*

It’s been ages of heat and dirt and agony when they finally finish and he’s able to scramble out of the car. The air is a little bit more chilly now, so Dongwoo breathes in, combs his bangs back with his fingers and moves towards the others. The cameraman and the director are talking something about calling it a day because it’s gotten too dark, but Dongwoo doesn’t listen and just hurries over to the rest, the idea of going back to filming the next day just a faint, dreadful spectre in the back of his mind.

“How’s it been?” Howon asks, slapping him on space between his shoulder blades. Dongwoo coughs a bit, earning Howon a scolding look from Sunggyu, but smiles and replies, “Stupid’s the word of the day.”

There’s probably that funny confused grimace on Howon’s face, Dongwoo thinks, but doesn’t turn around as he almost jogs ahead, towards Sungyeol and Sungjong, because he can see them laughing. And god knows he needs a laugh to switch places with this splitting headache.

 

*

 

The plastic – or is it leather? – of the steering wheel is hot, burning his fingers as he shifts, trying not to lose the focus. The headache, it’s there, still, or maybe it’s starting again – Dongwoo’s not sure, his thoughts blurred, it’s hot. The stupid car over which he has marvelled at first doesn’t seem so awesome anymore – it’s old, and, yeah, stupid. There’s no air-con and everything makes those weird creaking sounds, he can’t open the windows because of the stupid filming. And the breath of the guy who holds the camera on the passenger seat stinks.

Even though Dongwoo’s driving 20 km per hour, at most, the road is bumpy, seat’s too hard and this overwhelming feeling of sticky, warm air pushing at him from everywhere is horrendous. He feels awful, he just wants something cold to drink, preferably beer, a bathrobe instead of this stupid leather costume and a nice hotel room in this awesome campus-like thingy where the Hollywood stars are staying while they film in this location instead of this stupid, stupid car. A nice hotel room with air-con.

 

*

 

The pillow is a bit too scratchy and he doesn’t like sleeping in plain-blue bed sheets, but it smells fresh and sterile, so it’ll do. Dongwoo scoots over more to the edge of the bed, at the same time pushing his nose more into the feathery heaven. After a while it doesn’t seem that scratchy anymore – it’s comfortable and nice, and a cool air-con breeze is circling around the room and his eyes droop. The lights are off but Dongwoo still sees white stains spilling over the walls and objects and furniture and creeping towards him – but, it’s the nice kind of creeping, it’s familiar and not scary and soon the white overwhelms him and he’s ready to fall asleep, greeting the white and the clouds and silver blasts and sparkles and it’s cosy and-

“Your face’s red.”

The white vanishes and Dongwoo’s eyes snap open.

“Is it?” he mumbles, trying hard to make his vision focus on something; someone. There’s Myungsoo standing by the door, the magic sweeping card or whatever it is that allows them to enter the room in his left hand and a pack of candies in the right one.

“Yep,” Myungsoo sums up and moves to his bed, opposite of the one Dongwoo’s occupying. His moves are slow, his muscles relaxed – Dongwoo knows, he doesn’t see tensed shoulders or anything he himself is feeling at the moment. The light on the nightstand flicks on and the remains of the nice whiteness disappear completely.

“Want some?” Myungsoo offers, putting the card aside and stretching his arm towards Dongwoo, the pack of candies already opened.

Dongwoo pushes the covers off of himself, sits up and shakes his head as a no. He watches Myungsoo eat the sweets slowly, like it’s not almost 3am and as if they don’t have to get up at 7 to continue filming for the music video. It’s kind of soothing.

“It really is red, though,” Myungsoo says after some time. “Are you feeling okay? The filming kicked you in the today, didn’t it?”

Dongwoo cackles. There’s no ‘hyung’ or anything – there never is when Sunggyu or Woohyun aren’t around, and he doesn’t care, really – there’s only the straight-forward and blunt tone and Myungsoo’s complex gaze. He quite (pretty much a lot) likes it.

“It wasn’t exactly nice, yeah,” Dongwoo shrugs eventually and sinks back to the mattress, lying down on his stomach, keeping his head turned towards Myungsoo, arms sneaking under the again scratchy pillow. “I hope we finish up tomorrow.”

“We all do,” there’s a little nod and then Myungsoo frowns. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look like one, huge knot.”

Dongwoo cracks a smile, then closes his eyes. “And I feel like one, too. Could you turn the lamp off?”

After slight shifting the lights go off, darkness returning, and Dongwoo’s ready to welcome the white again, when he feels his bed dipping under additional weight. A palm rests on his neck, and then another, and Dongwoo feels a nice press of fingers to his overheated skin, massaging his tensed neck, and shoulders, and back, and a you’re the best slips out of his lips. Myungsoo laughs shortly and mumbles a welcome and continues until Dongwoo feels loose and comforted and sleepy but not so tired anymore. More minutes pass and Myungsoo’s gone, probably back to his own bed. The silence is wonderful, but suddenly Dongwoo’s eyes snap open again.

“Want to sneak out?”

 

*

 

It’s a blur after Myungsoo’s question, long corridors and tip-toeing and unconscious giggles and shhs, and Dongwoo’s not sure how but they do manage to sneak out, past security and guards and all that serious stuff he doesn’t think about right now. They run, then are lost a few times, but eventually they find those gigantic garages and hangars and Myungsoo does some magic and shows him the keys to that stupid car Dongwoo drove before; they decide to try to use it later.

There’s an endless maze of alleys and narrow streets between historical buildings when the two of them make it to the ‘Hollywood blockbuster location’ or whatever Woollim called it.

Dongwoo stops and looks up at some ancient-looking building, with Corinthian columns or something like that – it’s pretty, made of something that imitates the expensive, shiny stone perfectly – or is it real? Dongwoo extends his hand and his fingertips graze over the slick surface and he can’t tell, really. He opens his mouth to ask because Myungsoo might be younger, but he’s probably smarter than him, that’s not a secret.

But then Myungsoo grabs his shoulder and drags him farther, breaking into a full run; they run and run and laugh, the passes that they took just in case dangling from their necks and bumping into their chests. It’s refreshing and Dongwoo feels alive and maybe the idea to film Destiny here wasn’t so bad, after all?

Myungsoo trips once, stumbles ahead and falls down. Concerned, Dongwoo rushes to him and tries to help him up, but Myungsoo’s smiling and brushing it off lightly; there’s a faint bruise forming on Myungsoo’s wrist but he doesn’t care, so Dongwoo’s concert vanishes.

They find themselves in a western-like looking part of the complex, wooden buildings, bars and all, sand and dirt loud under Dongwoo’s sneakers. He’s out of breath, so he stops, pulling Myungsoo to a stop also and plops down on the stairs to the Sheriff’s office.

“It’s,” Dongwoo starts with a smile, looking at Myungsoo, who smiles back and bumps their shoulders. His eyes sparkle prettily, Dongwoo thinks. He thinks also he must look similar, and that’s not so bad either. It’s perfect. “It’s perfect, Myungsoo.”

“I’m glad,” the younger boy barks that short laugh of his that usually sounds awkward, but it doesn’t now, for some reason. Then he stands up, legs wobbling for a while from all the running they did, and steps closer to the middle of the road. Dongwoo observes him, hypnotized, when Myungsoo fixes his black t-shirt, throws his arms in the air and screams ‘Welcome to the United States of the America’ in his broken English, then starts laughing. Dongwoo joins him and they laugh together, arms up when he stands up too, swaying from side to side as they scream and laugh and scream and it’s all kind of perfect, perfect.

 

*

 

The next day is all rush and running around and screaming at each other and Dongwoo feels like crying more often than not. He doesn’t really like cold and winter, but the persistent heat that is present there, wherever he goes, he considers, might be even worse. They work, and work, and work, and their hair is being fixed constantly and sweat wiped off of their faces, but it still doesn’t help and Dongwoo feels like and probably looks like one, too.

Dongwoo finishes – or at least, so does he hope – his shoot I front of a building with tall columns, bows a few times and walks away, as far as he can. He catches a glimpse of Myungsoo who’s filming his own part. A smile appears on Dongwoo’s face unconsciously when he remembers they secret night escapade, the running and laughter and feeling okay and the best in the whole world. He lifts up his arm to wave, but then decides not to – Myungsoo’s filming and can’t be bothered.

So Dongwoo just stands there, staring, sun hitting his back. No one rushes him. His eyes are fixed on Myungsoo who’s being utterly professional – definitely not the sweetheart he usually is, and not the perfect, perfect sweetheart he was the night before. Images flood Dongwoo’s brain, of how they played and again, the laughter and running and an empty pack of candies and maybe even a brush of lips they might have encountered somewhere between the Sheriff’s office and a bar.

Myungsoo stops for a while and apparently realises Dongwoo’s staring; he looks up and Dongwoo grins and Myungsoo smirks back but then the director calls and the music plays again, Myungsoo returns to being one hell of a professional singer. The heat crawls up his body. Dongwoo’s sure it’s not only from the hot weather; a shudder shakes his body. He observes – gapes – as Myungsoo falls down abruptly, almost like did the night before. A blast of warm air hits Dongwoo and suddenly Myungsoo bursts into millions of pieces, only strings of grey smoke left behind. Dongwoo’s breath hitches and catches in his throat, skin prickling and burning and frizzling, the smell of sweat and burnt flesh invading his nostrils – he has to run.

 

*

 

The plane shakes uncontrollably for a few minutes. Dongwoo shuts his eyes so tight it hurts, painful pounding resounding in his skull, make it stop, make it stop. Someone pats him on the shoulder; Dongwoo opens his eyes and sees Woohyun who’s been sitting next to him the whole time. He looks weirdly calm, considering the fact that there were turbulences just now (were they even there?).

“You look sick, hyung,” Woohyun voices out what Dongwoo was thinking before. “Do you want some water, or something?”

Dongwoo nods and after a while the liquid slides past his dry lips, soothing.

 

*

 

He runs and finds the stupid car and gets in. His driving is hasty, haze filling him up as he escapes. Escapes?

Dongwoo feels bad, so, so, so bad. Myungsoo is gone and it’s weird and- what is he even doing? He grips the steering wheel, tight, so tight that his knuckles go white and he manages to push holes into the plastic – or is it leather? – the material dipping under his fingers like dough.

Weird orange glow washes over the sky and the ground and big white windmills surrounding him. The sun is setting. Dongwoo hasn’t realised they spent so much time filming and gulps when he knows, he just knows he will be in trouble for running off.

The orange and pinkish glow engulfs him as Dongwoo finds tracks, walks along them, car left somewhere in the desert or on a lonely road, black asphalt and yellow stripes, and wind, and sun, and heat. Everything is giddy but peaceful at the same time, bathed in western air, smells like sand and overheated plastic and Dongwoo’s head spins.

*

Wind surrounds Howon when he speaks, chunks of ash swirling around him with the rhythm of his words; Dongwoo stares. They go back to the hotel-thingy, tired and dirty, but why does no one notice? It’s kind of pretty, really, the grey and black making a curtain for Howon, protecting him and all. No one notices, though, no one, like no one did when Sungyeol’s hand inducted fire and shone so prettily in the afternoon sun before. Dongwoo chuckles and Sunggyu looks at him weirdly as he passes by and synchronizes his steps with Woohyun’s.

Myungsoo slides in front of Dongwoo (Myungsoo!). A smile splits Dongwoo’s face in two; he waits until they enter the hotel, familiar corridors and walls, then grabs Myungsoo’s forearm to check the bruise; it’s not there, probably covered professionally with make-up – so it doesn’t show in the video – he should have known.

“What?” Myungsoo frowns at him and apparently expects an answer.

“Does it hurt?” Dongwoo asks simply.

“Why would it hurt?” Myungsoo shrugs and walks into the room. Dongwoo follows, startled, but not too much.

 

*

 

This night they sneak into one of the huge metal hangars, walking around aimlessly and examining the fracture of the waves of metal walls that is probably burning hot during the day but pleasantly cool now due to the evening air. They snog, once or twice, and they don’t think too much about it, it’s okay, it’s okay. Myungsoo makes up a play when they scream out loud (again) and echo responds them, vibrating and bouncing off of the building and empty space. They’re screaming their lungs out, hands clasped – Myungsoo’s fingers shorter than Dongwoo’s, but his palm bigger overall, a little rough but familiar, it’s okay.

 

*

 

The sheets are damp when Dongwoo wakes up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat. He sits up, pushing his hair out of his face. The air-con is on but the air is humid. His cover rustles too much, apparently, because Myungsoo wakes up, sitting up also, his silhouette faint but still visible in the dark. Dongwoo’s probably feverish.

“What’s up?” Myungsoo’s voice is groggy, thick with sleep. Dongwoo opens his mouth but can’t find words for a moment, but eventually manages to rasp out a nothing.

Myungsoo frowns – Dongwoo can’t see but he’s sure; it’s Myungsoo and he knows Myungsoo, well, they’ve been living together for years; Myungsoo is awkward and weird and lovely and they sneak out together, it’s Myungsoo and he knows Myungsoo, just knows.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

Wetness appears in his eyes for some reason and Dongwoo manages to croak out he isn’t, not exactly. He gags on his own tongue, he guesses, hiccups and shudders and he can’t stop trembling for some reason, feeling nauseous to his stomach. It’s too hot, and Dongwoo just wants to sleep or, or something, he just-

Cool palm presses to his forehead when Myungsoo shuffles over to him in a blink of an eye. Dongwoo presses into the touch, sinks lower and leans into Myungsoo, even though the seat fells gross on his skin, his wet tanktop sticking to it.

“You’ve got fever, oh my god, hyung,” a panicked tone lingers in Myungsoo’s voice but Dongwoo already feels better, leaning closer, eyes closed. “Let me get Sunggy-“

“No, no,” Dongwoo interrupts in a voice so faint that he would be surprised if he had time to think about it. Myungsoo smells nice and is warm, but pleasantly, somehow. “Just- let’s just go out again, and-“

“What?” Myungsoo asks and that’s not a surprise – he has just woken in the middle of the night, right, he has right to be confused.

Dongwoo explain, head limp against Myungsoo as he mumbles explanation into Myungsoo’s shoulder because he’s older and even though Myungsoo is probably smarter, there’s only so much he can do to explain, explain. The heat and the car, the running and laughter, the tracks and windmills and superpowers and kissing and- Myungsoo stiffens and there’s fear radiating from every molecule of his body.

“Dongwoo, it didn’t- there was nothing like that, like- we didn’t go anywhere, you know that?”

A sob catches in Dongwoo’s throat. There- there wasn’t? The white comes back but it’s not familiar, it’s awful and Dongwoo wants it to go away. Blood drains from his face, he can feel it, his forearms are sweating and white mixes with black, stains flying before his eyes; Myungsoo’s grips tightens around him.

 

*

 

It’s weird when he thinks about it – kind of funny, a sunstroke. Paired up with fatigue and fever and maybe with the little bit of craziness that has always lingered in Dongwoo, somewhere.

“Kind of adventurous, too, no?” Sungyeol says when they visit him in the morning in the hospital where he has to stay for a day to cool down and take some vitamins or whatever. Dongwoo doesn’t remember much from the night, and sheepishly tries not to think about the bull he has gone over in his head. Embarrassing. The orange glow and sneaking out and candies, and especially Myungsoo – it was nice, and if Dongwoo wasn’t so embarrassed, he would be impressed that his brain was capable of making up something like that.

But then Myungsoo stays a bit longer and Dongwoo covers his face with his hands because he’s sure he’s told him about what he thought they were doing – kissing, and all. He covers his face until he hears that awkward laugh of Myungsoo’s and the demand from the younger to look at him. Dongwoo’s arms go limp as he looks at the boy, face heating up in an embarrassed, shy blush. There’s a moment of silence and Myungsoo leans in, somehow, brushing his lips over Dongwoo’s. There’s a hell of awkwardness that wasn’t there when it was happening in Dongwoo’s head – dreams? – but, it’s real. And real’ll do for him.