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there's this incessant force gnawing on chan's bones, a tired energy that molds to his body and becomes a part of him as he stares at his laptop screen. he doesn't know why it came, but it's making him want to curl up under the covers in an attempt to hide. chan knows there's no point in running, though, because despite the confusion over its trigger, the thing he wants to get away from is inside him, slamming itself against his ribcage and scratching at his skull. it comes to him randomly, catches him off guard when he's carrying out everyday tasks like someone's pulled a rug from under his feet. which isn't to say it's unfamilar, because this thing has followed him his entire life, and instead of him outgrowing it, it grew with him. no matter how acquainted chan is with it, he can't get used to it. he wants to shake it off but it's under his skin so he hides it instead. well, he tries to, at least-- the rest of the group can see when it hits him, but he deflects the subject so adamantly that they have no choice but to let it drop. once, felix was able to corner him before he could wipe the devastation off his face; he pushed chan onto a cushioned desk chair and crawled into his lap, stroking his hair until it was time for dinner. that was the only time he had ever accepted the comfort, and they never spoke of it again. it feels too real to give it a name, too intense, even when it's written somewhere on a document in the company building. to chan, it is just there. something dormant in his core, an unpredictable pattern that he could probably only figure out if he were to ever open up about it. but while he'll continue to treat it like his personal voldemort around the members, he knows what it is and how it makes him feel. he describes it as breaking his own heart. pulling away, ripping a hole through his chest and contorting his body in ways that make him feel like the most fragile person in the world, in ways that never fully break him but leave him damaged nonetheless. chan forces himself to endure the loneliness it guarantees, trapping him in a loop that leaves him lethargic and delirious. he describes it as breaking his own heart, but chan can’t tell if that’s entirely fair. it was never supposed to be like this– he didn’t wake up one day and decide to drift away. his tether was simply weaker than most, but he didn’t know that until the frayed wire started to lacerate his skin and he was too far gone to reach anyone else. he never intended to do this to himself and yet, chan has become a sinkhole for his own existence. each day, he plummets further, wastes more effort to claw his way back up, just to fail to reach the top. it’s been far too many lifetimes of continuous sinking to ever make it to the surface again, and the larger the distance grows, the more inclined he is to keep it that way. he describes it as breaking his own heart because he keeps letting himself down. the world will not be any gentler with him than with anyone else, and while his members clear the air, it is still up to him to fill his lungs. but despite the roses he's grown next to, and the sunlight he's soaked up, nothing has the power to keep his head above the ground. it makes him wonder how far below he was really meant to be, how long it will take until everyone else is disappointed in him, too. he describes it as breaking his own heart, and he really doesn’t want to point fingers here, but who else could he possibly blame? chan can’t even tell if he's trying anymore. exhausted by, for, over nothing. it’s like he's wringing himself dry but no matter how twisted he becomes, he is still heavy and drenched with weight of the progress he has yet to make. it’s all empty sorrow and baseless grief, mourning a light that hasn’t even gone out yet. he describes it as breaking his own heart, and it’s only barely being held together. spaced out with blood on his hands, chan is adrift and looking for something to cling to. hope that belonged to a child, that tried to match his pace but is now mangled and dirtied, and honesty starting to feel kind of pitiful. an aimless journey that doesn’t seem to have an end, stumbling through life with blurry eyes and a darkness that knicks his arms and scrapes his knees. he describes it as breaking his own heart, and really, it does feel that way sometimes. everyone warns you that the world is scary and loud, but no one tells you that the real fight is the quieter one. it’s hard to steel yourself against an enemy if your own forces are pointing their weapons at you. and it isn’t an obvious coup, either, you don’t see it coming until it reaches you. it trickles towards you slowly, runs down your face, seeps into your pores. and it clogs them, but you cannot run from yourself, so it destroys you from the inside. a trojan horse meant to take you apart, and the effort put into rebuilding what once was makes no difference. if the foundation started out broken, then anything else is a lost cause. chan knows this all too well.