Chapter Text
Fear was like an old friend to Minho. One he kept around because they knew too much. He had hoped to have outgrown his fear by now, but still, it lingered, clinging to him like a second skin he couldn't shed. He had years of experience being afraid. At this point, he could’ve had his own Master Class on the skill of being ruled by one’s fears. Only now, he was trying to 'be more open with his feelings' and not ‘let them dictate his actions.’ It was something his therapist had been trying to get him to do, and although he still wasn't entirely convinced that the man wasn't just some fraud who got paid way too much money to tell him obvious things about himself, upon encouragement from his boyfriend he'd relented and promised to try.
He'd almost forgotten too, what it was like to be ruled by fear, anxiousness mixing in with his blood until he couldn't tell where it ended and he began. He'd been so close, the illusion of confidence and safety shattering around him. Every master indeed had a teacher, and he'd just bought his ticket to see the person who'd taught him everything he knew. Minho was faced with one of those moments, where his mind was fighting with his body, telling him to call his mother and tell her they couldn't make it, that something had come up and there was nothing he could do. She'd believe him. They were busy idols, constantly working and traveling, which is why he had jumped at the opportunity to go home for the weekend after promotions for their newest album ended. His blood had run cold at the realization of what he’d just signed up for.
"That's wonderful!" His mother's excitement at the prospect of him visiting always made him feel a little bad. He wished he could make the trip more frequently, but with handling the dance practices, working with the choreographers, and just the usual workload of an idol, he was often too tired by the weekend to make the journey. Or at least that’s the excuse he gave himself to quell the guilt that was slowly chipping away at him.
"Your father will be back from his trip by then, so I guess he and Jisung will finally get to meet." She paused, "It’s been so long since you’ve seen each other. I’m so glad the timing worked out like this."
That's when he realized his mistake. How could he have forgotten to check whether his father would be in town? It had been months since he'd been able to go home, and somehow, in the excitement of finally having a free weekend, it had slipped his mind.
Stupid, how could he be so stupid?
His mother’s voice cut through his anxious thoughts, bringing him back to the conversation. She continued like it was no big deal, talking about what food she’d make and how she’d gotten a discount at the store she frequented because she’d brought the owner some ox bone soup after he’d broken his arm the month prior. Minho tried to focus on what she was saying, but the words slowly faded to the background as his head started to ache, full of dread at the thought of seeing his father or, worse, having Jisung meet him.
He ended the conversation with his mother quickly after that, unable to listen to her talk about side dishes and how much meat she’d have to buy when his heart felt like it would beat right out of his chest.
After saying a quick goodbye, he’d all but ran out of the dorm, unable to stomach the idea of talking with any of the members when he felt so close to puking. He walked to the company, trying not to think about the mistake he’d just made. Once inside, he’d found an empty practice room, turned on some music, and danced until he was lightheaded and out of breath.
If he just danced hard enough, maybe the voice in his head telling him all the ways in which he was a failure would disappear, drowned out by the music and his labored breathing.
Even Minho couldn’t dance forever though, and eventually, when his playlist ran out of songs, he collapsed to the floor. His legs felt like they were on fire, and he knew his body would pay for what he’d just done the next day.
On the floor of the empty practice room, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care though, his mind was quiet, and for the first time in months, he allowed himself to remember the parts of it he’d kept under lock and key, only now too exhausted to keep sealed.
▣
He was 14 when he first worked up the courage to come out to his parents. After years of struggling and feeling different, never knowing why, and then months of knowing but being unable to talk about it, he’d finally confided in his best friend. His best friend who’d then repeated the words to Minho and confessed to liking him.
It was his first relationship, his first love. Minho didn’t really know how to be in love, he’d always struggled to express himself properly, too scared he’d slip up and reveal too much of himself. Now that he had someone to be himself with, someone who could see all of him, he was happier than he’d ever been before and more scared. If he gave himself to someone, his love, his trust, they had all the more ways to hurt him.
His days, which had previously felt dull and unextraordinary, suddenly felt full and exciting. Stolen moments in between classes, sneaking away from their friends during lunch, then walking home together at the end of the school day. Minho could have stayed like that forever; he was so happy he couldn’t understand that his new boyfriend might want more.
Minho had never thought he’d even get a boyfriend, so he hadn’t really thought much about introducing him to his parents. It was the natural next step, he knew that, he’d seen movies. Only, for him, it would mean coming out to his parents first. He couldn’t stay in the closet and tell his parents he had a boyfriend, as much as he wished it was possible, it wasn’t. Plus, his boyfriend really wanted to meet them.
He had never seriously considered coming out to his parents. He kept those kinds of hopeless dreams for the quiet hours of the night, right before he went to sleep, where he could fantasize about them without ever getting too close to reality. Those were the hopeless dreams of childhood, something he’d long ago learned were unexpectable for anyone over the age of ten.
Minho knew all the reasons why he should never come out to his parents, but after weeks of his boyfriend’s pestering, along with the desire to please his new partner, he finally agreed. He knew it was a bad idea, but somehow he managed to convince himself it was the right thing to do, that it was wrong of him to keep a part of himself from them, and that they deserved to know. That’s what he told himself at least.
“They love you. This won’t change that.” His boyfriend had seemed so sure of it, Minho knew deep down that he was wrong, but his naive 14-year-old self had allowed himself to be convinced.
That night at dinner, he waited; he hoped that if he just waited long enough, the perfect moment to spill his most significant, most life-altering secret would appear. That moment never came, and soon, the food had been put away, and his mother had wished him good night. He went to bed that night and cursed himself for being such a coward.
He woke up the following morning, determined to tell them that day. He resolved that there wasn’t going to be a ‘perfect’ time, he just needed to get it out before he thought too much about it and chickened out.
His resolve quickly weakened, and by the time he got to school, he couldn’t focus on anything other than the potentially catastrophic decision he was about to make. He was spaced out in class, thinking of all the ways tonight could go when his math teacher called on him. He’d always hated that teacher, it was like she purposefully called on him whenever he didn’t know the answer. Embarrassed, he had to admit he hadn’t been paying attention and, therefore, didn’t have the answer to the question on the board, which of course got him scolded in front of the class.
At lunch, he finally had a chance to speak to his boyfriend and relayed what had happened at dinner the night before. Nothing.
“Maybe I just shouldn’t,” his boyfriend immediately went to protest but Minho held up his hand, making him pause. “Every time I try and get the words out, I just think of them being disappointed in me, or yelling and hating me. I just don’t know if it’s worth it.”
He looked up from the bench he was sitting on into his boyfriend's eyes. When he saw the sadness there, he immediately wanted to take his words back. The last thing he wanted to do was let him down, and he knew how much this meant to him. Minho was doing this for them, so they could be together, so they wouldn’t have to lie and tell his parents he was just a ‘good friend.’ He tried to convince himself that he could do it, if anything, just for his boyfriend.
After some more words of encouragement and his reinstated desire to be honest and free, Minho went back to class. His desire for honesty didn’t negate his fear though, and he spent the rest of the school day spaced out, trying not to puke from anxiety.
He took his time walking home, trying to breathe evenly and not curl up on the side of the road and cry. He was in no rush to get back home and potentially make the biggest mistake of his life. No matter how slow he walked though, he eventually made it home, pausing for only a second to gather himself before going inside.
At the sound of the door, his mother stuck her head out into the hall and upon seeing him smiled. “Hi baby, how was school?”
He twisted his hands together, staring at her. He hadn’t been prepared to see her right away. She was usually still at work by the time he got home but due to his snail-like pace, she’d beat him home.
It was a simple question, one she’d probably asked every day since he’d first started school, but today it felt like the stone that broke the damn. Something about her tone, loving and light, made him break down right there in the entryway.
Minho rarely cried, even at that age, so upon suddenly collapsing to a sobbing mess on the floor, his mother ran to him, asking if he was hurt or feeling sick and whether he needed to see a doctor. Her concern only made him cry harder, and only after she sat down with him on the floor, taking him into her arms as if he were a small child, did he begin to calm down.
‘Shh, it’s okay Min, just breathe.” She ran her hand through his hair, lightly rubbing his back as she held him.
He tried to breathe slowly, in through his nose and out his mouth. It took a while, but finally, his breathing slowed and he could see again. Minho pulled away slightly, embarrassed for having cried so hard, but when he looked her in her eyes, all he was was love and concern. A feeling of clarity struck him, and he suddenly felt as if his ‘moment’ had come.
He whispered the words so softly he almost doubted he’d said them at all.
They sat like that for a moment, looking at each other, and just when he was about to repeat them, she cupped his face in her hands and whipped his tear-stained cheeks.
“Okay.” She said the word softly, as if to not frighten him, “Okay baby, It’s okay.”
She kissed his forehead lightly before pulling back, looking into his eyes. She smiled a conspiratorial smile as if she now knew a secret. Then she got up, dragging him to his feet, and led him to the kitchen.
He sat at the table in a daze, trying to comprehend what had just happened. A cup appeared before him, and he looked up to see his mother set it down.
“Drink.” She gestured to the cup of what he assumed was tea with one hand while the other reached to comb through his hair. “Hmm, I think it’s time for a haircut. Should I schedule one for this week? Maybe you could get a buzz cut.” She smiled mischievously at that, ruffling his hair.
He stared at her, not entirely understanding what she’d said. How could she be focused on a haircut of all things right now? Sure, his mom was weird; it ran in the family, but this was too much even for her.
“Mom,” He hated the way his voice came out strangled and raspy from crying. Still, he pressed on, needing confirmation that what had happened in the hallway was because she’d heard him and not just to comfort him in his hysterics. “Did you hear me?”
She looked at him like he’d said something funny. “Well, I know I’m not exactly young anymore,” she continued stroking his hair, “but I’d hope I haven’t gone deaf quite yet.” She smiled down at him again, and this time, he couldn’t help but smile back.
He was so relieved; it felt like he could breathe again. He smiled and drank the tea, then in his room as he put his bag away, and still, he continued to smile even in the shower. He felt a little silly, after all that build-up and how anxious he’d been, but he knew it was better to laugh about overthinking than to have it go badly and have been right.
He was still smiling to himself while he got dressed, but as he pulled his shirt on, the front door opened. The smile that’d been imprinted on his face for the last hour fell as he remembered his father.
Minho had always been closer to his mother, partially because his father traveled for work and would often be gone for weeks at a time, and somewhat because his mother was the more emotionally open of his one. She was never quick to judge, she was kind and thoughtful of other’s feelings. His father, on the other hand, was someone who liked things exactly how he wanted them, and any change made was unacceptable. He was rigid in his traditions, and although he didn’t spend much time with him, Minho was sure he’d already fallen short of quite a few of his father's expectations.
He thought about just staying in his room, telling his mom he wasn’t hungry, and going to bed. He’d already said more than he thought he’d be able to. Why sully the happiness he’d shared with his mom? Why risk it when he could just be happy with one parent knowing?
Even as he tried to rationalize it to himself, he knew that he’d have to tell his father. If anything, just to do it before his mother did. Although he never understood their pairing, he knew his mom wouldn’t keep something like this from her husband; it was too important.
He made his way out of his room and into the kitchen, avoiding seeing his father for as long as he could. He knew there would be no ‘perfect’ moment with him, and he knew not to wait around for it.
Minho sighed, grabbed a glass of water, and entered the dining room.
His father was sitting at the head of the table, looking at his phone while his mother brought out the food. It had always annoyed him how his father could act like he was utterly alone, even in a room full of people. Almost like anyone other than himself wasn’t significant enough to pay attention to or even acknowledge.
Minho sat to his father’s left, he stared at his water, at the condensation running down the side, the silence in the room felt suffocating. He tried counting his breaths, in and out one after the other, trying to amp himself up enough to just blurt it out.
“I heard you almost failed your math exam.” Minho looked up, startled by the abrupt statement.
Of course. The only time his father bothered to acknowledge him was when he did something wrong. That’s how it always was. No matter how well he scored on an exam or how many competitions in dance he won, his father never said a word to him about it. Not even a simple ‘good job’ or ‘keep it up,’ but whenever he made a mistake, his father was always the first one to point it out. Minho grit his teeth, feeling the resentment that had been building for years take over and before he could stop and think better, he’d said the words.
“Dad, I’m gay.”
When his mind finally caught up with what his mouth had done, he winced, suprised by his own words. He closed his eyes and waited for his father's inevitably poor reaction.
Only his father didn’t react. Minho opened his eyes, confused after too many seconds of silence, and looked back at his father, who was again engrossed by his phone, his face the picture of disinterest.
“I’ve asked your mother to find you a tutor, and I expect your scores to improve by the next exam.” He didn’t even look up from his phone as he crushed Minho’s heart.
He tried to reason with himself. Maybe his father hadn’t heard him, even though he’d spoken much louder than when he’d told his mother, and she had. His father was older than her; maybe it was premature hearing loss, or perhaps his father misheard him and thought he’d said, ‘Dad, I’m gray,’ then, as not to indulge his strangeness, had chosen to ignore it.
He knew he was being ridiculous, and he cursed his stupid heart for attempting to stitch itself back together. Still, he tried again. The second time he was met with silence was just as painful as the first, only this time, he actually watched him as he said the words. His father just sat there unbothered, as if he was utterly alone and his only son hadn’t just revealed his biggest secret.
Minho had been preparing himself for days, knowing his father would probably have an adverse reaction, and trying to be okay with it. He could have dealt with anger; he was used to his father's disappointment, but something about having no reacting at all, as if it wasn’t even something worth acknowledging, brought tears to his eyes for the second time that day.
His mother looked at him sympathetically, taking his hand in hers across the table and giving it a squeeze. She didn’t say anything.
He felt shame curl up and nestle in his bones. His stomach churned, and he felt like he was going to throw up. The joy he’d felt earlier was now completely overtaken by disgust, not directed towards his father though, but inward, at himself. The years of shame took over, and almost like falling back into a routine, he’d shrunk back into himself, any semblance of openness gone. Any remaining hope he had of being accepted by his father shriveled up and died. He didn’t even bother collecting the pieces of his heart that remained broken on the ground, since what good was his heart if this was all love brought him?
▣
Minho couldn’t face his boyfriend after that, too embarrassed by what had happened. He didn’t want a boyfriend anymore, he didn’t want to feel this way, he didn’t want to be gay. He avoided him in the hallways and at lunch and turned his head when he tried to catch his eye in class. Eventually, he seemed to get the idea, and thus, his first relationship ended without so much as a goodbye.
That was when he’d dedicated himself to dance; he threw himself into it if only to distract himself from the humiliation that clawed at him whenever he was reminded of what he was. Shame curled up and nestled in his gut, rearing its head whenever he found himself staring a little too long at another dancer or when his touch lingered a moment too long when practicing together. If he stayed busy and dedicated himself to the art, he’d at least have an excuse not to confront his feelings. Ignoring it at least made it easier to live with. That’s what he told himself anyway.
Years later, with newfound confidence from his dance group, as well as the maturity he’d gained since being fourteen, Minho did end up repeating the words. In the time since he last spoke the words, he’d seen his father less and less, and once again his heart healed and he felt like a semblance of a person again. He didn’t allow himself to date again, but he no longer forced his gaze away so quickly, no longer flinched at a touch that lasted a second too long. This time, when he was again met with silence, he was ready. He told himself he’d give his father one last attempt to listen, to try and get to know him as he was and not who he had pretended to be for so long. When he was again met with the same disinterested look, the same unwavering silence, he gave up.
He was tired of pretending. He was tired of tiptoeing around his father, unable to meet his expectations, and always falling short of the son he wanted him to be. Minho knew that if he didn’t leave, his father would continue to chip away at him, breaking him down until there was nothing left.
He gave his father one last chance to hear him, and then he stood up and walked out the door. That was the last time he saw his father. He left that same day to tour with his dance group. When that was over, he became a backup dancer before ultimately becoming an idol. He kept in contact with his mother and even visited occasionally, always careful to avoid his father when he went. She often told him what his father had been up to, but just as Minho had been met with disinterest, he never asked or cared about what the man did.
Although he was no longer interested in what his father thought of him, he still decided it would be best to avoid him. He had no desire for his father’s opinion on his life nor his thoughts on his relationships. Minho was happy, truly happy for the first time in his life, and he wouldn’t put his relationship with Jisung at risk just because he didn’t want to disappoint his mother.
He walked over to the counter where he’d left his phone, and just as he was about to call his mother to cancel, the door to the practice room opened, and in walked his leader, friend, and unpaid therapist, Bang Chan.