Laptop disaster

The dorm was unusually quiet, the silence heavy with the absence of seven chaotic voices. Seungmin stood in the center of the living room, his hands trembling slightly as he clutched a microfiber cloth. He knew how hard the others were working. Chan hadn't slept more than four hours a night in weeks, and the tension in the group was palpable.

"Help Minnie's hyungies," he whispered to himself, his voice already tilting toward that soft, airy quality it took on when his headspace began to shift.

He fought it. He needed to be big. He needed to be productive. If he could just get the common area spotless, maybe Chan wouldn't look so grey in the face when he walked through the door. Seungmin moved with focused intent, scrubbing the coffee table and organizing the stray lyric sheets.

It happened in a blur of motion. He reached for a stray mug near the edge of the side table, his sleeve catching the charging cable of Chan’s laptop. Time seemed to slow down as the silver device slid across the polished wood. Seungmin lunged for it, his fingers brushing the cold metal, but it was too late.

The crash was deafening in the empty dorm. The laptop hit the hardwood floor corner-first, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of dead pixels and white light.

Seungmin froze. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He knelt down, hands hovering over the wreckage. This wasn't just a computer; this was the lifeline of their next comeback. It held the demos, the arrangements, the hours of Chan’s soul poured into digital files.

"No, no, no," he whimpered. Tears welled up instantly, blurring his vision. He felt the familiar pull of his little space, the comforting fog trying to roll in to shield him from the panic, but he bit his lip until he tasted copper. He couldn't be small now. He had to fix this.

The front door clicked open.

Seungmin’s blood turned to ice. It was too early. Chan wasn't supposed to be back for another two hours.

Chan stepped into the entryway, his shoulders slumped and his eyes dark with exhaustion. He didn't even have his shoes off before he saw Seungmin kneeling on the floor, shaking, and the shattered remains of his work scattered at his feet.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Chan’s face contorted into something Seungmin had never seen before—a mask of pure, unadulterated rage.

"Seungmin," Chan’s voice was a low, dangerous growl.

"Ch-Channie, I was cleaning, I... it was an accident, I pwomise—"

"An accident?" Chan stormed forward, his boots heavy on the floor. He didn't look at Seungmin’s tear-streaked face; he only saw the broken screen. "Do you have any idea what was on there? Months of work! Gone because you couldn't just leave things alone?"

Before Seungmin could scramble backward, Chan’s hand clamped around his wrist like a vice. The grip was bruising, painful.

"Please, Channie, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Chan didn't say another word. He hauled Seungmin down the hallway, the younger boy stumbling and tripping over his own feet. Chan threw him onto the bed in the leader's room with such force that Seungmin bounced.

Fear, sharp and jagged, finally broke through Seungmin’s defenses. He tried to scramble away, but Chan was faster. In a fit of blind frustration fueled by weeks of burnout and the loss of his music, Chan reached out and yanked Seungmin’s sweatpants and underwear down to his knees.

The first strike was a heavy, open-palmed crack that echoed off the walls.

Seungmin let out a strangled shriek, his fingers clutching the duvet. "No! Channie, no! P-please!"

"You need to learn to be careful," Chan hissed, his voice trembling with fury. He rained down several more stinging swats, his hand landing hard and fast.

Seungmin’s mind was fracturing. He was trying to explain, trying to beg, but the words were becoming jumbled. "Minnie sowwy! Minnie try help! Stop, please stop!"

The use of his little name usually would have softened Chan instantly, but today, the leader was too far gone. He felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, and this felt like the final straw. He reached for his waist, unbuckling his leather belt with a sharp metallic clink.

When the leather met Seungmin’s skin, the world turned white.

"NO! DADDY, NO!" Seungmin screamed, his voice cracking into a high-pitched, childish wail. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt. It wasn't the measured discipline they sometimes discussed; this was an onslaught.

The belt descended again and again. Dark, angry welts began to rise across the pale skin of his bottom, turning from angry red to a sickening shade of purple almost instantly.

Seungmin’s regression hit him like a tidal wave. He wasn't the twenty-something idol anymore; he was a terrified three-year-old who didn't understand why his protector was hurting him. He began to thrash, his legs kicking out in a desperate attempt to escape the agony.

"Be still!" Chan shouted, his own eyes wild. He pinned Seungmin down with one hand on the small of his back and continued the punishment.

Time lost all meaning. Seungmin’s throat was raw from screaming. He was sobbing so hard he was choking on his own breath, his eyes dazed and unfocused as he stared at the wall. He had stopped trying to form words; he only let out broken, rhythmic cries of "Please" and "Hurts."

An hour passed in a blur of violence and tears. Chan’s arm was tired, his breathing labored, but the red mist hadn't fully cleared until the front door of the dorm slammed open again.

"Chan? Seungmin? We're back!" Minho’s voice carried through the hallway, followed closely by Changbin’s laughter.

The laughter died instantly when they saw the broken laptop in the living room. Then, the sound reached them—the sharp, rhythmic *snap* of leather and the guttural, exhausted sobbing of a child.

Minho and Changbin exchanged a look of pure horror before sprinting toward Chan’s room.

They burst through the door to a scene from a nightmare. Chan stood over the bed, belt raised, his face pale and sweating. Seungmin was sprawled across the mattress, his lower half bare and covered in a map of horrific, deep purple welts and bruising. He was barely conscious, his body twitching with every sob.

"Christopher! Stop!" Changbin roared, lunging forward. He was smaller than Chan, but his strength was fueled by shock. He grabbed Chan’s arm, yanking him away from the bed and shoving him toward the dresser.

Minho didn't wait. He scrambled onto the bed, his heart breaking at the sight of Seungmin’s glazed eyes. "Oh god, Minnie. Baby, I've got you."

Seungmin flinched violently when Minho touched his shoulder, his small hands coming up to cover his head. "No more! No more! Minnie be good! P-please no more!"

"It's Minho, baby. It's just Minho," he whispered, his own voice thick with tears. He gently pulled Seungmin into his lap, mindful of the horrific trauma to his backside.

Seungmin fought at first, his movements weak and uncoordinated, his mind trapped in a loop of terror. He didn't recognize his favorite hyung; he only felt the pain. But as Minho began to rock him, humming a low, familiar tune, the fight drained out of him. He collapsed against Minho’s chest, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

In the corner of the room, Changbin was shaking Chan by the shoulders. "What is wrong with you? Look at him! Look at what you did!"

Chan blinked, the red mist finally evaporating. He looked at the belt in his hand, then at the broken boy sobbing in Minho’s arms. He looked at the purple, swollen skin he had caused. His knees gave out, and he sank to the floor, his face buried in his hands.

"I... he broke... the files..." Chan whispered, his voice cracking.

"It's a laptop, Chan!" Changbin yelled, his voice trembling with rage. "You can replace a laptop! You just broke your little! Look at him!"

Seungmin’s sobs weren't slowing down. They were becoming more frantic, his small chest heaving as he struggled to pull in air.

"Minnie, breathe for me, sweetheart," Minho pleaded, stroking the younger boy's hair.

Seungmin couldn't. The trauma of the last hour, combined with the deep regression, was too much for his body to handle. He began to gag, his face turning a ghostly shade of white.

"He's going to be sick," Minho warned, quickly shifting them toward the ensuite bathroom.

He barely made it to the toilet before Seungmin began to heave. He vomited until there was nothing left, his small frame shaking with the effort. Minho held his forehead, whispering reassurances, while Changbin stood in the doorway, his eyes darting between the suffering little and the broken leader on the floor.

Even after the sickness passed, the crying didn't stop. Seungmin was deep, deep in his headspace—far younger than his usual three-to-five years. He was a terrified infant, clinging to Minho’s shirt with white-knuckled grips.

"D-Dada..." Seungmin whimpered, his voice barely a breath.

Minho felt a fresh wave of tears. "I'm here, baby. Minho’s here."

Seungmin shook his head, his eyes searching the room frantically. "No... Dada hurt... Dada mad..."

He looked toward the bedroom where Chan was still slumped on the floor. The fear in Seungmin’s eyes was absolute. He didn't see his caretaker; he saw a monster.

Hours passed. The sun began to set, casting long, orange shadows across the room. Minho had managed to clean Seungmin up, gently applying a cooling cream to the angry welts while the little whimpered and hid his face. He had dressed him in his softest, oversized pajamas, though the boy couldn't sit down, forced to lay on his stomach across Minho’s lap.

Chan hadn't moved from the floor. He was silent, a shell of a person, staring at nothing.

Every time Chan made a sound—a sniffle, a shift of his weight—Seungmin would flinch and begin to sob all over again. The bond of trust that had taken years to build had been shattered in a single hour of rage.

"He needs to go to our room," Minho said quietly to Changbin. "He can't be near Chan right now. Every time he sees him, he starts hyperventilating again."

Changbin nodded, his face grim. He walked over and helped Minho stand, supporting Seungmin’s weight.

As they carried the little out of the room, Seungmin caught a glimpse of Chan. He let out a soft, broken keen, tucking his head under Minho’s chin.

"Minnie sowwy," he whispered into Minho’s skin, his voice sounding tiny and lost. "Minnie be good now. No hit... please no hit."

Minho squeezed him tighter, his heart feeling like it was being crushed. "No one is ever going to hit you again, baby. I promise. I promise."

Behind them, in the darkened room, Chan let out a sob of his own—but it was far too late. The silence of the dorm was gone, replaced by the haunting echo of a child’s broken trust, and a physical pain that would take a long, long time to heal.