Work Text:
Minho sat on the couch, only half-listening to the movie Felix had started more than an hour ago. Seungmin had already long gone to bed and now Hyunjin too was blinking sleep from his eyes. Minho loved these slow moments together with the other members. No schedule in the morning and muscles still burning from practice, they would climb on top of each other and pick out something to watch until they fell asleep one by one.
But today, Minho’s mind was somewhere else. Somewhere far from the rumbling action scenes on the TV and outside this darkened room altogether. His mind was somewhere that wouldn’t let him fall asleep, at least not until that front door opened again.
3Racha were in the studio, as always. After practice and dinner, they’d waved goodbye and said they’d meet everyone back in the dorms after they finished up at company. Despite this being incredibly common, Minho was uncomfortable. He almost said so, almost told them, not today. Come home with us. Rest. But he didn’t.
There was a sound somewhere behind him and Minho looked back toward the door again. The door stayed closed. Just Jeongin or Seungmin moving around in their rooms. Minho tried to relax back into the cushions, crossing his arms, eyes finding the screen again.
Minho should have said something. He should have told Jisung not to go.
At practice earlier that day, Minho was monitoring their performance, and he kept noticing how Jisung was cutting corners. He was slow, avoiding large movements and doing just enough to keep up.
Minho saw it clearly when they paused for a break. The normally loud, smiling Jisung was quiet. His chest was heaving, eyes closed, as he huddled on the floor by the mirrors. Before Minho could make his way over, though, Hyunjin had squatted beside Jisung and handed him a bottle of water. Jisung looked up, smiled, and took the offering. Hyunjin looked like he was asking him something, but Jisung was shaking his head. He was saying he was fine, Minho knew. But the tension at the corners of his lips told him something else. The way the smile fell off his face as soon as Hyunjin turned around. The way he stumbled on his way back to his spot when they started again.
Jisung was tired.
Later, at dinner, Minho watched Jisung carefully from across the table. The group had ordered to company, something quick before they split up again. They were sharing dishes, passing them around to each other as the air around them filled with chatter and laughter and the crinkling sound of takeout containers.
Jisung passed the dishes around like everyone else, chopsticks in hand, and to someone not paying attention he would have looked like he was enjoying the food as well. But Minho saw that Jisung had the same piece of chicken on his chopsticks for nearly five minutes. He sipped his drink instead of chewing on the meat, and picked at the noodles in front of him instead of taking any for himself. He wasn’t eating at all.
“Hannie,” Minho said, holding out another piece of chicken. He usually took it. Usually savored the food gifted to him by others. But instead, Jisung shook his head. Before Minho could ask, Jisung gave him a look that Minho knew meant, don’t ask.
So Minho didn’t.
Even though he should have.
Now, back at the dorms, Minho had one eye on the door and one eye on the movie now winding down on the TV. Maybe it was just Minho overthinking. Just Minho being too honed on everything relating to Jisung, because he couldn’t get him out of his head, like some stupid school crush.
But it was more than a crush. More than the friendship or brotherhood he had with the rest of the members. Because Minho had been in love with Jisung since their debut and did everything he could to make sure nobody else knew. Including Jisung.
It was Minho’s problem to deal with, Minho’s stupid heart wishing for something he couldn’t have. It was Minho’s stupid heart that jumped out of his chest when the door finally opened and he heard voices at the front entrance.
Chan walked in first, laughing at something Changbin had just said. He kicked off his shoes and shuffled in, Changbin following, as Jisung closed the door behind them. Jisung moved slowly, bending down like his joints pained him when he untied his sneakers. Minho followed his movements, taking in the slight shake of his fingers and the way he paused, taking a breath before standing up again.
Minho got up from the couch. “Han?” he said, making his way over to the entrance.
Jisung’s head shot up. “Hyung,” he said. “You’re still awake?”
“Lixie wanted to watch a movie,” Minho said.
Jisung blinked. He looked so tired, exhaustion filling every one of his features. Minho wanted to say more. Wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t be pushing himself as hard as he was and that it was okay to ask for help. The words got stuck in his throat. So, he just stared, still and silent in the entryway.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Jisung said slowly. “‘Night, hyung.”
Minho let Jisung go, telling himself that he was worrying too much. That Jisung was fine and that it was just his desperate mind that focused too much on the exact cadence of Jisung’s bare feet on their way to the bathroom. His biased mind telling him that it was not how Jisung’s step usually sounded.
The next day, they had a photo shoot scheduled in the afternoon. Minho woke up early, with enough time to go to the gym and make himself breakfast before most of the rest of the members rolled out of bed. He liked the quiet at the start of the day, the peace that belonged just to him. He liked organizing the kitchen when there wasn’t anyone else to trip over and then listening to his brothers slowly start to come alive with a mug of coffee in his hands.
Minho didn’t see Jisung until they were getting into their cars, Jisung choosing the car behind the one Minho had already climbed into. He turned around, watching through the back window as Seungmin sat next to him.
Seungmin followed his gaze.
“Have you heard any of Hannie’s new demos?” Seungmin asked.
“No,” Minho said, disappointed that he wasn’t the one Jisung showed. “What has he been working on?”
“I think it’s solo stuff,” Seungmin said. “I overheard when he was asking Chan-hyung for advice. More lyrical. Sad.”
“Sad?”
Seungmin shrugged. “Probably about the drama he finished last week. Or because of the beats that Chan-hyung gave him.”
Minho looked at his hands, twisting his fingers together.
“But if you’re worried about him, you should talk to him,” Seungmin continued.
“Chan-hyung would have already,” Minho said. “If there was anything actually wrong.”
“Channie-hyung has a lot on his mind,” Seungmin said. “And he doesn’t understand Jisung the same way you do.”
Minho glared at Seungmin. Seungmin stared back.
“What makes you think Han would tell me?” Minho said, turning back to the front of the car. Felix and Jeongin had taken their seats.
Minho could feel Seungmin’s eyes still on him, but he wouldn’t turn. They said, you’re dumb. And yes, Minho knew. His worries, his desires. The way he couldn’t say what his heart wanted to spill over the floor at Jisung’s feet. He could say all he liked that they just clicked, that they were best friends and they liked spending time together, but there was a certain one-sided way Minho looked at Jisung that others could see. There was only so much he could hide.
Minho was dumb, but what could he do about it?
Whatever Jisung was trying to hide for the past few days was quickly catching up to him at the shoot. They were in one of the back rooms of the studio, getting their makeup and outfits finished one by one, and Jisung slumped next to Minho on the small couch. He was pale, even with his cheeks painted with foundation and blush. It was as if the makeup had to overcompensate for the lack of color in Jisung’s skin. He rested his head against Minho’s shoulder, careful not to disturb his hair or Minho’s jacket.
“Don’t say anything,” Jisung said, voice soft and thin. “Just let me rest.”
Minho put his arm around Jisung’s waist, hugging him close. He was too warm. “Okay,” Minho said. “Rest.”
If Jisung felt safe enough to come to him for comfort—safe enough to come to Minho and ask—Minho didn’t want to press him. If he told him he looked sick, that he should say that to the staff, Jisung would push Minho away again. So, Minho wouldn’t nag, because this, at least, was something.
Was that selfish? Or just the best that Minho could do? Looking down at Jisung’s closed eyes and steady breath, Minho wasn’t so sure.
It was only later that he understood he should have made a different decision.
Most of the shoot went as they normally do. They took them in groups of two or three, standing under the harsh lights, taking direction, and posing until the director told them they were done. Minho reluctantly left Jisung’s side when it was his turn, leaving Jisung curled on the couch by himself, fast asleep. But when Jisung was called, Minho didn’t go back to the green room with the others. He on the other side of the cameras, watching the way Jisung’s body slumped against the weight of his exhaustion.
“Another one like that,” the director said. “But back up a little to let the light hit—a little more—Han-ssi?”
Jisung blinked slowly, as if only just realizing someone was speaking to him.
“Han-ssi,” the director called again.
Minho inched closer, watching the way Jisung swayed on his feet.
“Are you alright?” another staff member said.
“What’s wrong?”
Minho saw it a split second before the others. The light going out of Jisung’s eyes and his knees buckling. Minho was dashing forward and it was as if all sound stopped for that moment. A vacuum where there was nothing else in the room beside him and Jisung, falling to the floor.
Minho was too far away to protect Jisung’s shoulder from hitting the ground with a thud, but he was able to grab his head before it struck the edge of a stand behind him. Jisung was in his arms, unconscious, when all the noise started rushing back around them both.
“Han-ssi!”
“Jisung-ah!”
“Someone get medical.”
“What happened?”
Minho slid the pad of his thumb beneath Jisung’s eye, willing him to open them for him. He looked wrong. Different from when he slept, curled up and peaceful. This Jisung was just limp and frighteningly lifeless, despite the rapid way his chest moved with his breath.
Minho could hardly remember the next few minutes when they were both surrounded by staff and someone carrying a medical bag sat by them. Jisung was only out for a minute at most, blinking up at the lights and groaning before asking what had happened. It was a flurry of checks and questions and Jisung alternated between apologizing and pushing away the help. Minho heard Chan somewhere behind him, voice raised and asking why nobody had pulled him out of the shoot earlier. Minho knew he was as angry at himself as he was with them, because Minho felt the same way.
Eventually, Jisung sat up with a water bottle in hand, talking to a medic. Minho retreated to Chan’s side, where he was discussing what to do next with their manager.
“The medic says he has a fever, he’s probably dehydrated,” the manager said. “He probably could go to the hospital for fluids—”
“Han wouldn’t want to,” Minho said. Chan and their manager both looked at him.
“But if it's best for him?” Chan said.
“He—” Minho started, glancing back over to where Jisung sat. He didn’t speak up earlier, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake. “We can ask his opinion, but the noise, the people, it’s probably already too much. It’ll only be worse at a hospital. If the medic says it isn’t necessary, he’ll be able to rest more at home.”
“Without someone to take care of him?”
“I would go,” Minho said as if it was ridiculous that it needed to be discussed. “I already finished my solo shots. Everyone else can continue here, I’ll go back with Han. I’ll make sure he drinks enough and rests and—” Minho cut himself off, realizing he’s rambling. He looked at the floor.
“Okay,” Chan said.
“Really?” their manager said.
“We’ll talk to Han and the medic,” Chan said. “But yes, if they agree, it’s better to send Han home.”
Jisung agreed to the plan with very little argument. In fact, he didn’t speak more than one or two words after waking up. After the medic gave them a list of things to look out for and ways to treat Jisung at home and they took one of the company cars back to the dorms, he hadn’t spoken at all. He let Minho guide him out and up the stairs like a ghost, not all the way there. Not looking at Minho. And now, Jisung was tucked into bed with the lights off, and Minho was pacing, trying to figure out how not to peek his head into the room every few minutes.
All he could think about was Jisung falling. Jisung on the ground. Jisung pale and limp in his arms.
Minho busied himself in the kitchen to banish those visions from his mind, making congee with the hopes that Jisung would be well enough to eat some when he woke. He got some texts from the members, asking for updates, and told them the little information he had.
The next time his phone pinged, though, Minho left the ingredients on the counter and rushed over to the door. A single word: help?
“Han-ah?”
“Gotta go to the bathroom,” Jisung murmured.
Minho stared at him from the door. “Okay,” Minho said.
Jisung had his feet on the floor, sitting up on the edge of the bed. The covers pooled at his waist and he didn’t make eye contact with Minho. “I—I’m dizzy,” he said. “I don’t think I can get there on my own.”
“Oh,” Minho said, making his way to his side. He put an arm under Jisung’s shoulders, lifting him off of the bed and steadying him as they walked together to the bathroom. He left Jisung there, door cracked, and waited outside. He let Jisung take his time.
But after almost twenty minutes, Minho needed to make sure he was okay.
“Do you need anything?”
There was only silence as an answer. Minho inched closer to the door and knocked.
“Hannie?”
“Go away,” Jisung said.
Minho hesitated, torn between wanting to do as Jisung wished, and knowing that he’d made too many mistakes already. He’d promised Chan that he’d keep an eye out on him. Minho promised nothing would happen. So, he knocked again before stepping into the bathroom.
Minho found Jisung sitting on the tile floor, knees curled into his chest. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, sticking to his ribs, and he was staring blankly at the wall.
“Han,” Minho said, bending down next to him. He reached out, not sure if he meant to wipe the moisture from Jisung’s brow or simply comfort him, but Jisung shrank back from Minho’s touch. Minho pulled back, trying not to feel hurt. This wasn’t about him.
Instead, Minho grabbed a towel from the hanger. Minho started to hand it to Jisung, before that was pushed away as well.
“Do you—?” Minho started, but Jisung cut him off.
“Just give me space!” Jisung snapped. Minho shuffled back. Jisung was looking everywhere but at Minho.
They stayed like that for a minute, neither moving a muscle. Minho, because it felt like Jisung was a cornered animal, on the edge of running or lashing out. Jisung, maybe because he didn’t have the energy to do anything else.
“Feel nauseous,” Jisung said, still not looking at Minho. “Haven’t been able to throw up, though.”
“I got some medication from the medic,” Minho said. “Do you think you can swallow it?”
Jisung shrugged and Minho went to fetch a couple of pills and a glass of water. After Jisung took them, handing back the glass, they sat together on the floor of the bathroom in silence.
“I hate this,” Jisung said after a while. “I hate that I feel like shit and I hate that everyone is worried and I hate that I can’t do anything by myself.”
“People get sick. It isn’t your fault.”
“I know. But I’m still being an ass. You’re just trying to help,” Jisung said. He frowned. “Do I smell?”
“No worse than after dance practice,” Minho said.
“So, yes.”
“Maybe.”
Jisung chuckled and it was the nicest sound Minho had heard all day. Halfway to normalcy. It broke some of the tension still hanging in the air.
“I think I want to take a bath.”
“Okay,” Minho said, searching Jisung’s face. “Do you want me to stay?”
Something happened to Jisung’s expression when he said that, something Minho couldn’t quite catch the meaning of. It wasn’t disgust, but hesitation of some sort. A blush crept up Jisung’s cheek and he rubbed at his neck. “I think I’ll be fine,” he said.
“Okay,” Minho said. He nodded, standing. “Okay, I’ll just—”
“Wait,” Jisung said, grabbing Minho’s hand.
They finally made eye contact—Minho above Jisung, the harsh lights of the bathroom making the dark circles under Jisung’s eyes more pronounced. He was still beautiful. Minho knew, somewhere in the back of his head, that he should look away, but he couldn’t. Jisung’s eyes had an inescapable pull and now Minho was the animal caught in the trap.
“Actually,” Jisung said, “I think I need help just getting it set up.”
So, Minho ran the water, checking the temperature, before gathering fresh towels and clean clothing from Jisung’s room. Then, when the bath was set, he helped Jisung get out of his soaked t-shirt and sweatpants. Jisung’s skin was still hot to the touch, but it seemed like the pills were working to give him a little of his energy back. Seeing this amount of skin—Jisung now down to just his underwear—was normal to all the members living in small quarters, but for some reason, Jisung was shyer than he normally was. Probably the awareness of a sick body made him wrap his arms around his chest and look away as Minho gathered the dirty laundry in his arms and left him to the bath.
“If you need me, just shout, okay?” Minho said as he closed the door.
Minho heard the soft splash of water and a sigh of relief as a response. It was more than good enough for him.
In the meantime, Minho went back to preparing food, both for him and for Jisung, as well as tidying the rest of the dorms. Ten minutes after Jisung got into the bath, Minho started hearing indistinct singing coming from the bathroom. Melodies Minho had never heard before.
Minho listened, at first just because he was glad that Jisung felt well enough to sing, and then because he wanted to hear more of the winding lines. Sometimes, a few lyrics came through, scattered in between nonsense syllables and humming.
“...quietly, quietly, because I can’t say the words…” Minho heard. “...find you there waiting. And I’m waiting for it to be different... different from what we have… waiting for something I’ll never have.”
Minho thought that maybe this was what Seungmin had been telling him about. The song, despite only being made up of bits and pieces of half-formed lyrics, made Minho feel like Jisung was singing his own thoughts. It made him ache, somewhere deep inside.
“...selfish heart, find somewhere else to wander…”
Jisung’s voice was beautiful, soft and clear through the acoustics of the bathroom, but Minho didn’t think he could listen to anymore.
So, he busied himself in the kitchen, plating the congee and some herbal tea for Jisung before taking a book into the living room. He texted Chan an update and got a response that said they were still in the middle of the shoot and would be at least a few more hours.
Minho only looked up when he noticed movement at the edge of his vision. Jisung had left the bathroom, towel over his shoulders, and wandered over to the dining table. He looked steadier on his feet, more alive than he had in a few days.
Before Minho could open his mouth and call out to him, he saw Jisung stop at the tray of food Minho had left for him. He ran a finger over the rim of the mug and bent down to smell the congee. A smile grew across Jisung’s face, small at first, then wider and wider until his cheeks rounded and his eyes shrank to crescents. He took a spoon in his hand, looking like he was going to try the food, but just stared into the bowl.
Minho stood, making his way over to the table.
“Do you think you can eat?” Minho said.
Jisung jumped at the sound. “Oh! Hyung,” he said. The smile was gone, his eyes were wide. “Yeah, I think I can try. Thank you, for all of this.”
“It wasn’t much.”
Jisung tilted his head. “You know it is.”
“For you,” Minho said, feeling brave, “it’s always worth it.”
The smile found its way back to Jisung’s face.
They spent the late afternoon into evening watching anime together on the couch. Minho handed the medication to Jisung at the intervals suggested and kept Jisung’s mug filled with warm tea. Eventually, Jisung started nodding off, cuddling his cheek into Minho’s neck. Minho threaded his fingers through Jisung’s hair.
“I think it’s time for sleep,” Minho whispered into Jisung’s ear.
“Warm here,” Jisung whined. “Nice.”
“It’ll be warm in your bed,” Minho said.
Jisung whined again. Minho chuckled but didn’t have the heart to wriggle out of the arms entwined around him.
“Come with me?” Jisung said.
Minho froze. He couldn’t do that. He didn’t think he could survive that, not when the next day he would have to go back to his own bed and forget about what it was like to sleep with Jisung by his side. He would rather not know the feeling.
“Hyung,” Jisung said into his shoulder. “I’m sick, you gotta do what I want, right?”
But here they were, and Minho was weak to Jisung’s requests.
“Okay, ‘Sungie,” Minho said. “Let’s go to bed.”
Minho helped Jisung change into sleep clothes because the energy from the bath and the food had since worn off and he was shaky on his feet again. This time, though he showed the same slight reservations about Minho watching him peel his shirt off his skin, but didn’t say a word.
Jisung felt exposed, more than just physically. For someone like him who experienced other’s attention as pinpricks—sharp and painful, drawing blood slowly—today was about much more than just a fever. It was about all the people who watched him fall, the ones who had their hands on him and the ones who demanded they know exactly what was wrong. It was about the power snatched away from him, the agency taken away.
Minho was just the last offender. The only one Jisung felt he could show how he truly felt. Minho would take all that anger from him and more.
After they got into bed, settling beside each other and pulling the covers over their shoulders, Jisung turned to Minho. He was already half lost to dreams, eyes unfocused and far away.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Why are you sorry?” Minho asked.
“I was never angry at you,” Jisung said. He blinked slowly and Minho couldn’t help but think he looked like a cat.
Minho took Jisung into his arms, pulling him close. Jisung’s breath was already steadying out, stretching into sleep. “I know,” Minho said. He thought about what it felt like to be vulnerable, what it took to let someone close. Let anyone into the walls he built around him. And when he thought about that, the only thing that filled his mind was Jisung’s music. The lyrics echoed in his mind, sharp and true, and when Minho opened his mouth again, what came out was like an answer. “I know because I love you just like that. Helplessly and maybe pathetically. But I don’t even know what I’m waiting for. Or why I’m telling you.” Minho was murmuring quickly like he did when his tongue couldn’t quite catch up to the speed of the thoughts falling from his mind. If he spoke this fast, he wouldn’t have time to take back the words. “It’s always been like that for me and I tried to ignore it but you know, you make it hard, and of course it isn’t your fault. Nothing is your fault. Being sick really isn’t your fault. Anyway I’m telling you I love you and I just want you to feel better.”
Maybe Minho was trying to be vulnerable to make Jisung feel like they were on even ground. Or, maybe, this was Minho being selfish. But it didn’t matter, because Jisung was fast asleep as soon as he turned over.
Minho sighed, watching Jisung dream for a few minutes before grabbing his phone.
It was still too early for Minho’s body to allow him to close his eyes as well, but he enjoyed the weight of Jisung’s arm around his middle as he scrolled his SNS.
Jisung okay? A text from Seungmin came in when he was halfway through reading about a new recipe he wanted to try. Minho typed out a response.
Minho: Fed, watered, and put to bed
Minho: Did hear some of his new music though. You’re right, it’s sad.
Seungmin: he let you listen?
Minho: I don’t think he knew I was listening…
Seungmin: ah.
Seungmin: so.
Seungmin: no disasters?
Minho: None. Except that I’m trapped under a sleeping quokka now
Seungmin: …
Seungmin: you’re in bed with him?
Minho: he asked!
Seungmin: you’re an idiot
Minho: HE trapped ME!
Seungmin: did you tell him you heard his music?
Minho: No?
Minho: Why?
Seungmin: you’re an idiot.
Minho didn’t know what that meant. But by then, Minho felt his lids starting to get heavy and Seungmin said they were on their way home. He fell asleep before the front door opened.
The next morning, when it was time to get up, Minho carefully extracted himself from Jisung’s bed, careful not to disturb Jisung’s sleeping form. He got ready with the other members, washing up and dressing like any other morning, though today he was too aware of the ghost of Jisung’s fingers where they’d been around his waist and the whisper of his breath against his neck.
They spoke last night about the next day’s schedule and decided it would be okay that Jisung stay in to rest. Minho, at least, would only be gone until midday and promised to bring lunch back with him. Jisung would be sleeping for most of that time anyway, Minho told his worrying heart. They’d be back soon.
They were halfway to the shop, Minho in the back row of the car watching the buildings go by, when Minho got a text from Jisung. There were no words, just a single attachment: <JOne_wait.mp3>
Minho put on his earbuds and clicked play as soon as the attachment downloaded.
It was the full version of the song he’d heard last night in demo form. The beat was smooth but sparse, allowing Jisung’s voice to take center, crisp and wandering. Aching.
There were too many things to tell you so I decided to say nothing at all
Too many pains, too close to have you carry them too
I screamed quietly, quietly, because I can’t say the words
But the words are these: I love you, I love you, and I want to hear I love you, too
Minho listened once through, then again. On the third listen, his phone buzzed with another text.
Jisung: The song is about you
Minho’s fingers hovered over the screen, wanting to cry and shout at the same time. Jisung wrote this about him? Jisung loved him? Jisung told him through a song, in a text? Jisung texted him when he was on his way out so he had at least five hours until he could say anything back?
Minho wanted to write an essay and nothing at all at the same time. Instead, he settled on a couple lines.
Minho: Why are you awake? You better not die before I get home
It was the longest five hours of his life, but somehow he got through hair, makeup, interviews, and the drive back without going insane. Minho found Jisung exactly where he’d left him, curled up and tangled in the covers, shades drawn and the only light coming from the open door to the hall.
Minho crawled back under, sliding back into the spot where he had left. Jisung squeezed Minho tight against his chest.
“Hannie,” Minho whispered.
Jisung hummed. “Hyung.”
“I love you,” Minho said.
“I know,” Jisung said. “I heard you last night.”
Minho laughed, too happy to be embarrassed. “I heard you sing last night,” he said. He turned over, so they were face to face. Outside the room, they could hear the noise of the other members. Changbin asking if anyone wanted to order food with him, Seungmin answering, the clang of unwashed dishes in the sink and the footsteps of a couple members going by the door. They all seemed so far away.
“Can I kiss you?” Minho asked.
“I’m going to get you sick,” Jisung said.
“Well,” Minho said, inching closer, “if that happens, you can take care of me next.”
Jisung closed the distance, pulling Minho in with a firm hand around his neck. Minho could feel Jisung smile against his lips and he truly couldn’t get himself to care about the consequences.