Work Text:
After dating all of the members for a week, Minho started feeling off. He’d never been good at handling his emotions, and, just like he told Jeongin, he let them resolve themselves and he didn’t show his feelings to anyone. He always told himself that it wasn’t necessary and he could never open up to anyone even if he wanted to. He’d think about it for a while but decide against it in the end - because of being a coward, he thought. The others could do it, even the maknaes, so why couldn’t he?
Minho always had a blank expression on his face, sometimes showing his happiness and excitement but never showing the darker side of himself. He’d feel his negative emotions in silence and isolation and it was working well for him. It was.
The members had always been touchy with each other, but now that they were boyfriends, they didn’t hold themselves back. They cuddled more, kissed a lot, and sought each other out more frequently. When Minho was sought out by someone, he’d reassure them and give them a hug. They never asked him how he was feeling during those conversations and he was relieved. Or was he?
Minho found himself near Chan more often. Sitting next to him in the car, on the couch, talking to him in between schedules. He wasn’t sure why, though. Was Chan migrating to him? Was he subconsciously looking for the oldest? So many questions with no answers.
One day, Minho was feeling worse than usual. He woke up on the wrong side of the bed, he was cranky all day, and he had no idea what would make him feel better. The members usually gave him space on days like that, but now that they were dating, they seemed to want to help him more. He appreciated it deep down but he still pushed them away. He couldn’t handle emotional talks, knowing that his mind would go blank and he’d have no idea what to say. He’d never let himself be that vulnerable with anyone before, not even family members.
He went straight to the shower when they got home and no one stopped him. He stood under the freezing cold spray, sighing as he cooled down. He didn’t know what to do. He was tired mentally - he didn’t think he was depressed, but he wasn’t feeling healthy either. He felt a hole building in his chest as he wallowed in his thoughts, only feeling worse.
His hands found his hair and he pulled roughly, sighing in relief at the sting. He knew he shouldn’t resort to that, but what was the big deal? It was just his hair, it wasn’t like he was bleeding or anything. The burn made his chest feel a little lighter, but it wasn’t enough.
His nails found his nape, raking from the back to the sides of his neck harshly. That was much better. The pain lasted longer and his muscles untensed, then he started cleaning himself up. He couldn’t take too much time away from the others.
He dried himself off half-heartedly, skipping his usual hair-drying session. He couldn’t care less at the moment. They ate an early dinner at the company because 3RACHA planned to stay later than the others, so they decided to watch a movie after their showers. Minho didn’t say anything as they decided what to watch on the way home, so he sent a text to the group chat that he was going to bed early before putting his phone on silent. He didn’t have the energy or will to join them and deal with their energy, and he knew he’d just ruin the mood anyway.
He laid down on his bed and closed the curtain, surrounding himself in darkness. That usually comforted him, seeing nothing, thinking of nothing, and falling asleep quickly, but not this time. It made him uneasy, as if something was lurking in the dark. He knew there was nothing, obviously - nothing physical, at least. Just him and his brain.
His hands went to his face. Why did he feel like this? His insides were breaking him down slowly, the feeling in his chest spreading to the rest of his body. He bit the inside of his lips but it only made the feeling worse, somehow, uneasiness settling in his chest.
His brain zeroed in on physical sensations, hoping to find something to ground himself. But that was a mistake. He didn’t feel anything on his skin, nothing that really felt like something. He felt his mattress and blanket underneath him and his clothing on his skin, but nothing meant anything to him. All he could recognize was the lack of a strong sensation on his arms. Thinking about that feeling only made him anxious.
He scratched at his forearms, elbow to wrist, elbow to wrist, elbow to wrist. Over and over again as he felt his body relaxing and chest loosening, his arms burning delightfully. Then the feeling really hit him and he stopped to feel the immediate aftereffect, a sensation that was both hot and cold and covered his whole arm. God, did that make him feel better.
Then he came back to his senses. What the fuck was he doing?
His hands returned to his head as his face crumbled. He hadn’t felt this bad in a long, long time; he hadn’t hurt himself in a long time. Why was it coming back now, when he was at the peak of his happiness? He had seven boyfriends, he was a successful idol, and he made a living doing his favorite thing. There was only so much more he could do for himself.
He rolled over and groaned loudly into his pillow, his arms already losing the good feeling. But it wasn’t really good, was it?
His breathing was shaky. He absolutely despised the feeling inside of him, uncomfortable and almost painful. He took a deep breath and grabbed his phone; it was almost ten o’clock. He wasn’t sure what time they returned to the dorm, but he knew that 3RACHA would leave the studio at ten. Then Chan, Changbin, and Jisung would all be home.
Should he? Should he reach out to someone? All he knew was that he wanted the feeling to go away, so, so badly. They loved him, right?
It surprisingly didn’t take much for him to open the curtain, throw his phone on the floor, and leave his room. He went straight to Chan’s, not glancing once at the loud movie and members in the living room. He barely bothered to close the door so it was left open a crack, but who cared? He shut out his thoughts and crawled into Chan’s bed, pulling the blanket over his head and shoving his face into Chan’s pillow. It was much different from his own, softer and smelling thoroughly like Chan. He took a deep breath.
He wasn’t sure how long he laid there before the door creaked open, but he didn’t move a muscle. He heard the door close and some shuffling, then a minute later there was a hand on his shoulder. Minho could tell that the other person knew that it was him laying there.
“Minho?” It was Chan. Minho’s breath stuttered at his voice but he couldn’t bring himself to lift his head. He came to Chan’s bed for comfort but he had no idea what to do, how to get it, how to ask for it. “Are you okay?”
Minho shook his head and the hand on his shoulder began rubbing his back. “What can I do for you?”
If it were any other member, Chan would have immediately joined him in bed and hugged him tightly, but he was different with Minho. The younger boy knew why and he appreciated the sentiment, truly, but he wished Chan would just treat him like he treated the others. Just this once.
Minho reached a hand out of the blanket, his hair appearing as it slipped off of his head, and Chan quickly held it. Then Chan rubbed his forearm and Minho realized that he probably left a few marks. They wouldn’t last long, but at least for an hour. He forgot.
He gasped and pulled his arm away from Chan, but Chan just held his hand again. “Do you want to talk about it, baby?”
Oh God. Chan had never called him that before - no one had - and it surprisingly did things for him. His heart jumped at the endearment but the weight on his chest pushed it back down. He gasped again, breathing strained, but shook his head. He couldn’t, not when he was feeling so shitty.
Chan’s hand on his back went to his hair gently. “Can I lay with you?” Minho nodded his head quickly and Chan joined him under the covers, but Minho didn’t look at him, still unable to. Chan wrapped his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders and pulled him close, letting him stay hidden.
“We love you so much, you know?” Chan soothed quietly. “I know love can be hard to fathom sometimes and that’s okay. But you’re so, so worth it. You’re worth everything I have, Min, and more. I know I can’t understand what’s going on in your head, but you know that I would do whatever it takes to make you happy. It’s okay if you can’t tell me what you need but please don’t wait until the last moment to ask for help. I hate seeing you in pain, hun, because I love you. We love you.”
Minho finally felt tears in his eyes after hearing Chan’s words. He knew they loved him, but reassurance like this was the only way to make him believe it. He never talked about those things, though, so he rarely received that comfort.
Minho’s hand left Chan’s to wrap around the older boy, shoving his face into Chan’s shoulder. He sucked in a breath and held it as Chan squeezed him tightly, the only thing holding him together. Minho wrapped his limbs around Chan and he couldn’t get enough, pulling him closer and closer until he couldn’t anymore. He hoped he wasn’t hurting Chan but the older boy didn’t complain.
“I’ve got you, Min.”
Minho let out a sob. He hadn’t cried in such a long time that it almost felt foreign, but he was so relieved. Everything he was holding in was falling out, pooling on the bed with his tears. His numbness, his intrusive thoughts, his anxiety - it all left him slowly in Chan’s embrace.
Chan held him through it, holding him tightly, rubbing his back, and stroking his hair. Minho found himself craving the touch more and more, and the thought almost scared him since he’d always pushed it away.
“Breathe, baby.” Minho took a deep breath in between his quiet, heartbreaking sobs. He clutched Chan’s shoulders tighter and he almost felt better than he did when he scratched his arms.
It took thirty minutes for Minho to calm down, sniffling as Chan pressed kisses on his hair. The older boy didn’t rush him - Minho was so glad that Chan already knew about his mental health, otherwise Chan would be much more confused and worried.
“I’m sorry,” Minho croaked.
“Don’t apologize. You can always come to me, no matter what it is.” Minho nodded. “Do you want to talk about it? You don’t have to if you’re not up for it.”
“Just… Bad day,” he said, coughing. Chan hummed, his face in Minho’s hair.
“What do you need right now?” Minho didn’t think twice.
“You,” he whispered, shy but honest. He did need Chan. The older boy held him impossibly tighter.
“Can I ask you one question?” Chan asked, unfazed. Minho nodded, eyes closing. “Did you hurt yourself?”
His eyes snapped open. He gripped Chan’s shirt and breathed slowly. Did he? He technically did but it was short and left no more evidence, nothing open or bleeding.
“I just need to know if anything needs to be disinfected, okay?” Minho shook his head at that, grateful. Maybe he’d tell Chan what happened in the morning. “Okay. Thank you, baby. Let’s go to bed, hm?”
Minho curled closer and let out a breath, laying on top of Chan. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, Chan breathing next to his ear and a warm hand resting comfortingly on his upper back.
---
Minho woke up quickly, eyes sore and throat dry. He was still laying on top of Chan but the older boy was asleep and it was still dark outside. Five a.m., the alarm clock told him. He just sighed and settled back down against Chan’s chest - their schedule was at noon, thankfully, and Minho knew that he needed to talk to Chan. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to, though. Chan was the best leader there was and Minho needed to get the rest of the pressure off of his chest.
He fell asleep again and woke up when a hand found his hair. He looked up at Chan, making eye contact for the first time since Chan entered the room. Chan looked worried and soft, comforting Minho without trying to.
“Good morning,” Chan whispered.
“Morning.” His voice was rough and scratchy.
Chan sighed and kissed Minho, the younger boy slowly reciprocating. They both relaxed into the kiss, the familiar action so calming. “Let’s get something to drink, okay? Then we can talk about last night.”
Minho nodded and sat up, rubbing his eyes. They were crusty and puffy and he hated it. Chan sat up as well, slipping out from under Minho to stand up and offer his hand. Minho took it and Chan led him to the door.
“It’s only eight, so the others shouldn’t be awake yet.” Minho really hoped so.
They made it to the kitchen quickly and Chan turned on the lights. Minho closed his eyes at the harsh fluorescent lighting, so Chan dimmed them and led Minho to the table, urging him to sit down. Chan returned quickly with a glass of water and two pain relievers, which Minho took gratefully. He leaned back in his chair and swallowed as Chan sat next to him.
They sat silently after Minho finished his water. It wasn’t awkward but it wasn’t comfortable either, and Minho knew that Chan was waiting for him to start.
“I don’t really know what happened,” he said quietly. Brokenly. “I just felt bad and… not depressed, really, but empty, kind of. I was feeling too much on the inside but not enough on the outside. That’s why I… I just scratched. That’s all.”
Chan was silent for a moment. “Thank you for telling me. You don’t know what caused it?” Minho shook his head. “That’s okay. Do you know what could help you? What’s helped in the past?”
Minho thought. He never took any medication and he never talked to anyone about his feelings, choosing to let it run its course. Just like he’d told Jeongin: it solves itself and goes away on its own. That didn’t mean it never came back, though.
“Nothing,” he settled on saying, fiddling with his glass. “Just dealt with it.”
Chan sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Is there anything that you think could help or want to try? We can set you up with the therapist if you’d like.”
He shook his head - if he couldn’t talk to his boyfriends, there was no way in hell he’d talk to a stranger. “No therapy.” He rested his forehead on his palm, closing his eyes. His brain was almost foggy and he couldn’t think.
He felt a hand on his back. “Does me being with you help?” Minho nodded but didn’t lift his head. “Do you think… more affection from us would help? More touch or more talking?”
He rubbed his forehead. “Probably.”
“I know it’s hard to ask for those things. That’s something you can try to work on, yeah? You can come up to any one of us and we’d accept you with open arms.”
“I know,” he sighed. He opened his eyes and leaned back to make eye contact with Chan. The oldest was staring at him, searching Minho’s eyes for any clues on what he was thinking. Then Chan lifted his other arm, offering the younger boy a hug. He didn’t hesitate this time.
Chan’s arms were around his waist tightly and he reciprocated it, feeling a kiss on his forehead. “We’re always here for you no matter what, Min. Never forget that.”
He wouldn’t. The others would be confused, surely, but Minho knew that they’d help him even without knowing what was wrong. That was only one of the reasons he loved them all.