All His Imperfections - Bangchan Centric

1

7th September

Just one more practice, one more runthrough, one more song until perfection. He promised himself it would be the last time, but promises you make to yourself can be broken, right?

Chan was near to collapsing; he had been trying to perfect their new dance in time for the recording they were doing in a few days, and each time he felt clumsier and clumsier. He said it would be the last time, but with the last chord of each attempt, he felt worse. He was sick and tired of disappointing the others - a great fucking leader he made when he couldn't even get it right himself. How could he expect the others to rely on him when he couldn't rely on himself?

They'd all be better of without him.

He was exhausted to the point where he could barely drag his body back to the starting position, and he started to hate the sound of the song; his voice sounded terrible and with every replay he hated himself more and more.

One more time, he thought to himself. I just have to make this perfect, I can't let them all down.

Perfect.

It was that fucking word again. The one thing he aspired to be, but the one thing he was not.

~

He didn't realise how late he'd been up until the clock struck 3. His thoughts began to race, a guilt filling him as he worried about the others - had they been waiting up for him, wondering where he was? Trying to ignore the growing ache in his head and the even worse ache in his heart, he made his way miserably out of the studio, stopping only to catch his reflection in the mirror.

His eyes glassed over as his figure lost focus in his eyes, distorting all his features out of shape. All he could hear was the harsh ringing in his ears, "You need to lose weight. You've gained so much more than the other members. I expected better of you as a leader. Maybe you aren't fit for Stray Kids after all." Maybe it was the trick of light, but as he looked desperately at his perfect, slim waist, all he could see was the fat on his bones. All his imperfections.

Hastily lifting a hand to his eyes to swipe away his tears, he grabbed his bag and hurried out of the building, shutting all these thoughts behind him. He had to be strong; Stray Kids needed him - he hoped.

~

He arrived home to an unwelcome silence. Although he always wanted the best for his members, a twisted part of him had hoped at least one of them had been up waiting, perhaps worrying about him. He wanted only good things for all of them and hated himself when these doubts crept in - but sometimes he just wished someone would notice.

As he made his way to his bedroom to pass out to the welcoming thought of unconsciousness, he caught sight of the table. All the plates had been cleared away, tidily stacked into neat piles, spotless. Only one plate was left on the table; it was wrapped up to keep it warm and fresh, in front of his chair.

He felt his eyes tearing up again, and bit his lip hard for a distraction. His hand hovered over the plate for a few seconds. It looked so delicious, so tempting. He thought of the loving hands that had cooked it for him. He nearly reached out to take a bite, before remembering the number on the scales the night before.

Fucking disgusting, he thought bitterly, before scraping the plate into the bin, a tear escaping his left eye.

~

He couldn't sleep that night. He was so, so tired, to the point where he could barely think straight, but all he felt was guilt. Guilt for throwing away the food someone had spent money on and made for him, guilt for not doing well enough despite the hours he put in. He dreaded the upcoming dance practice they were recording in only a few days. He already knew he was going to let them all down.

He tossed and turned for hours, fighting a war he knew he could never win. He could briefly see the glow from his alarm clock - 5.30 am. He had to be up in an hour and a half. If he fell asleep now, he'd only hate waking up more. Regretfully, loathing himself even more by the minute, he trudged to the living room, turning on a random channel on the television to distract him.

It wasn't until he heard the familiar buzz of his members talking and getting ready for the day that he realised sleep had finally taken him, and he had to function on under an hour's sleep. No wonder he always fucked up the rehearsals.

Brushing off the other's concerned comments, he got up and ready, making sure to laugh along with the others as usual. Despite his longing for someone to notice, to have someone hold him while he cried and left him spill out his heart, deep down he was embarrassed at his state. He didn't want anyone to worry about him - it was his job to worry about them. There was one thing for sure - he wasn't going to tell anyone.