CHAEBEOL | minsung

eighteen

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

Minho, idiot, what have you done? The voice whispering in his head was not welcomed, but not easily silenced.

He'll kill you for embarrassing you at the gala. Jisung's parents, Seungmin's too, they noticed. They know. And you've let the worst one get the closest, are you fucking stupi-

"Not gonna at least feed me before I go?"

Minho tensed at the sound of the voice. Honestly, he thought Jisung had already gone.

"No." If he kept his answers short, stern, Jisung would leave.

A scrape of the single chair pushed up against a table by the opposite wall proved otherwise, and Minho stiffened further. He curled his fingers inwards, squeezing until he felt his fingernails prodding the soft flesh of his palms.

"I'm struggling to work out which side of you is real," Jisung continued from where he'd sat down.

The pan on the stove hissed and sizzled. Minho said nothing.

"You live... here. That should say enough, right? But how do you live in a literal slum, and still be able to afford our school? I guess you could've stolen the posh suit, but the Merc from last time I was here... You couldn't even afford to hire that."

The heat on the pan was set too high, and the food in it turned slowly too dark. Minho did nothing.

"So what is it? Do you have some crazy rich guy paying you off? You suck his dick a little, maybe let him fuck you like I did, and he gets you into a rich school?"

Spats of oil were starting to fly out of the pan and prick at the skin on Minho's arms. Minho felt nothing.

"Or was it like in the movies? Single parent, starving kid, saved by some rich superhero swooping out of nowhere and promising them the world?"

And then, like it always did, it happened in a flash. The pan was off the heat, the sizzling sound pausing for a moment before coming back, louder, as Minho swung round with the pan gripped tightly in one hand. Flung it.

In his head, it bounced off the wall right by Jisung's head, and he could hear the discordant sound of metal on plaster and hot oil on flesh. Could feel it, the relief of Jisung finally shutting up.

Something stopped him before the pan could leave his hand.

"Meow?"

His knuckles nearly popped out of his skin with the force that Minho used to keep his hand tight on the handle, and he released a gruff breath. Put the pan back on its spot, bent down on his haunches.

"Who let you out, kitty?" Minho hummed.

When he reached out one hand to let the cat rub his face against it, his eyes traced crescent indents left from his own fingers. The cat didn't seem to mind; she purred, butted against his hand.

"Were you seriously going to throw that at me?"

"Like I'd waste my food on you," Minho scoffed, only half-joking.

"So I'm not allowed to talk about your cats, your mum, or your upbringing now?" Jisung said with a pout.

Minho flashed dark eyes at him. "You don't know when to stop talking."

"Indulge me. I don't have many other people to talk to."

"Ha!" Minho shook his head, looking away from the cat at his feet to cast a discerning glare at Jisung. "Like you don't have a team of underlings at your beck and call. Talk to them."