you first {minsung} DISCONTINUED

seventy-three.

// tw : abuse // 

Oh what luck Jisung had. 

He tried to run, he tried as hard as he fucking could, but his stupid hoodie of course was stuck, tangled up in the tree branches, yanking him back. 

Jisung gasped. He reached up, desperately tugging on the hood. 

No. No. Please no. 

Suddenly, he heard a door slam open. 

No. 

"HAN JISUNG!" a voice that he knew all too well screamed at him. 

"Fuck!" he yelled, grabbing fistfuls of his hoodie and yanking as hard as he could until he was thrown to the ground from the sudden lack of pressure as his hoodie came loose. 

But at that point, it was too late. 

His mom grabbed him before he even had a chance to stand. 

The look on his mom's face was like nothing he had ever seen before. It was obvious she was drunk. Her breath stank of alcohol- but her eyes, her eyes. They were puffy, red, bloodshot and filled with the most terrifying anger Jisung had ever seen in his entire life. 

And then she hit him. 

Jisung was expecting her to hurt him- it had become something that didn't surprise him anymore. But he wasn't expecting the burning sensation that immediately ran up his arm. The tingling, searing, screaming pain. He knew something was wrong because suddenly he couldn't breathe, it hurt so bad. 

He glanced up at her, and he found a broken, jagged empty beer bottle in her hand, the edges of the broken glass painted with his own blood. 

Jisung's eyes widened. 

This woman was fucking crazy. 

"You're grounded. So get back in the fucking house right now," his mom hissed, her eyes glowing with anger and rage and something Jisung couldn't identify but was terrified of. 

Jisung cowered. "Mom, let me go," he said, almost a whisper. 

"Did you fucking hear me?! I said get back inside!" she screamed, lifting her arm up above her head. The broken bottle shimmered as it was held up, shining under the light of the street lamp, almost beautiful if it wasn't being used like this, by this woman. 

Jisung immediately brought his arms over his head, shielding his face as she hit him again, the sharp edges of the bottle catching his skin and tearing it. 

Jisung's eyes filled with tears as he let out a cry of pain. 

This was who his mother was? 

"Mom, please," he begged quietly, trying to crawl away while still shielding himself as she brought the bottle down another time, full of aggression and anger as the glass dragged through his skin to the point where he was barely holding back screams. 

"You're staying here," she seethed, putting her foot against his chest and kicking him hard, so he fell over into the grass, the grass blades immediately making his arms burn in pain as he hit the ground, hard. "You're not fucking leaving." 

"Mom," Jisung sobbed, looking up at the woman standing over him, blood on her hands, her hair messy and her eyes red. 

Suddenly, there was the sound of a car door slamming, and before he knew it, Jisung was being gently, tenderly, carefully picked up. 

"LET GO OF HIM," his mom screamed, lunging forward as if to attack again. Jisung shut his eyes tight, bracing for more pain, but it never came. 

"Don't you dare ever even think of laying a finger on him again," Minho growled as he held Jisung to his chest, grabbing the beer bottle with his bare hand and pulling it away from Mrs. Han, who was enraged. "Don't. You. Dare." The glass broke through his skin as he gripped the bottle, but he ignored the feeling, throwing the bottle to the ground, smashing it into pieces. 

"Let him go. You're disgusting," she spat back, her words slightly slurred. "Give me my son." 

Minho started backing up. "You don't deserve a son like him. So as of now, he's not your son anymore." 

"YOU DON'T GET TO FUCKING SAY THAT TO ME." Mrs. Han grabbed at the hair on her head, pulling at it. "You can't take him away from me. He's not leaving, he's not. He's staying with me." 

When Minho started walking back to his car quickly, Jisung's mom suddenly shot forward and grabbed Jisung by the hand- by his bandaged, already cut hand that now had fresh blood streaming down it from the gashes on his arms. 

Jisung let out a yelp from the sensation of his mother's fingers clenching around the cut on his hand that hadn't healed yet. 

Minho growled. He gently removed Mrs. Han's hand to avoid hurting Jisung more, and once it was no longer grasping onto Jisung, he hardly pushed her away. 

Saying nothing else, Minho ran. He sprinted to his car, wasting no time to put Jisung in the passenger's seat and climb in himself, putting the car into drive and ignoring the way Mrs. Han was chasing after him, waving her hands with a crazed expression on her face, not able to walk straight. 

He slammed his foot on the gas pedal, speeding down the street and away from that psycho as fast as he could. 

Jisung cried. He cried and cried, he couldn't stop, couldn't make the tears stop spilling down his face. 

As Minho drove to the hospital, seething and too angry to even speak, Jisung just cried. 

He cried until he was too sad and tired to cry any more. And then he slept, wishing he could hold Minho's hand but in too much pain to even move. 

Minho, however, didn't feel any of the physical pain. His hand was cut and bleeding from grabbing the jagged end of the broken bottle with his bare hand, but as his blood seeped onto and stained his steering wheel, he didn't even feel it- his entire existence right now was focused on getting to that hospital, on making sure Jisung was okay.