Trials and Tribulations

Part XVII

It was rare for Minho to find time for himself. His schedule usually had him bouncing between morning practice, classes, more practice and then more classes. Whatever available time he had, he lent to Newt and Thomas or as of recent weeks, studying for finals.

Janson's latest stunt cycled through his mind, along with Thomas' behavior.

A few days since their dinner, Minho saw a change in the brunet's demeanor. He stayed up late to help Newt with English and often times came to the dorm with dinner ready for them. He did their chores just so they wouldn't have to break their studying and quizzed them for hours on everything they'd learn. He worried himself to sickness, a fact that truly irritated both Minho and Newt – because Thomas didn't just catch a cold, he got sick and he hid his sickness, and although he bounced back fairly quickly, Minho and Newt weren't happy with having to take him to the ER just to get the boy to take some damn medication.

Newt had expressed his concerned, but Minho knew as intelligent as Thomas was, he was just as stubborn. The boy wasn't going to explain his ways no matter how much Newt persisted.

Minho knew. He understood why Thomas kept his secret. He even understood the reason behind it, of course he wouldn't want Newt to worry. Of course he wouldn't want to burden Minho with his issues. Of course he'd do anything for their wellbeing – but Thomas was so stupid. He was so stubborn and impulsive, a shucking bloody genius hiding behind insecurities and chocolate doe eyes that screamed love me forever and always.

Thomas was an idiot and Minho loved the damn shank to a million pieces, but he wasn't going to let the boy do this alone, because like Thomas, Minho was just as impulsive and idiotic.

Minho wrapped his knuckles against Jorge's door, the older man jerking his way in surprise. He flashed Minho a pearly white smile and beckoned him to sit on the dilapidated chair in front of his desk. Minho closed the door behind him, the tale tell click of the lock loud in the quiet office.

"Come Minho, sit, sit. I was just thinking about you, mijo."

"Great because I'm about to piss you off." The athlete grinned, his dimples deepening. He dropped an envelope onto Jorge's desk and laid back into his chair. He throw his hands behind his head without a care in the world.

Jorge's brows wrinkled. He plucked the letter from the white envelope cautiously, gave Minho a curious quirk of his eyebrow before reading the letter. He pulled back a few minutes later, his expression passive.

"So, you wish to drop out of the team?"

"Yep."

"You realize you'll lose your scholarship?"

"I know."

Jorge leaned closer, linking his fingers together. "Why are you doing this?"

Minho felt the rage burn beneath his skin, the memory of Janson's blackmail still raw in his mind. He schooled his face into stoniness, allowed his stone cold resolve to roll over him in waves. He caught the flicker of concern flash in Jorge's eyes and a part of him twinge with guilt from making the man worry about him.

He would miss Jorge come spring.

"I've decided WCKED U isn't the place for me." He shrugged. "It's too much work and I'm not about that life."

Jorge arched an eyebrow.

"You're one of the most hardworking people on the team, mijo. Is that really the excuse you've going to give me?"

"Whatever makes you hate me."

"I don't hate you. In fact, I'm worried."

"I know."