Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Donghyun was watching carefully from the side of the dance studio. The boys could forget he was there if he played his cards right: if he wore his dark jacket, sat motionless with his phone for long enough, looked like he was absently scrolling through his emails. He’d discovered a lot of the kids’ habits this way: the way Jeongin shakes the limb that had made him mess up the choreo during practice, the curses Jisung would say under his breath, how Changbin would stare off into space and lose himself there as he thought through a rap he’d nearly forgotten.

How small Minho looked in his hoodie as he stared himself down in the mirror and thought through everything he had to do.

Practice had been going well enough, Donghyun thought. They were prepping for the stage at a decent pace, and the group choreo was finally ready to be put together. It was a little odd, different from their usual meetings with the choreographer, as Chan didn’t interject to ask clarifying questions as often, and Minho didn’t offer up new creative ideas, or ways to make the movements their own. And the way Changbin stared daggers from the corner, Donghyun didn’t miss that either.

It didn’t bother him, he knew the kids would come to him if something was truly wrong, they’d learned their lesson about keeping secrets from their managers. At least, he hoped they did. If a hospitalization didn’t teach them that, then he wasn’t sure what would.

After watching Minho have a staring contest with his reflection for ten minutes, Donghyun realized that enough was probably enough, and got up to reveal himself, only to hear Minho whisper:

“Ah, it’s really crazy isn’t it?”

He wondered for a moment if Minho knew he was there, but then remembered back when he picked him up from his parents’ house, when his mother had finished making him promise to not overdo it, when they’d been well on their way, and Minho was staring out the window, mumbling nonsensical to himself. Donghyun had only asked when he mentioned something about graphic design. 

“You thinking about taking classes?” he’d asked.

Minho had startled, looking at him in the mirror and frowning, “No, why would I do that?”

What had worried Donghyun the most was that lost look in Minho’s eyes, distant, swimming, and guarded, very much guarded, as though he had much to protect and much to protect from. The same look was painted in Minho’s eyes at that moment. It hurt a little, because after all these years, 

Donghyun would have hoped that Minho would trust him with these sorts of things.

“Lee Know-ah,” Minho flinched, surprised almost at hearing his stage name again after so long, “Shall we go then?”

“Mmm,” Minho hesitated, “Let me run through it once more for good luck, and then we can go.”

It was a bit odd, because most idols would ask their managers, not tell them, but this was Minho, and this was dance, and Donghyun dared not interfere with either.

“Fine then,” he nodded, “Ten minutes. I’ll be downstairs in the car.”

“Alright, thanks hyung.”

He stretched himself a little bit, ignoring the way the door slowly closed behind him, recentering his thoughts and stretching his worn muscles. Was it always this hard?

Stop that, Minho scolded himself and got into the starting position, waiting for the music to stop, You knew it would take time, stop it.

But it didn’t make it any easier when his feet struggled to keep pace, his movements hitting the beat a fraction of a second too late. The rhythm was still there, a connection to the music he couldn’t erase, but there were times when the spirit and body didn’t quite align. He remembered Chan spitting out a proverb from his Bible, something about the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. 

Minho’s flesh wasn’t weak.

It was stubborn. 

“C’mon,” he rewinded the music and went again to that one spot he couldn’t quite nail, “C’ mon. ”

The door opened and closed sometime after the seven minute mark, but Minho paid it no mind. Not when a shadow crept in, not when it settled itself in the corner, not even when it gasped as Minho lost his footing and nearly face planted into the mirror. It wasn’t until Minho’s moves were crisp, not robotic, but animatronically perfect, and a phone was slipped out of a bag with its lense pointed at him, did Minho finally give it his attention.

“Air fryer.” He looked at the boy through his camera lense, reflected on the mirror, “How long did I say?”

Hyunjin wasn’t quite sure when Minho realized he was there, but he knew better than to question his hyung’s sixth sense. Or try to get the better of him. He slipped his phone away and threw Minho a cheeky smile.

“I wanted a video,” he said innocently, “So I can rub it in Changbin-hyung’s face about how quickly you were able to surpass him.”

“Hm, right, right.”

It was only mildly bothersome that the older dancer didn’t fall into their usual banter, Hyunjin decided, but then again, Minho was allowed to have his off days. Everyone was. But it was a bit hard if everyone was deciding to have their off day at that same moment. Or when Minho’s offset day seemed to have no beginning or ending.

He’s recovering, Hyunjin, give him time.

“Seriously,” Hyunjin erred on the side of sincerity, “It’s looking really good. You probably won’t get any looks from the choreographer tomorrow.”

There had been more than a couple people in the room who had caught the choreographer’s look. It wasn’t particularly malicious, and it hadn’t carried any weight to it. He wasn’t Choreographer Kim, but once bitten, twice shy. It didn’t matter that they were working on a performance with an ever looming deadline slowly dragging towards them. Nobody dared to tell Minho if he slipped up. Felix was the only one they allowed to gently show their hyung the little intricacies of the dance, Chan and Hyunjin sometimes modeling between runs, never giving the opportunity to the choreographer. Chan wasn’t the only one shooting daggers back at the man— Hyunjin had caught Donghyun-hyung, face set like stone, angry red flaring every now and again. 

Whether Minho noticed it all or not was unknown to them. But he saw his insufficiency, which felt enough like failure on the part of the rest of them for not protecting him well enough.

“Hyung? Hyuuuung,” Hyunjin tried pestering, seeing that Minho had clearly fallen into a daze again, “Will you make me lasagna? I’ve really been craving lasagna, and nobody could find any good prepackaged lasagnas at the stores.”

“Mmm… alright.”

His answers were always clipped, even, betraying nothing. He packed together his things and they were out of the studio in under a minute, no feet dragged, no playful twinkling in his eyes at taking long detours that would drive their manager mad with worry. Hyunjin missed when he used to complain more. Back when he wouldn’t take requests so easily, without first demanding the requester bought all ingredients necessary. Frankly, he missed a lot of things, like when Chan used to feel free enough to act childish at nights, when Changbin used to nag them all about useless things, when—

“It’ll take time to feel like yourself again,” Hyunjin said as they skipped down the steps, Minho a beat ahead of him, “But it’ll come back. Yeji said… well, it doesn’t matter what she said, but you’ll— it’ll—“

Minho stopped abruptly and looked at Hyunjin. It was the sort of look that bore into one’s soul, searching almost. Dark eyes into dark thoughts. Hyunjin’s mind whirled, and he tried to think whether he had misspoken, teased beyond boundaries, pushed too many buttons. His guilt over almost looking through Minho’s medical file still burned in his head.

“W-What?”

There was a moment of silence, emptiness echoing in the stairwell, when Minho cocked his head to the side.

“Are you alright, Hyunjin-ah?”

It was disarming. Minho had spoken with a careful gentleness, melting genuineness, that washed over Hyunjin like a cold wave, freezing him over. Like a deer in headlights. Minho saw right through him, he always saw past the facades and the masks. Chan was always comforted by it. Hyunjin wasn’t.

“Um…” how do you communicate weeks of anxiety, weeks of an invisible strain you can’t put a name to, the weight of everything and nothing on your shoulders, “Probably not… but it’ll be alright.”

Minho’s face softened, in that kind way that Hyunjin imagined he looked at his cats, “Right, that’s for sure… but you’ll tell hyung, right? If it’s bothering you, it’s better out than in.”

Hypocrite, a voice whispered in Hyunjin’s mind, but he smiled, not having the heart to tease his hyung or the energy to interrogate him, clinging to his side as they made their way to the car. Donghyun had an even face, even if they were two minutes late, a fact that never mattered before but always mattered now. Hyunjin frowned at the relative emptiness of the van.

“No Chan-hyung?”

Minho’s attention immediately snapped, “Hyung’s still here?”

“Mm,” Donghyun pulled away before Minho could do anything rash, “He’s double-checking the performance backing track… he has to present it tomorrow evening and he wants it to be perfect.”

Hyunjin watched carefully from over his phone, as Minho frowned slightly, before quickly resetting to his usual carefreeness. Hyunjin thought about Seungmin’s analysis of it all, an image of someone scared, paralyzed before the image he had to grow back into, and the infinite chasm he had to cross to get there. Hyunjin had taken the explanation in stride— Minho and Seungmin had a bond he could rarely wrap his mind around. Not to mention that Seungmin was usually right. But this one time, perhaps he had gotten it wrong. 

“One hundred eighty degrees, twenty minutes,” he answered, as they were walking up the steps towards their dorm, and Minho frowned, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“What?”

“You asked me earlier, about the air fryer,” Hyunjin smiled, “One hundred eighty degrees, twenty minutes.”

“Ah,” Minho’s face danced in playfulness, “You know, Chan-hyung actually got me an air fryer that might fit you?”

“Oh? You’re not talking about that shiny new thing you’ve already broken the handle of, are you? Because I think my foot alone would be too big for the child-sized oven.”

“Tsk, don’t be rude, hyung spent a lot on it. Besides, I was going to cut you up first, make little fries and chicken tender-like bits, feed you to the kids.”

They stepped into the dorm and were hit with the sounds of someone yelling at someone else, a steady cacophony of a full house. It pleased Hyunjin, more than he was able to put into words, how unfazed Minho was as they stepped in. He had been worried when, in the first few hours of him moving back in, he startled like a cat every time they raised their voices at each other.

It hadn’t taken long for him to fill in his role as the loudest in the dorm.

“Hey, hey, hey!”

There was an argument, which hit Hyunjin in the face as soon as they turned the corner. Minho seemed to ignore it, setting his things down and making his way to the kitchen, until he saw who it was that was arguing. 

“Felix, you should know better--”

“I know, I’m trying, I--”

“No, you said that last time, when will enough be enough? Huh?”

Felix was quiet.

“Seriously, you have to grow up, god, what’s--”

Arguments between the 00 line wasn’t uncommon, and they usually blew up to the painful, gut-wrenching things that hurt feelings and required multiple apologies. In the hall behind, Seungmin had gravely vexed lines that only one person could draw on his face, as he left the confrontation and shut his bedroom door. Felix was silent, face serious, mouth downturned. He might have been upset, but he kept it to himself, taking the ranting all in stride, in silence. He’d process and fix whatever he’d broken later. It was what he did, he was mature that way. On the other hand--

“-- The hell, honestly, sometimes you just can’t-- Couldn’t you see that--?”

“That’s enough Hannie,” Minho said evenly.

Jisung turned on him with a fiery face, but unlike walking off like he usually did, he seemed to turn his anger on them.

“What’re you smirking at?”

Hyunjin gawked, but for the sake of Felix and Minho, set his face in a warning frown that Jisung knew all too well, and quickly filed away.

“Han-ah, you—“

“What?”

Minho seemed to be stunned, and he turned away from Jisung to Felix, who wasn’t cowering, but simply fading into the evening shadows of the dorm behind him.

“Yongbok-ah, come.”

Hyunjin watched as Minho spared one final look at Jisung, which sent the younger boy barreling towards his room, before taking Felix by the wrist and leading him towards the kitchen.

“Is he bothering you too much, Yongboks?”

“N-no, hyung, um…” Felix shook his head and gave a sweet look, “I might’ve said something a little too blunt for him today… I realized he might be having a hard time.”

“Yongbok-hyung’s been picking up sarcasm recently,” Jeongin unhelpfully supplied, “It’s lots of fun because Hannie-hyung never has the tables turned on him like this.”

“Ah, I see, well done pupil,” Minho patted his head with usual exaggeration, “... and I’m sure he’ll come around, no one enjoys sarcasm more than Hannie, hm?”

Felix hummed, scrunching his nose.

“Now,” Minho pulled out his phone, “Can you see if we have these?”

“Making a mess of the kitchen so soon, hyung?” Jeongin smirked.

“Yah, how about you help Yongbok, huh?”

“Oh! Have to go help Seungmin-hyung with something, maybe another time?”

Hyunjin shook his head as their maknae scurried off. All these years, and they were still wrapped around his little finger, charmed by his disarming smile. 

“Don’t worry about Jisung too much,” Hyunjin commented as Minho started to search through the cabinets, pots and pans rattling as he searched for the right sizes, “He’s been a bit on edge with everything, especially with Chan and Changbin—“

He didn’t understand at that moment why he stopped himself, but it was that fatal mistake that gave Minho the upper hand, the older boy glancing at him, calculating almost, before standing up straight, leaning against the counter, and looking Hyunjin squarely in the eye once again.

“Hyunjin,” he asked slowly, and once again, “Is everything alright?”

He wished he were a stronger man, or that someone else was in his shoes, because Hyunjin never liked keeping secrets, and he realized he relied on who Minho was too much to even begin to try. They were staring at each other, Hyunjin’s eyes locked on Minho’s, magnetic, finding himself unable to pull away no matter how hard he tried. There was a brilliance returning, kind and concerned. He tried to distract himself, fumbling with some of the utensils left on the counter. 

“Mm,” he hummed, fingers ghosting over spoons and ladles, “I’m sure they’ll work it out before our-- you know… ”

Minho’s hand quickly stopped him before he reached the knives, his usual reflex surprising Hyunjin like it always did. But Minho didn’t let go of his wrist, staring at where it would have met with the newly sharpened set.

“No, I don’t,” he side-eyed Hyunjin, “What are Chan and Changbin up to, hm? 

Perhaps it was good intentions, a loyalty to a fault that kept Hyunjin’s mouth stubbornly closed. Or maybe it was the fact that he truly didn’t know anything, and all he could do was gape at his hyung helplessly, wondering why no one had come back yet, and he was left so dreadfully alone with Minho. Something nameless, voidless, close to fear flickered behind Minho’s eyes, and he took a sharp breath. Hyunjin did the same-- was talking to his hyung always this hard? 

They’d been easy-going, a push and pull but steady reliance that trusted one another. Had it been Hyunjin or Minho who’d betrayed this trust first? Hyunjin for daring to be curious enough to go looking for the file? Minho for not confiding in them? Curiosity wasn’t a sin, was it? Especially not curiosity mingled with worry.

Why do you get sick so often?

“Probably because you give me headaches by trying to touch the sharp ends of knives all the time.”

It took a moment for Hyunjin to realize his own mouth had betrayed his thoughts, and Minho had a cheeky look in his eyes, carried in dead-seriousness as he once again removed Hyunjin’s idle fingers from where they went to fiddle with the knives.

“And when it’s not you it’s Chan-hyung,” he washed his hands and prepped the oven, “Honestly, what’s wrong with that hyung? Always giving me headaches. And hyung-nims, especially Donghyun-hyung. I’m blaming any bruises I get from practice on him next time.”

Hyunjin should have felt happy, because this was the Minho he missed, who was slowly but surely filling back out into himself. But he didn’t. There was a hole in his stomach that was eating him away. Was it guilt?

“Hyung, I’m serious.”

Minho’s hand hesitated with the canola oil, “So am I.”

Hyunjin let out an annoyed sigh, “Really? We’re all giving you headaches? Are we really that terrible to you? I--”

“No, not that,” Minho didn’t look at Hyunjin this time, “You. You haven’t told me what’s bothering you.”

Oh that. 

Hyunjin felt a heat rise to his cheeks, because there was everything and nothing to lay before his hyung’s feet, to weep and beg for forgiveness. Where to start? Where to end? 

“You probably know, that um,” Hyunjin licked his lips and fiddled with the sleeves of his sweatshirt, “Well, maybe you don’t, because none of us really know crap, but, uh… hyung’s been going to a lot of meetings with the board executives. Every other day he’s talking to this staff manager or that coordinator, and every other moment someone’s pulling him aside in the halls. The… um, well… our managers didn’t even know how bad it was getting until Changbin--” he stopped again, and finally met Minho’s oddly blank, nearly soulless expression, “I really don’t know hyung, but I think the company’s put a lot of pressure on Chan-hyung’s shoulders… he won’t tell us anything, but manger-hyung’s basically tried to put him on house-arrest. I heard Donghyun-hyung yelling at someone over the phone the other day after practice.”

There was a moment of silence as Minho digested the information, face still blank, and once he had seemingly swallowed it all, he simply shrugged.

“Huh,” he said, and then went to find their sauce pan, “Sounds like hyung, doesn’t it? He does that a lot, hiding, overworking— I’m truly not surprised. After the performance maybe he’ll calm down.”

Probably not, because the two of them knew that after this was the comeback, and after the comeback--

“Is it just Chan-hyung bothering you? I can wack him over the head if you’d like.”

Hyunjin knew Minho would actually stay up late and the two would have a sincere heart-to-heart on Hyunjin’s behalf, that would end with one of them crying, and both of them asleep on the couch in the morning. But he didn’t mention it. There was only one more thing--

“I, um, it has to do with my question.”

Minho turned to him slowly, and to Hyunjin’s horror, like the face from a nightmare, he smirked.

“Hannie told me, you know?”

“T-told you what?”

“That you broke into the company to try and see my medical file.”

Hyunjin nearly died right then and there, his heart stopping, ears buzzing, the walls ready to swallow him whole.

“W-what? He-- I-- W-when did he--”

“When he came to my house to play with my cats,” Minho pushed him lightly, “It’s not that serious, I’m actually kinda impressed. I take it Channie doesn’t know?”

Hyunjin wordlessly shook his head.

“Mm, keep it that way. He doesn’t deserve to know yet,” Minho’s smile faded, eyes gleaming with a pride that always gripped Hyunjin’s heart, “Hannie… also told me you didn’t look at the file.”

He shook his head, “I… I’m curious, but not curious enough to betray your trust like that.”

“That’s… good of you,” Minho’s head dropped, his bangs shielding him for a moment from Hyunjin’s gaze, “Um… I-- well, I guess all you really need to know is…”

Hyunjin held his breath, and then noticed the mild shake to Minho’s hands, the way he picked at the little scabs that had formed from his clumsiness, and he didn’t know why, but he had the urge to hold his hand and reassure him it was going to be alright. 

So he did.

Minho’s hand was calloused, but a comforting velvet against Hyunjin’s skin. Minho looked at their hands in confusion for a moment, before he doubled his grip and held him a little tighter.

“Wah, you’d think the second time would be easier,” he murmured to himself, before looking up at the counter, “I… I have a crappy immune system. A pretty resentful body as a whole, but… Yeah. The type that would cause most parents to bundle their kids up in plastic and keep them home for all eternity… My parents were brave enough to not do that to me, but-- well, it doesn’t come without risks, you know?”

Hyunjin nodded, and when he realized that that was all Minho was ready to tell him, he found his arms wrapping around his hyung gently, despite the scoffing laughs that were muffled into his hoodie.

“It’s pretty brave of you too,” he whispered, and Minho stilled, and perhaps sniffled. He smelled like sweat, like tears, like hard-work and careful love, and Hyunjin felt the world slow down for them, as he realized how much of home Minho had taken with him when he left.

But then he poked two fingers in Hyunjin’s side and their little magic was broken, Hyunjin gasping and cradling his side dramatically. 

“Dramatic for nothing, Hyunjin-ah. Now, where is--”

“Hyung?” Felix came back, one hand full of groceries and the other checking his phone, “Um, I think I got it all… I knew we didn’t have like, half of these, so I ran down to the grocers.”

“Ah, right, very good Yongboks!”

If he was confused before, he was doubly confused now, Hyunjin staring at the mess of ingredients on the floor.

“Um, right,” he scratched his head, “...What is this?”

“Your lasagna, of course,” Minho tilted his head to the side like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Hyunjin had to bite back a laugh, “Now get out before you I skewer you and serve you as a side dish for Bang Chan.”

“Pfft, yes sir!”

Minho also sent Felix away, because the last thing he wanted was his dongsaeng adding chocolate chips to their dinner, but he remained close by, at their dining room table, trying and failing to inconspicuously keep an eye on their hyung. If he was bothered by it, Minho didn’t say, but he always spared a small smile for Felix whenever his badly hidden glances caught his eye. 

He also kept an ear open for the sound he was sure would come: the opening of a bedroom door and soft pattering of footsteps into the kitchen. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Jisung, hoodie over his head, who passed by Minho and went straight for the dining room table, where he draped himself over Felix’s shoulders.

“Hey, I’m sor--”

“No, I should’ve been more considerate. Sorry for being blunt and hurting you, I don’t always know--”

“Ah, it’s not your fault, I was still an a--...  I should be able to handle blunt, I mean, have you met Lee Minho?”

Minho gave an undignified snort, “ Damn right! ”

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Minho had banned Seungmin from ever helping him in the kitchen. There was a story, about Seungmin cutting his finger and activating Minho’s cat-dad instincts into overdrive, but Minho would always twist it into a tale where Seungmin had tried to poison them all by making them eat chicken with his blood. There was a similar story with Changbin, involving over spiced soup that had made Chan’s face a tomato red. It didn’t matter to Seungmin, or Changbin for that matter; they knew the truth and that was enough. Minho cooked, and they ate. 

But on the rare occasion that Minho needed extra hands and the dorm was unusually empty, Seungmin found himself washing vegetables in the sink, the knife kept safely away from him as Minho prepared the stove. Seungmin enjoyed these moments more than he let on: no cameras, no talking, just Minho doing something he loved, and Seungmin breathing in his presence. It was moments like these, they all agreed, that made their dorm feel like home.

There were a couple of footsteps, a door closing, but it didn’t interrupt the peace. Seungmin made a mental count in his head-- everyone was finally home. The nest was full. Changbin came in, and unlike Seungmin, didn’t even offer to help, sticking his head over their shoulders and getting unnecessarily excited. 

“Yes, yes!” Changbin tried to reach over to grab something from the counter, but Minho lightly slapped him away. 

“Any meat on the cutting board will get cut up, Seo Changbin,” he warned, and it was his only warning before muttering to Seungmin, “I definitely didn’t need to buy any meat, we had a surplus of dwekki all along.”

“Probably taste better too,” Seungmin played along, “A true delicacy.”

“Hm, I heard dog meat is a delicacy in some places too.”

Seungmin looked up at Minho, who had a cold smirk on his face as he prepared the frying pan, and all Seungmin could do was shake his head. 

The door opened again, and before Seungmin could figure out who had come to visit him or who he had miscounted among their team, Changbin poked his head back in. 

“Yah, Lee Know-hyung. Manager-hyung wants to see you.”

It wasn’t odd, so Seungmin didn’t think much of it. But then their little meeting stretched from five minutes to ten, and then Chan joined them at some point, and it continued for twenty, and then thirty. By that point, Seungmin was lost in the steady sheet of rain hitting their balcony right outside their kitchen, a world blurred in muted greys. But if he looked a little closer, down to the street below, and out into the world beyond, he could make out colors, more vibrant and alive in the rain. If he thought about it, there was an order of things that blossomed in the seemingly bleak, and became brighter when put to the flame… 

Minho came back and Seungmin didn’t think about it any more.

“Seungmo, do you ever think…” Minho hesitated, whether it was on the thought or the vegetables sizzling he couldn’t tell, and then asked much more casually and not as weighted, “What do you think you’ll do when we’re done with… all this?”

“I don’t know, probably more singing, keep doing what I’m able to,” Seungmin frowned, and glanced at Minho, “Why? What about you? Become a famous dance instructor? Open a studio?”

“Hm, or become a retired cat-dad,” and they both laughed more freely and wildly than the rain bombarding the roof, a symphony of percussion that drummed to the heart of the city, young and wild.

Seungmin missed the undertone of fear, simmering at a low heat behind Minho’s words, but Chan didn’t. He watched from the kitchen table, finding himself getting protective, angry, an unusual aggression that he brought only for those close to him, and for their sakes kept in check as well. It was natural, Chan reasoned with himself, because as a leader, if any of his kids were afraid it fell on him. It always did. 

There had been a lot of people trying to work him out of that mindset, including Bambam, who played with a decent sized coffee between his hands as Chan ignored the iced chocolate off to the side.

“You’re their leader, not their father,” Bambam kicked him lightly, “Don’t carry things unnecessarily.”

“Hm, like how Felix’s going to hate that drink he bought?”

Bambam glanced over his shoulder, and shook his head, “He can figure that out.”

“Mm.”

“Chris, if they need you they’ll come to you.”

“... What about the things they don’t even know about?”

“... What?”

Bambam wasn’t a leader, he didn’t know, not really. He could try, but he’d never be able to truly understand. Jihyo did, to a certain extent. 

“You can only do so much Channie,” she had her phone placed on the counter, and Chan watched as different Twice members passed behind her, either half-asleep or high off sugar and bouncing off the walls, “You protect them when you can, but otherwise you let it go. You trust the company to take care of you and your team, don’t you?”

No, Chan thought, but he just smiled at Jihyo instead. Sana came around her shoulder and started scolding him for not answering any of her messages or greeting her in the halls, and he realized he couldn’t ask Jihyo about how she handled her members’ anxiety or health problems, because Chan knew his own team was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to mishandeling health problems… if that was what it could even be called. 

“They’re their own people,” Younghyun ruffled his hair playfully, “If there’s a problem too big for them, then they know who to come to. You really gotta stop doubting your leadership, honestly, Yeji came up to me and the first story I told her was about you--”

“What if it’s something that I can’t protect them from?” Chan turned to his hyung, “What if…”

Yonghyun narrowed his eyes, “Is this about Minho?”

“No.” 

Yes. 

No one really knew what happened to Minho. Chan wrote it off as partly fatigue, partly sickness, and they took what he gave them, content that it wasn’t anything as serious as it actually was. If only they knew… 

“Chan… ah, I don’t know. What can I say, your work speaks for itself, hm? You worry too much about nothing, Channie, seriously. You all work as hard as you can, you’re all good kids, really. You have nothing to worry about.”

Chan heard him, but he didn’t truly hear him. Maybe he should have, maybe he should have thought of the scandals that swarmed Day6’s debut and settled in Yonghyun’s comfort a little more, but he felt like a wounded animal, and maybe that made him a little more dangerous. But he pushed it all down, so that Yonghyun wouldn’t worry about him, or Jihyo, or Sana, or Bambam. He fooled them pretty well. 

Because they hadn’t been there, sticky ice cream on their hands, when Minho’s strength was suddenly pulled out of him, and Chan’s breath caught in his throat as he leaned against the wall, mildly trembling. 

“Lee Know-ah?” he put a hand on Minho’s shoulder, “Minho?”

Minho whimpered, and in a breath, barely above a whisper:

“What if this is it?”

Too scared to ask what he meant, and hoping he’d missherd, Chan gripped Minho’s shoulder a little more firmly to steady him. Minho swallowed harshly and repeated himself a little more firmly.

“Hyung. What if this is--” he turned to face Chan in a burst of frantic fervor, “You have to promise you’ll go on, promise you won’t let me drag you all back, promise--”

“Minho, stop,” Chan gripped his arm and forced him to turn and look at him, offering as much strength as he could in his gaze, “Minho-ah, you’re going to be fine, it’s going to be alright. We’re not going anywhere without you, not again, not ever, okay?”

It was supposed to be reassuring but Minho’s face broke, cracked. Fear, bleeding, permeating, crippling fear. Chan turned so his back shielded him from curious eyes, fully expecting Minho to pull himself together like he always did, but it was too late. Between Chan’s arms, Minho’s breath stuttered, burying his eyes into the heels of his palms, his sobbing as terribly seared in Chan’s mind as his delirious moaning when he had been on death’s door.

It wasn’t much different, as Chan wrapped his arms around Minho, the boy’s face pressed into his shoulders, hands clawing at Chan’s back as he tried to catch himself, trying to pull it all together. 

“Hyung,” Minho’s voice was low, gravely, “If I can’t, you have to let me go… if I can’t--”

“Who says you can’t?” Chan’s voice was just as strained, “Minho, tell me, is this you, or someone else?”

He shivered, and his non answer was enough for Chan to hold him more tightly, low whisper to Minho’s ear.

“No one, Minho. No one except you decides.”

Minho pressed his forehead against Chan’s chest, taking a deep breath, before pulling himself away, annoyed at himself as he frantically swiped his tears away. The fear was gone, the expression that replaced it more piercing to Chan. 

“I will decide,” he said firmly, leaning on Chan as his hyung slowly led him back to his room, “But you have to let me, hyung… and you can’t tell Jisung, you can’t let them get in the way.”

It sounded like a terrible idea to Chan, but he respected Minho, in every sense of the word. Respected his skill, respected his sense, respected his boundaries. 

“Whatever you need, Minho.”

In the back of his mind he knew he would never let Minho go. Just like the way he couldn’t let go of Bambam, of Yonghyun, the bonds that made his hyungs check up on him, that made Sana worry if he didn’t answer her texts within two days. It wasn’t possessiveness, it was a love that Chan had no control over, that came over him from the moment he claimed each of the boys as his own. 

Whether Minho stayed or left, it didn’t change Chan’s fight for him. He needed looking after, despite what anyone told him, and there were things that Minho couldn’t see, couldn’t predict, couldn’t take into account, that Chan would have to shield him from. 

And his love was the type that would tear him apart if it meant seeing Minho safe.

═════☩══♛══☩═════

It was two weeks from the performance. Minho had practiced as much as the managers would let him, and he still felt worn out by the end of the third run-through. Well, worn out in body, but never in mind. 

“Looking at jobs?” Jeongin scrunched his nose as Minho whirled to find their maknae peering over his shoulder, “What, are you not busy enough?”

“You’re not busy enough if you find yourself bored,” he joked, pocketing his phone, along with its six different open tabs, “Or if you’re free enough to snoop during practice, hm?”

Jeongin flushed and had a sharp retort on his tongue, but their choreographer called practice again, and so he found himself between Seungmin and Hyunjin again, prepared for another run through. Seungmin dusted off his hands and knelt by Innie.

“Was it the computer jobs again? Graphic design or something along those lines?”

Jeongin's eyes widened, but he nodded, because whether he could understand it or not, Seungmin had gotten it right on the nose. Seungmin turned around and found himself staring at Chan, who had a fragile worry that he blinked away as the music started. 

“That’s good, well practiced,” the choreographer glanced at Minho, and when the boy met his gaze, he offered a shaky smile, before turning to Donghyun again.

Minho knew what that meant.

Not good enough. 

He was staring at the mirror, at himself, running through the entire routine in his head, the movements practically muscle memory by this point. It didn’t feel the same, the movements felt somewhat foreign still, and his swear to Chan was ever present in his thoughts. But he couldn’t deny that there was something familiar, and he had an instinct--

“That move after the chorus,” he’s telling no one but himself, but Felix’s reflection turns and gives him his attention anyway, “Would be smoother if we added a step between. Accentuate the beat between. Give a better build up before falling into the second verse.”

Felix didn’t say anything, most everyone else occupied in their own side conversations, on phones or lost in nonsense. The choreographer was reviewing their schedule with the managers. Minho doesn’t know why he said anything.

“Sorry,” who is apologizing to? “Shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no,” Felix turned to give him his full attention, “I… I think I understand what you’re thinking, it would be… smoother? Flow better, right?”

As he stands up, Minho does as well, and without putting too much energy into it, he models his vision. But their playful improv was bright enough, Minho enough, that Hyunjin’s attention has been pulled away from their choreographer saying they won’t fill the time allotted to them if they keep up this pace. His eyes trained on Minho and Felix. 

“Wait, wait, do that again,” Felix stood back a few inches, monitoring Minho’s limbs, which no longer looked as heavy and weighted as before, “From the middle of the chorus, you did something--”

“Ah, ah, ah, yes,” the world has melted around Minho, the rhythm and movement in his blood, “It makes it easier, yeah? If you balance your body this way, and make these angles sharper, you’re able to hit the next body without using that much energy.”

Minho was careful, precise, like he had forgotten that his role as dance leader had been temporarily tabled. He rewinded a few seconds in his movements and began again. Changbin and Jeongin had given Minho their full attention by this point as well. 

“See, one-- two-- three-- four--”

“Ah!” Felix smiled in understanding, “And then the second verse--”

Hyunjin was sold before Minho finished the phrase, “We should do it. Add it to our choreo.”

“Add what to the choreo?”

They all turn and see their choreographer, attention pulled away from his phone and the managers and towards Minho. He wasn’t a fool, he knew what it meant to work with Stray Kids, but the challenges he found himself facing were dramatically contrasting everything he had been warned of. Where were the overenthusiastic, brimming with input dance leaders?

Minho stuttered, “Um, just-just playing around hyungnim.”

Hyunjin practically groaned, “We have an idea, sir, for the end of the chorus and the verse.”

He proceeded to model it, as badly as he could manage, and force Minho to show them. This was what the choreographer had been expecting, almost under-preparing for. Because Minho sank into his position like it was made for him, and not one thing he suggested was out of place.

“That looks great,” the choreographer’s eyes flickered through the room, “Can you teach it to everyone? By tomorrow we’ll have these parts down, and everything else at least blocked out, so if you can all pick it up that’ll be good.”

“Yes, thank you sir.”

Changbin turned to Chan, “Hyung, isn’t there still twenty seconds we have to fill? Didn’t you add a--”

“We don’t know,” Chan murmured, his attention on Minho who was slowly demonstrating once more for the boys, “We might not fill the time… and if we don’t fill the time--”

Changbin didn’t miss the smile Chan pulled when Minho turned to them, and they went along the rest of the practice is well as they could. Everyone was eager to pick up what Minho taught them, and the practice finished up quicker than expected. When everyone was sweaty and tired out, Chan and Donghyun stayed behind as everyone filed out. Minho slumped where he stood, like he already knew what was coming. 

“Lee Know-ah, the performance is in two weeks,” Donghyun pressed lightly, “Do you think--?”

“The company wants to bench you for another month and a half,” Chan filled in, an edge of discontentment in his tone, “Like, fully. Pull you from everything.”

Minho took a deep breath, glancing between Donghyun and Chan, and knowing that he it wasn’t just health concerns that they were trying to play safe anymore. This was politics. 

He never was good at politics.

“I don’t, I don’t think I can,” Minho replied quickly, honestly, “At least, not all of it. I mean, maybe if I--”

“--No, that’s alright,” Chan interrupted quickly before Minho could offer up more of himself than he had to give, “We can--”

“Channie, that’s enough,” Donghyun left no room for dissent, “Think it over Minho. Six weeks of grounding, no communication, nothing.”

It seemed a bit extreme, but perhaps this was his sign. Minho took a deep breath and smiled, “R-right. I’ll think it over.”

Donghyun left them and Minho was done with Chan’s crap. 

“All right Bang Chan,” he frowned, “What the hell is going on?”

“You first,” Chan had a condescending look, “What’re you tracking on your phone? Calories? Amount of time spent sleeping?”

Minho snorted, “You’re one to talk.”

But he handed over his phone and let Chan glance through the open tabs.

“Alternatives,” he supplied, “Just… in case.”

Any playfulness he might have had disappeared. Chan was cold as he handed back his phone, older, more mature, and making Minho feel like a small child before him as he took a deep, troubled breath. 

“Fine, you want to know what’s going on?” Chan couldn’t look at him, “We’ve been essentially blackmailed. Manager-hyungs had no idea, I mean they only kinda know how bad it is now, but-- these board executives have been calling me at the oddest times. Changbinnie found out a couple days ago and he’s been accompanying me but-- listen, if we blow this chance, there is a serious chance we’ll lose our freedom when it comes to the upcoming album, alright? So we just need to--”

“What? Bite the bullet? Because that worked so well last time, right?” Minho was rarely angry at Chan, but he felt like he was forever stuck in an enigma inside a puzzle, a paradox he’d never escape, “Isn’t that what got us into this mess, hyung?”

It smacked Chan well enough in the face that he snapped out of whatever daze he was in, because Minho ignoring being sick had only been necessary for the last performance, and that necessity had nearly killed him, “Right, no, sorry, not you--”

“No, not you either. And none of the other kids either,” Minho took a deep breath, “What-- What do they have on us?”

Chan flinched, “Some of it is silly school stuff, but others… Do you remember that vacation we all took when Jeongin turned legal?”

Minho flinched, because none of them had really been drunk, but their usual crackhead energy was enough of an illusion of such that if it fell into hands with malicious intent…

“And?” Minho frowned, “Just tell them off. We’re important to them, aren’t we? Do they not want us? Because I’m sure there'll be someone out there who will.”

“Lee Know-ah--”

“Wait, let me guess, that’s what Changbin’s been for, hm?” Minho smiled, “Did you pull your position with Park Jinyoung PD-nim? Scare them senseless? Good, I--”

“I didn’t.”

It was Minho’s turn to feel mature and angry, “Why? They can’t push you around like--”

“Minho, listen,” they both went silent, footsteps passing outside the hall, “I already pulled that JYP card for getting us this performance, alright? I don’t-- I can’t-- ah, listen, if you’re seriously not ready, then I honestly don’t care, I’ll give up the next year of my career if it means you don’t end up half-dead again, but don’t-- don’t-- don’t give up too easily. Please?”

It wasn’t an accusation, any more than Minho’s jab at Jisung and Hyunjin breaking into the company health office. But it still felt like it. He wondered how terribly Chan had butchered his own reputation to--

“I--” Minho’s voice was small, but he smiled, “I won’t, hyung. You don’t have to be such an old man about it.”

“Ah,” Chan’s head fell back, and he let out a whine, pushing Minho’s arm lightly as the two finally left the studio, laughing. 

The puzzle box came apart, the warm evening air surrounding them familiarly, comfortingly, and Minho was still left with a knot of a problem in his hands. He’d really promised himself to too many people. There was Chan, yes, his parents, yes, the managers, the kids, Stays, yes, yes, yes. But what did he owe a board of grey-suited, white-haired men? 

Chan. Stray Kids. It wasn’t for them, it was for the team.

You can’t kill yourself for the team, Minho, Minhyuk’s voice echoed behind his ears, as he kicked the pebbles from the sidewalk frustratingly. 

But you can’t resign yourself too early either, he argued back. 

“Hey, I’m sorry.”

Minho frowned, “For what?”

“That was too harsh of me. You shouldn’t have to worry about all these things.”

“No, that’s how we do it. Worry together. Can’t be the only one of us getting grey hair, hm?”

“Mm, very considerate of you.”

“Of course, can’t have our leader losing all his hair before-- aigoo.”

As they laughed, a seed of an idea came to mind, “Hey, remember our Kingdom stages?”

“Mm?”

“You know the one with Minhyuk-hyung? The rap stage?”

“How could I forget, you--”

“What if we--”

Minho stopped as Chan did, the two of them having the same thought at the same moment.

“That’s… brilliant.”

“Reward for Stay and fulfills whatever crappy requirements they have for us.”

“No, yeah, that’s--” Chan's eyes went small, and he suddenly had a lot of pep in each step, giggling brilliantly, “Wah, that’s almost too good, isn’t it? We’ll make headlines everywhere.”

“I thought you didn’t want to make headlines.”

“Oh, shut it, you know what I mean.”

The rest of the team took it skeptically, but it slowly grew on them as well. Seungmin made a comment about it being “epic,” and if Seungmin liked that idea of Minho enough to give him a genuine compliment like that, they figured it was good enough to work. 

Those tabs on Minho’s phone disappeared. They had never been a permanent problem, coming and going every now and again when his personal fan cam looked less than satisfactory, but there were those who hoped it was finally gone for good. It would be, Jisung thought, hoped, after this performance.

“Hey,” he murmured into Minho’s shoulder after one sweaty practice, the boys each taking turns trying on their costumes for that day, “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Fixing Chan? Being… you?”

“Hm… don’t know if I can be anyone else really?”

“You really can’t take a compliment you know?”

“Well, neither can you, so I think that’s okay.”

But then it was the morning before the performance, Minho standing in front of the mirror in his full outfit, oddly asymmetric, with rhinestones along the collar and glitter in his hair. Every detail, the costuming, the styling-- Minho wasn’t even sure they got this sort of treatment for their comebacks. It was extensive, the sort of preparation they were doing for a silly little show. He looked like he belonged somewhere else. 

“You look good,” Sungho leaned against the door, “The whole thing looks good. You should be proud, you bounced back better than most of the executives thought. Sent them for a whirl. And you made Stray Kids the most anticipated act of the evening.”

“Oh,” Minho frowned, “I don’t think I did that--”

“Sure you didn’t,” Sungho winked, “There’s a big to-do out in the foyer before we leave, so poke your head in like a hero before you change out, alright?”

Minho smirked, deciding he would definitely not do that. The last thing Stray Kids needed was one Lee Minho running his mouth saying stupid things in front of all the respectable people of the company. He gave his reflection one more look, daring. 

Don’t screw this up, and then he confused himself, How… do you screw this up? Can you screw this up? Is that even possible?

He barely caught the door open again, and halfway through his thought of wondering how long he’d been thinking to himself for Hyunjin to get annoyed to come for him, he was stopped short by the sight of a more feminine figure sticking her head in.

“Oh,” Minho collected himself quickly, “Hello.”

“Ah, hello, sunbae-nim--”

“Don’t call me that, Yeji, it’s alright.”

“Right, sorry oppa,” Yeji hesitated, “Um, I just came to give you coffee,” she revealed the Starbucks order in her hands and Minho was reminded that she did this often for groups in the company that had comebacks, “Hyunjin and-- um, they mentioned that you liked iced americano. I wanted to congratulate you on your,” she cocked her head to the side, “... comeback? Is it a comeback for you?”

“Um, well, sure,” he smiled taking the gift respectfully, “Thank you, that’s very thoughtful. I will enjoy it to keep me up for the performance.”

He expected her to leave, but she hesitated a moment longer.

“I… it takes time, but it does come back,” she said, and Minho was suddenly reminded of a story he’d heard from the other boys about her having sepsis and almost dying as a child, “Maybe not in the way you thought, but it does all come back. Sometimes… sometimes it makes you better than before, to know your limits, for your body to know it’s highs and lows…”

She looked at him and the rest was communicated without words. Minho nodded and offered a smile.

“Thank you. Truly, I--” he bowed, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, Lee Know-hyung, what’s--” Hyunjin stopped short at the sight of the coffee in his hands and turned dramatically and accusingly to Yeji, “Where’s my coffee?”

Yeji snorted in a rather unprofessional way that Minho didn’t think she was capable of, “Not until you pay up for the last time I bailed you out--”

“Dear god, it was one time, Yeji-ah!”

Minho took a sip of the americano as Hyunjin walked him down to the foyer. Maybe he would never look up those jobs again. Maybe it would be enough to just--

“What the--”

Cheers erupted in the foyer, Hyunjin laughing and clapping loudly as he stepped to the side, Minho feeling hot under all the eyes and spotlight he’d been placed under, feeling a little embarrassed at the coffee he held awkwardly in his hands and the glitter in his hair. 

“Wah, welcome back our Lee Know-ah!” Yonghyun side-hugged him fondly, and the rest of Day6 members, the 2PM sunbaenims, the Twice girls cheering, the Itzy members, Yeji rejoined with them, and so so many of the staff, so many faces that knew Minho more than he knew them, clapping and cheering. 

“Only for heroes, who stick it to death itself,” Sungho winked, leading Minho to the center of the thrawl, where Felix carried a bright cake with candles, “We could have waited for after the performance but--”

JYP himself stood behind them all, and however low Minho bowed, the man seemed to bow lower. Every quietened as he spoke.

“We’re all so proud of you, and all of Stray Kids, for making this company proud in everything that they do,” he guestered widely to the team, and Minho noticed Chan shrinking a little bit, scratching at his very red ears, “But today especially, we welcome back a JYP dancer, and celebrate his full recovery. And JYP nation looks forward to their performance to be broadcasted live this evening, all artists and staff encouraged to watch in our newly renovated theater-meeting rooms.”

Everyone cheered again and the cake was pushed under Minho’s face to blow the candles out. He quickly pulled Donghyun’s sleeve, the man enjoying himself far too much for his liking.

“I’m not going to have to say anything, am I?”

“Absolutely not,” he winked, “But they’ll all probably be here when we finish, so I’d think of something smart to say when we come back.”

And Minho wasn’t sure why they loved him so much as he set the cake on the table, promising to eat his fill when they came back, because all he had done was do what he needed to do. All he’d done was take the next step in front of him, sometimes too quickly, sometimes not quick enough. But as the boys pressed around him as they got into the vans, and he had an inkling…

Maybe sometimes doing what had to be done could be braver than anything else.

═════☩══♛══☩═════

There would always be rumors, always be headlines that made their blood run cold, always be those venomous snakes that bit to kill. 

“Channie, you’ll tell us, right? If you need us?”

Chan had a mischievous glint to his eyes as he smiled innocently, “Of course, hyung.”

Minho turned away to hide his smirk.

Sungho still wondered whether they had too much pride to accept help at times. Donghyun still thought they grew too fast into independence, and not quick enough into knowing when to ask for help.

But there wasn’t much to complain about when their bleeding kindness was always available to see first-hand, and even through the sprained ankles and crippling depression, both managers knew they wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

The stage was bare, just them in their t-shirts, looking out into a dark crowd, shadowed faces holding up lightsticks, chanting in unison like the roaring of the ocean, breathtakingly gorgeous, almost unreal. 

There were plenty of tears, sparkling like stars under the cameras.

Chan, to Changbin, to Jisung, to Hyunjin, to Jeongin, to Seungmin, to Felix, to Minho. 

Arms around shoulders. Heads to chests.

Only a fool wouldn’t notice.

═════☩══♛══☩═════

Minho knew it was coming. He could feel it in his bones, the build up, the culmination  of every little spark, every little note, every little step. It was exhilarating, and terrifying, all in the same moment, all in the same breath.

He had stood a little further back, proudly watching the backs of his team, the backs of his boys, his friends, his brothers, as they were perfectly synchronized, muscles rippling at the same beat, feet moving in tandem. If he thought about it, he could make out where he would have been, between their feet, which steps he would’ve taken, the spot he would have filled. He could see Seungmin subconsciously taking an extra large step to compensate, missing and overstepping to fill in the gap. Minho let out a short laugh. 

Then the music faded, the usual tempo remixed into something different, something new. Minho recognized it for the sounds Chan had been playing with, and then the intro Minho had been practicing with. The dancers flooded the mainstage and the boys scurried towards Minho. He could feel the light touches, their smiles, Changbin and Jeongin giving him hwaiting fists, Felix’s face lighting up in excitement, Hyunjin’s exhausted breath let out in a laugh, Jisung’s smile, Chan’s pat on his chest, as they hid behind him. Seungmin might’ve winked. It’s a bit of a blur.

His in-ear gives him a countdown. The lighting on stage dims, the screens around the stage flickering. Minho feels the tape with his feet and marks himself. He takes a deep breath. He can hear himself, and the sharp inhales of anticipation behind him. He doesn’t have time to collect himself, doesn’t have time to remember if he remembers, the panic of it all pulsing, brilliantly, violently, until it fades like a heartbeat, like the machine in his hospital room, to the euphoric high of it all as he looks out beyond the stage, past the cameras, past the lights, into… nothing.

Time stands still, the world far away. Minho’s far away. He’s a hundred miles high, looking down.

On a small boy, fragile, breakable.

Shining brighter than the stars, unbreakable, immoveable, unyielding.

Delicately strong, immeasurably small.

When the boy moves, Minho is lost in the lights, the stars, the vastness of the universe. He’s in his grandmother’s garden, covered in dirt, he’s on the floor of his home, his cats’ tails flitting around him, he’s even in the hospital bed, watching the sun reflect tiny dust particles as they float about him. Nothing is in his control, and in the same breath, everything is. Whether he lives or dies, fills his life with many years, or loses himself quickly, he’s done it. He’s where he needs to be, he’s done what he needs to do. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be, nowhere he’s supposed to be. 

He’s lit with the fire of a thousand suns, and he is burning the world. He dares anyone to try and put him out. Minho feels the presence of the other boys as they join him, moving harmoniously as one, a sense of unity that brings home to the most foreign and invasive of places. He might miss a step, but it doesn’t really matter, because Jisung ducks his head to give him a goofy face as he passes by. 

The stage comes to an end quickly, but the time they spend standing together is infinite, taking a never ending final bow, applause chorusing, ringing. Felix is holding him tightly on one side, Seungmin on the other, cheering with the crowd as they hold Minho like a prize between them.

Chan stands off to the side. He wants to hold Minho tightly, he wants to cry for how beautiful it all looks, and he wants to reassure each and every one of them about who they are, and what matters. He wants this moment captured for a thousand years. It’s so intimately private, their success deeply personal, that he almost wants to turn all the cameras away, drop a curtain to keep the world from intruding. Pride is bleeding from his eyes.

But in a fiery blaze?

He wants to look the world in the eye, force them to look at this. Taunt them with what they are and who they’ve become and dare them. Dare them.

Minho breathes in the crowd, the applause, the safety between the other kids, and he knows it with certainty.

He’s home.