(Kyungil POV)
...
You're not quite sure how you ended up here, sitting in a restaurant on your first actual day off in weeks alone with him. It was supposed to be all five of you, but everyone else suddenly had other plans. You're not usually one for conspiracy theories but it seems a bit suspicious. 

He appears to be okay with it, happily chowing down on the various meats you've been grilling and putting in his bowl. Things have been okay between the two of you lately, maybe even classifying as 'better' but you're still just waiting for everything to fall apart again. You're overseas right now, and that's supposed to make things work, make them easier, but it's not really working for you this time because you can't seem to make yourself stop thinking. This hasn't been simple for months, or ever, but it's really wearing on you, the reality of how risky this is, how shortsighted you're being, how important he's become in your life, in your happiness. 

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" he asks, breaking your cycle of thoughts. "I'm not hungry," you mumble. "Hey, if I can't use that excuse, you can't either." He trades bowls with you, motions for you to eat, and it shouldn't make you feel worse, but it does.  He takes care of you too, he's important to you too, he protects you too, and that was never how this was supposed to go, you were never supposed to start depending on him. He's supposed to need you, not the other way around. (How are you ever supposed to go back if you need him too?)

You're exhausted and you can't turn your brain off, running through the same endless loops you've been obsessing over for months now, and it all revolves around the simple, undeniable fact that this can't be real. Even if it feels real, even if it's starting to look that way, this will never be real or lasting or sustainable, it can't grow or change or improve, it will always be this, it will always be uncertainty and misspoken words and it will always eventually turn to heartbreak and misery and you can take it, you can accept it, but he can't, he doesn't deserve to keep living like this. 

He knows you're not okay, but he's probably not sure why, so he keeps saying random things about the weather (it's hot) and the food (it's good) and your hotel (the beds are comfy). He's trying to distract you and you appreciate the effort, but it's not really working this time. 

You end up in a karaoke room and he sings his heart out while you down a couple of shots and try not to hit the self-destruct button, not yet. (Maybe it doesn't count for much after all, since it's so easy to ruin it.) Eventually, he starts pouting and whining and trying to get you to sing with him and it's not the first time, not even close, but you think he's not taking this seriously, that he hasn't considered any of the reasons why this isn't the right thing for either of you, even if it feels like it could be, that he's being naive and optimistic and stupid, that it's your responsibility to force him to be realistic. 

You've been arguing a lot more than usual and it's starting to get to you. First, you fought last week when he was being hard on himself because your album had done well, but not as well as he wanted it to. All you were trying to do was convince him that you weren't disappointed, that he wasn't solely responsible for making you all successful, that no one had anything to hold against him, that he works so unbelievably hard sometimes you think he'll die of exhaustion, but he didn't hear anything that you wanted him to, he only took issue with the words you used to say it. 

He'd gotten upset and asked if you thought he should just give up, that you might be better off without him in the band, but he phrased it like he thought you might be better off without him personally, and then you got upset and told him that was ridiculous, that he hadn't done anything wrong, that you were proud of how hard he had worked for you, for all of you. He listened, but you're not sure if he believed you, he just let it go anyway.

Then you fought two days ago, because he felt like you were being cold toward him and you're not sure he was wrong. You've had a lot of thoughts running through your mind lately, because this keeps getting more real, more serious, more important and you know that can only end badly. 

They say that bad things happen in threes, so you've been waiting for this. "This has to stop," you say. "What?" he asks, another song beginning to play on the machine. "We have to stop doing this." You think you might have to clarify, but he knows what you mean and he looks confused. "All of a sudden? Did something happen?" 

"This can't go anywhere, so it has to stop," you explain. "I thought... where is this coming from?" Why can't he just accept it, obey you without question like he used to, like he's supposed to? That would make this so much easier, if he didn't fight back, if he still took you seriously, if he couldn't see right through you all the time. "It's not working, it never worked in the first place, you know that." He reaches out to touch your arm and it makes you feel even worse. "I'm know I got weird for a while, but I'm okay with the way things are, I can handle it."

"But you deserve someone who can give you an actual life, an actual future and I wish that could be me, but it's not!" you explode, you knew this was coming, you've been holding it in for months. "I can't give you that right now and I'm never going to be able to, so you need to move on! Move on now, while it's still easy."

"Easy?" he gasps, his eyes dampening. "This has never been easy, not for a second! I... I've felt this way about you for so long, you don't think I'm attached to you? I can't even distract myself with work like I used to, even that doesn't make it stop because I love you!" He stops, agitated and trying not to let his emotions overpower his logic. "And don't tell me not to say it, you get to say it all you want because it's an accident, but I'm not taking it back."

He dries his eyes roughly with the back of his hand, and tears are starting to well up behind your eyes. "If it's you now, then it's gonna be you for a long time," he continues, "and I don't need a future and I have a life! I have a job and I have friends and family and you, don't tell me that doesn't constitute a good life."

"You deserve more," you say, stretching out the syllables in the hopes that he'll understand, that he'll get it. "I deserve this, I deserve to suffer for this, because I want to be with you, even if it's not perfect or easy, and I'll take all the pain that comes with it." You close your eyes tightly and rub your fist across them because somehow, he still doesn't get it.  "Happily," he adds quietly. "And I'm supposed to just accept that?" 

"Is this because you want more? Did you... meet someone?" You sigh. "It's that girl back home, isn't it? The one who works at that café. Don't make excuses, just tell me. You're done with me, right?" (If you lie and say he's right, would he finally realize that this can't work and move on?) 

He's obviously not in the mood to answer your questions and you don't really feel like answering his, because he's unbelievably foolish to even think such a thing, so you stop asking, act instead. You step closer to him, tuck his hair behind his ear, kiss him slowly, hope that this will convince him that random girls in cafés stopped comparing to him a long time ago. (You're not even ready to admit that to yourself.)

"So what now?" you ask as you pull away, your hand resting on his arm, before he can interrupt you. "We just keep doing this? It's too much of a risk and it can't go anywhere and I'm okay with that, but you can't be." You're lying, you want a future too and he didn't use to be included in it, but he is now and you don't know when it started, but it doesn't matter because it'll never happen. (Not in this life.)

"If you're okay with it, then I'm okay with it," he tells you, like it means something, anything, but it means nothing because you're not okay with it, so he can't be. "And then what? Keep doing this for the rest of our lives? Sneak around, but not well, and fight about what we think is right and pretend we aren't miserable?" You're trying to make him understand, but he's too blinded by what he feels for you, and it's pathetic. (Why does he trust you so much?) "So you're done? You're giving up? Because I can't force you if you're really done, but you're always the one who comes back to me. Don't you think that means something?" 

"No. It doesn't." You think it sounds final, but he's not convinced. "If you're done, then be done, but don't lie and say it's for me." You nod, because you're not done and he knows it. "Then what do we do about it now?" He shrugs. "Say you're sorry and kiss me again and we'll go from there." You shake your head. "That won't solve anything."

"It'll make you stop yelling," he points out, sitting down on the couch. "I didn't mean to yell," you mumble sheepishly, "I'm tired and I'm trying and it's not enough."

"It's enough for me." You sit down next to him. "It's enough until everything falls apart." Until you realize you deserve more than this, you think to yourself. "We're not going home yet, it'll be fine." You shake your head. Nothing about this is fine. It's not fine that he's wasting himself, his time, his energy on you. It's not fine that he can't tell his family about you, that he doesn't hang out with his friends if he has the option to hang out with you, that he's tired and he's drinking more and he seems sick and sad when you're home. 

It's not fine that this is all you'll ever be able to give him, because you'll never be willing to force him to give up his dreams for you, or to let him if he tries. It's not fine that this thing turned into a some kind of dysfunctional relationship even though you tried to stop it, even though you thought you were safe. (Maybe it would have been fine if you didn't care about him.)

"So you're not ready to stop but you don't want to keep doing this the way we have been? Then what do you want?" he says, playing with the microphone that's still in his hands. "I don't know. You tell me." He thinks for a moment before answering. "We'll just be more careful. We'll actually pause it when we're home."

"Is that gonna be enough?" you ask, but you already know the answer, it's not enough because he will realize it someday, when he realizes that he does need a future, that he deserves a future, that you can't give him any kind of future. "Can't we just try?" You nod. "We can try." It's all you can say, because he's right that this won't end until he ends it because you'll always eventually want him back, you'll always give in when you're tired or lonely or drunk or some combination of those things, and he'll always let you until he's ready to end this for real, for good. 

Later, it's dark and you're back at the hotel and you think he might be asleep but you're not sure, you start talking anyway. "I'm sorry it has to be like this," you whisper. He doesn't react, you think he's really asleep, you keep talking. "I'm sorry I say things without thinking." You said you loved him again last night, because you're too stupid to remember to think straight when you're together. He doesn't really look thrown by it anymore, like he's always waiting for it to slip out, like he knows how to make you say it, and you're not sure what that means, but it doesn't change the fact that he always lets you take it back, doesn't call you out on it, even after the hundredth time. (Maybe he doesn't think you mean it, maybe he doesn't need you to mean it, maybe he just likes hearing you say it.) 

It also doesn't change the fact that he never says it back, a fact that remained unchanged until tonight. You're not the only people who've said stupid things during an argument, the only people who've ever used a fight as an excuse to speak unrestrained, but you didn't want to hear it like that. He's never, ever, ever let it slip before when you were alone, when he was sober, when it was real, not once, not out loud, and you decide it's not fair. It's not like you didn't know he felt it, it's not that it was a surprise, but it's not at all the way you were hoping it would happen. 

You're realizing now that you'd been hoping he'd say it on accident for longer than you thought, that you'd done some calculative things just so you wouldn't be the only one to let it slip. The reasons you slip are not the reasons that he might, the motivation is different, his defenses are stronger than yours, he's willing to accept whatever you're willing to give and he's prepared to follow every rule you lay out to the letter, so he doesn't say stupid things nearly as often as you do. (What a strange thing to envy.)

It makes you doubt yourself sometimes, doubt that he feels anything for you, doubt that he doesn't see this as a hookup, doubt that he needs you at all. Sometimes you have to make him remind you, use him to shake off all the doubts, and you don't care if it's not fair to him, sometimes you walk the line and you push the boundaries, even in public, just so you can be sure that you're not the only one affected by this mess, that he's just as overwhelmed by you as you are by him. 

"I'm sorry I can't give you a white picket fence," you mutter, closing your eyes. "No one's gonna give me a white picket fence," you hear him say and you suppose you should have made sure he was actually sleeping. He rolls over to face you, his hand on your arm. "What do you mean?" you ask, moving closer to him. "You know what I mean, there is no possible scenario that ends with a white picket fence. That's just not how this works." 

"Not if you keep sacrificing it for me," you say. "I don't get a white picket fence and two kids and a dog, from you or anybody else. I accepted that a long time ago," he explains, and you shake your head. "That's not true, things change." He shrugs. "The only way for me to get those things is for me to change and that's not gonna happen." You open your mouth to disagree with him again, but he doesn't let you, kisses you instead, makes you lose all your words. What were you even trying to say?

"Even if it were possible, I don't want any of that if it means giving up on you." You kiss him again, because you know arguing with him rarely goes your way anymore, and you don't want to give him up either and you don't really want all those things you're supposed to want anymore and you know he's right, you know he can't change, you know he meant it when he said he loved you earlier, you know you have to go back home and press pause for real this time. (You know it's gonna ruin you both.)

It's late and you have to work tomorrow and things get even more out of hand when you're tired, so you make yourselves stop from going any further, hold him in your arms instead, say good night. "What I said earlier..." he begins, "I didn't want to say it like that." You didn't want to hear it like that either. "So, can I say it again? Just once?" 

It's dangerous and he looks up at you, waiting for an answer, his eyes sad and concerned, and you should say no, you shouldn't want to hear it, but you're terrible at saying no to him now, so you nod ever so slightly, hope he doesn't see it even though you know he does. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, looks back up at you, smiles genuinely. "I love you," he says, no fanfare, no buildup, just the facts. 

Your heart is aching because a few hours ago you were ready to end this, and now you're back at square one, ready to keep sacrificing his future for your happiness and it doesn't even seem like that terrible of an idea at the moment. "I'm not taking it back this time either," he says. You nod. "Go to sleep," you whisper, not trusting yourself to say anything else. He curls into your chest, presses kisses into your skin, sighs and closes his eyes. 

(You can't give him what he deserves, you can't give him a white picket fence and two kids and a dog, but he doesn't seem to care about what he deserves, he doesn't want a white picket fence and two kids and a dog, and why is that starting to feel so much like fate?)