Chapter Text
Chan's head was throbbing.
He pulled his hand that wasn't feeling like it was going to burn off with difficulty to his head and attempted to press down on the throbbing part to grant himself a small relief. Keyword being attempted as his hand couldn't reach too far along and just fell back in its place.
Everything felt wrong. Detached. Like he wasn't quite in his body. Like he was floating somewhere outside himself, forced to watch the wreckage from a distance.
He blinked through the dizziness, the lights overhead too bright, too harsh. No wind. No cold air kissing his skin. Just stillness and the low, persistent hum of studio equipment in the distance. Familiar leather sofa. Familiar table. He hadn't left the studio. Good. Or bad. He couldn't decide.
What mattered now was why the hell he was on the ground, limbs trembling, muscles screaming, stomach hollowed out like something had clawed its way through him.
Chan folded his legs to get up and failed immediately, his hands lying around uselessly. And now that getting up or cleaning after himself seemed almost impossible, he tried to remember what exactly had caused this.
He remembered walking to the studio with Jisung and Changbin to the studio. He also remembered laughing and pulling some keys on the track they were creating. But they did not get too far, too high on emotions from the group dinner they had. Jisung ran home the moment Chan gave him the green light, pulling Changbin with him with the power of his puppy eyes. The elder laughed the way they sang him goodbye and took his phone out to send the photos in the group chat.
Chan was looking at the photos before sending them, his smile stretching across his face as the pictorial evidence of them being uncensored and slightly dangerous idiots lit his screen up.
And that's when it happened.
Minho's beautiful smile filled his screen, his smile dropped to a fond look and his insides burning up. Then he threw up. Violently.
The brunette looked up, albeit with a lot of difficulty, to understand why he was on the ground. There were beautiful pale colored flowers on the floor, shining slightly under the dim light of the studio. He sighed, finally recalling the way he threw up so hard that he hit the table and probably passed out.
Soft petals marred with spit and blood, glistening faintly in the dim light. The kind of beauty that only blooms in ruin.
He stared at them for a long time, breath shallow. Then sighed.
"-Fuck."
It wasn't the first time.
But it was the first time it hurt this much.
He got up from his place slowly, his bones creaking in protest and his lungs on fire from all the throwing up. By the time Chan managed to stand upright, his body felt like it was stitched together with paper and tape, fragile. One wrong move from tearing apart again. He cleaned up the mess with trembling fingers, ignoring the way his vision blurred every time he bent over.
He wrapped them in paper towels and shoved them deep into the studio trash bin, hiding the evidence like he always did whenever this happened. The blood on his lip, the bruised edge of his forehead, those were easier to wash off. And besides if anyone did ask him, he could just supply some excuse at that point. A clumsy fall. Low blood sugar. Overwork.
He could lie. He was good at lying.
Just don't say love, he told himself.
Eventually, he found the strength to leave, shoulders hunched under his hoodie, his phone forgotten in his pocket, fingers raw and aching as he opened the door and stepped out into the night air. It was quiet. Too quiet for how loud his heart was still ringing in his ears.
The walk back to the dorm was a blur, legs moving on autopilot, brain foggy, stomach rolling. He didn't even notice how long it took until he was climbing the stairs, fingers fumbling at the door handle of the dorm he shared with Jeongin.
He wanted his bed. Just his bed. Something solid to sink into. Something that wouldn't ask questions or smile too gently.
But when he stepped inside, the sound hit him first.
He frowned, the sounds taking their sweet time processing in his mind. But once they did settle in, he understood he had walked straight into a war zone. Memories of Jisung's cheerful reminder about the movie night at their dorm rolled through his fogged thoughts. He stifled a groan, bitter and resigned. It was too late, way too late, for anyone to still be awake. Maybe they were all asleep, he told himself, clutching at that fragile hope.
He slipped off his shoes with as much quiet as he could muster, each movement weighed down by exhaustion and confusion.
The living room was bathed in a dim, flickering light from the television, casting long shadows and soft glows over familiar faces. They were all asleep, their chests rising and falling gently, some mouths slightly open, soft snores weaving into the background soundtrack. The movie murmuring from the speakers was in a language he couldn't understand. Had they all switched to watch something in a new language? Or had his head injury scrambled his senses worse than he realized?
Relief crept in, fragile but real. Maybe he could slip through unnoticed, crawl into his room, and vanish beneath the covers.
But peace was a cruel illusion.
A voice startled him, making him flinch and turn around guiltily.
He spun around, blinking against the dim lights, to find Jeongin slumped in his spot on the couch. Felix was curled, utterly asleep, against Jeongin's chest, while Hyunjin clung to Jeongin's arm, eyebrows knit tight in worry or confusion Chan couldn't tell. Jeongin's lips moved, but the words were tangled, swallowed in the fog in Chan's head. They made no sense, slipped right past him.
Chan forced a tired smile, praying it wasn't lopsided.
"I'm fine, just tired." he slurred, hoping those were the words Jeongin needed to hear, hoping that was the answer Jeongin was looking for.
Without waiting for a response, he turned away and headed for his room, moving as quickly and as normally as he could manage, burying the turmoil beneath a mask of calm. He prayed no one would see past it, no one would ask why he looked like he was barely holding himself together.
.
.
.
It all started when he fell in love.
One moment he was fine, his heart healing itself, filling the big crack on it caused by Minho and Felix's elimination with the bright smiles of everyone once they finally debuted. He was hugging everyone, tears falling down everyone's pretty cheeks and their smiles lighting the room up better than the showcase lights.
The joy in the room was electric. The kind of joy that makes you cry before you even realize you're crying. He'd pulled each of them into his arms, his boys, his members, feeling the weight of the world lifting off his shoulders as each one of them cried and laughed and held onto each other like the world outside didn't matter. They'd done it. They were staying together. They were real.
Chan was the happiest he had been in years once PD-nim gave them the green light to debut together. And although there was some sort of regret in him seeing their dongsaengs realizing that they needed to wait more to debut, his boys laughing and feeling relived was a far more overwhelming thought.
It was subtle, at first. A strange tightness in his chest as he watched Minho laugh, arms slung around Felix, his grin wide and genuine, eyes glowing like stars. The light hit him just right, and Chan's breath caught. One moment he was feeling like he was on cloud nine, looking at Minho hugging everyone and smiling oh-so brightly and the other everything came crashing down. It was as if his entire body went on lockdown and his emotions just flipped up.
The moment burst like a glass bubble, and before he could even process what was happening, he was in the bathroom, palms on cool tile, vomiting petals into the sink. That was the first time he threw flowers up.
Just a few, at first. Pale, soft things. Barely there. But unmistakable.
Hanaki.
He'd read about it. Everyone had. Whispered stories among trainees, old fables spun with romantic tragedy. But it wasn't real. Not really. Not to him. And yet, there they were, petals sticking to his tongue, clinging to the edges of the drain.
He was twenty. Tired. Raw from months of pressure. Even years. And terrified.
And he was so young, so scared. It was just a few petals, but it was evident what was happening. He hadn't known what to do. Hadn't even been able to think straight. His fingers, trembling, hovered over names in his contacts, skipping past Younghyun Hyung, past Sana Noona. They were busy. They had their own burdens. And before he could throw the idea off as some kind of stress, his phone was already dialing up BamBam's number.
And looking back, neither should he have contacted BamBam, but he was a child back then, scared shitless because petals were crawling up from his throat.
His close friend immediately picked up, his tone high and celebratory, mostly having heard the news of their debut.
"Chan-ah!" BamBam's voice came through the speaker, high and bright, vibrating with joy. "Congratulations! You finally made it, I'm so happy for you!"
The warmth in his voice hit Chan like a punch to the chest. He should have said thank you. Should have laughed with him, shared the moment, the joy. But all he could do was stare at the stained sink, taste iron and roses on his tongue, and press a shaking hand to his lips.
"Bam-" he whispered.
Something in his tone must have given it away, because BamBam's tone immediately shifted. "Chan? What's wrong?"
"I think-" Chan swallowed, voice cracking. "I think I'm sick."
"What kind of sick? Like cold? It could be nerves?" BamBam asked after a short pause.
And Chan, heart hammering, body aching, looked at the petals in the sink and said the words that would haunt him for years.
Chan's voice broke. "I think it's Hanaki."
The silence on the other end stretched longer this time. He could still hear faint voices behind BamBam, the remnants of a party, until they faded completely. BamBam had stepped away.
"Say that again?" His voice was quieter now. Careful.
Chan's voice was thin. "It was just a few petals. Barely anything. I'm probably being dramatic. It's not what you think."
"Petals," BamBam repeated, calm but clipped. "You're coughing up flowers?"
Chan gave a weak laugh. "Maybe I'm hallucinating? You know how I get. No sleep, too much stress, emotional high-"
"Chan."
"Don't sound like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're about to run here."
"Don't tempt me."
Chan leaned back against the bathroom wall, the chill biting into his spine. His throat burned. His lungs ached. "It happened once. That's all. It won't happen again. I'll push it down. Focus on the group. We just debuted. I can't fall apart right now."
"Did something happen?" BamBam asked softly. "Something to trigger it?"
Chan's silence said enough.
"One of the members?" BamBam asked gently.
Chan shut his eyes.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
"I didn't know," Chan whispered. "I was just watching him. He looked so happy. And then my body knew before I did."
"Hanaki gets triggered because of unrequited love. Why do you think he doesn't love you back?"
Even the idea of such a thing was absurd to Chan. How could Minho, the most radiant person, who lit the room when he stepped in, made everyone's day by cracking his slightly sadistic, sarcastic jokes, ever love someone like Chan? Him?
"Why would he ever, Bam? All I've done is terrorize the kids and tortured them worse than they would have been otherwise as normal trainees. The only feeling they have about me is anger. Maybe even hate."
BamBam didn't speak for a long time.
"Besides, I don't want this," Chan said quietly. "Not now. Not when everything's finally coming together."
"Chan-ah," BamBam said, softer now, "Love doesn't work according to your wishes. And Hanaki doesn't just go away. You know that."
"I'll manage," Chan said, a little too fast. "I've got it under control."
"Is that what this is?" BamBam asked, voice aching with restrained panic. "Control?"
Chan bit the inside of his cheek. "Please don't tell anyone."
BamBam sighed. "Chan, Hyungs could help you out. We could get the best help before this gets out of control and-"
"It won't, I'm sure." He straightened, as much as his weak limbs would allow. "I can't- this can't be something they worry about. Not now. Just... promise me."
Another beat of silence.
"Are you sure?" BamBam finally asked.
"No. But it doesn't matter."
"God, you're such an idiot. I hate that you want to keep this from everyone and risk your health in the future, all because you think it will take away from the happiness of whoever you are so crushingly in love with." BamBam exhaled, the sound full of helpless affection. "Fine. I promise."
"Thank you."
"You'll call me if anything changes?"
"I will."
"You'll take care of yourself?"
"I'll try." Chan smiled faintly, even though it hurt. "I'm not alone. I've got you, right?"
"And the others when you're ready. Always."
They stayed on the line a little longer, breathing quietly together across the distance, Chan still curled on a bathroom floor, petals wilting in the sink, and BamBam holding the weight of a secret that would only grow heavier with time.
And just like that, Chan wished him good night and hung up before he started crying. Or did something worse, like tell his friend how scared he was of dying. Or beg for help.
Because if he said it out loud, it would make it real. And he wasn't ready for that.
After that night, whenever BamBam called, Chan picked up with his brightest voice. He smiled through the receiver like nothing was wrong, the same way he smiled in practice rooms and interviews. He changed the subject whenever it veered too close. When that didn't work, he swore up and down that he was fine, that it had been a one-time thing. Stress. Nerves. Debut jitters.
And technically, it wasn't a complete lie.
He wasn't just throwing up petals anymore. There was blood now. More and more of it. Sometimes thorns, sharp and cruel, scraping up his throat. Sometimes whole fragments of things he couldn't name. He didn't look too closely anymore.
But what BamBam didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
(Even if it could kill Chan.)
.
.
.
It had been over a decade of knowing each other now.
Eight years since Stray Kids officially formed a team. And Chan had Hanaki for about seven of them.
Seven years of swallowing petals and blood and silence. Seven years of watching love bloom around him while something inside him withered. Seven years of pretending everything was fine, that his chest wasn’t filled with something sharp and growing, that he could still breathe around it.
In the beginning, it wasn’t so bad. A few petals now and then, mostly when Minho hugged him a little too tightly or said something in that offhandedly sweet way of his, voice low and full of affection that wasn’t meant for anything more. It was manageable. Scary, yes, but it came in waves, and in between the worst moments, Chan convinced himself he could live with it. That it would pass. That he could outrun it if he stayed busy enough, if he focused hard enough on their music, their goals, the others.
But things started to change.
Not all at once. Just small shifts at first. A glance held a beat longer between members. Late-night whispers behind dorm doors. Lingering touches. Familiarity growing into something warmer. Something more. The group had always been close, but eventually those bonds evolved, turned tender, intimate. Not that he resented it, he didn’t, couldn’t. He loved them more than anything. He wanted their happiness like he wanted the air in his lungs. But it still hurt, watching them find comfort in each other while he sat on the sidelines with a chest full of wilting things.
Jeongin and Seungmin had always been close, two halves of a shared wavelength. They clicked in a way that made the rest of them smile. It wasn’t a surprise when they came out, quiet and shy but certain, some three years into their careers. There was something soft and inevitable about it, the way they gravitated to each other even when they didn’t mean to.
Then there was the chaos of Changbin, Hyunjin, and Felix, loud and messy and full of growing pains. They had broken apart and come back together so many times it was like watching stars collapse and form galaxies. But eventually, after a storm of late-night fights and tear-streaked apologies, they settled into each other. A throuple, as Felix called it with a laugh, always brushing his pinky against Hyunjin’s hand and leaning on Changbin’s shoulder like he belonged there. Flowers and rainbows. Bliss, hard-won and achingly tender.
And then there was them.
Minho and Jisung.
Minsung. The golden pair. Everyone’s favorite. The fan-favorite. The one that seemed almost too good to be true. And yet it wasn’t, because everything about them was real. Their chemistry was effortless. Their closeness was genuine. They never had to try. It was the way Minho softened when Jisung entered the room, the way he remembered how Jisung took his coffee, the way Jisung always found Minho in a crowd like he was a compass and Minho his true north. They were magnetic. Warm. Right.
Chan tried to be happy for them. And on some level, he was. They were his kids. His members. His family. He loved them with everything he had.
But loving them didn’t make it hurt less.
It didn’t stop the way his throat burned when he heard them laugh together in the dorm kitchen at midnight, didn’t stop the sharp twist in his gut when Minho draped himself across Jisung’s lap like it was home. It didn’t stop the way his body reacted without permission. How the petals came harder, heavier, stained red around the edges.
He’d always thought he could handle it. That if he buried it deep enough, if he stayed busy enough, the flowers wouldn’t bloom. But now they didn’t wait for invitations. They tore their way out of him at the worst times, curling up his throat and stealing his breath. And it wasn’t just petals anymore. It was blood. It was bile. It was things he didn’t name, didn’t want to.
He had thought about letting go. Really thought about it. About ending it once and for all, no more petals, no more blood, no more waking up with the taste of roses and iron in his throat. He had stood at the threshold of the hospital once, breath ragged from a night that nearly broke him.
Chan remembered gripping the stair rail so tightly his knuckles ached, remembered how the cold fluorescent lights made everything feel sterile, hollow, like he could walk in and become someone new. Someone clean. Someone free. It would have been so easy, just a few signatures, a brief procedure, and it would all be gone. The pain, the sickness, the slow decay of his body. And no one even had to know.
But when he thought of the cost, of what he would have to give up, his feet refused to move. Because surgery didn’t just cure Hanaki. It took the love with it. And he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand the thought of waking up and not remembering how Minho’s voice softened when he spoke to him, or how his laughter felt like a balm when the world was too loud. He couldn’t bear to lose the memories of quiet shared glances, of warmth that had never really been his but had felt close enough to believe in. Even if it hurt. Even if it was killing him.
The idea of not loving Minho anymore, felt worse than dying. So he had turned back. Walked out of that hospital with his lungs still blooming, his head heavy and his heart heavier.
And maybe someone would have forced him to get the surgery, talked him out of the stupid idea of walking away just because he wanted to feel the love. Maybe they would have pulled him by the hand inside and held him through it all. Maybe they would have let him cry on their shoulder and heard how it was breaking his heart twice the times to see Minho and Jisung together and then being sad about it.
But no one knew.
And he vowed to keep it that way.
.
.
.
“I am thinking of proposing Minho Hyung, Channie Hyung.” Jisung whispered to him one afternoon in his and Minho’s house where they had gathered for lunch.
It took a while for the words to sink in. Chan was looking at Changbin chasing Seungmin, quiet chuckles falling from his lungs one moment and the other his entire body was rebooting.
Chan’s head whirled around to look at Jisung, trying to figure out if the younger was joking around as he usually did or if he was serious.
His cheeks were flushed, his gaze dropped to the floor, and his hands were fisting the hem of his shirt so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. His shoulders curled inward like he was trying to make himself smaller, his voice still lingering in the air like a secret he hadn’t meant to share out loud.
It was the truth.
And just like that, Chan’s breath caught in his throat, sharp and painful. His heart thudded once, then again, heavy and slow like it was dragging itself through water. There was a roaring in his ears, something like the crash of waves, and for a moment, all he could do was sit there, frozen in place, watching the boy he loved slip further away with a soft smile and a trembling voice.
Chan forced himself to breathe. Just once, steady and deep. He blinked the burn out of his eyes and pressed the smile back onto his face like it belonged there.
“Oh?” he said, and he was relieved to hear that his voice didn’t crack. “That’s… wow, Ji. That’s a big step.”
Jisung looked up, eyes wide, hopeful. “You think so?”
“I know so,” Chan chuckled, nudging his shoulder gently against the younger’s. “But it’s the right kind of big. You’ve been with him for years now. You two- you make sense, you know? Like puzzle pieces. When do you think you wanna do it? This month?”
“No!” The younger immediately refused, shaking his head furiously, “Not that early. Maybe sometime around next January. You know when we have enough holidays for me to plan everything.”
Ten months. That’s all the time Chan had left to live then.
Long enough to be happy for them.
“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything properly. My thoughtful little aegi.”
Jisung’s cheeks flushed deeper, the way they always did when he got complimented too sincerely. He ducked his head, grinning shyly.
“I just- I wanted to ask you first. You’re like- you’ve always been kind of our anchor. I guess I wanted your blessing before I actually did anything.”
That hurt.
God, that hurt more than he thought anything could. But he smiled anyway, soft and steady, and nodded. “Of course you have my blessing, Han-ah. Always.”
The younger beamed. Chan could feel his chest tightening, the stems curling tighter in his lungs, but he ignored it. He had gotten good at ignoring things.
“So,” Jisung said, bouncing a little in excitement now, “how should I do it? Should I be dramatic, or quiet? I mean, it’s Minho. He’d probably like it if I dropped to one knee in the middle of a convenience store.”
Chan laughed, genuinely this time. “Yeah, but don’t give him a heart attack. He’ll act all cool but cry about it later in private.”
“That sounds exactly like him.” Jisung giggled.
Chan leaned back on the couch, head tilted toward the ceiling for just a second, composing himself. “Do something meaningful,” he said. “Not flashy. Something that matters to just the two of you.”
“Like?”
“You could- you could take him to the practice room,” Chan offered quietly. “The one you two used to sneak off to when no one was watching. Play that song you made for him that one Valentine’s. Light a few candles. Say something real.”
Jisung blinked. “You remember that song?”
“I remember everything,” Chan said, smiling faintly. “You should make new memories there.” Overlap everything I ever had special with him.
For a long moment, Jisung just stared at him. Then, slowly, he leaned in and wrapped his arms around Chan’s middle, resting his head on his shoulder.
“Thanks, Hyung. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Chan wrapped his arms around him, holding him a little tighter than necessary. He needed to remind himself that it was his boys being happy with each other. His sadness and jealousy had no place here. He did not deserve to feel like his entire life had failed. All he was allowed to do was be happy for the other two.
He told himself that again and again until the ache dulled into something he could hide. Until the twist in his chest felt more like guilt than heartbreak. He had no right to feel this way. No right to grieve something that had never belonged to him.
So he smiled. Or tried to.
A shadow passed over them, and he felt it before he saw it. Minho.
The other padded over to them, his steps casual, but his eyes sharp. His arm slid around Jisung’s shoulders with ease, like he’d done it a thousand times before.
Chan didn’t let his smile falter.
“What are you two whispering about?” Minho asked, eyebrow raised in playful suspicion. “Are you planning to steal my Sungie away, Hyung?”
It was a joke. A lighthearted tease. But the words hit like a hammer to the ribs.
And it hurt. God, it hurt worse than any thorn Chan had ever choked on. Worse than the nights he’d woken up drowning in petals. Worse than knowing he would die with Minho’s name on his tongue.
Still, he smiled. Laughed, even. Tugged Jisung’s hand into his own with a dramatic flourish and a sparkle in his eye he didn’t feel.
“He was mine first, technically,” Chan said with mock offense, a teasing lilt in his voice. “You stole him.”
Minho grinned, leaning in close to Jisung, smug and content. “Then I guess I’ll keep stealing him every day.”
Chan’s nails dug into his palm. Hard.
He laughed again, even louder this time, throwing his head back like he hadn’t just felt something inside him fracture. Like he wasn’t bleeding metaphorically and literally every day.
“You both are such dorks,” Chan said, grinning through the strain. He shoved his hands into his pockets so no one would see the tremble in them.
Minho rolled his eyes and smirked, walking backwards toward the others. “Like you’d understand what that feels like, Hyung,” he called out, throwing a wink over his shoulder.
It was a joke. Just a joke.
But something crumbled inside Chan at the words. They hit too close to home, too sharp, too honest. Because Minho was right. He didn’t understand what it felt like to be with someone you loved. To hold them openly. To kiss them without fear. To be chosen.
He’d only ever loved one person. Truly, fully, heartbreakingly.
And that person was now getting engaged to someone else.
So no, he wouldn’t understand.
Jisung shook his head at his boyfriend’s teasing, cheeks flushed with fond exasperation, and trailed after him. He dropped beside Felix, slotting easily into the ongoing game, their laughter rising in the background like a song Chan couldn’t hum along to.
The elder did not know how long he had been standing there for, trying to push the pressure in his lungs down, and his tears inside. He couldn’t start crying at such a happy moment.
Not even when he was probably going to die because of it.
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