Chapter Text
It took nothing but a candle to start a fire; he used to think about that a lot. Ever since he was a child, he had dreamt about gray walls burning down to ashes and hysteric screams in the distance while the cold wind caressed his face on his way out. Majestically, almost cinematic. It would have been a warning about his mental state if only he had told a word to anybody else, but it didn't happen like that. It didn't happen at all.
The house was still there, unburned. It gave him a weird feeling in the stomach that sometimes —depending on what took place around it— could even transfer to the rest of his body like some kind of disease whose cure was nowhere to be found. He started to feel the feverish ache once he turned off the car in the driveway, so he rushed his hands to his phone without really thinking. The message was still there, too.
«Mom's not doing well. Don't let her die without seeing you.»
He doubted for a second with his eyes glued to the words, and cursed at himself when he felt the bump in his throat, moving up and down and making his eyes water. A few seconds later, his thumb was already pressing the phone icon next to his most recent contact.
“Hey there” he heard from the other side. “How's it going?”
“I can't do it.”
Yunho's silence lasted barely a second but still felt like an eternity. Mingi placed a hand on the wheel and laid his forehead on it, closing his eyes to focus on his breathing.
“It's okay,” the man answered, finally. His voice was sweet and gentle. “You don't need to do this, you know that.”
“I know.” Mingi cringed at the way his voice sounded. “I'm sorry.”
“Don’t be. It's a big thing, you know? Being scared is normal.”
It was not normal to be that terrified of the house you grew up in, he thought. Yunho was just trying to take some weight off of his shoulders —which he certainly appreciated— but still, he lied. Nothing about him was normal.
“It’s the third time this week.” He mumbled. “I don't know what's wrong with me.”
“Nothing is wrong.” He heard Yunho typing what was probably some important paper he had to finish. Guilt stung like a wasp. “I can't imagine how hard it must be, you're doing so much just by going near that place.”
Mingi wiped away a tiny tear and nodded. “Are you busy?”
“A bit, baby. But I can talk, wanna put me on speaker while you drive back home?”
Mingi teared up again at the sweet name. “Yeah.” He cried. The phone was now on the passenger seat as he started to trace back the same way he followed to arrive there. Yunho talked softly on the other side of the line.
“Do you have your seatbelt on?”
“Mhm” Mingi checked just to be sure. There were a few more tears on his cheeks that he was grateful Yunho couldn't see. “I'm driving like a grandpa.”
Yunho laughed. Something warm spread in his chest.
“That’s okay. You’re doing so well, Minky. I know it's scary, but you've been so brave recently. I'm proud of you.”
“Stop saying that” he sobbed and prayed for Yunho not to notice. He had white knuckles wrapped around the wheel.
“I want you to get home safely and get comfortable, okay? Make yourself a cup of chamomile tea and put on warm clothes. I'll be there soon.”
Mingi had a ton of apologies stuck in the back of his throat. It was always the same situation in different places; it was always Yunho interrupting his life to take care of him. He hated it —himself. He hated himself.
“Don't need to come home,” he managed to say. “I'm okay.”
Yunho hummed. “Are you there, already?”
“Yeah, just a few more blocks.”
“Fine. I'll be there in like… twenty minutes. Okay, love? Call me if something happens.”
“Yeah.
“Mingi?”
“Hm?”
“Just wait for me, okay? It's gonna be alright.”
A flood of sobs hit him once the call ended. He drove the last two blocks with blurred eyes and a spasming pain on his chest that threatened to break his ribs from time to time. It was such a loud wailing for the little amount of tears he was letting out, it made him feel dramatic in all the wrong ways. He couldn't be that weak, could he? Was a house reason enough to break him like that?
Mingi stopped the car poorly at the driveway of his own home and locked eyes with himself in the mirror. His face was nothing but a puddle of salty red flesh, the living proof of the damages of overreacting. He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Yunho hadn't abandoned him yet.
The sobbing was alarmingly difficult to fight while he tried to open the door. The keys kept falling from his hands and soon they turned into another one of the torments from that evening, making his blood boil in his veins with some kind of rage that should never be exposed. Weird memories started to float around him like ghosts, whispering threats and harsh things until he couldn't distinguish them anymore. Mingi opened the door —finally— and barely closed it behind his back before sitting on the floor, head buried between his arms.
«Open up, Mingi. The Lord always rewards obedient boys… don't you want heaven?”
His eyes snapped open in the desperate act of making himself conscious about his own surroundings. He was home. Yunho's scent was everywhere and it would be stronger soon when he came back from work and everything would be fine then. He couldn't wait to bury his face on his best friend's chest and pretend nothing bad happened. The feeling of his warm body would help erase everything.
He swallowed a sob and fixed his own hair with nervous fingers, taking a deep breath that teared his lungs like sharp pieces of glass. He needed to clean his mess before Yunho got home; he had insisted too much on being okay. He was a disgusting liar whose knees couldn't stop shaking while trying to stand up, nothing but a useless bag of problems that poor man was sadly —morally— obligated to solve.
Once he could stand up by himself, he waddled to the kitchen counter. Even if the house seemed to spin around him, he made it to the kettle and pressed the button on top to heat the water inside. He didn't really feel like drinking anything, but Yunho had been very specific about the chamomile and the comfy clothes. He'd worry about the last part later, he thought. Maybe when he could stop bawling his eyes out of his skull.
«Be a good boy and lick it clean for me.»
Mingi turned his face to the side and sobbed with his eyes closed. The liquid he was pouring spilled, and splashed on his hand like a proof of him being a useless little piece of trash, so he dropped everything he could have been holding and caught his lip between his teeth hard enough to avoid crying. When had he grabbed the kettle?
He pulled at his own hair and hid in his arms, sobbing his heart out. He had failed miserably. He wasn't okay, Yunho would be so disappointed.
Feeling like his chest was about to be ripped open at any moment, he decided against standing on his feet. It took him a couple of seconds to let himself fall onto the floor, bleary eyed and unconsolable. As minutes passed, his mind flooded with dirty words that were once whispered to his ears, and then, he was gone.
(...)
He should have known it would happen. It had been a terrible choice to leave for work and let Mingi deal with such a heavy bag by himself, Yunho almost felt like all that was his fault. Why on earth was he so invested in that dumb job of his?
Being a professor's assistant wasn't the dreamiest position in the world, but it paid the bills. It put food on the fridge and cute little gifts on Mingi's hands, so it was okay. Yunho loved it –to type and redact essays, to mark papers, to help students out with things he had learned in the previous years. The idea of becoming a teacher himself had been installed in his brain for a while now, it sounded beautifully close to the life he wanted. Still, all the peace had disappeared from his body and now all he could think about was a bunch of twisted scenarios in which he could find Mingi once he arrived home. The anxiety was over the roof by the time he opened the front door.
“Mingi?” He called. “Baby, I'm home.”
Finding Mingi was easy most of the time. Usually he just had to enter the house to see him waiting on the couch, be it asleep or awake. This time, though, he was nowhere to be seen. Yunho didn't think twice before checking the rest of the house, starting with the empty bedrooms and the bathroom. Not even a sight of recent movement could be seen there.
“Where are you?” He asked calmly, almost joking around to lighten up the heavy mood that floated around him. As he walked to the kitchen, he started to hear the heartbreaking symphony of sobs and low mumbles. Mingi was there, too, lost in his own world and completely hidden from the reality around him. The sight was familiar, yet still painful to see.
“Mingi-ah” Yunho walked calmly towards him, choosing his words wisely as he got down to his level. He knelt in front of the boy, finally choosing to sit on his heels when he noticed Mingi's complete lack of response. “It’s okay.” He whispered. “Can I touch you?”
Yunho had grown ridiculously good at consoling him through the years. Ever since middle school, he had been perfecting as many techniques as possible to make those moments a little easier, to help soothe the pain that sometimes threatened to break his heart in a half. The first step always involved Mingi's predisposition to be touched, held or handheld, and Yunho's tacit promise to not cross that line –no exceptions allowed. From that point, they both would try their best to make it right.
With a soft sniffle and a nod, Mingi gave him the green light. “Yeah?”
“Yeah?” Yunho echoed, his hands hovering over Mingi's arms. “Are you sure?”
A couple of seconds in silence, and then another nod. Yunho finally landed gentle hands on him and stroked lightly before pulling him in a hug. Mingi buried his face on the crook of his neck and whimpered, too confused to actually take his arms out of the space between their bodies and hug him properly. A stabbing pain crossed his ribs once he felt the warmth of his embrace.
“I'm so sorry” he sobbed. Yunho's hands covered his back with long, peaceful strokes.
“Shh… it's okay. It's totally okay, we'll fix it, hm?” The man pressed his own cheek to the side of his head. He spoke so softly, like nothing was wrong. “You’ve been so brave, everything's going to be fine.”
“It hurts.”
Yunho thought his heart broke a little more every time Mingi said those words out loud. He could only imagine the pain he had been carrying over those years, the terrible memories, the fear of being triggered to the point of fainting whenever someone barely similar to that man walked too close to him. There was a soul wrenching sense of despair that filled him whenever he thought about those words being exactly that: words. The torments inside Mingi would probably never find expressions that were dense enough to fit them and they hated it.
How could Yunho ever heal the wounds in his soul if they shared names with a graze in the knee? He was dueling a monster with a pocket full of band-aids.
“I know, baby. We need to get you out of the floor, hm? Do you think you can walk by yourself?”
Another nod. Of course he could walk; it was humiliating enough to lose control of himself to the point of breaking. He didn't need to give Yunho more reasons to think of him as an idiot.
The next step used to be easier in the past. Get clean clothes and put them on. Sit on the bed. Talk. Mingi could do that with no effort. That evening, nevertheless, he could barely manage his hands to take out his sweater. They felt frozen, strange to his own body and useless to a worrying extent. He kept dropping everything, forgetting basic things like how to unbutton or even the order of actions that took to undress himself. Yunho pretended he wasn't looking for the generous amount of five minutes and then, he spoke from the door.
“Want me to help or are you okay on your own?”
Mingi lifted his face to him, feeling the burning behind his eyes when the man gave him a soft smile. Another apology was forcefully dragged to the bottom of his chest. Yunho understood the silence perfectly, as if he had been raised in the absence of his words. He walked up to him —quietly— and showed him his hands.
“I'm gonna touch you.” He warned. Mingi mumbled an answer, his eyes closing for a second before they flew open again.
Yunho took the sweater out with experienced hands and took some time to fold it neatly on the bed. Mingi shivered.
“I'm sorry you had to leave your job.”
“It's okay.” Yunho's fingers took care of the button and zip on his pants. He had a calming gesture that soothed Mingi's racing mind. “Didn't have much to do there, anyways.”
White lies sprawled everywhere, Yunho looked into his eyes to check once more before finally pulling his pants down. Mingi got himself steady with one hand on the man's shoulder, lifted one leg and then the other until it was fully out, and then sat on the bed, exhausted. The long white shirt he had chosen that day covered him rightfully down to the thighs.
“Listen to me” Yunho knelt in front of him, placing gentle hands on his knees. Mingi stared at him with swollen eyes. “I'll make you some tea, and then we'll talk. Yeah? Does it sound okay?”
Mingi shook his head.
“No?” Yunho mumbled. “You don't want to talk? But your therapist said…”
“Don't want you to leave. Please…” he lifted teary eyes to him and they soon started to flood. “Ask whatever you want but don't leave.”
Yunho sighed, contemplating his options —or the lack of them. Mingi was shaking like a dry leaf left to the wind, he had clammy hands and a face full of panic that made it really easy to decide.
The next step had always been water. Warm or cold, in a bathtub or a cup, it was always offered like a promise of comfort. Mingi followed the lead until his bare feet touched the cool tiles of the bathroom and put some sense back into his head. He was making a tempest in a teapot.
“It’s gonna be okay” Yunho soothed. He took his hand and slowly guided him to the bathtub. Mingi shook his head, a pair of heavy tears fell down to his neck and got lost inside his shirt.
“No?” he echoed. “No what, baby?”
Mingi's hand grabbed the hem of his shirt so hard that his knuckles got pale. “No naked?” He begged. “Please?”
The eyes of the man in front of him got insanely softer in a manner that let his pity be seen. Mingi itched every time he noticed something similar in his eyes, something that would convey –even slightly– that Yunho felt sorry for him in the way only dirty souls like him could be pitied. Still, he swallowed the humiliation diluted in a sob and waited for an answer.
Yunho nodded. “Absolutely,” he said. “You don't need to take your clothes off, love. You know we never do it that way, right?” The man stroked his hair softly “You know I'll always ask first.”
He knew it, yes. In fact, being undressed against his will had never been a worry of his own when Yunho took care of him on days like that. But, again, that time felt different, as if the brainworms in his head had finally taken control over him and his emotions, just like he had been waiting for them to do since he turned fifteen.
Mingi stood there, completely lost until he felt strong arms around him.
“You’re doing great” he heard on top of his head. “You're doing so good, Minky. Just stay with me, okay? Keep listening to me, It’ll feel better soon.”
Cold water on his face made him flinch. He looked at Yunho like he had been betrayed and then stared at his own reflection with puffy eyes.
“Wow, you look cute” Yunho smiled softly as he continued getting the salt out of his cheeks. “You're so, so pretty, hm? Such a good boy… See? No need to take it off. We can make it better like this…”
Usually, a wet face meant problems and Yunho knew that well. It meant Mingi's limit was so blurred between memories and reality that he would turn down a bath in the name of not being stripped, be it to avoid vulnerability or to keep himself safe. Yunho spent the next ten minutes secretly praying for it to be the first option and not the last one. He couldn't bear the thought of Mingi sensing him as a threat.
He handled him as if his bare skin could open up deathly wounds on his palms. From the bathroom to the bedroom and then downstairs, Yunho barely touched him and Mingi knew why. He absolutely knew why and hated to know.
“I'll make you some tea”. The man announced after he sat on the armchair in the living room. “I'll be right back.”
He probably needed some time out, Mingi thought. Maybe the tea was the perfect excuse to be alone and curse at how bloody weak he was all the damn time. He would do that himself if he could, though. –cursing. He would spend whole days cursing at his own name and the weakness it carried if that meant he could stop feeling that way. If only Yunho didn't stop him from even speaking poorly about himself.
“I think it's time for the talking,” Yunho said from the kitchen, opening the door in between them so he was still in Mingi's vision range. “Do you think you can do it, love? Do you need more time?”
An additional decade would help.
“I think I can.” He mumbled. It took everything to actually accept the invitation to talk and not remain silent. “There's nothing new.”
“Well, yes”. Yunho came back to the living room with two cups in his hands. “We already know what caused it, but you still need to talk it out and I'd love to hear you, so I can understand.”
Mingi's eyes filled with tears again. “Understand what?” He asked, voice as thin as a thread.
“You.”
Oh, there it was. They had entered that thick, sticky and asphyxiating part of the process called talking, where Yunho would attack him with an arsenal of gentle words and soothing hands that would cover his body like a warm blanket. Mingi would be invisible to monsters after he was done, at least until something triggered him again.
He'd be safe after the talking, it had always been like that. Yunho had that kind of talent.
“I got to the house this time,” he started. Yunho put a mug in his hands and kept listening. “I was feeling okay, I don't know why I keep doing this, nothing happened there… not today.”
He watched him silently as they both took a small sip of the chamomile.
“Minseo keeps texting me about her,” he continued, closing his eyes. “I know I'm running out of time but I swear, Yunho, I'd do it if I could” Mingi lifted his eyes to him, begging. “I'd go see mom if I wasn't so scared.”
“I know,” Yunho's fingers moved some strands of dark hair out of his face. “Being scared is normal, dear. Fear isn't just something you leave behind when you move out, right?
Mingi nodded and bit his lip. His face was down by the time he talked again. “I could feel him here,” he whimpered. “touching me, telling me things…I'm so sorry you have to deal with me this way. I know it's not real anymore, I'm so sorry.”
“There's nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault.”
Generic. Dumb. Empty. Yunho could go on describing his words forever. His arms ached for holding, touching, for grounding Mingi with gentle strokes on the back. He craved to kiss and contain in ways that would be nothing but overwhelming for the boy in front of him. He sucked at talking.
“You know what I think about that.” Mingi wiped his tears with the back of his hand and placed the cup of tea on the coffee table. Yunho caught the disappointment in his tone immediately.
“Yeah, I know.” He said. He doubted a little before adding the next part. “But I don't think you could have prevented it how you think you could.”
Mingi closed his eyes and shook his head.
“I don't think you should blame yourself for what happened. You were fifteen...”
“And I didn't say a word.” He finished, his eyes downcast as a couple of tears died on his knees. “Sometimes I watch my memories like tapes on a player, and I can't find a single frame of me saying no. There’s nothing. I just took it.”
“That doesn't change a thing.”
“No, of course it does.” he mumbled. “Every other victim I know said no eventually, everyone but me. What does that say to you?”
“Mingi, stop.”
“What if I wanted it?”
“No, you…”
“What if mom was right and I'm just a slut…?”
Yunho put his cup on the table and pulled him by the shirt until he was buried in between his arms. Mingi left the rest of the sentence floating around for a moment and then let out a strangled sob against his chest.
“No mean words.” Yunho said softly. “Remember? No mean words to yourself when we talk about this. Especially not that one.”
Yunho's hand pressed lightly on his upper thigh, gently massaging the zone in a way that broke Mingi's heart in a half. The scars under his hand seemed to burn back to life the moment he touched them.
“I'm sorry.” He whined, holding onto his body like some kind of parasite, desperate to feed on his affection. “I’m sorry, I… I can't think of… Yunho, I don't know how…”
His thoughts crashed one after the other and tangled themselves in the back of his head until it became impossible to distinguish a single thing he could say out loud. Yunho stroked his hair and hid him from the world, holding him tightly between the back of the sofa and his broad, warm body, so Mingi forced himself to breathe in his scent to calm down. Even when he was laying down, the whole house was spinning.
“I'm here with you, hm?” Yunho whispered. Soft touches landed on his arm and back. “I'm not going anywhere, love. Take all the time you need.”
Mingi nodded, panting heavily and refusing to close his eyes to keep himself conscious about reality. Yunho was holding him, he was home. He was safe. Safe. Everything was okay, no one could hurt him there.
Yunho landed a kiss on his head, and something snapped.
«Boys like you were made to be used, Mingi. The lord will understand my desires.»
Oh, he was ruined.