Lee Know

The concert ended. Suitcase in hand, you went member by member, touching up what the stage had erased. Hyunjin, Felix, Han, Seungmin, Changbin, IN—you placed your hands on each of their faces.

When you finished, Minho was waiting for you, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tense.

"You touched them all," he said. "I don't like it."

—It's my job.

You took him by the hand and led him to a corner.

—While I was touching them, I was thinking about you. About how I do your makeup. About how you close your eyes and let me do it.

—Then it's my turn.

You ran your fingers over her cheek, her jaw, her lips. She closed her eyes.

"I don't like seeing you with them," he admitted. "Even though I know it's your job."

—I'm not going to stop doing it.

—I'm not asking for that. I just want you to touch me after you've touched them all, the way you only touch me.

—I do that every night at home.

—Do it now.

You laughed and rested your forehead on his chest. He put his arm around your waist.

—You're impossible.

—And you make me feel this way.

They remained silent for a while, embraced.

"Are you feeling better now?" you asked.

-A bit.

-Missing?

—Do my makeup.

You sat him down and began working on his face. Slower than with the others. More carefully.

When you finished, he looked at you.

"You know what the worst part is?" she said. "I feel like you keep a little bit of each of them. A smile, a laugh. And I want to keep everything."

You took his face.

—They get the makeup artist. You get the one who wakes up next to you. It's not the same. It'll never be the same.

He rested his head against your stomach and closed his eyes.

—Stay a little longer.

And you stayed. With your fingers in her hair, while outside the chaos continued.