Chapter Text
Minho knew something was wrong. A slow building tension, happenings that could only culminate in a terrible disaster, that it wasn’t really a question of if , but when .
He had been putting away dishes, everyone conveniently running away after his elaborate meal set-up and leaving him eerily alone in the kitchen. Changbin and Hyunjin had been the first to scurry off, then Chan had found some excuse or another, and now only the maknae line was left at the table, whom he wouldn’t dare ask to help him. Well, he would ask Jisung, but something about the way the boy was helping Felix with his rap was too endearing for him to ask for something as trivial as dish-washing. Minho took a deep breath and got to work, ignoring the throbbing headache he had been pointedly ignoring for the past few days. He shivered slightly-- had it always been this cold in their dorms?
He grabbed a heavy dish of rice, his mind growing somewhat distant. Everything felt tingly, like he’d touched an electric socket or was standing on the edge of a building waiting for the wind to snatch him off his feet and send him falling. It started in fear, but then felt somewhat euphoric, distant, his mind hovering several miles off the ground and floating in space. Cold, and warm; sharp, and fuzzy.
He heard the dish clatter before he felt it slip from his hand.
Minho looked down at his feet, where the bowl was turned upside down, the rice dispersed across the floor. Jisung swore, the four boys at the table peering over.
“Everyone step around and go to the living room,” Minho instructed in a level tone, pointing with a hand he hoped they didn’t notice was shaking. Felix and Innie did as they were told, slowly moving away, but Jisung and Seungmin stood and stared at him.
“Let us help,” Jisung rolled up his sleeves, and momentarily disappeared to wet some paper towels.
“No, don’t--”
Jisung was already on his hands and knees, Seungmin rolling up his sleeves to do the same. In his muddled mind, he couldn’t reconcile the facts that he needed help but he didn’t want them doing it, so he short-circuited in place, barely registering footsteps behind him.
“Hyung, here--”
Minho turned around to take the bowl with an empty glass in it that Innie passed to him as he tried to help as well. Minho already knew the end result before the weight of the bowl completely shifted into his hands. He watched in horror, in terrible slow-motion, as it slipped from his hand and completely shattered on the floor, shards thrown in a thousand directions.
He stared at the mess at his feet.
“W-why would you--?” he was confused, and almost let a scalding admonishment leave his lips, because couldn’t he see? But when he brought his eyes up Innie looked scared, and a weariness mixed with confusion killed the thought, and he duly looked down again.
Everything was blurring. A thought forced itself to the front of his mind, a protective instinct he had developed since joining the team, and he stared back at the ground, aware of how many hazards there were on the floor to his dongsaengs.
“Everyone out.”
It was a deadly monotone, low, and focused. Innie stepped back, and dragged Felix away with him. Minho glanced at Jisung and Seungmin, some of the buzzing in his chest settling when he saw they were unharmed. It returned as the world became blurry.
“Out. Now.”
Jisung looked like he was about to protest, but at Minho’s glaring, swallowed his words and slowly backed away. Minho was bubbling over, and he was going to implode, a disastrous, horrifying mess like the one at his feet, and he needed his dongsaengs safely out of the vicinity. He was a disaster waiting to happen. He didn’t know what, but he needed them gone .
“Seungmin, leave .”
The younger boy carefully came closer to Minho, having noticed something that was missed by the other boys. Something only his sharp eyes carefully picked out: Minho’s hands were shaking, ever so slightly, and his voice was strained, in a way that only Seungmin could recognize, because he had seen Minho like this before, back when they had first met, two lost boys in a big world.
“Hyung, let me--”
He came close, brushing aside porcelain and glass with his foot so he could put a hand on Minho’s arm and look him steadily in the eye. Minho’s face slowly came up, eyes furrowed in confusion and mild frustration, but also sparkling and distant. It was times like these that Minho forgot he was the hyung, because Seungmin took Minho’s shaking hand in a firm hold, and gently pulled him out of the center of chaos. He carefully eyed the glass, and directed each step so that his hyung wouldn’t hurt himself. Once they were safely out of the chaos, he gave Minho his full, complete, undivided attention.
“Hyung? Hyung, are you alright?”
Minho’s vision was swimming violently, and for a fatal moment, Minho felt like he was somewhere far away, looking down on his sweet dongsaeng who had grown up so much in the past few years, and the boy made of glass who was about to shatter at the lightest touch. Maybe Seungmin realized it before Minho did.
“Hyu-- Oh!”
Minho lurched forward, and Seungmin readily caught him.
Shifting to break his fall and quickly rearranging himself, he propped the older boy’s head on his legs and supported his head. He watched as Minho’s eyes dilated, his eyelids fighting to stay open, his skin pale and sickly. Seungmin’s fingers found a pulse in the older boy’s wrist, and he started monitoring the faint rhythm just below his skin, biting back his own fear as he felt Minho go limp under his hold.
“Minho, what’s going on he--'' Chan stopped dead in his tracks, Jisung and Hyunjin gasping behind him. There was a lot to process, from the mess in the kitchen to the pair on the dining room floor, but time stood still at Minho’s deathly pale state, lying like a corpse in Seungmin’s arms.
“What did you do?” Hyunjin yelled at Seungmin, which the younger boy pointedly ignored and went back to monitoring Minho’s heartbeat, noting the feverish heat radiating off the limp dancer’s body.
Chan quickly took control of the situation, “Hyunjin, get a manager, Jisung get us some water and damp paper towels.”
He then carefully stepped around the catastrophe in the kitchen and knelt beside Seungmin, pushing his bangs aside to run a hand against Minho’s forehead, before pressing a palm against his cheek to try and rouse him.
“He just... collapsed?”
“Mm,” Seungmin readjusted Minho’s head in his lap so that his own legs wouldn’t lose circulation, “He was having small lapses, I think… he dropped the bowl of rice, and then couldn’t hold some dishes Innie gave him, and was too out of it to tell us anything except to get lost.”
“Yeah, well,” Chan laughed, tapping Minho’s cheek lightly, “That sounds like our Lee Know.”
“What the hell?”
The two turned around to see the younger of their managers, Sungho-hyung, staring with wide eyes at the disaster before him. Chan had hoped the older man would grant him some reassurance and aid, but instead Sungho had a panicked look in his eyes that didn’t help any of them.
“I’m going to call Donghyun-hyung,” he quickly put the phone to his ear as he reached the group on the floor in three strides, “He’s going to need a hospital.”
“Lee Know?” Chan shook Minho gently, “Lee Kn— Minho? Hey- hey- hey, can you hear me? Minho?”
Sungho-hyung shook him as well, before swearing, standing and moving to a side of the kitchen, exasperatedly explaining the situation to the other manager, as Jisung took his place on the floor and passed Chan a damp towel. He watched intently as Chan put it on his forehead, Seungmin frowning slightly.
“How long has he had a fever?” He mumbled, “Was he sick yesterday?”
“He had a cold, maybe,” Jisung was massaging Minho’s hand, recounting the previous day, “But… maybe he had it longer? It didn’t seem that bad… I don’t think, I-- he didn’t look that bad? He wouldn’t push himself if-if-if he did… right? I don’t--”
“--He’s pretty good at hiding these things,” Chan decided, as their other manager, Donghyun-hyung, walked up behind and quickly took account of things, Sungho-hyung working with the other boys to try and clean up the floor. Donghyun seemed a little more composed than Sungho had been, but he still hesitated as he sat next to Chan.
“It could be exhaustion,” he murmured, “Or dehydration.”
“Better the doctors figure it out,” Chan interjected, not wanting to risk precious time with their own poor nannying in favor of professional help.
Speculation would get them nowhere. Donghyun nodded and instructed Chan to monitor vitals as he started furiously typing on his phone. Without any hesitation, Chan started checking the boy’s temperature, pulse, and pulling him up to check for injuries. At all the proding, Minho groaned and barely opened his eyes, Chan’s smirk the first thing that came into view.
“We’re taking you to the hospital,” Chan informed with finality, as though he knew the objection the dancer would raise. But it seemed the boy didn’t have the energy to even do that. Minho tried to stand on wobbling legs, only for Donghyun-hyung to scold him and have him sit down again.
“Chan and Jisung should go with him,” Seungmin lifted himself off the ground, and Jisung looked at him with mild shock. Of course, he wanted to go with his hyung, Minho being his closest friend and his own anxiety spiking by the moment, but he figured that--
“No, no,” Minho waved his arm, “If Chan-hyung can’t get over himself he can come, but no one else needs to--”
His voice tapered off into a groan, his body sagging suddenly with Chan and Donghyun jumping to support him despite his dull protests. Donghyun put a hand on Minho’s chest, balancing the dancer with his palm. The image made Minho look very small, like a child before his father. Minho gave a weak smile, before his neck buckled and his head lolled to the side.
Donghyun frowned, readjusting the boy onto Chan gently, and mumbled, “What the hell happened, kid?”
Seungmin had a blank realism in his face as he looked at Jisung, the other boy caught between trying to listen to Donghyun-hyung’s interrogation of Minho and Sengmin’s staring.
“Minho-hyung,” Seungmin said firmly, “I think Jisung should come with you to the hospital.”
Everyone held their breath as Minho tried to stand again, heavily leaning against Chan, who was practically carrying the weight of the dancer.
“Mm, do what you want,” Minho said softly, and Jisung rushed off to grab a bag for them, everyone else widening their eyes in horror as they realized that if Minho wasn’t flat out protesting, something was really wrong.
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Seungmin stopped short of entering the dance room, a familiar figure standing in front of Chan. The figure turned as he entered, a catty look in his eyes as he bowed politely, Chan giving a proper introduction behind him.
“Seungminnie, this is Lee Minho. He’s going to be joining our team.”
“Minho-hyung,” Seungmin smiled, “We met… last week was it?”
“Mm, in the vocal training rooms, right?” Minho’s face was bright, “You showed me around.”
Seungmin nodded, and smiled broadly. Chan had been picking the members for their boy group, but there was always a secret hope that Seungmin carried, that even if it wasn’t Chan, that someone would take in the talented dancer. Minho had a sweet face, and was friendly company to keep, polite and respectful, but fun to banter with. He had a balanced sense of practicality and honesty, coupled with friendliness and openness. He was a bit awkward, but who wasn’t as a teenager? As Minho was introduced to everyone else, it felt electrically perfect, Seungmin decided. Even as Jisung was glaring at him and Hyunjin immediately hit it off, recognizing the dance company Minho had trained at, there was a fool's hope that burned. Seungmin found himself next to Chan.
“I like him,” Seungmin said to no one in particular, “I’m glad you chose him.”
Chan wouldn’t tell him then, and would even keep it close to his chest later, until circumstances and late night tears would force it out, but he hadn’t picked his team solely on their skills. Minho’s dancing skills had been impressive, and they had certainly caught Chan’s attention, but their team hadn’t been lacking in excellent dancers. Yes, there was a lack of creative direction in their choreographies, but very few groups were given those opportunities. Minho’s file had been interesting, a portfolio of “odd,” but that wasn’t what tempted Chan. He’d run into the dancer at an evaluation, and much like what he saw in Seungmin, he saw in Minho. There was no haughtiness, no pride in his skills, just overwhelming humility and graciousness.
“I like him too,” Chan smiled back at Seungmin, wondering if the younger boy ever speculated about why Chan chose him.
It wasn’t until after they debuted, that it was pieced together in Seungmin’s mind. It was in the way some of the trainees looked at them with wide mouths and nervous glances. But Chan never lorded himself over them. None of them did. But there was close-knitness to them, in the way they walked like kings, bodyguards to one another, a pack in a dense forest.
“Seungmin, you’re a beat behind.”
Minho glared at the choreographer, stopping abruptly to frown, glancing at Seungmin once before girding his expression.
“No, I don’t think he is hyung.”
“Can we help with anything?” Chan stood by the stage crew, who were frantically running about as showtime came closer. All seven boys stood behind his shoulder, readily available. No one missed the way the stage manager’s shoulders relaxed slightly at the sudden hands ready to help her.
“Yes, actually,” she smiled.
“Hey, are you alright?” Seungmin bent down, a small kid sitting, knees to chest in the corner of the bathroom, “Hey, it’s alright. Deep breaths, you’re alright.”
Honorable, loyal, kind, a trifecta that formed a formidable image.
Seungmin looked over his shoulder as they walked through the airport, security trying and failing at keeping the crowd away. Everyone was on edge, Chan at the back of their pack eyeing Jisung carefully, even as Minho shouldered him closely, glaring at the crowd pressing around them. It was a terrifying look Minho could pull, authoritative and glowering, but when Jisung looked up at him to ask him something, his face loosened, tension dissipating, eyes melted into fondness.
Seungmin softened at the sight, Chan catching his look from the back, and smiling proudly.
It wasn’t hard to see, only a fool wouldn’t notice.
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Seungmin disappeared with Jisung to help him get the bag together, gathering some clothes and chargers, and giving Jisung a quick reassuring hug. Everyone would have piled in the car and sat in the lobby of the emergency room if they could, but Seungmin was being practical: Chan and Jisung would actually be able to help Minho, and if they didn’t go, they would plagued with terrible anxiety and debilitating fears that would, without a doubt, paralyze the whole team. Sending Chan and Jisung was as good for Minho as it was for everyone else.
“He’s going to be fine,” Seungmin reassured, even though both of them knew that it was more of a hope than a truth, “It’ll be fine.”
Nobody believed that, not as they slowly cleaned up the kitchen, Sungho-hyung swearing under his breath and absently ordering the boy’s about, everyone dragging their feet slowly and trying hard not to think.
They piled into the car, Minho propped precariously between Chan and Jisung, the older monitoring his vitals as Jisung desperately tried to distract him from the situation, switching between telling him jokes and stories from the day and showing him videos he’d found. Minho would smile, and then the effort would make him pass out against Chan, and in a feverish state, he would wring his hands, everything shaking violently.
“It’s burning, everything’s burning, there’s fire in my blood,” Minho whispered, turning away from Jisung in a faraway delirious tone that broke Chan’s soul in two and froze it over, “Hyung, I’m burning. ”
Chan would hold him tightly, ignoring the way Jisung’s face was stained with rivers of tears, and the way he bit his lip, because if he looked up and acknowledged it, he wasn’t sure how much better he’d fare. He needed to be strong, as Donghyun-hyung barked out questions and swore at the traffic, as Jisung’s voice wavered as he tried to distract Minho, as he reluctantly let the nurses take Minho from his grasp and wondered whether anyone had called Minho’s parents.
“Hyung?” Jisung whispered, voice cracking as they sat next to each other, legs bouncing in a nervous rhythm as the chaos of the emergency room moved around them, “Hyung?”
“Mm?”
“What if he--? What if he doesn’t--?”
Chan couldn’t afford to look Jisung in the eye, so he threw an arm around his shoulder, hand white knuckling the fabric of the boy’s sweatshirt at his shoulder, and swallowing down his tears. Donghyun-hyung came and went, giving them updates.
“He could be in shock,” he would say, and then disappear, only to come back and say, “It’s an infection.”
There was no prognosis, no update on what the hell that meant, only the bustling halls of the hospitals, something beeping, someone crying, and the world moving past them, the normalcy of the world mocking their pain. Jisung took out his phone and looked up “shock” and “infection,” to distract himself, providing updates for the boys at home, because Chan wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t in the habit of making promises or reassurances he couldn’t follow through on.
“Everyone wants to know if they can visit,” Jisung read from the group chat.
“No,” Chan mumbled, not telling Jisung he had half a mind to send the young rapper home at that very moment if he could, “Tell them… ask them about getting our schedules shifted, meetings cancelled, and--” he couldn’t finish, eyes wildly following anyone who came down the hall.
“Hm,” Jisung stared down at his phone, “Sungho-hyung’s working things out.”
“Good.”
“...They’re asking about visiting hours. Do you know--?”
“--No, I don’t.”
Jisung typed away at his phone, and then looked up again, “They’d really like to visit.”
“Well,” Chan was frustrated, and his voice rose to a yell, “Did you tell them we’re sitting in a hall and Minho could be dead, but we don’t know a damn thing?!”
The people around them stared, suddenly quiet, before whispering amongst themselves. Jisung nearly dropped his phone, eyes wide and watery, mournfully poignant and horrified. Chan cursed and dropped his head into his hands, pushing his fists into his eyes, before composing himself the best he could to loop an arm around Jisung, pressing his nose into the younger boy’s hair.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” he reassured, “Don’t… don’t tell them I said that.”
Jisung was stiff, and he swallowed harshly. But then he slipped his phone into his pocket and burrowed himself into Chan’s side, “I wouldn’t…”
A kind nurse came and brought them water at one point, and Chan’s hand shook so hard he spilled half of it on the floor. He swore in his head, unable to apologize to the nurse. A thousand terrible thoughts cycled through his head. Jisung lightheartedly joked about a story from his childhood, and they numbly recounted all the times they’d been carted to the emergency room during their lives, either for themselves or their siblings. Hannah’s appendicitis, Jaehyun’s dog bite, none of their stories came close to the terror they were enduring now.
“My son!” Minho’s mother stumbled in, harshly crying as Chan and Jisung approached her, “Where is he?”
Her frantic cries were jarring, jolting them back to their present reality, petrifyingly horrid and sickeningly dreadful. Jisung stammered out what they knew, Minho’s father bearing a cold, stoic expression as he supported his wife, eyes darting whenever a doctor walked out. Chan couldn’t look Minho’s parents in the eye as they sat next to them, only mumble and answer as best he could, until Donghyun-hyung led them all to the doctors who were tending to Minho. Chan would peer over their shoulders, and stand behind them, letting Jisung lean against him as they watched Minho’s unconscious body, a beeping line threatening them from the corner.
He was pale, lines sticking out from his arms and below his hospital gown, oxygen mask over his face, the heart monitor threateningly interrupting every word they whispered to one another. The doctor came and spoke things that went far above Jisung and Chan’s heads, and all they could do was stare at their friend in the bed, willing him not to vanish by their diligence.
When Minho did come to his senses, he offered his mother a sweet smile, no pain betrayed in the lines of his face. He listened as Jisung started talking, senseless nonsense that he hummed and smiled at, before passing out again.
As the day sank into night, Chan’s fear was replaced with anger, an indignation at everything and everyone outside his little world. Jisung held his hand tightly, and he checked his expression, the feeling brewing inside. It did little to help him. There were no executives to threaten here, no sympathetic favors to pull, no friendships to assist him.
Only the unspoken prayers to repeat as he steeled his gaze, and swallowed his tears.