𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙾𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜

𝚂𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙲𝚛𝚢

TW: alluded anxiety, depression, self-harm, self loathing

This one is heavy, guys. 

It will mention Moonbin and his passing. If that is something that you don't feel you can read, please don't read this.  I am not trying to disrespect his memory in any way, shape, or form- he is my bias, and will forever be. I just think that Chan's grief was turned against him in an unfair way, and that people need to realise that just because two idols are from two different groups doesn't mean they can't be friends.

I also think people don't realise just how much hate was directed toward Chan while he was grieving, and how badly that visibly affected him for the rest of 2023.

Requested by @daphneannajames

I hope it's to your liking- I kind of veered off course halfway through

If you don't, I can write something else that is more to your liking

If you were to ask any member of Stray Kids, they would say that Chan is proud of his body, of the countless hours he has poured into keeping it in tiptop condition. Obviously he's proud of it. Why else would he go shirtless in the dorms so frequently?

If you were to ask Chan himself, he would say that he is proud of his body as well. In reality, nothing could be farther from the truth. In reality, he only turned to working out at the insistence of his only hyung, who was desperate for him to find at least one healthy coping habit, one that wouldn't scar his body.

His only hyung, who learned his secret, who tended to the cuts, who made sure they healed properly, who ensured that he found healthier ways, that he got help, and then left him. 

He has gotten over that, he has healed.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

Deep down, he knows that he hasn't healed, not at all, but he can at least pretend. Pretend for the others and himself. Pretend that they have a competent hyung, a leader who actually knows what he is doing. 

He isn't sure how much longer he can keep it up. 

His promise to Woojin weighs heavily on him, all day, every day, louder than the voices, stronger than the urge to pick up the knife again. 

He made a promise to find healthier coping mechanisms. 

He did just that.

But a part of him still longs to hold a knife, to watch the red grow, a sliver to a trickle, sometimes pooling on his skin. A part of him still longs to feel the sting, the burn, because he deserves it, doesn't he?

But he has managed to keep clean for five years. 

He will try his damnedest to keep it that way, if not for himself, then for the others.  

He can keep it that way.

At least, he thought he could.

That was before he got the call. 

The call that ripped a hole in his chest, a Moonbin shaped space that will forever be empty.