Work Text:
Chan didn’t really want to come to terms with him being autistic, he hasn’t wanted to since he was younger. He surely could if he didn’t want to take care of seven other boys he cherished and loved, didn’t have to make music to keep their career going (even if he had at least a good three years tops of music), and be an idol on top of that.
He didn’t need to make himself feel accommodated, didn’t want to bring up the fact he’s been hiding this from his members for so many years either. Chan didn’t want to ask for Felix to stop constantly hugging him when his collar feels too tight around his neck that has him readjusting constantly off-camera of the footage for a new episode of one of their behind the scenes series, didn’t want to ask Hyunjin and Minho to stop their playful bickering because he has a meltdown washing over quick that he can’t seem to press down quick enough, didn’t want them to stop being themselves because his brain is wired differently.
Chan’s staring at his laptop at something he didn’t think he’d be searching for right now, but he needed to—for his own good. His hands are trembling where they hover over the keyboard, he can’t click enter, he can’t. Everytime he feels he wants to, the jolt to let the search engine do its thing, answer his burning question, it makes him feel hot, almost stuck in those shirts with the collars that sat too harsh on his neck.
He bites his lip as he stares for a few seconds longer, wondering if this would be truly worth it. Chan’s thinking again, they’d be mad, wouldn’t they? If they found out Chan hid something like this from them?
How would they react? How would Felix react? He’s closer to Felix than all the other boys because he’s his picture of home when he isn’t actually in it, he’d be hurt, Chan knows that for sure, but he can’t shake the harsh building that this would just lead to more problems, more issues to build onto the ones that were tough to sooth.
Chan makes a sound of anger, threading his hands through his curls as he thinks, he looks at the clock; 4:32am. God. His hoodie already feels identical to weighed fabric already as he realizes he’s stuck himself in his studio since schedules ended at seven, having done no work like he scheduled himself he would do, finish some tracks he’s been putting off, but he’s been running in circles about himself.
His (uncomfortable) couch seems welcoming, maybe he could just relax for a bit, deal with his constant question in his brain for another time, maybe in a few months, few years, just not now.
And, he doesn’t think of the question, it floods from his mind after a while, busying himself with work which he solved without any search. Chan felt relieved, but he was feeling burnt out already, falling to such a huge producer stump he wanted to scream, but he couldn’t, Jisung and Changbin were on either side of his couch now a few weeks later, gently chattering about random reels they found funny or amusing (mainly just animal videos from Jisung, with the occasional joke then and there how one of them was Chan, but he didn’t really pay a much of a mind about it) while Chan sat in his chair, which began to feel uncomfortable and gross.
“Chan? Are you going to work on this track? You’ve been having it open for at least five minutes now with no progress,” Changbin commented, and just like that all his energy and enthusiasm of trying to finish fizzled into nothing from the rapper’s singular comment. Chan frowns at that, suddenly moving his mouse and shutting the program down as he bunches his knees to his chest for some sort of pressure, which he learned when he was young that he did after the countless meltdowns he had that prevented more from coming. “Oh.”
“Don’t feel like finishing,” His voice sounded so boring and emotionless, he swallowed hard at the silence now, wanting to just thread his hands in his hair and shout at his stupid decisions. “You guys can go home, I’ll stay behind and try to see if I can work on a different track.”
“It’s movie night, remember?” Changbin sounds upset, and Chan immediately frowns. As much as the leader loved spending time with the others, movie night always got him overstimulated even when he tried his hardest to make the best of it.
“Oh, right,” Chan untucks his knees, going to turn off his monitor and unplug his computer from the port, stuffing it just as he always did in his backpack. “Sorry, I forgot.”
It’s quiet for a bit as Chan continues to pack up his things, Changbin frowns at his response. “Are you okay? Is there something wrong?” Changbin always can read him like a fucking book, no matter how many pages he rips for him to stop, he always just can. He hates it, makes him feel transparent, feels he can’t hide when he wants to anymore like he could when he was younger, unknown of how he’s so different from his peers, his parents, his siblings, the entire world, now he knows how different he is, how much he sticks out, how much anyone can just tell from a single glance how different he is.
Chan hates to lie, but the last thing he wants is to have to look in Changbin’s eyes and blurt out words that sit heavy on his tongue, and have for weeks now since he’s researched. He wants to be normal, it’s all he wishes for; begging for.
Chan wants to be able to wear whatever clothes the stylists work so hard on and give him with no trouble, be able to actually finish tracks he’s desperately needing to without having a random crash of unmotivation due to someone’s words, he wants to stop being difficult.
He’s cried silently on most nights where he just can’t sleep no matter what he does or tries, pleasing to the world like his life depends on it since he was young to be like the kids on his street that can maintain eye contact with whoever they need to be like their parents taught, like the kids in school that don’t have to cut the tags on his clothing or stick to foods he knows the textures of constantly, like Changbin and Jisung who don’t complain about textures or fabric.
He’s just so difficult, he doesn’t understand what he’s failed at in his past life to have this sort of life, where he feels trapped in a bubble that watches a life he didn’t want, but has to stay in until he breathes last. He doesn’t understand how Changbin and Jisung still tolerate him, he doesn’t understand how any of them do.
“Chan..?” Changbin trails and Chan realizes his eyes had blurred over in unshed tears.
“I’m okay,” He says, calmly and with a smile, like he practiced, like it told him. He watches as Changbin’s eyes flick to search for some sort of misunderstanding, like Chan isn’t really fine (which he isn’t), but he realizes so, and softly smiles. “Let’s head to the dorms, okay?”
Changbin nods, grabbing his phone and mask, Jisung replicating his move. Chan locks his studio once Jisung is the last person to come out, letting Changbin lead the way to the van taking them to the dorms.
He had drowned the other two out the minute he was in the van, in the very back, with his headphones, leaning against the glass to prepare for the terrible night of constant feeling of feeling hot and crowded.Jisung looks back at Chan with a frown, wishing he could have a look into the leader’s brain, see what’s exactly making Chan so out of it and upset.
When they get to the dorms, Jisung is hesitant to gently poke Chan to signal they are where they need to be, but the younger of the three does with a small, “Chan..?”
Jisung’s finger is pushing the already uncomfortable fabric of Chan’s jeans more into his knee than he would like as he is in a haze, he flinches as he’s sputtered out of it, staring into Jisung’s look of guilt no matter how much he wants to squirm in discomfort.
Chan sees the entrance to the dorms behind Jisung, unbuckling his seatbelt to follow the younger out, trying not to look so unenthusiastic about movie night. When he exits the van, the weight of dread fills him, hating the thought again.
The walk to their dorms seems slow, and he’s grateful. Once they arrive, he quickly goes to his room to change out of his itchy, gross day clothes into something more comfortable. He stalls coming out of his room, not liking the sounds of the other’s already bickering playfully with each other and figuring out seating arrangements.
“Chan can sit with me,” Jeongin comments, which is muffled by the wall. The last thing Chan wanted was the maknae to witness something for just wanting to be with his oldest member, he swallows hard as one of the member comments on his absence, taking that as his cue he can’t stall anymore.
When he comes out, the conversation stops, which he hates, he feels he’s done something wrong. He just wants to curl up in bed wondering what he’s done wrong while he hears their laughter mixed with the movie, but he can’t.
Chan smiles as he sits where he wants to, on the floor of the rarest couch, too small for two people to sit in, but he didn’t care, the material made him feel gross. “Are you sure you are okay with the floor?”
“Mhm,” Chan looks at the screen, frowning as he can tell the movie is already going to overstimulate him. Just by the cover, but he pretends he doesn’t seem bothered as Jeongin passed him his favorite snacks and drink, some chocolate with caramel inside and pineapple juice. “Thanks.”
Jeongin smiles, sitting where Chan looks like he’s caged in by the maknae’s legs, but the leader looks like he has a lot of room, sadly it doesn’t feel that way, he feels cramped and on the edge of feeling hot and sweaty.
The movie begins with a loud sound that already makes Chan want to cover his ears, but he pushes the feeling away to not alarm the others, just focusing on his snack and drink. Jeongin takes note of the loud noise that startled Chan, inaudibly signaling Minho to turn it down while he wasn’t looking.
The sounds were still loud regardless of the volume, and Chan couldn’t stop jumping at them, curling more into himself and disregarding his items. The leader frowns as he knows the loud sounds will get worse from here, and he hates it as loud sounds always were a big part of how he had a meltdown, which he was on the path for right now.
He couldn’t breathe after awhile of the loud noises getting louder and worse than the previous ones, each one making him curl into how he was at his studio in his chair, like he was when he was younger, he tries plugging his ears, but the sound still comes. His breathing feels gone like the breaths he’s taking in an effort to calm down don’t truly exist, he’s trying to seem relaxed and not at all distressed but it’s hard, truly hard.
He’s deemed enough of the loud noises when one makes him jolt to the point he bumps his elbows into Jeongin’s limbs, he’s scrambling up to exit the living room with weak attempts of breaths. He’s probably worried them now, but he doesn’t care, he can’t think. He’s locked himself in the bathroom, trying to find a way to get out of this, how to not fuck himself over more than he has, but he can’t fucking think with his staggered breaths, the tightening knot in his chest getting harder to take out, and the tears ready to break from the water line.
“Chan?” The hint of accent throws him home, and he’s sobbing against his arm to muffle the sobs coming. He can’t breathe, he can’t think, everything feels like it's spinning and spiking up in temperature every time he tries to take a true breath. “Hey, Chan? Can you let me in please?”
Chan doesn’t trust his voice, instead he scoots closer to the corner where the marble of the bath and the wall meets, begging to be left alone. He doesn’t hear the doorknob at all, just trying to keep his head on right and breathe correctly through his nose. He doesn’t want to let them in, let them in to see the mess of himself.
He lets himself bask in the noise of his stumbling breathing and muffled words of concern from his members that was cooled off by Minho, trying to feel better again, to hide in the place he knows too well in his brain.
Felix had made himself a place besides the door in case Chan came out, as Minho told him the leader needed his own space, he couldn’t, especially not knowing what Chan could be doing behind the door.
Felix scoots close to the bathroom again, it had to be at least an hour now, all the boys had gone back to their movie with the suspicion that maybe Chan just needed to do something, he could hear his muffled hiccups of sobs which ached his heart. The Australian hearing Chan cry at all broke him, even if he stumbled, apologized constantly and would back away from comfort after a while. Only witnessing it a few times himself, he never knew what to do because it always ended with Chan begging him to leave even if he wanted to refuse.
He knocks again, lightly, as the faucet turns on. “Chan..?” The door opens to a Chan he hasn’t seen in years, Felix feels himself shatter into pieces. “Chan..”
“Just let me…Just let me go to bed,” Chan’s voice wavers as he tries to move away from Felix, but he won’t let him, especially not now. “Felix.”
“No, you aren’t going to shut out. What’s wrong?” Felix asks, and Chan wants to scream in annoyance. He doesn’t need to be cared for, he can do it himself, he’s fine. Sure, he’s not perfectly fine, but he’s fine enough for him, isn’t that enough? “Chan, what’s wrong?”
Felix repeated, and Chan wanted to cry. Was his body language not enough? Was his silence not fucking enough? Was anything he did not enough? “Please, Felix.”
It’s weak, brittle, but Felix just steps closer, ignoring his body language he’s tried so hard to perfect for it to be read, ignoring the way his weak voice begs to be left alone, but goes unread. Maybe Felix just doesn’t understand? Doesn’t understand Chan’s push of body language and the weak voice, it just seems normal to him.
He’s so close to cracking, every step he takes on the ice that Felix follows with him, makes it crack under their weight, waiting to pull them in the icy water, pulling Felix to Chan’s truth. “Chan, you hate when we keep secrets, but now you are doing the same. How is that fair?”
Felix doesn’t understand, how could anyone understand him? How he hates physical touch so much that it makes his skin crawl but he craves it every time he sees it, how his brain infects him with thoughts he’s known aren’t true, but they feel true.
“I’m not—” Chan tries, but Felix scoffs, and it shatters Chan. The ice cracks harder, and he can feel his chest tighten.
“Yeah, it’s totally normal for you to cry in the bathroom for an hour. So fucking normal!” Felix is raising his voice and Chan is flinching at it, he’s probably raised suspicion to the others at his tone.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Minho asks, coming out from his room, taking eye of Chan hovering his palms over his ears, waiting for Felix to hitch his voice louder.
“Chan is keeping secrets from us!” Felix replied, angry and upset. Chan wanted to defend, swear on his life he wasn’t keeping secrets to keep the last wall he had up to keep the entire building he calls home to keep it from crashing down. “He won’t tell me, he’s lying.”
“Felix, what?” Minho seems confused, Chan wants to run when he has the chance, but the damage is already beginning to become bigger. “What is Chan lying about?”
“He keeps saying he’s fine, but I know he’s not. He cried in the bathroom for an hour! I waited near the door because I was so worried. When I asked what’s wrong, he just blew me off!” Felix shouted, making Chan press his palms against his ears to muffle some of Felix’s shouts.
“Felix, take a few breaths first. Shouting doesn’t do anything,” Minho tried to calm, but Felix groaned.
“You are going to protect him now? Aren’t you tired of him lying to us, Minho? It’s so unfair to the rest of us and rude,” Felix argues back, not calming his tone. Chan doesn’t want to be seen as rude, that’s all he was casted as when he was younger; rude, unmannered and different. He wanted to be known as nice, respectful, and normal, did he not try hard enough all these years?
“Felix, calm down. Shouting at Chan and I won’t solve this, you are just making him upset again,” Minho frowns as he can hear the silent crying from Chan as he tries to drown Felix’s shouts out in the middle of the two dancers. Felix pauses, watching as Chan’s body trembles and shakes when he cries, and all he can is feel guilt plague his body. “Chan? Is it okay if I touch you?”
The permission, something Minho’s taken an eye in trying, something that Chan can easily refuse or accept. The leader nods, granting permission to Minho to touch, and he does, softly making his hands known on his trembling shoulders, rubbing softly at his bare arms that were too warm for Minho’s liking.
“Let’s talk about this tomorrow after schedules, okay Chan? It’s getting late,” Minho waits for an answer for as long as he needs to, he truly doesn’t want to wait but they are so busy, it would be hard to stay up an extra hour or two, especially if Chan’s being like this right now. “We can talk about this tomorrow.”
Felix doesn’t say anything as he passes by Minho and Chan, his anger is melting into the home as he slams his door shut making the leader cry with a bit of sound now. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m so sorry he yelled at you.”
Minho’s talking to him like a kid, like people would when they realized he was autistic, babying him and treating him like he’s glass. Minho always talks to Chan like he’s glass, though, he never knew why. He thinks it’s the amount of times he’s been there for Chan when he needed it, realizing talking soft keeps him calm.
“You don’t have to tell us anything, y’know? I mean, yeah, it would be nice to know what’s going on to be there, but I’m not gonna force it out of you,” Minho explains as he takes Chan to his bed, he wants to make a noise of discomfort, but he doesn't want to be difficult. “Always here though, same with Changbin, Jisung, Seungmin, Hyunjin, all of us.”
“Felix is so mad at me,” Chan trails in a weak voice. “It’s all my fault.”
Minho sucked in a breath as he guided Chan into bed first, “I’m sure he doesn’t truly, but you would be upset too if we didn’t come to you when something bothered us or we were going through something, right?”
“Yeah, but this is different, Minho. Really different than that,” Chan mumbled as the dancer grabbed a comforter and blanket from his closet, he frowned when he realized Minho would be sleeping on the floor. “Minho, you don’t have to sleep on the floor, I can sleep in my bed, it’s okay.”
“I’m okay with the floor, but if you want to sleep in your bed, I won’t stop you,” Chan hated how confident he was, how he didn’t overthink, and didn't apologize for every single thing. He laid back down, and Minho took that as an answer, turning off the lamp. “Goodnight, Chan. Sleep well.”
“‘Night, Minho,” Chan mumbled, his voice still raw from the crying. He doesn’t fall asleep, he can’t with the thoughts running. He just stared where he could, to fill the long hours of the night, thinking how bad this talk will get.
Their schedule was packed, Chan hated it. They had a music show performance first, which of course, the stylists dressed him in a tight fitted shirt, not even cropped, and the tags scraped along his skin like sandpaper. He wanted to cry as he tried to distract himself with Pokémon on his switch, he didn’t have as much progress as Felix's did, but he couldn’t ask the Australian right now.
Felix had constantly sent him glares which he hated, he couldn’t focus, constantly messing up that made the cameramen have to redo because he couldn’t just get it right and he could tell it was affecting the others too, getting annoyed and exhausted.
Then, he did get it, and at the end, everyone seems upset with him besides Minho, who’s giving him a water bottle one of the staff had given them. “You did good, mistakes happen.” He was always patient, understanding of Chan, where was Minho when he was younger?
Chan mumbled a thanks as he went to get changed back to his day clothes to arrive at a photoshoot, prepared for another terrible stylist choice in his opinion. He just played his switch, trying to get through the day with the only special interest he truly had and helped when needed be. The stylist was more into loose cropped items which made Chan’s life better, and the items didn’t have tags either which made him even more thankful for that.
After, the schedule turned more slow with only the member’s separate schedules, Jeongin having vocal lessons with Hyunjin tagging along to go on a coffee date with him after. Changbin and Jisung wanting to go work out for a bit, Seungmin decided to go looking at shops for a bit after theirs were finished.
It was just Felix, Minho, and Chan in the dorm, and to be honest, the silence was choking Chan alive. A knock appears as Chan is playing another Pokémon game he owned, he pauses as he whispers for the person to come in, hoping it was Hyunjin asking for him to come watch a movie with him or Changbin ask his thoughts on some lyrics, but it was Minho, with a soft smile.
“Hey, you,” Minho says playfully, sitting on Chan’s bed, smiling at the Pokémon pajama pants he had changed into immediately when he got home. “Could we talk..?”
“I don’t…I don’t know…” Chan swallows, turning towards his game, anxious and unprepared for what could happen with this talk.
“We don’t have to, but I think it’s good if we do with everyone,” Chan freezes at that, and he swallows, these talks always air out more than they should. Minho had begun to fix his little figurines on his desk near his bed, sighing at Chan’s silence. “You and Felix need to talk anyways, and it’ll be good to just talk as a team as the rest of the boys are worried about you too now.”
Chan wants to cry at that, he just wanted to not have to worry about making them think for a minute he’s different from them, that he’s not normal. He doesn’t want to explain his thinking, his reasonings, his habits, or how he lives to people who will never understand.
They’ll never understand, Chan knows that more than anyone else. No matter what they could say, it would be true no one would understand how living is like dying everyday because he just can’t have a break.
“Please, I’m not going to force you, but we shouldn’t shut each other out, Chan,” Minho begs, and Chan wants to throw up at how right he is. The leader begs for his boys to come to him when they don’t want to live, when they feel so alone it makes them unable to function. He begs for Jisung to come when he feels on edge, he begs for Felix to come when he misses Australia so much he’s sobbing, he begs Jeongin to come to him when he just needs a hug, he begs for them to come when they need it, but he doesn’t do it back.
He doesn’t come to them when he feels he’s choking and there’s pressure on his chest, he doesn’t come when he can’t sleep and is calling all nighters until he feels he’s dying, he doesn’t come when he’s begging for a hug, for a sense of security in his swarm of danger.
He isn’t coming when living doesn’t seem right, he doesn’t come at all. He swallows, before saving his game, “Okay, I… Okay, I will.”
“Okay, I’ll send a text to the kids to meet here around…six, I’ll order some food, let’s go watch something for now if you want?” Minho asks so tender and caring, he feels as he puts a hesitating hand through his curls, which are a bit gross. He doesn’t want to flinch like his body prepares to do, he forces himself to melt as Minho takes his hand away after a while.
“Could we watch…uhm, could we watch that Pikachu movie?” Chan asked, ready to be shot down, but Minho agreed, allowing him to put his switch on the charging dock, following the dancer with a blanket. “Thank you, Minho.”
“No need to thank me, I’ll always watch whatever you want,” Minho smiles, grabbing his blanket hanging on the couch, settling on the couch, keeping a good distance for Chan, but he wants Minho to hold him, just to keep his thoughts at bay for the last hour he has before everything goes downhill, and maybe he won’t bask in it again, he will be alone.
He carefully scoots closer towards Minho, until he’s leaning his head onto his shoulder, to this the other gets the hint, wrapping his arm around Chan, and even guiding him carefully between his legs, moving his arm to become two wrapping around him in a bit of a harsh way, but he liked it that way, he can tell.
Chan hadn’t realized he fell asleep until he blinked his eyes and the show was gone, replaced by eyes looking straight at him, Minho’s chest replaced by the itchy material of the couch.
He rubs his eyes as he sits up, feeling small as they stare at him, maybe it was a bad idea to agree, what if it ended badly? Minho clears his throat as Chan finds Felix, sitting by Changbin and Hyunjin, looking angry and annoyed.
“Okay, we all are here and Chan is up, so let’s go to the table, it’ll be better that way,” Minho told, directing everyone to the table, Chan swallows, waiting until everyone went to have more time for himself. He could bail, but he couldn’t bail forever, he will have to do this, why not get it over with now?
Maybe he’s just scared of the rejection, of the judge, of the laughter, something of a negative reaction to spilling his guts out, how he’s felt since he has been alive. What if Felix doesn’t seem it enough, what if they just don’t want to deal with him anymore?
“Hey, Chan, are you okay?” Jisung whispers, taking note of the anxiety radiating from him. Chan nods, wiping the building sweat off his palms before walking more close to the table, taking a seat by Minho and Changbin.
“I…This is…This is really hard for me to do, and I’d like it if you didn’t interrupt and let me speak,” Chan starts, and he doesn’t make eye contact to ease the anxiety the best he can even if through his eyelashes he can still see how angry Felix looks. “I know…I know, I do, how much…how much I’ve been hiding things from you, I promise I didn’t mean to, but it’s just such a huge thing that I can’t even come to terms with myself, but I’m realizing now it’s affecting you guys too just keeping it away from you.”
Chan’s heart is beating so quickly in his ears, they are all staring at him, waiting for him to talk, come clean. “I’m…I’m autistic, I got…I got diagnosed when I was…I was younger, and with all the negative things I’ve gotten from it, I didn’t want to tell people anymore, including all of you. I thought…I thought if I hid it away like it doesn’t exist with me, I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t need to worry, but I was so..was so wrong.”
He feels he’s going to cry, he tries grounding himself by curling his hands around his pajama pants, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry I kept this from you for so long, I’m sorry for shutting you all out. And Felix,” Chan swallowed, looking through his lashes again, looking as Felix’s look was now guilt. “It’s not your fault for feeling upset or like I shut you out, cause I did shut you out, all of you, I’m so…I’m so fucking sorry.”
He’s crying now, harsh and loud with his palms now deep in his eyes. Minho takes a hesitant hand to his back in a way to sooth as he sobs, his elbows now propped on the table, his palms still in his eyes as he sobs. “I promise I wanted to tell you in that hallway, get it out of my fucking system, but I couldn’t. I was so sick of being seen as difficult and different, I thought if I just seemed normal, I wouldn’t be able to worry about it, but I was so fucking wrong. I can’t function like this anymore, I can’t. It’s suffocating me.”
He sobs harder in the silence, no one knows what to say, do, act. Felix swallows, “I should be sorry, Chan. I should, I’m so sorry. I am really sorry for yelling at you, I should’ve calmed down like Minho said to, but I didn’t, I yelled more and I made you scared, I’m truly sorry.”
Chan lets his palms down from his eyes, looking at Felix who’s on the verge of crying himself, giving him a forgiving smile. “Mistakes happen, like I say, mistakes are how you grow. You didn’t know, none of you did, so don’t blame yourself for it.”
Even through their tough argument that they should blame themselves for being so rude towards Chan, he ends it with the stern words that they shouldn’t.
Chan explains more over dinner, with their questions and concerns. With love around him, maybe coming to terms with being autistic will swarm slowly in, and he doesn’t have to worry anymore. He could finally be himself, let himself go.
“Okay?” Minho whispers as he, Chan, Hyunjin, and Felix are all squished on a couch watching a movie, Chan’s choice with the knowledge that if it becomes too much, they’d end it early with no problem. Chan nods with a smile, feeling thankful for seven boys who loved him dearly and so carefully.