Chapter Text
Bobby was tired. Very, very tired.
His girls broke up and made up in one day, and he couldn't even muster up any feeling about it. He should be happy, he knew it, but… he was so, so tired of them doing dangerous things without disguising it with him first.
And, confusingly, he felt hungover without remembering drinking or smoking drugs beforehand. Bobby knew that feeling all too well.
But this time there was nothing to justify it existence - no empty bottles or weird-named pill bottles, just an empty void where his memory should be and the media scandals from yesterday.
At least his girls helped with explanations for the press - though he was rather disappointed to find out about Saja boys and them working together to make a good show. Is that why they kept disappearing? Why didn't they let him help then?
And, well. Where did their “enemies” even go?
It felt like they disappeared overnight - no press looking for them, no media presence, no concerned fans, nothing. The internet doesn't work like that. Bobby, of all people knows that.
The strangest thing was that he couldn't find anyone that worked with them, no musicians, no directors, no sponsor deals - the Soda pop ad was the only one, and it came out of nowhere even for the manager (who didn't remember ever agreeing to it but did have a signed contract in his name).
For some reason, he just couldn't let it go. It irked him, buzzed in the back of his mind while he worked, and haunted his thoughts in the sleepless nights.
Bobby was so, so tired.
His girls went to a bathhouse together for a first time ever, and all he could muster up was a crooked smile, practiced and false to the bone. Rumi noticed, she always did, but he couldn't keep her from enjoying her first proper rest.
So he just waved her concern away, put a nicer smile on his face, and watched them leave through the glass windows.
Lately, he couldn't unwind by “looking at the bigger picture” anymore. It just made him think about all the enraged, screaming fans after the canceled concerts, all the dirt and negativity in the comments that he had to look at before approving the censor's work.
It just makes him so, so tired.
Bobby didn't even know what to do anymore - after his girls started their break, there wasn't that much work for him. Most of the load went to their social media team, to keep the fan's attention up.
He had just too much free time. Nothing to do but to doomscroll on the phone in the famous spa's pool or laying on its plush couches with his feet up.
Hm. Maybe he should bring that up to his therapist. It can't be good, feeling this empty and tired after all that rest.
He sighs and rolls over, stretching out on the pillows. All that ASMR shorts merged together in his eyes, colorful noise that didn't make sense anymore, but was so, so easy to get lost in.
Bobby spends the reminder of the light day like that, rotting in bed. When he finally got himself up from the couch and out the door, the night had already swallowed the town.
Harsh luminance light was blinding against the dark sky, making the street spotted in shadows. He already regretted going out alone - getting his steps in was good and all, but what made him go now, without at least a friend by his side, or a bodyguard?
Everyone in the fandom knew he was, and being “just” a manager would not save him from a crazed fan or anti-fan. He had a mask on, nyeah, but…
But, he was still recognized - someone called to him from an alleyway, in a suspiciously familiar voice.
He shouldn't have went in there. He should have ignored it and went on his way. Better yet, he should have stayed in his room and just called for delivery.
But he didn't.
Instead, Bobby went in the alleyway, haltingly stepping around suspicious puddles and trash. He squinted into the dark, palming at his phone in hopes of activating its flashlight.
Turns out, he didn't need one - there, in the faded fluorescent light of the advertisement, sat Baby Saja, as pristine and pretty as the last time Bobby seen him. Bobby's mind started feeling sluggish and foggy, familiar. Too familiar.
Weirdly, the light seemed to fall only on him, like a dim spotlight in a school play. But that wasn't important - the important thing was that the singer was hurt, and Bobby tried to understand why he didn't see it before.
Thin jeans were torn on the other's knee, revealing a nasty, already bruising cut. It was still bleeding sluggishly down the delicate calf, catching on the seams. Bobby involuntarily traced it to the other's feet, caught himself doing so, and shook it off.
What's wrong with him? Baby needs help!
He didn't remember going back to the hotel with Baby in tow, didn't remember checking him in or carrying him to the bed. He didn't remember Baby staring at him the whole time with unnervingly bright yellow eyes, or how the singer kept humming something under his breath.
Bobby tore himself from the fog at the bed's site, staring at the singer's face, pale and taut even in his sleep. How weird. In the alleyway, the singer looked fine, but now Bobby started to notice just how much dirt was baked into the other's clothing.
Dirt and blood - Baby had more cuts other than his leg. But, iIt seems, that was already taken care of - they had fresh, clean bandages on, and Bobby did recall putting them on there. Sorta.
Well. He could deal with it in the morning. Maybe call the girls? They knew him, they could help.
Yeah. He'll do that.
Tomorrow.
Now couch. And sleep.