Archive of Our Own ^beta

Minho wakes up feeling unlike himself.

He wakes up like he usually does, minutes before his alarm will ring and the sun just beginning to rise with him. His bed is warm where he lays and cool where he kicks his legs, which is wonderful, like the cold side of the pillow. But he can feel it. 

It's in the way the mattress seems to want to swallow him, and the way that he is willing to be taken. It's in the way his eyes flutter open and unblur his vision, and find all of his thoughts and feelings in the textures oh his bedroom ceiling. Except, he can't quite decipher them. What is it that is making him uneasy? What is it pushing at his wounds? He knows that they are there, weighing him down, but he can't figure out what they are exactly.

For a moment, he can't take his eyes away. With his limbs pinned and his heart heavy, Minho lays. 

He snaps out of it when his phone alarm rings seven o'clock. Silently, he turns it off and gets out of bed like nothing is wrong.

Minho doesn't really like running.

He's good at it, when he really tries, but he doesn't like how quickly he builds up a sweat, so he doesn't do it as often as other physical activities. Today, though, running feels good. He runs through the almost empty city, save for a couple of dog walkers, and hangovered people with crumpled shirts or heels in their hands, taking the walk of shame home. He wouldn't spare them another thought, usually, but today Minho finds himself lingering on the people he runs by.

It is a feeling of wonderment, a profound recognition of other people's lives. Who did that young woman sleep with? Had it been a stranger she met last night, or is it someone she returns to, an old flame she can't help but get burned by, over, and over again? The older lady walking her dog, does she have family left around her, or is the Cockapoo her only companion? 

He can't wonder for long when the thought turns nasty. 

The little seedling loses it's colour in the process of becoming a flower, and instead of blossoming into something pretty, it wilts ugly and gross. How self centred of Minho to suddenly realise that there are lives outside his own; how pretentious of his heart to ache at the fact. Is he so wrapped up in himself that it comes as a shock? He shakes his head, breathes harder, and runs faster.

The September air is cruel against his skin. He pulls his mask down to feel the biting cold against his cheeks. He pulls his hood down and runs with his cap in his hand to feel it through his hair, the unstyled strands flying behind him in a blur of washed out purple. It's good. It's great. Minho can feel the ground beneath him with every step he takes, and the sky above him as the wind courses through his hair in tandem with the adrenaline in his veins. 

He doesn't know where he is running to, or what he is running from, but for a brief moment, Minho feels better. He feels like if he looked over his shoulder, he would find the weight that had resided in his heart just minutes before, now behind him as he runs away from it.

Run away, run away, run away. That's what Minho does. It's what he is best at. He doesn't confront head on; he doesn't battle fiercely, he goes in the opposite direction until the weight retreats. When it returns to conquer him, Minho will turn and run again.

"Lino?"

Minho blinks, panting. 

Chan stares back at him. He isn't running anymore. Minho looks around and recognises the company building and the door to Chan's studio. Chan stands in the doorway with his coat on and his bag halfway on his back. Darting between his puffy eyes, and because this is Chan, full of bad habits, Minho knows without a doubt that he hasn't arrived, rather that he is only just leaving from the evening before.

"Are you okay? Are the kids okay?" Chan asks hurriedly, stepping forward and putting a hand on Minho's bicep. "What happened?"

"No—" Minho begins without much thought. His eyes widen in panic as Chan's do too, revealing more of his puppy eyes than he could see thanks to his sleep deprivation. Quickly, he corrects himself, exclaiming, "I mean, yes! Yes, I'm okay, and the kids are okay!" He licks his lips when Chan visibly relaxes, suddenly feeling embarrassed with himself. "Nothing happened, hyung..."

The concern is gone from Chan's face. He laughs and lightly shoves Minho.

"Jeez! Then what are you running over here for? You made me think Jisung put a fork in the toaster, trying to get his bagel out, or something!"

Ah. Now, Minho really feels embarrassed.

What did he run over here for? He hadn't even known where he was going. Had he been running so intensely, lost in the haze of his avoidance, that he accidently ran to Chan's studio? Flushing from head to toe, Minho wonders what he must have looked like from the outside, sprinting into the company building, into the lift, down the halls, and towards his leader. He doesn't usually care what people think of him, but now he feels every possible thought burning inside him.

Chan's keys jingle as he turns around, the studio door locked behind him. He notices, finally, that Minho isn't laughing with him, and his eyes flash with an awful recognition of it.

Minho looks at the ground when he looks Chan in the eyes, uncomfortably sincere.

"Uh," he says and immediately regrets.

He catches Chan's smile in his peripheral. Ugh. How annoying. Gross. Disgusting. 

"If you missed me that much, you could have just called," Chan teases, taking a step closer and ducking his head down so that he can meet Minho's avoidant gaze anyway. "Or did you miss me that much that you had to come all the way here? Hm, Lino yah? Did you want to cuddle hyung in the morning, or eat breakfast together? Maybe you wanted me to cuddle you while you make us breakfast. What do you think?"

There is a light. Minho can see it. He can hear chimes too, or the ring of bells. It is far away, but it is there if he can reach.

His face falls as he glares down at Chan.

"I think you repulse me," he says.

Chan laughs, a dimple or two. "Walk with me."

As he passes by, his fingers brush against Minh's. They curl to hold him briefly and then let go. Minho's heart skips a beat before he snaps out of it and turns around, following behind him.

"What did I tell you, Minho? Even if we don't live together anymore, you can still call me."

His voice is light and airy, as if to still tease him, but when Chan glances over his shoulder and levels Minho with a look, he understands what he truly means when he says the words. I'm here. You can talk to me. Always. Minho looks away, the skyline a lot more interesting than Chan's weathered face. He knows all that. He's not stupid enough to think that he's alone, but how can he talk about something he doesn't even understand?

Minho grumbles, kicking a stone, "And what did I tell you about staying at the studio overnight?"

"Hey, you said it's fine if I sleep there."

"No," Minho scoffs, poking Chan's back as he walks behind him. "I said it's better than you not sleeping at all, and I know you didn't sleep anyway."

"How do you know?"

"I'm not stupid, hyung, I have eyes."

"I had a breakthrough!" Chan cries defensively. "Last night, I finished production, lyrics, and recorded a guide!"

"You have a problem." 

"How could I possibly sleep?" Chan sings, stopping abruptly so that Minho bumps into him. He grins over his shoulder, eyes twinkling with mirth. "It's hard when you're not in my arms, Lino yah. I think that's when the problem started, when you and me stopped sharing a room."

Minho shakes his head, smirking. 

"No way." He side steps and begins to walk without him. "From the moment I saw your fried hair, I knew you had problems, hyung! Multiple! One for each dead hair on your head!"

Chan laughs obnoxiously. He jogs ahead to catch up to him and bumps their shoulders. Minho bumps back.

"Like you can talk." Chan steps in front of him and stops him from walking. Taking a clump of his hair between his fingers and tucking it behind his ear, he murmurs flirtatiously, "If we're talking about problems, you're right here with me, baby."

Minho stumbles on his feet, his ears pinking.

Chan giggles and pulls him back.

"You can't do that in public!" Minho hisses, shaking his hand off of him. His eyes dart around for workers but the hallway is empty, thankfully. He fixes Chan with a glare, frowning. "You don't care about anything, do you?"

Chan winks at him before he keeps walking. Minho begrudgingly follows behind him, running a hand through his hair and putting his cap back on. He lifts his mask from his chin and covers his flushed cheeks. He didn't have the foresight to wear something hooded, so he can't hide his ears. Chan brushes his fingers over them fondly.

"Stop it," Minho says grumpily, swatting his hand away.

Chan retorts, "Did you forget that you came to me?" 

Minho stops walking, defiant.

Chan laughs, pleading his jest.

It takes a lot longer to get home with all their flirting, but Minho finds himself lost when they reach the door to Chan's dormitory. He is both unwilling to step inside and to leave. Chan spies the conflict between his eyes as they linger in the doorway. He takes his cheek in his hand and grazes the bone with his thumb, a look in his eyes Minho can't bear. He looks down at the floor, feeling ashamed of himself.

"Minho," Chan hums.

"I should go," Minho mumbles, and yet he doesn't move. 

"Something's bothering you."

Run away, Minho's instincts tell him, run away. 

His heart is different, pleading, Chan hyung, Chan hyung!

He gulps, shaking his head.

Chan smiles, Minho thinks. He doesn't look long enough in fear of finding pity in his eyes.

He lets his hand fall from his face though. Minho misses the touch as soon as it is gone.

"I'm gonna head to bed, get some sleep in before group schedule," he says lowly, his voice full of kindness Minho doesn't feel he deserves. He reaches for his hand by his side and squeezes for his attention. "I don't know if you have plans today, but you're welcome to join me. You have a key, or Jeongin can let you in. We don't have to talk, not if you don't want to. But I'm here for you Minho, any way that you need me, yeah?"

Minho looks up. His hand squeezes Chan back, overwhelmed by his compassion.

"Okay, baby?" he whispers.

Minho nods mechanically. No matter how he feels, that tender name Chan calls him always tugs at his heartstrings. 

In the shower, Minho stands underneath the water in a daze. It is hot against his skin and gets caught between his eyelashes, forcing him to blink the droplets away.

He thinks about Chan.

Chan is nice. No. Nice would be an understatement. Nice is surface level politeness, unbefitting of Chan who goes above and beyond to help others. Chan is kind. He is caring. He is full of goodness, overflowing with it, sometimes to his own disadvantage. But that's what makes him different to Minho. Minho is kind, but his kindness is discriminate. He does not extend himself to others as easily as Chan. He protects only the people closest to him. Minho is guarded. He is distrusting. He is cold and he is mean.

Chan's eyes gaze at him with a warmth that makes him uncomfortable the longer he thinks about it. Is Minho really that important? Or, perhaps, it is not Minho's worth that distinguishes him, rather it his weakness that urges Chan to be careful. He thinks about the way in which he handles him, a thumb on his cheek like one strong press will break him. Minho likes it because it is tender, but then he wonders, is that how Chan sees him? Fragile? 

Careful. Fragile. Weak.

His thoughts spiral uncontrollably. They make his heart race and his eyes cloud over, or is the steam of the hot shower water doing that? Minho can't tell, has to put a hand up against the wall so he doesn't fall on his knees. The weight has caught up. He is trapped here.

Chan is hardworking. Minho is lazy.

Chan is loved. Minho is hard to love.

Chan deserves better. Minho isn't enough.

While his heart introduces itself to his throat, Minho turns the dial of the shower and gasps as ice cold water rains down on him suddenly. He breathes through it. When did he stop? When did the walls close in?

He blinks the water out from his eyes and steadies himself. It frightens him how easily he had given himself to those self depreciating thoughts. He knows they aren't true. He knows they are rooted in insecurity he buries deep inside of him. 

He is good.

He is hardworking like Chan, like any of the kids, and deserves to be where he is today.

He is enough, and Chan is happy the way that he is. He couldn't ask for more than Minho.

Minho chants the affirmations like a mantra as group schedules begin with a dance practice. 

Chan approaches him as soon as he sees him. He looks better now. As he gets closer, Minho can smell his shampoo and body wash. His hair is curly and his face shines underneath the bright lights, cheeks moisturised. The hand he places on his shoulder makes Minho's skin burn.

"Hi, you," he says.

Immediately, Minho's guards rise. 

He tries to reign it in, not wanting to act in a way he doesn't mean, turn into the dark, wretched monster that has been looming over him since the morning. 

"Hi," he replies curtly.

Minho spots a muscle in Chan's face shift. It almost isn't there but he catches it before it smooths out in his skin.

It hurts him. He knows that it shouldn't. He knows that Chan isn't disappointed in him for not feeling better, but that thorn stabs his heart, rises up his chest, and pokes the back of his throat. He repeats the affirmations: he is good, he is deserving, he is enough. He is good, he is deserving, he is enough. He is enough. He is enough. He is enough, so why is Chan looking at him like that?

He's enough... Isn't he?

"Minho." Chan's eyebrows are furrowed in concern. He squeezes his shoulder. "Baby, are you okay? Do you need to go somewhere else?"

Minho inhales sharply through his nose.

He shrugs Chan's hand off of him and snaps, "I told you, don't call me that here."

Chan's face falls. It takes a moment of shock before he says sorry and awkwardly rubs his neck. Minho feels bad, the flame that had suddenly doubled in size simmering back down. He wants to reach out and take Chan's hand, squeeze his apologies, but the kids come flooding in the door, causing a commotion, one of them yelling for Chan's attention to mediate whatever petty argument they're having.

Minho opens his mouth to say something.

Nothing comes out.

Chan smiles at him helplessly and leaves him standing there. Come back, he wants to plead, but the monster enroaches on him more and more, suffocating.

Minho's sadness is more like irritation now.

Everything seems to be setting him off. His bangs keep brushing over his eyes, his clothes are way too tight, and Chan keeps locking eyes with him through the practice room mirrors, and his are round and shiny with worry. It is annoying. Chan is annoying. Why can't he just back off? His bad mood permeates the air of the practice room. It spreads across all of the members like a poison, causing them to make mistakes after mistake in the dance routine.

Seungmin bumps into Hyunjin, who pushes him back, which turns into a big pushing fight, and Jeongin somehow gets hurt. 

"Seungmin, Hyunjin, walk it off!" Minho huffs, pinching his nose as he walks over to Jeongin.

"Why should I walk it off?" Hyunjin complains. "He's the one that bumped into me."

"He bumped into you, by mistake, and you pushed him," Minho says, articulating his words like Hyunjin is an infant. 

Hyunjin huffs and begins towards the door.

Jeongin says in a small voice, "Hyung, I'm fine, it's nothing."

Minho ignores him and checks up on his wrist.

"In that case, why am I walking it off?" Seungmin scoffs, crossing his arms defiantly.

Minho looks up from Jeongin's wrist, which is fine, and snaps, "Not only did you push him back, but you're also the one that bumped into him in the first place, Kim Seungmin. Is it hard to understand?"

Seungmin narrows his eyes. He bites, murmuring under his breath, "Maybe if you weren't teaching us with a stick up your ass, there'd be less bumping."

Minho snaps his head up, gaze fiery. "What was that, Seungmin ah?"

Seungmin calls over his shoulder, already out the door, "Walking it off!"

Fire burns underneath his skin. Minho wants to snap, scream the practice room down, maybe even the whole company building. He is so hot and irritated he doesn't even realise that Jeongin's wrist is still in his hands and he is beginning to hold it tight, to the point where the youngest member winces.

"Iyen ah," he whispers, letting go like he is burnt. "Shit! Sorry! I didn't mean to—!"

Jeongin, the sweetheart he is, shakes his head. "It's okay, hyung. Don't worry."

"No," Minho breathes. "No, it's not—!"

A hand is on his shoulder again. It isn't Jeongin's. Minho looks over, but Chan stands there looking at Jeongin instead of him. He turns and addresses the rest of the room, saying in his leader voice, "Everyone take a break, yeah? We're all a bit agitated. Let's take a ten minute breather."

Minho wants to throw up. Minho is going to throw up. 

"Minho," Chan says, voice horribly soft. "Come sit down with me."

Chan takes his hand. Minho lets him. He leads him to the sofa at the back of the room and grabs a fresh water bottle from the mini fridge. It is cold against his forehead. Chan holds it there, and then in the crook of his neck, and then opens the lid and nurses two gulps into his mouth.

Minho wipes his lips with the back of his mouth and murmurs, "Aren't you going to yell at me?"

Chan rubs his back, sitting next to him. Their knees are touching with how close they are.

"No," he says. "How would that help?"

Minho frowns. "You're not supposed to be helping me. You're supposed to scold me because I've been a shit teacher, the kids are fighting because of me, and I hurt—" He squeezes his eyes shut. Nothing hurts more than accidentally hurting his friends. Maybe he is mean. Maybe that's just who he is. "I hurt Ayen."

"It was an accident. Accidents happen," Chan reassures.

Minho looks back at him. It isn't reassuring. It feels like an excuse. He doesn't want Chan making excuses for him.

"No, it wasn't."

"So, you hurt Jeongin on purpose?"

"What?" Minho chokes. "No!"

"Then an accident is what we'll call it. Look." Chan sighs and brings the hand around from his back to his knee, and up his thigh. "Yeah, you're being a bit of a jerk, but that's it. We're all jerks sometimes. Sometimes, for no good reason, and other times because we're genuinely having a bad day. This time, I know something's up. I know you don't want to tell me, and that's okay, but you need to take it easy." He squeezes his thigh, and when he smiles at him, there is sadness— No, remorse behind his eyes. He murmurs, honestly, "I know a thing or two about letting sadness turn into anger and lashing out, Minho."

Minho swallows hardly. His eyes shake as he nods and whispers, "I'm sorry, hyung. I'm sorry for snapping at you like that. I like when you call me baby. You can call me it in front of everyone, if you want to."

Chan chuckles between them. He shakes his head, bumping their knees together.

"That's okay," he whispers. "I like being a secret."

"Sorry for being a jerk, hyung. Sorry. I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," Chan coos. He leans over and kisses his temple again and again. "I forgive you. Hyung forgives you."

"Do you want to break up?"

"No!"

"Do you want to take a break?"

"Minho yah! As if I could take a break from you, I think I'd die!"

Minho feels his heart squeeze inside of his chest. The wind chimes sing, the light is clearer, and the heavy weight on his back eases up a little. He smiles, the first genuine one of the day, and nods, accepting.

"Was I getting on your nerves?" Chan asks.

Minho blushes as he admits, "A little bit."

Chan smiles meekly. "Sorry. I know I can be overbearing."

"No," Minho pouts. "No, I was just lashing out, like you said. I like it. I like when you get all protective. It's hot. Don't stop, hyung. Don't believe me; I'm stupid and emotionally constipated. I'm a teaspoon, hyung."

Chan laughs some more. Hearing his laughter is healing, even if Minho himself can't find the energy to laugh along with him.

The members slowly return to the practice room. Minho takes Seungmin and Hyunjin to the side and says his apologies. Seungmin returns the apology for being disrespectful, and they all hug each other, Hyunjin telling Minho that he can talk to him tonight over snacks if he wants. Minho takes Jeongin to the side too and smothers him with an uncomfortable amount of physical touch that Jeongin cries is counterproductive. He backs off after that and Jeongin tell him he forgived him and that he hopes he feels better soon.

Minho's heart aches for the rest of the practice. Chan takes over. Minho doesn't really want him to, his mind supplying him with those mean thoughts again. Chan has to take over because Minho isn't a good enough teacher. Chan has to take over because Minho isn't really the dance leader. In fact, he has failed him, and the rest of the team too. Minho is a failure. Minho is a disappointment. Minho is the worst.

He shakes his head hard. That isn't true. He knows that it isn't true, his mind in conflict with itself. 

Chan took over to put Minho at ease.

Chan took over because he cares about him.

Minho is cared for. Minho is loved. It isn't just Chan in his corner, it is his younger brothers too. How lucky is he to be loved by seven different people?

In the night, they go out to eat and karaoke, something they had been planning for weeks.

Chan tells Minho that he doesn't have to go if he doesn't feel up to it, and if he wants company, Chan is happy to stay behind with him. Minho declines the offer. He doesn't want to give in to the monster over his back and let it ruin his plans. So, he goes. He's half there and half not, mostly sticking to the audience when he would normally be ready to grab the microphone and sing.

Nobody says anything. The boys keep offering him the microphone when a song plays they recognise as compatible with Minho's voice, even after he continues to decline. He appreciates that. He thinks to himself, as Changbin, Jisung and Hyunjin sing along obnoxiously to an intense pop song, that he loves these boys very much.

Chan sits close beside him. Minho leans against his arm which lays across the back of their seat.

"Why don't you sing, hyung?" he asks, poking his thigh. He scoffs, "Don't feel like you have to babysit me."

Chan grins down at him.

"Nah. I'd rather be with you."

Minho rolls his eyes. "As if. You'd be in the studio if we weren't here."

Chan smirks. He tilts his head, and all of a sudden, his hand is in the back of Minho's hair.

He leans in, close to Minho's ear, and murmurs, "Yeah. Maybe with my baby boy in my lap."

Minho short circuits. He stiffens against Chan, face surely purple under the blue strobe lights of their karaoke booth. Chan laughs loudly over the music. The kids are far too into singing awfully to notice anything happening on the couch. Minho is more than grateful, feeling the fingers in his hair caress his head.

Chan giggles against his ear as he whispers, "Come on. Let's get out of here."

Minho doesn't know what's happening. He just lets Chan pull him up by his hand and lead him away. Chan exchanges some words with Changbin and then they are out of the door to their booked room and out of the karaoke place altogether.

For a moment, Minho thinks that Chan is going to pull him into the back of the company car. He frowns, following behind him. He doesn't really feel like doing that right now, and he's confused why Chan wouldn't already understand that. But then, Chan puts the keys in the ignition and starts the car up.

"We only agreed on karaoke tonight," Minho mumbles. "And what about the kids?"

"Come on," Chan says, a wicked grin on his face. "We used to steal company cars all the time back then."

Minho laughs, "We? No. No, that was all you."

"You were in the car with me!"

"I was the new member! I was just a boy you were pulling along with you on your crimes!" Minho laughs, pulling his seatbelt on and thinking of the memories of their younger selves. He smiles fondly, looking over at Chan. "You wanted to impress me so bad. Stealing company cars. Gosh. You were a real punk, hyung. And a bit of a try hard."

Chan rolls his eyes, driving out of the carpark. 

"Well, it worked, didn't it? You're here, aren't you?"

Minho smiles, butterflies in his tummy.

"Yeah. I am."

Chan is quiet, so Minho is too. 

He likes it. They don't have to talk sometimes. Minho is happy with silence and Chan is comfortable with it too. He hates when people feel the need to fill it with meaningless small talk and desperate attempts at conversations, clearly too uncomfortable with themselves to just sit and exist. It is only the city outside their rolled down windows that fill it between them. Minho looks out at neon restaurant signs and the people enjoying the night too. 

Closer to their debut days, they always did this together. Chan stole the keys out of their manager's pockets when he was distracted enough, or simply convinced him by being a favourite, and took Minho along with him. Once the kids were all asleep, they would slip out of the dormitory, Chan pulling him by his hand excitedly. They talked under the stars, sat in silence with each other's company, or neither sat nor talked, rather lying on top of each other to kiss.

Minho smiles as he spots a couple kissing shyly, likely one of their firsts, as the car sits at a red light.

Chan places a hand on his knee. When Minho glances at him, he finds him smiling outside the window too. Chan looks at him, thoughtful.

"What were you thinking looking at them?" 

Minho shrugs, glancing back at them. They're walking now, hand in hand, their shoulders pressed together and the woman's head leaning against the man's shoulder.

"I'm not special."

Chan taps his finger against his knee.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

When the couple disappears around a corner, Minho turns to look back at him.

"There are people kissing other people, and not kissing them too, because maybe they're going through heartbreak or bereavement," he mumbles, his eyes shaking between Chan's. "And there are people that don't think about love. They think about their dreams. And some people can't think about their dreams because having a dream and working towards it is a privilege. Some people don't have dreams. They just want to survive, so they take life day by day just to get by." He takes a deep breath, refocusing his eyes on Chan from where they had wondered. "Everyone's going through something. It's not like my problems are special. I'm just like everybody else."

The light turns green. Chan moves his hand from his knee and continues to drive.

Minho takes a shuddering breath and murmurs out the window, "And, what am I even sad about? I have my dream and I have my family at the same time. I get to do what I love with the people I love. I don't get to be upset about anything."

"That's not true, Minho," Chan says, turning a corner.

"Isn't it?" Minho sighs, feeling his sadness coil up inside of him. 

"As long as you're human, you're allowed to feel upset," Chan says through a frown. 

"What if I don't have a reason to be? What if I'm just sad because that's how I feel?"

"Then that's it, Minho. I'm sad because that's how I feel. That's it and that's enough of a reason."

Minho looks at him. "But then I'm just being a baby! Why should I feel sad if everything's okay? I should be happy! I should be grateful!"

Chan takes one last turn before he pulls the handbrake up and stabilises the car. Through the windshield window, Minho can see the whole of the city below them, the multicoloured neon lights and the endless windows of skyscrapers, people still working to make ends meet behind them. Each of them have their own lives and their own families. The night sky is beautiful. It is not crowded by stars but Minho can spot a few shy ones. This place is closer to the old company building, Chan taking him here whenever they snuck out back then.

"I don't know, Minho," Chan begins, turning his body to face him and give him all of his attention. "Maybe it's okay to just feel sad. We all have those days; there doesn't have to be a grand meaning attached to any of our emotions. We're all human and human beings feel, whatever the reason, or the lack of one. And that's okay. That's what makes us beautiful."

Minho turns around to face him too. Chan leans in. His fingers twitch over the console. He wants to touch Minho because he finds reassurance in closeness, but he respects Minho enough to restrain himself until he is ready to be touched while he is vulnerable. Minho smiles to himself. He puts his hand on the console and reaches for Chan's fingers with his own. It is a small touch but it is enough for Chan to relax.

"And it's not like you haven't struggled."

"But I haven't." Minho looks down insecurely. He mumbles, "Not like you or the kids."

"What do you mean? Tell me what you're thinking."

"I don't mean to compare, or anything!" Minho exclaims, suddenly feel embarrassed with himself, like his emotions are childish. He fiddles with Chan's fingers as he says, "It's just... I don't know. It makes sense for you to be sad because... Well, being a trainee was hard for you. You saw people come and go, and you didn't know what would happen to you for a long time. You're allowed to feel sad. And Jisung with his anxiety. Jeongin with how young he was when he started. You and all the kids with how hard you've worked." He gulps, feeling small, feeling Chan's eyes on him. "I got chosen, you know? I didn't even know how to sing. I didn't work nearly as hard as any of you guys. Sometimes... I don't know. I just feel like... An imposter, I guess."

He chances a glance up at Chan. He doesn't expect to see him frowning so hard, and for a moment, Minho is scared. Is he mad at him now? Did he overstep and say something way out of line?

"Did someone say something?"

Minho blinks. "What?"

"Did someone at the company say something? Did you read hate comments? Is that what people are saying about you?"

Oh. Chan isn't angry to the point of wanting to punch Minho. He is angry to the point of wanting to punch whoever dared to hurt him, his baby. 

"No!" Minho exclaims. "No, I didn't read anything! Nobody's said it; it's all come from my brain! It's what I think! How I feel sometimes! And I know it's stupid, a little, and you guys don't look at me that way, so I shouldn't either, but—!"

"Minho, are you kidding me?" Chan sighs desperately and takes his hand wholly. "What do you mean, you haven't worked as hard as us? I'd argue that you've worked harder than anyone because you had to! You didn't know how to sing, and yet here you are, with one of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard sing! And that came from your own effort, mind you, because the company only wanted you to focus on dance! It was you who decided you wanted to be a singer and it was you who found the lessons! Minho, you worked hard to be here! You deserve it just as much as anyone else!"

Minho gulps.

Hearing it from someone else feels a lot better than having to convince himself. 

He croaks out, wanting more, "Yeah?"

Chan smiles. His hand goes in his hair and pets his head.

"Minho. Don't you know how much of a star you are?" he asks. "Don't you know how brightly you shine for me and the boys? You are amazing. We all think it and we all see it. How much you've improved since those days is unbelievable and it inspires us to work harder. I mean, you did that in the little time you had, while I've been singing my entire life," he jokes, pulling a smile out of Minho.

"No, don't say that," Minho giggles, leaning into his hand. 

Chan laughs too. "Is that why you were sad?"

"No. Not really. But I woke up with this feeling, like it was hard to get out of bed, and then those feelings gave themselves meaning, you know? I just started thinking all of these bad things about myself." Minho pouts, squeezing his hand. "I started thinking bad things about us too. Like maybe... Maybe I wasn't good enough for you either."

"Oh, baby," Chan coos, letting his hand fall to his cheek. "No. Tell hyung what you were thinking so I can tell you it's not true."

Minho blushes. He turns his head away.

"Ugh. I'm embarrassed now."

"No. Come here. Come here. My baby."

Minho whines loud as Chan presses his seatbelt, guides it off of him, and scoops him into his lap. He squeezes his eyes shut and fights back a smile when Chan litters kisses into his face. All of a sudden, he understands how the youngest of their bunch feels, smothered. Once he whines loud enough, getting a whole hand on Chan's mouth, he backs off, grinning ear to ear with a pathetic look in his eyes.

Minho giggles, leaning in and knocking their foreheads together.

It is such a wonderful feeling that it overwhelms him. He can feel his happiness in his body, energising him. No longer does he feels swallowed whole or intruded upon. That ugly monster has retreated, and instead, it is Chan, bright eyed, angelic, beautiful, lovely, gorgeous Chan who holds him, keeps him, protects him from that haunting sadness. With his strong arms, he holds him in his lap and kisses his lips gently.

"I'm silly, aren't I?" he whispers shyly.

"No," Chan says, kissing him again. "You aren't silly."

"I thought silly things. I thought that I wasn't good enough for you."

"Minho, you are enough and so much more," Chan gasps in disbelief. "I'm the lucky one. It's me."

Minho smiles meekly, fiddling with the drawstrings of Chan's sweatshirt.

"I'm sorry."

"No," Chan says, kissing his cheek. "You don't have to apologise, baby. We all have our days. Hyung has thought a lot of silly stuff too. It happens to the best of us."

"Then I'm sorry for taking so long to say it. I haven't grown at all in that sense."

"Why do you think that? You've grown so much, baby, you did such a good job. This morning, you found me. You felt bad and you found your hyung. I didn't tell you then, but I felt so proud of you, you know?" He takes his face in his hand and grazes his thumb against his cheek. "You didn't mean to, did you? That's why you looked so shocked seeing me. That's even better, if you ask me. It's like your soul knows who to look for when you need somebody. You can't be alone, not when I'm here."

Minho buries his face in Chan's chest, his cheeks burning.

"That was gross, hyung," he grumbles.

Chan laughs happily. He feels the vibrations in his chest. 

"I'm so happy, Minho yah. People run off all the time, but I didn't lose you. I'll never lose you. You'll come to me when things get hard," he murmurs, kissing into his hair. "Thank you for putting me at ease."

Minho whines in his chest.

"What's wrong, baby?"

"You're so understanding! It's annoying!"

"What's annoying about that!"

"Just tell me to grow up!"

"No, I won't say that!"

"Tell me to stop being a kid about my feelings!

"No! You're my baby! I can take care of your feelings anyway!"

Minho groans in his chest. He lifts his head up, balancing on his chin. He mumbles, "You're crazy."

Chan leans down and kisses his lips again.

"I love you, Minho."

Minho mumbles, looking away shyly, "I love you too, Chan hyung."

Chan's phone rings. He smiles as he fishes it out of his pocket. It's Changbin and they're ready to go home now. Chan nods through the call, tells Changbin they'll be there in ten, and hangs up the phone.

"Will you come to my dorm, or do you want me at yours?" asks Chan as he starts the car up again, Minho now in the passenger seat and getting his seatbelt back on.

"That's presumptuous of you," Minho teases, his spirits high again.

"Come on," Chan purrs, glancing at him. "After what you've told me today, I think I need to remind you how you make me feel."

Minho whips his head around, scowling through his blush.

"Yours."

Chan laughs, squeaky and annoying. It fills Minho with the happiest feelings.

"There's a word for that feeling, but I don't know what it is in Korean," Chan says as they stop in traffic.

"What feeling?" Minho asks, gazing out the window again.

"The realisation that everyone around you is living a life as complex as your own. It's called sonder."

Minho tests it out in his mouth. He says smally, the way all of his English words comes out, "Sonder."

"I like it."

"You do? But it's so harsh."

"I think it's comforting, actually."

Minho looks back at Chan. Chan looks ahead as traffic starts to move again. He looks pretty like that, with the streetlight pouring in through the windows, whilst the shadows of the night cast darkness inside too. His nose is beautifully angled with his jawline, and his hair falls wonderfully down his head, framing his pretty face. 

"When we think our feelings are special to us, we withdraw. We think that we're the only people that could possibly understand ourselves. But when you realise that there might be people around you going through the same feeling, that same sadness; the struggle to get out of bed or feel good about yourself; there is comfort in knowing you're not alone. You don't have to dig yourself a hole. You don't have to bottle up your feelings until it explodes. Every one of us gets sad, for good reason and for no reason at all. The important thing is that we share that sadness with others, get it out of our systems, and hopefully, we can feel happy again, or even just okay."

Minho looks at him mesmerised. When Chan looks back to meet his gaze, he stumbles on his words and flushes.

"That's how I see it, at least!" he laughs bashfully. "It really helps me to think about it like that instead."

Minho smiles. He leans over the console and pecks his cheek. A blush blossoms beneath the kiss.

"I like sonder too. Also, I like you."

"I like you too, baby."

They pick up the kids and go home. Minho smiles, listening to the chaos in the back of the company car. I'm not alone, he promises to himself.

Jeongin answers the door to the Dimple Dormitory. Again, Minho says his apologies and ruffles his hair goodnight. He knocks on the door to Chan's bedroom and Chan opens it with a big smile and open arms.

"Big hug, Lino yah?" He coos, making grabby hands Minho snorts at. "Big hug from Lino's hyung?"

Now, now how could Minho have forgotten about that?

He sighs, and deadpans humorously with open arms, "Big hug."