𝙻𝚄𝙽𝙰 [ 𝙰 L𝚎𝚎 K𝚗𝚘𝚠 Story ]

33~Untold Story

It was early morning, the faint glow of sunlight creeping through the curtains, casting soft golden streaks across Minho's room. The air was still, thick with the lingering quiet that comes just before dawn truly awakens the world. Minho lay in bed, half-buried beneath tangled sheets, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of deep sleep. The room was empty, save for the quiet hum of the world beyond his window—birds chirping faintly in the distance, the occasional whisper of a breeze.

His body still ached, a dull, persistent throb that reminded him of the night before. Though the pain had lessened, it was a constant presence. His face twisted slightly as he shifted, scrunching his nose, a soft groan escaping his lips. He stretched lazily, hovering in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness, his mind fogged with half-formed dreams.

Then, abruptly, the sharp sound of a knock at the door shattered the silence. It was startling in its suddenness, dragging him fully into wakefulness. His eyes snapped open, blinking against the morning light as he sat up, muscles protesting the movement. He raked his fingers through his disheveled hair, feeling the warmth of his scalp beneath his palm as the memories of the previous night hit him like a wave.

The transformation.

The thought of it made his breath catch in his throat, a cold shiver rippling down his spine despite the warmth of the room. The shift from werewolf to human—something that should feel natural, yet always felt... wrong. Violent. Terrifying. He could still feel the echo of it in his bones, the way they had twisted and reshaped themselves, the primal hunger that had gnawed at him until he regained control.

A second knock broke through Minho's thoughts, louder and more urgent this time, snapping him fully out of his reverie. His heart quickened as he stood, the ache in his body momentarily forgotten as he crossed the room. His hand hesitated on the doorknob, bracing himself for whatever lay on the other side.

When he opened the door, his parents stood there, their faces a mixture of relief and worry. His mother's eyes were red, as if she'd been crying all night, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. His father, usually so composed, looked pale, his jaw clenched in an attempt to hold himself together. Without a word, his mother surged forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight, desperate embrace. The force of it nearly knocked him off balance.

"We were so worried," she choked out, her voice breaking. Her fingers dug into his back as if she feared he might disappear again.

His father stepped in, joining the hug, his strong arms encircling them both. "Where were you last night?" his father asked, the weight of his concern apparent in every syllable. It wasn't a reprimand but a plea, the unspoken fear hanging between them.

Minho's chest tightened, guilt gnawing at him. He tried to form the words, though his mind still felt foggy from the night's horrors. "I was... I was just—"

But his father cut him off, his voice rough with unspoken truths. "We know, Minho." He exchanged a glance with his wife, as if confirming a long-held decision. "But we never wanted you to find out... this way."

Minho blinked, confusion swirling in his mind. Find out what? He felt his heart race, piecing together fragments of last night's events—his transformation, the pain, the raw terror that had gripped him. Suddenly, the looks on their faces, the way they held him, all began to make sense. They knew. They had always known.

His mouth opened, but no words came. How long? How much did they keep from him? His hands trembled as they hung at his sides, his mind racing to catch up with the flood of realizations crashing over him. After what felt like an eternity, he finally found his voice, though it was barely a whisper. "I want to know," he said, eyes wide and searching.