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The mirrors were mocking him.
They had to be.
He stood there, glancing at his reflection, his eyes fleeting from one place to another; judging. He examined the sweat dripping from his forehead, his hands, which, if he squinted, were visibly shaking from the effort. He gouged his appearance, the haggard tilt to his back, the drooping of his eyes.
In his moment of stillness, the music seemed to be the only thing tethering him to the ground, feet firmly planted on the wooden floor of the practice room. The melody, the beat, were his only clue of the passing of time, of the ticking of the clock. Had the music not been left to continue on loop, perhaps he’d have gotten lost in his reflection, like a castaway in an unknown sea.
Chan wasn’t supposed to be there. Not at that hour. Not for many hours to come.
What am I doing?
The noise pounded in his ears, mixing with the beating of his heart and the rushing of his blood. He panted, still struggling to regain his breathing. Repetition had proved to be harder that day. Instead of improving, he was deteriorating with each time he tried to perfect the choreography.
Nothing was going well.
Again, he thought, what am I doing?
Perhaps he’d gone insane. Maybe the seams that had been holding him from collapsing since the start of his idol career had become weary under the weight of responsibility. Maybe they were letting go, debris accumulating at his feet in the form of failure.
Or perhaps he was just sleep deprived.
Chan breathed in, once, thrice; On the fifth time, he willed his body to move toward the sound system. He would repeat the song again. Dance one more time. After that, he’d allow himself rest.
That’s just a fool’s way of thinking.
He knew that.
But he couldn’t afford to stop. He didn’t have that privilege .
The song played from the top, and Chan got into position, letting his body start to flow and lock. He arranged his limbs in the angle they were supposed to be, moved his body with the strength or lightness the choreographer had instructed him to use before.
The recording of it had been engraved into his mind since the man had shown it to them. The person in it performed the dance without flaw. At the end of the video, he remembered, there were loud claps and whistles and uttered good jobs! From people behind the camera.
What does it feel like , he wondered, to be so revered?
The claps and whistles and congratulations weren’t reserved for the practice room. They were that which Chan had grown to recognize in an adoring crowd. They had been directed at himself time and time again, even. And yet—
And yet .
A name comes to mind, and with it the flurry of comments on that same name posted on social media. All the things said that Chan had meticulously read, and unknowingly archived into the back of his mind as fuel to his self-deprecation.
His mind floated away with the memories, with the bitter remarks, and Chan barely had any time to catch himself before he fell face-first to the ground, betrayed by his own limbs, and by his own wandering mind.
His ears ring.
When he looks at himself in the mirror, he sees inadequacy.
A lot of time passes, and he stays on the floor, unseeing. The world becomes muffled, his blood rushes in his ears louder, until he can barely remember there being any other sound surrounding him.
He thinks he might pass out and wake up there the next morning, but then the door pushes open, and in comes all which Chan wasn’t.
“Chan-ah?”
Soonyoung looks tired. More so than he’s looked in weeks. The strenuous frown adorning his features makes him look older, like time had advanced more on him than anyone else. Seungcheol looked like that, too. And Jihoon.
But all thirteen of them did, in a way. It was just something that came with the job, and they all had accepted it at some point.
Chan stared at him through the mirror, his tongue feeling like lead on his mouth. His head was filled with cotton, and his limbs dragged him down closer to the floor. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could melt into the wood, and finally give himself a break from watchful eyes and attentive ears.
“Chan-ie?” Soonyoung asked again, and Chan felt an unwarranted ire surge through him like a particularly ugly monster rearing its equally horrid head. “Are you okay? Why are you on the floor?”
Chan finally dared snap his gaze away from the mirror and look Soonyoung in the eye without any pretense, without the reflective barrier as some kind of shield. The older one had turned wary with concern as he shuffled further into the room.
The door closed softly behind him, and the sound gave Chan a sense of foreboding.
“Yes, I’m okay, hyung” he managed to grit out through his teeth “just slipped. But I’m just…fine”
Soonyoung stepped closer, and frustration clawed at Chan’s insides. He wished he’d leave. That he’d ignore ever seeing his dongsaeng spread out on the floor on the border of a breakdown.
Seeing Soonyoung in the flesh after holding himself up in the practice room for hours tore open scabbing wounds. Chan was afraid that he’d be left bleeding out on the floor, without ever getting the chance to prove himself.
When Soonyoung crouched down next to him to pat a gentle hand against his forehead, Chan almost jumped back from how much it burned, and he bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying something he’d regret.
“What are you doing here, Chan-ah?” He asks gently, wiping away the sweat from his forehead despite how disgusting it must feel “you should be resting with the rest of the members.”
And Chan can’t help it. He burns. He turns everything to ash.
“I don’t have the privilege to rest like you do, hyung, '' he replies. It is uttered with enough venom that he sees the gentleness wash away from Soonyoung’s face. He watches it as it morphs into surprise, something uncertain simmering beneath.
Soonyoung removes his hand, frowning “I don’t get why you’d say that, Chan-ie. All of us deserve some rest after all our hard work these past few weeks. You even more, after all the effort you’ve been putting into this comeback.”
Chan examined Soonyoung from his place on the floor. His words were spoken with intent, and honesty. Of course they were. Soonyoung was one of the most genuine people he knew.
But there was bitterness coiling in his stomach like an ugly snake. And Chan was too exhausted to fight against it.
He scoffed, pushing himself up “don’t flatter me, hyung.”
Soonyoung recoiled, eyebrows furrowing at Chan’s biting tone. “I’m not, though…? You know I don’t give out compliments I don’t mean.”
His statement was met with icy silence, and he watched Chan pace the room from one end to the other, stretching his arms over his head, shaking his legs to dispel their numbness. His gaze was permanently fixated on the wooden floor.
Soonyoung couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was irreparably wrong .
He had no chance to voice his concerns, though. His words failed him, drowned out by the sound of booming music, turned up all the way up. Soonyoung watched Chan get into position, still crouched on the floor, mouth agape with uncertainty; with guilt.
He was supposed to be a leader. He was supposed to help.
But, apparently, he was only aggravating the younger more.
Chan began dancing. And he danced, and danced, and danced, until he was heaving, catching himself against the wall before he could black out from the exhaustion. Soonyoung rushed forward again, against his better judgment, and lightly tapped his arm, making sure to speak softly.
“Chan-ah. You have done well today. How about we go home now, hm?”
The younger looked up at him, and if he didn’t know any better, Soonyoung would have assumed Chan’s expression was almost filled with resentment.
In between shuddering, breaths, he shook his head “I…can’t. Not yet. I still haven’t…corrected my mistake”
Soonyoung sighed. Just watching Chan made exhaustion seep into his own bones like a particularly nasty ache.
“You haven’t made any mistakes so far, Chan-ie,” he tried to appease, rubbing the younger’s arm comfortingly. “Trust me.”
There was something that shuttered in Chan’s gaze the moment the words had left his mouth. It was like a flip being switched. And Soonyoung suddenly had the impression that Chan was surrounding himself with tower-high walls, leaving Soonyoung on the other side of them with no hope to try and reach him.
What was going on?
“ Trust you ?” Chan echoed, a humorless twitch of his lips making him look almost mocking. Soonyoung frowned “Of course I should, shouldn’t I? Everyone should always listen to you because you’ve always been a professional , right?”
Soonyoung recoiled. He didn’t know what was happening. The words made no sense, but the tone in which they were spoken felt like a knife stabbing him in the back and slowly turning, making excruciating pain rise to his back.
“I…didn’t mean it like that” He said, a confused frown still etched deeply on his face “I am just trying to help. You look exhausted, I don’t want you to overexert yourself to the point of collapse. That won’t do either you or the group any good.”
Chan huffed and pushed himself off the wall, repeating the endless cycle of pacing the room, shaking out his legs, and stretching his arms out. He felt the frustration that had been plaguing him for weeks simmer just beneath his skin like an annoying prickle. If he gave it any more time of day, he was afraid of it leaking out of his pores and staining whoever came close.
He didn’t want to be mean to Soonyoung.
But, god , seeing him right then made Chan feel pitiful.
He was suddenly hyper-aware of his own appearance, the haggard tilt of his shoulders, the staggering breaths, too sharp, too airy to be only mere fatigue from a normal practice session; the dark circles like purplish half-moons teasing the underside of his eyes; and his red lips, bitten raw, almost bleeding.
He must have been a sight to see, alright.
It would be no wonder, then, that Soonyoung probably looked at him with waves of pity.
Though, Chan knew that Soonyoung never felt that towards anybody. Still, he could only try to swat away and dispel the thought before it buried deep within him, in the space between his ribs, like a second heart, but instead of bright red and lively, replaced by black and rotten organ, pumping out venom into his system.
And Soonyoung–
He was still fucking looking at him. Like he couldn’t wrap his head around who stood before him. Like Chan was but a spectre, a mediocre copy of someone he had known in flesh and blood; now a shell, a vessel of resentment.
How long could Chan go on for? How long could he go without unraveling at the seams? How long would it take for the words to slip past his clenched teeth like a beat-out breath after being on the receiving end of a particularly nasty right hook?
Chan tethered the edge.
And he swayed dangerously towards the abyss.
The younger of the two stilled in the middle of the room. Steeling himself, he closed his fists until his knuckles turned white, and he chanced a meaningful glance at Soonyoung.
The cliff gave out underneath him.
And Chan fell .
“Sometimes I wonder what feat I need to accomplish to receive due credit for my efforts, you know?” He whispered, almost like a hiss, all spikes and the unwilling urge to draw out blood, to have Sooonyoung bleeding out right beside him. Maybe then he’d understand. Maybe.
“You– all twelve of you have something . The charm, the voice, the rap, the comedic relief. There’s always something that makes you shine, stand out, be praised …and I thought I had that too. I thought– I thought dancing was my saving grace.”
Soonyoung was still watching him. His eyes didn’t look like they usually did the moment he stepped into a practice room. They weren’t narrowed in concentration. No longer was Chan subjected to Soonyoung’s trademark perfectionism. The watchful gaze now belonged to that of the mirrors, which, even as he stopped dancing, as his arms laid limp by his sides, as if defeated, continued to mock him.
It was as jarring as it was comforting.
If Soonyoung’s eyes had retaken that look, Chan would have long crumbled underneath his gaze.
Now he was just Soonyoung. His hyung. One of his best friends. Perhaps that fact alone was what gave Chan the courage to speak with all that barely concealed anger, lying just beneath the surface of his tongue.
“I was wrong, clearly,” he continued, voice escalating. “Nothing I do is enough. No amount of practice is ever enough. And without dance, I have nothing.”
Chan felt the fight leave him in slow, steady trickles. He was crumbling, all debris and dust and a heart swallowed up by anguished waves. And Soonyoung was watching it all happen in silent astoundment.
“Tell me hyung,” Chan asked, and his eyes prickled with something he refused to feel. “What more do I need to do to be like you?”
Everything stilled. Just for a second. And yet it felt like a lifetime.
Then, A sharp intake of breath.
And single, hesitant, step forward.
And then Chan was falling to the ground just as Soonyoung took the last remaining steps towards him, arms encasing his shoulders tightly; almost bruisingly.
“Chan-ah”
His knees gave out. Soonyoung struggled with his hold.
“Chan-ah!”
His throat was tight. He didn’t want to cry. Admitting all his doubts to the person who fueled them was already hard enough. But Soonyoung’s voice sounded desperate, and in pain, and Chan, try as he might, could not bear to see Soonyoung in pain. He didn’t want him bleeding out next to him, after all.
“...yes?”
They were on the hard floor now, cold seeping into their knees, a tangle of limbs and baggy clothes. Soonyoung was cradling Chan’s head against his shoulder.
“How long have you felt like this?”
Chan sighed, bringing his arms around Soonyoung’s waist in a loose hold, his last tether to the world, to his sanity. His shoulders untensed, muscles achy from how long he had been holding himself tight against himself, cooped up in the practice room.
For the first time in a while, he finally felt a little loose.
“I don’t know if it ever stopped,” he confessed.
A horrible, horrible noise fell from Soonyoung’s limbs. A small, pained thing which echoed in the space between them, and he drew his arms around Chan’s shoulders impossibly tighter. It was almost uncomfortable, yet Chan focused not in their odd position, but in the warmth of his hyung’s body against his own.
Alas, comfort.
“I’m sorry” came the older’s soft reply. It was raw and filled with guilt, and it made Chan’s eyes prickle in turn. “I’m sorry for not realizing sooner. For not pulling you away from these thoughts. You are so amazing, Chan-ah. So, so wonderful and hardworking . Don’t doubt it. Please never doubt it.”
A crack on the façade. And then three, and then a million more.
A dam inside Chan gave way.
First, he trembled.
Then, he couldn’t hold himself anymore.
All his body weight fell on Soonyoung, who very resolutely did not let them fall completely to the floor, and his body began to get racked with sobs. He was loud, and tears were ugly, until his face was red and puffy, and he could barely see Soonyoung in front of him through the fog of saltwater clinging to his eyelashes.
He might have missed the few tears that fell from the older man’s eyes, had he not felt the dampness on his own shirt where the man had buried his face as he held him.
When the cries ceased, neither of them talked.
They laid back on the hardwood, cold floor, side by side, and stared at the ceiling as one would the sky when stargazing.
But there were no stars. Only blinding, artificial lights, mocking mirrors, and bone-deep coldness. There was only them, and the words still left unsaid, the doubts, charging the air between them.
Minutes passed. Or perhaps hours. Eventually, with his voice hoarse, Chan gathered the courage to look at Soonyoung. The older one was already looking back. He had been for a while.
“I’m sorry, hyung,” Chan whispered. “I tried to deal with it. I really did. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to stop thinking that way.”
Soonyoung shook his head vehemently. “Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong. We all spiral every once in a while. What’s important is seeking out someone to help drag you away from that edge.”
Chan regarded Sooyoung in quiet contemplation, eyelids heavy with the exhaustion he was finally allowing himself to feel. Struggling, he slowly rose up to his feet, extending a hand towards his hyung quietly.
“Can we go home now?”
Soonyoung smiled, the first smile that pulled at his lips since he’d arrived, and the remains of Chan’s uncertainty dissolved, leaving his chest feeling lighter than it had been in weeks.
“Yeah, Chan-ie” Soonyoung said, dragging Chan towards the door of the room. “Let’s go home.”