Chapter Text
Atychiphobia
/əˌtɪk.ɪˈfəʊ.bi.ə/
noun
The intense fear of failure.
Chan closed his eyes with a sigh. His entire body ached from his progressively degrading posture, the kind that made you feel like you had Münchmeyer’s disease, slowly turning your muscle into bone. Another re-recording session went to waste as he only completed half of the lines that he wanted to get through. Everyone else was done. Their perfect vocals and raps only taking three or four takes, never straining like he did. He just wanted to meet his own standards, was that so hard to do? He wanted to be like the rest of his members. Because he wasn’t the one to bring Stays in, he wasn’t the visual, have impressive raps or vocals, he wasn’t… anyone important. He was just a composer. Even though the rest of 3RACHA were extremely talented, especially with rapping, he could barely get through the rap in S-Class without lagging behind.
Drowning down his usual unproductivity in coffee, he sat back on his uncomfortable chair to listen to the recordings again. The caffeine was practically digging his future grave already. His older friends like Young-Hyun always told him that it was because of his ‘lack of sleep’ and ‘addiction to work’. But he personally thinks that if he gets it all done now, he can spend the next couple of days hanging out with the rest of his group and having a good time. Chan muttered a curse under his breath, but he was grateful that he didn’t have to work as much as he did during their trainee days. But the album was supposed to be released in a month, and fans were spreading the news over Twitter and Instagram like crazy, even seeing some amazing fanart based off of the teasers. All the preset songs that he was going to use didn’t fit the rest of the concept well, and he desperately wanted to change his vocals so that he would have less line distribution. Then he only needed to think less about how much he was screwing everything up.
His stance was stiff as he cracked his back, grabbing his laptop as he walked out to go find the others. His phone pinged with notifications from his group members, pictures as they shared pictures of a new K-Barbeque place that recently opened downtown. It was pretty popular, with a 4.7/5 star average, and apparently they also had a small buffet. It looked delicious, his eyes immediately jumping to the marinated beef, before starting to wander over at the plates of uncooked meat and dishes. His gaze lingered at the japchae and tteokbokki, his stomach feeling empty as he reminded himself yet again that he needed to eat a proper meal.
He set his phone down as a frown slowly casted over his face. They knew that he wanted to go out with them to the buffet, why hadn’t they told him to come over? He read past text messages, seeing if he missed anything from the group chat. But they hadn’t spoken in the chat for over a week or so until tonight. It was always like they had another group chat without him, which he didn’t mind since they also had their unit chats, but it always gave him a sense of unease. Like he wasn’t worthy of their attention, or worse, they thought he didn’t care about them.
He hadn’t even realised that he was just standing in the middle of the studio contemplating until Young-Hyun tapped on the door frame three times. A slow, rhythmic pattern of rolling knuckles, the exact pattern that everyone used to get his attention. A set of three clicks, or knocking on the door three times. It was always a set of 3 that felt like an awful noise which gave him a chill down his spine. They were normal noises, something that most people did to make their presence known, but he hated it. It wasn’t for any particular reason, just like how Changbin didn’t sleep without his Munchlax that he named Gyu. This mind simmered the noise down to the back of his mind as he turned to face his former roommate.
“Channie-ah” Young-Hyun’s voice was rich, you could hear the ring of the bass swirling with the higher pitches even after he finished his sentence. Chan could understand why so many people biased Young-Hyun. His dark hair dusted over his face lightly, the dim lamps inside the studio not doing his features enough justice, but still looking stunning as always.
“Why aren’t you in bed yet? It’s almost 1am– where are the others?”
The question hung in the air like a threat. Even if it came from a place of concern for his wellbeing, it still felt intruding and personal, almost like an interrogation. For a brief moment, the room stilled into an unwelcoming silence. The world outside spun as usual, the rain pattering on the window like a pattern, but the studio was quiet, the usual tapping of the keyboard, the mic’s soft buzzing as it recorded nothing but white noise, it was all gone as the question hung loosely in the air.
“Ah, Hyung. The others are out at the K-Barbeque I told you about, I’m just waiting to make sure they all get back safely. I thought I might as well fix up my lines in the process.” The lie slipped past his lips smoothly. A little too easily for him to be comfortable with himself, it was almost disgusting.
“Mm, well make sure to get some sleep, yeah? By the looks of their Insta posts, it doesn’t seem like they’re coming home any time soon.” Young-Hyun turned his phone around, showing his seven kids doing completely random poses. He let out a breathless laugh, flabbergasted that they had thought it was a good idea to post that photo, especially since Chan would get a berating from their manager about ‘idol image’ and all that. He would be lying if he said that he didn’t mind. Because that’s all he was nowadays.
A liar.
A simple nod sufficed as an answer. Putting his laptop inside a tote bag instead of dangerously carrying it in one hand. After all, the next 10 years worth of JYPE’s profit relied on that laptop. Jeongin was probably going to be getting home late anyways, and he wasn’t a kid anymore. Chan didn’t need to watch over his every move… like he seemed to have been the past few days. He had become increasingly self aware over his relationship with the rest of the kids. Sure, he was their leader, their mentor, their Hyung, but something about bonding with them, connecting with them, desperately trying to keep them together was exhausting. They all simply seemed to get along better without him, and the photo was evidence of that.
Chan couldn’t deny that Minho was a great Hyung. Sure, he was a little harsh, but the kindness and sincerity was there underneath all the prickly exterior. He was playful, outgoing. Paid for everyone's food, except Seungmin’s apparently, and always put their safety and comfort before his teasing. Minho drew the group together with his choreo, helped Lix learn Korean in exchange for English, and his kids were perfect without him slowing them down. He couldn’t hold his place against that… even if everyone told him he was doing great.
Minho should have been the leader. Minho would have handled everything better compared to him, there was no way that he could continue holding the group together. Not when Chan could barely stop himself from combusting every time he retook the recording.
Chan wasn’t good enough. No matter how much he practiced, no matter how many times he tried to learn a new technique, a new way of doing things… he couldn’t do it. It just wasn’t possible. He could hear voice cracks everywhere, his dancing was sloppy… he honestly couldn’t do anything right. He just wanted to be good enough for the kids. Because the kids were all that mattered to him, not the company, not his health. His kids. Because his kids were his world.
His eyes lingered at the ridiculous amounts of shampoo that sat along the cupboard behind the mirror. Healing took time, patience and will. Destruction was so much easier. Faster. Lying was so much easier than the truth, and oh how Chan just wanted a moment of freedom where he could be honest without bearing the weight of the entire company resting on him. Because lies slipped out easier than the truth did. Of course, it was a dull and boring saying, that the lies are comforting and the truth hurts. But Chan couldn’t bring himself to burden his kids any further, could he? After all, Hyunjin was drawing, Changbin was working out, and Jeongin was doing whatever vlog he was currently filming. No. He needed to keep working so that his fellow group members could live comfortably. And despite everything, Chan didn’t want anything else other than reality folding on itself so that he could finally succumb to the eternal corners of the universe.
When Chan finally posted some random message on Bubble about the weather, he wondered if the weather really did impact his mood. Then again, he wouldn’t know considering he has spent the last three days locked up in his room desperately trying to hold himself together as nothing happened the way they were supposed to. All the recordings were done, he just needed to edit everything on his laptop, which retreated to the safety of his private ‘dormroom’ for. And the worst part? None of the kids had come to check up on him.
Sure, they knew that he was often left to his own devices in his, but occasionally Felix would come give him some Jjajjangmyeon, or Minho would barge into the room and come to him all exasperated that he was tired of taking care of the kids and demanded his help. He silently prayed that he hadn't actually spent three days by himself, and maybe only 5 hours and that's why nobody has come in yet. Or they did come in but he was sleeping. That has to be it, why else would he be alone for ‘three’ days straight? Hell even the manager or a security member would have found him and dragged him off to training by now. Did nobody really care if he was there or not? Surely their dance instructor would have seen him missing by now, or the fact that he hadn’t been online except to entertain the fans once to show that he was still alive.
Do they really not care enough for him to be left alone? He checked the date. It had indeed not been three days. No, it had been five. Five days where he was left alone. For five days he was slowly turning into mould and becoming one with his bed. Did they actually forget about him? Considering there hasn’t been a single call, a single message that asked if he was here from any one of them, there hadn’t been a message left at all. He was left feeling vaguely hollow inside. Like an empty memory that just doesn’t feel quite the same as it did when you were a kid.
In Australia, all primary schools had some common sayings that would go around to teach the little ones some manners. Some of them were simple, like ‘you get what you get and you don’t get upset,’ or ‘no hat, no play.’ In fact, the ‘no hat, no play’ was so common that kids ended up sticking ‘no school today, so pack your bags and run away’ at the end of it. But the one that stuck with people the most was:
‘Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.’
He thinks it’s because it was followed by two random people who did some miming and acted in front of the whole school, but something else in that saying was just a key memory for him. But even though it was a core and defining memory, even it faded at the edges, dark and gloomy despite the fact that it was probably a sunny day like no other in Australia. But Chan was left thinking about the words that were left unsaid. Everything that was left behind in the wind, but never properly said. Perhaps they were held back by polite respect. Or maybe by something more sinister, like trying to prevent themselves from being scolded. But all those words left unsaid also made him worry. Made him actually think about everything that he has said to them, every critique, every word. Every word he didn’t say but he thought. Because it wasn’t really about the words that mattered. It was about the person.
You're getting desperate.