Kill This Love [MeanPlan - COMPLETE]

Kill This Love

Plan felt half annoyed and half confused. Mean's knee kept nudging his as they played a game of Fifa in their hotel room. They had a fan meet tomorrow and Plan, although he loved his fans and would enjoy it once he was there, genuinely could not be bothered. He wanted to curl up in bed, play Fifa with Mean until 3am, get a damn good lie in until the afternoon and not have to put any makeup on when he finally did decide to roll out of bed. Alas, as usual they had commitments to fulfil, but that didn't stop them from staying up way too late to feel refreshed in the morning.

Saint and Perth had snuck their way into their room once their elders and managers had finally retired from patrolling the corridors in an effort to ensure they all slept well. They had piled themselves on to Mean's bed upon their entrance to the twin room and Mean had joined Plan on his single, teams decided before they had even greeted each other. They were playing a four controller game and although he was supposed to be part of a pair, Plan thought he was winning. Mean had been nothing but a hindrance, despite endless nights of Plan attempting to ingrain it in his mind that you press circle to shoot and not square. Even though Mean's persistent leg kept brushing against him, Plan had managed to get them up 2 - 0 by the half-time whistle. When Perth immediately entered the players menu, Plan began to chuckle.

"There aren't any substitutions you can make to change the people behind the controllers, brother," he teased with a smug smile.

"Shut up you! A comeback is on, I can feel it in my bones," Perth retorted, "right Saint?" He switched out Mata for Lingard. Plan rolled his eyes, not a decision that he would have made. Saint nodded, smiling softly, as gentle as he always was both on screen and off it. Plan liked that about him, often wishing his own disposition was a bit more subdued in nature. He couldn't help the way he was, every time he tried to be less, less rough around the edges, he always found himself causing trouble or pulling a prank or offering a sarcastic retort to a question. He just didn't have it in him. Sometimes, he found himself jealous of the softer boy.

It didn't go unnoticed to Plan that Mean had a thing about Saint. On rare occasions when he got approval to attend events with them, Mean spent a lot of his free time around him. Plan clocked on to how he would suddenly disappear from his side, helping Saint pick out his outfits and engaging in what looked like deep and private talks with him. Plan wasn't sure why, but whenever he saw them looking a little bit more than just friends, he would intrude upon their conversations and jab Mean in his side to get his attention. They were all friends, he had reasoned. They didn't have any secrets. They couldn't even if they had wanted to, they lived too deep in each other's pockets these days.

When they weren't on a stage, Plan and Mean never spoke about the fact they played a couple on screen. It was strictly professional, business. Besides, it made their banter awkward and Plan didn't want that. He'd do everything he could to avoid it, in fact. He got on well with Mean, he knew him so well now. Plan enjoyed teasing him, winding him up just because he could. The elder brother, even if he didn't look it. Even if the fans would never believe it, he was the one who always in charge. It just so happened, that sometimes he wanted to be in charge of receiving the hugs and affectionate touches rather than offering them.

Because they did their best to keep Tin and Can from interfering with Mean and Plan (although it was PlanMean as far as the elder was concerned), Plan had never really pushed to find out just how straight Mean actually was. He knew that Mean liked women and women definitely liked him, the lucky bastard. Yet, aside from that, Mean was a flirt. He flirted with everyone and Plan knew, that he knew, he was doing it. He flirted with fans who lingered around hoping to catch a glance in airports, with interviewers who interrogated them on red carpets, with waiters who delivered their plates to the table and, more importantly, with him. Fan service, he'd called it.