Catboy | Minsung

Eight

"Where, where did you hear that, that word!" Mrs Han's shrill voice broke mid sentence, unpleasant for anyone to have to hear.

"When I went out to the park," Jisung began to explain, "with Hyunjin and Changbin and—" no, you might get him in trouble— "and we saw some guys, beating up a hybrid, and when we went to stop them, one of them called us 'catcucks.'"

Mr Han's fist shook vigorously as he rested his wine glass back on the polished surface of the table.

"No."

"No?"

"We forbid you from knowing that
word and it's meaning."

"W-What? Why can't you
just tell me?"

"Because Jisung!"

"Why, what does it mean, is it something
bad? Or do you guys just not-"

"Enough!"

Mrs. Han gave a frightened squeak as her husband's voice ricocheted off the high walls of the dining room. Jisung froze. He'd never seen his dad in such a state of fury before, and never his mum so delirious with hysteria. But he had a right to know; he had to know!

Almost as angry as Mr Han, Jisung stood up abruptly, chair scraping the floor to produce a ear bleeding sound. Abandoning his food and the table, he stormed out the room, breaking into a heavy run once he reached the stairs.

~~ 🗒 ~~

3:43

Minho had been listening from the corner where the kitchen met the dining room, eavesdropping on the Han family's discussion. He'd also heard the bang of Jisung's door and the muttering of his parents as they too left their meals to go cold.

Hours later Minho had gone to clean it up, disappointed more so that Jisung hadn't gotten to eat than in the actual waste of his food. Even less of a fuck could be given about Mr and Mrs Han however. They'd probably stuff themselves stupid at an all-you-can-eat before getting on the plane, only then to be served with gourmet meals.

He knew he shouldn't, but Minho couldn't help cooking up some tofu and cold noodles with a side of kimchi to take to his young master. Many would point out that Minho was starved miles more than Jisung, and could do with the food himself, and that would be true. The hybrid was malnourished definitely, but why risk the consequences for a morsel of food? Besides, cooking for Jisung was a delight.

With the food ready Minho trotted upstairs, stepping silently on the balls of his feet to Jisung's room. No noise came from the master bedroom belonging to his master and mistress, and so the albino crossed his heart they had packed off to bed. Without knocking he let himself in.

In a hunched over huff, Jisung was at his desk, engrossed in some first person shooter video game. He was mowing down anyone he could lay his eyes on in a flurry of bullets, and Minho could tell instantly that the younger was pissed.

A little frightened, the hybrid set down the plates on Jisung's bedside table, before clearing his throat.

"J-Jisung?" It was nothing more than a mewl, but Jisung heard, jerking his head round to see who had entered his room. At first his face was scarily tense, eyes almost red they burnt that brightly with irritation. When he saw that it was Minho though, standing next to a chilled plate of delicious food, the brunette's expression melted into one of softness and gratitude.