ᴀᴅᴅɪᴄᴛᴇᴅ

【25】

mingi stood in front of his house, staring at the chipped paint on the door. it had been four weeks since he left, but it looked exactly the same. the air smelled like cigarettes and spilled beer, and the porch creaked under his weight. nothing had changed.

his fingers twitched at his sides. he could still feel the sting in his knuckles from the last time he was here, the way his fist had collided with bone. the way his father had looked at him afterward—stunned, then furious. mingi had left before he could find out what came next.

he swallowed and reached for the door. hongjoong's voice echoed in his head. don't go back. just stay here, i don't care how long. but mingi had to.

the handle turned too easily. unlocked. his father never used to forget.

the house was dark and quiet. no tv, no muttered curses from the couch. that was worse than yelling. mingi stepped inside, muscles tense.

the scent of alcohol clung to the air. his chest tightened. he should just grab his stuff and go. get upstairs, pack fast. maybe his dad wouldn't wake up—

"mingi."

his breath caught. he turned. his father stood in the hallway, half-hidden in shadows. he looked worse than before, face hollowed out and more slimmer, his eyes dark and it looked like he haven't slept in months. but they were mean, sharp, burning. a bottle dangled from his fingers.

mingi's stomach twisted. "i'm just going to my room."

his father scoffed. "so you think you're grown now?"

mingi didn't answer. he started toward the stairs, but his father stepped forward, blocking the way.

"you really think you can walk back in here like nothing happened?"

his fingers twitched again. his father noticed. he smirked.

"what?" he taunted. "you gonna hit me again?"

mingi clenched his jaw. his breath felt too loud in the silence. he forced himself to step back. "just leave me alone. please."

his father exhaled sharply through his nose. then, to mingi's shock, he moved aside. "get the fuck out of my way ." he said shoving mingi into the wall before walking upstairs.

mingi didn't hesitate. he took the stairs two at a time, slamming his bedroom door shut behind him. the room was stale, untouched. he shoved clothes into a bag, grabbed his long forgotten music book, his headphones and, a few other things. his hands were shaking.

he should leave now. but his feet wouldn't move.

his eyes landed on a picture on his desk. it was old—him and his mom, before she left. before everything went to hell. he grabbed it and stuffed it in his pocket.

his phone buzzed. yunho.

yunho: hey, did u get home safe?
yunho: i miss u alr
yunho: r u okay?

mingi stared at the messages. his throat felt tight. yunho didn't know. he didn't know about the house, about his dad, about why mingi had been staying over so much.