Bang Chan didn’t like you. In fact, he hated you. Every little thing you did got on his nerves, from your constant teasing to your childish antics. At seventeen, you acted like you were five. You’d jump on the members, make ridiculous jokes. You didn’t care how much it annoyed any of them.

He hated that you were the maknae—the one who always found ways to be loud, disruptive, and carefree. While the other members put in their hours of practice and focus, you were the one who’d slip in a joke, make faces, or cause trouble. It was like you didn’t take anything seriously. The others tolerate it, but Bang Chan never did.

He’d scold you repeatedly, his voice echoing throughout the apartment, his tone sharp and laced with irritation. It wasn’t just behind closed doors. Fans could hear it too, during meet and greets, or at concerts. The way he’d snap at you, his patience always running thin. It was as though you were a constant reminder of everything that drained him. Even through interviews and meet and greets with fans, Bang Chan would scold you, snapping at you. Sometimes, he would shove you on purpose, sometimes, you would even bump into another member by accident from Bang Chan’s shoving. Fans had taken notice and some even commented about it on social media. Even on live streams, you’d get comments of fans asking things, things like why Bang Chan is always grumpy with you. It was irritating for him. He ignored it all.

You never seemed to understand why he was always angry around you, why he acted grumpy when you were near. The others didn’t see it the same way. They liked you, loved your energy, your jokes, and your lightheartedness. But for Bang Chan, you were a distraction, a source of frustration. You were the chaos he didn’t want.

The studio was quiet for a moment, everyone lounging in the living room area, except for you. You were being your usual self—messing around, throwing out comments that made the others laugh. But Bang Chan wasn’t laughing. His gaze was cold, focused, and irritated as he stared across at you. His patience was running thin.

Without warning, he slammed his hand onto the coffee table, the loud sound of the impact cutting through the silence. The others froze, looking over at him. His scowl deepened as he glared at you. It wasn’t just the loud noise that had startled everyone—it was the frustration on his face. He was done. Done with the teasing, done with the childish antics completely.