Kill This Love [MeanPlan - COMPLETE]

Before It Kills You Too

Plan wasn't sure it had even happened. Things were normal. Too normal. They hadn't spoken about it. They hadn't spoken at all. Mean was acting the way he always did, in front of other people anyway. The only thing that was different, was that Mean was keeping an ever present distance between them. This three feet bubble that made Plan feel as though he had a big red ring marked around him. Plan knew he should have felt grateful. He did, sort of. He was glad that Mean hadn't tried to make him talk, but he was also furious. Furious with Mean. Furious with himself. Despite Mean's blatant ambivalence towards him, Plan knew it was real because after he'd got back to their room that night, he had showered three times. He'd scrubbed and scrubbed until his skin was raw. He could still feel sore spots brushing against the fabric of his clothes every time he moved. Blistering reminders of what he had done. What they had done.

Plan had stayed wide awake the whole night. Waiting for Mean. Waiting for the confrontation. He played out the scene again and again in his head. Thinking through what he would say, how he would justify jeopardising their entire friendship for a quick fumble in a broom cupboard. He could say he was just horny as fuck. He could say that he wanted to experiment and now he had, everything was cool. Or, he could play it casual, turn it into a joke. There was nothing in it, just a harmless hand job for a friend in need. No big deal.

Except it was a big deal. It became an even bigger deal the later it had got. When it had sunk in that Mean wasn't coming back to their room at around 4am, Plan had started to hyperventilate. He'd had to head to the balcony, sucking in huge lungfuls of air in an effort to calm down. He imagined Mean cross legged, sitting in Perth and Saint's room and telling them everything that they had done. Telling them how Plan had tongued the inside of his mouth. How he had dug his nails into his back to keep himself upright. How he'd pleaded for Mean to put his hands on him. Plan imagined them laughing at Mean describing what his moans sounded like. He'd wanted to run.

He'd spent the rest of the early hours scheming up different escape plans. He could resign. Call his Ma and get on a flight home and never speak of this again. That option got ruled out, he'd still have to explain why at some point. He could jump off the balcony, repent for his sins at the gates of heaven and hope he was still allowed access now that he was tainted. A hard pass, he didn't have the guts to pull off a free fall. He could run away, make a life for himself on the streets, live in disguise. Also a no. Fans had got so used to him dying his hair they all expected him to look different every day anyway.

None of his plotting had been necessary. Plan had sat curled up in a ball on his bed and ignored Perth's insistent knocking three times before he'd finally managed to muster the courage to answer. When he opened the door on a deep breath, ready and braced for the interrogation, it hadn't come.

"Brother," Perth had spoke, eyeing him up and down. "You look like shit."

"Erm, thanks?"

"Get ready! You're late! At this rate there won't be any breakfast left if you leave all of them vultures to it downstairs."

Plan had slowly nodded, wondering what parallel world he'd been transported to against his will. Could it be possible that his secret was still safe?

"Are you alright?" Perth had asked, brow furrowing in concern.

"Y-yeah," Plan cleared his throat. "Yeah I'm good."

Perth had taken his word for it, smiling encouragingly and heading back down the corridor.

"Perth?" Plan had called after him. "Where's Mean?"

"Downstairs," Perth replied through a mouthful of the patongo he'd just bitten into, "with his face in a bowl of khao tom."