Archive of Our Own

For the next few weeks, Minho wasn’t allowed to use his phone—or any gadgets other than what his managers showed him. He also wasn’t allowed to leave the premises of the hospital room until the second week after which he was discharged. The wound on his left forearm was as disgusting as it could look, making him hide it with the sleeves of his shirt. 

At first, the management had a thorough talk with him about whether he wanted to really continue the profession of being a performing idol. They suggested that he could try to get a degree and open coaching classes for dance under JYPent’s wing. 

He declined it. 

The doctors wanted to send him home, but the therapists told their manager to just keep him alone for a while. Minho agreed with that—his parents would eye his state and tell him that they knew something like this would happen. 

And the issue was, they weren’t wrong. 

He walked around dimly in his manager’s dorm. He was told to stay there for the next week before he could start talking to any other members. Their manager was kind enough, he let Minho take his time before Minho could reveal a small lopsided smile and break down again. 

Why had he done it? 

What had the motive been? 

He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember why he was in such a state and why the fuck he was so… so… pathetic . Not seeing his members was torture, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk to them on their manager’s phone. Every time he looked at them, he couldn’t help but have the reminiscence of them crying. 

Guilt washed over him like tidal waves on a full moon. Harsh, heavy, and pulling him along with them underneath the shore. A part of him wanted to grapple for the shore but the other part told him that he didn’t deserve it. 

It was excruciating in the worst way possible. Minho sat on the second bed in his manager’s room, watching the older man’s face be illuminated in the dim orange streetlight that leaked through the open window. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. 

He no longer felt the drive to end it all, nor did he feel the drive to self-sabotage. He just wanted to feel something other than the hole that grew in him—like a black hole—the more information he received, the more it grew—eating him up. Eating. Eating.

“Minho-ya?” 

Minho blinked out of his daze, blinking up to meet the manager’s concerned eyes. They exchanged glances before Minho sighed. “Sorry.” 

“What are you apologizing about this time?” The elder asked, sitting up on his bed and rubbing his sleepy face. 

“Waking you,” Minho replied. 

“Your existence is not an apology.” 

“It doesn’t feel like that,” Minho leaned further against the wall and played with his fingers. 

“Tell me how it feels,” the latter kept his distance and crossed his legs on the mattress, head held in his right hand. 

“It feels… weird. They took me off the meds, and I don’t know, it just feels that I’m feeling too much—too much everything,” Minho muttered, but his voice was sufficient for the other man to hear. “Exhausting, per se.” 

“That’s a natural reaction.” 

“Mhm,” Minho glanced up and down. “Do you think they’re angry at me? For what I did?” 

There was a pause and the manager seemed to contemplate what his answer should be, before pausing and sighing, “Yeah, they probably are.” 

“Hyung—-” 

“But they’re probably angrier at themselves. For not seeing signs and all that. I think you ignoring them now is fueling the greater wall in between you and them. They care about you a lot, you shouldn’t let such ties whither.” 

Minho shrunk back. “ I know , but I don’t know how to . I screwed up everything and no matter what I try to convince myself to feel, I just feel guilty.” 

The soft orange light cast rectangular shapes of light in the room, dust particles evident in its beams. They cascaded on Minho’s face like a gentle touch and then passed him to make his shadow pop out. There weren’t any stars in the sky, all hiding behind the too many clouds suited for Seoul at this season. 

“What I think is a proper apology.” The manager gave Minho a small smile, eyes creasing the slightest. “No more beating around the bush, a proper apology is what both parties need and require. Minho-ya, you’re not made out of glass, but you aren’t carved out of titanium either. You’re like lead, you can be melted.” 

Minho closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. 

“Sleep now, you.” 

“Thanks, hyung.” 

“I’ll have to get used to The Lee Minho thanking me.” The other laughed and Minho smiled weakly. 

—

The week passed by fairly quickly and Minho found himself in the dance studio, trying to dance to I am YOU and DAWN and old songs that he forced himself to acquire muscle memory of. His body grew tired easily, and he had the courtesy to stop and take a break. 

Not too long ago, Park Jinyoung had come into the room himself and had given Minho a small pat on the shoulder. Obviously, Stray Kids was one of the top groups that were grappling with money for JYPent, so it wasn’t a surprise that Park Jinyoung happened to show up. 

Albeit, seeing JYP wasn’t as surprising as it got. 

It turned out that the news of his committing hadn’t been the slightest leaked. Some of the makeup noonas knew about it, some of the higher-ups, his group, the manager, and JYP himself. It was kept in a tight circle. 

Regardless, according to the doctors, the injury on his left wrist would scar, and they discussed with the staff to ensure it was always covered. He received many looks—pitiful, most of them. Some of them were skeptical, some lofty, and others concerned. 

He sat down against the foam wall, body sluggish from the sudden energy burst he had. 

His phone rang beside him, and he picked it up, unbothered to see who was calling. 

“Hello?” 

“ Hey, Minho-ya,” the manager’s voice greeted him. “How’s practice coming around?”

“My body’s too spent,” Minho mumbled, tracing designs into the linoleum that squeaked under his sneakers. 

“The boys wanted to meet you—”

“Minho hyung!” He heard Jisung exclaim through the other side along with Felix. “Be prepared, Min. We’re going to squeeze the life out of you with our hugs.”

“Nice way to die,” Minho joked, fingers pausing at the last design of a flower he had traced onto the floor. “Pun not intended,” he added quickly, body tensing up at the silence. 

“...Anyways, Minho, we’ll see you in a while, hold up till then, don’t overdo anything.” 

“Alright,” Minho whispered, pausing in wait for the call to be canceled but it never did. He swallowed carefully and pulled the red decline button. 

He was allowed to have his phone now (accomplishment,.. yay) The main contacts were only his manager, doctors, staff, aunt, and members. All other contacts had been blocked for the time being, with the promise of their availability only after two months. 

He had to delete Bubble and other fan-interacting platforms along with social media. He swore the doctors were discussing whether to give him YouTube Kids , but that must’ve been a joke since he saw the proper YouTube icon on his screen. If he thought logically about it, if he had been just anyone , he’d be sitting in a mental ward instead of wringing his life back together. Just because the higher-ups had more control over his situation, he could easily escape the health workers.

Minho sighed, resting his phone on his thigh and sitting upright. He glanced around before standing up and heading over to the speaker. He connected his phone and turned on a song—it wasn't one that they had released yet, rather, it was the one he had left halfway. 

The choreo was more fluid than intense, causing one's body to be forced to stretch itself. He still had the same dancing drive, but his face lacked the usual color in the mirror. Right- he hadn't been able to go out recently, the lack of sunlight was really doing it for him.

He stopped where he had left off a month ago and dropped to the ground, head in his hands. He had such a perfect life—he had a wide range of people who looked up to him, a family, and well-earned money and shelter. Why was he feeling the overwhelming black hole grow bigger and bigger and swell? 

It wasn’t fair. 

He shouldn’t be feeling like this. 

Minho glanced at the ceiling and refused to let himself cry again. He had been doing that a lot recently. Crying . And in a way, it was becoming useless, because no matter how many tears he shed, time would never go back—he would never be able to reverse his decision. 

He inhaled sharply through his nose and frowned at the way the air scratched his throat. 

“He’s in the dance room.” 

“Should he be dancing right now?” 

“His vocals can be returned only after the next week, his throat is still sore.”

“Oh.”

He stood up, tidying himself and rushing over to the speaker and turning it off, unplugging his phone and standing nonchalantly just as the door to the room opened. Before he could say much, sneakers were already squeaking against the hardboards and he found himself jumped on by Felix and Jisung. Changbin was in time to catch them from behind, wrapping his arms around the three of them and burying his head into the expanse of Minho’s neck. 

“You’re back,” Jisung exhaled, pulling back and touching Minho’s shoulder, then chest, and his nape. “You’re back .” 

“Oh my god.” Felix just clung to his side, holding his uninjured hand close to his heart and exhaling shakily, pressing his forehead against Minho's chest. 

Minho felt overcome with unsteady emotions. He was inclined to cry again but something held him back. Responsibility , he supposed. He pulled the two of them close to him, softly inhaling as he took in their fresh scents. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, quietly and whilst rubbing their backs. 

He meant it. He meant it so much that he swore his heart palpitated. 

“Don’t apologize,” Changbin mumbled, punching his shoulder gently. 

When Minho caught the sight of tears streaming down Changbin’s face in the mirror. He pulled away from Jisung and Felix and embraced Changbin. “I’m so sorry, Binnie.” 

Changbin shook his head, making a futile attempt to conceal his tears. “I read the lyrics you gave me.” 

Minho froze, but recovered and continued rubbing his dongsaeng’s back—wordless. 

“It’s so beautiful. God dammit hyung. You’re so unfair. That thing could never match my voice, it’s worth yours. I made a beat for it, it just needs your voice,” Changbin sniffled into Minho’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Minho apologized again, unable to say anything other than that. 

“God, I want to hold you for longer,” Changbin laughed wetly. “But they’re waiting, too.” 

Minho rubbed his nose and pulled away from Changbin, who squeezed his index finger in comfort, hiding teary eyes behind a bright smile that made him close his eyelids.

When Minho turned back, he felt Chan give him a soft smile. “Welcome back, Min,” the elder said, opening his arms. Minho let Chan fall easily into the warmth, unable to watch the former's expression contort into something that was anything but happy. 

Chan stroked his hair and rubbed his back. “How was practice?” 

“Okay,” Minho replied, hearing Chan’s heart beat erratically against his. “It wasn’t the usual.” 

“I can tell.” 

Minho glanced over Chan’s shoulder to see Seungmin giving him a gentle smile. It was enough for his knees to buckle and break down again if he let himself. He glanced around to see Jeongin speaking to their manager—but… 

“Where’s Hyunjin?” He asked, pulling away and wiping Chan’s tears. 

There was an awkward pause in the room and Chan sighed, gently putting Minho’s hand down. “He’ll take a while to come around. He’s…” 

“Hyung needs time,” Jeongin said but didn’t meet Minho’s eyes. It made Minho’s heart sink. He wasn’t naive to think that he would be forgiven by them any easier than this—Hyunjin had every right to be angry with him—so did the rest of them. 

“Okay,” he whispered, pulling away completely from Chan and smiling at him. He didn’t know why everything felt so overwhelming, but he supposed it was the repercussion. 

—

Minho ended up spending the next week in his manager’s dorm again. It was because their manager suspected that the members needed some time to reconcile too. Minho understood it—he understood it perfectly. 

He sat in the dance studio again, waiting for the others to come. He had seen Hyunjin a few times—he had tried approaching him twice, but the younger one just brushed him off—walked away or pretended to become busy, stepping to the side and correcting himself before Minho could even mention it. 

It hurt . 

But Minho knew what he had done probably hurt Hyunjin even more. 

A week passed easily, and he began meeting his members outside of dance practice too during vocal sessions and other classes. They gave him the same look—that he was made of glass. 

The scar on his arm did look like a crack, he supposed. But the crack that was just there, that wouldn’t threaten him, but only others. It was like that one ceramic cup that had a brown crack running along its edge—it never truly was threatening the cup or the person using the cup. It was just there, on the cup, scaring its owner with the idea of it breaking that they either kept it too safe by not using it or getting rid of it. Minho knew he wasn't glass or ceramic, but that didn't stop the others from treating him as though he was brittle. 

He glanced at the single layer of bandage that was around his arm; the doctors had warned him to leave the scabs alone and not pick at them, since they’d scar even severely. When their manager caught him unconsciously thumbing at the scabs, he just decided to make Minho wear a bandage on it. 

“Minho-ya, you missed the count,” Chan said, stopping the music. 

That was a first , he hadn’t missed a single beat in the weeks he began practicing. Minho blinked. “I’m sorry, I’ll get it.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Chan said dismissively. “Just pay a bit more attention, you looked like you were in a daze.” 

He was, but he wouldn’t admit it to Chan. Minho nodded and the group took their position again. He danced to perfection this time, not bothering to call out Jisung’s mistake. The group’s energy had dimmed visibly, and there was no sharpness or vibrancy in their actions. 

It was his fault, wasn’t it? 

Minho bit his tongue as they finished with the ending fairy, Felix in the middle, having a passive look on his usually smiley face. 

It bothered Minho like a thorn in his side. The thorn would just not come out, no matter how much he tried. Black roses bloomed out of it and latched onto his body, digging its roots into his veins and then into his heart. 

He hated the off-treatment so much.

—

The moment he was back in the dorm, Felix made sure to spend all his time with Minho. It wasn’t bad. Felix was never bad—and sometimes when Minho thought he needed space, Felix’s presence was enough to give him comfort. 

The younger one slept along with him daily—asked him for advice, talked to him about irrelevant topics that were so vague that they made Minho smile. Minho didn’t deny the younger. He couldn’t . Felix’s little sunshine smile had dimmed considerably and it hurt to watch him keep forcing smiles around Minho. 

He respected the rapper for the time he spent with him, but at the same time, it was a forceful action to cover up something darker—like a selfish desire. 

Minho smiled as Felix pushed him down on the bed, a playful smile on his face. They were cuddling yet again. “So,” Minho began, easily allowing the younger to climb near him and rest his head against his chest. “Mind telling me what this is all about?” 

Felix glanced up at him. “About what?” 

Minho bit his lower lip. “About this. About you spending all your time with me.” 

“Can I not spend time with my favorite hyung?” 

Minho raised his brows, not quite knowing how to approach the situation. He simply reached his hand up and ruffled Felix's grown hair. The stylists hadn't cut them yet, and the hair moved adorably. 

"Gosh, you're so big," Minho muttered, poking Felix's shoulders and then his more sunken cheeks with a prominent jaw. 

"I am just a year or two younger than you, hyung," Felix pouted, small hand playing with the hem of Minho's sleeve. "What about you? Hyung has grown, too."

"He has," Minho said quietly. He had lost his chubby cheeks and lithe body—he gained muscles and high cheekbones in return, although without his routine back in place, his weight and muscle mass had dropped alarmingly. 

"A lot," Felix whispered. "And changed."

"Changed?"

"So much." Felix glanced at him, skin highlighted by the dim light resonated by the colorful LEDs. "You're more gentle now."

Minho blinked, he glanced at his hand in Felix's hair, massaging in the softest motions. "Gentle… "

"Hyungie—he has become more gentle with us. He smiles more than he used to and also lets us touch him," Felix whispered once again, voice tied to the confinement of the two of them. "You're not different, per se… but you're just…" 

Felix glanced up to meet Minho's eyes. " You . You're like how you were before our debut. Quiet, kind, nice, and I don't know—I never realized it but your personality gradually changed over time and I forgot how you truly were."

Silence passed in between them, but instead of pushing them away, it was comforting. Minho sighed, lowering his hand to cup Felix's cheek and brush his thumb over the freckles. 

He had never told Felix about them. He never had to. Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, and everyone else kept reminding the younger one that the specs on his cheeks were beautiful. 

He just nodded along with the words. If he had actually succeeded, would Felix have covered his freckles again? Minho traced his thumb over them, forming small shapes underneath his touch. 

"Hyung?"

"I'm sorry, Yongbok-ah," Minho muttered, eyes leaving the younger's to focus on the freckles he traced. 

Felix gripped harder onto the hem of his shirt, fingers imprinting a crease in the silk. 

"I don't think I've ever told you. Even though we spent so much time together," Minho began, pausing his thumb over a particular cluster of freckles. "You're pretty. Handsome. Beautiful, whatever you wish to label it. Your freckles are like stars. Like the remnants of faded imprints of the kisses you received from the sun."

"Where's this coming from?" Felix asked, inching closer to him. 

"Regret." Minho didn't think before he answered, and even if he thought, he was sure he'd think the same thing. 

Felix's breath came out stuttered. 

"I can't believe that I really tried to just… yeah. I never told you how beautiful you are, I never told you how thankful I am for your mere existence… I regret never telling you that," Minho said, voice quiet. 

"You better regret it," Felix exhaled shakily. "What you did… it was straight out of a nightmare, hyung. Can you imagine me, in your place—lying there limp on the bathroom floor while you guys find me—"

Minho pressed his thumb to close Felix's mouth. "Don't say such things. Yongbok-ah you're so special—"

"What about you?!" The younger shouted in a whisper, hands leaving the ones near his hem and resting on Minho's chest, curled into fists. "If I'm so important, you are too!"

"I'm sorry, Lix-ah." Minho shook his head, heart-wrenching as he wiped away a tear that escaped Felix's desperate attempt to not let his stupor crumble. 

"Hyung I swear if you apologize one more time—" Felix sniffled. 

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. If I could undo it, I swear I would in a heartbeat. I'm so god damned sorry, Felix. I should've considered everyone's feelings I'm—"

"One more apology and one more self-deprecating word, and I'll toss hyung into the air fryer," Felix closed his eyes and wiped the stray tears. "And even you were going through things, hyung. All of us have the right to feel what we want to feel."

Minho's lips parted but he said nothing, just smiled fondly as he resumed tracing patterns into Felix's cheek. 

"But, what you don't have a right to is to make decisions for us on your behalf." Felix sniffled, and opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, benign. "And if you're sorry, show it. Don't repeat it."

"I promise to help you make brownies tomorrow," Minho whispered as he drew the younger one closer to his body. 

Felix laughed wetly. "Okay."

—

“Fuck—” he cursed as his arm struck the broken metal hanger that jutted out of the lower hanging closet. He wrapped his hand around the unfortunately deep scratch—it stung like crazy. 

“What’s wrong hyung—” Seungmin paused at the start of the hallway, staring at Minho as he held his arm. 

“That metal rod,” Minho muttered, opening his hand to reveal the injury that was now bleeding. He glanced up to see Seungmin watching him with fear laced in his eyes, hands fumbling with each other before the younger tore himself away and opened the next closet to take out a large bandaid and hand it to Minho. 

“Thanks,” Minho huffed, taking the bandaid, and began heading towards the bathroom. 

“Hey… um hyung,” Seungmin muttered, voice shaking. Minho turned around, and Seungmin swallowed. “I can dress it for you.” 

An awkward silence passed between them and Minho sighed. “C’mon.” 

It was even more awkward when Seungmin washed the suspiciously deep scratch on his arm and gently dabbed disinfectant on it. Minho refrained from wincing and just closed his eyes. 

“There, done,” Seungmin pulled away from him and gave Minho a small smile. 

“Thank you,” Minho said, examining the bandaid that had a stain of blood. He lowered his arm and caught Seungmin still watching him. 

The watching wasn't watching, it was moreover scrutinizing . Downright cruel and aching within his eyes, but cool on the surface—opposing the tides. Minho bit his lower lip and pushed himself to sit on the large granite counter, watching the younger. “Where’s the earrings?” 

“Somewhere in your closet,” Seungmin murmured, eyes observing Minho in the mirror. 

“You didn’t use them?” 

“No. I couldn’t,” Seungmin whispered, swallowing. 

Minho scratched his nape. “I’m—” 

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Seungmin snapped, almost making Minho flinch at the sudden influx in volume. Seungmin's brows knitted, and his chest heaved as he sucked in a breath. “You had no right to just… leave. You have no right to say you're sorry—it’s so fucking annoying, hyung. Every time you do something, I can’t seem to stop overanalyzing what you truly mean.” 

The insides of Minho’s throat felt scratchy as if the breath had been stolen from him. “Seungmin-ah…” 

“Do you know how much I hate you?” Seungmin turned his head down. “I hate you so  fucking  much. You left me—you left us . We promised that the eight of us would stick together despite anything. You broke that promise, hyung. You left.” 

“I’m here.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re not the Minho hyung that we knew. You’re a damned living shell of the hyung I love.” Seungmin wiped his face, breath caught in his throat. “You… God.” 

Minho felt guilt tug at his heart yet again—the black roses bloomed out of more veins. He swallowed hesitantly and brought his hand down to touch Seungmin’s shoulder. “Seungmin-ah.” 

“Why… Chan hyung told me not to ask you that, but why? Why would you leave us?” 

He didn’t know either. It ached. 

“I’m sorry,” Minho whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind Seungmin’s ear. “Seungmin-ah. Hyung is so, so sorry.” 

Seungmin wordlessly moved over to his side, burying his head in Minho’s chest and wrapping his hands around Minho’s torso, body shaking as Minho held him back—stroking over his back as the younger cried. 

“I wish—I wish I hadn’t done that,” Minho confessed weakly, voice breaking. “I regret it—I never wanted to hurt you guys. I—just don’t know what happened—what came over me—I can’t remember anything.” 

Seungmin cried harder, teeth over lips to suppress the violent sobs. “I hate you,” he whispered wetly. “I hate you so much, hyung.”

“I know, Seungmin-ah, I know.” 

"I hate you." Seungmin squeezed his hands and buried his head into Minho’s chest as if to revel in the beating heart. “I love you.” 

Minho tensed, pausing to look at the younger’s hair—they had overgrown quite much like Felix's. “I… love you too,” Minho muttered. He realized he had never said it out loud before—realized that there were so many things he had never said out loud. 

“Dammit,” Seungmin groaned, pulling his hand away from Minho’s grip and wiping his eyes with it. 

Minho watched as he tried to stop the tears but to no avail, couldn’t. Minho jumped down from the counter and let the younger one hold him fully, allowing him to bury his head into Minho’s shoulder and cry. 

“I have those earrings in a proper box,” Seungmin whispered when he calmed down. “I can’t use them. They’re yours. They suit you. Your eyes. Your stupor.” 

—

It felt like a cage. That's the way Minho could describe it. Not like a cage without anything, it was a cage that was filled with all the necessities he needed. But it was a cage, nevertheless, with dark corners and areas he couldn't go. 

Jisung was probably the only one who was acting normal. Too normal to the point Minho felt thoroughly uncomfortable. During practice, he'd come by and hand Minho a mini bottle of Coca-Cola even though they weren't allowed to have it—an incident from a regime from years ago where they'd sneak in small candy packets or soda. 

There were times when he'd playfully punch Minho and tease him to force the elder to chase him around. Jisung was Jisung, although not a ray of sunshine like Felix, he was Jisung. 

The Jisung, who, only allowed Minho to see particular parts of himself, the happy ones, the sad ones, the agitated and pained ones. He was only like that with Minho, like his private human heater, literally and metaphorically. 

The younger sat down next to him on the couch, fingers tracing the letters on the note Minho had given Changbin. "What inspired you to write this?" Jisung asked, folding the chit and slipping it into an envelope. 

Minho hesitated. He wasn't sure if he wanted to disturb whatever sense of normalcy that had come over them. "I'm not sure… I think it was roses. The roses I had seen while walking home from the convenience store."

"You just happened to see black roses? On the sidewalk?" Jisung asked, eying Minho as if he was kidding. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I've ever seen black roses growing on a pathway."

Minho sighed. 

The lyrics weren't lyrics in the first place, they were ambiguous comparisons that made sense to only him. A black rose in a bouquet of red roses—the one that didn't fit in and reeked of despair. It was dramatic, to say the least. It was inspired by the way his therapist had depicted how he should navigate depression. 

"It was a flower shop," Minho bit his lower lip, crossing and uncrossing his legs as he thought over what to say. "Y'know the one near the suburbs, like a mile away from the subway."

Jisung nodded. 

"I was roaming there on some weekend. I wanted to give my aunt flowers for her birthday, so I asked the receptionist about the flower's symbolism. She told me to get yellow roses. I noticed black roses and she told me that they meant farewell." Minho clutched his fingers against each other. 

Please don't ruin the only thread of normality. 

Jisung's smile dropped and he glanced at the envelope slowly and forlorn. "I see."

Minho hummed weakly. 

Jisung continued staring at the envelope even as he opened his mouth to talk. "Did you know I slept in your bed when everyone avoided it?"

Minho blinked—the thread of normality was hanging by a fiber, pulling and pulling and pulling . He watched as Jisung's side profile smiled sadly. "It smelled of you, and I found out that you still hid the stash of random objects you were given by the members underneath your pillow."

"You went through it?" Minho asked quietly. 

"No, of course not. Linoring would be angry if I did," Jisung laughed. Minho felt the faint inclination to tell Jisung that he wouldn't have minded, but he let the words hang in the air. 

"I read your letter to me," Jisung whispered. "I think I can relate. The overwhelming feeling of displacement, right? The persisting sensation of the fact that nothing was going according to the way you wanted it to go. How life had come to a standstill or just idle. I think I understand what you meant by emptiness."

Minho swallowed. "I no longer feel that way," he lied. 

Jisung glanced up to meet his eyes and smiled gently. "You can convince yourself and others. But don't lie to me, hyung. It's not your fault."

"What?" Minho asked. It was his fault. He was the one who had taken the pills—he was the one who devised the whole process—he had been the one to take the razor and—

"It's not your fault," Jisung repeated, as simple as that. 

"It is, Sung. I was the one who screwed up my life—"

Jisung turned to face him, holding Minho's hands in his. "Minho hyung. Do you think it was solely your fault? There were many components, I'm sure, that you might not want to tell me, and I respect that. Depression is an illness that stops the mind from perceiving joy— scientifically receiving serotonin and required stimulants. "

"It is not your fault. We should've been more careful with you and urged Chan hyung about the importance of your appointments," Jisung said, eyes too soft. "Hyung. It's not your fault."

Minho felt his body feel lax. He wanted to argue, but these were the words he wanted to hear—he fantasized about someone telling him that—innately, it was his conscious decision, but inherently, it also wasn't. He swallowed, just making a gesture for Jisung to come closer to him, not trusting his voice to sound stable. 

Just as Jisung got closer to him, Minho lunged at the younger, wrapping his hands around Jisung's neck and pulling the younger to sit on his lap. "I detest this."

"I know, I've been trying to make it easier for you," Jisung tucked Minho's hair behind his ear. "I'm not going to lie, it was really hard for me in the beginning, too. I didn't eat for the first day or talk to anyone other than myself for not seeing the signs in my best friend ."

"Sungie… "

"Don't apologize, hyung," Jisung kissed the crown of Minho's head and leaned into the embrace. 

"Jisung," Minho said louder, body subtly rocking. "I'm here. I'm here ."

"And I'm so proud of you for that," Jisung whispered, feeling a few tears escape his eyes. "Hyung. I'm so glad you're here."

Minho exhaled shakily and held tightly. 

—

Minho ran into Hyunjin while he was waiting for Jisung and Seungmin to get out of the showers. He physically ran into Hyunjin, since Felix and Changbin were screwing around and trying to drag him down with them—chasing him around till he slipped into the hallway. 

Hyunjin only blinked at him, helping him stand up before averting his attention back to the glass in his hand. "Hyung?" Felix stopped behind him, extending his hand to stop Changbin from going any further. 

As if Minho hadn't even been there, Hyunjin turned to face Felix. "Oh right, Felix, have you—"

"Changbin hyung—I forgot, Chan told us to arrange the table, fuck," Felix jumped—giving Minho a subtle look before slipping away with Changbin following him like a confused puppy. 

Minho cleared his throat, swallowing and leaning against the hallway, keeping his vision away from Hyunjin and looking straight at the wall in front of him. He felt the younger's eyes trail on him for a while before they moved to face the door. 

"Jisung!" Hyunjin knocked harshly on the door. "You've been in there for hours!"

"Jeez, be a man for once, Hyunjin. Hold it in," Jisung's voice resounded from inside, muffled by the shower. 

"Jisung's taking his everything shower," Minho said aloud, immediately hearing the shower turn off. He glanced at Hyunjin, but the younger still refused to look at him. 

Minho bit his lower lip and exhaled, walking out of the hallway to immediately be dragged aside by Changbin and Chan. "Did you talk to him?" They asked. 

The dancer just shook his head, frowning evidently. Chan pursed his lips and then patted Minho's shoulder. "Do you wanna step out with me and Bin? We were planning on getting something from the convenience store."

"Mhm, just the hyungs," Changbin added, giving a thumbs up. "Please?"

Minho hesitated. "Okay."

Chan smiled at him as he turned around to grab his beanie and mask. He couldn't say no to any of the members, and honestly, Minho didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. He slipped his beanie on and a mask, before throwing over a light windbreaker and heading out. 

“You’re going out, hyung?” Hyunjin asked, peeking from where he stood crossing his hands. Minho froze in his tracks and nodded—giving a weak smile to Hyunjin, before walking towards Changbin. The shorter man smiled at him and kept his phone back in his pocket, and gestured for Minho to follow him. 

“Hyung’s getting the car ready,” he announced, closing the door behind him and holding Minho’s hand. “Anything you want?” 

“No,” Minho muttered. 

“Not even pudding?” Changbin asked as he clicked on the elevator button. 

“Not even pudding,” Minho sighed. “Don’t feel like eating it.” 

Changbin didn’t say anything, and just pulled him into the elevator and clicked on the ground floor. They stood in comfortable silence till the elevator chimed, indicating that they had reached the underground parking.

Minho glanced around, searching for their car, only to hear a honk and be scared out of his skin. He turned around along with Changbin to see Chan laughing at the both of them behind the steering wheel. “This bitch—” Minho huffed, leaving Changbin’s hand and rushing over to open the passenger seat door. 

“Hey, I called shotgun!” Changbin groaned as Minho was halfway in the process of getting in. 

“I’m older,” Minho stuck his tongue out, slipping in and closing the door. The car was quiet and cold, and he instinctively punched Chan’s shoulder for good measure. 

“What’s that for?!” Chan fauxed hurt, rubbing his shoulder. 

“Scaring the shit out of me,” Minho huffed, glancing to the side when he noticed that Changbin had slipped into the back seat—sulking. 

“I think you should’ve seen the way Changbinnie jumped, you at least had a silent reaction,” Chan chuckled as he turned around and ruffled Changbin’s hair, who retracted in fake disgust. “He jumped a few inches.” 

“Shut up and drive, harabeoji,” Changbin scoffed, making Chan let out a fake broken sound. 

“Just drive, old man,” Minho chimed, getting an offended look from Chan. 

“You guys are just mean,” the eldest muttered before taking the car out of the parking brake and pressing down on the accelerator. 

Minho caught Changbin smiling in the mirror. 

“Say, hyung. Why do we need a whole car for just the convenience store?” Minho asked as the car was taken out of the parking lot. 

“The convenience store just passed,” Changbin muttered, eyes tracing the store that passed by. 

“We’re not going there,” Chan muttered, taking the detour. “We need to talk.” 

Minho sighed, calming his wits, convincing himself that he had absolutely nothing to hide this time and that he shouldn't panic. “About?” 

Chan parked the car in the parking lot of a gas station, face illuminated by the bright neon lights. He changed gears and turned to face Minho. “What’s up with you and Hyunjin?” 

“Me?” Minho asked, blinking incredulously—he snapped his head to see Changbin holding himself in between the two seats, who only shrugged. 

“Yeah, you.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, hyung,” Minho replied. “I haven’t spoken to him… I didn’t get a chance to.” 

“No… I mean,” Chan scratched his nape, eyes on everything other than Minho. “Prior to… yeah.” 

Minho sighed, biting his lower lip. “He never told you?” 

“No,” Changbin shook his head. “The only thing that had occurred was him being exuberant.” 

“Which has just gone. He’s… he seems just gone,” Chan said slowly, eyes finally meeting Minho’s. 

What Minho had had with Hyunjin was complicated, to say the least. Their relationship had blossomed from a drunken accident when Hyunjin confessed that he never had gotten a chance to have a kiss with a guy. Minho, on his third beer, had offered to fill the spot for Hyunjin to try, resulting in probably their most memorable kiss. Sour breathed and experimental, a clock set for doom. 

They hadn't put a label on it, and occasionally came up to each other to learn, to know . They shared the same hunger, the same fire to the flame that buzzed underneath their skin at every contact. Minho had and was Hyunjin's first and vice versa. 

"We… We were close," Minho mumbled. 

"More than close," Changbin muttered. 

"Minho?" Chan asked. 

Minho felt his ears go red in shame. He never thought he'd be telling Chan out of everyone, but be it. There was no way out, and he would not be leaving the car to be ditched in the parking lot of an old petrol station. Plus, that'd just mean his manager getting angry at him. 

Hyunjin was not anything like his dirty little secret or whatever the formers' expressions assumed. Hyunjin was one of the few people he really connected with on an intellectual level, someone whom he allowed to see the parts that he didn't let others see. 

"Does kissing him supply enough?" Minho asked meekly. 

"I've kissed Chan," Changbin chimed. "And Jisung. Out of curiosity. What you had with Hyunjinnie isn't close to this."

Chan flicked Changbin's forehead as if he brought up a forbidden memory. "You don't have to label—"

"I confessed to him," Minho blurted. 

Chan and Changbin stared at him incredulously and Minho unbuckled his seat belt and pulled his legs close to his chest, hiding his face in the crevice of his knees. "I… I confessed to him and he said yes. We had uhm, an on and off thing."

There was silence that could par an ocean, bursting with emotion in the cacophony of thoughts and tides. Minho closed his eyes tightly and opened them, staring at the gear. Chan and Changbin stayed suspiciously quiet and he made no effort to look up. 

"Minho," Chan said quietly. "You've screwed up with him."

"I—I know—"

"No, no you don't, hyung. Did you know that Hyunjin didn't sleep for two days? And that the manager had a doctor forcefully give him sleep meds so he'd just sleep and not be overthinking whether you were even alive?" Changbin asked, no longer gripping both the seats. 

"We all were… distraught the first days, but when Hyunjin's habit persisted for more than three days, we realized there was something distinct about his behavior towards you. It was so benign, solemn, I don't know, he looked heartbroken ," Chan whispered, enough to let the words spill in between the three of them. 

Minho peeked up from his knees and exhaled. 

"I've been trying, I know it's not something that I deserve—instant forgiveness, but I… I don't know how to recover it," Minho muttered, feeling his nose start to water from how stuffy the car had gotten, or maybe it was a foretelling of a breakdown. 

Changbin slowly slid his hand into Minho's and brushed his thumb over his knuckles. "Minho-hyung," he sing-songed, voice quiet. "Everyone's feeling it in their own way. Time is a key component, no one is blaming you. But what I'm suggesting is that you at least talk to Hyunjin-ah to recover what you've left."

Minho swallowed a lump in his throat, he squeezed Changbin's hand and exhaled shakily. "Ye-ah," his voice cracked. 

Chan ruffled Minho's hair softly, letting out a small sigh when Minho subtly leaned into his touch. "Should we actually go to the convenience store now?"

"Yah, do you want pudding, hyung? I'll pay," Changbin prompted, letting go of Minho's hand and rubbing his knee. 

Minho wiped his nose on his sleeve and bit his lower lip. "Okay."

He could and should try talking to Hyunjin, not only could their troubled dynamic affect the group as a whole it could also affect STAYs, who'd nitpick every detail—and of course, for his sanity. But he needed to find the courage. 

—

He couldn't do it. 

He couldn't. 

Breathing wasn't a choice either. 

So he sat in the corner of the dance room, knees pressed against his chest and fingernails digging into his forearms, dragging angry red lines on his skin. He whimpered quietly, unable to stop the sobs that escaped his mouth. 

It was only one mistake, that too in a few days. Why was he so wrung up by it? Minho tried steadying his breathing, following the way Jisung had told him to. Press the right hand against the heart, close the eyes, inhale through the nose and exhale through the mouth, and then inhale through the mouth and exhale through the nose. It simply wasn't working, his mind going in the same damned trenches that he had lifted himself up from, telling him how much of a worthless person he was to be so selfish and leave the only family he had bonded with—

He hit his biceps, trying to calm himself somehow, but the pain had the opposite effect on him unlike the way it used to calm him, it brought him back to the night he was on the ground, body in agony and head throbbing. 

He was dying. 

He was dying. 

He was fucking dying and he couldn't ask for help. 

He gasped and recoiled when he felt something touch his hand, curling into himself further. "Minho hyung," the voice whispered, calm but concerned or alert. 

Minho made a weak sound. 

"Can I touch you?" The voice asked. Minho sniffled, touch sounded comforting and claustrophobic at once. He shook his head. 

The voice paused. "Is it alright to hold your hand?" 

Minho retaliated before nodding, feeling a hand much larger than his own wrap around his hand, intertwining the fingers. Minho pulled it closer to his chest, heart still racing and thoughts disarray. "Minho hyung," the voice spoke again. "I'll count to ten two times, can you see if you're comfortable with letting me touch you after that?"

Minho gave a weak nod. 

The other person began counting steadily, at a well-maintained pace like a metronome. When the latter finished, Minho nodded once again, this time feeling himself be wrapped by warm hands and pulled into someone's chest. Said person's heart was pounding but lesser than his own, and Minho let himself straddle the latter. The scent of soft fragrance mist hit his nose, almost instantly cooling his wits. 

"Breathe with me, hyung," they said. 

Minho nodded, trying his best to follow through. The latter kept murmuring small praises and rocked the two of them carefully, running his hand down Minho's back simultaneously. 

Eventually, Minho's labored breaths began becoming regular, only slightly off-beat. He opened his eyes, still finding himself curled up into the former's lap, looking moreover disheveled in the mirror with tear tracks down his face and puffy cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak but his throat cracked. 

"Take it slow, hyung, you had a full-blown panic attack." Minho finally found himself in a clear enough mind to identify the voice as Jeongin's. He whimpered unwillingly, burying his head into the crook of the younger's neck. 

"I'm so-orry," he apologized, wrapping himself around the younger tighter, feeling his body start to recognize the dull ache it had brought upon itself. Jeongin simply ran his hand down Minho's back and the older man didn't realize he had begun crying once again until he was hiccuping softly against Jeongin. 

Jeongin let him cry, quietly rocking the two of them in a steady rhythm. When Minho stopped crying, he let go of the elder and pulled out a small unopened packet of Kleenex pocket tissues and opened them, bringing it to Minho’s face. 

Minho let the younger one wipe his face quickly, still hiccuping from time to time. He didn't want to pull away from the former. And neither did Jeongin seem like he wanted to. They sat in the silence against the linoleum, facing each other's backs in the parallel mirrors. 

Jeongin cleared his throat, and Minho stopped breathing. 

"I forgive you," the younger muttered. "Sorry that it took so long to come to terms with."

Minho shook his head, exhaling softly. "It's okay."

"I should've realized it wasn't your fault," Jeongin continued. "I was a bit selfish too, thinking why did he leave me? Than what caused him to go to such extremes ? So hyung… I'm sorry that I failed to realize it early on."

Minho laughed wetly, forcefully. "Jeongin-ah is finally giving hyung a hug."

"I wish I had done this prior." Jeongin nuzzled his head against Minho's neck. Minho felt his heart twinge at the display of vulnerability Jeongin was showing, maybe Jeongin was surprised at him too. He supposed he related pretty much to the younger with how similar they were—by thought process and family life. 

The younger ran his hand down Minho's back again. "Promise me, hyung," he muttered. "You won't leave me this time."

Minho felt a second wave of hurt wash over him. He nodded repeatedly, sniffling. "I promise Iyen-ah, I swear, Innie. I won't leave, I can't leave."

"I won't let you, either," Jeongin smiled quietly in his neck. 

—

The predicament was noticed by the others easily. When their choreographer put Minho and Hyunjin to demonstrate the choreography as a team, and while they were successful if not exceeding at their teamwork with other members, the two of them were extremely uncoordinated together. 

Their postures were stiff and rigid and the mechanical movements of their body lacked fluidity. And more often than not they'd bump body parts with each other by accident. To the inexperienced eye, the dance would still not impact much while they were performing—might even go unnoticed, but the trained eye would catch it. 

The tension. The heavyweight that had tied their ankles to the ground made it hard to obtain the best the performance. 

"I don't get it," their choreographer snapped. "What is wrong with the two of you? You both know the choreo by heart and reach performance stats with the other members. But what is wrong with each other?"

Minhl stayed quiet, fidgeting with his fingers behind his back, he glanced at the choreographer, still looking at them with her hands folded and an expectant look on her face. When neither answered, she shook her head. 

"Do you think that just because you can work with others, it's okay to have petty feuds with each other?" She asked, staring at the both of them before her eyes softened a little. "See, I know it's been hard for you with what has occurred, but you need to keep in mind that this is your profession."

Minho swallowed hesitantly. 

"I think… they can use a break," Chan spoke up. "They've been at this for the past hour, I think a little talking out and resting would help."

"I understand you're trying to be a good leader, Chan-ssi, but just," she sighed, her hands fumbling with each other as if she was trying to keep herself patient. "Keep the dates in mind."

When she walked away from them and exited the room, Chan got up, staring at Minho and Hyunij. "Clear this up soon," he said, voice authoritative. 

The tension was like the string that a circus mouse was dancing on. Forced—captive, would fall if it didn’t balance. Minho swallowed, he wanted to look at Hyunjin and see what expression the latter bore on his face, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to do so. Did he want to know what Hyunjin thought? 

He did the same dance with Jisung just an hour back and they got through it on the first try but—Hyunjin? They had been at it for the past hour as Chan had said. He could feel himself start to fidget with his fingers again, his thumb running along the start of the scar on his wrist underneath his sweater. 

The therapy appointments had begun, and they made sure he took the anti-depressants only in front of them and didn’t allow him to be left alone when he did. It had stabilized his emotions a little, but sometimes because of the pills, he felt as though he simply couldn’t control his thoughts. 

“You two, are going to sort whatever's going on in between you,” Chan said suddenly and Minho felt the words of protest get stuck in his throat. How—how could he possibly ever get to sort this? Hyunjin probably detested him for all he knew. But before he knew it, all the members were filtering out of the dance studio, and closing the door behind them. 

He could feel his heart in his throat. Okay. He took a deep breath. One. Two. Three…

Screw him. 

Apologizing itself wasn’t going to fix all his problems, and he knew that, but was there anything other than begging for forgiveness left in him? He… didn’t know what else was even possible. Nothing. Hyunjin deserved so, so much better than him. In the span of the past two and a half months, he had thought he had made progress when he realized that he was exchanging a few glances with Hyunjin—but that proved meaningless when he evaluated the glances were devoid of any emotions. 

He tried to calm his thoughts to focus on a straight line. Maybe he should just get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. But what was he to say? Sorry for leaving you and killing myself? Was that… in any way relevant? Did he want to be alive? He still didn’t know the answer. But at least he knew what he was alive for—of whom . 

He could feel them standing there for almost five minutes, none of them moving much but he could feel Hyunjin’s eyes trained on him through the mirror. It didn’t make sense. Nothing did. He knew that the sharp twinge in his stomach every time Hyunjin walked past him without saying anything was real. That he still… unfortunately loved the younger. He knew that. But he couldn’t just say it as a remedy for hurting the younger man so much. 

When he saw Hyunjin’s hand move in his peripheral vision. He closed his eyes tightly and blurted. “I’m sorry.” 

The silence that followed was exponential like an onslaught of tinnitus. He felt himself literally fall to his knees. Was there anything he could possibly do to ever make up for the hurt Hyunjin felt? “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, not looking up. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. The door was a cage. He was caged. And was forced to face something he ran from. 

The silence that he felt was so long that he wondered if he should just give up. But then the soft voice—” Get up.” 

He blinked and shook his head. 

“Hyung, please, get up,” Hyunjin whispered, and Minho couldn’t tell what emotion underlined his voice this time. It surely was something. He closed his eyes and compiled hesitantly, and the moment he did so, he felt arms wrap around his middle and one around the back of his neck and was pushed back onto the couch. 

The moment he was almost lying on the worn furniture that in no way fit for both of their heights, but Hyunjin was on top of him, his face buried in the crook of Minho’s shoulder, his legs bracketing Minho’s thighs and hand shifting so they both were a bit more comfortable. 

The same silence followed them before Minho felt Hyunjin tremble, his hands fidgeting with the material of Minho’s sweatshirt and to the elder’s horror, he remembered that Hyunjin had always been a silent crier. Only letting out small whimpers and incoherent words. His hands instinctively reached to wrap around Hyunjin, hold the younger tightly against him and the Hyunjin reciprocated. It was almost suffocating to just be in such close proximity all of a sudden and the all-too-familiar whiff of roses that permeated from Hyunjin made Minho feel his heart clench. 

They had hugged like this when Hyunjin had banged on his house’s door on the night of his elimination and had been let in to jump on Minho and embrace him so tightly that they both had fallen to the ground on top of each other, unable to let go. Both were drenched in the rain. 

Minho felt his mouth open and close in search of words he simply couldn’t find. To his surprise, tears began to cloud his vision and he pulled Hyunjin impossibly close, burying his head into Hyunjin’s hair—kissing the crown of his forehead. “I don’t deserve you,” he hoarsed, quivering lips touching Hyunjin’s skin. “You’re too good for me.” 

“You’re fucking stupid,” Hyunjin snapped. “And an idiot. Foolish. Impudent. It’s so fucking annoying. Do you really think you get to decide for others if you deserve them or they deserve you? Welcome to real life, Lee Minho. That’s not how shit works.” 

Minho bit his lower lip. He deserved Hyunjin’s anger. 

“Others choose how much you mean to them. And whether you like it or not, that’s the reality. Was it some sick joke for you to just… I don’t know, make me feel like the happiest fucking man in the world and then just land a crack in the same damned world? Was it—?” 

It was his fault, wasn’t it? The other members also probably felt the same way. “It wasn’t…” he whispered. 

Hyunjin’s body sagged against Minho’s, as if the fight was leaving his body. “Then why?” The younger one whimpered. “Why build me up to just I don’t know, plummet even deeper?” 

“I’m sorry,” Minho rasped. All his fault—all of it was on him . 

“Me hearing you say that sounds like some fever dream,” Hyunjin chuckled wetly. “I… I thought maybe if I just… ignored you for a while, then that scraping feeling would go away and we could talk again but it… it stayed and I don’t know.” 

“You have every right to detest me,” Minho said quietly, feeling the tears in his eyes simply roll down the corner of his eyes and drench his hair. “If you don’t want anything to do with me, I respect that. If you don’t forgive me, I respect that too—” 

“Fuck you!” Hyunjin raised his voice. “Can you stop? Fucking stop thinking for me?” 

Minho froze. 

“I forgave you.” Hyunjin was crying again. “Long ago. You’re stupid. So stupid. Who do you think puts white tulips next to the vase in your hospital regularly? I couldn’t say it, I couldn’t speak to you knowing I couldn’t convince you to stay, but I wanted you to know I forgave you—” 

“What the heck?” Minho blurted, he pulled away and took Hyunjin’s face in between his hands, feeling as though he’d break down just looking at the absolute sight of defeat on the younger’s face. “I… It was all on me. I was the one who did what I did. You… you were amazing, you… didn’t do anything. Wait… oh my god,” Minho whispered, voice barely audible. “You—you didn’t think I did this because of you—?” 

Hyunjin’s brows rose in panic. “Hyung—wait, why are you crying—is it not true—?” 

Minho felt like clawing out of his skin, head feeling practically delirious. Hyunjin thought it had been his fault. Not Minho’s, who was the one whose treacherous mind deemed him of nothing and told him he’d be better off alone. Minho choked on a sob, no longer restraining himself. “It wasn’t anything you did,” he shook his head, his fingers gripping onto the material of Hyunjin’s shirt for purchase. “Don’t blame yourself. What the fuck? I—It the entire thing is on me,” he rasped. 

“Hyung— Minho , breathe please, you’re going to throw up if you keep doing this,” Hyunjin begged, sitting the both of them up so that he could sit on Minho’s lap and hug the elder tightly. “Shh. I… I just thought that maybe I wasn’t enough—” 

“No,” Minho sobbed, gripping tighter onto Hyunjin’s torso. “Never. Why the hell would you…” Minho shook his head against Hyunjin’s chest. “No. What…”

“I thought you…”

“You thought wrong. I—I love you, Hyunjin,” Minho whimpered. “No matter what… but I’m… I’m a mess, and you’re just so… perfect ? I don’t and never deserved you and you deserve better than me. And I… I kept dragging the group down and couldn’t do anything and I simply wasn’t able to do anything other than to think about it until the end—” 

“Don’t finish the sentence and who—who filled the crap in your head?” Hyunjin asked, his arms tightening around Minho. “I decide what I deserve. And I deserved you, in all forms. As a mess? Then fine, as a mess. When you’re crying? Okay, fine, I’ll comfort you. As just Lee Minho? And not as Leeknow? That’s who I want.” 

“You’re an idiot—” 

“I made you think you were the reason I did what I did.” Minho shook his head. “ I made you think as so—”

“That isn’t the truth, is it though? Now, I’ll think about it, and although it’ll take a while, with time, I’ll accept that this is something that had happened. It won’t be easy to get out of the mindset, for sure, but I’ll make sure the both of us get out of it.” Hyunjin massaged Minho’s scalp lightly, easing the tangles. “

“But I—”

“No.” Hyunjin interrupted, sternly. “You have to realize that everyone around you loves you, as their older brother, as their friend, as their soulmate, as their everything . And if you forget it, all of us are willing to make you remember it. You are not someone that has to just… I don’t know, live for us because you feel guilty. Live for us because you want to.” 

Minho’s breath hitched and he tightened his arms around Hyunjin’s waist. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. 

“Hyung.” 

“No, Hyunjin-ah. I have to. I’m so sorry for everything. For leaving you, for hurting you, for making you blame yourself and for everyth—”

“Screw you, that’s for sure,” Hyunjin cut him off. “But Lee Fucking Minho. I don’t hate you. Get that past your thick skull.” 

Minho whimpered quietly. 

“Look at me,” Hyunjin said softly. Minho sucked in a soft breath and closed his eyes for a few seconds before he looked up at Hyunjin. 

“There we go,” Hyunjin whispered. “Now tell me that you forgive me—” 

“You didn’t do anything,” Minho interrupted, hastily wiping his tears. 

“I know that now, I didn’t know then, did I? Just… say it, please, I need to hear it, and only then can I touch you or let myself love you.” Hyunjin pulled one of Minho’s hands and nuzzled his face into them. 

Minho swallowed. “I forgive you.” 

“Thank you,” Hyunjin whispered, before holding Minho closer and bumping their noses. “I’m sorry too, I might’ve said some rough things in the spur of the moment.” 

Minho merely shook his head. “I deserved them.” 

Hyunjin held Minho’s face in his hands and tentatively kissed him. It was salty and wet from tears but he kissed a bit more firmly, trying to ground his brain more than anything. Minho reciprocated as much as he could. 

The sadness and longing and everything Hyunjin must’ve felt, he felt all of it. But he also felt the way Hyunjin cradled his face. “I love you,” Hyunjin whispered. 

Minho could feel his eyes well up again, but he didn’t dare break the kiss, feeling himself arch into it—hungry, and craving for something he had promised himself he could never have. 

Live for others because he wanted and not out of guilt. Had he been living out of guilt? That he didn’t want to cause them trouble?

“I love you,” Hyunjin repeated, pulling away and staring at Minho. “No matter what. I’m here. I’m always going to be here and you fucking should know that.” 

Minho nodded dumbly. He should’ve known. 

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Minho asked quietly. 

“Anything. Always. Please, sleep with me daily.” Hyunjin kissed him again, one of his hands planted on the place where Minho’s heart would be. 

Minho gripped Hyunjin tighter. 

—

Chan quietly closed the slightly ajar door, they had seen as much as they could from the mirror’s reflection, but the others had mostly heard what they said. He quietly closed the door and stared at the ceiling. If only he could just protect all of them from pain. 

“Hyung,” Jeongin whispered and pressed his hand to Chan’s shoulder. “I think all of us should crash in our dorm tonight. Leave yours to them.” 

Chan smiled weakly, and blinked when he saw Changbin extending a hand out for him. He took it graciously and stood up from the cramped spot from in front of the music studio. “Long day for all of us,” he murmured. 

“Yeah,” Chan replied. 

“I’m just glad Hyunjin hyung and Minho hyung could sort it out, even though it’ll take a while,” Seungmin murmured. 

Felix gave a tired smile, and Jisung held his hand. “He did say what we didn’t have the courage to.” 

“Both of them really need to reach the spectrum’s extremes to realize their stupidity,” Felix chuckled, dryly. 

“Anyways, cuddle pile in the maknae’s room,” Changbin laughed softly. 

Things would be hard. But they’d make it. This time.