Chapter Text
It always starts with the smoke.
Fearing the smoke is the first thing they all learn as small puppies, something that stays inked in their skin throughout life, runs deep through their veins wherever they choose to stay and only lets them relax in the forest when it’s them who are on a hunt. The smoke becomes their darkest fear and biggest enemy, something they’re taught to notice from the first tiny spark sooner than they’re taught how to hold a knife, and ignoring it is considered as treason in nearly every case. The sight or smell of smoke means that there are hunters outside of their house, those with sharp axes and spears and maniac laughter, whose most powerful weapon against the werewolves is, however, the fire.
The hunters always attack in the dead of night, trying to be as sneaky as they can, and they find some kind of bloody, primal joy in literally burning the pack out of their house. The fire always has the desired effect on the unprepared pack, it sends them into panic and messes all the retreat plans if noticed too late. The first thing they learn as they grow up is that the sooner you notice the smoke, the higher are the chances that you are going to make it out of there alive using the secret back doors that the hunters are usually unaware of. The hunters are stupid and easily fooled, but last minute strategies can’t stand a chance against their brutal force, so every pack member is trained to wake up at the faintest trace of smoke.
It is, however, not even the smoke that wakes Minho up, but the slightest movement behind the walls followed by a quiet chuckle, and it only takes him a few seconds to get alarmed at that because the voice does not belong to anyone from his pack, besides, it is way too early for them to be awake and way too late for anyone else to be lurking around without a specific purpose in mind. He quickly scrambles to his feet, jumping out of bed in no time, and runs to wake up the older boys that he shares a room with, only to be ignored by them – much like always.
“Ugh, what, is that another nightmare of yours?” one of them grumbles when Minho shakes his shoulder. “Stop pissing your pants and let me sleep in peace.”
He then turns around and pulls his blanket up to cover his head, signaling that the conversation is over, making Minho snort at that. All the teens are still slightly hungover from the wine they were allowed to drink during yesterday’s celebratory dinner – in the evening there was a mating ceremony, one of the most beautiful and important traditions that exists in every single pack – so it’s no wonder that they want to sleep a little longer, that they act so rude right now.
This isn’t a surprise in any way for Minho, who was always treated like a weak puppy in the pack, when in reality he was the smartest of them all, just a little behind the others on his physical development. Whenever he failed hitting the target with the silver knife his father gifted him for his sixth birthday or lost in a training fight with one of the pack kids, they would all laugh at him, call him pathetic and weak, unworthy of being a member of such a strong pack, while the elders would just shake their heads at the sight. They never stepped in, it is an unspoken rule of the pack that Minho both respects and hates with all his being. They believe it is up to the children and teens themselves to deal with whatever problems and tension they create, and that is something Minho agrees with, but being the constant target of everyone’s teasing hurts his pride and sometimes he wishes someone would make a move to protect him from that.
Minho hasn’t had a single nightmare in the past two years despite having lost his parents to hunters earlier and the last time he woke someone up because he was afraid was four years ago, and yet nobody cares to remember that information when they call him a coward. This goes for all the things in his life: he’s become their punching bag that can’t really defend against them because, well, what is Minho against a bunch of aggressive teenagers? Almost everyone turns into a hothead at that age, and Minho perfectly understands that, so he tries his best to not pay attention to them and instead focus on sharpening the skills he lacks and perfecting the ones he knows are already good. No matter how hard surviving in the pack is for Minho, he is determined to have the last laugh on him: since they barely pay any attention to his improvements and only notice him whenever he fails to accomplish something, they have no idea how good he’s become in the past year, and he somehow just knows there will be a chance to demonstrate this soon.
Once he gets brushed off like an annoying fly, Minho lets out a low growl and rushes out of the room to warn the elders himself: something he, being the youngest, isn’t really supposed to do even in case of emergency – damned be their stupid pack traditions. Minho doesn’t necessarily hate the pack he was born into, this wasn’t something he could choose, after all, but the way they are all firm believers that traditions and physical training are the only two things needed for a good life has always annoyed him. The pack isn’t big and their history isn’t even that bright, so there is hardly anything to be proud of aside from the fact they have somehow managed to live long enough to give birth to children and have someone to carry on the pack journey. Deaths during their own hunts and in fights with other, stronger packs have become a pretty normal thing because, at the end of the day, physical strength isn’t everything, but things never change as their leader keeps repeating the same orders over and over again like a broken record.
The moment Minho steps into the long hallway of the still sleeping house, he realizes it’s too late for the warning: from the only window of the hallway he first sees a bright flash and then, not even a moment after, there comes the smell of smoke. Instantly, the house turns into something that reminds Minho more of a hive rather than a wolf pack, and in a second he’s already being pushed against the wall by one of the elder wolves.
“Was that you?” he growls while the others are trying to get to the back door, pushing each other and nearly fighting in the process.
This isn’t as organized as it’s supposed to be, Minho thinks to himself, for some reason feeling completely numb and unbothered by the panic around him. The elder still looks at him expectantly, but a loud scream coming from one of the rooms, followed by the sound of a horrific massive crash serves as a good answer: the hunters have just made a hole in one of their walls and are now invading the house.
Next thing Minho knows is that he is left alone to fight for his life, and, despite his heart beating rapidly, now that he is the one to decide which step to take, he chooses to use his brain and hides in the nearest closet until the hunters move further into the house. Then, ignoring the blood traces and moaning people on the floor, he quietly crawls into the room the hunters broke into, and, once out of the house, he starts to run for his dear life without looking back.
Minho runs and runs, hoping to get far away from all the pain and disrespect he’s had to face as a “weak” orphan, but the images of parents crying for their children, of blood stains on the walls and little pools of blood on the stairs, of the same guy who chose sleep over safety being harshly punched right into the face – all those images run after him, no matter how hard he tries to leave them behind. He keeps running, ignoring the burning pain in his chest, but then suddenly trips over a stone that, for him, who was too caught up in his thoughts, appeared out of nowhere, and falls face down onto the ground.
It’s cold, dirty and wet, and it makes Minho whimper almost pathetically once he slowly gets back to his feet and realizes that none of the scratches on his palms would have appeared if only he remembered he was, in fact, a wolf before anything else. Limping slightly, Minho almost crawls to the nearest tree to rest for a moment: he leans on the mighty bark, trying to catch his breath, and then turns into his wolf form before starting to run again. Wolf paws are stronger than his feet, but Minho doesn’t let himself slow down until he makes sure that nobody is following him, that he’s got the advantage.
Once he reaches a river, he nearly collapses and drinks water at such rapid speed that it is a miracle he doesn’t choke, but the thirst doesn’t go away, only leaves him wanting more. Minho drinks for what feels like hours, though in reality it’s just a few minutes, and then decides to clean up the cuts while he’s still near the river. He turns back into his human form, shivering from the chilly wind and suddenly regrets not wearing a warmer shirt to sleep, but silently thanks himself for at least always keeping the knife under the pillow.
The sight of blood takes his thoughts back to the pack house, and when Minho closes his eyes and, hissing, places his hands into the water, the images are still bright in his mind. He pictures scenes that he hasn’t even witnessed, sees the fire burning their house down to ashes, hears the sound of an explosion and envisions dead bodies everywhere on the ground. Suddenly, Minho feels some kind of baffling despair inside, as though somebody’s just cut the thread that was tying him to the pack, erased the bond between them, and at that moment he realizes: he didn’t just imagine all those things, he truly saw his pack being wiped out. The only trace that’s left of them now is their bodies, but the hunters always take care of that later.
Minho realizes he’s now left alone in the world, exposed to all the dangers and loneliness, but doesn’t let himself mourn, instead lying down on his back next to the river and looking at the sky. He prays that the spirits guide him onto the right path, and starts to wonder what waits for him now, what kind of life do the last survivors of the pack usually have. Is he even going to make it through the next few days until he runs into someone or will he die out of hunger, not really taught how to properly hunt yet?
What he doesn’t take into account, however, is that there is always at least one smart person among the hunters, someone who they send on the most important chases. As he looks at the red sun slowly rising up in the sky, he completely misses the rustling somewhere in the bushes, and only reacts to it once he hears someone’s quiet cussing. At that, his instincts work faster than his brain does, and in a second he’s already up in his wolf form again, carefully making his way towards a group of wide trees to hide behind them. The hunter looks a little puzzled when he finds no one at the same place where Minho was just seconds ago, but then he smiles the ugliest saccharine sweet smile and Minho forces himself to hold his breath because the hunter’s little chasing game has just started and he is determined to win in this one. The prize is his life, after all, so Minho stays still and doesn’t even breathe while trying to come up with a plan.
“Where are you, little wolf?” the hunter sing–songs, waving with his sharp spear. “You know you’ve got nowhere to hide from me, so you better stop playing and maybe I will consider letting you die quickly. If not, your pretty fur will serve as a great addition to our walls. The choice is yours!”
Minho knows he’s heard this voice before, but doesn’t quite recognize it, yet this small realization becomes the most important to him at this moment, fateful even. If he’s heard this voice somewhere, it means he was able to get out of there alive back then, and that, in turn, means that nothing stops him from staying alive today too. He decides to attack the hunter from the back and catch him off guard, relying on the element of surprise, but that requires a lot of patience and self–control, so Minho once again holds his breath and tries to make himself as invisible as he can possibly be behind the mighty trees. The hunter can’t see him, but they are trained to sense their scent, which grows a lot stronger when the wolf is in distress, so Minho wills himself to stay calm and sends a grateful prayer to the sky for still not having any particular scent – it normally fully develops a few years later.
The hunter paces around the glade, sniffing and shouting for Minho to come out this instance, but he patiently waits for his chance, ignores the pain in his whole body that came with the highly uncomfortable position. Each second feels like a whole day, but soon the hunter reaches his limits of patience, gets blinded by the anger as he checks behind every bush and tree, sensing the weak scent of a wolf but failing to guess where it is coming from. When he gets close to Minho’s hiding place, Minho takes his chance and attacks, sinking his teeth in the soft flesh of the hunter’s neck.
Hot blood splashes all over his fur as the man tries to wriggle out of his grip, yelling in pain, and Minho has to close his eyes while he bites again and again. He nearly loses control over himself, because he’s never had to do anything like that before, hasn’t even seen an actual murder with his own eyes before tonight. Minho has no idea what he’s doing and how to do it right, so he just keeps biting until everything around them becomes covered with red blood and the hunter falls onto the ground, breathless. Scared of what he’s just done, he leaves the body as it is and runs as fast and as far as he can, eyes wide in shock and heart beating almost violently against his ribcage.
He runs for a whole hour, chased by his own fear and the sticky feeling of guilt that’s come out of nowhere, and, once he reaches an unfamiliar hill somewhere really deep in the forest, he faints, exhausted to his bones, with blood almost dried up on his gray fur. Minho is eleven when he loses his whole pack in the span of just few minutes. Minho is eleven when he loses everyone he’s ever known, left alone to survive in the big hostile world, and he is eleven when he has to kill somebody for the first time – before he even learns how to hunt.
////
Minho wakes up with a scream frozen on his lips, cheeks stained with tears that he never let himself cry out when it was needed, and it takes him a few moments to realize that he is, in fact, in his bed, in the safety of their house. He glances at Jisung, who is sound asleep on the opposite side of the room, and the sight he’s so used to seeing by now brings him comfort. It is not enough, however, to calm him down, not when those garbage memories from years ago are still following him even in his dreams, so he crawls out of bed, careful so that he doesn’t wake Jisung up, grabs the knife that he still always keeps under the pillow and quietly leaves the house.
It is raining outside, cold and heavy droplets falling onto his shoulders the moment Minho takes a step from under the roof, but he doesn’t care about the rain in the slightest. The memories caused by the nightmare are still bright before his eyes, so he barely notices the cold rain as he starts to run with no clear destination in mind, just for the sake of running, running away from the nightmares chasing him all the time. They come back periodically at the weirdest times, taking away his sleep and focus, and at times like this the forest becomes Minho’s best friend and listener. It’s not that Minho doesn’t trust his pack, because, despite growing up a loner, he would trust Chan and the others with his life, but the thing is – he doesn’t trust anyone with his feelings. Frankly, he doesn’t even trust himself, so he tries to shut up all the voices in his head, bury all the feelings somewhere deep inside so that nobody, including himself, can move past the guarded facade he’s created over the years.
The forest is always quiet and peaceful at night and it serves as a perfect reminder that his nightmares are nothing more than a stupid illusion created by his brain, and, besides, the forest doesn’t respond neither to his questions nor to his tears, so Minho always chooses talking to the trees rather than anyone from the pack. He doesn’t turn into a wolf, instead letting the cold rain wash over him, thinks of it as a way to distract himself from going back to the darkest sunrise of his life, and runs until he’s sure that the house is far enough. Once he decides that this glade will give him the much needed privacy, Minho sits down by one of the trees and lets out a howl: it is a lot more quiet than the howls he can produce in his wolf form, and his throat starts to hurt almost immediately, but for him it is enough. Minho only ever bares his soul to the forest, only lets nature see how tired and desperate he feels sometimes, how much he wishes life was different for him.
Minho doesn’t miss his old pack in the slightest, he doesn’t miss being mistreated and laughed at, as well as he doesn’t miss the long months he spent wandering around the forests and fighting for his life until Chan found him. He doesn’t miss any of those, in fact, he actually wishes none of that happened in the first place, wishes it was easier, wishes things weren’t so complicated for him. He knows he should be grateful that life decided to give him another chance to start it all over again somewhere where he is respected and valued, and he truly is grateful for that, but on nights like this Minho also wishes he could learn how to stop being afraid of belonging somewhere again. His inner compass is constantly pointing at fear and uncertainty, which has nothing to do with the pack itself, but rather his own barriers that he unconsciously built over the years.
The droplets hitting his shoulders don’t bring any help or relief, but even soaked to the bones, Minho doesn’t move from the tiny shelter he’s created for himself under that tree. The tree’s crown is wide enough to make him feel hidden from the world even if it can’t really protect him from the cold rain which makes Minho’s black hair stick to his face quite uncomfortably. He doesn’t even notice that, raindrops streaming down his cheeks mixed with hot and desperate tears, creating contrast of natural freedom and the feeling of being caged in his own mind. Minho feels stuck in the past that he’s been trying so hard to run away from, because, even years after that night, his mind is still fixated on the fear of committing himself to something or someone and then losing it forever.
Everyone in the pack knows he would easily sacrifice his life for any of them, he would without a doubt choose to stay behind if that could help save the pack in case of danger, but what they don’t know is how much he fears that one day they would decide to do something like this for him. Minho knows they are his true family, the only people to ever accept him, a loner, outsider, and he loves each and every one of them dearly, with the love he never knew he had until he finally pushed his past trauma to make way for the future they could have together. When Chan first found him, the pack only consisted of him and Felix, his younger brother, and he was just as lost in life as Minho was, but there was something about him that made Minho accept the generous yet not exactly promising offer to join them. Chan made Minho want to keep fighting, gave him purpose, but never truly made it through the fence he involuntarily built around his heart in order to protect himself from further emotional harm.
Deep inside, Minho knows that he wants to be loved and cherished, and that he wants to give the same amount of love back, but then the poisoning memories and sticky fears come back and send him on a run again. He never acknowledges the needs of his aching heart, brushes them away as something illegal despite having no real laws and, thankfully, no more caging and suffocating traditions. Minho listens to his brain instead, something that, as he convinced himself, is the only thing that deserves attention, and this constant denial turns into the never-ending chase, but Minho refuses to admit that he’s not just trying to run from the past, but rather desperately tries to ruin his true self. Chan, as a leader, has learned to not interfere with his problems as long as he feels that Minho is both physically and mentally with the pack, but the others are not so understanding, or, as Felix says, not so indifferent.
Minho doesn’t think that Chan is in any way indifferent, but discussing that with Felix would mean having to bring up his past trauma again, and talking about it out loud is something Minho hates most. Frankly, Minho only ever openly talked about his worries and past memories with Chan, but that only happened once, when he first joined the pack and tried to explain that he would stay if treated like an equal and nothing less than that, but that conversation didn’t really go well. Back then, he didn’t know how to control his aggression that was actually caused by strong fear that Chan couldn’t sense yet, but ever since that day Minho swore to only keep that fateful night to himself. Everyone knows that he lost his whole pack, but that is a given, or else he wouldn’t be with them right now, and, aside from that, they can only make assumptions that Minho never hears about.
Perhaps talking about it and letting go for real would help, but Minho never really learned how to accept the knowledge that his feelings are valid, that nobody is going to laugh at him anymore, not in their house, not at him, the only survivor of his original pack. Minho is almost sure nobody knows that behind the bravado that he learned to fake almost perfectly there hides one hurt and scarred eleven-year-old boy: they don’t know because Minho chose to bury that image behind the heavily guarded sharp fences of his cold remarks, sassy jokes, strategic plans and rare discreet smiles.
And still, even so, Minho sometimes suspects that Jisung knows a lot more than he shows, because Jisung always sticks to his side, quietly observing on peaceful days and watching over him protectively in every battle they encounter. Jisung seems to be the only one who notices how he instinctively closes his eyes at the sight of blood, how his whole body tenses at that, and, even if he can’t quite connect the pieces of that puzzle, Jisung still knows that there’s more to it than just losing the pack and it scares Minho shitless.
Jisung... Thinking about him now makes Minho choke out a pathetic sob as he buries his face between his knees and closes his eyes again, letting rain wash over him in cold waves. He’s been sharing a room with Jisung almost ever since the younger wolf joined the pack, because right at that time Changbin and Felix decided to mate, ignoring the early age and the possibility of meeting someone else later in life. They did not mate immediately and still waited for Felix’s scent to fully develop first, but Changbin moved out of their shared room and Chan decided to room the newcomer with the most patient of them all after himself.
Living with Jisung was difficult at first, because they both didn’t trust each other and because his natural talents and strength that he constantly improved scared Minho: in fact, he was also scared of Jisung’s random aggression waves during teenage years, so he never entered the room without holding a knife in one of his hands. It took time for them to move past this stage and get close, but now Minho can say without a doubt that Jisung has become someone he trusts the most, someone who’s seen a few of his hard moments but never blabbered about those despite being extremely talkative.
And yet there is one big thing that makes Minho try to stay distant, the reason why Minho chooses the forest over Jisung’s company and doesn’t let him get too close.
Jisung is in love with him, has been for the past few years, and it’s not one of Minho’s uncertain assumptions, because Jisung confessed to him on more than one occasion and up to this day he sometimes reminds Minho just how much he would want to have Minho as his mate. Minho knows why he keeps saying those things, it’s because Jisung knows he always seeks reassurance and approval, because Jisung wants him to be sure that his feelings are still there, that the proposal still stands. Despite being so passionate in everything he does, Jisung isn’t pushy on this: he knows that Minho isn’t ready to accept his feelings or return them. If Jisung has any weaknesses at all, it has to be his impatience that seems to always be running through his blood, something that never lets him stay still, and Minho is perhaps the only part of his life that all of Jisung’s patience is concentrated around.
Minho really appreciates that, he is grateful that Jisung can perfectly read the situation and only occasionally but confidently reminds Minho about his feelings and the mating proposal, but he doesn’t know if he can ever give Jisung what he so desperately wants to have. The problem is that Jisung is just too much for him: too bold, too adventurous, too risky for his own good, too energetic and passionate, too skilled, too strong, too gentle, too caring and understanding, too Jisung for Minho to let him get closer, let him in his tiny world.
Minho tries to keep his thoughts organized and hurriedly buries or destroys all the new feelings that come to him, and letting Jisung become an official part of this will only turn everything upside down, he just knows that. What Minho doesn’t know, though, is how he really feels about Jisung, what his heart says on that, because the heart is banned from having an opinion in his life, and so he always leaves Jisung hanging. He neither accepts nor rejects Jisung, knows that some of his actions give Jisung hope and tries to stop making those mistakes again, but it’s not that easy, has never been.
He fears the changes and storms, and letting Jisung close is inevitably going to result in the biggest explosion because that’s just Jisung’s nature, that’s what he brings into others’ lives with his presence alone. Saying yes to Jisung would become the lightest touch of a butterfly wing that would eventually lead to changes in all the smallest parts of his life, and Minho simply doesn’t feel prepared for that, so he stays silent. Minho wants to understand what is it about him that has Jisung so into him, what exactly attracts Jisung this much, but that is a question of his heart, and he doesn’t let himself dwell on it. Long ago, Minho convinced himself that he’s had enough of uncontrollable feelings, and curiosity paired with love are perhaps two of the most dangerous feelings that exist in the world. Minho doesn’t want to fall victim to love, because he’s seen what it does to people and what’s left of them in the end, so he sticks to his logic and cold, rational judgment.
And yet all logic goes to hell the moment Minho feels Jisung’s strong scent somewhere near, only getting closer with each passing second, because instead of leaving and hiding he chooses to stay until he spots the big black wolf looking right at him – or, maybe, even through him. Jisung looks funny when he childishly shakes his head, splashing cold water everywhere, including Minho’s face, which makes him snort, but then he turns into his human form and Minho’s quiet laughter dies down just as quickly.
Jisung completely ignores the rain as he takes a seat right next to Minho under the tree and takes off his cloak, handing it to Minho afterwards. Minho shakes his head at first, not willing to accept something that smells so strongly of Jisung, but gives up under Jisung’s stubborn glare. As he puts the cloak on, Minho feels comfort and warmth fill every single cell of his body and this realization makes blood rise up to his cheeks, resulting in a bright blush that, thankfully, cannot be seen in such gloomy weather. Minho is strong, powerful, and so is his scent, but Jisung is undeniably stronger, protective, a true fighter and a pack defender, and Minho is yet to find a way to not feel so good when enveloped in his overpowering scent.
It is odd to him, because Minho doesn’t like to give up control, or at least that’s what he thinks, as he wants to remain independent, and he never noticed his body and mind reacting like this to Chan’s or Changbin’s scents. It has to do with the years they spent together side by side, sleeping in the same room almost every night, Minho decides for himself and hopes that Jisung won’t notice that he’s still shivering. But, of course, just like he always does, Jisung notices that too and gently pulls Minho close into his surprisingly warm, as though the weather has no effect on him at all, embrace. He is very careful and slow, first reaches out his hand, then touches Minho’s waist, giving him time and opportunity to say no, and only pulls him in, making Minho lie down on his chest comfortably, once he sees no hesitation in the other’s eyes.
Minho is tired and desperate, craving some warmth on such a cold night, and he decides that if Jisung gave up his sleep to go and search for him, then he also deserves a chance to see something that usually only the forest is allowed to witness. Minho appreciates that Jisung still chose to give him some time to collect his thoughts and howl on his own before going to look for him, because, he somehow just knows, Jisung woke up the very minute he left the room. His knitted sweater must be all wet and dirty already, but Jisung doesn’t seem to care about that in the slightest, and so Minho stops thinking about that too, instead focusing his attention on Jisung’s heartbeat. For some reason, knowing that he’s not the only one alive on that night, having real proof right under himself calms Minho down enough to close his eyes and take a deep breath.
“Next time you decide to run into the night, wear some warmer clothes, yeah? We can’t have you sick and tied to bed, we all need you.”
Jisung’s voice is still hoarse, Minho thinks it is probably the first thing he said out loud since he woke up, and yet there is so much care and worry to it that the unsaid “I need you” is easy to guess. He doesn’t respond, instead hums quietly into the fabric of Jisung’s sweater that is quickly getting wet even under the tree’s protection, but that seems to be enough for Jisung. For a few minutes they just stay like this, silent, exchanging warmth with each other, and Minho really thinks he could get used to that, to Jisung wordlessly holding him like that, but then Jisung whispers him a question, the question Minho’s been so afraid to hear from someone one day.
“How long are you going to keep running from yourself?” Jisung asks, gently caressing his wet hair as he speaks.
It’s not even the question, but rather the tone it is asked with that makes all Minho’s barriers shatter for the time being, letting all the emotions and fears he’s been hiding for so long flood freely. He never expected such a simple thing to be the key leading behind all the guarded fences he’s built around himself, never knew it would be so easy for somebody to get to the most vulnerable and fragile side of his. Minho blames it on the nightmare, blames it on his first pack and the hunters, on the rain that turned into his enemy instead of serving as cover, and, most of all, he blames it on Jisung, who easily discovers all the handles and knows exactly when and how to push them. Minho blames it on everyone and everything, including himself, as he weeps into Jisung’s chest, forgets how to breathe through the tears that seem to have no end.
The tears are hot and they make Minho’s eyes ache, make all his insides burn as he nearly chokes on his sobs, too disoriented to even notice Jisung’s warm and slightly calloused hands rubbing circles on the skin of his back under the cloak and under his night shirt or tiny feather-like kisses left on his forehead. Minho feels as though he’s cried all his soul out when that wave of tears and incoherent mumbling in between finally comes to an end, leaving him trembling violently in Jisung’s arms. He guesses his eyes are now red and puffy and his face is perhaps the ugliest sight ever, but that isn’t the reason why he keeps hiding his face in Jisung’s now completely soaked sweater.
Minho is simply afraid of drowning in endless tenderness that he’s going to see in Jisung’s eyes if he dares to look up and maintain eye contact for more than five seconds, just as much as he is ashamed of quite literally putting his heart on display just now. This feeling is so strong that Minho buries his head somewhere in the crook of Jisung’s neck instead and, inhaling the comforting, reassuring scent, he makes the decision that it is now or never. Deciding is, in this case, easier done than said, so Minho takes a few more moments until his body stops shaking before he consciously opens his mouth to say something for the first time since Jisung joined him under those trees. The rain is still in full power and the clouds only turn darker as time passes, but it once again loses its importance to Minho because this time he willingly takes one step towards something that scares him so much.
“I didn’t just lose my pack,” he mutters quietly, almost catching Jisung off guard with his voice. “I had to see them all wiped out as I ran away, and then I also saw a vision that told me there was not a single soul left.”
“I know that,” is Jisung’s simple response.
It shocks Minho so much that he instantly looks at Jisung with wide eyes, surprised to see that it’s actually Jisung who avoids making eye contact. Minho wants to get to the truth, but finds it hard to ask directly, so he hopes that him just staring at Jisung’s face for a good minute will make things awkward enough to get Jisung talking. Maybe it’s not just Jisung who knows him well, after all, because it works, but what Minho hears is not something he could expect and now he realizes why exactly Jisung tried to avoid looking into his eyes.
“You sometimes talk in your sleep,” Jisung explains. “It hasn’t happened recently, but I’ve heard it enough times in the past to make out some information you were never willing to share openly.”
“What… What did I say?”
“It’s always different, but you usually mention the smoke and the hunters, and, you know, you don’t need to run the numbers to understand what that means.”
“But if you know…”
Minho almost starts to panic because of his secret being revealed so carelessly by himself, but Jisung notices that and is quick to assure him that he’s the only one aware of that.
“When it happens outside of our room, I always wake you up. I’m a light sleeper, so I react to everything that interrupts my sleep, and since you never talked about it during daylight, I thought it was your secret that only you had the rights to share. I thought you knew…”
Minho shakes his head at this: how was he supposed to know that he talks in his sleep if no one ever told him about it? He does remember Jisung waking him up in the middle of the night during their hunts, it happened quite a few times for him to start getting annoyed, but now that he knows the real reason behind that, he finds himself once again grateful to Jisung.
“I was also an orphan,” Minho shares before he can even think about stopping himself. “My parents were killed a few years prior to that night, so I had to learn everything by myself and it became another reason for the guys a few years older to tease and bully me.”
“What do you mean by saying another reason?” Jisung asks with a frown so deep Minho actually finds it amusing.
“They never liked me, always said I was behind them in everything,” Minho winces from the painful memories that left a trace on him that nothing can erase. “And then I had to kill a hunter on that same night, or else he would’ve killed me. I did that, not them, who were at least already trained to hunt.”
“Is that why you close your eyes every time there is blood? Sorry, I shouldn’t have…”
Jisung looks guilty for crossing the line, but Minho interrupts him with a short nod, confirming both his guesses about Jisung knowing more than he shows and Jisung’s assumptions that there was, in fact, more to it than just losing the pack. Now that Jisung knows about the things that bother him so much up to this day, Minho feels so exhausted and emotionally drained that he doesn’t want to continue this conversation – if this exchange can even be called a conversation at all. Jisung understands that without any words, as though senses his tiredness, and makes a move to stand up, causing Minho to blink at him sleepily in confusion.
“Come on, get up,” Jisung says, but it’s not an order, Jisung asks him.
He reaches out his hand and Minho doesn’t hesitate to take it, once again surprised by the contrast of their skin temperature – for some reason, Jisung seems to always have hot skin regardless of the season and weather. It must be something in his blood, something he inherited from his pack, or at least that’s what Minho wants to believe.
“You better turn into a wolf unless you want me to carry you on my back,” Jisung suggests with a small smile and the very prospect of that makes Minho blush. “I know you barely noticed that earlier, but we’re quite far from the house, so it’ll be faster this way.”
“I– I can’t…” Minho admits quietly, because he can barely stand on his own without Jisung’s strong hands supporting him, let alone gather his strength to turn into a wolf.
What he says is true at the moment, but, somehow, what Jisung says next is also true.
“Yes, you can,” he assures Minho. “You’re very strong, you’re a survivor, nothing can stop you.”
The human then disappears, making way for a mighty black wolf with his fur all drenched in the rain, who first looks at Minho and nods and then howls at the sky. Jisung looks bewildering when he howls, there is something so mesmerizing and powerful about it that Minho forgets about his exhaustion for a moment as he turns too and joins Jisung in howling. His howl is quiet, restrained, but that is only because he’s already lost all of his own power and wants nothing but to fall asleep, safely cradled in Jisung’s embrace. This sudden desire is so unlike him that it scares Minho, but then Jisung blinks at him and Minho pushes that fear to the back of his mind, following Jisung suit. On the way home, that is indeed longer than he thought, Minho realizes that he never really paid attention at how satisfying it is to be praised like this.
Once inside, they hear quiet voices coming from one of the rooms and figure that Felix and Changbin are already awake, so they both try to sneak into their room as carefully as it’s physically possible while leaving very obvious wet traces behind them as they go. Inside the room, Jisung shamelessly takes off his sweater and throws it into the pile of dirty clothes, making Minho avert his eyes for a moment. He’s seen this sight so many times for it to not be this embarrassing anymore, and yet here he is, blushing like a teenager despite being so confused about his feelings. Jisung quickly changes back into his night shirt and throws Minho a clean set of clothes, telling him to get undressed with just his gaze.
“I’ll start the fire,” he whispers and gets right into it.
Minho believes that Jisung’s skills in lighting the fire are extremely underrated, but he always keeps this thought to himself as he watches Jisung in admiration every time he flawlessly performs this task in little to no time. Tonight is no different, while Minho, on the other hand, struggles to take off the wet shirt that has stuck to his body, and, as much as he doesn’t want to ask for Jisung’s help with that, he sees no other way aside from ripping the fabric apart. Jisung notices his obvious problem and volunteers to help, but first makes sure Minho isn’t against it, just like he always does with everything that has to do with Minho.
“You’re still shivering,” Jisung states, sighing, as he also helps Minho put on another shirt. “You can sleep in my bed tonight… if you want to, of course.”
It’s just an offer, an invitation, of sorts, but it makes Minho’s heart swell with gratitude, as this is something he would never openly ask for himself. He nods, not quite trusting his voice, and it is enough for Jisung to smile at him and get into bed next to the wall, because he knows Minho feels caged otherwise. Minho really wants to be held tonight, but has no idea how to subtly show it without having to say it in words, because he is ashamed, embarrassed to say that, and, while facing that inner struggle, he nearly misses the moment Jisung starts to spoon him. With Jisung’s hands wrapped around his waist protectively and warm breath slightly tickling his neck Minho feels safe and yet the compass inside still doesn’t move anywhere from fear and uncertainty.
The last realization Minho gets before his eyelids get so heavy he can’t force himself to stay up any longer is that he never told Jisung he was afraid of closing his eyes again tonight. He never said that and yet Jisung still made the offer, as if he knew that it was something Minho needed the most. With that thought, he falls into some kind of dreamless sleep that he hasn’t had in weeks or maybe even months.