Chapter Text
After seven years together, Stray Kids has a decent handful of rules they’ve devised to, as Chan once said, “maintain internal harmony.”
(“You mean keep the peace?” Seungmin had deadpanned, to which Chan responded “the concept of peace and the seven of you have never gone in the same sentence”.)
(When Seungmin responded by tackling Chan to the ground, prompting Jisung to play air-horn sounds on his phone and the remaining 00’s line to change fight, fight, fight, Chan proved his maturity by not saying 'I told you so.')
The rules have shifted and changed and grown across the years. Some of them are easy and practical (always knock before you enter the studio in case someone is recording; always knock before you enter someone's room in case they're 'indisposed'. Never answer the phone with ‘what’s up, you sexy piece of ass’ lest the call is on speaker, and the caller is on Instagram live; give an extra bottle or box or pack of medication, ointment, or bandages to Chan in case it’s forgotten in the mad rush of packing for a tour of performance).
Some are silly, and Minho is pleased to say he's never been the cause of one: if you (Jisung) choose to attempt to arm wrestle Changbin, do it on the ground, not a flimsy table filled with glasses; if you (Hyunjin) are painting around the members, use a clear cup for your paint water, and not a nondescript mug that could be mistaken for someone else’s tea; if you three (Felix, Seungmin, Innie) decide to lock yourselves away for a twenty-four hour gaming marathon, at least keep one phone on ring and please, please tell a Hyung so that the police aren’t called when no one can find you.
And then there are the rules that Minho knows stung to make, because they were a lesson learned from something scary. After the horrifying moment when Jisung disappeared without warning, everyone had to start keeping Find My Friends on. After a particularly terrifying airport mob, Chan instituted a buddy system, encouraged Hyunjin to wear ear plugs to keep the loudness of the crowds at bay, and insisted that they all take particular care to relax the first nights spent in new cities. After a brutal diet leading up to a runway show, self administered by Felix himself, left him pale and weak and collapsing to the ground, meals become monitored leading up to certain events.
But the one rule – and the biggest of all?
Don’t question a hybrid’s instinct, even if you don’t get it.
Chan herds all seven of them into his living room and growls anytime someone so much as looks at the door? Don’t question it, just get comfortable.
Changbin takes to hoarding food for the winter despite the fact that delivery exists and they are not, in fact, preparing to buckle down in a den for a long, harvestless three months? Just go with it.
Jisung randomly runs in circles for no apparent reason other than expending energy? You’re better off watching it happen than trying to stop him, he’ll tire himself out soon; just be glad he didn’t try to climb a tree about it.
Hyunjin decides that his spot on the couch is, in fact, his territory and chitters if anyone gets to close? Be grateful he’s not shifted, because stoat bites hurt.
Seungmin gets sidetracked at the park and maybe sort of starts trying to chase after an errant ball so you have to drag him back before someone presses charges? Best not to call it fetching or he’ll start sulking.
And if Innie gets the zoomies? Well, a lot of times, it ends in cuddles. Count yourself lucky.
It’s a good rule. Having one’s instincts questioned rarely leads to anything but defensiveness and hurt feelings.
“You can't snap at people like that just because you think they're a threat!” Changbin had snapped at Hyunjin, once, after Hyunjin had misconstrued a passing glance as a glare, dropped everything, including his Americano, and stormed towards them as if to attack. Hyunjin had glowered, mouth twisted and eyes sparkling.
“I can’t help it!”
“You chased my tail,” Seungmin had yelled at Jeongin. “That’s not okay!”
“I couldn’t help it,” Innie has snapped back.
“Han Jisung,” Minho had barrelled into the recording studio, a bag in hand. “Why did I just find every single granola bar I bought last week stashed in your bag?”
“I - I didn’t mean to,” Jisung had whimpers. “I had to.”
It was the one aspect they couldn't quite find common ground on for a few years, but it all came to a head the day Felix, in particular, snapped. 3Racha had been neck-deep in a writing marathon, and while that was all well in good, the three idiots didn't view things like food or water or sleep as requirements. Felix had been touchy and anxious, eyes darting to the clock more often than they stayed locked on the movie Minho had put on in the Cuties Dorm. At three in the morning, he'd left the dorm, picked up a veritable feast of fried chicken, and marched himself into the studio where, as if possessed, he'd taken a drumstick out of the bag and dropped it directly onto Chan’s chest.
“Felix!” Chan – poor, under-slept, over-stressed Chan – had leapt up, eyes burning and voice uncharacteristically sharp. Not a yell, never a yell – no one could yell at Felix; but disappointment still laced his words.
Felix had stared, wide eyes, fluffy white ears flattening and tail wrapping around his middle, at the grease stain on Chan’s shirt, at the sauce on his hands, at the baffled stares of 3Racha. His eyes had filled with tears, and he’d burst into a teary: “I-I d-don’t kno-ow. I h-had to, I’m s-sorry!”
Chan had, of course, immediately pulled Felix into his arms, with a stream of soft, murmuring apologies and gentle pets to his hair and his ears. Felix, though, had been inconsolable. It had taken a phone call to Minho who’d sprinted from the dorm to JYPE in record time, shot one look at the chicken, Chan’s shirt, and Felix’s tears, and pulled Felix into his arms.
“Oh, sweet kitten, were you trying to provide for Channie-hyung?”
His voice always got soft with Felix, softer than with any of the rest of them. He could admit that to himself, even if he denied it to everyone else. Felix had let out a whimpering mewl and nodded. Minho had cooed and nuzzled his cheek against Felix’s temple.
“Such a good hunter for your busy members, hmm? Wanted to make sure they were eating?”
Another mewl. Another nod. A pointed glare from Minho to a horrified Chan.
“Cats hunt for the people they love,” Minho had said coolly. “When was the last time you ate, huh?”
As if on cue, Chan’s stomach had growled. Minho grinned knowingly, all the while rocking Felix side to side.
“Our little Kitten must have noticed. He fed you the way his instincts know how.”
“By dropping a drumstick on Hyung’s chest?” Jisung had asked softly. Minho’s eye twitched but he’d nodded.
“Yes. By dropping a drumstick on Hyung’s chest. It doesn't need to make sense to you – it makes sense to him."
And so, the rule was made. As a group of eight hybrids, they were all pretty good at communicating their instincts ahead of time, sensing before a behavior became reality. But from then on, whenever an instinct happened without warning, they just had to say a single word, and it wouldn’t be questioned.
The word, of course, being drumstick.
It objectively helped, and yet, Minho himself had never had to use it. It wasn't something to brag about, necessarily (God knows Chan would give him some form of lecture if he thought Minho was bragging), but it was still fact.
Minho prides himself in being a very independent cat. He always has been, really – with honed senses and fast-reacting agility and a very pretty coat of black fur, if he did say so himself. He was kind of cat who observed, who maybe allowed himself to be pet if feeling benevolent (or else demanded pets with his claws ever so slightly extended). He was mature – he didn’t play (except for when the laser pointer came out, and then it was on) and he didn’t turn into a puddle of purrs from a simple ear scratch (though he never slept better than when Changbin shifted and he was able to nestle himself amongst thick, warm bear fur).
He was a cat’s cat. Intelligent and collected and cutting, if necessary. He didn’t crave companionship at an instinctive level. He didn't really cave to instincts at all.
Basically, the opposite of Felix.
He glances over at his fellow cat-hybrid now, who is receiving final touches from a stylist. They've got him in one of the outfits that makes him look sweet enough to eat – pretty pastel sweater with a bow at the collar, fitted washed-denim pants cuffed at the ankles, and chunky white sneakers that definitely came from Felix's own closet. His hair is wavy, pieces intentionally tugged loose to brush against his cheekbones. They've dappled a strawberry blush on his cheekbones, a similar color gloss on his lips, makeup to emphasize the enormity of his eyes. Cute, cute, cute.
Cute, and Minho should not think anything other than cute about his dongsaeng.
They're led to the set and positioned in a two-by-four array of stools beneath too-hot set lights, before two interviewers who are smiling a bit too predatorily. The manufactured sugar bomb of Felix's outfit feels like an omen, especially in contrast to Minho's own – sleek, mature, a button down of shimmering charcoal that contrasts against his fur and well-tailored trousers that seem to emphasize the muscles of his legs. It's like this a lot – stylists know Minho will refuse the cutesy clothes (the day he'd been given a collar, complete with a little bell on the front, has gone down in infamy for the only time Minho well and truly threw a fit), but Felix? Felix never says anything. He just smiles.
Felix, with his forever-kitten fuzz and his big, curious eyes. Felix, with his endlessly moving tail and twitching ears and his easily distracted senses. Felix, who tried very hard to not be cuddly and clingy on the survival show, only to seek Minho out the second he was eliminated, press his body against Minho’s, and cry so hard he shifted from sheer exhaustion.
(Minho insisted he didn't have instincts, certainly not the protective kind one might associate with a hybrid. As a person? Absolutely – but who could blame him, these men are hopeless on a good day! But as a cat? Well, he’d always considered himself a bit more clinical when shifted. He never thought he’d take one look at the tear-stained fur of Felix, those huge, shivering eyes, and proceed to groom him.)
Felix was Stray Kids' baby, because Felix was a baby. Most hybrids grew into their animals. Hyunjin was no longer a fluffy, puffball of a creature, but a sleek-furred, fully-matured stoat. Changbin, too, may have sported little fuzzy ears and harmless fuzzy paws as a child, but now, his paws were bigger than Minho’s face.
Not Felix, though.
By now, Felix should be a full cat – matured and appropriately wary of others. But instead, he was stuck at the end of kitten-hood, and in the seven years Minho had known him, hadn’t made any visible progress in growing bigger.
He still had that fuzzy, soft kitten fur. He still had those big, curious eyes. And he could still fit in the palm of the average human hand quite comfortable. He could fit anywhere, really – in a shoe, a sweatshirt pocket, the crook of an unsuspecting member's neck.
And God, did Stray Kids love that about him.
So did, apparently, the rest of the world. And sometimes, they loved him the way he deserved to be loved: with endless praise for his efforts, his talents, his passion, his heart.
But sometimes they loved him the way a person might love a stuffed animal, or a china doll: like an object.
Minho could tell, as soon as the stylists insist upon outfitting Felix is a choker, that the group was in for it. Ostensibly, they're here to tape promotions for their comeback, but the particular show they're on is renowned for questions laced with mockery. And Felix?
He's in the very middle, in the very front; and with that pastel sweater? The bow? It's like a lamb to the slaughter.
"Calm down," Changbin leans into his space, voice a tight whisper through his plastered-on smile.
"I am calm," Minho whispers back just the same. Changbin rests a large hand on his knee and squeezes.
"You look like if either of the hosts glance at Bbokie one more time, you're going to slit their throats."
Minho ignores him, but the honest response of and I just might, rumbles in his chest with a low growl.
Thankfully, the interview starts with the usual, comeback-related questions. How would you describe the sound of this album? Did you have any specific inspirations when you came up with the concept? Is there a favorite song on the album that you think Stay will find special meaning in?
The eight of them have always had good banter; it's the consequence of time spent together plus natural, innate chemistry. Jisung is his best, teasing, chaos-gremlin self, a perfect contrast to Seungmin's dry wit (especially dry today). Changbin is loud in the way fans adore, and Chan plays the authentic role of adoring, exasperated leader.
The non-music aspects of their individual lives are brought up as well – they often are. Praise for Innie and his jewelry sponsorship, his recent photoshoot, and the compliments turn his cheeks a deep red that compliments the copper of his tail. Hyunjin is adorably bashful when he discusses his role with Versace, body curving and head bowing with pleased embarrassment at all the attention.
But like always – like from the very beginning – the attention inevitably turns to Felix; the hosts eyes seem to sparkle a little brighter. Their bodies relax, postures open and soft.
Changbin's hand tightens around Minho's leg. Another warning.
"Felix-ssi," the host coos, "you've obviously been busy! Feels like anywhere I walk, I see your face on a billboard or a magazine–"
"–or my boba tea," the other host jokes. Felix laughs good-naturedly, all golden smiles and bright eyes.
"It's been a whirlwind of a time, definitely," Felix says, "but I'm very grateful for all of the opportunities and to help represent Stray Kids to a wider audience."
Felix always does that, always brings it back to the eight of them. It's intentional, Minho knows; an effort to keep the akgaes off his back, to give less ammunition to the people who think Felix shouldn't be a member. It won't work, which is sad. Minho can't fathom how someone could hate Lee Felix, but the fact is, nothing he does seems capable of changing their minds.
"Our little Lixie just has a face for fame," Jisung teases, leaning over to pinch Felix's cheek; Felix leans into the touch, turns his head, puckers his lips, and when Jisung makes a noise of disgust and scrambles away, he just laughs.
"Well, fans certainly have agreed since, well, forever," the host nods, grinning. A screen behind them switches from an image of Felix at the last LV show to a photo Minho recognizes – himself and Felix on stage, grinning moments after hearing the news that they would, in fact, debut alongside their other members. Minho can't help but smile – they're both so young in the photo, chubby-cheeks clinging to baby-fat they'd yet to shed, expressions open and honest, not yet media trained. Two cats – ears of midnight black and fluffy white, tails to match, postures identically shocked.
"You're so little," Changbin coos. Minho hisses teasingly at the jab.
"You're still so little," Innie teases Felix, grabbing his hand and pressing their palms together, always eager to show off the centimeter-difference in finger lengths. Felix whines, half for show and half naturally, as he always reacts to teasing. Minho doesn't think twice when he leans forward and pinches Innie's cheeks.
"Leave the kitten alone, you Brat," he teases. The others snort with familiar amusement, but the hosts are a combination of cooing and cackling. And immediately, Minho knows – they're going to say something he might not like.
"This leads us quite nicely into our next topic," one of the hosts nods appreciatively. "Of course, at your debut, naysayers doubted how so many differently-specied hybrids would be able to coexist within such a high-pressure environment."
Minho feels the shiver that ripples across the room; they all they hate this question, nearly as much as they hated reading those early-day critiques.
"Obviously, something's worked, given that it's been eight years and you're still going strong."
Chan sits up a bit. If they weren't at a very public interview, Minho would tease him (Down, boy, before your tail falls off from all that mental wagging).
"Well, I'll say what I've always said," he smiles goodheartedly. "We're individuals before we're our species. We work well together, and we love each other – when you have that kind of chemistry and respect, it's easy to accept that you won't always understand each other's instincts."
The interviewer smiles. "And I think it's clear that your natural chemistry, your respect for each other's instincts, has only served to make you stronger. But with Felix-ssi and Minho-ssi, you've got two members of the same hybrid species."
Minho raises a brow, just as he sees Felix perk up two seats over, one down. His tail flicks at the direct address, and the interviewer coos again. Minho doesn't particularly like that.
"We've seen a lot of comments from people analyzing the both of you. Of course, to Chan's point, being of the same species has no bearing on personalities, but even I have to admit – you're both very different, aren't you?"
"How do you mean?" Minho asks, and he tries to keep his tone light, the mysterious, aloof persona he sometimes plays up for fan. Felix, in contrast, can't help but pout, looking back at Minho almost anxiously.
"Different?"
The interviewer laughs.
"Even that!" he waves at Minho and Felix. "You've always maintained a very poised image, Minho-ssi. Meanwhile you, Felix-ssi, are often heralded for being expressive and warm. Sunshine, right?"
Felix blushes through his concealer and nods, but there's a worried divot between his brows that wasn't there before.
"I think we have a quote from back from back in the day, the other members pointing out that you, Minho-ssi used to be much softer with Felix-ssi compared to the rest of you."
"And that's not the mention the footage over the years where you seem very keen on taking care of him," the other host points out. The members barely try to stifle their giggles, save Minho, who scoffs jokingly, and Felix, who … looks a little confused.
"Well, Bbokie's a kitten," Minho shrugs jokingly. "I think we all felt the need to take care of him."
"You did?" Felix pouts. Minho rolls his eyes.
"I – we do," Minho corrects, and it feels a bit too tender to be a joke. He can tell it's not subtle enough, either; Chan's eyes flicker in his direction and Innie makes a noise that might be a snort, if not for little cough he adds at the end. God, too honest. Minho forces a laugh, adds: "I mean, you can't leave a little kitten like Yongbokkie out in the cold? We have to take care of him. He's our baby."
The joke works enough, especially since it cues Innie up for a solid maknae joke. Giggles return, from the members and the hosts alike, but Seungmin is watching Felix carefully, and Felix is looking at Minho with an expression Minho doesn't recognize, but can tell isn't necessarily happy. He does a fine job of appearing, well, fine after that, as the attention shifts away from him and Minho and back to the comeback; but there's a undeniable flatness in his ears, a sensitivity in the way his tail no longer flicks and twitches but curls around the leg of the stool.
Minho tries not to stare, but he's sure he does; he's sure he remains tracked on Felix like, well, a cat tracking anything it wants to track.
The interview ends with little fanfare. One second, Minho is studying the angled slope of Felix's ear, and the next, he's standing, bowing, belatedly thanking the hosts. They traipse tiredly to the green room, and Minho tries to get close to Felix, but Felix doesn't seem to notice, turning away anytime Minho's close to catching his eye.
It's not until they're changed and droopy eyed and piling in to the back of a van that Minho gets a chance to check in with Felix.
"Hey, you okay?"
Felix jumps then does a pretty shit job of pretending he wasn't scared. "Yeah, I'm fine."
He's not fine. Minho won't call him on it.
"It's just … you seemed bothered by their comments–"
The van pulls away from the curb, and Felix startles at the sudden movement, dropping his headphones the ground. He starts to bend to get them–
"Let me," Minho stops him, fishing the device from beneath the rows of seats in front of them. "Your back – those stools are never easy on your back."
Felix watches his with shrewd eyes as Minho passes the headphones to him; it's a look decidedly unfamiliar on Felix's face, but decidedly like the expressions Seungmin aims at Minho sometimes.
"I could have grabbed them," Felix says eventually. Minho tilts his head.
"Yeah, but you didn't need to," Minho says.
Felix doesn't respond. He slips his headphones on, brow still furrowed as he leans against the window. Minho feels that same wriggling sense of anxiety curl and solidify.
He swears he hears Felix whisper, but I could have, but when he looks over to check, Felix's eyes are shut. He must have imagined it.
You're both very different, aren't you?
The host's observation seems to have stuck in his head; it rackets in his mind the night they get back from the interview, and sticks with him the full day after. Partially because it's been a while since someone brought it up. Secondly because Felix still seems chilly and put out when they leave the van, and he hasn't been active at all in the group chat today.
And third, because Minho can't stop considering the fact that they are, really, very different.
Minho has never considered himself doting the way other cats are, but the fact is, he doesn't just want to care for Felix, he needs to. Not because of his own instincts, no thank you, but simply because someone has to keep Felix alive.
And that person? It has to be Minho.
It was Hyunjin who said it, wasn't it? Felix needs to be taken care of? So sue Minho if he's the best man (or cat) for the job. Felix instinctively leans towards an open hand, a free lap, and warm body; he instinctively wants to be loved and love in return, an endless feedback loop of rainbows and sunrays and all things sweet.
Whether cat or human, Felix would do anything for love – even if it hurt him in the end. And while his instincts in the art of caring for others (be it with words or gift giving or a simple, well-timed hug) are beautifully honed, his instincts as they related to taking care of himself leave a lot to be desired.
They're complimentary in that way. Minho excels at gut instincts, at assessing a situation both quickly and accurately. He;s fierce and protective; he's someone to be leaned on in a crisis, or else mitigate one before it could start. But having a big-picture mindset means he sometimes misses (admittedly; again, only to himself) the littler details – the way a member might be lagging not due to a misunderstanding of the choreo, but bad news; the way tension might build in someone's shoulders, and Minho might not realize it until that very tension pushes them over the edge.
Felix sees those things, feels them in his own body with such intensity that he's helpless not to intervene. He seems the good in every person he meets, assumes the best regardless of it it's true. It's not that he doesn't care about the bigger picture things, but rather that he's hyperfocused on each individual member.
Except himself, of course.
When they first debuted, Minho used to say he had three pairs of eyes – one for his day to day, one in the back of his head, and a special set for the white-fluffed trouble of Lee Felix Yongbok. Really, that special third set was slitted, light-reactive, and designed to sniff out mischief; and in actuality, Felix was no more or less mischievous than the other donsaengs (though if the Sunshine twins were together and unsupervised? Minho expected trouble with a capital T). It's just that he's small and he's too trusting. And he gets caught up in needing to be good so easily, so who's to say if he'd remember to groom himself, or eat a nutritious dinner, or consider that as a cat hybrid, he needed sleep and not hours in front of his PC?
("He's a full grown man, you know," Seungmin pointed out once, deadpan in the way he always was, in the way Minho liked to think he played a part in cultivating. "Like, he's not going to starve just because you don't personally hand-feed him."
Of course Felix was a full grown man. He'd blossomed, really; cute as a button before, still cute as a button after, but distinctly a man. Still so fucking soft, but more willing to tease, to play…
Don't go there, Lee Minho.
"I don't hand-feed him," Minho had said simply. Seungmin blinked at him once.
"That's so far from the point I was trying to make that I think you're being intentionally obtuse."
And maybe he was, just a little. Damn Kim Seungmin.)
("You know, I think it's sweet that your instincts are so strong towards Lix," Jisung said once, when Minho had spent only fifteen minutes, that you very much, bundling Felix in a sweater and scarf before he ventured into the cold winter of Seoul.
"I don't have instincts towards Yongbok," Minho had frowned. Jisung had stared at him, each blink loud and doubtful.
"You're kidding. You think you don't have hybrid instincts towards Felix?"
"No. I'm just being a good Hyung.")
He's being a good Hyung now, he rationalizes. They're all piled in Chan and Innie's dorms (and Minho loves living with Jisung, truly, but he also kind of hates not living all together; not living with Felix, ensuring he's okay, ensuring he's warm and fed and clean and happy); it's a standard enough evening, in that they're all together, all tired, and all desperately trying to pretend they don't have rehearsals in a matter of ten hours.
Team dinners (pack dinners, Minho knows Chan mentally calls them) are mandatory, but as their success grows, so too does the length of time between the dinners. They're just too busy to meet up biweekly, as they used to. They're lucky if they manage the now-weekly congregation over ( not meal plan friendly) takeout and (definitely not meal plan friendly) alcohol.
They rely on these nights. They all might have instincts that don't necessarily make sense, but all eight of them are a pack, or a clowder, or a skulk. And they all need time together to keep those bonds strong.
Which begs the question–
"Where is Yongbok?"
He asks nobody and, therefore, everybody. They're all wedged in the living room, seven men across one couch, two arm chairs, and a bean bag.
Innie turns towards him with wide, horrified eyes. "Who's Yongbok?"
"Hah-hah," Minho rolls his eyes at the memory of SkzFlix. "Seriously, though. It's almost eight, he should be here by now."
"He had a fitting, I think," Chan says, brow furrowed as he tries to remember, ears satelliting in tandem. "That or a meeting about a hosting gig."
"That was this morning," Seungmin says. "I think tonight was prep for his Naver campaign."
"No, no that was yesterday," Hyunjin corrects.
"Are you sure? I could have sworn–"
"Sorry, sorry!"
The door flies open with a bang loud enough to rattle the frame and Minho's nerves, but any anxiety is immediately washed away when he spots Felix bounding into the apartment. His cheeks are pink with cold, nose too, and his hair is a mess of bleach-blonde fuzz.
He's wearing a jacket and that's it.
"Yongbok-ah," Minho sing-songs, and Felix skids to a stop. "Why aren't you wearing a hat or a scarf?"
Felix cocks his head, ears twitching. "Because I was outside for a whole two minutes?"
"Your cheeks are red. You were cold."
Felix sighs and he hangs up his coat, but Minho recognizes that little spiral of his head.
"Did you just roll your eyes–"
"No, Hyung!"
"Ooh, Bbokie's in trouble," Hyunjin sing songs from his spot on the bean bag chair, whole body wiggling with the movement. Felix glares at him, grins until his little fangs are gleaming in the light, and then he's pouncing. Hyunjin gasps like he's not thrilled to have an armful of Felix. Felix giggles as Hyunjin pulls him flush against his chest, tail flicking every which direction.
"Please don't crush him, you overgrown ferret," Minho sighs. Hyunjin gasps (dramatically, like he always does when Minho invokes this particular insult).
"I'm a stoat and you know that, Minho-hyung!"
"Hmm, doubt that," Changbin teases. "Look like a ferret to me. Smell like one too–"
Hyunjin gasps again in horror, then in betrayal when Felix snorts.
"Alright, I'm going to order food, so if you have level-ten dinner opinions, voice them now," Chan announces, dutifully ignoring the chaos. No one seems to feel any which way about cuisine options, which means they'll end up with ten times the amount of food they need. Felix deflates, ears flattening as he leans towards Chan, bumps his head against their leader's knee, and nuzzles.
"I'm sorry I was late," Felix murmurs. Chan smiles with a roll of his eyes and scratches Felix behind the ears, coaxing a bubbling purr from his throat.
"It's not your fault you're busy," Chan says softly. "No one blames you."
Felix smiles, but his ears don't lift quite to their full potential.
Minho's tail twitches this time. A single move, barely more than a shiver of fur. Seungmin notices, eyes immediately drawn to the movement, but no one else does; because Minho is a good cat, and he doesn't let his feelings dictate his behaviors.
It's true. No one blames Felix for his success, nor the schedule it demands.
So why does Felix seem sad?
While they wait for the food, Minho lets himself observe, and Felix lets himself be passed from member to member, purrs growing in intensity and body steadily losing its rigidity. He's tired, which makes sense. He's happy now that he's being pet and cuddled and all manners of manhandled, which also makes sense.
But when he ends up with Innie (to Minho's left), Minho smells it. A sadness. An exhaustion that isn't quite physical.
"Yongbok-ah," he says again; without the sing-song, this time, and low – much lower than the din of nonsensical, overlapping conversations. Felix turns his head, blinking wide eyes at Minho, and it's kind of pathetic how happy Minho is that whatever tension Felix had been carrying last night seems to be gone. Minho doesn't fully know what he's asking for, but when Felix responds by wriggling away from Innie and curling on top of him, he's not about to complain. It's second nature to hold Felix, to curl their tails together and nose along his jaw.
Second nature; nothing more. Comfort, nothing more. Because Felix is everyone's baby. To be protected and coddled and loved … a certain way only–
"Hyung," Innie wrinkles his nose, not bother to specify which Hyung he's addressing, "they're doing it again."
"Let them be, Ayen-ah," Changbin says. "They're just being cats."
Minho growls low in his throat, and Felix responds by headbutting him; like Minho's momentary distraction from petting him is a criminal offense. Then again, it kind of is.
Minho rolls his eyes at them and secures his hold around Felix. He's half-endeared, half-concerned to see how heavy-lidded Felix already is.
"Don't sleep yet," Minho murmurs, pushing his hair back. Now that Felix is effectively on him and thoroughly cuddled, he smells less sad and more like outside. "You still have to eat and shower. And did you have enough water today?"
"M'fine," Felix rumbles through a purr.
"Nuh-uh, not fine," Minho corrects. "If you fall asleep, I'm going to wake you up for food, and I'm not Hyunjinnie – I won't be gentle just because you're cute."
Felix tilts his head up and raised a single, skeptical eyebrow. Minho scoffs and flicks him at the center of his forehead with all the strength of a butterfly.
Felix sits up, though – not a lot, just enough to prove he's not actively falling asleep. Minho hums, tail tightening right along with his chest.
"You okay?"
Felix shrugs. "Just tired."
He's such a bad liar. Too twitchy for deceit. Minho won't call him on it, but only because Felix does truly seem moments away from complete unconsciousness, and having Chan's leader-level worry while simultaneously fighting sleep doesn't seem like an entirely fair fate.
"You taking care of yourself?"
Felix's ear twitches hard; his claws don't extend, but Minho feels the flexing of his hands, like he almost thought about it. Minho narrows his eyes and Felix winces.
"Sorry I – yes, Hyung, I'm taking care of myself."
Minho takes him in – his mussed hair, his shadowy eyes, the almost-there hollowness of his cheeks.
"Eating?"
This time, the claws come out. Well, a single claw comes out. It doesn't hurt, because Felix doesn't want to scratch – but it's sharp. Minho gasps and snatches Felix's hand.
"Yongbok, when was the last time you clipped your claws?"
"I – I don't know, Hyung," Felix snaps, eyes narrowing. "I've been kind of busy."
Busy. He spits the word, voice sharp. The room quiets.
Minho goes very still. Felix's face might be funny – the rapid-fire shift from petulant and bratty to horrified and teary.
"Um," Felix whispers, tone sweet and caught. "I mean … I don't know?"
Minho can't figure out how to respond, because Felix is never short with him. He's rarely short with anyone, to be fair, but he's still a human being a pressure cooker environment. But not with Minho – never with Minho. Sassy, sure, but with the end goal or teasing, every bit a kitten looking for a play-fight.
"Go get the nail clippers from Chan-hyung's bathroom," Minho says sharply. It's something they used to do at the Cuties Dorm – or, rather, Minho used to do for Felix.
(If he thinks about it for too long, his tail twitches; surely it's coincidence, though.)
Felix's expression goes tight, familiarly stubborn. "Hyung, I'm–"
"If you say fine," Minho cuts him off, "we will have a problem."
He's not spoken to Felix like this before. He hasn't had to. But he cannot express the desperate need within him, the need to protect and care for and love. Felix studies him for a long, scrunch-nosed, ear-flicking moment before he pushes himself to standing and sighs his way to the bathroom. Minho watches him go, then yelps when Seungmin chucks a pillow at his head.
"What was that for?" he scoffs. Seungmin is properly glaring at him.
"For being overbearing," Seungmin says candidly. Minho opens his mouth, but Seungmin doesn't give him a second to defend himself. "Lix is a full grown man. This is the first night he's even been back in time for dinner this week. The last thing he needs is a lecture because your instincts are going haywire."
Jisung whistles under his breath, like Minho is a child who's been called to the principal's office. Minho, meanwhile, can only splutter.
Because there's a lot to unpack there. For one, his dongsaeng is out of line; not that the younger members can't speak out when they don't agree with something, but this is Felix, not a step in choreography or a movie-night suggestion. For another, Minho's instincts are fine. This is just natural hyung behavior.
And for a glaring, mind-blowing third–
"What do you mean this is the first night he's been home for dinner this week?"
Seungmin sighs and looks pleadingly at the others, but they all shrug. "He's been busy, okay? Most nights he doesn't get back until midnight. I don't know if you noticed, but Felix is a little bit popular."
"Popular," Minho echoes.
"Have you heard of this group called Stray Kids, by chance?" Innie asks, and Minho swats at the back of his neck. Seungmin rolls his eyes.
"He's sweet. They've been sending him out to more appearances, more dinners. He's charming, you know?"
(Hah. Minho knows. Minho tries very hard not to notice how charming Felix is, how people stumble over their feet to look at him, to make him laugh.
Do not. Go there.)
"So he's been skipping dinner, and you're just now deciding to mention it?" Minho snaps.
Chan sits up. It's a subtle movement, but it's laced with meaning and intention, and Minho grumbles himself silent.
"Minho, I know you worry about Lix, and I know you have an instinctual bond there that we might not understand–"
"–that's not true," Minho huffs. Chan rolls his eyes.
"–but Seungminnie's right. Felix is an adult, and he's an adult with a busy schedule. If you're worried about him, have that conversation, but don't lecture him in front of all of us when he hasn't had a second to sit down since dawn."
Minho doesn't like it. He doesn't like that he's the only one worried.
"Claw maintenance is important," he says in lieu of responding to anything else. Everyone sighs. "What! It is!"
"Face it, Hyung," Jisung sighs witheringly. "When it comes to Felix, your worries tend to spiral. Including his claws."
"You're all–"
Felix slips back into the room with his hands bunched in his sleeves and no clippers in sight.
"Where's the–"
"I clipped my nails in the bathroom," Felix interrupts Minho, voice small and flat and so far from a contented purr that his stomach aches with its absence.
"I …" Minho watches, lost, as Felix slips back onto the beanbag next to Hyunjin. "I could have done it for you."
Felix won't meet his eyes. He curls instinctively against Hyunjin's side and shrugs. "Well, I can do it myself too. I'm not a child, you know."
I very much know, Minho wants to say. I know you can do things yourself, but you didn't this time, Minho wants to say. You didn't, and you're tired, and you smell sad, and why won't you lean on me?
"Can we watch something?" Felix asks quietly, and the speed at which Chan, Changbin, and Innie scramble for the remote is a little pathetic, and yet completely understandable. Felix doesn't suggest what to watch, and it doesn't matter. By the time Chan is flicking through the Netflix home screen, he's already asleep.
That night, Minho cannot sleep. His bed – covered with the softest of blankets, warm and big and normally the most comfortable thing in the world – feels oddly cold, and there's an anxiety prickling across his body that will not go away, no matter how many guided meditations he listens to.
Eventually, he gives into his insomnia and rises. He hardly knows where he's going as he slips on his shoes and his jacket, but by the time he's asking himself the question, he's already standing outside of the Seunglix apartment.
It's not instinct, the tells himself; it's a natural reaction directly related to being the second-oldest. It's a cause and effect. Felix was weird tonight, and Minho has a duty to ensure that, even if he's still weird, he's asleep about it.
He has a spare key to all of the apartments. Of course, Chan does too, but Minho insisted he be given equal responsibility. He keeps all four keys (his own included) on a key ring, and as a result, he's a walking jingle bell half the time; he's glad now, though, as he fishes it out of his pocket and gently opens the dorm door.
It's dark inside. Quiet. Appropriate given it's fully three AM. He tiptoes (bless cat agility and the sneakiness it awards him) through the door, shrugs off his jacket, toes off his shoes, and heads towards the ajar door at the end of the hall.
(Felix always slept with the door cracked, ever since their trainee days; he said, once, it was so he could keep an ear out for any noises. He also confessed that he got creeped out if he closed it all the way).
Minho slips into Felix's room and freezes when the sensation of eyes on him hits. The dark has never been an obstacle, but it still takes him a second grasp the fact that Felix is watching him. Because Felix is, for some reason, awake.
"Hyung?" he whispers. He's wrapped in blankets, a little burrito of fleece and all things fuzzy.
"Why are you still awake?" Minho whispers back. He steps inside carefully, but he doesn't move to the bed.
Felix's eyes flicker down, lips pouting. "Just … couldn't sleep."
Another step forward. "Why?"
"Thinking."
Another step.
"About?"
"… feelings."
"Bbokie, I'm gonna pry it out of you, you might as well–"
"Do you hate me? Or resent me? Or are you made at me?"
Minho doesn't step again. He stumbles, tripping in his own surprise; so undignified, and so un-catlike, but evidence of his own shock.
"No!" he shakes his head. "No, of course not – why would you even think that?"
Felix huffs and blinks rapidly. A tell that tears are building, or starting to build, or else certainly going to build within the minute. He picks at the blanket in his lap; it's an old one, not nearly as soft as his money can buy now, but very familiar: Minho's blanket from back in their trainee days, one that he's given Felix the night he tumbled into his arms post-elimination.
"I snapped at you," Felix whispers.
Minho deflates with relief. "Oh, Bbokie. I could never hate you for snapping at me. I mean, you could commit full-blown manslaughtre and I probably wouldn't hate you."
Felix looks up at him. Eyes? Enormous. Pout? Extreme. Tail? Wound tight around his waist, twitching with distress.
"I'm sorry," he whispers anyway. "I swear, I didn't mean to snap."
Minho can't stop himself – he plops down into the bed and tugs Felix against his chest. Felix whines, the sound muffled against his shirt; it's such an instinctive sound, so close to an actual meow.
"I just worry about you," Minho says.
"I know," Felix responds. He sounds profoundly sad, and Minho tries to pull back to see if he's hearing his tone incorrectly, but Felix tightens his grip on Minho's shirt.
Minho snorts. "Alright, you little leech. I'm not going anywhere."
Felix grumbles again, but it's closer to a purr this time. Minho shifts until he's more firmly reclined on the bed and tugs the blankets over both himself and Felix. Felix glances up, only his eyes visible. They're heavy-lidded already. His sweet Bbokie, worried sleepless from guilt, and immediately inundated with exhaustion from a second of comfort alone.
"I'm sorry you've had to take care of me, Hyung," he murmurs tiredly. Minho stiffens. You've had to. What the hell does that mean?
"What?" Minho asks. Felix doesn't respond, and Minho pulls away further. "Bbokie, what do you mean had to take care of you–?"
But Felix's breath has already evened out. Such a kitten, conked out in a heartbeat.
"What the hell?" Minho asks the night.
Now that Minho knows Felix hasn't been returning home until midnight, he may or may not be hyperfocusing on that fact. And on Felix's schedule as a whole.
And Jesus Christ, when does this kid sleep?
He asks as much to the others. They're all stretching in a practice room, waiting for rehearsal and Felix alike.
"I feel the need to reiterate once again that Felix isn't a kid," Seungmin says.
"Go chase your own tail," Minho snaps. Seungmin bares his teeth.
"I asked him if he wanted me to step in and try to get some of his responsibilities shifted, but he swore up and down he was fine," Chan says. His nose wrinkles, lips curling, so reminiscent of how he huffs in fully-shifted form. Minho narrows his eyes, but Chan shakes his head subtly. He's worried too, Minho knows immediately; worried, but not trying to worry the others.
The doors open and Felix enters, one of the JYPE dance instructors, Do-yoon, hot on his tail. Immediately, Minho's ears prick up.
"Let him go."
Because Do-yoon has his hand on the back of Felix's neck. And yeah, sure, it might not be an odd gesture for some, but for cat-hybrids? A hand on the scruff – especially by a stranger – is a surefire way to send one's instincts into a free fall.
Do-yoon freezes, brows lifting. Chan stiffens, turning to Minho, but Minho growls:
"Let go of him."
Everyone stares at him. Minho digs his nails into palms to stay relaxes.
"He's basically scruffing Lix."
There's a palpable hiss through the room. Do-yoon doesn't move, confused and exasperated already, and Minho feels a surge of fury course through his veins, his nails sharpening into claws so quickly it probably splits his skin.
"Do-yoon-ssi, let go of Felix," Chan says. To anyone else, he probably sounds perfectly collected, but Minho hears that razor-sharp edge to his words.
For a moment, Minho thinks he's not going to let go; that he's going to keep his hand on Felix's neck, keep it pinned. But then, Do-yoon gasps and makes a show of removing his hands.
"Sorry, sorry," he grimaces. "I didn't realize – Yongbok, why didn't you say something?"
Felix blinks several times, dazed and glassy eyed, but within a few seconds, his gaze sharpens, right along with a hot blush on his cheekbones.
"I-it's fine," he says. Flashes a smile.
Do-yoon smiles right back, still apologetic, but then shrugs at the rest of them; he doesn't get it. "See? No harm, no foul."
Yes harm, Minho thinks. Very big foul, in fact.
Felix shakes the moment off, but Minho doesn't. He watches Felix carefully in the practice mirror as they stretch and warm up. As they wait for their music to be cued, Minho sidles over to Felix.
"Why'd you say it was fine?" he asks. Felix cocks his head.
"Huh?"
"With Do-yoon," he pushes. "You said it was fine, but he basically scruffed you."
Felix rolls his eyes with a teasing grin. "Hyung, he did not scruff me–"
"That's why I said basically," Minho tuts. Felix's smile doesn't slip, but his posture tenses.
"Hyung, if an almost-scruff is the worst I get this week? I'll consider myself lucky. Now can you let me move to my spot?"
There's so much wrong with what Felix just said, and he's too busy reeling in horror to do much more than stare, wide-eyed, at Felix's nonplussed form as he gets into formation; when the music starts, he is all rote memorization and muscle movement.
I'll consider myself lucky.
Are people … scruffing Felix? No, surely not – that would be a line that even conflict-averse Lee Felix would happily call someone on. But the images are there, now. Long fingers cupped at the base of Felix's neck, dancing along the side of his throat; bodies bending towards him, not like sunflowers to the sun, but like lions towards a lamb. Suddenly, his teeth feel very sharp and his claws seem to dig at his nail beds–
"Min," Chan tuts, and Minho realizes he's been still and glaring at the floor, that the track has long since stopped. Who knows how long they've been doing runthroughs, only that it must have been a couple times, because the others are taking a water break. Immediately, he looks for blonde hair and white fur in the mirror. Felix is giggling as Jisung and Hyunjin wrestle on the ground; it's the kind of nonsense he'd normally jump in on, but – fuck – he looks tired.
"Min," Chan says again, and Minho forces himself to look up. "You good?"
"Of course," Minho huffs. Chan raises a brow.
"You sure? Because if you need a second, or some air, or someone to talk to–"
"Please, Hyung," Minho cuts Chan off, "when was the last time I needed any of those things?"
Chan looks unamused; it's fair – Minho feels a little petulant. His eyes drift back to Felix's reflection without his permission and Chan tracks the movement.
"Minho," Chan says. And that's all he says. Minho can't tell if it's a warning or an acknowledgement.
"I know," Minho says. And he doesn't know what he's agreeing to, really.
"Just … give him room to breathe, okay?" Chan asks. Minho jolts, protest on his tongue, but Chan cuts him off. "Not literally. You don't need to stop caring about him. But … well, he's in charge of himself, yeah? You have to respect that."
"I do."
"And that means you can't start analyzing his every movie."
Minho scoffs. "Come on, Hyung. I'm not paranoid."
Chan sighs witheringly. "Sure, Min. Of course not."
Okay, so maybe, he's being a little paranoid.
And maybe, it's starting to affect things.
It's just that he's kind of sure Felix is pulling away from him. And only him. He learns a lot form the group chat, from overheard conversations, from word of mouth. Oh yeah, Yongbokkie was an angel last night, Changbin mentioning off hand. We were in the studio til two AM and out of nowhere, he shows up with food. I swear, Ji almost proposed.
A text from Hyunjin, a sleepy-eyed selfie of him and Felix: thank u to our Angel for seeing me off at the airport!
Seungmin bragging to Innie and Jisung: Felixie stayed up late specifically to help me edit photos for instagram – i'm definitely his favorite of the maknae-line.
And then there's the everything else of their job. A manager sending an email, congratulating Felix on a photoshoot well done – a photoshoot Minho cannot for the life of him figure out occurred when given that Felix's schedule is jam-packed. A tweet from a makeup brand, Felix's smiling face front and center as he attends their anniversary party at their flagship store. Well-wishes from other idols – JYPE or otherwise – about how sweet Felix was last night, last week, that morning. At one point, Minho thinks he'd be less surprised to find out Felix had cloned himself, because how the hell does someone find the time to help each and every member, attend every manner of fashion show and interview and sponsorship event, fulfill their role as an idol mid-prep for a comeback, and find the time to eat, drink water, and sleep.
The answer is apparent when he watches Felix mid-practice a whopping four days later.
He's not sleeping, or eating, or drinking water; or at least not enough. He's dragging, each step a little heavier than usual. He's tired, but it's like the exhaustion is more than just physical. It's like his soul is tired. He doesn't join in on the usual rehearsal antics, observing instead from the sidelines. He's shirking hugs and cuddles, too.
The others are concerned, yes, but concerned in a weary way. Like they've accepted the situation for what it is. Like Minho, somehow, is behind.
He tries. He tries to get Felix over to his for dinner, but every night is a different schedule, apparently. He tries to push granola bars and electrolyte packets into Felix's hands, but Felix is so quick to offer them away. He tries to suggest rest, a movie night, anything that will get Felix back to his apartment; but there's just Felix's apologetic shrug.
"I can't. I have –"
A meeting, a dinner, a photoshoot, an event. Something to prep for, something to practice for, always something.
Tonight, though, Felix shouldn't have anything. Minho checked his schedule (Chan would be disappointed. Seungmin and Hyunjin would be pissed) and Felix is, blessedly, free. Minho knows he can't drag him home and force him into bed, but where else would he go if not home?
They're wrapping up. It's been a brutal, long day. They're all sweat-soaked and sore.
"I can't get this part down," Innie grunts. Frustration is painted onto his body, muscles tight, eyes narrowed at his own reflection.
"You're just getting in your own head," Felix says softly, reaching over to knead at Innie's shoulders; it's a contact that he'd hate if it came from anyone else, but Felix has always been an exception. "Do you want me to stick around and help you practice?"
Absolutely not, Minho thinks. And even as he watches Felix, he sees how unsteady he is on his feet; when was the last time he ate? Not lunch, that's for sure, but it's nearly eight, and if Felix didn't have breakfast either–
"Really?" Innie asks. "You don't have to, I know you've had a long day."
"Of course," Felix smiles in that sunshiney way of his; and yet, the expression doesn't quite disguise the bags beneath his eyes, nor the sunken nature of his cheeks. "I can definitely stay–"
"No."
Minho means to say the word. He didn't mean to growl it the way he did. And everyone looks at him in shock.
Innie's eyes widen. Felix just cocks his head.
"What?" he asks.
"No," Minho repeats. "You cannot definitely stay. You need to rest."
"Hyung," Jisung says warningly. Minho ignores him.
Felix blinks at him slowly, like he's trying to blink away a daydream. His mouth opens, and his brows knit in confusion.
"Hyung," he says. "I'm fine. And if Innie wants help, and I have the time to help him, I don't see what the problem is."
"The problem is that you'll always find someone to help, some schedule to run off to. Just because you can help, doesn't mean you should."
Felix's ear twitches. His tail flickers in irritation. Or maybe distress?
"I need to help," he says tightly. "Innie needs help, and I can help, so I need to help."
His eyes look a little glassy, shoulders tensed; whatever he's feeling, he's feeling it aggressively. Too bad Minho has been simmering in his own pot of distress for the past week.
"You don't need to help," he snaps. "I'm telling you, Bbokie, you need to –"
"I'm telling you that I do," Felix cuts him off.
"Oh, shit," Changbin whispers. Chan clears his throat.
"Guys, maybe we should–"
(Minho and Felix at least seem in agreement on ignoring Chan.)
“I won’t let you ignore your own health,” Minho spat. "I'll stay with Innie and help him, but you need to go home–"
“Drumstick,” Felix whispers.
A tight, barely-there breath, filtered through bared little teeth – not sharp enough to tear properly through anything, not sharp enough to do more than hurt.
Drumstick? How in the world is this a drumstick moment? How in the world does the sun rise and set with Lee Felix specifically walking Innie through the choreo when any other member could do it in his place?
“No, not drumstick,” Minho snaps.
Someone gasps, but he’s not sure who. There’s only Felix, with his hollow cheeks and his clammy skin and his tail puffed. Minho’s sure his is just the same, and in another place, another time, he might smirk at Felix’s show of poofy-furred dominance, let Felix try to tackle him in a play-scuffle that would end with both of them clinging into a cuddle.
“You’ve been running yourself ragged for weeks,” Minho says sternly. “You’re not sleeping, you’re not eating enough, you’re taking risks that make no sense, and you’re not–”
“You’re not in charge of me,” Felix says, eyes narrowed. "I'm an adult, Hyung. I'm not a child–"
"I know that," Minho bites out.
"Do you?" Felix counters. He steps forward, lifts his head. Minho doesn't know what the sudden electric surge is that runs through him, but he hates it. "Because you don't act like it, Hyung.
"Hey, hey," Chan moves forward. "Let's take a breath, calm down – Felix said drumstick, so we don't get to push him–"
"You don't," Minho hisses. "I do. And I'm not going to let him–"
"You don't have any right to let me or not let me do anything," Felix snaps. He bypasses Chan, who looks genuinely and truly at a loss. "I can take care of myself."
"No you can't!"
Oh God. Minho didn't say that. He didn't snap it. He yelled.
He yelled at Felix.
He's a monster. Who in their right mind can yell at Felix?
Felix's narrow eyed rage flickers. Uncertainty, shock; sadness? A flurry of feeling that twitches across his face and up into his ears.
Minho shakes his head. "You can't. You haven't been eating properly, you haven't been sleeping even half as much as you should, and you don't even consider saying no to anything. When was the last time you had a proper meal, hmm? When was the last time you had two seconds to breathe in between your schedules? You say yes to everyone, you try to help everyone, but now you can barely even stand. So tell me exactly how you're taking care of yourself when you look like you're about to collapse."
Felix's lashes flutter, but his eyes never shut; that's instinct there – never shutting your eyes against a threat.
Minho never thought he'd be a threat.
"I don't care if your instincts are telling you to stay here tonight," Minho says, and he feels blinded by need – need to get Felix into a bed, with a full belly and a mountain of blankets on his body – when he adds: "Right now? Your instincts are bad."
"Minho," Chan snaps.
"What the hell, Hyung," Hyunjin shoots to his feet.
And Felix looks like he wants to cry, but is fighting it claw and tooth. His glare becomes impossibly sharp.
"Have you considered that you're not upset because my instincts are bad, but because your instincts want you to treat me like a fucking newborn kitten, and you can't anymore?"
It's like Felix reaches into his chest, grabbed his heart, and twisted it.
"What?" Minho splutters. Felix lifts his chin, and the tears that shine in his eyes are angry.
"Maybe you didn't notice?" Felix snaps, "but I'm an adult. I'm not some – some creature who can't function without you. And the fact is, Hyung–"
He spits the honorific, a bloodied syllable. He used to say it so clumsily, when he first arrived to Korea. Now, he's quick with it. Quick enough to snarl around the word. He's fucking beautiful, even in his anger – not a cold anger like Minho is more prone to, but an anger that burns, ripples through his heaving chest and tugs at his rosebud mouth.
Minho wants to scream.
"–you can call bullshit on my instincts all you want, but you should take a look at your fucking own. Because of everyone around me right now, you're the only person who seems to think I can't handle my own shit – my job, my schedule, my health; you're the one who still looks at me and sees someone who's too weak. You're the one who can't see his own bullshit forest through his bullshit trees."
Felix stops then, chest heaving and fangs shiny in practice room's fluorescents. Staring at him, waiting; for what? Minho's not sure. Because how the hell does he even begin to respond to … to that? Every part of him wants, illogically, to grab Felix and pull him into a hug, press the delicate frame of his body against Minho's and never, ever let him go again. He shouldn't want that, he thinks. He shouldn't want to cradle. He should want to yell back.
And in the time it takes for Minho to consider that, Felix seems to decide something; and whatever he decides has his shoulders slumping, his face crumpling away from anger and towards sadness. He huffs, a sound Minho has heard himself make time and time again.
"Okay," Felix whispers. He sucks at his lower lip, then bites the spit-slick flesh with that tiny fang. "Okay, cool, got it."
And then he's moving, a rush of blonde hair and white fur and an inhale that Minho knows will be a sob as soon as he allows himself an exhale; but he's out the door before Minho can stop him, and the silence in the aftermath is awful, sharp, and muffled.
Every other member is staring at him.
"Hyung," Hyunjin whispers. Minho turns to him, unsurprised to find Hyunjin glaring at him.
"I …" Minho starts.
Chan claps his hands; the sound is ingrained now, and they all turn. His expression is neutral and unreadable, which doesn't spell anything good. Otherwise he'd just smile.
"Head out," Chan says. "Rehearsal's over and everyone should rest up."
Hyunjin turns on him. "But Hyung–"
"Hyunjin," Chan says simply, a soft and gentle plead. Hyunjin's lip curls a bit, but he settles for crossing his arms and glaring some more. Minho can't bring himself to even glance at Seungmin.
Normally, he'd linger. Normally, he'd make sure the other members were off on their ways before he even packed up his things. Now, though, something close to grief is settling in his lungs, and the only thing he knows is that he can't be here anymore.
He grabs his dance bag and flees the building without looking anyone in the eyes.
He expects Felix to find him. Felix is notoriously incapable of letting an argument fester. In the rare moments when there's a fight and he's a part of it, he almost always seeks the person out, talks through the confrontation, and demands a minimum of one-night's cuddling as compensation. Changbin once said he should have been born as an octopus hybrid instead of a cat.
But when Minho crawls into bed, freshly showered and still prickly with frustration, there's no text on his phone, no Hyung, can I come over? in sight. Just a text form Chan (Let me know when you're calm. We need to talk.) And as he continues to lay in bed, the text never comes. Nor does a soft knock on his door.
Maybe Felix wants Minho to go to him. Minho can admit that he's familiar with the art of grudge-holding, and he's usually not the one to breech an icy post-fight silence, but he's also never yelled at or been yelled at by Felix before.
He pulls out his phone and opens his texts – not with Felix, but with Seungmin. Is Bbokie home?
Seungmin is a fairly reliable texter, and sure enough, typing bubbles appear as soon as the message is sent. Then disappear. Then appear again. Finally, the response comes.
Mong-mong: why, planning on microchipping him?
Minho groans. Seungmin has always been protective over Felix in a way that differs from the rest of them. He's a little tougher, a little less likely to sugarcoat, but never meanly; and at the same time, Seungmin is the first to stand up for Felix. He doesn't coddle, and he doesn't shield Felix, but he's the first to join their hands together, to glare at the world alongside Felix.
Nyang-nyang: I take it you're mad at me.
Mong-mong: yup.
Well, no one will ever accuse Seungmin of lying.
Nyang-nyang: I just want to come see if he's okay.
This time, the bubbles appear-disappear-appear for much longer. Minho has half a mind to just head over to their dorm, but before he can stand, his phone buzzes with a response.
Mong-mong: he doesn't want to see you right now.
Mong-mong: and in case you're thinking of barging over anyway
Mong-mong: i'd remind you that lix can absolutely be pushed into accepting an apology even when he doesn't want to
Mong-mong: so do him a favor and give him space
Minho blinks, disbelieving at the screen. His finger trembles as he responds.
Nyang-nyang: did he say he doesn't want to see me?
Mong-mong: not to be a dick
Mong-mong: but yeah
Mong-mong: he did
Minho stares at the words. He watches as Seungmin's status goes from online to last seen, and then keeps staring as if he can will the words to change.
It's not that Felix isn't allowed to be mad at him. It's that he … hasn't. Not before. At least not to Minho's knowledge.
He hears the front door shut, then the sounds of Jisung kicking off his shoes. Minho slips out of bed and into the hallway. When Jisung turns, tugging off his headphones, he jumps.
"You scared me!" he gasps. "I told you not to do that sneaky cat thing, you're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days–"
"Felix doesn't want to see me."
Jisung freezes, his eye twitching.
"Well," he says slowly, "he probably wants space after today."
"But Lix never wants space after an argument," Minho says. He care hear it himself – he's whining a bit. Jisung sighs and pads towards the kitchen, Minho following in his wake. "Ji, when was the last time you got into a fight with Felix and he didn't spend the whole night after wrapped around you like a limpet."
"Minho, I love you," Jisung says, turning to face his with his hands flat on the counter, "but you didn't just fight. You yelled at him. And you ignored drumstick."
Minho's tail thrashes against the backs of his legs. "Because he's ignoring his health and calling it instinct–"
"It doesn't matter," Jisung interrupts, but he does it gently. "Listen, I know that you love taking care of Felix. I know Felix has always loved being taken care of by you too. That's never going to change, but you have to face facts that things are different now–"
"How," Minho growls. Jisung looks deeply unimpressed.
"Okay, I'm going to give you some tough love, because I'm pretty sure Chan is going to dad-lecture you and I know you tune out halfway through those, and Seungmin is probably too busy plotting your murder to spell things out, so will you listen to what I say?"
Minho truly loves each and every member of Stray Kids with every atom of his being, but Han Jisung will always be his best friend. And maybe that's why he keeps his mouth shut, shuffles over to the bar stool at their island, and prepares to listen.
"For one thing, you don't live in the same place anymore?" Jisung points out. "When you were in the Cuties Dorm, it was easy to take care of him because you were always with him. So if you poked your head into Felix's room to see if he was sleeping, it wasn't a big thing. If you made an extra serving of dinner and stayed up late enough to make sure he ate some, it didn't look like you were going out of your way to take care of him. If you happened to be there with Felix and happened to help groom his fur or file his claws, it wasn't as big of a deal. Felix might not have noticed how much you were doing it – hell, you probably didn't realize how much you were doing it.
And face it, Min. As much as Felix loves cuddles and praise and pets, he hates the idea of burdening anyone, right? So you two went from what he viewed as a very normal dynamic to you constantly questioning his ability to exist."
Minho's jaw drops, but Jisung shakes his head sternly.
"Let me finish before you threaten to separate my head from my torso, please. It's not that I disagree with you, anyway. I think Felix is too busy. I think there's only so long he can keep going at this pace before it catches up with him. But Hyung, you were out of line talking to him like that, especially in front of all of us."
Minho expected as much from Seungmin, from Hyunjin too – who sure, treated Felix like his baby, but would also commit any manner of crime in the name of defending Felix – but coming from Jisung, the judgment hits somewhere in the tender meat of his heart.
Jisung grimaces apologetically. "I know we baby him, but Seungmin's right. He's a grown man. He's been an idol for seven years, and the fact is, he's the busiest of all of us and has been for a while. Like, obviously, Chan-hyung's busy with production and leader stuff and God knows the man doesn't sleep even a fraction as much as he should, and we all have our brand deals to contend with on top of being in Stray Kids, but Felix has always carried so much of the public-facing part of this job. This isn't new for him, and acting like he's a little kid … it diminishes him. So maybe you should ask yourself why it feels different … now? For you?"
Minho stiffens. Jisung raises a brow.
"Can I speak now?"
"Yes, though I'd really appreciate you remember that I'm not saying this to make you feel bad?" Jisung says anxiously. "Like, please don't yell at me?"
Like you did Felix, hangs between them.
Minho takes a deep breath.
"First of all …"
First of all what? Jisung said so much that Minho wants to address.
"It's not that I …"
Not that he doesn't what? Doesn't pay particular attention to Felix's well-being? It would be a lie, and he knows it. Jisung would know it too. But it's not like Jisung's any better than Minho – not with how often he called Felix Baby and how much time he spends gently petting his hair, cuddling him close.
He clears his throat to try again. "The Cuties Dorm…"
… was the perfect place to keep an eye on Felix.
Jisung hums and reaches across the counter, taking Minho's hands in his.
"I don't treat him like a kid," Minho settles on.
Jisung frowns. "Maybe you don't see it that way, but Lix, uh, does? I think? I know you want to protect him, and that's good … but it might be worth explaining to him why you want to protect him. Because right now? He thinks you're doing it because you don't think he can do it himself."
Jisung leaves him to stew in that bomb dropped. Minho sinks onto the couch and stares at his hands. In his cat form, his paws are black fur and charcoal-gray paw pads. Felix's are petal pink; but even un-shifted, the tips of fingers have always been rosy red, tiny.
It might be worth explain to him why you want to protect him.
Minho can't explain that. Because then he'd have to admit that caring for Felix? It's the only way he knows how to be.
He'd also have to explain that the way he cares? Goes far beyond how someone should want to care for just a dongsaeng. For just a friend.