Chapter Text
The first time Namjoon noticed Chan, his ass started to vibrate.
They were at one award show or another (give the guy a break, it was awards season, and they were BTS). On one side, Hoseok was jiggling his leg like he was trying to bore a hole in the ground, leaning over Jimin to talk to Taehyung. Jimin kept throwing him pleading looks, which Namjoon steadfastly ignored. The younger had fought everyone else for the seat in the middle; he could suffer the consequences.
Why couldn’t the rest of his members be as well-behaved as Yoongi? Yoongi, who sat demurely with his hands in his lap, legs crossed at the ankles, bopping his head to the performance onstage.
Yoongi, who suddenly dug an elbow so hard into Namjoon’s side, he might’ve broken a rib.
Namjoon gasped for air, glaring at the elder. “Hyung, what the-”
“They’re good,” Yoongi interrupted, nodding towards the stage. “These kids? They’re going places.”
“You could’ve just said-”
“Hush,” Yoongi said impatiently.
Despite Namjoon doing his best to burn holes into the side of Yoongi’s head, it stayed annoyingly hole-free and facing frontwards. Sighing, Namjoon gave up, and turned to the front.
He looked at the stage, and felt like he’d taken another elbow to the ribs.
The screen had a massive SKZ on it, bright red on a black background. Eight boys in various articles of red and black clothing danced in perfect synchronization on the stage. There was Minho- years after the WINGS tour, completely in his element as an idol. Hyunjin, the MC, who’d once tripped over his shoelaces when he’d seen them- none of that clumsiness in the way he moved now, though. Two spitfire rappers, tiny yet talented.
And the kid at the front, belting his lungs out, shirt stretched impossibly tight over bulging muscle-
Namjoon’s ass was vibrating.
“What the-” Annoyed at the distraction, he fished around his back pocket until he grasped the source of the vibration. Jimin’s caller ID flashed across the screen.
He looked up. Hoseok was practically in Jimin’s lap. Jimin had tears in his eyes.
Namjoon sighed. “Hobi Hyung, you’re crushing Jimin.”
Hoseok sat up straight, wide eyed and apologetic. “Whoops! Sorry, Minnie!”
With great difficulty, he finally managed to get his bandmates properly settled in their seats. The kid who was singing now had a strong, clear voice- incredible vocal technique, Yoongi was probably shitting himself.
Realistically, Namjoon should be, too, but his eyes kept drifting towards the guy to the right. Dimples when he smiled, adjusting his earpiece. His eyes were bright and wide as he looked out at the crowd. Namjoon knew that feeling very well- years before BTS was as big as they were today, years before topping charts and sweeping award shows was a given. Being so young and full of dreams, more than you knew what to do with.
The performance ended, and the group walked offstage, the muscly kid at the back of the line, the rest of his little ducklings in front. They were all flushed and jubilant as they walked back to their seats.
When they passed BTS, their noses practically touched their knees. Namjoon inclined his head at Minho, at Hyunjin, at the rapping duo, the puppy-eyed singer, the gangly kid who smiled at everybody, the one with the face of an angel and voice of Satan, and finally, their leader.
A zap of electricity went through Namjoon when their eyes met. In that split second, Namjoon saw awe and admiration and so much hope.
In that split second, Namjoon wished he could relive it all again.
. . .
Stray Kids had two minutes till their performance, and Jeongin was shitting himself.
“BTS are in the front row, Hyung,” he squeaked. “BTS.”
“Yeah, I saw, buddy.”
“Bangtan Sonyeondan,” Jeongin hissed.
“Yeah, I know what BTS stands for.” Chan huffed out a laugh when Jeongin’s eyes only went wider. The maknae’s hands flew up to his face, and Chan hurriedly grabbed them before he could wreck their poor stylist noona’s hard work. “We’ve seen them before, Innie.”
“Not this close.” Jeongin brought his hands close together, until only about a centimeter was between them. “We were like this when we passed them.”
“Jin Sunbae-nim smelled like fruit,” Jisung announced.
Jeongin flew to his side. “Fruit? Really? What kind? What did his face look like up close? Is it true that V Sunbae-nim has a mole on his eyelid?”
Chan was too fond (and mildly terrified). Wonder what it’s like to be that big? he mused. To have your fans know so much about you, and to have to go to extreme lengths to hide what they don’t?
He’d been shocked to see a tweet where a Stay mentioned his blood type. ARMYs probably had the members’ ultrasounds.
“You’re next, boys,” someone announced, and Chan emptied his mind of all stray (ha!) thoughts.
It was easy to forget everything else when he was performing. There was something about the energy of his members, of the crowd- enjoying music he created. That he had such a big role in making.
Chan let his gaze drift over the audience. There was ITZY, Ryujin and Chaeryeong doing the choreo in their seats, Lia mouthing the lyrics, Yeji and Yuna applauding them. ATEEZ and The Boyz next to each other, Wooyoung losing his shit at Changbin’s part, and Eric at Felix’s.
The older idols sat in front. Mamamoo and Twice, Sana the most enthusiastic of them all. Several members of Seventeen were breaking out dance moves.
And BTS. At the front, like Jeongin had said, like Chan had noticed nevertheless. They even looked like royalty.
Especially RM, towering over his members, straight-backed and regal. Eyes on the stage.
Eyes on Chan.
You’re the one performing, that’s all there is. If any of his fansites captured his blush, he’d swear it was from the exertion. He’ll shift his eyes to the rest of the kids, too.
Except he didn’t.
Chan could feel RM’s stare throughout their performance. It wasn’t distracting, per se- Chan was used to performing in front of the most gorgeous people in the country- but it was. It was something.
Afterwards, Chan stayed at the back of the line to make sure he didn’t have any stragglers (Hyunjin, especially, was prone to wandering off in the wrong direction, and the rest of them weren’t much better).
They bowed politely to everyone they passed. Chan could practically hear the static playing in Jeongin’s mind when they reached BTS.
Chan inclined his head at Jungkook, at V, at Jimin, at J-Hope. His eyes flickered up at RM.
He felt something go through him at BTS’s leader’s heavy gaze.
Man, he thought to himself. I wish I could be like you.
. . .
Over Seoul, a shooting star streaked across the night sky.