OUR STORY (BxB)

Chapter 21

-TAMARO-

After Akiro's jealousy faded, we found our way back to each other—like we always do. Every fight, every misunderstanding... it never lasts too long. We can't stand the silence between us. That's how our relationship grew: not from perfection, but from the certainty that we always come back. Our longest fight lasted seven days. Seven days of aching. But even then, we never stopped choosing one another.

Now, we're at the airport, bound for Bangkok, Thailand—for our album tour concert.

Akiro sits beside me, head resting gently on my shoulder. He's quiet, peaceful. In moments like this, when we're away from lights and crowds, everyone lets us be close. They understand.

The only time we ever separate is in front of the camera.

I'm happy.

Truly, deeply happy—because the person I love is with me, every hour, every day. Being together 24/7 isn't always easy, but for us, it's a rhythm we've learned to breathe in sync.

Our first year was full of memories: quiet mornings, spontaneous trips, laughter caught in the curve of a seat, moments no one else will ever see. Roo keeps a whole collection of GCFs and private photos of us—little love letters in motion. They're ours alone. We want to share them someday, but for now, we have a name to protect. A bond to preserve in quiet.

We arrived in Bangkok and settled into a private hotel. Of course, we share a room—always. It's where we rest, recharge, remind each other why we do this.

A day before the concert, we rehearsed from sunrise to nightfall. Long hours, aching limbs, adrenaline tucked beneath the surface. We're preparing for two full days of performing—a city lit up with fans, cameras, expectations.

But behind all that? There's still us. Just us.

After rehearsal, we shared a private dinner with the staff and production team. The room was filled with laughter, the kind that came easy after a long day of hard work. Everyone was relaxed, voices crisscrossing in warm rhythm over good food and shared relief.

When dinner ended, we headed back to our room. I dropped onto the bed, limbs heavy with exhaustion. My eyes fluttered shut as the sound of running water filled the quiet. He was in the bathroom, washing off the day.

The scent of his shower gel reached me before he did—fresh, warm, familiar—and something about it stirred something deeper. I opened my eyes slowly, the room dim, and saw him standing near the closet, towel pressed to his hair, dressed in nothing but a bathrobe.

I sat up with a sleepy pout and heavy-lidded eyes, facing him wordlessly.

And in that moment, between scent and silence, comfort and want, it wasn't the show or the schedule that mattered—just this quiet, private rhythm we'd built. Ours.

"Why are you so hot after you take a shower, baby?" I murmured without filter.

He chuckled softly, shook his damp hair, and smiled like he knew exactly what he was doing. Then he walked over and cupped my face, pressing a kiss to my lips—slow, warm, addictive.

"Why are you so handsome even though you're sleepy, Roo?" he teased, still smiling.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and gently pulled him down onto the bed. Now I was on top of him, holding his gaze, heart thudding.

"You know what, baby... I want to take you right here, right now," I whispered, looking straight into his eyes. "But I need to stop myself. I want our first night to be special."

He blushed, poked his cheek with his tongue, and bit his bottom lip—his nervous habit whenever temptation loomed.

I leaned down, almost touching his lips—But then came a knock on the door. We both froze. Our moment suspended, trembling at the edge.

"Tamaro! Akiro! Get out—we have a brief meeting!" Jemuel's voice thundered through the door, punctuated by sharp knocks.

I took a deep breath, leaned over, and pressed a soft kiss on his lips.

"Get dressed, baby," I murmured. "I'll go out first."

He nodded sleepily, pulling himself up as I guided him gently.

"Okay, Roo. I'll be quick."

We gathered in the living room where the staff was already waiting. The atmosphere was focused, practical—final notes before the big day.

There were reminders. Cautions. Last-minute adjustments.

And then came the familiar instruction—the one that always stung a little:

"You two can't stay close onstage. Not tomorrow, not the second show." We nodded. No complaints. No resistance. It was part of the life we chose—the version of our story the world couldn't always see.

The concert went beautifully.

Everyone gave their best. The fans—our ponies—lit up the venue with chants, cheers, and glowing hearts. Day one in Bangkok was officially a success.

Afterward, we settled into the villa arranged for us. Spacious. Private. A place to breathe and stretch after the high of performing. Each of us had our own room, but naturally, Akiro and I shared.

Later that night, he started a live broadcast from our room, his voice relaxed and glowing with post-concert energy.

Just as he settled into his intro, Jimin wandered in—wrapped in a bathrobe, hair still damp, clearly fresh out of the shower. He waved casually, completely unfazed by the camera.

A minute later, I entered.

"Hey, Akiro... when are you going to stop that?" I said, smirking quietly as I leaned against the door frame.

Jemuel glanced up, caught my teasing tone, and smiled.

The room felt light again. Like home.

"Why? I stream longer than this," he said, glancing up at me with that confused-but-playful look.

"Call me after," I teased, leaning just enough to let the suggestion linger. He blinked, lips slightly parted. Panic flickered in his eyes.

"Wait... why?" he stammered. "For Overwatch? You want me to turn it off? Babe—I'm on air!" His voice tightened, shifting between panic and disbelief.

Jemuel, sitting off to the side, was biting down laughter.

I raised an eyebrow and walked closer.

"To have a private conversation," I said smoothly, letting the word stretch just enough to make his throat dry.

He gulped.

Then looked back at the screen like it had betrayed him.

"Everyone, I guess I need to end this quickly. I'll go Live again tomorrow," Akiro said, his voice light but a little strained.

I couldn't help but grin as Jemuel—ever the chaos-bringer—leaned into frame and made dramatic kissing noises toward the camera. I walked beside them, waving at the screen.

"Goodnight, Army," I said sweetly, before reaching over and shutting off the broadcast with a mischievous smile.

Jemuel was already shaking his head, smiling in that way that said, I know what's about to happen.

"I'll head out now," he teased, heading for the door. "I think you two have a private conversation coming up."

Then, with theatrical flair, he slipped out—and locked the door from the inside.

I turned to Akiro. His ears were red.

"Baby," I said, stepping closer, "are you... blushing?"

He looked at me wide-eyed, clearly caught, clearly flustered.

And absolutely mine.

"You're so naughty, Roo," he said with a shy laugh, scratching the back of his nape—his signature tells whenever he got flustered.

"I just want to spend time with you, baby." I settled onto his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. He pulled me close, his arms slipping around my waist like it was where they belonged.

"We're together 24/7, Roo."

"I still miss you," I whispered, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. He responded immediately, lips warm, eager, familiar. My hand glided across his back, while his grip on my waist tightened with a soft moan.

Between kisses, I teased, "You're already hard, baby."

"You're the reason, Roo," he murmured and stood up effortlessly, carrying me to the bed.

He laid me down gently, then climbed above me, gaze intense but full of love. I tugged off his shirt, trailing slow kisses from his neck to his collarbone, then back to his lips.

"I want to taste you right now, baby," I said, voice dipped in velvet.

He bit his lip. The air between us pulsed with heat and devotion.

"Then taste me, Roo," he murmured, voice low, charged.

We shifted, and suddenly I was on top of him. I kissed him deeply, lips meeting with heat, and our tongues tangled in slow, familiar rhythm.

I moved down—trailing kisses along his neck, his collarbone, the center of his chest.

He moaned softly, his body responding with every touch.

"Baby... not too loud," I whispered against his skin. "They might hear us."

He grabbed a pillow and pressed it over his face, trying to muffle his sounds. I smiled at the gesture, fond and full of quiet desire.

I kissed his stomach next, fingertips grazing the edge of his waistband. With care, I slid his shorts and boxers down, revealing him completely.

I paused—not in hesitation, but reverence.

Then, gently, I leaned in... and tasted him.

"Hmmmm... Roo," he moaned, breath catching beneath the pillow.

And in that moment, love was not loud—it was sacred. Shared in whispers and slow movements. Private. Ours.

"Baby, put it away. I want to see you," I whispered, gently tugging the pillow from his face.

He obeyed, blushing, biting his lip as if the silence itself might carry his moans.

I leaned in, trailing slow kisses against his skin, watching him try not to break. His eyes met mine, pleading and sweet, and I smiled softly, teasing, worshipful.

Every movement was deliberate—slow hands, longing breath, my gaze locked with his as I kissed along his collarbone, his chest, the places I knew by heart.

He gasped, open-mouthed, trembling beneath the weight of my affection. The sound sent warmth rushing through me.

"Baby, don't be too loud," I whispered with a grin, and he nodded, pressing the pillow back to his face, trying to obey.

His fingers tangled in my hair as my kisses deepened, playful and reverent, our breaths braided together like a quiet hymn. The room held only us—soft sounds, shared heat, unspoken devotion.

"You taste like heaven," I murmured against his skin, and he arched toward me, unable to stay silent.

"Roo... don't stop," he pleaded, voice raw and threaded with need.

In that moment, it wasn't about anything but love. Messy. Tender. Desperate. Real.

He leaned forward, eyes searching mine, breath held—as if the quiet between us might speak louder than words.

I met his gaze as my lips brushed across his skin, each kiss slow, reverent. He shivered at my touch, and I smiled softly, watching him try to hold himself together.

He bit his lip, head tilting back, eyes fluttering closed. A gentle moan escaped him, sweet and aching, carried between heartbeats.

His fingers threaded into my hair, gentle at first, then tight with need. His body moved in rhythm with mine, slow and deliberate, devotion rising in every breath. My touch lingered, guided by love and the hunger to feel him unravel.

"Roo..." he breathed my name like a prayer.

The room held only us—moonlight against the walls, the hush of bodies finding each other. His voice trembled as pleasure overtook restraint, and when he reached his peak, I kissed his forehead softly, grounding him.

Not just desire. But trust. Ours.

"I hope I made you satisfied, baby," I whispered as I lay beside him, pulling him into a soft embrace.

I wanted nothing more than to cuddle—his warmth, his heartbeat, the way he fit perfectly in my arms.

"Yes, you did, Roo," he murmured, eyes already fluttering closed.

"I love you, baby."

"I love you more, Roo." And that was enough.

The exhaustion from the concert still clung to our bodies, but in each other's arms, sleep came easy—gentle, reassuring, sacred. We drifted off in that quiet tangle of limbs and whispered love, where nothing else mattered except the way we held each other.

-AKIRO-

Japan marked the final stop of our July concert leg. The energy, the crowds, the memories—all folded into a moment we'll carry with us.

We'll be returning in October, but for now, we have time: time to rest, to recharge, and to rehearse. Time to breathe between the chaos and the spotlight.

This pause isn't just for practice—it's for reflection. For curling into soft mornings with Roo, for letting the music find its shape again. For remembering why, we sing, and who we sing for.

The Album World Tour will resume soon. But tonight?

Tonight, we rest—with hearts full and hands still trembling from the joy of it all.

During our world tour, some things happened—unexpected, unforgettable.

I still remember how the staff scolded me and Roo after that broadcast. Our private moment, tucked inside playful teasing, went viral. Suddenly, everyone was talking, speculating, spinning stories from a glance and a smile.

But only we know what truly happened.

We shared a private conversation—intimate, yes, but rooted in love.

We're a couple. This closeness between us... it's natural, ordinary, sacred.

It was just foreplay. Nothing more.

Not everything has to be exposed to light. Some feelings are best preserved in quiet.

Being scolded didn't stop us.

Even with all eyes watching, we couldn't help but be sweet in front of the camera. We showed affection—not forced, not rehearsed, just us. Me, utterly whipped for him. The way I looked at Roo wasn't for the fans—it was for him. Always had been.

And sometimes, we'd make our "I love you" sign in public.

Maybe people noticed. Maybe they didn't.

But everything happened during our world tour: shared glances, brushed hands, whispered exchanges tucked between rehearsals and stage lights.

The fan service between Jemuel and me continued—playful, electric—but Roo and I made sure our real moments never got lost. Even when the cameras rolled, we carved out space for softness. For sweetness. For each other.

Because love doesn't pause for a spotlight.

We just landed in the Philippines.

After weeks of lights, flights, and deafening cheers, the air feels heavier here—but also familiar. Grounded. We're heading to the dorm now, the bus humming quietly as the city flickers by outside.

The company granted us another one-week break before rehearsals begin again. A pause in the rhythm. The members are heading home to their own provinces, scattering like stars returning to earth.

Roo and I plan to visit our families too. But first—Palawan.

The promise I made to him back when everything was fragile and new... I'm finally keeping it.

We're in our room now. I'm unpacking, peeling back the layers of travel one item at a time. He's lying on the bed, his phone resting loosely in his hand, watching something with quiet laughter under his breath.

Sunlight spills into the room, brushing his face. His cheeks rise with a smile.

This is the part of love no one sees: the quiet after the whirlwind. The warmth of a bed already familiar. The promise of a trip not for fanservice—but for us.

"Roo, you're not unpacking your things?" I asked, folding my clothes neatly.

"I'm too tired, baby. I'll unpack tomorrow," he replied, pouting as he looked at me with that irresistible mix of charm and mischief.

I walked over and lay beside him, wrapping my arms around his warm frame.

"I thought you were going to unpack," he said, confusion flickering across his face as he pulled me closer.

"I felt lazy the moment you pouted," I smiled, nuzzling his cheek.

"Oh really?" he teased. "Or do you just want to kiss me?"

He moved closer, lips inching toward mine.

I gave him a quick kiss—soft, teasing—and he blushed instantly.

"Yes," I whispered, "I want to kiss you."

This time, I kissed him deeper. Slower. Our breaths tangled, lips moving in rhythm like it was all we'd ever known. His hand found my waist. Mine cradled his jaw.

Then—a knock.

"Tamaro! Akiro!" Harly's voice echoed through the door, firm and amused. "Come out, we're going to have dinner!" We froze.

I rested my forehead against Roo's with a quiet laugh. "That's our cue."

"Tsk, why is there always a disturbance?" I muttered, half-pouting.

Roo just laughed, soft and amused, like he'd already memorized every shade of my mood. I leaned in and gave him a light peck before we got up, brushing off the moment like we always did.

Outside, the dining room buzzed softly with chatter. Everyone was already seated, plates beginning to fill, the evening slow and familiar.

"Are you two heading to Palawan tomorrow?" Renz asked casually between bites.

"Yes, bro," Roo nodded. "We'll leave after lunch."

Stephen glanced up, a gentle smile in his eyes. "Take care of each other, okay?"

"Thank you, bro," Roo replied, voice steady, warm.

I looked around the table—Jemuel teasing Renz over the rice, Harly already halfway into his soup, the staff scattered but smiling. And Roo beside me, calm and quietly glowing.

This was home before the flight.

After dinner, we helped tidy the kitchen—worn out but smiling. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that wraps around you like soft linen.

Back in our room, exhaustion tugged at our limbs. We didn't even say much—just slipped beneath the blankets, falling into each other like instinct.

Roo hugged me as we slept. I've gotten used to it—his arm around me, his breath steady against my neck. Sometimes it's not the most comfortable position, but I never say a word.

Because somehow, his embrace makes the world quieter. Easier. Worth it. The day arrived.

We moved through the room, folding clothes, checking chargers, soft laughter slipping between zippers and whispered plans. Roo hummed as he packed, a travel playlist playing low from his phone. It was only a one-night stop at the dorm, a brief pause before we'd visit our families—after Palawan.

Finally, Palawan. Our first real trip alone.

The members had asked everything—location, itinerary, safety details. Not out of control, but concern. That kind of concern that sounded like teasing but was really love. Protective. Familiar.

We gave them every detail. Even the name of our driver.

Because they knew what this meant—not just a vacation, but a promise kept. A moment outside the world we perform for.

And still, I caught Stephen double-checking our hotel name. Jemuel texting Roo again just to ask what time we'd land. Harly slipping sunscreen into our bag.

They didn't say it out loud, but I knew. They were nervous. Because this was our first. First trip. First time truly alone.

And even though we'd said goodbye, their care followed us.

Like a quiet blessing.

We bid farewell to the members before heading to the airport. It was quiet, simple—a few hugs, lingering glances, reminders to stay safe.

At the private entrance, it felt like stepping into another world. This trip was ours. Quiet. Hidden. Just us.

Only the company knew where we were going, and that was enough.

I glanced at Roo. His face glowed—full of excitement, a smile he couldn't hold back. And as much as I loved seeing him like that, something twisted in my chest.

I knew I'd ruined the trip he once planned with Arion. The one I interrupted, whether I meant to or not. And the truth is...

Jealousy has been gnawing at me.

Not loud, not cruel. Just quiet. Heavy. The kind that makes you wonder if you're enough. If you're too much.

But what should I do? I love him. I chose him.

But that ache—it's real. And I'm still learning how to carry it without breaking everything we've built.

When we arrived in Palawan, the sunlight was still spilling gold across the coastline—soft, glowing, like it was welcoming us personally.

We went straight to the exclusive hotel. Just for one night. The kind of place where the air smells like sea salt and hush, and everything feels like it's waiting to be remembered.

He wanted to stroll around—of course he did. Roo doesn't like staying still when beauty's nearby. So we put on our hoodies, pulled down our caps, covered our faces with masks. A little disguise to protect what was ours.

No one recognized us.

Just two people walking along the edge of paradise. Anonymous, unbothered. Free in the simplest way. His fingers brushed mine. I looked at him, saw that spark in his eyes—the mix of adventure and safety he gives me every time.

For now, it was just us.

The waves didn't ask for names.

We started our Palawan trip at Puerto-Princesa Subterranean River National Park—a marvel carved by time and water, with towering limestone karsts and a cave system that felt like a cathedral beneath the earth.

We took countless photos, trying to bottle the light, the stillness, the wonder. I filmed Roo for my GCF, capturing his expressions as he leaned into the quiet awe of it all. He looked beautiful in the shadows, smiling under layers of rock and river.

This trip—it's ours. Private. Sacred. Every frame will be tucked into our memory vault.

We explored different corners of Palawan after that, each one more breathtaking than the last. Beach paths. Forested quiet. A sunset that painted him in gold.

Dinner was simple—fresh seafood, the kind you taste with salt still on your skin.

We laughed. Ate slowly. Let the moment stretch. We're not just collecting destinations. We're gathering time.

"Roo, are you enjoying?" I asked, placing a generous portion of food on his plate.

He looked up, eyes warm beneath the soft light of the restaurant, and smiled that familiar boxy smile that always tugged at something deep in me.

"Of course, baby. As long as you're with me... I'm enjoying everything."

I smiled, heart full with the kind of happiness that doesn't shout—it hums.

"We're going to have another trip in the future, Roo. Just us again."

He reached out, brushing his fingers against mine lightly, grounding the promise in touch.

"We will, baby."

And somewhere between the seafood and the salt-swept breeze outside, the world quieted.

It was never about the destination. It was the way he looked at me when I asked. The way he always answered like love was the only map he needed.

After dinner, we wandered through the soft-lit streets of Palawan, ducking into small stores and picking out souvenirs—shell trinkets, handmade bracelets, tiny keepsakes for the members. We laughed quietly, hands brushing as we passed through rows of color and memory.

By the time we returned to the hotel, it was nearing midnight. The silence welcomed us like velvet—no knocks, no staff, no camera. Just the two of us and the faint hum of night pressing against the glass windows.

I sat on the bed, TV flickering in the background, but I wasn't watching. My thoughts had their own rhythm—half memories, half anticipation.

He was in the bathroom.

And when he stepped out—fresh-faced, towel-draped, skin warm with steam—I caught his scent.

Familiar. Dangerous.

My body reacted before my mind could name the feeling. Just the way he smelled, the way his damp hair curled slightly at the ends—it sent heat rushing through me. I felt it in my chest. In the way I suddenly couldn't breathe right. My hands were clammy. I was already sweating.

He didn't notice—just smiled that sleepy smile and walked over like nothing had shifted. But everything had.

"Baby, I'm done. You take a shower now," he said, casually pulling on his clothes. I turned to look at him—and froze.

He was wearing only his boxers. I'd seen him like those countless times before, in rehearsals, at dorms, between outfit changes. But this moment felt different. This room wasn't surrounded by managers, teammates, or cameras. No one would knock. No one would interrupt.

Just us. And my thoughts...

I gulped, quickly shaking my head to break the trance forming in my mind.

"I'll shower now," I said, maybe too fast. I walked into the bathroom and let the door click softly behind me.

Under the stream of water, I took my time—letting the heat soothe me, hoping the pressure of the droplets could drown out what I was feeling.

I wasn't embarrassed. Just overwhelmed. This was love, yes. But it was also wanting.

And before I went back out there, I needed to make sure I could hold it softly, without letting it spill everywhere.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, Roo was already curled up on the bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp brushing against his bare skin.

I sat beside him, towel wrapped around my shoulders, fingers working slowly through my damp hair. I was just about to speak when he pulled me down beside him—effortless, like gravity.

He hugged me from behind, arms tight around my waist, and leaned in to gently inhale against my neck. I shivered. The scent of him was familiar, but something in it tonight stirred heat beneath my skin.

I'd spent the last hour calming myself, trying to hold back the ache. But this? This was temptation wrapped in comfort.

I turned to face him, moved on top of him, hands planted gently beside his chest.

"You're a temptation, Roo," I murmured, cheeks flushed as I poked my own face—half playful, half defeated.

He blinked up at me, feigning innocence. "Why? What did I do?" I swallowed, breath unsteady, gaze flicking downward.

"You make me hard," I whispered, voice low.

And when he followed my eyes—saw the truth between us—he didn't laugh, didn't tease.

He just reached up, brushed his fingers against my jawline, and smiled like he already knew. Like he'd been waiting too.

"Well, the feeling's mutual, baby," he whispered, lips meeting mine without hesitation. The kiss deepened instantly—his warmth, his urgency, folding into mine.

His hands moved across my back, slow and searching, like he was memorizing each curve. Then gently, he slipped beneath the edge of my boxer, fingers brushing over heat, over want.

I gasped softly into his mouth.

"You're burning, baby," he murmured, kissing me again, his words barely touching air.

I nipped at his neck, and his body shivered undermine. He moaned—a sound woven with pleasure and comfort, nothing forced, everything known.

"Hmmm... baby..."

"Roo," I whispered, eyes meeting his with quiet honesty, "tell me if you want me to stop."

He didn't speak right away. Just searched my face with that gaze that always calmed me, even as everything inside me trembled.

And I knew. Consent. Desire. Reverence.

We weren't rushing. We were choosing—again and again—with every touch, every breath.

"I won't stop you, baby," he whispered, lips brushing mine.

But just as our breath tangled and the warmth between us deepened, a knock shattered the silence.

Not gentle. Not hesitant.

It was loud—relentless. Like someone was drumming a rhythm against the door. We froze. Eyes locked.

Who would come here? No one was supposed to know.

I slipped on my bathrobe quickly, heart pounding, while Roo pulled on his shirt, his brows furrowed with confusion.

We moved quietly, cautiously. The knocking didn't stop. And when we opened the door—our eyes widened. Time stalled. What we saw wasn't part of any plan.

"Joshua!???" we both yelled in unison, voices half shock, half disbelief.

There he was—standing outside our door with his backpack slung over one shoulder, grinning like he'd just won a prize at a carnival.

We stared at him. Then at each other. Then back at him again.

He just kept smiling, wide and unbothered, like we were roommates he'd planned to surprise all along.

We had been so sure—this time, there would be no disturbance. No knocks. No teasing members. Just silence, the sea, and each other.

But here he was.

Roo blinked, still stunned. "Bro... what are you doing here?"

Joshua shrugged, stepping inside like the room was his all along. "Company changed my itinerary. Harly said you might need someone to make sure you two eat real meals and don't get lost in each other."

He dropped his backpack on the couch with a thud.

I bit my lip. Not angry—just defeated. Roo tried not to laugh.

Of course it's Joshua. Of course this isn't the right time. But maybe... it's exactly our kind of chaos.