Chapter Text
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Does it fuck.
What absence does do, Plan soon learns, is drive him fucking crazy.
Officially parted from his lover for ten consecutive days, he carries a feeling of sickness around with him everywhere he goes. Subtle but ever-present. He finds the feeling hard to describe. A nauseating hollowness laced with unexplained traces of panic. Whenever his thoughts stray to what he’s left behind his insides twist. It puts him permanently off his food, no matter how mouth-watering the foreign dishes are because he can never predict when the next wave of uneasiness will hit. Luckily, Perth is always on hand to finish them for him.
They begin their travels in Seoul, South Korea.
Day one, and Plan has mixed feelings about the place.
In many ways it reminds him of home. He likes the people very much, warm and kind-hearted. He likes the juxtaposition between the modern sky-scrapers and the impressive temples. He likes the futuristic attractions and the fascination with pop culture that draws a wide breadth of fans eager to see them.
What he doesn’t like is the memories being in Korea evokes.
Mean’s tear-stained face. Hearing those words. Waking up alone.
Perhaps that is why he spends a lot of time continuously swallowing the nothing in his mouth, the taste of heartbreak still lingering on his tongue even after all this time.
Despite the plates he never manages to clear, Plan makes every effort not to dwell on those memories in front of his friends. He looks well. He smiles in the right places. He’s happy.
Or at least everyone thinks he is because he’s got no reason not to be.
Right?
*
The best thing about being in the band is the drumming.
Despite ongoing lessons he would still describe himself, on a good day, an average singer at best and an even worse dancer.
The drums however are therapeutic. He has learnt over time how to play them right, gripping his sticks properly and balancing his controlled and rebound strokes. All the time he is listening he can bring their songs to life and unlike on the dancefloor, the more he practices, the better he gets.
And practice he does on day two, much to the annoyance of the other three men making up their quartet.
“Can we run it through one more time?”
“What for?” Perth replies, echoed by the groans of Mark and Gun. “You’ve got it down.”
Plan shrugs. “Better to be safe than sorry.”
“But it’s half past ten,” Gun objects loudly, “we’ve got to be up at dawn!”
“So?”
“He’s right bro,” Perth says, offering a reassuring smile that does nothing to ease Plan’s nerves, “you know what you’re doing, you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want it to be fine. I want it to be perfect.”
“And for that you need some rest,” Mark cuts in, ever the voice of reason.
“Come on,” Perth nods in agreement, outstretching a hand for him to take, “let’s get out of here. You got this, I promise.”
And Plan knows he’s right because he does have this. He could beat out the melody by heart at this point. He just doesn’t really want to go to bed.
Yet, for the sake of his friends, Plan gives in and reluctantly takes Perth’s hand.
*
Plan wishes he weren’t sharing, glancing over at Perth who within minutes has begun snoring. They rest on separate twin mattresses but the two feet of distance between them isn’t enough to lend Plan the privacy he needs.
He remains wide awake, having tried every sleeping position known to man. Curled up on his side, flat on his back, one leg hooked out, sprawled on his stomach, switching to the other end. What began as three pillows is now one, two scattered across the floor as he contemplates trying none at all to see if that works.
His brain doesn’t seem to register the aching of his muscles or the lethargic way he rolls over once more, mind on high alert as it jumps from one irrational thought to the next. Himself, his own worst enemy. Two hours ahead of home, he imagines scenarios that are all linked to one question.
What is Mean doing right now?
Laughing about him behind his back perhaps? Disclosing their most intimate secrets? Calling him clingy and telling people how much he misses being single? Could he instead be confiding how unhappy he is? Debating how to handle their break up conversation when the right moment arrives?
Maybe it’s none of these things and his boyfriend simply hasn’t texted him because he’s spent the evening fucking one of his new co-stars. Which is easier to stomach? Male or female? He pictures both, in their bed of all places. Mean above a woman and underneath a man because the thought of him actively topping another guy the way he does him consumes Plan with a deep, intense jealousy.
Eventually, after conducting a full analysis of both instances, he decides the answer is neither. The idea of Mean with anyone else full stop makes him want to heave.
The worse thing is that he has no reason to worry so.
Mean loves him.
Only him. Always him. Forever him.
Yet no matter how many times Plan reminds himself of this fact, unjustified concerns continue to pester him like a flea in his ear and he cannot rest. Not until he knows for sure.
Impatient for sleep, he yanks his phone from where it’s charging on the bedside table and gets up, happy to be labelled the insecure one if it might just lend him a chance at peace.
*
“Hey baby, how’s it going?”
Plan hopes to feel better the second he hears Mean’s voice but he doesn’t. He hears the smile on the younger’s face, can almost picture how his eyes have lit up. That’s because Mean is normal, and like any normal person it pleases him to see his boyfriend’s name pop up on his caller ID.
“I’ve told you not to call me that!”
“But you are my baby!”
“I’m older than you,” Plan continues arguing in hushed tones, “if anything you’re my baby.”
“I’ll be anything you want when I get to see you,” Mean says, and Plan can sense him smirking at the other end of the line. He shifts where he’s sat on the bathroom floor, readjusting himself.
“Don’t,” Plan shakes his head in frustration, “I’m going mad.”
“Already?” Mean chuckles. “I’m flattered.”
“I suppose you’re fine and dandy then? Keeping busy are we?”
“Busy, definitely. I’ve not long got home, just finished brushing my teeth and about to hop into bed without you, so fine and dandy? Not so much.”
Even though he suspects Mean is pandering to him, this information cheers Plan up somewhat.
“So you do miss me then?”
“I haven’t had much of a chance yet, but I will in a minute when I haven’t got you to cuddle up to.” Plan smiles into his phone screen, comforted, and lets Mean continue uninterrupted. “What are you still doing up anyway?”
“Can’t sleep.”
“Lonely?”
“No, it’s not that. I’ve got Perth’s snoring for company. I just…”
What Plan wants to say feels excessive. I just know I’m incomplete without you. I just feel as though half of me is missing. I just haven’t yet recalled how to sleep in the absence of your octopus limbs. I just needed to hear your voice. I just had to be certain that you were in our bed alone. All are true but none does he opt for.
“… can’t settle.”
“Well in that case I’m glad you called. How can I help?”
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you,” Mean affirms without skipping a beat.
“Say it again.”
“I love you. I love you. I love you.”
“Whisper it.”
“I love you.”
“Now shout it so the neighbours can hear.”
“I LOVE YOUUUU!”
Mean yells so loudly that Plan winces, putting some distance between the phone and his ear. When Mean’s lungs finally run out of air, the ‘you’ as long and drawn out as he could possibly make it, he joins Plan in his fits of giggles.
“Happy now?” he asks, breathless at the other end of the line.
“Yes.” Plan grins.
“So after all that you’re not even going to say it back?”
“I love you too,” the words come easily.
“Good.” Mean says like a triumphant dog that has scared off a burglar. “Now go to sleep and dream of me.”
“Okay,” Plan exhales, the weight lifted off his chest, “catch you tomorrow?”
“Not if I catch you first.”
After they bid their goodbyes, neither overly eager to be the one to hang up, Plan creeps back into bed with a spring in his step.
This time it’s different.
This time sleep takes him comfortably and he doesn’t just dream of Mean, but of them.
*
Plan can confess that he’s become obsessed with intimacy and everything that means.
He misses things while he’s away that, if Mean were around, wouldn’t even cross his mind. He misses seeing him crack open sleep soft eyes first thing in the morning. He misses swapping clothes, burying his nose in collars that still smell of him. He misses the scratch of stubble against his skin before he’s had a chance to shave.
The thing he misses the most though, is Mean’s hands.
The soft, sensual and sometimes wicked things he does with them.
He misses the possessive palm on the small of his back on stage, the gentle brush of their knuckles when he’s being interviewed, laying in Mean’s lap and letting him pet his hair like he’s the latest addition to his litter of Bengal cats.
It isn’t particularly easy never having any alone time whilst he’s away. More often than he’d care to admit, his mind unconsciously strays to said hands whilst in the middle of other things. They can be practicing at rehearsal and he finds himself skipping a beat, blushing in the back seat of a car on the way to a meet and greet, suddenly having to cross his legs in his makeup chair, halfway through lunch and fumbling with his chopsticks, all because his thoughts wander where they shouldn’t in broad daylight. Frustratingly, the more he tries to repress them, the more he can’t help but fixate upon nimble fingers that belong to the boy who lives in his head rent free.
By day five, the obsession gets the better of him.
He’s halfway through getting his hair done and unusually, his stylist is taking his time.
It starts during the washing phase, a strong set of fingers and thumbs massaging shampoo into his skull and ridding him of days’ worth of pent up tension. He lets his eyes fall shut, and that’s when his mind resumes treading the dangerous path he’s managed to avoid so far today. Not anymore. By the time he’s sat back in a leather chair, wet hair being styled with a blow dryer, he’s half hard, strangely uncomfortable, and completely turned on.
Plan has never found himself attracted to another man in the same way he’s attracted to Mean. He’s not particularly attracted to this one either, barring his hands. His hands remind him of his boyfriend’s, and that works him up as he stares intently in the mirror, avoiding the gaze of the faceless man who he keeps imagining is Mean. He loosens the black cloak tied around his neck which is protecting his clothes and, thankfully, also his modesty.
He wonders when it will end. Longs for the moment he’ll be spared. Even when there are no hands in his hair, the stylist preoccupied drying specific locks at a time, fixing them in all directions, light fingers rest on his shoulder and Plan half wants to shrug them off and half suck them into his mouth. He finds some self-restraint and does neither, but there’s about a third of his hair still dripping, bangs included, and sitting there stoically and behaving himself has now become an ordeal.
Forget the face. He just wants to chop those hands off at the wrist and take them home. Except in truth, he knows that would only be making do.
Because what he really wants is to go home full stop.
In the end he excuses himself before the stylist is even close to being finished, frightened of doing something he regrets as the touches become more acute. Each one that ghosts past his neck makes him tremble. Gentle pulls of dark strands with a brush make his toes curl. Ruffles at his roots create both volume and an unsettling desire that swirls deep in his stomach.
It almost feels like cheating.
And he hates it, mainly because of how much he’s enjoying himself.
“But you’re not finished yet!” the stranger shouts from behind a mask when he flees without warning. Plan mumbles rushed apologies, not even remembering to return the cloak as he reaches a door. The first door. Any door. Whatever door.
Correction.
He doesn’t just want to go home.
He wants to go wherever the hands he truly desires patiently await him.
Alas, he has days before that’s possible, so for now he’s forced to make do with his own.
*
Sometimes, on days like day seven, Mean does things that make Plan want to end it on impulse.
They are only little things, but the little things add up.
Today begins as Plan intends it to. They have rehearsal first thing in the morning before a group performance and fan-meeting at midday. After hitting snooze on his alarm twice, he wakes to find a text from his boyfriend waiting to be opened.
Good luck today, I know you’ll smash it. Thinking of you.
He’s a little put out not to find a love you at the end, but it’s enough to get him out bed and to rehearsal with a full heart. All goes well at practice. Even better for the show. The crowd screams, the warmth radiates and the day passes in a blur until mid-afternoon.
The first thing they do when they are released at three o’clock is grab a late lunch, and it is there that Perth taps him on the shoulder two seats down. Plan swings back on his chair to see past the heads of Gun and Mark, Perth holding up his phone for him to see what’s on the screen. Tapping replay, he’s presented with a new video posted to Mean’s Instagram and the four second clip feels like a knife in the back.
He recognises the girl he’s with.
She appears frequently in his stories these days thanks to a new series Mean is working on. Michael Jordan he is not but somehow, god knows how, he’s landed the role of a basketball player and the woman in the video is playing his love interest. Smiling, she rests her head sweetly against his boyfriend’s shoulder. Mean’s smiling too, much to Plan’s dismay, before they both, in sync, hold up a peace sign. He plays it cool in front of Perth in the same way he has with Mean in recent weeks, shrugging it off and handing back the phone. Except Perth sees what he sees judging by the quizzical look on his face, and that’s enough to set off alarm bells inside his head. As is the tagline:
Filming done for the day. Off to dinner!
Forty-five minutes is how long he holds out before he sends Mean a text and he’s pretty proud of himself, his overactive imagination spending every single one thinking the worst. He finishes half of his plate first and uses the time to choose his words carefully. Three drafts of the message are written, rewritten and then deleted before he settles on a final version.
Have fun at dinner, hope the food is good! Catch up later when you’re free?
Desserts come and go, and they have time to get all the way back to their hotel before Plan gets a reply. When his phone does finally buzz, he whips it quickly from his pocket, returning it there just as quickly as soon as he’s read the message.
Don’t be jealous, she’s got a boyfriend. Talk soon!
Plan, sprawled out on his twin bed beside Perth who’s snoozing through a YouTube video he’s been using to practice English verbs, fights the urge to scream out loud.
SO HAVE YOU.
He settles for muttering fucking prick under his breath instead.
“Huh? Say what?” Perth jolts awake, rubbing at tired eyes.
“Nothing, sorry, go back to sleep.”
Perth stretches out lazily on the mattress before languishing back against memory foam. “Shouldn’t really, I won’t sleep tonight and we’ve got another early one tomorrow.”
“When do we not?” Plan says, tone miserable.
“What kind of attitude is that?” Perth chuckles. “We’re living the dream here, do you know how many people would kill to be us right now?”
Plan sighs, burying his head in a pillow. “I know.”
“Something you need to talk about?”
“Nah, I’m fine.”
“Tell that to your face. Is this about that girl on Mean’s insta?”
“Ugh, spare me,” Plan shoots him a look capable of killing, “she’s no one.”
“Dinner with no one must be a bit boring…”
“Are you trying to wind me up or what?”
“Course not, I’m saying if it’s a dinner date she’s after tell Mean to send her my way.”
“It’s not a date!” Plan huffs, throwing his pillow at Perth and bopping him straight on the head. “Besides, she’s out of your league.”
“And out for dinner with your boyfriend!” Perth grins, smoothing his ruffled hair.
“Right, okay, that’s it. I’m done.”
“Oh come on, I’m only kidding!” Perth tries, surprised when he actually gets up and heads straight for the door but Plan’s had enough, and no amount of coaxing could have convinced him to stay.
*
Strike two comes three hours later as the sun begins to set.
The time difference between them has shrunk to only one hour, the Tempt tour having led the gang to the Philippines, and Plan feels that he’s allowed Mean long enough to enjoy dinner uninterrupted.
He’s in a better mood now, having walked off some of his adrenaline and explored Manila on a more personal level. Fans serve as a welcome distraction every time he bumps into another lone, pair or gaggle of girls who recognise him. Signing items, taking selfies and offering out hugs at every opportunity, each exchange reminds him that it is normal to be friendly with members of the opposite sex. Respectful even. Not everyone has hidden motives and a little innocent flirting is harmless.
You should know that better than anyone, he tells himself.
A hypocrite is what he is because he actually loves flirting, and Mean knows he loves it too.
Sometimes he even plays up to it in the knowledge that the younger will be possessive later behind closed doors and Plan is one hundred percent cool with that. Pot. Kettle. Black.
His earlier response had been an overreaction. He can admit that now.
And so, upon arriving back to the hotel the first place he heads is his and Perth’s room to apologise. The latter laughs it off and Plan loves him for that because with anyone else he might have worried about it later, spent the evening wondering whether an invisible grudge remained simmering beneath the surface. Luckily that’s not who Perth is, whatever they might say behind each other’s backs is always what they will readily say to their faces.
After grabbing some snacks with Gun and Mark who they meet in the lobby, they all head back to his and Perth’s room for an evening of gaming on the PS4 they’ve brought with them, which is where he undertakes his second task. To reply to Mean’s text, fearing that if he doesn’t, they may not talk anymore today and Plan wants to talk to him.
More than anything.
Not jealous, just wishing you a good time! Let me know when you’re home for a call.
It is the hours that pass following the moment he presses send that piss him off because Mean doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even show him the courtesy of reading it. He checks his phone non-stop, willing grey ticks to turn blue, so much so that even the others notice it.
“You’ve got it bad, huh?” Gun says, and Plan looks up to see three smirking faces staring at him.
“Sorry, what?”
“I might have to call him in a minute just to get him to answer you,” Mark explains.
Plan feels his cheeks burn pink.
“I’m waiting for a call from my sister, actually.”
Gun looks at Mark knowingly before nodding. “Yeah, course you are.”
Plan thinks about retaliating before admitting defeat. What’s the point in fighting a losing battle? He slumps back in his seat, sighing. Sometimes he misses his life before they became official. Nowadays it often feels as though his friends have more insight into his relationship than he does.
“Alright. Guilty as charged.”
“How long has it been?” Perth asks.
“He sent me a text this afternoon, haven’t heard from him since.”
“You mean since dinner?”
Plan gives a sharp nod, allowing Perth to explain the situation on his behalf when the others enquire as to the context of what that means.
“I know I’m being stupid,” Plan tells them. “It’s just difficult you know, if he’s not away, I am, and we just don’t get as much time together as I’d like. So when things like this happen my mind gets carried away sometimes. I don’t want to be jealous.”
“To be fair to him, you have no reason to be insecure,” Gun reminds him.
“I know.”
“So then why are you?” Perth queries gently.
“No idea,” Plan lies, because he does know.
He just doesn’t want to tell his friends that he’s scared Mean will tire of him. They’ve known each other almost five years. Mean’s had him in every which way he could imagine. They’ve been acquaintances, colleagues, friends, best friends, brothers, lovers and now boyfriends, and he fears that someday soon, Mean’s head will turn.
And the hardest part is that he’s not even sure if he’d blame him.
“Plan,” Mark says his name hesitantly, about to ask a question the former suspects he isn’t going to like. “Is Mean allowed to tell other people that you’re together? I know not fans, but like, new friends, co-workers and stuff?”
“Depends,” Plan answers honestly, “we’re supposed to run it past each other.”
“Has he asked to tell her?”
“No. Why?”
“Just wondering,” Mark says, frowning in a way that spikes concern amongst the group. “I’ve just watched the insta story. I know this girl, follow her on Twitter. If he hasn’t told her about you yet, it might be an idea to because he’s very much her type judging by the stuff she shares. No point in giving her false hope.”
“Not much chance of that really, she already has a boyfriend.”
“No she doesn’t,” Mark says with such certainty that it makes Plan sit up straight in his seat. “Who told you that?”
“Erm, no-one, thought I saw something online.”
“Fake news. She’s definitely single, there’s content all over her socials about it. Recent content.”
Plan takes the phone that Mark offers him and sure enough, the hard evidence is there in black and white. Tweets quoting sappy love songs about finding ‘the one’, a group shot of her with her girlfriends on Valentine’s Day, and even a press interview in which, after watching the whole four minute video, Plan sees her confirm that she isn’t dating anyone at the moment to focus on work, which Plan immediately infers to mean focusing on his motherfucking boyfriend.
Sombre expressions fill the room to which Plan forces his most genuine fake smile.
“Oh, must have got my wires crossed. Irrelevant anyway, Mean would never.”
“No, no. Of course not,” the others quickly agree, a pack of nodding dogs.
Plan then insists they continue their game to which no one protests, except as they play, he continues to stew in his seat as the realisation that Mean has lied to him sinks in. The rage bubbles hotter and hotter at his core until it covers every inch of him from top to toe. And by then he’s burning.
Strike. Fucking. Three.
Whilst Mean might never he almost hopes he does because he isn’t going to get another chance once he’s finished with him.
Not in this lifetime.
*
“You wanna tell me why you lied to me?” Plan cuts the bullshit. It’s hours later and two in the morning on day eight when Mean finally dares to call and niceties are the last thing on his mind.
“I’m sorry?”
“Don’t play dumb. Why did you tell me she had a boyfriend?”
“Because she does.”
“Except that’s not what she seems to be saying and come to think of it, you’ve never mentioned him before whenever we’ve spoken about her.”
“It’s very new.”
“How convenient.”
“Why would I lie to you, Plan?”
“So you can take her to dinner and play Mister Prince Charming, ignore my texts all night and make the most of me being away I guess.”
“You better check yourself before you accuse me of what I think you’re accusing me of. She is with someone and I am with you, unless you’ve forgotten.”
“Me forgotten? I’m not the one taking girls out on dates whilst you’re gone and making up imaginary boyfriends.”
“Dates?! Jesus, your mind! Not that it’s any of your damn business but she has a thing going with one of our castmates. It’s fresh, and we grabbed some food after work today because she wanted some advice. I get on with him quite well, and she wanted to know how he feels about her and how she should play the situation. They haven’t been together very long so she’s keeping it private for now. You remember what that’s like, don’t you? I certainly do, and having experienced falling for someone who values privacy I thought it was worth trying to help her! Except of course you automatically assume I must be out screwing her instead.”
“You told her about us?”
“Of course I did. I sat there for hours talking about how much we’ve worked on our relationship, how hard we’ve fought to get to where we are now, how much I fucking love you, how all I want is for you to come home. More fool me.”
“I’m, I –”
“No don’t bother,” Mean interrupts, “I already know what happened. You saw the story on Instagram and I didn’t reply for a few hours, so you put two and two together and came up with sixty-fucking nine because obviously all I do is think with my dick, right?”
“You know I don’t think that… I’m sorry. It’s not that I thought you were cheating on me, I mainly was worried that you might just be… I don’t know… pretending to be single.”
“Why would I do that when I’m with you?!”
“I… I don’t know. Because you can, I guess, you didn’t say you were going to tell her about us.”
“Oh, so this is my fault now?”
“No, I’m not saying that! Just try and see it from my perspective. I find out you’re going to dinner with a pretty girl from work through an Instagram video, then you tell me not be jealous because she has a boyfriend. Then I find her socials where she quite clearly states in a recent video she’s single, and to top it all off, I don’t hear from you all night! What am I supposed to think?!”
“Why the fuck are you stalking her on socials Plan?!” Mean exclaims, and Plan folds into himself at the way he raises his voice. “What you fucking think is I’m in a happy, loving, faithful relationship and I’ve given you no reason, not one, to doubt me. All of your trust issues begin and end with you so don’t project that shit on me when I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I’m sorry,” Plan says again, feeble this time, a broken record.
At the other end of the phone, Mean sighs, and they stay on the line saying nothing for a few awful, tense seconds, neither knowing what left there is to say.
“Am I forgiven?” Plan asks tentatively.
“Just… enjoy the rest of your trip okay? It’s only a few more days, maybe we should just see each other when you get back.”
“Wait, what? Are you saying you don’t want to talk to me until then?”
“I’m saying let me cool off and I’ll see you at home.”
“That’s not fair, I’ve said I’m sorry.”
“I know, I heard you, but it doesn’t change that you still thought me capable. Let’s just sort it out in person, gives me a little bit of time to get over how fucking offended I am right now.”
“But we will sort it, yeah?”
“Yeah. Because I love you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hate you sometimes.”
Plan bites his wobbling lower lip, feeling worthless like a child whose spent their life disappointing their parents. He doesn’t tell Mean the truth as they mutter a frosty farewell, knowing he faces a sleepless night ahead. There is no elongated wait this time as Mean cuts the line dead almost instantly.
Throwing his phone against the bathroom door, Plan could cry with frustration.
Because the reality is even if Mean does hate him, he hates himself even more.