Minchan: Fighting The Storms With You

54

Days later, Minho was finally able to return to the bungalow. Each step he took felt like wading through a sea of memories and pain. Chan was with him, offering silent support as Minho struggled to piece together the fragments of his past.

Minho stood at the edge of the burned-out shell of the bungalow, the ruins stark against the backdrop of a grey sky. He gazed at the charred remains, his mind flashing with disjointed memories.

He saw the night in fragmented bursts—Mr. Lee's menacing presence, the intense struggle, the terrifying fire that consumed everything. He remembered the heat of the flames, the acrid smoke, and the desperate attempt to escape. Each flash of memory was accompanied by an overwhelming rush of emotions.

Chan watched Minho's struggle with a heavy heart, knowing how difficult this was for him. "Minho... do you remember what happened that night?" Chan asked gently, his voice trembling with concern.

Minho's eyes were distant, haunted by the memories that refused to be fully grasped. His shoulders shook as he fought to control his emotions, the weight of his past crashing down on him like a relentless tide.

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The evening's tranquility was abruptly shattered when the phone rang. Chan picked up the receiver, his voice a mix of curiosity and apprehension. "Hello?"

"Chan? It's your mother," came the voice from the other end, trembling with fear.

Chan's heart raced. "Mom? How did you get this number?"

"I got it from Seungmin's mother," she replied, her tone edged with desperation. "I needed to hear your voice, to know you're safe."

"Why would you need to call me here?" Chan's unease grew, his mind racing.

A heavy pause followed before his mother spoke again. "Chan, I had to. Mr. Lee promised he would spare your life if I told him where you were."

Chan's blood ran cold. "You did what?"

"I was scared! I thought it was the only way to keep you safe," she pleaded, her voice cracking.

Chan's hands shook as he slammed down the receiver. "Minho, we need to leave now," he said, his voice urgent and edged with panic.

Minho, startled from his spot, looked up. "What's wrong?"

"There's no time to explain. We have to go," Chan insisted, grabbing Minho's hand and pulling him toward the door.

But before they could make their escape, the door flew open with a violent crash. Mr. Lee stood there, a menacing gleam in his eyes.

"There you are," Mr. Lee sneered. "Thought you could hide from me?"

Minho's face went deathly pale. "Run, Minho!" Chan shouted, his voice laced with desperation.

Mr. Lee's grip on Chan was unyielding. "You're coming with me," he growled, pulling Chan closer.

Minho's eyes darted around, searching for something, anything. His gaze landed on a kitchen knife. With trembling hands, he lunged for it. "Let him go!" Minho cried, brandishing the knife with a fierce resolve.

Mr. Lee's laughter was cold and cruel. "And what do you think you're going to do with that, boy?"

"I'll do whatever it takes to protect him," Minho declared, his voice quivering but determined.

Mr. Lee's eyes narrowed. "You're braver than I gave you credit for. But bravery won't save you."

In an instant, Mr. Lee flung Chan to the floor and charged at Minho. Chan scrambled to his feet, but his efforts were in vain. Minho swung the knife wildly, the blade slicing across Mr. Lee's arm, drawing a line of blood.

Mr. Lee roared in pain and fury. He grabbed Minho by the wrist, twisting it until Minho dropped the knife with a pained cry. The sound was gut-wrenching, fueling Chan's surge of adrenaline.

"Stop it!" Chan screamed, throwing himself at Mr. Lee. They collided with the floor, Chan fighting with every ounce of his strength. But Mr. Lee was a formidable opponent, his strength overwhelming. He threw Chan off with a brutal shove, sending Chan crashing into the wall, stars exploding in his vision.

Minho, seizing the chance, reached for the knife again. But Mr. Lee was quicker. He grabbed Minho by the neck, lifting him off the ground. Minho's face turned an alarming shade of red as he clawed desperately at Mr. Lee's arm, gasping for air.

"Minho!" Chan screamed, struggling to rise.

With a feral snarl, Mr. Lee hurled Minho across the room. Minho's body hit the wall with a sickening thud, crumpling to the floor. Chan's heart pounded with fear and anger. He charged at Mr. Lee, but Mr. Lee's next punch sent Chan spiraling into darkness.

As Chan lay unconscious, Mr. Lee's cruel laughter filled the room. He approached Minho, who was trembling and cornered. "You've crossed all limits this time, boy. I'll just lock you in chains from now on. How does that sound?"

Minho's attempts to hide were futile. Mr. Lee looked around, eyes cold and calculating. "Burn this house down. I'll have some fun here."

Minho fell back, finding the knife on the floor. He clutched it tightly, concealing it from Mr. Lee's view. Mr. Lee, distracted by his orders, didn't notice. He walked over to Minho, brushing his fingers cruelly across Minho's cheeks. Tears streamed down Minho's face as he pleaded.

"Don't cry, Minho-yah. I told you to be good. Because of you, that boy will die tonight." Mr. Lee pointed to Chan, lying unconscious on the floor, as one of his men began pouring gasoline over him.

"NO! PLEASE! I'll be good! Just don't kill him. I swear! Please!" Minho's voice broke with desperation.

Mr. Lee chuckled darkly. "I just get turned on whenever you cry. You're so beautiful. I'm glad that woman brought you to me."

As the men were done pouring gasoline around the house, with a sadistic grin, Mr. Lee took out his gun. He called his men and shot them one by one, their attempts to flee thwarted. His laughter was maniacal, echoing through the house.

He then pulled out a lighter and threw it into a corner. Flames erupted, quickly spreading across the room. The house was engulfed in fire. Mr. Lee picked Minho up, throwing him over his shoulder.

Desperate, Minho seized the opportunity. With a surge of strength, he drove the knife into Mr. Lee's back. Mr. Lee screamed in rage and pain, throwing Minho off with brutal force. Minho, bleeding and burned, struggled to get up.

Mr. Lee, writhing in agony, kneeled on the floor. Minho, driven by a mixture of fear and anger, charged at Mr. Lee again and stabbed him in the stomach. Mr. Lee's laughter turned to agonized howls. He pulled the knife out and, in a final act of cruelty, grabbed Minho and stabbed him in the stomach.

Minho, bleeding heavily, managed to push Mr. Lee away. The house was now a raging inferno, smoke billowing and flames licking at the walls. Despite his injuries, Minho wrapped a sheet around Chan, protecting him from the flames, and dragged him toward the door. The fire burned his skin, but he didn't relent.

Exhausted, Minho looked for help. He knew there was another bungalow nearby. His strength waning, his heart racing, he stumbled toward it, his breathing ragged.

With his last ounce of energy, he pounded on the door. But as he fell to his knees, his heart gave out. He collapsed, his body convulsing, his mouth foaming. His last thoughts were of Chan, the person he had fought so hard to save.

The bungalow burned behind him, the flames consuming the memories and lives within.