Skz Cute Littleverse

Positions ~ Chan X Skz

Little ~ Chan
Caregiver(s) ~ Stray Kids

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Bangchan was abnormal or so he thought — rewind back from AOT 'cause that's not it.

The manager's words from yesterday hit an unidentifiable spot in his 24*7 operating brain — well, that was past. After a couple of errors and glitches, the brain pulled down its fellow organs along and everything was malfunctioning except his dear laptop.

"Stress within your head is palpable. I think you need to relieve it and rest."

Those were the manager's exact spoken words, really triggering.

With the rushing comeback preparations overhead, the leader he was, barely got a peaceful sleep since nights. He just laid down on the bed, tossed and turned helplessly, and switched on the laptop to work until one of his dorm mates didn't barge into his room, seize the device, and command him to sleep for the beginning hours of the day; he felt sick.

But the insights on his increasing stress levels provided by the manager and the advice to seek relief had utterly messed up with his racing thoughts.

Following yesterday's convo with the manager, Chan felt weird things as if his brain just wanted to delete all the load and shift into another mind space — which practically was impossible, he believed.

He found himself zoning out frequently, craving for cuddles and affection, unable to process excess information, which was totally brief — and not to forget how he was sucking on his thumb minutes ago like a freaking toddler. Was he going insane or what? Maniac mode activating?

Usually, in such angsty moments, Chan would've wanted to scream and yell until all his pent-up anxiety had lightened or wished to transform into hulk so as to punch a few and reverse metamorphose into Bangchan.

So unlikely of him, however the morning, when he felt the urge to blow bubbles, jump around the dorm, have everyone's attention and mimic his bandmates' every action. If not abnormal, then he didn't have the capacity to think of a better word that could describe his inappropriate condition appropriately.

The manager would recommend, even offer, a visit to psychologist, if Chan would come out to him; the idea sounded not so great. And venting in front of his sweet and caring dongsaengs, who were also undoubtedly tired if not the equal, was not an option.

His dongsaengs. Another provoking point besides being his soft spot. They and their caring-carefree kind of natures were the reason why Chan was acting distant by occupying himself with tonnes of tasks in his studio since the dawn.

He just couldn't bear the sight of the maknae-line chilling with their games and the others in their happy-go-lucky moods. His eyes had held in the frustrating tears; barging out of that place was the only route he had found then.

Being the eldest, he had himself scolded them to take a little break and had stubbornly denied his bandmates' concerns in return. Was he being a hypocrite or worse to the extent of playing the masochist? He didn't know that, but one thing was crystal clear — Chan wasn't being himself anymore.

It felt sheer torture, like a worthless self-punishment to be confined within the walls of his studio and working, working, working in an attempt to stray his mind away from those odd thoughts, while his heart was yearning for reliving his childhood, a life void of headaches and body pains.

The anxious male released the tight grip around the pen he was trying to write some lyrics with and whined — not harshly groaned like he habitually would — out of exhaustion. The fatigue that took over him, moreover, wasn't in favour of sleep but tiredness from his bland daily routine.