The next few days are rough for Minho for a number of reasons.

Jisung treats him normally. He's chatty, touchy, and friendly–all the things Minho loves about him. The younger boy behaves as if nothing has changed between them and Minho's embarrassing, shameful incident is just water under the bridge as far as Jisung is concerned.

Minho wants to feel the same way. He wants to put his mistake behind him and fall back into the simple and routine way they've coexisted with each other for the last several years and counting. He knows that it's safe to do so–that Jisung has easily forgiven his slip up and that there's little to no chance he's harboring resentment for being cuddled and kissed a bit. And after the initial shock and shame of the situation wears off, Minho has to admit to himself that he's just overwhelmingly thankful he didn't do anything worse to Jisung.

He wants to get back to normal–Jisung has moved past it, so Minho should too. But there's two major things preventing him from doing so:

One, Minho needs to confess soon and his nerves are all over the place about it. He's fidgety and easy to startle–so tightly wound with what if's and how should's, that any spare moment Minho has away from rehearsal or other idol obligations is spent stressing over how he should confess and what might happen when he does. He's up nearly all night thinking about it the night after the incident and the following day is rough with his lack of sleep and excess of things to worry about.

The second thing is even more concerning, though.

Minho isn't sure what switch has been flicked on in his brain to cause this reaction, but it seems that ever since he basically got away with holding and feeling him up, now whenever Jisung touches him–be it even the lightest, most innocent of grazes–Minho's brain and body react as though he's been electrocuted.

There's no reason that Jisung lightly squeezing his arm should make Minho jolt, feeling tingles from his toes up to his brain when the other boy just briefly clasps him to get his attention. His heart shouldn't be thrown into palpitations and his stomach shouldn't quiver as though he's swallowed a bee hive. He's long since grown used to the pleasant buzz that typically accompanies Jisung's touch, but this is far beyond what Minho is capable of dealing with–and far beyond what Minho is able to pretend isn't affecting him deeply.

It's nearly debilitating, and Minho only survives two days of Jisung's normal, friendly touches before he's seriously considering a visit to the hospital, because seriously, what the fuck is wrong with him?

Minho is desperate by the end of rehearsal that evening, two days after the incident–two days full of frequent physical reactions from everything Jisung does to him. Two days of racing, unpleasant and unhelpful thoughts about everything. The eight of them are piling into the car to ride back home from the practice studio after rehearsal and Minho's fighting to stay awake from how exhausted he is from it all. He had somehow convinced Changbin to switch car seats with him–though maybe the other boy had taken one glance at how tired Minho must look and took pity on him, but either way, he allowed Minho to ride shotgun up front with Chan both to and from rehearsal today. It gave Minho the smallest of reprieves from Jisung's touches. The two of them nearly always end up sitting shoulder to shoulder during car rides and Minho just knows that he wouldn't have been able to tolerate it today without somehow alerting Jisung or the entirety of the car that he is not good in the slightest.

Between his stressful ponderings about how to confess draining him mentally and his body aching physically not just from rehearsal, but from the continued shocks every single time Jisung managed to squeeze, pat, or otherwise jostle him throughout the day–Minho is eager to pass out the second he can get to his room tonight.

He'll skip dinner–feign a stomach ache if Chan or Jisung tries to get him to eat. All he wants right now is a hot shower and his warm bed. He's hopeful he may actually sleep through the night with how wiped out he is–too tired for his thoughts to keep him up–unlike the last two nights of fitful, restless sleep.

Once they're finally home, he watches over Chan's shoulder with muted eagerness as the older boy unlocks their front door–Minho quickly kicking off his shoes and beelining past him the moment it swings open and channeling whatever remaining strength he has into fast walking to the bathroom so he can claim the shower before someone else calls it. Before he can get too far away from the others though, he hears Hyunjin call out to Jisung and Minho's heart nearly stops. He knows exactly what's about to happen, but he's powerless to stop it.

Motherfuck–Hyunjin, you asshole.

"Do you wanna swap rooms tonight?" Hyunjin asks Jisung innocently and Minho's eye twitches. "I already asked and Chan said it's fine since Lix and I don't have to be up early and the rest of you aren't in the studio until noon tomorrow."

Minho holds his breath.

"Yeah, sounds good," Jisung responds easily, just like Minho knew he would.

He only just manages to prevent himself from throwing some kind of overtired, frustrated tantrum right there in the hallway. His rational mind knows Hyunjin isn't to blame and he shouldn't be upset with him, but that does little to appease the frustration signals being sent by his tired, irrational brain.

He guesses he can kiss his peaceful night of sleep goodbye, then.

Minho makes it to the bathroom, locking the door behind him and burying his face in his hands, resisting the urge to scream. He has to steel himself against the desire to go right back out there and do something evil like shove a wad of tissues into Hyunjin's big fucking mouth for ruining his evening plans to finally get a good nights rest. He needs his rest if he's ever gonna have the mental capacity to figure out all this shit with Jisung. But now he has to share a room for the whole night with the object of his undying affection and–simultaneously–root of all his mental anguish.

He takes the hottest shower of his life. And probably the longest shower of his life, too, not even having the energy to care if he leaves enough hot water for the rest of them for their own showers. He's just so fucking done with everything that even the possibility of a receiving a scolding for selfishly hogging their amenities feels like nothing compared to the ever revolving carousel of bullshit that is his current mental state.

The shower doesn't fix him, but at least he's clean now–that always helps a bit. He ducks into his room, thankfully avoiding anyone as he traverses down the hall in just an oversized bath towel, and throws on his comfiest sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt. He's surprised with the amount of energy he has now–maybe the shower did more good for him than he originally thought–so instead of laying down immediately, he grabs his phone and goes hunting for a comfy space to exist while he puts off going to bed.

Minho finds almost everyone still out in the living space, either cooking and eating dinner or watching something on TV in the living room. He's not really in the mood to socialize, so he turns to make his way upstairs to the loft, sticking his tongue out and exchanging a wave with Seungmin who he briefly locks eyes with when he scopes out the living room.

There's a house rule that the loft should be kept a quiet space, and that anyone who goes up there agrees to keep the ruckus to a minimum. It's a necessary measure when you live with so many loud personalities that don't have a space to call their own. The roommates go to great lengths to try and respect when the others want privacy or distance, but there's only so much you can do when sharing your bedrooms, bathrooms, and general living space with seven other people. So thanks to the loft rule, Minho knows he won't be disturbed even if someone else does want to join him up there. It's not unusual for several of them to sit up in the loft in near silence while they each read a book or play on their phones, independently occupying themselves. And if they start getting rowdy, Chan is quick to enforce the rule and either tell them to keep it down or move it downstairs.

Minho climbs the stairs, a little relieved when he sees that no one else is up here at the moment. The upper level of their dorm is not as big as the lower level–just a wide, carpeted room with some comfortable couches that technically connects to the living space downstairs just by virtue of the high vaulted ceilings. He can still hear the ambient noises of the others talking and laughing from downstairs, but that's okay–this is the most solitude he can expect to find within their home and it's good enough. Unless he wants to hole up in his room, and right now he's kind of avoiding it just in case Jisung decides to go to bed early. So he takes what he can get. If the weather was warmer, he'd step out onto the small outdoor balcony that connects to the room, but it's the middle of January and a little too cold out for that to be comfortable right now.

He tucks himself into the corner of one of the couches, pleased with the way he sinks into the plush cushions and flopping his head back to rest against the back of the couch, closing his eyes for just a moment. He's still not feeling all that okay, but he's clean, comfy, and resting–so he takes full advantage of the relative peace to recharge his batteries a bit.

Felix had mentioned earlier that there's a recent content update for one of the mobile games they both enjoy, so Minho pulls out his phone and navigates to the app, starting the download while he rests his eyes for just a little longer. He enters an almost meditative state as he sits there, acknowledging and dismissing each random thought that enters his mind; about Jisung, about love and confessions, about his future–their future. He's breathing easier than he has in days, relaxed and warm and comfy in his loungewear, so it's really unsurprising when Minho opens his eyes and realizes that he's dozed off for a bit.

He checks his phone for the time, acknowledging the notification that his game has finished updating and seeing that nearly an hour has passed since he settled himself up here. Damn. The unplanned nap is a win in his book though, especially since he can no longer count on any meaningful rest when he goes to bed later with Jisung only feet away from him.

Minho stands up, a bit stiff from sleeping on the couch, and reaches upwards to stretch his back. He still doesn't want to go back to his room yet and, since he decided to skip dinner earlier, he is rather hungry now. Deciding that he can kill some more time this way, Minho finishes stretching and heads back toward the stairs. It's late enough that everyone else should have already finished eating and washing up by now, so he should have the kitchen all to himself if he's lucky.

He finds his way downstairs and through the hallway down to the living quarters. It's dark in the house now, but he doesn't turn on any lights as he goes–more than comfortable navigating the familiar space in just the dim light from the city lit up outside their windows. He doesn't hear any telltale signs of life from the living room at the end of the hall, so he assumes most of the home's occupants–if not everyone–should be in their rooms winding down or already asleep for the night. It was already late when they got home from rehearsal, so everyone seems to have shortened their nightly routines to get to bed as soon as possible.

Minho enters the kitchen, flicking on the overhead light just out of habit and nearly jumping out of his skin when the face of Bang Chan from Stray Kids greets him with a startled yelp.

"Ah fuck!" Chan exclaims, gripping the counter and clutching at his chest in shock.

Minho jumps, more from Chan's yell and less from the shock of seeing him materialize out of the darkness, but manages to withhold his own startled vocalization. He leans forward, placing his hands on his knees and dropping his head as he tries to catch his suddenly rapid breath, his heartbeat thrumming loudly in his ears.

"Ah, god–okay, wow, I did not need that right now." Minho says through a strained voice.

"Jesus, sorry, sorry. Damn Minho, you scared the crap out of me," Chan says, sighing in relief now that the apparent threat has passed.

"Yeah, well–likewise," Minho says with a huff, looking up from his hunched position to stare at Chan incredulously. "What are you doing in the kitchen in the dark anyway?"

"Oh, uh–" Chan gestures to the electric kettle sitting on the counter next to him. "Tea."

"In the dark." Minho persists.

The older boy just shrugs, an easy smile pulling at his face at Minho's tone.

"In the dark, yeah. I didn't need the light just to turn on the kettle for a minute. I'll have to remember next time to turn the light on, I guess, just in case someone else wants to try and scare the life out of me–it's lucky I wasn't pouring the boiling water, huh?" He laughs, as if the idea of third degree burns are nothing more than a minor inconvenience to him.

"Yeah, lucky," Minho agrees weakly, feeling like maybe Chan should value his safety just a bit more, but not pushing the issue.

"You're up late," Chan comments, resuming his motions of gathering a mug and tea bag.

Minho shrugs this time, moving past Chan to approach the refrigerator. He opens it and peers inside, judging the contents. "Yeah, I guess. I took a nap–now I'm hungry." He decides on an unopened, single-serving vanilla yogurt before closing the door, pulling out the utensil drawer and grabbing a spoon. Cooking anything right now sounds like too much effort, and the yogurt will at least hold him over for the night until breakfast tomorrow.

Chan watches him as he moves around the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. He raises an eyebrow in question when Minho sits at the kitchen island and begins eating his yogurt.

"Is that all you're having? I know you didn't eat dinner."

Of course Chan noticed Minho skipped dinner–he wouldn't be their capable, fearless leader if he didn't keep a watchful eye on the health of all his members. Ironic, given how uncaring he tends to be about his own personal wellbeing.

"I had a big lunch," Minho says unhelpfully, taking a bite of the yogurt.

"...You had the same sized lunch as all of us and it wasn't big. I know, I was there." Chan retorts, unimpressed. And it's true, they had all eaten a normal sized meal during lunch break at the studio today.

"I'm on a diet," He tries, now just seeing how long he can string this along. Giving Chan a hard time is a favorite pastime of all the members, but Minho especially enjoys it. And with the tumultuous nature of his past few days, Minho is craving something that feels normal–like teasing Chan for no good reason.

"I know that's a lie, too, Minnie," Chan sighs in faux exasperation, betrayed by the amused smile tugging on his lips–though he obviously tries to hide it to appear stern.

Minho thinks for a moment, swallowing and schooling his face to be perfectly neutral before speaking again, keeping his voice carefully deadpan.

"I'm part of a religious cult that forbids eating during–"

Chan leans over the island to flick Minho's forehead, successfully interrupting his bullshit.

"Funny, Min, but you can't just eat a yogurt for dinner," Chan scolds him lightly as Minho rubs his abused forehead.

Minho just shrugs. "I don't feel like cooking anything right now," he says honestly, now that the game is over.

Chan turns away from him then, walking over to the refrigerator. "Well then lucky for you, Felix made these–uh, oatmeal balls? I'm pretty sure he called them something else, but that's basically what they are. They've got oats, peanut butter, cocoa powder, and…other stuff that I don't remember."

Chan pulls a tupperware out of the refrigerator, bringing it over to Minho and popping the lid off. Within the container sits several rows of the handmade "oatmeal balls"–they actually don't look too bad, despite Chan's lackluster description. He watches Minho, waiting for his reaction.

"Sounds…healthy?" Minho lands on, eyeing them with muted interest. He's not against eating more right now–he just doesn't want to have to cook and clean up at this hour. Chan grabs a paper towel and pulls out two of the balls, setting them down next to Minho's yogurt.

"Yeah, seems like he's branching out from brownies and cookies," Chan says, grabbing one for himself before resealing the container. He pops it into his mouth as he puts the tupperware back in the refrigerator, moving back over to pour water over his tea bag now that the kettle is finished boiling. "I'm just glad he's over his bread making phase–I'm still finding old, dried up dough and flour in places I didn't even think were possible every time I clean the kitchen."

Minho chuckles, remembering the incident Chan's referring to. Felix–the ever adventurous baker–had stumbled across a focaccia recipe he was determined to recreate, despite having no prior experience in even the simplest of bread doughs. As it turns out, focaccia calls for a very, very wet dough, and Felix had wasted no time in successfully coating nearly every surface in their kitchen with it. He had a great time with it though, and what little dough actually made it into the oven to become bread had tasted pretty good, but Chan had not been very happy upon discovering the state of their kitchen that day.

Minho picks up one of the oatmeal balls, taking a small bite out of it just to make sure he likes it. Thankfully, it's good–not too sweet and pairs well with his yogurt. He pops the rest in his mouth and rolls his eyes when Chan grabs a banana from the pile of assorted fruit that lives on their counter, adding it to the other food in front of Minho with a look that dares him to object. Minho levels his own skeptical look at him but declines to comment, choosing to busy himself with finishing the impromptu meal in front of him instead. He does mutter a belated, "Thanks," though, not blind to the level of care Chan is showing him right now.

Chan just hums contentedly, looking pleased now and sipping his tea quietly while Minho eats his dinner. He lingers–somewhat to Minho's surprise–leaning against the counter with his drink silently, just keeping Minho company, he supposes.

Minho would have expected him to head back to bed after making his tea and successfully getting Minho to eat more–Chan gets so little sleep as it is, he really can't afford to be staying up late just to hang out with him. But for whatever reason, he lingers in the kitchen and Minho finds that he doesn't actually mind the company. Chan is easy to be around–comfortable. Almost as much as Jisung…well, until recently, that is.

With that upsetting thought, Minho pushes himself up from the counter to toss his trash, placing his used spoon in the sink to be dealt with in the morning. He's tired enough now that he's ready to go to bed, but when he remembers who will be waiting for him in his room he pauses–staring down into the sink and seriously considering the possible repercussions of sleeping on the couch like the huge coward he is.

His back wouldn't appreciate it. Jisung wouldn't appreciate it, probably, or would at least have questions for him about it–questions that Minho himself doesn't know the answer to. But the idea of sleeping so close to Jisung, just days after practically assaulting him while half asleep, fills Minho with unreasonable amounts of fear. Tonight would be the first time sleeping in the same room again since that happened.

Minho's thoughts begin to race. What if it happens again? What if it happens again and Minho goes further? Or worse, what if Jisung tells him to stop and he doesn't? Those boundaries that Jisung had insisted Minho had obeyed perfectly the first time–what if Minho fucks up and pushes past them?

He doesn't think he would and he doesn't plan to and he absolutely doesn't want to, but it's an irrational fear that–now that he's thought of it once–latches on and refuses to let go, rooting him in place where he stands in the kitchen.

He's afraid. He's afraid and he feels fucked no matter what he decides. So instead of making a decision, he just stares at the spoon in the sink, wondering when exactly he became such a weak, cowardly person.

"...Uh, Minho?"

Oh fuck, Chan is still here. He was so silent and Minho had been so lost in thought that he'd actually forgotten. Lord, he is out of it today.

"Yeah?" Minho answers, still looking at the spoon–as if it somehow has the answers he seeks.

A large, warm hand clasps Minho on the shoulder and he could almost laugh at just how different it feels to be touched by Chan versus how it feels to be touched by Jisung. There's no sparks, no electricity or sudden heart palpitations from Chan's touch. No pleasant buzz or uncomfortable shock. No sudden tightness in his chest or butterflies in his stomach. It's just a touch, the same way Jisung's touch is just a touch, but they literally couldn't be anymore different.

What is wrong with me?

Chan sighs and Minho looks at him, then. He looks…pained? Worried? Minho really can't even begin to imagine what he is thinking, looking at Minho with such an expression.

Minho raises an eyebrow, finding himself suddenly concerned.

Chan seems to steel himself and then finally says, "You…I hope you know that you can talk to me about anything. Whenever. Anytime."

Minho blinks once. Twice. A third time–before what Chan just said finally clicks in his brain, and despite understanding the words, Minho couldn't be more lost.

"I...What?"

Chan squeezes his shoulder once more before dropping his hand, but he doesn't look away while he elaborates.

"I just mean that, well–I know it isn't easy to open up about your feelings with just anyone. But if you're ever…having a hard time with something or just need someone to vent to, I want you to know that you can always come to me. With anything at all–and I mean that, anything."

Chan looks like he might say more, but he pauses to rub at his neck with his hand. He's clearly a bit uncomfortable, but he's obviously trying his best. And while Minho is beyond confused as to where this is all coming from so suddenly, he can also admit that he appreciates the effort Chan is putting into trying to be thoughtful.

"Why…are you telling me this?" Minho asks, genuinely curious.

Chan looks at him a bit sheepishly. "I…don't want you to think I'm overstepping. But I–you–recently I've been thinking that maybe you're behaving a bit differently. Um, around Jisung, mostly."

Minho tries to keep a neutral expression despite his shock. Did…did Jisung talk to Chan about what happened? Does Chan know what Minho did, or is Minho just wearing his guilt so plainly that it's obvious that something happened?

Minho's mouth is so dry–too dry. But he needs to know, so he swallows and asks the burning question.

"Did–did Jisung talk to you?"

Chan looks at him, seemingly surprised by this question. "Oh–uh, no, no. Jisung hasn't spoken to me about anything recently. I've just been, er–watching how you two act around each other the last few days and I noticed some things. Not in like, a creepy way obviously–I watch all of you guys–I mean, shit, I don't watch everyone, but I mean that I have an awareness of everyone and that I try to keep up with how everyone's doing and getting along, that's all."

Chan sighs once more, seeming to try and settle himself.

"You guys just seem…off. And I was wondering if something may have happened between you two. I know that you guys are pretty close and that you only really talk to each other about like, feelings and stuff. So I figured that, if something did actually happen and now you can't talk to each other, that maybe you may need someone else to bounce your feelings off of. Or…something. Sorry, I realized as I'm talking that I'm definitely overstepping, but…"

Chan trails off, uncomfortable, and ordinarily Minho would leap at the opportunity to tease Chan for the awkward cadence of his scattered explanation, but all he can manage is a single, slow nod, staring at the floor.

He should probably be relieved–that Chan doesn't know and that Jisung didn't say anything. He is relieved, obviously. But the fact that Chan has noticed something is up just by watching isn't good at all. And here Minho had thought he was doing a decent job of internalizing his weirdness around Jisung, and Chan just calls him out on it so simply. And if Chan noticed, then it's not a stretch of the imagination to think that the others have potentially noticed as well. And while Jisung hasn't said anything, maybe even he's noticed the shift in Minho's behavior, too.

Minho sighs. This sucks. This sucks so much and he's so tired.

Without thinking too hard about it, Minho takes a step towards Chan then lowers and thumps his forehead against his shoulder, resting it there. Chan startles a bit, but stays put–hovering his hands over Minho–unsure what's happening.

"Minho?"

He doesn't respond, but he takes a step closer to Chan and leans a bit more of his weight on him–hiding his face in the front of his shirt. Chan seems to get the nonverbal cue and finally wraps his arms around Minho, pulling him gently against his chest.

"Minho…Are you okay?"

Minho hesitates, but eventually shakes his head.

Chan hums understandingly in response, beginning to rub a hand up and down Minho's back in a comforting gesture. He's seen Chan do this for the others occasionally–they all have their moments–but Minho's never been on the receiving end of it before. It feels nice–Chan's good at this kind of stuff, he realizes.

They stand like that for a long moment, not talking, Chan holding Minho in the middle of their kitchen while the earth seems to slow to a stand still. The house is so quiet at the late hour and the only thing Minho hears is the sound of his own breathing and Chan's slightly elevated heartbeat where he rests his head so closely against his chest.

It's not too late for Minho to just suck it up and go to bed. He can still conceal the truth. He can thank Chan for the hug, tell him he's fine, and go straight to bed–or the couch, more likely. He can force a smile and say Chan's imagining things and that he and Jisung are so great and that everything is fine. He doesn't have to talk about it and he doesn't have to reveal any of the horrendous, terrible feelings he's been holding inside him or what he's already done. Things don't have to change.

But maybe they should, a tiny voice in Minho's head suggests.

Things are not fine. Things haven't been fine since the moment Minho realized his feelings for Jisung surpassed friendship and became something more–and things have only spiraled from there. The ever present remorse and guilt that accompanied the realization of his feelings have held Minho in a chokehold ever since. The recent incident with Jisung and the bed only catalyzed what Minho has known for a while now–that he can't keep the illusion alive anymore.

Minho likes Jisung. He likes him so much and he can't pretend he doesn't anymore. The incident may have sped these feelings along, but realistically, Minho knows that confronting these feelings was always an inevitability. He had just hoped he could pretend for a bit longer.

But he's so tired of pretending. He fights something close to insanity to control himself each time Jisung touches him now. And he's been down right avoiding him the last two days and that's not what Minho wants. He wants to touch and be touched by Jisung–he just doesn't want to feel like he's dying each time it happens. He wants their easy banter and teasing smiles and easy touches back. But part of confronting his feelings is understanding that those things may never go back to normal after Minho confesses. And as awful as it sounds, a life without Jisung's easy camaraderie, it's something Minho has to be okay with if he's going to be honest with both himself and Jisung.

And maybe Chan, apparently.

It's just so scary. And Minho is so afraid, always proving himself to be the coward when it comes to facing reality. But regardless of whether he's willing to face it or not, the truth is unavoidable. This is not sustainable anymore. Others are noticing. And it's time to do something about it.

Minho sighs and Chan gives him a little squeeze to remind him he's here.

Chan is here. And he's offering to listen. He noticed the change in Minho and Jisung and he wants to help.

Maybe Minho should let him.

Something breaks inside of Minho then. It's as if some invisible wall fractures and then comes crumbling down in that moment, and suddenly Minho's lifting his arms to return the hug–squeezing Chan so tightly that his arms ache.

He takes a shaky breath.

Fuck it.

"I think I'm fucking everything up, Chan," Minho whispers, finally speaking the truth into existence, an almost imperceptible amount of weight lifting from his shoulders at the simple admission.

Chan gives him a little squeeze in his arms, still soothing his hand up and down Minho's back. It's as comforting as it is grounding and while Minho's generally never been someone who seeks out physical affection–Jisung being an exception–the touch is incredibly appreciated in his moment of weakness.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Chan asks, voice gentler than Minho's ever heard it.

Minho nods, releasing Chan and forcing himself to take a step back so he can look at his face. The older boy still holds him by the shoulders as Minho hesitantly adds, "It's not good and…I worry you may be upset with me when I tell you."

Chan nods, face serious but still kind. "I've known you for a long time, Minho. There's not a lot you could tell me that would change how I feel about you–I know you're a good guy."

Minho grimaces, wondering if he will still feel that way after Minho spills about both his feelings towards Jisung and the incident that has thrown their friendship into recent turmoil.

Chan pats him on the shoulder. "Relax, okay? Let's go sit down and you can tell me whatever you're comfortable with–no pressure."

Minho sighs, but nods anyway. Chan takes it as permission to lead them from the kitchen into the living room, turning off the kitchen overhead light and flicking on a single tableside lamp next to the couch. They both settle down on one of the couches, a single seat between them so they can face each other while they talk.

Minho wrings his hands in his lap, nervous now that this is actually happening. He's going to tell Chan about everything and he'll either react positively or negatively and there's nothing Minho can do to stop it.

Minho doesn't let himself be optimistic enough to entertain the idea that Chan will think any of this is a positive thing.

Chan seems to sense the nervous shift in Minho, eyes flicking from his face down to where Minho fidgets with his hands. His face softens, offering Minho a compassionate smile.

"Wherever you want to start is fine, Min. Take your time and try to relax. I'm not gonna yell at you or anything. No matter what happened, I promise to listen. I just want to understand so I can help you and Jisung through whatever's going on, okay?"

Minho nods, comforted by Chan's promise and trying to determine where he should begin. The incident? Or should he preface with his feelings? There's so many ways he could approach this conversation, the possibilities are overwhelming.

Maybe he should just rip off the bandage and get it over with. The longer he draws this out, the more likely Minho is to break down, anyway, and that won't help anything. Minho doesn't want Chan to pity him–he wants him to understand. He wants his unbiased opinion and advice, and he doesn't want to sway him either way by being an emotional wreck. This conversation is what will help Minho figure out what to do about Jisung, so he needs to be concise and open and accurate.

"Right. Okay," Minho finally says. "I'm just going to–I'm trying to figure out where to start."

Chan nods patiently, giving Minho the floor to begin whenever he's ready.

Minho takes a deep breath, squeezing his hands into fists so they'll stop shaking. He trains his gaze on Chan's face, fighting the urge to look anywhere else.

It's time to be brave, he thinks.

And, remarkably, he is. For the first time Minho can recently recall, he's brave.

He starts from the beginning. And he spills it all.