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Eric wasn’t even sure what he wanted from Porter anymore.
Not love — he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that was on the table. And not sex, not really. That was just the shape the ache took when it got too loud to ignore. Mostly, he just wanted to be seen. Needed, maybe. Something close to important.
But Porter only looked at him when it was convenient. Between shows, in the lull of exhaustion. When he needed a distraction, a warm body, someone to listen.
And Eric let him. Every time. Like a fucking idiot.
He kept telling himself it was admiration. Inspiration. But the truth was uglier than that. It was hunger. It was desperation.
It was obsession.
But that was a lie he told so well, it was almost convincing.
But really? He was rotting from the inside out, starving for scraps of attention like a junkie chasing a fix he’d never get.
He wasn’t always like this.
At least, he liked to believe that. Before the tour. Before Porter. Back when he still had some grip on his own narrative. He played up the image. Acted like he didn’t give a shit, like he had something dangerous in him. People believed it, too. Called him cool. Called him bold.
But Eric knew better.
Underneath everything he was still the same quiet, lonely kid who’d never been looked at the right way. Who mistook every ounce of kindness as something bigger. Who got too attached, too fast, and never learned how to stop. Who’s days fell into silent nights when he’d crawl into his own skin and feel like a parasite feeding off a life he didn’t deserve.
That part of him hadn’t grown up at all. It had just gotten better at hiding.
Until Porter.
Because with Porter, all of that came back up — fast and feral. Eric found himself obsessing over every little thing: the way Porter’s voice dipped when he was tired, the way he looked after a show, worn out and sweating. The way he always smiled at the crowd, told them he loved them.
Eric knew it wasn’t real. Knew none of it was for him.
But that didn’t stop him from chasing it like a drug. From replaying every glance, every offhand compliment, like it meant something.
Because no matter how loud Eric tried to be, no matter how much he begged his reflection to be someone worth loving, it all came down to this: the brutal, ugly truth that he wasn’t enough. Not even when he gave it all away on his own.
He hated it. Hated himself.
But not enough to stop.
—
It started on a night neither of them would ever talk about again.
Porter had a headache. Eric had alcohol in his system and something worse in his chest. They were alone in a hotel room, too tired to keep pretending to be friends, too wired to sleep. Porter had looked at him for half a second too long, and Eric — stupid, starving Eric — had leaned in like it meant something.
Porter didn’t stop him.
That was all it took.
After that, it just happened. Quietly. Sometimes in the green room after a show. Sometimes in the back of the bus when everyone else was passed out. Never with words. Never with feeling. Just hands and mouths and silence. Like scratching an itch. Like killing time.
Eric told himself it didn’t matter.
But by the third time Porter kissed him without looking him in the eye, Eric realized he was wrong.
—
Tonight, it was supposed to be the same.
A knock. A glance. The same shallow hunger in Porter’s eyes — the kind Eric always mistook for something real. He let him in without a word. He always did.
The clothes came off fast. Familiar. Thoughtless. Porter kissed like a man trying to forget something. Eric kissed like he was trying to be remembered.
They moved fast. Familiar. Bodies pressing together like they’d done this a hundred times and never meant it once.
Porter was above him, skin hot, breath unsteady. Eric reached up, fingers curling around the back of his neck like he could keep him there. Like holding him close could make it mean something.
And then, barely audible — a whisper, a plea:
“Tell me you love me.”
It came out raw. Cracked and broken at the edges. Like it had been living inside of Eric for months, rotting in his throat, waiting for the worst possible moment to escape.
Porter was silent.