Work Text:
“Isn’t that Choi Seungcheol?” Hansol asks.
They’re in the practice room. They’re always in the practice room, Chan, and Junhui and Seungkwan and Hansol and Soonyoung, too. Other trainees shuffle in and out, their sneakers clean, their feet uncalloused, but Soonyoung works hard to change that. Most leave before the soles have broken in. Those who have passed the gauntlet walk a little taller in the halls, regard the other trainees with a look of pitying triumph. It’s not their fault they couldn’t make it. Some people just want it more.
Chan wants it, so much.
It’s 2 am now. They’ve been practicing since 6. Chan still has algebra homework, biology homework, English homework (although Hansol says he’ll do it for him if Chan writes his lit essay). Their teachers send reports to the company, and they get a Talk every few months all about how academic health is just as important as physical and mental health. Apparently people will get cut if their grades go too low, although Seungkwan says that’s just a myth. (How would he know?)
But they also have evaluations in two days, and Chan isn’t sure about the piece he’s been working on with Soonyoung - it’s a duet, a ballad, and while Soonyoung suits it Chan can’t wrap his brain or his mouth around the desperate heartache a piece like this (apparently) needs. He got scolded about it last time, about the disconnect between his words and his voice, and while he’s been trying, a lot, it’s hard to bridge that gap.
He’s only fourteen, but he’s old enough to understand that there are limits to talent. He lives in fear of finding his.
Still, it’s getting to the part of the night where his movement’s getting a little woozy and his vision’s going soft-blurred. So he’s letting himself sit down against the wall for just a second - it’s just gonna be for a second! - before he’s dragging Soonyoung back up to the mirrors to belt their rapidly maturing hearts out again, and again, and again. They’ll get it next time. They will, they will.
Except when he wakes up the clock says 2:31 and Hansol is pointing out the practice room window, where Choi Seungcheol is walking by.
“Hyung!” Soonyoung yelps, waving his hands in the air to punctuate his point. “Hyung!”
Chan sinks lower towards the ground.
Choi Seungcheol is wearing headphones - Chan can hear the music from here, it’s a …. ballad his grandma really likes?? - but Soonyoung occupies a frequency all his own.
“Hyung! Seungcheol-hyung, hi!”
“Oh, hey,” Seungcheol says. He pops out one earbud as he peers through the open door. He sounds really cool when he says it, the way the male lead in a drama sounds when he rescues his love interest from a pack of dogs, or something, Chan doesn’t have time to watch dramas, let alone fantasize about being in one, not that he would, but if he did he’d probably imagine himself as Choi Seungcheol. Choi Seungcheol, sparkling gem in the Pledis crown. Choi Seungcheol, leader of TEMPEST, the newest, most talented, most highly anticipated group to debut this year. Choi Seungcheol, who snuck in during evaluations last month to watch without clueing anybody in, and then afterwards he singled out Chan! Specifically! To tell him he’s really good at dancing, and he should keep it up!
That Choi Seungcheol.
“Good evening, hyung!” enthuses Seungkwan, too tired to get up but making his body into an exclamation point so Seungcheol won’t feel slighted by lackluster energy, while Hansol and Soonyoung jump to their feet to crowd him as respectfully as possible. Seungcheol bears it all with grace, like a born leader should. He pats Soonyoung on the head until he stops vibrating, accepts Hansol’s scribbled rap lyrics with a sincere promise to read them ASAP. Junhui, who’s still weirdly shy around strangers considering that he never shuts up around the four of them, gives him a nervous wave from the other side of the room. Seungcheol’s answering smile does nothing to relax his posture, but at least he doesn’t explode from embarassment.
“Hyung,” Chan says, in a voice which is too soft, too lackluster, too undeveloped, “it’s nice to see you.”
Choi Seungcheol smiles at him. At him.
“You’re Lee Chan, right? The dancer?”
Lee Chan. The dancer.
Chan stands up so fast he almost sprains his ankle, which probably would’ve been ironic, he’s almost certain that’s what that means. “Yes! I’m. My name is Lee Chan. I’m 14 and I’ve been a trainee for eight months! It’s very nice to meet you, again! Um!”
Seungkwan is laughing at him. His face is a perfect blank mask and he is completely silent, but he’s still doing it, and Chan hates him so much.
Seungcheol’s face is so warm and inviting, it almost makes up for everything Chan just said. “Not going home to sleep yet?”
It’s literally the only thing in the entire thing Chan wants to do besides dance until his feet bleed and fall off. “Why would we?” he says, making his voice sound confused. “We still have to practice.”
He knows he answered right when Seungcheol’s eyes crinkle the way they do in all of his performances. There’s a rumor going around that TEMPEST will need backup dancers for their second single. Nobody knows how they’re going to be picked, but Soonyoung is confident their little group are the top contenders. If he’s wrong- If there’s somebody better out there, somebody who’s been training harder, who can surpass them, him- Chan doesn’t want to find out how that sentence ends.
“We trained like you guys did, too,” Seungcheol says, voice wistful. “We barely got any sleep. It’s hard, right? When you’re practicing.” (They debuted three months ago, he’s only four years older than Chan, but he still sounds so - cool. So wise. Were you always like that? Were you born like that? Or is it something you can learn? Is it something I can become? he wants to ask, although he knows he never will. Will instead speculate to Soonyoung or maybe Seungkwan, if they’re both feeling vulnerable enough; none of them will have the answer, but it’s mostly enough, to know other people are asking, too.)
“But you’re still practicing too, hyung,” Soonyoung points out, less visibly excited although Chan, who knows him a little too well, can sense the vibrations around the edges, “that’s why you’re here so late?”
Seungcheol’s laugh is cuter than Chan would have thought. It’s a laugh for a younger brother, not a leader of men, although he guesses one person can be both. “Yeah, Jihoon kept us pretty late. He’s kind of a taskmaster. Don’t tell him I said that though, okay? He’ll beat me up.” He makes his eyes big and his expression cartoon-scared, which even gets a laugh out of Junhui.
“Actually,” he glances at the clock, makes his nervous mouth droop even further down, that gets a laugh from Junhui, what kind of day is this, “I need to get back… Are you guys okay, though? Do you need anything? Not just tonight,” he says quickly, as Seungkwan begins to shake his head no, “from your trainers, or from the company? No? Okay, well, if you do and you don’t want to ask, you guys come and talk to me, okay? I’ll help you figure it out if I can. Seriously,” he puts on a stern expression at Soonyoung’s immediate protest - they’re all flustered by this particular species of kindness, which has never been known to grow in the Pledis dungeons, “anything at all. I’m not saying I can do anything but - you guys are going to debut soon, right? I have to help my little brothers out.”
When he smiles Chan thinks, Oh. This is what a superstar looks like.
He’s been gone for approximately one minute when Chan, who has never taken acting lessons but was Prince Charming in the school play last year and got pretty good reviews! makes up a great excuse and bolts out the door, dodging around Seungkwan’s not at all friendly cackling as it tries and fails to wound.
Seungcheol’s got a fast stride but Chan is faster; he’s only panting a little when he catches up, and that’s mostly because he doubled back to give Seungkwan the finger, on second thought. But they’ve all been taking Visual Presentation lessons so he’s able to straighten up and look presentable without even cluing Seungcheol in on him being a little goblin who gets out of breath running 20 feet (Seungkwan’s words). He’s always getting complimented on his looks, not just from his mom but from the staff and the stylists, too, so he knows he can clean up nice! Not that he wants to clean up nice for Choi Seungcheol specifically, but - it’s like he said, they’re going to be his brother group! He has to know they have it handled in the visual department, along with the talent!
Seungcheol waits patiently for all of these thoughts to finish, although he can’t stop himself from looking a little bemused. “Chan-ah,” he says, his voice warm, if tired, “did you need something?”
“Oh!” Oh! Right! He was supposed to - have figured how to say this, before he bodily fell over Hansol trying to get out the door. Um. He carefully surveys his thoughts. They are blank. Never stopped him before: “I just wanted to ask you something, hyung!”
Seungcheol doesn’t even glance up at the clock on the wall, which is surely counting down to some Lee Jihoon-shaped doom with every second he remains gone from the TEMPEST practice studio. “What’s up?”
“I just wanted to ask you,” Chan repeats. Repeats it in his head, for good measure. I wanted to ask you. I wanted to ask. I wanted.
“Hyung,” he says in a rush, before he can stop himself, “I wanted to ask - did you ever feel like… Like giving up? Not like it isn’t worth it, but like you’re just. Like you’re not gonna be enough, and you can keep practicing and practicing all you want but you still won’t be enough, and so maybe it’s better to just- maybe it’s better to just quit while you’re ahead? Did you ever think that?”
Someday, Chan will understand the expression that’s settling over Seungcheol’s face. It comes in bits and pieces, a pain around the eyes, a frown deep in his mouth, not so much arriving as coming out from where it’s been waiting patiently to something to set it off. He opens his mouth once, and then closes it again, and then opens it, and closes it; and Chan thinks, He’s going to tell them I don’t believe in myself enough. He’s going to tell them I’m not good enough. He’s going to get me kicked out. He’s going to be disappointed, in me.
Instead of any of those things, Seungcheol says, “Can I tell you a secret?” The incongruity makes Chan too surprised to do anything but nod, before he can even understand Seungcheol’s words; when he does, he nods harder. That makes Seungcheol smile a little, which is nice. Not that he looked bad frowning, he always looks good. But the smile is better.
Seungcheol leans in. He smells, Chan will report back to the rest of them later, or maybe not, like too much cologne and too much sweat. Chan has spent years around other boy dancers and athletes, many of whom have only encountered hygine in the dictionary; this isn’t bad at all, compared to them. He wouldn’t mind leaning in himself, although he doesn’t.
“Don’t tell anybody,” Seungcheol says, very seriously. And then he blinks, and smiles again. Chan is the luckiest person in Pledis. “You can tell people, I guess. It would be weird to keep a secret. But. Okay. Chan-ah, listen. It’s important that you listen, okay?”
Chan nods dutifully. What else could he be doing?
“I feel like that every single day.” Seungcheol waits for Chan to absorb this blow; when it’s been a few seconds and he still hasn’t, he reaches out to steady Chan, emotionally, physically, by putting his hand (his hand! his hand) on Chan’s shoulder (Chan’s shoulder! Chan’s shoulder!) “Everybody here does, I think. In my group, definitely. In yours, too, I’m pretty sure. Everybody has doubts. Some people have fewer than others,” his smile turns wry, “but they aren’t here.”
Chan doesn’t like the feeling in his throat, this wet, warm, hot squeeze, which feels more like a threat than an emotion. “But I- Everybody else seems so… Confident. And happy. I’m happy, hyung, I am! And I want to try hard! But sometimes it’s like…”
“Like it’s not enough?” He nods with Chan, whose bewilderment is about to swallow him from head to toe. Choi Seungcheol is perfect. Everybody says so. But he’s looking at Chan - talented, and handsome, and so lacking he sometimes wants to vanish into the earth and erase all memory of his name from the history books - like he feels the exact. Same. Thing.
The squeeze lightens. It’s still there. But it lightens.
“Listen,” Seungcheol says, letting go of Chan’s shoulder (why) and glancing, a little regretfully, up at the clock. “Those feelings are always going to be there. I know, it’s hard. It’s really hard. It’s a little easier knowing that other people are going through the same thing - when I hear that it’s hard for you, and you’re so talented! That makes it a little easier for me. But- hey, it’s hard to remember that all the time, right? When it gets like that, overwhelming, should talk to your members. I do that. All the time. They’re going through the same thing. And they’re going to be your brothers for the rest of your lives. It’s good to share that kind of stuff with your family.”
Chan frowns. Soonyoung is usually good at the feelings stuff, but he dances like his body was made to flow instead of walk; Seungkwan is sweet and fussy when he isn’t mean and fussy, but his voice was made by God and there’s no way Chan could ever compete with that.
Another touch on his shoulder; not lingering this time, but Chan can still feel the weight when it moves away. “I’m serious. It’ll take a lot of bravery, but you seem pretty brave.” He laughs a little when Chan visibly brightens. It’s the greatest sound in the world. His smile sharpens into a smirk, like he knows what Chan’s thinking, and doesn’t dislike it.
Chan’s still caught up on that, so he almost doesn’t hear the next thing out of Seungcheol’s mouth: “And if you need a little more help… Here, give me your phone.”
He all but drifts back to the practice room, his phone clutched tight in his hands, his head a thousand miles up in the clouds. If Choi Seungcheol - the perfect idol, the perfect man, has all of the same feelings inside, if he has the same demons sitting on his shoulders and pouring poison into his ear, if he looks into the mirror, too, and doesn't see enough-
If he still manages to feel all that, and still be Choi Seungcheol?
Something settles into place inside of Chan. His heart, or his head, or wherever the bravery lives. Maybe all over.
His screen flashes right when he steps through the doorway, a KKT message from an unknown sender:
we can help each other be brave :)
“Everything okay?” Seungkwan asks. He’s still sprawled out on the floor, but he looks a little less tired. Hansol has brought him some of that tea he likes to drink at night; he offers Chan the cup, and then forces it on him when he demures.
“I- Yeah,” Chan says, once his throat has stopped burning. “Or,” he glances back down at his phone, and the number beaming up at him. “No. But it’s okay. It will be.”
Seungkwan looks at him for a while, the way he does sometimes when Chan says something really stupid, or really profound. Chan just grins down at him. Exhausted. Suddenly, fiercely exhilarated.
“Let’s keep practicing,” he says. So they do.