Chapter Text
Chan lives his life in daydreams.
Daydreams that eventually become stories. Stories that eventually become songs. And songs that eventually become music videos with plot lines that everyone theorizes on; but nobody gets it just quite right.
And that’s ok.
It’s ok because as long as Chan’s not the main character in those music video plotlines, it’s going to be ok for him to pretend that every single song that he has ever written, and every word he has ever put on the page is not painstakingly about him.
Because Chan lives his life in daydreams.
There’s a boy.
He has curly dark hair and kind eyes. His lips are always pulled into a smile, except when he’s concentrating. Then they’re pursed together in the shape of a frown. But most of the time his lips are pulled into a bright smile, and his eyes shine with happiness.
He’s just a normal boy; someone you could see walking down the street, maybe someone enjoying his coffee in a cafe, or maybe someone walking through your university.
He’s just a regular boy, living his regular life.
There’s a boy.
He has bleached blonde hair and kind eyes. His lips are normally pulled into a smile, except when he’s nervous. Then they’re pulled into a frown and usually in the process of being bitten. Most of the time he tries to smile, but he ends up failing more often than he succeeds.
He’s a normal boy, but not someone you would see casually walking down the street. Instead, you can see him through a screen or from a stage. Because he is an idol, a role model to everyone who watches him.
He’s just a normal boy, living his stressful life.
There’s a boy.
And he’s watched everyone he’s ever known move on without him. Sometimes he wonders if he’s done the right thing. If coming to South Korea was a good thing for him. Sometimes he wonders if he should just give up and go back home.
But then he looks around. Sees the people still trying for their dream, and he realizes that this isn’t an option. He’ll just have to work harder, work smarter. He can figure out how to debut, and he will.
He will debut if it’s the last thing that he does.
And he does.
After so much hard work, after so much loss. After the sadness and the happiness, he finally gets to stand on stage with the rest of the boys that he chose. The boys who he decided were good enough, the boys who decided that he was good enough, and that these were the ones he wanted to debut with.
And he’s able to look across the stage and know that everything is going to work out.
There is a boy.
With curly black hair and kind eyes. He’s walking with no purpose, just a destination to get to and enough time to get there. So he’s decided to take a few breaths, walk on the edges of the walkways in the airport, and observe the people around him.
He doesn’t have anything to worry about except getting to his gate and on the plane to start a new chapter in his life.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” someone says after accidentally hitting him with the handle of their carry on. “I got distracted.”
The boy smiles and shakes his head. “It’s no problem,” he says. “I’m Chan.”
The other person, a boy with dark hair and cat-like eyes looks at him warily for a second before smiling and reaching out his hand to shake. “I’m Minho.”
They shake hands, and something feels like everything is going to be ok.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? I’m sorry…”
Maybe this is where the daydreams began.
There is a boy with gray blonde hair and tired eyes. And he’s sitting on the floor of a practice room that has long been empty, but he can’t find it in himself to stand up and leave. He’s weary, a weight on his bones and his body that wears down on him more than his tiredness ever could.
His phone vibrates on the hard floor next to him, loud in the otherwise quiet room. But he can’t even find the strength to look at the screen and see who’s texting him. It’s probably Jisung, wondering if Chan was going to eat. Maybe even Felix wondering where he was. It could be any of the boys he calls his own, but he can’t find the energy to look.
The boy just closes his eyes and takes deep breaths. But all he can see is darkness behind his eyelids; no promises of dreams, no promises of sleep. Just a dark abyss for him to fall into.
A door opens.
A door opens and casts light onto Chan, and the black is now a dull red. He opens his eyes, squinting trying to make out the person standing there. All he can see is a boy with dark hair and eyes that are almost cold.
“I’m sorry,” the boy says.
Chan shakes his head before pushing himself into a sitting position. “No, I’m sorry,” he says. “I was just resting for a moment, but the room’s yours to use.”
The other boy nods, fiddling with the ends of the long sweater he’s wearing. He doesn’t meet Chan’s eyes when the other comes closer. “Are you new?” Chan asks.
He remembers Jisung telling him about some of the new trainees, but Chan can’t remember any key facts.
The other looks up, his eyes now innocent as he stares at Chan. “Yes,” he says quietly.
Chan nods. “What are you here for?”
The other straightens up, dropping his hands and looking Chan straight in the eyes. “I’m a dancer. But I’m going to be a singer,” he says with a finality in his words that even Chan believes.
“You wanna show me what you can do?” Chan asks with a quirk of his brow.
“Sure,” he says with a nonchalance that fits him well.
Chan goes to sit against the wall. He watches the trainee pick a song and plug it into the speakers. Watches him take a breath before hitting play and getting ready. The song is familiar, something from BTS that Chan has heard before, but never paid attention to.
But he doesn’t worry about the song. Not when the other starts dancing. He moves like second nature, like he was born to dance. Even in the harsh lighting of the practice room where all of the mistakes come to life, Chan can imagine him in a spotlight on a stage with people screaming for him.
He’s beautiful. Art come to life. Passionate in every way that counts. And Chan wants him. He needs to debut with him.
So when the song comes to an end and the trainee stands still, no muscle moving and barely an intake of breath. Chan claps and smiles. “I’m Chan, and you are?”
Their eyes meet in the mirror, and even the smile on the other’s face doesn’t soften the determination in his eyes. “Minho,” he answers.
“Are you working again?” Minho whines from Chan’s side.
They’re sitting in Chan’s room. On Chan’s bed. The older has one earphone on, the other pushed away from his ear so that he can listen to Minho’s whining. But he’s completely focused on his laptop and the music he is creating.
And Minho isn’t complaining, not really, Chan knows this to be true. Because Minho will always do this. He’ll always come to keep Chan company when the other is working. And Chan will never complain about it.
(And he’ll never tell Minho how much he loves having the other here.)
“Someone has to make the songs for you to dance to,” Chan tells him good-naturally.
He sees Minho smile from the corner of his eye. Minho stays quiet though, even if he does allow himself to slouch more into Chan’s space. This time Chan does allow himself to look at Minho, even if just for a moment.
“I like dancing to your songs,” Minho whispers.
I like watching you dance to my songs, Chan thinks, but doesn’t say.
There is a moment.
A moment that Chan only lets himself remember when it’s 2 a.m. and no one else is awake. And it’s this.
Warm hands, warmer breath. Panting, moaning, sweat coating his skin. He thinks of the shape on Minho’s mouth as it crashed against his own. The feeling of Minho’s hands against his overheated skin.
It’s beautiful, is what Chan thinks.
It’s wrong, is what Chan knows.
There is a boy.
A boy with curly dark hair and kind eyes standing behind a counter of a coffee shop. He’s not looking at the door, and instead focusing on doodling on the notebook resting on the counter in front of him.
The day has been slow, barely anyone coming in. So Chan allows himself this moment to gather his thoughts and relax instead of cleaning the areas that are already clean. He’s the only one in the shop at the moment, his coworker stepping out for their break.
The bell rings above the door causing Chan to look up.
There is a boy.
A boy with dark hair falling into his eyes and wet clothes dripping on the floor. He gives a sheepish smile and rubs the back of his neck. “The rain kind of came out of nowhere,” he explains.
Chan just smiles. “I’ll give you a coffee on the house,” he tells the customer, “Why don’t you just find a table to sit at.”
The customer opens his mouth, probably to refute, but Chan just gives him a stern look. The other reluctantly nods before slowly making his way through the lobby of the coffee shop. He stops at a table close to the counter where Chan is busy making his drink. Chan can feel the weight of his gaze, but it’s almost comforting to him.
“Here,” he says once the drink has been made and he’s sitting it on the table next to the other’s hands. “Is there anything else you want…” he trails off.
“Minho,” the customer tells him with a smile, “Minho. And no, thank you though.”
Chan nods and leaves the customer with a smile.
And if he spends the time drawing Minho’s face while the other sips on his coffee and stares at his phone. Well, the only person who has to know is Chan and his notepad.
“Do you really think you can do it?” His parents had asked when Chan said he wanted to debut as an idol.
Chan had stared at them with determination and nodded.
Later, his mother will tell him that determination that lives with him lives with his group. But her eyes will stray to one member in particular, and Chan will understand.
His eyes are also looking at Lee Minho when she tells him that.
It’s dark in the practice room when Chan and Minho finally allow themselves to rest. They’re splayed out on the floor, close enough for their shoulders to brush with every inhale and exhale. When they turn their heads to look at each other, Chan can feel the hotness of Minho’s breath against his own skin.
They just stare at each other for a moment; neither one of them willing to break the comfortable silence they have found themselves in. Minho is the first to speak though, his quiet voice barely making its way to Chan’s ears.
“Do you think we’ll make it?” He asks.
Chan studies the dancer. He’s staring at Chan with such determined eyes, and yet they’re filled with an innocence. Like Minho is a child staring up at the sky and asking questions about the future. He’s sweaty, his dark hair matted against his forehead, and even in the harshness of the practice room lights he looks ethereal.
Chan has to close his eyes, will himself to look away and instead stare at the ceiling. “We’ll make it,” he promises.
He allows himself to wrap his pinky around Minho’s. “We’ll make it,” he says quieter; like a secret only for the two.
“I know I’m lacking,” Minho had told him at one point, “but I want to debut with you.”
And he had looked so earnest then, so full of determination that Chan believed him. Chan believed that maybe, just maybe, the world would reward him for all his hard work.
And then it had been ripped away, and Chan decided that the real world was too cruel for his liking.
And he started living his life in daydreams.
“Why don’t you ever release these songs, hyung?” Jisung asks from where he sits next to Chan.
He’s looking over the older’s shoulder at the lyric book that Chan has been mindlessly writing in. Chan looks briefly at Jisung before turning back to the nonsense he had written.
But hold my hand and we’ll be alright
Just smile at me once more
And we’ll tell the world to be quiet
Because with you here nothing can go wrong
Something twists in Chan’s stomach, but he doesn’t let it show on his face. Instead, he pushes Jisung back into his own chair and shuts the book to hide his lyrics. “Why don’t you mind your own business and go back to your own work,” he tells the younger.
Jisung flops into his chair with a loud whine. “I’m stuck. I’ve figured out the lyrics, but the beat now sounds wrong,” he cries.
Chan shakes his head. “Play it for me, and I’ll see what’s wrong,” he tells Jisung.
The younger perks up and gives his headphones to Chan with a smile. Chan smiles back, allowing himself to close his eyes and immerse himself in the music that is playing through his headphones.
Don't go
Don't leave me
Please, turn around and look at me
Please, don't go
If you go further away
I might fall apart by myself
He wills his mind to stop thinking of anything else as the guide continues playing.
(It’s easier said than done.)
“Why Lee Know?” Chan asks when it’s just the two of them laying on Chan’s bed.
It comes out as a whisper as to not disturb the peace that has fallen across the room. Chan is wrapped around Minho in a way that only the darkness will allow him to be. His head rests on Minho’s chest, the steady thumping of his heart familiar and calming.
“Lee Minho, or just Minho in general is really common,” Minho whispers back just as quietly, “I want to stand out. I want everyone to know me.”
Chan cranes his neck to look up at Minho who is still staring above them. “I know me, and you guys know me. Now it’s time for the rest of the world to know me.”
Chan is suddenly reminded of Minho standing in the doorway of that practice room not that long ago. He thinks of the determination in his eyes, the way he moved with grace as he danced. Minho had been in the shadows before, but now he wanted the spotlight.
And maybe Chan falls a little in love with him at that moment when Minho finally meets the older’s gaze and that fire is still in his eyes.
It’s a promise to Chan, to Minho, to the rest of Stray Kids. Minho is going to make it his mission for everyone to be known.
And Chan thinks it could be love because Minho understands in a way Chan will never be able to explain. Because Minho is just as determined as Chan. He’s already lost his grip on his dream once, and refuses to do it again.
And Chan has already waited too long to not fight for everything now.
But they don’t say anything else. Because they know that they can’t.
There is a boy with curly black hair and kind eyes. He’s sitting in one of the chairs at an airport, his body twisted so that he can look at the person beside him. After running into each other they realized that they were going to the same gate, so they just decided to go together.
“Why Korea?” Minho asks.
Chan shrugs. “Just wanted something new,” he says. “And there is a good grad program here, so I thought I would at least try to apply.”
Minho nods.
“And why are you traveling to Korea? Are you heading home?” Chan asks him.
Minho nods. “Yeah. I work with a dance troupe. We were training in America, but now we’re heading home.”
“Training?” Chan inquires.
“We’re working with some big idol group at the moment, and they’re about to go on tour. So we had to learn all the songs,” Minho elaborates. “It’s tiring, but exciting.”
“That sounds really cool,” Chan tells him honestly.
“Give me your phone,” Minho says.
Chan looks confused, but hands over his unlocked phone a little too easily for someone he just met. Minho just smiles at him before pressing down on the screen a few times. Chan can hear the distant buzzing of Minho’s phone as his own is getting handed back to him. “So we can stay in touch,” Minho says earnestly. “You seem pretty cool.”
Chan stares at the new contact with a smile.
“No, it’s like this,” Minho says in a clear voice.
Chan watches him through the mirror as he starts to break down the dance they’ve been learning step by step. He wants to say that he’s been paying attention to Minho dancing because he wants to learn, but honestly, he’s just been watching the way that Minho’s body moves.
A mouth against his neck. Hands gripping his arms, legs, sides. Strong thighs.
Chan shakes his head. He needs to focus.
He catches Minho’s gaze in the mirror and quickly looks away. It won’t do him any good if he doesn’t focus. He needs to be his best so that everyone can debut.
A survival show, JYP had said.
He was willing to debut the boys that Chan had chosen, but with his own sick twists. Chan could choose the people he wanted, but JYP would always have the final say.
Fire burns through Chan’s veins.
He was going to make sure they would all debut. That would show JYP that Chan was good enough, that everyone was good enough.
“Do you ever think how things would be different if JYP wouldn’t have let us come back?” Minho asks one night at 3 a.m.
They’re in the practice room once more. Chan had wandered inside from his studio when he saw the lights and heard the music. Minho had been practicing, trying to perfect their newest choreography so that he could help lead the other members in learning it. After Chan had interrupted him though, they ended up sitting with their backs against the mirrors and legs stretched out in front of them.
Chan rolls his head to look at Minho, the cool glass of the mirror cooling his cheek immensely. Minho is staring straight ahead, refusing to even glance at Chan. “No,” Chan tells him sternly. “No. It was always going to be everyone.”
This time Minho does look at him. “But you didn’t know that,” Minho says honestly.
And Chan didn’t know that, but he would’ve fought hard for it. “Maybe not, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Minho finally smiles back.
Stay with me
Don't hesitate no more (Don't hesitate)
There's no point in speaking
As long as I'm in front of you
Chan likes to cuddle with all of his group members, and it’s not a secret. It's nice when he can have tangible proof that they’re with him, that this is real life. Even though he may not always like the world he lives in, it’s better than getting permanently lost in daydreams.
But Minho, Chan loves to hold Minho any way that he can. Whether it’s holding hands, touching his arm or thighs, or wrapping the other in his arms. He likes falling asleep together in a bed that was barely made for one person, because then it means that they’ll have to cuddle with each other to stay on the mattress.
And that scares Chan.
Because what would happen if someone else could see just how Minho affects him?
So he hides it. He lets Minho hang off the other members, let’s him find new people to cuddle with, and refuses to acknowledge his jealousy. But if the secret smile that Minho sometimes sends him is anything to go by, he doesn’t think he succeeds very well.
There is a boy with black curly hair and kind eyes and he’s in a coffee shop that is starting to close when he remembers Minho. The other had migrated to a corner booth and curled up against the wall. Chan wonders if he had fallen asleep, but with the rain still pouring down, he didn’t have the heart to possibly go wake up the other and send him out of the shop.
Instead, he just allowed him to stay where he was.
But now it was closing time, and he was going to have to leave.
Chan makes his way over to the corner table, a to-go cup filled with tea in one hand. He crouches lower, cautiously raising a hand to gently shake at the customers shoulder as to wake him up. Minho grumbles, turning in on himself more, but as Chan persists he finally opens his eyes.
“Huh?” He questions, one hand coming up to rub at his tired eyes.
Chan almost wants to coo at the younger, but he stops himself just in time. Instead, he just gives him a soft smile. “We’re closed now,” he says quietly.
This causes Minho to straight up quickly. Chan’s hand gets knocked off his shoulder in the process, and for a second, Chan mourns the warmth. But then he too is straightening up and backing away from the table. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” Minho asks in a shrill voice.
“I can’t believe you just let me sleep in the corner booth. I didn’t even buy anything,” he continues, his voice gradually getting lower.
Chan chuckles. “It was no problem. Today was slow anyways. Besides, you looked like you really needed the rest.”
Minho stares at him with round eyes. There’s a question in the depths, but unless he asks then Chan will not answer. “Thank you,” Minho says softly instead.
Chan shrugs. “Let’s go. I’ll walk you home.”
Minho looks like he’s about to argue, but Chan has already turned around and is making his way to the door. He’s not taking no for an answer. His smile grows when he hears Minho scrambling behind him to catch up.
It happens, the one secret that Chan will never tell anyone, one night when it’s only Minho and him at the dorms. Felix had been all smiles when he told Chan that Changbin had invited him over for the night, and Chan would have never told Felix that he couldn’t go.
But it was lonely being in the dorms by himself. It left him with his thoughts of times when the dorms were filled with more life and Chan had people by his side. But they eventually left; and now Chan is wondering how long it will take before Felix leaves him too.
“Channie hyung,” Minho whines from the floor.
Right, Chan wasn’t alone. Minho was here.
The younger had taken one look at Chan before the older went home and decided that he would stay the night with Chan. In fact, he draped himself over the older so that he couldn’t leave without Minho.
Chan would’ve fought him on the matter; stating it would be best if Minho went home since it was probably better than the dorms, but he was relieved that he wouldn’t be spending his time alone.
Which is how they both ended up in Chan’s room exhausted from dancing, and yet too comfortable to move from the floor. Chan stares at the ceiling if only to ignore the way Minho’s arm is pressing against his own. It’s not like when they collapse in a pile in the practice rooms. In the privacy of the dorms it feels like more.
“I’m glad,” Minho says quietly.
“Glad?” Chan asks, confused about what Minho could be talking about in the otherwise silent room.
“That you chose me,” Minho says honestly.
They’re so close. Chan can feel every one of Minho’s exhales caress his face. But his eyes are focused on Minho’s. They’re hypnotizing. Especially when Chan leans in.
The kiss tastes like everything he’s ever dreamed of.
There is a boy.
With dyed red hair and kind eyes laying in the grass. He’s stretched out in a pool of sunlight like a lazy house cat. His bag lays abandoned beside him, zipper open and folders leaking out.
A shadow falls across his form.
“You’re in my spot,” a voice says from above.
The boy opens one eye lazily. The stranger is outlined in gold, features blurred out by the glare of the sun. But his hair shines lavender in the bright light of the sun.
“I didn’t see a reserve sign,” he drawls out.
The stranger crosses their arms. “I’m always here,'' the person whines.
He can almost imagine them pouting as they try to get what they want. But the boy doesn’t answer in words. He just hums before closing his eyes once more. “The suns too nice to move.”
He feels a kick against his foot. “The grounds big enough, we can share,” he tells the stranger.
He hears a muffled thud, like a bag being dropped to the ground. Then he hears a quiet huff. When he opens his eyes again, it’s to see the stranger sitting next to his feet. “I’m Chan, by the way,” he says with a grin.
The stranger doesn’t answer, instead, pulling a novel out from his bag and opening to a marked page. Chan resigns himself to not learning the stranger’s name. He tilts his head back, eyes slipping closes once more, as he once again relaxes in the pool of sunlight.
And then, he hears the other speak in a voice barely over a whisper, speak only a name, “Minho.”
The fans decide Minho and Jisung are soulmates. A perfect pair. Dating. Boyfriends. Chan hates it as much as he accepts it. Fan service sells.
And he has no right to be jealous.
Minho isn’t his.
Minho can never be his.
(That doesn’t stop him from dreaming of a different life.)