The First Leaves of Autumn | MINSUNG

IYDKMIGHTKY

✮ Hi, hi!! Quick reminder that this book contains TWs as I mentioned in the description, please read with caution. In this chapter there will be slight mentions of SA (nearly at the end, nothing too explicit!!!).

Enjoy <3

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He heard the door creak open slowly. Silently, he sat on one of the bricked, dusty stairs in the entrance room, often referred to as the 'reception', watching cautiously as his client glanced over at him. The man sighed, smirking viciously as he approached the boy. He retrieved the grams from his pockets, one hand subtly reaching for the knife he kept, just in case.

"Sorry, man. Traffic is intense right now."

"No chit-chat, give me the money." The dealer spat, staring unbothered into his eyes.

"No need to be so rude, jeez." The man argued, landing a punch on the other's face.

The boy turned around, a wide smile spreading across his face. "Do you know who I am? Do you realise who you dared to hit, slut?" He growled. He gripped his knife and stabbed the man in the stomach, hearing him scream in pain and fall to his knees. "Daddy won't be happy if he hears someone hit his child, you know?" He fake pouted. "Never in your life hit me again or come near Bang's, understood?"

The man nodded in fear and handed the money to the boy. He tossed the grams in front of his face and walked away.

"I-I'm sorry," he heard him say, but he couldn't care less.

He left the familiar abandoned building, now etched in his memory, and lit up a cigarette. It wasn't as late as it was yesterday. The moon and stars shone so bright. He absolutely loved the scenery. It made him feel at home, though he never had such comfort from his own family, except his brothers, of course, whom he knew loved him endlessly. And he loved them just as much.

But it was something else. Something that was hard to put into words; a constant battle between his soul and the boy inside him. Something that would crack in a matter of time if he didn't seek help.

But no one knows. And no one seems to care.

Minho is resilient. Minho is capable. He embodies true masculinity—no tears, no frivolous laughter, no need for companionship. He is steadfast, knowing precisely what to do and how to carry himself.

That's the Minho they've grown accustomed to seeing—nothing more, nothing less.

In reality, nobody truly cares. There were cracks inside him he had never even recognised. That's how sorrow sneaks in and departs. How tragedy pays a visit, then slips away. How joy makes a grand entrance and sudden exit.

You may scour every nook and cranny of your soul, but they'll always find a way to elude your grasp. So, perhaps, you can give them names. These delicate creatures that take hold of your heart.

That, too, is part of life. Learning to gaze into your own soul, christening every sparrow and raven that comes to roost without closing the windows they use to enter.

So, when you've felt all they have to offer, they can soar back out again.

"Hyung!" He was snapped out of his reverie by a voice shouting nearby. He readied his knife, scanning the area from whence the sound came, then let out a sigh of relief.

It was Jisung, bounding towards him with joy.

"It's good to see you again, Minho," the younger said as he approached.