( Bang Chan + Lee Felix )
❝Nobody can know about this pregnancy.❞
┈┈ mistopher | 2021 ++
To Bang Chan, being in the spotlight was never easy, no matter how glamorous his life looks up on stage. And his already suffocating backstage pressure could on...
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┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 🎤 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈
⇒ 3racha's Dorm Building 1:45am
Running a hand languidly over his face, Chan strolled to the kitchen for a glass of water, the pounding headache to the back of his head slurring his steps forward.
The images of screaming, overly excited fans flashed behind his eyes, the periodical losses of realistic sight almost sending his feet bumping over one another. Anxiously gulping down half a cup of cold water, a tear slid out of the male's eye; neither his muscles nor his mind able to explain why the liquid had dripped down so randomly.
But his heart knew. His heart thumped exhaustedly with trauma- trauma from the concert of a few hours before. Trauma from being surrounded by so many people that detested the very people that it wanted to love- sore all over from being encircled by the radiating levels of ignorance that its owner only fueled with his blunt comments now and then, or mind-bred lyrics that sought to outcast all people who saw it fit to love how and who they wanted.
It felt more frustrating than before, honestly. And Chan didn't know why. He didn't know if it was as a result of the uncomfortably growing fanbase, or if it was because of the deepening level of ignorance and homophobic disgust from not only his fans, but his band members- or if it was because of that cashier...
That studious cashier that appeared to be so unfamiliar with the famous face and that voguish voice couldn't have known him, and that's what peeved him. Because any dedicated fan would undoubtedly recognize the CB97 with or without a dark cloth shying away the majority of his facial features, so it's either the stranger was too overwhelmed with his work, or he just was simply not obsessed with the narcissistic boy band like most of society.
Now even though those metal inquiries bothered Chan, the thoughts still sparked curiosity in that heart that was just hanging on loosely in search of just one innocent, trustworthy partner. One that was naturally independent- one that would be willing to understand the level of privacy that would be needed in their relationship- one that would remain oblivious to the continuous enlistment of soldiers into the very army that fought against their beliefs, and just remain in nothing but love, happiness, and acceptance.
Impossible.
Unrealistic.
And simply put, selfish.
Yet still, the obvious, relatively clear layout of futility wasn't enough to cut that thin rope that Chan's heart resiliently hung onto. But it sure did blind it enough to be completely unaware of the almost completely exposed plan of the darker section of the artiste's mind.
