Work Text:
The night was still and calm, threaded through with restless thoughts and despair.
“Minho-hyung?”
Minho rolled over, slightly sweaty thighs sticking to the sheets they were tangled in, and blinked until he could see the nervous silhouette of Han Jisung standing in the doorway to his bedroom. Eyes adjusting to the darkness slightly better, (though it wasn't really that dark - Minho would never admit it to anyone but Jisung, who knew everything about him, but he was more than a little scared of the dark), he could make out his dormmate worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and pushing against his nail beds with his hands.
“Yeah, jagi?”
Minho's voice was rough and croaky with sleep that he desperately craved, but he knew if Jisung needed him for something, he would run to the ends of the earth and back at full speed having slept for no time at all for a week. Just to see the corners of his heart shaped mouth turn up in joy and gratitude, just to feel the warmth of his cute puffy cheeks pouting out in thanks, just to hear his loud, beautiful laugh echo and settle itself deeper into Minho's heart, twining and dancing around his heartstrings.
“Um… I can't sleep. A-and… I'm really scared.”
“Scared?”
Why was Jisung scared? What did he have to be scared about? Minho's brain searched through every single thing that had happened recently, all the worries he knew Jisung had often, anything that might have gone wrong recently.
The mattress dipped slightly next to him as Jisung lifted the covers, letting in a slight draught before closing the seal of blankets again and sliding in beside the elder. Minho could feel the heat from the other's body, and he thanked any god that might be out there that this precious human felt safe enough with him to come into his bed without asking, that he knew he would be protected with Minho, and he had this space he could freely express anything, and Minho would never judge, scorn, or hate him for anything he could possibly say.
“Mm.”
Jisung wasn't wearing a shirt, just boxers that reached to his mid-thighs, and Minho appreciated the toned muscle he could feel under the smooth honey skin. Jisung always bulked up so nicely.
“Why are you scared, Han-ah?”
Soft legs entangle with his own, and Minho reaches his hands over to the stunning man beside him, threading one hand through Jisung's silken hair and the other brushing across a plush cheek in a comforting gesture.
“I… it's Channie-hyung.”
Minho hated that he knew exactly what Jisung was talking about, and hated even more how it made the cheeks and lips under his touch quiver, and not with mirth, which is the only way that could be acceptable.
“Oh, jagi… It's the surgery, hm?”
Jisung shuffled closer to Minho, face pressing into the hot crook of the elder's neck, shivering breath trailing gooseflesh wherever it reached. One arm hooked around his waist and pulled him closer. Minho's nose and mouth were pushed into Jisung's scalp, and his hair smelled divine, woody and clean with an underlying musk that was just uniquely Jisung. Minho thought everything about his fellow member was perfect, and he couldn't understand how Jisung was insecure about anything when he was everything Minho had dreamt about since he was a tiny little fourteen year old gay boy, just looking for somewhere he could be himself.
Now he knew Jisung was that somewhere, and he'd never felt more safe and accepted than when he was with the younger.
Small sniffles are seeping into his shoulder, and he can feel a wet patch forming on his sleep shirt.
“W-why won't he get it, hyung? I-I don't understand, it's going to help him, he'll b-be better. Why?”
“I know, Han-ah. I agree with you. But we have to respect Chan-hyung's decisions for himself.”
“But what reason d-does he have to not do it?”
Minho squeezed Jisung's broad yet submissive frame into his chest. Honestly, he agreed. He knew that Chan had his own reasons, and Minho could only hope that they weren't as shallow as the fact that it might change his voice or face shape slightly. He fucking despised anyone who wasn't a member of Stray Kids or a licensed doctor who knew Chan's full situation telling him he shouldn't get the surgery. It was so far from their business, so far from human decency, essentially telling him he should leave his life a perfectly shaped fast draining hourglass rather than melting the hourglass to make it bigger to fit more sand inside. Surely, surely life was more important than appearances? Chan had so many assets that had absolutely nothing to do with anything on the outside.
“I don't know, jagiya. It might be the comments he's been getting not to do it, because you know how it's going to change his voice slightly, and his face shape?”
“What? But we love him for more than those things, don't we? Doesn't he know that?”
“I know that and you do, Jisungie. But Chan might think differently. I'm sure he knows we love him, but he might think that it's more to do with appearances or singing talent than it really is.”
“We need to call him! Please, hyung, do it with me! He won't be sleeping… anyway…”
The excitement that had flooded Jisung's body left just as quickly as it had come, and he pushed his face back into Minho's chest, seemingly trying to bury himself far away from this world where things mattered, and things were hard, and scary, and urgent. Minho felt the heavy realisation land in his mind that none of them knew or had any idea how much sleep Chan had gotten in the last week, or month, or… year…
Minho never cried, and he prided himself on it. He found comfort in comforting others, and being the one in control of the situation. Crying, in his experience, didn't solve anything, and he thought it was annoying and inconvenient. Not when other people did it, though. When other people cried, especially their members, he wanted nothing more than to make sure they were okay, and safe, and happy.
But he couldn't cry, because that wasn't something he did. However, his body clearly didn't get the message, because the telltale burn behind his eyes failed to go away, the pressure building by the second. Minho took a deep breath in, but it shook his shoulders involuntarily, and Jisung looked up. Immediately looking away and trying to push Jisung's head into his shoulder again, Minho bit the inside of his cheek as hard as he possibly could. Jisung resisted though, and leant his head on his forearm, looking straight into Minho's eyes.
“Baby…”
And that was all it took to break Minho, to rip him apart, right from the seams, to pull the final brick out that made the wall come tumbling down, and a wrecked sob escaped from his throat. Embarrassed, he covered his mouth, but they kept coming, raw and relentless, tears streaming down his face, salty fluid soaking the pillows and trickling slowly over his nose bridge.
Jisung shifted up the bed slightly and cupped Minho's cheeks with both of his hands, stroking the wet tear tracks away with his thumbs, but for every droplet he wiped away, three replaced it. He threaded his fingers into the short, soft hairs at the nape of Minho's neck and scratched comfortingly, like Minho was a cat.
Minho only got louder, letting out everything he hadn't cried about that he should have, letting everything escape him, allowing Jisung to see this vulnerable side of him, the side that needed protection, rather than to give protection.
“Shh, shh, darling, it's okay. It is. You're okay, jagiya. Let it out. It's okay.”
“I c-can't…”
“Yeah, you can, baby, I know you can. I'm r-right here. It's all okay.”
“J-jagi… w-what if he doesn't get the surgery?”
The question was layered and it landed as such, all the ‘what if's stacking on top of each other. Jisung knew that wasn't what Minho was really asking.
What if Chan keeps sleeping badly until he can't fix it anymore?
What if he doesn't get the surgery and it keeps getting worse?
What if they lose him?
“I don't know, hyung. We… none of us do.”
Minho sniffed, calming slightly. Maybe his body had worn itself out.
They both sought each other's warmth, smooth thighs twining together and slightly damp cheeks pressed together, clumped lashes brushing noses, anxiety bitten lips hot against each other's ears, messy, intimate, and perfect.
Sleep came too easily to them, and it felt unfair, like they were taking something greedily, without earning it, but they both pushed their feelings together, and the guilt got smaller, halving as they shared it.
“Han-ah, we can call him in the morning, mm? And then we can try to tell him that he needs the surgery and how much we love him.”
“Yeah… yeah. Let's do that.”
“I love you, Han-ah.”
“I love you too, darling.”
We love you, Bang Chan.