Chapter Text
“Chan didn’t do his live last night,” Hyunjin hooked his chin over Changbin’s shoulder as he stood staring out at the rest of them warming up for their dance practice. Changbin followed Hyunjin’s gaze to where Chan was sitting on the counter in the corner, donned in all black, beanie low over his eyes. He looked zoned out, unfocused, “you think he’s okay?”
He didn’t let his gaze linger, knowing the eldest would feel his eyes on him and search for him. Changbin didn’t know the answer to Hyunjin’s question either. The news had been so hard on all of them. Word of Moonbin’s death, his likely suicide, sent them all reeling and Chan’s soft confession to him that night in bed, his soft whisper of, “that would have been me.” as they held each other in their mutual grief was enough to have Changbin tighten his hold around his shoulders as if the threat of his premature, self-inflicted departure was still real. Because in a way, it always was real. Just a little lingering something in the back of his head that one day he could wake up and Chan would be gone.
Obviously, things had been good. So good. Their relationships blossomed into sweet familiarity and trust over the past few years, but it’s not like Chan was magically cured of his bad days. He wasn’t much better about coming to them directly, but he had developed enough tells, was more willing to just sit in silence with them instead of hiding, more open to their gentle prying, more accepting of help, than he had ever been before.
In truth, the last few years had been so great to them. To all of them. They had hit this new stride of success, of comfort with each other and it felt like the years of hardship had finally paid off. And news of Moonbin’s death came like a hammer that shattered the little world they had created for themselves, a harsh reminder of the fragility of life and for Changbin at least, a reminder of how close they came to losing Chan too.
So, he didn’t know how to answer Hyunjin’s question. Chan wasn’t talking to them much right now and they had agreed to give him space to grieve - they all needed it really and they trusted Chan enough to come to them if he needed to, but they still all hovered anyway. And something about finding out that Chan didn’t do his live was sending up major red flags and Changbin couldn’t quite point to why.
“Should we ask him about it?”
Changbin shrugged - Hyunjin’s hair tickled his neck with the movement, “later, after filming.”
Hyunjin seemed to agree and the day extended on.
Chan made it look easy, falling into the background when it came to filming like this and they were always willing to let him. Whether it was because he needed to not be the center of attention (which he hated so much) or because he just didn’t have the energy to put up the face he always did for Stays. They always gave him the cover, played for the camera so no one thought anything of it. They’d played this game for too long, knew how to work the system to produce the content they wanted to produce. And it’s not like they weren’t being genuine with their fans or with how they were representing themselves - but everyone always plays a bit of a character when the cameras are rolling - an exaggerated, caricature of themselves that shines through the lens.
So when Chan didn’t engage in their antics, didn’t quip back or egg them on, they let him drift behind them in silence and they did everything they could to keep the attention on them.
When Changbin and Chan finally stumbled into their apartment that night, blurry eyed, lids heavy with exhaustion, he followed Chan into his room and collapsed onto his bed. He should have gone to his own room, but he didn’t want to. Didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want Chan to be alone. So instead, he curled up on a bed that wasn’t his own, but with how often he was in it, it might as well have been. He watched in silence as Chan changed before crawling under the covers next to him. He hadn’t really spoken since they left the studio. And when he fell into Changbin’s side, he burrowed his face into his chest before bringing his hands up to cover his ears. Changbin responded without hesitation, drawing him in closer and hugging him against him.
Neither spoke and that was fine.
They didn’t really need to.
And they laid like that until he felt Chan relax next to him and slowly pull away to blink up at him with narrowed, empty eyes.
“Hey,” Changbin said softly.
“Hey,” Chan said back, “I should get up,” he whispered, “I still have work to do.”
“It can wait until tomorrow.”
Chan sighed in annoyance because it probably could wait until tomorrow, but nothing was probably ever going to completely cure him of his overworking tendencies.
“Just lay here with me,” Changbin shifted so they were face to face, “please.”
Chan sighed and closed his eyes, “okay,” Changbin knew he probably wouldn’t sleep much, but at least laying here with him, they both could pretend to do something that looked like resting.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
A heavy silence spread between them and Changbin let it, knowing there was nothing he could do to make this better.
“Where’s Jisung and Hyunjin?” Chan finally asked. He relaxed into Changbin fully, his hand slipped under the hem of his t-shirt, fingers flat against Changbin’s stomach, flexing rhythmically just gently enough that he had to resist the shudder at the tickling sensation, a warmth stirring in him low and fervent.
“Sleeping at the other dorms tonight.”
Chan didn’t say anything, but he did pull himself up to one elbow, the hand that was warm against Changbin’s stomach disappearing to find a spot next to his head, caging him between his arms and Changbin recognized that look in his eyes, dilated pupils, a desperate need to feel something, to feel in control of something, so he didn’t hesitate to reach up to grip the collar of Chan’s shirt, yanking him down until they were so close all he would have to do is tilt his chin up to slot their lips together.
But he didn’t.
He let Chan set the pace.
And the pace he chose was demanding with a spark of desperation, fueled by desire and it didn’t take long for Changbin to throw his head back, knees pressed up to his chest as Chan dove into him with the same meticulously controlling strength that always sent Changbin’s head spinning, vision going white with frayed nerves and an overwhelming rush of pleasure that ripped gasps of Chan’s name from his lips. And he knew Chan loved how vocal he was so he wasn’t shy when he begged for more, begged for Chan to use him so he had some semblance of control, begging for Chan to wipe the thoughts from his head and replace them with the overwhelming feeling of fullness and pleasure until all he could see and smell and taste was Chan.
And when they finally collapsed against each other in a pile of sweaty limbs and half removed clothes, there was still a mutual sadness between them, that lessened in the togetherness of it all.
“‘Bin,” Chan said his name as an exhale, his face buried into the column of his neck, his breath hot on his already heated flesh. He didn’t say anything else as he rolled off of him and pattered half naked into the bathroom down the hall. When some time had passed and he heard the sink faucet turn on, he carefully slid out of bed and followed him, grabbing for his discarded clothes as he went. The bathroom was empty when he got there so he made quick work of cleaning up and following the sounds of Chan’s tinkering. He found him in the kitchen doing their dishes. It was Jisung’s turn, but Chan was doing them anyway.
“Even that couldn’t tire you out, huh?” Changbin quipped as he grabbed Chan from behind, looping his arms around his waist and tugging him backward.
Chan must have been more on edge than Changbin realized because he tensed in the circle of his arms, just long enough for Changbin to catch it, body rigged and poised for flight or fight, but it was gone as quick as it came and he relaxed backward to lean into Changbin’s chest, “guess not.”
Chan’s hands stilled and Changbin carefully rested his chin on his shoulder, tilting his head to study his face. It was difficult to read, but if anyone could decipher what was going on in Chan’s head, it was him, “hey,” Chan’s face didn’t change, “hyung,” he whined softly.
“What?”
“Come to bed with me.”
“I was just in bed with you.”
“To sleep,” and then he quickly added, “please.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
And Changbin sighed because they’d done this dance for over half a decade now and he knew on nights like this when Chan’s head was too loud, his thought screaming at him in a way that Changbin could only partially understand, there was no amount of energy expenditure or sex or working out or chores that would tire his brain out enough to get him to sleep.
“Okay, well if you can’t sleep, at least come lay down with me. If we can’t get your mind to rest, we can at least get your body to rest.”
The annoyed glare that Chan turned on him as he stepped out of his arms didn’t hold that much heat behind it. It was a phrase that Seungmin and Minho started saying at some point over the past years and it had quickly spread to the rest of them and they used it on him … often enough. And sometimes it worked, Chan would loll into a half-daze that seemed to qualify as something like rest. It seemed to work tonight too, because Chan sighed in defeat, turning off the water, leaving the dishes half done and he turned and followed a triumphant Changbin back to his room.
Changbin didn’t comment the next morning that it only took ten minutes for Chan to fall asleep next to him.
—-
The days went on and the heavy cloud that sat over them slowly dissipated. Chan only missed that one live that immediately followed the announcement of Moonbin’s death and then he seemed to fall back into his weekly rhythm and no one thought anything else of it. Changbin watched part of Chan’s live the next week and then abruptly turned it off when questions about Moonbin started flooding his chat. He had to fight the flare of annoyance because apparently even their grief couldn’t be private, but Chan was always open enough with people, with Stays, - open just enough to give a little part of himself away so that no one thought to ask anything more.
And so he answered their questions with wide expressive eyes and Changbin recognized the mask for what it was.
The days turned into weeks and the little ball of grief that bounced around between them shrunk so every time it hit him the impact was a little less.
And life went on.