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Laptop disaster

The Shattered Cradle

The night air in the dorm was thick with a heavy, suffocating tension. Though Chan was physically gone, removed to the company’s backup dorm by a furious Changbin, his presence lingered like a poisonous gas. It lived in the jagged cracks of the broken laptop in the living room and, most painfully, in the way Seungmin’s body refused to find peace.

Minho sat in the center of the blanket nest they had constructed on the floor of his and Hyunjin’s room. Seungmin was draped across his lap, his small face flushed a terrifying shade of crimson. The cooling cream they had applied earlier seemed to have done little to soothe the trauma; the deep, purple welts across the boy's bottom and thighs were radiating a heat that Minho could feel through his own trousers.

"Jinnie, get the thermometer again," Minho whispered, his voice tight.

Hyunjin, who had been hovering by the door with a basin of fresh, cool water, moved instantly. His movements were frantic but silent. He handed the digital thermometer to Minho, his eyes never leaving Seungmin’s face.

The device beeped with a cruel finality. 102.8.

"It’s going up," Minho hissed, his jaw clenching. "His body is in shock. This isn't just a cold, Hyunjin. This is... his mind and body are fighting what happened."

Seungmin stirred then, his eyelids fluttering. He looked dazed, his pupils pinpricks in a sea of hazy brown. He let out a low, wet whimper that escalated into a choked sob.

"Hurts," he gasped, his small hands clutching at Minho’s shirt. "Dada, it burns. Make it stop burning."

"I know, baby. I know," Minho murmured, smoothing hair back from a forehead that felt like a furnace. "We're trying. We're going to put some cool cloths on you, okay?"

Hyunjin dipped a soft washcloth into the basin and wrung it out. As he reached forward to place it on Seungmin’s neck, the little flinched so violently he nearly rolled off Minho’s lap.

"No! No touch!" Seungmin shrieked, his voice cracking into a high, infantile register. He scrambled toward the corner of the nest, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. "Minnie be good! No more cold! No more hurties!"

"It's just water, sweetheart," Hyunjin pleaded, his own tears beginning to fall. "It’s just to help the fire go away. I promise, Jinnie would never hurt you."

But Seungmin wasn't listening. He was deep in the throes of a regression fueled by agony. To him, every touch was a potential strike, every sudden movement a shadow of the belt. He backed into the wall, his chest heaving. The sheer effort of his panic, combined with the soaring fever, was more than his stomach could handle.

His face went from flushed to a sickly, translucent grey in seconds.

"Minho-hyung," Hyunjin warned, his voice rising in alarm.

Minho didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, catching Seungmin just as the boy’s body doubled over. "I’ve got you, I’ve got you."

Seungmin began to heave violently. Since he hadn't eaten anything substantial since the ordeal began, there was nothing but bitter bile and the water he’d sipped earlier. He choked on the liquid, his small frame racking with spasms that sent fresh jolts of pain through his bruised backside. Each heave made him let out a pained, muffled shriek against Minho’s shoulder.

"Shh, let it out, baby. It's okay," Minho said, rubbing the boy’s back with a firm, steady pressure, avoiding the lower half of his body.

"Minnie sowwy," Seungmin sobbed between bouts of sickness, his voice a broken thread. "Minnie make mess. Dada gonna be mad. Dada gonna hit again."

"No," Minho growled, the word vibrating in his chest. "No one is getting mad. And no one is ever hitting you again. You can be as sick as you need to be, Minnie. We’re right here."

Hyunjin was already on his hands and knees, cleaning the floor with a grim efficiency, his heart breaking with every wet, miserable sound Seungmin made. Once the bout of vomiting subsided, Seungmin was left limp and trembling, his head lolling against Minho’s chest.

"He’s so pale," Hyunjin whispered, reaching out to touch Seungmin’s hand. It was ice cold, despite the heat radiating from his torso and his injuries. "Minho, I think we need a doctor. This isn't... he’s not coming out of it."

"We can't call a company doctor," Minho said, his voice hard. "If they see those marks... they’ll have to report Chan. There will be an investigation. The group will be over."

"And if he dies of a fever?" Hyunjin snapped, his voice sharp with desperation. "Look at him! He’s three years old right now and he thinks his life is over! I don't care about the group, Minho! I care about him!"

Before Minho could respond, the door to the room creaked open. Felix and Jisung stood there, looking like ghosts. Felix was holding a sippy cup filled with electrolyte drink, his hands shaking.

"We heard him," Felix whispered. "Is he... is he okay?"

"He’s sick again," Minho said, his voice softening. "He’s terrified that he’s in trouble for being sick."

Jisung stepped into the room, his usual loud energy replaced by a heavy, somber stillness. He knelt at the edge of the blankets. "Minnie? It’s Sungie. I brought your favorite Mr. Whale."

He held out a blue plushie, but Seungmin didn't even reach for it. He just stared at it with hollow, glazed eyes, his thumb finding its way into his mouth. He was sucking on it so hard his knuckles were turning white.

"He’s retreating further," Minho realized with a jolt of pure dread. "He’s not just regressed to three. He’s going back further. He’s looking for a place where he doesn't have to feel."

Seungmin’s breathing began to change—becoming shallow and rapid. His eyes rolled back slightly.

"Minnie! Stay with me!" Minho barked, gently shaking the boy’s shoulders. "Hey! Look at Dada! Look at Minho-dada!"

The use of the title seemed to pull Seungmin back from the brink of unconsciousness. He focused on Minho, his lip wobbling. "Dada?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Stay awake for me, baby. Just for a little bit."

"Minnie... Minnie go to sleep now?" the little whispered, his voice sounding like a fading echo. "In the dark? Where it don't hurt?"

"No, no sleep yet," Hyunjin said, moving to Seungmin’s other side. He took the sippy cup from Felix. "You need to drink a little bit of the magic juice, Minnie. It helps the tummy feel better."

Seungmin looked at the cup with suspicion, his mind clouded by the fever. "No... medicine? Medicine taste bad."

"It’s not medicine, it’s orange juice," Hyunjin lied, his voice remarkably steady despite the tears streaming down his face. "Just a tiny sip for Jinnie?"

Seungmin hesitated, then leaned forward, allowing Hyunjin to guide the spout to his lips. He took two small swallows before pushing it away, his face twisting in discomfort.

"Good boy," Minho praised, kissing his temple. "Such a brave boy."

For the next three hours, the four of them formed a silent, protective circle around the youngest. They rotated tasks—Felix and Jisung kept the cool cloths coming, while Minho and Hyunjin took turns holding Seungmin, keeping him upright to prevent more choking.

The fever peaked around 3:00 AM. Seungmin drifted in and out of a fitful, nightmare-ridden sleep. He would wake up screaming, his hands flying to cover his bottom, his eyes wide with a terror that no amount of shushing could quite quell.

"Please! No belt! Minnie be quiet! Minnie be good!"

Each time, Minho would have to pin his arms gently to his sides, whispering "I've got you" over and over until the boy’s strength gave out and he collapsed back into a feverish daze.

As the first grey light of dawn began to creep through the edges of the curtains, the heat finally seemed to break. Seungmin’s skin became clammy, a fine sheen of sweat breaking across his brow. His breathing slowed, deepening into a more natural rhythm.

Minho let out a breath he felt he’d been holding for a lifetime. He adjusted Seungmin’s position, laying him carefully on his side on a pile of soft pillows, ensuring there was no pressure on the bruised skin.

"Is it over?" Felix whispered, his head resting on Jisung’s shoulder. Both of them were exhausted, their eyes bloodshot.

"The fever is," Minho said, his voice a gravelly rasp. "But the rest... that’s going to take a long time."

Hyunjin stood up, his joints popping. He walked over to the window and pulled the curtain back just a fraction. The world outside was starting its day, oblivious to the tragedy that had unfolded in this room.

"What do we do when he wakes up?" Hyunjin asked, his back to the room. "What do we do when he realizes he’s still here, and his body still hurts, and the person he loved most did this to him?"

Minho looked down at Seungmin. The little looked so peaceful in sleep, his face finally relaxed. But even now, his small hand was curled tightly into the fabric of the blanket, as if he were afraid it would be snatched away.

"We do what we’ve been doing," Minho said firmly. "We protect him. We don't let Chan near him. We don't let the company pressure him. We let him stay little for as long as he needs to. If he never wants to be 'Big Seungmin' again, then he doesn't have to be."

A soft sound came from the doorway. It was Changbin. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink, his face drawn and haggard. He stayed in the hallway, not wanting to intrude on the sanctuary they had built.

"How is he?" Changbin whispered.

"He’s stable," Minho replied, his tone icy. "Where is Chan?"

Changbin sighed, rubbing his face. "He’s at the other dorm. He’s... he’s a mess, Minho. He hasn't stopped shaking. He keeps asking if he can come and see him, just to apologize—"

"No," Minho, Hyunjin, and Felix said in unison, their voices sharp and uncompromising.

"Tell him," Minho continued, his eyes narrowing, "that if he steps foot in this hallway, I will not be responsible for my actions. Seungmin spent the night screaming for him to stop. He spent the night throwing up because he was so scared of 'Dada' coming back. Chan is dead to him right now. And if he has any shred of decency left, he’ll stay dead."

Changbin nodded slowly, his shoulders slumped. "I'll tell him. I'll make sure he stays away."

As Changbin left, Seungmin stirred on the pillows. He let out a soft, sleepy hum, his eyes opening halfway. He looked around the room, seeing his hyungs gathered around him.

"Jinnie?" he whispered, his voice tiny.

Hyunjin was by his side in an instant, kneeling on the floor. "I’m here, baby."

"Tummy feels... okay now," Seungmin mumbled. He reached out a shaky hand, touching the edge of Hyunjin’s sleeve. "Minnie stayed? No go to the dark?"

"No, you stayed right here with us," Hyunjin said, a watery smile breaking across his face. "You were so brave, Minnie. The bravest boy I know."

Seungmin closed his eyes again, a small, genuine sigh escaping his lips. "Good. Minnie want to stay with the stars."

He drifted back into a deep, restorative sleep. For the first time since the laptop had hit the floor, the air in the room felt breathable.

The trauma wasn't gone. The bruises would take weeks to fade, and the psychological scars would likely take years. Every time a door slammed or a voice was raised, Seungmin would likely flinch. Every time he saw a leather belt, he would likely cry.

But as Minho reached out and gently took Seungmin’s hand, he felt a spark of hope. The "monster" had tried to break their little, had tried to use pain to enforce a lesson that should have been taught with love. But the monster had failed.

The cradle was shattered, yes. But they would build a new one. One made of softer wood, lined with thicker blankets, and guarded by three 'Dadas' who would rather burn the world down than let a single tear of fear fall from Seungmin’s eyes again.

"Sleep well, little star," Minho whispered, leaning his head back against the wall. "We're not going anywhere."