Starstruck on You [Mile x Apo] [MileApo]

Chapter 4: Shoulder Angels & Devil Men

Never in his life had he wished he had a housekeeper. The slew of clothes over his couch, fan gifts that were tossed to a corner of the room – stacked unceremoniously, dishes in his sink from two nights ago, he was pretty sure his fridge was empty save for eggs and vegetables. What kind of meal could he make with that?

Mile had already failed to provide a good first impression, this somehow felt worse.

Living the life of a celebrity, a known one in the circuit, paranoia seeped into him to even contemplate the option of allowing just anyone into his home. His family lived 7 hours away; he was alone in Bangkok with no viable partner. His and his band's name headliners, an outrage or dark whisper around all the corners could tank them.

It was why he opted for impersonal meetups, only went to upscale areas that were notorious for keeping privacy up a notch. Not public areas that were available to the disposition of anyone to start nasty rumors about him. Mile knew the reputation he had. A playboy, a heartbreaker, they were titles he held with dignity – normally anyway.

The hotels that he stayed in after shows were as far as he splurged when it came to wanting intimacy without strings attached. His dates never seemed to mind the treatment: dine at a five-star restaurant in the lobby of a hotel, ample photo opportunities together, they got their 10 seconds of fame on his arm, afterwards just bypass any semblance of emotional attachment for pure physicality.

Two animals that devoured sustenance and then would consume one another in the throes of ecstasy. A routine that made Mile happy, sated, and full till the next time.

That's what Mile was used to. Accustomed to the quick pace, the evolution of expectations between them that after food came sex. A hot, sweaty fuck that left him and his escort feeling euphoric. At least they did. Practically begged for more only to get the boot from Mile out the door. Plain and simple. One and done.

More than that would become a relationship. A title. Commitment. Mile neither wanted nor was ready for.

So why the hell had he deviated in the worst way possible? He brought his date home. A first for him, he had half a mind to consult with a psychiatrist to make sure he wasn't suffering delusions.

His eyes peeked over to Apo who was exploring his apartment like a child in a touch museum. Fingers delicately brushed the picture frames that lined the electric furnace top, danced over to another wall with concert posters, and so on. As much as Mile wanted to chide, scold, and tell the man to not touch, he couldn't find himself perturbed as he normally did.

Not taking pictures, rather, the man was committing to memory the area, snickered at the lived-in look Mile had going on and moved on to the next item.

Apo's excitement was genuine in how the younger man just flitted like a kitten with a new feather cat toy that wafted left and right – that's where Apo went – wherever his eyes caught. And it was adorable.

A different façade to the man that was not just anger; Mile had gotten used to that when he threatened Apo on this outing. He told the man that he would sue the little café for the injury to his hand that had since scarred over.

Admittedly, It wasn't the best approach, he knew that, but anxiety could be a crux. He crossed a line. Dove off the deep end and hoped the safety net was there.

He swore this guy had a sorcerer's wand that he waved when Mile wasn't looking to invoke a feeling of indifferent amusement, freedom, and all at once wanted to covet it for himself. Mile was infamously selfish and petty. Even those looks of awe that shadowed Apo more often than not were not over Mile's portraits, but the guitars that adorned his walls like decoration and he wanted to have that attention on himself.