Skz oneshotes (Requests Open)

Reckless Behavior

Reckless Behavior

The first time Han Jisung scared the others wasn't on stage.
It was at 3:47 a.m., on the narrow balcony of their dorm, when he leaned too far over the railing — chasing inspiration, he said — a lyric notebook clutched in his hand and a look in his eyes that no one could quite read.

"Han, get back inside," Chan had said quietly from the doorway.
But Han didn't move. The city stretched below them, humming and restless, a reflection of his own mind. He'd been stuck on a verse for two weeks, a song about freedom, and it felt like if he didn't feel something real, the music would never come.

"Hyung," Han muttered, not looking back. "When we write about falling, do you think people believe we actually know what it feels like?"

"Stop being dramatic and come inside before you give me a heart attack."

He laughed — that quick, breathy sound the fans loved — and stepped back in, brushing past Chan. He smelled faintly of rain and caffeine.
It was the first sign of something beginning to crack.

By the time Stray Kids' world tour hit its halfway point, the pressure was unbearable.

The shows sold out, the fans screamed their names, but behind the curtains, exhaustion had dug its claws into every corner of their lives. They had four hours of sleep on a good night. Eight boys orbiting the same dream, each with their own orbit of fear, anxiety, and pride.

Han was burning brightest — and fastest.

On stage, he was electric: every verse hit with precision, his delivery wild and alive. But off stage, he was reckless in small, dangerous ways. He skipped meals to write. He downed energy drinks like water. He stayed awake until sunrise to "fix" songs that didn't need fixing. And when anyone tried to stop him, he brushed it off with a grin.

"Come on, I'm fine. Don't be old, hyung," he'd joke, waving off Chan or Lee Know whenever they told him to rest.
But the laughter never reached his eyes.

It happened on the fourth night in Tokyo.

They had finished their concert an hour earlier — the crowd still echoing in their ears, sweat still drying on their skin — and Chan had ordered everyone to rest. But Han was restless. His adrenaline didn't turn off; it looped endlessly.

Felix found him in the hotel's rooftop lounge, hoodie up, earbuds in, eyes locked on his phone screen.
"Bro," Felix said softly, "you're not seriously gonna go out now, right? It's almost 2 a.m."

Han smirked. "I just need some air. I'm good."

Felix frowned. "We're in another country, dude. You can't just—"

But Han was already gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

He wandered through the neon-lit streets alone, hoodie pulled low, mask on. The city pulsed with life — strangers, lights, noise — and he felt anonymous for the first time in months.
He ducked into an underground club after hearing a bassline leak through the stairwell. Music. That's what he wanted. Something raw, unfiltered.

Inside, it was chaos. Smoke, sweat, and a DJ tearing through a mix that made the floor vibrate. Han slipped into the crowd, head bobbing, letting go for the first time in forever.

He didn't notice the phone cameras until it was too late.

Someone recognized him. A whisper turned into a buzz, a few photos, then flashes. Han froze — too late to run. A girl shouted his name, and the club erupted into chaos.

By the time security dragged him out a side door, his mask had fallen, and the damage was done.

The next morning, the hashtag trended before he was even awake.