It might seem strange, but Luhan likes the time on the road very much. He always has, even before he got his tour bus with a rather huge bed in the back and a luxurious en suite bathroom, though he won’t deny that they have made him like the travelling even more. Comfort is very closely related to happiness to him either way, and Egyptian cotton often helps. That said, it’s almost a waste to pay for the expensive suites, but he isn’t complaining because the views from up high are quite stunning and let him escape reality if only for a bit.

He doesn’t come out of the bedroom except for food and water, and even that’s only if he’s desperate, because he always brings bottles with him so he can stay in there for longer hours at a time. During the time in there he mostly just lies on the covers though, thinking, sleeping and thinking some more. Sometimes it’s about where he’ll be once they stop, other times it’s about things that are so much more distant. Those latter times aren’t very likeable, but he can rarely bring himself to do much else.

Today is like that, and Luhan just lies there, staring up at the spotlights in the ceiling and in an attempt to escape from darker thoughts tries to imagine a chandelier hanging right above him. He ends up so fond of the idea that he decides to ask his manager to gather up some alternatives for him, ones with lots of tiny crystals that will reflect the light from outside beautifully.

When they arrive at the next hotel where he’ll be staying for the coming five days to attend a couple of talk shows and hold several big concerts he tells her of his plans, and despite the way she purses her lips and nods only slightly Luhan puts on his well-rehearsed smile, sending her a quick thanks as she struts out of the room. The smile on his face is gone the next second, and he turns to admire the new view.

The weather doesn’t quite do it for him. A blanket of ominous clouds is forming over the city, seemingly endless as it stretches out as far as he can see. He hates rain. Not because it’s cold or wet, or causes problems with pretty much everything. He simply despises how it makes it harder for him to pretend. It’s too glum, and too nostalgic, because all he can think about are the rainy days he’d spend with Minseok, drinking hot chocolate and watching sitcoms for hours on end in semi-darkness as the water pelted the windows. And every time he’d complain about what a cliché way to pass the time it is, and he’d be jokingly scolded for being stuck up and picky.

Luhan knows now that those jests weren’t very far from the truth.

The evening becomes a struggle, a battle against himself as he clenches his phone in one hand where he’s seated on the hotel bed, rain smattering in the background, violent and unrelenting against the window. Thunder strikes somewhere nearby, and he continues glaring at the device in his grip, because he wants to call so badly. Yet he knows he shouldn’t. He can’t.

It breaks when it hits the wall, miniscule shards of glass falling onto the polished floor with soft tinkling sounds that remind him of bells. He’ll have to replace it tomorrow.

It’s almost as though his manager had been expecting him to flip. Maybe he’s made a habit of doing stupid, childish things on rainy days, he can’t really say since he doesn’t bother remembering them. He seems able to convince her that it’s nothing though, and once she turns her back he adds a single number to his contacts in the replacement phone.

The talk show he attends is good pastime he concludes, because although there are too many chortles and snickers directed at him throughout by the male host, three hours go by faster than they should, and before he knows it he’s signing autographs to a small group from the audience who somehow managed to shake the security on set. He’s the one to tell his own guards that it’s alright though, and listens to the rambling teens for a few minutes before he’s whisked away from them by his manager, calls of “we love you Luhan” and “do your best, we’re always on your side” following him all the way outside.

He doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry when he gets in the van, but with his manager by his side he won’t take any risks. He leans his head against the cool window, frowning as heavy drops hit the bulletproof glass with sharp plunks that soon turn into the loud rattling of machine guns.

He chuckles wryly under his breath at the thought of being caught in the crossfire.

You know I care for you, right? Can’t that be enough for now? For me to watch over you from home until you come back?

He calls even though he keeps telling himself it’s wrong. He’s already made his choice and he should stick to it, but he’s weak. He needs his dearest friend, if only to hear a single word. Nothing else matters.

The call goes through, but for a few terrifying seconds no one picks up. The telltale click eases his heart at first and allows him to breathe, but the lack of a greeting the air right out of him again.

He his lips as he gets off the couch, starting on a slow pace around the dark room. “…Minseok?” Luhan can hear the glide of two coarse fabrics against each other, and knows that the other has taken a seat, waiting for him to continue perhaps. He can see the image of his friend on the worn couch in the living room when he closes his eyes for a moment, in a shivering breath. “How have you been?” His own voice almost fails him, too frail for him to recognize. Still, there’s no reply, and a feeling of desperation begins to gnaw at him. “I- I miss you Min… please Minseok, just- just say something? Anything?” The way his voice cracks is disheartening, and he waits and hopes for rescue from the looming silence because he has no confidence left to break it again himself.

But his most important person says nothing. The only audible sounds are those of both of their breaths, the soles of his shoes meeting the floor repeatedly. And then there’s a sudden intake of air, and his feet stop as he holds his breath in anxious anticipation, only for loud knocks to echo off the door behind him.

Never before has he been so infuriated by his manager’s voice, and if it weren’t for the fact that he’s still hoping, somewhere deep down, that Minseok will speak despite the interruption, he would fling the new phone against the wall too and break the expensive-looking vase on the coffee table for the sheer hell of it. But he doesn’t, because he hasn’t lost all hope yet.

When the high-pitched tone signals that the call has been cut Luhan feels woozy, as though whatever keeps him grounded has come loose. The cell phone breaks against the shiny marble with a sharp crack.

Luhan’s wits take him a long way when he’s under the scrutiny of millions, and he manages to handle himself flawlessly through half the show, despite the uncomfortable feeling of having been uprooted and all that comes along with it. And then he gets told that he looks tired. He laughs, glad that he’s wearing make-up, because he does have dark circles under his eyes. “Well, you know what the weather’s been like,” The host nods. “Let’s just say I’m not good with thunder.” A round of sympathetic laughter and hums of understanding rises from the audience, and he manages to pass his cringe off as a shiver, as though the thought of bad weather just gets to him.

“Still though, there’s something else… we’ve been hearing rumors about a bad break-up, or your dog back home passing away… amongst other things. Is any of it true?” He shakes his head with a small chuckle thrown in for good measure.

“Not really. I did manage to break two phones in one day just this week though, if we’re talking about things that bring me down.” Another round of laughter and a few exclamations of “how the hell did that happen” ring in his ears. The numb ache that’s been probing his temples since morning is starting to spread. When the host inquires about his misfortune he flashes a lopsided smirk and shrugs lazily. “One picked a fight with the wall when I was going through a routine, and the other decided to kiss the floor. You know how unpredictable phones are nowadays.”

It’s horrible of him, he knows, but he still hopes that Minseok is watching and feeling regretful about not speaking when he could, that he wishes he could just call up that number that’s unreachable now. Luhan keeps the fake smile for that sake. Maybe this will prove how strong he’s trying to be. Maybe the other will know that all’s not well, that it’s all an act. Yes, he should notice. Luhan convinces himself of this as he shakes hands with the host and other guests when the recording is over. It makes the drive back to the hotel somewhat easier to get through.

He starts wriggling out of his overpriced designer scraps the moment he’s back at the hotel suite, his manager telling him to at least wait until she’s left, trying to interrogate him on his off behavior the past couple of days. He doesn’t reply once, and locks both bedroom and bathroom doors behind him as he goes, clothes forming a trail on the polished floors.

He’s had enough of rain for a lifetime, but the spray of hot water that cascades over him will always provide a sense of comfort. With the glass cubicle closed he knows no one will hear, even if they stand listening on the other side of the bedroom door. So he cries and curses like it’s all he’s supposed to do.

His throat is raw and his eyes burn when he steps out of the steam, skin pink and fingertips like raisins from the long exposure to the steaming water. It’s good his next public appearance isn’t until next evening, because he looks like complete and utter crap, and a restless night won’t exactly help him recover before morning comes around. His reflection in the mirror is truly miserable. But that’s, in all fairness, something his stylists can worry about. He can just claim the thunder kept him up all night after all.

He’s still unable to fall asleep when midnight comes. The rain is thick and heavy outside, and Luhan frowns where he’s lying on his side, staring out over the darkness. The expensive sheets feel stiff and coarse against his skin in a way they most definitely aren’t supposed to, but at the very least their warmth provides him with some sense of comfort.

At that moment however, he truly wishes he hadn’t destroyed his last phone, that he’d dropped it at the couch or thick carpet rather than the cold marble. His manager refused his request for a new one earlier in the day, telling him to calm down and that he’ll get a new one as soon as they’re done with the concerts and some of the stress is gone. She thinks that’s why he broke the thing. Stress. In a way, he supposes she’s right, but then again she’s still far off. He doesn’t want to tell her that the second one was technically her fault. Doesn’t want to blame her for interrupting a conversation that could by no standards even be classified as one.

But what he wants and what he does are different things, and just by remembering it Luhan finds himself extremely agitated. Because he does blame her.  And now, when he desperately wants to call his friend again, he isn’t sure whether he should be grateful or not that he can’t.

His anger diminishes slightly as he lies there, watching the rain fall and listening to the bullets hitting the glass, waiting for it to break into thousands of pieces. Of course it doesn’t, and he keeps looking out through it, his hatred of the situation he’s in soon morphing into frustration. With himself mostly, for the choices he’s made… the choices he still can’t bring himself to regret wholeheartedly.

The loud knocking on the bedroom door rouses him from his thoughts hours later. There’s barely any difference in the sky outside, the clouds only somewhat lighter than they were during the night, the patter on the window less intrusive. He makes his way over to the door in a haze, limbs stiff and his mind screaming for him to get back under the covers. The way his manager looks at him like he’s something that crawled out of the sewers would normally be laugh-worthy, but it’s only barely that he manages to bring out a weak smile.

“What is wrong with you?” She asks sharply as she shepherds him back inside, but seeing as she’s already carrying a flashy change of clothes she can’t have expected much of him. “You’ve been acting really strange the past few days – do you need to see someone?” The first thought that crosses his mind is that she’s right about the acting, just not in the way she means it, and the second is that he does need to see someone. But that’s not going to happen, so he just gives a strangled chuckle and stretches his abused body, suppresses the grimace of discomfort that’s close to surfacing at the pull of his tired muscles.

“I’ll be alright, it’s just the weather--” Luhan turns quiet at the judgmental stare he receives.

In the end, don’t they all just know?

And his manager in particular, who’s constantly with him whenever he hasn’t locked himself away, knows better than anyone. Sees things he can’t disguise up close and personal. How he hasn’t thought about it before is mind-boggling, but perhaps it’s because this is the first time she seems to be taking his minor mood swings seriously.

She’s shorter than him, a really petite woman, but when she steps inside his personal space she’s more intimidating than his own mother. “You are my responsibility.” She starts, her words slow and deliberate.  “Something is wrong, and if you don’t want to let me know that’s fine, but if it in any way obstructs your work, Luhan… if it does, I will personally force the sleeping pills down your throat. Remember that.” He gulps at the glare shot in his direction as she leaves the room, muttering things under her breath that he doesn’t think he wants to hear.

He moves from one end of the stage to the other, a bright smile on his face as he sings and waves to the crowd. It’s a good audience, better than the last venue’s, and Luhan takes the time to enjoy himself again. The screams, the way they follow along in certain parts of the songs, the hands reaching out for him whenever he comes close. In a sense it resembles an addiction, his wish to be in the spotlight and the sheer ecstasy he’ll experience when performing.

Yet even at a time like this he finds his eyes scanning the sea of people for someone he knows isn’t there, and his smile fades just a little before he snaps out of it. He sends the audience a couple of carefree kisses to make up for the slight lapse and puts on a cocky grin. It goes down well judging by the roar of the crowd.

He’s parched by the time he escapes backstage, but this time his manager takes him straight back to the dressing lounge. Apparently there’s a problem with the transport. When he asks what he’s supposed to do for god knows how long, the answer is plain and simple. “Fill up on fluids and go to sleep.” Usually he’d question the way she orders him around, but at the silent and all too familiar rattle coming from her bag he decides against it.

Roughly three hours later he’s woken up by someone from security, and he takes his time stretching and trying to force his eyes to see straight again. How he can be feeling more tired than before he slept is a mystery, but clearly he’s better off trying to nap somewhere where he’s not affected by the outside world. To think the dressing room would be one of those places.

The venue is pretty much deserted, and he slips into the regular black van without any problems, slumping down in the backseat with a deep sigh. The driver, to his surprise, clears his throat, and Luhan puts a small smile on his face as he hums in question. “It will take at least thirty minutes to get to the hotel… feel free to sleep some more if you’re tired.” He blinks a few times in surprise, but eventually nods, flashing his white teeth for a second. He’s sure the manager must’ve told the others whatever about him just so he can get some more rest, and even though that’s not the only problem he’s glad she did. He leans against the window and closes his eyes, hoping for a just a few more minutes of rest.

Being shaken awake by the driver feels weird to say the least, but he thanks the guy with another smile, dragging himself through a few meters of cold rain before the warmth of the hotel lobby greets him. The familiar clicking of his manager’s heels alerts him of her presence, but while he’d normally force a smile the look on her face is so unsettling that he can’t even muster a half-assed one. Immediately the usual droning about his schedule and other so-called important matters starts up, and the only thing that he really hears is something about the chandelier he wanted being unavailable at the moment. “Oh, and Luhan,” He stops with a tiny sigh, more than ready to go inside and crash on the bed, but listens up. “The impromptu photo shoot for tomorrow was pushed up until Monday, so apart from the concert you have the weekend off. I suggest you get some proper rest. In fact I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

“If that’s all…” Luhan frowns at the perky look on her face despite the late hour, but is pleased to see her nod, disregarding the smirk on her face when she turns to leave, a short order to get a good night’s sleep being called to him from around the corner as though it’s something she has to remind him of twice per minute.

He slips inside with all intentions of washing off before shutting down, but doesn’t even make it to the bedroom. Collapsing on one of the couches he stares up at the dark ceiling, watches with heavy lids as it occasionally brightens at a bolt of lightning outside and sinks further into the plush cushions. He wonders, as a shiver runs down his spine and his eyes come to a welcome close, how long the torturous storm will plague his thoughts.

Luhan wakes up peacefully the next morning. The rain has stopped and the sky’s clear blue. According to the massive clock on the wall it’s only five past eight but he feels as though he’s slept for days rather than hours. His neck hurts, he’s cold, and the clothes from last night reek of sweat and faded cologne. His outfit from two days back has been picked up for washing sometime between yesterday afternoon and his return long after midnight, so he doesn’t feel like a complete slob when he tosses his current wear onto the floor in its place.

For once he doesn’t break down the second he turns on the shower. It’s hard to say why, because he certainly isn’t feeling better about his life. If anything it’s the opposite. Maybe he just emptied his reserves after the talk show.  It’s the only sound reason he can come up with, and he forces his thoughts to go in another direction, attempting to take some sort of advantage of the situation.

Don’t Luhan. Don’t try and put this on me. You can’t expect me to choose like this.

He scrambles out of the shower with heavy limbs, feet slipping a bit on the tiles. It’s sad in a multitude of ways how all he can think of are the ways he’s messed up and how he hasn’t even tried properly to set things right again. His reflection seems to be sneering at him when he faces the mirror, the disturbing illusion soon broken by a grimace he can’t hinder.

And then he hears something. It isn’t to the point that he jumps or accidentally sends things crashing onto the floor, but it is enough to have him stride over to the bathroom door and unlock it to peer out through the crack.

“Luhan…? Are you done yet?”

For a moment he goes completely rigid, and in the back of his head he faintly notes that his hand gripping the doorknob is starting to hurt.

The male sitting on the bed in boxers and an old washed-out t-shirt of an unknown label, light brown hair tousled from sleep and an inquisitive expression on his round face, is much too reminiscent of someone who is definitely not supposed to be there. Or in the country even, as far as Luhan is concerned. The man’s expression changes to one he knows all too well, and before he can properly process things he’s pulled into a tight hug.

He returns it with more strength than he probably should and buries his face in soft downy hair, clinging to his friend as though he’s going to evaporate and disappear into thin air. Minseok just squeezes back. “You didn’t say anything.” Luhan doesn’t even try to conceal the heavy accusation in his tone.

“I know. I should have.”

Ten minutes must have gone by before Luhan finally dares loosen his death grip on the other, and he tries to bypass the male’s soft smile temporarily to come to terms with his very presence. “…what are you really doing here Min?” He whispers, and fears for a second that it’s too quiet.

“You need me. Right?” The last word is asked with a cheeky grin, bright eyes meeting his without qualms or misgivings. But Luhan can tell, just like how his manager and fans can tell whenever he himself has let his emotions get the better of him. Minseok knows even better than all of them, and Luhan can tell that he hasn’t missed a thing. “I told you I’d be watching over you from home, didn’t I?” He must look tortured when he tries to laugh it off, a heavy tension settling over them as his throat allows him to make no more than a few strangled sounds.

He lets out a deep sigh when Minseok’s hand reaches up to touch his cheek gently for a moment, and all thoughts of pretense drain from Luhan’s mind as their foreheads meet with a soft bump. The way their breaths mingle makes his stomach flip. “You need to take better care of yourself Lu. You shouldn’t make your friends worry so much.” Minseok isn’t smiling now, and he finds that he can do nothing but nod in silent agreement and hope his guilt and remorse shows as well now as it seems to do on screen. He doesn’t even notice he’s crying until he can taste the salt on his dry lips.

“You’ll forgive me thought, right? For everything?”

The way Minseok just smiles, that warm smile that appears every now and then for reasons Luhan has yet to figure out, soothes his very soul. It’s like he’s being held securely in place again, and he grins brightly, sniffing like a child and taking deep, stuttering breaths in an attempt to stop his tears whilst Minseok keeps smiling that beloved smile, gentle fingers tangling in his still damp hair as they rub the nape of his neck in a practiced manner.

And Luhan prays to a god he doesn’t quite believe in. Prays for a just a little more. Deep down he knows it’s futile, knows it’s too good to last, but for now he just wants his friend by his side for a little longer.