𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 》TMR, Minho

019

For the second time, my eyes slowly opened. The ground under me moved up and down at a firm pace; someone was carrying me.

"Hey." A male, Holt, spoke. I groaned deeply, feeling nothing but pain in my whole body.
"It's all right." He assured

A small panic rose in me. "I don't want to go back to the bunker," I whispered quickly.

"You won't," Holt confirmed. "They hate you now, so if I bring you back you're most likely dead."

"Minho.." I felt my eyes close again.

"Yes, I'm bringing you to that kid." He laughed quietly. "There's a small tube with ointment in your pocket. It'll heal your wounds faster."

"Thanks, Holt," I said quietly before falling unconscious again.

~

"Hey! It's that man that beat me up." The familiar, comforting voice shouted, but then I could literally feel the whole mood change. Slowly my eyes opened, yet I couldn't see anything other than the ground.

"The shuck you carrying my girlfriend and she's bleeding?" Minho screamed, his mood switching to bad.

Once Holt noticed I was awake, he carefully put me down on the ground. Minho took that as a sign to hit the man right in the face, hard enough to make him stumble over. Then Minho rushed over to me, face full of worry.

"Oh, god." Minho wrapped his arms around me firmly. "Why would you do that?" He asked, raising his voice slightly again. "Why would you leave me? Jesus, Lee!"

I could only cry, so happy to see and touch him again. I survived, at least. Though I was still bleeding a lot.

"Minho." Newt's British voice warned from behind. The boy let go of me and inspected my body.

"Shuck," Minho mumbled, his eyes twitching to every wound I had. "Who did that?" His eyes turned full of fire. "Was it him?"

Minho motioned at Holt, who by now got up and rubbed his cheek.

"No, no," I said quickly. "It wasn't him."

"Who, Lena?" Minho questioned sternly. "Who did this to you?"

I swallowed, deciding to just tell him. "Aris and Teresa," I whispered.

His face exploded with multiple emotions. Confusion, worry, sadness, but mostly anger. Pure anger. His face looked sweet, though his eyes said enough for how raging he was.

"This needs to be cleaned," Jorge spoke up. "Minho, lie her down and save your fists for later."

"Wait, no-." But before I could resist, I was already on the ground.

Minho's eyes met mine for a second. "Do I get permission to lift your shirt a little?"

"Whatever," I muttered. He nodded and looked at my bare stomach, which was probably bloody and bruised.

"Imma kill those two," Minho grunted as Newt and Frypan just stared with wide eyes. Holt handed Jorge a bottle with disinfection liquid.

"Minho, grab her wrists." Jorge sighed and opened the bottle, pouring some of it on a cotton pad.

"What?" I stammered, scared of what was about to happen.