Archive of Our Own

The thing about Han Jisung, Minho learns quickly, is that he’s difficult to predict. 

He understands it when they’re trainees, Jisung’s wild ups and downs, his desperation to debut, and the built-up emotions that come from it all. 

They do debut in the end, of course, and their careers start to take off and Minho finds that Jisung’s temperament doesn’t quite change how he expected. 

Jisung’s mood continues to fluctuate. Parts of him calm down with age, his ego and boundless energy, but there are days Minho doesn’t quite understand. Days where it feels like out of nowhere Jisung is completely depleted, dragging and anxious and sullen, only for him to be bright and alert the next. It feels too quick to be usual, one extreme to the next in what feels like the blink of an eye. 

Even on Minho’s worst days, he’s never felt how Jisung seems to. Jisung’s best days seem to blow every other day out of the water, and Minho doesn’t quite get that either. He flips between them like they’re nothing, a week of horrible days followed by a week of terrifyingly energetic ones. 

For the most part, Minho finds it easy to fall into those high-energy moods with him, the two of them bouncing off each other until another member has to bring them down. 

But there are times when he can’t. Times when Jisung’s mood switches too quickly, sinks too far or rises too fast and Minho can’t keep up. 

Nevertheless, he tries. 

__________

It’s their first rest day in nearly a month. No rehearsals, or recordings, or interviews. Everyone wakes up early and heads their own way for the day, and Minho is left with the dorm in peace. 

He cooks breakfast and watches as one by one each member wakes up and heads out the door with a wave and a goodbye. 

By midday, Jisung is the only other one home.

It’s strange Minho hasn’t seen him at all, hasn’t even heard any noise coming from his room. 

He could go bother him, maybe message him and see if he’s awake, but he doesn’t want to intrude. Instead, he cooks a big meal for lunch and hopes the smell will lure Jisung out of his room. 

It doesn’t. 

It strikes him as odd immediately. Almost always, the smell of Minho’s cooking draws the other boy to him. At the very least, it’s odd that Jisung is still in his room so late in the day. 

He eats his noodles in the kitchen and fills a second bowl for Jisung, balancing the food and a pair of chopsticks as he moves toward his room. The door is shut and Minho listens for any sounds that he might still be asleep on the other side, but he hears nothing. 

Confusion stirs when he knocks on the door. 

“What?” Jisung’s voice is muffled, devoid of emotion when he calls back. 

“I made lunch,” Minho blinks at the monotone voice, “Can I come in?”

“I guess.”

The room is dark when Minho pushes the door open. The curtains are closed, the room shielded from the warm sunlight and cast into dark shadows. Jisung is still in bed, lumped under piles of blankets. His eyes are open, staring blankly at Minho where he lingers in the doorway. His face is slack and just as clear of emotion as his voice but he looks as if he’s been awake for hours. 

“Jisung-ah?” Minho frowns. 

“What?” Jisung repeats, eyes flickering to Minho’s. 

“Are-” He pauses, unsure of what to ask, “Do you feel alright?”

Surely if Jisung was sick he would have told someone, Minho thinks. 

“Sure,” Jisung breathes quietly. 

There’s something here that Minho is missing and he finds himself frustrated with it. He doesn’t like to be out of the loop, especially when it comes to Jisung. 

“I brought you food,” He holds the bowl out like he’s just remembered it, frustrated with his inability to pinpoint the problem, “Japchae. I just made it.”

“Thank you, hyung. You can leave it on the table,” Jisung tells him and then turns over. 

Minho’s brows pinch together, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

The behavior is odd. They’ve known each other for nearly three years now and Minho has known Jisung to get emotional sometimes, sad enough to shut down for a few hours and seek some space from the others. But this feels different. It feels bigger somehow. He’s never completely isolated himself like this, not in the few years Minho has known him. 

“Tired,” Jisung mutters, “Thank you for the food, Minho-hyung.”

It leaves little space for anything else to be said. He sets the bowl on the table beside the bed and leaves Jisung to himself. 

It doesn’t get better the next day. Or the one after. 

They’re ramping up to put out their new album next week and the days are getting busier and busier as they pass, and still, Jisung is not himself. 

They don’t have another rest day until next week and Jisung is forced out of bed with obligations, but Minho can tell his mood hasn’t improved. He drags. He barely talks to anyone, barely eats. He has dark bags under his eyes that their makeup artists complain about having to cover so intensely. 

He brings it up to Chan in between dance practices, the two of them sitting alone on a bench outside the dance room. 

“What do you mean?” Chan tilts his head when Minho explains, confusion pulling his lips into a frown. 

“Just-” Minho sighs, “Have you noticed anything off with his behavior?”

Chan worries his brow like he’s thinking, mouth twisting, “A little. But you know how he gets, sometimes. Remember in training? He’d get all in his head and disappear to the dorms for a few hours. He always bounces back.”

“I think it’s different this time,” Minho turns to face the empty lobby, letting out a breath while his head falls back to gently thump against the wall, “He gets sad sometimes, I know, but this- Last week, I found him in bed all the way into the afternoon. He wasn’t sleeping, or anything. He was just staring at the wall. It doesn’t seem like he’s felt any better.”

Chan frowns fully now, “Did he say anything to you?”

Minho shakes his head, “Not really. I offered him lunch but he told me to just leave it on the bedside table. I don’t think he even ate it. He didn’t leave his room all day.”

“I can talk to him later if you’d like?”

“I don’t want to keep pestering him about it.”

Chan sighs, turning to Minho, “Right. Well, give him a few days, I’m sure whatever’s wrong will pass, yeah?”

Minho nods, “Sure, hyung. Thank you for listening.”

Chan pats his shoulder as he stands up, heading back into the practice room. 

Just as Chan said, it passes. They release GO LIVE and put out the music video for God’s Menu, and their lives become a frenzy again. Moving from interview to interview, filming videos, and performing shows. It’s even more chaotic than their last comeback. It’s their first real album and it feels like a dream. 

It’s easy to get caught up in the excitement of it all.

Jisung's mood switches like a dime, waking up one morning with boundless energy, zipping easily from each of their activities for the day, his eyes wide and smiling. He zips around like a live wire, adrenaline high even when he should be exhausted. 

He’s still energetic on their car ride back to the dorm, rambling endlessly about a song he heard when he was getting his makeup done earlier. 

His words are so fast they’re almost running together, his hands moving frantically as he talks and Minho can barely keep up. He tries his best to banter back, poke fun, and throw jokes when he can. It’s difficult when Jisung is nearly nonsensical in his train of thought. 

He blinks, and suddenly Jisung has switched subjects again, talking about ear piercings now. 

“What?” Minho shakes his head, wondering if maybe he’s just tired and that’s why he can’t keep up. 

“Pierce my ears,” Jisung blinks at him, a wild look in his eyes, “Pierce them more, I mean. It would look good, wouldn’t it? To get more? I could get a whole row of them, all up my ears. Would that look good, hyung? What do you think? Should I-”

Minho puts a hand out, exhausted just from listening. Jisung shuts his mouth, eyes going wide. 

“Your ears are already pierced.”

“Yeah, but imagine more. Maybe I could even do them myself, maybe when we get back- or even- maybe I could get another piercing like my belly button-”

“Han,” Minho cuts him off, still half in business mode, “You can’t pierce your ears yourself. That’s dangerous, they could get infected. What would you even pierce them with?”

“Hyunjin probably has sewing needles or something, maybe Jeongin. It would be so easy and I would look so cool. I could get tattoos, too. You know Chan was talking about getting a tattoo the other day, I think it could look really good. Imagine a whole sleeve, all on my arms.” He’s nearly breathless with how fast he’s talking, like his brain is going too fast for his mouth to catch up. 

“Maybe you should try going to sleep before any of that,” Minho suggests. His hands twitch with an urge to reach out and grab Jisung's hands to stop them from moving around. He likes the feel of their hands together, the way it makes his chest flutter whenever they do. It calms him, and he wonders if it would have the same effect for Jisung. 

“I’m not tired,” Jisungs retorts instantly like he’s been expecting it. 

Minho studies his face for a moment. He still has on makeup from earlier, but purple-tinged bags are seeping through his concealer, his eyes rimmed red. “When was the last time you slept?” He looks unnaturally exhausted.

Jisung shrugs. It’s not an answer Minho is happy with. They’ve been moving non-stop the last week with the album release and not sleeping for even just one night is worrisome with the amount they do in a day. 

“Jisung-ah,” He says, trying to push some authority into his voice. 

“I don’t know," Jisung brushes him off and slumps back against the seat of the car, his mood turning sour quickly, “Does it even matter? I feel fine, I don’t need to sleep. We’re so busy, too busy to sleep.” 

Minho looks up front to the passenger seat to see if Seungmin will back him up, but he just finds him asleep with his mouth dropped open. He sighs, turning back to Jisung. 

The curve of his face is beautiful soaked in the neon lights flooding in from the city and Minho feels guilty for thinking so at a moment like this. 

“I just worry about you,” Minho tells him quietly, only loud enough for him to hear. 

“I don’t need to be worried about,” Jisung says to the passing road, hard eyes watching the blur of cars pass by. 

__________

It gets better. And then worse, and better again. A few weeks pass, and then a few months and suddenly it's been a year and time keeps moving. 

It’s something like a cycle, Jisung falling into these deep pits followed by unreachable peaks, but there are periods in between that are good. Times that are stable and calm and a lot like how they should be. 

These are Minho’s favorite.

“Hannie,” He grins, poking the other boy's cheek incessantly. 

He laughs when Jisung does, bright and sharp. 

“What do you want?” Jisung laughs, scooting over on the couch to make room for Minho to flop down. 

They’re backstage after their concert, adrenaline still high and the world feels soft and new. 

“Do you want to go eat?” He’s gross and sweaty from the show, but Jisung touches his face gently anyway. 

“Now?”

“I want to shower first and we have to record some talker, but we could go after?” He offers. His heart beats loudly in his ears. 

“Sure,” Jisung grins, “There’s that place with the good doenjang jjigae around the corner.” 

Changbin bursts in with a camera just as Minho opens his mouth. 

An hour later they’re walking down the street, giant coats zipped up and masks obscuring their faces. 

Their shoulders bump as they walk, Jisung’s laugh like sweet music echoing in Minho’s ears. 

Things have been good lately, and they chat about their upcoming shows and where they look forward to performing next. Jisung seems full of life, excited about the future. 

“It’ll be nice going to America again,” Jisung’s shoulder bumps against his as they walk, his eyes sparkling like he remembers the fun they had the last time they were there, “Chicago, we’ve never been there before, have we?”

“No, but I’ve heard the food is amazing,” Minho’s stomach rumbles. 

Jisung laughs, “Of course that’s what you’re thinking of!”

“You were thinking it too,” He nudges his elbow out, “We’re here.”

He guides Jisung into the restaurant, getting seated at a small table in the back. 

They’re both tired from the show, but they eat their stew happily, enjoying the warmth of each other's company. 

“You’ve been happy lately,” Minho comments, chewing a piece of tofu. 

Jisung pauses, eyes wide and sleepy under the dim lights, “What do you mean?”

Suddenly, Minho wishes he hadn’t said anything, “You’ve just been more yourself again.” He sips his stew to wash out the sudden dryness in his mouth. 

He watches Jisung’s face carefully, looking for any sign that he’s said the wrong thing. 

“Am I usually not?” 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Minho amends, “It just gets stressful, all of this. I’m just happy you’re managing well with it.” It’s a good enough explanation. 

Jisung seems to relax at this, smiling again, “And how do you think you’re handling it?”

“Hm,” Minho hums, thinking. 

It’s been a crazy few years. There’s been a lot of hardship and loss, but they keep coming back from it all, putting out good music and growing their fanbase even larger than they thought possible. 

“I think you handle it well,” Jisung says before Minho can answer, “I admire that about you so much.”

“Do you?” Minho gives a half-laugh, always surprised by Jisung’s sincerity. 

Jisung nods, grinning around a mouthful of pork, “Some people go crazy from it, you know? Their brains can’t handle all of the stress and attention, but you’re good at it. You’re good at doing your job and still being okay after.”

“Well, I think you are too,” The words hit deep in Minho’s chest. He doesn’t often say it, but Jisung’s admiration means more to him than he knows what to do with.

Jisung gives him a sad smile suddenly, “I’m not, but it’s kind of you to say so.”

Minho isn’t sure what to say to that. He frowns and reaches a hand out to poke Jisung’s cheek gently. 

They never talk about Jisung’s moods. They should, probably, but sometimes it feels like nobody knows how to approach them. It feels easier to let it be.  

A sweet laugh comes from Jisung’s throat and the mood lightens again as they finish their food, playing rock, paper, scissors to decide who pays the bill.

Minho loses with rock to Jisung’s paper, his hand warm and soft as it covers his own.

They pay, stumbling out of the warm restaurant back onto the cold street, their arms linked and huddled against the wind.

“What time is it?” Jisung’s breath is visible with each word, his cheek pressed against Minho’s shoulder.

“Near 2 am, I think.”

“Chan and Changbin will be mad I’m getting back so late when we have rehearsal in the morning,” Jisung groans, “Did you hear how Chan lectured me last time? Ugh. As if he has room to speak, I hear him at 3 am sometimes.”

“You can stay the night with me,” Minho offers, a shiver creeping down his spine when Jisung looks up at him with big eyes. It’s funny now that they don’t live together how often they still spend the night in each other’s dorms. 

“Really?”

Minho shrugs, “I’m sure no one would mind.”

“Thank you,” Jisung whispers, his voice soft against the wind.

It’s another few minutes before they’re back at the dorm, quiet as they creep through the living room back to Minho’s room. Everyone else came home right after rehearsal, passing out early in anticipation of another busy day tomorrow.

“Quiet,” Minho giggles when Jisung trips over his own feet trying to open his bedroom door.

Jisung glares at him, pushing the door open and pulling Minho inside. 

He trips with the force of it, stumbling forward and crashing into Jisung, both of them toppling over and landing on the bed, Minho half on top of him.

They try to stifle their laughter, Jisung’s eyes wide and cheeks flushed. Their faces are inches from each other and Minho can’t help but take note of the pink spreading across Jisung’s nose, and he wonders if it's from the cold or something else. It would be so easy to kiss him, he thinks. He wonders if Jisung would let him. 

He doesn’t want to peel his body away but after a moment he finally does, pushing off his coat and shutting the door.

“Do you want to borrow something to sleep in?”

He turns away from Jisung as he pulls an old shirt and pajama bottoms from his drawer and changes quietly. He can feel Jisung’s eyes on him and he tries not to burn under the gaze.

“Please,” Jisung says after a moment. 

“ Please,” Minho mocks, doing his best to break the lingering tension that’s been there all night. 

“Don’t bully me, hyung,” Jisung crosses his arms as Minho pulls out another set of clothes for him to change into.

He grins and launches the clothes right at Jisung’s face, laughing as quietly as he can when they hit him in the chest.

“Hey!”

“Shh!” Minho shushes him, “Change here, I need to brush my teeth.” He leaves Jisung to put on his sleep clothes while he’s in the bathroom, washing his face with cold water and brushing his teeth. 

He lingers for longer than he needs to, his thoughts drifting back to Jisung. It’s an ache in his chest, how much he loves him. It cracks something in his ribs when he thinks of how he struggles, how they’re both so aware of it but so unable to find the words to speak of it. 

He sighs, patting moisturizer on his face before going back to the bedroom.

Jisung is already in bed when he enters, the soft blankets pulled up to his nose.

Minho softens impossibly at the sight, heart clenching when the other boy looks at him.“Scoot over,” He waves his hand until Jisung rolls to the other side of the bed, leaving room for Minho to settle in next to him. 

He flicks off the lights and crawls under the covers, Jisung’s body warm beside him. They don’t touch, and it’s hard to resist the urge to pull Jisung into the curve of his body. 

He pokes at Jisung’s thigh with his socked feet just to be a nuisance, giggling with him quietly under the cover of darkness. 

They fall asleep laughing, and the world feels soft and easy. 

__________

Things get bad again when they start touring. 

They start things off in Korea, and then Japan, and then they’re off to America for nearly a month.

The initial shows go well, and then they wake up the morning after their last show in Seattle and Jisung won’t get out of bed. 

He won’t let Minho into his room. He won’t even let Chan or Changbin in which worries Minho even more. 

Chan talks to him through the door for a while while Minho stands at the end of the hall to give them some privacy. He ends up spending all of his American dollars on snacks from the vending machine while he waits, convincing himself that Jisung will let him in if he offers them. For a moment he considers leaving to find a cafe with cheesecake, but he decides against it. He doesn’t want to leave for even a few minutes. 

After a while Chan comes to find him, his face tired and sad. 

“I don’t know what to do. He won’t come out or let me in,” Chan sighs, running a hand through his hair. 

At moments like these, Minho feels the weight he carries as their leader. His shoulders sag like he’s taken Jisung’s sadness on himself, tired like only a leader can be. It’s silly sometimes, because Chan isn’t that much older than Minho, not really, but his maturity and empathy is years above him. 

“I’ll try again,” Minho collects his anxious hoard of snacks into his arms, “You enjoy the day off, go to that museum with Hyunjin and Seungmin. I’ll call you later if I need you.”

Chan nods and gives him a gentle smile, patting his shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll have better luck. He’s always been so fond of you.”

And then Chan disappears down the hall and Minho is stuck reeling. With a calming breath, he goes back to Jisung’s door, knocking twice. 

“Hyung, please-" A sore voice calls from behind the door. 

“It’s me,” Minho says, sensing Jisung thought he was Chan again. 

“I’m sleeping.”

“I brought snacks,” Minho ignores the lie, “American snacks. I have chocolate. Let me in.”

There’s a long pause and Minho starts to feel defeated, and then there’s a shuffling sound and the door is creaking open. 

Relief floods his chest as he steps into the dark room. 

As soon as the door closes, Jisung is back across the room, climbing back under the cold white sheets. 

“What did you bring?” 

“Can I turn the lights on first?” Minho blinks, trying to adjust his eyes to the near black of the room. The hotels blackout curtains keep the sun from entering and all the lamps are flicked off. He nearly trips as he finds his way to the bed. 

“Just one,” Jisung concludes, the covers rustling as he makes room for Minho to sit next to him.  

Minho flicks on the lamp by the bed, heart dropping at the sight of Jisung. 

He looks like he’s barely able to hold his eyes open, his face puffy and red with sleep. Minho is sure he’s been asleep all day, probably forcing himself to stay awake now. 

Minho sighs, “We have to fly to California tomorrow. We leave at 8 in the morning.”

“I know.”

“We can’t leave without you, you have to be awake by then.”

“I will be,” Jisung’s voice sounds so small.

“I’ll wake you up myself if you’re not,” Minho tries to tease, poking fingers out to prod at Jisung’s sleepy face. He laughs when Jisung’s face twitches, poking him again. 

“Okay,” Jisung gives him an exhausted smile, “Show me the snacks now.”

“Fine. So greedy, only want me for my snacks,” Minho sighs dramatically, laying out the various bags on the bed. 

“Not just for your snacks,” Jisung mumbles under his breath, and for a moment he’s sure he heard him wrong. “Cheetos,” Jisung reaches out with a grabby hand for the orange bag before Minho can say anything else. 

“ Chee-toes,” Minho stretches the word absurdly to make Jisung laugh, and his heart eases when he coaxes a small smile from his tired mouth. “Sit up before you eat, I’ll be angry if you choke to death on chee-toes.”

“Stop saying it like that,” Jisung laughs, small and soft. 

“ Chee-toes,” Minho says again just to be annoying, just to pull another giggle from Jisung’s mouth. He sticks his feet out to poke at his thighs, “Chee- toes,” He jabs his toes into Jisung’s legs. 

“You’re so annoying,” Jisung rolls his eyes, but he opens his bag and starts to nibble at the snack. 

Minho shrugs, satisfied with how he’s lightened Jisung’s mood. 

For a long while, they nibble at snacks and watch bad American television, their silence comfortable and easy. Jisung eats all the cheetos and half of a twix bar, leaving the other part for Minho. 

“Are you tired?” Minho asks when he’s sure Jisung is done eating. 

The other boy has already slumped back against the bed, his face pinched with sadness like it had been when Minho first arrived. 

Jisung nods, his mouth downturned. 

“You’ve already slept a lot today. Let’s just watch one more episode.”

Jisung shakes his head, “Just a little nap. An hour.”

“Jisung-ah-”

“Please, hyung. Just an hour,” His voice is so small again, so defeated. He pulls the blankets up to his ears, eyes already closing. “You can even stay and wake me up. Just an hour, I mean it.”

“An hour,” Minho agrees, “Will you go out to dinner with me after? Just to get out of the room?” He tries to compromise. 

“Sure,” Jisung yawns, already half asleep.

Forty minutes into his nap, Jisung wakes up sobbing. 

It had started with what Minho had assumed were just shivers from the freezing room, and then Jisung was letting out small, weepy noises and his body started to shake. 

Frozen, he watched as the small cries developed into heavy sobs, and then Jisung was shooting awake, gasping for air like he might never breathe again. 

“Hey-” Minho reaches out as soon as he can function again, his instincts kicking in as he pulls Jisung’s trembling body into his own. Jisung has had anxiety attacks before and Minho thinks this might be one as he finds the terrified look in his eyes.  

“I’m sorry,” Jisung hiccups, his face pressed to Minho’s chest. He clings to him like a lifeboat, hands balling up the fabric of Minho’s hoodie. 

“It’s not your fault,” Minho pets his hair, wraps a strong arm around his shoulder. 

Jisung lets out a broken noise, curling further into Minho’s chest like he wants to climb inside. He’d let him, if it would make him feel better. He’d crack his own ribs open and let Jisung crawl between them if he’d finally feel safe, finally be at peace. 

It’s an awful ache to love someone this much. It’s worse to love someone you don’t know how to help. 

Jisungs breathing is frantic, petrified and ragged and Minho rubs his back softly, trying to get him to breathe steady. After a while, Jisung starts to follow along, falling into a gentle rhythm. 

Gently, Minho kisses the top of Jisung’s head, smoothing a hand over his back until he feels him starting to fall asleep again, warm puffs of breath against his skin. 

“You should lay down,” Minho whispers, trying to shift and allow Jisung to break away from him. 

Instead, Jisung pulls Minho down with him, clinging onto him even as he pulls the blankets back around them. He tucks his face into Minho’s neck, his arms around his shoulders. 

It’s quiet between them, tension and emotions sweltering but neither of them speak, shaky breaths filling the room.

After a long minute Jisung finally speaks, his voice rough from crying, “You know,” He starts, “You’re my best friend.”

“Aw,” Minho’s heart clenches painfully, “Jisungie.”

“I mean it,” Jisung presses his nose along the line of Minho’s jaw, “There’s- when I call you my soulmate, I’m not being dramatic. You are.”

“I know,” Minho’s hands go tighter around Jisung’s waist.

“I- I don’t have a lot of friends. I never really have, but you’re the most important one I’ve ever had. You’re the only one who’s ever cared about me like this,” His voice is thin and watery, like he’s going to cry again. 

Minho is stunned into silence by the honesty, his throat closing up. All he can do is hold Jisung closer to him, press his lips to his sweaty forehead. “I love you,” He tells him, choking on the truth of it. 

“I love you too,” Jisung sighs, and Minho can tell he’s going to fall asleep again soon. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Minho stares out at the wall of the hotel room, the tiny sliver of fading light that shines from under the curtains. “Go back to sleep, honey.”

Jisung mumbles something Minho can’t quite make out, stretching and curling closer again. 

For a long time, Minho just listens to the sound of him breathing. 

It’s a silly reminder that he’s alive, that he’s breathing and here and in Minho’s arms. He convinces himself that Jisung will be okay, because he has to. 

He’s not sure how long it’s been when he gets a text from Felix, but the light from under the curtain is long gone so it must be late. 

Felix: how is he?

He breathes out through his nose at the message, sure Chan updated everyone on what happened earlier. 

Minho: sleeping. 

Minho: i don't know. he worries me. 

In his arms, Jisung stirs like he knows he’s being discussed. He’s always had a sixth sense for it, always popping his head around the corner when his name is mentioned like he knew. 

Felix: you take good care of him, you know?

Oddly, it makes Minho want to cry. 

Minho: is everything okay?

Felix: yup

Felix: just wanted to check in. do you need anything?

Minho: no. tell chan he’s sleeping again

He lets his phone fall back to the bed and his eyes close. 

In the morning, he wakes up with Jisung still in his arms and a rapid knocking at the door. 

“Get up!” Changbin yells from behind the door.

“Can’t,” Jisung mutters, whimpering when Minho pulls away.

He clambers out of the bed on achy legs, pulling the door open with a scowl. 

“Airport in an hour,” Changbin crosses his arms, “How is he?”

“You woke him up.”

“He’s been sleeping for over a day.”

“He needs the rest,” Minho finds himself on the defense, despite knowing Changbin isn’t trying to fight him. 

“He needs to see a doctor or a psychologist, or something. He doesn’t need to fall into these holes for weeks at a time and sleep through every day.”

There’s a tension between them and Minho doesn’t back down from his hard look. He knows they disagree about how to care for Jisung when he’s in his moods. They’ve butted heads over it enough in recent years. 

“We’ll meet you downstairs in an hour,” Minho won’t argue with him now, not when Jisung is still in bed behind him. 

Changbin sighs, running a hand through wavy hair, “I’ll have someone get your things from your room. Just focus on getting him up.”

Minho nods and Changbin gives him a tight-lipped smile goodbye. 

“Minho-hyung,” Jisung whines when the door shuts.

“We have to leave in an hour.”

“I can’t,” Jisung’s voice is flat, exhausted.

“You have to. We have a show in two days, you can’t stay here. It isn’t good for you.”

“I’m tired.”

“You can sleep on the airplane. Jisung, get up,” He puts on a firm voice, commanding, “You should shower before we leave.”

“No,” Jisung slumps back into the bed. 

“Get up or I’ll make you,” Minho crosses his arms, standing his ground. 

“Make me, then,” Jisung challenges, unmoving. 

So, he does. 

Pushing the covers off, he scoops two arms under Jisung’s body and hauls him up. 

Jisung flails and screams, immediately wrapping his arms around Minho’s neck to keep himself from tumbling to the ground. 

“What are you doing?” Jisung hisses, but he doesn’t fight it when Minho starts walking with him towards the bathroom. 

“You need to shower before we leave. You stink.” He kicks the bathroom door open with his foot and deposits Jisung on the counter, two hands on his shoulders to make sure he stays sitting up before he moves to the tub to start the water. 

“I don’t want to,” Jisung slumps forward, but he doesn’t try to move. 

“You either shower yourself or I bathe you like a toddler,” Minho shrugs, rolling up his sleeve to check the temperature. 

“Hyung,” Jisung sighs, so painfully sad he feels it punch his gut. 

“Fine,” Minho sighs dramatically, stopping up the drain to let the bath fill with warm water. He stands up as he lets it fill, moving between Jisung’s legs. His fingers underneath his shirt, feels his sleep warm skin. “Lift your arms up.”

“You’re not serious,” Jisung looks at him with tired eyes, his mouth curled down. 

“Lift,” Minho repeats. 

This time, Jisung listens. He lifts his arms above his head and lets Minho peel his shirt off.

Even in his sadness, he is the most beautiful thing Minho has ever seen. 

“You can take your own pants off,” Minho tells him, heart in his throat. He goes back to the tub to check the temperature and stops the water once it’s full enough. He can hear the shuffling of fabric behind him and keeps his eyes on the white porcelain. 

“You don’t have to bathe me,” Jisung tells him, stepping into the water. 

“Will you do it yourself, or will you just sit there?” Minho meets his eyes once he’s in the tub, the water lapping at his soft stomach. He very carefully doesn’t let his gaze drop any lower. They’re already crossing enough lines like this. 

Jisung gives him an exhausted smile, and it’s enough of an answer for Minho. 

“Are your products in your suitcase?”

Jisung nods. 

“Okay. Get your hair wet, I’ll get everything.”

He grabs Jisung’s dirty clothes and leaves him in the tub while he gathers any stray items from around the room, trading them for a clean set of clothes and his hair products. 

When he returns to the bathtub, Jisung has wet his hair. He’s laying back in the tub, his eyes closed and the long line of his throat bared. Selfishly, Minho lets himself stare for a minute before making an obnoxious noise to alert his arrival and holding out his hands to show Jisung what he has. 

Jisung’s eyes flutter open, his lashes dark and wet. 

It’s quiet as Minho sits on the lip of the tub, pouring shampoo in the palm of his hand and begins working it through Jisung’s hair. He’s easy, letting Minho do what he wants and moving his head without further protest. 

He wonders if this moment holds the same weight for Jisung as it does for him. He wants to carry it like a stone in his pocket, keep it close and protected. 

Jisung’s hair is soft under his fingers, surprisingly healthy for all it’s been put through and when Minho massages his scalp by his temples, Jisung lets out a pleased noise and lets his eyes close again. 

He moves in a trance through the rest of the bath, rinsing the shampoo before applying conditioner and sitting back to let Jisung wash his own body. He leaves him to towel off and change while he puts everything away and zips up Jisung’s suitcase. 

They have ten minutes to be in the lobby when Jisung steps out of the bathroom, soft yellow light casting him in gold. His hair is damp, fluffy and towel dried, and Minho recalls how it feels to run his hands through the wet strands. 

“Ready to go?” Minho swallows, clenching his fist around the handle of Jisung’s suitcase. 

__________

They get to Japan just before the cherry blossoms bloom. 

Osaka is pretty in the winter, and Minho thinks that of all the times they’ve been to Japan, this is his favorite. 

They played two great shows for the last two nights, and now they get to rest before they head to Manila next week. 

Tomorrow they’ll fly back to Seoul for the days in between, but today Minho throws on a thick sweater and goes to look for Jisung. 

He finds him in Hyunjin’s hotel room with Felix, the three of them watching a movie on the clean bed. 

They greet him with warm smiles and Minho flops himself onto the bed, right between Jisungs legs, and crawls up his body until his head is resting on his chest. Below his ear, he can hear the steady thump of Jisung’s heart. He can’t quite reach his butt from the position he’s lying, but he smacks his flank a few times for good measure. 

“What are you doing?” Jisung whispers, threading his fingers through Minho’s hair. 

“I want to go walk around,” Minho looks up, catching Jisung’s eye. 

“I was kind of doing something,” He jerks his head in the direction of Hyunjin and Felix who don’t seem to notice or don’t care. They know how he and Jisung get, anyway. 

“I don’t care,” Minho tells him, sticking out his lips just slightly in the way that makes Jisung melt, “Come walk around with me. We can get sushi.”

Jisung hums, pretending to contemplate. “Will you pay?”

“Only if you beat me in rock, paper, scissors,” Minho grins. 

Jisung rolls his eyes, grinning, and turns to Hyunjin and Felix. “Will you hate me if we leave right now?”

“What, you’re not even going to invite us?” Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, “So rude. ” It’s thick with sarcasm. 

“Do you want to come with us?” 

“No,” Hyunjin scoffs, “Bring me back katsudon if you see it though.”

“Felix?” Jisung asks. 

Felix shakes his head, “I’m alright, but thank you. Have fun!” He beams. 

They walk along the river as they move through the city, aimless in their wandering. 

“Do you know where we’re going?” Jisung laughs as Minho bounces ahead along the pavement, spinning with each step just to make him laugh. 

Minho shrugs, walking backwards to look at Jisung, “We’ll find something.”

“You promised me sushi and now you’ve lured me out onto the streets and don’t even know where we’re going!” Jisung scolds, but his cheeks are pink and he’s smiling wide. 

“Is it such a crime to want to just walk with you?” Minho rolls his eyes and falls back next to Jisung, bumping their shoulders together. 

“It is when I’m hungry,” Jisung grins, “Find us sushi.”

“You’re always hungry,” Minho pokes his side, but he looks around the area and finds a small fish shaped sign hanging from a door after a minute. “Come on,” He guides Jisung into the restaurant. 

It’s a tiny hole in the wall and they sit at the bar, watching the chefs cut and assemble all kinds of sushi and sashimi. 

“Order for me,” Minho sighs, resting his face in his hand. He looks at Jisung as he reads the menu, noting the way the warm light makes his skin look like it’s glowing. 

“You can’t order yourself?” 

“No,” Minho doesn’t bother looking away when Jisung looks back at him, “You know what I like.”

“What am I, your wife?”

“Mm,” Minho sighs dramatically, “You could be.”

It makes Jisung laugh, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, “You’re an idiot.” He turns back to the menu before he places their order. 

Really, Minho doesn’t think he’d mind Jisung being his wife. His husband. Whatever. He thinks of them in a nice house in the country, a few cats and maybe a dog if Jisung wanted. He thinks of how the fresh air would be good for him, how maybe it would help his temperament to be so far away from the city. 

“Would you?” He can’t help but ask once Jisung is done ordering. 

“Would I what?”

“Be my wife.”

Jisung’s eyes widen, looking at Minho like he’s gone insane. “What? What are you talking about?” His cheeks are bright pink, his mouth small and pursed. 

“ Jisungie,” Minho teases because he can’t help himself, “You’d be such a good wife, you know.”

“You’d be a better wife than me,” Jisung scoffs, trying to play off the embarrassment written on his face, “You cook more and are better at things. I’d be a lazy husband, I’d just lay in bed all day and work only when I had to.”

Minho frowns, “That’s not true. You’d be my pretty wife and I’d be a good husband and take care of you like I do now.”

There’s something warm and sad that flashes in Jisung’s eye, but their sushi arrives and there’s no time for talking when there’s a monstrous plate of fish in front of them. 

They chew happily and Minho feeds Jisung bites of salmon between pieces of tuna, making sure he eats a bit of everything. They don’t talk much as they eat, but they rarely ever do. There’s something about it that settles Minho into place. 

It’s been a rough few months for Jisung, but things have been easier the last few weeks. He’s evened out again, back on an easier pace. His anxiety before shows has been manageable, his depression not so bad that he can’t get out of bed most times. Even his highs have been easier to deal with, less intense and not as hard to predict. 

Minho loses the rock, paper, scissor battle and pays for their meal when they finish. 

“Do you want to just walk for a while?” Minho asks once they’re back on the street.

“We could go to the park?” Jisung suggests, “There's one not far from here, remember?”

They’d seen it on their drive into the city, Hyunjin pointing out the budding trees and exclaiming how he wants to come back when they’re properly bloomed to paint them. 

“Lead the way,” Minho sticks out his arm and Jisung laughs, heading in the direction of the park. 

He can’t help but think of how good they are like this as they walk, how simple it is. There’s a level of comfort with Jisung, a level of knowing without having to speak it. It’s so easy when Jisung is happy. More than anything, Minho wishes he could always feel this carefree. 

He wishes Jisung could wake up every day and be excited for their shows, excited to travel and see new places. He wants him to feel the joy of new restaurants and their favorite places. He just wants him to be happy. 

“What are you thinking about?” Jisung asks as they reach the outskirts of the park, where the city pavement turns into grass and cobble. 

“Who said I’m thinking about anything?” They start down one of the paths, the cobblestone lined by bright green trees. 

“You have that look on your face when you’re thinking too much.”

“Hmph,” Minho grumbles, “Maybe I was just thinking about how pretty you look right now.” It’s not entirely untrue. Jisung does look especially pretty right now, soft and content under the blue sky. Sometimes, Minho wishes he could paint like Hyunjin. He’d paint Jisung right here among the trees. 

“Shut up,” Jisung blushes, pink like cherry blossoms, “Tell me for real.”

Minho shrugs, “What if we moved to the country?” He thinks of his fantasy from earlier. 

“What?” Jisung huffs out a laugh, “Why would we move to the country?”

“I think it would suit you well, living in the country.”

“Do you think so?”

“Mm,” Minho hums, “Everything is so much softer there. The city is too harsh, too dark. You should be in the warm sun, lots of grass and flowers.”

“And in this life where I move to the country, do you move with me?”

“Of course,” Minho answers simply, “You’d need someone to cook for you.”

“My wife,” Jisung grins, and Minho knows he’s thinking of their conversation earlier. 

“Exactly,” Minho agrees, “Now, go stand next to that tree, I want to take a picture of you.”

__________

March comes and the switch flips again. 

It was naïve for Minho to think it wouldn’t. 

There are good days still, there always are, but the bad days come back and with the bad days come the scary ones. The kind where Jisung disappears for two days right before they leave for America to finish their tour, and Chan finds him at a bar just outside of Seoul after convincing their manager to let him track his phone. 

He’s drunk when Chan brings him home, wrapped in a blanket like a shock patient. 

The remaining 6 of them are gathered in their dorm when the car pulls up, all of them sick with worry and unable to do anything but sit on the couch and ache for his safety. 

When the door finally cracks open and Chan ushers Jisung inside, there is a collective breath released. 

“I’m gonna get him in the shower,” Chan tells the group of them, his arm wrapped around Jisung’s shoulder. 

Jisung is shaking under the blanket, severely underdressed for the still freezing weather outside. His eyes are wide and alert but he seems barely coherent and Minho wonders if it's just the alcohol or something worse.  

“Do you want help?” Changbin offers, shifting from the couch where he holds Felix in his arms. 

Chan nods and Changbin parts from Felix with a reassuring squeeze to his shoulder, and the three of them disappear down the hall. 

“At least he’s okay,” Felix’s voice trembles like he’s on the precipice of crying. 

“He is okay,” Hyunjin’s voice is dejected, like he’s trying to convince himself of something he knows isn’t true. 

“He needs help,” Seungmin says, his face buried in his hands. 

They can all feel it. The breaking point. There’s only so much their management can allow, only so much wiggle room for incidents like this. He can skate by with the depression and the anxiety, it’s manageable enough but this-

Minho lets out a hard breath. 

“They won’t put him on a hiatus, will they?” Jeongin asks, his voice small. They all turn to look at him and Minho can feel the anxiety that buzzes from Hyunjin. 

“No,” Minho says, unsure if he’s telling the truth, “This is just one time. This won’t happen again.”

It won’t. He’s sure of that. This is the most extreme one of his moods has ever been, it won’t be like this again. It can’t. 

“So what, then?” Hyunjin turns to him, “He just walks it off? Wakes up tomorrow like nothing happened?”

“No,” Minho feels his role as the second oldest heavily in this moment, “I don’t know. But not that.”

“Helpful,” Hyunjin rolls his eyes, and Minho knows his hostility is only coming from a place of worry. 

“Hyunjin,” Felix reaches out, wrapping his arms around Hyunjin’s shoulders. He watches the tension melt from his body as Felix holds him. 

“What do we do now?” Jeongin asks, his head resting on Seungmin’s shoulder. 

“Go back to the dorm, I guess. There’s nothing else we can really do now,” Felix sighs sadly. 

“Minho,” Chan’s head suddenly peaks around the corner and Minho’s alert immediately. He looks exhausted, and Minho aches for him too. “He’s asking for you.”

“Go,” Hyunjin pushes at his shoulder, “You can stay in my room, I’ll go back with them.”

Minho stands, giving Hyunjin a firm nod. It’s the best thanks he can verbalize without wanting to cry. 

In Jisung’s room, he finds Changbin sitting on the edge of the bed, his glasses in one hand as he scrubs his face with the other. 

“That bad?” Minho whispers. He can hear Chan talking to Jisung in the bathroom but can’t make out the words. 

Changbin just sighs, “It’s not good. He’ll feel better with you in there, at least.”

Minho nods and steps forward to knock gently on the bathroom door. Behind it, he hears Jisung’s voice slur his name before Chan tells him to come in. 

“Honey,” His heart constricts in his chest when he steps inside, seeing the state of Jisung. 

He’s fully clothed, huddled in the bathtub and soaking wet like he’s been hosed down. His eyes are a burning red and the bags under his eyes suggest he hasn’t slept in days. 

“Hyung,” Jisung hiccups, “Hyungie. Minho,” At least he seems alert now, unlike the catatonic state he seemed to be in when he first walked in. He’s still shaking, jittery like he gets when he’s had too much caffeine. His teeth chatter and bite harshly with each word. It’s unsettling. 

“Why is he so wet?” Minho asks Chan, who sighs. 

“He wouldn’t get undressed to actually shower. He sat in the tub and turned on the water.”

“Minho-hyung will give me a bath,” Jisung sighs, “He will, Channie.”

“Okay, Jisung-ah,” Chan sighs like a tired parent frustrated with a young child. 

“I will,” Minho offers, “Go sleep, I’ll take care of him.”

Chan gives him an exhausted smile, “You always do,” He claps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing once. “If you need anything else I’m down the hall. Binnie too, yeah?”

Minho nods, and with it, Chan leaves the bathroom. 

“You need to get out of those clothes,” Minho squats by the edge of the tub. 

“Minho-hyung wants me out of my clothes,” Jisung smiles at the ceiling, his eyes closed. 

“Dirty mind,” Minho pretends to scold him, reaching to pull the soaking t-shirt from his body. His skin is freezing and clammy below it. 

“No,” Jisung pouts, “Could think of something dirtier.”

“I’m sure you could,” His hands are gentle as he tugs at Jisung’s pants and boxers, sliding them down his legs until he’s bare again. He jerks erratically each time Minho touches him, flinching like he’s waiting for some kind of impact. 

Minho runs the warm water and tries to remain clinical as he drips body wash on a cloth and dabs at Jisung’s smooth skin. He seems adjusted to the touches now, no longer violently pulling away. 

“Feels good,” Jisung shudders as Minho dabs at his chest,” “Love this, hyungie.”

“You love getting a sponge bath like an old man?” Minho shakes his head, joking to the best of his ability. His hands are careful as he rinses the suds from Jisung’s chest, skin against skin. In another life, he wishes he could touch him like this at a time that didn’t feel like they’re dancing on the edge of the world. 

“Love you touching me,” Jisung grins, tipping his head back to let Minho wash his hair. He has his legs drawn up to his chest now, his arms wrapped around them in a ball. He looks frighteningly small. 

“Okay,” Minho laughs, uncomfortable with the truth of it, “Come on, you’re all done. I’ll get you some clothes, you dry yourself off.”

Chan left a t-shirt and clean underwear folded on the edge of the bed and Minho grabs it, bringing it back to Jisung. 

He’s standing in the middle of the bathroom when Minho returns, naked as the day he was born, dripping little puddles onto the floor. 

“Ah!” Minho makes a strained noise, shoving the clothes towards Jisung and looking up at the ceiling. 

It makes Jisung laugh, slow and syrupy like he’s not entirely aware of what’s going on. 

“Minho-hyung!” He laughs. 

“Get dressed,” Minho huffs. 

He keeps his eyes closed while he listens to the sound of clothes shuffling, opening them when Jisung topples forward to drape his arms over Minho’s shoulders. 

“All done,” He sighs, tucking his face into Minho’s neck. He can smell the alcohol still on his breath and the manic energy zipping through his skin. He’s electric with it and it terrifies Minho in a way he can’t express. 

“Good job,” He smooths a hand down Jisungs back and together they stumble into the bedroom. “You need me to tuck you in too?” He teases gently, but he pulls back the blankets for Jisung to crawl under anyway. 

“Stay with me?” Jisung looks up at him from the bed. 

“If you want,” Minho nods. “Can I borrow pajama bottoms?”

Jisung shakes his head, “Just take off your jeans. Come sleep with me, hyung.” He whines, making grabby hands at Minho. 

“You’re a very needy drunk,” Minho tells him, but he pushes his jeans down despite how he can feel his ears turning red. 

“I’m very needy all the time,” Jisung’s words still slur together at the ends but Minho can hear the inebriation leaving his voice. He wonders what his mood will be like when it’s gone. He’s scared to find out. 

“That’s not true,” Minho climbs in next to Jisung, keeping a careful distance. 

Jisung breaks it instantly, rolling over to throw his bare legs across Minho’s, pressing his face against his chest. 

“My head hurts,” Jisung tells him, whining again. 

“Do you want me to get you a sleeping pill? I’m sure Chan-hyung has those nighttime ibuprofen.”

“Channie-hyung,” Jisung sighs, “ Threeee racha,” He giggles. 

“Do you want me to get him?” Minho asks again. 

Jisung shakes his head, “Mm mm. Just want you. Never told you that before.”

“Told me what?” Minho frowns.

“How I want you,” Jisung sighs like it’s too heavy to say, “Minho.”

“You’re still drunk,” Minho can feel his heart in his throat. He’s suffocating under the weight of Jisung’s words, his body. 

“Barely,” Jisung slurs, but Minho can tell he’s finally starting to fall asleep. He wonders how many days it’s been since the last time he did. 

“Go to sleep, Jisungie,” Minho rubs circles on his back through his t-shirt, “You need the rest.”

Jisung mumbles something Minho can’t quite pick up, but soon enough he’s deep asleep, snoring quietly and curling against Minho’s body. 

In the morning, Chan and Jisung have a meeting with the company. It’s a three man effort to get Jisung out of bed and presentable, but in the end they get him in the taxi with Chan. 

They come to an agreement to keep this off the books, but the next time none of them will be so lucky. 

Jisung cries into Chan’s arms for a long time when they get home. 

__________

Minho wakes up to a rapid knocking on his door in the hotel room of a city he can’t quite remember.  

For a moment as he blinks his eyes open, he’s completely disoriented, his heart racing as he blinks around the unfamiliar room, trying to remember where he is. And then his eyes adjust and the knocking rings in his ears, the fast and loud smack of knuckles against wood and he can feel that something is desperetly wrong before he even opens the door. 

He trips over his own feet rushing to answer, hissing at the harsh light from the hallway as he swings the door open. 

Jisung, soaked in sweet with wild eyes, stands in the hallway. 

“What are you doing?” Minho blinks at him, confused. He’s still half-asleep and he’s almost convinced he’s still dreaming. 

“Can I come in?” Jisung’s face is flushed, his whole face puffy and red. He’s sweating so hard his hair is damp with it. It looks like he’s been crying too, wet streaks below his eyes. 

“Uh,” Minho’s brain is working hard to catch up, “Yes?” 

He steps to the side and lets Jisung in, notice the anxious twitch of his hands. 

“Why are you awake?” He’s slow with sleep, struggling to keep up with the quick pace at which Jisung is moving. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Jisung refuses to slow down, starting a quick pacing around the perimeter of the room, “Feels like my head's gonna explode. Fuck, don’t let me explode. Hyung- Minho-hyung, you won’t let me explode, will you? I feel like I’m going to die,” He rubs at his arms like he’s trying to warm himself up. 

Minho frowns and flicks on the hotel light, “What are you talking about? No, I won’t let you explode.”

For a moment, he’s worried Jisung is having another breakdown like he did the week before they left again. It’s something like a relief when he realizes it’s a panic attack. 

Jisung laughs, shrill and strained, “That’s why you’re my favorite. You won’t let anything happen to me. You won’t.”

“I won’t,” Minho agrees, stepping towards him carefully like approaching a frightened animal. 

He almost looks like one as he stops his pacing, frozen like a deer caught in headlights.

“You won’t,” Jisung repeats, his eyes huge and staring at Minho’s hand as he reaches it out like he doesn’t recognize it. 

Jisung’s skin is flushed hot when Minho’s hand cups his cheek. 

“Can you tell me what’s going on now? It’s the middle of the night,” He swipes his thumb under Jisung’s eye. 

“My head won’t shut up,” Jisung’s body is thrumming, vibrating out of his own skin and Minho can feel his anxiety, “It’s too much, it’s so much, hyung. Everywhere I go, everyone is looking at me and you’re looking at me and you can see me. You can see me, can’t you?” He rambles, his eyes pleasing and desperate. 

“Of course, I can,” Minho takes another step closer, his hand still cradling Jisung’s face, “What do you think is too much?”

In the last few years, Minho has become something of an expert on panic attacks. He’s had one or two himself, has seen Chan struggle with them before, but none of them experience them the way Jisung does. More times than he can count, Minho has had to talk Jisung down before they go on stage, rubbing his shoulders and whispering words of comfort. He’s found over time that Jisung responds better to talking through his panic, verbalizing each thing that sends nauseous waves of anxiety down his spine.

“All of it,” Jisung’s lip trembles, “All of it. It’s- I can’t-” He sucks in a shaky breath, “I don’t know why I am the way I am. I don’t know. I can’t help it. It’s too much to feel like this. And I feel like this all the time and it doesn’t stop. Last time- and the meeting- and I need to make it stop, I need-”

Minho takes his hand away from Jisung’s face and pulls him into his arms. He holds Jisung to his chest, feels the trembling sob he lets out, and how shaky his hands are as they grab at his back.

“We can make it stop,” Minho presses his cheek to the side of Jisung’s head, “Okay? I’ll make it stop.”

“You can’t,” Jisung sobs, “You can’t. I’m broken, you can’t fix me. I’m- I'm going to be like this forever and you’ll be stuck taking care of me because I’m a mess and you’re so good and I don’t deserve you.”

For a split second, Minho thinks he can feel his heart break. “Don’t deserve me?” Minho holds him tighter, “Jisung-ah, I don’t care if you don’t think you deserve me. I love you and I take care of you because I want to and because you deserve it.”

“I don’t,” Jisung trembles, his hands curling into painful fists against Minho’s back, “I feel crazy. I feel so crazy all the time. And I make everyone so sad, I know I do. I make everything miserable and then I go crazy and make everyone scared. I’m awful, I’m awful.”

“Jisungie,” Minho whispers, petting his back soothingly as he hiccups a sob in his arms, “Honey. You don’t make us sad, or scared. We love you, we care about you. You’re not crazy. You’re not.”

Jisung sniffles, nodding against Minho’s chest. 

“You won’t feel like this forever,” Minho promises, “I’ll take care of you.”

He tucks Jisung into his bed when the sobs finally stop and there are no more words left to be spoken for the night. 

Quietly, once Jisung has started snoring softly, he sneaks into the bathroom and dials his phone.

“Do you remember Seattle? Last year?” Minho asks as soon as the line picks up.

“Is he okay?” Changbin answers instantly.

“Yes,” Minho bites his cheek, “No. Do you remember you said he needs some kind of psychologist? Or a doctor?”

“Yes,” Changbin answers without missing a beat, knowing the situation without an explanation, “Give me an hour, let me make some calls. I’ll call Chan. Does he-” Changbin takes a long, worried breath, “Does he need some kind of immediate help? Is he in danger?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Minho knows what Changbin means without the details, “Make your calls, I can talk to Chan first.”

“Right. I’ll try to come around in a few hours. Message me your room number again.”

“Sure,” Minho sighs out a breath, “Thank you.”

The line goes dead, and he sits in the quiet of the bathroom for a long minute just to listen to his own breathing.

When he steps back into the room, Jisung is looking at him from the bed. 

“Feel better?” Minho gives him a soft smile. 

He looks less erratic, less like he’s about to fly out of his own skin. 

“I think so. I don’t know,” Jisung answers honestly. Minho is worried he’s going to crash again soon.

“Do you want to order breakfast? We can eat and talk if you’d like. I think the kitchen is open by now.”

It’s just past 6 am, the world slowly starting to open its eyes. 

Jisung thinks for a minute before he nods slowly, and there is something like relief that swells in Minho’s chest. 

A cart of food arrives a half hour later and Minho sets it all out for them on the bed. There’s fruit and pastries and meat and eggs, nearly everything off the breakfast menu that Jisung could want. 

“Jisungie,” Minho sings, peeling an orange on the bed. His careful fingers peel it in one long strand, and he wedges his fingers into the sticky slices to pull them out for Jisung. 

“Hyungie,” Jisung sings back, taking the orange slices and popping them into his mouth. Juice dribbles down his chin and an awful part of Minho wants to reach out and lick it clean. 

“When we go back to Korea, I’m going to visit my parents for a few days. You could come with me if you’d like,” He swallows a forkful of eggs, distracting himself. 

“Really?” Jisung asks with big cheeks, bites of sausage and egg stored like a chipmunk.

Minho nods, “The cats miss you, it would be nice if you came to visit. I know my mom would like to see you too. She worries about you the most.” It’s a not-so-subtle attempt at asking Jisung to stay by his side when they return. 

He watches Jisung’s eyes soften, almost embarrassed, “If you’re sure.”

“Of course.”

“I want to visit my parents when we go back also. You can come with me too, to visit them.”

It’s a warm flutter in Minho’s chest. The domesticity, the intimacy of planning visits to each other's parents homes. 

“I’d like that,” Minho smiles at him, tearing the last croissant and handing half to Jisung. They still have a handful of shows left before their break, but they leave tomorrow for the last round of shows in Los Angeles before they’re back in Korea for a while. 

Before he can get too worried, his phone buzzes with a text from Chan letting him know he spoke with Changbin and they’re talking with the company getting Jisung in to see a psychiatrist as soon as they’re home. He sends over the doctors name and practice information, knowing Minho will want to read it. 

“Can I ask you something?” Minho asks as soon as he’s read the message, putting his phone down. 

Jisung breathes out once, like he’s been anticipating their inevitable discussion. He nods. 

“I told you I was going to help you. You remember?”

Jisung nods again. 

“There’s a doctor willing to see you when we get back to Seoul. A psychiatrist.”

“I’ve seen a psychiatrist before.”

“For your anxiety. But this is different, you know that.”

Jisung looks like he wants to fight it, but he gives up, nodding. “I know.”

“When we get home, I think you should see him. And then we’ll go to my parents for a while, and then yours, and we’ll have the whole break to get you adjusted. How does that sound?”

“Terrifying,” Jisung barks a wet laugh, his eyes suddenly wet with tears, “I’m so scared, hyung.”

“Honey,” Minho’s heart aches, and he pushes aside their plates to crawl across the bed and bring Jisung back into his arms. 

“Sorry,” Jisung swallows, laughs wetly again, “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. It’s good, you’re right. It will be good for me to see someone. They can help. They’ll help, right?” He starts rambling anxiously again. 

“They will,” Minho pets his hair, “Have you eaten enough? Do you want to rest again?”

Jisung nods, sighing when Minho presses his lips to his temple. 

Changbin and Chan come by in the early afternoon. 

He leaves the three of them alone in his room for privacy, going to find the others in the meantime. 

He ends up in Felix’s room playing Mario Kart with him and Seungmin, Hyunjin sketching on the sofa with Jeongin sitting at his feet. 

“Seung min!” Felix screeches when Seungmin hits his cart with a red shell, spinning off the side of the track. 

“Loser!” Seungmin cheers, zipping into first place as the final lap ends. 

“ Ugh,” Felix groans, tossing his controller to the other side of the bed and flopping down. 

Minho comes in last and he can’t even find it in himself to whine about it like he usually would. He flops back with Felix, pushing his feet against Seungmin’s back just to annoy him. 

“Cut it out!” Seungmin huffs, standing from the bed to slump himself next to Jeongin. 

“Be nice to him,” Felix frowns, “He had a rough night.”

Minho closes his eyes, rolling onto his back and letting out a heavy breath. 

“Was it really bad last night?” He feels the mattress dip as Felix rolls onto his side next to him. He talks quietly to not bother the other boys with heavy conversations. 

“Not any worse than last time,” He answers honestly, “I don’t think he can handle much more of this.”

Felix makes a sad noise, “Chan and Changbin-hyung are with him now?”

“Yes. They’re talking to the company about finding him a doctor.”

“I thought he already had one? He had that therapist a few years ago, did he stop seeing her?”

“He only saw her sometimes for his anxiety,” Minho recalls a conversation he had once with Jisung about it, “It was never regular. He’s supposed to see the new psychiatrist when we get back to Seoul, and then I’ll take him with me to my parents house for a while.”

Felix makes a noise of understanding, and for a moment the two of them just breathe together. 

“Can I ask you something?” Felix speaks again, nearly a whisper. 

Minho hums for him to continue. 

“Are you in love with him?”

For a long minute, all Minho can hear is static. His mouth tastes like blood and his skin flushes. He keeps his eyes closed as the world suddenly rushes back in overwhelming waves. “Yes,” He answers, “Yes, I probably am.”

“I’m sorry,” Felix says, because what else is there to say?

“Don’t be,” Minho blinks his eyes open, tilting his head to look at the other boy, “When it feels good to love him it outweighs every time it might feel bad. But it never feels hard. Loving him is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Felix, ever the secret romantic, blinks hard as his eyes get glassy. “Hyung,” He sighs, watery, “He loves you too, you know.”

Horribly, Minho does. 

“There are more important things to worry about,” Minho swallows the bitter truth, abruptly sitting up as he decides his heart can no longer take the weight if this conversation, “Like me kicking Seungmin’s ass at rainbow road,” He says loud and obnoxious, drawing back Seungmin’s attention. 

“What?” Seungmin shoots up from where he had draped himself over Jeongin’s back, “As if , old man!”

___________

He takes Jisung to his first psychiatrist appointment the day after they return from Los Angeles. 

Last night they’d stumbled into Jisung’s room together, jet lagged and exhausted, and really Minho thinks he should be more concerned over how often he’s sleeping with Jisung, but he finds it hard to care. 

It just made it easier to get him up this morning when they woke up in the same place. 

Watching Jisung wake up next to him is one of the biggest pleasures in life, Minho has come to learn.

Now, he sits in the cold waiting room while Jisung is in the doctor’s office. He tries not to feel anxious as he waits but it’s hard not to feel restless. He taps his foot and plays on his phone, texts Hyunjin to pass the time. 

He waits for just over an hour when the door cracks open and Jisung steps out, shaking hands with the doctor before turning to Minho with a shy smile. 

“How did it go?” Minho stands from his chair instantly, moving to Jisung’s side. 

“Good,” Jisung nods, linking their arms together as they move out of the building and to the car. “Uhm. He thinks I could be bipolar.” The word sits heavy between them for a few moments. 

“Bipolar,” Minho repeats, and there’s some kind of clarity in it. 

“Yeah,” Jisung nods, “He ordered me a prescription and recommended a therapist, but he said it’s- he said it’s pretty manageable with the right combination.” There are tears in his eyes, brimming with emotion. 

“Jisung-ah,” There’s a moment between them as they stand beside the car where Minho is so filled with love he’s terrified, “You’re okay.”

He takes Jisung into his arms as tears begin to flow. So many times they’ve been here, Jisung crying against his chest and for the first time, his tears aren’t in pain. 

They pick up Jisung's prescription from the pharmacy and a few hours later he takes his first dose over a barbecue meal the eight of them cook together at his dorm. 

They laugh and eat and sing and drink, and for the first time there is no waiting for the other shoe to drop when Jisung’s face lights up with a smile. 

When everyone else turns in for the night, they fall into bed together and the world feels softer than Minho ever remembers it being. 

“Do you think it’s working?” He whispers into the darkness. He can’t help the curiosity. Everything is pear-shaped around the edges and his inhibition is down. 

“I don’t think it works that quickly,” Jisung laughs, shifting to throw a leg over Minho’s, “It’s barely been a week.”

“I can tell you feel better already,” Minho says, wrapping an arm low around Jisung’s waist. He allows himself to wiggle his fingers under the hem of his t-shirt and press against his soft skin. Jisung breathes out with it, humming softly. 

“Can you?” Jisung teases, rubbing his cheek against Minho’s shoulder. 

“I can,” Minho confirms. He tips his head down to look at Jisung, just barely able to make his soft face out in the dim moonlight spilling in from the window. 

He wants to kiss him so bad he aches with it. In the quiet of the moment, he dips down and does. 

Jisung gasps against his mouth, and then he’s pressing forward and their limbs tangle together as their lips move against each other. He tastes of bulgogi and wasabi, hot and firey and it burns down to his chest with each kiss. 

“Hyung,” Jisung breathes into his mouth, hands sliding into his hair. 

“Jisung-ah,” Minho breathes back, their hearts beating in sync. He grabs at Jisung’s waist until he’s on top of him, rucks up his shirt and touches miles of skin. 

He feels so small under his hands, smooth and warm and he licks into his mouth like he wants to devour him. 

Jisung makes a small noise into his mouth, panting as his hips shift and Minho can feel him getting hard against his hip. 

More than anything, Minho wants to lay him out in the sun, watch golden rays soak his entire body and tell him how beautiful he is, how much he loves him. 

As it is, they’re stuck in a crowded dorm with people on either side of the walls and all Minho has is this. He grips Jisung’s waist, helping him rut his hips as he makes little weepy noises. 

“God,” Jisung chokes out, pulling away from Minho’s mouth to bury his face in the crook of his neck. He lets Minho move his hips, one hand moving down to grab his ass as they grind together. 

“So pretty,” Minho whispers, pressing his mouth anywhere on Jisung he can reach, “Let me take care of you.”

“You will,” Jisung sucks in a wet breath, shuttering at every one of Minho’s touches like it’s all too much, like he’ll die without it. “You do,” He mouths at Minho’s neck, “You have.”

“Honey,” Minho slips a hand down the front of Jisung’s boxers, wrapping tight fingers around his cock and working him to the edge. “Come.”

He does, with a muffled cry against Minho’s neck and his body trembling.  

After, Minho quietly shuffles to the bathroom for a wet cloth and clean underwear. 

“Thank you,” Jisung whispers once they’re clean and tangled up again. 

“You don’t have to thank me for a handjob,” Minho grins, patting Jisung’s ass lightly. 

“That’s not what I’m thanking you for,” Jisung’s voice drips sincerity, “Thank you for everything. I know- I know things aren’t better yet, but today felt important. And there have been such hard times and you just never abandoned me. You’ve always taken care of me and that’s something I could never thank you enough for.”

“I don’t want you to thank me for it,” Minho tells him simply, “It was never a favor, or a service. I take care of you because I love you and if things ever get that way again, I’ll take care of you just the same. You don’t ever have to repay me, or thank me.”

“My heart can’t take when you’re so sweet,” Jisung laughs wetly, pressing his lips to the corner of Minho’s mouth, “It makes me feel like I’m going to explode.”

Turning his head, he places a soft kiss on Jisung's lips. “I love you,” Minho whispers against his mouth.

Over and over.