Skz oneshotes (Requests Open)

Shield

Shield

The studio lights hummed quietly overhead, casting soft shadows over empty chairs, tangled cables, and half-finished lyric sheets. It was 2:37 a.m. The others had long gone back to the dorm, exhausted after another day that had started at sunrise.

All except one.

Bang Chan sat alone in front of the mixing console, headphones draped around his neck, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The faint blue light from the monitor illuminated his face — tired eyes, a few strands of hair sticking to his forehead, and a stubborn resolve that refused to fade.

The sound of the group's laughter still echoed faintly in his head.

They're doing better, he thought, scrolling through the latest demo file. They're growing. That's what matters.

He hit play, and the chorus swelled — Han's voice cracked slightly, Seungmin's harmonies wrapped around it, and Changbin's verse thundered in, raw and unfiltered. Chan smiled faintly. It wasn't perfect, but it was them.

And them was everything.

For years, Bang Chan had been the foundation of Stray Kids — the one who stayed up long after everyone else had collapsed into bed, the one who carried the weight of every expectation, every fear, every heartbreak.

They called him "Leader," but to Chan, it was less a title and more a duty. A promise. A shield.

That night, however, felt different. The faint ache behind his eyes wasn't just exhaustion — it was something deeper, heavier. Something he couldn't quite shake.

The next day's schedule was brutal — rehearsals, interviews, a photoshoot, and a live broadcast. Chan smiled through all of it, cracking jokes, hyping everyone up, and making sure no one saw the fatigue behind his practiced grin.

But Jisung noticed. He always did.

During their lunch break, he nudged Chan gently. "Hyung, did you even sleep last night?"

Chan chuckled, sipping his coffee. "A bit."

"'A bit' as in... two hours?" Jisung pressed.

Chan shrugged. "Maybe one and a half."

"Hyung..."

"I'm fine, Ji," Chan interrupted, his tone soft but final. "Really. Don't worry about me."

Jisung frowned, but he knew that look. Chan wouldn't budge once he set his mind.

Later that evening, during choreography practice, Chan stumbled. Just for a second — barely noticeable. But Felix caught it, his reflexes kicking in as he reached out.

"Hyung, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Chan laughed it off, brushing imaginary dust off his knees. "Guess I didn't stretch enough."

Changbin crossed his arms. "You've been overworking again, haven't you?"

Chan grinned. "When am I not?"

The members exchanged uneasy glances, but none pressed further. They trusted him. They always did.

That night, as the group finally wrapped up and piled into the van, rain began to fall — soft at first, then harder, turning the streets of Seoul into shimmering ribbons of light and water.

Chan sat by the window, watching the city blur past. The members were half-asleep around him — Jisung's head resting against the glass, Hyunjin dozing off on Seungmin's shoulder, Felix snoring softly.