Additional Tags: Canon compliant, Future Fic (three weeks is still future), Dino loves his hyungs and they love him back
Permission to remix: Yes
i made a dreamwidth acc to fill this excuse any strange formatting! thank you for the flexibility of your prompt! i liked the gen interpretation a lot hehe
The noise is the first thing most people notice about a group of thirteen boys. Talking, laughing, shouting, screaming, their voices reach wherever they go before their physical bodies do.
For someone who had been immersed in it for well over seven years of his life, Chan was used to the constant ambient sounds around him. Mingyu's rapid rambling, Seungkwan’s jab, Seokmin hopping into the conversation that would eventually rope everyone into a debate over another stupid thing.
What Chan now found himself not used to, however, was the overwhelming silence of being away from the noise. Trips home weren’t rare, with the longest periods being the annual Seollal and Chuseok periods. Of course, he missed home and his family. His grandmother’s tteokguk, his brother’s chatter, the hugs from his parents. It still felt strange, though, being the only one in the car. Mingyu and Seokmin, their destinations passed, had left the car many hours ago, waving with smiles and promises to save some leftovers for the dorm in a few days.
Jazz music floated from the front-most seat, as the manager drove the vehicle down the expressway. They hadn’t switched out the CD since their commute to a recording a few days ago. Even if his team members mostly slept the rides out, there was always the soft sound of breathing, sniffling, and Soonyoung’s slight snores. The air in the car now felt too still.
“Younghwan-hyung?” He called out, “Can I turn down the window?”
An affirmative grunt came from the driver’s seat.
With a whirr, the pane slid down, a cool breeze entering the car. He leaned into the seat, wide awake, watching the stars whiz by.
Before he knew it, he was at his home’s doorstep. The doorknob and number pad felt smaller than he remembered every beginning of every year. The number never changed, though, and he pushed the door open.
“Oh my, your hair is so long now! Is this what’s trendy these days?”
“Hyung! You brought the hat I asked you to buy, right?”
“Chan-ah! Put your stuff down quickly and come to the table!”
It was a different kind of noise at home, with the four voices he kept closest to his heart. He kicked off his shoes, falling into the sounds of warmth, into the aroma of home-cooked food, into the most familiar embraces.
Chan hadn’t realised he’d fallen asleep until he awoke curled in the corner of the sofa, a thin quilt over him. After the sumptuous dinner, the family had settled down in the living room to watch the Seollal special programmes. Unsurprisingly, the compounded fatigue of the past few weeks and the food coma sent him straight into dreamland. He sat up straight, stretching out the crick in his neck. Feeling a small hand on his shoulder, he raised his head.
“Aigo, didn’t you have work earlier this morning? You must be so tired, why don’t you go to bed early?” His grandmother coaxed him, patting his arm.
He would usually wave off her suggestion, insisting that he wanted to stay with them and catch up on hometown matters, but the past few weeks had been extraordinarily tiring. Without Jun and Minghao, him and Soonyoung had to really pull their weights for their group performances, and it had undeniably taken a toll on him. Raucous canned laughter resonated from the television, shooting pain into his head, the characteristic headache from poor sleep building up behind his eyes.
“Thank you for the blanket, I think I’ll wash up and go to bed now,” Chan folded up the quilt and set it back on the sofa, standing up slowly with a wince.
He made his way to his bedroom, his bags in hand and opened the door to darkness. If the air in the car was still, this was totally inert. With the apartment’s thermostat set to warm the place, his room felt insufferably hot, and he drew the curtains apart, opening the windows to let the winter air in. Taking a seat on the floor, he began unpacking the personal items he had taken from the dorm.
Kkatok!
He grabbed his phone at the sound and squinted at the notification. Another spam phishing message. He tossed his phone onto his bed. Then again, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. On a regular day, it would be a member making idle chat, a manager giving instructions, or asking where someone was. But it wasn’t a regular day at that moment. It was the day before Seollal, close to ten p.m. and he was in his bedroom in Iksan, hundreds of kilometres away from the broadcasting stations, from the company building, from the dorms. There was no reason for anyone to be begging in the groupchat to share chimaek delivery, or asking about their next-day schedules.
The sound of laughter from the living room could be heard through his open door, but without the noises he had grown so accustomed to, it felt like a near silence.
He wondered what the other members were doing. Would they still be at the dinner table? Would they be chatting away with their families? Jihoon-hyung likes taking baths at this time, would he be having his soak? He must’ve reached his home fairly early, since he opted to take the train instead.
It was ironic that on the few days he got off work (in an industry that was already working them almost round the clock) he was still thinking about the members, or his colleagues, if he was to really get down to it.
Taking out his containers of skincare and beauty products, he rolled them in his palm absentmindedly, before quickly realising something was off about their shape. He held one of them to the moonlight that streamed in from the window.
“Ba…nila?”
The tube of moisturiser looked deceptively similar to his own favourite, but the brand was completely different. He poured the pouch’s contents out to find it only containing about half his small collection of creams and serums. The rest were, somehow, a mixture of everyone else’s. Hell, the headband he packed wasn’t even his. His bunny ear one was swapped for someone’s bear-eared band. It was the inevitable result of him, Seokmin and Vernon having less than five minutes in the pre-recording rush to pack from their several dozens of products crammed into one small medicine cabinet. That was with the meagre amount of sleep they had been getting. It didn’t help that it was the whole group’s cabinet as much as it was their floor’s, too, as the hyungs from the five-member floors would come over to wash up when someone took too long in their bathroom.
Sighing, he packed the products back into their bag, grabbed clothes from his closet and headed to the bathroom. When he emerged, he smelled strange to say the least, with the mishmash combination of face and body moisturisers combining with the blind box of skincare products. Giving his forearm a sniff, it was like the time he got tackled by a straight-out-of-the-shower Soonyoung and Jun and Jeonghan joined in to make his life even worse. It was simultaneously completely expected and mildly surprising that he could think of an episode that matched the exact permutation of those three members whom he now smelled like. He’d chosen the shirt in darkness, but staring at it in his hands, he found it wasn’t truly his. It ended up in his closet at home after he borrowed it and wore it going back over Chuseok a year or two ago. He’d promised Joshua that he’d bring it back, but they’d both forgotten about their agreement by the time they reunited in Seoul.
(He was slightly glad, because he really liked the shirt.)
So there he was, standing in another member’s shirt, slathered in other members’ products. The pants he wore were from the matching set with the other Performance Unit members, so whether it was really his was also questionable. It wasn’t all that uncommon of an occurrence at the dorm, but he was at home now. He was isolated from the context of Seventeen, just a man named Lee Chan. Could he even be Chan without Seventeen, though?
When he returned to his room, he ignored the light switch to go straight to his bed, instinctively searching for his phone.
The notification wall was empty, as it was twenty minutes before.
There was no way the other members didn’t get his stuff mixed into theirs too. But the chatroom stayed quiet, no shouts of indignation from anyone having their holy grail products stolen from them for the week. Then again, it wasn’t like they fussed much over whose was what and what was whose. Sure, sometimes someone would get mad over his clothes becoming almost communal, but it always ended in laughter and permission for his clothes to be sacrificed to the wear and tear of thirteen people.
Putting his phone down, Chan looked towards the moon from his bed; the same bright sliver of rock that shone over the whole of South Korea, and everyone on Earth. Would the members be looking at it too? He tried to guess who would be awake and who would be asleep by this time. The voices of the members echoed in his head as he sieved through his memories of them, trying to remember their nightly habits.
The silence now finally filled lulled him to sleep as he came to the conclusion that perhaps, it wasn’t a bad thing that he thought of the members so much. Somewhere, out there in another province, or maybe in China, his shirt too hung in a closet, his products laid out on a vanity. He knew it didn’t need to be said that the other members would wonder about him too.
[FILL] going home/going seventeen
Ship/Member: Gen Dino/Seventeen
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Canon compliant, Future Fic (three weeks is still future), Dino loves his hyungs and they love him back
Permission to remix: Yes
i made a dreamwidth acc to fill this excuse any strange formatting! thank you for the flexibility of your prompt! i liked the gen interpretation a lot hehe
The noise is the first thing most people notice about a group of thirteen boys. Talking, laughing, shouting, screaming, their voices reach wherever they go before their physical bodies do.
For someone who had been immersed in it for well over seven years of his life, Chan was used to the constant ambient sounds around him. Mingyu's rapid rambling, Seungkwan’s jab, Seokmin hopping into the conversation that would eventually rope everyone into a debate over another stupid thing.
What Chan now found himself not used to, however, was the overwhelming silence of being away from the noise. Trips home weren’t rare, with the longest periods being the annual Seollal and Chuseok periods. Of course, he missed home and his family. His grandmother’s tteokguk, his brother’s chatter, the hugs from his parents. It still felt strange, though, being the only one in the car. Mingyu and Seokmin, their destinations passed, had left the car many hours ago, waving with smiles and promises to save some leftovers for the dorm in a few days.
Jazz music floated from the front-most seat, as the manager drove the vehicle down the expressway. They hadn’t switched out the CD since their commute to a recording a few days ago. Even if his team members mostly slept the rides out, there was always the soft sound of breathing, sniffling, and Soonyoung’s slight snores. The air in the car now felt too still.
“Younghwan-hyung?” He called out, “Can I turn down the window?”
An affirmative grunt came from the driver’s seat.
With a whirr, the pane slid down, a cool breeze entering the car. He leaned into the seat, wide awake, watching the stars whiz by.
Before he knew it, he was at his home’s doorstep. The doorknob and number pad felt smaller than he remembered every beginning of every year. The number never changed, though, and he pushed the door open.
“Oh my, your hair is so long now! Is this what’s trendy these days?”
“Hyung! You brought the hat I asked you to buy, right?”
“Chan-ah! Put your stuff down quickly and come to the table!”
It was a different kind of noise at home, with the four voices he kept closest to his heart. He kicked off his shoes, falling into the sounds of warmth, into the aroma of home-cooked food, into the most familiar embraces.
Chan hadn’t realised he’d fallen asleep until he awoke curled in the corner of the sofa, a thin quilt over him. After the sumptuous dinner, the family had settled down in the living room to watch the Seollal special programmes. Unsurprisingly, the compounded fatigue of the past few weeks and the food coma sent him straight into dreamland. He sat up straight, stretching out the crick in his neck. Feeling a small hand on his shoulder, he raised his head.
“Aigo, didn’t you have work earlier this morning? You must be so tired, why don’t you go to bed early?” His grandmother coaxed him, patting his arm.
He would usually wave off her suggestion, insisting that he wanted to stay with them and catch up on hometown matters, but the past few weeks had been extraordinarily tiring. Without Jun and Minghao, him and Soonyoung had to really pull their weights for their group performances, and it had undeniably taken a toll on him. Raucous canned laughter resonated from the television, shooting pain into his head, the characteristic headache from poor sleep building up behind his eyes.
“Thank you for the blanket, I think I’ll wash up and go to bed now,” Chan folded up the quilt and set it back on the sofa, standing up slowly with a wince.
He made his way to his bedroom, his bags in hand and opened the door to darkness. If the air in the car was still, this was totally inert. With the apartment’s thermostat set to warm the place, his room felt insufferably hot, and he drew the curtains apart, opening the windows to let the winter air in. Taking a seat on the floor, he began unpacking the personal items he had taken from the dorm.
Kkatok!
He grabbed his phone at the sound and squinted at the notification. Another spam phishing message. He tossed his phone onto his bed. Then again, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. On a regular day, it would be a member making idle chat, a manager giving instructions, or asking where someone was. But it wasn’t a regular day at that moment. It was the day before Seollal, close to ten p.m. and he was in his bedroom in Iksan, hundreds of kilometres away from the broadcasting stations, from the company building, from the dorms. There was no reason for anyone to be begging in the groupchat to share chimaek delivery, or asking about their next-day schedules.
The sound of laughter from the living room could be heard through his open door, but without the noises he had grown so accustomed to, it felt like a near silence.
He wondered what the other members were doing. Would they still be at the dinner table? Would they be chatting away with their families? Jihoon-hyung likes taking baths at this time, would he be having his soak? He must’ve reached his home fairly early, since he opted to take the train instead.
It was ironic that on the few days he got off work (in an industry that was already working them almost round the clock) he was still thinking about the members, or his colleagues, if he was to really get down to it.
Taking out his containers of skincare and beauty products, he rolled them in his palm absentmindedly, before quickly realising something was off about their shape. He held one of them to the moonlight that streamed in from the window.
“Ba…nila?”
The tube of moisturiser looked deceptively similar to his own favourite, but the brand was completely different. He poured the pouch’s contents out to find it only containing about half his small collection of creams and serums. The rest were, somehow, a mixture of everyone else’s. Hell, the headband he packed wasn’t even his. His bunny ear one was swapped for someone’s bear-eared band. It was the inevitable result of him, Seokmin and Vernon having less than five minutes in the pre-recording rush to pack from their several dozens of products crammed into one small medicine cabinet. That was with the meagre amount of sleep they had been getting. It didn’t help that it was the whole group’s cabinet as much as it was their floor’s, too, as the hyungs from the five-member floors would come over to wash up when someone took too long in their bathroom.
Sighing, he packed the products back into their bag, grabbed clothes from his closet and headed to the bathroom. When he emerged, he smelled strange to say the least, with the mishmash combination of face and body moisturisers combining with the blind box of skincare products. Giving his forearm a sniff, it was like the time he got tackled by a straight-out-of-the-shower Soonyoung and Jun and Jeonghan joined in to make his life even worse. It was simultaneously completely expected and mildly surprising that he could think of an episode that matched the exact permutation of those three members whom he now smelled like. He’d chosen the shirt in darkness, but staring at it in his hands, he found it wasn’t truly his. It ended up in his closet at home after he borrowed it and wore it going back over Chuseok a year or two ago. He’d promised Joshua that he’d bring it back, but they’d both forgotten about their agreement by the time they reunited in Seoul.
(He was slightly glad, because he really liked the shirt.)
So there he was, standing in another member’s shirt, slathered in other members’ products. The pants he wore were from the matching set with the other Performance Unit members, so whether it was really his was also questionable. It wasn’t all that uncommon of an occurrence at the dorm, but he was at home now. He was isolated from the context of Seventeen, just a man named Lee Chan. Could he even be Chan without Seventeen, though?
When he returned to his room, he ignored the light switch to go straight to his bed, instinctively searching for his phone.
The notification wall was empty, as it was twenty minutes before.
There was no way the other members didn’t get his stuff mixed into theirs too. But the chatroom stayed quiet, no shouts of indignation from anyone having their holy grail products stolen from them for the week. Then again, it wasn’t like they fussed much over whose was what and what was whose. Sure, sometimes someone would get mad over his clothes becoming almost communal, but it always ended in laughter and permission for his clothes to be sacrificed to the wear and tear of thirteen people.
Putting his phone down, Chan looked towards the moon from his bed; the same bright sliver of rock that shone over the whole of South Korea, and everyone on Earth. Would the members be looking at it too? He tried to guess who would be awake and who would be asleep by this time. The voices of the members echoed in his head as he sieved through his memories of them, trying to remember their nightly habits.
The silence now finally filled lulled him to sleep as he came to the conclusion that perhaps, it wasn’t a bad thing that he thought of the members so much. Somewhere, out there in another province, or maybe in China, his shirt too hung in a closet, his products laid out on a vanity. He knew it didn’t need to be said that the other members would wonder about him too.