Chapter Text
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Wolves are pack creatures; everyone knows this.
Even as a young wolf hybrid, with his heart bitter and cold due to years of loneliness and friends constantly coming and going—a part of him still yearned for a group to belong to, a pack to care for. It was only natural.
Then one day, after years of praying to wild gods and the moon, Chan was bestowed with seven pups. Not all wolf hybrids, but that’s what his brain yipped the moment he met all of them. Puppies. His puppies.
They clicked like puzzle pieces–despite being different hybrid species–worked hard, made some songs, and got to where they are today. Artists known all around the globe.
All of the members have obviously grown up into their own people, honed their specific crafts, and found their individuality. Chan still gets teary eyed watching Seungmin’s Birds of A Feather cover, or the recognition Hyunjin receives for his paintings. He has so much love for all of them it feels greedy, slightly selfish.
And the dorms don’t really help his greediness at all.
Chan likes the space. He knows Jeongin likes the space, especially since the fox hybrid kept bringing it up for a month since they had moved into their new apartment. The others more or less feel the same way.
Then as the months go by, Chan starts to miss the small things.
Waking up on a day-off to smell cooking in the kitchen and the sound of seven other people’s laughter.
Impromptu wrestling sessions between the younger members (Jisung and Hyunjin being the number one contenders back in the day) that led to Chan joining in with a buzz under his skin and a playful yip in his throat.
Dinners with conversations that would go for hours, with a sprinkle of arguments that would end in soft apologies and even softer hugs. Nonetheless, Chan would happily sit in his spot, tail wagging, while feeding whoever was beside him.
Most of all, Chan misses the cuddle piles. Full moons were difficult when Chan was alone—no pack to run, hunt, play, sleep with. His instincts at full force, and no one to just be alongside him.
The other members changed that, indulging whatever his wolf wanted. If it wanted to run into deep woods, Seungmin would shift into his coyote form and run along with him. If it wanted to hunt, Minho would follow Chan like a shadow. If it wanted to play, Jeongin would be the first to zoom around him, nipping at Chan’s heels mischievously.
If it wanted to sleep, all seven of them would shift into their other forms, and no matter how big or small they were, they’d find a way to snuggle close to him. It settled his wolf, calmed his raw instincts under the full moon.
When they split into two dorms, cuddle piles could be done with Changbin, Hyunjin and Jisung, and even if his heart yearned for the ones where it would be all eight of them, Chan could make do.
Cut to now, with four dorms, and even busier schedules than when they freshly debuted. Time together where it’s all eight of them were rare. Cuddle piles even rarer. Chan made sure to cash in on all the cuddle piles he could get during the dominATE tour, taking advantage of the unlocked suites of the others.
The tours have been well over by now, and naturally the cuddle piles have dwindled as well. Chan has been trying to keep his restlessness hidden, not wanting to burden his members with the selfish wolf stirring inside of him as another full moon approaches. They don’t deserve that—they have their own duties and schedules to attend to that doesn’t include give wolfie hyung cuddles. Chan has his own responsibilities too.
But still, no matter how hard he tries, Chan often finds himself imagining smaller paws, flicking tails, and ticklish fur under his nose whenever he falls asleep at night.
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Chan doesn’t notice doing it, at first.
Whenever he pays another member a visit, to chat, to laugh, to game with, to eat with, whatever—he leaves his scent behind. It’s subtle, or at least he hopes it’s subtle. His favourite targets were pillows and blankets, and he gets giddy at the thought of his members going to sleep and waking up to his scent.
Minho is the only one who caught onto it; he never said anything, but a flick of his tail when he took a tentative sniff of his blanket was all Chan needed to know he’s been caught. He’s never booked it quicker out of a dorm until then.
One day after a day in the studio with Seungmin, he dropped by the Happy House dorm to make dinner for the two. Felix had a schedule tomorrow jam-packed with his many ambassadorships, and Chan wanted to make sure he had a proper meal before yet another very busy day.
Both enjoyed Chan's meals–Seungmin even scenting him slightly in thanks before heading to bed. It made Chan's heart soar, and he didn’t have the energy to wipe away the dopey grin at his face, or stop the soft swishing of his tail.
In contrast, Felix didn't go to bed immediately, even if he should be, considering what was up ahead for him.
“It's only nine o’ clock, Chris,” Felix whines, looking up at him from his cozy little corner on the couch, “we used to stay up ‘till the morning hours at our old dorm.”
“I think you forgot how young we were,” Chan points out, approaching the siamese hybrid with aching limbs from a long day, “and how much sugar we used to consume.”
Felix pouts, his eyes turning big and wide, sparkling—which, really isn’t fair because Chan’s willpower to those weapons were next to nothing.
“I’m still young,” Felix says, his tail thumping lazily against his plush blankets, “you on the other hand…”
Chan moves quickly, jumping to the spot next to Felix, leaning into his space with a playful growl rumbling in his chest. His tail wags powerfully behind him. Packmate. Play.
Felix just grins, sharp fangs glinting in the light. He blinks up at Chan, a feline blue shining through the human brown. His tail wraps around one of his arms, and a giggly purr echoes through the room.
“Finish that sentence, little one?” Chan asks, bending down to playfully nip at Felix’s nose. Felix responds with a light hearted hiss, batting his arms with his hands. A broad smile is apparent on the siamese hybrids’s face, Felix enjoying the small teasing Chan has done to him.
But before he can blink, Felix enacts his revenge by pulling his blanket over Chan’s head—not enough to suffocate him, but enough to distract him. Chan lets out a confused noise as fuzzy blackness engulfs him, a myriad of scents filling his nose. Seungmin’s autumn leaves, Felix’s warm ocean breeze—
And a couple other scents that don’t belong to either Felix or Seungmin. Or any of the other members. He takes another quick sniff under the darkness, and the scents burn against his nose uncomfortably. His wolf snarls, offended.
Then, Chan feels his body slam against the couch, forcing him onto his back. Light comes into his vision again, and he sees that Felix has pushed him over, pinning him in place by his shoulders. Felix’s tail swishes behind in satisfaction.
“Hehe, got you Chris,” Felix murmurs with his gremlin voice. His fingers knead his shoulders gently while he stares down at him with shining narrowed eyes.
Chan would’ve taken the bait, participating with Felix in a small wrestle that would hopefully tire the siamese hybrid out enough for him to go to sleep, but all he can focus on is the other scents that inhabit the Happy House dorm’s blanket. Strangers have left their scents behind, muddling with the perfect harmony of the eight of them. The fact settles onto him like putting on an itchy wool sweater—Chan would rather take it off and rip it apart.
“Hyung?” Felix speaks up, his tail slowing down in confusion, “are you—”
“There’s other scents on this blanket,” Chan interrupts, the playful growl from before turning into something more deadly, “it should only be you and Seungmin. Or the other members.” Or me, goes unsaid.
Felix blinks, “huh?”
Chan sits up, Felix letting go of his hold on him immediately. Chan lifts up the blankets, takes a sniff, and there it is again. Scents that don’t belong to any of his packmates. His growl deepens, righteous protectiveness flooding through him.
“I mean…” Felix begins, his ears flattening against his head, “I think a couple days ago Seungmin invited some of his friends overnight. Dog hybrids, I’m pretty sure. Or maybe one of them was a fox…”
Chan can picture it in his head. The majority of canine hybrids are physically affectionate—most can’t help but leave their scent behind on loved ones, Chan included. Seungmin’s friends were probably not even aware of what they were doing, just caught up in the moment of visiting an old friend.
But. Chan had placed his scent on the Happy House dorm’s blanket first. Most hybrids know that it's generally impolite to leave your scent on items that already have a pre-existing scent rubbed on. The burning feeling under his skin becomes intensified, and there’s an itching of want that Chan can’t name.
Felix continues, swallowing, “they had dinner, drank a bit…y’know.” He adds the last part quietly, growing more unsure as Chan listens to him. And the siamese hybrid’s sudden shyness is enough to snap him out of his anger briefly.
He notices Felix’s tail has become fluffy and spiked, along with the large, round pupils that stare at him nervously.
It takes Chan far too long to realize that Felix is stressed, possibly downright scared. The anger flaring up within him is almost completely snuffed out at the realization.
Chan’s fingers loosen its grip around the blanket (he didn’t even notice how tight he was holding it), and apologies spill out of his lips like a waterfall.
“Oh my god, Felix, I’m so sorry, I had no idea what I was doing. Do you need space? I can leave. It’s getting late anyways—”, Chan shifts around, about to get off the couch until he feels a hand grab his wrist at the last second.
“Hey,” Felix says simply, fur still raised and spiky. He takes a deep breath, pushing through, “I appreciate the apology. But are you okay?”
Felix’s ears flatten against his head even more, “did I do something, hyung? Was the playing too much? Maybe I was too—”,
“No, no, no, none of that,” Chan shakes his head. He doesn’t join Felix back on the couch, but he stays put, not wanting to upset Felix further.
Chan takes a deep breath. How should he put this? That he hates the idea that Seungmin’s friends, with most likely with zero disrespect, left their scents on their blanket?
He’s worked on opening himself up to the other members since that fateful A Day Happened to Be Filmed log, but he can keep one more small thing a secret. His wolf hybrid instincts are his to deal with now, being how everyone is so busy recently.
“The blanket’s detergent,” Chan comes up with, looking anywhere but at Felix’s eyes. The blank wall in front of him now seems very interesting, “it burns my nose.”
“The detergent?” Felix repeats, gaze becoming more scrutinising as the seconds go by, “Chris, we use a pretty mild one. Seungmin doesn’t like strong scents either.”
Chan nods, pushing through the gag at his throat the longer he lies, “yeah. I don’t know, maybe I’m allergic to one of the ingredients.”
Felix nods, slow. He hums, still staring at him, and Chan can see the scary parallels between the siamese hybrid and Minho—the other feline hybrid in their group. He lets go of Chan’s wrist, folding his arms.
“Okay,” Felix accepts, tail flicking around in thought.
Chan lets out a small puff of breath, “you should go to sleep now, little one. Big day tomorrow.”
A Gong-cha commercial filming here, a GQ Louis Vuitton interview there—Chan already has his hands full with one ambassadorship and all the responsibilities there is to being a producer and the leader of Stray Kids. He never admits it out loud, in fear of endless teasing, but he always feels his heart squeezing itself with so much admiration and fondness and love at how much his members have accomplished, and how much they’ve matured over the years—within Stray Kids, and outside of it.
It just pushes him to store away the wolf inside of him howling to cling onto the pack as much as possible. It’s not a want that can be realistically satisfied as before, and Chan doesn’t want to add further burdens on his members. That’s not what a good leader does.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Felix replies to Chan eventually, high pitched and mocking. He sticks out his tongue as well, smiling.
Well. Somewhat matured.
Chan picks a movie on Netflix for Felix to watch while he washes the dirty dishes from their dinner. By the time he’s done, and he walks back into the living, the siamese hybrid is fast asleep on the couch, the blanket covering him up to his torso. Chan stamps down on the urge to coo and pinch Felix’s cheeks.
What he does do, is gently pick up Felix and carry him to his room (all his training at the gym paying off for the right reasons) placing the siamese hybrid down gently on his bed. It doesn’t take long for a content purr to echo throughout the bedroom, and the remnants of Chan’s anger to slowly burn away with sticky sugary fondness.
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Over the next couple days, nothing like what happened at the Happy House dorm occurs again. Felix sometimes sends him long unreadable stares that dig into the depths of his soul, until he ultimately looks away and decides to cling to another member’s back or go back to practicing. It’s jarring, but otherwise Felix says virtually nothing about it. Maybe it's a cat hybrid thing that has intricate nuances that would take forever for Chan to decipher. Or maybe Felix has simply spent too much time with Minho.
Chan brushes it off with a laugh to himself or making a funny face in hopes it would make Felix break his stony gaze, and luckily it does—soothing the parasite that sits within him and constantly convinces him that everyone he's ever loved secretly hates him.
“Take five, everyone?” he announces to the room, noticing the other member’s energies dropping around the seventh time they practiced the choreo for their next comeback. Minho gives him a silent thumbs up from across the room where he’s sprawled across Hyunjin’s legs outstretched like, well, a cat.
Sounds of agreement follow, as well as tired groans and bodies slumping to the ground. Chan watches with something gooey like melted chocolate, thick and cloying in his chest as the members gravitate towards each other and collapse in a mess of limbs. Hyunjin makes a couple chittering noises that Jisung answers back with a chirp of his own. The two then make eye contact, and laugh.
They don’t understand each other. Chan can’t understand most of the members when they talk in animalis speak, with the exception of somewhat understanding Seungmin’s calls and howls (and he assumes its the same for Felix and Minho). It has never mattered to them though, no matter how unconventional it may be to outsiders. It’s still fun to reply to Minho’s deep raspy purrs with a rumbling growl of his own—or to any of the member’s animalis speak—because Chan just needs to look in their eyes and he already knows what they mean to say.
“Augghhh, the old man’s getting sentimental again,” a voice that sounds suspiciously like Seungmin rings out through the room. A chorus of tired laughter follows after.
Chan sighs. He can’t do much to really deny that because it is true at the end of the day.
Seungmin smiles at him like he knows himself, all while wrapped around in Changbin’s strong arms. Likely place for the coyote hybrid to be.
He shakes his head, plays the role of an exasperated, but loving leader (which isn’t even a role at this point) and exits the practice room to find the nearest water fountain.
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Chan needs to get a fucking grip on himself.
Something ugly squirms around in his chest like a parasitic worm, threatening to chew his heart up in a dark type of anger that he hasn’t felt in a long time.
Minho is friends with a couple of the people on their dance team. That fact never bothered him before because he’s not going to police the members on who they should befriend—he trusts them to make good judgements on who they surround themselves with. Plus, he likes most of the people on their dance team, and it's easy to go up to any of them and have a conversation.
Chan knows the ocelot hybrid currently laughing and conversing with Minho. Kang Jiyeong—one of the older dancers, soft-spoken, attentive. A very very good guy with good intentions who Chan should be having no ill feelings towards.
But that reminder doesn’t stop the irritation that shoot ups in him like lightning, or the nagging voice in his head barking at him to take Minho and stow him away from the ocelot hybrid every time Jiyeong slaps his shoulder in amusement or brushes his tail against Minho’s.
It’s fine. He just needs to ignore all of his unsightly thoughts and feelings and tuck them somewhere within him where they would never meet the light of day. He just needs to get through this practice without any of the members noticing his darkening mood. And once practice is announced to be over, Chan can go straight to the gym to let out steam in a healthy, productive way. His wolf can respectfully shut the fuck up.
The first couple of run throughs go well. Chan gets into the groove of things, he focuses on the music and his individual performance and nearly forgets his bitterness from minutes before. He suggests his thoughts, filling the awkward gaps or pauses in the choreo, tweaking aspects of the formation to his vision. He’s the epitome of unbothered and cool. His wolf and the growing moon have nothing on him.
His confidence all gets thrown away when he catches sight of Jiyeong catching Minho mid-trip. The two laugh it off, Minho shoots him a quick thank you but Jiyeong’s hands are all over him, most likely going to leave a scent on Minho’s clothes even if the ocelot hybrid isn’t aware of it. Chan can already smell it, and it burns his nostrils.
The ugliness comes back stronger, sharp, threatening to overtake him. His wolf snarls mine, mine, mine and Chan can’t bring himself to ignore it this time.
“Lee Minho.”
His voice cuts through the room like a whip. Chan had to learn to project his voice due to living with seven, chaotic, loud hybrids, or if they were ever in a scenario where for whatever reason their mics would cut out, or if they were in a busy airport with news anchors and fans swarming them on both sides.
A part of him knows that this moment isn’t like those moments. His voice is low, teetering on the edge of feral. Everyone is staring at him in confusion and apprehension, the air crackling with sudden tension.
Minho fixes him with a scrutinizing glare, his tail flicking around sharply like a whip, wary and confused. But he doesn’t say anything, just continues to track Chan’s movements carefully. Jiyeong watches with a befuddled look on his face, round ears shifting around nervously at every small noise.
Chan feels himself slipping into something more primal, a raw, dangerous buzz in his skin that at any moment, could rip out and manifest into the form of his wolf. Chan can already feel his fangs dropping, nails sharpening to deadly points. He wants to do a million things at that moment, but a tiny voice tells him to wait.
“Chan-hyung,” Minho says slowly, eyes flashing a striking light green, a warning for Chan, “let’s not do this here.”
It’s a simple command, and considering that everyone was still watching with cautious anxiety, Chan should take a deep breath and take a break from all the sets of eyes focused on him. But he huffs out, a poorly hidden growl laced underneath it, a stubborn thing within him urging him to move and take.
Jiyeong clears his throat, and Chan’s full attention snaps towards him like he’s found new prey. The ocelot hybrid gives him a placating smile, kind, unassuming, “Chan-ssi, can I suggest we all take a break? We’re probably just tired and hungry. We can resume after a…”
Halfway through Jiyeong’s suggestion, he raises a hand and places it on Minho’s shoulder. The leopard hybrid nods silently to Jiyeong’s words.
It’s harmless. Probably done out of habit and with little intention. Rationally, it’s a mundane act that Chan should ignore.
He doesn’t.
Chan moves, no single intention in his mind. Several shouts come from behind, high and frantic, but he pays no mind to him. He prowls across the dance room, weaving around other dancers, brushing past shoulders, trying to get closer to Minho and get the ocelot’s hands off of his leopard. His want is so much that Chan’s teeth and heart hurt with it. He just needs to get a bit more closer to him, needs to hold Minho close and never let go—
Minho is quick, quick enough to notice Chan’s unrelenting approach. He promptly gets in between Jiyeong and Chan, a tough and imposing wall.
Chan growls, teeth bared and loud. Minho responds with a deep hiss, ears pinned back, tail swishing around furiously.
“Hallway,” Minho grits out, voice gravelly and so utterly pissed, “now, Chan.”
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Minho drags Chan to a relatively empty hallway near the washrooms. The entire walk there gave his mind time to reset and process what just happened. Or more accurately what he was about to do in that practice room.
“Oh shit,” he mutters, a shiver going down his spine at the late realization, “I was going to—”,
“Kill him?” Minho snaps, stopping and spinning around to face him. His ears are still pinned down in anger, a stormy look in his eyes.
Chan shakes his head so hard that he feels faintly dizzy afterwards, “what!? No I’d never—”,
“Then what the fuck were you going to do, huh?” Minho demands, tearing his hold away from Chan’s hand, “because you looked like you were going to tear Jiyeong hyung apart the moment you were within a feet from him.”
Chan sighs shakily. He didn’t necessarily have clear intentions to kill Jiyeong, but he won’t say that he wanted a friendly one-to-one with the ocelot hybrid either. He wanted something, someone else much more. Every fiber in his being screaming at him to snatch that someone away somewhere safe and secluded.
And that someone is currently fixating with one of the scariest death glares Chan’s ever been on the receiving end of.
“I don’t know,” he says, guilt and fear swimming low in his gut like spoiled food, “Minho-ah, I swear I wouldn’t hurt him. I just wanted—”, and he stops himself.
I just want you to be safe. I just want to stop feeling like I’m going to rip open into something 24/7. I just want the old dorm back. I just want cuddle piles. I just want you, I want all of you—his wolf howls and howls and howls with desperation. It hasn’t been this bad since he was a teenager, alone and without a pack.
Minho waits, and the longer he waits, the more his face softens into something akin to sympathy. Like he knows the turmoil boiling inside of him, and that someone should take off the lid soon before Chan explodes.
But that's not their responsibility. It always, always falls on Chan, and he will carry it around like a real leader does.
Chan whispers back to his wolf, but I can’t. He can’t have them the way he wants them but that’s okay. It’s just another burden to carry.
He takes a deep breath. He clears his throat. His ‘leader’ voice—composed, calm, no wolf instincts in sight—comes out like a practiced script, “it won’t happen again, Minho. I promise.”
Minho furrows his brows, “what? I know that, but—”,
“Tell the others I’ll be heading home,” Chan interrupts, already walking away from the leopard to go and grab his belongings, “I have a headache.”
It’s such a lame excuse and he can see the way Minho believes the same thing by the disbelief evident on his face. But he doesn’t stop him, just nods once and lets him go.
Chan stumbles into the dead silent practice room with his heart racing. He glances around the room wildly, trying to spot out his black duffle bag amongst all the other articles of clothing. When he does, he jogs over to it and slings it across his back.
He finds one of the choreographers, apologizes for his brash behaviour, and tells him that he’ll be leaving practice early. The choreographer's eyebrows go up in surprise, used to his push through attitude, but says nothing in particular to it.
Chan also catches Jiyeong’s concerned eyes. His poisonous guilt doesn’t really improve upon the sight, especially when the ocelot hybrid throws a thumbs up, and mouths ‘are you okay?’
Chan just bows, mouths ‘I’m sorry’, and rushes out of the room before any of the members can pin him down and start asking him questions with answers that Chan can’t say out loud.
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The near incident doesn’t get brought up in the Dimple Dorm. When Jeongin got home that day, Chan locked himself in his own bedroom, writing nonsensical songs that could never reach public ears. Jeongin never bothered him for the rest of the day, but on the morning of the next, he did cook breakfast, and waited at the dinner table with a patient smile. Chan did his very best not to cry that morning.
The near incident doesn’t get brought up anywhere else either. His members don’t push it, and continue to treat him normally. Sometimes however, in the silent gaps of conversation, a shared chuckle, a stare that goes for too long, Chan can tell the question sits at the back of their mouths, begging to be asked out loud. Chan always makes sure to pull away when he can feel it begin to happen. He knows that they don’t like it, especially Jeongin, whose ears have been ever so slightly more droopy lately.
It doesn't get any better as time goes on. Chan growled at a stranger for getting too close to Changbin when they were at the gym. He scented Jisung so hard that the bat hybrid became drunk on it and had to stay home for the day. Seungmin had to cancel plans with his friends because Chan took one whiff of an old papercut and tucked him away to a corner to ‘keep him safe’. He got snappish at Hyunjin when he learned that the ferret hybrid had to go to another ambassadorship event. Chan hadn’t let Jeongin out of his sight when they went to a restaurant together, the urge to bare his teeth at anyone who looked in the fox hybrid’s direction hard to ignore.
And every time he’d catch himself falling under his instincts he’d sulk in his room or spend hours at the gym. He’d avoid the members like the plague, which only spurred his wolf further, only made his instincts more volatile. The waxing moon wasn't doing any other favors for Chan either, acting as kerosene to an open flame.
But he has to push through this. Chan is still an idol, he's still the responsible leader of Stray Kids. Hopefully, things will revert to normal once the full moon passes—which is in about three days. Around the same time they have to go to a fansign event in Japan. Sardonically, he thinks that it couldn’t have been a greater timing.
Chan saves his work on Cubase, too tense to really get into the flow of things. He could go to the gym again, burn some of the restlessness brewing within him. He doesn't trust himself to go back to his dorm just yet, not wanting to disturb Jeongin with an impromptu scenting and cuddling session. His instincts are progressively getting more unpredictable and harder to snap out of.
He drags a hand down his face, feeling ten times older than he really is–a common feeling, but this time there's a different weight to it. It feels a little more personal than he's comfortable with.
Knock, knock, knock.
He jumps, embarrassingly, and quickly swivels around in his chair to see who's knocking, even if he already had a feeling as to who it was.
Changbin and Jisung. Despite the fact that 3racha doesn't have anything scheduled to work together today. Chan had made sure of that, due to a fear that his instincts will flare up again and he’ll do something like keep them in the studio all day.
Changbin has his hands in his pockets casually, his face neutral. But his stony stare says everything, “let us in.” Period. He won’t take no as an answer.
Jisung shoots him a tentative smile, but his feet give away his anxiousness, constantly shifting from side to side.
Chan knows he really has no choice, so he gives a curt nod. Changbin wastes no time, swinging open the door with a little more force than necessary in Chan’s opinion. Jisung trails behind, head ducked low, but his jaw is tight, eyes like hard flints in the low lights of the studio. They both take a seat on the couch juxtaposition to him.
Chan is fucked.
Still, he plasters on a gentle smile, because he is who he is and he can’t help himself, “I don’t think I have to ask why you’re here,” he states simply.
“Yeah?” Changbin responds, an eyebrow raised, completely unimpressed, “so explain yourself. Tell us what the fuck has been going on with you.”
Chan chuckles dryly, “straight to the point,” he mutters. His wolf whines, upset at the fact that his pack members are upset. He can feel his ears on the top of his head drooping slightly.
“We’re worried about you,” Jisung pipes up, more gentle than Changbin, but no less urgent, “we have no idea what is going on—well, actually, we do–but what I mean is—,”
“you’re not talking to us,” Changbin cuts in, edging forward in his seat, clenched hands resting on his knees, “we want to help you, we’d always help you, but you haven’t been saying anything.”
Jisung’s mouth is a set, thin line, “hyung, you can trust us—you know that right?”
Chan stares at his lap, no longer able to meet the mini fires raging in both of his best friend’s eyes.
Of course he trusts them. All of them. Chan would trust them with his own life if it came down to it. He wouldn’t be here if he never trusted them.
“Yes, I do,” Chan answers, fidgeting with his fingers. He imagines them sprouting claws at any moment, selfish and beastly, grabbing for Changbin and Jisung, keeping them all to himself—
“So then talk to us,” Changbin presses, a new desperate edge to his voice, “this issue will never be resolved if you don’t let us in.”
Chan shakes his head, “no—no, you don’t want to know the truth,” he says. It's too ugly, too much, its something that his members don’t need to deal with right now.
“Bullshit,” Jisung seethes, suddenly standing up. His tiny fangs are on display, fiercely bared at Chan, “why else do you think we’re here?”
The bat hybrid flails his hands around, a disbelieving scoff coming out of him. Jisung’s eyes have become concerningly more shiny, wet, “do you remember what you told me after I ran away?”
The memory shoots through Chan like an arrow. Changbin lets out a deep exhale, suddenly blinking a lot more than before.
“Don’t run from us,” Chan starts, his voice shakes, “don’t hide from us.…” He trails off, feeling an unwanted lump in his throat and unwanted stinging tears.
That day wasn’t fun for anyone. Even after they found Jisung relatively safe and unharmed, a lot of fights and arguments broke out—mostly born out of bone-deep fears rather than any actual anger.
Chan had found Jisung hiding away in his room, headphones out, Howl’s Moving Castle playing on his phone. He found Jisung staring at the screen, tear streaks on his face, not moving at all.
Chan just sat next to him, allowed Jisung to silently sob into his shoulder while the Ghibli movie continued on his phone. And then at some point, when Jisung’s sobs turned into sniffles, Chan talked to him.
Please. Don’t run from us. Don’t hide from us. Don’t—
“You said that I shouldn’t be ashamed of telling you the truth of what I was feeling,” Jisung continues, hands shaking at his sides, “even if it was scary, or sad, or just hard to hear—I should come to you or the other members anyways.”
“Why can’t you do the same, huh?” Jisung spits, “we’re a pack, we tell each other everything, that's what you said—”,
“I just can’t,” Chan says, and he knows that it's hypocritical, “you wouldn’t, you can’t understand.” It’s not their responsibility, It’s not their responsibility, It’s not their responsibility—it all falls on him.
“We’d understand if you just told us,” Changbin points out, an exasperated sigh spilling out of his lips, “why can’t you understand that?”
Chan frowns, “it's not that simple, okay? I….” He can feel himself slipping again, his wolf at the surface begging to hold Changbin and Jisung close.
Chan rubs his temples, a headache growing behind his eyes. He needs them out.
“I love you, hyung,” Changbin says, folding his arms, “but you’re being too stubborn for your own good again. I don’t know how many times I need to say that you need to talk to us.”
“Well, what if I’m doing this for your own good?” Chan snaps, a growl growing in his throat, “you don’t want to deal with what I’m dealing with.”
Changbin bristles, “what are you suggesting? That we’re not ‘strong’ enough for it? Because you’re the leader and that somehow translates to: I deal with everything by myself?”
“Asshole move, hyung”, Jisung mutters, “I thought we moved past this years ago—”,
“--just stop,” he says, low and clear, slightly raising a hand to them.
Jisung steps forward, “no, we’re not done—”, and fucking hell—
“I don’t care!” Chan shouts, a snarl rippling out of him, “I didn’t ask you to be here, I didn’t ask you to lecture me, I didn’t ask for a interrogation.”
He isn’t aware that he stood up some time ago, now face to face with Changbin and Jisung. He can see the swirling, conflicted emotions, a churning sea. It’s nauseating to Chan.
“You two are going to leave”, he says firmly.
Changbin curses, points a finger at him, “don’t pull this shit, Chan.”
Chan continues, pushes through, “and I'm not going to continue this conversation. We are done.”
Jisung licks his lips, opens his mouth to say more. Chan stops him before he can start.
“Leave,” he demands. He hates raising his voice, hates being the monster.
The silence that follows feels like Chan's at the bottom of the ocean, suffocating in cold darkness. He can't look at Changbin and Jisung in the eye anymore, afraid of what he'll see–so he sits back down and covers his face, breathing out sharply.
Heavy footsteps storm out of the room first, a string of curses being uttered underneath his breath. The door swings open, hitting the wall behind it clamorously. No doubt Changbin.
A few moments go by, and he feels a soft hand on his shoulder.
Fuck. Chan can't look at him. He needs Jisung out before he snaps again, before his instincts take over, before—
“Hyung,” Jisung murmurs, “get your hands away from your face.”
Chan shakes, his hands shake as he peels them away from his face. He keeps his gaze to the ground, “Jisung, I told you to leave.” A feeble attempt. He's too weak against Jisung–Chan would bend over backwards for the bat hybrid.
“I'm so angry at you, hyung. We're trying to help you, but you're just pushing us away again,” Jisung says, his words hitting Chan faster than any of the quickest raps Jisung has ever done before–unrelenting, full of spitfire. Chan has seen and heard Jisung rap countless times; raps where the bat hybrid is brimming with defiance, stamping down on the doubters and criticism, others where his words feel like poisoned tip arrows, a sharp, mocking smile accommodating it.
Jisung talks to Chan like he personally pissed on one of his dead relative’s graves.
Chan doesn’t flinch, he takes it all, folds it up neatly in his brain. He cherishes every word his kids say to him, even if it's hard to hear.
“--but I'll always be here for you. Even if you're acting like a stubborn asshole.”
Chan finally looks up and meets Jisung's gaze.
He's never seen Jisung brimming with this much rage before. The bat hybrid seems to vibrate with it, heaving laborious breaths, clenched fists shaking at his side. Worst of all are probably the shiny fat tears a second away from falling.
Chan swallows, “Jisung, I–”,
Jisung doesn’t give him time to finish, or even to continue. He shifts into his bat form, tiny and vulnerable, and flies out of the room like a shadow.
Chan breathes out, feels a sob pouring out of him, uncontrollable.
It comes out as a pained whine, high and keening, begging for eight other hybrids who want nothing to do with him right now.
˙✧˖°🐺 ༘ ⋆｡˚
Airports have never been easy.
Chan loves Stay, but how he wishes some of them would learn concepts such as boundaries and basic respect because under no circumstances should it take an hour and a half to get to the security checkpoint.
The moon, has also, reached its peak—round, bright and full. Which means that Chan is being pushed past the breaking pointing by two different forces right now.
Not to mention that none of the members want to look him in the eye, or check back to him from the front. They’re all content on either having small talk with the Dispatch noonas, or focusing on getting through the crowd without too much fuss.
“Hyunjin!! Over here, look over here!!!”
“Aegyo please, Jeongin!!”
“Changbin, I love your muscles!!”
A flash of light. Three more. Five phones shoved into his space before the bodyguards push them out of the way. Seven different people trying to talk to him for their news company.
The crowd around them pushing, pushing, pushing, the moon pulling, pulling, pulling at Chan, urging him to shed his stupid human skin and head to the nearest forest to run until the world had no idea who Christopher Bahng Chan was—
—his members at the front, not sparing him a single glance. Chan deserves it, he’s been an asshole, but he’s used to playing the role of the villain, the one to make the hard decisions—but he won’t lie and say it doesn’t hurt—
—today is truly going to be his downfall.
They keep pushing through because they still have a fansign to attend to in a day. Chan keeps his head low, bites his lip so hard that it draws blood. He can do this, he has to do this—one wrong move and their whole career is gone.
Chan closes his eyes, imagining everyone getting inside the plane safely. No one trips, not a single fan touches them, they get on frazzled but okay. He imagines the crushing silence between his members and imagines himself offering an apology for his behaviour. He imagines mixed reactions, but they don’t press further. They accept it and they move on. Chan imagines—
“HEY! Back off—”,
Chan opens his eyes at the sound of Felix’s panicked English. He tenses up, his muscles contracting and readying themselves. Frantically he searches up ahead of him to see what has happened, who he needs to protect, and who exactly needs to back off—because Chan will happily make that happen.
There’s a bigger cluster at the front of the crowd, even more rowdier than the ones near the back where Chan is. He can spot three ladies grabbing at Felix’s clothes, his arms, his ears. Felix hates other people touching his ears. Chan does too.
But as Chan peers a bit closer, he notices Jisung curled up next to Felix, hiding in the siamese hybrid’s arms. Chan is five members away from them yet he can still hear the distressed clicks Jisung is currently making, overwhelmed by the prodding hands.
Bodyguards are trying their best to take control of the situation but there’s simply too many people. He sees the other members try to intervene but they’re being swallowed by other mouths of the beast of a crowd.
It’s a loose dam against a raging river. Chan’s willpower never stood a chance against his agitated wolf, the consuming desire in him to protect his pack and send a message to those who threaten their safety. Those fans were just a match to timberwood.
His fangs drop, his claws are unsheathed as he rushes to the front. He pants, low and ragged, eyes trained on the fans a hair inch away from scratching Jisung’s cheek. Chan doesn’t hear overlapping voices and camera flashes—just heartbeats. Three in particular that his wolf wants to get its jaws around.
packmatedangerdangerindangerprotectprotectrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunRUN—
Chan lets himself go.