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Laptop disaster

The Silent Sanctuary of the Nursery

The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of the new dorm, casting a soft, milky glow over the room that had been permanently converted into Seungmin’s nursery. It had been six months since the day the music died—six months since the "accident" that had fractured the group's foundation and sent them into an indefinite hiatus. The world outside was still clamoring for news, for a comeback, for a sign of life from Stray Kids, but inside these walls, time was measured in nap times, bottle temperatures, and the slow, agonizing process of rebuilding a shattered soul.

Minho sat on the edge of the oversized bed, his eyes fixed on the bundle of blankets in the center. Seungmin was still asleep, curled into a tight ball on his side. Even in sleep, he didn’t lie flat on his back. The physical welts had long since faded into faint, silvery lines that only the members knew were there, but the phantom pain lived in Seungmin’s muscle memory.

A soft, rhythmic clicking sound filled the quiet room. It was the sound of Seungmin’s pacifier—a pale blue one with a small puppy on the shield—moving against his lips as he dreamt. Since the incident, his oral fixation had become a permanent fixture of his regression. If it wasn't a pacifier, it was his thumb; if it wasn't his thumb, he was gently gnawing on Minho or Hyunjin’s knuckles, seeking a grounding sensation to keep the world from spinning away.

Seungmin stirred, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He let out a tiny, muffled whine, the sound caught behind the silicone teat of his binky.

"I’m right here, baby," Minho whispered, reaching out to stroke the younger boy’s messy hair. "Dada’s here. You’re okay."

Seungmin’s eyes opened, hazy and unfocused. For a few seconds, he just stared at Minho, his pupils large. This was the moment they always held their breath for—the "morning check." Sometimes, Seungmin woke up as 'Big Seungmin,' the twenty-something idol with a sharp wit and a melancholic edge. But those moments were becoming rarer, lasting only an hour or two before the weight of the world became too heavy and he retreated back into the fog.

Today, the clarity didn't come. Seungmin’s gaze remained soft, his expression open and vulnerable. He reached out a shaky hand, grasping blindly until his fingers curled around Minho’s index finger. He didn't say a word; he simply pulled Minho’s hand toward his face and tucked the elder's knuckle into his mouth alongside the pacifier, closing his eyes with a contented sigh.

"Little today, then," Minho murmured, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "That’s okay. We can be little today."

Hyunjin entered the room a few minutes later, carrying a warm bottle of milk and a fresh set of clothes. He moved with a practiced, feline grace, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet. He took one look at the scene—Minho pinned to the bed by a clinging little—and softened instantly.

"He’s deep today?" Hyunjin asked, his voice barely a breath.

"Very," Minho replied. "He hasn't made a sound yet. Just wanting to be close."

Hyunjin knelt by the bed, setting the bottle on the nightstand. He reached out and gently tickled Seungmin’s bare toes. "Good morning, my little star. Are you hungry for Dada?"

Seungmin let out a tiny, airy giggle, the pacifier bobbing in his mouth. He released Minho’s finger long enough to reach for Hyunjin, his small arms stretching out in a universal sign for 'up.'

Hyunjin gathered him into his arms, mindful of how fragile Seungmin still felt, even though he had regained most of the weight he’d lost in the first month. They had moved to a new dorm shortly after the incident, one with better security and, more importantly, a floor plan that allowed them to keep Chan entirely separate from Seungmin’s living quarters.

The hiatus had been a "mental health break" in the eyes of the public, but for the members, it was a barricade. Chan lived in a studio apartment nearby, overseen by Changbin and a rotation of managers. He wasn't allowed in the 'nursery dorm.' The few times they had attempted a group meeting in a neutral space, Seungmin had suffered such severe panic attacks that he’d ended up catatonic for days.

"Let's get you dressed, Minnie," Hyunjin said, sitting on the floor with Seungmin in his lap. "We have a big day of coloring and watching the bubble show, remember?"

Seungmin nodded vaguely, his head lolling against Hyunjin’s shoulder. He was so much quieter now. Before the trauma, Little Minnie had been a chatterbox, babbling about clouds and puppies in broken, sweet sentences. Now, he was almost mute. He used gestures, tugs on sleeves, and a series of soft hums to communicate. It was as if he was afraid that if he spoke too loudly, he might draw the wrong kind of attention.

As Hyunjin reached for a pair of soft, elastic-waist sweatpants, his hand accidentally brushed against the belt of his own robe—a simple fabric tie.

The reaction was instantaneous and violent.

Seungmin’s entire body went rigid. His eyes blew wide, the pupils swallowing the brown of his irises. A strangled, high-pitched shriek tore through the pacifier, which fell to the floor as his jaw locked. He scrambled backward, kicking out blindly, his heels thudding against the carpet as he tried to bury himself into the corner between the bed and the wall.

"No! No, no, no!" he wailed, his voice cracking. "Minnie good! Minnie stay quiet! Please, no hit! No loud belt!"

"Minnie, baby, it’s just a robe! Look!" Hyunjin cried, his heart leaping into his throat. He ripped the fabric tie from his waist and threw it across the room, far into the hallway. "It’s gone! See? Jinnie threw it away! It’s gone, baby, I promise!"

Minho was already on the floor, trying to get into Seungmin’s line of sight without crowding him. "Breathe, Minnie. Look at me. Look at Dada Minho. You’re safe. The monster isn't here. There are no belts in this house. I threw them all in the trash, remember?"

Seungmin was hyperventilating, his small chest heaving as he clutched his own hair. He was trapped in a flashback, the six months of progress vanishing in the blink of an eye. In his mind, he was back on that bed, the silver laptop shattered on the floor, and the person who was supposed to love him was unbuckling a nightmare.

"Hurties," Seungmin choked out, his eyes glazed. "Dada mad... Minnie bwoke it... sowwy, sowwy, sowwy..."

"You didn't break anything, sweetheart," Minho said, his voice thick with suppressed rage toward the man who had caused this. He moved forward slowly, inch by inch, until he could wrap his arms around Seungmin’s shaking frame. "It was just a toy. It doesn't matter. You matter. You’re the only thing that matters."

It took nearly twenty minutes for the tremors to subside. Seungmin eventually collapsed against Minho, his body limp and exhausted, his face pale and tear-streaked. He refused to let go of Minho’s shirt, his fingers twisted into the fabric so tightly they were white.

Felix and Jisung appeared in the doorway, having heard the screams from the kitchen. Felix was holding a plate of sliced strawberries, his face a mask of familiar grief. They didn't ask what happened; they knew. The 'belt' triggers were the hardest to manage because the world was full of things that looked like them—straps, cables, even long pieces of ribbon.

"Is he back?" Jisung whispered.

"He’s settling," Minho replied, rocking the boy gently. "But he’s going to be clingy today. Jinnie, go get his weighted blanket."

For the rest of the morning, Seungmin didn't leave Minho’s lap. He sat there, tucked under a heavy grey blanket, slowly nibbling on the strawberries Felix offered him. He wouldn't take the pacifier back; instead, he kept his thumb firmly planted in his mouth, his eyes following every movement in the room with a heartbreaking wariness.

Around noon, a knock sounded at the front door. Not the frantic knock of a stranger, but the heavy, rhythmic thud they all recognized.

Changbin. And, based on the heavy silence that followed, he wasn't alone.

Minho’s grip on Seungmin tightened. Hyunjin stood up, his jaw set in a hard line. He walked to the bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway, closing it firmly behind him.

In the living room, Changbin stood with Chan. The leader looked like a shadow of his former self. He had lost a significant amount of weight, his eyes were sunken, and his hands were shoved deep into his pockets to hide their trembling. He hadn't seen Seungmin in weeks.

"He can't be here, Binnie," Hyunjin said, his voice cold and sharp as a razor. "We had a trigger ten minutes ago. He’s barely breathing."

"I know," Changbin said, his voice weary. "But the company... they’re pushing for a statement. They want a photo. Something to show the 'family' is still together. Chan just wanted to... he needs to see him, Hyunjin. Just for a second."

"I don't care what the company wants," Hyunjin hissed. "Do you want to hear him scream? Do you want to see him crawl into a closet and stay there for three days? Because that’s what happens when he hears Chan’s voice."

Chan flinched as if he’d been struck. He looked at the closed bedroom door, his eyes swimming with a mixture of self-loathing and desperate longing. "Is he... is he okay? Is he eating?"

"He’s terrified," Hyunjin replied, showing no mercy. "He’s a twenty-three-year-old man who thinks a piece of rope is a weapon. He’s a singer who doesn't speak. No, Chan. He’s not okay."

Inside the room, Seungmin had gone perfectly still. Despite the thick door, some instinct, some deep-rooted fear, told him who was on the other side. He began to whimper, a low, keening sound that made Minho’s skin crawl.

"D-Dada?" Seungmin whispered, his first word of the day. He looked at Minho with wide, pleading eyes. "No... no let him in. Minnie be good. Minnie p-pwomise."

"I won't let him in, baby. I promise," Minho said, his heart breaking for the thousandth time. He looked at Felix. "Lock the door."

Felix moved to the door and turned the deadbolt with a loud, definitive *click.*

The sound echoed into the hallway. Chan heard it and closed his eyes, a single sob escaping his throat. He knew that sound. It was the sound of the door he had kicked open months ago, now locked against him by the people who were once his brothers.

"He’s scared of me," Chan whispered, his voice breaking.

"He’s not scared of you, Chan," Hyunjin said, his voice softening just a fraction, though the steel remained. "He’s scared of the person you became that day. And until that fear goes away—if it ever does—you aren't his Dada anymore. We are."

Chan stood there for a long time, staring at the wood of the door, before he finally turned and walked away, his shoulders slumped in total defeat. Changbin followed him, casting one last look of pity at the nursery door before the front door clicked shut.

Back in the room, the tension slowly bled out of Seungmin’s body, though he remained tucked against Minho. He reached out and patted Minho’s cheek, his touch light and uncertain.

"Gone?" Seungmin asked.

"Gone, baby. You’re safe."

Seungmin nodded, then lowered his head to Minho’s chest. "Minnie... Minnie want to be big now. Try to be big?"

Minho exchanged a worried look with Felix. This was the "uphill battle" they faced. Seungmin hated being stuck in his head, hated the fear that came with being small, but the transition back was always exhausting.

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" Minho asked. "You don't have to force it."

Seungmin sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He took a deep, shaky breath, and for a moment, the childish fog in his eyes seemed to clear, replaced by a weary, adult sorrow. He looked down at his oversized pajamas and the plushies scattered on the floor, and a look of profound embarrassment crossed his face.

"I'm sure," Seungmin said, his voice now deeper, more resonant, though it lacked its usual strength. "I... I don't want to be small today. Not anymore."

"Okay," Minho said, helping him stand. "Let's get you some coffee and some real clothes. We can sit on the balcony and look at the city, okay? No pressure."

Seungmin nodded, but as he stepped toward the dresser, his foot brushed against a stray toy—a small plastic hammer from a 'builder' set. He jumped, a flash of panic crossing his face before he caught himself. He closed his eyes, counting to ten just like his therapist had taught him.

"It’s just a toy," he whispered to himself, his voice trembling. "It’s just a toy."

"That’s right," Hyunjin said, coming back into the room and placing a supportive hand on Seungmin’s shoulder. "It’s just a toy, Seungminnie."

The transition was hard. For the next few hours, Seungmin sat on the balcony, wrapped in a heavy cardigan, staring out at the Seoul skyline. He didn't talk much. He was in that fragile middle ground where he was too big to be comforted like a child, but too broken to function like an adult.

He looked at his hands, noticing the way they still shook. He thought about the music he hadn't sung in half a year. He thought about the fans who didn't know why their favorite main vocal had vanished. But mostly, he thought about the belt.

"Does it ever stop?" Seungmin asked quietly, not looking away from the horizon.

Minho, who was sitting in a chair nearby reading a book, looked up. "Does what stop?"

"The flinching," Seungmin said. "The way my brain just... shuts off. I feel like I'm a ghost in my own body, Minho. I see you guys taking care of me, and I want to say thank you, I want to tell you to stop because it’s too much work, but I can't find the words. I’m just... Minnie."

Minho set his book down and walked over to the railing, standing beside him. "It’s not too much work. And the flinching... it gets less frequent. Six months ago, you couldn't even stay in this room. Now, you’re sitting here talking to me. That’s progress, Seungmin. It’s slow, and it’s painful, but it’s progress."

Seungmin looked at him, his eyes filled with a raw, aching honesty. "I miss him sometimes. The old Chan. The one who used to tuck me in and tell me I was the best vocalist in the world. I miss him so much it feels like a hole in my chest."

"We all do," Minho admitted. "But that Chan isn't the one who’s out there right now. And until you feel safe, you don't have to fill that hole with anything but us."

Seungmin leaned his head on Minho’s shoulder, a gesture that was purely 'Big Seungmin'—calculated, affectionate, and grounded. "Thank you for being my Dada. Even when I'm big and annoying."

Minho chuckled, wrapping an arm around his waist. "You’re always annoying, Seungmin. That’s why we love you."

They stayed there as the sun began to set, the sky turning a bruised shade of purple and orange. For a few hours, the nursery was just a bedroom, and the little was just a man. But as the shadows lengthened and a sudden, sharp gust of wind caught the balcony door, making it slam shut with a loud *crack*, Seungmin’s shoulders hiked up to his ears.

His eyes clouded over instantly. He looked at Minho, his lip starting to tremble, the adult clarity slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

"Dada?" he whispered, his voice pitching up, his thumb already drifting toward his mouth. "Loud noise... Minnie scared."

Minho sighed, but there was no frustration in it—only a deep, endless patience. He scooped the regressing boy into his arms, carrying him back inside toward the safety of the blankets and the soft lights.

"I've got you, baby," Minho whispered into his hair. "Dada’s got you. The stars are coming out soon. Let’s go find them."

The uphill battle continued, one step forward and two steps back, but in the quiet sanctuary of the nursery, Seungmin wasn't alone. And for now, that was enough.