It’s odd. 

Inside the walls of their apartment their relationship doesn’t exceed the line of friends they’ve been bound within previously. But outside they’re living up to the image of two people blissfully in love. 

Holding Taemin’s hand has become such a habit Kibum doesn’t let go the moment they are out of the eyes of spectators anymore. Previously corny lines with a dash of irony are now genuine questions or compliments. It happens in bits and pieces, fast and yet subtle, and they’re both too foolish to notice. Or Taemin is clueless and Kibum dense to the extent of his own evolving affection. 

Work is busy but neither of them is the type to cave under pressure. They feed off of it. Always striving to put in more effort until they’re no less than a hair’s breadth away from perfection. 

That’s how they find themselves spending endless nights in the practice room, going over their new routine, perfecting their lifts, and mastering every little detail. It's a tiring but worthwhile process in putting together a jaw-dropping performance. 

It’s Saturday. 

Their day, which has been spent within the tall and plain beige walls of their designated practice room, leads to an unexpected night out with fellow dancers and crewmembers. In the small crowd, however, Kibum’s eyes are set on one in particular as his hand is hugging Taemin’s. 

“Will you be okay?”

Taemin, who’s also been throwing subtle glances in his ex-boyfriend’s direction, only nods in silence.

Their first stop is a barbecue restaurant. As a large group, they have made a reservation for two long tables parallel to one another. They’re seated on the floor, Kibum and Taemin on one end and the source of their foolish charade on the other. 

Dinner is loud and cheerful. But Taemin is silent throughout. Kibum notices but decides not to voice his concern. At least not until he feels a weight on his shoulder, followed by Taemin's hot breath ghosting over the exposed part of his neck. Not a moment later, there’s also a small hand finding his larger one and bringing them both, intertwined, to the surface of his thigh. Normally, Kibum wouldn’t think of it as anything more than his friend openly showcasing skin-ship to sell the idea of them dating, but the way Taemin plays with his fingers and keeps his head on his shoulder plants a seed of worry in the pit of his gut. Naturally he assumes it’s simple stress from work, fueled by the presence of his ex-boyfriend, and gives his hand a reassuring squeeze.

While no words are exchanged between them, it still bewilders him that Taemin doesn’t turn his head to meet his gaze. Instead, his eyes shift between their intertwined hands and the other end of the table. 

Suddenly it hits Kibum like a ton of bricks, that Taemin’s actions are just for show, and he feels so immensely foolish for not undoubtedly deeming them as such.

It shouldn’t affect him but it does. The fact he’s simply a pawn in a wicked game. A role he took on with no regard for the possible consequences. And now he feels as if he’s front row at the display of his pitiful reality.

Yet despite his sanity crumbling, he doesn’t release Taemin’s hand. Skin-ship isn’t the problem, it never has been even after his newfound affection began. No. What truly irks him is the incentive— which isn’t him. 

Following dinner and drinks, they wind up at a local club. It’s packed even if the night is still young. On one hand, Kibum’s relieved he’s already considerably tipsy, for the way he finds himself confined between a large mass of moving bodies would otherwise have been highly unbearable. 

It’s not the people surrounding him that hold his attention, however. In the dim lights, they’re nothing but a shadowy background to the stunning sight in front of him. Taemin’s jumping around rather than dancing. As if he’s releasing stress and confiding in dopamine from the energy of the room and yet every move seems so carefully premeditated. Like a captivati