Skz oneshotes (Requests Open)

Please Wake Up

Please Wake Up

The dorm was quiet in a way that never felt quiet—like the calm before a storm. Bang Chan had returned from the studio later than usual, expecting to find the usual scattered remnants of the day: half-empty water bottles, discarded jackets, and the faint hum of music still lingering in the background. But tonight, something felt wrong.

He noticed it immediately: Jeongin standing frozen near the couch, eyes wide, hands trembling as they hovered over one of the other members slumped on the floor. Panic radiated from him like heat from a fire, and Chan's heart skipped a beat.

"Jeongin?" Chan's voice was sharp, commanding, but calm enough to cut through the chaos building in the room.

Jeongin barely registered him. "Please... wake up... please!" His voice cracked, high-pitched, desperate. He was shaking the boy who was lying unmoving, his small hands fumbling in panic.

Chan didn't hesitate. He dropped to his knees beside the unconscious member, surveying the scene in a fraction of a second. Every instinct, every ounce of training, kicked in. Calm and precise, his hands moved to check vital signs.

"Check his pulse!" Chan barked, his voice low but urgent.

Jeongin pressed his fingers to the neck, but they trembled too much. "He's... he's not..." The words fell apart, swallowed by panic.

Chan's hand landed firmly on Jeongin's shoulder. "Focus! Breathe! I've got this. Just follow my lead."

The room seemed to shrink as Chan worked. He assessed the boy's breathing, positioning, and airway in a practiced sequence. His mind raced through possibilities: fainting, dehydration, sudden illness—but panic couldn't be allowed to control him. He needed clarity. Every second counted.

"He's breathing... shallow. Barely." Chan's voice was controlled, calm, but underneath, a current of urgency ran through him. "Keep him stable. Don't let him move too much. Jeongin, call the hospital. Now."

Jeongin's hands shook as he pulled out his phone, fumbling with the numbers. "O-Okay... okay..."

Chan maintained eye contact with him, grounding the younger boy. "Stay on the line. Keep talking to him. He can hear you. Use your voice. Keep him tethered to the world."

Jeongin leaned closer, whispering almost inaudibly: "Wake up... please... we need you..."

Chan's mind raced, but his face remained calm. Inside, however, the storm of fear and adrenaline surged. He thought of every time a member had counted on him, every moment of responsibility he bore silently. Now, all of that focus had to manifest instantly, precisely. One wrong move, one hesitation, and the consequences could be dire.

He repositioned the unconscious boy gently, supporting his head, tilting it to keep the airway clear. He placed a hand over his chest, feeling the shallow rise and fall, faint but steady.

"Listen to me," Chan said quietly but firmly, almost to himself as much as to the room. "You're going to be okay. Stay with us. Just stay with us."

Jeongin's breathing was ragged, and tears streaked down his face. He pressed closer, murmuring again and again, hoping the boy could hear him. The rest of the members began to gather, drawn by the commotion: Seungmin, Hyunjin, Changbin—all wide-eyed, unsure, panic brimming just beneath their surfaces.

Chan looked up at them briefly. "Everyone else, stay back. Give us space. Do exactly what I say. Don't panic. Not now."

Their faces mirrored the fear that Chan felt inside, but he couldn't allow that fear to take control—not yet. He assessed again: pulse weak, breathing shallow but present. That small thread of life was all he needed to focus on.

Minutes stretched like hours. Every second felt heavy, each one a battle against the relentless anxiety threatening to consume them. Chan's hands never faltered. His mind cataloged everything: the unconscious boy's skin tone, the color of lips, the faint flutter of eyelids. Every detail mattered.

Finally, distant sirens echoed from the streets outside—the ambulance on its way. Relief coursed through Chan, but he didn't let it show. Not yet. He had to maintain focus. He had to keep the boy stable until trained help arrived.

"Jeongin," he said softly, placing a grounding hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "You did well. I know it's scary. But listen to me—you kept him alive until help arrived. That's all that matters right now. Keep talking to him."

Jeongin nodded, tears continuing to streak down his face, but his trembling lessened. He leaned over, whispering stories, memories, anything he could think of to anchor the boy back to consciousness.

Chan observed quietly, his mind briefly flicking to the what-ifs—the thoughts he usually pushed away. What if he had been too slow? What if something worse had happened? But he pushed them aside. There was no room for "what ifs" now. Only action.

By the time the paramedics arrived, Chan's hands were slightly sore, his shirt damp with sweat, but his focus had never wavered. He guided them through what had happened, every detail precise.

After the medics took over, Chan finally allowed himself to breathe, his body tense but relieved. The members hovered nearby, anxiety still written on every face. Chan looked at each of them, then at Jeongin, whose hands were still trembling.

"You all did what you could," Chan said, his voice firm but gentle. "You stayed calm, followed instructions, and helped keep him alive. That's more than enough."

Jeongin leaned into him, exhausted, eyes filled with lingering fear. Chan held him, letting him release the tension, the panic, the helplessness.

In that quiet aftermath, Chan reflected on the night. Leadership wasn't about being the loudest, the strongest, or the most visible. It was about staying grounded, holding space for others, guiding them when panic threatened to pull everyone under. And tonight, he had done that.

The room was quiet again, but it wasn't the same quiet. It was different—heavy, loaded with relief, gratitude, and the lingering pulse of fear that had almost consumed them. Chan knew that the memory of this night would stay with all of them forever. And as he looked around at the exhausted, shaken faces of his members, he knew one thing clearly: they would survive anything—as long as they stayed together.