Chapter Text
Minho realised far too late that he should have been honest from the start. He couldn’t handle it as well as he thought he could — but it was embarrassing, wasn’t it? Having to depend on someone else, to drop into a mindset where he was entirely vulnerable, especially with how young he dropped. And around someone else? No. He didn’t like it. He hadn’t wanted that.
He was fully aware of how young Seungmin dropped and knew all about Seungmin’s dependency on the others— how the little couldn’t bathe himself, dress himself, etc when regressed. Granted, Minho hadn’t presented that young, but the fear that he might too, act like..that made his stomach feel uneasy.
That was an understatement, if he was honest, it terrified him.
He didn’t want to have to rely on someone else to perform basic, everyday tasks for him.
He wouldn’t.
He refused.
Maybe it was inevitable,
That he too, would start to crave something so— so foreign to him.
It was written in his biology after all.
Supposedly.
Though, both of the same class, there were two types of little one could present as; dependent and independent— both were equally as common, but whilst dependent littles couldn’t just drop and look after themselves, requiring caregivers to keep them healthy and their instincts satiated, independent ones could get away with living their lives how a neutral would, just with a few drops every now and again that they could deal with on their own, as nature had intended for them. They didn’t need a caregiver. It wasn’t a choice, it was just how their brains were wired.
Perhaps Minho shouldn’t have told Chan and the rest of the caregivers that he’d presented as independent when he hadn’t.
Hah.
It had been on a whim, his decision to lie like that.
Frankly, he’d gone to the clinic fully expecting to walk out with a Caregiver’s class or a neutral’s perhaps, and then to arrive back at the dorms and join Chan, Changbin and Hyunjin with looking after the littles. He was used to doing that anyway, so it wouldn’t be much of a difference, it was just nice to finally present and have it printed on an official document— at long last he didn’t feel different for being of his age and being unpresented. When the nurse— who had drew his blood a few days prior— handed him his results with a gentle smile, far too gentle than she should’ve been, Minho hadn’t thought anything of it.
Until he’d gotten to his car.
He had carelessly ripped open the envelope whilst sipping on his drink, popping the straw to the side of his lips, fully ready to read what he thought would be written there and be done with it.
It hadn’t been what he had expected.
He’d thought he was hallucinating at first, perhaps the radio (even if the volume was low), was too loud and his concentration wasn’t where it should be. Haha. Totally. He’d turned it down. And then he’d turned it off when the writing still didn’t change. And then he’d turned the car engine off too, maybe without that noise as a distraction he would be able to concentrate more. That was surely it. In pure silence, if he read it a few times over, it would change then.
Wouldn’t it?
It didn’t.
He understood now, the nurse hadn’t just been being nice to him.
________________________________________
Private and Confidential.
Re; Class Information & blood results.
Name/names: Lee Minho, DOB: 25.10.1998, Sex: male
•
Class: little
Age when regressed: 3
Dependent/independent: dependent
Caregiver required: yes
Registered caregiver/caregivers: ?
________________________________________
It was surprisingly the ‘congratulations!’ printed at the bottom that made his stomach churn the most.
There was nothing worth congratulating.
Nothing.
He’d told the others the truth— sort of. Well, that was a lie— he hadn’t, but if he had managed to convince them so easily, he could pretend it was the truth. That wasn’t how it worked (but it could be). And it would. He’d felt too sick to even register what he was saying properly anyway, his voice feeling too far away to his own ears, hands shaking around the letter as he had clumsily stuffed it into his jacket’s pocket.
“I’m a little,” he’d said— this time with confidence, pretending he didn’t see the seven mirrored faces of shock, pretending that a slight jolt of hurt didn’t radiate through his chest. “Independent though. Don’t let your eyebrows fly away.”
The surprise died down a bit then. Minho’s heart had clenched in his chest. That must’ve made more sense. It was fine. Life would just be the same as before.
He knew it would.
He didn’t feel any different.
(Yet).
They didn’t need to know the full truth— it wasn’t as if he was lying about his class, now was he? He had presented as a little, that was true, no lie there (he was just missing out a few very important details, no biggie).
Of course Chan was the first to wrap him into a hug. He looked happy, barely concealing the big smile on his face. Minho pretended that didn’t ruin his day more.
“That’s great! Do you want me to come with you to buy some plushies and—“
”No,” Minho interrupted, breaking free of the older man’s hold. “That’s okay. I can do it myself. Independent, remember?”
If Chan was hurt by Minho pushing him away like that, he didn’t say anything and for that, Minho was grateful.
“Of course. Let it all settle in first before you start thinking of those things. My bad.”
Things didn’t change.
Nothing.
It was as if he’d never presented at all.
And that’s what he had wanted, hadn’t he?
He had wanted things to stay the same.
Weeks went by; schedules were followed, performances were powered through, skz code’s were recorded, the other littles dropped at the end of the day— each one of them dependent on their caregivers. But there was no mention of his class, not even once.
Maybe Minho was doing them a favour, they already had their hands full.
Life went on.
Until life didn’t go on.
He’d never taken up Chan’s offer on the plushies.
Minho had started to feel increasingly unwell. Maybe he had truly underestimated just how hard a person’s biology could rule over them.
His body felt physically and psychologically weak. Nowadays it’s as if the most basic everyday tasks zap away all of his energy. Getting up out of bed had never been as draining, conversing with the others had never been this hard. Mentally, his brain felt like it was in scrambles, his thought processes constantly lag behind with nothing properly registering. It’s as if he’s in a constant state of dissociation, a huge wall of fog blocking his access to the outside world. His emotions are all over the place— he’s never lost control over them as much as he has been doing recently.
The amount of fall outs he’d been having with the others made him feel terrible.
And it all came down to one thing:
Jealousy.
“Innie!” Minho hears Felix babble, the little giggling happily as he crawls over to where the youngest little is sitting colouring on the floor. Chan is sat behind Innie, arms wrapped protectively around one of his babies, smiling and cooing at the shapes and patterns the little is drawing, praising him for his talent— echoes of oohing and awing follow from the others around them. “Innie! Lixie wanna colour too! Innie! Innie! Innie!”
Minho shuffles from where he’s sat on the couch at the other side of the 3racha’s & Hyunjin’s dorm’s living room, they’d all collectively gathered here tonight to spend time with each other— and for the littles to drop and be looked after.
Of course.
It was always about them.
If Minho’s eyes roll, it wasn’t on purpose, he promises. He has headphones on, phone settled in his hands as he absentmindedly clicks on things he has no interest in. He’d sent a selfie on Bubble earlier, but had decided to click off the app before he overshared. Even with how loud the music rattling in his eardrums is, probably far too loud to be safe, he still can’t block out the little’s voice. And that was another thing, he had started to act so— so impulsively.
His eyes land on them, on Chan’s hand gripping Innie’s, squeezing it affectionately, the way Chan’s arms are wrapped protectively around the little’s waist as if he could protect him from anything that would ever dare harm him, and Minho knows Chan would, Chan’s other hand gently holds Felix’s as he settles him down on the floor with them— so carefully, with so much love.
That could’ve been him. But it wasn’t.
Plushies and Blankets invade the entire living room; the caregivers had gone all out to spoil their precious littles. Blankets are draped over the couch, draped over their laps, with countless of the soft materials gathered in heaps on the floor. The littles had been making play dens earlier and blanket forts. Felix had asked Minho to help out, Minho had refused, bittering the tension between the caregivers and him even more.
It looks so cozy.
So cozy.
So inviting.
Minho doesn’t think he should join. He should stop staring.
But he’s halfway across the room. He wants to be there too, soft kisses on his forehead or the top of his head with gentle arms wrapped around his own waist. Oh, how much he just wants to get up, make his way over and throw himself into the middle. But he won’t. His arms cross against his chest as he suppresses the urge to curl into himself.
That wouldn’t be so independent of him, now would it?
That wouldn’t be so.. him.. of him either.
He changes the song. And then he changes it again. And again. And again.
It’s already so much effort to stay big at the most random of times, never mind in an area that’s been specifically built for the littles. That would be his last straw. His body had started to cry out for his attention, urging him to look after himself properly. And he had tried— Independent littles drop occasionally too, it wouldn’t be odd to be found with items often associated with littles, so he’d bought himself his own blankie— soft, cashmere and pretty. He had splurged on it in a panic, reckoning the more expensive, the better, softer the quality the better it would.. heal him if that was possible.
He’d wanted to feel better. He didn’t like feeling like this anymore.
It didn’t work. The memory of his Class letter haunted him.
Caregiver needed.
Caregiver needed.
Needed.
Not optional, needed.
He looks over again. It would be odd to join. Their last fall out was this morning. It’s probably too soon to make up— especially with how everyone had been avoiding him lately (his own fault, he knows). Besides, deep down he knows he can’t.
Everyone’s comfortable, all snuggled up with each other whilst wearing soft pyjamas. The big light is off, a small lamp cascading a yellow sea of colour over the room, the hue gentle and warm.
Minho focuses on the television, watching as the cartoon black dragon, toothless? he thinks, flies across the sky with a bit too much attention than he should be giving a children’s movie. Everyone else has popcorn. And it’s caramel flavoured too! He doesn’t have any. They didn’t even ask him.
He goes to stand up to go get his own when he notices out of the corner of his eye as Changbin gets up and drapes a blanket around Felix’s lap and then pops a small kiss on his forehead, uttering the words, “There we go Lix! All comfy!” As he hands him a sippy cup filled with juice.
Behind them on the couch Hyunjin and Jisung are gently running their hands through Seungmin’s hair. Seungmin drops very young, into babyspace at the age of 1 and a half. His eyes are droopy, trying desperately to concentrate on the movie but evidently failing, hands clinging onto the warm bottle of milk, with Jisung’s help he suckles on it every now and again.
And then here’s the main problem.
Minho wouldn’t say they forget about his class (he would, but he’s in denial). Chan hasn’t forgotten though. That makes him feel warm inside, feeding into the little side of him that craves that sort of attention. Chan asks how he’s doing, if he’s dropped recently, Minho will lie, tell him yes and then the subject is dropped. He knows Chan’s officially accepted that he’ll never be one of their littles. He’s a little yes. An independent one. They’ve all grown to accept that. But Minho doesn’t want them to think that anymore, he needs them.
He needs them. He just… he doesn’t know how to admit it. Doesn’t know how to feel comfortable with that side of himself.
He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to tell them the actual truth now.. perhaps if they subtly hinted? But they don’t, and why would they? Independent littles don’t need caregivers, without him telling them the truth they’ll never know, but he needs them to make a move first.
He needs to be held in Changbin’s or Chan’s strong arms, needs to be cuddled by Jisung and Hyunjin. Needs to spend time with his fellow littles.
Felix’s voice isn’t usually as annoying as it is right now.
“Channie!” Minho hears Felix squeal— getting tickled by the caregiver. Minho doesn’t want to be here anymore.
He pretends it doesn’t hurt as he gets up to leave. Maybe he looks back to see if anybody noticed. They haven’t. He’s fine. He’s not upset. Really, he’s not. His eyes are not burning, they’re not.
Everything is fine.
Notes:
I was gonna make lino pretend to be a neutral in this, but I’ve seen a lot of ppl do that plot so I wanted to change it up a bit whilst keeping it full of angst hehe!
This is gonna be short, just two chapters (maybe 3) — tho I might rewrite this at some point and make it a full story instead.. idk yet!
Hope you like it so far, next chap is longer and soooo much fluff & comfort (angsty at the start tho) :3
Chapter 2
Notes:
Okay I lied. This chapter is all angst, but don’t worry the next one will be the last, so much longer and have sooo much comfort :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s Saturday night, thankfully everyone is free.
So once again, everyone finds themselves gathered at 3racha’s and Hyunjin’s dorm room. The living room to be precise— of course. That was where they kept most of the little’s little space items. It was pretty ironic since all of the littles resided in the other dorm, Minho didn’t understand why they insisted on keeping them in here, but whatever worked for them. Of course they had little space items in their own room too though.
He had thankfully made up with the others now— well, partly. He had apologised and the others had accepted his apologies, but he could tell they were still rather hesitant around him when they were participating in little/caregiver activities.
Minho understood.
What he had said about it— what he had said about the littles, hadn’t been particularly nice of him.
Not nice at all really.
His words still weighed heavily on his chest.
He was their hyung, and yet he’d made the littles feel as if they couldn’t be theirselves around him.
He didn’t feel like he was better than them just because he was— independent. He had just been upset, and that’s not an excuse for what he had said, he knows, and he regrets it deeply. He just wishes his brain would work as smoothly as it did before his presentation.
He knows that it’s fair that he feels left out again.
— That he feels completely lonely at the other side of the room as the rest engage in fun littlespace activities with each other.
Again.
But that doesn’t change the fact that he can’t help but feel upset about it.
(He blames it on his biology).
Minho hadn’t brought his headphones this time. He’d forgotten and as much as he wants to get up to get them, the couch is comfy and everything just takes up so much of his energy that it’s easier to just stay here and put up with it.
It’s all okay though because they’d put on the second movie of ‘How to train your dragon’ and it was surprisingly very entertaining. (A lot more entertaining than it would be to the average neutral, or for an independent little for that matter).
And Minho.. he still hasn’t had his first proper drop yet. He doesn’t think he ever will at this rate, he can’t bring himself to tell them the truth. He can’t tell them he’s dependent and that he physically needs them.
He can’t even fathom thinking that thought, never mind admitting it out loud for others ears to hear.
He just— he can’t do it. And still, even now two weeks later they had made no moves. And to be frank, he believed they had no idea of the real truth whatsoever. Why would they?
He feels hopeless. It hurts to try and drop alone, as if his biology know’s there’s something very important missing.
A caregiver.
He knows.
But there’s plenty of caregiver’s in here, in this room right now, and he slowly starts to figure out that engaging in little activities whilst they’re around doesn’t hurt like it does when he’s entirely alone— even if the caregivers aren’t directly engaging with him. Granted, he still feels like there’s a hole in his heart, and that something is desperately missing— but at least it’s something.
Right?
It’s risky.
If he accidentally dropped he doesn’t think he’d ever live up the embarrassment.
But Minho doesn’t actually intend to drop at all— he just wants to feel a bit better and engaging in little activities whilst the caregivers were in proximity was helping a hell of a lot. And god, that constant headache that has recently built up behind his temples needs shifting, and if this was the solution, then so be it.
And that’s how Minho finds himself throughly watching the movie.
His mind feels significantly lighter— the headache easing a little. He feels warmer inside.
It’s all good until the lightness starts to gradually turn into a compelling floating sensation and Minho starts to feel really, really odd- and that he doesn’t even realise at first.
And the fact that he’s so absorbed in it, both the movie and the floaty sensation that’s slowly taking over, that he doesn’t even register Chan’s voice.
Chan’s speaking to him.
Well, Minho thinks he is. Something in Minho’s brain is telling him that he is.
Is he?
He looks up. He’s right. Chan is there. At least he hadn’t started hallucinating.
What did Chan say? Something about dinner?
Hmmm?
That was right. He had mentioned dinner. Were they having dinner now? Dinner was ready?
Dinner did sound nice and he was getting hungry, but he wanted to keep watching the movie! Toothless was just about to defeat the big, evil dragon!
But then again, he had seen the sippy cups the other littles drank from and they were really nice! The colours and patterns were really pretty, and perhaps they were having chicken nuggets! Juice and chicken nuggets seemed really, really yummy!
But still, wasn’t the movie more important? Toothless was—
“Dinner,” all of a sudden comes Chan’s voice. “Are you helping me with dinner?”
Minho blinks— floaty sensation dispersing just slightly as the words click like a puzzle in place. His vision clears a bit, his arms are disgustingly tight around the pillow in his lap. He drops it— heart dropping slightly.
(He hadn’t even noticed that he’d been cuddling it).
Oh.
Right.
He was supposed to be helping prepare dinner.
That made sense.. and they weren’t having chicken nuggets— and god, chicken nuggets? Why the fuck would he want chicken nuggets?
And why was Chan looking at him like that?
Did he have something on his face?
(That was definitely not the reason).
Minho manages to glance up at Chan from where he’s sat. He gets his head to nod, feeling his vision sway a little as he does so, but he doesn’t reckon any of his words would be coherent right now. He rises quickly, pretending his legs don’t tremor and that it doesn’t feel physically painful to leave the living room— to leave the movie and the comforting warmth of the pillow behind. To leave the comforting warmth of how his poor, innocent brain had somehow managed, just for a second, to conjure up false, childlike fantasies that he had a caregiver.
Reality could be a terrible cruel thing.
But he shouldn’t care.
And he doesn’t.
(He does).
He shouldn’t have watched the movie. It had been a terrible mistake. All of those times he’d managed to pull himself out of dropping, just to now accidentally initiate it without realising was mortifying. Of course his mind had been feeling lighter, he had been unknowingly dropping. He doesn’t reckon he’s ever felt as small in his entire life— staying big seems impossible right now.
And it’s his own fault.
Minho stands near the fridge— trying to get his brain to just— think. Think of what he’s supposed to be doing, he’s supposed to be cooking, right? But all he can feel is the pull of wanting to go back and continue the movie. He feels a gentle hand tap his back and then the gentle sensation of Chan’s hands on his waist. His breathing quickens.
Chan’s back hugs are really, really nice. Is he gonna hug him— is he gonna hug—
Chan gently moves him out the way as he gets what he needs from the fridge.
Oh.
He remembers now. He’s stood right in front of it. They’re in the kitchen and they’re cooking. Chan is not his caregiver.
He was simply in the way.
Minho had probably looked like a mad man, staring absentmindedly at the grey of the metal for.. how long was it? He doesn’t even know.
Of course that’s what Chan had been doing— moving him so that he could get what he needed.
Right.
“Sorry.” Minho mutters. His cheeks feel so hot.
“It’s alright. Are you feeling okay, Min? You look a little pale,” the older man touches his forehead, as if to check for his temperature, but all Minho can concentrate on is how safe and warm inside it makes him feel. “Hmm. You don’t feel too warm.”
It’s caring. And it’s sweet. And it doesn’t help with the fact that he feels so small already— that he’s so touched deprived that the side of him that craves to be taken care of would take anything and everything he possible could—
Minho pulls himself away quickly, throat dry.
He doesn’t want to jump into Chan’s arms— he really doesn’t.
He doesn’t even feel small anymore. (He does).
He doesn’t need to drop. (He’s lying).
“Course. M’good.”
He hopes his words didn’t sound slurred. (They did).
The next time Minho looks at Chan. Somehow, as if magically, all the ingredients are already out, all of the vegetables have already been washed and dried, all of the necessary utensils are where they should be.
Huh.
He didn’t think he’d zoned out for that long.
Had he?
He can’t remember.
“I’ll prepare the meat. Can you chop the vegetables?”
Can he? Probably not in this state. Will he admit that? Of course not. He’ll find a way, it can’t be that hard— he just needs his brain to settle down for a minute so that he can actually concentrate.
But he’s missing the movie! And he doesn’t want to be in this stupid kitchen! It’s too warm in here and he feels sweaty and icky!
Isn’t Channie supposed to be his caregiver? Why does he have to cook for himself! That’s not fair—
Oh fucking hell. He grips his head tightly.
But Chan isn’t his caregiver, is he? And Minho’s not supposed to be feeling small like this right now. Minho feels off as he desperately tries to pull his adult headspace from the confines of the barriers that are trying their damn hardest to restrict him.
Minho takes a deep breath. He feels like he’s drowning and that him— the other side of himself, is the monster that’s dragging him under. He’s desperately trying to stay afloat but he doesn’t know how long he can keep this up— he needs to sink.
But he can’t.
He can’t fucking sink.
He has to stay afloat.
He has too.
It’s so fucking exhausting to keep holding on.
He picks up one of the vegetables and moves it across the chopping board.
He wants to say he’s in full control now. But he’s not. And it unnerves him. How is he losing this much control? He’s so close. He needs to get his act together, Chan can’t find out like this.
None of them can.
Fuck. He hoped Chan didn’t suspect anything. He doubted it— Chan probably just mistook his lack of communication as that he was in a bad mood or something. (Not that he’d almost dropped numerous of times).
But the others? Had they saw him in the living room? Had they saw how much he had almost been yanked under the water?
He can’t remember. His memories are so fuzzy.
He picks up the knife again, attempting to chop up the flipping stupid carrot that doesn’t look appetising in the slightest.
It looks rather yucky actually. Imagine chocolate carrots— but no carrot. Just chocolate in the shape of a carrot— yes! that sounds so much more tasty than that yucky thing!
The knife slips.
He slices his finger— not life threatening or anything— hell, it probably didn’t even hurt that badly, but to someone who’s desperately struggling with keeping his resolve, it makes everything come crashing down.
Maybe he drops completely.
He does.
Notes:
Lol I hope i captured some of the childish thoughts properly hahaha
I was gonna do one last chap only, but I’m going on vacation for a while so I thought I’d put this out now and then hopefully write the next bit when I come back :)
I rushed this a hell of a lot but I’ll improve it at one point. Nonetheless, I hope it was enjoyable! And I hope my writing style is okay!
Everything will make sense in the next chap (regarding what Minho said to the others and all that) <3
Chapter 3
Notes:
HI.
IM SORRY. I LIED. AGAIN. This isn’t the last chap yet and there won’t be any comfort yet either oops
I just get carried away writing omg
Like ?!? Idk but yeah, i am so sorry lmao
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s weird.
The floaty sensation that completely takes over his brain, that is.
But it’s so, so nice.
It’s freeing.
He feels free.
And although he’s in pain— the sensation quickly overrides it.
He just feels so good for a moment.
And the headache— it eases significantly, the tension quickly releases.
Until the pain kicks in again.
All of a sudden everything seems very, very scary— enough to want to bring him to tears, but something inside of his brain is telling him that isn’t a good idea.
Minho doesn’t understand. And he doesn’t want to understand. He doesn’t care what the big side of his brain is telling him right now. A lone tear dribbles down his cheek, and he doesn’t manage to stifle the sniffle.
Why should he?
It hurts and he feels so icky and there’s half chopped carrot juice all over his fingers and the juice is seeping into the cut and it’s really, really painful!
“Hurts.” He whimpers quietly, huge eyes coming to look directly at Chan’s face— wet tears sparkling in Minho’s dark irises.
Chan’s surprise dies quickly, the caregiver jumps into action immediately, forgetting all about what he had been doing originally. “Oh Min, it’s okay. Let me take care of it.”
And Chan does take a look, he very, very gently leads Minho over to the sink and carefully— with so much care— takes Minho’s hands in his and begins to wash the blood away for him. Minho flinches a little as the water contacts the wound.
”So sorry sweetheart, it’s gonna sting a little, hyung will be as quick as he can.”
Sweetheart.
Minho’s heart flutters.
Gosh. Is Chan purposely trying to make him feel so small?
“It’s’kay.”
Chan knows what he’s doing, he hums as he takes a cloth to dry Minho’s hands for him, and then takes a light pink bandaid with tiny dark pink hearts and places it carefully over the cut.
Minho’s heart is racing— the contact makes his little instincts feel so validated.
He needs more.
Will he finally get the comfort he needs so badly?
“All done!”
Minho’s currently very little brain decides that Chan is his caregiver now.
He forgets about all where he is— just that the little part of him feels accepted and wanted— and that makes him feel great (for now).
His mind flickers back to all the times he had watched as the other littles got cared for, all of the times they’d been hugged and cuddled and Minho’s brain also decides that he wants that right now, and that if Chan is his caregiver, then that must mean that he can have that!
Right?
Uh huh!
(Nuh uh).
But the hug never comes, neither does soft comforting forehead kiss that the little part of his brain just— expects.
Instead Chan just stands there.
Guiltily.
Minho’s head tilts.
Guiltily?
“Sorry,” Chan apologises, moving away from him. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Minho blinks at him, swallowing the lump that’s suddenly formed in his throat.
Sorry?
What does he mean?
Why is he sorry?
Why did he step away?
Is he still angry from what Minho had said the other day?
But he didn’t seem angry— rather he seemed anxious.
Minho doesn’t understand. Though, he finds when he’s little he doesn’t really understand much.
Minho waits, and he waits for the comfort to come— but it just never does.
And that hurts. That hurts a lot.
He feels so vulnerable standing here little like this for what just might be the first time ever, and Chan cannot even find it in him to comfort him?
The more Chan stops interacting with him, the more the big part of his brain tries to take over (and he doesn’t want that just yet). His eyes sting, but no tears run, why did Chan move away? Did Chan not want to deal with him?
I mean they had been cooking, he was being such a hindrance, wasn’t he?
Dropping like that over nothing.
Nothing.
It was a small cut.
Nothing drastic.
Of course he was being annoying.
Dinner could’ve been ready by now if it wasn’t for him acting like— this.
“Channie?” He finds himself speaking. His voice feels foreign to his own ears, a lot softer than when he’s big. He nibbles on his bottom lip, his ears and cheeks feel so hot, maybe it would be better if the floor just swallowed him whole.
“Yeah, Min? One second— let me just check on the food.”
There’s no ‘sweetheart’ this time, it’s as if Chan suddenly realised something. Minho doesn’t understand, why did he stop? What did he realise?
”Sowwy.” He finds himself apologising, Chan doesn’t respond, he just seasons the meat and then moves to throw the blood spoiled vegetables in the bin. Minho looks at him guiltily as he does that— but he can’t find himself even trying to be big.
Minho doesn’t know what comes over him when he taps Chan on the shoulder.
”Hug?”
And he regrets it immediately.
Immediately.
His cheeks feel like he’s being roasted alive.
He feels so fucking stupid. How desperate did that make him seem?
Chan looks upset, the look in his eyes mirroring Minho’s own. He stops what he’s doing and moves closer, hand coming out above Minho’s head, and then he takes it back— as if he had been fighting the urge to stroke Minho’s hair. Minho doesn’t want him to fight it.
”Channie?” He tries one last time. His brain is screaming at him to stop being so embarrassing. To just stop it! He’s making everything worse. But he needs it— he just needs something. Something small would be okay. Anything. Chan cannot just take care of him like that and then not give him anything else— he just can’t.
He can’t.
“I don’t think your biology would like that very much, Minho.”
Minho’s heart drops.
It bleeds,
It falls to the ground,
And then it shatters. The shards transform into knives that dig into his entire being.
He’s being stabbed— and he can’t breathe.
His fucking biology.
Of course.
Chan thought he was independent.
And Minho had fucking got too carried away that he’d forgotten about all of that.
He’d dropped so deep that the little side of himself had forgotten all about the truth— forgotten all about reality.
Life isn’t a fantasy book— he can’t just get what he wants just like that.
Because he’s not them— he’s not Felix. And he’s not Seungmin. And He’s not Jeongin.
He’s Independent.
(And he’s a fucking idiot who can’t bring himself to tell the truth. Not even now, when he has his chance).
He struggles to swallow the lump this time.
He doesn’t feel as good anymore.
He feels worse.
He needs to get away.
Thankfully, Chan seems to sense that.
“Do you want the key, Min?” Chan is asking him. Minho can’t get his voice to work, he just stands there— he still wants Chan— he still needs Chan, but Chan pushes his dorm key into the palm of Minho’s hands with a small, sad smile, “Promise you’ll go and take care of yourself? It’ll make you feel so much better.”
It won’t make him feel better— that’s for certain. But he does need to get out of here.
He legs work on overdrive, he slams the kitchen door behind him, his ears ring— he can feel the sensation of his heart thumping in them. And although he’s not as small anymore, he still feels small— and he can’t get the damn key to unlock the front door.
He doesn’t know how to work it.
And that only stresses him out more.
He just wants Channie and he wants cuddles and he wants all of this to just stop—
As the key decides yet again not to co-operate, Minho whines quietly, he wants to put his head into his hands and sob— just sob until he can’t breathe.
But that’s not an option.
He abandons the key on the side and instead rushes off somewhere in the dorm. He doesn’t know where, doesn’t really know what’s happening, doesn’t know what he’s doing either— just that he needs a place to calm himself down— and quickly.
He feels himself sink down a random wall, and he does just that— puts his head in his hands and pushes his knees to his chest and stays like that. He wants to sob, he really does— but he doesn’t want to cry alone, he reckons that would make him feel so much more lonely. Somehow, his thumb ends up soaked in saliva as he absentmindedly sucks on it as an attempt to comfort himself.
And then he hears footsteps.
Minho’s suddenly very much aware of the fact that he’s sat outside of someone’s bedroom door. Right in front of it actually.
And perhaps the fact that they’re trying to get out of it as well.
His legs feel too weak to stand so he just shuffles to the side out of the way, keeping his head down in hopes of whoever it was would just miraculously ignore him, not realise who it was and leave him be.
Of course they don’t.
“Hey? What are you doing?”
Hyunjin.
He was sat outside of Hyunjin’s room like an idiot.
Just as he thought this day couldn’t get worse, huh? He groans, embarrassed. This might actually be the worst day of his life.
If not the worse, definitely the most mortifying.
Minho covers his face as he notices just how surprised Hyunjin appears, his body freezing him in place. Minho doesn’t blame him though, at any other time he never would’ve let this happen.
Hyunjin crouches down next to him. “Hey, are you little? C’mon I’ll take you back.”
His brain decides to block everything out. (It’s better than having to deal with the embarrassment of another person witnessing him in this state. Two people in one day was enough. Hyunjin for sure had noticed the fact that his thumb had been residing in his mouth, and he really didn’t need to be thinking about that).
The next time he tunes back into reality— he’s in his bedroom— in his dorm. And Hyunjin is there with him.
“Do you have any comfort items?” Hyunjin’s tone is sweet, yet painfully distant— as if he’s overly cautious to do something wrong, just as Chan had been. “They might help to calm yourself down, hmm?”
Calm yourself down.
The shards dig in again.
“Hyung?” Hyunjin asks again when he doesn’t get a response. “Do you have any—“
Minho does. That stupid blanket! Except it’s not stupid, he loves it very much, he really does— but he wants a person right now, not an inanimate object. He needs a person, but they don’t understand that.
He wishes they would stop dismissing him!
But that’s the way it has to be.
Doesn’t it?
Yes.
(No).
“Where do you keep your stuff?”
Minho frowns. His stuff?
“Plushies. Pacifiers. Toys. Blankets—”
Oh right.
“Blankie.” Minho says, pointing to the bottom drawer.
Hyunjin stands still as if he expects Minho to get it. When Minho also remains still, Hyunjin moves to where the little is eyeing. He opens up the drawer, pulls out Minho’s blankie and then he passes it over. As he does so, Minho’s fingers reach out and graze Hyunjin’s, a shiver runs through his being.
“Is this your favourite?” At Minho’s nod, Hyunjin hums. “I like it. It’s very soft. Where’s everything else?”
Everything else?
“No else.”
Hyunjin pauses. Minho blinks up at him. “You have no plushies?”
Minho shakes his head.
It’s Hyunjin’s time to stare at Minho now.
“Oh. Right. Okay. Really, this is it?”
Minho nods again. All he can concentrate on is the fact that Hyunjin is going to leave any moment— (definitely not the fact that he’s going to be left alone).
And there’s not going to be any caregivers around this time.
“Okay, well. I can put cartoons on for you if you’d like? Unless you want to do it—“
Minho would like that very much.
“Pwease.”
He’d like it even more if Hyunjin stayed and watched them with him.
“What do you normally watch when you’re little?”
What does he watch? He doesn’t normally watch anything. Was he supposed to be watching things? Would that help? He stays silent.
Hyunjin is clearly at a loss, Minho watches as the caregiver awkwardly switches the channel.
“Okay, uh, Innie likes this. You might too.”
There’s a random blue character on the television. Minho has no idea what the show is.
But what he does know is that Hyunjin is leaving, any second now.
“Okay. I’m gonna go now. One of us will come and get you when dinner is ready. I hope you feel better soon, hyung!”
And of course; Hyunjin leaves.
Minho’s heart feels heavy— so, so heavy.
He ignores the characters on the screen, he instead cuddles his blankie to his chest. The material is gentle against his cheek as he buries his head into it. Minho wraps the longer side around his arms and shoulders. It calms his racing heart a little, comforting him through the headache that’s slowly began to return to tug at the sides of his head, but nothing amounts to what a caregiver could do for him.
Nothing.
It’s not as if anybody is coming back to care for him though. Hyunjin went back to the other littles, no doubt one of them is in Chan’s arms right now. He doesn’t even want to think about who is in Jisung’s arms.
And Minho was alone.
Again.
All because of his own stupid lies.
Why couldn’t he just tell them the truth? He had two chances today and he’d blown them both. And now here he was again, alone and in pain.
Again.
Again.
And again.
Notes:
I can’t believe this was once supposed to be a oneshot lmao 😭 I promise comfort in the next chap <33 (you probs shouldn’t believe my promises im just as much of a liar as lino is in this story omg but you can trust me this time, there WILL be comfort)
AGAINNN, IM SO SORRY 😭🫶🏻 also i’m still on vacation so I haven’t proof read (ignore any autocorrect pls lol), but i have a stable internet connection thankfully! i’ll more than likely publish the next chapter when im home :)
Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Notes:
hey guys! long time no see. so sorry for not updating for so long, i’ve been going through a hell of lot mentally these past almost two years. feels like everything just went wrong for me lmao (guess the ao3 writers curse might be true huh /j)
anyways, thank you so much for leaving kudos and your sweet comments!
this chapter is short, i’m sorry about that
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Even before this evening, Chan was certain there was something amiss.
With Minho, that was.
The younger man had been acting off lately.
Different.
Emotional.
Unpredictable. (In other ways than his usual unpredictable personality. More concerning ways).
A lot quieter.
Distant.
Too distant.
Almost sad.
There was even a droplet of anger mixed into the waters.
At first Chan had put it down to the endless schedules, choosing not to intervene. It wasn’t odd for exhaustion to easily catch up with them, for the members to take extra alone time when at home, to not be as sociable as they presented themselves to STAY. When incidents like this occurred, the others would put more energy into looking after the littles. That was fine. It was fair. Sometimes solitude was necessary. It was healthiest that way.
But then he’d started to notice how Minho would flinch away anytime one of the littles dropped. How panic would cross his features, it was mild, but it was there.
At that moment Chan realised that this wasn’t that. This was different. He’d been meaning to talk about it with him earlier, but had never gotten the time.
As the change in behaviour had started roughly around the time Minho had received his class information, the others had all originally started to suspect that although Minho had admitted he was a little himself, that he had some sort of internalised prejudice against the other subclass— for whatever reason that may be. To them, it made sense, especially given the way he had blatantly started to avoid the littles at all costs, no excuses, no trying to talk himself out looking after them, he would just avoid them without shame. That was fine. Minho wasn’t obliged to look after them, he was a little too, but the sudden aversion was head turning.
Their suspicions only grew when one evening Minho seemingly snapped out of nowhere, startling Felix who had been little at the time.
Chan remembers it well. Too well.
Felix had been innocently tugging at Minho’s sleeve, trying to get Minho to play with him when Minho had just— lost his temper with him, his words harsh and his actions even crueler— he’d moved as if possessed, had grabbed Felix’s plushie from him, put it above his head, taunting him, knowing damn well a little’s motor abilities were affected when regressed. When Felix hadn’t been able to receive it, Minho had ran from the room, Felix confused and hurt trailing behind him, Felix had meekly requested it back— had attempted to get it back even— but Minho had decided to take the kitchen scissors to it, when the plushie’s insides were pulled from it’s body, the carcass got planted straight in the trash, it’s forever graveyard. The plush was ruined.
Felix had been devastated. The little was shaken, scared, his regressed mind not understanding why one of his ‘caregivers’ had treated him so.
Minho had known it’d upset him, why else would he have done it? And to Felix out of all the littles? Felix who has the most sensitive out of all 4?
It was cruel. It was cold.
Unnecessarily cruel, if he hadn’t wanted to play with him, he could’ve just said so. Felix had done nothing to him.
Minho had stood, breathing heavily. Felix had burst into tears, the others moved quickly to console him.
They couldn’t believe what they’d just witnessed.
It was unnatural to treat a regressed little that harshly.
Chan had watched as Minho’s expression quickly became regretful, guilt had seeped into his features, contorting them just enough for it to be noticeable, he looked mind blown at his own actions too, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. The others didn’t witness that, Minho had changed his expression blank, devoid of any secrets before they could. That’s what had pissed them off more, the supposed lack of guilt.
“What is wrong with you lately, hyung?” Chan remembers Changbin hissing to Minho, Felix curled into his side— he’d been the first to break the deafening silence. Everything quiet except for the sound of Felix’s sobs and the hum of the refrigerator. Minho’s gaze had not once met Changbin’s, he didn’t bother to defend himself, his eyes met Chan’s for a brief second before he stormed out. Chan had called after him, wanting to be a good leader and an even better friend.
There was something just— wrong with the situation. Wrong in a way he couldn’t figure out how, despite the obvious. Even before, Minho had seemed skittish, he had all that evening. Felix’s simple action must’ve been his last straw, whatever that might’ve been.
He remembers trying to get the others to calm down, that they should all be mature about the situation, let things calm down before assuming things. Everything would be so much easier if Minho could confide in his only hyung instead, instead of keeping whatever was bothering him so bottled up the way he was.
Chan also couldn’t help but think of how childish the action was. Minho throwing Felix’s plushie away like that. So impulsively. So childishly. He supposed the others forgot that Minho was also a little. And granted even if Minho wasn’t regressed, Chan didn’t like that the others were so quick to start yelling at him like that. They could’ve been more gentle.
And for the prejudice? He doesn’t think that’s true anymore. Not after this evening.
Minho had never been anything other than a great ‘caregiver’ to the littles. And yes, whilst it was true that it was only recently that this sort of behaviour had began to surface, Chan didn’t think the other’s suspicions that Minho thought he was better than the other littles was true. If anything his sudden change of behaviour was worrying and Chan was adamant to get to the root of it.
Was he embarrassed of his class, perhaps? Minho hadn’t spoken about his presentation much, nobody had ever pressed him to, knowing that he was embarrassed about presenting so late, also knowing that independent littles didn’t need their drops discussing— it was in the name. But the one time Minho had, he’d mentioned expecting to present as a neutral, it had to be a shock that he hadn’t.
But Minho was independent and Chan knew Minho’s drops were nobodies business other than his own. Unlike the other littles, who the caregivers (+jisung) had to make sure they were getting the right amount of drops, for the right timespans so that their health was kept at a steady level, what Minho did, how Minho planned out his drops and what he did in them, was something they didn’t have to think about. It would be rude for them to ask.
Even still, sending Minho back to his dorm tonight had been hard on Chan’s heart.
Chan had his suspicions that Minho had been.. sort of? was on the verge of? regressing when he’d seen how cozy the younger man had been in the living room earlier, pillow cutely wrapped in his arms, huge boba eyes wide with fascination as he watched the movie, occasionally quietly giggling and pointing at the scenes, lost in his own cute little world. Chan watched the scene with a smile, it would’ve been nice if Minho had presented dependant. He hadn’t thought Minho would drop whilst the others were around at all, it had brought a smile to his face.
But maybe Minho hadn’t fully regressed.
He could be in a big headspace and watch a children’s film.
Minho hadn’t regressed in front of anybody yet. Chan didn’t think he ever would. He didn’t have to, so why would he? There was no reason to now.
But then the kitchen incident had occurred and he had dropped. And he’d dropped completely. Chan’s caregiver instincts had forced him to clean and take care of the wound. His brain hadn’t been thinking rationally, just that he had a hurt little to take care of.
When the shock of the situation had died down, Chan realised what he’d done.
He could only hope that Minho had took care of himself well this evening.
Well.
Only time would tell, dinner was almost ready.
He'd receive Minho soon.
—Little did he know what he was about to witness would change the trajectory of his life forever.
Notes:
misunderstandings are so painful man 😞
how we all liking karma? i love ghost and phoenix sm omg, they never miss