he wakes up with an immediate groan from the recesses of his mind, a pain so deep and agonising that it wants to keep him in his bed for the next year or so. the throbbing that pangs at his knuckles still, a reminder of what had happened only days prior takes him back to a dark place. and it was as if everything had happened all over again, like a movie playing endlessly in his head. digits wiggling about, testing the strain of his knuckles as he leverages himself up, hands rubbing vigorously against his face as he forces himself to wake. the dread that looms over him, the way he didn’t want to take another step to leave him room because today, was going to be the first time he would have to be faced with kiha since their last explosive fight.
he forced onto the weekly idol as a guest with kiha simply under the pretences that they were close and it would be easier to develop their chemistry than any other two members in yuseong. and he dreads it, he dreads it so much that he manages to run out of his apartment, knuckles still bloodied from the last encounter, only to hustle back into his apartment to have it hastily bandaged up and rushed out the door again. he quickly finds himself on set, at least twenty minutes late, hands reaching over his features to do his makeup and hair. he gets a few lingering questions of what had happened to his hand and why his cheek had slight bruising to his rosy undertones. to which he replies, “it’s natural blush, i’m glowing from within but only from one side. this other side is dead.” he garners a few chuckles, many telling him how silly he is whilst others were more concerned that it could’ve been an allergic reaction. and they were absolutely correct— an allergic reaction to kiha, so it seems.
and then, he’s being rushed onto set where he greets the mcs, bowing apologetically to the staff behind the cameras. although he had messaged them the moment he knew he was going to be late, the guilt that sank in made it impossible for him to brush off completely. and then— he meets eyes with kiha, spots his silhouette as he emerges onto set. miles is caught shunned for a moment, quickly averting his gaze elsewhere as his breath quickens for second. the mcs ask about his hand, whether or not he had been training so hard that he had sprained himself— he only nods, if only they knew.
the mcs encouraging engagement before the show begins, shuffling the two of them together to mingle as everyone gets into their positions to film. “hey.” is all that he manages, avoiding eye contact, because even after he had spilled all of his feelings towards kiha— he was met with kiha’s adamant conclusion that whatever they had was platonic and nothing more. that it would never be anything more, and perhaps it was too late to take back his words and to pretend like he had never let his feelings out. and he has said everything he needed tp be said, there was nothing else he could say to kiha— it’s all been done and dusted.
then, the mcs begin to introduce the show, getting them to both do their individual greetings when prompted to. miles simply raises a hand to wave, making sure that it was his non-injured one, accompanied by a nod, “miles of crescent, so happy to be here.” a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice.
shock. nothing but a wave of shock encompasses him. a widened gaze that was met with the floor beneath, brows lifted above dazed hues as lips move agape for a moment, only to come to close again in attempts to decipher the situation. he doesn’t feel the stinging sensation immediately, it comes in waves after, feels it burn against his features as ebony strands fall before him. the hand he had around kiha’s wrist falls limp to his side and for a moment, it feels as though time had frozen. that he was trapped in some sort of limbo, destined to be some sort of failure on the precipice of no return. nothing but the rising of his chest, moves with the silence of the room. digits finally curving into his palm, crescents can be found imprinted against his flesh as nails dig into his own skin in fists.
he doesn’t know what to do, though his brows begin to register the situation as they knit gently across his features. head tilting to the side as he takes a deep inhale, avoiding eye contact with kiha. abnormality now painting his skies a dusty grey, and he feels the world almost ending around him, feels the sensation of drowning breaking his lungs as his breaths draw shorter and shorter. this has never happened to them before, all their arguments have never escalated this way, had never ended up in such a dire place. he had sworn to never raise his voice at kiha, to protect kiha, to be there for kiha, and yet here he was, doing all the things he wasn’t meant to do. the manacles of anger and the chains of pride having locked him into the prison of dystopia. coloured panels turning grey as the sun gets dismantled by the monstrosity within.
a hand raises slowly to press against his cheek, the stinging subsides though, the feeling of drowning does little to stop. “you—” he pauses, only because words fail him more than they have already, as his arm falls to his side again. cornered then slapped, what a fate to live out.
his gaze falls to kiha’s arm, seeing it being held so protectively in front of him that it makes miles have to glance down at his empty palms, fingers stretching out as they quiver slightly under the fear that he would lose himself again. he matches his gaze with kiha again, brows falling flat as his gaze smokes up with a blurry screen of tears, tears that he tries so hard to hold back. and he falls to his knees, a frustrated scream leaving him as palms press against the practice room floor. he’s hunched over, trying to keep his wailing to a minimum, his droplets of tears fall from tired hues. this was a pathetic sight to see, a sight no one should witness, especially kiha.
and this was the first time he had cried since his father’s death. almost two decades of pent up emotions and not allowing himself to cry because his mother tells him that boys don’t cry, that they’re meant to be strong, that tears were a sign of weakness. and he bottles it all in. keeps it all tucked away in the small crevice of his soul. he fucked up. miles fucked up. how embarrassing, as he silent tries to suppress his emotions, “you fucked me up.” some sternness is evident in his tone, “i forced myself to love the colour orange. pastel orange because you said it was your favourite colour. i forced myself to listen to soft music because those are the kinds of songs you like. i forced myself to do better because that’s what you deserve because—” digits curling into fists as they scrape against the practice room floor, “because— i was so afraid— afraid of losing this friendship, of losing you but fuck me right? who gives a fuck about miles. fuck him and his feelings, fuck that guy, right?” he falls to his side, curling up into himself as a sleeve comes to messily wipe at the tears staining his features.
“lets just corner him and slap him if he reacts poorly, fuck me right?”
synopsis — he posts the mv on his own volition, something he had been working on and had been filmed prior to the scandal he has with kiha. his activities have been suspended and as a result, was not able to post nor promote his album but now, he chooses to do it anyway. out of sheer spite. the song was originally written about the way he felt so trapped with the sudden gush of emotions he had for kiha, comparing it to a demonic possession. but as the scandal unfolds, circumstances have changed and so now— he’s comparing the media to being the satan spawn.
mentions — @bemyuse
word count — 1727
he finds it fitting, that something he had worked on, now has some relevance to his current situation than ever. the scandal having been blown out of proportion, to heights that he could not even comprehend. his activities having been suspended, his social media banned and his ability to see and spend time with kiha— all taken away from him. this was an act of rebellion, although, a small rebellion— it was something that came to mind as soon as he had been slapped with all of the suspensions. it wasn’t that he took the ceo’s words lightly, that he wasn’t going to be compliant with the rules of the company, it was more so, the realisation that the company did not have his best interest at heart, did not prioritise his truth, well being or concerns. too quick to blame the ones involved and never taking the time to properly analyse the issue at hand.
he felt that it was unfair, unfair of the ceo to sanction him this way. he was no more than some disposable piece of trash in the eyes of the ceo— and if he was already going to disposable, he might as well make a scene on his way out. leave a footprint behind, big enough that even years from now, he wouldn’t be forgotten. that the ceo would sigh heavily at his name, as soon as it was mentioned— that, was his goal.
and his finger hovers over the upload button a few times, only to retreat as soon as he finally decides to hit it. the only thing holding him back, was the thought that he could potentially be sabotaging the rest of crescent, that the members involved— especially kiha, would be dragged into this unwillingly. the media was always ready to open up new wounds, to gash at the flesh of those who were willing to give them something, anything to work with. most times involuntarily doing so. and he was sick and tired of being the paper cutout doll used by the media to depict a rude and pretentious nobody was making a scene and mocking the laws of south korea. that yuseong had it all wrong to recruit a trainee like him, that he was better off stripped of his career for being seemingly homosexual. and all this, all this, was the result of being a little too close to his own band mate. someone, the media had frequently captured but suddenly— out of the blue, one reporter had decided that it would be a good thing, a spicy thing, to headline a picture of them together as dating.
and his feelings for kiha, although unsorted— was a conversation for another day. the way he feels for the other was none of anyone’s business but himself. he wasn’t even ready to decipher the amalgamation that was his emotions, let alone allowing the media and the netizens to peer into his life, like some sort of spectacle. and he knows, he knows that he had signed up for this, that this came with the job, the career he had chosen— but he couldn’t stand idly by and allow himself to be pushed over by nothing but falsities. he wasn’t going to have his name slandered all because for one person’s irresponsibility and desperate claim to fame over one viral article. and so, his finger hovers over the upload button once more, he takes in a deep inhale and goes for it— lets his finger sink in, lets the red button change to grey and it was up. the comeback he had been preparing for and had been suspended, was now up. views and comments raking in, everyone confused of the sudden content uploaded— long standing fans commenting of his return amidst the scandal, whilst others demeaning him for being irresponsible and disgusting. it didn’t matter, either way, they were giving him the views and interactions he wanted. a smirk surfaces on his features, feeling somewhat satisfied with himself.
he’s fully expecting a call from yuseong to appear on his phone, expects to be blown up by numerous messages and emails telling him to behave, to get off, to come into the company for a stern talking to— but he lets this moment sink in, lets the small victory that he feels settle. and he can’t help but laugh at the thought that once someone at yuseong realises the sudden ruckus he was creating, would soon try to figure out a way to shut it down. that the staff at yuseong would be freaking out over his sudden rebellion and he can already see his name trending on the social media platforms about his sudden return without promotions, amidst a scandal that wasn’t resolved. and his laughter echoes through his brother’s apartment, only settling down when he receives his first text message, then a second, then a third, then—
[ ✉️ ] → miles, what are you doing?
[ ✉️ ] → you’ve already caused too much trouble, stop it.
[ ✉️ ] → no wonder everyone says you’re troublesome— stop making this worse.
[ ✉️ ] → i’m going to report this to ceo yoo.
[ ✉️ ] → take it down, miles.
[ ✉️ ] → oh, no. what have you done?!
then a phone call rings in, he stares at the screen for a moment, seeing his manager’s name pasted across it. he lets it ring all the way through, then it disappears for a moment. and the next, another call rings through, this time, the ceo and he also lets it ring its duration before the screen returns to its usual black.
and he had written the song in its entirety based on one experience, based on the way he felt for someone— for his best friend. the way all his days blurred into a hazy, smokey screen of a forever-night, the way he felt as though he was losing his way, that he was possessed— almost... into the feelings he had. the way he felt them creep up on him, unsuspecting and grappled at his throat, how the manacles of societal normalities shaped the way he was meant to feel, to be. personifying his emotions as some sort of demonic entity. but all that’s changed now, now— he views the song as a description for the media, the way the reporters stalk him and prey on his vulnerable moments, a paranoia he could no longer wipe his mind free of. now, he will forever be tainted by the fear of slipping up, the fear that his career would end over one, one bad picture.
어두운 밤보다 낮이
무서워져 빛이 닿지 않는 내 방이
익숙해져 하나씩
am I just crazy or dreamin' awake?
이제는 I can't escape
반복된 하루에 무뎌져가, oh i, no
the days were becoming as dark as the nights, his lightless room only lit by the dimness of his phone screen. it once meant that he was kept awake by the wild visions of someone always appearing at the forefront of his mind. emotions he could not process because they just felt so wrong, he felt gross for thinking of his best friend in that way— the sheer audacity to even dream of one day pursuing something more than a platonic relationship. and every day, the routine becomes a norm. every day, he is kept awake because his thoughts are unable to be deciphered, unable to be understood and he feels as though he has gone insane. stuck in limbo with no way to escape. and eventually, eventually he becomes numb. he chooses to feel nothing because it was easier that way. at least this way, he wouldn’t feel like a part of his soul had been ripped away from him whenever he laid eyes on his best friend.
눈을 가려, demons in the night
paranoia, don't you look behind
oh my, my, my, 난 숨겨져 있길 원해
don't ma, ma, mind, 아무도 찾지 못하게
you can run, you can hide but they always find
번져가 in your heart, they live in the dark
and he closes his eyes, for a split second he is haunted by the ideas of someone, anyone taking away the one person he thought he could have forever— the emotions haunt him, take him to a dark place, somewhere far from the light. and he’s being shackled down by these irrational fears that control the way he now saw life. a deep rooted fear that would effect the way he now saw his best friend. and there was a period of time, where he felt as though he was undeserving to be within the other’s presence— attitude shifting and it was evident in the way he was more avoidant than usual. and all he wanted to do was hide, to hide away forever in a safe haven of somewhere unknown to even himself.
빛 하나 없는 공간 어둠이 올 때
표정따윈 다 사라져 또 이렇게
끊임없이 들려와 지독한 밤
wasn't with me back then but they right here now
날 찾아오는 악몽에
nightmares make me go insane
까맣게 짙어진 밤 내 맘속에 있는 monster
alone in the dark
without a single light to guide him in a time of confusion and darkness, stuck in an abyss falling into a pit of despair— he has no choice but to lay emotionless, staring up at the gradually decreasing light that circles above him. and he remembers not having felt these things before, back to a less complicated time where innocence reigned supreme. but now, things have changed, fear settles in and the darkness is all encompassing. and he compares the nightmares of demonic entities coming to lull him asleep, to the feeling of sinking, of drowning in his chest. the same way he looks at someone he can’t have, the heavy feeling of drowning pressing against his heaving chest, and a green monstrosity strangles at his throat, claws at his stomach and scratches at his shaky breath. and he feels alone, feels like no one can understand him, that the thing, inside of him was bad, was eating him up inside.
all of this, and for what? all of this anguish, and for what? all of these emotions, and for what? not like kiha will ever understand. and he doesn’t have to, because it’s not about him anymore.
PARK MILES &&. SOCIAL MEDIA
AESTHETICS 001 — @bemyuse
with my scattered emotions,
empty days into weightlessness.
all the greed that filled me became meaningless.
pull me little by little,
caught in the sea called you.
maybe a wider, deeper, more desired place,
to a place no one knows.
you pull me a little bit more.
synopsis — he takes the opportunity that he had already posted one whole music video without anyone’s consent amidst his scandal, to post another. this time, he makes it more transparent that this was written for and about kiha— only he doesn’t because he’s quick to delete his confession to kiha and act like it was a mistake.
mentions — @bemyuse
word count — 1617
he had been working on this for a while now, for months and months amidst the many times his feelings were overwhelming him. the way he felt for kiha never changing, only morphing into something stronger and more confusing each day. the feeling of drowning that he couldn’t seem to decipher, pressures at his chest, and he had choreographed an entire routine for the song as well. making sure that he had put everything and more into this song, he wanted this to the representation of his feelings for kiha, to show the true colours, all the rough patches that he had to endure do remain best friends with kiha. the way he had to fight through all of the emotions to act like he never felt something more for kiha. and it continually feels like he’s drowning, like his final breaths are being pulled out from his lungs. as though gravity fails him and he’s drowning on dry land.
and he remembers dancing in the dark, to music that was too loud, cupped at his ears. the only thing he felt that kept his sanity as he had looked through all the images of kiha that filled up the storage on his laptop. happy days of them having hung out, tourist images of them together looking so happy, so free of stress and anything a shade darker than pale blue. and he remembers dancing until he had tired himself out, until the rays of dawn weaved through his curtains, reminding him of all the time he had spent devoted to making this perfect.
he had spent so many years by his best friends side, removing his guard and lowering the iron facade he would have plastered over his features. the way kiha manages to break him down to his true colours, the way rose painted glasses were no longer rosy but tainted by his colourless aesthetic. the way kiha reduces him to a pile of tears, slobbering before him pathetically as the gentle whines of pain suffocate at his throat. the way he feels like he could drown whenever kiha referred to him nothing more than his best friend, as if rubbing salt to his wounds. and he wasn’t even aware that he was allowed to feel this way, allowed to have something more with his best friend. deviating from societal norms, he was confused, he was afraid, oh so afraid of the foreign territory he had managed to inadvertently trample into. dirt lining his shoes, thick enough that he feels undeserving to even be by kiha’s side, to even glance at him with such ambitions as to make him his own. it felt so wrong, so dirty— so... pathetic.
and he wasn’t used to be vulnerable, wasn’t used to letting someone cling to his sleeve or to tug at his shirt. wasn’t used to someone having their arms around him in a cuddle, in a hug, in anything. wasn’t used to the gentle words used to hype, compliment, gas him up. he took to affection very differently than everyone else, the gentle pat on the shoulder was what he could offer, never could he initiate a hug nor to subtly squeeze at someone’s hand. or allow his fingers to intertwine with anyone elses. but he does with kiha. he does only with kiha. and he’s confused, unsure of what to do with himself, with these emotions that suddenly feel like drowning. like gravity is failing him.
he wants to blurt it all out, wants to confess, wants to get off of his chest but he’s afraid. he’s afraid of the words that might follow, the judgemental frown that will ensue as he’s ultimately cast off and rejected. he knows kiha deserves better, afraid that he wouldn’t be able to give, to offer kiha what he wants, what he needs and what he truly deserves. miles was incapable of offering any of this, wasn’t capable of initiating anything because he had never been met with these feelings before, never met with the shakiness of his breath and the slight quiver of his brow. nor the twitch in his fingers whenever he gives kiha a gentle pat on the back, nor the butterflies that suddenly arise in his stomach whenever he stares at kiha from across the hallway. he can’t help the happy feeling he gets whenever he watches kiha perform, watches him dance in the practice room, watches him sing in the studio. but eventually, despondency follows immediately after. knowing full well that kiha was someone he could never have. and there he goes, the feeling of drowning encapsulates his lungs.
and his finger hovers over the upload button, a scoff leaving him— he had already posted one, what’s one more? he might as well go the full run and post this too. and if he was brave enough, perhaps tell kiha that this was written and choreographed for him. and he goes for it, presses the upload button as it shifts to grey and up it goes— live. views and comments roll in, but this time he feels a little more sensitive, because this was something so personal, so close to his heart. he had poured everything into this project, that the criticism hits him a little bit harder than the last rebellious upload.
[ ✉️ : 기하 🐶💖 ] → attached link
[ ✉️ : 기하 🐶💖 ] → i wrote this for you
only moments later does he bitch out completely, and quickly deletes his message. the uncertainty was too much for him to fathom, the feeling of drowning and the heaviness in his chest heaving heavily with each panicked gaze that sits on the screen for a second too long.
흩어지는 나의 감정들로 공허한 날들 무중력 속으로
날 가득 채우던 그 욕심들 모두 다 무의미해지던
날 조금씩 끌어당겨
너라는 바다에 사로잡혀
어쩌면 더 넓고 더 깊고 더 원하던 곳으로
누구도 아무도 모르던 곳으로
조금씩 조금 더 나를 당기는 넌
scattered feelings, all indecipherable as they whirl in a confusing storm of inner turmoil. things he does not understand nor does he know how to react, he feels like all these emotions are drowning him, yet at the same time give him a sense of euphoria— lifting him up from the pressures of feeling a scrimmage that circles at his reverie. he feels like gravity is failing him, as though his toes can’t ground themselves and he loses grip. gradually, he becomes filled with a sense of greed, the monstrosity grappling at him limbs, pushing him down. and he wanted more, more time, more reason, just more from kiha— with kiha. and his days all become a blur, they all meld into each other in a meaningless splatter of indecipherable paint.
and little by little, he is being captured by the sea— a representative of kiha. drowning in his emotions for kiha, into the sea of of everything that was his best friend. and he feels captivated by everything he saw within his best friend. and the sea becomes larger, becomes deeper and slowly— desirable. even in his moment of drowning, he finds that he’d rather be here, than anywhere else because at least, here, he was alone. he was able to feel the full extent of his emotions for kiha, to validate that everything he was going through was genuine, was real. and slowly, little by little he feels unwillingly pulled closer and to the idea of allowing himself to love kiha.
gravity
yeah, i'm drowning
yeah, i'm drowning
i'm drowning in your love
gravity
yeah, i'm diving
yeah, i'm diving
i'm diving into your love
and gravity fails him, pulls him down and lets him drown. he’s drowning, and he’s stuck in the cycle of seeing kiha, immediately ensued by the feeling of drowning. his lungs become empty and his words are lost, he grumbles at himself as he curses under his breath, turning away only to run back to the desired place of lonesome breathlessness. but he realises, realises that he’s slowly coming to terms with everything, that he might be okay with drowning in everything he has to offer to kiha.
that kiha makes him breathless, makes him weak and makes his breaths draw short as he scrambles to find his words. the way kiha makes his gaze soften, makes him hide his fangs and soothes the part of his soul to break into a fit of anger. the way kiha reduces him to the most gentle form he could muster. he doesn’t mind drowning in everything that kiha was.
표류하듯 헤매이던 난 네게 닻을 내리고 네 곁에 머물래
더는 내가 흔들리지 않게 불안하지 않게 네 손으로 날 잡아
and suddenly he feels lost, feels as though he’s drifting away, all too far from the safety of his best friend. feels like he’s missing a chunk of his sanity, of himself. and all he wants to do was place an anchor onto kiha, draw him closer as he grounds himself from the loss of gravity, failing to keep him afloat. a part of him feels so greedy, so selfish for wanting to keep kiha to himself, even in times like these— keeping kiha by his side even if it meant kiha had to drown alongside him. and he’s so greedy, so selfish in the way he wanted kiha all to himself. to hold his hand, to guide him from his shaking disposition, from the quiver the flicks at his brows to the nervous breath that huffs between his teeth.
but the drowning continues, all too insecure to leave his message undeleted.
“DO I NEED TO START CRYING LIKE A BABY TO GET SOME ATTENTION AROUND HERE?”
the question catches him off guard, digits immediately releasing the script in his hand onto the table as his gaze shifts to meet with kiha’s own. optics widening in slight concern as the subtle crease between his brows become more evident, “what’s wrong? what do you need?” palms pressing against the edge of the desk as he pushes his chair backwards, freeing himself from the confines of his workspace as knees straighten to pace over to kiha, who was standing by the entrance. digits move to adjust the sweater on his shoulder, pulling it forward to better sit on his frame, “was i working too much? sorry, i didn’t notice the time.” guilt evident in his voice, as he turns to the clock hanging on the wall, it had already been six hours since the last time he had spoken to kiha. head all too consumed by the script of his upcoming drama to realise the possibility that he had neglected kiha all this time. door closed shut as he refused to leave the room unless it was for a water break or to cleanse his system.
it was already time for dinner and he had completely missed it, after having promised himself to help with the process of preparing it only days prior. he wonders if kiha had made anything, or if it would be best for him to just order some takeout for a quick dinner before he resumes his reading. “did you make anything? or did you want me to order something for us? sorry, i couldn’t help especially after all the promising i did.” helping where he can, and attempting to learn the process of cooking for himself as to limit his reliance on kiha. even though, a part of him doesn’t completely want to be self independent. ever since kiha had agreed on moving in with him, life had become a lot more easier than anticipated. his laundry was done, he gained a new closet, and his home was looking a lot more put together than it had been without kiha.
his gaze moves backs to kiha, and immediately his resolve on finishing his readings, soften. corners tugging upwardly unbeknownst to him, as a hand comes to wrap around the other, forearm pulling kiha in by the nape, “i’ll be more useful tomorrow, i promise.” deciding to better delegate his time to avoid feeling the guilt of having neglecting kiha, eat at him. he lets the other go, “what do you want to do?” he turns back to grab his phone on his desk, “let’s spend the rest of the night together, i’ll do my work stuff tomorrow when i’m better energised.” paces back to kiha as he gently guides the other back into the hallway. “but first, food.”
“AS FOR MY CAREER, IT’S NOT AS IMPORTANT TO ME AS YOU ARE.”
“don’t say that.” amidst their scandal, this was the last thing he wanted to hear coming from kiha. “you shouldn’t say that. don’t say that.” shaking his head as he spoke with firmness in his voice. he doesn’t feel comfortable with kiha putting his career into question or on the line for miles, miles feels as though he not worthy of such a praise, of such a consequential action that could lead to kiha’s own unhappiness. and he wasn’t sure if he could handle the burden that would follow as a result. perhaps, he was too selfish to realise that kiha’s own good intentions should have been enough to overshadow the doubt of his own worthiness in his eyes. yet, here he sat, in the corner of the practice room, hunched over his pulled up knees, all too tired to even retaliate to the criticism online.
“your career is more important than me. it’s your livelihood, don’t say something so stupid.” he glances up at kiha for a moment as he spoke, gaze returning to the floor before him. it hasn’t been good, especially with the increased speculation surrounding crescent, suddenly all eyes were on them and all the past interviews and screen caps are suddenly resurfacing with alternative storylines. that one time he put his hand around kiha’s shoulder is now misinterpreted as some sort of elaborate scheme to win over his fellow crescent member’s heart. a forbidden love story that stems from the twisted nature of netizens.
he hasn’t gotten to see kiha in a while now, their whole plan on separation until the scandal died down was still in action, with taesoo keeping a keen eye on the both of them to avoid any further mishaps. miles already feels a sense of guilt washing over him, having found a place of his own to stay in, an upscale penthouse in gangnam, not too far from yuseong. a short drive to ensure that he kept his travel time wouldn’t be too strenuous, as taesoo ensures him that yuseong had no plans of ending his contract with him anytime soon. his gaze falls onto kiha, who’s sat in front of him, a pause as his optics drift to the bag beside him, his own face mask resting atop his cap. all the trouble they had caused in the past week had been enough to make his head spiral, digits move to place the cap on, pulling the hood over it to ensure maximum protection. “come on, do you want to see my new place? taesoo hyung isn’t here to breathe down our necks, i’ll take you.”
since their separation of labels, miles doesn’t get to see his brother as often as he’d like. the last time they had ran into each other was on the roof tops of the yuseong building, his gaze landing on the older’s cigarette betwixt his fingers. taking slow drags as his charred lungs exhaled, miles couldn’t help but wince in distaste as the other continued. reminder of what their father had gone through, the path he had lead that took his life. “you shouldn’t smoke.” miles tells his brother, words that fell upon deaf ears.
and now, here they were again, this time atop miles’ apartment complex. the rooftop here was more freeing, liberating any sense of restricted autonomy as he allows the tension on his shoulders ease at the night’s zephyr. elbows pressing against the edge of the railing, lights dotting the view below, “how’s gold star? any better than yuseong?” he knew how much his brother hated how ceo yoo did things around yuseong, and after his scandal, he was released from his contract. three months of inactivity as he was signed to the opposing company as a soloist. miles always thought his brother was more capable on his own than within a group. though, it doesn’t excuse the older’s behaviour.
the smell of smoke lingers for a moment, a sigh leaving from his lips, turning to his brother with a roll of dulled hues. “you shouldn’t smoke.” it feels as though this was the thousandth time he had repeated himself. “mum called the other day, asking if you had quit. you should really start picking up her calls, you know.” a hand moving to wave the smoke away, “stop giving her a hard time, hunter.”
synopsis — he’s staying up late to play resident evil, only to find kiha dozing off. he takes this opportunity to take pictures of the other for research purposes. he comes to the realisation that his entire camera roll is just kiha, like many other things in his day to day life.
mentions — @bemyuse
word count — 1211
digits stationed on the joysticks, feeling his chest fill with slight unease as the background music gradually softens to a mute, fingers frozen for a moment feeling his chest rise. he has played games for long enough that he’s aware of when boss battles and enemies are approaching, with the sudden silence of the background music falling flat, he senses the impending danger that ensues with every gentle nudge of the joystick forward. lady dimitrescu, a formidable foe, as his character saunters through her castle with slight arrogance, especially having his hand removed for the fourth time in a row in the span of two hours. and he curses the soft games he had allowed himself to indulge in with kiha. those farming simulators and wholesome animal games were unbecoming of his usual genres. making him soft, weak and brutally vulnerable to the beasts of resident evil.
he’s sitting on the brand new couch kiha had chosen, adamant to better decorate the apartment, not liking the absolute minimalist vibe miles had, had going on since he had moved out. elbows resting on his knees as his shoulders slouched forward, completely in the zone and focused on surviving and overtaking the castle of dimitrescu. the sudden placement of a hand on his shoulder, causes a hitch in his breath, head immediately turning only to find a sleepy kiha urging him to rest. digits raising to push one side of his headphones back behind his ear, an arm extends, as he leans back from his slouching position, pulling kiha into his embrace. hand adjusting kiha in his lap as his chin moves to rest atop the other’s shoulder, digits returning as promptly as it had left the controller, “ten more minutes.” he whispers back in response.
he feels the other’s warmth easing the slight hint of fear that glazed over him for a moment, almost feeling ashamed of having been frightened to begin with. he fidgets slightly under the weight of kiha pressed against him, leaning back on the couch as hands come to wrap around the other, controller resting on kiha’s back. the sudden image of lady dimitrescu appearing from the small framed door as an almost ten foot vampire woman emerges from the hallway, causes a slight flinch, what a bitch. you’ve grown weak, you bitch. he tells himself, as his grip on the controller loosens at the cut scene. the image of his character having his arm sliced off for the fifth time doesn’t even phase him, as he lets out a sigh. what a fucked up game.
kiha’s voice urging him to take a rest, that it’s been past ten minutes, a hand moving to gently pat on the other’s back, “ten more.” and he’s trying to bargain, trying to get the best of both worlds. it was less scary with kiha here with him, although, he would never admit to it. he blames the farming games, the ones where he had to water the crops everyday to ensure their survival, the ones where he had to collect furniture to make sure the island getaway looked a certain aesthetic, or the way he had to befriend villagers in order to get certain recipes to win the hearts of other bachelors and bachelorettes. no inhumane beasts, no jump scares, no grotesque boss fights with gore filled attacks. just colourful pixel sprites of wholesome animals and people.
another ten minutes pass, with the frequent tightening of his grip around kiha, and the sudden fidgeting of his frame beneath the other. hints of how weak his heart had become, how he was no longer accustomed to these survival based games. and he dies for the ninth time in the span of those twelve minutes, a defeated sigh leaving him as he tosses the controller to the side of the empty couch. digits moving to sling the headphones off from his head, making sure to not make any sudden movements as to awaken the koala in his embrace. never one to initiate intimacy though, in some occasions warped by productivity he finds it almost impossible to resist the charming nature of his childhood best friend. maybe he has grown used to having kiha so close to him, that with gradual progression, he has become more comfortable in displaying affection towards the other. sometimes feeling slight irritation, though unexplained, it vexes his reverie.
“kiha.” he whispers, pulling back for a moment to check if the other had dozed off or was still awake. the non response causes a tug at his corners, hands moving to secure the other in his grip as he hoists himself up from the couch. kiha felt lighter than usual, is he eating enough? miles starts to worry, hand pressing the other closer to his chest as he paces to his room. gently hunching over the bed, placing the other down as he pulls the blanket over kiha. he takes a few steps back, feeling the vibration of his phone in his pocket. digits move to retrieve it as the phone lights up the dark room. it was hours past midnight, and his icloud had the audacity to remind him that his storage was almost full. he taps on the notification, an attempt to see what could be cleared but all that drags up against the screen were images of kiha. smile tugging at his corners, a natural response as he scrolls through the images only stopping upon hearing kiha mutter something as he rolled over on the bed. eyes shifting to the other, frozen for a moment, to ensure that he hadn’t woken up kiha by mistake.
his gaze softens as it lands on kiha’s features, running down the side of the other’s dishevelled hair down to his jawline. his phone screen locks itself and the room returns to its usual darkness. he moves to kneel down by the side of the bed, phone still in his hand, elbows resting against the edge of the bed, if kiha had chosen to open his eyes at this moment, he would be met with a very questionable situation. his phone lights up again, this time camera in hand as he takes a close up shot of the other sleeping. a slight chuckle leaving him amidst the dark room, like some sort of deranged freak. no wonder my icloud is fucking full. an internal eye roll that sets a sigh to depart from his lips.
placing the phone by the bed side table, as he waddles his way under the blankets beside kiha. almost by instinct an arm moves to lift the other onto his chest, hand moving to securely pull kiha in. to think this would have been something he had gotten used to years back, would have been a laughable moment. to think he would have found someone like kiha, would have been something he would have never dared dream of. picturesque images of such comfort and affection, melting at his tough exterior, a mask that had softened with every passing day that kiha chose to embrace him for who he truly is. he feels his lids drawing heavy, his grip on kiha loosens, sensing his thoughts melting into the background of his consciousness. “good night.” he manages to whisper.
