands, eyes half-lidded as he let the slow stillness settle over him. Life felt quieter now - no more adrenaline-fueled comebacks or frantic rehearsals.
Around him, things were comfortably chaotic. A pair of socks, one neon green and one striped black and white, lay discarded on the floor near the armchair – no doubt belonging to Jiyong. An open notebook, pages dotted with song lyrics and doodles, rested on the coffee table. On the windowsill, a potted succulent leaned toward the light – indicative of Jiyong’s most recent venture, a budding interest in plant parenting. However, Seunghyun was not allowed to mention the former failed attempts – plural.
His comeback had gone better than he ever had dared hope. Not a full tour, just a handful of carefully chosen performances that felt right, culminating in a mini tour that let him dip his toes back into the waters on his own terms. It was enough to remind him why he loved music, without burning him out. And for the first time in his professional life, he felt like had healthy boundaries. But, more importantly, it had reminded him that he was capable of standing on his own again.
And now, here in the soft comfort of their shared home, with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and Jiyong’s lingering cologne mingling in the air - Seunghyun felt something close to peace. A calm he hadn’t known he could have; or even knew existed if he thought too deeply. Jiyong was nearby, somewhere out of sight but not far, and that simple knowledge was grounding.
But peace affected everyone differently. Jiyong had taken some downtime after his own comeback, both knowing all too well how burnt out that lifestyle could cause you to feel. However, Seunghyun could feel the subtle undercurrent beneath Jiyong’s calm; like a storm held in reserve, searching for the next big wave. He knew someone as talented as Jiyong couldn’t sit still for long, whether it was music, art, fashion – his creativity required an outlet. The 20th anniversary was coming, and Jiyong had been silently busy in the studio – Seunghyun put two-and-two together. The air hummed with that quiet energy, and Seunghyun knew Jiyong was nudging himself - and maybe him too - toward what came next.
There were hints, small and deliberate: a mention of a new script that looked interesting, a teasing question about whether Seunghyun missed the stage, the faintest spark of a challenge in his eyes when they talked about future plans. Sometimes, when the room was quiet and the music low, Jiyong would nudge Seunghyun with a smirk. “You’ve done the hard part,” he would say, voice low and teasing. “Now, what’s next for you? More solo music? Acting? Or maybe… you know, something else.” Light-hearted on the surface but heavy with possibility underneath.
Seunghyun mostly smiled softly to himself, knowing those words were more than just jokes – even though Jiyong wouldn’t admit it yet. It wasn’t a direct question or an invitation, but it was there. And maybe it wasn’t entirely out of the question anymore. Not the way it used to be - heavy with expectation and fear. But something lighter, a door left ajar. He wasn’t sure yet; the idea was both daunting and oddly comforting. After years of pulling away - mostly to protect the others from the shadow his image had cast - the thought of stepping back in felt like standing at the edge of something vast. It was a space filled with memories, hopes, and unspoken fears. But for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel impossible.
Seunghyun glanced over at Jiyong, who was scrolling through his phone with a small smile. The soft lamplight caught the edge of his profile; the curve of his jaw, the slight crease between his brows when he was deep in thought. They had come so far, both of them, from the days when silence was heavy and the future looked like a wall too high to climb. Now, the quiet wasn’t empty; it was full of possibility.
“Maybe I’m ready,” Seunghyun thought quietly to himself. Not ready to make any announcements, not ready to lay everything out in the open - but maybe ready to finally consider it.
Seunghyun’s thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of his phone on the coffee table. A group chat notification lit up the screen. A familiar array of emojis, playful jabs, and a string of messages from Youngbae and Daesung. The timing was no accident - Jiyong glanced over, eyes twinkling with mischief.
“They’ve been checking in,” he said, nudging Seunghyun with an elbow. “You know they’re not going to let this anniversary thing drop.”
Seunghyun smiled, pocketing the phone as the quiet anticipation in the room shifted. He thought about the time he spent away from them all. And how they had each re-entered his life, just like the universe had decided it was time - in their own unique ways - reminding him that some things, like family and friendship, were patient but persistent. And maybe, just maybe, the biggest question wasn’t whether he would return, but how long it would take before they all wore him down.
Jiyong approached it subtly - it started small. One morning, as Seunghyun moved through the kitchen making breakfast, the faint strains of a familiar melody floated from the living room. He paused, fork halfway to his mouth, and glanced up. Jiyong had left an old BigBang concert DVD running on the television - noisy, grainy footage from years past, where younger versions of themselves grinned into cameras and shouted to packed arenas. They couldn’t have been older than their early twenties. Jiyong claimed it was “purely coincidental,” something he had put on while tidying, but Seunghyun wasn’t buying it.
A ghost of a smile tugged at Seunghyun’s lips as he watched the screen, the sounds and images stirring something long tucked away beneath the years. There they were; wide-eyed, unstoppable, caught in the bright burn of a moment they had thought would last forever. He remembered believing nothing could slow them down, they were young, fearless, and innocently blind to the cracks that could form beneath even the strongest foundations.
Watching his younger self move across the stage - confident, untouchable - brought a pang he hadn’t expected. For a slight second, Seunghyun envied the past version of himself. That boy on the screen didn’t know what was coming: the headlines, the silence, the years of doubt. But Seunghyun also felt a strange sort of pity for him, knowing the weight he would eventually carry. But there was something else, too; a reluctant gratitude. Maybe all of it, the good and the brutal, had carved him into the man he was now. Quieter and older - but steadier. And maybe ready to open a door he had kept closed for too long. Someone who knew to lean into Jiyong’s love instead of living in fear and doubt. Someone who had learnt to stand on his own feet but recognise it was okay to ask for help.
The next few days brought more “accidental” nostalgia attacks. Jiyong hummed old choruses while making coffee one morning, the melodies soft but unmistakable. Seunghyun caught him more than once softly singing lines they had written together, lost in the music even as he diced garlic or stirred a pot.
Sometimes, lyric notebooks appeared in odd places: on the kitchen counter with pages opened to half-finished verses, or tucked beneath a pile of magazines on the coffee table. The handwriting was Jiyong’s - careful, neat - but the words hinted at something new, something neither fully solo nor fully BigBang, but hovering in the space between. Seunghyun found himself drawn to these pages, flipping through them when Jiyong wasn’t looking, marvelling at how the same magic was still there in those scribbles. It was like catching a glimpse of the past and future all at once, and despite himself, it made his heart beat a little faster.
Playful banter became their quiet dance. Jiyong tossed in little comments, half-jokes wrapped in suggestion: “When we get back to it…” he would say casually while pouring a glass of wine, never finishing the thought. Or, “Remember those nights we stayed up planning shows?” with a grin that said he knew exactly what he was hoping Seunghyun would hear.
Seunghyun pretended not to notice, but the way his gaze flickered just a moment longer, the soft smile that touched his lips when Jiyong made these remarks - it wasn’t lost on anyone who knew him. They both understood the unspoken question hanging in the space between them: what next? But Seunghyun had decided to not see it as a pressure, but rather, an opportunity. A slow unfolding of a possibility neither was quite ready to name aloud yet.
One night, the rain was pattering gently against the window, the kind of sound that made the whole world outside feel far away. They were stretched out in bed, the glow from Jiyong’s phone casting faint light across the room.
Jiyong was half-scrolling through his phone when he said, “You ever think about how good we used to look in those god-awful matching stage outfits?”
Seunghyun snorted. “Good is not the word I’d use.”
“Half the time it didn't even look like we were attending the same event…” Jiyong tilted his head, smirking, “…but it worked - somehow.”
Seunghyun glanced over at him, catching the way Jiyong was pretending to study his phone again. “Is there a point to this trip down memory lane?”
Jiyong shrugged lightly, stifling a laugh. “Just wish I could see you in a busby hat one more time.”
Seunghyun shook his head, hiding his smile in the pillow. Then followed with, “Okay Gi-Raim.” This granted a laugh from Jiyong, a real unfiltered laugh – the best kind.
“Mm,” Jiyong hummed, already rolling over like the conversation was finished. But his grin lingered in the dark, and Seunghyun didn’t need to see it to know it was there. Jiyong knew exactly what he was doing, sprinkling little comments or reminders as if it was fairy dust.
Over the next few weeks, the pattern continued. Jiyong’s subtle nudges became a language of their own. Sometimes, Jiyong left lyric sheets casually draped over the table or tossed a notebook onto the couch with a playful, “You know, these could use your touch.” He never pushed, only offered these little breadcrumbs - an invitation, if Seunghyun wanted to follow. Seunghyun began to enjoy dodging his comments, sometimes with sarcasm, sometimes with humour and his favourite technique; the obliviousness, that he knew wound Jiyong up the most.
Their banter shifted too. When Jiyong spoke of “when we” without finishing the sentence, Seunghyun caught the meaning but pretended not to notice. And Jiyong’s eyes twinkled just a little more, as if daring him to imagine the possibilities without saying a word. Seunghyun found himself thinking about it more often than he expected. Not with the pressure of expectation, but with a quiet curiosity. The world felt a little less daunting when it was shared like this. And through it all, Jiyong remained steady, patient and full of that relentless silliness that made the idea of the future seem a little less scary.