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The concert’s adrenaline leaves quickly, drips away with the sweat in his back, leaving freezing cold trails behind it. Soon, too soon, all that there is left is dimness. People laugh around him, overjoyed to catch up with an old friend and he feels left behind, forgotten, like a torn doll. He watches from afar, seated by those he trusts the most and he feels the world cave in in the form of a smile.
They're not anything. He tells himself, over and over again. They're not anything. There’s no space, no room for this type of feeling. They are not anything for him to feel so desolate.
But that's a disservice to their names, their journey; wherever it leads, their past; everlasting. They're Chan and Felix, Felix and Chan, they are… more than words could ever describe, every single descriptive falling short to the enormity that resides in between them.
And it is Chan . He agonizes over it, impossible to let go of the bitterness that now clouds his racing mind.
It is Chan , and he is Felix , so the lack of silver in Chan's wrist feels like getting sucker punched by the universe. He stares at Chan's wrist like his eyes are glued to it, following its every move, every twist and wave. Felix's gut twists and pulls in tandem with it, eyes unblinking.
Not lack . It rings in his head over and over again. Not lack, but replacement . The silver chain adorning Chan's left hand is not the one he was heartbroken when it first broke, nor the one that he carefully took on and off for schedules. Too much of a precious gift to ruin, he had said, and Felix had believed him.
He clings closer to Seungmin, pulls his arm toward his middle like it'd do any good at stuffing the black void currently eating him from the inside out. Seungmin hums, but doesn't pay attention to him, too entranced by his phone, and Felix for once doesn't mind the lackluster reaction. He thinks he'd break, if any of them saw the ugliness rearing its head from the very bottom of his belly. Bile gathers at the back of his throat and he swallows it, the whole world going with it.
He tries, oh so he tries, to keep his eyes away, to watch over Seungmin's shoulder at the stupid mukbang videos he's watching in silence, but every time he loses focus, he ends up where he started.
Jon is wonderful. He is a great friend of many, a bit self-centered if anything but who isn't in this industry ( Chan isn't , his mind provides, and he smothers it down). He's fun and charismatic and he makes the others laugh, he makes Chan laugh. He should like him. He does like him. He wants him gone.
The visceral need for him to stop touching his Channie-hyung makes the hair on the nape of his neck stand up, makes him want to hide away inside in his closet and never come out, makes him feel dirty and heavy, like old laundry.
He curls inward, getting closer to his knees, and he lays his phone there, goes through the motions of being social, of being preoccupied while his mind falls apart.
It isn't a big deal. It isn't. If he asked Chan, he'd probably have a good reason as to why his original bracelet isn't fastened to his wrist. Chan would tell him the simple truth with kind words and that tone of voice that he reserves just for him, and it would be fine, it would be like water pouring out of an overflowing pot, just right, healing.
So why is his gut eating itself?
What if it isn't simple, is the terrifying thought. What if it is, and it's just that it wasn't enough, any of it, is the petrifying prospect. What if it is him, it's just him, that is wrong, that isn't enough, that's a burden? What if the silver bracelet had to be put away because the weight was simply too much to carry any longer?
His knees start shaking below his phone, his eyes defocusing, and he puts his weight on the palm of his hand over his other knee.
This wouldn't be happening if only that tacky, ugly, cheap-looking bracelet just didn't exist. He narrows his eyes, and looks up from below his brow, toward the two men engaged in conversation. Why does it even exist? Who does he think he is? Does he think he’s worthy of him? Nobody is. Especially not him.
Shame immediately fills his chest, spreads outwardly in waves like someone dropped a rock into a still river. What is he even thinking about? Jon is Chan's friend, he was there before him, he was there for him. How dare he try to take that away from Chan? He has always been kind, even when he was rough, even when he made him cry.
Like a lighting strike, three inconspicuous little words course through his whole body, sending shivers from the back of his neck to his ankles, and he feels shame, shame, shame, for being so selfish.
Because this is what this is about, right? He's being selfish, ugly with it, greedy. He wants his Channie-hyung's attention all for himself, he wants to be the only one who makes him laugh like that, the only one whose gifts are treasured, whose skinship he doesn't shy away from. He wants him for himself, he wants to crawl into him, right below his skin, and make a home there. Most importantly, he wants to be the only one Chris looks at. His Chris. His.
Selfishly, he craves and craves. Selfishly, he makes a home out of the ugliness building inside his gut. Selfishly, he wishes and hopes against it all, that Chan will fall back into him at the end of the night, that this is just one evening of agony he’d gracefully choke on for just a short while. He doesn’t know what it would be of him if it isn’t.
Felix looks up from his phone, and stares as Chan talks and talks, excited hand gestures making him seem younger, lighter, and Felix feels defeated. Doomed to get anything he will be given and eat it all regardless if it's just scraps. He would eat him whole, if he could.
He looks away, eyes dutifully skipping over the taint in his night and he puts all his attention back on Seungmin. He takes his arm back again in his grasp, and pulls his hands into his lap. He plays with each finger, touches every round nail, every knuckle, and he pulls it toward his mouth, giving it a chaste kiss. Seungmin hums again in the back of his throat, a soothing little sound he isn’t even aware he’s making and he wiggles his fingers around in Felix’s grasp.
Like a fly to honey, his eyes travel back up again, one last time, he promises himself, and he takes in Chan’s profile from afar, always afar. He looks at his nose, the dip of his upper lip and the plumpness of his bottom one, he traces his jawline, traversing his pierced ears and ends in his kind, round eyes. Always kind, even when he wasn’t, always loving, even when it hurt, always there, there for him to turn to, expecting, waiting. Not today. Not anymore.
Felix stares at Chan’s profile and he breaks his own heart as he tears his eyes away from him.