fic: statistics
Statistics
???/??? revealed at the end
Fandom: 2pm
Rating: PG-13
Warning: homophobia type of stuff and the word “faggot” like twice
Summary: You’re like the moon and the sun, forever distant. Too far away to touch yet continuously close. And you love him. And he hates what you are.
Statistics show that one in every ten people is gay.
He laughs as if hearing some absurd joke, “not in Korea, we don’t take that kind of shit around here.”
You laugh and agree with him, not sure of what else to do, he closes the tab, going to his minihompi to update on tommorow’s schedule, everything you both just saw quickly forgotten, but it’s burned in your memory forever.
***
You stand against the bathroom door, your breaths slow and shallow, your pants pooled around your ankles and your ear pressed to the door, the sound of running water almost deafening. The rest of the members left for schedules but you two are free for the day, a rare occasion. You imagine the water running down his body, trickling down rippling muscles and unblemished skin, the image of it making your face flush. You climax right as the sound of the water stops, scrambling to pull your pants on and run back into your room, desperately trying to hide you’re dirty deed.
He walks out, towel slung low around his waist, oblivious to the red tint to your cheeks or the thick, musky smell in the air.
***
His arms are slung low around your waist, your lips so close to touching you swear he can taste the unspoken words on your lips. You just know he can see in your eyes that this isn’t just a photo-shoot for you. You laugh, winking at any possible female in the room between takes, desperately trying to hide your immoral desires.
When it’s over, you’re washing off your makeup together, the sound of running water bringing back sinful memories.
“That was really convincing back there, for a second I almost thought you had a thing for me!” He laughs at the prospect of it, deeming it absurd.
You wonder when homosexuality and absurdity became synonyms.
You laugh along with him, glad you’re washing off your makeup at the moment so you have an excuse for why your eyeliner is running.
***
You hate this girl.
You hate her so much you don’t even bother to learn her name, and yet he keeps shoving pictures of her in your face, telling you how gorgeous and sexy she is.
You just want to tell him her whorish poses make you want to vomit.
He flips through the pages, asking you who you like the best, you stare at him for a few moments, those moments seeming to stretch for hours.
He silently takes that as an, “I don’t know”
You meant it as a, “you.”
***
It’s the last night of the tour and he’s being such a damn tease. Smacking your butt onstage, grabbing your hand and getting so close to you, you can see the sweat glistening on his skin.
You throw him an annoyed scowl and he gives you a look like, “it’s all for the fans.”
You almost wish you would have never looked at him at all.
When you finish the performance, his hand clasped in yours, you nearly go blind from your tears, hating the hollow fans and how little they know about you. Hate the fact that you know if they knew you loved one of your fellow band members they would turn on you, shun you as if you never existed.
You hate how much you love him, because you know that when he finds out, not if but when, you know he’ll hate you. Call you every derogatory name ever created, call you disgusting and immoral and perverted and every word he can think of to tear you apart.
Normally those words would barely even faze you.
But it’s the fact that he’d be the one saying them.
***
You kissed him. In the van, in front of everyone, silence loomed as they all just gawked when he pushed you away angrily, his curses a slur of broken Korean and accented English.
Half the members looked ready to puke, the other half just stared disbelieving, and the PR noona looked like she knew it was inevitable.
When you get home he moves his things out of your shared room so fast it’s like he was never there. He doesn’t even look at you, doesn’t even utter a single word except for a quiet; “faggot.”
***
He slumps in the bathroom, burying his face in his hands and letting out and aggravated yell, screaming his frustration with his life.
With himself.
He touches his lips, remembering the feeling of when your lips met his. He wonders what it would be like to do that again.
He punches the wall, angry tears filled with unspoken words and empty dreams streaming down his face, dotting his shirt like the endless stars in the sky.
He wants you so badly it hurts, he just wants to tell you he loves you too but he can’t because he’s an idol and it’s not his life anymore.
He leans against the counter, staring into the mirror with empty eyes, his voice a soft, hoarse whimper.
“because I’m not a faggot.”
***
You’re hunched over the balcony, angry tears filled with broken hearts and unfair dispositions spilling from your eyes in an endless cascade. It’s only a matter of time before everyone finds out, before everyone turns on you. You want so badly just say “fuck it!” but you can’t, because you’re an idol and it’s not your life anymore.
So all you can do is cry.
You can’t even stand to look up at the sky, ashamed to be in the sight of all the pure stars.
Ashamed that you’re a faggot.
***
He slumps against the wall, his eyes burning from his constant crying, wondering faintly what could have been.
“I love you Ok Taecyeon”
***
You fall asleep on the balcony, hating your life, hating your country, hating yourself, and hating the man you fell in love with.
“I hate you Park Jaebeom.”