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Only, that wasn’t quite right, was it? He’d made his wants very, very clear. I was the undecided party, but right then, in a cramped, misted bathroom, I couldn’t find a single reason to keep my distance from him. I would have leaned into his touch if I wasn’t doubled over on a toilet.

“Okay?” he asked as soon as my breathing evened out.

“I’ll live,” I croaked, raising my head. His hands slid off me, back to his sides and I couldn’t help but look at them, wishing they were still on me. Wishing perhaps, that I’d felt them on my bare back and not through my t-shirt.

“Come. Bath.” He held out his hands.

“You shouldn’t,” I protested weakly, “you might get sick.”

He scoffed and wiggled his fingers at me. “I’ll be fine. Come.”

I slipped mine against his calloused fingers, allowing him to help me up, even though I didn’t need the assistance. I wanted it, but as I stood facing him, a funny thing happened.

He reached for the hem of my shirt, fingers winding in the fabric for a second before his eyes flew to mine, wide and apologetic, even as my arms had begun to automatically rise.

Because neither of us had noticed when the old versions of us had collided with the people we were now. Because for a moment there, we had been… us. Not me, not him. Us.

“Sorry,” he muttered, dropping his fingers like they burned.

Embarrassed, I took a slight step away.

“No big deal,” I muttered. “I can probably handle this part myself.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’ll, er, I’ll leave you.”

He turned so fast that steam coiled in the space he had just occupied, weakly trailing after him while I watched. I swallowed hard and told myself it was just because my throat hurt.

I considered not attending the Melbourne concerts, and honestly I should have stayed in bed.

I dragged myself to the venue for day one, but by midway through the show, I’d passed out on a sofa in the suite.

The second day was a little better, but I’d decided to hang out in the green room because I had wanted to interview some Australian tour attachés that had been brought on specifically for this leg of the tour. I got through it. I think they took pity on me, giving me a lot of grace, even if they did stay several feet away. I couldn’t fault them for that.

Soundcheck had barely concluded before I’d had to concede defeat and I curled up in one of the thickly-padded armchairs.

“Kaiya,” a softly-spoken voice nudged me awake.

I cracked open an eye and jerked fully awake.

“Joon,” I rasped.

He scowled unhappily and pressed a warm, cardboard takeaway container into my hands.

“Eat,” he said firmly, and I looked down at the container I now held, bringing it up to my nose.

“Chicken noodle soup,” he informed me. “And there’s a soda at your side,” he said, nodding his head to indicate a can on the little table next to me.

“Thank you,” I said roughly, although whether my chest was a little tight because I was poorly or because I was touched by his thoughtfulness, I wasn’t sure.

“Jihoon!” Someone barked. “Now!”

I looked up in surprise, somehow only just noticing the chaos that had erupted around me.

“Has the show started?” I asked in alarm.

Joon’s lips tugged up in a half-smile that made my chest ache.

“In a minute.”