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Chan looks at his face in the mirror, studies the way the glitter on his eyes shines in the artificial lighting of the dressing room. He sighs, pushes down any conflicting feelings about wearing makeup and walks over to the couch.
As he sits down, he remembers. He remembers every scathing comment thrown at him, both by family members and friends. He remembers overhearing whispers in the church bathroom, when his uncle had told his dad that they’ll make him wear makeup, you know. Grow his hair out and make him look like a fucking joke.
“If you ever come into my house wearing that stuff, I’d smack it right off you,” his dad had laughed afterwards. Chan had been frozen with a smile on his face, looking over at his mom for help. She only stayed quiet with an agreeing expression on her face.
Every time he sits in that makeup chair, a feeling of wrongness that’s been instilled in him floods his veins. He wants to protest and stop the makeup artist from putting all those heavy liquids and powders and glitters on him.
(Does he really want that? Or is it just his father speaking and his uncle’s mean laugh?)
He gets pulled out of his thoughts when a slender hand brushes through his carefully styled locks.
"You look so pretty, Channie,” Jeonghan coos and it makes something nasty crawl up his throat because he shouldn't like it so much-
“Hyung, stop,” he firmly says. He's surprised his voice doesn't waver or crack, seeing as it feels like he has a lump in his throat.
Jeonghan blinks a few times, looking taken aback like he's about to scold Chan when something flashes on his face and he smiles softly, almost knowingly.
“Is our youngest going through puberty?” he jokes, but it isn't malicious. It draws a chuckle out of some nearby members and Chan forces a small smile that drops immediately. Normally, he'd say something funny in reply, but he can't think of anything to say when it feels like his meagre breakfast is about to end up all over his lap.
So, he stays quiet and looks off to the side.
Jeonghan leaves him alone during their schedules and they don’t interact back at the dorms. It’s not like that’s super unusual: in a group of 13 people with busy lives, you don’t see everyone equally as much.
But Jeonghan always does his best to make time for every member, whether that means hanging out and talking or just teasing them and staring at them lovingly.
So, it’s a bit jarring to have their singular interaction of that day end on a slightly bad note.
When Chan lays in bed that night, he can’t sleep. It’s much too late for him to be awake, proven by the light snores around him, but he can’t stop thinking about Jeonghan.
Not in a weird way, just… analyzing their interaction.
Then, almost as if he knew he was running circles in Chan’s mind, the bedroom door opens just a tad, allowing a sliver of artificial lighting to come in. Jeonghan peeks from behind the door and makes straight eye contact with a squinting Chan.
“Jesus, come inside and close the door, hyung. You’re blinding me,” he whispers, trying not to wake the other members up,
Before the room gets enveloped in darkness again, Chan sees a small smile on Jeonghan’s face.
He scoots over and Jeonghan crawls into Chan's bunk bed. It's way too small for the two of them, Chan uncomfortably propped up against the wall and Jeonghan nearly lying on top of him, but they make it work. Sort of.
“Sorry for this morning, Channie,” the older whispers. Chan swallows. “It's okay,” silence overtakes them.
Jeonghan shuffles around a bit and sniffles. “I... Please tell me if you're uncomfortable with affection like that. I can do my best to tone it down for you,” he trails off, slightly unsure.
Chan is at a loss for words. “Hyung, you don't have to... I've just been dealing with, um, my own stuff these days. I really don't mind,” he doesn't say that he actually likes it, but he hopes Jeonghan can read between the lines.
Jeonghan hums quietly in consideration. “What stuff?”
Of course that's what he cares about. It's Chan's turn to nervously shuffle around.
“Just... stuff,” he lamely mutters.
“Chan.”
He bites his lip. Everyone else in the room is dead asleep. It's just the two of them. Besides, he has an inkling of a feeling Jeonghan somehow already knows. He's observant like that, and sometimes he looks at Chan with such sad eyes that it feels like there's no way he doesn't know.
Chan breathes in.
“I like boys,” he whispers into the night. He feels more than sees Jeonghan take a deep breath and he prays to God he didn't just make a terrible mistake.
“Okay,” Jeonghan simply replies. “Okay, that's fine.”
Chan blinks a few times. “Just- Just okay?”
It’s humbling, in a way, to receive such a nonchalant reaction to something that’s been bothering him since the dawn of time. It feels like his whole worldview has been tilted. It’s not that he expected Jeonghan to get angry or be grossed out, but he was expecting more of a… compassionate reaction.
Something closer to “We can lead you back on the right path, lapses in judgement can happen. Maybe I can pray for you!”
Nowhere did he account for a simple and weirdly supportive reaction like that.
Jeonghan chuckles, a little too loud for the hour. He stifles himself by slapping a hand over his mouth, the sound of which ends up being louder than his laugh.
It's so dumb that Chan snorts at it. He swears quietly when that, too, is louder than Jeonghan's laugh.
His hyung's laughter increases to the point it shakes the entire bunk bed and Chan can't help but laugh along.
Tears prickle in his eyes, and he can't tell if it's from the absurdly funny situation or the relief of having told someone.
(It's the latter. He knows it is, but he pretends.)
When Chan has blinked away the tears and Jeonghan has caught his breath, they lay in comfortable silence.
“I'm sorry, Channie,” Jeonghan whispers. Chan sobers up at the sudden seriousness.
“For being too loud or for answering my soul wrenching confession with okay?” he teases, desperately wanting the lighthearted atmosphere back. He fails. In fact, he somehow manages to make it worse.
“Soul wrenching? Channie, how long have you been, for lack of better words, struggling with this?”
He licks his lips. “I don't know. Trainee days, I guess.”
It's a lie. He knows exactly how long it's been. He first realized when he developed a crush on Soonyoung at 14, but it started long before that. Maybe when he first set foot into church, when he first got teased for liking dance, when he first watched the same boy group music video over and over because I just love the choreography so much, mom!
“That's a long time, Chan.” Even though it's dark, he can practically see the frown marring Jeonghan's face. The lack of a nickname is a telltale sign, not to mention the tone he uses whenever he's dissatisfied with something.
“Yeah,” he whispers back.
“We don't care, you know? I speak for everyone when I say we love you no matter what. It doesn't matter if you like guys or girls,” Chan swallows again.
“Okay,” a beat, “thanks.”
Jeonghan doesn't say anything back, but he moves his head to lay on Chan's shoulder and intertwines his fingers with Chan's clammy ones and everything feels... more okay than expected.
He knows damn well that it's not the end of this conversation, that Jeonghan will be dragging him into a private room sooner or later to talk everything out, but that's a problem for future Chan.
Right now, all he has to worry about is the fact he might kick Jeonghan out of bed sometime this night because, seriously, this bed is way too small for the two of them.
He takes a few deep breaths and right as he's settled in to close his eyes and fall straight asleep, Jeonghan mumbles something against his collarbone.
“Goodnight, Channie. I'll treat you to a meal soon,” his voice is already thick with sleep and Chan just hums in reply.
When he feels Jeonghan's breathing even out again, he closes his eyes.
He doesn't dream that night but when he wakes up in the morning, greeted by a messily scrawled note from Jeonghan telling him he’s getting ready for the day, he feels lighter than he has in maybe forever.