Blasphemy - Minchan

14// Here we are now, entertain us.

"Minho, are you going to tell me your plan?" Chan asked, struggling to keep up with the mentioned boy as he charged his way through the train station. Before Chan got an answer, an elderly man intersected the pair, cutting Chan off from him. A group of teenagers cut them apart as soon as he reached him again and Chan gulped, running around them to catch up. Minho hadn't even realised he got left behind. "So many people," Chan mumbled once he was at Minho's side again.

Minho paused on the platform he'd made it to, looking at the directions on the overhead signs. Despite his distracted eyes, he snaked his hand into Chan's and intertwined their fingers. It was enough to make Chan smile. "Over there," Minho pointed towards one of the other platforms, only a few meters away.

Chan was forced to run when the train rolled into the station. He let out a whine, pain shooting through his ankle as stitched up flesh rubbed against his jeans. He limped, trying to keep up with Minho's pace but he couldn't manage it for very long. "Minho, please, my ankle... slow down."

"Oh shit, I'm sorry, I forgot," Minho slowed to a walk as the train doors opened, the pair of them only a few steps away now. Minho turned to Chan, worried eyes scanning his face but Chan pulled a smile across his lips.

"It's ok," he said as passengers started to pile onto the train one after the other.

Minho let go of Chan's hand and took two train tickets out of his pocket. "Here," he passed one to Chan who scanned the red ticket.

"What's in Manchester?" He asked as he caught the destination name, but Minho didn't answer. He took Chan's hand again and led him towards the train, most people on it by now.

They found empty seats at the back of the carriage, across the aisle from ladies dressed in black and scarlet dresses. They didn't pay any attention to the two boys, chatting amongst themselves. Chan sat by the window, eyes scanning the platform which many people still crowded on as Minho took the seat by the aisle.

"What's in Manchester?" Chan asked again as he looked back at Minho.

"My dad," Minho leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on top of the empty seat opposite him. He didn't look at Chan. One of the ladies gave him a side glance, mostly at his boots upon the chair and he dropped them back to the ground, pushing himself up straight in his seat.

"Your dad?"

"Uh-huh," Minho nodded, picking at a tear in his ripped jeans, material loose around his exposed knee.

"When was the last time you saw him?" Chan asked and Minho didn't meet his eyes, foot bouncing up and down against the floor.

"Dunno," he shrugged, "thirteen years ago, maybe? It doesn't matter. He'll help us, I know he will."

He met Chan's eyes then. Minho didn't have to say anything for Chan to know he believed his words. Chan wasn't so certain about them though. He didn't debate it. He put a smile back on his face and nodded. The only problem was, Minho could read Chan like an open book and knew he was sceptical. He didn't say anything about it either though. He just smiled back, placed his head on Chan's shoulder and closed his eyes.

"We'll be ok now, angel. I promise."

-

"Is this his house?" Chan asked as the pair stood beside each other on the outskirts of the city. A small house was in front of them with a rusted gate falling off the hinges. There was no car in the driveway, but an upstairs window was pushed open a crack, giving the illusion that somebody could have been home. Or somebody careless lived there.

"This is it," Minho confirmed, stepping closer and pushing open the gate. It elicited a loud squeak which made Chan wince.

"When was the last time you came here?"