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The boys' changing room has been in dire need of redecoration since as far as Minho remembers. You wouldn't be able to tell that the beige walls were once perfectly white, and the led lights up above constantly flicker. There's also a strange hum that fills the room, pushing up from the floor and making the walls tremble in the midst of winter. Coach says it's just the heating system, but rumour has it Hell's closest point lies beneath the ground here, always in motion, always waiting.
Minho thought he was being careful, keeping his back pressed against the cold, tiled wall of the room as he worked his way into his running vest and out of his button-up shirt, crimson coloured in the room's yellowed lighting. He wasn't in the mood for jokes today. "Got your ass beat? For what, not kissin' your pop's feet?" or, "Whoa, Minho! You been sleeping with Satan or something?"
That was until the other boys hurried out, all buzzed about some drama Minho isn't involved in, and coach walked toward Minho with his tanned and muscled arms crossed over his chest and a grimace that told Minho the man was hoping to get whatever he wanted to talk about over and done with quickly.
"Is it someone on the team?"
His efforts of staring at the ground whilst doing up his shoes now no longer being of any use, Minho looks up, "Huh?"
"The bruises?" Jorge mutters, gesturing toward Minho's back.
Focusing onto the floor like before, Minho finishes tying his laces, the dirtily stained white string fraying as he pulls a tight bow. He shakes his head.
"Then who?"
"Myself."
"I don't believe a word of that." Jorge snaps, making Minho jump. The coach's eyes widen at Minho's reaction, studying him, "You're my best runner, I can't let this slide."
"Can't help you there." Getting to his feet, Minho stretches his arms above his head casually, eyes fixated on the door, "I need to catch up with the others—"
Before he can step away, Jorge is gripping his arm tightly, preventing him from moving away. Minho's heart thumps against his chest faster now, feeling each of Jorge's fingers pressing firmly into his skin. Jorge's expression is unreadable, "How's life at home?"
Words leave Minho's mouth robotically as he starts to recite the lines drilled into him by Janson ever since the hits started, "It's great. I live with my dad and my sister and they are both very kind. We are a pristine, God-fearing household. My father cares for us so much and never backed down even when eomma left. I could not be more grateful." Yanking his arm away, Minho rubs the spot Jorge was gripping, "Now if you'd let me—"
"What if I asked your sister?"
Blood rushes up to Minho's ears. Brenda. He doesn't want her involved in any of this. Minho's always taken hits for her and will continue to until she's either moved out, or inevitably officially with Gally. He has trust in Gally, knowing his friend won't let her get hurt. "Don't.. please, don't." He whispers.
The coach looks as if he wants to say something more, but his jaw clenches, reluctance threaded into his being. Nodding his head, he signals for Minho to move along, lifting a heavy weight off of Minho's chest.
Running out into the sunlight, Minho jogs to catch up with the rest of the runners, who are all stretching by the start line. Lifting an arm, Minho leans to the side with his legs in a strong stance, bending his body to the side and feeling the muscle stretch uncomfortably. He swaps sides, eyes squinting as the sun shines down harshly onto his body.
Knowingly, his gaze sweeps across the bleachers all around the dusty track, locating a familiar figure in the stands. Gally is there like always, watching from a safe distance. A group of their classmates surround him, likely making light conversation on topics that would bore Minho to his core.
Gally is technically popular. What Minho means by this, is his friend is known by everyone. He's a friendly face, and is good with banter too. Only Minho knows his truth, of course. Gally has been his friend since their first year at the Church's youth boys' choir, and he has seen every inch of his body many the time. It satisfies him to know no one else has this privilege.
This is because — aside from the amounting pressure being put on him by not just his peers, but his father and Minho's own dad to date Minho's sister Brenda — Gally just doesn't do dating. He's a downright coward, when he's not high or inside of Minho.
Unlike Gally, Minho is loud-mouthed. This trait has earned him excommunication from almost everyone around. At least, that's what they say. He knows the reality behind why; his race. It's something he's fought to be proud of, but for now he keeps his head down and his chin up each day, avoiding gossip, fights, and certain teachers who enjoy making his life a misery.
His only friends, aside from Gally and his own little sister, are the track team. After coach Jorge scouted him from an event at his middle school and got him onto the secondary track team a year early, his ego was obviously inflated, but he knew he needed to be smart with his presentation.
It started off small, laughing at the jokes the runners were proud of, helping carry equipment, the "what happens in the locker room stays in the locker room" code. His first major chance came after he sniffed out the weakest of the team, which was Ben at the time, who was struggling to get gum off of his braces. Seeing Ben with his fingers and tongue stuffed into his gob as he whined, the words, "Is that how you treat your girls, Benny?" left his tongue on instinct.
With one laugh from the runners around him, and a pat on the back, Minho knew he had made it.
Jorge blows his whistle, sucking Minho back to the present, and he sets off at an easy pace, shaking his head to help his fair fall back away from his eyes. He runs all lunchtime so the burning of his lungs covers up the churning inside of his stomach from hunger. Dad refused to give him any lunch money today after he showed him attitude, so Minho's running off this morning's bland cereal and nothing more.
To ease the strain, Minho allows Gally to resurface in his mind again. On one hand, he feels bad for the future Gally's slowly being boxed into with the whole you and Bren would make a good match situation, but on the other he's ticked off.
The biggest issue is he doesn't understand why he's so worked up about it internally. He himself has had girlfriends before, though each time he could tell the girl was just going through a rebellious stage and wanted to piss off her parents by being with the "moody Asian kid." Minho would've minded less if he got more action out of it, but everyone is always the same. Waiting for marriage, or whatever the creepy pastor at Church demands they do.
So no, Minho shouldn't be upset at all over potentially losing Gally to his sister.
Even though it means losing all the benefits a friend with benefits supplies you with.
And even though he's been crushing on his best friend since forever.
It's all fine.
So fine.
So fine in fact, that Minho definitely does not subconsciously outrun everyone else just to try and silence the deafening noise inside of his head just at the thought of Gally sleeping with a body that isn't his.
God, he can still recall when Gally first touched him like it was just last night. They were both high in Gally's room on cheap drugs from Minho's stash, having reached the point where emotion simply ceases to exist, replaced only by friction and desire, and Minho can admit now that he had intended to numb Gally completely with whatever they were smoking in an attempt to get the ball rolling.
It was an awful thing to do, but at the time, he didn't care.
Some high-schoolers he'd known for years from Kid's Church Club had been graduating, and at their party, one of them decided to "finally" have his way with Minho's fourteen-year-old self as if it had been his one true plan all along. Minho's trust in everyone shattered along with his innocence, all of it ripped away as liquor burned through his veins, rendering him useless.
This one event tipped Minho's world on an axis, him learning things no child ever should, and lead him into a spiral; a spiral that ended in him craving to share his pain, desperate to block out the crippling loneliness that came with it. His intended victim was Gally, but everything changed when Gally — fuelled by the smoke drifting from his lips — made that first move, caressing Minho with such care that caused Minho to sober up immediately.
Guilt followed in the days after as he found himself unable to wash away Gally's hold, but it was comforting this time. When Gally laid him down, not knowing what he was meant to do and just that he wanted something desperately, Minho felt calm. He felt happy.
Happiness is short lived, something everyone in these parts knows deep down, but when Minho is on his tenth lap and he notices Gally's eyes following each step he takes, the light grows a little, warming him inside.
This flame isn't snuffed out during his next lessons, and even as he unpacks his rucksack in his bedroom at home. Minho is sat on his bed and he feels okay for the first time in forever.
After grace, they eat dinner as a family like usual. Except, Janson doesn't bring up his grades, and Minho doesn't criticise his manners, and Brenda doesn't have to cover her ears and hide a whimper.
"Minho, your room is disgusting!" Brenda groans as she passes Minho's door upstairs.
Snorting, Minho dries the last fork by the sink, "Seriously?" He waltzes toward the staircase, grinning up at his little sister as she sneers down at him, "Ah, okay, I'll fix it."
A fist grabs his scalp before he reaches the first step.
Flying backwards through the air, Minho lands on the floor with a yell, the sound cut off as his back connects with the wooden panelling and winds him. "Da—!" Brenda screams from the floor above, hands flying to her mouth.
Rolling onto his stomach as quickly as he can, Minho only gets a glimpse up at his father before a foot stamps down onto his spine. "Fuck! Brenda get into your fucking room!" Minho yells back at her, chest heaving. He cries at himself internally already for saying that, but it's better if Brenda hates him instead of trying to step in. Ears ringing, Minho presses his palms against the floor, trying to get up.
"Damned—" Janson growls, stamping on Minho again and making Minho's chin collide with the floor, "—child!"
Janson's hand grabs Minho's collar this time, choking him from behind as he's dragged out of the hallway and into the living room. Stars dance behind Minho's watering eyes, lungs pulsing on empty. Minho is thrown again, smacking against the carpet and rolling a couple of times until he hits the wall. Sucking in a breath, chest rising painfully, Minho tries getting to his feet even though his eyes are blurry, "What the hell!"
"Why must you force me to discipline you over and over," Janson storms across the room to Minho — who is barely balancing on his usually stable feet — and smacks him across the face, "and over and fucking over again? Are you just incompetent?" Minho's head snaps back to face his father again and he shoves him back. Janson doesn't fall far, and when Minho tries again, he braces himself and barely moves. Minho hides a sob, feeling completely helpless.
Hands digging into the front of Minho's shirt, Janson lifts him a couple of inches off of the ground and swings him through the room, letting Minho collapse into the coffee table.
Glass explodes everywhere, loud enough to shatter Minho's eardrums, and Minho lays dazed on a bed of piercing shards for a few heartbeats. Janson looms over him, "You just broke your mother's table."
"You threw me." Minho's words shake, then break completely, hot tears gushing out of his eyes. No no no…
Around the house, there is very little left of Minho's eomma. All he distinctly remembers of her is the day she walked out of the door. It was his fourth birthday, something he had been looking forward to for ages. He was preparing himself to blow out the candles and wish for eomma and daddy to love each other. But the cake never came, and eomma never came back.
All Minho has is a jumper she owned, a music box she played for him when he was a baby, and one single picture of just them two, sat in a broken frame in his locked desk drawer, hiding his stash of pills and pot. The table counted too, chosen by her at a seasonal village market, and Minho recalls fractured pieces of laughter when Janson struggled to carry it to the car.
Glass digging into his skin, Minho struggles, trying to push himself up, however, his palms keep slipping on the shards and cutting him deeper. Looking agitated by Minho's display of grief, Janson's eyes flash with anger and he lifts his leg. With as much force as he can muster, he drives his foot right into Minho's ribs, the whack echoing through the room. Minho would scream if he had any air inside of him.
A second kick, then a third. Minho wretches, the pain all too much. Another. Each time he hugs his chest to protect it, Janson goes for his face. Another. When he hides his face, Janson goes for his stomach. Another. Minho turns his head, sobbing into the carpet. Another. The dark red and bristly ground grows darker from his tears. "Please— I'm sorry! For whatever I did!" He whimpers out, shaking.
Janson eases back for the slightest of moments, "Tell me why I have a meeting with your coach tomorrow."
"I don't know—"
"Bullshit!"
Hands are on him again, and a gnarled set of fingers grip his chin, nails digging into his soft flesh. Janson brings Minho's face up close to his own so they're sharing the same breath, and Minho can smell the coffee on Janson's lips.
"Tell me."
Eyes hardening, Minho goes rigid, "I. Don't. Know."
Nostrils flaring, Janson throws Minho back down much harder than before and Minho bites on his lip, wanting to muffle his whine. Yet with that minute of breath, adrenaline has seeped into his muscles. Feeling his body properly, each finger, his chest and his thighs, Minho dodges the next blow and springs to his feet. Janson is fast, wrapping his arms around Minho's middle and keeping him stationary, but Minho screams and slams his elbow into Janson's face, causing Janson to roar in pain.
Freeing himself, Minho scrambles out of the living room, hitting the doorway hard as he goes, and he bursts out of the front door with his body moving on instinct.
His socks thunder against the uneven sidewalk, pained breaths pulling at his ribs whilst the sun sets over the houses opposite. It's nauseating how his lungs feel trapped inside of the cage of bone within him, but he cannot afford to worry about that as his foot catches on the corner of a wonky slab of concrete, toes bending unnaturally and sending him hurtling to the ground.
As he falls, he wonders whether he should just accept defeat; allow his father to drag him back inside of the hell they call "home" and beat him until he no longer knows his own name, but what pushes him back onto his feet is spite. He'll do anything if it means preventing his dad from ripping his life away with his hands.
"Minho!" He hears Janson scream from far behind. He ignores it.
The paving continues for miles this way, sat beside the tarmac road which stretches even further into the unknown, yet the houses beside him fall away until only fields remain, grass and corn whipping by him. Minho doesn't know where he is headed, and for the smallest of moments, a word comes to him. Freedom. What if he never stops? What if he finally leaves?
There's a gash on his head, he can feel blood leaking down the side of his face, but his running never slows. His arms and legs, they're all grazed, but in a better state then they would be if Janson catches him.
He is so determined to run as far away as possible that he barely notices the vehicle matching his pace beside him. "Minho!" A new voice yells at him, frantic, and Minho turns his head to see Gally glancing between him and the road, "Get the fuck in!"
Gally reaches a hand out, leaning across and almost swerving his truck, and Minho woefully sobs, catching Gally's hand and letting his friend haul him inside. Regret only hits him once the door is closed and his eyes aren't so blurry. Shit. Could Gally be planning on turning around and driving him back? Throat raw, Minho thumps back against the seat, squeezing his eyes shut. "Aren't you too young to drive?" He grunts out, words barely leaving his lips from how exhausted he is.
"You're lucky my father needed me to get him some beer." Gally mutters. glancing at the rearview mirror. Minho copies, and swallows when he sees a figure stood in the middle of the road, slowly getting smaller, watching them. "When father hears about this, I'm done for." Gally whispers, "I'm gonna get chewed out."
"At least your dad doesn't throw you 'round like a rag-doll." Minho forces his eyes away from Janson's silhouette and onto the window beside him, a pit forming in his stomach as he comes to terms with how he will have to go home at some point.
Gally seems to read his mind, because he puts a gentle hand on Minho's shoulder, sliding it to the back of Minho's neck and coaxing his friend to look at him. Minho lets out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, seeing Gally's gaze flick upward towards his bloodied forehead. "At the gas station, I think our shopping list is beer, cigs and now some bandages, huh?"
"Keep your eyes on the road, Gal."