Adrenaline

02 | two for the show

"Dude, you're snoring so loud."

I roll over after sustaining an unwelcome morning jab into my lower back. While rubbing the sensitive spot, I glare at Seira to no avail since her eyes are closed as she tries to fall back asleep.

"You could've just asked me to leave," I grumble, swinging my legs over the bed. My entire body aches—courtesy of spending most of the night sandwiched between Seira fighting monsters in her sleep and the wall.

Seira peeks at me before rolling over. "I thought the kick would suffice."

"You bitch." Heeding her unspoken warning for more attacks if I stay, I make a beeline for the door. "If you're not up by the time Marty gets here, I'm coming back with a bucket of water."

I'm quite vocal on social media about how I hate false narratives spun about me and my friend group. It comes with the territory, but it doesn't make it any easier, nor does it justify the actions of those who line their wallets and empty morals with the crumbs of our personal lives. If there was a way for me to enjoy this career I've had the privilege to make out of my greatest passion in life, I would take it, but, unfortunately, it doesn't seem to exist.

Having thousands of people question my relationship with Jun is one of the more frustrating facets of fame. Most of the time, it's easy to scroll right past people who insist on sharing every intrusive desire with the real-life people they think it's okay to ship. Other times, all it takes is one tweet to send me into a spiral where I'm left feeling uncomfortable with the person who I'm closest to in life.

He peeks back at me after I slide one of the barstools out. Instead of speaking, I drop my head down onto the counter. Jun chuckles before closing the refrigerator door, taking with him a container of apple juice.

"We're one party away from Marty firing us and going back home," Jun jokes before sliding a Disneyland Tokyo mug filled with apple juice over to me.

I pick at the chipping paint on the mug from when Seira put it in the dishwasher. "We make him too much money."

"Where did you disappear to last night?" Jun leans his elbows on the counter.

"Where do you think?" I don't pretend like my getaways go unnoticed. "I don't know why I agree to go to any of them. I hate it."

"I think you secretly enjoy them more than you let on." Jun's eyes shine with a glint of mischief. "Didn't Bash stop by?"

"Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"I think he wants to be your friend."

"And I think he uses me because I'm the only one who can handle his company. We don't even talk that much. You'd think he'd find someone better to waste time with."

"And I don't think Brendon Ellis has a problem finding people who are willing to keep him company."

"Unfortunately, neither does Lauren. Did you catch up with Maver last night?"

Heat rises to his cheeks and he has to look away before he paints the entirety of LA pink.

"I'm not gonna say I told you so—"

"Then don't," he interrupts.

No Lauren and Maver talk in the morning.

Noted.

"Truce." I hold my hands up. "I would like more juice, though. Please."

He grunts and holds his hand out. While he's grabbing the container out of the fridge again, he continues. "What do you think Marty wants to talk about?"