Work Text:
Chan was settling in to the crisp sheets of the hotel bed, already knowing he was not going to sleep and instead taking the time to plot his next two days - two entire days! nearly entirely off! and in New York City nonetheless! - for maximum productivity, when the knock sounded on his door. They’d bought out the floor of the hotel; it could only be staff or one of his members. Chan closed the laptop he’d just opened and went to answer it.
Jisung was bracing himself against the doorframe, as bright-eyed as ever, if faintly more wobbly. “Hyungie,” he began insistently. “I need you to go to the corner store with me.”
Chan eyed him. “Why?”
Jisung swayed a little bit on his feet. Something was wrong, Chan thought. Maybe his knock-kneed stance was a little bit too skewed, or his eyes a little bit too shiny, but something pinged Chan’s alarm bells. “Sungie, are you drunk?” he asked.
Jisung shook his head vehemently, entire body moving with it. Chan pulled him inside the hotel room and sat him firmly down on the uncomfortable futon.
“And you’re not lying to me?”
Actual, honest-to-god tears glistened in Jisung’s eyes. “No, hyungie,” he whined, squirming closer to Chan. “I- I wouldn’t, I’m sorry, you have to believe me.”
Something was definitely wrong. Chan, for the first time, got a close look at Jisung’s eyes. His pupils were blown out wide.
Shit.
Fuck.
Drugged.
“Sungie, baby,” Chan soothed, sitting down next to him and letting Jisung curl into his shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay. Can you tell me if you took any unsealed food or drink from anybody today?” Chan’s heart was racing immediately, mind scrambling to figure out what could be going on. Calculating routes to the nearest ER, half-baked PR spins on the whole thing circling in his brain. Above all, panic for Jisung’s wellbeing. “You’ll be okay, baby,” he soothed Jisung. “Can you talk to me?”
Jisung shook his head, wobbly. “Didn’t take anything unsealed,” he said, and then said something Chan didn’t quite make out.
“What was that?” Chan asked, pulling out his phone in case he needed a manager on speed-dial.
“Lixie and I wanted to try weed,” Jisung admitted, shame-faced. “We, uh. Yeah.”
Chan pinched the bridge of his nose. “So Felix is also wandering somewhere in this hotel stoned off his ass?” How much damage control was he going to have to do? How much trouble could the little gremlins have gotten themselves into - and how long had they been high, anyway?
“No,” Jisung reassured him. “He’s passed out on top of Hyunjin. He didn’t have nearly as much as I did.”
Great. That was just what Chan wanted to hear. Aside from the part where his members were doing drugs while on tour. At least Felix was accounted for and not going to get into any situations. “And how much did you have?” Chan asked.
Jisung furrowed his brow, obviously concentrating deeply. “Twenty,” he finally pronounced.
Chan had no idea what that meant. He was an idol, for fucks sake, he didn’t know anything about weed. “Twenty,” he repeated dumbly. “Okay. Where did you get it?”
Jisung looked at Chan like Chan was the dumbass involved in this conversation. “There’s a dispensary next to the hotel. And it’s legal here. We’re in New Yorkkk~” he sang out. The undertones of Hamilton: The Musical were not subtle in the least.
Okay. Sure. Fine. Chan took a deep breath. “How much did Felix have?” he asked, trying to subtly open his KKT. Who would he even ask about this? Who would know, and would keep the secret?
“Five,” Jisung decreed. “He’s fine. I decided to be brave.”
Normally, Chan encouraged Jisung being brave. Now, however, he wished he’d had a little bit more anxiety about taking a larger dosage for his first time trying weed. “Right,” Chan said finally. “Go- back to your room and get ready to go to the corner store. Make sure your disguise is good. I’ll finish up here and come find you in a few.” And then he ushered Jisung back to his room.
As he walked back into his own room, he had his phone already to his ear, praying Hongjoong would pick up.
He did.
“Bang Chan-ssi,” he said, sounding surprised, and right. Fuck. Hongjoong was in a completely different time zone. Shit.
“I’m sorry to call you at this hour,” Chan said diplomatically. “I was wondering if you or any of your members might be able to, uh, help me with something.”
There was the clear sound of a muffled yawn, then muted voices, and then Hongjoong answered. “Yes. Of course. What did you need?”
“Do you know anyone who knows anything about marijuana?”
There was a very long pause. It sounded like Hongjoong was maybe struggling to hold back- some sort of emotion. Laughter, most probably. “Mingi’s awake,” he said eventually. “If anyone would know, he would. I’ll go find him.”
Chan fidgeted, pulling on his jacket and outside shoes and hat and mask as he waited. Soon, Mingi’s voice sounded in his ear. “I heard you had weed questions?”
Chan winced. He was never going to live this down. Never, never, never. He’d be getting Knowing Looks backstage at award shows for the rest of his career. “One of my kids decided to try it for the first time. Now he’s acting weird.”
Mingi gave a thoughtful hum. “How much did he have?”
“Uh. Twenty?” Chan offered.
There was the distinct sound of a disapproving breath being sucked through Mingi’s teeth. That couldn’t be good. “Indica or sativa?”
“I don’t know. I can ask him.” Chan pocketed his wallet, his backup credit card, his keyring. “Should I be worried?”
Mingi thought for a moment. “As long as it’s not one of your anxious ones, it should be fine. He’ll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow, and you’ll both have an interesting time tonight, but he won’t have any lasting damage if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Right. “Great,” Chan said faintly. “Thanks so much. And if it is one of my anxious ones?”
“Don’t let him get anxious about anything, and pray it was indica,” Mingi said seriously. “Hey, wh-“
“Thank you, Mingi,” came Hongjoong’s voice faintly, and then there was the sound of a phone being wrestled away from someone. “Chan, did you get what you needed?”
“I did, thank you,” Chan said, pathetically grateful. “Thank you both so much. I would’ve been lost without you.”
“Go take care of your anxious gerbil,” Mingi shouted from the background, and Hongjoong cut the call just as Chan heard him intake a scolding breath.
Right. Okay. Yes. Make sure Jisung didn’t get anxious while he was stoned out of his gourd. No problem.
Chan made his way to Jisung’s room, knocking and immediately receiving the man himself. He was bundled up in a big hoodie with a face mask on, so his identity was fairly well concealed. He was also very obviously trembling with anxiety. “Hey, Sungie,” Chan murmured as they walked toward the elevator. “Just out of curiosity, did you take indica or sativa?”
“Sativa,” Jisung informed him brightly, weaseling his way under Chan’s arm. He promptly began leaning as much of his body weight as possible on Chan. “I can see colors,” he informed him.
“Can’t you usually see colors?” Chan steered his barnacle out the hotel doors and toward the glow of a 7/11 at the end of the block.
“Not like this,” Jisung insisted mulishly. “And I- I’m- maybe it’s the- oh god.”
He turned to the side and threw up in someone’s garbage can.
He was clearly getting anxious.
Chan pulled a fidget cube out of his pocket and handed it over, hoping it would at least settle the boy until he’d gotten whatever it was he had to get and Chan had him settled down in the hotel.
Maybe he could put Minho on babysitting duty.
On second thought, probably best not. No telling what would happen. He’d call Minho for reinforcements only if it was absolutely necessary.
When they reached the store, though, Jisung surprised him by bypassing all of the snacks and heading instead for the back wall. Baffled, Chan followed.
“No!” Jisung’s outburst clearly shocked both of them. “I mean, I got it. I mean, do you want to- I mean,”
“I’m going to go look at the chips,” Chan said, taking pity on him. He then did not go to look at the chips. He instead hovered in the chips aisle while keeping an eye on Jisung around the corner.
Jisung, who was very obviously comparing the boxes of two pregnancy tests.
Chan spontaneously unlocked an entirely new level of worry.
Had Jisung gotten someone pregnant?
But they were only in New York for four days. There was no way for anything to be at the pregnancy test stage yet. Unless it was for someone else, maybe on a later tour stop? Or even back home, if Jisung had gotten it into his head that the only way to avoid getting caught buying the test was to do it in a different country.
Who the hell would Jisung have gotten pregnant? As far as Chan was aware, Minho wasn’t capable of pregnancy and Jisung hadn’t exactly been seeing anyone else.
His spiraling was interrupted by Jisung sidling up to him, plastic bag with his purchase securely in hand. “I’m ready to go if you are,” he said.
He was still exuding anxiety, and also very visibly under the influence of some type of substances. They needed to get out of public. Chan put an arm firmly over his shoulders and began steering him back to the hotel.
He steered him, in fact, all the way back to Jisung’s own room, bullied his way inside, sat them both down on Jisung’s version of the uncomfortable futon, and stared at him.
Jisung fidgeted.
“So,” Chan said.
Jisung fidgeted some more.
“Any particular reason you needed me to go buy a pregnancy test with you?”
Jisung burst into tears.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Chan hastened to reassure him. “It’s okay, whatever it is, yeah? Who is it?”
Jisung buried his face in his hands. “It’s me,” he wailed despairingly. “It’s me, and I can’t be pregnant, we’re literally on tour and we have jobs and everything.”
The tears did not slow down in the several seconds it took Chan to parse all of that. “Sungie,” he said, eventually. “You know you can’t be pregnant, right?”
“I know,” Jisung sobbed into his shoulder. “I know, it’s a breach of contract, I’m so sorry, Channie.”
Chan shook his head doggedly. Maybe the jet lag and long hours were catching up to him. “No, I mean,” he said, and then stalled as he tried to figure out how to say it. And also what to say in general. “You have a dick,” he settled on. “You literally physiologically cannot be pregnant right now. You do not have the equipment for it.”
“But- but I’m the bottom,” Jisung explained. “Minho-hyung could have knocked me up. And I was reading the weed package once we’d taken it and it said not to take it if there was a chance you might be pregnant and I took it anyway, oh my god,”
“Sungie,” Chan cut in patiently. “There is not a chance you might be pregnant. Pregnant is not a thing you are capable of becoming.”
“But there’s a chance,” Jisung insisted hysterically.
Chan was a good enough leader - and man enough in general - to admit when the situation had gotten out of hand and it was time for reinforcements.
In other words, he called Minho.
Luckily, Minho picked up almost immediately. Even luckier, Jisung didn’t notice Chan calling him for help. “Yah,” Minho greeted him. “Why are you calling me at this hour?”
“Your boytoy is having a marijuana-induced pregnancy scare and I need you to come handle it,” Chan informed him without preamble. Then he hung up.
Minho would be there in a few and Jisung would respond better to him - that was just a given - and more importantly, the task of ‘keep Han Jisung from getting anxious’ would no longer fall squarely on Chan’s shoulders.
There was a knock on the door. Chan stood to admit Minho. “Chan,” he said severely. “What the fuck are you talking about.” It was not in the tone of a question.
“Minho-hyung,” Jisung cried out, launching himself and the pregnancy test he was still holding at Minho, which Chan figured answered Minho’s query fairly well.
He took the opportunity to slip out of the room, tossing Minho a quick “call me if you need me,” and made his way back to his own bed.