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Chan flops down in his chair, letting himself breathe for just a moment. He had just gotten off of a particularly tiring and stressful stage, but it’s a Sunday and so many Stays are waiting on a Chan’s Room. It feels wrong to cancel, even though there’s nothing he wants more than to sink into his sheets. It’s not like it’s a burden, though. He loves to entertain Stays, interacting with their silly comments and eagerly replying. He dutifully turns on the camera and melts as his plastered smile eases into a real one as thousands of people join. It’s one of his favorite parts about being an idol, and the love soaks into his skin as he reads the multitude of comments that flood the chat.
Kn0wLe34: I love your hair, Channie! ^3^
jutdaeeee: Wow, your makeup looks so cool!
YongPixly: Love from India~
hyuneluver: Stray Kid’s best leader!
user629: Kill yourself.
Wait. What?
“Woah woah woah, what’d you say?”
Chan blinks slowly as he re-reads the comment, and it is soon whisked away by hundreds of others. The chat explodes, retaliation against the one Anti strong as defending words fly across his screen reprimanding the comment.
But he had seen, and the damage had already been done.
“Hah, funny.”
He feels like he can’t breathe. The lump in his throat gets bigger. The exhaustion dragging his limbs down suddenly weighs like a boulder, and he wants nothing more than to collapse out of his chair and onto the floor.
Why… why would they say that? Has he done something wrong to deserve it? Has he pushed the boundaries of being an idol too far, becoming too distasteful for any one person? He knows hundreds of thousands love him. He knows that. But it’s so easy to think that they don’t, that one comment deafens the rest because for every I love you there’s a person out there who wants him dead.
And he just can’t get past that.
It’s a suffocating thought.
It’s not like he wants to die. No, never. His trainee years had been the closest he’d been to it, but even then he held on by a thread, and it paid off. He enjoys life, where he is in his career. He absolutely adores his job and his fans. He can still look around and see the birds and the sky and the trees and find reasons to be here. He can still look at his team, his family, and be firm in his decision to stay.
He knows they love him. They care and hold him when he’s vulnerable and they bring laughter to him every day.
They should be the only ones that matter.
For some reason, they aren't.
The air gets thinner as he gasps repeatedly, struggling to keep himself under control. He says a quick bye to the camera and scrambles to cut it off, gripping his shirt and trying to get oxygen in his lungs.
It’s hard to describe the claws that clench his heart, making it beat so fast he’s certain it’d leap out of his chest if it could. An assorted tidal wave of emotion crashes into him and he leans back into his chair, blinking up at the ceiling and trying not to let the tears fall. It’s hard to describe but it’s familiar , and while the embrace isn’t welcome, it’s warm . He recognises it like the back of his hand. It’s being alone. It’s not being good enough. He hates it coming back to him, slithering it’s slender talons to hold him. He hates how easy it is to be comfortable in its arms, to be uncertain of so many things except for that sinking feeling that loves to visit him on nights like these.
He knows he can’t please everyone. That still doesn’t stop him from trying, and it certainly doesn’t make it hurt less. If people really feel this way about him… how long before they start projecting it onto his Stray Kids? Their careers and their dreams are in the hands of the people who judge them and it’s unfair, it’s so unfair, and it always seems to be him. He feels like sand in an hourglass, slowly but surely running out of time.
He’s never wanted to die.
Yet, maybe it would be better .
It would be better, because he wouldn’t have to worry about this ever again. He wouldn’t stress about sales, or meetings, or creative blocks. He could let go of the strict schedule, of finally passing out at early hours to only wake up a couple later. As seven, Stray Kids wouldn’t have to worry about awkward formations in their choreography, weird line distributions, or the bad press that seems to happen every time Chan opens his mouth.
They would be free.
He would be free.
He blinks, realizing how dangerous this is, how a creeping desire starts to seep into his skin, begging him to tear it off. It yearns for him to dig his fingernails in a spot that would be covered by their stylists. He grabs his notebook. He’s not getting bad again, like his trainee days. He’s not. He’s already having trouble getting out of bed some days, still cringing when he notices his scars in the mirror, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to do it forever.
He’s certain he still wants to live. He breathes a crisp breath in. Drags it out. Holds it.
The thought comes back, just an idea now, he’s sure.
Just an idea…
He starts feverishly writing in his notebook.
—------------------
That live still haunts him.
He just tries not to think about it most days. Most days, he succeeds. He has schedules, studio sessions with Jisung and Changbin, and practices upon practices to keep him busy.
Most days, the distraction works.
Until it doesn’t. Until he sits in the dark on his bed at the end of an eventful day with nothing to focus on, and the comment from that live makes its home at the front of his brain.
They didn’t even list a reason why. It would have been better, probably, if they had told Chan why he should die. Then he could fix it. He could improve himself so that maybe they (and by extension, himself) would hate him a little less. But he’s left to speculate, and that’s never good- no, his brain moves too much for that to ever be a positive thing.
It’s a jumbled mess of one thought to the next:
They could’ve thought I was being insincere-
My singing was rough that one stage. Maybe that’s why-
Well, my makeup got a bit smudged so I did look uglier than usual-
I admitted that I was harsh on Felix during my trainee days. I know I never should have been, maybe they’re right-
I can never repay the kids for all the good they’ve brought me. I don’t deserve that.
That has to be it. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s just blind to what that comment so clearly saw.
He didn’t deserve any of this. The fame, the fans. Nothing.
The looming feeling starts to wrap itself around his throat, the old friend becoming more common these days, and he lies down. He’s heavy. Lead has filled his limbs and he’s tired, but he can’t let sleep claim him because of that damn comment and so many others that swarm his brain and bare their venomous stingers to his bleeding heart.
He doesn’t know how to not think about it. He just wants it to stop.
He wants to go back in time, to when he was 13, bright eyed and bushy tailed in Sydney, Australia. He wants to march right up to his younger self, grab the ukulele his dad had gifted him for his birthday, and use it to smash the camera that would get him into JYP Entertainment. He’d then drag little Chris outside, wave to his middle school friends, and tell him to “Hold on just a little longer. Be a kid a little longer.”
“Growing up is not as fun as you thought it’d be.”
He wishes he didn’t get in the industry so young. It had changed him in ways that were irreversible, his way of thinking, his way of existing. Don’t get too fat, don’t get too skinny, don’t speak too freely, don’t make the wrong move. It’s thousands and thousands of rights or wrongs with no in betweens. There is no “you’ll get it next time, Chan!”
On the first time, you either do well, or you don’t.
The latter gets you sent home.
Even after he’s debuted, that fear never goes away. He is a contract, and the minute that document gets ripped up so does he. He’s never safe. It’s why he works to the bone, so that the dream he’s fought for for 7 long, hard trainee years doesn’t go down the drain. So that he can keep his Stray Kids afloat.
Because they do need him-
Right?
He closes his eyes. Jeongin is a beautiful singer with a unique tint to his vocals, and can easily keep up with many in the industry. He also has 7 hyungs to look after him. He’s protected no matter what he does and who’s there. Seungmin has an incredible voice that Chan knows surpasses his own. Felix has that killer tone that’s an essential signature in every Stray Kid’s song. Han, Hyunjin, and Changbin are skilled and technical rappers who hit their beats every time. Han and Changbin have made many songs of their own without Chan before. And Lee Know… along with being dance captain he’s practically the second leader, already stepping up when Chan isn’t feeling his best.
He frowns, wrinkles folding in his skin. They really don’t need him. If he had… disappeared, he’s sure nothing would change about their music at all. They’ve got their gorgeous singers, talented dancers, spitfire rappers and a stable figure that would serve wonderfully as a leader. What would really be missing if he’s gone?
What is special about him?
Chan draws a blank. He tries hard, really hard to come up with an answer, but he can’t.
There is nothing.
Again, he thinks about the live comment.
In a burst of energy, he sits up. His left arm flames with pain and he blinks, realizing he’d been scratching relentlessly at his skin. He hisses quietly and reaches for his desk, feeling around for his notebook.
His body moves before his brain can even think about a destination, clutching the notebook and a pen as he marches up the stairs of their apartment complex. He breaks open the door to the roof, and shivers because it’s a cold night and he forgot a jacket.
Chan hates the cold, but tonight he doesn’t care.
The roof of the building is wide, with not much going on but pipes and those huge industrial fans. He huffs quietly at the memory of Hyunjin saying that if he put a bed sheet over a fan he could probably fly into the air. It was a ridiculous thought at the time, and it still is, but Chan wonders if he should try it. If he could somehow float all the way back to Australia.
He misses the scenery, the fields, the beach, and the crisp blue sky. He misses the wildlife, he misses the food. He misses playing soccer with his mates. He misses his mom calling him inside for home cooked meals. He misses his dad teaching him how to swim so that he could be one with the sealife. He misses his little sister, who’d force him to dress up and have tea parties. He’s not so sure what Hannah is into now. He misses his little brother, who he barely got to know before he had left. Lucas was just four. He doesn’t even recognise Chan’s voice.
There was one thing for certain, though: everyone he knew in Australia absolutely loved him.
But the world is a lot bigger than Sydney.
He blinks out of his thoughts, and realizes he sat dangling his legs over the ledge of the roof. He startles, because holy shit that’s a long fall, I’m so close to the edge, If I accidentally sway I’m done for , but he can’t stop looking. He’s fascinated by how easy it would be to lean forward and just let go.
He shivers, opens his notebook, and starts writing.
He doesn’t want to die. No, he loves life too much. Though sometimes, the act of living itself is a chore. Sometimes, he stares at the kitchen knife, wondering what it would be like to pierce himself- not with the intention to kill, but to feel . He’s not exactly sure what response he wants to elicit and it’s terrifying.
Wanting and needing are two different things. Maybe this needs to happen, in order to ensure Stray Kid’s success. To make sure that bad things don’t come to them, eliminating the one name that pops up in scandal after scandal.
His.
He started this. He’s got to be the one to finish it. Maybe it is better.
But he doesn’t want to die.
The door swinging open and slamming against the bricks startles him out of his contemplation. He swings his head around, making sure to grip the concrete edge he is sitting off of. The figure is rapidly approaching him and as he squints his eyes against the wind he realizes it’s Jisung.
“What the hell are you doing?”
The man comes to a stop in front of him, looking bewildered, and tired and- scared?
“Why are you on the edge of the roof? You were looking down like… like..”
Chan’s heart plummets at the hurt in Jisung’s voice, but all he can do is shrug and change direction. “What are you doing up? How did you find me?”
Jisung’s cheeks turn a little red. “Well, I had a little nightmare and kinda wanted to cuddle, so I snuck into your room, but you weren’t there!”
Jisung huffs, anger and concern mixing in a way Chan can tell that one emotion is fighting for dominance over the other. “I checked your location and you were still here. And I know you like coming to the roof sometimes, so I expected to see you out here with your puffer jacket watching the stars, not the freakin' pavement!”
Chan chuckles a bit. He doesn’t mean for it to sound hollow, and he realizes his throat is scratchy too.
“C’mon, Hyung, you’re gonna catch a cold at this rate. Let’s get you inside.” Chan wants to get up from the ledge but his limbs won’t cooperate. They feel heavy under the terrified eyes of Jisung and in that moment he just wants to escape that terrible gaze and if he could just lean away from the younger-
“Can you get your legs off the edge for me, Hyung?” Jisungs wavering voice launches out of his chest, like he’s not too sure of anything anymore. He hastily crouches down, and offers Chan his hand. “Please?”
Something in Chan snaps at the soft begging, and he scoots away from the edge, pulling his feet up to the solid roof. He lets out a breath he didn’t register he’d been holding.
He closes his eyes. He was really close.
In moments like that… in moments where he can’t control it, when everything seems burdensome…
He doesn’t want to die. Sometimes, he just wants a way out.
He opens his eyes to look at Jisung, who’s anxiety seems to rise tenfold as fast tears fall from his cheeks. “Let’s get you back to bed, okay, Channie-hyung?”
Chan’s heart rips apart. How dare he do this to Jisung. How dare he let him see him like this, cause him to worry so much he cries. He has to be their pillar. He has to be. He’s crumbling, slipping through like sand in an hourglass, but he has to be.
Chan refuses Jisung’s hand and gets up. Jisung throws his fur coat around Chan, and the older doesn’t protest like he normally would. For once, he just lets things be . He’s so exhausted.
“You know I love you, right? I love you so much.”
The words sound like they’re said underwater, barely reaching Chan’s ears.
I know, he wants to say back. That’s why it hurts so much. All you do is love me, but I don’t even know why. No one ever tells me why.
Chan’s leaning heavily on Jisung until they reach the bedroom, and the younger gently lowers Chan onto the bed sheets and tucks him in tightly. Chan doesn’t have the energy to do anything else but comply. Being in the cold for what felt like hours and then being brought back to warmth is apparently a sure fire way to make sleep knock at your door.
He’s so preoccupied with the sensation of his sheets that he doesn’t realize his notebook is gone.
—------------------
Chan is back in the studio the next day. He’s grateful for Jisung who saw him in the morning and didn’t bring it up, though the younger can’t stop the world of worry shining in his eyes. It’s more of Changbin he’s worried about, who was staring at Chan like he’s trying to make sure he’s real.
So Jisung definitely told him. Great.
At least Hyunjin didn’t know, because he had breezed by Chan with a quick and light, “Good morning hyung!” and slipped out of the dorm for a lesson.
He wonders who else Jisung spilled too. Definitely Minho. He’s not looking forward to that conversation.
But no one has called or texted “we need to talk” so he thinks he’s okay, at least for now. At least he can get some work done. It’s a good distraction. His head doesn’t feel as occupied anymore. He can focus on what's in front of him: the music, the track. He can do that. It feels good.
He closes his eyes and tries to find the missing note of a bridge when the door swings open. He rips his eyelids apart, staring in bewilderment at a red hot Changbin.
“Chan, what the hell is this?”
Chan contorts his face, startled by the lack of honorifics used by his dongsaeng.
“Changbin, you can’t-”
“What is this?”
Changbin throws down Chan’s notebook on the desk, and squints at him. Chan blinks, heart tumbling as he recognizes the black and white notebook.
“Look, I can explain-”
“What is there to explain, Chan? You want to- I mean- you've thought about it this deeply?”
Changbin is practically breathing smoke out of his nose. Chan deliberately exhales, because he hadn’t planned on talking about the lyrics he’d written so soon. Or at all.
“Bin, it’s not what it looks like. This isn’t- it’s not like this is my suicide note, okay? It’s just my thoughts.”
Changbin looks dumbfounded, grabbing Chan's chair and forcing him to face him. “Just the fact that you’ve been thinking about this is serious, Chan! These lyrics are worrying! Do you know how terrifying it was when Jisung violently shook me awake, blubbering that ‘Chan-hyung was gonna throw himself off our building’? How I had to reassure him you wouldn’t leave us? How heart-broken I am that you would even think about making that a reality? And then he gave me the notebook this morning and I just-”
The younger cuts himself off, struggling with his emotions. Chan doesn’t know what to say other than “I’m sorry.”
Changbin shakes his head, tears puddling in his eyes and slipping down his cheeks. “You’ve been doing this martyrdom thing for way too long Chan. I thought we made it clear that if you need help you can always reach out to us?”
Chan nods slowly, his breaths becoming short as Changbin grills him. He knows it’s deserved. Changbin is scared. Hell, Chan is scared. He could’ve accidentally flung himself off a roof, and in front of Jisung no less. He had almost abandoned everything he cared about because of a stupid comment that had sent him spiraling. Changbin has all the reason to be pissed, but Chan’s heart is shattering faster than he can clean up the pieces and soon tears slip from his cheek, a broken sob following after.
Changbin freezes, his expression faltering at Chan’s heaving shoulders. Regret morphs onto his face as he quickly moves towards his leader.
“Hey, Hey, Hey…”
Changbin pulls Chan out of his chair and leads him to the couch behind it, rubbing his back as he pulls the older into a warm and secure embrace. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have burst in and started yelling at you. I’m just really fucking scared. I can’t- we can’t lose you, Chan. But it’s okay… you’re here, so it’s okay.”
Changbin lets Chan calm down in his arms, doing a breathing exercise he’s done with Jisung and he finds mild humor in that it’s now being done with him. Panic attacks are a bitch. He shudders in a breath as Changbin works small circles into his back, squeezing his eyes and grasping onto the younger’s purple sweater.
Breathe, Channie. You can do that.
When Changbin seemingly determines he’s calm enough, he slowly pulls away, trying to look Chan in the eye. He keeps them trained on the ground.
“What happened? Why did you-?”
Changbin swallows, and Chan understands. It’s a hard question to ask. It’s even harder to answer. Chan brings his hands up to his face and Changbin immediately grabs them, forcing Chan to be exposed. To be vulnerable. This is Changbin, he reminds himself. The younger has seen him at his absolute worst, this being one of them. He doesn’t have to answer him. Changbin will let it go if that’s what he truly desires. But he needs to.
“I-” Chan chokes a bit, then collects himself. Changbin lets him take his time, his expression soft and open. “I don’t want to die.”
Silence. Chan’s breaths feel heavy, and he's sure every heave is a loud echo in the room. Still, it feels good to say it outloud, because now he can know deep in his soul that it is true. That yes, he still wants to go on, even when he has awful days like the one before.
It’s the awful days he can’t control that he’s really afraid of.
“I don’t want to die. But sometimes… there’s a lot of thoughts in my head, and some days they’re louder than others.”
He knows being painstakingly slow. He’s forever grateful for Binnie patiently looking like he has all the time in the world. It’s hard to get your feelings out. It’s hard to admit that sometimes- part of your brain just wants to give up. It sucks, but it’s there, and if Chan lets it fester it becomes dominate, destructive. Like it almost did yesterday. It’s arduous , but if Changbin can help…
Chan sniffles, and looks up with what he’s sure is the most pathetic face he’s put on yet.
“They’re really bad, Binnie… they’re awful and I can’t get them to stop. I can only distract myself so much until it comes, and I read that comment again in my mind, and I spiral.”
Changbin freezes his hand on Chan’s arm. If Chan had any energy, he’d slap a hand over his mouth from telling his dongsaeng the one thing he promised himself not to say. He had wanted Changbin and the others to believe this was of his own mind- if they knew he was getting hate like this, they’d worry about him and report it and it would ultimately take time away from what they should be doing.
“What comment?”
Chan looks away, tears stinging in his eyes again. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
Changbin stares at him, the tranquil and considerate expression no longer present. Something dark coats over his eyes. “Chan, please answer me. What comment?”
Chan panics. He jumps up like Changbin has burned him, backing away from the younger on the couch. “It’s nothing, Bin, don’t worry about it.”
There's a roof that's falling on him now, crushing him under the weight of so many comments that he has discovered felt similarly to the Live one, that want him gone , and his head can’t help but supply that they’re right, that he has become so much of a burden that he couldn’t be their pillar anymore, and what was his role, other than that? He’s cracking, slipping, sand in an hourglass-
“Did they… tell you to…?”
Changbin doesn’t have to finish the question before Chan bursts into tears. Changbin’s eyes are alight with pure fury, and he quickly turns on his heel presumably to storm right to JYP’s office and demand a report. Chan collects himself enough to lunge for Changbin’s arm, almost tripping on his chair as he begs the younger not to tell.
“No! This will only punish the group and Stays… delaying comebacks and threatening our success. Please don’t.”
Changbin scowls. “Is that all you care about? Our success? I couldn’t care less about it if there’s someone actively threatening someone that I love.”
Chan holds onto Changbin’s sleeve tighter. “Let it go, it’s just a comment.”
“Clearly it’s one that you shouldn’t be seeing!”
“Changbin. Please.” Chan’s voice is so small it’s barely recognizable.
Changbin relents, letting out a frustrated sigh and falling back on the couch.
“Fine. I’ll let it go. But you need help, Chan- hyung. Please promise me you’ll get help.”
Chan bristles. Getting help would mean admitting there’s something wrong, and while he’s not okay, he can’t be broken , be so far gone that he needs to be professionally seen- over a measly little comment, no less. He’s not that bad. He’s not- he can’t be. He’s an Idol, he can be let go at any time, so he must be perfect. It’ll take time away from his schedules, from Stray Kids-
“Chan!” Changbin’s hands are grasping his, warm thumbs applying a nice pressure over his knuckles. “It’s okay to need help. It doesn’t make you broken. It doesn’t mean you can’t be an idol. It just means you want the thoughts to stop, right? This can help it stop.”
“Why do you want me?”
He blurts the question out, not thinking and regretting it as soon as it passes over his lips. He can’t pretend he didn’t say it, because Changbin’s bewildered look is concrete proof that there's no going back. He steels himself, and wonders if Changbin even has an answer. If he can finally fill the missing gap and confirm that he’s actually worth something.
He’s also absolutely petrified at the idea of Changbin drawing a blank, too.
“What?”
“Why am I important? What do I bring to Stray Kids? Everyone’s telling me to do things, but no one ever tells me why. Why do you love me?”
Changbin’s face crinkles with a sympathetic anguish that makes bile rise to the back of Chan’s throat.
“I don’t need a reason to love you. I just do. You exist, and I love you as you exist. There’s nothing you could do to make me love you less. I just love you. That’s all.”
Chan winces, unsatisfied, though he tries not to show Changbin. “Oh.”
“I might not have a reason to love you, but I do have a plethora of reasons why we need you.”
Chan shuts his mouth, and listens.
“The team would be in shambles without you. I don’t think you realize how big of a role you play in our group- not just as a leader but as our brother . Not only would we lose our amazing and talented producer, arranger, and vocalist, but Jeongin wouldn’t have anyone to go with him to that one ramen shop only the two of you like. Seungmin wouldn’t have the only person who knows even a lick of baseball to watch games with him anymore. Lixie wouldn’t have his home away from home, yapping about whatever you two used to do in Australia. You know he’d be miserable, just like you were without him. Jisung wouldn’t have his hero or his karaoke buddy, or anyone that can keep up with his energy long past the rest. Hyunjin would’ve lost the only person who’d be willing to pose for his portraits for hours without complaining. Lino wouldn’t have his only hyung, and an excuse to make Lamington ‘cause you're the only one who likes it. I wouldn’t have my best friend and my confidant who I trust more than anyone in this world. Seriously, Chan, if you ask me to jump I’ll only say how high. Plus, who else would humble you at bowling? Most importantly, without you we wouldn’t have Stray Kids. It’s 8 or nothing. If you had… we would've disbanded. We’re not doing anything without you, Hyung.”
Chan’s sobbing uncontrollably, but in a good way now, in a way that’s released the tension that’s been in his mind for too damn long. The reassurance Changbin brings soaks into his skin and he lets it invade his heart, his body feeling lighter than it had in months.
Changbin’s right. Of course he is. He remembers all the little moments he’s described. He remembers Jeongin’s laughter. Felix’s smile. Hyunjin’s teasing. All because of him. All for him. He is a part of their good memories too.
Chan is Stray Kids. Stray Kids are his reason, and if they are here to stay, then so is he. He’s going to try and remember that more often.
Still, he knows this euphoria is fleeting. He knows that the thoughts haven’t completely gone away, and they won’t, because Rome wasn’t built in a day. They’ll be back with a vengeance, and that worries him beyond words.
“How about this- I’m gonna call Jisung, and Minho-hyung for good measure. I’m gonna call them, and we’re all going to talk about this. Then, we’re gonna talk to the rest, because they need to know what’s going on too.”
Chan looks hesitant about this, and Changbin gently touches his thigh. “They can handle it. It won’t change a thing about how they see you. We can be your pillars, too.”
Chan still doesn’t say anything, too appreciative of Changbin and this moment. So thankful that he had his family right by his side- that he’d never feel the cold embrace of being alone again.
“We will get through this. You will get through this. You are so strong.”
Changbin pulls Chan into his chest, planting a kiss on top of his toffee curly hair. “Thank you for being our rock. Thank you for wanting to be here. Thank you for staying.”
Chan knows that awful days are going to come, like the yin and yang of life will always predict, but in this moment, he feels like he can conquer them. No, he knows he can.
—------------------
Weeks later after their collective talk and properly seeking a therapist, Jisung presents his own lyrics to Chan. Turns out Changbin had written some too, and they cry together in their little studio room over shared struggles and unspoken despair.
Time’s beautiful cocoon transforms their lyrics into a full fledged song, one filled with an awful hopelessness. However, another side presents itself.
You can move forward and overcome it.
He hopes Stays will listen and find strength. He hopes they’ll listen and know deep in their heart that someone out there shares their experience, and that they are never truly alone.
He knows he isn’t.