Chapter Text
The kid looks terrified.
He’s young, younger than most of the crowd at the house party. Dressed up like he thought this would be more than just a bunch of idiots swapping drugs in a McMansion because there’s nothing else to do here.
The kid is talking on his phone, which is good. Maybe he’s figuring out his way home, which he clearly needs. It’s likely his first party, from the way he’s overdressed, and sometimes it takes one to figure out this is not your scene. Minho certainly remembers being overwhelmed his first time, it took him months before he went to a party again – before he figured out that you don’t have to even stay inside. You can just take whatever and then do it in the backyard. That you should definitely bring your own liquor if you can, because who knows what’s in the storage container jungle juice in the kitchen.
Minho looks again, out of the corner of his eyes, and the kid is crying, pleading with someone on the phone who doesn’t seem receptive. Minho watches as the call ends, the kid staring at his phone before wiping the back of his hand against his cheeks, resigned. Still scared too, looking around hesitantly before turning to look behind him.
That’s when Minho notices a second kid slumped over two chairs behind the first, legs akimbo and one arm trailing over the edge like he’s unconscious. Or dead.
“I’ll be back.” Minho says into the conversation he’s only been following only as much as he needed to join the weed sharing circle, getting a grunt of understanding but that’s not really important. He doesn’t need these people to remember him, he won’t talk to them again until the next time he wants to bum a joint.
The kid will probably remember everything, from the panicked look he throws Minho when he approaches. He moves to block his friend from view, immediate defensiveness speaking to however the kid got this bad.
“Is he ok? Can I check on him?” Minho asks over the pounding music, tilting his chin towards the passed-out one but otherwise standing a few feet off, hands at his sides.
“He’s fine.” The scared one states, shaky but assertive.
“Is he still breathing?” Minho prompts, that’s all he really wants to know. Most other things they can recover from, shaken and vowing to never come back. He doesn’t want a dead kid on his conscience though.
The idea that he could have stopped breathing apparently didn’t cross the kid’s mind, and his eyes widen with panic immediately, turning to hover over his friend. “How do I check?” He begs, hands moving around anxiously but not doing anything.
Minho moves closer, telegraphing the way his hand reaches out so the kid isn’t startled, as he puts a finger up to the unconscious one’s nose. “You can feel the breath this way.” He says and the kid beside him nods. “You can also check his pulse, just to be sure.”
The kid moves to do that, but presses too low on the throat and Minho moves his hand up to the jugular, encouraging him to press harder. He watches as the kid focuses, trying to catch the heart beat on trembling fingers.
It also gives Minho the opportunity to do a quick sweep of the unconscious kid. He has narcan on him, but this doesn’t look like an OD. He’s not pale, his lips are pink beneath what he hopes is sheer lip gloss and there’s a healthy flush on his cheeks that is either alcohol or blush. It mostly looks like the kid has blacked out, maybe a little something extra tossed into his drink.
“Do you know what he had?” Minho asks and the kid pulls his hand back to shake his head.
“Felix and I got separated, he went off with some guys and when I found him again he was all wobbly and the guys said they were going to take him home since he couldn’t stand, but I didn’t know them so I said no and now he’s…” The kid sniffs, ending his sentence with a nervous wave at the unconscious body.
“You did good.” Minho reassures him and the kid takes a big shuddering breath. Being this close to them now he can tell they’re freshly presented, baby omegas at their first ever party and preyed on by the first person to spot them. “If you don’t know them, never let your friend go with them.”
“Felix knows them, I think. They invited him here.” The kid explains, but that doesn’t make it better. Worse actually, since it makes it less opportunistic and more premeditated getting a baby drunk so they could take him wherever.
“Doesn’t matter, if he’s drunk and can’t make decisions, you’re the one who decides for him.” Minho tells the kid, who nods while biting at his lips nervously. “Do you have a ride home?”
It’s abundantly clear the kid wants to leave, is horribly uncomfortable with the entire situation. What Minho didn’t expect is the kid bursting into tears at the question, stuttering sobs pouring out.
“Shhh.” Minho soothes, crouching down to the kid’s level and pulling him in for a hug. “No need to cry, we’ll figure it out.”
It takes a few more sobs, but he speaks up after a moment. “I called my dad. He was supposed to pick us up, but he said that… that since we thought we were old enough to get drunk, we’re old enough to find our own way back.”
Cool, Minho loves it when parents make things actively more dangerous for their kids.
“Do you have anyone else you can call?” Minho asks and the kid shakes his head, tears flying off his cheek at the motion. If he’s right they’re about 15 or 16, so none of their friends would really have licenses, and the unconscious one’s parents might be just as bad of an option as this one’s.
Minho didn’t come with a car, walking over and intending to walk the alcohol off right back. He’s not walking anywhere with a passed out kid on his back though, so he runs through a list of people he can call. It’s not a long one.
“Do you know Chris?” Minho asks, because it’s his safest bet. Everyone knows Chris; star athlete, genuinely good guy, class president. He adopted Minho against his will two years ago during a group project and hasn’t let go since. Despite Minho’s best efforts at the start.
“Yeah.” The kid breathes as he starts to calm down. Minho takes a moment to check on the unconscious one, who hasn’t moved but also hasn’t gotten worse, before continuing.
“If I call Chris to come pick you up, would you be ok with that? Does he feel safe?” Minho asks and it takes a moment but the kid finally nods, hesitant.
“Ok, I’ll call him. You make sure your friend is still ok.” Minho tells him and the kid slides out of Minho’s embrace, immediately rushing to copy Minho’s move earlier and press a finger to the unconscious one’s upper lip.
It takes four rings before Chris picks up, probably doing his homework or getting ready for bed like some fucking loser. He always picks up for Minho though. “I have two zonked babies for you if you want to feed your raging hero complex.” Minho says the moment the line connects. He doesn’t like small talk, especially with Chris.
Chris knows too much, asks too many probing questions and worst – knows when Minho’s answers are full of lies. So he throws him a distraction up front, a call to action.
“Are you out again?” Chris asks and that’s exactly the type of probing question Minho does not like.
“One of the babies is unconscious, Chris. Drugged up on who knows what by who knows who with no way home.” Minho urges, but he can hear shuffling of fabric already, Chris probably throwing on a hoodie and walking out the door. He’s picked Minho up enough times that Minho can recognize the sound of the car keys in the little ceramic bowl by his front door.
“Send me the address.” Chris says, “Keep them alive until I get there.”
“Will do.” Minho quips before ending the call, sending a location pin because he’s not actually sure what the address is at all. It didn’t matter when he came, wanting to be anonymous in a crowd, bottle of Everclear in his back pocket and ready to drink until his brain was pleasantly numb.
“Chris is driving over right now.” Minho tells the kid once he’s done. “We can move to the front yard and wait for him there.”
It’s a little chilly out now, almost the end of September, but it’s not too bad. Might be worse in the skimpy clothes both are wearing, but it’ll give the kid a break from looking around the room nervously every couple of seconds.
Minho ends up carrying the unconscious one out, hefting the little thing over his shoulder while his friend walks next to him, hand on the kid’s dangling arm. They prop him up against the mailbox to wait, and a few minutes in Minho is shedding his tattered hoodie because the awake one is shivering in place and Chris is at least another ten minutes out.
Minho gets up off the dying grass when he spots the familiar pair of headlights, turning to prompt the cuddling babies to get up too. The cold seemed to have sobered them up, the unconscious one groaned and moaned a bit until the conscious one hugged him tight for warmth. He groans again now when the kid pulls away, Minho bending down to pick his limp ass up once more.
Chris is climbing out of his pickup truck and jogging over to them with a serious look, dad-mode fully activated as he helps Minho guide the unconscious one into the back seat.
“Oh shit, you didn’t say it was Felix.” Chris says and Minho shrugs, having forgotten the kid’s name immediately after it was said. Also what does it matter, an unconscious kid is an unconscious kid.
The other one climbs in as soon as Minho and Chris back away, scrambling into the seat quietly, as if he’s ashamed to be taking up space.
“Get in, I’m dropping you off too.” Chris tells Minho as he starts to walk back to the house, grabbing his arm to stop him. Minho looks at him, frowning to show displeasure before eventually caving. He could go back, he still has a third of the bottle in his pocket and he can probably get back into the right mood for dancing. He did lose his hoodie to the kids though, and he has no idea how long he’ll have to walk in the cold to get home.
“Fine.” He sighs, turning for the passenger seat as Chris perks up, stance proud of his easy win. The car shifts with Chris’ bounce up into the driver’s seat, turning on the engine and cranking up the heat before turning around to the babies huddled in the back.
“I know Felix’s address, do you want to go there?” Chris asks, which means Felix is a rich kid. Both of them probably are, if they’re friends. Chris knows everyone, but he especially knows his neighborhood, with the parents that work as executives in the city but wanted a calm life for their kids away from the temptations and dangers of the streets. Little do they know there are just as many drugs being exchanged in pickup truck beds and cookie-cutter developments.
“No!” the conscious one yells, or at least more conscious one now, the other one – Felix – grumbling at the sound. “The door camera will send a notification if he goes home. My parents know we’re out, at least.”
Ah yes, the dad who told them to find their own way home. Lovely.
Chris is good at that stuff at least, interacting with heinous people without punching them. Minho isn’t, he punches first, realizes it got him in trouble later. That’s why Chris is the town favorite, and he’s the angry poor kid that people are confused Chris keeps around.
The kid – Jisung, because Chris asked him his name – dictates an address and then they’re off, headlights flooding the road in front of them in sharp contrast to the oppressive dark of everything else. Of the woods, the long driveways that bisect them.
Minho’s driveway isn’t long, just a strip of gravel long enough to fit the car and not much else. The house they rent isn’t big either, small and drafty and empty.
Always empty.
Jisung’s house takes them over fifteen minutes to get to, and isn’t as large as Minho was expecting. It’s still large, multiple stories and a two car garage, a light on upstairs indicating people are awake still. But it’s not the suburban mansion Chris lives in, with a bedroom and ensuite bathroom for each of the three kids.
Chris helps Felix out of the back, just awake enough to stand if he’s supported. Chris helps him up to the door, waiting as the other kid types in the door code, though there’s someone showing up in the door window before he can get it open. Chris smiles and talks to the person, whichever parent, Minho watching half-slumped against the window as they all go inside.
Chris comes out a few minutes later, climbing into the dark truck and letting the engine roar to life again.
“You did a good thing, calling me. They were worried.” Chris states as he backs up the long driveway, already knowing Minho’s address by heart. As he should, he’s dragged Minho back enough times.
“Ji- the awake one called his dad before I showed up.” Minho states, almost bored. “Was told to figure out a way home himself since he was ‘old enough to get drunk’.”
Chris’ lips are mashed into a line as he turns onto the street, clicking his brights on as they exit the development. “Well, his mother was worried.”
Minho shrugs, it doesn’t matter to him really. People are shitty sometimes, some a lot of the times. Alphas especially, since they’re constantly shown they can get away with it. Minho certainly gets away with way more than any omega could.
It’s unfair, probably, but everything else is unfair to him in return so he’ll take the win this time.
There’s no car in Chris’s way when his tires crunch on the gravel, headlights illuminating the empty living room. The fancy touch screen dashboard tells Minho it’s only one in the morning, the house will stay empty for several more hours at minimum and Minho dreads getting out of the truck. He knows he has to though, Chan’s a good kid, he needs his sleep even if Minho doesn’t.
He hops out without a word, Chan knows now not to expect them. He waits until Minho finishes fumbling with his keys, flashing his brights as a goodbye before backing up onto the road again and leaving Minho in the dark.
It’s as oppressive as it is comfortable, a known quantity. He has homework he could do – his mother works two jobs to afford this overpriced dump because it’s in a good school district. Minho wonders what the bad ones look like, sometimes, since every third kid at school deals and most of the rest are their buyers.
He could do his homework, but there’s also the handle burning a hole in his pocket and it’s easier to drink that and wallow instead. He has his long as shit bus ride in the morning to do his homework anyways, head down and ignorable as the kids chatter around him.
Felix looks different conscious. It might be because he’s free of the glitter and eyeliner that made his face more catlike, the blush that covered up his freckled skin. He’s cute, in that tiny dainty way that pop culture loves omegas to be. Tiny and breakable.
“Thank you.” The kid says, eyes bright and skin smooth like he was never blacked out in the back of a party. “Ji said that you’re the one that called Chris, made sure I was alive.”
He sounds grateful, tilting to look back at his friend hovering at the other end of the locker bank. He also sounds like he hasn’t really understood the danger he was in, like he’ll repeat this mistake a couple more times until something truly bad happens.
“Bring your own drinks next time.” Minho tells him and the kid nods, eager. “Never accept anything someone hands you at these things.”
“I will.” Felix says, smile too wide. “Thank you again.”
And then he’s gone, skipping down the aisle to meet up with his friend and walking off chattering like this is any old day.
He watches them disappear around the corner before turning back to his locker, pulling the books for his afternoon classes out of his fraying backpack. It’s held together on one strap by a half-dozen safety pins, less a fashion statement than a necessity. He got a detention for it anyways, because the pins are large and apparently fit the handbook’s definition of a weapon.
He painted them black with his mother’s nail polish and hasn’t had a comment since.
“I saw them this morning, they look like they’re doing ok.” Chris says as he sits beside Minho in second period. It’s an understatement, Felix looks like nothing happened, like he learned nothing.
“They came to me before class to say thanks.” Minho hums and Chris looks at him like he understands. “I told Felix not to drink stuff he’s handed next time.”
Chan nods, mouth pressed in a line. He knows, then, that Felix is going to do it again. Too naïve, sheltered, reckless to know the risks. The other one looked more shaken, and at least if they’re together he’ll look out for them both. Hopefully.
Chris doesn’t party much, doesn’t have as much to run away from, but he knows what happens at them. He’s picked up Minho absolutely hammered and incoherent, picked him up covered in vomit, bawling his heart out and refusing to leave the truck for his empty house.
Maybe Chris will talk some sense into Felix, do the whole big brother thing with him too. It took just once, just a taste of being able to help, for Chris to never leave Minho alone.
Minho gets the car on Saturdays, for his single shift at the Nordstrom Rack in the big shopping center a forty minute drive away. It’s the only thing hiring teens nearby, other than the pharmacy by the high school and a Dunkin Donuts he got fired from for threatening a customer. Allegedly.
They had asked him five times to remake the same drink, claiming each time that it tasted wrong when he was simply following the laminated recipe guide taped to the counter. When they requested a sixth remake he had slammed the ‘incorrect’ drink into a trash can and told them to eat shit and see if it tasted right.
Fired on the spot, used up his last warning.
So Nordstrom Rack, where if a product is wrong it’s not his fault. Coupons are, apparently, but he’s not the manager and he just has to stand still and not throttle anyone until he arrives and handles it. He also gets an employee discount, a wonderful 10% off the way too expensive shit at the store. He should have gone somewhere cheaper, honestly, because even the sales rack is out of reach most of the time.
“Minho!” someone calls out, a blonde head bobbing over the rack he’s restocking, freckled smile beaming at him. “Fancy seeing you here.”
The nervous shadow is there too, slightly further away but staring with big eyes as his fingers tangled up in a sleeve.
“I work here.” He says, going back to adding overpriced black shirts to the rack. Why would anyone pay $57 for something he can get a trio pack for less than a tenth of that at Walmart?
“Oh sweet, does that mean you have a friend and family discount?” Felix says, way too familiar. Make sure a kid doesn’t OD once and you’re best friends apparently. The kid is disarming though, always smiling, way too forward.
Fuck it.
“Sure. Get me before you check out and I’ll see what I can do.” Minho says, knowing that’s not how it works at all. He’ll have to pay with his own card, take Felix’s money in cash or get it venmo’d. It’s probably more complicated than it’s worth, but as long as his manager isn’t near the register he can probably get away with it.
“Awesome!” Felix exclaims, turning to reach out for his friend. “Jisungie and I are looking for something for homecoming.”
“Fancy stuff’s over there.” He points to the zone full of suits and dresses and glitter. Felix looks over, looking back like he wants to talk more but his friend pulls him away, clearly understanding that Minho is at work and thus not free to chat the afternoon away with a little sophomore with too little situational awareness.
He sees them again, giggling in the mirror of the fitting rooms as Minho comes to pick up and reshelve the rejects.
“What do you think?” Felix calls out, posing in his shimmery red dress, a tad too tantalizing with a hem that finishes mid-thigh and a slit that extends higher. His friend is more modest, flowy black pants and a glittery crop top.
“I think you’ll get dress coded at the door.” Minho tells Felix, who grins like it was his goal. “You’re cute though.” He adds to the friend, Jisung, who is hiding the sliver of skin at his waist with crossed arms. He flushes bright red at the comment too, Felix adding a low oooh that only seems to make him more embarrassed.
He leaves then, as Felix declares that Jisung has to buy the pants at least, since they make his ass look good. Minho hadn’t seen that part, the kid facing forward the entire time, but he believes it. They’re both cute, in ways people want omegas to be cute.
Felix will be part of the it crowd soon, if he isn’t already. Chan knows him too, that’ll help his ascent, and hopefully also shield him from some of the worst of the abuses.
Felix worms his way through the racks a while later, approaching Minho with his arms laden. “Still good for the discount?” He asks, ignoring the way Jisung tries to pull him away.
Minho cranes his neck out, the registers almost empty, just a coworker helping one woman with two kids in tow and another leaving to go take their break.
“You got venmo?” Minho asks the kid, who nods excitedly. “Ok, so the discount only works on this card. I’ll scan your order now, you venmo me the total, and then we go pay.”
“We can pay like normal, come on.” Jisung whines, pulling at Felix again, but he’s too deep into this now, already pulling up venmo on his phone. Minho rings up their purchases, Felix’s a staggering $356 even with the discount. He fires off the payment like it’s nothing, to Jisung who then pays for both their totals; 356 plus 40 for his single item– the pants Felix liked.
Payment in hand, Minho gives Felix his employee credit card and they make their way to a register, Felix buying everything while Jisung hovers nervously. Minho keeps the card once it’s swiped, returning it to his back pocket as he gives them a receipt.
He made a dollar and thirty eight cents on the transaction, since he rounded up for the two. Meager profits for scamming his employer, but profits nonetheless.
“Come on, we need to get cute accessories.” Felix says to his friend, skipping out of the store with his bags and then waving a goodbye as Jisung walks as fast as possible through the sliding doors. Minho waves back, half laughing as Felix hurries to catch up.
“Friends of yours?” One of his coworkers asks, an older woman who works here full time. She’s nosy, likes to ask Minho questions about his life that he dodges as much as he can. She’s probably a nice person, but Minho doesn’t like to share, doesn’t know how anymore.
“They’re sophomores at my school.” He tells her and she nods like this is something insightful. Half the store will probably know that Minho talks to younger omegas at school by the end of the shift.
“They’re cute.” She adds, trying to probe, but Minho shrugs and waves the next customer over to ring them up.