Like, have you ever been caught up in some kind of love triangle and then you see the other dude and you’re both really angry so you get into a dance-fight and it’s so super-intense your eye makeup begins to run and you even need a tiny band-aid on your cheek and then, inexplicably, the object of your affection (who actually functions as a point of fantasmatic contact linking you to that other guy according to the gender-normative logic of homosocial rivalry) contracts a fatal disease and dies and then you and the rest of the band storm around the hospital corridor crying and shaking your fists? Me neither. But Big Bang has.