Letters On Our Skin || BangChan

63

"You call me when you get home, okay?" Chan's mom says as she cups her son's face between her hands. "And you make sure you all drink enough water, and eat more vegetables."
Chan chuckles but his eyes are wet.

It's time to say goodbye.
The bus is already waiting, though no one is inside yet.
Chan and Felix are once again circled by their families, though the sight is now heartbreaking instead of happy.
Felix is crying, holding onto his dad for fear life, shaking with his whole body.
None of us want to leave, but we can't stay either.
I stand with my backpack and suitcase next to the bus and try my hardest to keep my breathing steady. I won't be of any help if I start bawling now, but it's getting harder with every second.
Chan pulls Lucas into a tight hug and the younger boy hides his face in the crook of Chan's neck, while Felix finally lets go of his dad to hug his mom.

I feel cruel. This is a part I haven't actually thought about.
It didn't even occur to me that they'd have to say goodbye again after only a few short days of spending time together. It's a natural thing, though it feels like I am putting them through some sort of horrible punishment.

Just when I'm about to look away from Chan and Felix, someone steps in line beside me.
"I never got to actually thank you," Hannah says and glances at me from her dark eyes, "for what you did for us. It really means a lot."
I smile tightly. "To be honest, I did it for Chan and Felix. I just wanted to see them happy."
Hannah nods and pushes her hands into the pockets of her cropped hoodie.
"I know," she says then, "which is why your secret is safe with me."

I pale.
"What secret?"
She smirks and turns her body away from the managers and her parents.
"Please, did you really think I wouldn't notice?" Hannah raises an eyebrow and grins like a cat. "I may haven't seen him for a while but I do know him. I knew it before he knew it, come on. The way he looks at you gave everything away right from the start."
I clear my throat and avert my eyes. I am so embarrassed I can't even look at her.
Hannah touches my arm with her hand, "I like you, Ollie. And Chan deserves to be happy, to be loved. I'm glad he chose you for the job."

I smile, a relieved laugh crossing my lips.
"He means everything to me," I say honestly and look at Chan over Hannah's shoulder.
"I'm glad," she says and then turns back to look at her brother again, "It's not going to be easy, though. I'm rooting for you."
I don't answer and she's not expecting me to, because the next second she leaves my side to wrap her arms around Chan's middle from behind.

I turn to put my luggage into the belly of the bus, before the managers gently remind the boys to finish up saying goodbye.
They trot into the bus one by one, taking their seats.
To my surprise, Chan and Felix both join me in the very last row of the bus, Changbin and Hyunjin following in suit.
The rest of the boys pair up in front of us when the bus slowly rolls away from the villa.
I sit by the window in the last row, Chan next to me.
He's trying hard not to cry, but his cheeks are blotched red and his eyes are rimming with tears.

I glance to the front of the bus, but the managers aren't paying much attention to us in the back, so I take Chan's hand in mine and gently stroke his arm.
He bites his lip, staring out the window, and somehow I know he doesn't want to talk. I open his hand and turn the palm skyward.
I write into his palm with my finger.

I AM HERE

His eyes flit towards me and I try a careful smile. His fingers curl around mine again and he raises my hand to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles.
The ride back to Seoul is quiet, silent almost. Everyone seems to be lost in their thoughts or recalling memories from the past five days, and so the time flies by incredibly fast.

The bus drops me off at my apartment complex when we're back in the city. I open the door to my apartment and the silence almost makes my knees buckle.
I got so used to the boys' chaotic noises that it feels strikingly lonely without them bickering or laughing in the background.
I pluck my phone into the charger and open my suitcase up on the floor, emptying out all the pockets.
I unpack all my make up and hygiene articles, then I prepare a basket of laundry.
All of this happens robotically, like my body moves on autopilot.

When I loaded the washer, I open my messages and text my dad that I'm back in town. He shoots back an invitation for brunch on Sunday that I gladly accept. Then I text Binna and Hana, but neither of them are answering.
Finally, I text Felix and Chan and let them know that I'm here if they want to talk.
When neither of them respond either, I turn to my laptop and open my emails.

It's time to face reality.
I open the last email from Jung Sun-Young I got a day ago. She sent me every possible document she could provide me with, even an FAQ link, and a PowerPoint presentation.
The first sentence in her email reads: 'We aspire to bring artists together, and are looking forward to bring out your most creative side.'

I click on the PowerPoint and skim through it. Someone put a whole lot of time and effort into this presentation, as I can see from all the animation and moving parts.
The offer they're giving me is tempting. The girl group I'd be working with has six members, all of them between 15 and 18 years old. That's a good number. Easier to choreograph than eight or nine, that's for sure. And they're young, which means they're still full of vigor and energy. Impressionable. Young people also learn faster. And since they haven't debuted yet, they'll work hard to learn everything as quickly as possible.
A fresh talent.
A surprise.
Is this offer tempting enough for me to actually consider it?

I debate with myself if I should take a look at the annual salary. In the end, my curiosity wins.
I click on the legal contract and scroll all the way down.
I almost forget to breathe when I see the number.
It's three times as much as my current salary.

I hate myself for thinking like this. It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't be a point of interest.
But it is.
That much money would put me into a whole new tax bracket. I could move into a new apartment, one that is bigger than my one-room apartment. 
I could send my dad on vacation.
I close my eyes. This is impossible.
It's rude to offer me this much money, but it also shows me what my talent is worth in this industry. What my creativity is worth to another company.

Just for a moment, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like to accept this job.
Me choreographing for this group. Me working for Hybe instead of JYP. Me being the lead choreographer for a brand new group, for this much potential.
My heart sinks when I realize that I like what I see. I like it more than I should.