Work Text:
Minho sits on the couch, legs crossed and a pillow thrown over his lap, he didn’t want to feel uncomfortable, there was no reason to. Well besides his anxiety, it seemed like Chan had changed, something shifting, but also it had been so long Minho couldn’t remember how he really acted before.
The too close touches were probably just friendly, the weird stares that made Minhos heart drop were probably just accidental, the fact that Chan’s mom still wasn’t home and the clock read 9:45 wasn’t weird, she was just working late right?
Chan stood up from the couch and went into the bathroom, grabbing a towel and asking Minho to shower, he said he would the next morning but Chan was persistent. So, he showered and put on a black vans t-shirt and light grey shorts with dark red writing.
-
Minho wakes up in the middle of the night, his heart beating way too rough in his chest to just be from a nightmare. He feels a hand under his blanket, reaching for his phone, and setting it on the nightstand. It was probably ringing and woke Chan up, Minho could go back to sleep.
The next time he wakes up it’s cold, cold all around him and he tries to pull up his blanket and feels around but finds that it’s gone, his body stills as he peeks through almost shut eyes only to see Chan standing over him.
He immediately closes them all the way, his heart racing. For a minute, he hears and feels nothing. Then, a cold hand envelops his ankle, pulling his leg straight out. Minho remains completely frozen, trying to hold his breath as the same hand moves his legs apart.
He quickly turns over on his side, pushing his head back into his pillow as if he’s genuinely asleep. It only takes another minute of Chan’s loud breathing before it repeats, except now his hands are on the bottom of Minho’s shorts, playing with the soft gray fabric.
His fingers move directly between his thighs, sliding the same fabric over and doing the same with his underwear. Minhos heart drops and he wills away his tears, barely even breathing now.
His stomach turns as the fingers trace over him, and fear makes every sense elevated. He can feel his heart beat jackrabbiting in his chest, he can feel the almost too warm pillow on his face. He feels like he can finally breathe again when the hands move, but instead it gets replaced by lips pressing against his and he wants to rip the skin off, scratch with blunt nails at the chapped skin there until it bleeds and he can’t feel it anymore, he wants to vomit up every last taste of Chan against him.
All Minho feels is pressure on his chest as he struggles to breathe from calloused hands moving under his shirt, grabbing at his chest with a grip that’s too firm if the pretending is working and Chan believes he’s asleep.
His heart feels like it could explode out of his chest and his head burns, his hand gets picked up and he almost wants to look and see what’s going on but he feels it first, he feels it moving down under Chan’s waistband and being held there. His mouth tastes bitter and he wishes he could feel the acidic taste of vomit behind his teeth. To just lean over and let it out, just something that he could pretend to wake up to, to make everything stop, but instead, out of fear, he lies completely still, letting his hand be guided up and down.
Chan’s breath gets louder every time he moves his hand all the way down, and Minho tries to hold his fingers out so there’s barely any friction. When Chan finally lets up and sets his hand back on the bed he thinks it’s over until his shorts are messed with again. His mind races with ways of how to get out of it but there’s not many options when one hand is under your clothes and the other is holding you down.
The feeling of fingers lightly pressing into him almost makes his body convulse and he tries to back himself up on the bed to get away from the intrusion but when they push deeper he lets out a loud enough whine that makes them pull out completely.
-
Once enough time has passed Minho checks his phone, he frowns at it only being 5:20, too early to be picked up and too late to go back to sleep. He thinks it’s okay with Chan across the room but his lockscreen is bright enough to project on the wall and he internally curses himself and sets his phone down.
The feeling of the bed dipping and the soft, “good morning” that’s too caring for what just happened only intensifies his anxiety, causing him to frantically grab his phone and sprint to the bathroom.
He immediately washes his hands, the evidence on his hands and lips drying tacky and only getting more uncomfortable. He turns on the fan and lets a loud sob rack through his body before texting Jisung, his tremors so bad he can barely type a sentence. He doesn’t explain anything besides just saying I miss and love you. (“I misd snd love yiu”)