The Three Worst Secrets

It Hurts Taking Chances

He found it.

The perfect replacement.

It was in Felix's garage. A beautiful, long pipe wrench as thick as his wrist. It was heavy enough that he didn't have to slam it down with any effort- and worked so well he thought he'd broken a bone the first time he used it.

The bruising was dark. And so painful to squeeze it would make his eyes water.

He hated leaning on the habit. Especially when things were already so strange. But it felt like gaining control. And he didn't feel like relinquishing the feeling. Except Hyunjin kept eyeing him. It was like he always caught Minho right when he pressed into the marks. He expected him to bring it up eventually. What he didn't expect, was for Chan to.

They were at the studio. Trying to spark Seungmin's interest with normalcy, or familiar spaces. Changbin had Felix trying on his new hoodie, and Minho was only slightly depressed that he wasn't offered one too. He wanted a damn hoodie. The original ones he'd given him were ratty from overuse. Minho slept in them a lot too. He probably shouldn't go to the club ever again- but he still wanted to keep supporting his friends.

The fact that he thought that way shocked him a little.

Were they already back to being friends?

So easily?

Chan caught his eye, gesturing from the doorway. When he got close enough he whispered "Can you come help me carry something from my car?"

Minho just nodded, signaling that he'd be right back and pushing down the feeling of regret at Seungmin's frantic expression. He was so clingy lately. Almost like a little kid.

They had only just reached his car when the rapper grabbed one of his arms and shoved his sleeve up.

"What are you-?"

Finding nothing on his forearms, Chan pushed the sleeve even higher.

Dark blue and purple. Varying sizes. They almost looked fake- like a little painted nightmare.

"There! What are those?"

He pulled the sleeve down, looking around to ensure no one else had seen them. "I- they aren't-"

"I already know so you might as well tell me."

"How do you know?"

Chan yanked his shirt collar far enough to slip it over the shell of his shoulder. There were little pale lines all over it. Healed cuts. At least a hundred of them.

Minho gulped, feeling sick. Was that what other people felt when they saw his marks? Nausea?

"Chan... why are- why did you do that?"

"Why did you?"

He met his eyes and tried not to look away. "I'm... I need the distraction. I don't know. Is there any good reason? One that would make sense? What's yours?"

"I used to cut. A long time ago. I'm always overthinking things. It would make me stop. And then I would push on them to reopen the scabs, make them bleed."

Minho hated blood. It was the reason he'd never been able to go that far. Blood made him dizzy. "You stopped?"

Chan nodded, pulling the shirt back up.

"How?"

"Felix."

"He helped?"

"He saw them. When I saw him crying over it I couldn't do it anymore. Every time I would try, I'd just see him crying again. And he made me promise. 'You can never do this again' he said, 'and if you do and I find out, I'm going to match every new one with one of my own.' And the thought terrified me. He shouldn't be hurting like that. Is it so crazy that he thinks the same about me?"