08.5
It does happen
Minho once asked Jinki, someone he had then thought of as a smart elder and someone trusted, when he was about twelve or thirteen, possibly confused by the beginnings of puberty - he asked if Jinki ever felt like he didn’t like his , if it seemed it didn’t feel right when he looked at it or felt it. Not all the time, Minho was quick to say, but did it happen sometimes, so did boys feel like that? Was it normal?
Jinki had laughed, told Minho no, he’s never felt that way. So Minho laughed too, said it was something stupid he heard someone say. Jinki was quick to tell the younger not to trust everything people say; some things are silly jokes like that one.
He didn’t try to explain that’s how he felt sometimes. Very intensely sometimes, to the point of tears.
Minho decided he wouldn’t try to ask his brother either. He couldn’t stand the possibility of the same laughter. He just buried it, forced himself to forget and chalk it up to puberty, like health lessons in class talked about their bodies.
It didn’t really mean anything.
______________
Minho sat in his quiet bedroom. He was still trying to get used to it again, being home, back in a town that though small felt more like a city compared to the country. It seemed like the room, still neat with a half-built something of old lagos on the table and a pink pillow behind a stuffed animal, wasn’t really his space anymore. He laid on his bed, brushing long bangs out of his face, aware he needed a haircut but also not wanting to admit he liked the look for some reason. Glancing at mirrors was easier behind all the hair.
He didn’t want to be there, he didn't want to be home. He wasn’t ready to be there.
Part of Minho never wanted to come back. He didn’t know how his brother talked him into it. Maybe just because he missed him so much - missed everyone more than he was willing to accept.
When Minho heard voices fight again, noise above the fan running in his room to cool the humid summer heat, he knew it was about him. It was always about him. Dad didn’t want him back, that’s all Minho’s mind told him. It wasn’t hard to understand why. He was dirty still. He felt a stab in his chest whenever he met his father’s eyes, like he knew everything. He knew every little detail of that night – how his body betrayed him in ways it shouldn’t, while his mind and soul broke. He was ashamed of his son. He didn't want to touch him.
He could catch Minho’s illness.
When his parents’ fighting became too loud, he got up and out of the house as quickly as he could. If his parents noticed, they didn’t say anything - didn’t try to stop him.
Minho ran fast and without direction – he just needed to get away, stop hurting the people around him. Before he even realized it, he ended up slamming into the elevator doors for Jinki’s apartment, having thoughtlessly run to his place. He punched on the button, antsy as he waited for the ding and opening of sliding doors. People were in there as doors slowly opened. Minho blinked wide eyes and ran. He found the stairs instead, taking them two at a time on long legs, stumbling a time or two, his way up four flights of stairs to Jinki’s floor. He had to hurry, for some reason.
Minho slipped around a corner, then rushed to the right door. He loudly knocked, even beat his fist against the door, but the longer there was no answer the more alone he felt.
He’s wasn’t supposed to be there...
“Hyung..” Minho’s voice was a whiny sob as he tried to blink away tears. His knees hit the ground, hands losing any grip he had to keep himself standing. He still waited. Even as a door opened down the hall, a curious gaze on a stranger sitting outside a neighbor's door in gasping breaths. They walked out the opposite direction of Minho.
He still waited.
Waited to see if anyone would even want to help him.
Why should they?
______________
Minho scrubbed in the bathroom, still remembering what Jinki had tried to do – what it looked like he had tried to do a couple weeks ago. He worried now maybe his friend was getting sick, because of him.
No.
Jinki would be fine.
He himself needed to get better. Just scrub a little harder. Minho hissed, breaking skin.
He’s not like those men said. He shouldn’t kiss anyone with his dirty mouth. Why had he ever in the first place? Just spreading his sickness. He shouldn’t have touched Jinki.
Minho ran the washcloth roughly over his mouth, making his lips swell a bright red.
Wrong.
After his shower ended, Minho took his medication and smiled puffy, pink lips from behind long, soaked hair at his reflection in the mirror, before leaving the bathroom.
He finally forgot about that small incident. Maybe more because he wanted to. He pushed memories of kissing Jinki to the back of his mind. Those moments were nothing more than a lost child trying to find himself again. An identity he was sure he was confident in lost, just needing to be found again.
They were so small, they never happened. The unfamiliar comfort was shoved from his mind until he completely forgot about it.
It was easier to forget than dwell on what they could mean, what he may have done to his friend without meaning to.
He didn’t miss kissing Jinki, so his mind repeated.
He’s moving forward. That was reason enough to smile at his reflection after a shower nights later.
It didn’t occur to Minho, not at such an age, he was inducing amnesia symptoms, brought on by severe trauma, and had been doing so for months. Forgetting could possibly fix everything.
______________
A couple weeks later, Minho still felt out of place in his own house – with his family. Things were very obviously tense in the home still.
Minho blamed himself. It almost felt like one step forward and two steps back – all his life seemed to be that lately. He had brought everything back with him and it weighed on everyone again. His family, Jinki…
He wasn’t sorry when a knife grazed his inner arm, barely causing a leaking scratch. It was an accident, of course. It had to be. So he wasn’t sorry.
Minho looked around his room now, still feeling like a stranger in it. Minho pulled his pillow from his bed and scurried to his brother’s room across the dark hall. He quickly knocked before pushing the door open and peaking his head in. he found Minseok’s back to him, pulling his bed sheets down to get in for bedtime.
His brother spoke without turning to him, “Minho-ya.”
The smile in Minseok’s voice eased Minho’s nerves. He stepped into his brother’s room, gently closing the door behind him and subconsciously tugging at long sleeves to cover skin before rushing up behind Minseok, jumping and throwing his arms around him tightly. Minho dropped his pillow to the bed while Minseok turned from it, almost falling and flailing around the room.
“Hey hey, it’s sleep time,” Minseok was trying to be stern, but there was laughter in his voice.
Minho noticed how careful Minseok still was about touching him. In many ways he wished he wasn’t, but in others Minho was grateful for it.
“You going to get down now?”
Minho rested his chin on his shoulder, peeking around Minseok. He didn’t want to get down yet. He missed his big brother. He missed how they were before, even if it meant indirect fights and challenges at one uping the other in an eager competitive spirit. He didn’t want Minseok looking at him differently – something to be careful with. Minho tightened his legs around Minseok’s waist and smiled, clinging like a silly animal. It was childish, but he felt great doing it.
Minho felt bold enough in that moment to say, “I’ve missed you, hyung.” He paused before adding, “Thank you.”
A tight grip wrapped around Minho’s folded arms. They didn’t try to pry him off, only held onto Minho. He snuggled his face into Minseok's neck, smiling.
Minseok’s voice was a whisper, “I’ve missed you too, Minho.” He slowly spun around the room, and more loudly teased, “Who am I supposed to look better than if you’re not around?”
Minho was set on the bed when Minseok sat down on it, his balance nearly lost. He was gentle about pulling Minho’s legs off from around him, when in the past, his brother would have just yelled and pulled at Minho without a thought. Minseok stood and turned to Minho, smiling, but he still looked exhausted. Minho could read that much off his brother.
Minseok’s hand lightly ruffled Minho’s hair, and Minho pulled away playfully annoyed, “I think you have that backwards, hyung.” He soon laughed and kicked at Minseok’s legs playfully.
Minseok looked overly thoughtful, “You think?”
"Yeah, I already look better than you. I grew taller than you," he used his hands to exaggerate a measurement of their height difference now, as puberty was that much kind to a younger brother, shooting up his height, but leaving him terribly lanky compared to a thicker bodied older brother.
Minseok's nose crinkled, expression of their old competing ways, and he was the one defeated.
Minho only smiled bigger, soon failing around the bed, twisting and pulling covers over his body with short laugher.
Minseok flipped the lights off and crawled into bed beside Minho. Minho didn’t mean to, but he kept his brother up awhile talking about whatever he could think of, mostly how he's missed playing video games while away, and a few funny stories from his time away from home. He just wanted to spend time there with his big brother. He truly did miss him and it showed more now than ever. Minseok gave a few grunts in reply while drifting, at least flattering Minho.
It reminded Minho of when they shared a room as kids, how desperately he wanted his own room those times they fought, usually over an older brother being better than Minho at something. But also the good times, when Minseok would read a story in Minho's bed before sleep, taking care off Minho's needs with father absent and Minho never realized.
Now Minho missed sharing a room. He slept between his brother and the wall in Minseok’s small bed. He felt safe there, slowly falling asleep after Minseok.
He tried not to be embarrassed when he woke his brother with thrashing and screaming hours later. He didn’t want to burden his brother any further with his behavior that just didn’t want to go away.
Still though, Minseok held him close and whispered he was okay until Minho’s breathing calmed, thoughts settled on the present, and he drifted to sleep again.
Sometimes, Minho wished his brother wasn’t so good to a person like him.
______________
"Minho.. "
He hadn't noticed, it's something he never had really noticed. It just sort of happened. Minho blinked widened eyes, sitting at the table with his mother, or rather not really sitting as he couldn't seem to hold still long enough. He realized by her look what he had been doing.
It connected as far back as Minho's concentration and speech problems. He wished he understood them better so he could fix them. He's received special help, but mostly in elementary school and some middle school. He hadn't been pointed out as unable to hold still for long enough he couldn't remember the last time it happened.
"Relax, huh?"
He was relaxed, as much as he could be lately. Minho held still now, making a conscious effort of it.
Being home was still very difficult.
______________
Minho looked himself over in the bathroom mirror, readying to for his first day back to school. The term had already started, Minho was late, but he had also not finished the last term either. Minho was really trying to care about his grades, but that mediocre achievement was still all he could manage.
He tried evening out any apparent wrinkles in the school uniform that now felt unfamiliar to his body. He didn’t look quite as awkward now though, since he had gained some weight again over summer. Minho straightened his dark tie again, fixing something that hadn’t needed need fixing, then tried to tame is lengthened hair. His uniform had even been cleaned and pressed by his mother with care.
Words slipped out of his mouth, like some little pep talk to get him psyched. He used to do it all the time - head tilted to the side slightly, deep breath out, a low mumble of words. It got him through situations in the past.
It’s not working today.
He just stood in front of the mirror, really honestly terrified to go back to school. The anxiety struck him hard. Back to school had usually been a time Minho enjoyed. He would see friends again, start up soccer practice regularly again, even didn’t mind the boring schooling so much, and if he did he could just bother a classmate with jokes and run the halls when no adults were present.
So much is still so different about everything.
So again, palms slapped his head in a short repeating motion and slight sting, eyes squeezed closed, voice mumbling. He had to get his head in the game. That old habit, it didn’t work like it used to.
If it weren’t for Jinki walking him to his school and watching him enter the building, Minho was pretty sure he would have run away and skipped class for the arcade or something else mind-numbing. He almost welcomed the thought of punishment for his absence from school.
Looks were given. Rumors carried.
He had a mental break down, was sent off to a hospital or something because of stress he couldn't handle. That happened to kids, but it wasn't supposed to happened to kids like Minho. He was slightly popular, not like his brother, but still he had a family name attached to him, that made him someone admired. Students had liked him, handing out high-fives and talking sports with him. Some even asked about his dad, how it was a shame he couldn't still play and how their parents had enjoyed his soccer days.
Some old friends acted friendly, but the connection was no longer real. Maybe worse, Minho couldn’t find any part to care. Give them a half-smile, act interested in what they were saying, then turn away as they talked amongst themselves. There were looks though, from all around, those whispered rumors still circulating. Minho didn’t have to explain himself to any of them though. The friendly connection had snipped in half over summer break.
School was just school now, something Minho hadn’t experienced since the beginning of middle school, trying to find a place to fit in and be accepted.
Now though, he couldn’t find a care to fit in. Spending free time looking out the class windows was more fulfilling than talking to anyone. He was the quiet one, not the loud and energetic kid in class.
That wasn’t the Choi Minho he remembered though.
He still wasn’t back.
______________
Minho stumbled around the kitchen in the night, looking for a bottle of water from the fridge, or anything to clear his mind. He woke from more dreams, and they’re usually unsettling ones more often than not, but this wasn’t the dreams that left him gasping for air, heart racing and panic setting in.
Minho felt comfortable in the dream, not really noticing his apparel or his mannerisms, because they all felt same as usual - all natural. When he looked into a mirror though, it felt like seeing himself for the first time in a while; all mirrors in waking hours he avoided still because he couldn’t stand the sight of himself. In this dream, he didn’t hate his body anymore, how it was a betrayal to him.
Here his smile felt natural, like he was happy.
Then a conscious thought slithered in, and he realized, he’s not a girl- that’s a girl staring back in the mirror, in a pretty dress, nothing hanging between slender legs that made him feel dirty. That wasn’t Minho as much as the person he faces in mirrors during waking hours wasn’t.
Minho woke up shortly after, dream still vivid and thoughts needing to be cleared.
He wasn’t supposed to have dreams like that anymore. They made him wake, feeling like his body wasn’t his own, there was something wrong. Puberty set those dreams off the worst. They had settled though, faded to the back of his mind as he was older now. The current resurfacing of them grew frightening.
Minho sat at the table, hands through his hair and bottle taken in heavy gulps. He sat in the silence, he had so much to do, a full day tomorrow with school, tests, practice, even probably forgetting something. He should be asleep. Dreamless.
He hated it, he hated it all so much.
In a sudden fit of anger, Minho threw the bottle of water across the kitchen, no real aim, just needing something to lash out at and that was the closest thing to him. It bounced around with the lid keeping the liquid sealed inside.
Minho dropped his head to the table, eyes closing. He just wanted to forget everything. He had been so happy, hadn’t he? Before that awful night. Everything was wrong again- everything was worse than wrong again.
Minho didn’t lift his face again until he felt his head being rubbed, gentle fingers through his long hair. He leaned up with groggy eyes, finding his mother and the early morning daylight brightening the room.
She paused a moment, focus on Minho’s hair in lengthy strands between her fingers, looking thoughtful. Then her gaze turned to him. “Why are you sleeping here?”
“I uh..” Minho had just put his head down to rest, he didn’t know he had fallen asleep. He found a smile though, because in not knowing he slept, he was dreamless. Nothing. “I wanted to get a drink, I guess I fell asleep.”
Mother found half-empty water bottle sitting on the kitchen floor where it had rolled near the table. She picked it up and placed it in front of Minho, then her hands were on his head again, combing gently in a soothing manner. She looked a little more concerned, like she did often now, as she said “Drink. Your father will be up soon.”
Minho quietly sipped his water and watched as mother prepared breakfast for the family, like she usually did, sending off a husband to work and her children to school.
Minho stared. He wondered if he should blame her for what she did to him as a kid that caused confusion. No, he couldn’t blame his mother for anything. Maybe that confusion was always there, maybe mom even saw it back then. He wanted to blame someone though. So he blamed himself, made heavier the load he carried.
Before father could come to the kitchen, Minho left to get ready for school, a place he dreaded much like anywhere else.
______________
Minho wondered about taking the bus again to school, returning to that old routine, back for his second week of the new semester. He didn't over sleep like he used to, so walking seemed just as good. Approaching the large school building and entering its gates with fellow students was still unnerving. He yearned for the days he was walking in half asleep still.
Jinki was waved off, told by Minho to worry about getting to his own school. Minho didn't want to cause him to be late or get punished. He insisted he could walk to school by himself. It felt a bit overbearing how those around him watched his every move like he would do something foolish otherwise. Deep down, Minho knew there actually was a likelihood he would do something, and that bothered him greatly.
There's chatter amongst the hallways of the high school by students who arrived early, and Minho entered his classroom to find it barely half full yet. He's uncharacteristically early, like too often now. He was glanced at, then kids go back to chatting and looking through phones, waiting for their first teacher to arrive.
Minho pulled out the seat at his desk, finding his desk mate also earlier than usual. The teenager yawned, eyes half-closed. Minho tried not to disturbed him, hoping they wouldn't have to talk. He cringed when his chair squeaked loudly as he sat.
"Minho, hey, look at you, you really did come back to school again."
There's some noise from the back of the room, and Minho glanced over his shoulder to find students trying to appear disinterested suddenly. It's pretty obvious what it all meant. Some in his classroom had been taking bets on his attendance. Looking back, Minho found his desk partner looking sheepish.
"You dropped out of school before break, like, what do you expect from bored teenagers.."
Minho shrugged, expecting nothing from any of them anymore. He pulled out books he would need for the first lesson, then waited for another day to pass.
"Where we're you, anyway?" his desk mate whispered. "When you were pulled out, be honest with me, huh."
Minho didn't even turn to him, simply saying "Vacation at a relative's."
The boy chuckled to himself, muttering "Wow, and here some thought you were in a mental hospital. Crazy Choi, heh."
Minho flinched at the reminder he wasn't put in one, and still wasn't currently there quite frankly. It would have been so easy to do. But he supposed quietly dropping him off at family was the simpler road. Word would get around if he really had been put in a mental hospital.
Minho wondered if he still belonged in one though.
______________
"Minho.."
A kid Minho had hung out with in sports activities before last winter arrived, sat next to him in the cafeteria, only his drink still with him. Minho poked at rice and nibbled on some meat, not much of an appetite after breakfast. He usually sat alone, for the most part, at lunch these days. Sometimes the captain of his soccer team would chat Minho up, but he just didn't talk as much as he used to.
"I hear some guys been talking about you, from another class room. They're looking for trouble. You know the type." The student mimics a cigarette to his lips and puff of smoke. "I mean, you didn't hear it from me, just yeah, watch your back is all I'm saying."
Minho blinked wide eyes, not sure how to respond. If he was implying the rougher kids known for some bullying of students, than Minho wasn't sure why he would have a target on him. He hadn't done anything around them in months.
The kid was up and leaving the cafeteria with a group, not looking back.
Minho sighed, head lowered and rice poked once more.
"Minho?"
His head shot up minutes later, finding a female schoolmate leaning over the table looking at him with curious eyes and a pretty face. She had come from a table of girls from the female classrooms, one of the girls sitting there was his his ex-girlfriend, the only one he had ever touched lips to, until Jinki, who showed him what a real kiss could feel like. But surely that wasn't a real kiss. It was something, but not a real kiss. That's only between girls and boys. Besides, he wasn’t remembering all that anymore.
"It is you! I didn't recognize you with all the.. well, hair."
Minho touched his hair subconsciously, watching her with confusion himself. He knew her, fairly sure the soccer team captain and her were dating, or something. He didn't pay much attention to the relationships going on in school, which was one reason he now had an ex himself. He was the student asking if anyone was up for a game of basketball, not one asking who was going on a date.
"Did you get scouted or something?" she looked envious suddenly. "Can you put in a good word for me. I swear I can sing- or act! I can do both." She twisted a finger in her hair, lips bitten in a cutesy way.
Minho shook his head, growing horribly nervous, sweating now, watching her intense gaze on him. He wished he wasn't in a co-ed school. It's not that he didn't like girls, or even really fell victim to the 'cooties' stage in his younger years. He had always been fine as a child kicking a ball around with a girl, it was other boys who would scare them away from playing, leaving Minho confused, as a girl could play sports too - Minho was proof, or rather not, the confused thought bothered Minho as he aged. He even found himself looking at dresses girls wore, cute with frills and pink fabrics, wondering, maybe, what he could look like in one, until he grow older and realized that had to be strange and stop it.
But these sorts of subjects come up more often, here with co-ed teenagers, about idols and actors, and he didn't know how to respond when he only looked at them as average people, not subjects of adoration. He tried to relate it to sports achievers he looked up to and enjoyed their talent, but the females in school, even some boys, desired some sort of life of a celebrity. He didn't understand it. "No, nothing like that happened."
"That's not why you left school early? We thought," she looks to her table of female students, all of them watching the two of them now. His legs began to bounce beneath the table. "You might have been signed as a trainee, that's why.." her voice drifts lower, whispering more to herself as her eyes moved away. ".. you've been so weird and cutting soccer even.."
"Nothing is wrong with me," Minho blurted out with his deep voice and angry expression, taking her aback.
She stepped backwards, hand slowly dropping from her hair and lips pressed. "Yeah, okay.."
Minho watched her return to her table, and though he couldn't hear them, it was obvious they were talking about him, eyes darting towards him. Minho hurried to get up and dump the food he wouldn't finish. He left for the bathroom to try and calm down, before returning to his classroom.
______________
Minho became tenser the longer he was in the small shop. He held his basket close, glancing around as he slowly moved through isles. He wasn’t sure if it was just now he was realizing it or what, but the small store seemed to be filled with men – only men.
Men that looked too much like before.
No, it was more than just that. Men in general gave Minho a fright they never used to. Like a little kid always caught for being up to no good and worrying about a punishment. But he himself was man too, right? No, he’s just a boy still, one that had thought he was a man. Men, they sent surreal anxiety through him, it wasn’t natural or right.
Minho shuffled around the store, grabbing the things from his mother’s list and hurried to the checkout. He fidgeted and fumbled pulling his cash out and handing it to the cashier. The man behind the counter eyed him suspiciously.
“Are you--”
“Fine.” Minho forced a smile, but still shifted anxiously on his feet. While the man rung up the items, Minho looked around the store again and it felt like it was only getting smaller - the men getting closer to him. It was hard to breathe.
Minho roughly pulled the change from the cashier and grabbed up the bags, quickly leaving the store with his head hung. Minho only made it a few steps out of the store before a hand touched him from behind, stopping him cold. Minho froze up. He wasn’t sure if he should start begging now or try to fight back.
“Hey.. hey you hear me?”
Minho turned around, fists painfully tight around his bags. He lifted his head, eyes wide with panic as he found a man from the store holding a bag out. He shoved it at Minho, saying it was his and that he had forgotten it. The man looked him up and down, almost a dirty look thrown as Minho took the bag. Minho quickly bowed a respectful ‘thank you’ and hurried home.
Once he dropped the bags off in the kitchen, Minho quickly made his way to the bathroom and took a long scrubbing shower. After, he laid in bed, skin raw and mind tired. He refused to eat dinner that night.
His brother had sighed. It was obvious how tired he was growing again, especially when he left Minho’s room and he heard Minseok fighting with their father again about his continued strange and disruptive behavior.
Still fighting.
His fault.
______________
Minho knew he was being followed as he made his way through chattery school halls. He skipped returning to his classroom, instead heading for the nearest bathroom. There he rushed into a stall, locking it as the sound of the door opening was heard. Several footsteps wander around the once empty bathroom.
There's a knock at Minho's stall. He said nothing, nervously stepping backwards, fists tight in his uniform sweater. He's unsure what to do, as he's never been in such a situation. Only students who were labeled losers were. But that's what he appeared to be now.
"Hey, who let you out of the mental ward? Huh?"
There was snickering among the students outside the stall. Minho knew from day one, when his scores only allowed him into a lower class school, there were such types of kids who enjoyed picking at other students. His classroom was luckily without the worst types. Minho hadn't been on their radar when he was just a simple guy on the soccer team, outgoing and friendly with enough popularity not to be worth touching.
Minho landed somewhere on their radar when paths crossed and he stepped in to help a few fellow students out. No fighting, just simply redirecting the obvious gang up on timid students for cash or worse. Minho had found it deplorable, and action was taken out of impulse, but adults were never told, as Minho wasn't a narc. He just couldn't stand seeing other kids victims to rude students, and his body moved faster than his thoughts some times, leaving no time to think a situation from all angles.
It come back to bite him, as his reputation was now less and fewer students were friendly with him.
There was loud pounding, voice rising. "Come out, we wanna talk to you, is all."
Minho took a deep breath, unlatching the door. He would get past this, and out the door quickly. It was nothing to worry about, and he didn't enjoy looking at himself as one who runs away. Minho blinked, stepping out slowly, as he found several boys, one already lighting a cigarette inside the building, which meant he wasn't someone to take lightly.
Minho's small head was jabbed several times by a large palm.
"You are crazy, huh? Screwed up in the head?"
Another stepped forward. "Just give us the money you got on ya, as payment for our kindness."
"I don't have any," Minho confessed with a slurring voice, one mocked in repeating by a boy beside him. His large eyes slightly widened, as he watched faces scowl.
Minho's pants were suddenly grabbed at, grumbles around him saying be surely had cash on him somewhere. Out of panic, fear of his clothes being pulled off, and worse, as flashbacks left him dissociating, Minho's fist swung out, knocking a boy in the chin.
The student stumbled back, hands off Minho's uniform. There was a moment of pause, one feeling longer than it surely was, as Minho was stunned by his actions.
Minho tried to use his athletic skills, dodge like a smooth soccer game, to make his way for the door and out into the hallway, but he never had been all that smooth at soccer and he's grabbed midway, yanked and pulled around by the boys. His head hit the side of a urinal as he was taken to the floor, kicked and a cigarette flicked out on him.
The scuffle didn't last long, and Minho's long leg somehow managed to kick one boy in the groin. He's left alone in the bathroom, head covered by his arms, forehead pulsing with an ache and ribs sore, still in shock at the situation he never thought himself to end up in.
As Minho slowly found his way to a sink, splashing water on his face and cleaning up his appearance, he spotted a strange smile upon his face. It was something of a fighter's spirit. He hadn't completely yield to them. He pulled cash from his back pocket, holding it up near his smile.
Minho found an old piece of himself through such an ordeal.
It was likely he would still be targeted, but he's proven not to be as timid and easy as other students.
Minho's fingers slipped wet against the mirror, touching that familiar expression that had been missed.
______________
Soccer practice after class was less than spectacular. Minho's head still hurt from the fall in the bathroom, and a bruise was forming on the upper side of his face, but long hair matted down with a thin headband kept it hidden enough no one commented. His coordination was lacking, and he tripped over the ball while nearly making a goal, ribs horribly sore in a gasp of breath.
Minho fell to the grass in frustration, knowing he was no more than a disappointment, and thankful his father couldn't see his worsened skills after returning to school.
Coach pulled Minho out, telling him to rest.
Benched again, Minho throw a punch at the chair beside him, recalling the feeling of making contact to another's face with a fist, the powerful action of it. Minho gulped down water and waited for the coach to call it quits so he could head home. He couldn't hold still as he watched the fellow teammates, or didn't, as he tipped his head back with wiggling legs, unaware again he was unable to hold still very long.
The team on the field played fine without Minho, like they really didn't need him one way or the other. Minho was self-conscious about returning as only a hindrance for the team. He's been gone too long.
______________
It's after a short day of classes on Saturday that Minho's mother took him for a haircut. His ribs were still a steady, pulsing ache, but the discoloration on his face he hoped had faded enough that it would go unnoticed.
"Don't you think it's about time for a cut?" mother had said earlier, hand through his hair, gaze looking more hesitant than her words. There was something in her lingering look and brushing fingers that silently spoke more of the past than the present.
Minho didn't want it cut, not yet, as it was some sort of subconscious safety net for himself. But if mother asked, he would do it.
There was an annoying panic watching long locks being chopped off to the floor, but Minho put on his brave face, assuring himself he didn't need the hair. When the hairdresser finished, asking him what he thought as he faced the mirror, his eyes darted around, unable to look himself in the face with hair now neatly cut above his ears. He didn't like the reflection, and stating a reason why had become more complicated than ever.
Mother smiled, and that was enough for Minho. If she found something positive out of it, than Minho was sure he could manage.
"You’re getting so big," mother said as she brushed off his shoulders, smiling up at him. "You're growing up."
There’s a flash in her gaze as she swept bangs around his forehead, and Minho quickly turned away, fingers smoothing out hair, worried she found what was left of the bruise on his face. he didn't want to worry her with that.
On the way home, mother insisted they stop for a treat at Jinki’s parents’ shop. He entered nervously and bowed politely at the parents. Jinki wasn’t there, still at school activities said his mother, the smiling woman short and round behind the counter, that one needed to lean to see her when she passed by the glass casing holding their daily specials. Minho soon understood when he glanced at his own mother that she had brought him there to run into Jinki.
As the two left the shop with some boughten diced fish, Minho ask about grabbing something at the food stalls on the way home. “I want some skewered chicken,” he slightly whined in a childish way, having old tactics in getting the little things he wanted as the baby of the family.
“Alright,” mother nodded, trying to fight back a smile.
Minho swung the bags he carried for his mother, still dressed in his school uniform under a jacket and backpack, walking downtown streets slightly crowd with weekend foot traffic.
Minho smiled while munching on chicken, scrapping it off the thin stick with a found appetite. He held it out towards his mother, offering her a piece, and she took it with a small laugh. Minho smiled wide as he chewed, eyes scrunched and visible behind shortened bangs. Mother spoke of taking him shopping with her for clothes soon. He agreed.
"I'll hold your bags, mom," Minho teased, food on his face his mother was swiping with a thumb, out of habit raising two children. "And make sure you look good."
"Always my helper, hm." She gently rubbed his back, eyes downcast with lipped curled upward in reminiscence.
Time out with his mother left Minho smiling and feeling optimistic about his decision to visit a hairdresser again.
______________
You look pretty with long hair.
Pretty…
Minho stood in front of the bathroom mirror, shaking hand holding sharp scissors near his head.
Pretty boy.
Pretty girl.
Minho’s eyes narrowed and he took the scissors to his already freshly cut hair, clipping what he could shorter. It was sloppy, a butchered mess, and dark locks of hair fell into the sink, revealing only slightly sharper angles on a still femininely soft-featured face. Big eyes and feminine lashes, full lips, small face.
Minho hated the new haircut.
Eyes narrowing further, he snipped more hair from his head, full brows and wide forehead more and more visible each dark lock of hair falling away.
Minho cleaned his mess and looked in the mirror again. Big eyes blinked slowly, head moving side to side. He gave his even shorter hair a fluff, trying to look like.. he wasn’t sure. Not a girl – not the girl mother had wanted, not the pretty boy that hadn’t asked for what had happened, not anything. Not the girl he wanted to be when he was younger and told himself ever since puberty he was a boy and there was absolutely no other way. You couldn't be both. He was born a boy, even if he had a soft face and dainty figure, what was between his legs society told him he’s a boy.
Minho chewed on his lips, hating his reflection again today. It was ugly and confusing.
How could he be pretty? He’s not supposed to be pretty. Girls are pretty.
Minho had been subconsciously emasculated all his life; the pretty faced one, the one who should have been the daughter – look at those big, beautiful eyes so different than the rest of the family’s features, the one that wasn’t good enough in sports – the things boys do. It’s hard to believe he didn’t deserve an assault like any other woman could be roped into, as horrible as it was to put it in such terms.
Maybe he had brought some of it on himself? Maybe he really didn’t fit the societal gender roles and everyone noticed though he tried to hide it.
Medication was again quickly swallowed down, until he didn't even feel himself and he could lay in bed, log-shaped body pillow hugged close atop of him, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
Minho was a boy, no doubt about it.
______________
Next morning before school, Minho noticed Minseok’s concerned glances at his messy cut of hair. He tried not to notice looks from his parents, especially a mother looking horrified at such a job done to his hair. Minho forced a smile, even made himself eat some breakfast before getting ready to leave for school.
On his way out, Minho past by Minseok in the hall and a gentle hand fell on his head, ruffling messily cut hair. “You okay?” Minseok asked, voice quiet so their parents wouldn’t hear. Minho twitched at the worry he heard in his brother.
He reached his hand to Minseok’s. He wanted to pull it off, shove it away in aggression, but more than that he didn’t want to leave the touch. Especially not to go to school again, where it was still hard to concentrate – where the atmosphere had changed, where gazes watched him but for different reasons now, like they knew the actual truth but wouldn't speak it as it was too disgusting. He wondered if his social life really was over. It didn't seem completely so when some schoolmates spoke to him, still friendly, and those times he realized it was himself that couldn't care about a social life.
He was doing it to himself. Making himself believe they hated him.
“Just wanted to try something new,” Minho clarified with a forced smile, obviously referring to his hair. He reluctantly stepped away from the comfort of his brother, feeling eyes on him while he shoved shoes and a backpack on, then left the house with a quick goodbye.
Minho almost ran into Jinki outside his front gate. He blinked, somehow having forgotten his friend was going to walk him to school again, had insisted, and Minho couldn't find a good reason to say no. When he looked up, he met Jinki’s smiling face – that contagious and warm crinkle-eyed smile that made Minho’s lips twitch and curl the slightest. Some of Minho’s anxiety melted away then.
Whatever looks he got at school, Minho didn’t care. Jinki had smiled, one of those big ones flashing gums and small eyes, and that was what he had needed.
When Minho got home that afternoon, the scissors he had used to cut his hair couldn’t be found where he had left them. Maybe a mother had taken them away, or a brother.
He didn’t ask anyone in his family about it. Part of him wondered if his aunt had told his parents about that day he cut himself. That had been an accident, like he kept telling himself. Minho’s medication was left sitting out visibly on the bathroom counter.
Later that night, Minho took his pill after study time, that ended up him zoned-out, scribbling half the time. It all kicked in again; his thought process was fogged. What was feeling or emotion?
Medication.
______________
Minho found a smile as his desk mate eyed his new appearance; short hair cut unevenly and sticking out oddly in some spots. Minho sat in his chair, first to the desk. His schoolmate sat down slowly, bag dropped at his side.
"Wow, who did that to your hair?" he asked like he hadn't noticed the other day. Possibly he really hadn't.
"Me," Minho answered with a crooked grin. He leaned in his chair, legs spread and arms crossed, sitting like most male teenagers in a subconscious action to be just like them.
"Okay.."
Minho's desk mate side-eyed him a long moment, then settled, likely chalking up another tally for how messed up in the head Minho had gotten.
In turn, Minho side-eyed the student, noting if they are sitting similarly, to keep himself sure he was what his outward appearance suggested to the world.
Being a boy was easy.
______________
Minho dragged his feet. He tried to avoid eye contact with the coach as much as possible. The man spoke to Minho of gaining more weight to help his game, as be was underweight still. Minho nodded and agreed, not sure how to tell him he just didn't enjoy food like he used to.
Teammates were fairly friendly, as long as Minho wasn’t in the way and actually tried to play. The team captain patted Minho's shoulder and tried to cheer him on. It was his job of course, like his brother and father before him who had been appointed captains of their teams, but not Minho. Never Minho.
Why couldn’t he just love the game again?
What happened?
Where’s the competitive spirit and drive he was known for?
Father was late to get home, like usual from such a desk job, but he made time to sit his youngest son down, checking up on his returning to the team. Father smiled, like he was hopeful of a positive outcome, after all the work put into the teenager over the last few months, so Minho tried to look as enthusiastic as possible, channel the old excite he used to have about the game. Daily life was still just going through the motions most the time. It was beginning to blur what was genuine and what was just reflex to get through one more day.
Father’s smile slipped a little. Minho supposed he wasn’t very convicting. Nerves were revealed in a nervous tick of fingers rubbing behind an ear, head tilted slightly. It seemed like he's had a lot of time to improve on his lying, but it needed more work still.
Minho wondered if he was only back on the team because of his father. His grades were still worse than they used to be, his game isn’t as good, so why should they let him play anymore?
Unlike the last time though, Minho continued to return to practice and his team, sometimes with a family member or Jinki, kind of like he was being babysat. But Minho had to, in more ways than one, return to that environment. But most of all, he couldn’t stand the thought of letting a father down anymore than he already had.
Minho was still not sure if he had once made himself love soccer more than life itself or if it had come naturally, but he was sure going to try this time.
______________
While on break, Minho stood on the school's rooftop, watching the world below pass by. He found himself on the roof more often now, trying to avoid trouble from other students, before he would be called to the teachers' office, and being alone was relieving after lessons and lack of concentration. When he enjoyed the game of soccer it had been also a perk of running off that need to keep in motion and practice his skill to focus on one action at a time. If he returned to his old self, maybe that would help relieve him of those old problems resurfacing lately.
He remembered his schedule for the day, how a bus ride to attend cram school nowadays was right after school ended. He wouldn't be home until after dark. Mother would likely eat dinner alone again.
The sun shined bright upon the rooftop, breeze cool and kicking up short hair, as weather began to turn for approaching autumn.
Minho peered over the ledge, fingers scraping across the chain fencing that held him back. If it weren't for it, Minho thought he would surely take a step right off the edge and sleep forever.
Stories had been told that such a tall fence had been installed because of students overwhelmed by studies and grades had jumped from the school's roof. Maybe they really were just stories, but he wouldn't be surprised if there was truth behind them. Minho's head dropped to the fencing, repeatedly beat against it, as his mood surfaced violently. He thought of being back out in the country, where it was simpler. He shouldn't have come home.
Minho let out a loud shout, noise drowned out by traffic just beyond the school's gated walls.
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