Minseok should have seen this coming - should have seen the signs, should have stopped to ing think. He’s been dealing with this for years, eight of them to be exact, and logically the red flags should be registering in his mind by now. But he’s been stuck in his own world for too long now, too far gone into the delusion he’s set that his mind ignores any of sign of this. Over time he’s forgotten what his body is, what his body has, except maybe forgotten isn’t the best way to put it. Minseok purposefully detaches himself from the reality of his body in every way possible, repeats I’m a boy I’m a boy I’m a boy I’m a boy in his mind until it becomes a chant - his own personal mantra. The phrase beats a steady rhythm into his mind, into his thoughts, and soon he believes himself, he knows what he is, who he is. His friends are there to verbalize this, to reiterate what he whispers to himself under the heavy covers draped across his large bed squeezed into a startlingly small space. They use his pronouns, shout his name across a crowded bowling alley, wipe away his doubts when they refer to him as ‘he’ even when they aren’t aware that he can hear them. His boyfriend is there to handle the dysphoria, the days he wakes up itching in his own body, barely able to breathe, staring at himself loathingly in the mirror, watching the way the tears glisten in his eyes and the salty drops cling to his dark lashes like dew on blades of grass.

Every time this happens, his bubble deflates a little. It takes a moment to inflate it again, to reassure him that his body is a man’s body and no one - nothing - can take that away from him, and by the time it’s full, it is back and the air is from his very being. He woke up this morning with a twitching, aching pain in his hips and back and an uncomfortable slickness between his legs that jolted him out of the comfort of his mattress and into the bathroom adjoining his room. His knees ache with each step he takes but his back is worse and more demanding, a dull throb growing in his hips until he’s kneeling on the cold tile of his bathroom, knee pain flaring up in avid protest. Minseok grabs at the marble counter brushing against his hair and pulls himself up slowly, catching a fleeting glance of his face. He turns around quickly, whimpering as he checks his boxers and and spots the tell-tale dotting of red on the gray fabric. Without taking time to mourn the loss of yet another pair of underwear and the money it will cost him to replace it (however little that amount might be), Minseok cleans himself up and makes sure he has enough supplies shoved into the smallest pocket of his backpack to last him through the day.

He refrains from texting his boyfriend right away because Lu Han must get annoyed at how childish and needy Minseok is during these times and he would hate to bother the gentle-mannered teen. Upsetting Lu Han would truly upset Minseok more than this; he’ll just have to suffer on his own, he decides.

Except as he sits in his second period class of the day with a daunting hour of A.P. U.S. History left and pain pulsing through his body, he thinks that he really needs Lu Han. The air in the room is stuffy, hot, and while it urges Minseok into a drowsy state, the panic flaring in his mind is distracting enough to where he’s wide awake. Breathing is difficult, and Minseok scolds himself for wearing a binder when he knew today would be hard to get through. The appearance of a flat chest calms him usually, the tight press of the fabric against his chest similar to a familiar embrace, yet at times like these, when his lungs refuse to expand and his brain rumbles with static and frantic thoughts, the binder feels like a boulder pressed atop his chest. Hormones surge in his body, sporadic and hindering any logical thought as Minseok’s mood slowly slips down to the gutter. He feels frail, weak, vulnerable, and he grips his arm tightly, pressing crescents into the pliable skin as he bites his lip. His vision blurs and he blinks rapidly, shocked for a moment before the weight on his chest presses down again and the tears are back full force.

He buries his face in his arms, piled on his books on his desk, damning the rest of the class to his horrid mental state and painful body. Vibrations tingle through his leg and Minseok vaguely registers that he got a notification of some kind on his phone, yet he cannot bring himself to check the device. All work for this class period has been completed and stacked neatly on his teacher’s desk and Minseok burrows his face into the soft flesh of his arms as if hoping that the pressure on his eyelids will halt the flow of his tears, lull the emotions at fault. Pain curls harshly in the pit of his groin and Minseok gasps inaudibly, doubling over as much as he can with the desk in the way, feeling the panic in his mind growing stronger. It’s only the first day of this torture and he already feels like absolute and it’s just going to get worse, he knows it.

He needs his friends, he needs support, he needs distraction, but most of all he needs Lu Han. His body aches to be wrapped in thin but strong arms, pressed tightly against his hard chest, the smell of vanilla and freshly baked bread lulling the buzzing in his mind. Lu Han isn’t in this class, or his next, and a fresh wave of depression crashes over Minseok as the drone of the air conditioner in the warm room masks the scratching of pencils and the tapping of his foot. He reaches for his phone without thinking, and he doesn’t know what he wants or intends to do, only knows that he needs Lu Han. When he frantically hits the home button, heart fluttering wildly against his rib cage, the screen lights up with a snapchat from Lu Han. The simple sight of his name on the screen quiets the sheer noise dominating Minseok’s existence and he taps his password out as quickly as he can in order to see the picture.

Instantly, upon opening the snap up, a fraction of the static in his brain simmers down to a gentle hum, the endearing sight of Lu Han and Jongdae and Chanyeol making faces at the camera sending a fond warmth tingling through his skin. The three of them are evidently in the back of class, and Baekhyun is visible off to the side, speaking animatedly with Tao, hands in the air and mouth wide open. The picture closes, screen reverting to a list of the snaps sent and received by Minseok and some of the noise infiltrates his mind once more. The sound is quieter, however, and less noticeable, and while the pain is still there and growing and decreasing in unpredictable increments, he feels slightly better. He’s feeling sappy and emotional and wants to tell Lu Han exactly how much he loves him, but there’s no time for that when the teacher stands from her desk and walks around the piece of wood to begin discussing the assignment just completed by the class. Ever the attentive student, Minseok directs his attention to the teacher standing in front of the class with her hands clasped behind her back and an expectant smile gracing her lips. His attention wanes throughout the duration of the class as his pain worsens, but he smiles - looking more like a grimace than a smile, really - and answers questions to the best of his ability when asked. His voice sounds quieter than normal due to the weight of the air, of his depression, the tugging of the rope attached to his heart and gut, and the one friend he has in that class shoots him slightly worried looks from across the room.

By sixth period, the class he has with Lu Han, Minseok is struggling to walk without stumbling and to sit in his chair. He sways gently while sitting, and when he stand up, no matter how slowly, the floor threatens to rush up and greet him with an intimate embrace. He totters into the classroom, wincing at the muggy air, smelling of teenagers - sweat, feet, cheap cologne and perfume, chips, more sweat - that greets him. Nausea rises in his stomach as he lurches in choppy movements toward his desk, but Minseok just ignores it in favor of dropping harshly into his seat; a heavenly beacon of light in the darkness that is Minseok’s American literature classroom. Lu Han should be here any moment, but the lights are too bright and Minseok’s eyes sting, so he lowers his head and resigns himself to not getting any boyfriend attention today. That is, until the sound of rustling fabric sounds adjacent to his hunched over form and a breeze of vanilla-scented air wafts over him. His heart tugs, pleasantly this time, familiarly, and he peeks above his arms to see Lu Han leaning against his desk and smiling down at him gently.

Minseok wants to kiss those pink lips pulled into the most breathtaking smile he’s ever seen so badly, wants to be pressed flush against his boyfriend, feel the heat of his skin seep into every pore of his own body. A cramp seizes Minseok and he convulses, wincing harshly and the smile on Lu Han’s face drops instantly. “Minnie?” His voice is full of concern, the widening of his eyes and parted lips reflecting worry, and Minseok feels his heart tug again, the love he feels for his boyfriend momentarily cloaking the pain.

“I’m okay, Lu.” His voice is shaky and the smile on his face could be wider, brighter. Lu Han doesn’t fail to notice this and that gorgeous smile is gone, a frown taking its place instead. Panic curls in Minseok’s chest because that frown is his fault, his doing, and he needs to leave or fix it right away because frowns do not belong on Lu Han’s face. His boyfriend seems to sense the rising panic, or maybe Minseok is simply not as good at hiding his emotions as he thinks he is, because he rests his hand on Minseok’s arm briefly before gently grabbing his thin wrist and pulling him into a standing position. Lu Han sweeps his books into his arms and walks over to their teacher, beginning a hushed conversation with the kind and gentle older man, leaving Minseok standing by himself in the middle of the perpetual chaos of the class. Lu Han comes back quickly and Minseok follows when directed out of the room. The two teenage boy’s make their ways down the many staircases of their school (it seems that the architects built vertically instead of horizontally) and end up in the empty art room. Minseok is ushered over to the two couches on the wall, and he moves as quickly as he can in his weaker state, managing to stumble into a table only once. Lu Han clicks his tongue worriedly behind him, and excuses pile on the tip of Minseok’s tongue so rapidly that it shocks him. Lu Han is having none of that, however, and he plops down on the over-stuffed cushions, gently placing Minseok’s books down on the floor by his feet.

A hand on Minseok’s arm tugs him down and into Lu Han’s lap and he attempts to squirm away immediately. “Lu, I’m not light! I’ll crush you!” He exclaims, wriggling on his boyfriend’s lap like a worm in the sun, and Lu Han only scoffs, wrestling the two of them so he’s resting against the arm of the couch and Minseok is wrapped safely in his arms. His touches are gentle, smoothing over the soft skin of his arms, rubbing gently at his hipbones and stomach area, and Minseok sighs, leaning back into the embrace. Lu Han is warm and firm behind him and the panic previously clouding his brain dissipates into thin air. He’s still dizzy and his insides feel like someone stuck their hand in his body and clenched his organs in a tight fist, but Lu Han is humming a song into his ear and pressing sweet kisses into his hair, his neck, mouthing the lyrics with gentle of his lips against Minseok’s. Minseok melts, feels tears prick his eyes and then spill over the lids of his eyes in gentle, meandering streams across the apples of his round cheeks.

Soft lips instantly chase the salty liquid, whispering “Minnie, it’s okay, I’m here, it’s okay” against slightly flushed skin, and Minseok can breathe again, feels his chest expand with warmth and overwhelming love, washing away the hurt of the day until all he can see and feel and need and ever want is Lu Han, Lu Han, Lu Han. He’s content to lay with his boyfriend until the bell rings, the sun sets, until the end of time, singing quietly with him, nuzzling the soft line of his jaw and smiling sweetly against his clothed shoulder as he laughs at the slightly cold temperature of the skin of his nose. Minseok is happy, warm, and Lu Han never asks what’s wrong or what’s happening because he just knows and Minseok has never fallen so hard for someone in his entire life. He eventually drifts off to the rumble of his boyfriend’s chest against his back, warmth encompassing him, a smile stretching the roundness of his cheeks and pushing his eyes almost closed, sighing happily as Lu Han’s lips spell sweet nothings on his aching body and gently crumble the staggering pain he felt before. Minseok breathes out a soft “I love you” before his eyes drift closed, and the answering hitch of breath and stuttering heartbeat against his back is more than he could ever want - could ever need.