Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It starts with a spiral, as it so often does.

Less often compared to the last few years, though, this spiral has Felix on the bathroom floor, burning in a pit of shame.

Every time Felix allows himself to believe that he can’t possibly sink any lower, that he can’t possibly fuck things up worse than he already has been, he finds himself more ashamed than he has felt for years.

Like today. Today, where Felix swears he tried. He tried so hard. But, still, he has found himself on the bathroom floor with blood dripping down his thighs.

So how hard did he really try, huh?

He sits there, hands shaking, adrenaline fizzling, as the shame creeps up his spine and burns his neck. The tears drying on his cheek are a chilling contrast, and all that is settling inside of him is nausea.

He failed, and it didn’t fix him for even a second.

He failed, and he hates himself, and the blood on his thighs makes him want to throw up, or cause more damage, or scream, or cry until he passes out, or be held.

Fuck, he wants to be held. He shoves his fist against his mouth and sobs, muffled, and he wants Chan, but he is a disgrace. He wants to be held, but he doesn’t want Chan to even look at him.

God, he wants to throw up. He has to go back out there, and he’s going to have to face him, face all of them. Maybe he can hide in his room for the rest of the night, but come tomorrow, it’s back to schedules. Surrounded by the people he loves.

Felix sobs again. Fuck, he let them down. Months of trying, months of promises and for what? He was always going to end up here. He was always going to end up a sobbing, bloody mess on the bathroom floor. He was always going to end up a failure, he was always going to fuck up his promise to them, his promise to be good. His promise to go to them, to make sure this never happened again.

He was always going to fail.

He’s not sure why he ever let himself believe otherwise.

Felix knew the guilt would eat him up, but he can’t even look Chan in the eye.

It’s all-consuming, and he feels disgusting. He doesn’t sleep for even a minute that night — how can he? How is he supposed to rest knowing what he did? Knowing how far he fell when he promised he’d never even stumble?

And all because of… nothing. Nothing significant. Nothing worth losing the fight to. Just shitty thoughts and shittier feelings versus a weak, pathetic mind.

He knows it was only a matter of time, really, but that doesn’t make it okay. It makes him a liar, a fraud, a disappointment. How is he ever supposed to be deserving of their help, their support, when the moment he’s alone, he slips and falls as if he was never even trying in the first place?

They can’t be the only thing holding him up. He has to be able to support himself, and all he’s doing is proving that he can’t, that he is pathetic, that he doesn’t deserve them.

And they don’t deserve to have to deal with him. To have to care about him, because, fuck, they look at him with such deep love and he feels like a big burning ball of filth.

Seungmin greets him with a sleepy smile when he wakes the next morning, so gentle. Felix’s thighs burn beneath his joggers, a painful, deserved reminder of what he did, and he can’t quite find it in himself to smile back.

When Jisung hugs him from behind in the living area, all loud and excitable, Felix almost bursts into tears right then and there, his instincts trying to urge him towards the gentle care he so deeply craves, in a desperation to be fixed.

But he doesn’t give in, because he can’t be fixed, so he swallows down the lump in his throat and plasters on a smile and he lets Jisung giggle and burrow into him and start rambling about this dream he had where he was turned into a butterfly, and all of the members had to keep him safe for a whole week before he could be turned back, and that’s about all Felix is able to process because his brain latches onto the idea of being cared for all over again.

Changbin’s snort makes Felix’s insides jolt, as Changbin says, “You wouldn’t survive five minutes here.”

“Yah!” Jisung yelps, right against Felix’s ear.

And as if the universe just wishes to torture him, Chan appears with a tut directed at Changbin and, right over Felix’s shoulder, his hand comes to cup Jisung’s chin with a fond smile. “We’d take the best care of our bug,” he says, in a sort of baby voice.

Felix directs his eyes to the floor, cheeks and neck burning in a silent mixture of shame and jealousy. And that just makes him feel more sick, to be jealous of his best friend, to be jealous of a dream.

It’s pathetic.

When there’s a hand on his jaw, Felix jolts, eyes flicking upwards from the floor to meet Chan’s for all of a second before he has to look away. He clears his throat, intending on just talking with Jisung so that Chan can’t speak but—oh. Jisung and Changbin are gone. It’s just Chan and him, and—

“Hey, you okay?”

Felix’s chest constricts. “I’m good.” He forces a smile in Chan’s general direction. “Don’t worry.”

And he flees before Chan can try to push anything more out of him.

(He’d succeed.)

It doesn’t get easier.

It should. Shouldn’t it? He should be able to use something, anything to get his mind off of this crushing guilt in him.

It’s not like he’s given any time to even really just stop and think. There’s practice, and then there’s studio time, and then—

Oh.

Photoshoots.

Felix doesn’t remember the last time he had to worry about dressing in front of anyone. Well, he does — early debut days, tucking himself into a corner and hoping nobody looked his way with too much focus, ensuring he didn’t pull his trousers down ‘til everyone’s eyes were elsewhere.

He feels exposed, and vulnerable, and he feels like... like he’s right back there. Like he’s small and he’s scared, so new to being an idol and being away from home, in a country where he feels like he’s being judged everywhere he goes, where he can’t even fully communicate properly with the people around him.

He feels lost, and he knows it’s his own fault. He led himself here, and he had 7 sets of hands all within reach, and he chose to keep going alone, and now he doesn’t want them coming where he is to help him out. He wants them safe and just... free of him.

And that's—that's something that's supposed to be one of his biggest red flags. Believing they're better off without him. It's one thing for him to panic and spiral and believe they don't deserve to be burdened with his issues.

But now there are these… fleeting thoughts of disappearing. And he knows he's pushing himself too far, he's spiralling and he isn't helping himself. But when Chan glances in his direction, Felix can't help but freeze, and just pray that Chan doesn't notice his reaction, because even if he won't reveal any injuries, even if nobody will see anything, the idea of exposing himself more under Chan's watchful eye is… terrifying.

And it's his own fault. Chan hasn't done anything. Chan would never do anything to hurt him. Chan would never try to make him feel uncomfortable. If Felix asked him, right now, to turn away, Chan would do so without hesitation.

But Felix can't. Because then that's admitting he's hiding something, that's lying to his face. He can't cope as it is, that is just… too much.

It's only one, two seconds that Chan watches him, before turning his eyes way to something else he wants to watch over, but Felix feels a sickening juxtaposition of emotions, because he still, pathetically, wants Chan to be watching for him, to know there's something wrong, to fix it without Felix having to talk, or act, to just come and exist the way Chan does so perfectly, and to fix Felix up like he didn't tear himself apart in the first place.

The dressing is the worst part of the photoshoots, very closely followed by the actual photos, of course.

At least when it comes to work, Felix can be professional. He's okay when he has to be, which is why he doesn't understand why he can't just be okay all the time.

But he's able to plaster on his normal photoshoot persona, and he copes with the solo shoots. And then he's paired with Jisung, and then Jeongin, and then Changbin, and he prays pathetically that he won't be paired with Chan.

He isn't.

He's done before the rest, which allows him the safety to dress back into his own clothes in privacy, unobserved. Allows him the freedom to sit, alone, where it's quiet, and it's cold. Where his thighs sting beneath his sweats from all the different poses he had to do, Where his throat feels thick, and his eyes burn, and all he knows is he can't cry, because the day isn't over, and he doesn't get to be like this.

He should never be like this.

When everybody starts filtering back into the dressing room, and Felix is at least surrounded by the safety of his members, he tries to just stop thinking. To allow Jisung to flop down on the bench next to him, complaining about how tired he is, and Felix laughs out a, "Same," and it's so true.

He's so tired. It's been less than a day, and he's so tired.

Please can someone just… just come and put him out of his misery.

(Or come and save him. Please come and save him.)

More dance practice.

Work doesn't end just because Felix wants it to, and he's honestly not sure how much he can handle.

He's trying. And it's pathetic. He is pathetic. He dug himself into this hole, the very fucking least he can do is be normal about the consequences. If he didn't want to have to hide this shit, he shouldn't have done it in the first place.

But he did. He did, because he's struggling, and he doesn't have the right to be struggling, but everything hurts and he can't breathe and how much longer can he pretend that that's because he's out of breath from dancing?

He's a disgrace. He pretends, day in and day out, that he's trying. But he has nothing to show for it. If he was trying, he wouldn't have turned years of 'growth' into nothing in one night. He wouldn't have just proven he can't fucking change at all.

Why is he even here? Working and pretending shit is fine when it’s not fine, and maybe it was never fine, not even for a minute. Maybe everything that felt fine was just lies, because he’s a liar, and that’s all he ever was.

He can’t breathe. He’s not even sure he wants to, but he’s trying. It’s late, so they’re not going all out, but his chest still stings and he knows he deserves it, but he still can’t stand it. He just wants to be held, for someone — for Chan — to look his way and see that he’s breaking.

But then he hates himself for wanting that, because not only is it not their fucking burden to bear that he relapsed, but it’s also not their job to read his mind without him telling them there’s anything to read in the first place. It’s scary how well Chan knows him, but it’s also safe.

And Felix wants safe.

But he doesn’t deserve it, and as his eyes meet Chan’s over the crowd of the others, Felix’s chest constricts and he excuses himself, fleeing to the bathroom just to breathe.

Except there is no breathing, because it was never the dancing that left his lungs unable to work, it was him. And he’s spiralling, and it hurts. He wants to cry, he wants to disappear. He wants someone to come knocking at the door, having noticed he’s gone and that there’s something wrong.

But he is the wrong. How are they supposed to notice anything wrong within him when it’s so deeply sewn into his being? When it’s the very core of who he is?

It’s everything they’ve ever known, and they’ve just come to accept it.

Felix won’t ever accept it.

He paces, shoving the heels of his hands into his eyes as he tries to fix himself, even just for an hour. Just one more hour, and then they get to go home, and he gets to hide away like he so desperately wants. He gets to be the reason nobody sees too deeply into his soul, and he gets to protect everyone else from his existence.

Vision dark, Felix ends up walking into the countertop, thigh colliding with the edge and bursting into searing pain, and it breaks his resolve, finally — he sobs, hunching over, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging. It hurts, and it’s deserved, and he can’t help it when he drops one hand to punch at his thigh, to hurt more, to just—to just punish.

It’s not enough, so his fingers dig into the meat of his thigh through the material of his sweats, and it stops being just pain, and it starts being nausea, rising sour and fast, until he can’t tell where the hurt in his thigh ends and the nausea in his stomach starts.

And it’s still not enough, because of course it isn’t. But his stomach turns over anyway, threatening, twisting and turning in his gut, and Felix wishes he could throw up everything bad that ever became part of him, but he’s not sure there was ever any good to begin with.

His vision swims, and the pounding in his ears is the first thing all day that’s been louder than his own fucking head, and his hands find the edge of the counter for purchase, and he just lets it happen as his knees buckle beneath him, and Felix slides down the front of the counter until he’s on the floor. He tugs his legs to his chest, the tiles cold beneath him, and as the room spins, Felix just hides his face in his knees and waits for it to stop, waits for himself to stop.

He just wants to stop. Stop thinking, stop breathing, stop existing. He wants to stop trying, but more than anything he wants his people proud, but he screwed that up the moment he carved into his own skin.

God, let’s be real — Felix screwed it up far before that.

He sits there, in his mind-numbing silence, dazed and dizzy, until there’s a knock at the door and he jumps so hard he bangs his head against the counter. He freezes, holding his breath like that’s going to protect him from anything, but, hey, maybe it’s just someone who works in the building. Maybe it’s—

“Lix-ah?”

It’s Seungmin.

The disappointment that settles in Felix’s gut that it’s not Chan has his vision swimming once more, but then Seungmin knocks again, and Felix bites back a sob and forces himself upright, drags his sleeves across his eyes to try to look normal, and he swings the door open.

“We were starting to think you’d disappeared,” Seungmin mutters the moment he’s visible.

Felix tries not to latch onto the we. Tries not to think about if Chan is one of them. Tries not to let his heart sing at the fact that they noticed he was gone.

Because they shouldn’t have had to notice in the first place. He shouldn’t have worried them. He should have been able to stay, and push through, because that’s literally part of the job and they all do it just fine, but, well, it’s been established by now that Felix doesn’t do anything he’s supposed to. He can’t compare to them.

He doesn’t think it’s possible.

“Nah, sorry,” he forces out. “I just—”

“Are you injured?” Seungmin asks, and Felix’s body goes rigid.

Seungmin is staring down, and Felix, panicked, drops his eyes down to try to explain himself out of the probable pooling of blood coating his thigh, but his—his sweats are black?

“I—I—” He stumbles over his words, swallows, and when he moves his hands he catches sight of red and oh. There’s blood on his hand from—from himself. Seungmin is reaching for his hand, and Felix ducks out of his way and towards the sink in a heartbeat. “No. I mean—It’s—I—It’s nothing, I just fell, I—you don’t have to worry.”

He’s scrubbing at his hands as fast as he can, because he can feel the walls closing in, the opportunity for Seungmin to corner him, and he’s actually probably lucky it’s Seungmin that came to find him, because Seungmin takes time to process before he speaks, and it gives Felix enough time to scrub himself clean before sliding past Seungmin and saying, “Come on, we should get back,” and walking on ahead.

He still can’t breathe.

Seungmin can tell something is up.

He’s sure that, at this point, they all can. Felix is trying, bless him. He always tries, and he never needs to. But it seems to be so deeply ingrained in Felix at this point. No matter how much progress they seem to be making, no matter how much progress Felix seems to be making, there will be times where Felix slips back into old habits. There will be times where he shuts down, and hides away, and that’s okay.

It’s okay, because they know him, and they know not to let him slip too far.

The problem is, Seungmin thinks they may have already managed to do that.

He’s not the only one who thinks it. But as they’re collecting their things, and heading home, and as Seungmin watches Felix in their room, there’s just… something wrong. Something different.

He’s subtle as he observes, as Felix doesn’t unpack his things, or take off any of his clothes. He sort of… seems to forget to exist, for a bit, and as the dorm quiets down, and Seungmin is totally focused on organising his bag, Felix disappears into the bathroom furthest down the hall.

Seungmin furrows his brow, and waits. Actually organises his bag, now, but his ears are on high-alert for the sound of a lock clicking, or the sound of Felix’s feet, or—or something.

Nothing comes.

If Felix knew Seungmin was watching him, he’d be back by now. Right? And then there’s the blood from earlier, and… Seungmin just knows there’s something wrong. Something deep, deep in his gut. Something that pushes him closer to pushing that big red button, that hey-we-need-to-do-something-now.

As he weighs his options, and the minutes tick by, all Seungmin really realises is that if Felix locked himself in the bathroom to cry, he should not have to be alone. He might think he wants to be alone, he might think he deserves to be alone, but none of them want him to be. None of them could ever want him to be.

Felix doesn’t want Seungmin, though. He had that chance, and, though Seungmin knows Felix gets defensive, and he hides, he just knows Felix won’t want him.

So Seungmin presses the big red button, and that big red button is Chan.

The plans for tonight are vague — maybe a movie, probably ordering food. Either way, Seungmin is unsurprised to find both Chan and Changbin already in the sitting area, as well as Hyunjin and Minho. They’re talking, loud and about something Seungmin isn’t really interested in right now, so he stands in the doorway and waits for Chan to catch his eye.

Ever observant, it takes less than half a minute for Chan’s eyes to drift over, and for him to straighten up where he sits. Seungmin doesn’t even get the chance to try to signal anything — Chan is slipping out of the conversation so silently that the others barely notice.

“Where is he?” Chan asks before he has even fully closed the distance, voice low enough that only Seungmin could catch it.

“Bathroom. End of the hall,” Seungmin whispers, just as quiet.

Chan starts to step away, and Seungmin stops him with a, “Hyung,” and he wants to say something like it’s bad, but he meets Chan’s eyes and they’re—they’re full of dread, or fear, or—or something, and Seungmin’s voice dies in his throat because it doesn’t really seem like Chan needs to be told anything.

When Seungmin shakes his head, Chan makes his move.

He’s swift as he walks past each room, right to the last door at the end of the hall. He checks around him, ensures there’s no one aware (no one except Seungmin), before he knocks, and, oh-so-soft, says, “Lix? Baby, you in there?”

He doesn’t get a response, but there’s the sound of something small clattering, and slight shuffling, and a sharp intake of breath, all of which have Chan’s body tensing. He knows this is bad, he’s just not sure exactly what he’s going to be walking in on.

Felix shut down days ago, albeit with attempts to prove otherwise. He’s always so selfless, pushing the needs of others before himself, even when he’s clearly losing himself down a dark and lonely path. He has still been checking in with Jeongin about the ankle that’s been bothering him lately, he has still been doing Hyunjin’s makeup the way he knows Hyunjin likes, the way their noonas don’t always manage to capture perfectly. He’s been eating with Changbin even though eating is one of the hardest things for him when he’s struggling, because he knows Changbin is going through a little bit of a mental funk and, well, Felix is Felix.

So sweet, but not to himself. Never to himself.

Chan turns his back to the hallway, and knocks again. “Baby, can you talk to me? Can you let me know you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” comes Felix’s shaky voice, as if out of instinct, pulled from him in an effort to not be a burden.

Chan’s hand clenches to a fist where he’s leaning on his forearm against the door. He just—he needs to get in there so he can take care of Felix. So he can remind Felix that it’s okay for him to be taken care of, too.

“You don’t have to be,” Chan says, quiet but he knows Felix can hear him. “Not with me.”

Chan is met with more silence, and he shuts his eyes and tries to breathe and tries not to think, because he’ll drop down a spiral with no direction and end up worrying that this is going to be worse than it is. It’ll be fine.

He’s not sure he believes that.

“Baby,” Chan tries again, “please let me in.”

“No.” He’s sniffling, which means he’s crying, and that’s both spiking Chan’s panic and breaking his heart. “I—I can’t.”

He can’t.

Chan straightens up. “Why?”

There’s a whimper, and another sniffle, and, okay, if Chan wasn’t on high alert before, he is now. Any tiny shred of him that may somehow have given in and let Felix be has disappeared, and Chan doesn’t care how long it takes — Felix is going to let him in (figuratively or, well, literally).

“Can’t. I can’t—I—'“ There’s more shuffling, and more sniffling, and Chan winces when there’s a small sob. “You’ll be mad, Channie, an’ I—”

“Baby, I could never be mad at you,” Chan says before he can stop himself, and he’s not blind to Felix’s lack of honorifics, but that’s not his priority right now. Whatever Felix’s headspace is, he’s guarded, and Chan needs to chip away at those walls, make him feel safe, and loved, before he can in good conscience try to talk Felix down.

Or at the very least, he needs to try.

“Will,” Felix insists, and it does nothing but have Chan’s heart hammering harder in his chest. “Please.”

Chan doesn’t know what he’s begging for, but it hurts, and it hurts to know that Felix thinks Chan really could ever be mad at him. The fact that Felix fears anger so much that he shuts down instead of reaching out, instead of being vulnerable, despite how much he loves them and they love him.

“Lix, baby, Channie promises he won’t be mad at you, no matter what.” Chan is begging at this point, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. “Channie just wants to take care of you. You know that, yeah?”

Felix needs to know that. He needs to know that that’s what matters. That he is what matters. That he shouldn’t be locked up, away from everyone, from his family, when they are all here so willing to help him. He is so precious to them, and Chan would give anything to help Felix realise that.

When all he’s met with is sniffles, Chan tries once more. “Let Channie in? Unlock the door for Channie, baby. He’s not gonna be mad.”

He waits, with bated breath, as the silent seconds stretch on, and he tries to convince himself that he just can’t hear anything over the pounding of his pulse in his ears. But then he is hearing something, it’s shuffling, and there’s a shadow beneath the door and the door unlocks, and there’s more shuffling as Felix most likely backs away from it.

Chan refrains from bursting in, despite his desperation to have Felix in his arms. He twists the doorknob with intent, slow enough for Felix to voice any hesitation. But Felix doesn’t, so Chan continues, slowly pushing the door open and stepping inside.

He can’t help but scan everything the moment he has vision, while urging the door shut behind him.

Mad. He’s supposed to be mad, but—but it’s just Felix, tucked up against the bathtub, eyes puffy and red and fists clenched, hoodie discarded, and this is nothing, nothing Chan hasn’t seen or dealt with before. Why does Felix think he should be mad?

Chan doesn’t let himself idle. He crouches down in front of Felix, giving him a once over, and saying, “Hey, hey, why are you crying?”

He holds his hands out, palms up, an offering for Felix to hold. But Felix can’t seem to meet his eyes, sniffling as he stares down at his fists.

“You pr—You promise? No mad?”

Chan’s shoulders sag, his voice soft as he promises, “No mad, baby. Just gotta tell Channie what’s going on, yeah? Let me help you.”

Felix lets out another small sob, and every instinct in Chan is screaming to hold. His baby looks so—so alone, and cold, shoved up against the edge of the bathtub, in his clothes from their schedules, instead of tucked in Chan’s arms and draped in Chan’s hoodie.

Felix brings one of his shaky fists to Chan’s still-waiting palms, resting it there, like he’s waiting for something. Whether he finds it or not, Chan doesn’t know, but Felix sobs out a small, “‘m’sorry,” before dropping something into Chan’s palm.

It’s small, and it’s shining, and it takes Chan a disgustingly long few seconds to realise what it is, but when he does, he nearly drops it.

It’s a razor blade.

As soon as his eyes fly up to Felix’s, Felix is sobbing and curling in on himself, tucking his knees to his chest and chanting, “Sorry, ‘m’sorry,” and Chan is genuinely going to throw up.

Chan shoves the blade aside, eyes scanning over Felix in a rush, but there’s—there’s nothing to see. Felix is in a t-shirt and sweats, and there’s nothing to see.

“Hey, hey, ssh,” Chan hushes, and he’s dropping to his knees and closing the distance between them as much as he can, hands coming to cradle Felix’s face and urge him to look at Chan, and Chan doesn’t know how he’s even moving, because he feels like he might pass out. “Baby, look at me. Did you do anything?”

Chan already knows the answer, but he refuses to accept it. If Felix didn’t do anything, he’d have already said so. He’d have been so scared of Chan thinking the worst that he would have jumped ahead of it way before now.

But Chan still has to ask.

“Please,” Felix sobs, like he’s begging Chan not to ask, or not to make him say it, or not to make it real, and he’s still not meeting Chan’s eyes, and Chan stops trying to force him and starts focusing on trying to get him to open up.

“Baby, I won’t be mad,” he says, and he’s almost stern with it. “But if you’re hurt, I need to know.”

“Hurt,” Felix parrots, and Chan doesn’t know if that’s a confession or just all Felix can manage to make sense of right now. But then another, “‘m’sorry,” and Chan can’t fucking breathe.

“No sorries,” Chan whispers, and his voice is shaking, and he is absolutely not allowed to cry (under any circumstances). “Please let me take care of you. Please tell me if you’re hurt.”

“Hurt,” Felix whispers again, but this time he moves. He lowers his knees from his chest, and his shaky little hands moves to his thighs, and Chan isn’t sure if that’s meant to be him telling Chan where he could be hurt, but either way it works.

Chan’s hands move to join his. Where Felix’s are just hovering, Chan slides his fingers around Felix’s wrists and rests his hands on top of Felix’s, just holding.

“Can we take these off?” he asks, his voice gentle because while this does need to happen, he won’t force Felix into it immediately.

Felix’s hands clench again, and he sniffles, and then, “Don’t—Don’ wan’—”

He’s shying away from Chan a little, angling his body away and trying to pull his knees up, and Chan doesn’t want him to be ashamed. Fuck, Felix never has to be ashamed of anything. but especially not this. Not when he tried so fucking hard to fight, not when he has been suffering so much that the only way out he feels that he has is to—to hurt himself.

“Baby,” Chan whispers, and his fingers surround Felix’s hands and he squeezes, urging Felix to stop. “Please don’t hide from me, you don’t have to hide.”

Felix shakes his head, crying softly, but his body stops moving, sinking back into the floor.

“Let me take care of you. Please. I just wanna take care of you.”

Felix meets his eyes, finally, and Chan’s hands tremble where he’s still holding onto Felix, but he doesn’t dare even blink. He doesn’t dare give Felix even the slightest excuse to doubt him. Felix has done enough doubting, he deserves to believe in someone, to believe he deserves anything good. For how long has he been shutting himself away like this, trying to handle these thoughts alone? It’s no surprise it’s become too much for him.

When Felix nods, hesitant but still a nod, Chan gives him a few seconds before he moves at all. He starts by just gently guiding Felix’s hands away from his thighs, thumbs massaging into Felix’s wrists. Felix doesn’t resist but he’s still trembling, and Chan really just wants to bundle him up and hold him, and never let him go, but he can do all that after he takes care of any wounds.

He moves his hands to Felix’s hips, again hesitating. When Felix doesn’t fight, Chan says, “Can you sit up for me?” Felix straightens up in his place, and Chan gives him a gentle squeeze. “On your knees, baby.”

Felix lets out a soft sound, one Chan might interpret as protest if it weren’t for the fact that Felix is actively pushing himself up, albeit shakily. Chan keeps his hands at Felix’s hips, waiting until Felix is upright before he shifts them to the waistband of Felix’s sweats.

“Gonna pull these down a bit, okay, baby?” He waits for Felix’s nod once again, and isn’t blind to the wobbling of Felix’s bottom lip or the shining of his eyes, and Chan hates making him feel like this. But he can’t allow Felix to fall so deep into his mind and not experience aftercare. He needs to know he deserves this, he needs to know that he’s allowed this, and he just fucking needs to be taken care of.

Chan knows him well enough to know that this is what Felix wants, he just doesn’t know how to accept it. But he’s doing so well, letting Chan do as he needs. He’s doing so well, listening and allowing but still voicing when Chan is going too fast.

Chan loosens the tie of Felix’s sweats as much as possible before tugging them down, and he sees red before he’s finished, and he swallows down the urge to throw up and tugs Felix’s sweats down to his knees.

There’s cuts. More than Chan feared. Some ever-so-slightly scabbed over, so clearly not from today. But some… some have spread blood across his thighs from their movement against Felix’s sweats, clearly from—fuck, from when Chan came knocking and Felix tried to hide.

“Oh, my baby,” Chan whispers, and he can’t help the way his voice breaks.

But he won’t cry. He can cry when he’s alone and doesn’t have Felix to take care of. He can cry when he’s not here, when he doesn’t have Felix shaking under his hands, because it only takes a moment before Felix is the one sobbing out, dropping back down onto the floor and hiding his face in his fists like—like he’s scared.

And now that the biggest hurdle has been overcome, Chan doesn’t resist the urge any longer. He slides up beside Felix, right up against the bathtub, and he wraps his arms around Felix’s waist and pulls him sideways against his chest, and Felix crumbles.

His fingers come up to cling to Chan’s arm and he just sobs, loud and harsh. He’s sobbing out apologies immediately, like they’re all he can think about, like they’re important, like he ever fucking has to feel guilty for reaching his limit.

“—Sorry—”

“Baby, baby, ssh.” Chan tucks Felix’s head under his chin, holding him as tight as he can, trying so desperately to squeeze everything bad out of him, as stupid as that may be. “I got you, it’s okay.”

“'S—'S not okay—”

“It is okay, baby,” Chan whispers. “Everything is gonna be okay. Yeah? Nothing bad is gonna happen.”

Felix sobs. “But—”

“Baby,” Chan whispers, and he tilts his head down to press a kiss to the crown of Felix’s head, and he ducks down more to press a kiss to the side of Felix’s head, enough to try to meet his eyes. Felix tries, their eyes inches apart. “It is going to be okay. I’m gonna patch you up, then I’m gonna take care of you, and when you’re ready we will talk about what’s been going on inside that head of yours. Nothing bad, yeah?”

Felix sniffles, dropping his head to hide in Chan’s arm again, and Chan lets him. Lets him take what he needs, because that is what Chan will always offer him. Anything he needs, no matter what. If it’s safe, Chan will give. And what’s more safe than just holding his boy?

He sways them slightly, trying to at the very least bring Felix’s breathing into a steady rhythm before he goes anywhere near that treating-the-wounds territory again. The wounds that make Chan sick. It’s not like he doesn’t understand that Felix could do something like that — Chan has known enough people in his life who have hurt themselves.

But this is Felix. This is… this is… this is cruel. This shouldn’t be happening to him, he shouldn’t have to feel so shit about everything. He shouldn’t be so fucked up from his past experiences that he can’t fathom opening up to people and receiving care. That he’s just scared of anger, when he’s the one who is hurt. When he’s the one who’s bleeding, and who’s in pieces, and there’s no way to just fix it. There’s no way to just… make him believe that he can hurt without being the problem. He can hurt without being a burden.

Chan presses a kiss to Felix’s head, not pulling away as he whispers, “So can Channie help clean you up, hm?”

He waits for permission. This is a step Chan has never had to take before, not for this. He has cleaned up Felix’s hands when he clenches them so hard his nails cut into his skin. He has bandaged up Felix countless times, but none of them have been as a direct result of him trying to hurt himself.

And if it feels big for Chan, it’s going to feel impossibly huge for Felix.

Felix nods against Chan’s arm, letting out a soft, scared sound. A squeak. “‘kay,” he mumbles, as he lifts his head from Chan’s arm.

He doesn’t move far. Just a few inches, eyes blurry and red, and if Chan didn’t have such fresh, open wounds to take care of, he wouldn’t feel so rushed. But the sooner he takes care of them, the better, and it also gets them to the whole taking-care-of-him thing, where they’re together and Chan can hold him for as long as Felix needs, and he can do everything Felix asks of him without having anything else to fret over first.

“Okay?” Chan checks, just once more. Felix nods, and Chan allows that to be enough. “Channie's gonna help you up, then, baby.”

And he does. He slides out from Felix’s space just slightly, enough so that he’s able to stand. When he does, he reaches his hands down for Felix to help Felix up, too, hands keeping Felix steady and allowing Felix to put as much weight on Chan as he needs to get up. Chan tries not to wince at the pained sound that comes from Felix’s mouth, or the way Felix’s legs wobble beneath him. Chan doesn’t know if it’s from pain, or from weakness, but either way he hates it.

Once he has Felix stable, Chan crouches down to slide Felix’s sweats the rest of the way down and ask him to, “Step out of ‘em, baby.” Felix does, shaky and hands on Chan’s shoulders for support.

Chan doesn’t let himself really look at the damage on Felix’s thighs right now. Not yet. Not until he’s ready to fix him up, he’s not sure he’d be able to breathe for that long.

He also doesn’t want Felix feeling stared at. Observed. Anything Chan can do to make him less likely to hide away, he’ll do.

He gently guides Felix backwards, slowly until his back pushes up against the counter. “Up, baby,” he says, arms around Felix’s sides to pat the countertop behind him. “Might be cold, yeah? But up we go.”

He really doesn’t make Felix do much of the work, just waits for Felix to place his hands on the countertop before Chan helps him up until he’s sat and settled. Still, Chan doesn’t turn his attention to his thighs.

“There we go,” he says, and he’s not sure how but he manages a smile. Felix’s eyes are still just filled with tears, the occasional tear just dripping down his cheek. “Channie’s gonna take a proper look now, okay?”

Felix manages a tiny nod, though his hands curl up in his lap. But it’s enough.

Chan casts his eyes downwards, finally fully processing the damage, and his breath catches in his throat but he manages to not outwardly react more than that. There’s… a lot of them. Not all from today, of course, but enough to have Chan’s heart aching.

They’re not shallow, either, and that hurts so much more than he thought it could. Felix didn’t hesitate. He didn’t think. He just… hurt. He swiped and he didn’t think about the damage or the pain, and…

And Chan is spiralling, and he needs to not.

“Okay, baby,” he says. Felix’s eyes have fallen shut, and maybe Chan should just allow that, but… he can’t. “Hey. Look at Channie, hm?”

As his fingers come up to tuck beneath Felix’s chin, Felix sniffles, and whimpers, his eyes fluttering open. And it hurts.

“Channie’s still not mad at you, baby,” Chan promises. Felix doesn’t look like he believes him, but Chan will just prove it as he takes care of him, it’s okay. “Gonna clean these up properly, okay? It’s gonna sting a bit. D’you need a minute?”

This time, something shifts a little in Felix’s eyes. Felix manages a minute shake of his head, and Chan lets out a soft exhale of pride. He offers a soft smile, and steels himself.

Chan turns away for a moment to find the first aid kit, tucked away in the top shelf of the cupboard above the sink. He opens it and places it on the empty space between Felix and the sink, before grabbing a cloth and wetting it with slightly warm water. He wrings it, then brings it over to Felix.

The first touch of the cloth to Felix’s skin has Felix flinching and sucking in a sharp breath, his hands clenching. Chan’s gut clenches with them, can’t help it — he’s seen enough blood on Felix’s palms from stuff like this.

“Hey, none of that,” Chan says, using his free hand to reach for one of Felix’s. “You squeeze Channie’s hand instead, okay? Hard as you need.”

Felix whimpers, probably an attempt at an argument. Chan doesn’t know where his voice went, and it’s okay if Felix doesn’t talk, he’s just… worried.

“Channie can take it,” he whispers. “Promise.”

He gets back to work, Felix’s hand clinging to his hard enough that Chan’s knuckles ache. But it’s okay. Felix’s thighs tense and un-tense as Chan works his way down Felix’s thigh, rinsing and wringing the cloth after each few wipes.

“Did a lot of damage here, hm?” Chan whispers, soft, but even he winces as he says it.

“‘m sorry,” Felix whimpers, finally finding his voice.

Chan wants to throw up.

“Oh, baby, I know. It’s okay. I’m not mad at you.”

He’ll keep saying it as many times as he needs to, for however long he needs to. Over and over, even if Felix never truly believes him, just so Felix hears, for just a moment every time that Chan could never hate him. Nothing Felix could do would ever have Chan mad at him.

When he’s finished with the wiping, and there’s no dried blood sticking to Felix’s skin any more, and the cuts are still open and angry, Chan discards the cloth and reaches for the antiseptic wipes they have.

“This one’s gonna hurt,” he warns, and Felix whimpers, fingers tight around Chan’s hand as Chan uses his teeth to tear open the package. “I know, I know, but it’s gotta be done, baby. Just a bit more and then we’re all finished.”

Felix cries out, his whole body flinching as Chan dabs the wipe against the first of the cuts.

“Ssh, baby, I know,” he soothes, and it’s not soothing but he can’t do much. He just needs to finish this, and then—then he can patch him up and hold him. “You’re doing so good.”

And he is. He’s letting Chan work, despite his pained little noises, and Chan has to swallow down his own tears and just deal because if Felix detects even a flicker in him, he’ll panic and he’ll shut down and Chan desperately needs him to not shut down. He needs him to, just for a few hours, stop blaming himself for everything. To just allow himself to exist, and feel safe, without feeling like he’s somehow at fault for it.

And then he’s done, and, “We’re gonna have to cover them up, baby, okay?” because they’re going to get irritated if they have to rub up against the fabric of Felix’s clothes much more, and Felix just really doesn’t need to bleed any more than he already has.

He grabs the gauze and the tape, and lays some of the gauze flat on one of Felix’s thighs.

“You wanna help, hm? Can you hold this down for Channie?”

Felix lets out a soft noise as he processes the request, eyes dropping down. His shaky hands come to do as Chan asked, allowing Chan to focus on taping it down safely, and then they repeat the process on the other side.

“Perfect, there we go,” Chan praises, and he steps as close as possible as he can to Felix and he just wraps his arms around him because he doesn’t have to do anything else.

He can feel how tense Felix’s body is, how much he’s fighting this. It hurts. It all hurts and Chan doesn’t have the right for it to hurt, because he’s not the one who’s been bleeding alone for who knows how many days. He’s not the one who’s so scared of being seen that he hides and suffers and can’t even accept love when he’s literally being surrounded by it.

“C’mon, baby,” Chan urges, and his voice is shaky and he pulls back, hands coming up to cradle Felix’s face like the precious little thing he is. “C’mon, let Channie take care of you. It’s okay. Let Channie hold you, you’re allowed.”

Something in there breaks something in Felix, face crumpling up and chest stuttering, and Chan swoops back in to hold him before he starts crying again. This time, Felix’s shaky hands dig into Chan’s back, his whole body shuddering as he sobs, and Chan just does his best to hold him together.

“Channie’s got you,” Chan promises. “You don’t have to be alone any more, baby.”

Felix cries harder, fingers trying to dig their way beneath Chan’s skin. Chan doesn’t even flinch. He’ll be the anchor, whatever it takes, so long as Felix knows there is someone who would do anything for him.

Chan pulls back, just a little, and Felix clings, and that does something to Chan’s chest, something sour and painful but proud and grateful, because Felix is trying. Felix is needing, and he’s not denying himself.

But there’s just one more thing Chan needs to deal with. He pulls back fully, and Felix cries out, small and hurt and scared, and it breaks Chan’s heart but he presses a kiss to Felix’s head and says, “Just a moment, baby, okay? Just one more thing.”

He waits for Felix’s grip to loosen before he turns around, gut twisting as he turns his attention to Felix’s sweatpants and the blade. He crouches down, wraps the blade in the sweatpants, and shoves them both straight into the bin. He can buy Felix new sweatpants, as many as he wants. These ones… they have to go.

And then he’s all Felix’s, right back in his space, hands cradling his neck and thumbs stroking his jaw and everything hurts, so much, but it’s okay, because Felix is here, and he’s not alone now. Chan can try to do something. He can try to be enough.

He presses another kiss to his baby’s forehead, and Felix whimpers, a tiny, hurt sound. Chan tries not to throw up on the spot. “Can Channie get you out of this room, hm? Get you some warm clothes?”

Some of his clothes. Safe, comfortable, wrapped up in Chan’s clothes and Chan’s arms. Then maybe, just maybe, Chan will be able to breathe a little better.

He hates himself the moment he thinks it. This isn’t about him.

Felix doesn’t seem able to nod. That’s okay. He just needs to allow.

And he does. Chan wraps his arms around him, another hug, and whispers, “Arms around my neck, baby,” and Felix does as he’s told, clinging, but not as tight as he usually is, like he’s scared to do so. Scared to need when he’s not deserving, or allowed, or… whatever awful things go through Felix’s head.

Chan would give him his heart, his soul, and still offer up everything possible.

Chan scoops him up, Felix flush to his chest and Chan’s hands under his thighs, because Felix doesn’t seem like he’s able to cling enough himself, too scared. It’s okay, Chan has him.

He doesn’t let himself think about how light Felix is, how light he shouldn’t be. That’s something they can deal with later.

Now, Chan carries him to the door, and he halts and listens. No one is near. They’re at the end of the hall, Chan’s bedroom is right there. He just needs to make sure they’re not seen right now, not with Felix’s thighs visible to anyone who even spares them a glance.

He doesn’t hear much. Noise, far away, where he left most of the others. No footsteps near.

He reaches one hand out to slowly turn the doorknob, and peeks out while keeping Felix hidden. Nobody around. “Okay, c’mon,” he whispers, and he carries Felix into his room.

Chan closes the door behind him with his foot, waits for it to click shut before his attention is off of anyone else and back on his boy in his arms. The boy who slips out of his arms without arguing when Chan carries him over to the bed and says, “Down you go.”

And Chan didn’t realise he could hate that so much, but he does. Felix clings. He clings, and when he’s upset, he takes longer to be okay with un-clinging.

And today he goes without a fight.

Chan’s throat goes tight, and he swallows. “Hey,” he says, tucking his fingers beneath Felix’s chin and gently urging his head up. Felix’s sullen eyes meet Chan’s, and it hurts. “Gonna get you some clothes, okay? Any requests?”

Felix swallows, and he doesn’t shake his head, and that’s the immediate indicator that he wants, and he’s not letting himself have. And Chan knows, he knows what’s going on in Felix’s head. He knows Felix well enough to know that Felix thinks he’s failed, thinks he’s let everyone down, that he doesn’t deserve care, or love, or anything but anger. He thinks he deserves to be punished, and alone, and nothing that Chan is trying to offer.

Chan wants to talk. And he will. But, first, he also knows Felix well enough to know what Felix isn’t able to ask for right now.

“Okay, wait here, baby,” he says, and he steps away to his drawers to find a baggy t-shirt and some sweats. Both Chan’s, both far too big, both perfect. “These okay?”

He’s back in front of Felix, and something has flickered in Felix’s eyes, enough to tell Chan he’s right. He can work with that. He’ll work with whatever Felix is capable of giving.

“Okay, arms up.” He brings his hands to the hem of Felix’s t-shirt, and waits for Felix to raise his shaky arms. “Perfect, baby, thank you.”

T-shirt off. New t-shirt on. He helps Felix stand up, Felix’s hands on Chan’s shoulders as Chan helps him into the sweatpants, loose around his waist and thighs, perfect.

Then, the final ingredient. Chan’s hoodie. Chan shucks it off, and finds Felix sitting back on the edge of the bed when he has it in his hands.

“Here, let’s get this on you.”

Felix doesn’t move this time. Averts his eyes from the hoodie as soon as it’s in Chan’s hands, and Chan gets it. It’s what he wants, which means it’s what he thinks he can’t have.

Chan doesn’t ask him to lift his arms again. He does all the work himself, gently guiding the neck hole over Felix’s head, being careful of his ears. Felix lets out a soft, almost hurt sound as Chan works on the sleeves next, but he doesn’t fight it, and that’s good. That’s something.

“There we go,” Chan mumbles. “That’s better, hm?”

Felix doesn’t meet his eyes, head hanging as Chan’s hoodie drapes around him, loose and still warm from Chan’s body heat. Chan’s heart hurts. He knows it’s not going to be easy, but he wishes he could just bundle him up and hold him and just make it so that Felix allows himself to be loved.

Chan can’t magically do that, though.

Instead, he crouches down, hands reaching for Felix’s knees, and he tries to figure out the perfect thing to say. The perfect way to be.

“Lix, baby,” he says, voice soft. “Look at Channie for a sec, hm?”

He sees Felix fight it. The way he swallows, tenses up. But he tries. His eyes, red-rimmed and glassy and so fucking exhausted come up to meet Chan’s, just for a moment. They flick away immediately, like that’s all he could bear, but it’s enough.

“Okay, that’s okay,” Chan says. His thumbs rub back and forth against Felix’s knees, gentle, loving. “Don’t have to look at me, that’s okay. But Channie needs you to listen, hm? Can you do that?”

Felix’s bottom lip trembles. Chan doesn’t know how he isn’t crying yet, but he’s waiting for it. Waiting for Felix to allow himself to drop, and Chan will catch him before he falls too far. Chan always catches him.

He gets a small nod. Barely there, but a nod.

“Good boy,” Chan says, and Felix’s jaw clenches. “I’m proud of you. D’you know that?”

Felix’s eyes jump up.

“You were so scared,” Chan continues. “You were so scared of me being mad, and you know what you did?” He pauses, just for a moment. “You let me in anyway.”

A whimper tears its way out of Felix’s throat, and Chan fights off the urge to catch him. He’s not ready yet.

“Baby, do you have any idea how brave that makes you?”

This time, the sound that’s torn from Felix’s throat is hurt, a protest. Something to instinctual, almost a word, almost a no, like he can’t bear to believe that he could’ve been brave. Like he can’t bear to believe that he could have even an ounce of good in him.

“You were so scared, and you did the hardest thing — you let someone in. Baby, I know how hard that is for you, and I’m so, so proud of you.”

Felix’s breath catches on something so close to a sob, and Chan hates that the only way to break down Felix’s walls is to do this. But he can’t leave Felix shut away in his own head, refusing love. He can’t let Felix be alone like he’s been forcing himself to be for—for who knows how long. Chan doesn’t even know how long he’s been spiralling and hiding it like he’s a burden, like he doesn’t deserve to be seen, like he doesn’t want to be seen.

“You did so good,” Chan says, and he squeezes Felix’s knee as he says it, like a promise. “You’re doing so good. I know it’s so hard, baby, I know. You just gotta keep letting Channie in, though, hm? That’s all you have to do.”

It works.

Felix cries, and he doesn’t bring his hands up to hide himself, to hide from Chan. He cries, and Chan surges up, up, catching him and holding him as Felix sobs out, “I’m sorry.”

“I know, baby, it’s—”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—”

“Felix, baby—”

“—sorry.” Felix presses his face into Chan’s neck, and he sobs, and it’s loud, and Chan lets his mouth fall shut for a long moment. "Didn’t—I didn’t mean to—to—”

“Baby, I know,” Chan whispers.

He feels Felix shake his head against him. “No, no.” It comes out as something close to a wail, as his tears soak Chan’s t-shirt and finally, he clings to Chan’s back. Chan can’t feel relieved, not with Felix breaking apart like this, but he does feel something. “No, ‘s—I—Channie, I tried, I tried, I s—I swear, please, I—”

“Baby, I believe you.” Chan’s eyes burn with the threat of tears, and he has to clear his throat just to breathe.

“‘m sorry,” Felix sobs. “Didn’t—Didn’t wan’ you to—to find L—find me like that. Was suppos’ to be good—”

“Hey, hey.” Chan pulls back, away from Felix’s tightening arms, the way Felix tries to cling. His hands come up, cradling Felix’s face, making it so he can’t hide, can’t push closer. His tears roll down his cheeks, and Chan’s hands, and Chan doesn’t care. “You—Baby, I will always take care of you. No matter what.”

Felix shakes his head, sobs again. “Shouldn’t—Shouldn’t have to—”

“I never have to.” He wipes at Felix’s cheeks, just because he can. “I want to. I hate the idea of you… in pain and alone. Baby, I’d give anything to hold you through this, no matter how many times it happens.”

It’s not the right thing to say, but there is no right thing to say. That doesn’t make it easier to handle Felix sobbing again, louder, barely breathing as it is. Chan takes three seconds to push himself up off the floor and back onto his bed, because he needs to surround him, needs him close, needs him safe, needs him his.

“Come here, baby, c’mere.” He all but tugs Felix into his lap, into his arms, and Felix comes without a fight, practically falling into Chan’s hold. “There we go, that’s it.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He’s still sobbing out apologies, and Chan has to bite back the urge to hush him. He can’t stop Felix feeling sorry. He wants to, so badly. But silencing him does nothing, it just makes him feel bad for feeling bad and it doesn’t help.

Maybe nothing Chan can do will help, but he won’t stop trying.

“It’s okay,” Chan promises. “You let me in, hm? That’s what matters. Doesn’t matter when. You let me in.”

“Wan’—Wanna be good, Channie—”

“Oh, my baby, you’re being so good.” Chan kisses his head, keeps his mouth pressed against Felix’s hair, and he holds him tighter, and he wishes he could squeeze all of his feelings into Felix, wishes he could just—just give Felix all the love Chan has for him, try to help him love himself. “This is good, baby. Letting hyung hold you. That’s good.”

“‘s not—”

“It is,” Chan promises. Another kiss. “It is, baby. Accepting help is good. Accepting comfort is good. And those are such hard things when you’re so, so scared, and here you are. My good boy.”

Felix sobs louder than he has all night, high and hurt and breaking Chan’s heart. “Papa—” And oh, but oh is all Chan gets to think before Felix is wailing and clinging and sobbing out, “No, sorry, sorry—”

“Baby, baby,” Chan hushes, heart breaking. He knew Felix was between headspaces, of course he knew. He didn’t realise Felix was forcefully shoving it down. “You’re okay, Papa’s got you.”

“No—”

“Papa’s got you,” Chan says again, quieter, barely a whisper. A promise to be here, even while Felix can’t accept it.

“Shouldn’—Don’ deserve—”

“You deserve love,” Chan says. “And Papa loves you. So much. Papa’s gonna be here whenever you’re ready, baby, it’s okay.”

Felix shakes his head, and sobs, but he doesn’t fight Chan with words. He doesn’t pull away. He clings, and he cries, and his fingers dig into Chan’s back, and his breaths burn Chan’s skin.

And Chan wouldn’t, for even a second, choose to be anywhere else.

He’ll sit with Felix for hours, if that’s what it takes, for him to even try to accept his headspace. And if he doesn’t, Chan will sit with him anyway. He’ll take this at Felix’s pace, always, because he loves him. Because he knows Felix needs time, and he wants good he just never, for a second, considers that he’s deserving of it.

And if Chan’s life serves one single purpose, it’s to teach Felix that he doesn’t have to be perfect to be loved.

“‘m sorry,” Felix whispers. It’s softer this time, less distressed and more… just sorry. “Papa?”

Chan’s eyes slip shut, and for a moment, just a moment, he can breathe. “Yeah, baby?”

A whimper. Felix tucks his face further into Chan’s shoulder. “Papa?”

“What is it, hm?” Chan keeps his voice soft — he doesn’t want to scare him off. “Tell Papa, baby. Use your words.”

If Felix can’t, it’s okay. Chan will never force him.

Felix shifts in his lap, clinging tighter. “Ouch.”

And Chan’s stomach drops.

Felix whimpers immediately. “S—Sorry, ‘m—”

“No, no, no sorries.” Chan pulls back, has to. Felix keeps his head hung low, but only until Chan cradles it, holding it up. He doesn’t hide from Chan’s eyes, and that’s good. “Don’t have to be sorry for that, baby.”

Felix sniffles. “‘s—’s Lixie’s fault—”

“It’s nobody’s fault.” Chan says it, and waits. Waits for Felix to try to fight him, for anything. Nothing comes. “Lixie did what he could to survive. Lixie was hurting, and he did what he could to get through that. It’s not his fault.”

Chan doesn’t realise he’s crying, not until Felix reaches a shaky hand up, and brushes his thumb clumsily across Chan’s cheek. Chan’s jaw hardens, and he tries to breathe. He’s fine. He’s not the one in pain, he’s not the one who thinks it’s all his fault.

He’s the one who holds everything together.

“Papa—?”

“Is just worried,” Chan says. He smiles, soft and shaky, but genuine. “Papa’s okay. Does Lixie think we can get him something to help with the pain, hm?”

“Ouch,” Felix whimpers, but there’s something in his face, still some sort of fight. Chan doesn’t want to force painkillers onto him. It’s not his choice. He wants his boy pain free, but that can’t be something he chooses for him.

Felix drops his eyes to his lap, to his thighs.

His eyes come back up to Chan. “‘s…. ‘s okay?”

Thank god.

“Yeah, baby,” Chan says. “It’s okay if Lixie lets the pain go away for a while.”

Felix lets out a whimper, scared and unsure. And then his hand comes up, pinky outstretched, and it’s so pure, so trusting, so innocent, and Chan wishes it didn’t break his head.

“Pinky promise,” Chan whispers as he links their fingers together.

Felix lasts all of a second before hiding back in Chan’s shoulder. “Go ‘way.”

Go away.

Chan can do that.

He shifts himself a little where he sits, enough to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. He’s not going anywhere, he’s not leaving Felix for even a moment.

So, “Is there anyone you want a hug from, baby?”

Felix clings tighter. It’s either instinct to cling to Chan, or instinct to hide from care.

“Anyone at all, baby.”

“‘m…” Chan already knows his t-shirt is entirely crumpled, at this point. “‘llow?”

“Yeah, baby, Lixie’s allowed a hug.”

“Jiji.” It comes so fast it’s like it’s pulled from him, and Chan would act surprised but, well, he’s not. He could’ve guessed, but he doesn’t want to make guesses today where he doesn’t have to. If he’d been asked this morning how deep down in his spiral he thought Felix was, he wouldn’t have guessed this far.

If he had any suspicion that it was this bad, he wouldn’t have waited until they got home to talk to him.

To: Ji [8:47 p.m.]

can you bring some of that painkiller seungmin got to my room

the liquid stuff

and lixie could really use a hug

The texts are read immediately, and Chan gets a thumbs up reaction and no reply, which he knows means Jisung is on it.

“Jisung’s on his way, baby," he says. Felix stays hidden, stays close. Chan hopes he takes the hug, for both his and Jisung’s sake.

“Hug,” Felix whispers, and Chan tries to be hopeful.

There’s a knock at the door a minute later, gentle but enough to have Felix jump. “Ssh, ssh, it’s just Jisung,” Chan whispers. Then, louder, “Come in.”

“Hey,” Jisung says, soft, as he slips inside.

Felix, bless him, manages to pull his head from Chan’s shoulder enough to look at Jisung, and that’s more than Chan expected, honestly. And then there’s the hurt little noise that comes from him, the need, and Chan instinctively slackens his hold on him just a little. Just enough to give him some space.

“Brought the magic medicine,” Jisung says. He wiggles the bottle in the air, with a spoon, and closes the distance.

When he reaches out to hand it to Chan, Felix mistake that as him reaching for the hug, and he whimpers and reaches back, and Jisung lets out a soft little, “Oh,” as he wraps his arms around him instead.

Chan manages to grab the bottle and the spoon from where Jisung’s arms are wrapped around Felix, and he catches Jisung’s eye as he does so. With his face hidden, Jisung seems to allow the pure worry show on his face, near distress.

That’s something Chan doesn’t know what to do about, yet.

He’s not thinking about that right now, honestly. Tomorrow.

“I got ya, sunshine,” Jisung says. He squeezes Felix tighter, tighter, the way he always does, and Felix let’s out the closest thing to a pleased noise he has all evening. “You’re not feelin’ so good, huh?”

He doesn’t get an answer. He doesn’t seem to expect one. He pulls away from the hug after a bit, far enough to reach up and ruffle Felix’s hair, and offer him his sweet Jisung smile.

Chan can see the fear behind it. At least Felix can’t.

“Magic medicine, yeah?” Jisung says. “Will make you feel all better. Even if it tastes like old socks.”

Felix lets out a noise, face whipping round to Chan.

“It does not,” Chan sighs, but Jisung grins cheekily.

“They always say that,” he says. “But be good and take it anyway, alright? It’s magic for a reason.”

He slips back out of the room the same way he slipped in, and Chan is surprised Felix isn’t reaching out to keep him here, to not let him go. But he’s just fully turning his attention back to Chan, and the medicine, which he’s looking less distraught about now, and more just distasteful.

“Baby, it doesn’t taste like old socks,” Chan promises. “Jisung lies.”

Felix wrinkles his nose. “‘n’… Papa doesn’ lie.”

“Papa doesn’t lie.”

It’s enough to ebb away at the distaste, and Chan unscrews the lid and pours the medicine onto the spoon, and Felix only whimpers softly before he takes the dose. His face doesn’t scrunch up, so that should be a win in Chan’s book.

“See? Doesn’t taste like old socks, does it?”

A soft hum. Felix shakes his head.

“Good.” Chan screws the lid shut, and places the bottle and the spoon on his nightstand. Then, he tugs Felix closer once again. “You tell Papa when it stops working, okay? When it gets all ouch-y again. Okay?”

“Tell Papa,” Felix whispers. “Ouch.”

“Perfect,” Chan says.

He presses his lips to his boy’s forehead, and tugs him closer once again. Snug in his lap, where he belongs.

The night has just begun, he knows that. It’s not good now, just because Felix is having a few moments of calmness. That’s not how it works.

But Chan has got him. Chan has always got him. If there’s one thing Felix can know, for the rest of time, it’s that Chan has him.

And Chan is never letting go.