Hey guys, I took the first chapter I posted down because I think I skipped too far ahead and I wanted to post this chapter before I continued with the next short story about his sister.

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"I came to realise — when Himchan couldn’t perform with us due to his injuries — that we can only be perfect when the six of us become one on stage."

He was pouting.  He was cute when he was pouting, undeniably so, but it wasn’t advisable to let him continue pouting because it would likely turn to crying or cursing, and eventually denying me the affection I grew addicted to.

“Himchan I’ll be back in a few hours and we can go to that fried chicken place you like, neh?” He hissed, throwing me a contemptuous glare from across the room as if I had offered him a poison laced sandwich.

“Hyung you have to get ready, we’re already running late,” Youngjae called to me peeking his head into the bedroom timidly.  

Everyone knew Himchan was upset, this was the dozenth time he’d been ordered to stay in the dorm while we made an appearance on a show or in public, and with each missed show or performance his passive aggressiveness slid more towards straight-out aggressive aggressiveness.  

These promotions had been rough on us all.  Himchan was the mood-maker in our group.  Without his constant optimism and goofy enthusiasm every day was harder to endure.

Today was different though, today Daehyun and I would be making an important appearance on Quiz Change the World.  Since we were only given two spots on the program (with a very short performance clip as a group), it wasn’t guaranteed that he would have attended even if he were uninjured, but he took the exclusion as a personal attack.

Before this love stuff between us, I would have told him to snap the hell out of it. For the good of the team I would have taken him aside and made sure he manned up.  

It wasn’t fair that our dongsaengs had to tip-toe around him in fear of his scornful gazes or dramatic sighs. As the leader I should have put a stop to it immediately, but it was different now I had grown so weak.

Himchan had spent the last two weeks since One Shot promotions began trying to make everyone around him as miserable as he was and it was working.  

It was no one’s fault he fell and broke his hand, it wasn’t even his fault (which we all assured him hundreds of time), but he had become like a stone wall.  

He felt excluded.  He had worked hard and he felt it was going to waste. He was bored, though he was in the middle of his intense physical therapy regimen. He wouldn’t get any of the meager appearance fees, which paid for our day to day life.  These were his biggest complaints, which I heard about in great detail as I slipped into his bed each night.  But how was I, as his partner, supposed to tell him it was time to get the over it?

Truthfully, even with a broken hand he would have been more help on the show than I was.  The decision however, wasn’t mine to make and it wasn’t as if TS was being unreasonable.  

The company was afraid to send an injured member out in public with fans who didn’t know their boundaries.  We had been hurt by fans, accidentally of course, more than once since our debut and with Himchan cradling an injury it wasn’t safe.

And besides that, Quiz to Change the World was a popular program and putting an injured member on national broadcast was dangerous considering how quick the public was to throwing accusations of abuse at entertainment agencies. Something as small as a three hour recording of a seated variety program could have turned into an abuse scandal with just a bit of netizen fuel.

Even so, it may have been worth the risk since I barely spoke four complete sentences during the three hour recording and Daehyun said little more than I did.  We were basically seat warmers.

B.A.P as a group were not trained in variety, our company focused on our performance skills above all else.  The problem was that since we came from a small company, with few trainees and even fewer active artist we had little outside contact.  Our lives revolved around B.A.P and the small team that ensured our safety, growth and presentability.  

The longer we stayed together, creating our own world of inside jokes and comfort, the harder it became for us to connect with strangers. This was another one of my failings as a leader.  You could add it to the growing list of reasons we needed Himchan.

It wasn’t easy to book appearances on network broadcast variety shows like Quiz to Change the World.  While we had grown popular with international fans we were still virtually unknown to the Korean public, giving us virtually no appeal to PDs and network executives.

If I had been a better leader I would have taken advantage of our rare appearance to make a lasting impression with viewers but it was easier to say than it was to do.  

As the leader I should have been setting an example for my dongsaeng but I still lacked so much.  

I kicked myself on the entire ride home, rewinding the entire show in my head and analyzing points in which I could have spoken up and the kind of jokes Himchan would have made if he were in my place.  The younger boys in the van seemed unfazed by the days events as they continued a discussion we’d had a few nights before about meteor showers and cosmic dust.  

I was mentally exhausted.  All I wanted was to be wrapped in Himchan’s sheets, head buried in his neck, drowning in his scent, counting his heartbeats.  

I’d given up on trying to figure out how or why he had such a powerful effect on me.  It didn’t matter. There was so much pain and sadness in the world, and so much stress and frustration on our path as idols, I didn’t want to waste time questioning the good I just wanted to enjoy it.

No such luck.

He was fuming when we returned.  It was payday, I’d forgotten since our paychecks were never much to brag about.  And as to be expected his check was pitiful.

I hated to see him cry but this anger was equally uncomfortable.  

Junhong suggested the other members all give him a portion our checks (which was not much less pitiful at a measly 517,000 won) but I couldn’t let them do that out of fear or guilt.  They’d worked too hard for each penny.

“Here, go pick us up some fried chicken and drinks,” I ordered, pulling out every bill in my wallet and passing it to Daehyun.  “Go together, wear hats and take the a cellphone okay?”

They nodded and agreed, dutifully leaving us in the dorms alone for the first time since we made love against the couch, the first time Himchan told me he loved me.

I felt physically ill, putting together the things I needed to say to him.  

Himchan, I know that you are hurting but I think you need to try to be more considerate of your dongsaeng.

Himchan, you’re going to make the other boys resent you if you continue to act like this.  

Himchan, if we don’t support each other now through all the small victories and losses what will we do when the stakes are higher?

Himchan, you need to stop acting like a and find a hobby to occupy your vacation time.

It was scarier than saying ‘I love you’ the first time.

“Here, take it,” I whispered, placing the envelope containing my puny earnings in his uninjured hand.

“I don’t want your ing money,” he spat, ing it back at me with extra venom and unnecessary strength.  I didn’t mind the shooting pain he inflicted on my palm but he’d never looked at me with such spite or spoken to me with so much contempt before.  

“Then what the do you want Himchan?  I’ll give you anything just stop this, please!!!”  The request came out embarrassingly close to a sob.  I bit my lip until it burned but he just cocked his hip at me unperturbed.

I never wanted to punch him as much as I did in that moment.

“I can’t just keep letting you stomp around torturing everyone because of a ing broken hand!  It’ll heal goddamnit!!!”

I had expected anger, maybe tears or hysteria in return, but I did not foresee complete nothingness.  Himchan’s beautiful face grew completely blank and as still as a portrait before he very calmly turned to his dresser and began packing a bag.

I couldn’t rise to his bluff and I couldn’t fold.  I grabbed my jacket from the nightstand and left before he did.  

After climbing the mountain behind our dorm, recanting the day’s failed variety attempt again to avoid my current failure as a leader, I came back to find a pile of chicken wings and four very joyful idols.

“Hyung, where’s Himchan?” Jongup asked, craning his neck to search behind me.  Despite his dark shadow casting presence since our promos began the younger members still searched for him and his approval.

Junhong who held a chicken wing in each hand, his cheeks covered in red sauce, was the only member completely unsurprised when I said I had sent him home. Maybe it was because he had so much confidence in me he had no doubt in my right to give Himchan a vacation, or maybe he was simply too consumed with delicious chicken to care, but the other boys eyed me cautiously.... They predicted, accurately, how much trouble I was about to be in when TS discovered he was missing.

~*~

Himchan spent two nights at home before he was dragged back by TS, because despite not being able to promote with us he still was required at our fan-signing events, which had boosted our album sales to more than double our previous releases.

After taking the blame for Himchan’s absence I was punished with restricted access to the recording studio and extra close monitoring from our manager.  

Himchan didn’t look me in the eye and I didn’t dare slip into his bed, and our communication was stripped to the minimums.

I grew more and more resentful towards him with each reprimanding remark from our manager and a boiling anger grew in my gut every night I was denied the opportunity to record my own music without supervision or censorship.  

By the night of our final goodbye stage, the tension between us was thick enough to prevent anyone from suggesting we swing by the dorms to get Himchan for our customary end-of-promotions dinner.

We went to a small barbeque restaurant not far from our company, an expensive treat since our album sales were high, but the dinner was not the same without him.  There was no one to tease, no one ordering extra food and stuffing it down the member’s throats, and there was no dorky laugh providing a soundtrack for our meal.

The first cracks in the wall of anger I built came when Youngjae, staring shyly at the spread of food before him suggested we buy Himchan his favorite hotcakes on the way back to the dorm. The other boys agreed enthusiastically.

Trying to lighten the mood our manager presented a toast.  With a sju-red face he thanked us for the long hours of practice that went into perfecting the “One shot” dance, our hardest choreography to date, and my heart ached more.

Memories of our sweaty bodies lining the floor of our practice room, more exhausted than when we prepared for our debut showcase, flooded my mind and wouldn’t be pushed back.  Even when I closed my eyes, trying to indulge in the decadent meal in front of me the image of a sweat soaked but smiling Himchan, plaque me.  When my arms burned from the push up dance and I back ached Himchan picked up my slack,  encouraging the group to continue with silly jokes and jelly snacks.

And the sledgehammer that destroyed the last of my resolve came when I snuck back in the dorm alone, smelling of barbecue smoke and soju, to find Himchan clinging desperately to my pillow as he sobbed.  

The rest of the boys had taken Manager Kang up on his offer of ice cream but I had felt too guilty leaving Himchan alone any longer, even if it meant I would be subjected to his fits of anger.  

His tears were much worse.

“I love you.”  It was the first time I’d uttered those words since our fight.  I still meant them with all my heart and in the past they had solved everything, but this time they only made him sob harder.

Employing a breathing method we learned in vocal training, he calmed himself enough to extricate my pillow from his vice-like grasp and drag himself back to his own bed.  

I followed, but he spread himself out so that the only place for me to sit was at the foot of the bed.

“I really love you?” I tried again, afraid to touch him when every molecule in his body seemed to scream for my retreat.  The rejection stung.  

“Why?”  I almost didn’t hear his question since he spoke into the mattress, still faced down in a spread eagle position.

“What?” I didn’t comprehend.  Fear grew in my chest as I racked my brain for things I could have done to upset him.

“Why do you love me-- I’m useless.” His muffled sobs were soon drowned by my relieved chuckles.

With unexpected grace Himchan flipped over and into a crouched position, anger filled eyes focused on me with laser-like precision.

“Useless?  What are you even talking about, Himchan?” I barely managed the sentence through a round of laughter that worked the sore muscles in my abdomen.

How can the sun be useless?

He hit me.  A series of weak punches with both his injured and uninjured hands, that I easily dodged using his new kneeling position to stretch out beside him. When he grew tired of pounding ineffectively against my chest I grabbed  his wrist and pulled him to me, marvelling in the feel of his warm body against mine.

I had feared, I would never enjoy this simple pleasure again.

“Yongguk-ah,”  he struggled to sit up but I held him tighter.

“Just give me a minute, please.” I begged, putting my pride aside.

He stopped moving, allowing me to wrap my arms around his slender waist tightly and bury my head in the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry.” I broke the silence, loosening my grip to allow him freedom.  He didn’t move away, instead he titled his head up to meet my gaze.

“No, I’m sorry,” he choked, tears welling up in his eyes again. I kissed him, trapping his face in my hands and preventing escape.

I missed his lips more than I realized.

“I didn’t mean to be so harsh,” I spoke between firm, possessive kisses.  He was still mine.

“I was-- acting like-- a baby,” he responded, sentence peppered with kisses.

“Good, at least you knew you were,” I chuckled, pulling away to inspect his perfect face.  He smiled but tears still rolled down his face, leaving tracks down his cheeks.

“I know and I’m sorry,” he leaned into my kisses as I attempted to wipe his tears with my lips.

“What’s wrong?  My money is your money, you know that, right?” I whispered, still blotting his tear soaked cheekbone with my kisses.  He nodded and dug his nails into my shoulder, pulling me closer.

If I could have in that moment I would have happily melted into him, becoming one with him forever.

“Your hand it almost all healed, you have one week more of physical therapy and by the time we go to America you’ll be okay,” I assured him moving my lips to his pointed ears.

Nothing in the world felt as good as Himchan in my arms. I needed him always.

“And I’ll go back to being an unneeded accessory,” he breathed resting his body solidly on top of mine.

“I need  you,” I protested.  My hand traced his topography, landing shamelessly on his plump bottom. I pulled his pelvis forward ing mine up against him to create a heavenly friction.

“Yongguk stop, I’m being serious.” But it still didn’t process.  How could he not know how important he was, not just to me but to the entire group?

I didn’t know how to explain it without sounding stupid, so I swallowed my pride again and I spoke with my face hidden in his hair.

“Nothing is the same without you Himchan.  Promotions are hell, waiting rooms, music shows, variety, interviews... my heart, nothing is complete without you,” I insisted fervently.

“You guys look so good on stage without me,” he sobbed wrapping his arms around my neck.

“We don’t feel good without you,  Channie.”  He pulled back to look at me, maybe to gauge the sincerity in my eyes, but whatever he saw there made him beam at me for the first time since his accident.

“And we can never look as good without our visuals,” I pressed, making his gorgeous smile expand.

“Daehyun’s handsomer,” he blushed.

“Handsomer than who? You? Never,” I proclaimed honestly, claiming his smiling lips with force.  His answering laugh was like music to my ears.

“Nothing is complete without you, not our stages, not our interviews, not our celebration dinners or my heart,” I continued embarrassingly honest.  

He straddled me, hands expertly snaking under my shirt to roam my body.  We didn’t have much time left before the boys returned, and we hadn’t had since he injured his hand so the mechanics of it were shaky but I wanted him badly.

With Himchan on top, uninjured hand against my chest for support, he rode me with desperation, bringing us both to a in minutes. It wasn’t as romantic or soft as makeup should be, but it was perfect.