Chapter Text
Minghao met Junhui during PE, the boy had eagerly leapt from his crisscrossing position with a gleeful smile across his face. It unfailingly unnerved Minghao, seeing opponents eager to fight him. It's like a never-ending challenge he needed to bury if he were ever going to become normal.
Or as normal as Wolverine thought he could be.
It's one of those rarer occasions apparently, having Coach Corsi decided that they'd be sparing today. Infrequent as it was, stretching their mutative limbs were important for young and budding mutants. Especially for the aggressive types, the ones whose abilities brewed deeply within.
From the looks of it, Junhui's mutation allowed him an extensive amount of range. Something Minghao noted perceptively as he exhaled his final calming breath, heated air puffing through his nose, eyes opening from clenching tightly, and mind rearranging itself into a mindset once prioritized. Then he'd calmly walked onto the circular mat, a stark juxtaposition against his quick-footed, vibrating, opponent.
Internally, Minghao shook his head, his opponent shouldn’t’ve been so eager in revealing his abilities whilst he himself hadn't known what the new transfer was capable of.
"Alright, let's play fair," Coach Corsi instructed, one finger raised in the air and a whistle begging to be blown hanging from the side of his mouth. Once again, Minghao straighten, ready for a fight.
"Begin!"
Junhui's run was quick - something Minghao had anticipated the second his contemplative eyes finally returned the looks the speedster gave him all class long. So, with as much speed as he could muster, he let everything go.
Darkness. Smoke. Billowing nothingness and Minghao felt every last drop of blood rushing through his opponents’ body.
Just like that, Minghao's resolve, the one he'd meditated away since arriving at Xavier's, was demolished. His entire routine flooded back through him like a javelin slicing through the air, ready to be caught and thrown back. It was instinctual, something ingrained within him since birth.
And something would've happened if it weren't for the roaring, "Stop!!" cutting through his concentration. Voice belonging to somebody he respected enough to obey, and he drew his smoke within himself instantaneously.
All he saw after was Junhui falling onto his feet before him, eyes wide and a bit - sheepish? Eyes giving the newbie a shameless once over.
The next thing that caught his attention was Logan-san, with his permanent glower and a disapproving look as he roughly carded Coach Corsi away.
Minghao had an inclination of the conversation's subject. How couldn't he? When shouted words such as "What the fuck were you thinking?" And "Didn't the Professor tell you what he was?" Filtered through his ears. Minghao stepped off the ring, meaning to return, maybe shower - He'd had enough lessons for today anyways - when the boy below him shot his hand around his ankles, grinning brightly when he faltered.
"What's your name?" He said, in a way that made it clear what his intention was.
So, Minghao sneered, shook off the hold and walked away, trying to ignore the enamored eyes following him.
☠☠☠
That was months ago, now Minghao's been thoroughly indoctrinated with the western ways of high school. Or so he claims. Which apparently includes getting the school blown up and fixing it in a matter of days.
Minghao couldn't deny, it was pretty impressive. Especially when he remembers finding out the cause of the final blow was one of their own. A young mutant.
Voicing these fascinatingly concerning thoughts to his running partner, he finds Logan's steady steps faltering for a fraction of a moment.
"This isn't assassin school kid," Logan huffs, hitching his fist further up his chest. His steady steps continuing onto the gravely outer grounds circling the mansion. It provided a steady beat for Minghao to follow. Something calming, distracting, whilst also garnering focus as the new student keeps his pace.
Minghao steadies himself, breathing in the fresh air of ass o'clock in the morning, when the birds are barely chirping, and the sun is a sliver of omen against the horizon. In the quietness so rarely provided now he's living with hundreds of vivacious teenagers, Minghao contemplates Logan's words, and finds himself offended.
"You run around with leotards, stabbing people who stand against you left and right. Isn't that what this school teaches?" He rebuttals in a English so broken, it must've been his childhood, and he watches as the ever present deep-set frown of the smoker deepens.
Minghao, Logan finds, rarely fails in concerning him with how he straightforwardly utters such disparaging comments. No matter how many times the kid repeats his solemn respect towards the elder, it always feels like he's being condescended instead. A stubborn mind, concealed with naivete and disproportionate amount of knowledge that's rooted itself deeply into an ideal.
Logan thinks the kid's probably beyond saving, he himself infiltrated and stayed with The Hand for only several months, even his headstrong self felt his resolutions wavering. How could this kid ever be normal?
"...Logan-san?" Minghao's voice interrupts through the older’s racing thought, and Logan runs to a stop when he notices his little stalker staying behind.
"What?" Logan amends, forgetting to chide the kid for still calling him with that honorific. Just because he hated the Chinese ones, doesn't mean he get to transfer it to Japanese. He's about to voice this, his anger continuously bubbling up when-
Stomach growling.
"I think...I'm hungry," Minghao announces, half-confused. Ever since arriving to the mansion, everyone's been amicable towards him. Giving him monthly allowance, a roof above his head, and everything a growing boy needs, without expecting anything in return. In result, he's essentially spoiled, his diet has been shot to shit, something he'd never fail to maintain if he was still in China or Japan.
Perhaps he should find some way to recover that independence again.
"What should I do, Logan-san?"
Logan hesitates, those tentative words feel weirdly foreign and alarming, like a trick he needs to anticipate, coming out of the kid. But then Minghao looks up from his distant gazing, eyes imploring with childlike curiosity, and once again, Logan is reminded of why he didn't decapitate the kid when he had the chance.
There is some humanity buried there. Hidden, probably deep enough for it to be forgotten at times. Coming back to himself, Logan finds Minghao still staring.
Grunting from hearing that honorific again, Logan begins running the opposite way.
"Eat some crap, then play some video games, kid!"
Minghao doesn't follow anymore where Logan ran. After spending lifetimes with The Hand, he knows how to read people extremely well, and knows when one dislikes to be followed. So instead, running the opposite direction, blackened eyes steely-gazed at invisible goals ahead, Minghao occupies his time trying to figure out what the hell a 'video game' is and how eating defecation could possibly be beneficial.
☠☠☠
Minghao taps away at the linoleum of the cafeteria, so incessantly he's positive it's breaking beneath him. It had only been months - months, and yet the westernized world of adolescence has completely squirmed its way into his priorities list, that it manages to cement its importance stubbornly.
Staring before him is an angry red 'F', courtesy of Professor Xavier, who'd called him after class where he was furiously jotting down notes of notions he didn't quite understand. With his placating, infinitely patient smile, he'd asked How are things, Minghao?
And Minghao, being the incredible liar that he is, placatingly smiled in return and said, "Good."
It turns out, the chiding tone couldn't quite keep itself away from Professor Xavier's understanding berating. His disappointment was clear.
Minghao failed his ethics class.
So now, dejected, Minghao fills his time punishing himself by staying at the cafeteria. The loudest, most occupied part of the Mansion, where everywhere he turns there's always someone staring at him. Curious of the not-so new boy.
Growling, Minghao shoves his spoon into his tapioca pudding, watching with fascination as it makes a squishy sound, and re-contemplates the whole self-inflicted punishment thing. It had been so much easier standing underneath the downpour of Changbai Mountain Waterfall for hours on end than for him to guess whether killing one for the sake of millions is good or not. His opinion; Kill all, problem solved.
Apparently, that was incorrect.
Just when his dejectedness seeps into his DNA, warping his levels of toxin into an unbelievable high, Minghao feels him. Prickling alongside his spine, Junhui, the speedster he'd taken careful notes of and has 'hung around with' several times, inches millimeter closer to the former assassin.
"Talk to him, then!" The tiny one, the one with stunted emotions just like him, whispers to the speedster.
"What's the worst thing that could happen?" The blonde one - the powerful one, a formidable opponent if need be - mutters, elbowing the speedster.
For the life of him, Minghao can't seem to pinpoint what Junhui's intentions was. With him clinging and seemingly being overly interested with his business, to the point of him being a brick wall to every excursion he was invited, not becoming a breaking point for Junhui. Because of which, Minghao's frustration increases, ever so slightly nudging his inner temperature higher.
"Hey!" True to prediction, the speedster stops still in front of Minghao's table.
Welp, my que to leave, Minghao thinks as he gathers his stuff onto the tray, before the boy before him slams it back down.
Smoke seeping through just slightly, Junhui lowers his hand slowly at the blackening orbs before him.
"Wh-why aren't you at our table?" Junhui speaks like a child, Minghao notes, stutteringly saccharine.
"No."
Junhui blinks, not understanding if Minghao didn't understand him, or if the other just wants to leave quickly. "Oh-kay...?" Not knowing what to do, Junhui snatches Minghao's paper, the boy protesting immediately.
"Give it back."
"Sure-" Junhui says, lighting speed after reading the huge hulking 'F' written on it "-Professor Xavier's giving you a hard time?"
Slapping the table with a vigor of a yapping puppy, Minghao ignores his urge to run away and sits back down. Apparently, to the other boy's complete happiness.
Taking note, yet again, Minghao wonders what that means.
"It's nothing personal," He mutters, folding the test paper cleanly away from Junhui's reach. He doesn't know what their relationship is exactly. Junhui being the aggressor in their kinship, and Minghao never reciprocating, never ones put off the speedy mutant.
Is friendship really necessary between them?
"Wow, never imagine the straight A student getting an F - ethics is the easiest class, dude," Junhui chortles, with an easiness that tells Minghao the other boy has completely considered them as friends, regardless of what he thinks.
"Aren't your friends waiting for you to return?" It's a poor attempt of a diversion, the table with which Junhui approached from are engrossed in conversations of their own. The only indication of their interest with him showing from their flitted gazes.
So who can blame him when he turns to blackened fury-filled sclera in return?
The honking chuckles of Junhui interrupts through his domineering stare, as the overly fond boy grabs his hand instinctively. "Oh wow, calm down dude, they're not trying to kill you."
Minghao cuts his gaze to Junhui, "How do you know?"
"I'm beginning to see why you failed ethics," Junhui hums, before standing back up with a speed that still make Minghao's defenses flare with smoldering smoke and darken mist. " 'Fraid not, I will be your tutor!"
"Tu...tor?" Minghao tries the new syllables on his tongue, not liking it one bit. Partly because it's coming from his overly friendly opponent.
"Yes, because..." scrambling for something within his pockets, Junhui procures a ball of paper with a half-chewed gum stuck onto it.
Minghao grimaces and leans back.
Unperturbed, Junhui only straighten the paper out until the insultingly crimson 'A' becomes visible to Minghao.
"The Professor gave you an A?"
"Hey! I'm not that stupid," Junhui protest through a laugh, before sobering up and actually addressing Minghao like he's not some sort of joke everyone else beside the person in question finds funny. "...So?"
With great reluctance, Minghao fishes the newly gifted phone from his pocket. Trying to remember his number and eventually giving up, and letting Junhui place his instead.
"Score!" Junhui chuckles, and to Minghao's complete horror, rechew the gum that was stuck to his paper.
Perhaps regret is a natural outcome of friendship.
Sliding the phone back, Minghao finds there's more apps inside than he had to begin with, each one annoyingly candy-colored, with a cutesy name to match. He leers openly at it.
"Relax, hao-hao, those are social media apps."
"Right..." Minghao stares at his phone, back towards Junhui's friend group table (because you can never be too cautious), then back to Junhui. "What is social media again?"
Grinning impossibly widely, Junhui rises from his seat, shadowing the shadow master like a bad omen. Minghao, perhaps for the first time since arriving to the surprisingly child-friendly school, feels himself fearing of what's to come.
"Oh dude...I got so much to fucking teach you." And with that, a firm hand squeeze that makes Minghao's bones ache, and an oddly placed, "Bye-bye, hao-hao!" Junhui speeds away from the cafeteria, and Minghao is left to think, whether the oddity of the encounter was caused by his severe lack of social skills or Junhui's overabundance of one.
For once, he finds himself wanting to not care for the answer.
☠☠☠
Persuasive. If there's a word Minghao can use to describe Junhui is that the speedster is persuasive. It's what he tells himself after their first 'mall-date/tutoring session', and their second. It's his way of convincing himself that Junhui's the perpetrator of all actions, and him, wanting to learn more and acclimate to his new surroundings is helpless to the offer of good-will.
Their mall excursions been mostly benign, there was last weekend where he'd somehow gotten roped into interacting with more than just Junhui. But the arcade had been noisy and bathed with colorful lights that everyone else fell swiftly into the background. Of course, that day ended chaotically when Jihoon, a stubborn but understandable mutant became the unexpected epicenter of disaster. but Minghao easily slips behind, thankful everyone was looking everywhere else but his direction.
Today's much more ordinary with Junhui taking him to various attractions before inevitably ending up at the food court, stuffing their faces with junk food. Food that Minghao's unfamiliar with. Every time, he's left feeling guilty after eating something particularly unhealthy, his previous peers disapproving glares still haunting his decisions. He wonders if that's what Logan sees in him.
"How is it?"
Minghao grabs a particularly disfigured piece of broccoli, sniffing unsurely. It smells horrendous. "I don't know why people here always fry everything," he says, noting the particularly egregious deep-fried Oreos Soonyoung brought to his table without prompting several days prior. The invasion of privacy was surprising, but secretly welcomed. Still, that had been Oreos, this- it's a healthy piece of vegetable, nullified of vitamins from a singular (hopefully) dip in crackling oil.
Minghao would like to believe he's pretty open minded. He's been taking everything pretty amazingly so far. Considering he grew up with blinders and now they're gone, things like this makes him second guess himself.
"It's delicious, here-" Junhui pushes some sort of white dip with green something towards Minghao, who frowns. "Dip it-"
"-Yes, Junhui, I know how dips work." Logan taught him, on the airplane when they finally escaped together. "What is it?"
"Delicious is what it is." Junhui cackles, a sound stupidly loud in an already loud area, making Minghao shrink towards himself. "C'mon, trust me?"
"No," Minghao answers resolutely, but he picks up some chopsticks and tries it anyways, never backing down from a challenge. Especially with an opponent so benign like fried foods.
The first taste hitting his mouth feels peculiar, too much grease flooding from the broccoli. But the more he chews the more he finds the taste surprisingly delicious.
"I know you'd like it."
"Like..." Minghao muses, "that's a strong word."
"Doesn't mean it's untrue."
Smiling wryly, Minghao chooses to ignore how his heart stutters at Junhui's smile. From what he'd observe since arriving here some months ago Minghao notices just how many people walk on eggshells around him. Their eyes full of sadness and sympathy whenever they look at the new transfer. The one with the dark past, the one who's different from everybody else. This, Junhui openly joking, chiding, livening his situation feels different. Junhui merely observes and tease, taking in interest in him without downplaying his competence. It's a breath of fresh air. Not even Logan- nor the professor for that matter, treats him the way Junhui does.
Still, the steadfastness and dedication, Minghao's uncertain of Junhui's intention, his willingness to be his friend.
"You've been spending your weekends with me? Aren't you bored?"
Junhui's smile, crooked, head tilted, looks oddly at the shadowy mutant. "What d'you mean?"
"Won't your friends feel neglected?" Nice as everyone was, Minghao still feels the air of wariness whenever one of them manage to muster enough courage to approach him. Soonyoung's nice, boisterous, Jihoon comes alongside him, cordial and tightlipped. Seungcheol's diplomatic, an all-around good guy. Jeonghan trails beside him, quick-witted as his friend Joshua. He met Chan, Wonwoo, and Mingyu for the first time yesterday. First impression goes, he deems neither three as a threat. Although, the secret that Chan harbors, the darkness and moodiness showing through his quips- let's just say Minghao knows something's up with the youngest.
It's strange, the feeling he's cultivated for these acquaintances. From Logan, the Professor, to his peers, who glances at him between classes. He's unsure if fear is the appropriate descriptor, but similarly as they tiptoe around him sometimes, he tiptoes around them, tightening their interactions.
"No, plus I'm hoping they can be your friends too, maybe? It'll build your moral greatly to have friends, right?" Junhui questions hopefully, perhaps seeing the other's desperate need of acquaintances. "How's your roommate?"
Beside them, there's only Vernon, his roommate. It took him weeks to successfully convince Professor Xavier that he's stable enough to have a roommate. Vernon's quiet, fond of keeping things to himself. Overall perfect for someone like Minghao. He's never been fond of extorting resources, rather sharing them and doing everything himself. His allowance is also a source of guilt, one he hopefully can amend.
"He's nice. I'm just glad I finally receive one." Recently though, Vernon's been preoccupied, sneaking out at night towards the lake just outside of their wing. God knows what for, Minghao doesn't ask questions.
"Cool, you can ask the Professor for mostly anything y'know. You don't have to be apprehensive about it," Junhui explains, packing his dirty leftovers and cornering them neatly. The small gesture a familiar sight that Minghao likes.
"I don't want to burden the Professor."
Junhui chuckles, like the notion's absurd. "Trust me, you won't, you're not the only mutant he's taken in y'know?" The way he explains it sounds more like he's speaking from experience, and Minghao feels the urge to pry. Junhui has that effect on him.
"I know," He answers instead. "I just, I wanna feel more independent."
"Yeah, I understand," Junhui says before reaching across him to wipe his mouth with a cloth, to Minghao staring dumbstruck. "There's grease." He offers for explanation. And this, these types of interactions, Minghao misses, arguably never experience. Junhui, curious as he was, has never been afraid of him.
"Can i ask you a favor," Minghao speaks before he can think twice. The sooner he gets the flow of things, the faster he'll acclimate.
"Sure, shoot."
Leaning his elbows on the table, Minghao moves forward. "I want a job." Failing ethics, after all, stems from his lack of interactions with people. Besides getting to alleviate some financial burden he poses to others; a job could present some great experiences to build his attitude. Things could work.
Junhui's growing grin is blinding, a little dangerous, but Minghao realizes, he's never been afraid.
☠☠☠
The no-kill shelter on Lexington Avenue is something quaint, something family owned with an incredibly smiley boy manning the register. The withering 'Help Wanted' paper outside is garishly pink, with tacky paw prints on the sides. It's clear there's nothing terribly intriguing about the place enough to garner potential workers, but Minghao finds himself approaching the shelter with a steady hand guiding him.
"You volunteer here?"
Junhui nods, elbowing the door open. "Every now and again, it's just an excuse to hang out." The addition of puppies also entices him greatly, payment be damned. It's ashamed that he can't volunteer everyday, but Xavier's keep them busy, and his social-life keeps him busier. As much as he loves adorable puppies, he loves hanging out with his friends equally as much.
The twinkling bell overheard captures the attention of the friend Junhui had informed Minghao about. The one who's applying for work somewhere more towards the heart of the city, but mostly away from his family. Minghao will happily takeover just as long as there's payment, something he can hold without any added guilt towards the Professor.
"Hey, Junhui! Brought me some fresh meat?" The boy behind the counter jumps to greet the new comers, face stretched wide with his smile. Taking stance, Minghao flinches a little at the action.
"We brought no food."
"No, hao-hao, he meant-" Junhui look towards the now agitated Minghao and back towards the cashier and his words falters. "Never mind. This is Seokmin, Seokmin this is Minghao. The one interested for the job."
Minghao takes the hand the cashier gives him. Seokmin's grip is firm but delicate, something warm and welcoming like his personality. "Ahh, so you're looking to overthrow me."
"Well I'm here for the whatever job anyone can offer, so if I must."
Seokmin pauses, grip loosening, some nervous chuckle bubbling out. His brow twinges when he realizes Minghao was being serious and he steps back. "Wow, jokes go over your head, don't they?"
"Well-"
"Don't answer that! Why don't we just get to working, yeah? Probationary right, Minnie?" Junhui interrupts, anxiously chuckling himself before pushing Minghao by the shoulder towards the back without so much of a permission from Seokmin. He's familiarized himself with the workspace anyways, having frequently volunteer on Saturdays which coincides with new supplies day. The speedster’s ability to transfer boxes and unpack quickly makes for a perfect additional aid.
The three find themselves bending over several doggie bowls and a butt-load of yapping puppies accompanying them, dispersing to attend to different tasks varyingly. Tripping over tails on a Saturday is not what Minghao thinks as meaningful entertainment, but it's quite effortless, and besides there are much worst job.
"So, you're fine with Junhui?" The question's been held on his tongue since Junhui sped away with supplies in hand. It's a valid question, one someone like him is accustomed to warily ask about.
"Hmm?" Seokmin half-pays attention to the question, engrossed with stacking cans of dog foods on the shelf. "What?" Turning around he meets Minghao's eyes innocently, taking a beat before- "Oh." His mouth forms the shape of the letter, eyebrows raised. It's a comical expression, enough so that Minghao finds himself stifling a laugh.
"Of course, Junhui- yeah, he uses it all the time. Well- I mean not whenever my parents visit, but-"
"Are you a mutant yourself?" Minghao interrupts, moving on towards another bowl.
Seokmin takes time before squatting down, meeting Minghao's eye-level, helping the probie with mushing the food correctly. "Uhm...what makes you-"
"You mentioned parents. Seems like a random input." Minghao shrugs. Reading people, their mannerism and their stuttering, it's something Minghao's accustomed himself. He figures, if Seokmin's nervous of something he claims to not be nervous about then the anxiousness is probably aiming towards himself.
True to prediction, Seokmin bubbles a nervous laugh, something ripped straight from his trepidations. "Y-yeah."
"Is that why you're looking for another job? So you can get away from your parents?"
The sudden deep conversation might've been pushing some boundaries. Minghao's certain if it's with anyone he would've gotten some complaints by now, ethics class teaches him that much at least. But Seokmin only smiles crestfallen towards the floor, his grin faltering echoing the crescendo-ing whines of the puppies in the background.
"Why not enroll?"
The incredulous laugh comes unexpectedly, but not startlingly. "My parents voted for Senator Kelly. They're not exactly keen with...mutants. But they haven't kicked me out at least. And all they ask is for me to keep it a secret."
"Is that what you want?" Minghao doesn't know what Seokmin's ability is, neither does he feel the need to find out. He'd spent his life executing the whims of people he'd called family, to the detriment of his apparent mental health and human cognition. It's not something he'd proudly parade, but he does have experiences feeling stifled.
When Seokmin stays silent, Minghao finds it in himself to continue. "I the prospect of disobeying family, someone you probably respect can be daunting, but sooner or later you gotta realize that you're living for yourself, and just because their decisions seem...good, sometimes, doesn't mean they're right."
It was difficult, running away. The hand was cruel towards everyone under its control. Minghao had been lucky enough to be acquainted with thee wolverine, the stubborn bastard with a golden heart who insisted on taking the lonely child-killer along with him like some stray. The wracking guilt, the sleepless nights where he wonders if he'd made the right decisions, the still wondering now, it's everything he wants to battle and run away from. But he'll be a liar if he said he regretted having someone pushing him to escape. It might've been what had gotten him almost killed, but ultimately, it's what saved his soul. Even if their influence still haunts him, he feels relief from physically escaping.
When Seokmin remains steadfastly silent, Minghao realizes the battle within the other hasn't subside yet. But those demons, one must conquer alone. "Take a chance," he says before moving across the room, busying himself with more food preparations, he hears Seokmin leaving towards the backroom expectantly after.
Bending down, he picks up more dog food Seokmin instructed to pour over the bowls, grabbing some water to soften them. The shelter, Minghao discovers, is more something of a layover before they're transferred to bigger city shelters, somewhere they'll get recognized sooner. Here, they inclined towards treating newborn puppies until they're adoptable and the older dogs that tend to have issues that needs ironing out.
It's heartwarming, in a way, a rehabilitation center for strays, just like him.
From between the already narrow bars of the puppy-pen, waddles one from between them, managing to wiggle its way out. The pudgy little mix-breed goes straight towards the bowls, and Minghao quickly scoops the little thing. "Nooo, not yet." The rounded tip ears of the brown-ish puppy flops over with every struggle before Minghao eventually puts it down on its play pen. "Adorable," he mutters under his breath.
"Why, thank you." Junhui kicks the door behind him, hands preoccupied with boxes, grinning annoyingly. Minghao response with rolling his eyes, but he feels the humiliating burn on the tips of his ears.
Taking the boxes from Junhui's grip, their fingertips touches for the briefest second, still Minghao feels a pang of something when Junhui shoots him an eyebrow wiggle. Out of everyone he could've gotten acquainted with, Minghao captures the attention of the most rumbustious idiot.
"Everything's done here?" Seokmin enters, his face freshly dampen with what Minghao guesses were sobering water.
Nodding, Minghao picks up some of the bowls. "Where d'you want them?"
The backroom definitely stays in the back for a reason. The gargantuan cages host dogs twice the size of average children, if Minghao hadn't done...things in his past he would've been scared. Otherwise he's only annoyed with the ear-piercing barking.
"Just slide the bowls through the openings, I've already chained them." Handing him the stick and a shoulder nudge towards the first row, Minghao begins feeding. It goes smoothly for almost every single feeding, that is, until the final cage.
Minghao hears the snap between the ringing barks of the scar-littered rottweiler. Seconds later the poking head of an aggressive dog startles him backwards. Neither Seokmin nor Junhui seems to notice the situation, and Minghao isn't really one to shriek over dangerous occurrences.
Shocked-still, Minghao finds himself transfixed with the aggressive being before him. The snapping teeth, the sharpened claws, and the slobbering drool all make what he deems as something dangerous, and in his life before, these things are to be recruited or eradicates. He can't possibly recruit a dog, it leaves the second option.
Without thinking, pitch-black smokes curls from between his fingertips. The smell of darkened amber accompanied the hazardous shadows. His eyes bleed into dark ink pools, signaling his onslaught. The ones boisterous rottweiler whimpers after the first touch of the smoke, whimpering soon after to burry himself against a corner.
Minghao pays no attention, at this point the only thing reverberating through his thoughts are the words 'danger' and 'must eliminate'. Besides, the rottweiler was already marked-up before he'd gotten there, with one eye socket stitched up and a missing part of an ear, there's a limp to his hind legs also, something Minghao notes quite studiously. How can this dangerous, incomplete creature be saved? The merciful thing to do is to kill it. To elimina-
"Minghao!" Rushing towards the scene, Junhui rips Minghao by the wrist, feeling the tendrils of smoke lick the thin skin of his wrist. Minghao snaps back to himself then, seeing Junhui wounded and going over immediately.
"I'm sorry, really, please let me see."
Junhui winces, nursing his arm. "What were you doing trying to kill it?"
"It's a dangerous creature, killing it is merciful."
"That's the point, this place is here to help it." Junhui groans, but eventually, allows the other to inspect the wound. the skin there is still intact, nothing but redness as a point of impact.
"It should be fine, it hadn't singed through the skin," Minghao informs, but Junhui's passed the point of caring about his flesh wound.
The look he gives Minghao is uncharacteristically despondent, for how long he knows the speedster, Minghao doesn't think he'd seen this kind of expression before on the other's face. There's a mixture of pity and apprehension swirling between Junhui's frown, like he knows something between the actions that Minghao did. It didn't sit right with him. Stomach churning, Minghao tries his best to not feel disappointment gripping his throat when Junhui opens his mouth to say, "Hao, just because something seems unsavable doesn’t mean it’s actually hopeless."
And it's the way he said it, the meaning behind the words, full of emotions and compassion, that messes Minghao quite a bit. He can feel tears prickling, unshed and glassy, but the moment's interrupted when Seokmin suddenly returns and sees the situation he's walked into.
"What happened?" He asks, expression panicked, but Minghao quickly deposits himself onto his feet, shuffling away.
"I'll wait outside," he barely whispers, knowing Junhui's melancholy eyes are following him outside.
☠☠☠
Minghao's on his bed, legs tucked underneath him. The wooden table he'd gotten from the thrift store a couple days back totters dangerously on the uneven surface. There's a pot of boiling water and some extremely expensive ceramic set he'd managed to smuggle out of China, then Japan, before finally making it to America. The blue flames from the Bunsen burner he'd borrowed from Jihoon dances dimly in the pitch-black room, and Minghao vaguely notes the absence of warm lighting. There's only him, the moonlight, and the blossoming tea leaves.
The dried-up leaves unfurl, bathed in the warmth, emitting a sharp but luxurious fragrant. The yellowness to the foliage turns increasingly darker from the heat, and Minghao's uncertain of how to treat them. It's a present from Mrs. Munroe, something she'd gifted him when he first arrived to make him feel welcomed. Minghao needs to feel welcome now.
It's been some time since he'd done this- tea ceremony, the last time being with Logan-sa...Logan, before everything went to shit. He remembers a time when Tsurayaba-san frequently invited him with offerings of different dried up leaves from different parts of the world he'd conquer. He'd sit across from Minghao, narrowed eyes gouging his competency, noting his young hands trembling to serve.
There was a time when tea ceremonies were something he'd look forward to. His mother's encouraging words surrounding him in this comforting ethereal luminescence, but then the shadows appeared, swiftly roughening his delicate fingers throughout the year.
Tea ceremonies during his childhood had been a learning experience, symbolizing familiarity and comfort. Tea ceremonies in Japan had been a test, one that determines whether or not he'd be standing underneath a beating waterfall at night's end. Now, tea ceremonies are a habit, where he serves the ghosts haunting his memories.
It's been forever since he'd spoken his mother tongue, but the new languages he'd master never completely became welcoming. Always something- some constraint getting in the way. That's why Junhui became somewhat of his sanctuary, they share a heritage that nobody else within the school understands. But now...
Minghao pours the tea inside his cup, holding it halfway towards his lips when he realizes just how ridiculous this situation is. He's a trained assassin for fuck sakes. A fugitive to his former company and a killer at heart. Now he's there, crying over almost killing a dog and disappointing his friend.
The room almost vibrates when the windows suddenly bursts open. From the opening, a figure emerges, silhouette sharply contrasted by the silver moonlight.
Minghao doesn't stir, he knows the person's identity.
"Finally return?"
Vernon gasps sharply, flailing aggressively before landing safely onto his bed. His eyes scrutinize Minghao, the unusual set-up he has going on, but otherwise, the expression is overpowered by his surprise. "You're still awake."
It's not a question, Minghao answers anyways. "I never really sleep whenever you sneak out the window."
Wincing, Vernon approaches the other tenderly. "You're...you're not gonna tell the professor, are you?"
Minghao shrugs, from between the sheets he produces another cup, setting it down across him before nodding towards Vernon. "Join me?"
A silent moment passes between them when they rearrange themselves on Minghao's bed. It's crowded, but it's the best they can manage considering their limited resources. They share awkward glances- mostly Vernon- from whatever's happening currently, but Minghao pays little attention, hyper fixated on perfecting his technique.
The attention does gradually become increasingly irritating though.
"Something bothering your mind?"
Vernon freezes his hands midrise, unsure of the proprieties during this...whatever this is, but mostly he hesitates from the question. "Nothing...it's just, you're talking to me. I don't think you've ever acknowledged my existence this frequently before."
The tea's definitely homemade. Minghao, feels it catching his throat. "I always thought you wanted to be alone." Besides, they're friendly enough.
There's a passing emotion to Vernon's features, something like realization and discontentment. Whatever it is Minghao hopes he figures them out. "What have you been doing? Sneaking out I mean." Vernon's eyes widen in response. "Too personal?"
"No, it's just...weird," he repeats the sentiment, and Minghao admits that yes...it's kind of weird. Their not-talking-unless-it's-important arrangement was made mutually, wordlessly, for both their sakes. Recently thought the quietness has been getting too loud. "Y'know you're the second person that've spoken to me tonight-" Vernon admits, then corrects "-this week. Nobody ever really bothers acknowledging me."
Humming, Minghao takes significant time digesting those words. Maybe it's the darkness of their space that's allowing this sense of intangibility to permeate their existence, successfully loosening their tongue. Maybe it's the unexpected olive branch. Who knows, all Minghao knows is that if he doesn't attach himself to the conversation he'll probably drown underneath the weight of his thoughts. "There's kindness in silence," he says instead.
And Vernon chuckles, tone low, that it doesn't fit his flat expression. "I used to think that, but I think my mind's evolving."
"Was the first person the one you always sneak off to every night?" Minghao asks, holding his breath hoping he hasn't crossed any lines. "Tonight?"
But Vernon surprises him by smiling, something small that brings color to his cheeks. "Yeah..."
"Is he nocturnal?" Some mutants require moonlight for survival. For nightly excursions they'll need Professor Xavier's permission. There's one girl Minghao knows from Spanish Class that needs to absorb moonlight once every month less she loses her elemental control.
Vernon takes his time setting down the cup, delicately placing it atop the wooden table, waiting for Minghao to replenish. The warmth of the cup's comforting between his palms, and with hunched over shoulders Vernon smiles at the swirling leaves. "It's nothing like that. He just likes...being outside, during nighttime."
Humming, Minghao replenish his own cup. "So not a werewolf?" He jokes, feeling slightly accomplished from the barking laughter he manages to trigger from the customarily silent boy.
"Didn't know you know what werewolves are." Minghao's surprised hearing that statement, he hadn't realized his roommate’s quite observant of his peculiar behaviors. He's aware just how...unamerican his personality is, but the smaller things, like not knowing what video games are (Logan's words resurfacing) is what cements him as the weirdo of the school. Even more so seeing this is a school for mutants.
"Watched a movie about them." And just like that the reminder of Junhui returns. The disappointment he remembers seeing on the other's face. Safe to say he didn't get that job. Tonight, he'll focus on something else, someone else. He doesn't think that's an unbelievable objective. "What's his name?"
Vernon takes time before answering, probably contemplating whether he should answer truthfully. "Seungkwan. He's...he's nice, quiet, shy." But reaaally not once you get to know him.
"Well I hope everything works out." Minghao comments, hearing Vernon's faint, "I hope so too."
Whatever remaining tension between them disappears after that, and the rest of their tea ceremony becomes something new to Minghao. Not a lesson, not some form of punishment, not nostalgic memory-binging, but something else, something...different.
Throughout the night Minghao thinks, Vernon's the first person he'd make friends with by himself. It's an unfamiliar feeling, the sense of accomplishment that overtakes him. His heart feels significantly lighter, and though accidentally burning his bridge towards Junhui was absolutely painful, he slept a little better that night knowing there's hope for him yet.
☠☠☠
Surprisingly, it was Seungcheol who invited him to movie night- or, study night as he ineptly calls it. The smile the older presented radiated nervous energy, the majority of his muscles hidden behind an overgrown sweater. Minghao has a distinct suspicion that Seungcheol lost a bet, and he's the one who's getting sacrificed to the wolf. But his expression is genuine, concerned creasing eyebrows trembles whenever Minghao looked remotely uncomfortable.
"You don't have to, but we figured you could use some company." Which isn't totally inaccurate, but he'd lived his lonesome before, why should things suddenly change?
"I don't know..."
"Just think about it," Seungcheol not-unkindly rushed, frantically grinning, and for a split-second Minghao believes the other genuinely wanted his presence there. "We'll be waiting at Soonyoung's."
Now, what the other neglected to inform is /where Soonyoung's room's located. But he doesn't have his background for nothing, and with a little deduction Minghao finds himself unconfidently standing before the egg-shell white door, knuckles trembling at his side.
There's shuffling behind the door before finally opening to an unimpressed face. "Great, you're here. Late. Claim your spot." Jihoon has never been the most prominent presence to the friend group Minghao's been inadvertently sucked into repeatedly, not until several weeks ago, with the arcade incident. He appreciates the other's no-bullshit approach in interacting more than everyone else's tentative method.
With a genuine half-bow Not too deep, Americans thinks it's weird, Logan had informed- Minghao steps inside.
The room itself isn't anything special, neither is half the school's probably, but the sheer magnitude of it is pretty impressive. Couple that with the fact Soonyoung has the space to himself then you have a frequented hangout area.
"Glad you can make it!" Seungcheol approaches, giving him a bowl of popcorn, before sitting him down somewhere comfortable. Minghao squirms uncomfortably anyways.
For the most part nobody pays attention to him. It's not maliciously intended or segregative, it's more towards everyone finally realizing how much he appreciates his silent space. That no amount of prodding will result in petals unfurling sooner than leaving him alone does. But without the added stimulation, his attention begins to wander, fingertips dipping through the popcorn without actually eating them.
It's a self-preservation technique, he deduces, assessing the room. It's on the second floor, with a large window perfect for escaping. There's seven people within the room, but the space isn't remotely crowded, it makes leaving difficult to accomplish without someone noticing. With that said, two of the youngest-
"Seungkwan!" Somebody shouts.
-Seungkwan, he amends, is bending over scattered open textbooks with somebody beside him.
"What? We can erase it later." Chan looks at his friend incredulously, but decides not to expand the argument.
"Whatever."
They're the only ones actually studying. Everyone else- Joshua and Jeonghan, is fussing over a stack of movies, arguing which one to choose. Seungcheol's preoccupied with snacks, Soonyoung and Jihoon's fighting over pillows, and that leaves Minghao completing his assessment, reverting to being completely bored again.
That's when the door clicks open, Junhui stepping inside, and Minghao's breath vacuums out of his system.
Minghao watches from the corner of his eyes, Junhui's arm settling over Seungcheol, leaning to whisper something in his ears. An exchange of pleasantries that rattles him greatly. Then he senses Junhui's oncoming figure treading lightly the ground he walks on, like his entire being isn't created to go fast. But Junhui's peaceful, completely unlike himself, and when he settles beside him is when all illusion of safety is thrown out the window.
He can't avoid this, can he?
"Thanks for coming." Is all he says. A clue to who truly invited Minghao. No words are exchange between them for the rest of the night.
The lights dim, until they're plunged into darkness, but said darkness never provide any comfort the way it usually does. Minghao's vaguely aware of the movie playing in the foreground, the dialogue playing foreign enough that he can't completely understand what they're saying. Junhui's steadfastly beside him, he doesn't speak, doesn't convey tension, and there's a million things happening around him but that's who Minghao chooses to hyper-fixate on.
Minghao remembers somebody entering the room before the movie- two somebodies, Junhui briefly leading them into the room. Remembers Joshua switching with Seungkwan with Chan's studying. Remembers the pillows stuffed behind his back with a brazen squinty-smile, and the deadpan expression of the person draping a blanket across him. He remembers the various candies, neon-bright and artificial in flavor tainting his tongue, and the eventual picking and prodding that migrates him somewhere further within the pile of mutants. Everything, everything falls to the background like senseless white noise, all because of the sliver of skin leaning against his left arm and the silent breathing that accompanies it, when Junhui sinks beside him again.
There are no words, honestly, neither can utter, and even if it takes some time, Minghao eventually realizes there's nothing to forgive. He keeps expecting the comforting touch to transform into something painful and abrasive, his brain precondition with accosting comfort with punishments, but he surprises himself by relaxing instead. Into Junhui's silent comfort, his forgiveness, the one Minghao doesn't have to ask to receive. The feeling's foreign, this trust that he'll become something good at the end.
That's all he keeps thinking until something falls on his shoulder, huffing exhales against his neck, and he tenses all over again.
Junhui's comfortable enough to sleep against him.
/Junhui trusts him enough to fall asleep against him.
Minghao breathes, soreness shoots through his shoulder down towards his elbow, but it's painless, it's welcoming and warm-
Junhui's drooling. Okay...maybe he's uncomfortable.
"I can take him if you want." Delicate fingers wrap around the defined cheekbones leaning against his shoulder, gently taking the snoring head into the crook of someone else's neck, tips of blonde gleaming brightly against tan.
"During training I used to stand underneath a waterfall with buckets over my shoulder." Concern flashes through Jeonghan's eyes, the way his brows are furrowing makes Minghao doubt if he explained it incorrectly. "I wasn't in pain I mean."
What Jeonghan says next he genuinely never considered. "Just because something doesn't hurt, doesn't mean it's not wounded." And the silence stretches painfully where those words ring deafeningly in his ears.
Tongue tied, defeated, he asks, "Why are you being so nice to me?"
From across the room comes his answer, "Cause we like you," Soonyoung answers, voice some volume lower than he usually operates, but otherwise no deception is detected.
But it can't be that simple, right?
"Why does it have to be complicated?" The answer this time comes from beside him. The fluorescent of the screen before him reflects coldly on Seungcheol's skin, contrasting starkly of his heartwarming personality.
The answer is straightforward, "I was an assassin." The amount of blood marring his underage hands is disconcerting.
Nobody reacts, it's almost like they knew, or suspected. That settles the hurricane inside his stomach somewhat.
With morals contorted, Minghao previously believe that what he did was justifiable, but then Logan came, then the Professor, Junhui. The speedster speeds through his trauma, chewing through and spitting memories out with a kindness that's seemingly disjointed with the abrasiveness of his actions. His sleeping figure looms immovably over their conversation, contributing nothing except the catalyst. Minghao wants to apologize, thank him, and beat the other for forcing him to face his humanity.
Junhui's face looks so tranquil resting on the angel’s shoulder. Looking, Jeonghan's staring at him, so is Seungcheol, Joshua, Jihoon, and Soonyoung. And he sees it, the sallowness in their features, holding their own burdens.
"I've killed people too," Jeonghan suddenly whispers, hinting little amusement. "Are you gonna judge me for it?"
Contemplating the question, Minghao finds he really doesn't. If it's anybody else, if they've been anybody else, if he's not somebody observant enough to realize their intention, if he's anybody else, he would judge them mercilessly. But as it stands, their adolescent brain is nothing to push blame upon. With himself, though, he's still unsure.
Junhui sees something in him though, in return they all see something in him too. Even Logan with his miniscule fear behind his passive-aggressive kindness believes he's salvageable.
Instead of answering, Minghao takes Junhui by the biceps, carefully depositing the speedster back to himself, within his lap this time. Fingers carding carefully, uncharacteristically gently through the tawny strands. "I'll take him," he whispers, recognizing affection shifting within, melting him inside.
When he looks up, the movies almost ending, the two protagonist faces one another, affection glittering their eyes as they share a kiss.
☠☠☠
Late Sunday afternoon finds Minghao intertwining fingers with Junhui. The sky's overcast and underneath the lowlighting Minghao feels capable of accepting affection.
They're walking in some shortcut alleyway Junhui found when he'd returned to the shelter, apologizing on Minghao's behalf. After finding this out, Minghao immediately demands to visit the shelter himself, wanting to set things straight.
"It's okay, seriously." Seokmin's eyebrows had creased endearingly. The hand on the counter wiping down dust stopped and he'd smiled at Minghao. "I understand, seriously." The way he'd said it made it seem like he knew all along what Minghao was. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. At that moment Minghao realized just how everybody around him's capable of reading him so intimately. The information swirled in his thoughts, his heart unable to process it.
"If you still want the job, you can have it."
"You're trusting me with the dogs?"
"Are you gonna try to kill them every time they bark?" The answer had been a resounding no, although hesitation still crept, it also didn't stop Minghao from turning different shades of crimson. "Of course not." And that's how he received forgiveness and a job.
Minghao thinks he could get accustomed to this...kindness. But there's a darkness curling in the back of his mind, seeping through his bones, and latching at every nerve ending that's whispering wariness of his comfortableness.
The traces of the ghost haunting his mind, the person (if you could call him that) who made him into this...machine, still exist, even if it's not in the flesh. This apparition comes alive every time Minghao does anything remotely cruel and vindictive. Sometimes, he thinks, it'll never go away.
"You okay?" Junhui's grip on his fingers are strong but not constricting, swaying his arm back and forth childishly. Smiling at the ground, Minghao discovers himself settling with this reality.
The Hand is not here, he repeats. His hand is.
"Yes...thank you."
Junhui scrunches his eyebrows, lips curling into a confused smile. "You got the job yourself."
Shaking his head, Minghao leans closer to the speedster, it's apparent Junhui hadn't expected affection. His eyes widening comically makes Minghao swallow his laughter.
"I meant this," He tries explaining, looking at their intertwined hands, back up to Junhui's confused face. "For not giving up on me."
They walk silently to the subway, ones inside the rickety tube going twenty miles per hour, Minghao feels the rocking lulling him, making him comfortable.
"Tell me about your past." Junhui suddenly blurts, cutting the tension with an unexpectedly forthright question.
Squirming in his seat, Minghao feels his dissipating control fighting his system. He's been getting comfortable recently. Perhaps the prize of forgiveness shall be the truth. Giving Junhui this much shouldn't be a problem.
So why is his fingers shaking?
"Oh...God, Y-you don't have to- I just-"
"You want to know," Minghao answers, lifting his head to meet Junhui's avoiding stare. "You deserve to know."
Squeezing Minghao's palms, the speedster tries smoothing out the trembling wrinkles there. "You don't have to," he repeats, a little more subdued, definitely apologetic.
Minghao hesitates, stretching his spine, rigidly plastering the shaking surface behind him. Across, he watches lights fastened on the tunnel walls passing by, relieving the metal tube intermittently with illumination, before pulling away. There's a sort of calmness inside darkness, one that always loosens his tongue. It's fitting for someone with his abilities, seeing that he was born within darkness.
"When I was young, I was...given, to an underground organization. They call themselves 'the hand', and they were-" when he closes his eyes, Minghao still sees the steely-gaze strangling him in a chokehold. Tsurayaba couldn't possibly look more terrifying. The crime lord has never been someone who's particularly agreeable, but even then thee Wolverine had gotten caught under his claws several times.
Tsurayaba was a prolific part of his childhood even if he wasn't there the longest, arriving when his master back in China decided that he needed a firmer hand to smooth him over. He'd been correct. After the transfer to Japan he'd become stronger, faster, smarter- Tsurayaba broke him down, reconstructed him in ways nobody on earth could possibly relate to. Nobody except Logan.
"I was a late bloomer. My mutation didn't manifest until I was a little older, but they raised me." They cared for him, Minghao had believed. It wasn't warm in the slightest but outside was infinitely colder. The blood on his hands, it comforted him somewhat twistedly. "They transformed me into something...something I didn't know was bad."
When Minghao's vision begins to get far away, Junhui squeezes the other's fingers softly. Anchoring him, whispering some needed encouragements.
"Your mutation, how does it work?"
Minghao clocks the question as Junhui diverting attention, so he wouldn't subject himself deeper into the trauma he'd buried. But his mutation is interconnected deeply with who he was, what he did. The assassin clad in pitch-black clothing, with swift hands, and light footsteps, who'd settled on rooftops of dead men signaling the end to lives like the harbinger of death...that's where his codename was born, written in messy scrawl on police reports. The harbinger.
His smoke would curl from deep within the chasm inside his body, surfacing every modicum of darkness. And like a fog he would cover every surface required, trapping whoever within his hold into blindness. "My smoke, or...shadow, I don't know how to describe it." Terrifying seems like an apt description, Logan had seemed to think so.
Minghao remembers the first time he'd met Logan, he'd been the target after all. Caught in a Japanese onsen, unsuspecting and vulnerable. Using that to his advantage, Minghao had tried to finish things quickly, injecting the blinding smoke with poison and hoping to hear the tell-tale splash of a body hitting the water.
He'd waited for minutes atop of the roof, in his lotus pose with scrutinizing gaze. That's when Logan jumped out from the darkness, claws out and pointed towards his neck. The surprise in his eyes from seeing somebody else like him, seeing somebody different, had made Logan soften a bit, especially seeing how young he was. But gritting his teeth, he still said, "Where is he?" By that alone, Minghao knew who Logan was talking about.
"The fate of whatever- whoever's trapped inside my shadow is under my control." Minghao can control the temperature of the shadow to either extreme, can inject it with cyanide-like poison, acid, that blisters the skin in the most painful way. He himself wouldn't be harm, but the caveat is- "I can't see anything inside the shadow." That's why his master back in China had discarded him, thinking this major flaw unfixable. That's why he's so loyal to Tsurayaba. To the hand that fed him and tortured him in equal measure.
Junhui's light chuckle came unexpectedly, and his incredulousness must've been written all over his face because the speedster quickly chokes in his own laughter tripping over himself to apologize. "No no no wait, I mean, you're like- you're kind of like batman," he explains, whilst taking Minghao's wrist in a death grip, eyes widening in half-apology and half-amusement.
Scrunching his nose, Minghao once again finds himself unable to read Junhui. These types of moments remind him of how different they are. How childish Junhui's allowed to be, and how envious he is of that childishness. "I don't know who this batman is, but I could assure you I've killed more people than him."
That's when Junhui's smile turns sad, chalk-full of emotions that Minghao feels overwhelm. Going into a tunnel, they're bathed within darkness for a brief moment, and Minghao uses that respite to calm himself down. When the light returns, Junhui's expression had turn light again, still caressing Minghao's writs in a lighter grip. "Remind me to force you to watch the dark night trilogy when we get back," he says before following with, "I can believe it, you were in the mafia."
Eyerolling, Minghao shoved the other with more force than the teasing warranted. "Don't be fucking stupid."
Grinning, Junhui shrugs, "Can't help it."
Minghao was practically raised into organized crime, knowing nothing else. They preach such beautifully manipulative things that its no wonder by the time he's taken his thirteenth victim at the ripe old age of twelve, he doesn't question why he's doing this for. Not until Logan infiltrated the hand and for months preached to him in slow cadence until he understands his broken existence. Not until the red-head lady with the frightening amount of powers reach into his feeble, betrayed mind, coaxed terrifying truths out of him.
Not until Junhui's disappointment at the shelter.
Eyes drooping, Minghao let's Junhui maneuver him until he’s resting his head on the crook of his shoulder. "You're silly," he comments, unable to prevent a yawn from slipping out.
"And you're not hopeless." And that, right there successfully stops Minghao's heartbeat. Sinking deeper into the warmth, feeling safe and secure, Minghao breathes a sigh of relief that he didn't realize he's been holding.
That relief doesn't last long.
Bloodshot eyes open to the overhead lights flickering above them. The shaking becomes something uncomfortable when the eyes plastered to the two mutant figures makes itself known.
There, located diagonal to the two unsuspecting mutants’ clusters a bunch of teenagers Minghao guesses isn't far in age with them. Their sneers lays unbridled against the underground smog. Their leather jackets, tattered jeans, and threatening stances convey hostility, and it could be the trick of the flickering, unstable underground lights, but Minghao thinks he sees a glint of something sharp and reflective hidden between the folds of the biggest one's pocket.
Junhui too, eyes the questionable group with growing suspicion, although he's a lot subtler than Minghao's glazed black eyeballs. Leaning down without breaking eye contact from the burliest of the group, he whispers, "Hao-hao, tone down your eyes for a bit."
That's when Junhui notices Minghao's shaking fingers, the tenseness across his shoulder blade, and the way he grits, "I can't. Help. It," like it's painful that triggers something within the speedster.
Now, he's not an x-man, whatever he is it's probationary, which mean he doesn't have enough ground to judge the situation. But Minghao does, the former assassin knows danger when he senses one, which means only one thing-
Seeing the last station before their final stop passing by, Junhui's reminded of the tunnel in front of them. The one where the lights are being renovated, and the shakiness of the rail never fails to force the flickering lights on the train to turn off completely.
The speedster’s eyes flicker almost as quickly as his steps did, but even then, it's too late. What Junhui perceives before they're enveloped in pitch-blackness, is the shining surface of something metallic, Minghao's quickly curling smoke lunging forward, and the red and blue FOH pin plastered on a ripped vest.
Then there's pain, a sharpness to his left torso before he goes down.
There's a struggle his ears are prickling to pick up, but no matter how much his eyes strain to see there's nothing but darkness, and when the tunnel finally passes the darkness continues.
Junhui's only ever seen a glimpse of this Minghao before, once during their shelter incident, but it's nothing compared to this Minghao. If this is how he looked like when he did all his kills, Junhui thinks he understand why sometimes there're fear flashing in Logan's eyes whenever he looked upon the boy.
Above him, Minghao has his arm outstretched, sturdy and dependable than his lithe stature will have you believe. The veins on his forearm down to his fingertips bulges, vibrating minutely from the incredible force it's letting out- the dreaded cloud of smoke swirls around the unconscious teenagers, or that's what Junhui assumes, he really can't see pass the smoke.
With trembling blood-marred fingers, Junhui curls around Minghao's ankle, and the look the other gives him is sharp and unforgiving. "They're useless," Minghao says, emotionless, "They're useless and a danger, they're better of-"
"Hao!" Junhui doesn't know he quite manages the shout, but his throat feels raw from that one burst and he feels his cheeks dampening. "Please."
It must be silly to see someone sprawling on the floor of the dirty subway atop a pool of their own blood, pleading with a coldhearted assassin to let a bunch of hooligans go. Like he has any power to the situation. But he does, judging by the stray tear that pass the inky pool of nothingness.
"They hurt you," Minghao says, in a voice so unlike his own, Junhui is almost afraid, not of Minghao- for Minghao, for whatever future he has to face at the aftermath of this massacre. Unless he stops it.
So, he grips tighter, feeling the sweat and blood seeping between his fingers and manages to get himself semi-upright. His left-side's bleeding, but not as previously as he thought, so he hopes against everything no major organs are punctured.
Ones he gets himself into Minghao's eye-level, those pool of nothingness staring back at him softens. The swaying of the train makes Junhui grimace, his wound aggravated by the motion, but still he stands, leaning against Minghao.
Fingertips traces the expanse of the former assassin's outstretched arm, leaving blood marks in its wake. From his position, Minghao sees Junhui's lips trembling, the slight grey hue to his pallor concerning the former assassin greatly. Inside his mind is muddled, like he's barely waking up from a nightmare. Everything feels so real, and simultaneously doesn't. That's when he smells the singing of burning flesh. He's been so preoccupied with staring at Junhui's trembling bottom lip that he fails to notice the hand coming over his, covering the poisonous smoke seeping through his fingertips.
"Please." This time there's definitely pain laced through with the plea. "Minghao."
Slowly, the darkness encompassing his peripheral fades, the singing flesh seizing, and the weight of what he just did hits him as abruptly as the train stops. Saltwater leaks from his eyes as the subway comes to a stop, door opening to-
"Professor." Junhui's eyes widen, bottom lips tremble, before he collapses to the ground like his string has been cut. Minghao dives himself, putting the speedster to his lap, almost growling at the back up.
The rest of the x-men, from Seungcheol to Doctor Grey is here, and Minghao loathes to think why that is. He'd failed, again, they'll send him away, like they alway-
/Nobody's going anywhere, Minghao.
The Professor's voice is strong, full of conviction that Minghao can nearly look pass the ridiculousness of the situation. Seeing superpowered being, half of them wearing colored spandex in a subway of all places must be a sight to behold.
"They're all alive," Doctor Grey declares, before her hand shoots towards Junhui and Minghao curls- growls to keep him away.
This time Logan steps forward, his trade-mark scowl replaced by a deep scrunch between his eyebrows. Minghao can almost imagine the cigar hanging off the side of his lips as Logan berates him coarsely. But the berating never came, and instead Logan slowly moves his hand forward like placating a frantic animal.
"No-"
"We need to check him, kid," Logan says. He knows everybody's looking at him, equal measures afraid and worried, he doesn't want to look but look he did, eyes darting from one person to another, then to the bodies slumped now dragged over to a save place by presumably the others. Minghao, for the first time in his short lifespan feels guilt, for hurting, disappointing, for being a hopeless cause.
"No- No!" He's shaking his head now, he knows he's not making sense. "No..."
"Hao-" Almost like he's called, Junhui manages to strangle out his name. Paying the price with letting loose a trickle of blood on the side of his lips. "Hao..." he says, smiles, cupping his damp face in bloody hands. "Let them help."
That's when their eyes meet, and the anguish Minghao thinks he sees also conveys something unexpected, something that loosens his grip.
Hope.