Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

🖌

Till Now

"You seem distracted today," Chan had taken them out to the balcony to drink their tea, since he was sure Jeongin was secretly up, and it was the last night Minho would be babysitting for him. He was trying to make it special, less formal, "Everything alright?"

"Hm, just thinking."

Chan shook his head, "If it makes you look that stressed, forget it. Nothing is worth that sort of pain."

"What are you talking about? I'm sure childbirth would disagree with you-- didn't you have a kid?"

"Oh so you're pregnant?" Chan clicked his tongue, "Should have told me, I'd have recommended baby names! I'm at least a godparent, right?"

Minho shook his head, "I don't even know what that means, hyung."

"Oh you're really not ready for parenthood, wait till you hear about everybody giving you opinions on parenting and how you're definitely doing it wrong and their way is so much better."

Minho laughed, "Wait, I can actually relate to that last one, haha. Do you really--? I mean, you're such a perfect parent, do people really say--?"

"Oh all the time," Chan rolled his eyes, "Jihyo was much better at telling people off and how it's none of their business, I just smile and try to do the exact opposite of what they tell me to do."

"Wah, ha, you're bold."

"Experienced, Minho-ah."

"Of four years? Yeah, sure."

Chan shoved him lightly, "But you get it. You practically raised your brothers, didn't you?"

"Mm, I tried."

He was a little surprised when Chan turned his attention fully to him, "Well that's not really how it works, is it? You end up putting your all, not just 'trying' or 'attempting,' because what you do is what you do. You know?"

Minho stared, taking a sip of his tea. That was somehow so much worse to think about.

"I'm sure you're doing a fine job," Chan reassured, "If Jeongin is any indication, I'm sure your brothers adore you."

Chan shivered as Minho's mind froze, only slowly thawing out when Chan pulled them inside. It wasn't that he doubted his brothers' love… Well, Jisung had something less than affection for him, he was sure, but… but…

"Hey, you had that parent-teacher conference, right?" Chan started washing the mugs, "How did that go?"

Had I mentioned that? Minho frowned, and then shook his head, because he often let a lot of things slip while he was here, "It went… It was alright. I like their teacher this year, he's really kind. Always tells me their strengths, and doesn't let their shortcomings define them," he pulled his coat on, "I respect adults who can do that. Not see what a kid is struggling with as character flaws. Y’know?"

Chan hummed, "That's… wow. Good model to strive to be. Your kids are really lucky to have a teacher like you."

Minho knew Chan was talking about his preschoolers, but his mind only brought the image of his brothers, and he snorted, "No, they deserve better."

From his periphery, he saw Chan tense, practically hearing his mind whirring, before he slowly turned to face Minho, a contemplative look in his eyes as he looked just past Minho.

"You know," Chan said slowly, "I used to be really worried about being Jeongin's dad… When we found out we were having a kid, I really lost sleep over the fact that I had to do everything right. I mean, one wrong thing, and I would be giving him trauma, doing less than he deserved… failing him, you know?"

Minho nodded, because it sounded like the straws breaking his back, the harsh scolding of Jisung, the whispers of doubt from every other parent he met who saw him provide for his brothers…

"My wi-- Jihyo… She used to tell me that we can't be perfect, we can only be who we are, and it might not seem like enough, but it's the sun, moon, and stars, not because its the best, but because its the first and most important place of love and support. Whether we realize it or not, kids are going to grow into their own people. All we can do is be there to love and support them, and watch them become more than we could have ever dreamed or taught."

He shook his head as he finished, shivers running up his back, "Ack, I should never do that," he laughed, rubbing his neck, "I sound like an old man who's watched his kids get married off, eesh. I swear, I only have a four year old, and I’m not this dull usually, haha!"

Minho shook his head, shivering through his body like accusing lightning, validating and crushing. He could only think about how lucky Jeongin was… Jeongin probably didn't realize how much he'd been given, and part of Minho never wanted him to realize it, because he would need to know how awful the world outside was, and his little haven with Chan was too pure to be corrupted like that.

"That's…" He cleared his throat, so Chan couldn't hear the emotions clogging his thoughts, "Hm… You know, I knew you were an old man when I saw your shoes the first day I came, but now I know you're an old man, thank you for the confirmation."

"Yah!" Chan laughed and lightly slapped his arm as he left, but then caught his sleeve before he could leave, "I'm sure your brothers love you...You're still their home, whether you or them realize it or not."

Swallowing harshly, "Goodnight, Chan."

"Night, Minho."

Minho wasn’t sure if Chan realized what he was doing. Did he know Minho had never been reassured so deeply? Never been told that everything would be alright, and his best was his best and the world didn’t expect anything more, and it was unrealistic to give what he didn’t have. 

When he came back, it was late, the flat was dark, and the last thing he expected was Seungmin standing, waiting in the kitchen. 

“Minnie,” he forced a smile, ruffled his hair sweetly, “What are you doing up? It’s late, you’ll be tired tomorrow.”

“Oh, we’re all up,” he said bluntly, as Minho entered the kitchen to see Felix sitting on the counter, frosting a cake, and Jisung leaning on the wall opposite, drinking a cup of coffee. 

Jisung didn’t spare Minho a glance. 

Felix smiled, frosting on his ear and nose, “Hey hyung!”

It was past midnight before they all went to bed. Oddly enough, Minho didn’t remember most of it, except for one vivid image of Seungmin, standing before him before he said goodnight, a creeping realization that this wasn’t their little maknae standing before them, but a grown boy who was going to be taller than him. 

There were many things that went over Seungmin’s head, that he was blissfully ignorant and unaware of, but as he wrapped his arms around his hyung, Minho realized that there were some things he was incredibly sensitive to, and far more aware of then his brothers. 

“You’re doing great, hyung.”

The universe was cruel, that was what Minho thought as he tipped his head back to keep from crying, lips between his teeth, arms around Seungmin to keep him from pulling back and seeing what his words had done. 

Part of him thought this was what I asked for, his sign, proof that it was going to be alright, but the other part wondered if this was just sick pity before things went to hell.

He knew it was only a dream. Seungmin would never– but it was what his mind conjured in dreams to give him some comfort. 

Before he had to admit that he didn’t know if they were going to have money after the next few months. Before–

His mind was always exhausted, but he never found himself able to sleep. Because he was haunted by– what if they take them from me? What if we lose our flat, what if– what if we become homeless? Oh god, what if–?

The party was a beautiful breath of relief. One’s own pain dimmed in the spotlight of someone else, at least for Minho it did, when he poured into making the day special for the Bangs. And then it was done. 

Then Minho was standing in his last day of babysitting Jeongin, Chan sitting a little distance away, just like the first night. He was busy– calls to make, errands to run, things from the school that needed to be worked out before he started work Wednesday. 

Jeongin remained quiet most of the evening. He asked Minho to bring his jewelry making kit through Chan’s texts, so they quietly beaded together. 

“I’m going to make something for you, Jeongin-ah,” Minho broke the silence, Chan shuffling in the back, “So you remember hyung, alright?”

“Okay hyung.”

Minho shouldn’t have been getting as emotional as he did. This wasn't his kid, he had no right to try and grasp space in his childhood memories. But… Minho saw all the time he never had with his brothers, everything he missed in Innie's eyes, everything he wanted and couldn't have, and everything he wished for, and Minho never wanted this moment to end. 

"Here," it was a simple bracelet, with a cat bead that Jeongin thought looked like a tiger. Minho put it on top of the drawing he’d done earlier, among many scenes of the party they talked about and remembered, next to Jeongin’s drawings of school and Tzuyu and ones of him as an astronaut, a recent obsession since Tzuyu had read a book about space to him. 

Jeongin stared at him, and then pulled a chain from the box, “Put it on this.”

Minho frowned, “The bracelet? Would you like me to make you a necklace instead?”

“Yes please.”

He was very quiet, and it made Minho a little worried. Had Chan explained this was their last day together? He quietly slipped the beads onto a necklace, tying the end and slipping it over Jeongin’s neck. 

“Are you going to miss hyung?”

Jeongin didn’t answer. Maybe he was still bad at goodbyes, that toxic allergy from their first meeting they hadn’t shaken off. His face was pointed intently down at the table, where he carefully and meticulously strung little pendants on a chain, patterned and more seriously then he ever usually did projects. It made Minho wonder if he wanted to use all of Minho’s nice beads before the little boy never saw him again. 

“Ah, Innie,” Chan peaked his head out from the kitchen, “Do you want to show Minho-hyung what you prepared for him?”

“Oh,” Jeongin set the necklace down carefully and then took off, “Wait, hyung, I hafta–”

He disappeared and obediently, Minho waited at the little table, stretching his legs out and frowning at Chan, who had a conspiratorial smile on his face. Oh I hope they don’t–

“Hyung, here, here-here,” Jeongin came with a gift bag, suddenly bright and excited, “Open it, you hafta, you–”

Chan’s warning tone returned, “Innie… he can open it at home if he likes, don’t–”

“Oh no, it’s alright,” Minho smiled, ready to walk off a cliff for Jeongin, “I’d be happy to–”

There was a bag of cookies, decorated in big sprinkles and neon frosting, as well as a couple drawings, neatly folded and captioned with Chan’s handwriting. 

When hyung cut out snowflakes with me.

When hyung went to the jungle with me. 

When hyung put me to bed. 

When hyung made appa very happy. 

When hyung–

Minho had to stop reading, unable to say anything with the emotion in his throat. Jeongin put his hands on his lap and leaned towards Minho’s face, worried. 

“Does hyung not like it? Look, I drew it, hyung, I drew it like you drew it, look, it’s you…”

Minho didn’t want to say anything. He really didn’t want to cry. He petted Jeongin’s head as he explained each and every drawing, nodded and tried to hum as he told about the cookies and everything he and Chan did to make them, gave him a tight squeeze when he said he wanted him to hang the pictures on his fridge like his appa did. 

“You got to,” Jeongin’s arm were around Minho’s neck and Minho nodded, “They go on the fridge hyung, so you can see them all the time.”

“Of course,” he managed with a smile, “They don’t belong anywhere else, I’ll put them where everyone can see.”

Jeongin, content with this, let go of Minho’s neck and nodded approvingly. Before turning his attention back to his project, as though he hadn’t just broken Minho’s heart. 

Kids did that, easily. They held people’s emotions in their hands like putty, and didn’t even realize the power they held. 

The clock ticked closer to the end of the time. Minho quietly started gathering his stuff. Jeongin paused, watching him for a moment, before quickly going back to what he was doing, as if he hadn’t noticed at all. Minho left the bead box he was using out. 

Chan brought the tea mug early. 

He must want me out quickly. I’ve encroached into the safety of his home for too long. 

“I’ve finally figured out how you like it,” Chan chuckled. 

“Oh,” a laugh slipped as Minho took the mug carefully, trying not to think of the implications of that statement. 

Babysitters weren’t supposed to be this close to the family, were they?

“Must be nice to get your evenings back?” Chan asked, but it sounded like he knew the answer. 

Minho should have been happy. More time with his brothers, more time to babysit others, many others in that same time, in fact, more to earn, more to love, but…

“I try to enjoy whatever I’m doing, whatever it is,” Minho answered carefully, “And I miss each thing I leave behind as I’m excited to enter something new.”

Chan nodded with raised eyebrows, “Very wise.”

“Also complete crap,” Minho mumbled under his breath so Innie didn’t hear, laughing in time with Chan, before turning to Jeongin, “I’ll miss you, Jeongin-ah. I had way more fun with you than I ever have with my brothers.”

Jeongin didn’t say anything. Chan didn’t make him say anything, whispering quietly, “He’ll… miss you.”

“Mm… he’ll get over me,” Minho shrugged, “He’s got a new preschool now.”

“Mm.”

The silence was a little comfortable, not like the beginning, where Chan’s eyes were looming over Minho’s shoulder, watching his movement. This felt more like enjoying it as equals. Well, not exactly enjoying, but at least contributing and taking from it equally. Like neither wanted it to leave. They silently walked to the kitchen to wash their mugs off. 

Minho didn’t know how to play grown-up. He could be a tiger, a sea-monster, a space-ship, but not a grown-up. He never learned. He’d never been taught. 

“I hope you take care of yourself,” Chan finally said, “You… you deserve to take care of yourself.”

Minho wanted to just hum and nod and stay quiet and let it stand as a piece of unsolicited advice, but maybe it was the tea Chan drank with him or just that he somehow knew the place where it came from–

“That’s really impossible, isn’t it.”

He didn’t recognize his voice as he turned to Chan. 

“I mean, you must understand,” Minho brought it up because he hoped it was different, that somehow, maybe he was wrong, “You have to work enough to earn enough to just make it by enough…” he laughed to lighten it up, “Capitalist hell of a cycle, y’know?...”

Chan didn’t say anything, but he didn’t nod. 

“I… understand,” he finally said, “You do what you can…” he turned to Minho with a knowing look, not condescending, but looking down on Minho nonetheless, like the sun on the moon, “But it’s impossible if you do it alone.”

But I am alone, Minho half-smiled and nodded. 

“You… your brothers were sweet,” Chan casually brought it up, “Jisung mentioned that Felix struggled in Language?”

“Ah, yes, I’ve been helping him when I get home, but uh…”

“I’d be happy to help, i-i-if you’d like,” he stammered, “And definitely for free.”

Minho’s eyes popped out, “What? Hyung that’s ridiculous, I would absolutely pay– you don’t owe me anything or–”

“No, no, just on principle,” Chan insisted, “If a kid isn’t doing well in language class, it’s the fault of the school, never the kid. It’s the teachers who should pay the kid for failing them. But that,” he raised a hand dismissively, “Is a conversation for another time. Let… let me know? If he’s interested only, of course.”

“Y-yeah, sure, for sure,” Minho bowed gratefully, “I know… I know he’d appreciate it.”

Chan smiled and turned to finish washing. Minho wanted to ask, ask if he could text for other reasons too, if he wanted to come over for Christmas because Christmas’ at their home was sad and nonexistent, but that was definitely overstepping, what are you, begging someone to take care of you?

“Jeongin’s… ah, I need to tell you properly before I leave,” Chan turned, worried, at attention at the mention of his son, proving Minho’s thoughts, “Hyung… I’ve met a lot of pretty… sub-par parents. My parents were… my parents abandoned us. I was only nineteen, I didn’t… I kind of gave up on the idea of good parents. I see a lot of parents at the preschool who don’t see their kids as anything more than a burden… an ungodly gift they feed and give shelter too until it’s time to kick them out and…” Minho pulled his mask up, the friendly, encouraging one he only used for preschoolers, because they were the only ones who’d deserved it, “It’s good to know there are good people in the world. You’re doing amazing, hyung, I hope you know that. Jeongin is really lucky to have you.”

Chan blinked mutely for a few moments. His eyes got watery.

He then swore and threw his arms around Minho. 

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he tried to pull his arms away but Minho looped himself into Chan’s embrace and didn’t let go, “I just– I just–”

“Haven’t been told you’re good enough?” Minho mumbled, “I figured… But that’s what we do as teachers, right? Point out the best in people.”

“Mm, good teachers,” Chan cleaned his eyes with his sleeves, “You’re doing good, Minho-ah.”

Oh. 

Minho smiled. He needed to leave before Chan said anything else too sentimental that would make him want to never leave. 

“Right, I should get going, Jeongi–”

Jeongin was standing in the kitchen, necklace in his hands. He held it up firmly.

“Ah, what a pretty necklace, Innie,” Minho praised, the attentive and detailed patterning evidence of his careful intent, “That’ll look very pretty on you.”

“No,” Innie held it up, “It’s for hyung.”

Minho took a sharp breath. 

He bent down, letting Innie string it around his neck like a medal he’d earned. On the end was a bunny pendant, and three other bunnies behind it. And a little fox on the end. 

“It’s you,” Jeongin pointed to the largest bunny, “And Jisung-hyung, and Felix-hyung, and Seungmin-hyung, and me,” he pointed to each carefully, like he wanted Minho to get it. 

And Minho did get it. 

He pulled at the collar of his shirt, pulling out his locket and pulling the pendants close to it. 

“I’ll keep it right here,” Minho promised. 

He didn’t keep promises idly. Especially to kids. They needed to know that they deserved nothing but the truth, but promises kept, and good grown-ups were ones who could give it to them. 

Jeongin watched him tuck both of the necklaces, together, back into his shirt, and then pat it, the metal and plastic clinking against each other to confirm it. Satisfied, he stood back and–

“Minho-hyung’s about to go, Innie,” Chan spoke up behind him, “Can you give Minho a hug and–?”

Innie, for once, didn’t run off, but wrapped his around Minho’s neck like before, like a warm blanket, clinging and nearly suffocating. Minho picked him and smiled. 

“Ah, hyung will miss you, Innie,” Minho squeezed him tight and dropped him to the ground, unwrapping the little boy’s arms from him. 

He gathered his stuff, Chan giving him a check at the door and–

“Hyung what is this.”

The number was far too high. 

“I didn’t even– you shouldn’t even pay me for tonight, I–”

Chan shook his head and tucked the check into his hands, “Please. Go celebrate something with your brothers.”

Minho bit his lip and nodded, alright, he could do that. 

As he made it to the end of the hall, he heard Jeongin open the door and scream, “Don’t go away, hyung!” before Chan pulled him back inside. 

Or maybe he misheard. Maybe it was just the wind, the necklace. 

“What,” Jisung stared at the check, “Why? W-what–?”

“I don’t know,” Minho whispered, “He said… he said to celebrate and– let’s use it for Christmas, okay?”

“Christmas? I was going to work on Christmas–”

“No,” Minho took the check back, a mental note to deposit it tomorrow after work filing away, “You’re not. The money isn’t worth it, don’t work on Christmas.”

Jisung puffed up like he was going to protest, and Minho held back his stern glance for a pleading one, because Jisung deflated on his own. 

“Yeah, alright,” he looked at his feet, “Maybe we can buy food from the shop around the corner?”

“Mm, I think Seungmin had a favorite dish from there didn’t he?”

Life would go on, it had to. The extra buffer money let Minho sleep peacefully, at least for a little bit. It was good– he cooked dinner, he saw them all in bed. It was back to living comfortably– hearing gunshots and screaming in the streets, but knowing he was there and his brothers would be alright.

“Hyung, we're going to go sledding with Hyunjin and Jisung!”

“Mm, be back before it gets dark!”

It lasted till two days before Christmas. 

To a Mr Lee Minho, We regret to inform you–

Sprawled on his bedroom floor, letter in hand, the signatures blaring and flashing red up at him–

Minho cried.

He had to keep it together when the boys got back, he needed to give them a proper Christmas holiday, so for now, he stuffed his face into a pillow and wailed. There were no closer preschools, none that would accept his credentials, none that would hire him this semester. 

This was the world looking down on his efforts and failing him.

So he cried, and cried, and cried, until his body weight in tears had been spent, and he was so dehydrated he couldn’t move his head without a splitting headache tearing him open. He felt sick. So, so sick. 

No, none of that Minho. 

Get up, it’s time for dinner. 

He set the table and heated up food. His hands were shaking as he laid everything out. 

They got cold two times, Minho reheating each time, till they tumbled through the door. He pulled his face into a schooled smile.

“Hyung, hyung, hyung– Hyunjin’s family is inviting us for dinner.”

Hyunjin stepped out timidly, “If… if you don’t mind, hyung. My eomma said you’re all welcome, she made fried rice.”

“Ah,” Minho nodded politely, “That’s very kind of her. Please send my thanks, the boys are welcome to go,” he nodded to the three of them, “Tell her I’m sorry, I won’t be able to come… I’m not feeling too well.”

The three of them hesitated, Felix suddenly distressed, torn at the idea of leaving Minho behind. Seungmin frowned. 

“Do you need medicine? Did you take anything?”

“I took an advil,” that wasn’t a lie, his headache was going to eat him alive, “I’m going to lie down soon, don’t worry. I probably just need to sleep. Don’t worry about hyung, I’ll save this food for lunch tomorrow, go eat well.”

Hesitantly, they all left, Hyunjin bowing, “I hope you feel better, hyung.”

Jisung didn’t move.

“You’re sick?”

“Mm, all that working is finally catching up maybe,” he laughed it off. 

Jisung was too smart, he saw right through. It stepped forward to place a hand on Minho’s forehead, “You don’t have a fever…”

“No,” Minho reassured, “Go eat, Sung. I’m going to go to bed.”

Hesitating, Jisung looked at the place setting, and then through his fringe at Minho. Maybe Minho was getting a fever and feeling a little delirious, because he mussed Jisung’s hair and kissed his cheek. 

“There you have my blessing, go enjoy time with your friend.”

“Yuck,” Jisung scrunched his nose and turned red, and it felt like the kid Jisung who didn’t worry about grown-up things, so Minho didn’t feel as terrible when he was left with the hollowness of the flat, skipped dinner, and went straight to bed. 

He curled his hand around the locket and the animal beads of Jeongin’s necklace, everything closing in on him. 

“Hyung?” 

He heard a whisper in his mind as he drifted between worlds of cats and wolves and tigers and the maze of a forest that let him hide from teachers and the disasters of reality. Seungmin’s voice pushed through, and someone’s hand, firm and tender on his forehead. Not enough to ground him, just enough to reassure him that reality was a place of existence. 

“...don’t think he’s… do you think…? Should… I… don’t know…”

“Hyung?.... Hyung!”

The last thing his mind held onto was the firm feeling of being pressed between several bodies, tucked securely and safely, and it felt like his mom and dad, so he let himself pout and whine. 

“Appa, it hurts…”

And someone held him. Tightly. 

Didn't even make it to Christmas, Minho thought bitterly, Shame on you, Lee Minho.

📕

Holiday Magic

Chan loved teaching. He was positively distracted by it, every moment he wasn’t thinking of Jeongin.

“Sir,” little Lily came up to him quietly, “I finished my essay, and… and I know it’s due today, but I my mother was in the hospital so I wrote it all last night and– that isn’t an excuse! I’m not making an excuse, truly! It’s just a little… I’m sorry if it’s a little…”

Chan stopped her before she started crying. It wasn’t his class, technically. He was taking over the classroom of a teacher who’d unexpectedly needed to take vacation when her father died, only for the two weeks leading up to the holidays. Lee Donghae had insisted it would be good experience for him. 

It was. He gently took the paper from Lily’s hands and had her sit down.

“Let’s hold off on this paper till tomorrow, hm? Come during lunch, and we’ll read it together, and you can tell me anything you’d want to fix.”

He learned Lily had been making lunch for her younger siblings, and that she had to pick them up from school every day because her mother was so sick. He learned she’d only been in the country two years, and her language skills were lacking so severely, she wasn’t even sure how to ask for help. He also learned that Allen was smarter than his records claimed, and that Yedam belonged in a higher level class, but all his teachers thought he was too arrogant, and that Lee Chaeyoung could speak three other languages fluently, but no one had ever sat down to realize it and gather her strengths and weaknesses. 

Chan loved teaching. 

“Appa, what are these?” Jeongin would look through the papers he needed to grade, and the red pen Chan would mark them with, “Are you drawing?”

“No, I’m grading, aegi,” Chan pulled a scrap paper out to put next to him at the table, “But do you want to draw while appa finishes grading? We need some new fridge art, I think.”

“Okay, appa,” Jeongin took one of Chan’s red pens and got to work, “Ms Chou sends all our crafts home before Christmas though, and she said we’ll have enough ornan-a-ments for Christmas.”

Christmas. Something lit inside Chan’s chest and he smiled. His home being filled with light, on the inside and in his heart, was a glowing feeling. 

As the weeks finished, the season brought it’s magic into Chan’s apartment.

Chan’s house was full, and his heart was fuller. 

“Appa, appa, look!”

They didn’t invite people, but the people dropped things off anyway– for Innie, they would say, in the same breath they gave him meals and money and congratulations for his new job. Jeongin jumped between one person and the next, and Chan couldn’t be happier to see his little boy so thrilled with little things. The lights being hung, the Christmas tree decorated with little crafts, and all the silly gifts that he didn’t really care for next to his own tried and tested toys and dolls.

It wasn't really that little, if he thought about it. In Jeongin’s eyes, these were huge things, all coming together. This was his life, in blinding lights. New and shiny and glittery for the first time. 

“Can we hang this one up, appa?” Jeongin had taken to bringing out the crafts under his bed, seeing what little space he could fill with the things he found, “This one will fit, won’t it?”

“Which one– oh,” the little paper fox puppet was crumpled, but it held all the memories from all those months ago.

Minho had left quite the impression on their house. 

“Maybe… let’s tie some string from the top, hm? And we’ll hang it like that?”

Chan thought of Minho. Often. 

He sent him texts when he could, wishing him well, inquiring on how things were going, asking whether he could help with Felix. 

Minho hadn’t responded to a single one.

Part of Chan had wondered whether it was in professionalism, to not text a previous employer. The softer side of Chan knew that couldn’t be it– 

They were friends, after all. 

“Appa, when will the cookies be done?”

“Oh,” Chan ran to the oven, where they had started browning along the edges, “aigoo, they’re done, they’re done, ack–”

Chan hoped Minho was alright. That he and his boys were doing well. That his work at the preschool was good. 

Jeongin leaned precariously over the counter, icing dripping messily inside the plate. They had baked quite the array. Chan’s only plans for the day included unwrapping gifts– which had admittedly gone quicker than he’d thought– and making cookies. He’d over-prepped just a little, and staring at all the sweets in his house, including the things he’d been gifted, was making his teeth hurt just thinking about it. 

“Innie…” Chan picked up a couple well-decorated cookies and placed them to the side, “When we finish these, let’s freeze them so the icing sets, and then give them as Christmas gifts, what do you think?”

“Okay appa,” Innie was frowning in concentration, “For… halmeoni and harabeoji? And Lia-noona and Changbin-hyung–?”

“We can mail them cookies, sure, but they won’t get them today,” Chan laughed at the idea of his parents and siblings pouring over crumbled mail-cookies from Jeongin, “But we can deliver some to people around here too, maybe? Some friends?”

Jeongin looked up at Chan, as though he was thinking very seriously, “Like… Minho-hyung?”

Chan had a list in his mind. Sana and her sister, Mrs Lee and Chaeyeon and Chaeryeong next door, some for the teachers when he went back to work, but–

Yeah. Minho. 

They were quite the team packaging cookies together and getting more and more excited as they thought about it. 

“This one’s for Minho-hyung!” Jeongin said decidedly, handing a rather big and over-frosted cookie to Chan, “And this one’s for Felix-hyung, and Jisung-hyung, and Seungmin-hyung– it’s a family of cookies, appa, see?”

Chan couldn’t be sure what animal Jeongin had been trying to draw, a mess of orange and white, but he could tell the red frosting on top was one of Minho’s classic juremi-fication of faces. 

He could almost imagine Minho’s face, twisted in concentration as he drew it, and the thought made him laugh. 

“I think Minho-hyung and his brothers will like this very much, Innie,” Chan told him truthfully, imagining how happy Minho would be to see him. 

What he imagined did not prepare him for actually showing up to Minho’s door, Jeongin in his arms excitedly holding a box of cookies. 

He knocked on the door once. Twice. Waited. Knocked again. 

Although he was secretly disappointed, part of him was glad– perhaps Minho and his brothers were out celebrating with friends. 

“Appa, why isn’t he coming?”

“Maybe he’s out celebrating, Innie. Like us, not at home right now,” he left the box at the door, one of Jeongin’s drawings of a Christmas tree decorating it with Chan’s cursive sprawled on top, Merry Christmas!, “We’ll call later and make sure they got it, alright?”

Although disappointed, Jeongin nodded, eyes on the door as though it might magically open as they turned around and headed back to the car. 

And then a couple things happened at the same time that threw Chan off his center–

For one, he heard Felix, laughing his high, full-bodied laugh that sounded a lot like Minho’s, from the floor below. If that wasn’t enough to make him stop, he also heard Seungmin, in his very serious, highly annoyed voice, protesting “That’s not how this works!” as another voice he didn’t recognize started to argue. 

Chan should have kept walking, should have taken Jeongin home. He shouldn’t have stopped in his tracks, shouldn’t have been so shocked, so thrown in curiosity that he felt the need to wait and listen.

Jeongin was cold, shivering. Chan had delivered the sweets. They should have left. 

But the the boys rounded the corner and met them on the landing.

Felix and Seungmin both froze, eyes wide in shock. Their companion was not Jisung, but a tall boy, who Chan found he recognized from the high school halls– Hyunjin, was it?

“Boys,” he smiled, “Merry Christmas.”

They mumbled back, “Merry Christmas…”

Jeongin smiled and waved, “Merry Christmas!”

“We left some cookies on your doorstep,” Chan explained, “I tried texting, but Minho must not have seen.”

“You texted?” Seungmin’s eyes went wide and he looked at Felix, but the shorter boy punched his brother in the arm and smiled. 

“Thank you, Chan-hyung! Oh, actually– wait right here–!” he grabbed Seungmin’s arm and ran up to their flat.

Hyunjin smiled and shuffled awkwardly, opening his mouth as though to say something, before shutting it and running off after them, in the awkwards movement of young teens that made Chan chuckle. They seemed to be good friends, and the doubt that had wormed its way into his mind that the family had been spending the holidays alone quickly melted away. 

“Here!” Felix ran back down the steps, a little paper gift bag in his gloved hand, “For you and Innie!”

“Oh, thank you,” they were holiday sweets and candies, hurriedly thrown in a bag, “You really didn’t have to, Felix.”

“N-no, um, Minho-hyung… yeah.”

Felix stared at the ground for a moment, before looking up at Chan and waving sweetly, “Merry Christmas!”

Then he dashed away, back to his little flat where Seungmin and Hyunjin where whispering to him something urgent and scolding, and the door closed, and locked up all it’s secrets within. Jeongin took the bag from Chan and quickly went through the tissue paper to dig out the chocolates. 

“But where’s Minho-hyung?” he asked sadly, as Chan buckled him in.

Chan didn’t say anything, only drove them back to their quiet apartment, secluded from everyone and their little haven for two, protected from the world. 

Maybe I’ll call Sana, he mused. Somewhere, Jihyo laughed and hugged him proudly, and he found his shell had come undone.

"Appa?" Jeongin called from the back-seat, "I miss Minho-hyung."

Chan had nothing to say to that either.

He decided it wasn't his place to worry about Minho, and that was that.

It wasn't until he was sitting with his phone, several days later, when three things happened to change his mind. The first was an odd text from Minho–

Minho: Thank you (and Innie!) For the yummy cookies!!! We enjoyed them a lot!!! Merry Christmas!!!

Chan didn't have to reread it several times to know it wasn't from Minho. It was probably from Felix, if he had to guess, which only raised more questions than it answered.

As he contemplated it, Jeongin ran over with a picture he'd spent all morning coloring, laying it insistently on Chan's lap.

"Lookit, appa, look!"

It was a portrait of three people, much more flattering than his usual scribbles– but this had neat letters across the top, labeling each person.

"Appa, this is you, and this is me, and this is Minho-hyung!"

Chan smiled– he'd even juremi-fied Minho's face in his honor. And then he frowned– 

"Why did you write Minho's name? Why did you write– oh, was this why you asked me how to spell teacher?"

"Because Minho-hyung is a teacher," Jeongin pointed insistently, "And he's the bestest teacher, even best-er than Ms Chou. My favoritest."

It was a sweet drawing. Chan could imagine Minho praising Jeongin for it, and placing it on the fridge. He thought about visiting Minho again– he wouldn't be working during the holiday week, would he?-- to put to rest his anxieties.

As he thought of it, someone knocked on the door. 

Minho? 

He hesitantly pulled open the door, only to be completely startled by who was there, curled on himself nervously.

"Oh, um, hello," Chan smiled politely, "Hyunjin, wasn't it?"

The boy nodded.

"Do you… want to come in?"

He shook his head.

He opened his mouth a couple times, stammering over his words.

"I need– I mean, I don't need, they need– well, they won't say they do, but I know it– well, I don't know it, but my mother always says– well, Yeji says that my mother always says– no, wait, that isn't right, let me start over–"

Chan smiled and waited patiently. He remembered what it was like to be an uncertain teenager before judgemental adults once.

Hyunjin took a deep breath, “I know you’re friends with Minho-hyung, and you know all his brothers– Jisung, Felix, and Seungmin, they’re all my friends and–” Hyunjin stopped, looking somewhere at the floor between Chan’s feet, “I know you saw us on Christmas, and probably thought we were hanging out for the holidays, but we weren’t. I mean, we ended up hanging out, but not to celebrate. Well, we would have, my mom always invites them over because Minho works a lot and she says that it helps, even if we feed them one meal, it helps.”

Although he can sense where this is going, he held his breath and let Hyunjin finish, hand in Jeongin’s hair as his little boy curiously ran up and hid behind his legs at the mention of Minho’s name.

“Nobody is well off or anything where we live,” Hyunjin shuffled, “I mean, we are, sort of, but nobody is… we don’t live in a great area, I know that. We all do. Seungmin says that Minho-hyung’s dream was to move out– but he never tells us that. Minho-hyung doesn’t tells anyone anything actually. Minho-hyung is like that, my mom says it’s a lot of inner strength, but Jisung says it’s stubbornness, but that’s not very kind to say. Actually it doesn’t matter, it–” he blinked, as though he lost his thought, and then turned to Chan like he could help him. 

“Oh um… Christmas day? You were saying? You help Minho and his brothers out?”

“Oh, oh yeah, we do. Well, we try to. And the boys know that, they hang out with us all the time and they aren’t afraid to ask us for help, because… well, because… because we understand, y’know? It’s not anyone’s fault they’re there, they just are, and it’s hard.”

Chan nodded, reaching for his coat and getting Innie into his. 

“They need help now?” Chan probed, trying to move Hyunjin along, feeling the sense of urgency creeping under his panic, “Something you can’t help with? Or Minho won’t let you help with?”

Biting his lip, Hyunjin finally bit his lip and nodded, teary-eyed, as though this were his own hyung they were talking about. 

“It’s just– I just– for all Jisung says about his hyung’s stubbornness, they can’t see his own!” he cried in frustration, throwing his arms up, “And I know they try to do everything themselves, and it’s worked for them, but I saw Minho-hyung and it’s not going to work, and–”

“What’s wrong with Minho? Hyunjin?”

“He’s sick!” There were proper tears running down his face now, “He’s been so, so sick, and they keep asking us for more and more medicine, and there isn’t any more medicine we can give him, he’s just going to die, and they’re too stubborn to ask for help!”

Chan was out the door. He couldn’t think if he’d locked it behind him or not, but he had his car keys, his wallet, Jeongin, and was tugging Hyunjin along behind him. 

He could see it. He could believe it. He’d seen Minho burnt out to exhaustion before, and more than what Hyunjin understood, he could understand pricey hospital visits being out of the question. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Chan asked, driving through the light snow that had decided to fall, “What exactly is wrong– does he have a fever?”

“Y-yeah, he has a fever,” Hyunjin sniffled, “Seungmin says his fever spikes at night and–”

“Nights? As in, multiple?” Chan felt himself getting more and more worried, tapping his fingers anxiously at the lights, “How long has he been sick?”

Hyunjin tugged at his hair, “I don’t know, Mr Bang! I don’t know!”

Head to the steering wheel, Chan took a deep breath, before reaching over and putting a hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. You’re a good friend, Hyunjin.”

Sniffling, Hyunjin wiped his face and tried to calm down, “They’re all having such a hard time, I know they are. Jisung doesn’t come around anymore, he works to help pay the bills. And Felix said he was going to try working too, that he was going to take a babysitting gig and learn from his brother, but Minho got sick before he could teach him, and-and he’s been having a hard time with school so I think Minho-hyung wanted him to not worry about working and just focus on getting better at his language work, and I tried to help him, but he’s always worried about Jisung working at the garage, and Seungmin getting picked on– Seungmin doesn’t even talk that much anymore, Yeji felt really bad, because she heard from Felix he’s getting bullied and that’s why he stays at home and we all thought it was because he’s just really quiet and prefers reading, but that’s why our mom says–”

Hyunjin babbled off Chan’s ear the entire way, which was probably for the better, considering Chan’s nerves were shot and he probably would have yelled at someone had Hyunjin given him the chance to open his mouth. 

He pulled into the familiar address, watching as Hyunjin unbuckled himself and immediately bounded up the stairs. Gently, he unbuckled Jeongin, and took a moment to address the nervousness that buzzed in his eyes from listening to Hyunjin’s anxiety spill over the entire car ride. 

“Minho-hyung is fine, Jeonginnie, we’re just going to go take care of him,” He reassured, “Okay? We’re going to take care of Minho-hyung.”

“Like how he took care of me?” Jeongin asked in a small voice, wrapping his arms around Chan’s neck as Hyunjin led them up.

“Yeah, Innie, just like that.”

One foot in front of the other up the stairs, he wondered if he had been too hasty. If he'd given himself a moment to think, perhaps he could have brought food and medicine from his own cabinet.

Although as he thought of it, he realized he only had medicine dosed for children, which would have been futile regardless.

Hyunjin opened the door for him.

There were trash bags all along the front door, and several baskets of dirty laundry. Hyunjin hissed, before grabbing a bag of trash and hauling it out, mumbling about getting his sister to help him.

Seungmin shuffled out of the kitchen. He had shadows beneath his eyes. He stared at Chan, and then shuffled into one of the bedrooms.

Somewhere else, Chan could hear Felix crying.

Deep breath.

Chan left Jeongin in the living room with his school backpack.

"Minho-hyung's fridge was looking pretty bare," he said shakily, "Draw something pretty to cheer him up?"

He then headed towards the sounds of the bedroom, although before he could even get his bearings–

"Chan-hyung?" Felix's face was blotchy and he shook his head, "I'm sorry, you didn't have to– we didn't mean to– we thought he would get better we did! And-and-and Jisung showed us how much it would take to go to the hospital, and it's so cold outside, and-and–"

Seungmin stared over Felix's shoulder, more horror in his eyes than Chan could rationalize. He spoke in a low raspy voice.

"Don't let them take us away from him."

Somewhere behind Seungmin, a deep, painful groan shook Chan. He gave curt instructions, as kindly as he could.

"Felix, my son is in the living room, can you keep an eye on him? Seungmin, I need all the medicine you have and what you've given him, can you do that for me?"

As they stumbled out, Chan's eyes landed on Minho.

Tangled in the sheets, hair damp with a feverish sweat, Minho looked far from the babysitter Chan trusted and admired, the preschool art teacher who charmed kids and parents alike. This was the weak, orphaned boy, who barely had enough strength to make ends meet. 

The lost look behind Minho's eyes, that swam between delirium and hopelessness, stabbed through Chan's heart and made him regret not coming sooner.

"Minho-ah… what happened?"

As Chan crouched by the bed, combing through his hair.

In this moment, Minho wasn't a babysitter, a teacher, or even a friend.

He was no different from Jeongin, small and scared, and Chan needed to be strong for him.

"H-... hyung?"

His voice was raspy, so Chan sat him up and helped him drink water.

"How'd you get sick?"

"Don't… I didn't."

His temperature was straddling dangerous. Seungmin left a list of when he'd taken what meds.

"Minho…"

"Hnng–" Minho pulled himself, arms quivering as he reached out to push Chan away, "Not here, you're…. Not you…"

Body weak and unable to hold himself up, Minho collapsed, Chan catching him before he could topple on the floor. Minho bit his lip to keep from crying, staring somewhere beyond the wall.

"I'm sorry…"

Chan pulled out pills from the bottle and felt weary, "Sorry for what? You haven't done anything wrong, Minho."

But Minho was shaking, staring at someone scolding him, someone Chan couldn't see.

"Don't take them from me…" he screwed his eyes shut, desperately trying to piece his failing face back together, "I know… I know I'm not good, but I don't have anyone else, please, I'll do better, I promise, I promise, don't separate us–"

Behind Chan, someone else was sniffling and trying to hold their breath to hold all their tears back, and Chan glanced to see Seungmin, stiff-backed and a stiff-upper lip, but red-eyed with blotchy tear-stained cheeks. His fists were clenched.

"No one's separating you, I promise, Minho-ah," Chan spoke gently, like he'd tried to speak to Jeongin after the call came and his son was robbed one parents, swallowing his own aches for what needed to be done, "Minho-ah, what hurts, can you tell me?"

Minho's head lolled back, and he swallowed like he could eat his sadness and it would be taken from him.

"I'm not good for them, I know, I try, I'm sorry–"

Seungmin gasped for breath, stepping out of the room to try and stop crying. Chan leaned forward and wrapped Minho in his arms, absorbing all the heat radiating off him.

But there was something else radiating off Minho, something familiar and haunting, like a heavy blanket that Chan was loath to be wrapped in again.

"Minho…" he whispered, "There is no one better for your brothers than you. Do you know that, Minho?"

Chan watched, hoping for that reassurance to settle in Minho's eyes, but Minho's eyes only shadowed, fogged in his own despair, depression laced with a poisonous hopelessness that Chan only knew the name of because he had seen it many times before.

In the mirror. In his own eyes. 

When Minho fell into Chan, tucked against him, Chan could only say the words he had wanted whispered to him, feed to Minho’s soul what Chan had craved for in his loneliness.

“Minho. I’m going to take care of you,” he whispered it preciously, like an oath, “Your brothers won’t go hungry, and I won’t let anyone take them away from you, alright?”

Minho whimpered quietly, “Appa, I’m scared.”

Chan knew Minho was delirious. He knew Minho was scared, and alone, and burned out beyond his strength for carrying things for so long, and just this once, he wanted to pretend to be the man Minho needed right now.

He knew the feeling of needing the one person you couldn’t have. 

“You’ve done a brave job, and done it for so long, but you can rest now. Hyung will take care of it now– you rest,” then softer, stiller, “Rest, Minho. There’s nothing to be scared of, not anymore.”

Minho’s eyes were locked onto Chan, like he could breathe that safety from him, and Chan repeated it, hand on his head, resting it on the pillow, “Rest, Minho, rest.”

Slowly, very slowly, Minho’s eyes shut. And something unraveled around him, like a burden that had been untied, until he finally looked at peace. His skin still burned, face flushed in fever, but the dark cloud of despair slowly dissipated. 

Chan slowly backed out of the room, and closed the door. 

“Wow…” Seungmin was hushed behind Chan, “...we couldn’t get him to do that all week, you know? We tried so hard– I even laid on top of him, you know? I don’t know how you managed– no, wait, I do,” the way Seungmin smiled up at him, with a blind shine of admiration and praise, was something akin to the way Jeongin looked up at him.

Seungmin was looking at him like he could hang stars in the sky, and slay dragons in their lairs. 

Chan ruffled his hair, “Your brother is a good man, Seungminnie. And he’s blessed to have such caring brothers, truly,” a seriousness settled in him, “But he is very sick, and if these medicines haven’t worked then–”

“No hospital,” Felix was puffy-eyed, sitting on the kitchen counter listening to them, “We can’t afford it, we just can’t.”

“Felix, I know what you think but…”

“We can’t!” he flew up from the counter, and flung an accounts book in Chan’s face, “Look, we spent the Christmas money you gave on food and– hyung wrote the budget out, he even did that for us while he was sick– Jisung tried to make him go, he really did, but Minho showed us, he showed us Chan-hyung, we just can’t!”

Gently prying the book from Felix’s fingers, it took Chan a few moments to discern the messy scribbling at the bottom of an otherwise very neat accounting book. It was orderly, easy to understand at the top– the income, the expenses, taxes, the little box for savings that had long since been withdrawn from and emptied. 

Only, the income had dropped suddenly in December, and the number for the bills suddenly led to a very messy number in the red at the bottom. 

Chan took a deep breath. And then looked up at Felix, who was properly shaking in skin, wound up like a spring about to snap.

He put an arm around the smaller boy, “Breathe, and don’t worry about this. It isn’t your place to worry about these things–”

“--It is!”

“It isn’t.” Chan insisted, “Did your brother lose his job?”

Both boys nodded.

“Mm, I see. Where’s your brother Jisung?”

Seungmin shrugged, “Working, probably. He picked up a shift on Christmas and every day since after he heard.”

Chan clicked his tongue, “I see… have you boys eaten yet?”

Their silence spoke enough, “...Right then. Let me go–”

Before Chan could think about ordering food, a knock warned him of the opening door, and Hyunjin entering, two women following behind him. Chan hadn’t noticed before, but the hall had been cleaned out of the trash, looking a little more presentable than it had been when he’d entered. 

“Cuckoo, anyone home?” the older lady smiled hesitantly, “Hyunjin told me it all, don’t need to rehash it, I just brought food Yeji and I chopped up. Don’t ask us to stay, it’s all for you boys. Mr Bang, a word, if you will?”

Chan didn't know about Mrs Hwang, other than her sprightliness she'd imbued into her son, and the waves of goodwill that rolled off her as she pulled him to a corner.

"Make sure those boys eat, Hyunjin– yes, Chan's little one too, eat all you want aegi, it's fried rice!" She turned to Chan seriously, "I don't know much about you, Mr Bang, except what the boys bring through my door, but I assume that since you're here you must be a man of some character, so I'll get right to the point–"

Chan felt like he was listening to his mother, getting a proper talking-to, so he straightened his shoulders seriously and listened.

"That Minho boy is a good one, he's a real good one," she waved her finger at the now closed bedroom door, "But he's the most strong-willed creature I've met. I came after Christmas, you know? His boys came for medicine, and I knew better than to leave young teens to nurse a sick man to health. You know what that Minho-boy did? He got out of bed and made me stew!" Her eyebrows flew up incredulously, "Can you imagine! Boy sick with fever, refused my help! Wouldn't let me cook, wouldn't let me clean, wouldn't even let me leave money to pay for the bills. I probably ran all of his energy trying to help him," she shook his head, "I rushed over when Hyunjin said he'd gotten you. I don't know what made him get you, but he knew it was bad, I told him it was. He must've thought you'd make a difference."

She glanced at the closed door and the two brothers eating quietly, "A proper judgment, anyway, I can see."

Chan was properly in over his head. If Minho didn't take his kindhearted neighbor's help–

"I don't know what it is with you, but he clearly trusts you," Mrs Hwang figured out-loud, before looking around, "I can imagine a man being unable to rest in this place, look at the state of things! Needs a proper cleaning, all-through. Just need to get him out of here and somewhere he'll rest, and I can do it, my children and I will make short work of it."

A plan sprouted, an idea Chan on his own never would have thought of. As he realized it, it felt like a part of Jihyo spurring him on, and that gave him the energy to put it into action.

"I know a place he could stay– the boys and him," he decided, "As long as you need. Longer, till he gets better. Just need to pick up some medicine… and figure out where the devil Jisung is–"

Mrs Hwang shook her head sadly, "Working, no doubt. What's wrong with kids these day, I can't understand? The need to work, every waking moment, I can barely understand it."

Chan could. He understood it deeply, and he hated that Jisung held that need as intimately as he did.

He quickly told the boys his plan, giving his Innie a game to help them pack while they waited for Jisung to come back, the Hwangs taking some dirty laundry back with them to wash.

Hyunjin lingered at the door, and when Chan finally realized he was there, he smiled awkwardly and said quickly, "Thank you, Mr Bang, sir."

He quickly scampered, and Chan decided he needed to connect with Hyunjin at the high school once the holidays ended.

Felix came out with a suitcase shyly, "Are you sure, sir? You really don't need to…"

"Of course. The least I can do. And grab your language books, lets see if we can't get a headstart on next semester," he winked, "Now if only your third brother would come back…"

On cue, the door creaked open, and a very startled Jisung who had been trying to sneak in, suddenly froze at the doorway.

"Ah, just the brother I was looking for–" Chan's eyes narrowed in on the paper bag in Jisung's hands, "...Is that–?"

Jisung slowly opened the bag, a bottle of medicine in his hands. The medicine Chan had planned to buy for Minho, the highest quality and most effective he knew.

A very expensive medicine.

Chan walked up to him and took it from his hands, marveling at how he'd managed to take the correct one, before pulling out his wallet, intending to pay every dollar Jisung had to spend on it–

Jisung stopped him.

"I… didn't pay for it," he whispered softly, head dropped in shame.

Chan didn't move. Jisung's cheeks became wet.

"He… he wasn't getting better, and we can't afford the hospital, and–" he looked up bitterly, angrily, "What was I supposed to do? Let him die?! My hyung was willing to kill himself for us, for me, and I couldn't afford it, but no one deserves it more than him, and- and- and maybe it's wrong but he needs it, and I can't let him kill himself like this, I'm sorry, I can't–!"

Gently, Chan pressed the money anyway into Jisung's hands. And pulled out an equivalent amount.

"We'll pay back the owner. And next time," Chan leveled him with a look, "You ask me. Because it isn't fair, and you hyung shouldn't have to pick between his health and yours, he shouldn't have to do that."

 Then Chan turned back to Minho's room, and looped his arms around his limp body, carrying him and wondering why a man of his size felt so light.

When he got back to the door, his Innie holding Felix's hands, packed bags and food waiting and watching him expectedly, Jisung was still crying.

"Why?" Jisung asked from behind as they walked to the car, "You don't have to do this, why are you so kind? Why are you– why?"

Jeongin, who'd apparently had enough of grown-ups for the evening, huffed and tugged Jisung's sleeve.

"Because my appa is the best appa."

Jisung started crying properly, sleeve in his mouth, desperately trying to sob silently while Seungmin held his hand reassuringly. Felix nodded, holding Jeongin's hand tightly.

"That's right, Innie. The best, you have the best, Innie."

Buckling Minho into the passenger seat, Chan wasn't sure he knew anything about being the best.

But he knew about being good. And that was enough.

🖍

A Year Overturned

Minho woke up sore, a dull headache ringing between his ears. 

It was bright enough, the bed soft and the sheets velvety that Minho considered for a split moment that he had died, sheer panic sinking to his stomach when he considered, more horrifically, that he'd been hospitalized.

By the time he'd blinked unconsciousness from his eyes, a bedside picture frame of a young couple and their baby greeted him, coupled with the warm smell of pancakes. Somewhere in the distance, like an echo heard through a telephone, Minho could hear Seungmjn laughing from his stomach, Jisung and Felix bickering like small children.

Children who didn't have to worry about money and bills.

Guilt settled on Minho again.

"Ah, you live," a warm voice chuckled, "Welcome back to the land of the living, sleeping beauty."

Minho forced himself to sit up, and didn't know whether he was more surprised by Chan in his casual t-shirt and mussed hair, or the steaming cup of tea that smelled like every night he finished babysitting.

"Lay back, don't strain yourself," Chan scolded, leaving the mug to cool on the table, "How are you feeling? Your fever broke yesterday, but you've been in and out since."

Minho couldn't remember a thing. He could only piece together the obvious, between his own bed and Chan's–

"How long? Where have you been sleeping?"

Chan smiled, "Don't worry, Jeongin's been having fun with our sleepovers. We've watched plenty of movies, I promise. Done nothing but had our medicine of fun without you– I even managed to make craft kittens, can you believe it? Took a page out of your book."

Nothing in Minho could believe anything. 

"...Why?"

"Um, you were sick," Chan smirked, "Hard to celebrate and have fun if you were dying, so I took care of the dying part, and Innie took care of the 'having fun' bits."

"No, hyung," Minho's vision went blurry with tears, "Why?..."

Chan's face melted in seriousness, like he realized that he was being asked, adult to adult, and Minho needed to know.

"I realized something, when I came to your flat and saw you lying there, hopeless and sick. I know what it is to be paralyzed in what you must do, but can't, and I know what it is to be driven half-mad by it," Chan frowned, "I should have realized it earlier, but I… it's hard to see, when a man is so friendly, and seems to make friends so easily. I mean, you connected with my friends easier that I did, you're loved by everyone who meets you."

Chan looked up at Minho critically, but deeply saddened, "But you really are alone."

It hurt to hear it so plainly, but Minho tried not to let it hurt him. It was honest and true, and it was entirely Minho's own doing.

"I don't know if it's voluntary or not, but it's true. You don't have family, no one to support you… and you haven't let anyone else try, you were never taught how, I realize that now. I thought you were like me and you'd be fine but… I had something you didn't," Chan let out a small laugh, "Though, you ought to know, my brother is fully prepared to scold you for your foolishness and get on your case over taking care of yourself."

Minho stammered, fully believing Chan from the little he'd heard from meeting Changbin, way back when he'd prepared Chan's graduation party.

"It doesn't cost anything to admit you need a little help," Chan said quietly, hand resting on Minho's foot, "You're family now. You and your boys, you– you've done so much for me and Jeongin, in ways you couldn't even understand," his eyes flickered to the frame by the bed and Minho could almost hear him thinking of his late wife, "And we both care for you. Truly. You're my dongsaengs and I want to take care of you."

If Minho tried hard to imagine what having a father who cared for him felt like, it was something like this– it was a wide umbrella pulled over him to protect from the rain; it was a warm jacket pulled around him to shelter him from the cold; it was steady arms that carried him when it got too dark to see.

It was Chan, as a friend, as a hyung, coming and saving him when he'd fallen off the deep end and been left to sink.

"I'm indebted to you."

"Tsk, not to family, never to family. You owe me nothing."

Minho insisted, "I owe you everything."

"You owe me nothing," Chan insisted, "What are friends for, hm?...I'll teach you yet, Lee Minho, don't you worry."

Minho's voice was quiet, "I… lost my job."

"I'm sorry. I know you loved the preschool."

"N-no, hyung," he hiccuped a sob, "I lost my job."

"...I can help you find work, Minho. You can babysit and we can look for teaching jobs."

"I can't pay my bills!"

"I'll help you– don't look at me like that, I got a bonus, and I don't need it right now."

"I– hyung– I failed!" He sobbed out, "My brothers are working to eat, I can't even– I couldn't even–!"

Before the sorrow could come and overwhelm him, Chan had moved up the bed and sat right next to Minho, where he couldn't ignore him.

"You haven't failed. You're just… just…" his eyes landed on the picture frame again and didn't flicker away, "...just doing your best."

Looking at him seriously, Chan spoke in a calm, even tone, "You're not a burden to me. You haven't failed anyone in needing help."

When Chan's hand tightened around his own, Minho thought he might believe it.

"Trust me?"

Minho nodded. He blinked back his tears and breathed in the safety and promise of Chan's flat, his room, his presence.

"Did I fail in needing to sit in while you babysat my son?" Chan whispered, "When I hovered over your shoulder? When I needed your help with my son to learn to function and work again?"

"Of course not…"

"Then why are you different?" Chan asked, "You're young and alone, and strong for doing this as long as you did."

Minho swallowed harshly, like it was a medicine for his soul he needed to take. 

"Hyung?"

"Yes, Minho?"

"I'm still jealous of Jeongin."

They laughed together, at how ridiculous it sounded, despite the honesty Minho put into every word.

"You're a good man. You're kind. I… don't think there are many people like you."

Chan frowned like he was unsure, "You'd be surprised. And Minho… you don't have to be jealous of Innie anymore. Okay?"

Minho felt like a small boy before a great man, and he smiled, "Okay."

A little knock at the door and several giggles interrupted them. It was the only warning they got before the door flung open and four boys screamed–

"Happy new year!"

Felix flung himself first at Minho praising how much better he looked and how worried he had been and how well Chan had treated them.

"Hyung, he cooks really well, as good as you even!"

His hand landed on Minho's chest, over his locket, and he let it rest there, over the metal, and over Minho's heart. Minho laid his hand over Felix's, and felt the warmth of the touch seep through.

Seungmin laid a plate of pancakes on Minho's lap and spoke a little quieter.

"You look better today, hyung."

Minho smiled softly, "I feel better, Seungmo. I know… a lot of loving hands helped," he looked between Seungmin and Felix, and left the rest unsaid.

Jisung came a little quieter behind, eyes on the ground.

"It was Chan-hyung. We were doing a poor job at it."

Minho shook his head and pulled Jisung close, "You did more than you should ever be asked to. You were stronger than me, all of you."

For a moment, Jisung actually looked like he believed Minho. Then he laid the accounting book, clean with all the numbers balanced, and Jisung said it, softly.

"Chan-hyung took care of all of it."

Minho could imagine them at the table, Jisung holding a serious expression and arguing with every value which Chan wrote neatly and orderly in the book. He could see Jisung check and double-check and question the result, and watch as Chan showed him the money as he wrote it out.

The book slid away as Chan took it from his lap. He only offered a smile, and he hid it away. It was the smile of a man who knew what it meant to be bartering for every penny, and what it meant to not have to anymore.

Chan didn't look like he would accept gratitude. Minho wasn't sure he could stop being grateful. It bled into a different feeling, one of contentment, and happiness, and Minho hadn't realized they'd ever been displaced.

Little feet pattered to the bed and Jeongin pulled himself up before Minho could think about it, and a very insistent toddler dropped a handful of taped paper scraps into his lap.

"Oh? What's this Innie?"

"Kitty dolls. Appa showed us and we made one for all of us," Jeongin pointed out each of them and their names, and finally handed a large orange one to Minho, "This one's you."

"Oh? Why doesn't he look like the others?"

"Hey!" Jeongin held up another big paper cat, "He looks like this one, doesn't he? This is my appa, and they're both big catch because they take care of all the little kitties, see?" He laid them out so the smaller ones fit under the big ones, only the tails sticking out and wrapping above and around the bigger cats, "The little kitties can carry the big cats too, see? And sometimes the big cats carry the little kitties– look, look!"

"I see it, Jeonginnie," Minho whispered, watching the little boy play, before looking up at his father, up at Chan, "I see."

But Jeongin wasn't done. He sat up on his knees in Minho's lap and pouted, with all the seriousness a toddler could muster.

"Minho-hyung. You can't leave anymore, promise you won't?"

It wasn't just the seriousness of his expression that made Minho's heart skip a beat. It was the sincerity, the hope in his brothers' eyes, the oath from Chan. Minho wrapped Jeongin in his arms and felt warm in the hug the little boy gave him back.

"Promise."

He smiled, his brother squeezing in around him, and Chan, around them all. All the boys between their arms, and all the world far away.

Minho smiled, "I promise."