Chapter Text
The realisation goes something like this.
They are at an interview for some Korean magazine that Jeonghan doesn’t have it in him to remember. Jeonghan has always hated interviews, always hated most forms of press, really, but interviews like these in particular grate on him. Seemingly inconspicuous questions with hidden intentions of isolating certain members, indicating things to the world that you couldn’t guess outright, but worded snidely— in a way that can’t be vetoed by their PR team without overcomplication.
Everyone knows Jeonghan is always the first who wants to go home. It used to be a joke, something he only played up because his social battery runs low, but as the years have gone on and they are essentially a decade into Seventeen’s career, it’s something more desperate. The ache worsens as the hours goes on, the numbness surfaces, and the desire to just close his eyes and give runs high. Jeonghan hasn’t had the energy for his demanding life in a long time, but he isn’t sure when irritation at having to wake up in the morning became despair, for the fact his heart still beats.
But Jeonghan has always thrived on avoidance and belittlement of himself for the sake of his members, so that is what he will still do.
The absent ringing in his ears hasn’t stopped since entering this interview and he’s once again found comfort in the diversity of his members personalities so that he can simply drift in the back and pretend he doesn’t want to disappear from existence. However, he finds momentary solace as the interviewer announces her next question as the last. There’s some commentary from the members— most likely Soonyoung or Chan, Jeonghan doesn’t really care. Anything to get this day, this year, over and fucking done with.
He forces his mind to focus on a nearly healed cut placed on the inner side of his wrist; he isn’t too sure how he got it, but he finds himself thankful for it, in an odd way. When you are placed at the level of expected perfection as idols are, Jeonghan finds himself grateful for any miniscule thing that marrs that expectation. Years ago, if you asked Jeonghan to name one good thing about his life, he’d have multiple options brimming at his tongue. Even through the hellacious struggle of their rookie years, he had something. Today, Jeonghan is only thankful for the role he was assigned: Pretty.
If he had a role more meaningful like Seungkwan, Jihoon, or God forbid, Seungcheol— Jeonghan doesn’t think he’d be alive. It’s easy enough to stay within the boundaries of his role: don’t eat, don’t over exercise, stay quiet. Truthfully, Jeonghan would’ve done that anyway.
The background chatter is all a buzz in his ear, the pit within himself nearly encompassing, and all Jeonghan wants is for this stupid fucking interview to end and—
“—who is the member SEVENTEEN could survive without?”
And suddenly, Jeonghan is as aware as he was on his first day as a trainee.
There's a pause at the question, clearly unexpected and something snuck in at the last second. It’s a question that, unlike the others, garners no immediate response. From the corner of his eye he can see the cold glare Seungcheol has taken on, and how the members close to him still in shocked outrage. At the audacity of the question or the surprise of it, he isn’t sure. One of their managers seems to be signalling to end the interview with haste.
Absently, he assumes that this is the last they will be appearing with this particular company for interviews.
It’s a question that has circled around their group since debut. Fundamentally, no group has a need for nine members, let alone thirteen. There is no realistic world where all thirteen are treated with equality, with grace— where a preference for certain, more popular members isn’t made known. Pledis knows this, Seventeen knows this, and most importantly, Jeonghan knows this.
No human is a human without insecurities, and he has no doubt every single member has asked themselves this at different points in their respective careers: Am I needed in Seventeen?
Or more honestly: Will Seventeen be better without me?
Jeonghan knows all members have thought this, but he is willing to bet his entire worth, that no one has thought about this, or accepted this, more than he has. Jeonghan has always gone beyond that though, will the world be better without me?
Can I keep going in this life?
So it’s with this question that Jeonghan decides for the first time in fourty-two minutes, that he will answer.
Seungcheol and Jihoon seem to be deflecting the question, or saying ‘fuck you for asking’ in more eloquent words, when Jeonghan opens his big, big mouth.
“Me.”
And with that the room lapses into a violent and tense silence.
Jihoon and Seungcheol are clearly stunned for words, turning to him with confused glances, but he notices the hint of emotion in their eyes. He looks directly into the camera after that, unwilling and cowardly.
The interviewer's eyes widen with his interruption before she composes herself, and Jeonghan knows that look. The look when someone has scored something, but they want more. It’s the vulture look that almost all media workers have. Greedy. Jeonghan used to enjoy this game; playing with the interviewer when they’ve gone too far. On the edge of information that would blow up Korea's celebrity journalism scene, he dangles it in front of them like a carrot on a stick, before withdrawing with a satisfying snap.
She smiles a greedy smile, and for once Jeonghan doesn’t want to play, doesn’t want to taunt them with private information that will never be revealed or confirmed.
“Oh! Jeonghan-ssi, this is the first time we’ve gotten an answer from you, what do you mean by electing yourself?”
His PR representative is behind the camera wildly shaking her head, the interview director at the side curiously tilts his head, and Jeonghan thinks maybe he should’ve stayed quiet.
He knows what his answer his, he knows why he said himself, he doesn’t know why this interview, this question, this moment in time, he felt he had the fucking guts to answer it. Where the resulting video is not even up to their company to edit.
He feels Joshua place a calming hand on his thigh from where his legs are crossed, and can feel the stares of his members, waiting for the break. Yoon Jeonghan is the jokester, the sly one— the type to say “I have something serious to tell you” with a grave look on his face, before pulling out his broken pair of sunglasses with a pout.
He pushes and pushes till his words are more lies than truths.
As Jeonghan goes to reply with a sarcastic comment about how he’s old and needs to retire, or that his true calling is a rice farmer, his brain flashes.
Watching Seokmin perform in Xcalibur, watching Jihoon cry from receiving producer of the year, his brain flashes through all his members' successes and emotions that made them proud to be a member of seventeen, that made him proud to love them and receive their love. When Jeonghan thinks of himself, he doesn’t think of the wins, the self-accomplishment, he thinks of nothing. The emptiness within, holding his head in his hands while on tour, the constant pain he’s in, the fact his voice is incapable of singing louder, the pristine walls of the doctor's office, and the fact that despite everything they’ve done; nothing’s changed.
Everytime Jeonghan goes to the hospital, he guiltily wishes, craves, that they suddenly find something within him that is killing him. That something above will see him and this feeling and do something about it. That someone else will take the responsibility from him, before he gives up.
Jeonghan is so fucking tired, and compared to his members his worth is less than the dirt on their shoes.
“Out of everyone here, realistically, they’d be more than fine if tomorrow I was no longer in SEVENTEEN.”
The interviewer leans forward, barely a few centimetres, “How so?”
Jeonghan hands her his answer with a fucking cherry on top, “Humans are not coins we use for money, but if they were, I’d have the least value out of all of us, out of most people.” He finishes.
“Hyung, no! I would! I lose things all the time, all that money from things lost, takes from my worth, don’t you think?” Seokmin cuts in with a forced laugh, trying to play along as if he’s joking.
The rest of the members grasp it with a lifeline, adding their own jokes and lines with intention. Jeonghan knows when he’s been silenced, but despite all that will come from his words, he just can’t find it in himself to care.
It feels good to be honest.
As he retreats to his mental fortitude, Jeonghan purposefully avoids any eye-contact, and starts staring at the cut again.
It’s with this, with the verbalisation of his own lack of worth that Jeonghan realises.
‘Oh,’ he thinks, ‘I want to die.’