Chapter Text
Friday
The day started as it always did. Chan dragged his eyes open at 9am, honestly early by his standard considering he didn’t crawl into bed but a few hours earlier. He considered rolling over and trying to go back to sleep, but even thinking about trying to sleep was enough to wake his brain up and start it whirring like a machine with unfinished, overwhelming thoughts. He knew on days like this, days where each thought and idea came before the other one has even finished, that sleep wouldn’t come until he’d worked himself to exhaustion.
He technically should be resting ... on vacation and relaxing. Now that travel restrictions had been lifted and the city was slowly returning to normal, they were given real time off to go home. No schedules for 14 days in a row. No one was expecting them back until next week. As soon as word came through of their time off, everyone fucked off to see their families. Travel to Australia was still restricted, so Chan and Felix were stuck, but Felix had gone with Changbin to their family's cabin. Chan, not wanting to impose, chose to stay behind.
Chan had been alone now for over a week. He’d of course shared texts and video calls, but he missed the noise and bustle of the group of them in the dorms. He missed the random cuddles and passing touches. His skin was itchy and tingly from the lack of contact. Felix and Changbin could tell something was up a few days ago when they talked. He could tell he wasn’t keeping it together like he normally would, keeping up the facade of being fine, but honestly, he was lonely. He had gotten a text from Changbin the next day telling him that everyone was planning on returning Friday so that they could spend the weekend together before schedules started on Monday.
Changbin should be here soon if he isn’t already. Chan vaguely remembered a text from him the night before about the others' arrival time. Chan groaned and looked at his phone.
Friday 9:17am
He had a meeting with one of the managers at 10. Kim Aera, the newest manager to join their team, mid-pandemic. She was firm, but kind with Chan. And maybe he was projecting, but her maternal energy was soothing and she seemed to recognize his tendency to overwork himself. She was an older woman, never an idol herself, but a shrewd businesswoman and she handled most of their publicity and often ran interference between Chan and the other managers if needed. He’d wished she’d been around pre-debut, during the Survival show - maybe things would have been different - but she only just joined them in the past year and Chan was immensely grateful. He had a good relationship with all of the managers and employees at JYP. He’d been around long enough and was extroverted enough that people knew him and seemed to like him at least to his face. And he probably got away with a lot more shit than most pre-debut and even debuted idols would get away with. He’d become an integral part of the production team and did a lot for the company so as much as he wanted to keep the company happy, the company wanted to keep Chan around. He was, essentially, very good for business. Aera joined on as the manager for their social media, publicity appointments and managed most of their schedules. She kept the other managers in line when they asked too much and Chan was too much of a work-a-holic to say no, so she said no for him, often without him even knowing about it.
Chan rolled himself up to standing. His arms and upper back were tight from working out last night, well, this morning - his last ditch effort to tire out his brain. Despite a hot shower, he could still smell the chlorine in his hair from the lap pool he spent an hour and a half in. He shook his head, running a hand through his curls- he went to sleep with it wet, so his curls were fluffed up and unruly. He ended up staring at his reflection for a few minutes in the bathroom mirror before he finally muttered a soft, ‘fuck it’ under his breath and dunked his head under the faucet. The water was cold and any remnants of sleep left him. He roughly ran his fingers through his hair, letting his curls fall where they would. Good enough.
9:57am
That’s what time his phone said by the time he made it to the studio. It was weird that his manager wanted to meet in his studio. She had texted him a few days ago to set it up, but it never appeared on his official shared schedule. It was less unusual to be meeting with Aera alone, she often met with Chan to go over schedules for them as a group and individual schedules for each member, but the location choice and unofficial nature was odd. He mentally shrugged assuming it was something quick and easy.
“Aera-nim,” he gave a half bow and an easy smile as he entered. They had grown quite familiar with each other and normally Aera would have smiled fondly at him, but today her expression was grim. Chan went to close the door, but froze at Aera’s first words to him.
“We need to talk.”
Uh-oh.
“Ah, is everything okay?” His smile dropped. Aera was sitting in his computer chair, one leg crossed over the other, hands lightly resting on her knee. Chan had a fleeting thought that he was so grateful he had deep-cleaned the studio as a means to burn off energy last night. She gestured to the seat across from her and he gingerly sat, annoyed at how his legs seemed to scream at him. He really should be swimming more if this was how sore he was going to be after. He briefly realized the door was still partially cracked, but decided he was too sore to stand back up to close it.
Aera took a deep breath, “No.” She pushed a file towards him. It was a stark and crisp yellow folder. The kind that important documents were carried in by business people. He could see white paper stacked inside. Enough papers that the crease of the folder was kinked and he could just make out the edges of words on the first sheet. His eyebrows crinkled in confusion, cocking his head to one side he reached out and flipped the folder open.
He froze.
His blood running cold as empty, gray eyes stared up at him from the first page. Reflexively, he closed the folder and pushed it back towards her roughly, ignoring how the papers tumbled and scattered across the desk, “what is this?” he ground out between clenched teeth. There was a sudden pounding in his ears and he felt as if someone had ripped a hole into the very center of his chest.
“A confession.” She carefully rearranged the documents, her acrylic nails clacking against the desktop as she pushed the papers back into the semblance of an ordered stack, “signed by Baek himself.”
A pause.
“Did you read it?”
“Yes.”
Chan closed his eyes at her confession, feeling the bottomless pit in his stomach expanding more and more, despair suddenly threatening to consume him. He cleared his throat, trying to keep the panic at bay, “was I -” his voice faltered, “was I mentioned?” He allowed himself to make eye contact with her and he knew her answer before she even spoke the affirmation.
“I’m so sorry, Chan-ah.”
“What - what does he want?” He tried to make himself take deep breaths, in - two - three - four, out -two - three - four. In and out, slow and study, anything to prevent himself from falling into the pit below his feet.
Aera cleared her throat and opened the folder again, picking it up so all Chan saw was the back of white paper, “actually, nothing. He was … caught … with another boy,” Chan flinched at the word, hating the insinuation, “not an idol, a student he was giving voice lessons too,” Chan nodded along, the situation sounding awfully familiar, “the student and his family pressed charges and during the investigation, evidence of his other ….” she paused, unsure what word to use, “evidence of his other crimes,” she finished, “ surfaced in the form of videos and photographs.”
Chan nodded again, hoping he was schooling his face into an expression of indifference. He had already played his hand at his initial reaction, but maybe he could still salvage this. Still be the unaffected, cool, calm and collected leader. He clenched his jaw, trying to control his breathing, “right, hm, hm,” he managed to emote before letting his chin drop to his chest. His vision was suddenly fuzzy and with a startled oh, he felt moisture rolling down his cheeks. How fucking pathetic. He forced himself to take another deep breath and wiped them away aggressively with the back of his hand, “right, so what’s next?” He looked up, but didn’t think he could handle the pitying look on his manager's face, so looked straight ahead at his computer screen that he hadn’t even turned on yet, but then all he could see was his reflection - dark, haunted eyes, a forced smile - disgusted he looked away and just stared down at his fists clenched in his lap.
“Chan,” her voice was soft, “the group…?”
“I know, the optics will look bad.”
“That’s not what I mean, Chan,”
He ignored her and plowed on, because as long as he was planning, running through every worst-case scenario and best-case scenario and far-fetched scenario, as long as he was prepared, he didn’t have to think about anything else he didn’t have to think about - , “No, no, when this comes out … it’ll be a scandal. A sexual assault allegation-”
She cut him off, “it’s not an allegation, Chan.”
“I know,” he answered probably more sharply than he intended to, “I know what happened and what my part in it was and I know how this will affect the group.”
“‘You’re part in-’” she cut herself off, sounding indignant and shocked, almost annoyed at what he was saying, “Chan you were the -.”
“I know.” He didn’t actually mean to raise his voice, but he couldn’t handle hearing what she was about to say, that he was vic - nope. No you aren’t. He rested his elbows on his knees, dropping his forehead onto the tops of his interlaced fingers, his thumbs pressing the bridge of his nose, “I know,” he said it softer this time, his voice wavering. Unbidden, his knees started bouncing and he suddenly had a desire to move or he was going to implode. He got to his feet and started pacing, running a hand through his hair, undoing all the work he did on it this morning.
“Chan-ah,” Aera said his name again, “Please sit back down,” he ignored her and did another lap around the room, stopping to fiddle with his bag, pulling out his laptop as she continued, “we have some time to make a plan. I received this information as a courtesy from a friend so that we could prepare with how we wanted to go forward. We will do everything in the company’s power to prevent this information from coming out, but if it goes public, we have a few weeks and honestly nothing might come of it, your name may be buried in the information and somebody would have to be looking for it, but if it does and the media runs a story, we - you - should be prepared with how you want to handle it.” Chan heard everything she was saying, but was certainly not processing it, “you should start by telling your group. They deserve to know. They will feel the effects of this too and you -” she grabbed his wrist gently, stopping his pacing. She guided him back to his seat, “you deserve to have their support through this.”
“No one was ever supposed to know,” he looked her square in the face, hating the way his voice broke, “no one.”
She sighed, leaning forward she placed a hand on his knee, “you shouldn’t deal with this alone. Tell your boys, take the weekend off, we’ll meet Monday to come up with a game plan, okay?”
Chan nodded. She gathered her papers, giving him one last sad look before leaving. The door closed with an audible click leaving him in silence.
----
Changbin and Felix arrived to an empty dorm.
“I am … not shocked,” Felix joked as he plopped down on the couch. He immediately pulled out his phone to scroll tiktok as Changbin carried their bags into their shared room.
“I texted him yesterday to tell him when we’d be here.” Changbin was talking more to himself than to Felix, “work-a-holic,” he muttered. He could tell when they talked to Chan last that he was spiraling. Not in a dramatic depressive episode, but in a touch-starved, extrovert-who-has-been-alone-for-too-long way. Chan didn’t handle down time well. His brain was always moving too quickly and if he let himself rest, he’d get stuck in his own head in a bad way. He always tried to cover it up and maybe everyone else bought it, but he and Jisung had known him for too long and could see right through him.
So when Chan’s overly affectionate texts increased in frequency and the bags under his eyes grew bigger and bigger every time they video chatted, Changbin knew it was time to come home. He enjoyed his time off, but he was ready to get back to his friends. Chan’s bed was unmade, but otherwise the dorm was pristine - Chan often waffled between being chaotically messy and immaculately clean and there was no in between. It seemed while Changbin was away that he had settled on immaculately clean - he was pretty sure even the windows had been wiped down.
He dropped his bags on his bed, leaving them unpacked to be dealt with later, and left for the studio. Felix was passed out on the couch, phone still gripped in his hand. He didn’t really have anything pressing to work on, but it was always fun working when it was just him and Chan. He wished Jisung was there with them, but he wasn’t expected to be back until later this afternoon. They spent a lot of time together and worked well - back and forth between side-splitting laughter and deep conversations. It took some time to work out their kinks, and they certainly used to fight a lot (Changin was kind of an asshole back then and Chan was cold and standoffish), but now they just - work. Even when they have disagreements they now know how to work through things - when it came to how Chan was feeling, he was a bottler - he is very focused when he works and can come across as stern - if he is upset or angry, he keeps it buried deep, deep inside, marinating on it until it eats him alive or he literally explodes with a sharp, biting comment. Changbin is mouthy and quick to voice his anger or annoyance and he prodded - constantly. If he sensed even a bit of negative energy coming from Chan, he poked and prodded until Chan exploded at him and then they had a heated, angry argument. They eventually learned each other's quirks and those days of intense fights were far behind them.
Changbin glanced at his phone.
10:01 am
He trudged through the hallways, nodding and exchanging polite hello’s with the few people he saw. It seemed all of the idol groups were given time off which meant the building was scarcely populated. He could see Chan’s studio up ahead, the door very slightly ajar, light on. As he approached he heard Chan’s distinct voice cut through the silence of the now empty hallway, “right, so what’s next?” Changbin paused. Chan’s voice sounded … strained. It was the fake cheery, optimistic voice he uses when he’s trying to keep things light and positive, for the people around him or for himself. The way he heard his voice hitch at the end as if fighting back tears made him suspicious that it was for himself who he was trying to convince that everything was fine.
Changbin reached for the door handle and froze, hand extended.
“Chan,” her voice was soft, “the group…?” That was Aera-nim.
“I know, the optics will look bad.”
“That’s not what I mean, Chan,”
Something in Changbin’s stomach turned.
“No, no, when this comes out … it’ll be a scandal. A sexual assault allegation-”
“It’s not an allegation, Chan.”
“I know,” Changbin flinched at how sharply Chan answered, “I know what happened and what my part in it was and I know how this will affect the group.”
Changbin had heard enough. He turned sharply away from the door and started walking. Sexual assault allegations - he felt nauseous, a blinding white rage boiling in his stomach. He understood everything he heard, but somehow nothing of what he heard made any sense. He made it to the end of the hall before he froze in place, contemplating turning around - maybe he misheard, maybe there was more to the story.
It’s not an allegation, Chan.
I know.
Not an allegation , meaning whatever the story was it was true. He heard Chan admit it.
It’ll be a scandal. A sexual assault allegation.
It’s not an allegation, Chan.
I know.
A sexual assault allegation - not an allegation - Chan admitted it. He heard him.
I know. He could hear Chan’s voice in his head over and over again, admitting it. He did it. Not an allegation.
I know.
Changbin’s hands were trembling at his sides. He clenched his jaw, feeling his temper rising the longer he stood there. He should go back. He should confront him, but he was frozen in place. His ragged breaths were the only sound in the hallway.
“Changbin-ah?”
Changbin jerked out of his stupor and whipped around, the bag that was slung on his shoulder swinging wildly at his fast movement.
“Ah - Changbin, what are you doing here?” It was Aera.
“Aera-nim.” He bowed, “just got back, coming to work.”
Aera smiled at him and started to walk past him as if in a hurry, “don’t work too hard, Changbin-ssi.” He bowed again as she walked past him. He watched her go, a yellow folder tucked under harm. He stared after her until she disappeared into the elevator at the end of the hallway. As he heard the elevator close with a soft ding, he followed, a sudden urge to get out of the building as fast as he could overtaking him.
---–
Chan sat frozen.
The silence around him was both comforting and suffocating. He could feel his nails digging into the palms of the hands, fists clenched tight. The pain was grounding. He forced his hands apart, crescent moons dug into his palms. He pressed his thumb nail into his pointer finger until it stung. Using the pain it caused to keep the panic in his chest at bay. He moved on to his middle finger, then his ring finger and then his pinky. Over and over again, digging his nail in, gently rocking forward and back, his breaths coming in faster and faster and ragged. The compulsive, repetitive motion should have been soothing as he dug his nail in harder with each pass. The pain should have been relieving, but instead his vision was going dark and it occurred to him as he stumbled forward out of his chair that he was having a panic attack.
He landed hard on his knees, his palms flat on the ground. Vaguely, he noticed the floor was cold under his sore hands - his fingertips and palms aching. Time was suddenly relative and he had no idea how long he stayed in that position, on his hands and knees, his breath coming in quicker and quicker, the edges of his vision going darker and darker. He felt moisture leaking, unbidden, down his cheeks, but he had no energy to move to wipe the tears away.
He’s not sure if he fell asleep or passed out, but he became aware of himself slowly. He was laying on his side now, his cheek cold against the ground. He could see dust accumulated with the wires of the computers and equipment running under the desk. I should have cleaned better yesterday was the first coherent thought he had. His hands were limp, stretched out in front of him. There was a dull ache coming from his hands and through his blurry eyes, he could see the dried blood along his fingertips.
Oh.
He hadn’t done that in awhile. When did he do that? The time between Aera leaving and now was gone from his memory.
He was exhausted. Bone-deep. Exhausted. He thought about just laying there. Wasting away. He let his eyelids drift halfway close, let his vision blur until all he could make out was vague shapes and shadows. Maybe if he laid here long enough someone would find him. Changbin or Minho maybe, bundle him up in a comforting hug, wash and treat the wounds on his hands gently and lead him back to the dorm to sleep. There was part of him that wanted nothing more than that, but at the same time was also horrified at the weakness he would show. Raw and undone. He couldn’t do that to them. Have to be better. Have to be stronger.
He rolled himself up to his hands and knees and then dragged himself into the computer chair. Ignoring the way his palms and fingers stung with the contact of the hard plastic.
His entire body ached.
1:22 pm
That’s what his phone said when he dug it out of his pocket. He must have passed out. He couldn’t imagine himself using the floor as a place to take a nap. As a chronic bad-sleeper, the floor certainly wasn’t a good option. Where was Changbin? He certainly should have been there by now. Maybe he saw how pathetic I looked, passed out bleeding on the floor and left me there . He shook the unbidden thought from his head. No, Changbin wouldn’t do that. He looked at his phone again.
1:37pm.
How is time moving so fast?
There were no notifications on his phone. Even the group chat was empty. Not terribly unusual given that everyone was traveling. You should start by telling your group. They deserve to know. They will feel the effects of this too. Aera’s voice in his head reminded him how this day started. He felt nausea building up again and took a deep breath, fighting the panic. He typed out a quick message, ignoring the way his thumbs stung.
Chan: Hey guys, hope everyone is traveling safely. Can we have a team meeting at 7 tonight? Will everyone be back by then?
He hit send without thinking much of it and put his phone away. He needed to do something or the panic he could feel bumbling up was going to overtake him again. Chan went through the motions of turning the desktop on, pulling out his laptop, hooking up his headphones and microphone. He could at least expend this anxious energy into something useful.
So useless.
Chan shook his head and opened up the most recent file he was working on and just stared at it. His brain was buzzing and he couldn’t focus on the screen in front of him.
Baek Sung-ho’s hands gripped his shoulders in a masquerade of a tender, supportive grip, but he could feel the downward pressure applied, keeping Chan stuck in his chair. Fingers digging into tender shoulder joints, “how do you ever expect to debut with vocals like this?” They were listening to recordings Chan had made over the weekend. One of the tasks he had given himself to prove his worth. Chan let his head drop, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill at the pain and harsh words, “Enough,” Sung-ho’s hand came around to roughly grip his jaw, forcing his head up. Chan swallowed deeply, hating the way his thumb dug into the side of his face, his hand just ghosting over his throat.
His other hand came out to gently brush the tears away that had fallen.
Chan’s shoulder slumped, “I’m sorry, Sung-ho-hyung.” Sung-ho always liked when Chan called him hyung and it seemed to work this time too.
He released his grip on Chan’s face and crouched down next to him, “Chan you’re 14 years old. Too old for such emotional outbursts.” A hand was placed gently on his thigh, rubbing affectionately. Chan sat very still, “you have such a beautiful face, you know,” Sung-ho reached out with his other hand and gently gripped Chan’s chin, turning his face from side to side, “Do as I say and I can make that pretty face an idol face,” Chan felt a thumb gently brush over his bottom lip that he knew was stuck out in a soft pout. Sung-ho sighed, pulling away, “Come, let’s hear the next one.” Sung-ho took his place behind Chan’s chair again, hands gently laid on his shoulders.
Chan lurched forward with a gasp, jumping to his feet and turning around with a flail. The chair slowly rolled to a stop, bumping into the couch on the other side of the room. The feeling of phantom hands were still on him. He shuddered, one arm wrapping around his stomach, other hooking up around his neck, hugging himself - a sad attempt to self-soothe, mind still reeling with the flashback. He realized then that he needed to get out of the studio and quickly. He didn’t even bother shutting the programs down - he turned off the desktop monitor, closed the laptop before shoving it in his bag and bolted out of the studio.
4:27 pm
That’s the time the clock in the locker room said as he walked in. He had put a mask on and a hat to cover his face, but the chances of being recognized here were slim. He was in the business district of downtown - a 20 min walk from the dorms and a 15 min walk from the JYP office. This area was all offices and very high-end hotels. This hotel, in particular, was frequented by international business types and celebrities alike. While the front entrance to the hotel was bright and well-lit and crowded, there was a back alley that backed up to a back entrance that Chan could get to by going down a few less well-lit side streets. Aera, annoyed with Chan’s constant need to be out and about, made an arrangement with this hotel so that he could use the pool. It was a large lap pool in the basement of the hotel. 6 lanes. 50 meters. A 12-foot-deep end with diving blocks. It was perfect. Chan started swimming once or twice a week over the past year once he realized how much it helped with his anxiety levels. The back entrance had a few security guards that spent most of their time reading or listening to music. Chan knew all of them by name, but the one he could see leaning against the wall by the door was one that Chan would often stop and have a friendly conversation with. Chan wasn’t totally sure if the guard knew who he was, but they had formed a nice friendship - often Chan’s workouts were cut in half because they spent so much time talking and joking before Chan even made it inside.
Chan barely made it to the man's wide, heavily muscled shoulders. He had dark brown skin and very distinct round features. He was handsome in a non-traditional way and quite intimidating until he smiled a big, toothy smile at him.
“Chan!” He spoke Korean, but it was accented, one Chan couldn’t place.
“Too-mah,” he immediately put a smile on his face. Always smile. You’re fine. But he could tell it didn’t hold his normal cheer. They exchanged a quick handshake into a half hug.
Too-mah’s hand slapped him affectionately on the back.
“You’re early today, Chan.”
Chan shrugged in response, “needed a break.”
“Aaah, good for you, you work too hard.” Chan smiled, but didn’t have the energy to keep up the banter, Too-mah, always perceptive, smiled at him, “have a good swim.”
Chan looked down at his phone as he changed in the locker room into his swim trunks. Felix and Minho both reacted with a thumbs up to his message, but the rest of the group chat was quiet. He had sent Changbin a text asking if he had made it home but got no response. Weird. He tried to shake it off. He slipped on plastic pool shoes and walked through the open showers. He did a quick rinse, grabbed his cap and goggles and slipped into the water.
The first thing they teach you in therapy to reduce anxiety is deep breathing. Chan was terrible at it, mostly because by the time he thought about doing it, he was so far into panic and anxiety, it didn’t matter, he was too far gone. So swimming was great - because he couldn’t hyperventilate when he had to breathe every 3-5 strokes. And he could get lost in the water. He felt light weight and clean and free. It took him back to a simpler time in his life and reminded him of home. He lost track of time and by the time he pulled himself out of the pool, arms trembling, chest heaving, it was nearing 630.
“Shit,” he muttered softly to himself. He rinsed off, forgoing another full shower, changed, ran his suit through the automated spin-dryer and bolted out. Too-mah was still standing outside the door. Chan exchanged a brief goodbye before pulling the baseball cap over his wet curls and pulling his mask on. He tugged his jacket around himself a little tighter, the cooling evening air biting through his clothes. He was going to regret not drying his hair, but the adrenaline rush of being late on top of the two hours of intense exercise was enough to actually have him feeling okay. He could do this. He could get past this. He would tell his group, they would understand and forgive him, nothing would change. It wouldn’t be like last time he told someone.
6:54 pm
Even as he repeated those words in his head, he could feel his breath quickening. He decided to blame it on the fast pace he was walking. At this point, unless he ran, he was going to be late, but it was fine. The chaos he imagined happening in the dorms right now with everyone coming back was surely enough to keep them distracted by his tardiness.
–
1:37pm
Jisung watched Changbin pace through the kitchen with a growing level of agitation. Felix was sitting tucked into the corner of the couch, tears silently streaming down his cheeks, but making no effort to clear them away. Minho sat across from him, face stoney and closed off.
“Tell me again.” Jisung demanded.
“I just don’t believe it.” Felix’s tears were angry tears, heartbroken tears, tears of betrayal, “there’s no way he would have done something like that. Not after -,”
“I heard him admit it.” Changbin stopped his pacing, rounding on the three of them, “He said - , he admitted it wasn’t an allegation - which means he did it. He’s guilty.” Changbin’s hands were trembling as he stopped to lean closed fists against the counter, letting his chin drop to his chest. Minho turned his head away, suddenly overwhelmed by the entire situation, but not wanting to let the others see.
All at once, 4 notification sounds went off.
Chan: Hey guys, hope everyone is traveling safely. Can we have a team meeting at 7 tonight? Will everyone be back by then?
Minho responded with a thumbs up reflexively and then looked up at the others. The look of disgust on Changbin’s face as he stared down at his phone was startling. Jisung’s jaw was clenched, his phone sitting next to him now, screen black. Felix was staring so intently into his phone, his thumb hovering over the message as if deciding how to respond. The silence extended until another notification came through. Felix’s name with a thumbs up appeared on his screen.
“He probably wants to talk about it, right? Tell us what happened.” Jisung said softly. Changbin slammed an open palm against the countertop, causing them all to jump. He muttered a curse under his breath before roughly shoving his phone away from him.
“Binnie,” Jisung enveloped Changbin in a gentle hug and within moments Changbin’s shoulders were shaking, tears disappearing into Han’s shirt collar where his face was buried, “we’ll figure it out.”
“I just can’t believe,...” Felix’s voice drifted off, cheeks still wet, “I just can’t believe it.”
The rest of the afternoon carried a similar energy. Seungmen, Jeongin, Hyunjin all had their own variation of reactions from disbelief to anger. Hyunjin yelled at Changbin until his voice was hoarse and he broke down sobbing until Minho dragged him to the couch to calm down. Jeongin and Seungmen both sat in shocked silence, unsure how to process the information. There was no plan even needed to discuss. Chan had taken care of that for them by setting up a team meeting at seven. Even though he was the cause of all of their hurt and anger, he was still keeping them organized.
6:45 pm
“Chan-hyung doesn’t know we know, right? Do we just let him talk and tell us?” Jeongin carried a small torch of hope that this was all a misunderstanding, that there had to be more to the story.
Minho shook his head, “why bother?” was all he offered, “why drag this on? After Woojin-” there was collective halting of motion at the mention of the name. No one talked about him anymore. Minho pressed on, “After the allegations with Woojin, what options do we have? If it’s not an allegation -”
“It’s not,” Changbin said vehemently, “I heard him say it.”
Minho continued, “Then it’s true and Chan-hyung is guilty, he can’t stay here.”
“What, leave Stray Kids?” Felix offered in anger, his eyebrows crinkled. The tears had finally stopped, “There is no Stray Kids without Chan.”
7:05 pm
They sat in silence. Chan was late.
–
7:05 pm
Fuck. Chan was still at least a 5 min walk away and a gentle rain had started, only the sun had long since set so the temperature had dropped rather significantly so the rain was starting to feel more like little shards of ice hitting his jacket and hat. He regretted not taking the extra 5 minutes to dry his hair at the pool as a shudder ran up his back. Tightening his grip on his bag, he held it to his chest and picked up the pace, keeping his head tucked low. By the time he could see the dorm rising in front of him, he was -almost- drenched and feeling pretty miserable. He somehow felt too miserable to even care about the conversation he was about to have. He just wanted to curl up on the couch, hopefully convince someone to cuddle with him - erase the feelings of phantom hands all over him- and maybe even sleep. He made it down the hallway without seeing a single other person. The dorms were quiet and empty. He couldn’t even hear anything coming from their dorm, normally there would be some sort of cacophony occurring at this point of the night, especially on their first day back together. But it was eerily silent and that stirred something in Chan’s gut - the anxiety that he had swam off and kept at bay suddenly came back in full force.
7:13pm
Fuck. They have to be pissed at this point.
Chan took one final deep breath as he stood outside the door, trying to will his hands to stop shaking from the cold. Just shaking from the cold. Just from the cold, nothing else. As he turned the handle, he felt the door swing open with force as if whoever was on the other side was waiting for him and pulled it open as Chan pushed. It was fast enough and Chan was so caught off guard that he stumbled forward, the door bounced back and hit him in the side of the head. He let out a pitiful moan, one hand grabbing the door handle to steady himself, the other grabbing at his head. He took a minute to look up through his bangs at the situation in front of him.
“Um, hello.” Chan tried to smile, but it definitely came out more as a grimace. Changbin and Jisung were standing in front of the door, must have been one of them to yank it open and while Jisung looked slightly remorseful, the only word that could describe the look on Changbin’s face was pissed. Chan flinched, instinctively taking a step back as he closed the door behind him, readjusting the strap of his bag to his shoulder. Hyunjin and Minho were leaning on the kitchen counter, faces unreadable. The rest of them were at the dining room table. He could see tear marks and anguish on Felix’s freckled cheeks and his heart squeezed. What happened?
Chan cleared his throat when no one spoke or reached out to him, the anxiety in his stomach growing, “Sorry I’m late.” he tried to offer a less painful smile and pulled his cap off, hanging it on the hook by the door. His curls were soaked and he ran a nervous hand through it, only flinching a little when he touched where the door had struck, “is everything okay?”
“Okay?” Changbin’s face somehow looked even angrier, but it was Minho who spoke, his voice even, “no, Chan-hyung, we need to talk.” That was the second time someone had said that to him today and it made his stomach drop, that gaping hole that consumed him earlier suddenly reappearing at his feet. Changbin took a step toward him and Chan took another step back only stopping because he felt his back hit the door. He brought one arm up to wrap around his stomach, the other coming up around his shoulder to nervously rub the back of his neck.
“Changbin-ah, what’s going on?”
“What’s going on?” Changbin echoed back, “I heard everything, Chan, everything you and Aera-nim talked about today.” Chan’s brain short-circuited. He couldn’t formulate a thought in response. Everything he had planned to say, how he planned to say it, suddenly was out of his brain. He let his eyes flick around the room. Everyone avoided his eyes except for Minho and Changbin. Even Felix kept his gaze fixed on Minho instead of looking at him. The silence stretched and Chan glanced over to Jisung who stared intently at the ground at his feet. He could see his chest rising and falling rapidly. He wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, seeing him on the edge of panic, but one look at Changbin’s face kept him stuck in place.
Chan swallowed thickly. Everything was going wrong.
“No one was supposed to know,” his voice came out pitiful and desperate, “it was - it was so long ago and … and I was so young, ya know,” his voice cracked and wavered, but he pressed on, “no one was ever going to find out.”
“You thought you could just cover it up?” Jisung visibly flinched at Changbin’s raised voice, but he didn’t seem to notice and took another intimidating step towards Chan, “you were young so that makes it better?”
“What, no-”
“I can’t believe you, I can’t believe this. You were so righteous and played such a hero when Woojin left,” Changbin was practically in his face now and Chan had nowhere to go. He tried to keep his breathing even, but he could feel himself hyperventilating, the edges of vision going dark again.
“It’s not the same -” Chan tried to interject.
“Not the same? It’s sexual assault, Chan!” The blow came before Chan even realized it was happening. Changbin had shoved him hard enough in the chest to emphasize his words that any air he had in his lungs rushed out and the thud he heard was the back of his head bouncing against the door. He kept his eyes closed. Head turned to the side. Arms snaked across his ribs, slightly curled in on himself waiting for the next blow to come. A beat passed and nothing happened. Chan slowly opened his eyes, looking up at the others around him. Changbin had been pulled back, Jisung and Minho pressing a hand to his shoulders. His breath was ragged and there was a flicker of guilt that passed over his features before the anger returned.
Chan could feel the pounding in his head creeping up from both spots where he had hit the door in the past 10 minutes and he decided to blame that on the reason why his vision was blurry and dark and not the tears and anxiety that was threatening to overtake him.
“Chris,” Felix’s deep voice cut through the fog in his brain. Chan turned to look at the young man. Felix had moved from his spot on the couch and was approaching him slowly, “Chris,” he said his name again, “are you okay?” Chan decided Felix sounded annoyed that he was even asking. Because he doesn’t actually care about you now that they know the truth. They know you’re weak and disgusting. They know what you did.
Chan shook his head, “I should just go,” he offered weakly.
“Wait, Chris-” but Chan didn’t stop. He hadn’t even taken off his shoes when he came in the door. His bag was still slung over one shoulder. He let it drop to the floor then, only flinching a little when he remembered his laptop was inside. He saw Changbin take another step toward him and he had a brief thought that if he turned around to leave his back would be towards them - so what, it’s fine, they wouldn’t just attack him, right? Right. Right? But when he saw Han’s grip on Changbin’s arm tighten and saw Minho’s mouth move, saying something to him, Chan took that as his chance to escape.
If anyone called after him after the door closed behind him, he couldn’t say. All he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears, pounding in time with the throbbing of his head and quickness of his breaths. He needed to get out of this building before the walls closed in on him.
You thought you could just cover it up?
Yes. He did. No one was ever supposed to know how weak he was, how disgusting, how useless. What he did, what he agreed to. He spent the last 7 years trying to prove that he was useful and important, trying to build connections and stay relevant even despite … everything. Chan shook the thoughts out of his head as he stepped out into the rain. It was now coming down in sheets, mingling with the tears that were freely falling, obscuring his vision almost completely. He was in shock. Totally empty. His feet carried him forward in a familiar path and it took almost two blocks to realize he was instinctually heading towards the studio. He paused in the middle of the deserted walkway.
7:30pm
He couldn’t go to the studio. He thought about his laptop, sitting upstairs in the dorm, his bag discarded on the floor. He didn’t grab his hat either. He looked around, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable - standing alone in the pouring rain. He found a mask in his pocket that he put over his face, hoping it, combined with the sheets of rain, would provide enough anonymity. Can’t have the media find me now, I must look like such a wreck. Disgusting. Useless.
He couldn’t go to the studio.
He couldn’t go to the dorms.
He didn’t even have clothes to change into at the gym or pool.
Chan was completely alone.
So he just started walking. He let his feet carry him. Despair weighing him down with every step. This was just like last time. I should have known they would react the same way. Of course, they couldn’t forgive me for what I did. He wasn’t even sure how much time had passed before a fine tremor made its way up his spine and down to his fingertips. It’s just the cold. It had nothing to do with the pitch-black chasm opening under his feet. He started walking faster, or at least he thought he did, the streets were starting to all look the same and buildings were passing by in a blur. He vaguely recognized the area of the city he was in - mostly businesses that were long since closed for the evening. The streets were quiet, occasional headlights illuminating the walkway in front of him. If anyone thought anything of the young man in a dark hoodie and sweats walking alone in the rain, no one stopped him. How embarrassing that would be. Totally ruin Stray Kids image if anyone saw how pathetic I am - already going to ruin everything. Already have.
At this point the fine tremors had worsened to full body chills. He was soaked to the core and taking a moment to look around, he had no idea where he was. He’d long since lost his sense of direction and he found he didn’t really care. What did it matter?
“You were young so that makes it better?” Back against the wall. Nowhere to escape.
Yes. It should. I was so weak.
“Chan! Again!”
Chan was standing in the back of the dance studio, late into the evening, leaning against the dance bar, panting with exertion. His t-shirt was soaked through with sweat. No matter how many times he practiced the routine, he just kept messing it up. Sung-ho-hyung was standing in front of him now, obvious frustration and anger on his face, “how many times do we have to do this before you get it right?” He was in Chan’s face, but he had nowhere to go.The bar digging into his lower back. He grabbed the collar of Chan’s shirt with one hand, the fabric tight in his fist and pulled Chan close, “you do it again. Right this time.” He took a step back, using his momentum to propel Chan forward. He staggered, his legs suddenly unable to hold him upright and fell to his hands and knees with a cry.
Pathetic.
Pathetic.
Chan gasped, his eyes flying open. How did he end up down here? He was on his hands and knees, in the middle of the sidewalk. Rain pooling around him. His hands and head ached and he didn’t have the energy to stand.
“Chan?” He could hear his name coming from somewhere. His heart squeezed, wanting so bad for it to be Jisung or Minho or Felix, anyone, any of them, coming after him. Scooping him up and taking him home. He didn’t want to be alone, “Chan? Chan, can you hear me?”
“Chan! Useless!”
His head snapped to the side with the force of the strike. Tears immediately welled up, but he blinked them away rapidly - it was always worse when he cried.
“This is why you can’t debut, even after all the strings I’ve pulled for you, you can’t even get these basic moves down. The choreographers said you were making headway, but it’s obvious they were lying.” Chan forced himself to take deep breaths, averting his eyes from his manager.
“I’m sorry, hyung, I’ll try harder.”
Sung-ho sighed, a soft hand reached out to cup his aching cheek. If he noticed the way Chan shied away from his touch, he didn’t say anything, “Oh, Chan, my lovely little boy, look what you made me do.” He gently brushed Chan’s hair off of his forehead, “you always test me so, but it’s only because I care so much for you.”
“I know, Sung-ho-hyung,”
Sung-ho smiled, “let’s do it again.”
“Chan? Chan, can you hear me?” A hand grabbed his upper arm gently, but the touch was enough to send him reeling to the side. He tried to get his feet under him, but the rain and his weakness sent him landing flat on his back, “oh shit,” the voice cut through the fog in his brain. Lying on his back like this, Chan didn’t even close his eyes as the rain pelted down on him. Maybe if he laid here long enough, he’d just get washed away down the street, down a storm drain, never to be seen or heard from again - maybe just wiped from existence as if he was never here in the first place. He was finding it hard to breath through the mask, the wet cotton pressing against his mouth and nose as if someone was suffocating him. He lifted his hand to claw at it, weakly, but couldn’t make his arms work. A shadow crossed in front of his face, obscuring the streetlights and halting the onslaught of water. He blinked up at the shape above him.
“Too-mah?”
The big man smiled down at him gently, “Hey, I’m going to take this off you, okay?” He lifted a hand and when Chan flinched away, he paused briefly before smiling again and slowly reaching forward. He unhooked the mask from behind his ears and Chan took in a large, shuddering breath. It made his chest ache, but the dark spots that had been dotting his vision seemed to clear just a little. He was almost sad to see them go, “Can I help you stand?” Chan nodded and in a blink, he was vertical again, the world spinning around him - had he eaten today? Was it still today? He couldn’t recall.
“Damn, kid, you’re soaked, what are you doing out here? Can I call you a ride?”
Chan shook his head, “out for a walk,” he offered lamely. Too-mah hadn’t let go of his arm and Chan was pretty sure if he didn’t have the taller man to lean on, he’d be right back down on the ground.
“Huh. You don’t say?”
“I’m fine, thanks for the help,” he went to take a step forward, but the world spun and the sidewalk was suddenly rushing towards his face.
“Oh no, not going anywhere like that.” Too-mah caught him around the middle. One arm was now positioned around his waist, the other bracing his chest, “can’t leave you alone like this, can I get you home?”
Chan moaned, his entire body trembling, “can’t go home,” he breathed out. He couldn’t catch his breath.
“Hey, no worries, are you hurt?”
Chan didn’t answer. He couldn’t breathe. His chest ached.
“Chan? Chan?!” The panicked call of his name was the last thing he heard before total darkness finally consumed him.