I rolled over to emptiness still shaped to his frame. Pressing my face into his pillow, I could still smell his skin. I lifted my head, tilting it as though it could help my ears, straining for any hint of him. But the feeling of loneliness aded, seeping down into my veins.

How many nights, now? How many nights since he’d stayed one through complete? I couldn’t even remember the last time well enough to count.

Frustrated I rolled over to reach for my vial of pills. Sleep was not returning unaided and if I had to listen to one more of my love sick dirges I was leaving the country, the music business, life-

No, I thought, choking down the pills, better to shut down now before letting that train of thought continue.

As waves of drowsiness crashed over me my mind spun. Maybe death would end the pain of an empty bed. I hoped for no dreams.

*****

The next day was long.

All my days were long. And if they weren’t I’d stretch the nights as far as they’d go. So I wouldn’t have to roll over alone.

I was staring at him again.

Mentally I slapped myself. Focus.

So I did. Photoshoot, that was today’s schedule. Uncomfortable clothes, uncomfortable heat, uncomfortable light. Uncomfortable, as I stared at shot after shot of his gaze: intense and sensual. Being the leader could be a terrible burden.

His arm hooked around my chest as he pressed himself against my back. Chin hooked on my shoulder, he looked at the review screen. Casual - oh so casual. He was good at casual. I could say it was because he was an actor. But I’d seen his movies, and his drama. Maybe some day he’d be good at lying on film. As good as he was in real life.

“Don’t muss your clothes,” I muttered, trying to inject anger into my voice, trying to pull away from him. My body betrayed me. I curved into him. For a second, a brief eternity, he held me tight, knuckles whitening into a bruising grip. His sigh, brief and soft, burned into my ear.

“Yes, leader-nim,” he said, pitching his voice low, piercing with his eyes.

I hated in that moment. I needed him and hated it. His smirk distracted from the ache in his eyes and I hated it.  

I longed for Youngbae, the maknae, Daesung, for buffers that knew us. But I’d sent them - tired and starving - for food.

So it was just him and me, dancing in a room of strangers oblivious to his seduction and my need, my longing and his pain; desire that could only be sated in flesh.

There was no way this was sustainable, I mused, as my appreciated the fit of the slacks on his thighs. This game of off and on, of chase and catch and release played too close to the public eye. There was no way this didn’t end without us both broken and shattered into infinite pieces.

And still, after the director signaled enough and he walked away- still, when he threw back a look at me, and casually lifted an eyebrow, I followed, greedy, hungry and desperate. I followed.

He always was the better actor.