Work Text:
Hello, hello, hello
To be completely honest, Chan can’t remember the last time he saw the sky.
They say that when you’re a child, the world is but a playground of flowers and sunshine, not a care in the world for the younglings. They say that adults find themselves in the predicament of a sandbox, like a thunderstorm where the world no longer offers shelter. They say that the elderly parents find themselves at sunset, counting down every second as they try to provide the playground the world once gave them.
They say that the thunderstorm gets worse for some, and better for others. They say that sometimes, the sun peeks out between silver cloud linings when the celestial beings decided to show its gleaming stars. They say that other times, the storm becomes a flood, and hurricanes sweep everyone into a ditch, hopeless and helpless.
They say that’s when the world ends.
I'm waking up at the start of the end of the world,
But it’s feeling just like every other morning before,
Now I wonder what my life is going to mean if it's gone,
To be completely honest, Chan can’t remember a day without Seokmin’s soft good morning and a hair ruffle.
There’d be the bad days, of course, when Chan can’t even find the motivation to get out of bed. There’d be the bad days when Chan wants to do nothing more than curl up in a ball and be erased from time itself, drowning in the monotonous commentary of his netizen-fueled criticism. There’d be the bad days when Seokmin couldn’t drop by in the morning to ruffle Chan’s hair and warm him with sunshine, and Chan was forced to trudge on without any hint of red or blue in his dull, grey world. Seokmin would always be there the best day, holding Chan like he was glass, muttering a plea for Chan to forget the bad days, and only think of the good ones.
Chan can’t even remember those days anymore.
Not when the sunny days outweigh everything. Not when the sight of Seokmin bundling Chan up in a breakfast blanket burrito and rolling him off the bed brings the summer sun to his morning. Not when he was loved, doted on and cared for.
Chan feels the morning sun creep up on his storm every day, treasuring it with a preciousness no one else could know of.
The cars are moving like a half a mile an hour
And I started staring at the passengers who're waving goodbye
Can you tell me what was ever really special about me all this time?
To be completely honest, Chan can’t remember the days without Jisoo’s stolen kisses.
There’d be the bad days, of course. There’d be the days when Chan can’t even drag himself to the bathroom mirror, slumping off somewhere in the hallway, on the verge of tears. There’d be the days when the ocean of traffic becomes noise and heavy machinery, where Chan’s bicycle body gets thunderstruck with every little comment or word, all streaming through his mind along with blinking lights and honking cars. There’d be the bad days when Jisoo wasn’t next to him, planting sleepy kisses onto his forehead, pulling him away from the blood-red haze that hangs over Chan.
Jisoo always manages to find him regardless.
A simple text, or at least a phone call. Sometimes he’ll stick little sticky notes everywhere instead, and when Chan was sure to be apart from him for days upon days, Jisoo reassures him through pure thoughts. A million handcrafted stars, all hung in the sky for Chan to find comfort in. A million stars for Chan to remember that even if everyone left him, Jisoo will always let the younger crawl into his arms and cry.
Chan finds the morning stars the prettiest ones. Never the brightest nor the biggest, but the ones that are always there, albeit out of sight.
But I believe the world is burning to the ground
Oh well, I guess we're gonna find out
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come
To be completely honest, Chan can’t remember the days without Soonyoung’s loud energy and gentle encouragement.
There’d be the bad days, of course, when the mirrors started bleeding and burning, every fragment of light feeling like daggers. There’d be the bad days when the world is a scorching mess of tears and choked sobs, when all Chan could do is push too far, too hard. There’d be the bad days when Soonyoung isn’t smiling, brow furrowed and weary from the world and Chan can only feel like yet another burden.
He’s not allowed to think like that.
Soonyoung is strict when he is gentle, letting Chan work until every bone and muscle is screaming for rest, but still making sure that he’s ready for more. Soonyoung is encouraging when he is critical, never allowing a single doubt of self-worth into Chan’s mind and patching every crack between browning leaves with fruits of encouragement. Soonyoung is firm when he is flexible, always ready to let Chan drop and cry, yet always the first to tell him to get up and face the world because we are only strong if we are brave.
Chan wants to drown in the burning glass shards of the world’s mirror, yet Soonyoung never allows him to close the blinds fully.
Well I, believe, it all, is coming to an end
Oh well, I guess, we're gonna pretend,
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come
To be completely honest, Chan can’t remember the days without Seungcheol’s gentle back hugs.
There’d be the bad days, of course, when Chan wants to back up against a wall and breakthrough, just to get away from the storm clouds. There’d be the bad days when the vines wrap around Chan’s limbs, an endless pull through thorns and branches, where the trees would echo with mocking laughter and the crows would be the only toxic company on Chan’s journey downwards. There’d be the bad days when Chan knows he can’t ask for normalcy, and when Chan knows the hug has to go the other way, protesting against every shout nerve and demeaning cell in his body to hold it together for two minutes, goddamnit.
Seungcheol holds him like the moon would drop if he squeezed any less.
There’d be flowers and promises, gentle whispers of allowance for Chan to slip and break. There’d be sandboxes and swings of his stolen childhood, where Seungcheol draws circles on his back as Chan tells him of how much he missed his hometown. There’d be reminders that no matter what was going on, Chan had to let himself slip.
Chan’s grip has never been tighter than the one he has after Seungcheol’s warm arms loop around his waist.
I think it turned ten o'clock but I don't really know
Then I can't remember caring for an hour or so
Started crying and I couldn't stop myself
I started running but there's nowhere to run to
To be completely honest, Chan can’t remember the days without Mingyu draping himself over Chan, demanding the younger to refocus.
There’d be the bad days, of course, when the clock ticks too loud, too fast, too much. There’d be the bad days when the world is nothing but a metronome, ticking down every last second Chan is wasting, sitting here in the middle of the slurs, ignoring the demanding sixteenths the composer expects him to bounce through. There’d be the bad days when Mingyu wasn’t there to tell him to stop thinking of accents and rhythms, and to think of never-ending whole notes and consistent quarter notes instead.
Chan falls into a rhythm of triplets, most days.
An irregularity, odd and different, and yet Mingyu encourages him to sing and be heard in such a way that Chan can’t ever find himself to desire normal ever again. Syncopated beats bring him home to the metronome, hammer in hand as he smashes the ticking clock into pieces, content with being different.
Chan could never go against the conductor on his own, but he’s never really alone.
I sat down on the street and took a look at myself
Said where you going man you know the world is headed for hell
Say your goodbyes if you've got someone you can say goodbye to
To be completely honest, Chan can’t remember the days where Vernon wasn’t there to stop the pouring rain from drowning Chan in his entirety.
There’d be the bad days, of course, when Chan can only lean onto the concrete sidewalk, staring at his reflection in the puddle of water pooling at his feet. There’d be days when the city’s neon lights become a muddled pile of tear and distortion when the droplets of water in Chan’s hair digs into his scalp, an overwhelming sense of exhaustion glazing over his entire being. There’d be days when the umbrella has holes, and Chan can only see Vernon trying to hold the umbrella to cover Chan and Chan only, not enough to shield himself with it.
Chan never lets him in the rain for too long.
Vernon would never hesitate to pull the younger boy into his arms, creating a bubble of dry and warm in the middle of the haunting city of glamours and spotlights. Their umbrella is riddled with blank spots, the entire pretended of joy basically faded and off of the once colourful umbrella. But none of that mattered when Vernon is whispering sweet nothings in Chan’s ear, drowning out the falling raindrops mere inches away from his feet.
Chan finds the city bearable when he’s with others.
I believe the world is burning to the ground
Oh well, I guess, we're gonna find out
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come
To be completely honest, Chan can’t remember the days without Junhui’s child-like reminders of bliss.
There’d be the bad days, of course, when the blistering desert storm finds only sand and rocks, scraping every muscle and cell of Chan’s body. There’d be the bad days when Chan can only cry in frustration, too afraid to even make a noise in fear of the ever-watchful media. There’d be the bad days when Junhui can only shade him from so much sand before there’s a dune over him too.
Chan’s learnt to dig himself out.
Junhui is the oasis mere minutes away from the sand dunes, a paradise of blue and green in the maze of red and yellow. Junhui is the gentle plinking of sun showers, a perfect blend of childhood and adulthood, when Chan could ignore the raging sand storm and focus on the next oasis. Junhui is the compass that leads him out of the desert, ready to catch him when Chan collapses but still nudging him along the trek out of the storm. Junhui is the North Star at night and the Sun in the morning.
Chan finds summer much more bearable nowadays.
Well I, believe, it all, is coming to an end
Oh well, I guess, we're gonna pretend,
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come
To be completely honest, Chan can’t remember days without Jihoon’s thorn-covered kindness.
There’d be the bad days, of course, when the roses were more thorns than petals. There’d be the bad days, of course, when Chan was too tired to understand that Jihoon was simply bad at showing that he cared. There’d be the bad days when Chan forgets that his querencia also thinks of him as a querencia, trapped in the garden of thorn bushes and false roses.
Chan learnt to pick out the sweeter ones.
Jihoon is more than the icy exterior the world perceives him to be, underneath the cold words and unwillingness to seek out others. Jihoon is more than empty words of reassurance or hollow gestures of general comfort. Jihoon is more than just a home or a querencia, more than any word could ever hope to encompass in his every little gesture.
Chan finds subtlety to be the loudest actions of all.
It's gone gone, baby, it’s all gone
There is no one on the corner and there's no one at home
It was cool, cool, it was just all cool
Now it's over for me, and it's over for you
To be completely honest, Chan can’t remember days without Seungkwan’s insistence to sing at ungodly hours of the night.
There’d be the bad days, of course, when Seungkwan’s voice is filled with such sadness and longing Chan finds himself worrying about his best friend until his body is too tired to respond. There’d be the bad days when Chan can only watch in helplessness as his mind descends into helpless whimpering of ‘not good enough’ or ‘replaceable’, wondering if his presence even meant anything to anyone in the world. There’d be the bad days when Chan was his own worst enemy.
He’s trained his mind to follow only one voice on those nights.
Seungkwan’s voice is soft and melodic like Chan’s listening to angels sing him a lullaby. Seungkwan’s presence is constant and grounding, never failing to pull Chan away from the flooding river of teas and criticism. Seungkwan’s gentle tap to signal that he’s done is the only reminder Chan’s mind needs to shut off and just slip into dreamland.
Chan likes to dreams over thoughts.
Well it’s gone, gone, baby, it’s all gone
There is no one on the corner and there's no one at home
Well it was cool cool, it was just all cool
Now it's over for me, and it's over for you
To be completely honest, Chan can’t remember the days without Jeonghan’s care-filled nagging.
There’d be the bad days, of course, when all Chan wants to do is snap and break, exploding in a flood of self-harm and just ridding the world of his presence. There’d be the bad days when he can only take every gentle reminder as a wound, so much so that Chan can’t even gasp for air in the glass box his mind created. There’d be the bad days when Jeonghan wouldn’t be dare to gently coax Chan out of his shell, unknowingly building the bars in Chan’s lonely little cage of insecurities.
He’s made sure to give the key to others.
Because at the end of every storm is a beautiful rainbow. Every word has two meanings, and there’d never been bite beneath any bark in its intention. Jeonghan would be the comfort and belonging in a world of loneliness and drab grey.
Chan thinks cages are better when the door is open wide.
But I believe the world is burning to the ground
Oh well, I guess we're gonna find out
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come
To be completely honest, Chan can’t remember days without Wonwoo absentmindedly rubbing circles into Chan’s skin.
There’d be the bad days, of course, when all Chan could think about were problems a million miles away. There’d be the bad days when there’d be no grounding touch, when Chan was nothing but a balloon a child left behind somewhere, off to have a normal life while he floated off and lost sight of the playground he once lived in and loved. There’d be the bad days when all Wonwoo could do was watch in fear as he tries to pull Chan out of his own mind.
No, he’s not allowed to look up to the sky anymore.
Wonwoo pulls him to the ground, grabbing onto the very ends of his balloon. Wonwoo grounds him to reality, a hug and comforting praise and distractions to remind Chan that home was on the ground. Wonwoo is the anchor that chains his castle of clouds to love, not letting a single storm cloud dare enter Chan’s heart. Overprotective to a fault, but Chan could never find it annoying.
Sometimes he’ll miss floating with the songbirds over the world, but he rather likes the home he’s found on the ground.
Well I, believe, it all, is coming to an end
Oh well, I guess, we're gonna pretend,
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come
To be completely honest, Chan can’t remember days without Minghao’s reminder that Chan is human too.
There’d be the bad days, of course, when memories were nothing but the painful moments when all reminders of joy and happiness were missing from the tiny corner of the world Chan was shivering in. There’d be the bad days when Chan’s mind was nothing but a circle of critics and mean netizens pulling at his scalp and screaming. There’d be the days when Chan’s feet find him at Minghao’s door, hesitance to his movements as his brain yells for him to stop knocking while his heart urged him on.
Minghao always ends up opening the door regardless.
Minghao, who held Chan’s hand tightly as Chan was allowed to fade off to the melody of whatever playlist Minghao has on. Minghao, who’d tell him again and again that no one can ever be everything they wanted to be, only the bare minimum of what they strive to become. Minghao, whose voice was like forest wind after Chan’s been in the desert for too long. The first hint of life in a world of sand and dust.
Chan can’t remember the last time he thought of listening to whatever the little voice up in his head was chirping about.
Let's see how far we've come (x4)
To be completely honest, Chan doesn’t miss seeing the sky anymore. Not, the real world looks much more appealing nowadays.