I'm just quietly sitting here trying to get my breath back
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Minhyuk was the one who found me.
I was drenched through, the rain having made its way past the barrier of my jacket, and maybe even my skin. When he drove past, I was chilled to the bone, standing in the same position as I had been for what felt like hours (and maybe it was), numb, expression vacant.
Even though I hadn't treated him as well as I should have earlier, our last interaction having been an unseen kiss when I had been drugged, he still ushered my dripping wet self into his car. He had been surprised, more than, when he saw me in such an unlikely place, but didn't let it affect his actions.
“Come on,” he said quietly as he supported me, shivering and shaking as I entered the vehicle. I let my head rest against the window, staring flatly beyond the windshield as he turned on the heater and drove.
Every once in a while, he glanced at me, worry and confusion in his eyes. As fatigued as I was, I was still thankful that he didn't ask me any questions, at least not yet, instead choosing to let the entire car ride be silent but anxious, at least on his side.
I was just a mannequin, unfeeling, unchanging.
It was a short ride to his house, and when we finally reached it, he helped me out of the car. My eyelids were drooping from exhaustion, and despite the questionable state I was in, he didn't look worried about how his parents might react. If he had any.
“The shower's upstairs, second room to your left,” he said to me as soon as we were inside. “My mother's clothes might fit you, but it would be better for you to borrow some of my old ones—if you're comfortable with that, I mean,” he added hastily. “Leave the wet clothes on the floor...” he said, biting his lips as he scanned my condition, “you're drenched. Come downstairs as soon as you're done.”
I knew I should've thanked him, but it was as if I couldn't feel anything at that moment. Even the anger had washed away in the rain. The room was warm, much warmer than the outside had been, especially with the downpour. It should have been fulfilling, being in a normal house, a home, after so long, but something felt amiss—the mantel was empty of pictures, and the decor was stiff and formal. I looked away, trying not to seem prying.
But he must have caught the hesitation on my face as I looked around the place, because he smiled sadly.
“Divorced.” The sentence was clipped, but not harsh. “Mommy issues, I guess you could call them.”
I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just nodded and stood as he went upstairs, presumably to get some clothes. The couches in the living room looked more than comfortable, but I didn't want to ruin them, so I remained standing as I waited for him, and observed the place further.
Stark walls, bare of any decoration except a couple of tall abstract paintings. The fireplace was cold, and my first impression had been about correct. The family was probably at least well-off, if not rich. So why had Minhyuk joined the racers, if not for money?
