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He pulls you over to the couch, snuggling you in while he makes a phone call. You can only hear his side of the conversation.
“Yeah, I won’t be back tonight. I’m staying with [YN] again.”
“No, we discussed this.”
“I don’t need your opinion and I don’t want it.”
“Tell whoever you want; I was waiting for her before I told you guys, it’s never been a secret. You’ve always known I was in love with an older noona; get over yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He shuts his phone, tosses it onto the table and settles his head onto yours.
You turn in his lap; press your face into his chest and wrap your arms around him.
He lifts your head so your eyes meet his eyes,
“No. You have nothing to be sorry for. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s his pride. He’s mad that he didn’t figure it out and I never told him exactly who.”
He leans down to kiss you,
“It really isn’t you.”
You stay on the couch for what seems like hours; talking, comforting, and holding onto one another. The two of you talk about anything and everything that matters; dreams, hopes for the future, where he wants his career to take him. You find yourself dozing off but wake up as he lifts and moves you to the bed. He takes care of the door and lights before taking off his shirt and joining you.
Instinctively you move towards his unique smell and the heat of his body. He sets his phone alarm, pulls you close, and closes his eyes.
You make him breakfast as he takes a shower, the two of you smiling over the familiarity of the moment. After cleaning up, the two of you head off to practice as usual. As you pull into the parking lot you turn to him with a grin,
“I’ll give you a minute head start.”
He stares at you for a moment, nods and gets out of the car. Less than a moment later your door is opened and there he stands; hand held out to you. You look up at him in shock,
“What are you doing?”
He pulls you out of the car and firmly takes hold of your hand.
“I’m walking my girlfriend to work.”
You try to pull back, “[HN] you don’t need to do this.”
He pulls you up tight against him and kisses you soundly. A wicked smile creases his face when he comes up for air.
“There, I hope everyone saw us. I told you, I’m not ashamed of you. And you said you weren’t of me, prove it.”
It isn’t like he’s underage, he’s an adult. What do you do for love? Do you grab it when it looks you directly in the face or do you become a coward, turn tail and run?
You’ve never been known as a coward.
You bring his face back down to yours for a searing kiss;
“If you want to put on a show, you should do it right.”