Falling For The Nerd

A quiet rescue

MINHO POV

That night, I came back from the cinema, and my mind kept drifting to him—the way he smiled, the way he laughed. He was so… cute. The feeling hit me like a bullet, butterflies exploding in my stomach like I’d never felt before. It clung to me like a drug, a high I didn’t want to end. I felt safe, grounded, happiest when I was around him.

I couldn’t quite understand it, couldn’t even accept it back then. I’d always been attracted to girls, had only ever been with girls… and yet, with him, it was as clear as ice. I grinned like an idiot all the way home, remembering every touch, every stolen glance… and that kiss. That fucking kiss that had felt so right. I wanted to taste him again, so badly. Shit… I think I’m in love with him.

But then I walked in, and everything fell apart. My dad.

He was slouched on the sofa, an almost-empty beer bottle in one hand, the other slammed into his chest in a fist as he burped loudly. His eyelids barely stayed open, and for a moment, I thought he was asleep.

“Where were you, Minho?” he roared, his voice hoarse and broken. He struggled to his feet, swaying, barely able to stand.

“I—I was out with a friend, Dad,” I stammered, my chest tightening.

“You’re late.” His voice cut through the dark like a blade. He didn’t even move his feet at first, just stood there, blocking the room with his shadow.

“It… it’s the weekend, Dad. And it’s not even ten yet.” My voice came out small. I lowered my gaze to the floor, pressing myself back into the door, as if distance could make me invisible.

“Who allowed you to be this insolent, Minho?”

“I—I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry.” My fingers curled around the doorknob, clutching it like a lifeline, praying I’d be brave enough to bolt before he raised a hand.

“Which friend were you with, Minho? Was it that little faggot from school again?”

The word froze me. My head snapped up before I could stop it, my chest tightening. He took another step toward me, unsteady but relentless.

“N…no,” I stammered, eyes darting away, my hands fumbling with the hem of my shirt.

“What’s his name again? Hanna?” His grin split his face, ugly and loose, as he stumbled into a lamp. It crashed to the floor, glass splintering across the tiles.

“Han. His name is Han,” I whispered, the words scraping out raw.

“Han… that disgusting little bitch.”

Something inside me cracked, ugly and hot. I hated it.

“Don’t call him that!” I snapped, my finger trembling as I pointed at him. The sound of my own voice startled me.

“Why? Is he your little girlfriend?” He leaned in until our noses almost touched, his breath sour with old beer and cigarettes.

“Fucking faggots.”

The punch landed before I even saw his fist move. Fire ripped through my ribs. I doubled over with a strangled whine, my hand flying to the spot, knees bending under me.

“You disgust me.” Spit hit my face, warm and vile, and then his shove sent me crashing to the floor. My shoulder screamed as it hit.

Air left my lungs in a wheeze. I couldn’t get it back. I couldn’t move.

His hand clamped my collar. He yanked me up and slammed me down again. The back of my skull cracked against the floor with a dull thud that filled my head with stars and static.