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The minute he walked into that restaurant, he knew it wasn’t going to be fine.
It’s not like he didn’t anticipate it anyway — the crushing fear of being the underdog, a stranger that sticks to a group of friends like they’re his own, but knows they aren’t. Knows he isn’t one of them
maybe will never be
but takes his chance, hope sticking to his chest like a radioactive substance, time only tic-tac-tic-tac-ticking until it made enough damage that he couldn’t heal, he couldn’t fix, he couldn’t forget it for ages. He had no choice, after all; not like a trainee could say no, I won’t get into this program, they will hate me, you know they will. Not like he could refuse a chance after all that time. Not like time wasn’t tic-tac-tic-tac-ticking long before he got into this mess.
And then, silence.
He gets in, and everyone is silent. He doesn’t know where to look at, what to do with his hands; he wishes someone to ask about his name again, just to start conversation, but they won’t— he knows they won’t, he feels their eyes in his body like daggers— and Changkyun is left with nothing else than silence. They’ve eaten, he notices. He wishes he had gotten there before they ate the glorious meal, so that he could share an important moment. If it had been that way, maybe they’d be friends.
(you need to understand, our friend, our dear friend, has just gone. we’re not in the mood to greet you right now.)
(this doesn’t feel right, man)
(you should go and tell the new guy to come sit here with us)
However, they leave him alone in the room, one by one; they tell Changkyun how inappropriate he is, only Changkyun knows how inappropriate he feels. He had lots of scenarios in his head, but it’s nothing like kindergarten; not like he can make any friends in here, even if his only wish is to do so. It’s what they call a lose-lose situation— either succeeding or failing, the gun would be pointed to his head. Either succeeding or failing, there was no way to make them understand, show them the boy behind that dirty Starship move, the one who had dreams just like them, a family just like them, that trained to exhaustion and felt so insecure and cried himself to despair and calmness again, because there was no one else to help him with it
(still, there isn’t)
but he’s the boy that took Minkyun’s place. Mercyless, they’d call it. Mercyless, he’d think, quietly, holding onto his hope— that toxic, nocive, rotting feeling.
But it was everything he would have.
--
Changkyun didn’t believe in such things as lying to himself, and that’s the reason why he couldn’t make himself believe they weren’t talking about him, all of the time. He overheard some words (“…can’t let him win…”, “…minkyun would want us to…”, “…we deserve to be here…”) and it would be better if he didn’t, but it had already happened. He didn’t believe in such things as lying to himself, because there was no room to pretend there, trapped with those boys, but why did it have so few rappers, he wondered, even if it was the reason why he got in there.
He thought of asking out.
He thought of asking out and it was terrifying, the idea of letting his dream run right through his fingers, when the opportunity was just waiting for him to grab it. He thought of asking out when they all played together as a group and he couldn’t; Changkyun could never belong. He trembles when they come near him, the sticky sticky horrible feeling inside his chest that won’t go away, even if he pleads, even if he says he’d give anything, but please, take it away. They’d be nothing else than civilized, though; you can’t be friends with someone that took your actual friend away.
But a dream is a dream, and he kept going. Even if it didn’t even feel so appealing anymore.
--
He is constantly reminded of Jooheon’s words: “I wouldn’t talk to you, but we need to do this together.” He has his expression engraved in his mind, the serious baby-faced rapper that was always among the best— if not being the best— talking to him and the fucking damned rotten feeling bringing up the urge to cry. He knows he shouldn’t cry, so Changkyun uses all of his will to stop himself from doing that.
Although he didn’t cry, the words come out of his mouth faster he would expect, and he didn’t expect it at all. He thanks the older one— I can’t cry I can’t cry I can’t cry, his heart chants, I am so thankful and I can’t cry I can’t cry I just can’t—
Jooheon doesn’t tell him they’re going to be friends. Rather than that, he explains why he was acting the way he was, straight to the point. He tells Changkyun about his need to know more about him so that they can work together.
(I’d like to thank you for being honest about your feelings, and I hope we can grow closer with time)
(and miraculously, it doesn’t feel so rotten anymore)
--
Fainting. He was absolutely sure he was fainting.
Everything seemed to go pitch black, and then— he had to go to his place, to the survivor’s podium, under their eyes. Again, like daggers; knives buried deep in his skin, every inch of his body aching with expectation, fault, relief, doubt. Hope. He knows there isn’t much to do. He also knows that he fulfilled his dream, but then why does it feel like regret?
The moment they called his name, he knew it wasn’t going to be fine.
It’s not like he didn’t anticipate it — the moment of recognition, the permission to do the only thing he had trained to do, the only thing he could offer them. But as the other members looked at each other and his eyes didn’t match with anyone’s, he knew it.
How could they be a good group? They would never like him (he shouldn’t cry, shouldn’t cry shouldn’t cry shouldn’t cry), they would never consider him as a part of the whole; Im Changkyun was an intruder, and he knew it. They made sure he knew it from the beginning, made sure he didn’t blend in, always desperate for attention, any attention he could get, so nervous that he almost broke something at the kitchen every time someone showed up suddenly. Why didn’t they want him to fit in? It’s like Starship had planned this, and he was also afraid of that — what if his talent was completely unrelated to the reason why he won?
(Jooheon said his dream was to debut in the same stage that #Gun, rapping together. They all cried together and he cried alone, but later, when no one could see his tears. Why couldn’t he be wanted? Why wouldn’t he be missed?)
Changkyun inhaled, than exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, trying to keep his posture, trying not to break
but it was so hard
and he was so sorry, if please someone could take him back and then he promises he wouldn’t do this, he wouldn’t accept that opportunity, he swears he wouldn’t—
--
Time passes. It sure doesn’t fly, when they sleep so little and work so much and are so grateful. They’re Monsta X, they’re monsters, and they’re giving the audience everything they have: their minds, their bodies, their voices. They’re not monsters at all, only seven boys that are really happy to finally debut.
Six friends, and Changkyun.
Time passes and he gets used to the routine— to wake up early and only sleep a few hours until it was time to wake up again, to think about his lyrics the whole time, to rehearse, rehearse, rehearse, rehearse until his body was about to collapse and his mind was no more.
(He also gets used to having Kihyun to wake him up in the morning, because he did it to everyone; to Hyunwoo telling him “good morning” when they were in the same room, in that robotic way of him; to laugh at something and catching Hyungwon doing the same thing, then staring at each other and laughing even more; to Minhyuk and his constant energetic presence, interacting with everyone, touching everyone, asking all kinds of things and then laughing, and not leaving him behing; to Jooheon and the quirkiest way of releasing the stress, doing all kinds of weird aegyo and making their mood great again; and to Hoseok and his slow approach, Hoseok with his glares and neutral expressions, Hoseok and his hidden tears— reminded Changkyun of himself —and his spontaneous smiles and his shenanigans.)
There’s still something wrong here and there, and he senses it— when someone pushes him too strong, when they leave him behind in a conversation, when they mock him so much for no reason, and he feels so uncomfortable and it’s awful. There’s still something there and it won’t go away and they’ll never be good, will they?
(he forgives everything as soon as it happens, but his mind won’t let him forget)
--
And here they are; there are self-cams and they’re heading to a radio program, and Minhyuk’s head is laid on his shoulder, his hyung talking endlessly about whatever-is-his-subject-now, Hyungwon and Hoseok paying close attention to it while Hyunwoo and Jooheon talk about something else. When they arrive, Kihyun records him, and he smiles and makes foolish faces at the camera; Hoseok will record himself and Changkyun will get in his way, making weird noises, making him laugh. Hyunwoo is worried, but his maknae tells him it’s going to be fine, and he smiles, being extremely enthusiastic for about two seconds or so before going back to his natural behavior. Jooheon pokes him as he’s singing his part and wants Changkyun to sing his, and he does, and Jooheon smiles too — the baby-faced gentle friend he was grateful to have. Hyungwon yawns, causing the urge in Changkyun to come and get his clothes right and to play with his cheeks, and everything is just on point, and they’ll start recording now.
They’re singing now, and Hoseok looks t him, Jooheon smiles and sings along to his rap, and he knows it could never be fine.
(and it’s still hard to believe that they couldn’t be anything less than great)