CRIMINAL // minsung

chapter 24

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Y'all already know I'm sorry this is late
My mental state is very fragile just like Han's in this chapter lol

Minho's smirk was so cruel.

It was like he knew- and he probably did- that this was it for Han. There really was no going back now that he gave in and ruined everything, every chance that he might have had to get out, back to his life, to everything being normal.
He had gone against every single one of his morals and ignored every single warning siren blaring inside his head just now, and the guilt was seeping into his body so quick he didn't even have time to enjoy the post-orgasm high as Minho stared into his eyes.

He wanted to cry, and not in the way he had a minute ago with Minho's hand stroking him torturously.

This wasn't even something he could blame on his kidnappers, on Minho, anymore, because he had had the chance to decline. Han could've said no, and this would've never happened, Minho would have let go. He knew that, and he wanted to cry because he hated himself for being weaker than he ever imagined himself to be.

Minho could see it in his eyes, the moment it started to sink in, and even though he knew it was wrong, he felt proud to have utterly destroyed the boy laying under him, lean stomach stained in his own come that Minho had drained out of him.

Minho kissed him, soft, making the boy shiver as the lump in his throat grew overwhelmingly suffocating.
His lips tasted like his salty tears when Minho felt them reply to his kiss weakly.

From behind his closed eyelids (a desperate attempt to keep the tears from escaping), Han sensed the other move off of him. Another wave of intense guilt washed over him when he found himself hoping the other would have stayed.

But what did he expect, honestly? That Minho would suddenly treat him well just because he- just because they had just done what they did? Even if it meant a lot to Han, which it did, because not everyone can just brush something so intense off with a raise of shoulders- he just didn't want to admit it to himself.

Minho wouldn't think anything much of it, and he wouldn't treat Han any less like a piece of human trash. What happened didn't happen because Minho liked him, that was out of the question. He was just being mean, meaner than usual, and Han would have to endure it, because oh if it wasn't the consequences of his own actions. This thing with them was nothing but a game to him.

Except that Minho came back, interrupting Han's thoughts with a soft touch to his stomach. It was a warm, damp rag, wiping him clean with a level of gentleness that Han couldn't
even begin to comprehend in his little messed up brain.

With his pants back up, all Han knew was that he wasn't so focused on having to hold back tears anymore, finally contemplating whether he should try to open his eyes or not. His soft hair was tickling his eyelids as if trying to urge him on on the matter.

"Detective." Minho's voice called to him, hypnotizingly low.

Han squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He didn't want to face the other quite yet; he wasn't ready for that now or possibly ever.

"Han Jisung, look at me."
And suddenly it didn't matter that he wasn't ready, because he had to.

Minho looked different than Han had expected. There wasn't an ounce, not even a trace of anything mean in his eyes. They were soft, warm brown and a little bit playful, and Han couldn't believe himself when he felt comforted by the other's gaze.
It wasn't stripping him naked, it didn't burn, because Minho just looked at him softly like he maybe would at a stray cat.

"What?" The words tickled Han's hoarse throat.

"I..-" Minho started, something close to something that someone maybe might say resembled vulnerability flashing over his face.

"Hyung!" I.N yelled from downstairs.
"I'm hungry!"

And just like that the warmth from Minho's eyes was gone, dissolved into the air so quickly that it was almost as if it was never there.

Han blinked rapidly trying to adjust to the familiar cold feeling again. Somehow it felt more cruel like this, after a fleeting second of gentleness, as if a sense of the possibility that things could maybe be better was stripped from Han.

"A minute!" Minho yelled back, and after a moment of silence that affirmed his response had been enough for the younger, he looked at Han again.

"I'm going to make them something to eat." He said blankly.
"Feel free to come downstairs if you're hungry."

And then he turned around, slid past the makeshift door and left Han alone in the room without another word.

Han was hungry, but he did not feel like eating.
He missed his job.
He missed Seungmin, his jokes dripping with sarcasm and the focused face he made when taking a picture of some gruesome piece of evidence.
He missed Felix, his freckles and his playful sass, the little blush on his cheeks every time Chan was near that made Han laugh to himself.
He missed Chan, too, his partner, the one person he trusted with heavy things, who's shoulder felt strong enough for Han to lean on sometimes.
He missed being able to trust the people around him.

He missed home. His home, because this place wasn't even decent enough to be called a house, just a building. And he wanted to think he would leave.

He knew that nothing was holding him back from escaping as much as he himself did, but it still felt relieving to blame being trapped on the murderers.

Another thing to beat himself up over: he had almost forgotten that that's what they really were; soulless killers.

And he had just let the worst one out of them make him beg for a kiss.
Han wanted to rip his hair out.

And it was true they had kidnapped him and held him here against his will, yes; it's just that Han wasn't sure  if they were even expecting him to attempt escape anymore, because another thing that was also true was that Han wasn't even trying. He knew it, and they knew it. So who's fault was it really that he was still there?

The sound of pans clacking reached Han's ears as Minho started cooking.

Changbin and I.N were sitting at the table already, hungry but quiet.

Hyunjin's seat was empty.

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