Some things || Minsung

One

Summary · Minho doesn't want anyone to see his scars. Han finds out.

Minho had scars.

Scars from an attack, spread all over his back. Scars from a drunken decision, wrapping his left bicep.

They weren't pretty, Minho convinced himself.

He hid them. Hid them from his family, his friends.

He was doing an amazing job at hiding them, really he was. He never wore sleeveless clothes, maybe he occasionally wore short sleeves but he always had an armband on his left arm.

So, how the hell did his best friend find out?

Han knew Minho than anyone better these days. Minho felt safe, knowing Han would have his back. The two had been together since freshman year, notably inseparable. There was never a dull moment with both of them. But today, as Minho was unlocking his dorm room, he heard Han mutter from across the hallway.

"Where'd you get them?"

The eerie silence seemingly added to the gut feeling pooling in Minho's stomach.

"..Get what?" Finally unlocking the door, Minho carefully turns to look at Han.

Han's chimpunk-like cheeks looked deflated, his usually bright eyes dull with worry, "Min... you know what I'm talking about."

He did. Minho knew, but he had to play dumb. Nobody needed to know more.

"No, I don't?" He says, "Stop playing,"

Han was frowning now, an expression rarely evident on the man's face. If Minho was being honest, it scared him a bit.

Han pushes Minho's door open, inviting himself in.

Seeing this, Minho attempts to change the subject, whining, "Hey! You can't just barge into my room like that, you--" He follows Han inside, swiftly shutting the door and leaving his shoes by it. "--you imbecile! Oh god, you're such a pain in the ass!"

Han doesn't look back at him, moving to the couch to very loudly drop his bag, his frown deeper now.

It seemed he really didn't want to drop the subject. As if to prove this, he plops onto the couch--as hard as he can-- crosses his arms and legs and stares daggers into Minho's upper arm, making the other move it away slightly.

"Hanji..." Minho is feeling uncomfortable now, his lips quivering in a nervous grin. He moves forward to place a hand on Han's shoulder, "Let's... How about we watch a movie or some--"

"Minho, I saw your scars," Han says with a sigh. "Earlier- when you rolled your sleeve up a little too far."

"..oh."

"Yeah. Oh indeed. Now tell me where'd you get them?" Even though his tone was rough, he was no longer frowning, instead, a cloud of concern filled his eyes.

And it made Minho sick to the stomach to see his best friend like that.

He couldn't make himself speak. Let alone about the origin of his scars. Minho stayed silent, his eyes trembling.

Seeing as he wouldn't answer, Han asks another question.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Oh, well.

There were a few reasons why. But Minho couldn't identify them.

Instead, he sat down. He propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.