I can't live without you.. || Chanmin

The Weight of Waiting

(Bangchan Pov)

Three months.

It had been three months since they'd watched Seungmin being wheeled out of the hospital, his fragile frame disappearing through the double doors of the mental health facility. Three months of silence, save for the occasional updates from the doctors. Three months of pretending everything was fine when everything was far from it.

Chan sat alone in the dorm's living room, staring blankly at the coffee table. A notebook sat open in front of him, lyrics scribbled in the margins, but the words made no sense. His pen hovered over the page, but nothing came out.

His mind wasn't here. It was with Seungmin.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. The dorm felt quieter without Seungmin's sharp wit, without his calm yet sarcastic presence that somehow kept them all grounded. Even the air felt heavier, like the weight of his absence lingered in every corner of their shared space.

"Hyung?"

Chan turned to see Jeongin standing in the doorway, his eyes puffy, dark circles underlining them. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, and Chan wasn't surprised. None of them had been sleeping well.

"What's up, Innie?" Chan asked softly, though he already knew the answer.

"I... I had another dream about him," Jeongin admitted, stepping into the room and sitting on the couch beside Chan. He picked at the edge of his hoodie sleeve, avoiding Chan's gaze. "He was smiling in it, but then he just... disappeared. And when I woke up, it felt so real."

Chan swallowed the lump in his throat, his hand instinctively reaching out to squeeze Jeongin's shoulder. "We'll see him again," he said, though his voice wavered. "He'll come back to us."

"But what if he doesn't?" Jeongin's voice cracked, and his eyes filled with tears. "What if he doesn't want to? What if we weren't enough for him to stay?"

The question hit Chan like a punch to the gut. It was the same fear that had been haunting him since the day Seungmin left. He wanted to say something reassuring, to promise Jeongin that everything would be okay, but he couldn't. Because he didn't know if it would be.

Instead, he pulled Jeongin into a hug, letting the younger boy cry into his shoulder.

Practice wasn't much better.

Felix had lost his usual spark, his laughter quiet and rare. Han had become more withdrawn, throwing himself into songwriting as a way to cope. Even Changbin, who was always so composed, seemed more irritable, snapping over small mistakes during rehearsals.

And Hyunjin... Hyunjin had stopped drawing altogether. His sketchbooks sat untouched in the corner of the studio, collecting dust.

They were all trying to stay strong, to keep pushing forward for Seungmin's sake, but the cracks were showing.

During a break, Felix sank onto the floor, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I just keep wondering," he said, his voice barely audible, "if he's okay. If he's eating, if he's sleeping... if he even knows how much we miss him."

"Of course he does," Changbin said, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. "He knows. He has to."

Chan leaned against the wall, watching the others with a heavy heart. He felt the weight of their pain, their fears, their doubts. As their leader, he was supposed to hold them together, but how could he when he was falling apart himself?

Late that night, Chan found himself back in the practice room, staring at the empty mirror. He'd started coming here after everyone else had gone to bed, hoping to find some clarity, some sense of direction.

But all he found was more questions.

He sank onto the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. The memory of Seungmin's smile flashed in his mind, so vivid it almost felt real. He missed him so much it hurt.

"Why, Min?" Chan whispered into the empty room, his voice breaking. "Why didn't you tell me how bad it was? Why didn't you let me help you?"

His chest tightened, tears streaming down his face. He hated this—hated feeling so powerless, so helpless. Seungmin was supposed to be here, with them, not locked away behind walls that Chan couldn't reach.

A knock at the door startled him. He quickly wiped his face, trying to compose himself as Felix peeked in.

"Hyung," Felix said softly, stepping inside. "You can't keep doing this to yourself."

"I'm fine," Chan said, though his voice betrayed him.

"No, you're not," Felix said, sitting down beside him. "None of us are. And it's okay to admit that. It's okay to miss him."

Chan looked at Felix, his walls crumbling. "I don't know how to do this, Lix," he admitted, his voice shaking. "I don't know how to lead us through this. I don't know if I'm saying the right things, or doing enough, or—"

"Hyung," Felix interrupted, his voice firm but kind. "You're not alone in this. We're all hurting, but we're in this together. And Seungmin... he'll come back to us. I know he will. But we have to take care of ourselves, too. For him. For each other."

Chan nodded, the weight on his chest easing just slightly. He wasn't sure if Felix was right, if things would really get better, but for now, he clung to the hope in his words.

It was all they had left.