Work Text:
Minghao isn’t a big crier anymore.
When he was a little boy, he would shed tears at almost everything, heart too soft, crying himself to sleep, a common occurrence over his school years. It was so normal for him, and he had grown to accept that his childhood was just tinged with a filter of melancholy, no matter how happy a life his parents had given him as a kid.
But eventually he grew out of it, grew out of childhood, grew away from his home. And it’s not like he thought crying made people weak- although, he always thought his own self the slightest bit pathetic? inadequate?- it just made him feel inconvenienced most days. When the first tear dropped, his cries turned to sobs that would shake his whole body, breaths that he couldn’t quite catch, chest tightening, and strangled words choked on in his throat. His cries made him stuck. He wouldn’t be able to calm down until his mom hugged and soothed him in a way he found no one else has been able to replicate, and was never able to properly communicate. And he hated it.
Not to mention the looks he would get, pity stares as he sat in the Nurse’s Office during recess because he couldn’t calm down, uncomfortable glances from strangers when he lost sight of his mother in the market, and the overwhelming blockage of not being able to get a single word out.
But as a child it was normal, crying was simply an intense affair, and it didn’t matter what triggered it, and he had always assumed everyone else lived the same. That’s just how it’s always been. Anything less than the full-blown trembling of his small being were merely tears, and he could handle tears. And yet, it had grown until even the passive teardrops became enough to break the dam.
It was simply too disruptive. Minghao couldn’t afford to deal with the difficulties that came with his breathing whenever he felt the need to cry, and he learned at too young of an age how to hold his tears back.
And it was so simple: don’t let pain- whether it be emotional or physical- bother him. The first time Minghao had ever gotten a serious injury, he didn’t cry, not a single tear, and had spent his time in the hospital praised for being such a “brave and good little boy.” Besides, he wouldn’t ever want to worry those around him, he had seen the sadness in his mother’s eyes enough already, and it was only ugly tears anyways, because that’s all he thought of it- ugly crying. He had felt the flood wash over him, crash against his walls in wave after wave, and by some miracle, he had held it back. Minghao had learned to hold back his tears.
And as it became a habit for him, ordinary in his daily life, he soon forgot what it felt like to cry. It became a natural reaction for his body. His first heartbreak, mourning his nana’s passing- it was all so numb.
And that was okay, because he had always thought that this was better than crying in the first place. It was fine, because there should be no reason to make such a scene, be such a mess. He didn’t want to appear like the chaos he felt inside.
-
When Minghao made the decision to fly to Korea, it felt like the first time in years that he’s allowed a tear to shed. Through lonesome and watery eyes, his parents had thought he was being strong, and in his own way, maybe he was. A drop had already gotten through, and he didn’t want his carefully constructed dam to completely fall apart.
And those trainee years were the hardest. When he was first put into a group, he thought it would get easier, but it seemed to mask his own reality. Something was always off, like they weren’t complete, and instead of fitting in, he thought he was intruding, stumbling around the mess of emotions twelve teenage boys already brought to the table. And Minghao didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t even know what it was, just that it was so lonely. It made him desperate, until his heart had opened fully to his fellow trainees, and they had allowed him in theirs.
But the years were dark, the pressure kept building up in his head, and he had wanted to let go, so many times. And yet he didn’t. He knew, whether by his own doing or a natural reaction, he just couldn’t.
When Minghao had reached the point where he couldn’t hold back his tears, he perfected how to cry silently, as if it was another form of art to learn, and he muffled his cries, slowed his breathing until he held his breath, angled his head so everyone could assume he was sleeping, that he was tired, unable to see the red eyes or dried tear tracks along his cheeks. And it was tiring, but he was out of the way, no longer a disturbance. It was relieving, to know that no one would be able to share his suffering.
It was lonely, but he had gotten used to the loneliness, used to wanting to be in the background and eventually forgotten. Besides, he still needed to improve his Korean, needed to improve his singing, needed to improve his dancing, needed to prove himself.
And Minghao was thankful for his gege, he didn’t know how he would’ve kept himself together if it weren’t for Junhui. And besides his strange first meeting with the slightly-older boy, Jun never really did anything special. He was just there for him, a silent reassurance, a reminder of home. And home led to thoughts of his family, which brought him to memories of a wide-eyed boy promising skeptical parents that he’d make it big, and it was enough to not completely fall apart, even if he wanted to.
And maybe Junhui was worried, but he never questioned it, nobody did, even when Minghao would skip a movie night, or a team dinner, or a video game marathon. No one questioned when he would silently duck his head and slip away to his bed, and if accidentally made a noise, no one could hear it over the chatter of everyone else. And no one would suspect anything when they checked up on him at light’s out, met with a face buried in a pillow and back turned, hiding under the cover of the dark in his room.
And Minghao thought he could live like this forever. Whenever the dam in his head felt like breaking, he’d simply vanish to his bed, and no one would be able to seem no one would be able to worry, not over his own demons. And even if it never felt like the ache in his soul was repaired, this was all Minghao knew how to do by now. He just let his tears fall in silence, never allowing himself to cry the way his body seemed to ache for.
And even if to truly fall apart was something he longed for, just to know that maybe, just maybe, there would be somewhere there to catch and hold him together, but it never seemed physically possible. He was stuck being unable to cry, stuck with silent tears, but it was alright. Crying was a problem for him in the first place, and there are worse predicaments anyways.
He should’ve known that he wouldn’t be able to last like this.
-
Minghao had survived their debut, their rookie years, and every year the amount of love they received from Carats grew. But the silent tears never stopped, and he had almost forgotten about it.
And he learned to take up other things to try and relieve himself of his demons. He picked up calm hobbies, slowing down to appreciate life through tea ceremonies, meditating, photography, or sitting back with a glass of wine. And almost every night, he would take a brush to a canvas, and just paint. He would paint what he found he could not express with his own body.
Besides, Minghao had made it as an idol. There were always people, fans, and even the company, that he couldn’t disappoint, and there were also his members, his brothers, that he wouldn’t dare to burden.
He’s The8 after all, member of Seventeen. If the others can do it, so can he.
-
He didn’t mean for the dam to break. And all Minghao could feel was that it was just so stupid.
He was sitting on one end of the couch, squishing Chan between himself and Soonyoung. The others were also all situated on the cushions, minus a few who skipped out- for personal schedules or just because- but Minghao couldn’t pay attention to any of them as the pressure built up in his head again. The very feeling of it made him wish he could scream, do anything to relieve it.
All they were doing was watching a movie. That was it, just a simple movie night to let everyone relax after a long day of practice and schedules. But he couldn’t. The whole day, he had felt the pressure build, and he had foolishly hoped it would fade and disappear with time, not grow until it became the only thing to occupy his mind.
Minghao forced himself to take a deep breath. Maybe he just needed a break.
“I’m going to bed,” he whispered to the maknae, a quiet message as to not disturb the others.
“Huh? Hyung, the movie’s not over,” Chan had pouted, clinging onto his arm. He had grown used to the warmth that the slim dancer provided.
Minghao managed to crack a smile for him. “I know, but hyung’s just tired, okay? Enjoy the movie,” he had told him, and could hear Chan grumble in response as he reluctantly let go of his arm.
But none of that mattered in the moment to Minghao. What did matter was getting to his bedroom as quickly as possible without looking suspicious, because acting even the slightest bit off could set off warning bells in his members’ eyes. He saw Mingyu raise an eyebrow at him- a silent question, Where are you going? - but Minghao shrugged him off, vaguely registering that Soonyoung and Chan had scooched on the couch to fit themselves better in the now-empty space, their hyung cuddling the youngest’s pout away. He just needed his brush, and if he became that desperate, maybe a few tears would begin to fall.
He barely managed to turn down the hall where his room was located before the floodgates opened. And he started to cry, truly cry, for the first time since he came to Korea, perhaps the first time since his childhood, in the hall of their dorm right outside of his bedroom. A choked sound managed to escape, and he knew he needed to get to his room before anyone caught on. The others just needed to watch their movie, and be happy for this night. It wouldn’t do if someone were to see him.
-
Minghao scrambles for his door, grateful that he was lucky enough to land a room by himself this time around, somehow remembering to properly close it. He opens a tube of paint, black, and can’t bring himself to stall and find a brush. He drops everything on the ground, but he doesn’t have the energy to bring it all to his desk. He’s crying for sure now, with the way his chest hurts, hear how his breathing grows short and rapid, feel the sting in his eyes. And that horrifying sound. He doesn’t want to believe any of it comes from him, and he’s reminded why he doesn’t allow himself to cry like this. It’s too much, too much, too much…
He smothers the blackness onto his hands, and then onto the canvas, and Minghao decides that he likes the way the cold paint feels on his fingers. He likes the way wet paint, even black paint, shines in his room. The lights are off, never turned on to begin with, and now only the gentle glow of the Seoul skyline illuminates his space. Ha, gentle.
Black smudges on black, but it isn’t enough. Why isn’t it enough? Something is off- not right, not right, not right. A voice in the back of his mind chides him, how could any of this be right? It’s not right to break like this, and he bitterly thinks that it’s even worse because nothing had happened to even warrant this kind of reaction. He doesn’t deserve this cry he’s having. And he believes it, so wholeheartedly he believes it. But he just can’t stop. And it bothers Minghao to no extent, and the pain is sharp, and he cries out louder, no longer caring to hide. The four walls of his bedroom seem to trap him in his own little world, anyways.
And he can feel it hurting, his body telling himself to slow down, catch his breath, but he stays there on the ground, hunched over the painting, black fingers smudging a pristine, once-white canvas, tears mixing with the paint. And the pained sounds coming out in choked bits don’t stop.
-
Junhui was walking past the kitchen when Minghao left the others. They’re preparing for their comeback, which means a long day of practices and meetings, and he just assumed his little didi was tired, and returned to the movie-watching group with the fresh bowl of popcorn. Or, he would’ve, but he swore he heard a sob. It was so quiet compared to the loud noises coming from his other members, but he swore he heard it.
Jun plopped the popcorn down in Joshua’s lap, and started to walk away.
“Hm? Where are you going, Jun-ah?” Joshua asks.
“Just to go check something,” he replies, hoping he’s able to keep the worry off his face, knowing the last thing Minghao would want is a crowd. He assumes it works when Joshua just smiles at him, telling him not to take too long, or he’ll miss the rest of the movie.
The movie is the least of Jun’s concerns.
He walks down the hall until he reaches Minghao’s door, and just presses his ear against it. After a while, he hears it- a choked cry. More and more come out, and Junhui freezes in place for a second, heart breaking at the sound of his little brother suffering. Why do they all insist on keeping their pain to themselves?
A beat passes, and he gathers his senses. Minghao needs him. And he doesn’t want to disappoint, especially now, especially for him.
-
Minghao hears a knock on the door, but he can’t bring himself to move. It’s too painful anyways, with the way his head feels dizzy, and the way something in his chest is pounding.
Not a moment later, someone barges into his room. He’s not sure who, his eyes trained on the black-and-tear-smudged canvas, too ashamed to have been caught. Whoever it is lifts his arms up, away from the mess on his bedroom floor, and embraces him from behind.
Minghao doesn’t stop crying, his breaths still come too fast and too brief to get any real oxygen in his lungs, and he wonders if he even deserves this small bit of comfort being offered to him. He wiggles in the arms, and eventually turns around, knowing he’ll have to meet the face of whichever member decided to check on him tonight.
Junhui. His ge. His eyes are wide in panic, and that buries Minghao in shame. He caused this to happen. It’s his fault. A strangled cry leaves his throat again, and the alarm in Jun’s eyes only increases.
-
He’s lost. Junhui has no idea why his didi is so miserable, but he can tell, clear as day, that Minghao is hyperventilating. The younger’s eyes are red and puffy, tear stains adorn his cheeks, and his breaths are cut short, cries mixed with coughs as he struggles against his own saliva. It scares Jun, to be honest.
It scares him, because he doesn’t know how to help. All he can do is hold his little brother, as tight as he can, torn between grabbing someone who could be of more help, and not wanting to ever let go of Minghao’s shaking body. It makes him feel useless.
But Minghao starts to calm himself down, taking deeper breaths, even if he coughs more from the effort of it, and Junhui loosens his hold on him to take a look back in shock. And he’s baffled. Extremely grateful that somehow his didi was able to stop the cries attacking his body, but baffled.
None of them say anything, and Minghao doesn’t look up to meet Jun’s eyes. Paint still drips down his arms, but none of them pay attention to it. Junhui maneuvers them so he can sit on the ground with his back resting against the wall, Minghao cradled in his arms. And the younger leans into the embrace, face buried into his chest in an attempt to shut the world out.
Junhui just holds Minghao tighter, hoping he is able to convey every last ounce of love he has into this hug.
And eventually, Minghao falls asleep, peace finally finding its way to his features. Jun carefully gets up and leans the younger back, before leaving the room to the bathroom across the hall. He grabs a few dry and wet paper towels, repeating to himself in his head, Just do what you can to help.
Back in Minghao’s room, he gathers the paint tube and canvas, setting them down to the side on a towel as he starts to wipe the splatters of paint off the ground. He moves towards Minghao, cleaning away the last remnants of paint, watching for any signs of the younger waking up. It disheartens him a bit, to see such a light sleeper be so dead to the world. He must be so exhausted.
Junhui carefully carries Minghao to his bead, tucking him in before sitting down next to him on the floor, head resting in his arms as the last sight he sees before he falls asleep himself is the calm rise and descent of his didi’s chest as he sleeps.
-
Minghao wakes up feeling heavy. His limbs are tired, and his head is pounding. He turns around, and almost squeaks in surprise at seeing Jun. Oh. He remembers. He remembers how Junhui caught him last night.
Or maybe, it was still this night. The world is dark outside of his window, so it’s still nighttime, and he looks over to his clock. 2:40. Oh. It's definitely in the middle of the night. He sits up, and sees that his bedroom door is closed, and then looks to make out his room in the dark.
Any trace of his painting last night has disappeared, except that Minghao sees the evidence in his trash can. And right beside him, Junhui. Minghao must’ve been moving too much in his bed, because the older starts to stir awake; he can tell from the way his breathing pattern changes. Jun groggily blinks his eyes open, lifting his head to look towards Minghao, as if the younger is his first thought as soon as he wakes up. In any other situation, Minghao would probably let out a small laugh at how cute his gege looks.
“Hao?” Jun whispers into the night, seemingly scanning the younger.
“What’s up?” he says, attempting to sound casual at the obvious concern the older has.
“What’s up? What’s up?! Hao, what happened?” Junhui asks instead, staring at him in worry.
Minghao gulps nervously, and that’s enough of a sign for Jun to move closer until he’s sitting up on his knees, squeezing his hand. “Do you remember what happened? Before you fell asleep?” he asks instead.
“I… I’m sorry,” Minghao chokes out.
“Huh? For what?”
“You weren’t supposed to see this,” he answers.
“What was I supposed to do? Just leave you be even though you weren’t breathing!” Jun says, frustrated.
Minghao stares at him with a blank face. “What do you mean I wasn’t breathing?”
“You-” Junhui pauses, collecting his thoughts as he takes a shaky breath- “you weren’t breathing, not properly at least. It looked like you were hyperventilating, almost like you were having a panic attack.”
“Oh,” he lamely responds.
“Oh?” Jun repeats, disbelief present in his voice.
“That’s just how it always was for me…” Minghao trails off, and Junhui’s gaze softens.
“Do you want to talk about it then?” Jun softly asks. “Why were you crying in the first place today.”
Minghao turns over, back facing his gege as he stares at the wall instead. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. Even though we had a normal day everything felt like too much, all I wanted to do was rest but we’re so busy right now, I couldn’t even stand staying in the living room with the rest of our members, I wanted to be alone but I couldn’t, we have jobs to do, I’m not supposed to break this easily, it’s so stupid, nothing happened I’m sorry I’m just stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid…
“Alright, it’s alright to not know,” Jun soothes, and Minghao feels guilt creep up. How could his gege be so understanding all the time? He doesn’t deserve this. “Why don’t we talk about it later?”
“I’m fine,” Minghao says, a bit stronger than when he last spoke, before calming down again. I don’t even know what I would say. “I’m just tired, alright?”
“Okay, okay,” Junhui relents, a sad smile making its way to his face. “Just sleep then, Hao. It’s late at night anyways. Do you want me to stay?”
“No-” Minghao starts, but can feel the slight hurt of rejection from Junhui- “I’m fine, okay? You need to sleep too,” he fixes in a softer tone. I don’t deserve you here.
“I’ll stay anyways,” Junhui decides, smiling a little more to himself at the fact that he knows Minghao won’t deny him out of a bed, evident of the way the younger shifts over to make space for him.
“I’m sorry,” Minghao whispers, back still faced away.
You don’t have anything to apologize for. “You’re okay. Let’s just sleep, alright? It’s already late,” Junhui says, hoping to get the boy in his arms a few more hours before they have to face their schedules in the morning.
And Minghao tries, he really tries, to fall asleep, knowing that he’ll need it, but he stays awake, far past the time he hears Junhui fall into slumber, too tired to think but too anguished to sleep.
And in the middle of the night, focusing on Jun’s inhale and exhale, guilt plagues his dreams. I don’t deserve this, this isn’t right, I’m not right, not right, not right.