Work Text:
Himchan knows what he's doing is wrong; he knows that he shouldn't be sliding into bed with another bandmate, not when he still technically has a boyfriend.
But he does it anyway. It's not like he and Yongguk ever specified what their relationship was, he tells himself. It's not like Yongguk still wants him. If he did – he'd still be here.
Lies. But necessary ones, when Jongup gives him that look, and he feels a guilty fluttering of arousal in response. Jongup is different, less intense, less focused on making him happy than Yongguk – but good all the same. He is a comfort, and right now, he needs that.
Jongup doesn't really expect anything of him. Jongup doesn't need him to be there – he needs him as a surrogate leader, yes, but locked in the bedroom alone together, it's a completely different situation. There it's just skin against skin, harsh breathing and quick fucks that don't really mean anything. If he misses the slow, languorous way Yongguk used to kiss him, or the way he'd entwine his fingers with his in the really good parts, he doesn't say anything.
Yongguk isn't here. Yongguk checked out of their relationship a long time ago, and never really came back. He's not sure he ever will. There are moments when the truth of it is so crushingly real that he can't breathe, but they are few and far between. He doesn't have time to feel, not with schedules like their's – and when he does, then wine is always a good antidote.
He pretends to be a connoisseur, but he knows the truth. He drinks because it's easier; he drinks because then he can pretend the man who sucks Jongup off backstage isn't him. He has been losing himself for a long time now, but no one has ever really noticed. He's just Himchan. He is there to be mocked, to be laughed at.
And now there is no one left to laugh with.
He's a coward, he knows – blaming Yongguk for feelings he can't help, resenting him for the fact that he gets to leave them behind and try to fix himself. He should be happy for him. He should be sending him messages of support, he should be telling him that he's waiting for him, and he misses him. But he's too selfish for that. He's spent years telling Yongguk those things, and maybe – just maybe – this time, he wants someone to say those things to him.
But no one ever does. No one ever takes him seriously, and if they did – well, he'd just be a copycat, an attention-seeker. He craves affection, yes, and maybe he's seeking it in all the wrong places, but he can't find it within himself to care.
He knows the others aren't impressed, knows that Youngjae is both repulsed by the fact that he sleeps with men, and that he is a lying, cowardly cheat. But Youngjae has never really liked him, or so he tells himself – he's gotten so good at making excuses for his behaviour. So good at playing the victim.
It's easier than facing up to the truth: that he's stuck in a job he doesn't really like any more, that the man he loves isn't quite the man he used to be, and that he's stuck in charge of four other men who don't, and won't respect him. It's easier than admitting he's lonely, that he needs help – because he's not going to get it.
Sometimes, he is so desperate to pick up the phone and call Yongguk. Just to hear his voice, to know that he's still here, still breathing. Countless times, he's found his fingers hovering over the button, shivering in the bathroom because it's the only place he can be alone. But he never does it. The image of the last time they spoke face-to-face haunts him; the vacant, tired look in Yongguk's eyes, the blunt admission that he'd tried to kill himself, and that no, Himchan wasn't enough to live for.
He didn't say it that way, of course. He was much kinder. But the message was loud and clear: Himchan isn't – and won't ever be – enough. It's a message he internalised long ago, but to have it thrown back in his face by the one person he thought he could trust – well, he doesn't know how to describe the feeling. Excruciating doesn't come close.
So he throws himself at Jongup, and immerses himself in a relationship that is physical, hot, and sweaty, and real. It anchors him; gives him a reason to keep going, even when he feels so ill that it is an effort to smile. He's not doing a very good job of hiding how bad he feels, but then, that's okay – no one ever looks.
And maybe, deep down, it is a form of revenge. Maybe he wants to show Yongguk he can live without him, that he has a life, and he's perfectly happy with it. Maybe he even wants to believe it himself. But Jongup can't fix him, and alcohol can only dull the pain for a short while.