Finding Key.

“Hyung?”

He called the word for around the tenth time, his voice bounding of the empty streets and bringing no response. At every beat of silence, his frown grew deeper, the corner of his lips tugged down. Soon, surely, it would be permanent. A never ending grimace.

Minho had been searching for a good twenty minutes, scouring he blog like he was looking for a lost treasure.

Well, it was a treasure. Of a different sort.

It was Key. Key was missing.

He had stepped out of the house at around 8:55pm, after complaining about the lack of milk in the dorm’s refrigerator. Milk that of course he needed to make his precious ‘before-bed-hot-cocoa’. It was now dawning on 10:15. With the corner store just over the street –a place of which Minho had also checked over, and came up empty handed— it was peculiar for his hyung to take so long. Key adored shopping, by all means, but not at this time of night.

Of course, it was also dangerous for Minho to be travelling, alone, at the current time. But with the rest of the members sound asleep back home, he had no choice. He wasn’t afraid, desperate rather. He had to find his hyung. And it wasn’t long before he did.

As he rounded the next corner with a deep sigh, his eyes fell upon the one thing in the empty street.

He had found his hyung.

He found his hyung in a gutter.

He knew it was him; the golden tousle of hair and long winter coat could belong to no other. After a choke, a splutter, and a falter in his stride, Minho took off without hesitation.

“Hyung?” He rasped, dropping to his knees beside him. His face was to the asphalt, one arm swung onto the sidewalk and the rest of his body a heap on the side of the road. Minho was making horrified gasping noises as he reached out a shaky hand, placing it on his shoulder.

“Kibum. Kibum-hyung,” he said in a tone of desperation, wondering wildly why he didn’t rouse. Minho gripped onto his other shoulder, pulling the limp boy around to face him.

Minho wanted to look away.

Oh God, he thought, the only thing that came to mind. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

The injuries were unmistakable; a split lip, reddened cheeks, swelling eye and three inch cut across his forehead. A three inch, ghastly, red, jagged cut. Minho was about to question the blurriness in his eyes when he realised it was the tears. Tears forming, rolling, falling. The sight of his elder, his friend; fragmented, shattered, scarred, sent a wave of pain he had never known. Pain, anger, guilt, fear . . . .

Key’s lips curved up at the sound of Minho’s first sob.

He blinked down at him, biting down hard on his lip to keep it from gaping open. Although the elder’s eyes did not open, there was a sign of life, of hope, dangling in that well known smirk.

“Kibum, it’s Minho-ah,” he uttered, holding his head up in his hands. “I’m here. Are you awake? Talk to me.”

It was a while before he replied, and the seconds seemed to last an eternity in Minho’s time.

“They wanted . . . my money . . . and my new wallet . . .” Key’s voice was as broken as he was, coming out in between gulps of air. His sneer was still in place. “I wouldn’t . . . let them have . . . it.”

A strangled noise escaped Minho’s lips as he reached for the phone in the pocket of his jeans. His thumbs were swift as he punched in the rehearsed number. As he pressed it to his ear he shifted his position so he sat on the gutter, carefully guiding Key’s head to rest in his lap, holding him protectively to himself.

A sleep coated voice answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

Minho’s heart quickened at the sound of Onew’s greeting. If there was anyone he could rely on in a situation like this, it would be his leader.

“Hyung, bring the car around.” Minho snapped his head up, finding the street sign. “I’m on Jungye-ro 7. You’ll see us. Come quickly.”

There was silence for a few seconds, then Onew’s quick response. “What happened?”

The words stuck in Minho’s throat as he casted a look at the man in his lap; the man with the closed eyes and the weary smile.

“It’s Key,” he choked out. “Please, come quick.”

And with that, Onew was gone.

Minho let the phone fall from his grasp, making a noise as it impacted with the gutter. The tears flowed freely now, sprinkling down onto Key’s face, blanketing the harsh, bruising splotches on his cheeks. He checked Key over, but found no harm despite his face.

“You’re a reckless, brainless, stupid idiot. I hope you know.” Minho told him, his words trembling just as much as he was.

Key’s grin grew after a handful of moments, causing Minho’s pulse to pound in relief.  At least he can hear me, Minho thought.

“I know,” Key whispered. “But . . . still . . . don’t leave me.”

Minho never would.