Water On Fire [MileApo | mxm]

11

On the big day, Apo wakes Mile up with tickles and sniff-kisses. Mile smiles, arms thrown over his head, and shuts his eyes contently. He's never felt so refreshed. We could've been doing this thrice a day for the last year, he thinks. We wasted so much time. What took us so long?

Mile wonders what he should say. He still has time to turn the whole thing into a joke.

Apo hooks his chin over Mile's shoulder.

"Morning, bae." Apo's voice is pure sex at this hour, like whiskey on gravel. Mile feels a flurry of butterflies start flapping their wings in his belly. The skin Apo's lips are pressed to tingles.

When Mile doesn't respond, Apo swings his legs over the side of the bed and rummages around the floor for his underwear. "So last night was fun," he says cheerily.

Apo starts picking clothing and clothing parts - Mile's shirt is now missing at least one button, he's sure - off the floor.

Mile lays in bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying that word over and over again. Fun. Is that all it was? Meaningless fun? Scratching a curious itch? No way. There was something more there. Mile saw it in Apo's eyes, felt it in his kiss.

"Come on, get dressed," Apo throws over his shoulder. Mile should say something. But Apo is bustling about the room so casually, Mile can't bear to open his mouth and ruin everything.

When Mile still hasn't moved, Apo comes to sit on the edge of the bed, one palm splayed on Mile's bare chest. "Are you okay? We don't have to talk about it, you know."

Something about the way he says that makes Mile wonder. Is this not the first time he's done this with a man? There's so much they should be talking about.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," Apo says. The intended reassurance has the opposite effect. What did it mean to Apo? Does he even want a repeat? Does he regret it?

What is worse? To know or not know?

As for Mile, he is teeming with love, but doesn't have the slightest clue how to express it all succinctly. He grasps Apo's hand and awards each finger a loving kiss, hoping Apo can somehow sense what he can't find the words to convey.

It is better to not know.

Mile chooses the music this morning: a playlist of legends. He completes his facial routine and takes their rings out of the top drawer of the nightstand. They are a gift from fans, blue for Mile and green for Apo, but they wear each other's.

When he slides Apo's on, Apo tackles him onto the bed and then they're kissing, grinning at each other, sharing the same rush of exhilaration. They've gone and done it. They've broken the rules and messed around with their costar against their better judgment, like the worst and most troublesome cliché. This is it. A look of understanding passes between them; they've accepted that this is their fate.

Mile can see the end as it begins. He knows this is going to lead to a disaster. But he will enjoy the plummet.

Mile heaves himself up again with reluctance. He's eager for the event, but not as eager as he is to retire back to their room at the end of it. He doesn't quite know what to expect. Is there going to be a repeat? Was it a two-night stand? Mile is not naive. He knows they're just hooking up, not making love. If Apo doesn't think it's a big deal, Mile isn't going to make it one. He also knows they will never talk about it. Mile has learned that Apo is going to do what Apo wants to do and Mile will just go along with it.

The men are getting dressed when there's a knock at the door. It's the camera crew.

"The fuck...really?" Apo mutters, scrambling to feet. "Just a minute," Apo calls out. He dabs some serum on his face just before the cameraman comes into their room. "Just film over here in this corner, please."