Don't touch me // Minsung

28. 𝘖𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴

tw: torture

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Why can't I move my arms?

That was the first thought that went through Minho's head when he woke up, wanting to rub his eyes but his hands could not move. With his vision still blurry and his head pounding, he tried to make sense of wherever he might be. Impatient but scared to discover the room he was in, he still struggled to open his eyes for a few more seconds. The world spun in front of him every time he tried to move his head too quickly and when he gained consciousness back, he figured he was tied up, wrists forced against the wooden arms of the chair he was sitting on. His body was sore from fighting against the bullies and the right-hand and he could see a few bruises already appearing on his arms. Oh, yeah... The memories unfortunately came back to his mind: he had been captured by the gang. When his eyes finally allowed him to clearly see his surroundings, there was no doubt possible.

All alone and tied up to a chair in a huge and expensive office, he instantly recognized the place: the headquarters of the gang. He had spent so many days of his childhood in this building, forcefully trained by the right-hand, forcefully mistreated and hurt, but he never had the "chance" to enter this room. It was the leader's office, or well, it seemed more like a whole house anyways. The rich decorations, the couches, the sculptures, the panoramic view over the city... He still wondered how the gang could hide in plain sight, high up in their tower as everybody thought they were some common multimillion-dollar company. If only they knew...

His tied feet and arms brought him back to reality as he looked for a way out. Or, at least, a way to untie himself first. He saw scissors on the desk a few meters away from him, and started to make his way towards it, hopping with his chair, trying to be as fast and discreet as possible. But when he almost reached the desk, the door suddenly opened, and in came a few gang members, led by the right-hand.

Minho turned around as fear and rage boiled his blood. He glared in silence at the right-hand as men dragged him back in his original place and positioned a chair right in front of him, but before Minho even had the chance to say anything, an intimidating forty-year-old man entered, surrounded by two bodyguards: the gang's leader. Tall and alluring, he was quite an elegant and beautiful man despite his greying beard and hair. But the scars on his hands and his broad shoulders threatening to rip his suit apart reminded everyone around that he should never be messed with. If he wanted to, he could probably rip you in half. He just could not bother to find the time.

The man sat in the empty chair and finished smoking his cigarette, staring at Minho, unbothered. There he was, the man he dreaded more than anyone, the one who ordered to kill his parents, the one who took everything from him. And he was at his mercy again, despite everything, he had failed to escape.

Minho looked to his right but the door was too far away and well, he was still tied up and surrounded by five gang members. He could not just run away as guards were probably roaming everywhere, plus he was not sure he remembered the way to leave the building. His mind raced, hoping to find a solution that would never come, before he reluctantly focused back on the gang leader, only able to glare at him, his hatred spilling from his eyes.

"I guess you still remember me if you're looking at me like that" he said, still unbothered. Of course, Minho remembered. He would never forget him and that was probably the thing he hated the most, forever living with the memory of his tormentor. He had tried, for months, but what was the point if he had already come back to the starting point, tied up in their headquarters? He just stayed silent, his rage still growing inside.

"You know why you're here, right? You know what you did?" he asked, throwing his cigarette at the younger's feet. But Minho could not hold back anymore, what was there to lose anyways?