Crazy? | h.lix

6: the rest

Everyone's just the same, so what makes Felix different?

Tag(s): slight thoughts of harming

━━

Chan never thought that he'll be subjected under the taunting gaze of the other pack's leader, Minho, for simply pointing a blade right in front of his eye, and the mercenary smirk of a smaller buffed lad, Changbin. He rolled his eyes away from Minho and Changbin, looking for any signs of Seungmin, Jisung or even Felix lounging in that room, even though that was highly improbable.

"Threatening to kill me won't work in this partnership, Chris." Minho mumbled to him, amused of the way Chan perked at the mention of his English name.

Chan let his head rest against the back rest of the seat, his thighs softening against the coldness of the interiors, carefully sorting the tension inside the room, hoping that none of his members would try to get inside the mess that he was being forced into.

"I don't think it was right either for Changbin to point guns at Seungmin and Jisung." He tried to make a point, his tone far from being defensive, only plain remorse bubbling in him.

He didn't want to be a part of anybody's team at all. He was happy with the way he was leading his very own, the way they do things on their own, the way they're the exact opposite of Minho's, one of those that spook people's in and out with only a mere mention of his name, his members, and Hyunjin's name. He didn't need drama in his life.

He was happy with them—with Jisung, Felix, and Seungmin, for all he cares. He was happy to be able to drive them round and round the corners, lots, and wide, long road; to be able to do most of the less dirty jobs and leave the rest be with all the other established groups, succumbing their souls to the head of their organization.

He wanted to remain that way.

But here goes Minho, deciding for him, not only with a psychopath hanging on the thread that is of the kindest Felix, not only with a stoic stature that pointed gunshots straight at Seungmin and Jisung, but of a whole man with undeniably curious look, averting gaze, pointed nose, and thin smirk hanging on the frame of his cheek—leaning forward to him, making him unable to shift his gaze to anybody else but him, Lee Minho.

The smirk didn't leave Minho's face, and that disgusts Chan to no end. He wanted to kick Minho out of his mercy, despite knowing that Changbin was just there, ready to flatten and crumple his bones, with only a snap of Minho's fingers as a signal, "I don't have any hidden intentions, Chan. I told you, we just need to work together for this one thing I needed to fix—"

Chan cut him.

"You needed to fix, Minho. Not we, not I, not any of my teammates nor yours. Aren't you tired of other people cleaning for your shits?"

This time, the resting face Minho had on baffled into a frown. His folded waist straightened at that, his eyes never resting to look at the snort that came from Changbin.

"You're right," Minho's voice snapped him out of his trance, leading his lips to perk up a bit, gurgling the chuckle in the back of his throat, "Nothing's mine."

Chan undeniably saw the growing smirk on Minho's face. How can Minho look so amused out of Chan almost wanting to punch him in the face just because of everything that happened? He cannot beckon—he will never be able to beckon.