Chapter Text
Changbin knew.
He knew the loves of his life were as similar as could be and yet vastly different. He knew it more than they knew it.
“Binnie?” Minho called from the doorway of their room—well Changbin’s room but Minho had often found himself climbing into his room in the early hours of the morning. The situation that was their romantic relationship was complicated to say the very least.
Changbin turned his head to face the voice that called out to him, “Yeah baby?” he responded back. Minho smiled gently, “Dinner is ready, everyone is mostly at the table already.” Changbin nodded softly.
Changbin moved to stand, walking over to the door, grabbing a light peck on Minho’s lips before sliding past him. Minho kissed back without question and followed him down the hall to the dining room.
Changbin felt the weight of everything on his shoulders, he knew he looked like shit, the bags under his eyes were deep and dark but Minho never bothered to mention it, and he sure didn’t treat him differently because of it. Changbin appreciated that to some extent. He knew Minho couldn’t tell if mentioning it was a good or bad idea, and he sure didn’t want to upset him in any way.
Changbin could feel himself slowly grated, losing bits of himself the longer he had to play all the parts. Changbin knew that his unofficial boyfriends’ challenges left a lot on Changbin’s plate, and as much as it was overwhelming he wouldn’t change any of it.
Allowing them, Minho and Chan, to express themselves authentically was necessary. Changbin was their biggest advocate. Allowing them to unmask, as he’s come to know the term, was so so healthy for them. But Changbin found that he was taking on a lot of their responsibilities, bit by bit. Changbin was the go-to hyung. The unofficial secondary leader. Assistant dance teacher. He took on all these roles in an attempt to lessen their burdens, unknowingly adding to his own.
He took a seat left of Chan, as Chan sat at the head of the table. Minho sat to the right of Chan and the others filed into their unassigned-assigned seats. Jeongin was guided in by Felix, their hands intertwined as they walked. Changbin watched as Felix sat him down at the other head of the table before taking the seat next to him. Hyunjin walked in and sat opposite of Felix. Jisung and Seungmin took the empty seats before passing along the dishes in the center of the table.
Dinner was served and the chatter was light and flowed without much of a hitch. Changbin couldn’t help but watch Jeongin as he tried and failed to cut his food. The sad, almost tearful expression killed him, but all he could do was watch as it unfolded.
“Innie, do you want help?” Felix asked as he, too, noticed his struggle. Felix reached for the edge of the plate to pull it closer as Jeongin failed to answer him. Changbin would’ve lost money if he bet that Jeongin would have let him help, because Jeongin screamed out at this gesture.
“No!”
Felix slowly retracted his hand, Changbin watched as his face scrunched in confusion at the outburst. The room fell silent. Changbin wanted to say something, but he knew—he knew that Jeongin was upset, and could see it in his expression that he was overwhelmed and distressed and couldn’t regulate. He watched as the boy huffed and tried to do it again, quickly failing and dropping the fork and knife on the table.
Changbin knew Chan wanted to reprimanded him, but the shout threw him off, he was frozen. Minho being Minho, took this frozen action as his time to step up to the task. Changbin wished that they could understand better. He wished that they could look at his mannerisms and face and understand that he did not need punishment or scolding but love and comfort and help regulating.
Chan and Minho couldn’t understand, not even after years of human interaction, they were men. Changbin knew that had something to do with their inability to grasp reading others' faces.
Changbin was autistic for fucks’ sake but he knew that Jeongin was upset, he could see it. It was right there!
“Jeongin.” Minho stated firm and strong. “Do not speak to your hyung like that. Do you hear me? You will not speak like that to him. He was trying to help, you are old enough to know how to communicate. I'm not going to force you to say you’re sorry or whatever because I think you’re old enough to make that decision and choice of words for yourself. Now we are going to continue dinner. You can stay and finish your meal or you can step out to regulate yourself.”
Changbin wanted to wince at his words. He wished Minho was gentler. He wished that people’s gentleness applied everywhere into their lives and not just when it suited themselves best. Minho was so gentle and kind with Chan and he just wished it would apply to others. Minho grasped Chan’s hand in his own, and rubbed the smooth skin with his thumb. Changbin followed suit.
“Hyung, it's ok, I think he’s overtired. It's been a long day.” Felix tried.
“‘M not a baby, d—don’t talk about me like that.” Jeongin spoke out, whimpering slightly—he moved to rub his eyes with his fist, Changbin could see the overtiredness from a mile away.
“I know Innie, it's ok. Would you like to finish your dinner?” Hyunjin spoke to him. He was soft and gentle and calm. He was his safety and Changbin wished he could be this vulnerable with his partners.
He let out a whine, just fussing his way through his issues. “Ok, ok… let's go lay down then hmm? Come with me, Innie.” Felix said, standing up with his hand out.
Changbin watched as his face scrunched and his lips wobbled, he was going to cry. And he did.
“Hyun, go grab it.” Felix said to Hyunjin as he was already moving out of the room. He threw himself back against his chair letting out his little sobs that echoed in the room. Changbin wasn’t surprised, he wanted to cry like that too. Just let it out and no one would say a thing, only comfort and love. Maybe it was childish but it would feel so good to finally let it out.
Changbin pulled himself from his mind as Chan covered his ears, panicked. Changbin held his own hands over Chan’s trying to offer him more protection. At times Changbin questioned his diagnosis. Crying or relatively loud things didn’t bother him at home. Only time loud noise did, was when he was on-stage, then his in-ears were his best friends. When crowds were mixed with loud, he lost it, but at home, when someone was upset and crying, or they were having a jam session in the studio, or when the boys got loud with screaming and yelling in a game, it didn’t bother him.
Changbin watched as Felix scooped the boy into his arms, and sat down with him, offering him all the comfort he could. Changbin wanted nothing more than someone to care for like that. Sure, he cared for his boyfriends, but they were adults. Adults who acted like adults and even though there were times when they would act younger, they weren’t mentally.
If Changbin had to guess, he would say that Jeongin was a regressor. Changbin had a childhood much different than most. Growing up as a transgender teen had its challenges, but he had a friend. They were a weird kid—Changbin was a weird kid. But they taught him a lot about taking people as they are and not how he wanted them to be. They were one of his best friends through all those years and they were an age regressor. They experienced a lot in their early childhood, Changbin never judged them for how they needed to cope. If he was honest, he loved it when they were small. It gave a lost kid a tiny purpose.
“It’s ok Innie. I got you, it’s ok.” Felix repeated these words again and again, soothing Jeongin.
Felix held him—one hand on his lower back and the other holding his head as he continued to be dead weight in his arms. Felix just allowed the cries and emotions, “It’s ok Innie. I got you, it’s ok,” he repeated.
Changbin missed them . His friend. He really thought that he’d be enough—be enough of a reason to stay.
Up until a few months ago, they kept in touch. From middle school to three months ago, they never missed a day without talking. In middle and high school it was easy. They went to the same school and hung out after it. Changbin still misses taking care of them when they were small, it was like when he signed with JYP, a tiny hole created itself in his heart. A hole from no longer being a caregiver. But they called most nights and stayed on Facetime long after they both fell asleep.
Then three months ago, they stopped. Stopped calling, stopped texting, stopped existing. Changbin was all they had. Sure, there were family and old friends but none of them ever accepted them, suppose they believed disowning was better then loving them as they were. After a week of missed calls, Changbin called the police and asked for a welfare check.
They were dead.
Dead.
Killed themselves .
The word didn’t even sound real. But it was. And it was even more real having to set up a funeral and speaking about them in a past tense to only a few people who were so gracious to show up. Standing over the casket, looking down on the person who made him whole, broke him.
On the day he left for the company, they gave him their favorite stuffed animal and a pacifier Changbin loved. Pieces of them to take with him.
Now there he was, at their funeral. Returning the items for good. Being the last one to see them , Changbin tucked the stuffed cat in their arms, laid the pacifier next to their head. He tried to tell himself that he was just putting them to bed, something he had done a million times.
But it was for the last time. He kissed their forehead, gently fixed their outfit one last time, he couldn’t bear the thought of them being uncomfortable for the rest of eternity. Stepping back, he and the funeral director closed the top, and it’s like the hole in his heart was tripled.
He has his boys, he knew that. Minho and Chan are forever the loves of his life but nothing could ever replace the caregiver and little sized hole that his heart created in their death.
“Oh Innie bear,” Hyunjin cooed at Jeongin. Changbin watched as he grabbed a tissue and wiped the snot and overall congestion off from all his tears. He watched as he hiccupped and coughed and as Felix blew in his face to ground him.
“Hi baby, it’s ok, look what Jinnie brought you,” Felix said, his voice was so soft. Changbin remembered making his own voice that soft. Hyunjin held out a pacifier, much too similar to the one buried with them.
“Here, lovely,” Hyunjin said, handing it to him, but he didn’t reach for it. Hyunjin held it to his lips and when he opened, Hyunjin slipped it in his mouth. He accepted it with ease. Oh how he wished to see the look in Jeongin’s eyes, would it be the same as theirs? All littles had this childlike spark to their eyes and Changbin wished to see it again.
It was like music to his ears to hear the baby-like giggles that came from him. They all could hear it, Chan had slowly shrugged off his boyfriends’ hands allowing him to hear like the rest. The conversation flowed around them, but Changbin was stuck—stuck staring at them, with such want and need to switch places, to experience that love again.
Changbin was so caught up in his mind he barely heard them, “We are going to go put him to bed, we’ll be back.” Changbin just wanted to go with them. But he couldn’t, he knew that. He knew that this was probably all so new and exciting that they deserved the time to enjoy it alone.
He turned to face Chan as he felt a hand on his upper thigh, Chan’s thumb rubbing back and forth against his skin, bringing his mind to the present. He closed his eyes for a few moments before blinking them open and closed. Chan’s hand moved to grasp Changbin’s cheek gently, lifting his head back up as it tilted forward. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” Chan whispered to Changbin, he moved his chair closer to him.
Shaking his head, Changbin sat himself back up, he breathed in deeply and sat there mutely. “Hey, sorry it’s just me. Felix couldn’t get away. Innie is being clingy. But I mean you guys deserve an explanation.”
Changbin’s eyes tracked him as he walked back in. “I mean you don’t owe us anything but it’d be nice,” Jisung said softly. Hyunjin nodded, shifting on his feet.
“Have you guys heard of age regression?” He asked, and as he expected no one said a word. Changbin didn’t know what came over him, but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.
“So basically it's when someone regresses their mind, so Innie is mentally younger—a baby. People can do it for stress, to heal from childhood trauma, or even just for fun. It’s involuntary a lot of the time. Like with Innie, he’s been getting upset and frustrated a lot because he was denying himself what he needed to be healthy. You guys might have questions and I can do my best to answer you.” Hyunjin tried. He was nervous, shifting on his feet, staring at his hands.
“So he…um is a baby?” Chan asked nervously, trying to understand in simpler terms.
“Right now, um–yes. His mind is regressed which means that his mind is mentally younger, so he’s gonna cry, fuss and whine like a baby. When he regresses he needs to be treated like a baby. You need to be gentle and calm with him. He doesn’t understand—like if he does something and it's wrong, he doesn’t know that it is because his brain is younger. I think he’s in a toddler or baby age range so you can treat him like a child, you know be patient and if you don’t wanna be around him when he’s small that's okay. Just let me or Felix know.”
“You said they could wanna do it to help with stress or heal from trauma. Innie–he’s not like traumatized right? He doesn’t have trauma does he?” Jisung asked, Hyunjin smiled lightly.
“You’d have to ask Jeongin, he’d know that answer. I don’t, that wasn’t something he shared with us. I don’t know his reason.” Jisung nodded lightly, making a mental note to ask later.
“Uh I’ll talk to Jeongin when he’s—uh not young?”
“Big. When he’s big. Big meaning like normal age or not regressed.”
“Right. I’ll talk to Jeongin when he’s big, I need to apologize to him, I think maybe I wasn’t sensitive to him.”
“Yeah Hyung, that’d be great, I’m sure he’d appreciate that.” Hyunjin said as he pulled back a chair and sunk into it.
Changbin looked to his side, Seungmin grasped at his temples, he looked up with sleepy eyes right at Jisung. Jisung mouthed something to Seungmin, but all Changbin understood was Seungmin’s nod to his words. Jisung stood up, “I’m really excited to meet him—you know, like small and everything. It’d be so much fun, like I’m great with kids, if you didn’t know.” Jisung bragged lightly as he moved around the table to Seungmin.
“You let me know if he wakes up and he’s still small? I wanna play with him if he’s up for it. But um,” Jisung pauses as he strained, bending and pulling Seungmin up to his feet. He stumbled, putting the majority of his weight onto Jisung. “We are heading to bed, Minnie isn’t feeling good.”
Chan stood nervous, “Do you guys need anything? He doesn’t look too good, Sung,” he expressed. “He’s having an aura, grab his rescue meds for me?” Jisung said quickly, as he lifted Seungmin up a little as he had slipped down from standing too long. He looked so out of it and weak, Changbin hated to see him hurt.
Chan moved over to the two of them, grasping a hold of Seungmin’s arm, throwing it behind his neck, Chan took hold of Seungmin’s hand that dangled off his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you into bed, I can grab your meds once you’re safe, ok love?” Chan said gently.
Changbin hated it.
He hated watching Seungmin grow so sick. It wasn’t always like this. At least he didn’t think so. Seungmin got sick a little after Woojin left—it started out as just some headaches—how did it get like this?
Chronic and severe migraines virtually took over Seungmin’s life—he didn’t deserve it. No one deserved it.
“Binnie?” Minho’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, he turned his head to meet him. He looked at him with concern but it could have been confusion or annoyance—he didn’t know. He never really knew.
“You good?”
Changbin thought for a moment. “Yeah, fine.”
“I think I’m gonna go to bed early, I’m tired.” Changbin continued.
“Oh ok, good night.” He turned his head to Hyunjin who was mid-bite of his previously discarded food. “Jin, let’s watch a movie.”
Changbin stood from his seat at the table, pushing away from it as he found his footing. Pushing in the chair, he left the room with the sound of their flowing conversation. Changbin wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball in his bed and stop existing. Maybe it was extreme—it was—but it had to be the least extreme thought to have come to his brain lately. Lately—lately it has been months. But what did it matter?
Passing through the hallway, it was just a closed door after the next. Until one. One was slightly open. Just barely. And there—there Felix laid curled around his baby—Jeongin.
It was like the wind was knocked from his lungs. If he was in a dream, he would have believed that it was them, but he wasn’t. He knew that. It wasn’t a dream—well maybe it was Felix and Hyunjin’s dream to have a little but it was Changbin’s nightmare. Maybe a nightmare was an extreme term but he felt like the world wasn’t in his favor. He knew that it was just a rough time and rough times pass but—in the moment? When he is faced in the moment with challenge and devastation, it’s hard to think of it as anything more than a nightmare.
He couldn’t help himself as he found his body moving closer, coming into the room. Jeongin looked so small. Curled into himself as he continued to sleep so soundly. His pacifier could have been made for him as it fit his mouth perfectly. His soft, even suckling was something of a distant memory. Felix’s arms wrapped around his body and every part of him wanted to be Felix. To be Felix, was to experience such great love and excitement.
The more Changbin stood there, the more he wanted to join them. He missed that. He missed this simple life so full of love you couldn’t miss it. As the tears seemed to find their way to his eyes, he knew it was time. Time to go—why was it always time to go?
He wanted them —still wants them more than life itself. The sadness of their loss was something he could feel in his bones and in the deep corner of his chest. The sadness of realization that he would never be the same. The depression that was struck from the loss of the will to life. He had his boys but he wanted them too.
Min and Chan—they would have loved them too. They could have been a family. It shouldn’t have ended that way.
One way or another, Changbin found his way to his bed. His brain felt empty and full at the same time. A hopeless heavy feeling laid on his chest and he found the pain comforting. A constant in his life—pain.
His bed was his comfort. Falling into the sheets and curling into himself was something so simple but so necessary and Changbin knew that his place was there. In bed was one of those places where he could just be without expectations. Sex wasn’t really a thing for them. Minho and Chan never asked for it and Changbin never craved it.
Maybe he was supposed to—maybe that was what was wrong with him. But cuddles and soft touches were something much more fulfilling. Their lack of intimacy was something Changbin didn’t mind—it hid his not-so-secret-secret.
It’s not that he wasn’t out to his boyfriends, because he was. It’s hard to hide what doesn’t need to be hidden. They’ve seen his scars and his post-surgery body. They never made him feel less than for it—but what if they faked their love.
They wouldn’t do that—they were Min and Chan, they wouldn’t. But what if they did?
What if it was all a lie? What if? Because nothing was for certain and nothing was permanent.
The thought of it all being temporary was something Changbin couldn’t seem to shake. It scared him. It was so unknown—so unpredictable.
Changbin didn’t know when he landed in his bed but he was in it. Covers pulled up close to his face. His body laid on his side and legs tucked up close to his chest. He was safe like this. He was in his home but this new apartment had yet to feel like it.
For whatever reason he felt like crying—he resembled Jeongin’s tearful state—sue him for feeling. The stress in his shoulders and back released as the tears did. Flowing down his face, dripping onto his pillow and blankets. His brain blanked completely as his tears came without a stop.
Maybe it was because he no longer needed it, there were no tears left to cry, or he was simply too tired, but the tears slowed before coming to a complete stop. His brain felt blank as he laid there, stray tears tracking down his cheeks as his breathing slowed.
He no-doubt looked like a wreck. If someone was to tell him, he didn’t look like a wreck, they were either blind or lying. Starring ahead of him, he looked at the dresser that lined the wall. His mind refused to allow him to think of all the things his brain forced him to earlier—right then—in that moment? It only focused on the dresser.
A dresser that came with the apartment—or maybe JYP bought it. He didn’t buy it and it wasn’t in his old apartment. It wasn’t new but not old either—maybe five years old. Likely bought new and used throughout the years by other people other than him. It served him well—sturdy and strong unlike Changbin.
It was dented and scuffed—well loved and used. That was more like Changbin. Loved and used, dented and scuffed. Isn’t that something? To be loved and then used. Dented and scuffed in the name of love. What a funny thing. Loved and cared for is true love but loved and used is temporary love tied in a bow and delivered like it was real and true. Dented and scuffed as just the aftereffects of it all.
Maybe Changbin was like that dresser after all.
The door to the bedroom was opened in a rush, it was sudden and sharp. Flinching—Changbin sat up faced with his love—Chan.
He looked distraught, upset, bothered, stressed, overwhelmed—he was crying. Sobbing heavily the second he closed the door behind himself. Throwing the blankets to the side, Changbin was on his feet without much thought—screw himself, he needed to help him. Chan needed him. He was being needed—used. Was to be needed the same as to be used? It didn’t matter. Maybe it did matter—in the grand scheme of his life, maybe it actually did matter but it didn’t—not now anyway.
When someone needs you, you drop everything. It's just what you do.
You do it, in the knowledge that one day they will return the favor—it's not an exchange but rather an act of trust and care. Treat people the way you want to be treated—that was the rule, reciprocation of treatment was treating those around you the way you want to be treated.
Changbin knew one day he would receive the love and care he gave so willingly. He would meet Chan and Minho at 50 percent any day—he’d meet them at 0 knowing that they would do the same when he needed them too. And he’s had relationships in which the reciprocation failed to exist—told to his face that reciprocation wasn’t necessary and rather just a way of making their love transactional. They would never understand true love nor would they have it. The moment in which you deny what is necessary, is the moment that it all fails.
Changbin did everything with the reassurance that the right people would give him what he begged to see—begged to receive. Chan was there through those first few nights after they passed—Minho too. They held him as he broke into a million tiny pieces, shattering across the floor at the news of their death. They would never know who it was or why he cried and broke like he did but they didn’t need an explanation—they cared for him anyway.
He didn’t hold Chan as he broke because he had too—he did so because he would have wanted it—and he loves him. The act of showing him the reciprocation he received in a way he preferred to receive it was an act of love far stronger than trivial simple love.
Changbin pulled Chan into his arms, wrapping his arms around his body and holding tight. Pressed and strengthening his hold on him, Chan needed to regulate again and Changbin was up to the task of it. His breath was labored and heavy as the tears flowed but Changbin stayed, he knew his place.
He held and held and held until the tears slowed and eventually stopped as his breathing returned to normal. There was nothing he could do but hold him and wait and that was what he did.
Changbin hated himself for how he wanted it to end—not his life or this love but simply this moment in which he was struck with his sadness and tired mind. He wanted to sleep and sleep and sleep until his body and mind weren’t tired. Until his problems seemed to melt away. He wanted to sleep until they appeared in his mind and for once since their passing he had them back in his arms—where they belonged.
He held Chan close as he moved back to sit down, allowing Chan to straddle his legs as he began to rock back and forward and side to side to soothe him in the only way he knew how to. Soothing Chan in this manner was much like soothing them when they were small, or even when they were big. Maybe it was Changbin’s purpose in life to soothe those around him—he did a decent job at it anyway.
He rocked him, and hugged so tight—just trying to offer him regulation. His mouth said soothing words that would calm Chan but the only thing in his mind was trying to count the moments until he could sleep.
“Shhh—It’s ok, my love, I’ve got you.” Changbin barely recognized his own voice—his patience and softness was nothing like the screaming voice in his head that made him want to hurt everyone and everything around him.
Deep breath, Bin. Take a deep breath.
His breath felt strangled in his throat. Like something inside of him was gripping it, forcing it to stay down. And then it was released. And the air to his lungs returned normally and he was fine. Perfectly and normally fine. It was great. Couldn’t you see how great it was? How great everything was. Because it was perfect and great and just as it needed to be.
So what if he was losing it. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered. Not anymore. Not since their death. Throwing himself into his role of partner, lover, carer, whatever the hell he needed to be was what mattered. That was it. He could lose his mind and fall into an endless depression and it simply wouldn’t matter. He had to be there for them so no matter what happened to him, the only thing that mattered was them.
Who cares if Changbin lost it—they would survive without him, the others would rally. But what if they didn’t? What if they drown in his absence? The choice was clear. No matter how far he lost it, or how tired he was, or how overwhelming the sadness became, he needed to pull his shit together enough for them.
Part of him hated how he lost track of time while stuck in his brain. The other part of him hated how when Chan finally stopped crying and collapsed into Changbin’s arms as sleep overtook him, Changbin only wanted to lay him down so that he could sleep too. He should’ve been cherishing these simple moments in which he could love his boy but like most days since their passing, he just wanted to sleep.
Sleep was a constant much like his bed. He was safe here—loved here, and unlike most things in his life, he could escape into his dreams. Standing with Chan in his arms, he moved around the bed, laying him on his side. He looked so peaceful laying there. Changbin couldn’t be bothered to change his own clothes most days but he needed to change Chan’s. Chan deserved clean, fresh pajamas to sleep in. And he deserved to sleep next to Changbin who was clean.
Undressing and dressing Chan was easy, when he finally fell asleep he slept heavily. So changing him out of old clothes and into new ones was easy. Asleep, Chan was much like them. Well like any little. When asleep a lot of people were pliant like littles allowing their caregivers to change them. But maybe it was Chan’s face as he slept. It was like watching an infant sleep—his eyelids fluttered every once in a while, his lips curled in a smile, or a little giggle in his sleep. Like this he was peaceful—Changbin wished he could stay like that forever. Peaceful and calm that is.
“Binnie?” Minho’s voice pulls him from his mind—that seemed to be a recurring theme—Minho pulling Changbin’s head from his ass. Maybe one day there would be a day without his head in the clouds or focused on a past that he can never return to.
Minho’s hands tough his face and suddenly his eyes are opening. “Love?” Looking into Minho’s eyes brought him back to his sanity. “Come back to me, please.” Maybe he knew more than Changbin thought he did.
“Sorry,” Changbin said, finding his eyes moving to stare at his feet. Minho’s brow furrowed, “Shh—Come on, none of that.” His hands pushed his face to meet him again.
I thought he was watching his movie…
“Your movie ended?” Minho rolled his eyes slightly at his question. “Baby? Are you seriously thinking you can get out of talking to me about what's going on by asking about my movie?”
Changbin found himself shrugging lightly, before finding his place in the corner of his neck. Safety could always be found in Minho’s arms. “You know, you don’t have to talk about it. But I know something is going on. I’d like to be let in on your little conversations in your brain—I can’t help unless I know what’s going on. Hmm?”
Changbin hummed in agreement. It was easier to agree—plus he couldn’t really disagree with that statement.
“It's—you know—I just…” He paused, breathing in deeply he continued. “I just miss them. I miss them everyday, and—and it hurts. God Minnie, it hurts to fucking bad. I wish it didn’t. I wish death felt easier.”
Minho sighed—like he knew what was coming when he asked him to talk. He held him tighter, pulling him into himself as much as he could. In a way trying to absorb the pain. “You know, I think that when it hurts more, it goes to show how much we loved. We loved so hard that even months after their death, it feels—well raw. It’s like this wound being cut open—but it’s everything you think of them. I wish I could take on even just half of your pain. You shouldn’t be in pain.”
He had a point.
Grief is love persevering.
And he loved them with everything and every bit of his being.
That night Changbin curled in bed after Minho helped him undress. Minho took on the role that night of dressing Chan or really just undressing him, and leaving him in only his underwear—how Chan preferred it.
As much as Changbin gave, and gave, and gave, and gave, and gave—Minho and Chan were equal partners but often, in the eyes of an overwhelmed and exhausted person, simply living was a task. Their zero was his negative hundred—he had nothing to give and yet everyday he gave regardless. How can you feel as though your partners are equal if you give beyond your means?
He didn’t know. He never knew anything.
“Hey, shh, shh. It’s ok love, it’s ok.” Minho said into the crown of his head as he rubbed his head and over his eyes, trying to coax him to sleep. The tears came and for whatever reason Minho knew before he started. He breathed evenly and softly, offering a calm to Changbin’s anxiety and pain.
It’s going to be okay.
“It is going to be ok.”
“But whatever it is, I’m with you forever. Forever and always.”
Forever and always. Suppose that was hard not to believe. He had his boys—he just wished he wasn’t missing one.