Chapter Text
A cup shatters on the wall next to the door as he opens it, his free hand shielding his head as the man behind him runs toward him, the woman screaming Minho’s name again and throwing a bottle that clangs against the wall. He isn’t sure which of them the bottle was intended for. He makes it down the steps and runs toward the road. He can’t even stop to breathe. He doesn’t want to risk being brought back into the house and locked in; he fears he won’t make it back out if he does.
His mother’s ID stands before him, and he grabs another couple of bills that he knows she will notice but not call him about. If he stays under a certain amount, nothing happens. That makes things easier, not being cooped up in the house away from his friends. Besides, he can hear her voice now, and it’s saying anything but ‘Thomas’.
He is tired, his legs are sore, but as another car passes by, the same award-winning smile crosses his face. He’s sure the nasty bruise is only hurting his ability to get from point A to point anywhere but home. He holds his arm out, thumb up, waiting. Finally, someone pulls aside, asking him if he's going to that city that fits his goals. He says yes.
Thomas leans against the house, looking around to try and figure out where he managed to end up. The guy who gave his friend a drink — that in retrospect, Thomas shouldn’t have drunk — is digging in his pockets to find the cash that Thomas only got the night before. He really should sober up for the night; he’s too hazy right now to do anything but watch as he gets robbed.
It’s been a day and some change, and nothing has been put on the news about him, which feels kind of low. He just wants a place to sleep or something to eat. The last driver gave him a bottle of water, but had nothing else to offer. Minho isn’t even sure there is anything worthwhile in the small town he is in. Maybe he should keep his head down for a bit. He hopes that the house with the blaring music will have something he can snack on. Hopefully, he will sneak in and out without anyone noticing he doesn’t belong.
His headache is killer; whatever the guy gave him the night before is still creating turmoil in his body. Thomas looks at the full glass in his hand with disgust, looking up just in time to see a new, albeit bruised face walk through the door. He almost thinks the guy belongs, his head held so high. It takes Thomas a moment to cycle through the people he knows before he settles into the certainty that the guy hasn’t been to their parties before. How interesting.