talk me down.
noah’s apartment ; @iddahyun.
there is something that pricks odd on the tip of his tongue when he and dahyun step off into the lobby of his condominium. a foreboding, rather irrational spike or tremour in the pace his heart beats. something akin to a warning: don’t get caught. don’t get seen. this is risky. which, in retrospect, isn’t actually out of the norm for idols. noah should be careful—he should tread on the err of caution, but he indulges in impulsiveness, enjoys the rush of adrenaline. it hides the loneliness. even for just one night.
and dahyun is good company to forget.
someone he’s found himself seeing more frequently than what is uniform of him. noah doesn’t involve himself with the same person more than once unless he’s purchased the companion of jack daniels for the night. when people see one another regularly, these weed like things called feelings can grow in the cracks of cement where nothing should blossom, but it does so, anyway—stubbornly so. and when feelings makes their presence known, it’s a nasty job to try to eradicate them. they bring friends along, too.
the most notorious is jealousy. green eyed and clasp on meek humans like iron.
it clutches onto noah’s shoulders, snarling and dripping venom. it feeds noah thought after thought, creating him into a fraken-creature of ghost limbs from people he’s gotten to know in more ways than one and can’t forget no matter how hard he tries (on the rocks).
the ding of the elevator and him taking her hand, pulling her to his door stops the distorted whispers, but the seeds are planted, and the roots are spreading in him like a network of veins. noah speaks over the sequence of his passcode and opens the door. “imagine someone saw us. would hate a blind item article written. none of us need the scandal.” rather aurora and imperial in another is overkill. life can’t be that brutal, but noah finds he shouldn’t give it too much credit. not when he’s seen the notoriety of the blind items displayed. his name dotted here and there.
dahyun’s, too.
he gulps, wets his lips, and he knows better than to ask or bring it up. however, noah doesn’t function on sound logic but on impulse and the green eyed monster whispering into his ears. “speaking of…” his shoes are kicked off, james squawking in his cage by the floor to ceiling windows in greeting (or complaints for being left alone for two hours), and he collapses on his couch, almost knowing he needs to sit in preparation for her answer. “blind items. i saw you in one with seokyung hyung.” noah chuckles a beat tardy, fingers playing with the seam of his sectional: scratch, scratch, scratching. “what was that about? i didn’t know you’re close.”
