~ 𝕡𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕠𝕡𝕙𝕠𝕓𝕚𝕒 ~ (Minsung)

🔒Chapter 3 - Housemates🔒

Jisung's POV:

A week had passed since that nightmarish evening, and today was finally Minho's discharge day. The morning sun filtered through the hospital window, casting a warm glow that seemed to promise better days ahead. I'd spent every evening here after my shifts, watching as the worst of his bruises faded from angry purple to yellowish-green, as the fear in his eyes gradually gave way to cautious trust.

The nurse helped me ease Minho off the bed, her practiced movements gentle and efficient. He was steadier on his feet now, though still moving carefully to avoid pulling at his healing wounds. As we walked towards the hospital exit, I could feel the tension radiating from him.

"What will happen to m-me?" His voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with uncertainty. "Where will I g-go?"

My heart clenched at the vulnerability in his tone. "Do you have any relatives around here?" I asked carefully, already dreading the answer.

The way he shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes, told me everything I needed to know. His fingers clutched at my shirt, knuckles white with desperation. "I-I don't wanna be homeless or get sent to a r-random place," he choked out between quiet sobs.

The words tumbled from my mouth before I could think them through: "What if you move in with me?" The moment they left my lips, I realized the weight of what I'd offered, but seeing the hope flicker across his tear-stained face, I couldn't take them back. Didn't want to take them back. "I can manage that till you find yourself a place."

"I don't know..." Minho sniffled, his grip on my shirt loosening slightly. "I don't want to annoy y-you..."

"You aren't! I have enough space, and honestly?" I smiled, trying to lighten the moment, "A bit of company won't be so bad. My place is too quiet anyway."

I watched as he processed my offer, his expressions shifting between hope and hesitation before finally settling on a small, shaky nod. The smile that spread across my face was automatic and genuine.

Leading him to my motorcycle, I helped him with the helmet, making sure it was secure. "Hold on tight," I warned, half-joking. "You don't wanna fall off, do you?"

His answering hum was nervous, but his grip around my waist was steady. The small yelp he let out when I started the engine made me chuckle, and the way he buried his face in my shoulder was endearingly trusting.

My villa wasn't anything special—comfortable but modest—yet Minho's reaction when we walked in made it seem like a palace. His mouth fell open as he took in the open living space, the large windows, the warm colors I'd chosen for the walls.

I led him to what would now be his room, my chest warming at his wide-eyed expression. "You like it?"

"Like it? I love it...!" The enthusiasm in his voice was a revelation—the first real spark of joy I'd seen from him. His smile transformed his entire face, erasing the shadows of the past week, and I found myself wanting to protect that smile at all costs.

"Wait here," I told him, heading to my room to find some clothes he could change into. I returned with the smallest things I owned—a pair of black sweatpants and a white t-shirt that I suspected would still be too large for his skinny frame. "Here, take a shower. Towels are inside. These might be a bit too big, but they're the smallest I could find." I pointed toward the bathroom. "Once you're done, come down to the kitchen—second door on the right at the bottom of the stairs."

In the kitchen, I lost myself in the familiar routine of making pancakes, humming along to music playing from my phone. The domestic normalcy of it felt surreal after the intensity of the past week.

The soft sound of footsteps pulled me from my thoughts. Minho stood in the doorway, practically drowning in my clothes. The shirt hung off one shoulder, the sweatpants rolled up multiple times at the ankles, and something about the sight made my heart do a strange flip in my chest.

"You're here." I gestured to the table, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through me. "Come sit down."

"T-thank you..." he mumbled, so quietly I almost missed it. His eyes stayed fixed on the table as he sat, hands folded in his lap.

I turned back to the stove, fighting a smile as I heard him inhale appreciatively. "It smells really good..."

"Mhm, pancakes are my specialty. And lucky for you, they're done!" I placed the stack on the table along with honey and Nutella, watching with satisfaction as his eyes widened at the spread. "Go on, start eating."

We ate in comfortable silence, though I couldn't help stealing glances at him, watching as he slowly relaxed into the moment. When I noticed a smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth, I acted without thinking, reaching across with a napkin to wipe it away. His face flushed pink, and I couldn't help but giggle at his embarrassment.

After loading the dishwasher, I turned back to find him stifling a yawn. "We should sleep," I suggested. "It's getting late, and you need rest." Then, remembering how my clothes hung on his frame, I added, "Tomorrow, we'll go shopping. You need clothes that actually fit."

He froze mid-step. "B-but I don't have any money," he whispered, eyes fixed on the floor.

"I didn't say you would be paying," I replied with a small smirk.

"But you do-"

"No buts," I cut him off firmly but gently. "Goodnight, Minho."

In my room, changing into sleep clothes, I couldn't help but reflect on how much had changed in a week. A chance encounter, a gut feeling that made me investigate those sounds, and now I had a traumatized young man living in my guest room. It should have felt strange or overwhelming, but somehow it just felt right.

A/N:
Welp.