Chapter Text
When Leebit retired, there was an immediate uproar.
“Who will be responsible for our protection now?” a mother yelled, hands clutched tightly to her children’s own. “Who else can we trust?”
“He’s selfish,” another muttered, scuffing his shoe along the ground. “Why would he throw everything away after all he’s done?”
The third one hesitated, golden eyes glancing up at the camera. “Doesn’t he deserve to live a life, too?”
Between every lone voice of support, there were thousands that drowned them out, thousands who cried and screamed and threatened anything for their beloved hero to come back. There were still hundreds of villains who hadn’t yet been captured, they argued, and they would only grow with the absence of the top hero. How would they be able to survive on their own?
But the biggest question that floated around everybody’s minds was, what would Leebit be doing now?
**
“Lee Minho! Get your lazy ass in here!”
Minho sighed, carefully setting down the bucket of soap in a safe spot and sending a glare at the cat sitting only a couple feet away. He straightened with a muffled groan and swiftly moved through the room and into the next, where a woman’s voice shouted once more.
“You lazy child! Where is my food?”
Minho came to a stop in front of the couch, where his mother sat with eyes glued to the screen of their television. “You asked me to clean the bathroom.”
“Don’t talk back to me,” she snapped. “I’m hungry, go make me some food. And none of that cheap stuff! That’s only for you. I don’t eat that crap.”
He gritted his teeth and obeyed, trying to move as quietly as possible as he moved into the kitchen and pulled out pans and food from the cabinets.
Apparently he wasn’t quiet enough.
“Shut up, boy!” she spat. “I would like to pretend you didn’t exist. And don’t forget about the cats! They still need to be fed.”
Ah, yes. The cats, who she treated better than her own son. Not that he blamed them. They were wonderful creatures.
“You’re supposed to answer when you’re spoken to, boy!” she shouted once more before her voice lowered into a grumble. “You’re about as worthless as your father was.”
He stiffened, his shoulders stretching tight and his hands freezing from where they were beginning to drop food into a pan.
His father, who had passed away less than a week ago, had been the best man Minho had ever known. He basically raised him as a single parent, with his mother wanting nothing to do with him, and had put up with her solely so Minho would have a parent who actually cared for him. Their marriage hadn’t been one of love, and neither of them had hoped for more.
He twitched when he felt something touch his foot and glanced down to see an orange cat staring up at him.
“Hold on Doongie,” he murmured, crouching down to pet him. “I have to feed Her Majesty first.”
The cat meowed plaintively, and Minho snorted when Soonie and Dori crept around the corner, curious.
It didn’t take long for the food to finish cooking, and he carefully gathered it into a bowl, hoping he wouldn’t be sent back to redo anything this time. If nothing was thrown at him, he would consider it a miracle.
When he handed the bowl off, the woman stared at it with a scrunched nose before glaring up at him.
“What are you waiting for, a prize?” she sneered. “Get lost.”
He considered that a win as he retreated back into the kitchen and dished out the cats’ food. He gently ran a hand through their fur and scratched behind their ears as they pressed into his touch before turning to focus on the dirty dishes. As soon as he finished washing them, there was a knock at their door.
“What idiot did you invite over this time?” his mother hissed, appearing in the doorway with her half-full bowl. Minho barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. As if he had ever invited anybody over. “Tell them to go away.”
Do it yourself, Minho thought but didn’t say.
He watched her settle at the table and straighten herself, pretending to be more respectable than she was, until another knock sounded. He didn’t wait for the scathing remark this time as he fled from the room and approached the door.
When he swung it open, he was surprised to be met with several officers and even a reporter, whose camera hung at his side.
“Is this the Lee household?” one of the officers asked, and Minho nodded. “We’ve heard reports of loud noises. Some neighbors have filed concerns about a possible domestic violence case.”
He strangely felt glee begin to well up in his chest. “Do you want to come in?”
The officer stared at him, an eyebrow quirked. He shook his head and gestured for Minho to lead the way.
“What is your name?” he asked as Minho led them toward the kitchen.
“Lee Minho.”
He hummed in response, and Minho could feel the officer’s eyes staring at the bruises that peeked out from beneath his clothes, which hung too loosely off his body, and the pale flush of his skin.
“Ah,” his mother scrambled to her feet when she saw them coming, bowing quickly as they entered. “Hello.”
Minho turned and gestured weakly toward her. “This is my mother.”
“Is it only the two of you living here?” the officer asked, and Minho shrugged.
“It’s just us and the cats.”
The cats who were being strangely quiet as they gazed up at the strangers, their eyes glittering.
“Okay,” the officer murmured. He glanced around the room at the dishes that were neatly placed on the drying rack and the appliances that were wiped clean with no speck of dirt in sight. “Do you mind if we look around?”
“I don’t think—” his mother began, but Minho quickly cut her off.
“Go ahead. We have nothing to hide.”
He didn’t flinch at the hand that suddenly gripped his shoulder, the pressure hard enough to leave a bruise. The officer nodded and the others scattered, doing a quick search of anything that may be deemed suspicious. The reporter followed after them.
“How long have you lived here?” the officer turned his attention back toward them.
“For as long as I’ve been alive,” Minho offered. He elaborated when the officer quirked a brow. “About twenty-two years.”
He nodded, thoughtful. “Let me be completely honest with you,” he began, glancing up to make eye contact with him. His eyes flickered toward his mother before returning to Minho’s own. “Someone thought Leebit was being kept here and insisted on an investigation.”
He snorted, amused. “No hero is living in this house.”
He shrugged. “This household is under your name, so anything that happens here will reflect poorly on you. If you are found to be lying—”
“Wait,” Minho cut him off, his eyes sliding back toward his mother, who had gone white as a sheet. “This house is under my name?”
The man blinked, startled. “Yes? You’re listed as the owner on the official papers and bills.”
Minho snapped around to glare at his mother. “You said it was yours.”
“I have lived here for longer than you have,” she snapped. “For longer than you’ve been born. It is mine.”
“But legally it’s mine,” he muttered, glancing back toward the officer who gave a slight dip of his head. A sly grin crept onto his face. “Which means you wouldn't be able to do anything if I kicked you out.”
She froze. “You wouldn’t do that.”
Her expression told him that she knew he would, in fact, do that. Minho didn’t have the same sympathy his father had, and he had even less than his mother. For all he cared, she could live on the streets.
The officers stepped back into the room at that moment and claimed they hadn’t found anything, although Minho knew from their not-so-secret glances that they had noticed the stark difference between their rooms and the lack of pictures on the walls. Maybe they had even seen the blood stain on the floor, one of the only spots he wasn’t able to scrub clean.
The reporter looked greatly disappointed, but Minho couldn’t care less. He had dealt with enough reporters to last him a lifetime.
“I’m kicking you out,” he told his mother, eyes narrowed. “You’re trespassing now. You have thirty seconds to get out of my sight.”
“No,” she hissed back, arms crossed over her body. “I’m not leaving.”
Minho only had to glance at the officers for them to step forward.
“You can be forcibly removed,” he offered, and she took a step back.
“You can’t seriously be doing this.”
“Five seconds.”
She snarled. “I raised you, you insolent brat! Is this really how you’re going to treat your own mother?”
Minho nodded to the officers, and they stepped forward to grab her arms.
“Get your hands off me!” she yelped, kicking out at them. “You can’t do this!”
Nobody responded as they began dragging her toward the door, a camera shoved in her face as she writhed and screamed and protested until she twisted and locked eyes with Minho’s own.
“I’m carrying your sibling!” she yelled, frantic and out of breath. “Would you really risk their life, too?”
Minho froze, eyes wide, and the officers stopped in their tracks, watching him for a sign of what to do. “There is no way that’s true.”
“I’ll give you a pregnancy test,” she panted, relaxing when the officers finally released her. “I’ll prove it, but you can’t throw me out.”
He stared at her, seeing nothing but the truth in her expression, and hissed between his teeth, frustrated. While he may be uncaring and cold, he wasn’t that cruel. He wouldn’t be the cause for another homeless child left starving on the streets. His hands were tied.
“Thank you,” he bowed to the officers in a silent dismissal. He saw their sympathy and disgust reflected back at him, and he looked away. “Was there anything else you needed?”
The leader shook his head, his eyes piercing into Minho’s own. “Keep the noise down for your neighbors. If there is nothing else going on here, then we’ll head out.”
He heard the underlying offer but only nodded and didn’t say another word until the door had clicked shut behind them. He barely had time to flinch away before his mother’s hand collided with his face, and he recoiled from the pain.
“You fucking ungrateful brat,” she spat, her hand raised once more as Minho’s arms covered his head. “Embarrassing your own mother like that!”
“You deserved it,” he choked out, flinching away when she moved closer.
“Like hell I did! I’ve cared for you your entire life and this is how you treat me?”
“You didn’t!” he shouted, his eyes peeking over his arms as she stiffened, surprised. He rarely ever dared to raise his own voice, and never at her. “You didn’t care for me before, and you still don’t! You would throw me to the streets if I didn’t do your chores, so what’s wrong with me wanting to do it first?”
Her entire body shook with rage and her eyes darkened until they were almost black. “You’ll continue doing everything I ask for until your sibling is born.”
He could only imagine the agony he would face within the next year, where she would get even crankier and annoyed and strict. He would be forced to yield to her every whim, always at her beck and call.
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“No,” his voice trembled and his hands clenched into fists. “I am not staying here.”
She snorted. “You have nowhere else to go.”
He shook his head. “I don’t care. I’m not staying anywhere near you.”
Her mouth dipped into a scowl. “You plan to leave me on my own?”
“You’ll be fine,” he scoffed. “You’ve survived on your own before.”
He turned on his heel, walking swiftly toward his bedroom and ripping a bag out of the closet as he passed. As he began moving around the room to collect his possessions, his mother followed less than a foot behind.
“Good luck hiding yourself,” she snarled, but Minho could hear the fear in her voice, and his back ached with the reminder.
“Good luck caring for yourself,” he snapped back.
She didn’t have an answer to that, and Minho continued to pile clothes and other necessities into his bag. As soon as he zipped it closed, he was moving toward the door with the cats meowing loudly at his feet.
“Take them with you.”
He glared back at her and swung the door open, allowing the cats to pile out first before he followed after them. His mother didn’t dare drag him back as he walked away. She knew he could easily overpower her, especially when he was so determined to leave, and she would never risk the neighbors witnessing such an event.
Minho had walked for about twenty minutes before he forced himself to pause and think about what he was doing. He had some clothes and money on him, but it wasn’t enough to rent anything for a decent amount of time, and especially not right after he had quit his job. He also had cats to care for, and there was no way in hell he would let them starve.
He really only had one place he could go; a place he had been invited to countless times before but had denied in order to keep his identity hidden. It was a place with the same people he had abandoned less than a week ago.
“Fuck,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll never hear the end of this.”
He quickly altered his direction because despite never stepping foot in their home, he had memorized the address. He was surprised to find he was only a short distance away. Within what felt like seconds, he was standing in front of their front door.
The building was large, which was to be expected for a house that was home to seven men. There was a moderate sized garden in the front, probably courtesy of Jisung, and a welcome mat laid at the foot of the door. Minho brushed his feet against it and sighed, lifting a hand to ring the doorbell.
He heard the sound ring through the house before several shouts followed and the sounds of pounding feet began moving toward the door. Minho took a step back when it swung open and was met face to face with Chan, the leader of their group.
They stared at each other for a long moment, the older man looking confused and Minho lost. His teammates had never seen his bare face before and now here he was, showing up at their door after he had abandoned them with no uniform in sight.
“Who are you?”
“Chan,” his voice cracked, and the other man’s eyes widened as Minho’s own flooded with tears. He quickly turned away, hiding his face from his piercing gaze.
“Leebit?”
“Minho,” he muttered, glancing around as he wiped his eyes. “Call me Minho.”
“Minho,” he repeated, staring in shock before he seemed to notice the bag strung over his shoulder and the cats lingering at his feet. “Come in!”
He followed the older man through the doorway, hesitating when he saw the others strewn across the couches and chairs, their heads turning toward him and Chan as they entered. The cats didn’t pause as they crossed the threshold and Minho relaxed slightly at that.
He shouldn’t have anything to be worried about anyway. He would give his life for these boys if they ever needed him to, and he was sure they would do the same. However, he had thought the same about his dad and the other obviously hadn’t felt the same way.
“Who is this?” a man that Minho quickly recognized as Hyunjin asked.
“Leebit,” Chan answered, and they perked up, their faces holding a new type of curiosity. “Minho.”
“Minho?” Seungmin hummed, seeming to test out the word.
“What happened?” that was Felix, always quick to notice when something was wrong. It probably didn’t help that Minho still had tears staining his face. “Why are you here?”
“I tried to kick my mother out and it backfired,” he snorted, trying for humor where there was none.
“The same mother who forced you to quit being a hero?” Jisung’s voice was hard, but Minho only shrugged.
“It was my decision.”
They stared at him, tension rising as he watched Dori sniff around the closest chair, which happened to be the one Felix was sitting in. He leaned down to run his fingers through his fur, and the cat arched into his touch.
“Wait,” Jeongin sat up from where he had been slouched against Changbin. “Where are your wings?”
He glanced up at the mention of them and a dull ache spread through his back. He shifted his shoulders as their gazes all snapped there, their eyes causing an uncomfortable prickling feeling to appear.
“Ah,” he shrugged, nonchalant. “They’re bound.”
“You bind them?” Chan’s voice was concerned. “Why?”
“They’re part of my hero identity. I always bind them outside of my uniform.”
“That’s not healthy,” Changbin argued, his eyes widening in realization. “Have they been bound for the last week?”
He avoided eye contact and didn’t answer, feeling like a scolded child, and the group descended into an uneasy silence as their eyes flicked around the room. Having known each other for so long, they each knew their partners’ identities and families, all except for Minho’s own. He kept that secret close to his heart, where few dared to tread close, and he had now suddenly shown up at their doorstep with his bare face and loose clothing that clearly exposed the purpling of his skin. It was more of him than they had ever been allowed to see, so he couldn’t blame them for being unsure of how to act, even if they had known each other for years.
He glanced up again when Chan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re welcome to stay with us. You’ve always been welcome here.”
He smiled weakly in acknowledgement and bowed his head in thanks. “Can I—” he cleared his throat. “Can I get settled? I would like some time to clear my head.”
“Of course,” the leader murmured, his expression turning more sad. “We’ll talk more when you’re ready to.”
“We all have the next week off, too,” Hyunjin offered. “To reconnect with each other or something stupid like that.”
“I think it was meant to stop anyone else from leaving,” Changbin muttered, rubbing at his arms. Minho stiffened and Jisung cleared his throat uncomfortably. This was going to be a long few weeks, at least until he was able to regain his footing.
“Follow me, L—Minho,” Chan stumbled over the name, and Minho slowly trailed after him as he led the way to his new room.