A/N: Warning don't get your in a twist this story is told from Daehyun's perspective, it's a limited perspective if you don't agree with his view on Youngjae it's okay, neither do I.

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On top of a layers of foundation and makeup, our stylist worked on adding a splash of black over my eye and without meaning to my hands were clenched into fists.  Whenever something new was introduced to my skin I feared the after effects on my senstive skin but I had to admit, examining it in the makeshift mirror stand, I looked cool.  

We were getting our final touches on site, in the distance a few American fans and curious locals were looking on and staff were parading back and forth trying to stop them from filming.

Junhong sat at my feet perched on a tarp telling me about a beautiful fan in the crowd who screamed his name whenever he came near.  Junhong spoke about girls a lot more lately, a lot more than he actually spoke to those girls. There was a twinge of pride in his voice as he described her beauty in very innocent terms.  He didn’t mention her figure or curves the way my friends back home would, instead he spoke about the length of her hair and it’s shine.  I knew without asking he hadn’t approached her but I asked anyways: the maknae-line surprised me daily.

“Did you at least talk to her?”

“Did you talk to the Chinese fansite girl?” He shot back, pulling his knees to his chest and gazing up at me mischievously.

“Which Chinese fan?”  Himchan sidled in pushing his way to our corner with a bounce in his step.  I glared at Junhong but went back to examining my reflection without answering.  

“The rich one with the short hair,” Junhong answered for me, inspecting his cuticles without a care in the world.  I kicked him.

“Mini-skirt?” Jongup asked from a hidden corner of the room.  I couldn’t turn my head to find him but he was likely under a table, reading a comic or just listening quietly.  

“I don’t know… I guess she wears mini skirts sometimes,” I answered as Hana the stylist titled my head back.  She was giggling, amused by the groups casual conversation.

“Ah… Mini-skirt,” Himchan nodded thoughtfully.  

Himchan and Jongup had a secret language, a form of communication that none of us were privy too, sometimes (if I’m perfectly honest) it annoyed me.

“She’s pretty!” I said unsure of why I suddenly felt defensive.  

“Yeah, but you could do better,” Himchan said objectively giving me the once over as if he didn’t see me everyday. I flicked my wrist, the universal gesture for get the away and for once he listened, following the scent of food to the buffet set out beside us.

“It’s a bad idea,” Jongup warned me, appearing out of nowhere and disappearing by Himchan’s side at the craft service table just as quickly.  

Behind me Youngjae sat silently, watching us in his mirror not bothering to turn or pipe in the conversation, but I could tell he was listening.

My individual shot went first and between each short take I was patted and adjusted, my hair and skin getting wet with sweat from the mid-afternoon sun.

When I returned to our makeshift styling station it was swarmed with our local extras.  Men double my weight and some a foot taller than us. There was rowdy laughter, a barrage of harsh sounding, rapid English and a sea of black, both skin and clothing.  Junhong stood out among them, taller than most and stark white in contrast, his smile was so broad his cheeks would hurt by morning.  

Jongup attempted to talk to a broad shouldered man with the help of a staff member, he was bouncing on his heels in excitement and the extra returned his bright smile.  Yongguk stood arms crossed, head bobbing watching the chaos as if this was just a typical day on the job: he was loving this.

Himchan and Youngjae were in the process of being prepped, Youngjae’s perfect creamy skin being painted with harsh black… it didn’t mar his beauty.  When I joined TS I was happy to see that I was not only a better singer but a better looking man.  That confidence disappeared every time I looked at him now, I was plain and unimpressive next to Youngjae.

“Stop staring, you're embarrassing yourself,” Himchan hissed so low only I would hear him over the cacophony of excitement.

“Huh?” I almost fell off of my chair trying to turn it away from Youngjae.

“You know what I’m talking about.” I wanted to curse him and return his iness with a bit of my own but I was caught off balance.  Himchan's handsome face was twisted into something snarky and given the chance I would have liked to smack the smile off his face, but he was right.

“Himchan-kun!” The photographer called above the ruckus, saving me the trouble of thinking up a come back, but I took his advice and sat in his chair with my back facing Youngjae.

I was making a fool of myself.  I had suspected this before but had let myself believe that even Himchan would be blind to it.  I was making a fool of myself but it wasn’t my fault, the realization hit me like a truck, it was Youngjae’s.  

Youngjae had made a fool out of me, making me feel these things I shouldn’t and then denying me.  And it wasn’t just New York, this had been going on for months before the event.  

My innocent Youngjae had been teasing me, allowing me to sleep in his bed, to hold him and smell him and grind against him, safely lying like a dead fish as I moaned and called out his name.  Savoring the attention and the power while I acted on impulse.  

Some nights I would bury my face in his neck, nibbling the sensitive skin and once or twice he would moan and daringly grab me but those reactions were always still just reactions.  It was addicting, that feeling of being close but I always initiated so that feeling was one-sided.  Why did he let me?  He kept firmly on his side of the line forcing me to cross over embarrassingly needy but why didn’t he stop me?   

Yes I was at fault, I should have handled my body and my urges better, but he had to know how badly my pride hurt over this inexplicable need.

That thought burnt holes in my mind stomach the entire day.  I barely remember the filming process and when the director called “cut” on the final scene it took me a few long moments to realize we were finished.  When our makeup was removed and our clothes changed were taken to Mexican restuarant, an exotic treat our tour guide promised we would never forget.  The restaurant was flashy, filled with bright colors, loud music and laughter but I couldn’t taste anything, my mind was too jumbled.  

At the center of the table chips were placed in the middle of two dips one red, the other green. I stared at the appetizer which disappeared not long after it was presented. Our tour guide order for us, a bounty large enough to feed our entire crew three times over.  I sipped at the rice drink in front of me to avoid conversation.  To my right Himchan had his back to me, hand on Yongguk’s shoulder as they spoke in hushed tones, to my left Jongup played on his Nintendo DS and across from me Youngjae watched me tentatively, half listening as Junhong rambled about shopping and stores he’d like to visit.

“Are you okay?” Youngjae called over the “ohhs” and “ahhs” of the crowd as our pretty honey skinned girl waitress brought out a flaming dessert.

I raised my shoulders and let them drop silently.  The flaming ice-cream had a crunchy cereal crust and a drizzle of thick sweet caramel, I devoured my portion greedily, letting the sugar course through my system.

When we moved to pile back in the van, Youngjae grabbed my hand guiding our way through the crowd so that we sat in the farthest seats alone.

“Do you feel okay,” he murmured, placing the back of his soft hand on my bumpy skin.  “You don’t look so good.”  I cringed, putting as much space between us as the seating allowed.

“Daehyun?” He pressed, staying on his side of the seat.  I answered with a grunt not trusting myself to speak. What would I say to him now?

Our hotel was outside of the city, in a quiet suburb near an airport and our room was nowhere near the scale we had experienced while on tour.  Our beds were smaller, the wall covered in nauseating floral print wallpaper and the carpet a stain-hiding brown. He sat on his bed, perched atop pillows, watching me with a straight face.

“I think this video is going to be cool,” he whispered.  I stripped off my t-shirt, my muscles sore and tired.

“Mmmm,” I hummed, grabbing my backpack and locking the bathroom door behind me.

I was buzzing with unspoken curses, with confessions and insecurity and fear… but who did I go to if I didn’t have Youngjae?  

The tour, the recording, the jet-lag and pressure of the whole world pressed down on me, buckling my knees. I slid down the door, clutching my backpack like a lifeline. The first tears to hit my clenched fist sparkled in the fluorescent lights, I watched them roll down my knuckles, crying alone and uncomforted for the first time since I joined TS.