Criss-Cross || Hyunin

Chapter 18

Minho didn’t want to lose it– didn’t want to lose him, whatever it is that means. As he sat behind the wheel, tears welled up in his eyes, blurring the glow of his phone that illuminated the dim interior of his car. Minho glanced down at his phone between his seats. Friday night traffic had caused one too many roadblocks so he chose to go the back way. He'd already been gone for well over forty-five minutes.

Minho's knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. Tears streamed down his face, blurring his vision as he desperately tried to navigate through the busy streets. With every passing second, the weight of his emotions threatened to consume him.

But amidst the chaos, a flash of headlights ahead caught his eye. Without a second thought, Minho pressed down on the gas pedal, determination overriding his fear. As he overtook the car in front of him, he felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

His hands shook as he clutched the steering wheel, tears mingling with the sweat on his brow. But in that moment, as he left the other car in his dust, Minho felt a flicker of hope ignite within him. Despite the overwhelming odds stacked against him, he refused to give up – not now, not ever.

The same car, he overtook from before, pulled up behind Minho and flashes its headlights. He couldn’t make out the person driving but they kept flashing their lights like they knew him. Minho had half a mind to pull over when a sinking feeling hits his stomach.

Shit.

Maybe I had someone do my dirty work for me, hm?

Shit.

Minho steps on the gas, testing out his theory. Exactly like he feared, the car behind him speeds up too. He whispers to no one but himself, "You have to be fucking kidding me." Before he can even think of a game plan, another car slides into him out of nowhere, an ear-splitting screech of metal against metal.

Minho laughs despite there being nothing to laugh about. He rolls down his passenger window, reaching into one of the paper bags beside him. Maybe, he thinks, if he launches a bottle at their window, they'll pull off. He tries it, nothing. He tries another, still nothing. One more, there we go. This time, the car speeds off, sparks trailing behind, breaking and taking Minho's wing mirror with them. Minho thinks - for a split second – he might be in the clear.

Then it happens.

He hears it before he feels it. The roar of new flame and a metallic crunch at his side, his car tilts. He slams his eyes shut, bracing for the impact he knows is coming. Then he feels it, metal pressing into his side, flame licking at his skin.

He can't die like this. He refuses.

He refuses.

He undoes his seatbelt, falling to his car ceiling. If he could get out and call someone he would be fine. 119, Chan, Changbin, anybody. That proves to be a mistake because the moment he starts to crawl, another smash of metal scrapes against his torso.

He won't die like this.

He won't. He refuses.

His car jostles again, this time dislodging him completely from the passenger side of the

vehicle. He won't die like this. Adrenaline pushes him forward and with the little strength he has left in his body, he reaches for his phone, watching as the cars speed off. He couldn’t make out a license plate number, he couldn't even make out the make and model of two- no, three cars. Minho's phone screen was completely shattered but it was still working. The smell of alcohol covered the entire scene. He doesn't care if his hand is bleeding or if his phone is sticky, he needs to call someone.