pt. 8
3:37am(Kyungil POV)
...
After a particularly trying incident at a fan-sign, you make a mental note to tell the stylist not to dress him in such revealing styles anymore because you're starting to at controlling yourself around him and his stupidly enticing skin. (Would she think that was suspicious?)
It's been a month since you got back together, if this can even be called being together, but you're supposed to be focusing on promotions and not each other right now, and you can't do that if you keep touching him, if he keeps looking at you like that when you do.
The recording booth has gotten quite a workout since you came back from overseas, and you know it's risky and reckless and can only end badly, but in the moment you can never bring yourself to care about the consequences. He cares, though, he thinks about this ending all the time. You only know this because it's all he can talk about when he drinks, which seems to be a lot more often lately and you feel bad because it's your fault.
He's started sneaking into your room at night, trying not to wake you as he climbs in and puts his arms around you. You know he's only breaking his own rule because he thinks this thing between you, this thing you refuse to name, is like a ticking time bomb or that it has an expiration date stamped on it, that the end is inevitable and he wants to make the most of it while he still can. Maybe he'll only speed up the countdown, force yourselves to end this even sooner, but you can't handle telling him to stop. (Why drag out the unavoidable?)
You have to be up early for your schedules and your manager seems impressed that he never has to wake either of you up anymore and you feel a little guilty, but it's still worth it because you get to wake up with him almost every morning and you've gotten too used to it to stop. Most of your days are spent sitting around backstage at music shows, and it's hard to act the way you used to, to sit around and and play silly games. Sometimes it feels like everybody's watching you, waiting for you to slip up, to say something, to do something obvious and stupid, but you know which boundaries to push and which ones to respect, you know how to pretend. (You're getting better at that now.)
You know you're both running full speed toward the edge of a cliff, but you just keep going because stopping doesn't help, doesn't last, it just hurts the both of you until it starts up again. It'll be better if this just explodes at some point, beyond repair so you stop falling back into this mess. (Or at least that's how you justify this to yourself.)
You're all exhausted after another excessively long day and you collapse on the living room furniture as soon as you walk through the door. He passes out almost instantly, his head resting in your lap, and it shouldn't make you nervous but it does. Everyone else in the room couldn't care less, they're just as worn out as you, but you're trying to think of an excuse why he's so comfortable with you. You've never felt the need to excuse it before, but this thing is starting to feel a whole lot less like a series of convenient hookups and a whole lot more like an actual relationship, at least for you. It's freaking you out but he was probably hoping for this all along. (Sometimes it scares you when you remember how long he's wanted you.)
You close your eyes, rest your head on the couch, lay your hand on his back and pretend that this is okay, that it's normal, that it's not anything more than exhaustion. You don't know why you keep pretending, keep lying to yourself, keep lying to him, but it's the only thing that makes you feel a little more secure, a little less vulnerable. (To think you used to believe you were the strong one.)
"This still doesn't mean anything. You know that right?" you tell him the next morning when he wakes up in your arms once again. "Hmm?" he mutters, still much too sleepy to deal with your confusing statements. (Your confusing lies.) "It's just because I'm tired," you lie. "I don't have time to go find somebody else to hook up with. This is just... convenient." He looks up at you, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Are you joking around? It's too early for your terrible sense of humor."
"I'm not joking, I'm just making sure you remember what this is," you say, dreading the look on his face as you do. He looks just as crushed as you knew he would and he runs his hand through his matted hair. "I know we're not dating if that's what you mean." You sigh, sitting up and leaning back against the wall. "We're hooking up, that's it." He bites his lip, his eyes still sleepy and dull. "That's why you make me breakfast and hold my hand when we're alone backstage and kiss me way more than necessary? Because we're just hooking up." He has a point. "You don't like it when I kiss you?"
"That's not... if this is just because you can't do any better than me right now, then why are you so nice to me?" Look at that, he's got another point. (He's so logical sometimes and it's exceptionally tiresome.) "I'm a nice person," you reply, acting like it's an excuse, an flawless explanation. "Okay, but you don't have to be with me. I'm not sleeping with you because you're a gentleman." You roll your eyes, only because he's treating you like you're transparent right now, like your lies have no impact on him. (They must have some impact because he still looks like he's gonna cry.)
"Well, I didn't know that until now. I guess I don't have to pretend anymore." You're trying to be cold, but he's not gonna believe that as easily as he used to, before he knew who you are on the inside. "Really?" he says before launching himself across the bed to kiss you. Oh, you think, he's right. This really isn't for his sake. You slide your hand into his hair, and pull him away from you. He whimpers and you're not really sure where this is going to go when someone raps on the door and startles you both apart. "In the van in thirty minutes," your manager says through the door. You curse under your breath and he smiles and this isn't going the way you wanted, not at all.
"If you wanted to convince me that I'm just your most convenient option," he begins, "you should have started a long time ago." He clears his throat, looking away from you. "I know what this is, I know we're not going to last, but don't tell me it's meaningless," he adds. If it didn't mean anything, you wouldn't keep accidentally saying you love me. He doesn't say it but you know he's thinking it, you can see it in his eyes. (You know each other too well to lie about these things.)
He sneaks out of your room to get ready and you waste your time sitting on the edge of your bed, stunned at your inability to lie to him, to make this less of a risk. When did he get so confident? When did you manage to convince him you were that into him? You weren't trying to. (Not consciously, you suppose.) Somehow this all feels even more dangerous than it did last night, and you don't know how to make it stop. (If it's even possible.)
You elect to ride with some of the staff, not trusting yourself to pretend around him yet, not after all that. He doesn't seem to care, seems unaffected by the crisis raging inside of you. You take a different route than normal to stop at the staffs' favorite coffee shop, so you're surprised that your band isn't sitting in the dressing room when you arrive. The driver must be taking his sweet time, they should have been here long before you.
You kill time on your phone, but you hear someone say the word 'accident' in the hall and you panic. "Some kind of accident... freeway... pile-up, it's a huge mess... have to tell..." you manage to make out and you sit up straighter, try to call your manager but he doesn't answer. You're starting to work your way through calling the rest of your bandmates, silently begging one of them to answer, when they walk through the door, unconcerned about what you've been going through.
He walks in last and the relief is overwhelming and you think you might cry and you stand up abruptly and he looks at you, confused as to your expression. You don't care, you don't know where to go, but you grab his hand and drag him down the stairs, toward the bathroom that no one uses because it's in desperate need of renovation. You're still grateful when you confirm that it's empty and pull him into one of the stalls, lock it behind you. "What are you doing?" he says for the fifth time and you wrap your arms around him, bury your face in his neck, hold him so tightly it must be uncomfortable for him, but you don't care because you were terrified. (You admit it, you overreacted.)
"Why didn't you answer your phone?" you demand. "I was sleeping. There was a traffic jam, so I took a nap. Is that a problem?" You pull back to look at him. "Someone said there was an accident, a big accident, and I thought you might... I thought it might be..." He smiles. "You still sure this doesn't mean anything to you?" You roll your eyes, breathe his name. "Shut up," you tell him and you kiss him to make sure he does. "You're breaking the rules," he says as you break apart. "You started it." He laughs a little, kisses you again. "You have to pick up your phone, even if you're mad at me, okay?" you tell him, try to make him promise. "Even if I'm sleeping?" he asks. "Especially if you're sleeping. You shouldn't scare me like that." He laughs. "Okay, I'll try my best."
He's beautiful and he's safe and he's laughing at your stupidity and all is right in the world and he's right, you don't kiss him for his sake but you're gonna do it anyway, even if it proves that this means something to you, even if means that this will hurt more when it inevitably falls apart.
"Someone is going to get suspicious if we don't go back soon," he points out. "You go first, we shouldn't go back together, it'll look weird. I need a minute anyway." He stifles a laugh and reaches up to kiss you one last time. "I'll stall for you," he promises, grinning from ear to ear. This still doesn't mean anything, is on the top of your tongue, but if you can't make yourself believe it, then he never will so you stop trying. (You stopped trying a while ago.)
When you return to the waiting room, he's already passed out on the couch again. You envy his ability to sleep all the time, you still haven't mastered it, but you sit down next to him and try anyway. You really freaked yourself out, and you're not totally convinced that everything's fine just yet, so you tell yourself it doesn't mean anything as you rest a hand on his hip, just to convince yourself that he's still there. (Keeping him safe has always been your job.)
That night, you're the one who sneaks into bed with him, after finding his roommate sleeping on the couch on your way to get a glass of water. Jaeho's gonna be pissed if he wakes up and finds the door to his room locked, but you don't care.
You think he's asleep, but it turns out his eyes are just closed, as he proves once you get under the blankets and wrap your arms around his waist. "Well?" he says expectantly. "Aren't you gonna say something about this just being a hook up?" he asks, rotating in your arms to face you. "Shut up," you tell him, trying and failing to sound gruff. "Make me," he says and you roll your eyes at him. "I thought I was the one who liked cliches," you whisper before kissing him and pulling him closer to you. So what if this means something? So what if admitting that will only speed up the inevitable demise of whatever this is? Maybe it's a bad idea, the worst idea you've ever had, and maybe this will ruin everything, ruin both of you, but maybe you just can't bring yourself to lie about it anymore.
(Jaeho bangs on the door at 6am, but neither of you pay him any attention. He'll probably try to get you back later, but right now you can't bring yourselves to care.)
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