Work Text:
crazy strawberry kiss
Blood pounded in his ears. He clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked, nails digging into his palms and leaving crescent-shaped indents. Minho exhaled heavily and snapped his fingers to wave the bartender over. The man didn’t make him wait, immediately sliding a glass of the harsh liquor in front of him. The bourbon went down smooth. Better than smooth, considering Minho had downed almost the entire bottle in one sitting.
“Want something to bite on?” the bartender asked, met with a blank, lifeless stare.
“Get your ass out of my face instead,” Minho rasped, running a hand through his bright red hair. It had been drawing eyes from all the bar’s random onlookers all night.
The godforsaken day Minho decided to dye his hair red stuck in his mind as clearly as if it were yesterday. Not long before he was institutionalized, he had considered himself a pretty normal guy. Sure, he had a temper, but who didnʼt? As he later came to understand from the doctors, something was wrong with his head, causing him to lose his grip on reality. Maybe that was why he had absolutely no memory of that fatal day — the day his eyes first met that much blood on the ground. Minho had seen his own reflection in it, and the very first thing that popped into his head was, “Maybe I should change my hair?” Only after that did a cold, sickening thought slip through: “Holy shit.”
He had beaten up seven guys in some filthy Seattle alley that reeked of piss and rot. Minho only remembered how those bastards had waved him over, luring him into a dark corner, and demanded he empty his pockets. And Minho did empty, except it wasnʼt their pockets he turned inside out, but their heads, snapping them in different directions until they lay in puddles of their own blood at unnatural angles. Still breathing, but on the verge of death.
People like Minho didn't process their actions, making them prone to doing things that posed a danger to others. That was another piece of wisdom one of the doctors had shared with him upon discharging him back into the wild, releasing him into his motherʼs custody. She had passed away recently, so now there was no one to watch his every move or ask where he was off to this time. He was sick to death of it. All those pointless, stupid questions, as if anyone or anything could actually hold Minho back.
If the beast wanted to break free, he would rip through any chains.
“You a faggot or something?” a chuckle came from the side.
Minho rolled his eyes and grit his teeth. Flashes of blood flooded his mind. No, he had to stop this. People were total pieces of shit, but that was no reason to kill everyone. Especially not the way the beast did it.
The medical chart noted that his beast was classified as antisocial personality disorder with dissociative episodes. It didnʼt stop Minho from living his life as though he had no pathologies or deviant behavior. People didn't fear him because they only saw an ordinary guy, but the moment his eyes gleamed and his lips bared his teeth in a grin, the courage of those loudmouths would die out like the flame of a stale candle.
“You talking to me?” Minho took a sip of his bourbon and turned around, noticing some pot-bellied guy with heavy stubble next to him. The man’s mouth was blowing clouds of beer-stinking breath, and for the first time in a long while, Minho felt like throwing up.
“You, fairy, who else. You’re the only one here with dyed hair,” the man glanced at his head and let out a drunken laugh, taking a seat next to him. “We don’t like outsiders in our bar, especially your kind.” He licked his lips and sighed.
“Then get the fuck out of here,” Minho said, turning away as he swirled the glass of harsh liquor.
“Listen here, punk,” the stranger said, slamming his hand onto Minho’s shoulder and forcing him back around. “See my buddies over at that table?”
Minho lazily glanced over at the table, catching the curious stares of four men. They were all wasted already, probably just as vomit-stinking and pot-bellied, though he couldnʼt tell from here. Turning his full attention back to the stranger next to him, Minho nonchalantly brushed the man’s hand off his shoulder and scoffed, throwing back the rest of his drink. The warmth spread through his chest, shattering his soul into tiny pieces.
“And?” Minho responded after a minute.
“We’ll pay you,” the man said, pulling out his wallet and flashing hundred-dollar bills in his face. “If you let us run a train on you.”
Minho smiled and licked his lips, narrowing his eyes slyly. The offer was tempting only because of the money, which he had practically none of. Every single job required a medical clearance, and there it was, in black and white, stating he was mentally unfit. Every time, he wanted to burn that paper so it would stop getting in the way of how he presented himself to society. After all, as long as no one saw that diagnosis, he was pretty much sane to everyone else. Even right now, in the company of this drunken piece of shit, he looked a hell of a lot better than him.
“For a hundred bucks?” Minho asked skeptically.
“No, course not,” the man said, digging through his wallet and dropping his entire paycheck onto the bar counter.
“That’s not enough,” Minho smiled. “You only paid for yourself. Tell your buddies if they want to get a piece of me, they gotta pay for themselves too.” Biting his lower lip, he turned away, feeling the stench of cheap beer drift off.
Minho held back a laugh. And the beast. He was already sharpening his claws against his soul, growling disgustingly and rattling his chains. Minho soothed him in his mind, enticing him with the fact that, for the first time in a long month, he had just found his the perfect punching bag. This time, he wouldnʼt let the beast rip them open and tear out their insides. Just a good, solid beating, slamming their heads against the pavement so next time they’d think twice about what they offered to strangers.
After all, behind some of those strangers hid something far worse than a pretty face.
“Are you seriously going through with this?” the bartender asked, pouring more bourbon and frowning down at the crumpled bills.
“Of course,” Minho chuckled. “I need the cash bad. Rent is due soon, and I’m not trying to live in a shithole.”
“You don’t have to pay with your body,” the bartender still insisted.
“And I won't,” a loud laugh burst out of his mouth. “They’re the ones who are gonna pay me. In full.”
Minho counted out seven hundred dollars and shoved it into his pocket. He didn't even have to steal. The money had literally found him and crawled right into his hands. And why? Because some bastards decided to project their libido onto him. They probably had twisted erotic fantasies playing out in their heads, picturing Minho pleasing every single one of them in some back alley. They just didnʼt realize they had walked straight into a trap. And Minho couldn’t stop himself now.
“Hey, kid,” the men started calling him over to their table in unison. “Get over here.”
Minho dropped a hundred-dollar bill on the counter, leaving a massive tip for the bartender, and headed toward them, his grin stretching from ear to ear. It was a pity so few could read the feral snarl hidden behind that smile. It screamed a warning, trying to caution the fools against their own inevitable doom, but for some reason, everyone ignored it.
“We’re on,” the same short guy who had approached him earlier summed it up. “Here’s the cash. Let’s go right now.”
The man’s words needed no correction or commentary. He had spoken with finality, making it clear he had no desire to discuss the matter further. Minho loved that kind of talk — it reeked of stubbornness, arrogance, and the speaker’s own reckless stupidity. And there was really nothing to say to that; you just had to nod along, playing the submissive, compliant little puppy, showing you were ready to take the deal. All while deep inside, in the dark corners of a shattered soul, crouched a savage beast.
He didnʼt care about words.
He wanted blood.
“How much is here?” he asked, nodding toward the cash.
“Almost three grand,” the deep, raspy voice of another man replied.
Minho’s stomach tightened with anticipation. Money like that didn't just grow on trees, and he’d certainly never held that kind of cash in his hands before. He had almost four grand in his pockets now, and the sheer realization made him want to roll his eyes back in pure bliss. But not here. Not in front of these bastards who were dying to wreck his ass and run a train on him.
“Fine,” Minho said, swallowing down his surge of joy as he scooped up the cash and shoved it into the pockets of his worn-out jeans. “Where are we heading?”
The men exchanged looks and began whispering among themselves, picking a spot to fuck him. Minho didn't bother interrupting them. Either way, no matter where it was, they were dead fucking meat. The beast would show them what happened when his peace was disturbed. And right now, Minho could feel something massive and dark, hidden deep beneath his skin and bones, clawing its way out through him, desperate to manifest itself so everyone could witness exactly what they had signed up for.
Death.
Minho shook his head. No deaths. Not on this beautiful June evening. He didn't want law enforcement taking the last of his cash just to fund the treatment for his fucked-up head. There was no fixing it anyway, not with any medication. The only option left was to put him down like a stray dog, but even that would cost him.
You had to pay for everything, even the things you didn't want to do.
“There’s a parking lot nearby. No cameras. No streetlights,” the stranger suggested, and everyone agreed.
“Message received,” Minho smiled. “Let’s go.”
“Look at that, a compliant little bitch,” one of them sneered, being the first to get up from the table. “Well, let’s move then.”
Parts of Seattle looked totally run-down, like a straight-up exclusion zone. That was exactly the kind of neighborhood Minho had grown up in, and he was still stuck here. All his former friends had long since moved out — either to the new, gentrified areas for the rich and promising, or they’d cleared out of the state entirely in search of a better life, knowing there was nothing for them here. But Minho stayed behind. It wasnʼt like anything good was waiting for him with that kind of record in his medical file. All he had left was to wander the streets, being an eyesore to every piece of shit out there, fully aware of his little loophole: they could never actually throw his crazy ass behind bars.
Minho was insane. He didnʼt know what the fuck he was doing. Or rather, he did, but in moments like this, he willingly handed all rights over his mind and body to the beast. And no cage on earth could keep him locked away.
He would rip everyone to shreds.
There were a couple of cars sitting in the parking lot. The moon was the only source of light, but even that peeked out only occasionally from behind a mass of patchy clouds, failing to light the ground properly. Because of that, the chances of them getting caught in the act were practically zero. This thrilled Minho beyond words, because he could already feel himself slipping. He was ready to hand his mind over to someone else’s rule and just watch the bloodbath unfold from the sidelines.
“Alright then,” the men crowded into a line behind his back like a pack of animals, unsure of where to start. “Get on your knees.”
Minho pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, slipped one between his teeth, and lit it up while looking up at the sky. The smoke seeped into his lungs and settled, wrapping him in a pleasant warmth. Exhaling, he spun around on his heels and chuckled, taking a deep drag. The men stared at him, lips pressed tight, clearly at a loss for words. Apparently, they had only ever done this once before. And that once was happening right now.
“Let me have one last smoke,” Minho sighed. “Who knows when my consciousness will be back in my hands.”
“What? What the fuck are you talking about? We paid you. Get on your knees and open your filthy mouth,” a man in a business suit snapped nervously.
Minho clicked his tongue and tossed the cigarette aside.
“Jesus, you guys are impatient. I’m doing this for your own good. Who else is gonna delay your inevitable doom?” Closing his eyes, he exhaled, and his sanity dissolved into thin air.
“Your inevitable what?” The question hung in the night silence.
Minho jerked, and when his eyes fluttered open, the brown was gone, replaced by a pitch-black abyss. Death itself rested in them, or maybe something far worse. The corners of his mouth upturned in a feline smirk. He licked his lip, taking a deep breath. It smelled like post-rain freshness. But it also smelled like blood coursing beneath their skin — skin he wanted to rip to shreds, desperate to spill the guts right out of their beer bellies. Yet Minho’s distinct 'no' was still echoing in his head.
“Who’s first? Or maybe all at once?” Minho’s voice was laced with razor blades now, cutting into their ears so sharply that the men grimaced, taking a step back in sheer confusion, trying to make sense of what was happening.
“Get on your knees,” the loudest one repeated. “Now!”
“What for?” Minho laughed.
“We’re gonna run a train on you. That was the deal,” they reminded him impatiently.
“Ah, I see,” a dark laugh echoed. “Did I not tell you?” he asked.
“Tell us what?”
“I’m not the one getting a train run on me. I’m the one running it.”
The confused man tried to strike him but missed; instead Minho managed to catch him square in the jaw. He heard a sharp crack just before the man collapsed full-weight onto the ground, sprawling out like a starfish. The other four froze for a second, but then they started squaring up, throwing out death threats. Minho just laughed and gestured for them to bring it on with his index finger.
“Maybe we need some blood?” he asked himself, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen any blood fountains, and nobody’s gonna look for these motherfuckers anyway. They’re completely irrelevant, you can tell just by looking at them.”
“Who the fuck are you talking to, punk?” the man who had dropped the seven hundred dollars on the counter stepped forward, swinging his fist.
Minho managed to duck his head and strike from below, landing a punch straight to the nose. Blood instantly splattered across his face, decorating his pale skin with tiny droplets. It made the beast inside let out an internal growl of pure pleasure. However, the celebration didn’t last long; an unexpected blow caught him from behind, slamming into his back. Minho crashed down, but as he was about to jump right back up, several boots started stomping him in the gut.
“Take that, you piece of shit!” one of them yelled ecstatically, and Minho could no longer hold the beast back.
He snapped, ready to tear every single one of them to pieces.
Grabbing one of them by the leg, Minho yanked him hard. The man slammed down, cracking his tailbone against the ground, and shrieked at the top of his lungs in agony. Minho’s hands moved fast, with practiced skill, twisting the ankle completely around and snapping the bones of the miserable drunk. The others stared with wild, terrified eyes, realizing one thing — they were next.
Minho crawled closer to the groaning man and, without warning, snapped his neck. Silence fell. But just a second later, Minho shrill laughter broke the quiet. He lifted the dead man’s warm body and slammed it against the ground over and over, watching intently as a puddle of blood spread out beneath him. Bigger and bigger.
The beast didn’t waste a second. He needed everyone to suffer. In a flash, he pivoted to the next guy, raining down crushing blows. At the same time, much to Minho’s annoyance, he had to defend himself from the flanks too, because the goddamn bastards had snapped out of it, finally realizing this was no longer a game but a matter of life and death.
“You could’ve just waited your turn. You’re all gonna die anyway,” Minho laughed, kicking the man off his feet and sending him crashing to the ground.
“Why you little punk—”
“Oh, nice earring,” Minho said, and without a second thought, bit down hard on the man’s ear, ripping it open. A torn flap of cartilage and the earring-pierced lobe dangled loosely against his cheek and neck, soaking the skin in dark crimson fluid. “Doesn’t suit you, though.”
He snapped the man’s neck after delivering one final headbutt straight to his nose, then tossed him onto the pavement. Minho stepped onto his stomach and started jumping up and down with glee until blood spouted from the man’s mouth. The next one in line didn’t waste any time, rushing Minho instantly, but a single blow crushed him too. Hitting the ground, the man began to crawl away, crying out for help, but everyone else had already scattered in different directions. They knew that staying here for even a few more minutes meant inevitable death.
“Let’s count how many fingers you have,” Minho said, crouching down and bending finger after finger backward until they cracked with a satisfying pop. He even closed his eyes and hummed melodically to the sound of the screams and weeping. “What’s wrong? Don’t like it? Well, I like it a lot.” After slamming the man against the pavement a few more times, Minho had practically finished him off, but he stopped when he noticed something glinting in the distance under the moonlight.
Glass.
“Oh, hell yeah,” he drawnled, instantly closing the distance with the shard of glass in his hand. “Sorry, but this is way better than spilling your guts and leaving you alive, right?” Laughing, Minho stared with utter madness into the man’s glassy eyes and slashed his throat in a single motion. Blood erupted in a fountain, splattering across both his face and clothes, making the beast purr with satisfaction.
Silence fell over the parking lot, as if there had been no struggle at all. The inner beast was displeased that out of the five, he had only been lucky enough to finish off three, but he was still glad he’d managed to kill them despite Minho's prohibition. Truth was, Minho had already given up too. Pieces of shit like that would never bring anything good into the world. Minho wouldn't bring much either, but if he could clear out the trash, he would. And then, someday, someone would get rid of a piece of trash like him too.
That was the law of the life.
Minho lay down right next to the corpses, feeling something warm and sticky-wet soaking through his clothes. It was their blood. Blood was his reward, and he wallowed in it like the luckiest man alive rolling in cash. Above him stretched a now-cloudless sky with a brilliant moon, wrapped in silence except for the barking of stray dogs in the alley across the street.
“I’m out-of-this-world happy,” he whispered, remembering the cash in his pocket. “I can even go to a restaurant and get a real meal there, right?” He let out a dark laugh, staring at the dead man’s contorted face. “Oh, right. You can’t answer me anymore. What a shame.”
The silence was shattered by the blare of a police siren. Minho laughed, genuinely surprised by how fast those drunks had moved. Getting the cops here that quickly was impressive. Minho had to prop himself up on one elbow, lounging on the pavement as he waited for law enforcement to arrive. What did they have in store for him this time? Another stint in the psych ward, or something new? After all, it was Minho’s first time killing someone. And not just one, but three. Bad luck comes in threes, so why the hell not.
The carʼs headlights blinded Minho. The cop behind the wheel slammed on the brakes, his eyes widening in utter shock. The second officer riding shotgun threw his door open, gun drawn, but Minho wasn't afraid of either of them. That kind of shit wouldnʼt scare the beast.
“Minho?” came from up front, but the blinding headlights made focusing on the man’s face an impossible task.
“Sam?” Recognizing the voice, Minho smiled. “Good evening. How’s life treating you?”
The officer named Sam lowered his gun and stepped closer. His astonished face could finally be seen now, but Minho didn’t bother looking. Instead, he locked eyes with the other partner and waggled his eyebrows, terrifying the already spooked cops even more. Frankly, it was pure pleasure — pushing people to their absolute limit and playing with their nerves like guitar strings.
“What the hell did you do here?!” Sam cried out, staring at the spreading puddle of blood and the three men.
Dead men.
“Long time no see, I actually missed you. Thought you might’ve forgotten about me. So, I had to remind you I’m still around,” Minho sat up, thrashing his legs and splashing the blood. “How do you like it? I did all this. Guess the pills didn’t work.”
“You have no idea what the fuck you’ve done,” Sam sighed, crouching down next to him on the pavement.
“Oh, I think I do. Those bastards wanted to run a train on me, but…” Minho shrugged, blinking innocently, “not such luck for them.”
“You’re just exploiting the fact that you won’t go to prison, aren’t you?” Sam figured it out, clicking his tongue and shaking his head.
“Pretty much. So go on back to your business. I’m just gonna…” scratching his head, Minho looked around at the crime scene, “clean this up.”
“No, you’re coming with us to the station,” Sam stood up and nodded to his partner. “Call for backup and wait for them here. I’m taking him to the precinct.”
“But Sam,” the other cop nodded toward the cruiser, “he’s gonna mess up the whole damn car.”
“We’ll wash it,” grabbing Minho by the arm, Sam pulled him up. Even though Minho was dead weight, Sam managed to cuff him anyway.
“You know, you really didnʼt have to do that,” Minho rolled his eyes, walking to the cruiser on his own and stopping by the back door. “Mind opening up? It’s freezing out here.”
Sam cracked the door open and let Minho inside. The car smelled of something cloyingly sweet, making him want to puke. Minho winced and banged his forehead against the window a few times, hoping he’d at least knock himself out for a bit just to stop smelling it. The fog had practically lifted from his eyes, but the playful edge was still in his voice, making it clear the beast was right there. Joy wasnʼt really a Minho thing, but the beast loved it.
“Why the hell did you kill them?” Sam asked, pulling back onto the road.
“I don't know,” Minho scoffed. “Didnʼt want to at first, and then… and then I just felt like it. One piece of shit more, one less.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I know,” Minho laughed.
“And why were you lying in the blood?” Sam asked, looking at him through the rearview mirror and sighing as his eyes met a gleeful smile.
“What’s the point of killing them if not for this? Last time, I only managed to stab a guy, but tonight I didnʼt have anything on me. Had to crush some skulls instead. But then I found that glass and slashed one guyʼs throat. Pretty cool, right?” He closed his eyes contentedly and smacked his lips. “Am I going back to the loony bin? It's been a minute since I had their soup.”
“Are you fucking serious right now?” Minho’s complete indifference made Sam's blood run cold. “You just killed three people!”
“Oh, drop it. I didnʼt want to kill them. It was an accident.”
“An accident?!”
“I swear on my mother!” Minho pressed his cuffed hands to his chest. “It wasnʼt even on my mind. I came to the bar to drink bourbon, but they just showed up and practically begged me to smash their faces in. So I did.”
“Your mom passed away three months ago, so your little oaths don’t work anymore,” Sam sighed.
“Oh, so you're tracking me?” Minho waggled his eyebrows. “What, are you like my stalker or something?”
“I’m the officer assigned to your case, you dumbass.”
“Oops,” Minho clapped his hands together. “You got stuck with such an idiot. I feel bad for you.”
“You have no idea.”
“And what’s gonna happen to you now? Will they dock your bonus?” Minho sighed, smearing blood all over the seat. “But hey, it’s your own damn fault.”
“Mine?” Sam stopped at a red light and looked back at Minho.
“Yeah, yours. We could’ve just kept it quiet, but no. So now you gotta pay for it,” Minho stuck his tongue out and turned to the window.
“Minho,” Sam said, driving forward with a heavy sigh. “You seriously think you can just run amok among normal people? Sure, they can’t put you behind bars in a prison, but nobody said anything about other kinds of bars. Personally, I think this was the final straw for you as a free man.”
Minho pressed his lips into a thin line, wrinkles cutting between his brows in sheer annoyance. He raised an eyebrow questioningly and slid closer, catching the partition screen with his bloody hands to get a better look at the cop's face.
“What the hell do you mean?” he asked, a blank look on his face, while the beast inside howled, digging its claws painfully straight into his heart.
“The stakes are higher now, Minho. And it looks like you’ve reached the limit.”
“Meaning what? Theyʼre gonna lock me up? Hey! You! I was out of my mind when I beat them! You know that better than anyone! Did you forget what my chart says?!” Minho started shaking the screen nervously, but it wouldn't budge.
“You killed people, Minho,” Sam sighed. “How does that saying go? Welcome to the psych ward?”
Minho went numb, his hands dropping to his lap as his mouth parted in a silent gasp. No, they had promised him eternal freedom, so why the hell were they trying to put him in a cage?
“You’re sending me to the loony bin?!”
“Call it whatever you want,” Sam said, brushing it off as he pulled into a parking spot outside the police station.
“You realize I’m gonna make everyone’s life a living hell in there, right?” Minho said, stepping out of the cruiser and snapping his teeth a few times.
“I know, I know, but there’s one person you won’t bother.”
“And who’s that?”
“Me,” Sam smiled, opening the door and leading Minho inside the building.
💊 💊 💊
The white walls were mind-numbing. It was only Minho’s second day in this place, but every fiber of his being screamed at him to escape. If it had been possible, he would have broken out the very first day they brought him here. At first, he tried arguing his case at the police station, but the cops wouldnʼt budge.
Minho killed people. He belonged here.
Not forever, of course. As soon as he cleared his head, they’d let him out. But how long would he be locked up in here? His room felt like an actual cage, driving the beast inside him crazy, ready to rip through the iron bars at any second. Instead, Minho just sat there like a lamb, staring blankly at the wall. Maybe if he sat tight like this for a week, they’d let him go? It’s not like he killed some VIP. Just a couple of pathetic drunks who got in his way. He never even got to spend his four grand, eat at that restaurant, or pay his utilities. The whole night felt like a total waste.
“Good morning, Minho,” a doctor said, appearing on the other side of the bars.
“Fuck off.”
“I see you’re in a great mood,” the man in the white coat smiled and jotted something down. “If you feel like talking, let them know.” He pointed toward the floor guards. “If you want to get out of here anytime soon, you’re going to have to cooperate.”
“So, what, if I go with you and listen to your boring-ass lectures, they’ll let me out?” Minho sat up in bed.
“If my boring lectures actually help you, then yes,” he smiled.
“What if you’re full of shit? If you’re lying to me, I’ll rip your tongue out and shove it up your ass,” Minho spat, grabbing the iron bars and narrowing his eyes.
“Alright, point taken,” the man smiled. “My name is Malcolm, and I’m—”
“Like I give a fuck. Let’s go to your office,” Minho snapped, stepping back and turning his back to the door, putting his wrists together.
The guard unlocked the door, stepped inside, and cuffed him. Everyone in this place was still walking on eggshells around him after what went down. Minho never expected the news to blow up all over Seattle, leaving people shaking in their boots. It wasnʼt even that big of a deal. Just three dead drunks. Shit like that happens almost every single day, but for some reason, nobody ever makes a breaking news story out of it.
“Good boy,” Malcolm praised, cracking open his office door.
Minho sat down the second they freed his hands. Why were they so worried about him beating up another patient? They’d better watch their own backs, because it was the doctors who actually drove him up the wall. Very soon, the beast would wake up again, break loose, and rip everyone in this place to shreds. There were plenty of sharp objects around, enough to put on a real show. Minho was already tasting it.
“So, Minho, tell me, what’s on your mind?” Malcolm started.
“On my mind? Nothing,” he smirked. “You guys are the ones with the problem. You lock me up in here, and now I’m stuck staring at your clean-shaven face.” He rolled his eyes, but the doctor just smiled.
“You told Sam a different story. Something about a beast, wasnʼt it?”
“That piece of shit,” Minho laughed, clicking his tongue. “Go ask him then. Why are you on my case? Just give me whatever pills I need to pop and let me go. I don’t belong here.” Minho looked down at his hospital gown — white with blue polka dots. “And get me some real clothes. What is this garbage?”
“You’re welcome to go naked if you hate it that much,” Malcolm smiled. “So, you’re not going to talk to me?”
“Hell no. I didn’t come here to pour my heart out. Just give me my meds and I’m out.”
“Minho, a course of pills isn’t going to cut it this time,” the doctor said, pursing his lips. “There is something living inside you that canʼt be fixed that easily. We need to find out what exactly is in there, and how to get rid of it.”
Minho felt his heart hammering against his ribs. He balled his hands into fists and shook his head. If this guy said one more word like that, he was going to lose it. He’d rip him apart right then and there, and he didn't give a ratʼs ass about the consequences — whether they locked him up for life or fried him in the electric chair.
“I’m gonna end you right now if you don't back off with the questions,” he growled, his eyes darkening enough to genuinely rattle Malcolm.
“Alright, point taken,” the doctor sighed, snapping the chart shut. “Guards, take him back.”
“So what now? I just sit there like a dog in a cage?” Minho asked, standing up and thrusting his wrists forward, feeling the cold bite of the metal.
“I’m transferring you to another doctor. Don't worry, we have plenty of staff to go around.”
“Giving up so easily?” Minho burst out laughing, stepping out of the office under the guard’s heavy stare. “What the fuck are you staring at? Want me to gouge your eyes out?”
He expected a snappy comeback but got a hard slap to the back of his head instead, shutting him right up. Grumbling, he marched back to his makeshift cell. Aside from the bars and walls, the room held a twin bed and a small table with a chair. This was a setup where Minho was supposed to sit and read books that were definitely not picked out with his taste in mind. Every single one was pure romance trash, the kind that made you want to puke. Too bad the cafeteria food was too damn good to waste by throwing up. Otherwise, he would’ve given these thick-headed guards hell. They’d be running out of here in no time, but it wasn't time yet.
Minho spent a lot of time watching people whenever everyone was let out into the main lounge. Everybody did their own thing, like playing chess, singing songs, or drawing. Sometimes they were even allowed outside into a heavily secured courtyard. The hospital itself looked like a small, ancient palace that had been completely retrofitted with new tech inside. This made Minho think of it as his new home. Sure, it was temporary, but if he could take the whole place over and get rid of all these useless people, he would be the sole owner of such a sweet setup. On top of that, the view of the garden from the windows was absolutely flawless, which was probably why he wasnʼt in a rush to break out. After all, the only thing waiting for him on the outside was a dim one-bedroom apartment in a trashy, run-down high-rise, and that place didn't even have power or gas.
If you hadn't killed those bastards, you never would've known such beauty even existed.
These words kept looping in his head like the numbing, nauseating sound of a hated song on the radio. His mother used to love Elvis Presley, playing his records until they were completely ruined. Minho, on the other hand, despised his songs, his voice, and his music. He hated everything about him. Memories of his mother felt too much like looking in a mirror, so Minho went out of his way to never think about her at all.
But the voice in his head was actually onto something. Minho got to live in a beautiful place, eat delicious food funded by Seattle taxpayers, and pop a few nasty little white pills three times a day. Life had practically turned into heaven on earth. He didnʼt have to lift a finger, except for messing with the doctors every now and then just to remind them that they were absolutely nothing to him. He was under no obligation to listen to them, and he didnʼt. Minho was here on his own terms and nothing less.
Still, he wanted to break out of this place, and fast. You always get used to the good stuff quickly, and Minho refused to be hooked on anything. Unless it was bourbon.
“Fuck, I need a bourbon,” Minho sighed, thumping the back of his head against the wall. “Hey, guards, you guys got any booze?”
Nothing but silence followed. Minho sighed. It was exhausting when the guards didnʼt react at all, just standing there like mindless boulders, watching everyone locked in these cages. Every now and then, Minho would mess around and shove his hands out of the bars, shouting harsh insults at the patients and doctors passing by. It made them scatter in pure panic. Those were probably the only times he ever got to hear the deep, booming voices of the guards, yelling at him to settle down or theyʼd strike him with something heavy.
And he’d only been here for two days. What a ride it was going to be. Minho knew for a fact he was going to drive absolutely everyone in this place to their breaking point. The thought alone made his head spin, a dark thrill spreading through his whole body. Alright, so that was one more reason he just had to stay here for at least a month, purely for his own twisted pleasure.
The next day, they woke him up at seven in the morning and sent him to breakfast. To be honest, Minho rarely ate breakfast because his fridge was usually empty, and his body just couldn’t handle food that early anyway. But in this place, everything happened exactly on schedule. It was annoying as hell. Minho had no intention of dancing to their tune and obeying every single order like a good little dog. He felt way more comfortable living like a stray.
The cafeteria was located in a spacious hall on the first floor. He sat far away from everyone else, picking at his plate out of sheer boredom. Today they gave him a fresh cabbage and cucumber salad, and for the hot meal, there was a clump of barely salted pasta stuck entirely to the plate. Great. They still served good food at night, but in the morning, they gave you stuff worse than pig slop. It was total garbage.
“You gonna eat that?” a guy who looked about twenty suddenly asked him.
“Nope,” Minho said, making a show of pushing his plates away.
“Can I have it?”
“Choke on it,” Minho smiled, getting up to head for the exit before two guards blocked his path.
“Your doctor will be here for you in a minute. Sit back down and wait until breakfast is over,” one of them said in a flat voice, without even blinking.
Minho wanted to spit right in his face and smear the saliva across his tight, wrinkled forehead. Holding back the urge, he reminded himself that he wasnʼt really in that much of a hurry anyway. Stepping back to his seat, Minho picked up a mug of black tea and started taking small sips, locking his eyes on the same kid who was now inhaling his breakfast.
“How can you eat that garbage?” he asked.
The blonde guy with sky-blue eyes looked up and shrugged, swallowing a clump of sticky pasta. He polished it off in one sitting without even blinking, then immediately started on his own portion. Minho grimaced and took another sip of his tea. Without sugar, it tasted nauseating, like he was licking dirt and grass.
“You’ll get used to way worse things in here,” the guy suddenly replied. “Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s hit-or-miss. But it beats starving.”
“Fine,” Minho gave in. “Maybe I’ll be singing the same tune if I rot in here a bit longer.”
“How long have you been here anyway?” he asked.
“Three days,” Minho said, his words catching the stranger off guard.
“Whoa. And here I was wondering why they didn’t—”
“Lee Minho, they’re ready for you,” a voice called out from behind, and Minho sighed.
“Keep talking.”
“But they’re waiting for you,” the guy said, eyes wide with surprise.
“I don't care,” Minho turned around and shot a piercing glare at the waiting guard and his apparent new doctor — a stately woman, looking to be in her forties, whose thin lips painted in burgundy gave off an immediate… “Vindictive look. I can tell right away.”
“That’s Mrs. Parkinson.”
“You know her?” Minho turned back, and the guy nodded.
“She handles the heavy cases. I don’t even want to guess what kind of trouble you got yourself into, man.”
“Oh,” Minho stood up, his eyes lighting up with a dark sense of amusement. “I just killed three people, no big deal.” Leaving the guy sitting there with his mouth wide open and eyes full of shock, Minho walked out behind Mrs. Parkinson, who led him to her office without a word.
The woman walked with an incredibly majestic stride, her chin held high. The bun of dark hair made her head look even bigger. Minho compared her to a peacock, thinking she just needed a flashy patterned tail to complete the look. But that wasn’t the annoying part. The clicking of her heels pierced his ears and settled there, pounding into his brain until it ached. The irritating noise echoed through the empty hallways, and the urge to sweep her off her feet with a hard kick grew exponentially. Minho might have promised himself that he wouldn’t touch anyone here for now, but who was going to promise the beast?
This office was different. Unlike yesterday morning, today his time was spent enclosed by green walls and fragrant flowers. On top of that, the room offered a stunning view of the garden, a place where he hadnʼt had the chance to walk yet, though maybe someone would let him out this week. Or were the doctors just terrified that Minho would try to run? For now, he was way too lazy. There was a place to sleep, plus they fed him three times a day. Screw them, Minho was staying right here. To him, the whole setup felt like a nice, free hotel.
“Lee Minho,” she said clearly, sitting down across from him at her desk. “You refused to cooperate with your previous doctor, so—”
“I don’t want to cooperate with you either,” he cut in, laughing.
“I don’t care what you want or don’t want. And watch your tone with me,” she snapped. A vein on her forehead throbbed with a sudden surge of anger, and Minho did everything he could to stop thinking about driving a sharp blade right through it.
“I’ll talk to you however the fuck I want. Got a problem with that?” Minho asked, slumping back in his chair and spreading his legs wide. “And what do you even want? First, you donʼt let me finish my food, and now you're wasting my fucking time.”
“I see,” she smiled, calmly opening some kind of file, which Minho found pretty damn weird. “Let’s talk about your childhood.”
“How about you shut your mouth instead?” he bristled, feeling as though he’d just been scalded with boiling water.
He didnʼt even want to think about his childhood. The endless screaming matches, the fights, and his parents’ constant drama still haunted his dreams. Minho just wanted a peaceful life, to be a normal kid like everyone else. Instead, he had to hide so much behind the thin walls of their cramped apartment, terrified that anyone would find out.
His dad worked at a factory, making good money but only bringing home a fraction of it. Minho wore hand-me-downs and never once complained. His mother, on the other hand, couldn’t stand frayed dresses and old bags. She always craved something new, even if she already had it. Eventually, she realized his dad was hiding part of his paycheck and blowing it on god knows what. It would have been better if it had stayed a mystery, rather than finding out he was just pissing the money away in local bars on his latest mistresses.
The fights and screaming matches only got worse, but whenever Minho stepped outside, he kept smiling and acting like nothing was wrong. Like it wasnʼt their apartment where furniture was flying, clothes were being ripped to shreds, and obscenities were being shouted. Like it wasn't their apartment where his mother tried to kill herself multiple times while his dad constantly tried to destroy her. Not physically, but mentally. And he did a damn good job of it.
That was when the beast woke up inside Minho. It happened at night, while everyone was asleep, under the light of the stars and a crescent moon. Out of nowhere, he felt a massive rush of adrenaline. Given the chance, he could have run laps around Seattle’s football stadium without even breaking a sweat. Instead, at seventeen years old, he utterly mutilated his father’s body. He did it for his mother, for the lies, and for the fact that the man was the shittiest father imaginable, forcing Minho to wear raggedy clothes and choke down rotten eggs.
His father had been dead for three years now, but the memories still picked at his gaping wounds. They made the beast inside him snarl, locking its sights on the next person in its path. Right now, that person was Mrs. Parkinson.
“Your father—”
“You’d better shut your mouth before I rip your jaw open,” his eyes darkened and his chest began to heave erratically as his fingers clawed at the armrests, making a sickening scrape against the metal. “Say one more word about my childhood and you'll lose your tongue and your eyes, mark my fucking words. And you can rest assured, this time I’m going to personally gut you.”
Mrs. Parkinson pursed her lips and nodded, shutting the file. Minho let out a sigh of relief, trying to calm the raging beast in his mind. An uncontrolled fit of rage never led to anything good. Even if he killed her right now, he wouldnʼt get any satisfaction out of it, unlike with those three drunks.
“I see you donʼt want to talk about your childhood. But that is exactly where something messed you up so badly that you started acting… the way youʼre acting now,” she concluded.
“If I tell you that thereʼs a literal beast locked inside me, and every time it craves blood, I let it cloud my mind and beat a few people to a bloody pulp, will you doctors find a way to rip it out of me? Hell no, you guys are useless. You canʼt suppress it, you can’t drown it out, and you damn sure can't kill it.”
Mrs. Parkinson went quiet for a moment, then continued.
“Do you lose control when you beat people?”
Minho nodded and rolled his eyes. He had literally just told her that, so why was she asking again?
“And when you killed those three, did you lose control then too?”
“No, I see everything from the outside, like a movie, but I just canʼt stop it.”
“But you do understand that to prevent this from getting any worse, we have to find the root of the problem, and that root is in your childhood.”
“If you want to end up dead in this office, go right ahead. Keep digging, but instead of answers, you’re getting a fist to the face. And you’d better thank God if you walk out of here alive, because I won’t do a damn thing to hold him back.” He nodded, as if confirming his own threat, and the woman finally broke.
“We’re done here. Guards,” she called out, “take him to his room and keep him on lockdown. Let’s see his beast skip breakfast and dinner today. Maybe starvation will make him want to cooperate with us,” she said with a venomous smirk.
“Ooh,” Minho drawn out, rising from his chair as the guard grabbed his arms. “Be careful when you sleep, sweetheart, because the beast inside me never does, and your shitty cage wonʼt hold him back, mark my fucking words.” He bared his teeth and snapped his jaws shut as he walked out of the room.
💊💊💊
“You should have seen his eyes! He was actually ready to pounce on me right there in the office!” Parkinson shrieked, downing her sedative.
“Well, look at that, I didn't think anyone could rattle you,” Malcolm sighed. “Maybe we should just, you know… end him?”
“What do you mean, end him?” Parkinson asked, confused.
“Well, just send him to the electric chair and call it a day. Do you honestly think anyone’s going to lift a finger for this piece of shit? He’s clearly possessed by demons.”
“Oh, I donʼt know what his deal is, but he’s obviously out of his mind,” she exhaled, looking over at Jisung sitting next to them. “What do you think, Jisung?”
Jisung sat by the window, staring blankly out at the green garden. The weather was beautiful, the kind of day that made you want to go outside, walk along the little creek, and get some fresh air. Instead, all he could do was breathe in the nasty smells of various medications. Right now, for instance, the room smelled sickeningly sweet because Mrs. Parkinson had just downed thirty drops of her medicine to calm her nerves.
“What were you saying?” Jisung asked, completely tuned out.
“We're talking about the new patient. It hasnʼt even been a week, and both of us are already tapping out,” Malcolm explained.
“Wow,” he said, genuinely surprised, since he had never seen anything rattle Parkinson before. There was no shortage of crazies and total nutcases in this place. “Can I take a look at his chart?”
“Here,” she said, handing the file over while keeping her eyes locked onto Jisung’s face.
At first, his eyes locked onto a small photograph. A guy around twenty-four was staring back at him, with a dark, sullen glare and slightly plump lips the color of strawberries. Glancing down at the name, last name, and date of birth, Jisung realized his guess was pretty much spot on. The guy was twenty-seven, just a year older than Jisung himself. So why did someone this young already inspire such sheer terror?
“Does he have antisocial personality disorder with dissociative episodes?” Jisung asked, tracing the diagnosis with his thumb and biting his lip until it hurt.
“Yes, he claims to lose all control when this so-called beast takes over, completely desperate to rip everyone apart,” Parkinson added. “That is the only thing he managed to tell me. I wanted to ask him about his childhood, but he almost killed me!” she shrieked, starting to shake all over again.
“What do we know about his childhood?” Jisung asked, closing the chart and staring thoughtfully out the window.
“Both his parents are dead. When he was seventeen, he attacked a man and inflicted about six stab wounds, but the victim survived. Minho was found legally insane and placed under his mother’s custody after she divorced the father. He kept a low profile after that, but about a year ago, he beat up seven guys and gutted one of them. He’s been registered with an outpatient clinic ever since. He was still under their supervision, though he technically cleared his treatment program with good results. Now, he’s slipped up again. All it took was killing three people. He feels zero remorse. In fact, he’s convinced he was in the right,” the woman finished, shooting an inquiring look at Jisung. “Why do you even care about all this info?”
“I think…” Jisung cleared his throat and turned around. “I think I’ll take his case.”
“Are you insane?!” they yelled in unison, slamming their hands on the desks and jumping to their feet.
“We have a decade of experience under our belts, and you’ve only been here for two years and want to take on this psycho? He’s going to slaughter you on day one,” Malcolm ranted, but Jisung wouldn't budge.
“Well, at least I can try. If it doesnʼt work out, weʼll just transfer him to another ward. Big deal,” he shrugged, collecting his thoughts.
They never trusted him with high-risk patients because of his lack of experience, but compared to colleagues like them, Jisung would always look like an amateur. He didn’t give a shit about that anyway. He just kept doing his job, living among the madmen. Minho’s diagnosis didn't scare him at all, since Jisung was already familiar with it. Sure, he had no clue how to get rid of that beast, and honestly, nobody else did either. It was all in Minho’s head. But getting him to talk and opening up a dialogue was definitely doable. At the very least, Jisung felt like he could pull it off.
“You need to take a taser with you,” Parkinson warned him. “That way, if he decides to make a move on you, you’ll be ready.”
“Is it really that serious?” Jisung asked. It was hard to believe this Lee Minho guy had managed to terrify these two in such a short amount of time.
“Hell if I know,” Malcolm shrugged. “He refused to cooperate with me, kept talking back, so I decided to transfer him to another doctor. But as you can see, even Mrs. Parkinson is powerless here.”
“I am not powerless!” her voice cut through the room. “He threatened me, and there was nothing I could do. I don't give a damn about his words and threats, but that psychotic look of his is a different story. It was like… like a real beast in there. You know, like a dog with rabies. If I had stayed a few more minutes, I wouldn't have been surprised to see him foaming at the mouth.”
Jisung burst out laughing, slapping his thigh a few times. Man, he was in for a hell of an interesting meeting with an equally interesting guy. Now he just had to figure out how to find a loophole, something to keep the conversation going for longer than five minutes. He wanted to make this time count, to show the others that he was worth something and that they shouldn't keep underestimating him. Just because he was young didn't mean he was stupid. Either way, he had his work cut out for him here, and he knew it.
“I ordered the guards not to let him out today. Emergency use only. Other than that, he’s skipping lunch and dinner,” Parkinson said.
“So you’re starving him out?” Jisung wasn't sure if that was the right call.
“Yes. Maybe that’ll actually make him think before he opens his mouth. I get the feeling he thinks he came here for a vacation, not for treatment,” Mrs. Parkinson rose from her seat, grabbed a water bottle, and started watering the flowers on the windowsill. Her own little therapy session to get her head straight.
The starvation tactic sounded pretty extreme to Jisung, but he didn't push back. There was no way a resentful Parkinson was going to change her mind and take pity on some poor guy just because he was missing two meals. If you looked at it that way, you might as well stop feeding everyone in this place. Most of them had some kind of issue, and nobody was safe from losing their mind. Parkinson’s usual calm and arrogance had clearly made her sloppy, which was why she overreacted so badly to some lunatic’s words.
“So that means I need to get him out of his cage and bring him to my office first thing tomorrow morning?” he asked, pulling himself out of his thoughts.
“I suppose so, since you’re dead set on taking this guy on. Just keep your eyes peeled and never turn your back on him. You won't even have time to hit the panic button to call for backup before it's all over,” Malcolm warned, and Jisung nodded.
“I’m going to go for a walk,” Jisung said, adjusting his lab coat as he stepped out of their shared office. He headed up to the second floor, where his new patient was supposed to be based on the layout of the cells.
In the hallway, a man slammed into him, babbling away in an Irish accent, and Jisung’s face contorted in pain. Shaking his head, he waved off the apologies and kept moving, heading up the stairs. Even if the floor hadnʼt been so packed, the silence would have been shattered anyway by the deafening racket of doors swinging back and forth and banging against their frames.
The second floor, much to his relief, was dead quiet. Everyone was cooped up in their rooms. Every now and then, someone would peek out to watch passing doctors or stray patients who had lost their way between floors. Others just sat there peacefully, doing their own thing, though there wasn't exactly a lot to do.
Jisung examined each person until his eyes locked onto the right guy. In person, Lee Minho looked much sharper and more defined. His high, prominent cheekbones and sharp nose stood out even from thirty yards away. He was sitting at the table, tracing something on it with his fingers since he hadn’t been given any other tools to work with. Some book lay open next to him, but Minho wasnʼt looking at it, clearly lost in his own thoughts. When everyone was called to lunch and the cells gradually emptied out, he was left completely alone on the floor. The only thing Jisung managed to catch was a bitter word slipping from Minho’s lips.
“Bitches.”
And Jisung couldnʼt help but agree with him.
💊💊💊
Minho barely got any sleep that night. His stomach kept acting up, begging for even a single crumb of food, while bad dreams didn't give him a moment of peace. Tossing and turning from side to side, Minho finally gave up and just sat up on the bed, staring at the wall. It seemed like it had finally clicked that the doctors were his biggest headache here. They were the only ones who decided what Minho was going to do today. Lock him in a cage with no food? Easy. Pump him full of pills? Of course.
And the beast whimpered, begging for freedom. Luckily, he wasnʼt angry yet, because otherwise, anyone stepping into this hospital wing would already be dead. For now, most of them were just rattled by Minhoʼs aggressive outbursts. He got a real kick out of scaring anyone who walked too close. Their terrified shrieks were music to his ears. He wanted to do it over and over again, right until a guard came by and hit him upside the head with another slap.
His beast was definitely going to kill that guy first.
“Rise and shine,” a hand slammed against the bars. They rattled sharply, forcing Minho to crack his eyes open.
“Breakfast?” he asked, licking his lips as his stomach growled.
“Not breakfast,” the guard said, unlocking the door and stepping inside with handcuffs in his hands.
“You want me to die? Fine by me,” Minho muttered, stepping out into the hallway and heading up to the third floor under the guardʼs watchful eye. “Where are you taking me anyway? What do you guys want from me?”
“Shut up and just walk,” the guard snapped back.
Minho realized exactly why he was here the second the door swung open. He let out a dark chuckle, unable to believe his eyes. Were these completely messed-up doctors seriously never going to leave him alone? Didn’t they get enough of a show yesterday? Minho had zero intention of talking about himself or his parents. They could try all they wanted, but they weren't going to break him.
“Am I gonna get some food after this interview?” Minho asked, but he got no answer, just a rough shove into the office. “Fucking asshole,” he muttered, stepping forward.
They freed his hands, which was a terrible mistake on their part. Minho rubbed his wrists and locked his eyes on the desk, where a guy was writing something, paying absolutely no attention to him. Minho’s jaw dropped. Were they completely out of doctors, or did everyone quit after yesterday? Was this schoolboy seriously supposed to treat him?
“Who the hell are you?” Minho asked, taken aback.
“Good morning to you too,” the guy said with a smile, looking up from his file and standing up. “My name is Han Jisung, and I’m your attending physician from here on out. Nice to meet you.”
“You shouldnʼt have bothered. I don’t waste my time memorizing the names of people who wonʼt last a day,” Minho said, sitting down at the desk. Only then did he notice a plate of food — warm mashed potatoes and a chicken drumstick. The mere smell of it made his stomach knot up. “What’s this?”
“Your breakfast,” Jisung replied, walking around the desk and hopping onto the edge, letting his legs dangle. “Dig in, donʼt be shy.”
“Fuck off,” Minho snapped, shoving the food away. “You trying to poison me or something?”
“Why the hell would I poison you? I’m supposed to be working with you,” Jisung said, licking his lower lip and clearing his throat. “So, you have antisocial personality disorder with dissociative episodes,” he summarized. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a dog. Any more questions? If not, get the fuck out. If you do, go to hell, because I’m not answering a damn thing,” Minho said, grabbing the chicken drumstick and sinking his teeth into it, tearing the juicy meat apart.
“I see how it is,” Jisung replied, completely unfazed.
“And by the way, what school did you even crawl out of? Do the doctors think that just because they put a schoolboy in front of me, I wonʼt waste him? Mark my fucking words, I’ll rip you to shreds if you stick your nose where it doesn't belong,” Minho growled, swallowing a chunk of chicken.
“Well, look at that,” Jisung said, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “What other fairy tales are you gonna tell me?”
Minho froze for a second, locking eyes with the guy. Was this idiot seriously looking for a fight? Tossing the clean bone back onto the plate, Minho wiped his hand on the sleeve of his hospital shirt and stood up, leaning over the desk.
“Fairy tales?” he repeated.
Jisung hopped off the desk and leaned over it from the opposite side, matching his posture and smirking right in his face.
“If you donʼt get your ass back in that seat, you idiot, I will twist your jaw backward and you’ll be writing down your little psychological traumas. That’s if I donʼt feel like breaking your fingers too,” Jisung said, pushing himself back toward his desk and leaving Minho stunned.
“What the fuck did you just say?” Minho balled his hands into fists, feeling the beast rage inside him.
“I said I’d like to talk to you about your childhood. Tell me, what did it feel like to stab your own father?” Jisung provoked, and Minho’s eyes turned pitch black.
“Alright, you bitch, I tried my fucking best,” Minho roared, flipping the desk out of the way with a single, violent shove. The plate of mashed potatoes slammed onto the floor, shattering to pieces.
Jisung found himself pinned flat against his own desk, Minho’s hands buried deep in his collar. Minho stared hard into the guy’s eyes, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. A second more and Minho would tear him apart with his teeth, ripping his throat open. Yet, Jisung just stood there, a smile plastered on his face as if his life wasnʼt hanging by a thread.
“What the fuck are you smiling at, idiot? I will rip you apart right here, right now,” Minho hissed right against his lips, trying to sound terrifying, but not a single muscle on the doctor’s face twitched.
“Then go ahead and do it,” he whispered, running a hand through Minho’s hair, gently stroking it. “I know you lose all control, and that this so-called beast does everything for you,” Jisung continued, his hand tracing smoothly down his cheek and throat. “So let me find out who exactly is living inside you, hmm?”
Minho looked down and swallowed hard. A second later, he completely shrank back as Jisung’s fingers began to stroke his chin, tickling his skin. A faint purr escaped his throat, and the beast that had been tearing him apart inside finally went quiet.
“Kitty,” Jisung smiled.
“W-what?” Minho stammered, staring at the doctor with wide, fearful eyes.
“Your beast,” Jisung said, running his hand over Minho’s head again, threading his fingers through the thick mane of red hair. “A kitty.”
Minho closed his eyes peacefully and let out a relaxed sigh. His hands slid down from the collar of the lab coat, bracing against the desk on either side of the guy’s body. When Jisung’s hand returned to his chin, Minho purred again, but then he abruptly snapped his eyes open and jumped back in shock. He had no idea what had just happened or why his beast had suddenly gone dead quiet.
“What the… what the hell did you just do?!”
“Sit back down,” Jisung asked, walking around the desk and sitting back in his chair, immediately starting to write something down in his file.
“Don't you dare write down that I purred, or I’ll rip your fucking head off,” Minho growled, sitting back down in his chair.
“Whatever you say, Kitty.”
“Shut your mouth, I’m not playing around,” Minho snapped, his anger rushing back with a vengeance.
“I’m not playing around either. Honestly, nobody is playing around in this place,” Jisung said, looking up from his paperwork to meet Minho’s furious glare. “So, since you donʼt want me telling everyone that youʼre just a sweet, cute little purring Kitty, we’re gonna have to make a deal.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Minho flared up. “…What kind of deal?” he added a second later, his voice dropping a notch.
Jisung smiled triumphantly and crossed his arms across his chest.
“First thing you’re gonna do is address me with some respect. You call me Mr. Han.”
“You’re younger than me!” Minho rolled his eyes. “Eat shit, got it?”
“No, Kitty, I don’t think I will,” Jisung tilted his head to the side, waiting.
“…Fine. What else do you want, Mr. Han? Want me to kiss your ass too?” Minho snapped with a sneer.
“Not a bad idea. I’ll definitely look into that, Kitty,” Jisung mocked.
“Since I’ve followed your rule, Mr. Han, you’d better follow mine,” Minho said, resting his hands on his knees. “I’m dying for a smoke. I need cigarettes.”
“Nicotine doesnʼt mix well with the meds you’ve been prescr—”
“I donʼt give a fuck, you hear me? I want to smoke,” he asserted, and Jisung sighed.
“Fine, I’ll find you some cigarettes.”
“And I want a normal room without these fucking iron bars!” Minho blurted out.
“And how exactly am I supposed to make that happen? You killed people. You’re unstable. I have no intention of taking responsibility for you,” Jisung said matter-of-factly, staring thoughtfully out the window. “But if the Kitty is obedient, behaves well, and answers all my questions, then maybe I’ll—”
“Smartass, you think you can buy me?” Minho guessed, letting out a snort. “I'm not answering any questions about my childhood, just so you know. Iʼll rip your jaw open.”
Jisung chuckled, looking at Minho, who was furious but surprisingly compliant.
“Fine.”
“And I also want… I want to go outside,” Minho said, stating his final wish before sitting quietly, waiting for an answer.
“Only under my supervision,” Jisung warned him.
“Whatever. As long as I get to go outside,” Minho rejoiced inside but kept his face completely blank.
“Fine, I’ll get it done. Just make sure you donʼt forget your end of the deal. I need to dig into your dirty laundry so I can get you discharged as soon as possible. You do want to get out of this place and go back home, donʼt you?”
Minho hesitated, but yeah, he’d much rather go back than put up with these annoying doctors who always wanted something from him.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Perfect,” Jisung said, clapping his hands together. “Then the faster we find our groove, Kitty, the faster we get you discharged.”
“Stop… stop calling me Kitty,” Minho frowned, because hearing something so affectionate directed at him was unbearably sickening.
“Or what?” Jisung stood up, looming over him once again. “Youʼre gonna rip me apart?” He smiled, running a hand through Minho’s hair.
“Drop dead,” Minho sighed, rolling his eyes as fingertips began scratching the back of his head in slow, circular motions.
Jisung dropped into a crouch right between his spread legs, forcing Minho to crack his eyes open and stare down in confusion at the guy whose face was now only inches away.
“You know what I want? I want you to hold your long tongue,” Jisung whispered.
“Or what?” Minho shot back in the exact same tone, trying his best to suppress the deep purr in his throat.
“Or I’ll bite it for you.”
Minho walked out of the office completely stunned. Under the watchful eye of the guards, he went down one floor and stepped back into his makeshift cell. If Jisung wasnʼt full of shit, they were supposed to move him to a different, more spacious room without these bars. Minho really hoped Jisung wasn't lying, because if he was, the doctor wouldn't get off that easily.
A kitty… wow.
“Why the hell didn’t you tear him to shreds?” Minho hissed, sitting on his bed.
The beast didn’t seem to care about Minhoʼs irritation. It was as if he wasnʼt even there anymore. No growling, no sharpening claws, no raging inside his chest. It felt like he was just sleeping, yet somehow Minho could still hear his purring, and it made him want to purr right along with him.
“This is insane,” he whispered, flinching as someone ran a hand along the bars of his cage. “What the—” Minho saw Jisung’s smug face and the guard unlocking the door.
“Come on, let me show you your new room.”
Minho carefully stepped out and followed Jisung, staring at the back of his head. His chestnut hair shimmered with a hint of crimson in the light, and a few stray hairs on his crown stuck straight up like little antennas. As if feeling the gaze on them, Jisung flattened them back down with his palm.
“Here’s your room,” Jisung said, cracking the door open and stepping inside. Minho followed right behind him, still unable to believe he was finally out of that cage.
The room held a bed, a small table with the same books, and a window. It was barred, of course, but it was still a window with a great view of the garden. Minho sat down on the bed with a relaxed sigh and bounced on the springy mattress, genuinely happy that this bed was way better than the one he’d been sleeping on.
“And keep in mind that you didnʼt get this room just for your pretty face,” Jisung reminded him. “You’re expected to show up in my office every single morning.”
“Okay, I got it,” Minho sighed, sprawling out like a starfish on the bed. “Can I get a smoke now?”
“Only outside.”
“Then let’s go outside,” Minho said, immediately getting off the bed and stepping right up to him. “If I don't get some nicotine in me, I get so pissed off you canʼt even imagine.”
“You seem to be forgetting who you’re talking to, don't you?” Jisung frowned.
“Oh, I'm sorry, did I disrespect you again, Mr. Han? You're just a little prick, a kid younger than me, so kiss my ass,” Minho spat, and before he even realized what was happening, he found himself flat on the bed again, this time pinned down by another body.
“You chirp one more time, and I will show you no mercy. No outside time, no cigarettes, no room. And most importantly, no freedom, Kitty,” Jisung hissed, wrapping a hand tight around his throat. “Do you understand me?”
Minho nodded, staring at his attending physician in absolute awe. This wasn’t a dream, was it? For the first time, someone was actually pushing back against him, and it wasnʼt just words, it was physical. The most incredible part was that the beast inside wasn't reacting at all. In fact, he was treating this whole thing like some kind of game. It was confusing and bizarre for now, but it was completely captivating. Minho just wanted to learn the rules and dive right in like a real player.
“Perfect,” Jisung said, standing up to brush himself off and fix his lab coat. “Get up, weʼre going outside.”
If Minho had a tail, he would have wagged it with joy. He hadn’t felt the warmth of the sun for only four days, but he was already about to lose his mind over it. Stepping out onto the porch, the first thing Minho did was breathe in the pleasant fresh air that didn't remind him of those damn hospitals and medications. Then, closing his eyes, he lifted his face toward the sun and froze.
“Fresh,” Jisung commented, stepping down the stairs.
“How often can I come out here?” Minho asked, looking at Jisung.
“If you ask nicely,” he winked and walked further ahead, leaving Minho behind.
“Asshole.”
Minho followed closely behind until they ended up behind some trees near a small creek. Jisung sat down on a bench and looked around. Only then did he pull a fresh pack of cigarettes out of his lab coat. Minho started salivating almost instantly. He sat down right next to him, staring with wide, begging eyes as a snow-white filter slipped between Jisung’s plump lips.
“Are you trying to torture me?” Minho snapped, but Jisung said nothing, calmly lighting the tobacco with a lighter.
“I want a smoke too,” Jisung said after taking a drag. He exhaled the smoke and turned his head toward Minho. “Open your mouth.”
“What? No way! What if you used those lips to do—” He didnʼt even get to finish his sentence before the cigarette was shoved between his teeth, cutting him off mid-complaint.
“You disrespect me one more time, and I will cram this entire pack of cigarettes up your ass,” Jisung sighed, turning his head back toward the lake. This gave Minho a perfect chance to study his profile a bit closer.
“Congrats, we just had an indirect kiss,” Minho muttered with a grimace as he tasted strawberry lip balm, though he took a drag anyway.
You donʼt say no to a free smoke.
“Be happy someone actually kissed you for once,” Jisung replied.
“You think I donʼt have anyone to kiss?” Minho snorted. “For your information, I fucked everyone left and right.”
“I really didnʼt need to know that,” Jisung sighed, taking the cigarette back from Minho to take a drag.
“You're weird,” Minho suddenly blurted out, and a second later, he was flat on the dirt. “Fuck, you are such a miserable bitch, I hope you get murdered and nobody ever finds your body,” he chirped as Jisung shoved him off the bench.
“I told you, if you disrespect me like that one more time, I will—”
“God, what a dick,” Minho sighed, trying to wake the beast inside him, but he only purred in response. “What did you… what did you do to me, hey?!”
Jisung lazily blew smoke out of his mouth, looking down at Minho sitting on the dirt.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know damn well what Iʼm talking about!” Minho stood up and sat back down on the bench, snatching the nearly finished cigarette right from the other Jisung’s lips. “Whatʼs wrong with my beast?”
“If I know,” Jisung shrugged. “That’s something you should be asking yourself.”
“There’s something wrong with you, Mr. Han,” the words slipped out of his mouth. “You’re not like the other doctors.”
“And why is that?” Jisung pulled another cigarette from the pack, lit it, and handed it to Minho.
“Well, for starters, no doctor has ever called me a bastard before. And second, they definitely didnʼt offer me cigarettes. You want something from me, donʼt you?”
Jisung clapped his hands together.
“Look at you, youʼre not as dumb as you look. All I need is for you to get discharged from this place. Luckily or not, I’ve dealt with antisocial personality disorder before, so I have a pretty good idea of what you’re—”
“No,” Minho cut him off, his anger flaring up instantly. “No, you don’t know me, Mr. Han. You don't know what’s wrong with me, and you donʼt know what Iʼm going through. You donʼt know a damn thing.”
Jisung nodded.
“You’re right. That’s exactly why,” he turned around, “I want to hear it directly from you. Everything that’s locked inside you, understand?”
“And just how far are you willing to go for that, Mr. Han?” Minho sneered.
“What do you mean?”
“Well… I could easily kill you, you know,” he hesitated, “grab a rock and bash your head in right behind that tree until your brains are splattered everywhere. Or I could just snap your neck, drown you in this creek, you name it. But you… you’re not afraid of me. Don’t you find that strange?”
“Everyone has their secrets, Lee Minho. If you want to know mine, you’ll have to tell me yours first,” Jisung smiled.
“Hell no, I’m not telling you my secrets. And I’m telling you one last time, you’d better not ask about my childhood.”
“Then let me ask you about what you felt when you killed those three men?” Jisung inquired, crossing his legs.
Minho flinched, remembering that night. He had felt a rush of triumph, joy, and a strange fluttering sensation. On top of that, there was a massive wave of raw, untamed rage ripping out of him. He had genuinely enjoyed watching the life drain from their eyes and seeing everything stain red.
Yeah, it was glorious.
“I’d do it all over again. So keep your eyes peeled,” he winked at Jisung.
“Do you have any idea how precious a human life is?” Jisung tried to talk some sense into him, but Minho didn't give a damn anymore. What’s done was done.
“Well, I definitely got three of them for free,” Minho sneered, standing up from his seat. “I’m sick of sitting around, so get your ass up and walk around the garden with me. Otherwise, I’m going without you, because I donʼt give a fuck about your rules.”
“Don't forget I can bite your long tongue off,” Jisung reminded him, but the threat didnʼt scare Minho one bit.
“Why donʼt you try it? Maybe I’ll bite yours off instead,” Minho said. For some reason, his eyes dropped to Jisung’s lips, and a shiver ran down his spine at the mere thought of a kiss.
This guy… there was something seriously wrong with him.
“What are you standing there for?” Jisung snapped his fingers in front of Minho’s nose and walked straight ahead.
“I’m gonna waste him one of these days,” Minho promised himself, following right behind him. “Hey, asshole, arenʼt you gonna wait for me?”
Jisung sighed and spun on his heels, glaring at Minho threateningly. Well, that was actually pretty fueling, making his blood boil with anticipation, so Minho kept going.
“I changed my mind about treating you with respect because you donʼt deserve it, little shit,” he mocked, but a punch to the jaw followed his words without hesitation.
Minho froze, staring off to the side. The saliva in his mouth mixed with something warm that tasted like iron. His eyes widened to their limits in sheer shock, and only now did it finally click that Han Jisung had hit him. His attending physician had actually punched him in the face.
“I told you to shut your mouth,” Jisung hissed.
“You’re fucking dead,” Minho said, flashin a bloody smile, and without a second thought, he lunged at the guy, crashing down onto the grass with him.
As much as Minho wanted to feel a rush of rage, the kind that would spark real punches or a bloody brawl, he felt absolutely nothing of the sort. Honestly, he had zero desire to beat the guy up. Even so, he did land one hard blow right to Jisungʼs nose just to let him know that Minho could fight back and didn't give a damn about who was pinned under him.
“Fucking idiot,” Minho hissed, finding himself flat on his back on the ground. “Get the hell off me! What did you do to me?! I’ll fucking kill you right now!” Pulling Jisung by the hair, Minho threw him off back onto the grass and scrambled on top, pinning his shoulders, ready to slam his head against the ground a few good times.
“Kitty,” Jisung drawn out, stroking under his chin once again. Minho’s eyes rolled back instantly, and his whole body went limp, collapsing right onto Jisung, burying his nose deep in his neck.
“Fuck,” Minho shuddered, even more lost and confused than before. “You think you won?” he sighed and began to purr. “Suck on that,” Minho bared his teeth without a second thought and sank them into Jisung’s neck, hearing a sharp cry beneath him.
Jisung forcefully struck him across the head and threw him off, breathing heavily. Two thin trickles of blood leaked down his neck, nothing serious at all. Jisung had shrieked more out of sudden shock than any real pain.
“Are you happy now?” Jisung hissed, getting to his feet. “Get the fuck back to your room before I put you right back in that cage.” Taking a deep breath, he looked down at Minho with a look of pure disappointment, then turned around and walked away, leaving him lying on the grass.
And for some reason, the beast inside his chest started to rage.
The beast was thoroughly displeased with this outcome.
💊💊💊
“Finish these tests and you’re good to go. If you have any questions, just ask.” Jisung slid three sheets of paper onto the desk, tapping the various psychological evaluations meant for Minho before walking over to the window.
Almost three weeks had passed since that brawl broke out of nowhere. Jisung hadn’t brought it up again, and Minho hadn’t really asked. He only occasionally let himself glance at the guy’s neck, checking on the wound. It was practically gone. Guess he didn't get it bad enough, Minho thought, but he didn’t push it or try to talk back to Jisung about it.
“There’s a question about childhood here. Should I burn this damn paper?” Minho snapped, tossing it onto the floor.
Jisung let out a heavy sigh and walked back over just to pick up the paper, slamming it right onto the desk in front of Minho’s face.
“Fuck off. I said I’m not answering this, so I’m not,” Minho muttered, barely touching the paper to throw it back on the floor, but Jisung cut him off, sharply slapping his hand away. “You looking for a fight?” Cocking an eyebrow, Minho tilted his head up and looked Jisung straight in the eye. “Was one bite to the neck not enough? Next time, I’m biting through.” He snapped his teeth together, shifting his gaze down to those full lips.
They were highly unusual. The upper one was full but barely visible. When Jisung spoke, it hid away, exposing his snow-white teeth. The lower one, just as full, did the exact opposite, standing out because of its size. And that was exactly where that strawberry lip balm shined the brightest, a scent Minho was already hallucinating. No matter how many cigarettes he took from Jisung, the taste of sweet berry haunted him day after day.
Ever since that first time Minho lit up his cigarette and caught the taste of his lip balm, he knew he was a goner. This was either what he had been looking for his entire life, or what would finally kill him. One of the two — and both outcomes thrilled him. But those lips… They kept him awake at night, and Minho would go out for a smoke no longer to get a hit of nicotine, but to catch the taste of that balm just one more time.
He could swear Jisung picked up on those signs. He definitely noticed the predatory look Minho gave his lips while smoking and licking the damn cigarette filter.
All these days Minho couldn’t stop thinking about those lips. And now, looking at Jisung, he knew his willpower to stop himself from crashing into those glossy lips was down to zero.
If he didnʼt do it, he would die.
Or he would kill someone.
He liked both options just as much.
“What are you staring at?” Noticing the strange look, Jisung bit his lower lip and stepped away from the desk.
“Your lips,” Minho answered calmly, keeping his shameless gaze fixed on them.
“What’s wrong with them?” Jisung smirked, leaning his backside against his desk and crossing his arms over his chest.
“I don’t know,” Minho admitted honestly. “The bottom one is so full.”
“True,” Jisung nodded.
“I want to bite it.” After that confession, the office went dead silent.
Jisung cleared his throat and looked away. Had Minho actually managed to fluster his doctor with such a blunt statement? Honestly, it didn't come as a surprise to Minho himself. The exact moment he caught that taste of strawberry in his mouth, the beast started purring with approval, and at the mere thought of a kiss, he began aggressively pushing Minho to just go for it right then and there.
But Jisung… he pissed Minho off so damn much. The beast might not want to rip him apart, but Minho himself was still down to do it, if they just gave him the chance.
“Are you always this blunt?” Jisung asked after a couple of minutes.
“Yeah, why?” Minho scribbled on the sheet with his pen, set the finished one aside, and picked up the next.
“Do you want to kiss me?” Jisung asked, a playful edge to his voice, as if he didn't actually believe Minho would go through with it.
“Maybe.”
“I need a straight answer,” he shot back, narrowing his eyes.
“And if I give you a straight answer, do I get to kiss you?” Minho countered. He dropped any formalities, speaking to Jisung as an equal, since the guy had already given up complaining every time Minho talked down to him like that.
“Maybe,” Jisung replied in the exact same tone, and they both fell silent, locked in eye contact.
The game was on.
“Yeah, I want to kiss you. And I want to lick every last bit of that strawberry balm off you,” Minho admitted, leaning back in his chair.
“How about this,” Jisung said, biting his lip. “You finish all the tests, and I’ll let you kiss me. But only once, Lee Minho.”
That clever dick. He knows damn well I’ll do it.
Fine.
I’m going to devour him right on this desk. He’ll regret making these kinds of deals with me.
“Okay,” he hissed through his teeth.
“And you’ll have to answer the childhood questions too,” Jisung smiled triumphantly.
“Okay,” Minho repeated, burying his face in the desk.
Answering questions and taking all these tests every single morning was getting seriously old. The only plus to these sessions was that Minho could stroke his ego by talking to Jisung one-on-one. Whether their endless bickering could be called an actual conversation was hard to say, but that was exactly what thrilled him. Jisung was one of the very few people here who put up any kind of fight, and not just with words. Their one-minute brawl by the pond was proof enough of that.
He was highly interesting to watch. Jisung was too perfect, too punctual, and neat to the point of nausea. But he was only like that around his colleagues, who often dropped by and watched what was happening in his office with wide eyes. They were shocked by how Minho was acting. Quiet, calm, and… compliant. Minho knew it wouldn’t last; he was just biding his time and pretending it was all part of the plan. Meanwhile, he was mentally choking his own beast, trying to bring he to its senses, but he kept whimpering and purring, forcing Minho to drop his dark eyes to Jisung’s full lips every single time.
Asshole.
As soon as Minho was done with this shit, he would sink his teeth into those lips and rip them to shreds. He would gorge himself on the guy's blood, and maybe then the beast would remember why he had been hiding inside all this time. He had been waiting for its moment of triumph, so maybe the time had come. He needed to shatter everyone here, break them and kill them. Create absolute chaos until the very walls of this building were soaked in the scent of blood and terror.
“You writing, Kitty?” a cheerful voice called out.
“Shut the fuck up, piece of shit,” Minho growled, taking a breath as he looked down at the goosebumps covering his arms.
No, the new nickname — which he heard more often than his own name — didnʼt actually piss him off. What pissed him off was how the beast inside reacted to it. Wasnʼt it the same beast that used to tear human flesh apart with its teeth? Then why the hell was he just lying there doing absolutely nothing right now? Why wasnʼt he taking control and showing this arrogant asshole that Minho was a force to be feared when angered? And he sure as hell wasn't some kind of Kitty.
“And how am I supposed to let a mouth that filthy kiss me on the lips?” Jisung asked with mock innocence, shaking his head while holding one of his books.
“You’ll let me,” Minho said, wagging his eyebrows as he turned the second completed sheet over to him. “Because I’m almost there.”
“Do little shits like you even deserve kisses in the first place?” Jisung wondered, not even glancing at Minho.
“Look who’s talking. If your colleagues knew what a master of disguise you are, they would’ve fired you a long time ago.” And then, it hit him.
Minho smiled and leaned back in his chair. There it was — exactly what he needed. The whole time, he’d held all the cards, but because he’d spent so much time trying to understand his beast, Minho had forgotten that he was the original beast in this place, long before anyone or anything else came to rest beneath his skin.
“What are you getting at?” Jisung noticed the sudden shift to a playful tone and set his book aside.
“What if your colleagues found out how you treat me? I don't think it's very professional of you to call me a piece of shit. I’m the sick one here, not you,” Minho said, rising from his seat and stepping right up to Jisung, who was still sitting on his desk.
“I treat crazy fucks like you with my own methods, and for the record, it works perfectly,” Jisung said, leaning in close with a smug look, right up to Minho’s sharp nose. “Go on, growl at me. Do it,” he taunted, knowing damn well that he was the exact reason something inside Minho was so messed up.
“Oh, Iʼll growl. Right before I tear you apart.”
With one swift motion, Minho swept all the documents off the desk, sending papers flying across the entire office. Jisung barely had time to gasp before he suddenly found himself pinned to the desk. The flash of confusion in his eyes, even if it lasted only a second, made Minho’s heart flutter frantically.
He crashed into his lips without a second thought, his hand fist-fucking into the hair at the back of Jisung’s head to keep him from squirming. But Jisung didn't seem to have any intention of doing so, wrapping his legs around Minho's thighs in a possessive grip, letting out a muffled groan against his lips as he pushed back into the other man's mouth. The beast inside let out a growl and purred with approval. The blood beneath his skin began to boil again, just like that night Minho killed those three drunks. The rush of power made his head spin, but stopping was out of the question.
The strawberry balm seethed into his taste buds as saliva flooded his mouth, and Minho barely managed to swallow it down to keep from making a mess of Jisung. Thoroughly exploring the mouth of his doctor, who lay compliantly on the desk, Minho sucked his lower lip in, nipping at it with his front teeth. The beast inside rumbled happily again, clawing gently somewhere deep down, sending shivers through his stomach and bringing on another wave of dizziness.
If it were up to him, he would devour Jisung whole.
“Fuck,” escaped his mouth with a gasp, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeated in a monotone voice, invading Jisung’s mouth all over again, trying to gorge himself on him completely.
But it seemed like he would never have enough.
His hands moved over the lab coat that smelled of medicine; he felt an overwhelming urge to be closer, to reach the person beneath the layers. Minho was certain that Jisung's skin would carry the same strawberry scent as his lips. Minho did not hesitate, leaning in to deepen the kiss and taste the sweetness again. He might have moved even faster, but the strawberry flavor was so captivating that he found himself drawn back to it repeatedly.
It was a sweetness he couldn't get enough of.
Grabbing Jisung’s ass under the lab coat, Minho let out a low, guttural growl, kissing his way down the jawline and the tender skin of his neck, feeling the Jisung’s hands tangling in his hair as Jisung breathed heavily and pulled him closer.
“Fucking red hair,” he rasped, arching his back to let Minho get a better lick at his neck from all sides. “Put your hands on my waist,” Jisung commanded, but Minho didn't give in.
“I’m afraid I’ll accidentally fuck you, so shut the fuck up,” Minho rasped, lifting Jisung off the desk with a beastly growl and shoving him onto the windowsill, pinning him right against the window.
“You brainless idiot, someone's gonna see us!” Jisung tried to break free, but Minho only chuckled, looking him straight in the eye with a sly smirk.
“I know you want us to be seen,” he smiled. “Otherwise, you would’ve punched me in the face a long time ago.” Minho trapped Jisung's tongue in his own mouth, groaning deep in his throat, completely ignoring Jisung’s hands gripping his ass.
Heavy breathing teetered on the edge of an abyss. His lungs were burning, his jaw ached, and his tongue was practically numb, but Minho had no intention of stopping. The kiss was no longer sharp, impulsive, or starved; instead, it had turned soft, lazy, and lingering. They were in no rush, and Minho loved feeling Jisung’s tongue against his own, loving how lazily Jisung swirled it, pushing the tip into his cheek. He loved that strawberry taste, sending a hellish fire straight to his lower stomach.
Clamping Jisung’s head between his hands, Minho invaded his mouth, refusing to end the kiss no matter how much his lungs and frantically beating heart begged for it. The beast wanted more and more, all the way to the very end. At times, it felt like something inside him was desperately trying to consume Jisung whole, completely and utterly, but couldn’t, and that was frustrating.
“That’s enough out of you,” Jisung breathed, barely managing to pull away from a clingy Minho.
“I want more,” Minho said, his vision clouded by a haze, seeing nothing but those bitten, full lips, slick with his own spit.
“I know you do, but we had a deal,” Jisung reminded him with a reproachful look. He shoved Minho back and hopped off the windowsill, straightening the collar of his lab coat.
“Fuck that,” Minho shook his head, the beast inside whimpering. “Fuck that shit.”
“Minho,” Jisung smiled, flashing the most wretched, vile smirk Minho had ever seen from him, “this was a one-time thing. Don’t go thinking you can just come in here and suck face whenever you want. Now get to work. I’m your doctor, and you’re the patient.”
“So that’s how it is,” Minho wiped his lips with the back of his hand, glaring up at Jisung from under his brow. “Fine, I hear you.”
Storming out of the office, Minho slammed the door behind him. Now, finally, the beast wasn’t purring or whimpering anymore. He was tearing apart everything in his path, and Minho could feel his eyes clouding over with the blood of future victims. The overwhelming urge to rip someone’s spine out felt entirely too staggering and sudden. Stopping only by the door of his room, Minho turned around and looked at the people.
The patients were wandering the hallways, and nobody cared that at any given second Minho could just snap and kill everyone here. Every single one of them. But holding back that lethal impulse, he locked himself inside his room and sank to the floor, having no idea what was happening to him. There was no way his beast was acting like this over some doctor. Jisung was a low-life who had shown his true colors on the very first day they met. None of his colleagues knew how the guy acted behind the closed doors of his office.
“Damn it,” Minho breathed, closing his eyes. “That’s the one who needs to be torn apart.»”
The warmth of his lips was still clearly there, as if they hadn’t stopped kissing. Why did Minho even do that? No, it wasn't even him who wanted it that bad; it was the beast himself. For some reason, he had been a matter of life and death for it to sink into his gums and lick that oily balm off his lips. And for what? So this jerk could think he's some kind of big shot again? So he could use it to put Minho in his place? And where was his place anyway? It sure as hell wasn't here.
The desire to swap his doctor for someone more professional was growing, but Minho kept reminding himself that nobody else would make him feel so uniquely terrible and good at the same time. Despite the wild tongue — which he had just tasted — inside his mouth, Jisung at least didn't annoy him with stupid questions and just handed him printed tests instead. What he did with them afterward was anyone's guess. Minho didn’t care anyway. Whether they let him out in a month or a year, did it even matter anymore? One thing he knew for sure:
His head was already completely mind-fucked.
💊💊💊
Minho didn't show up the next morning, or the week after that. With no way to track him down, Jisung resorted to leaving assignment sheets on Minho’s desk inside his room, hoping the guy would turn them in on time. Unfortunately, instead of actual answers, all he got back were poorly drawn dicks and a laundry list of insults directed at him.
Meanwhile, Minho spent his time slipping outside. Patients weren’t allowed out there without a doctor, but he had managed to find a loophole even in a place like this. He would just tail an old lady escorted by two orderly guards, slip through the doors with them, and point toward one of the doctors when the security guards looked his way. The guards would just nod and look away.
Minho sat on a bench near the pond, tucked away under the shade of massive trees so not a single soul could spot him. He stared at his reflection in the water for a long time, clicking his tongue in annoyance at his dark roots, which had grown out a good inch. He wondered if anyone here could dye his hair, or if he was stuck looking like complete trash for the rest of his time in this place.
A gentle breeze calmed his nerves and cleared the dark thoughts from his head. Only one thing remained stuck in his mind: Minho couldn't shake the taste of Jisung’s lips, and it was driving him insane. That strawberry flavor had seeped into his system like poison, and it wasn’t leaving. His mouth still tasted sweet. Minho spat, brushed his teeth multiple times a day, but nothing worked.
He was clearly losing his mind, and it was all because of that little prick.
“So this is where you've been slacking off,” a voice called out from behind him. At first, Minho thought he was just hearing things.
Turning around, he saw Jisung casually walking toward him with a cigarette between his teeth. Minho’s eyes instantly locked onto his lips, noticing the strawberry lip balm. Out of all the choices out there, the guy just had to pick that sickly sweet crap. Even now, it made Minho’s jaw clench. Sighing, he looked away and went back to skipping stones across the pond.
“Ignoring me?” Jisung sat down next to him and smirked. “Look at that. Is the Kitty upset because he's not getting any kisses?”
“Fuck off,” Minho snapped. He stood up, putting some serious distance between himself and that dumbass.
“Oh, come on, come here, I’ll kiss you!” Jisung let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
“I’ll knock your teeth down your throat and make you choke on your own blood before you even think about touching my lips.”
“Your loss. I don’t offer twice.”
Minho shoved his hands into the pockets of his white cotton pants and pushed through the trees, catching sight of an open field in the distance. Jisung matched his pace, that damn smirk never leaving his face.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“I’m going for a walk, and you're going to hell,” Minho stopped and shot the doctor a questioning look. “What do you want?”
“In case you forgot, you’re still in a hospital, and I still have to treat you.”
“Fix yourself first, then worry about everyone else,” Minho muttered. He noticed Jisung flinch, his eyes instantly darkening. Well, look at that. At least that annoying, playful spark was finally gone.
“Are you an idiot or what? Your discharge is entirely up to you,” Jisung reminded him, as if Minho didn’t already know.
“Want me to show you just how little I give a fuck?” Minho smirked. “You’re stuck with me.” He pointed toward a guy standing out in the field. “I could walk over right now and bash his fucking face in. What do you think happens to you then? After all, you let your patient out of your sight.” Minho watched Jisung’s breathing turn heavy. He knew he was walking on a razor's edge, but he couldn’t stop himself now. “Or… maybe I should just kill him?” His eyes lit up with anticipation as the beast inside him finally clawed his way to the surface. “Yeah. I’m gonna kill him.”
“Just like you tried to kill your father?” Jisung’s eyes flashed with fury.
Minho felt like raw electricity had been shot straight into his veins. A vivid memory of that night flashed before his eyes — his father, desperately trying to fight off the tip of a knife. The beast had taken over back then, baring its claws, trying to rip the skin right off the man. If his father hadn't woken up, if he had just dropped dead from that very first stab wound, Minho would have hacked him into mincemeat. He had been terrified. Panic had filled his lungs and slammed against the inside of his skull so hard it left him with a blinding, agonizing headache for weeks.
Drowning in his own mind, Minho didn't notice Jisung stepping into his space. He didn't even feel the doctor grabbing his shoulders and slamming him against the tree, the rough bark biting painfully into his spine. His father was still right there in front of him. The only thing telling Minho it was all just a hallucination was the simple fact that his father was long gone. All he could actually sense was the smell of strawberries and the distant mumble of Jisung’s voice.
“Hey! Dumbass!” He started shaking Minho, trying to snap him out of it.
Minho closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the lip balm. The beast that had been clawing to get out suddenly slinked back, purring as his head rolled in a drunken daze.
“Jisung,” he whispered, swallowing hard. “Kiss me.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Jisung’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m not—”
“Please,” Minho started to shake.
Fucking beast. This was all his fault.
Jisung flinched. He stared deep into Minho’s eyes for a long moment, clearly weighing the request. Minho didn't waste any time. He tilted his head slightly and wrapped his arms around Jisung’s neck — and that was the point of no return.
For both of them.
Minho rolled his eyes back in pure bliss. He caught Jisung’s plump lower lip between his own and sucked it in with wild eagerness, licking off the strawberry balm. Jisung gasped, pinning him harder against the tree, trying to merge their bodies into one so not a single patient or doctor could catch them in such an unfitting position.
The kiss was incredibly wet, a messy, frantic rhythm they could barely keep up with. Minho shoved his tongue into Jisung’s mouth and groaned as it tangled with his. He ran his tongue over the row of teeth, along the inside of his cheek, and smoothly covered Jisung’s tongue, gripping his waist tight and pinning the bastard closer to make sure he couldn't bolt.
The beast let out a pleasant purr. A tight knot twisted deep in his gut, and his pants were suddenly feeling damn tight. Minho’s head felt so heavy that it only stayed up thanks to the palms cupping his burning cheeks. Jisung’s thumb stroked his skin, his hot breath scorching Minho's face as his tongue kept shoving back, completely ignoring the spit leaking from both of their mouths.
“What the fuck are you doing to me?” Minho shivered. “Fuck.”
“Good question,” Jisung smirked, gently using his knee to pry the Minho’s legs apart. “Obviously, I’m treating you.”
Everything around them blurred. Minho gasped as Jisung slid his knee up and down against his crotch, rubbing him through the fabric. He froze, completely forgetting how to breathe. Just a little more, and Minho would rip the clothes right off him. Not a single tree in this place would be enough to hide the sheer filth of what they were doing.
“I like this kind of treatment a hell of a lot more,” Minho let out a dark chuckle, closing his eyes.
“Well, I don’t, because I can't exactly document it. You catch my drift, Kitty?” Jisung pulled his knee back and stood up straight. “I expect to see you in my office tomorrow morning.”
Minho let out a frustrated sigh, realizing it wasn't enough. Nowhere near enough. Just a kiss was a cruel joke. He wanted to kiss this dumbass for days on end and have full access to every single inch of his body.
“Will you kiss me again?” Minho asked, a sliver of hope bleeding into his voice. Jisung just sighed.
“If you're a good Kitty, I might… think about it,” he said, walking away and leaving a completely turned-on Minho standing alone by the tree.
“I’m gonna climb the fucking walls if it means I get to feel his goddamn tongue in my mouth again,” Minho sat down on the ground and covered his eyes with his hands. “And this is all your fault. Some beast you turned out to be.”
Minho didn't know when everything went completely off the rails. Whether it was the moment he first ended up in this shithole, or when he first felt the warmth of Jisung’s lips on his. But one thing was clear: he had officially lost his mind. He kept seeing Jisung where he wasn't, and that strawberry lip balm had settled deep into his lungs. Now, every single time he took a breath, he choked on that sickly sweet scent. It made his jaw clench, his tongue frantically darting over his own lips, but he tasted absolutely nothing.
Sitting in his room, Minho couldn't stop thinking about that goddamn guy and his mouth. The desperate urge to feel those lips again got him higher than any bourbon ever could, and he barely even thought about booze anymore, even though a good drink used to be his favorite thing. The worst part was that those lips haunted his dreams. Minho would close his eyes, drown in sleep, and see himself kissing, biting, and licking them clean over and over again. His shorts would get wet and tight, leaving a dull, frustrating ache in his groin. It felt like a heavy weight pressing down on his chest, so Minho found no better solution than to stalk the already slammed doctor.
On top of dealing with Minho, Jisung was buried under a massive mountain of work. He tried to power through it as best as he could, but with Minho constantly getting under his skin and breathing down his neck, he was burning out way faster than usual. Maybe those kisses really were sucking out most of his oxygen. Minho was always an insatiable beast, and it left Jisung completely spaced out, completely unable to focus on his actual job.
“Han Jisung!” he bellowed, nearly tearing the door right off its hinges.
Minho stormed into the office and narrowed his eyes when he saw another patient inside. The miserable old lady clutched her heart in terror, her mouth hanging open as she blinked in shock. Jisung calmed her down and shot a reprimanding glare toward the door, telling Minho to get the fuck out with his eyes. How could he? Minho hadn't even kissed his beloved primary doctor on the lips yet!
“My fucking brain is broken, I need you more!” Minho screamed. “Han Jisung, if you don't help me right this second, I'll die! No! First, I'm gonna slam her into that window, shatter the glass and turn her skull into fucking mush, and only then will I die myself!”
Jisung was on Minho in a flash, slamming his hand over Minho’s mouth and pinning him against the wall. His eyes went completely dark, and for a split second, Minho remembered what used to happen back then, whenever the beast woke up and took the reins. Maybe they were just as fucked up as each other. It’s just that Jisung hid it damn well beneath that neat little white doctor's coat.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Andrews. Please come back tomorrow. This is indeed…” Jisung locked eyes with Minho, “…a special case.”
The old lady scurried out, shutting the door behind her.
“Well, finally. I seriously thought I’d have to waste her,” Minho laughed. He scooped a protesting Jisung up into his arms and sat him down right on top of his paper-covered desk.
“Are you crazy? I’m working, idiot,” Jisung shoved him away, but Minho came right back like a shadow, trapping him against the desk.
“I don’t care, you hear me? You’re only supposed to work with me. Can’t you see I’m suffering?” Minho whined dramatically, burying his face in the doctor’s chest. “My heart only beats when I’m kissing you, Mr. Han. I need my medicine — your lips.
”Jisung smirked, puffing out his chest with pride.
“Wow, you're calling me Mr. Han now?”
“Yeah, I noticed it gets you hard faster,” he snarked, and instantly caught a hard smack to the back of his head.
“You little piece of shit, you never keep your filthy tongue behind your teeth,” Jisung flared up like a match and tackled Minho to the floor.
“Why keep it behind my teeth when it could be inside your mouth? Come on, let me show you,” Minho cracked up, pinned to the floor, and stuck his tongue out.
“Idiot,” Jisung shook his head. “I hope you're not blabbing to anyone about what goes on in here?”
“Do I look like some kind of a fucking dumbass to you?”
“Well, actually, you do, that's why I'm asking,” Jisung smirked, and in a split second, Minho flipped him over and pinned him down.
“You son of a bitch, Jisung,” Minho muttered, letting the doctor wrap his legs around his hips as he dove closer, burying his nose in Jisung’s neck. “I’m fucking losing my mind over the way you smell.”
“Catnip,” Jisung whispered, shuddering as Minho inhaled his scent even deeper.“
“What did you say?”
“I use catnip.”
“Hilarious,” Minho rolled his eyes and lifted his head. “Are we gonna kiss or what?”
“Kiss me and get out. No one can see us together, Kitty,” Jisung scratched him behind the ear and smirked.
“But Mr. Han, this is our treatment plan. What am I supposed to do if your lips are the only thing keeping me from murdering someone?” Minho got no answer.
Latching onto his lips like a goddamn lifeline, Minho let out a deep purr and pressed his entire weight into Jisung. His jaw actually ached from how hard it had been working lately. Ignoring the pain, Minho kept kissing and licking every single inch of Jisung’s face that he could reach, for as long as the doctor allowed it. Because only Jisung had the power to stop him.
“For heaven's sake, stop using that balm. I’m holding myself back from devouring you right here on the floor,” Minho groaned, pulling away with a soft sound. He stared at the doctor’s plump, flushed lips and smiled, watching a few strands of saliva stretch and break between them.
“I’m not wearing any balm today,” Jisung rasped, staring back at him in surprise.
“No way. Let me check,” Minho licked across his lips and pulled at his lower one, which fit perfectly against his own. “You’re still sweet,” he panted heavily, rolling over onto his back on the floor and staring blankly up at the ceiling.
“God knows I wanted to stop this,” Jisung whispered. “It’s wrong.”
“Who fucking cares?” Minho let out a laugh. “And don't lie. God knows nothing, and you didn't want to stop. You're the one kissing me and digging your hands into my hair when my jaw starts giving out on me.”
“Shut up,” Jisung muttered. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. Why red?”
“My hair?” Minho turned his head toward Jisung, catching his gaze.
“Yeah.”
“The color of blood.”
“Sick fuck,” Jisung whispered, making Minho burst out laughing.
“Takes one to know one,” Minho chuckled, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Now shut up and kiss me.”
“Well, if you say please, then—”
“You little motherfucker,” Minho growled, yanking Jisung down by the neck and losing himself in another deep, heavy kiss.
💊💊💊
Jisung stared exhausted at a half-empty bottle of cheap, shitty cognac, letting out a quiet sigh as he tuned into the muffled music in the background. His colleagues sat right next to him, locked in some animated conversation, occasionally forcing Jisung to pull his gaze away, look at them, and remember where the hell he actually was.
Mrs. Parkinson had decided to celebrate her birthday at a local spot and invited everyone she knew, and Jisung just couldn't bring himself to say no. Then again, he wasn't exactly looking for an excuse to skip it. When else would he get a chance to just sit around and unwind? He'd do anything just to stop thinking about him. Lee Minho was haunting his mind to the point of a total blackout. If it weren't for his medical ethics, which were already hanging by a thread anyway, he would have beaten the shit out of that idiot a long time ago. Not to the point of bruises or blood, just as a preventative measure, so the guy would learn to watch not only his filthy tongue, but his lips too.
Minho haunted him everywhere, and Jisung couldn’t help but think he never should have started this whole mess in the first place. Why the fuck did he ever give him permission to kiss him? The guy could have just sat there quietly, filling out his testing sheets, but no! And the worst part wasn't even that the kiss happened — it was the fact that Jisung liked it. He liked the feel of Minho’s lips on his, and those sharp, painful bites triggered something deep inside him.
Something that had been dormant for a long time, something that had absolutely no intention of waking up.
He probably should have stopped after the very first kiss. Or at least after the second, instead of dragging this madness out for an entire month. Minho didn’t force the kisses on him — he begged for them. And how was he supposed to say no to such a needy Kitty, a guy who followed him around like a shadow just to steal a single kiss? Jisung had no damn clue how to do it. How could he build a wall between 'doctor and patient' when Minho would just start slamming his head against it? No matter how many times he tried to put that wall back up, those lips would find Jisung even in the dead of night.
And without them, he was simply losing his goddamn mind. Jisung never would have thought he'd see raw desperation in someone so dangerous to society. Minho’s eyes shone, catching the light — either from unshed tears or because they were naturally glassy and unhinged — silently begging Jisung to just press against his lips. And when Minho kissed him, he did it like he was gonna die tomorrow. Jisung could swear to God nobody had ever kissed him like that before.
One second the kiss was incredibly sharp, rough, and ready to tear him to pieces, and the next, it was sensual, smooth, and tender. Minho would lock him in his embrace and hold on until the very last moment. Even when everything went dark and the oxygen in Jisung’s lungs plummeted from the sheer emotional overload, Minho wouldn’t step back an inch. He would just mutter something ecstatic under his breath, tracing down to press open kisses all over Jisung’s neck.
Jisung gave in. He had willingly let Minho kiss him and had repeatedly slammed his own lips against the guy’s, if only to shut his already filthy mouth. Minho never filtered his thoughts — he just blurted out whatever crossed his mind. Sometimes something perfectly clear and normal would come out of him, making him sound just like anyone else, but other times he’d only confirm his diagnosis, snapping his teeth while he spoke. Whether he meant to or not, he often ended up answering the trick questions on his test sheets without even realizing it. His mind was too occupied with the image of Jisung’s lips — the lips he constantly bit and sucked into his mouth. He never asked for anything more. To him, a simple kiss was already a prize. Or rather, a drug he was hooked on, and he had dragged Jisung down that same junkie pipeline with him.
Sitting here, Jisung realized that kissing this guy made his blood race. It was boiling right under his skin, and his own teeth instinctively wanted to leave a mark on Minho’s flawlessly pale flesh, just like Minho had done when he bit his neck. And to his surprise, Jisung actually loved that experience. A certain streak of cruelty, bordering on desperation and begging, lit a twisted spark of excitement inside him. Did Minho know this? Or could he genuinely not survive a single day without a kiss, oblivious to how Jisung would teasingly hold him off for the first half of the day, only to later let Minho trap him in a supply closet, a bathroom stall, or his own office just to kiss him senseless?
If Minho was actually getting better, then Jisung was clearly losing his goddamn mind.
“You’ve been pretty quiet over there,” Parkinson noticed, pouring him another glass of that nasty drink.
“Just thinking,” Jisung rasped, leaning back in his chair.
His vision blurred for a second as the booze hit his head in a warm, swimming haze, making him realize he’d definitely had enough to drink tonight. Now he just had to manage to stagger home in this state without face-planting into a puddle on the way.
“Thinking about your patient?” Malcolm guessed, shouting over to ask someone to turn the music down.
“Yeah.”
“Honestly, it’s a miracle you’re still working with him,” Parkinson muttered, clearly unable to let the subject go. “He isn't bothering you, is he?”
Jisung kept quiet for a couple of seconds, then shook his head. First of all, the question was completely vague. What did she mean by 'bothering' him? With his lips? Pretty much. With his fists? He'd been there. Was Minho planning to kill him? Who knows. But even if he was, Jisung would tear the guy's head off with his own hands before that happened.
“Everything’s fine,” he waved it off.
“I don't know,” the woman shook her head and took a heavy gulp of her light beer. “Minho is a danger to society. Sure, he'll finish his treatment, get discharged, and they’ll put him on an outpatient program with tight surveillance. But that doesn’t mean he’s cured, even if his evaluation scores come back normal. The guy has intermittent explosive disorder. Right now, Minho is stable — hell, if someone beat him up right now, he wouldn't even fight back. But later on, a pen drops off a desk, and he'll snap, trash his entire house, and slaughter the neighbors.”
Parkinson was right. Partially. But you didn't always have to reduce everything to black and white just to be right. Jisung understood his diagnosis a hell of a lot better than Parkinson did, but he had absolutely no desire to debate it. He just nodded and drowned his thoughts in another shot of that shitty cognac, completely blurring his reality.
“And you’re really not scared to work with him?” she asked.
Scared? No. Jisung didn't feel a single ounce of fear around him. How could anyone be scared of that tiny Kitty trapped inside a mountain of muscle? Minho hid that part of himself damn well, calling it a beast instead, and sure, the power buried underneath was probably brutal, but his eyes clearly gave away a small, fluffy orange ball of fur. No matter how many times Minho threatened to tear Jisung to pieces, all Jisung ever actually heard was 'meow, meow'.
But he still wanted to punch that smug face of his, no doubt about it.
“I’m not afraid of him. He’s the one who’s afraid of me,” Jisung bragged. “And you guys didn't believe in me.”
“Are you hitting him?!” Parkinson gasped in horror, taking a sharp breath. “My God, that violates all medical ethics! You can’t treat patients like that,” she drowned her own panic with another gulp of beer, then let out a heavy sigh. “Though, honestly… with a guy like him, it’s fair game.”
And Jisung burst out laughing.
“How did you even get him to agree to answer the questions? Did you sell your soul to him?” Malcolm asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No, I just gave him a written option. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, he can at least write it down,” Jisung shrugged, doing his best not to let on that almost every single morning he had to chew Minho out just to force that idiot to write down a single line about himself and his life.
“But how do you know if he's telling the truth? Written responses can be incredibly difficult to analyze sometimes,” Mrs. Parkinson countered, looking completely perplexed.
“There’s no point for him to lie. The guy is backed into a corner anyway, don't you think?” Jisung smiled. “He’s confessed to almost all the minor offenses. Most of the time, he was just beating up anyone who picked a fight with him in bars or out on the street. Since Minho lives in a rough neighborhood in Seattle, his self-defense makes perfect sense to me.”
“He ripped people's bellies open!” Parkinson reminded him, and Jisung nodded.
“Yeah, that’s why he has a diagnosis. I’m aware,” he nodded.
“And he killed people! What if he liked it? He’s just gonna keep doing it! It’s insane, people like him belong in the electric chair.”
“I think if he had truly gotten a taste for blood, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you right now,” Jisung snapped. He stood up from the plush armchair, swaying slightly. “I’m gonna head home. Good catching up. Goodnight.” Nodding to them in farewell, Jisung walked out, having zero intention of listening to any more of this bullshit.
Lighting up a cigarette, he took a deep breath of the crisp post-rain air and slowly trudged toward his house. His thoughts whirled violently in his head. His steps were heavy and slightly unstable; Jisung felt like he was floating. Any second now, he was gonna face-plant right into some bushes, give up on trying to stand back up, and just sleep there.
Parkinson was definitely sniffing around. She probably couldn’t believe that an inexperienced doctor like Jisung had managed to pick the lock on a case as complex as Lee Minho. And that brought a smile to his face. Jisung let out a dry laugh that sounded like the creaking of rusty old hinges. Who else's ass was he supposed to kick in this field if not hers? Malcolm didn’t seem too thrilled about his success either, which is why the two of them had started nagging and picking at his brain like a pair of old vultures. But Jisung had won this round. And he was going to sign Minho’s discharge papers, no matter what it took. Even if the guy didn't fully recover, he was definitely going to make progress.
The sudden ring of his phone shattered the silence and cut through his thoughts. Jisung gritted his teeth and muttered something pissed off under his breath as he stared down at the screen. It was Clark — the night doctor on duty who watched over the wards. But what the fuck did he want at… three in the morning?
“Hello?” Jisung sighed, flicking his cigarette into a puddle. It let out a nasty hiss and went dead.
“Han Jisung, I need you to get down to the hospital right now,” Clark said, his voice rushed as he panted heavily right into the receiver.
“What’s the urgency? I don’t even start my shift until seven,” Jisung muttered, a deep wave of frustration washing over him.
“It’s about your patient.”
For fuck's sake!
“If he hanged himself, just bury the corpse in the backyard. Goodnight,” Jisung chuckled dryly, but then froze.
“He’s trying to smash through his window right now and he’s screaming so loud the whole floor can hear him. I think he just bit an orderly's ear clean off, but that’s not—”
“Holy shit!” Jisung yelled so loud his own ears rang. He slammed the end call button and took off running back toward the hospital. He tried his best to keep his eyes locked on the straight pavement, but the alcohol in his system kept dragging him off to the side.
Suddenly, a wave of pure fury surged inside him. Jisung didn't know what he was gonna do to the guy, but the violent urge to rip him to shreds electrified him, snapping him sober for a split second. Why the fuck did this dumbass decide to jump out a window tonight of all nights, when everything had started so well? Sure, there were bars on it, but he’d definitely caused a massive scene already and even picked a fight with the guards. Behavior this unhinged wasn't gonna end well for him. Minho was digging his own grave, and the bastard seemed to be enjoying it.
The streets blurred past, and before Jisung knew it, he was cutting through the hospital garden. Bursting inside at full speed, he flashed his badge at the desk guard on the first floor and bolted up the stairs toward the room.
Jisung was so pissed off he could have out-crazed Minho himself, his wild eyes darting everywhere. He slammed the door open, stormed inside without a second thought, spun Minho away from the window, and caught him right in the nose with a brutal punch. He heard a muffled groan and instantly felt warm blood splatter across his knuckles.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Jisung hissed, grabbing Minho by the shoulders and shaking him violently. “What the hell are you doing, you piece of shit?!”
A matching blow to the face was his only answer, catching him right on the lip. Jisung’s world spun instantly upside down as he crashed onto the floor, immediately feeling a heavy weight crushing his body. Blinking his eyes open, he caught the glow of Minho’s eyes in the dark and a trail of crimson blood dripping down his lips.
“You got a death wish?” Minho rasped, pinning Jisung’s hands to the floor.
“You’re the one with the death wish, you idiot,” Jisung choked out, trying to push himself up, but it was useless. His hands felt like they were nailed to the floor, and his heavy, alcohol-soaked brain wouldn't let him soberly gauge his strength to land another punch.
“Why the fuck did you hit me, asshole?” Minho licked his lips and muttered under his breath. “Right in the nose. Pretty low of you to attack someone from behind. Aren't you supposed to be a doctor?”
“It’s low of you to try to escape in the dead of night, you piece of trash. Now let me go, I’m not done with you yet,” Jisung thrashed under him, but then gave up when he heard Minho chuckle. “Just wait until you let me up. I’m going to hit you in the nose again.”
“You’re drunk,” Minho stated, clicking his tongue. “If you were sober, you would’ve noticed that nobody even touched your window.” He climbed off him and sat down on his bed, closely watching the emotions flicker across Jisung’s face.
And indeed, the window was perfectly intact, and the entire floor was dead quiet. Then what was he even doing here at three in the morning?
“But…” Jisung pushed himself up and scratched his head. “The doctor on duty called me and said—”
“Yeah, I know what he told you,” Minho smirked. “I pinned him against the wall and made him call you. To make sure you’d actually show up, I had to jazz up the truth a little bit.”
“You jerk,” Jisung cursed, getting up from the floor. “I hope you die,” he spat, slamming the room door shut so no one else would come running to their shouting. “Why did you do that?” He marched back over, grabbed a handful of Minho's red hair, and yanked it, glaring down at him.
“Couldn’t sleep. Decided I wanted to see my favorite doctor,” Minho spread his legs and invitingly pulled Jisung closer by the waist. “I can tell you’re thrilled to see me. You even managed to hit my nose.”
“You too,” Jisung muttered, licking his lip and tasting blood. Minho hadn’t hit him in the nose, sure, but he’d definitely managed to leave his mark.
“Well, at least your lips are gonna look even plumper tomorrow,” Minho purred. He let out a sigh as Jisung settled onto his lap. “Where did you get this trashed? You smell like—”
“Shut up,” Jisung hissed, burying his nose in Minho's neck. “You’re such a jerk, Lee Minho. If you had actually smashed that window and bit a guard's ear off, I would have strangled you like a rat right here.” To prove his point, he gripped Minho's shoulders hard, digging his nails into the skin through the thin fabric.
“Were you scared?” Minho let out a soft laugh, inhaling the scent of Jisung’s hair while holding him firmly by the waist on his lap.
“Go to hell, idiot.”
“Alright, calm down.”
“No, I won't calm down. No kisses for you, got it?” Jisung pulled away from his neck and looked Minho straight in the eye.
“What is that supposed to mean?” The look on Minho's face shifted. Finally, he wasn't laughing anymore.
“It means you’re gonna use your brain next time before you threaten a doctor and force him to feed me that kind of garbage.”
“No way, you can’t just cut me off,” Minho whispered, squeezing him tighter. “I’ll lose my mind.”
“Oh, really? Honestly, I think you’re a complete moron,” Jisung spat, letting out a weak sigh as an untamed flutter rippled deep in his lower stomach.
“Kiss me, Jisung,” Minho whispered. “You know how badly I need you.”
“Shut up.”
“Please, Jisung.”
“I fucking said…” Jisung pressed his forehead to his and shuddered, thrusting his hips forward.
They both froze.
“…is it just me, or…”
“Shut your fucking mouth, Lee Minho,” Jisung growled and shuddered again, pushing forward.
“You’re hard,” Minho beamed and yelped when he got a smack to the head.
“Shut up,” Jisung whispered, lifting himself a little and hissing as Minho’s hands started guiding his hips against his thigh, creating friction. “What are you… what are you doing?”
“Helping,” Minho tilted his head up, locking eyes with Jisung’s shiny ones. “Will you kiss me?”
“No,” he snapped and shut his eyes, swallowing hard.
“Please, Jisung. Kitty really wants to be kissed.”
Jisung let out a low, drawn-out moan and thrust his crotch forward, rubbing against the thigh. Alcohol mixed with arousal finally fogged up his head. What used to feel like a clear 'no' flipped into a feverish 'yes'.
Jisung pressed even closer to Minho, looping his arms around his neck, and stared straight into his eyes while grinding hard on his lap. Those fucking jeans were way too tight, but the guy wasn’t rushing to get them off. His brain had turned to complete mush. Thinking was almost impossible.
“Please,” Minho parted his lips to say more, but Jisung spat a few filthy words right in his face, grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of his head and crashed into his mouth, mixing not only their spit but blood too.
Minho purred into the kiss and carefully lay back on the bed, letting Jisung grind his hard-on against him with zero rhythm, getting whatever pleasure he could from every messy, clumsy thrust.
Jisung sucked hard on his lips, licking the blood off them, and moaned into the kiss while grinding steadily against Minho’s offered thigh. Goosebumps ran all over his body and the urge to free his cock kept growing. The jeans squeezed his rock-hard dick so tight it made him dizzy and hurt like hell. To get rid of that feeling he kept thrusting, drowning the pain in pleasure.
“Want me to… help you?” Minho pulled back from his mouth and breathed out, looking at the slightly dazed and flushed face of the doctor in front of him.
“How?” Jisung was completely lost.
“Just watch.”
One hand gripped Jisung’s waist tighter while the other slowly started undoing the zipper of his jeans, giving the guy every chance to back out. But Jisung just stared and swallowed hard, waiting for whatever came next.
Hooking his fingers into the boxers, Minho pulled out his cock and a clear moan tore through the room. Jisung pressed closer, clutching his shoulders, and bit down on his lower lip as he looked Minho straight in the eyes.
“You can fuck my hand,” he offered and wrapped his palm around the cock.
“Fuck, yes,” Jisung mumbled without a second of hesitation.
Jisung crashed into his lips again and kept thrusting into Minho’s fist, listening to the wet sounds. The hand twisted fast, squeezed his cock just right and matched every stroke. The thrusts got rougher and completely off-beat. Jisung was gasping into Minho’s mouth, licking it out hard like he was trying to clean away dirt that wasn’t even there.
Minho just hummed and grinned like an idiot into the kiss, still working his hand over the wet head. That made Jisung’s head spin and he felt his cock leaking precum all over the other guy’s palm. The wet sounds got louder and sweeter.
“I swear I’d fuck you right on this bed, but you’re wasted out of your mind,” Minho growled and exhaled sharply as kisses-bites landed on his neck.
“And I wouldn’t let you,” Jisung laughed. “You’re too bad a Kitten. Need to teach you a lesson.”
“You’re forgetting whose hand you’re under right now,” Minho shoved him onto the other side of the bed and ended up next to him with a smirk. “I can just not let you come.”
“Fuck,” Jisung breathed out and shuddered. “Put your hand back,” he hissed in a commanding tone and looked down at his aching, needy cock.
“Nope,” Minho teased. “Not until you say your lips are mine, I won’t…”
A pathetic whimper and a spoiled little whine filled the room. Jisung clutched the blanket under him and grumbled a couple of sweet nothings at Minho. The guy was just waiting for Jisung to turn into a teary mess so he could get whatever he wanted out of him.
Minho smirked dirty and licked his lips, watching how completely Jisung was in his hands now. Without all that friction and the climax that pleasure promised, he was turning into a bratty kid instead of the strict doctor who always kept himself on a tight leash and never let anyone indulge him.
“My lips are yours,” Jisung gave in and fluttered his lashes, lifting his hips up. “Now put your hand back.”
“Whatever you say,” Minho laughed right into his ear, pressing his nose to his neck, and wrapped his hand around the cock.
“Fuck!” Jisung flared up, flinching at the sudden, impulsive strokes.
Everything that was happening made the already drunk Jisung even more wasted. His head couldn’t think straight. Every thought zeroed in on Minho’s hand and ignored even the whispers right by his ear. Minho left wet kisses on his neck and dared to leave a few sharp bites, then started sucking the soft skin into his mouth and licking it. Red-pink marks bloomed there, little spots nobody cared about right now.
Jisung couldn’t hold back the rough moans, eyes squeezed shut, listening to the wet, sticky sounds his precum made under Minho’s hand. It leaked from the swollen head and the hand spread it all the way down the shaft. Every stroke made the guy clamp his legs together and feel the last of his control slip away as he sank deeper into that pit of lust.
“You’ve got a pretty cock,” Minho complimented him, still playing with it.
“I wanna shut your mouth,” Jisung rasped and pushed forward.
“Then shut it. You already know how,” Minho pressed against his lips and moaned, picking up the pace.
Jisung twisted under his hand, gasping into his mouth and losing his mind, gripping the guy’s shoulders. Minho let out a low growl when Jisung shoved his tongue into his mouth, then started jerking him faster in short, tight strokes, fingers locked around the cock. He squeezed tight at the base, slid down hard, squeezed even tighter, then dragged back up and traced the slit with his thumb.
“Fuck, Minho,” Jisung hissed, breaking the kiss, and licked his wet lips.
“You like it?” When he got a feverish nod, Minho smiled. “I like it even more. So drunk, so lost, and…” Minho leaned to his ear, “all mine.”
Jisung moaned. His chest rose and fell. His heart hammered like crazy inside his ribs, hunting for some kind of peace. Those short, friction-heavy strokes kept pushing him right to the edge. He was balancing over the drop, trying not to lose his mind. But looking straight into Minho’s eyes in that thick twilight dark, Jisung was drowning. Drowning in a pit of madness and losing his mind right along with him.
“You’re so beautiful in the moonlight,” Minho said out of nowhere and brushed his lips over his cheek.
The compliment slammed deep into his head and shot straight down to the tip, making it twitch in the warm hand around it. Jisung let out a breath, clinging to Minho’s solid shoulder like it was a lifeline. And waited. Waited for the wave of pleasure to hit him in the head and knock him out completely.
Minho smeared a few drops of precum that had beaded on the head, watching how Jisung’s eyes got wider by the second and how his breathing completely fell apart. He was so simple and so sensitive that teasing him was pure pleasure. Minho really wanted to cover that marked-up neck in kisses, bite every spot and lick every single inch. Then spread him out on this bed slow or almost animal, until he blacked out, until he couldn’t even say Minho’s name straight.
“Call me Kitty again,” Minho asked, eyes closed as he pressed against Jisung’s shoulder.
“Kitty.”
“Again,” Minho pressed his whole body against Jisung’s thigh, still lying on his side on the narrow bed.
“Kitty,” Jisung moaned.
Minho’s lips slowly moved lower from the cheeks to the neck and locked onto his Adam’s apple. The hand moved deliberately slow so Jisung could relax a little, only sometimes pressing on the raised veins, soft and careful, pulling quiet whimpers from those red wet lips.
“Minho-o,” Jisung hissed, eyes rolling back.
In the quiet of the room the wet sounds felt obscenely loud. Good thing Jisung was in no state to care if anyone outside the room could hear them. He had completely forgotten where he was. Everything swam in front of his eyes, tiny sparks flickered and refused to leave. His head wasn’t thinking anymore. It was just empty.
Minho left a hickey on the collarbone that was no longer hidden by that ugly shirt collar, and his hand slid down the trembling pale thigh, smearing the skin with milky precum. He was clearly messing with Jisung, not letting him reach the end fast, wanting the doctor to suffer a little, to feel what Minho himself felt when he chased him all over the hospital for kisses.
“Your blood’s sweet,” Minho laughed under his breath.
“So you’re a vampire, I take it?” Jisung answered in the same tone.
“Your personal one. And don’t say you don’t like it,” he dragged his tongue along the line of his jaw.
“I like it,” Jisung breathed out and shuddered. “Just don’t take your hand away.”
“You wanna come?” The question felt like the dumbest one in the world.
Of course he did.
“Minho,” Jisung flared up, then went quiet all of a sudden.
His cock pulsed in tiny spurts from the rush of blood. A decent amount of precum had gathered on the head. It glistened in the moonlight, dripped down in drops, then disappeared into Minho’s palm and soaked everything, making the friction even better. And louder. Just from the wet sounds Jisung rolled his eyes and was ready to spill hard into that hand.
“So pretty,” Minho cooed, staring at Jisung’s flushed face.
Another compliment made Jisung shake, biting down hard on the already split lip. The metallic taste spun his head. He glanced at Minho’s lips moving near him like a beacon and thrust his hips harder into the hand, taking an active part in the late-night handjob. And only now did the question spin in his head: how the hell did they end up here?
Jisung whimpered when Minho tugged the soft, mobile skin down the shaft and moaned loud when those quick, slick fingers reached his balls. His brain was firing electric pulses through his whole body so strong it felt like high-voltage current at his fingertips.
“Minho, I’m so close,” he breathed. “Don’t take your hand away.”
“Fuck,” Minho rested his head on Jisung’s chest and burst out laughing, still moving his hand fast.
Minho gripped the cock tighter and Jisung’s legs fell open on their own. The strokes were too chaotic, impulsive and fast. They made Jisung tremble from the touch, swallow hard and let out a rough cry. Minho shut him up with another kiss, not letting Jisung get that loud. Unfortunately they weren’t expecting any uninvited guests. And a kiss that fierce wiped what was left of Jisung’s mind clean.
Jisung shook even harder. That kind of intensity suited him just fine and the wet sounds pushed him closer to coming in the hand. Minho was growling low, sometimes moaning right into his ear and whispering something filthy and sticky. If he weren’t this far gone Jisung would’ve smacked him, but right now the only thing he could do was give himself completely to those skilled hands.
His body was already worn out from anticipation and hypersensitivity. It seemed like Jisung should’ve sobered up by now, but he realized he was way more drunk than the cognac had ever made him. He thrust into the big palm, smearing and squelching precum, burning with the need to come. Minho saw it too, because he started twisting his hand over the head even faster.
“You know, Jisung, there’s something about you,” Minho paused for a second. “Something that’s mine. And that’s exactly why I like you.”
“Min…”
“Fuck, I like you so much,” Minho pressed his nose to his, “that I’d kill everyone in this place for you. Tear them to pieces just so no one else looks at you. Because you’re mine. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes.”
Jisung cried out and came shamelessly into Minho’s hand. His cock twitched while the hand moved harder and more sure, milking every last drop. Thick white streaks splattered across his shirt and jeans, but Jisung didn’t give a shit anymore. He watched closely how the white drops clung thick and slow to the fingers like spider silk, slowly sliding down them. And Minho, unable to hold back, jerked convulsively and moaned, cursing into Jisung’s shoulder.
Looks like Minho just came in his pants.
💊 💊💊
Minho tilted his head and offered a bright smile. The room around them was filled with loud chatter, the sound of smacking lips, and the clinking of spoons against plates. The small doctors' cafeteria was filled with a delicious aroma that made Minho’s stomach twist in a painful knot, since the patient cafeteria never smelled this good. Jisung let out a heavy sigh and looked around, unable to believe his own eyes.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he hissed, picking at his salad with a fork. “Your cafeteria is on the other side of the building.”
“I already ate,” Minho waved it off, sliding closer. “Had enough last night.”
Jisung choked on his food and covered his mouth with his palm, snapping his gaze away. A quiet but sharp chuckle echoed in response. Minho had anticipated this exact reaction, which was why he’d been hunting for him all morning, especially since they didn't have a session scheduled today. The burning temptation to see him and remind him of last night was pouring out of Minho like a waterfall. There was nowhere for Jisung to hide, because Minho knew this hospital like the back of his hand.
“You came here just to get on my nerves?” Jisung twirled spaghetti around his fork and started chewing.
“Nah, just wanted to ask if you liked my handjob,” Minho smiled again, showing his teeth, and Jisung nearly spat the food back onto the plate.
“Shut up, idiot,” he hissed and sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Get out of my sight.”
“Can’t. I need help. Some asshole left a bruise on my nose. You know anyone like that?” There really was an ugly purple bruise on his nose. Meanwhile Jisung only had a small scratch left on his lip.
“Stop talking bullshit. And you’re the asshole, get lost,” Jisung kicked him under the table, but it didn’t do a thing to Minho. He just kept sitting there with his chin in his hands.
“I liked it,” he suddenly said. “You know, you were so easy for me, baby. Shame I didn’t suck you off. Wonder what your cock tastes like.”
Jisung gripped the fork, his jaw clenching as a vein throbbed on his forehead. Minho licked his lips in victory and made a show of checking his surroundings before leaning in even closer, whispering almost right against his mouth:
“And the way you came after that… pure pleasure for my ears and eyes.”
“I’m gonna…” Jisung snapped and shot up from his seat with a sharp scrape of the chair, ready to do something he couldn't undo.
“Oh, Han Jisung, you’re here too!” Parkinson called out cheerfully and stopped, staring in confusion at the patient sitting next to him. “Oh… I didn’t realize you were having breakfast… with him,” she added a moment later.
“Got a problem?” Minho’s eyes lit up. “Get lost.”
“Shut—ahem, Lee Minho, you’re not talking to a friend right now, you’re talking to a doctor. Show some respect,” Jisung barked and sat back down. “Did you need something?” he asked Parkinson.
“Did you need something?” Minho mocked, watching the whole pathetic show play out. “She doesn’t want a thing from you.”
“Have a seat,” Jisung ignored Minho completely, keeping his eyes on the woman.
“Don't mind if I do,” she said and sat next to her colleague, leaving Minho’s sharp digs completely unnoticed.
And that pissed him off.
Why was Jisung acting like nothing happened? Wasn’t he the one begging Minho not to take his hand away, telling him to keep going until he came? Wasn’t he the one moaning in his ear, muttering god knows what as he edged closer to the climax? And now, instead of a simple 'thanks' or 'let’s do this again', all Minho got was a blatant 'get the fuck out'. It was fucking mind-boggling and… irritating as hell.
Minho leaned onto the table and started purring, locking eyes with Jisung. The doctor swallowed hard, his conversation with the woman cut short by the stray sound. Turning his head slowly, Jisung’s eyes widened, his lips thinning into a tight line. Minho wasn’t wasting any time — he slipped off his slipper and slid his foot right between the doctor’s thighs, only to get sharply clamped between them.
“What are you…” Jisung choked out, tensing up, his eyes going wide.
“Where did your patient get a bruise like that?” Parkinson inquired, pointing right at Minho’s nose.
“He’s a bit blind. Ran into something in the dark, didn’t you?”
Minho chuckled. Right, exactly. Except he didn’t run into anything — someone’s fist ran into him, but that was beside the point now. The only thing that mattered was that Jisung was squirming in his chair, losing his mind trying to figure out how to get that foot away from his crotch without his colleague noticing. Minho kept rubbing against him, pressing and stroking with his toes until he felt a growing bulge.
“I hope he didn’t get into a fight,” she noted casually before going back to her food.
Jisung was glaring daggers at him. Minho was still sprawled out on the table, playfully wiggling his eyebrows and pressing his tongue into his cheek with a suggestive look, revving himself up and thoroughly ticking off the doctor. He loved seeing raw, unadulterated fury in Jisung’s eyes. It was the exact same look he often saw on his own face in the mirror when he was about to beat someone senseless. Wasn't that beautiful? And running into a guy like Jisung was a temptation Minho simply couldn't resist. Even if Jisung beat him down, Minho was sure he’d love it and beg for more — not for nothing, though, but for a kiss. Or… maybe for something else.
“And yeah, Lee Minho, patients aren't allowed in here. Just a little reminder,” Parkinson said, walking away with her tray to tend to her business. Jisung wanted to spit something biting right after her, but he just shook his head.
“Man, if you just told her where to go, nothing would’ve happened to her,” Minho mumbled with a childish whine, then jolted when Jisung’s hand settled on his leg under the table.
“What do you think you're doing?” he hissed.
“The exact same thing I was doing last night. And you didn’t mind at all, by the way. Quite the opposite, begging for more and more,” Minho propped himself up. “And the way you whimpered was so incredibly sweet—”
“I'm going to knock your teeth out,” Jisung bristled, shivering as his eyes darted somewhere beneath the table.
“How about a kiss instead?” Minho pouted his lips, earning another kick to his leg.
“Look, why are you all over me? I have to work,” Jisung checked his wristwatch and started gathering the plates onto his tray.
“I’ve got a thing for you,” Minho sniffled, looking at a slightly flustered Jisung.
“I'm honored,” Jisung muttered a few seconds later and walked away without looking back.
“What an absolute jerk you are, Han Jisung,” Minho whispered, letting out a sigh. “Just my type.”
Jisung managed to avoid him for practically half the day. The hospital garden turned out to be the only place Minho actually had a shot at cornering him. Jisung didn’t come out alone because he was with some patient. Minho watched them from a distance before slipping past the guards, walking arm-in-arm with another orderly from the facility, and started tailing them.
He hated how calm and courteous Jisung was being with some old geezer. Why was he keeping up appearances, pretending he wasn’t dying for a smoke? Minho could see it clear as day in his face and hands, given how Jisung kept looking away toward the pond, biting his lower lip, and tugging at his lab coat where a whole pack of cigarettes sat in the pocket. Watching this made Minho laugh, and he decided to stop hiding.
He walked right behind them, whistling through his teeth while boring holes into the back of the doctor's head. As if sensing eyes on him, Jisung turned around and narrowed his eyes in disapproval, completely tuning out whatever the old man was babbling about.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he whispered, quickly stepping toward Minho.
“That’s the second time today you’ve asked me that,” Minho chuckled. “Just taking a walk, can’t you tell? Be a pal and give me a cigarette, I’m dying for a smoke.” His quick hands were about to slip into the pocket when Jisung suddenly slapped them away and stepped aside.
“Our session isn’t until tomorrow. Go back to your room,” Jisung huffed, turning around only to hear:
“What if I’m ready to tell you about my childhood right now? I just got this sudden urge to have a little heart-to-heart with you,” Minho smiled shiftily, watching Jisung swing back around with renewed interest.
“What crawled up your ass?” Jisung grimaced, not buying it for a second.
“A good handjob does wonders, doesn’t it?”
Minho knew he was pushing him to the edge with his sharp digs and jokes, but he couldn't help himself. He loved watching Jisung squirm in embarrassment while simultaneously losing his temper. Jisung had given in to temptation while completely shit-faced, and that was entirely on him. He was the doctor. He was supposed to have some self-control, especially in the hands of a sick bastard like Minho. Minho could have easily snapped his neck last night or twisted his head off and left him in a dark hallway, and no one would have ever been able to prove his guilt. This reckless move was probably the exact reason Jisung was kicking himself so hard.
“You’ll tell me everything if I make time for you,” Jisung gave in.
“Oh, not everything,” Minho laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll only tell you what you deserve, and the rest you have to earn,” Minho pointed a finger at his lips. “How about a kiss?”
“Shut the fuck up, for God’s sake.”
“You’re all I’ve got, Han Jisung. If you want me to shut up for your sake, you know exactly how to do it,” Minho wiggled his eyebrows, seeing just how much effort it took for Jisung to keep himself from losing it right then and there.
“Got a problem?” a voice came from behind Minho. He had to turn his head to look at one of the guards.
“Who the fuck are—”
“No, none at all,” Jisung said, placing a hand on Minho’s shoulder and stepping right up next to him. “Take Mr. Rocher back to his room, please,” he asked, nodding toward the old man. “I’ll handle this one myself.” Smiling, Jisung yanked him by the arm and led him toward the pond.
Minho kept grinning and followed without a word, intertwining their fingers into a tight lock. At first, Jisung wanted to protest and even tried to shake his hand off, terrified someone would see them, but Minho couldn’t care less. He even managed to pinch the doctor’s ass, laughing at the absolute storm of curse words Jisung tore into him with.
“I’m seriously going to put you in the ICU with a concussion soon. Assuming you actually have a brain in there,” Jisung huffed, sitting on the bench and lighting a cigarette.
“Don’t worry, I do. After all, I managed your dick well enough last night,” Minho winked, sitting down right beside him.
“How do I get you to shut your mouth?”
“You know how,” Minho said, snatching the cigarette from Jisung. He took a drag and tilted his head back, blowing the smoke upward. “Honestly, I loved how much of a mess you were when you got wasted, Han Jisung. But I like you best when you’re like this.” He took another drag and passed the cigarette back to the doctor.
“Like what?” Jisung asked, not quite following.
“You know, the whole serious doctor act. The untouchable fortress I managed to breach. And it’s all because of your lips,” Minho suddenly turned his head and tapped them with his finger. “That lip balm again. Swap it out, or I’m going to eat you.”
Jisung laughed and shook his head, blowing smoke right into his face.
“No, I like it.”
“I like it too. But only when it’s on me,” Minho muttered, sliding closer and throwing an arm around his shoulders.
“Get your hands off me,” Jisung snapped, pulling away and looking over his shoulder.
“You were singing a completely different tune last night,” Minho muttered, pulling Jisung flush against him no matter how hard he tried to break free. “You’re avoiding me,” he noted. “Why? Did I do something wrong?”
Jisung went quiet, just blowing out a stream of smoke as he turned his whole body toward the guy. He didn’t say a word, his eyes just tracing Minho’s messy red hair with its overgrown roots, down his sharp nose, and all the way to his lips as he passed him the cigarette.
“I knew you’d walk around being a sarcastic prick, throwing it in my face. I drank way too much, and I shouldn’t have… we shouldn’t have…”
“You’re talking like a doctor right now, but you weren’t one last night,” Minho reminded him, tilting his head and blinking innocently. “So why avoid me? Afraid of my jokes? You literally fucked my whole face up last night.”
“Jesus, wash your filthy mouth out with soap, Lee Minho,” Jisung cursed. “And I'm sorry,” he added a bit quieter, pulling something out of his pocket.
“Oh wow, you actually know how to do that,” Minho stretched to see what Jisung was hiding behind his back, only for the doctor to suddenly turn around and gently press a band-aid onto his nose.
“Leave it alone, let it heal,” he breathed out, looking Minho straight in the eye. “And stop looking at me like some stray cat. If you crack your head against the wall on purpose, I’m not treating you. That’s not my department.”
“How did you…”
“It’s obvious you have no fucking brakes,” Jisung clicked his tongue, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Let’s just stop talking about last night and move on to…”
“Stop talking about the handjob? Man, come on, that’s no fun…”
Jisung brought his hand up to his chin, pulling Minho closer with two fingers. He gave it a light stroke, making Minho roll his eyes back and purr, his hands tightening on the doctor’s knees. Hot breath brushed against his ear, and without warning, Jisung gently ran his tongue along the shell of it, making Minho’s eyes snap wide as a shiver ran down his spine.
“Kitty, I’m really not in the mood for jokes right now,” he rasped, tracing his tongue over it once more. “You wanted to tell me something about your childhood, didn’t you?”
Minho shuddered again, swallowing hard and nodding repeatedly, completely intoxicated by the scent of the strawberry lip balm. His stomach twisted into a tight knot, leaving him with a desperate urge to grab Jisung and kiss him right then and there, in plain sight of everyone.
“So tell me everything you can. And just maybe, I’ll reward you with a kiss.”
“I—I…” Minho breathed out heavily as Jisung sat back up, looking at him with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You…”
“Stuttering?” Jisung smirked. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Kitty. I’m out of time.”
“No, Han Jisung, wait,” Minho shot up from the bench, pulling the guy toward him. “Why are you like this? What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded, completely losing his grip.
“Does Kitten have a problem with that?” Jisung rested his hands on Minho’s shoulders, slowly licking his lower lip.
“Who… who the fuck are you?”
“I’m your doctor. Are you completely out of your mind?” Letting out a soft laugh, Jisung kissed him, his tongue sliding inside Minho’s mouth before he pulled back. “And I didn’t want to talk about the handjob because,” he stroked Minho’s cheek gently, “deep down, I want a round two.” He winked, leaning right back against his ear. “Yeah, Kitty. I want you to fuck me.”
Minho’s knees went weak. He shook his head, unable to believe his own ears. A rush of arousal surged through his veins, pooling straight in his crotch, but he fought it down, shutting it out completely before it could break through. His mouth flooded with so much saliva it felt like he’d choke on it if he didn’t start swallowing, but his mind was utterly consumed by the guy standing across from him — the guy whose eyes held nothing but pure darkness.
“Are you sure I’m the one who’s out of his mind, and not you?” Minho asked, biting his lip. “Can you, like, kiss me again? For real this time?”
“Idiot,” Jisung said, shaking his head and turning around, intending to leave.
“Hug me,” Minho whispered, flinching because the words came out sounding kind of pathetic.
“Does Kitty want a hug?” Jisung asked, sounding surprised as he stepped up and shoved him against a tree. “No one can see us here. Come here.” Jisung pulled him close by the waist and rested his head on Minho’s shoulder. “Piss me off again, and I’ll strangle you, got it?”
Minho purred, burying his nose in Jisung’s neck and leaving a few soft, fleeting kisses there.
“I’ve always wanted to die of asphyxiation,” he muttered, earning a light jab to his ribs. “Alright, alright, I’m just kidding.”
“Your jokes are so stupid,” Jisung said, running a hand through Minho’s hair and fisting it, sharply wrenching his head back. “I seriously don’t have time for your games. We’ll talk tomorrow during your slot.” He kissed Minho’s soft lips, and Minho locked him in a tight embrace, forcing his tongue deep into Jisung’s mouth.
He wanted to kiss him slowly, to stretch this single moment out for as long as possible, but Jisung firmly pushed him back against the tree, letting out a breath against his wet lips. They stared into each other’s eyes, wrapped in total silence. Their chests heaved, breaths escaping their parted lips as the desperate craving burning between them kept growing with no end in sight.
“Will you come to my room tonight?” Minho asked, his voice nearly cracking as Jisung dusted himself off, getting ready to leave.
“No, Kitty. Tonight, you sleep alone,” Jisung said, throwing back the exact same kind of wink Minho had given him earlier before walking away.
“That’s fine,” Minho muttered, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth. “Play hard to get a little longer. You’ll be mine eventually.” Minho was absolutely sure of that.
He was in no hurry to go back to his room. Being cooped up inside those four walls had gotten entirely on his nerves. The air outside was crisp and slightly windy, which was a welcome relief. Sitting back down on the bench, Minho took a deep breath, trying to cool down his boiling blood. The adrenaline was off the charts. His thoughts swirled like a hurricane, every now and then hitting the back of his mind and pulling him back down to reality.
Jisung was strange. His approach as a doctor made no logical sense. Would any other doctor ever think to beat him up? Or call him Kitty? This sheer unpredictability was thrilling and terrifying at the same time. Minho was genuinely at a loss, having no clue what this guy would pull next. One second he was calm and rational, then strict, then compliant, and then… unhinged. But there was only one crazy person here, and that was Minho.
“I have no idea what kind of strategy he’s using to treat me, but I have to admit, it’s working better than anything to quiet the beast inside me,” Minho whispered, leaning back against the bench.
The beast had gone quiet. He hadn’t really shown himself ever since Jisung started calling him Kitty, petting him behind the ears or under the chin. At first, it was confusing and even infuriating, but now… Minho didn’t know what he was feeling. Something inside him fluttered and purred the moment Jisung came into view. This wasn’t some medical treatment anymore — it was a genuine, full-blown attachment. Just that one kiss alone was enough to make Minho want to melt into him completely.
“Oh, hey,” a voice called out from somewhere to the side.
Minho turned his head and noticed the guy he’d talked to back in the cafeteria. He hadn't seen him anywhere else since. Until today, obviously. The guy looked a little rough around the edges and surprisingly pale, like he was doing pretty bad. Minho didn’t bother asking because his own life situation wasn’t any better. They were both locked up in a psych ward, after all. What could possibly be better than that?
“Hey,” Minho nodded. “What brings you out here?”
“Just out for a walk,” he said, sitting down next to him. “I’m Ray, by the way.” He introduced himself, and Minho gave a nod.
“I don’t make friends in this place, just so you know, because I’m getting out of here one day. But whatever. I’m Minho. Can’t say I’m thrilled to meet you.”
“You’re that sure they’re gonna discharge you?” Ray chuckled. “Must be nice.”
“Well, honestly, it’s not even that bad for me. So what if I killed a few people? That shit happens every single day, doesn’t it?” Minho snapped back.
“You really are unhinged,” Ray went quiet, shaking his head in disbelief.
“And you aren’t?”
“Me too… in a way. To be exact, though, I’m schizophrenic.” He shrugged and let out a sigh. “For all I know, I made you up and there’s actually no one here.”
Minho couldn’t hold back a laugh and nudged his new acquaintance on the shoulder, giving him proof that everything happening right now was very much real.
“Well, at least I’m real,” Minho assured him.
“So you… want to get discharged from this place as soon as possible?”
A muffled 'yeah' barely managed to escape his lips before Minho abruptly went quiet, his gaze turning blank as he stared at the pond. It wasn’t like he enjoyed being trapped within these hospital walls. The place smelled absolutely foul, and the food was just as bad sometimes, but everything was more or less fine, except for the therapy sessions. Doctors just loved to pick his brain, there was no denying that. However… he hadn’t actually thought about leaving anytime soon. Because he had nowhere else to go.This place had everything a person needed to survive. A roof over his head, three meals a day, some games, books, small talk, and… Jisung was here, as necessary to him as oxygen. Minho was ready to give up even that last one, just to be near the doctor who would keep calling him Kitty, maybe with a smirk, maybe with a hint of a laugh. There was nothing like that waiting for him outside these walls.
“No, I don't,” Minho whispered, letting out a faint smile. “It’s hard to believe, but… what happens to me next when I get out of here? I’m still just as worthless to society, still the same psycho killer. People practically begged for trouble and got what was coming to them, yet I’m the one to blame.”
“Are you afraid you'll end up back on a slippery slope?”
“No, I'm not. I’m not afraid of blood or death. I feed on it. For a while, I practically lived for it… just to, you know, beat someone senseless. It was my hobby,” they both laughed. “But in here…”
“Everything changed, right?” Ray guessed. “Got yourself some new values?”
“Yeah, exactly,” Minho nodded. “Someone showed up who can easily push back against me without being terrified of getting punched in the face.”
“I noticed,” Ray pointed to the bruise on his face, and Minho smirked. “Someone managed to get on your wavelength?”
“Probably,” otherwise, how else could Jisung have gotten through to him? “But I’m terrified that I might drown on this wavelength. Because sometimes I just don’t understand what the fuck is going on here. It feels like I’m losing my mind a little more every single day.”
“You know, Minho,” Ray turned his head, locking his eyes dead on his. “When we saw each other in the cafeteria, I… I was actually terrified of you.”
“Not surprising,” he snorted.
“No, let me finish,” Ray cut in, standing up from the bench. “There was something terrifying and evil in your eyes. I’ve never met anyone with such a murderous glare.”
Minho smiled faintly. It wasn't the first time he'd heard that his pitch-black eyes instilled pure terror, but they only turned that way out of rage. Only when he handed the reins of his body over to the beast.
“But right now, I don’t see anything scary or threatening in them,” those words made Minho shoot an eyebrow up.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I…” Ray stumbled over his words. “Maybe it’s just my schizophrenia talking, never mind,” he waved it off.
“No, spit it out,” Minho demanded, getting up right after him.
“Your eyes look different now,” Ray swallowed. “It’s like I used to be looking into the eyes of a monster, but now I’m looking at… something small and gentle, like a kitten.”
Minho’s knees went weak. Was it really that obvious that people were starting to notice? No, impossible. Minho hadn't completely changed. His eyes had just gone back to their normal chocolate shade, nothing more.
“Yeah, I see all kinds of things in people. Not just you. Everyone. It’s just my disorder playing tricks on me, don't mind it.”
But Minho couldn't just ignore it. Even if Ray didn't understand the weight of his own words, a total riot was breaking out inside Lee’s head. What if Ray didn't even realize what he was seeing?
“Thanks for the chat, I’m out,” Minho said, flinching as he spun around and trudged back toward the hospital, his eyes scanning the third-floor windows where Jisung was supposed to be.
Jisung had made it dead clear that he didn’t intend to talk to Minho until tomorrow. But plans were officially out the window. Minho wasn’t about to wait until tomorrow. He needed to talk to Jisung today, and he was ready to do whatever it took. Like climbing the green ivy creeping up the old building’s walls right in front of everyone. Let them see what he was capable of.
Griping the ivy tight, Minho wedged the toe of his shoe against a brick and nimbly pulled himself up. The climb up to the third-floor window wasn’t going to be short. Patients were already staring, pointing fingers at him until the orderlies finally caught on. They rushed the wall from different angles, shouting, but they couldn't reach him anymore. Minho scrambled up to the second floor like a spider, only catching his breath when he realized no one down there could stop his ascent.
“Get the hell down here right now!” a voice boomed from below.
“Fuck off,” Minho spat, climbing higher as the crowd of onlookers went wild.
He knew Jisung wouldn’t appreciate this little stunt. He knew it, and he kept climbing anyway, telling himself it was the doctor’s own damn fault. He should have listened to his patients, especially when they were unstable.
Reaching the third floor, Minho tapped on the glass and smiled, looking at Jisung sitting at his desk behind a mountain of paperwork. At first, Jisung didn’t realize where the sound was coming from and glanced toward the door. Minho had to tap again. Jisung stood up and snapped his gaze to the window. His eyes went wide with shock before instantly darkening with rage. He mouthed a hoarse 'fuck' — it was easy enough to read his lips — and stroking over to the window, threw it open.
“What the fu…” Jisung looked down, noticing the crowd of doctors. “Heck, you absolute idiot,” he rolled his eyes and waved his hand down at them. “It’s fine. He’s my patient.” Yanking Minho inside by the scruff of his neck, he let him fall onto the floor.
“Ouch! That actually hurt!” Minho dusted himself off and stood up, immediately getting shoved in the chest.
“Do you have a death wish? What on earth are you doing? Stunts like this will land you in a padded room, dumbass,” Jisung breathed heavily, shoving Minho all the way against the wall and gripping his shoulders tight.
“If you’re in there with me, I’m willing to take that chance,” Minho smiled, pulling the guy closer by his waist and ignoring his fury.
“I told you to keep your head down and stay out of trouble. Our session is tomorrow, now get back to your…”
“I was talking to one of a schizophrenic ,” Minho cut him off. “He saw me before I even met you. You know what that guy said? He said he sees that same kitten in my eyes too.” Now it was Minho’s turn to shove Jisung. “What did you do to me? Are you actually treating me, or are you just running your psychological experiments on me?”
“Are you a total fool?”
“Answer me! What is happening to me?!”
Jisung quickly stepped over to his desk and leaned against it, nodding his head toward the chair. Minho glared at him with a harsh look, let out a scoff, and obediently sat down, not even knowing why the hell he was doing it. He hadn't come here for a therapy session, couldn’t Jisung just act like a regular guy for once instead of a fucking doctor?
“Are you actually sure you want to hear this?” Jisung shed his lab coat and folded it neatly in half, squaring his shoulders.
“Yeah.”
“Fine,” he sighed and stepped closer. “It looks a lot like you’ve fallen in love,” Jisung smiled, boring holes into him with his gaze.
“Fallen in love? With who? You?” Minho shook his head, refusing to buy that statement. It was total nonsense. Jisung rightfully belonged to Minho, because… why exactly?
“Yeah, Kitty, even heartless beasts like you always have a heart. You just have to find it,” Jisung whispered, moving closer to run a hand behind his ear, tickling the skin. “I don’t think you’ve completely changed. Somewhere deep down, you could always flip the switch back and kill plenty more people, but around me, you’re… you’re sweet.”
“Shut your mouth,” Minho squeezed his hand and shoved it away, feeling a sudden surge of goosebumps he shouldn’t be having.
He wasn’t sweet. Anyone else, but not him.
“Put your claws away,” Jisung ran a hand through his hair once more and offered a faint smile. “Since you’re here, let’s talk,” he moved back to his desk and picked up a notepad. “Tell me about your childhood, Kitty.”
Minho hesitated. Something inside was blocking him from crossing that line. He just stared at him before shifting his gaze to the plush leather office chair. Since Jisung wasn’t even using it, preferring to sit his ass on the wooden desk instead, why couldn’t he just hand the chair over to Minho for a bit?
“Roll that chair over to me,” he asked, nodding behind Jisung’s back.
“If you’re trying to buy time, you’re doing it the wrong way. I’m not letting you out of here until you tell me everything,” Jisung said, rolling the chair over to him and sitting back down on the desk.
“I’d be more than happy to spend the night with you in this office,” Minho said with a dirty undertone, a suggestive look in his eyes.
“Minho.”
“Fi-i-ine. What do you want to know? Why I almost killed my father?” Minho swallowed hard, remembering that night. “Well, I don't have an answer for you. I just wanted him dead. I always wanted him to die because he was constantly beating my mother, and she’d take it out on me. And one night, I woke up realizing that… if I didn’t do it, nobody would. Not even my battered mother, who was sleeping right next to him, wrapped in his arms. I was the only way out.”
Jisung’s smile faded. He shook his head and quickly jotted Minho’s words down in his notepad. Nothing like this had ever come up in his tests, and even if they had asked, Minho would’ve just left it blank or written some bullshit. This topic wasn't exactly something he was eager to passionately discuss with anyone.
“Did you show any signs of aggression anywhere else before that?”
“In school, when I’d fight my classmates.” Once Minho graduated, he completely blocked out everything that happened there, but this question forced him to remember.
“Why? What would push you to the limit?”
“Stupid questions, obviously,” Minho scoffed, clenching his fists. “I hated my classmates. They knew what was going on in my family because my father didn’t bother hiding his mistresses. One of them happened to be the mother of some prick in my class. And one day…” Minho closed his eyes, grinding his teeth.
“And one day—what?”
“Shut the fuck up,” he started shaking. “He said he could hear them loud and clear… sleeping together. And that was the moment I hated them all even more. They laughed in my face, and there was nothing I could do until… until I broke one guy's jaw and ruptured another one's spleen. I swear to God I would’ve done more if a teacher hadn't run in when they started screaming.”
Opening his eyes, Minho noticed Jisung sitting right at his feet, gently stroking his knee. For a split second, the office felt freezing cold, making him want to hide somewhere warm. All that built-up rage vanished in an instant the moment Minho looked into Jisung’s eyes and whispered:
“Hug me.”
“What, you want me to sit on your lap?” Jisung smiled, pulling himself up a bit.
“You didn’t ask last night, you just did it,” Minho shot back, grabbing Jisung by the waist and pulling him down onto his lap.
Minho pressed his entire body against him and buried his nose in his neck, breathing heavily. Jisung worked on him like a sedative. Maybe not always, because most of the time he was actually the one pushing his buttons in every possible way, but right now, after letting out what had been eating at his soul for years, Minho felt a weight lift off him.
“You know, maybe I really am in love,” he suddenly confessed, leaving barely noticeable kisses on the soft skin.
“Oh, you don’t say?” Jisung chuckled, sitting up straight to look him dead in the eye.
“But I know you like me too,” Minho offered a smug smile when no 'no' came in response.
“Would I really let just any idiot kiss me?” Jisung ran his hand through Minho’s hair, taking a close, intense look at his face.
“Who knows. You're a total idiot yourself.”
“Well, thanks. Now shut up and don’t ruin the moment,” Jisung leaned into his lips and began to kiss him, taking his sweet time.
He slowly ran his tongue down Minho’s neck, licking away the droplets of sweat from his pale skin, and judging by the pleased crinkle of his eyes, he definitely liked the taste. He kissed his prominent cheekbone and bit down on his earlobe, pulling it into his mouth. Minho gasped, his breathing turning shallow and fast as the thoughts in his head tangled into a complete mess.
“What are you doing?” he rasped and grabbed Jisung’s ass with both hands, automatically guiding his body against his crotch.
“Calming you down, why?” Jisung pulled away from the earlobe. “Already hard?” he teased, making Minho squirm and look down.
“Looks like it,” Minho nodded toward his hospital pants, which were clearly tented at the crotch. “Don’t you dare stop what can’t be stopped anymore, Han Jisung,” he gritted out, and Jisung smiled.
“You think it can’t be stopped?” he asked and smoothly sank to his knees. “Seems pretty easy to me.”
“Please,” Minho whimpered quietly, wanting to get the clothes off. He’d already come in his pants once, no need for a repeat.
“You disobeyed me. Again,” Jisung ran his hand from the knee up the inner thigh straight to the crotch. “How do I make you obedient, huh?” He squeezed the hard cock through the fabric and a low moan filled the office.
“Fuck, Jisung…” Minho tipped his head back and swallowed hard, another drop of sweat rolling down his neck.
“Keep it quiet, Kitten. We’re still in a therapy session. Treatment, you get it?”
Arousal was taking Minho over slow but sure, and the fact that he couldn’t really move in the soft chair only made the need worse. When warm fingers brushed his stomach under the hospital shirt, he shuddered.
“After this you have to tell me everything about yourself, you know that, right?” Jisung licked his lips.
Minho looked down at him and nodded obediently. Right now he was ready to agree to anything just so the guy wouldn’t stop groping his crotch. Pleasure shot through Minho’s body from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, making him moan long and arch his back in a way that looked almost inviting.
“So sensitive,” Jisung whistled.
“You were the same,” Minho whispered and heard a laugh.
“I know,” Jisung slipped his hand under the cotton fabric, “because I remember everything perfectly.”
His hand first just stroked the sharp hip bone, then without any hesitation Jisung yanked the pants and boxers down, making Minho lift his hips. That sudden move made Minho let out a quiet, almost tearful whimper and blush in pure awkwardness, letting Jisung see what was usually hidden.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Minho rolled his eyes, feeling hot breath on the head of his cock.
“I’m admiring.”
“And I’m shy.”
The head had turned a deeper red. His body reacted on its own to every breath and touch. Minho squirmed in the chair, the urge to grab Jisung by the hair and pull him closer to his needy cock growing every time the guy got near and just burned it with hot breath while whispering something.
Before taking him into his mouth, Jisung thoroughly coated his thumb and index finger with spit. Thick and careful. Then he closed his eyes and exhaled shakily, earning another low moan from the guy. Sliding his hand down to stroke the hot pulsing cock, Jisung laughed at how Minho started quietly whimpering from such simple touch and thrusting into the hand, letting Jisung spread the precum leaking from the tip all over the shaft.
“So needy. I like it,” he murmured, squeezing his palm around the base.
“Someone told me they wanted to fuck. Stop running your mouth and get to it,” Minho pushed him, earning a light smack on the thigh.
“If you keep talking back you get nothing.”
Jisung gently touched the sensitive head and Minho jerked, then froze and stopped breathing. He watched the hand slide slowly over him. Minho’s cock pulsed a little, filling with blood, and fit nicely in his hand. He shuddered, let out a heavy breath and closed his eyes when the head finally settled into Jisung’s mouth.
He took about half of it, and Minho loved how wide the guy had to open his mouth, how the hot cock filled it and slid over his tongue. The rush of sensations almost made Minho whimper as he felt the tight walls of Jisung’s throat press hard and how much effort it took Jisung to swallow him all the way down.
Jisung couldn’t hold back a low, rough growl that sent sharp goosebumps down Minho’s spine, and he almost unconsciously pushed deeper, ignoring the wet sounds and the doctor’s moans. Jisung had to pull back to catch his breath. He quickly licked his swollen, flushed lips before greedily taking the cock again, moving his head faster.
“Fuck, Jisung…” Minho shuddered and nearly stopped breathing, looking down at the picture in front of him.
Jisung kept the hard cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the salty head. Minho was losing his mind from the new sensations, staring at the heavily breathing guy between his legs who kept bobbing his head so obediently, taking the cock all the way to the base. Running a hand through his hair, Minho moaned and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as Jisung took a bigger breath and opened his mouth wider, deciding to go deeper.
He had to clamp a hand over his mouth so a full scream wouldn’t tear out after that. The moans already felt way too loud. Minho watched how with every move Jisung took him deeper, how the spit mixed with precum glistened on his lips, and… it made his head spin, but in the best possible way.
He was deliberately pressing with his tongue, letting the cock slide into his throat, and looking up with a challenge. If Minho had been standing right now his legs would’ve given out for sure. Even with Jisung on his knees, the doctor was still the one in charge. Minho decided it was easier to just close his eyes so he wouldn’t see it, then felt hands on his thighs and exhaled.
“If I come without spreading you out on this desk first, I’m gonna kill you,” Minho rasped and tensed, feeling little spasms in his legs.
Jisung pulled off the cock with a wet sound and licked his swollen lips, looking Minho straight in the eyes. Breathing hard, he got up and settled back on his lap, kissing him dirty. Minho hummed, licking into his tongue and shuddered. A quick hand wrapped around his cock and stroked up and down, making Minho hiss.
“Who’s stopping you?”
Jisung got up from his lap and started slowly undoing the buttons one by one. Minho let out a nervous rasp and stood up after him, stripping off his clothes. A whole stack of papers had been sitting on the desk earlier, the ones Jisung had been working on for a while. Without any care Minho swept every sheet onto the floor and pinned the laughing Jisung against the desk.
“What’s so funny?”
“Your intensity,” Jisung ran a hand over his cheek and finally dropped the shirt to the floor. “So impatient. I like it.”
“Great. Now…” Minho hesitated, his shiny eyes darting around the office.
“I’ll help,” Jisung walked around the desk and pulled a small packet of lube from the drawer. “First get me ready for you.”
“I’m not a virgin, I know what to do without you,” he hissed angrily and snatched the lube. “Take off your fucking pants and…”
“Nope, Kitty. What do you say?” Jisung crossed his arms over his chest, and Minho suddenly wanted to leave a few hickeys on it.
“Fuck, please.”
Setting the lube aside, Minho spread Jisung’s arms out and pushed him down onto the desk with his whole body, sucking a pink nipple into his mouth. Jisung arched and moaned, not expecting that kind of intensity. The tongue circled the areola sweetly while the front teeth tugged and nipped lightly, making the guy let out a pathetic moan and fist a handful of red hair.
“Minho, fucking hell…”
“Turn over,” he asked and exhaled hard, pulling away from the chest.
Jisung undid the zipper of his pants and shoved them down with the underwear, giving Minho a clear view of his cock. The pants dropped to his feet, so he had to step out of them completely and end up fully naked in the office.
Just unreal.
“Don’t choke,” Jisung smiled and lay on the desk, sticking his ass up.
Minho did choke a little at the sight and closed his eyes, holding back a low moan that was fighting its way out of his chest. Coming back to himself, he grabbed the packet of lube and smirked, realizing Jisung had been preparing for this. He knew that sooner or later Minho would spread him out. The only question left was when.
“You’re such a little shit,” Minho breathed out and laughed. “Messed with my head like a complete idiot just so you could wave this ass in my face now.”
“Just because I’m lying like this doesn’t mean I can’t shut you up,” Jisung turned his head back and narrowed his eyes. “I’m waiting for your cock in my ass. Now.”
And Minho choked for the second time.
Fucking little shit.
Because of the heated body on the desk, Minho’s finger slid in almost without pain, making the doctor freeze for a second before pushing back onto it, since the prostate was found with a few quick, precise strokes. Jisung jerked hard and let out a low moan, gripping the edge of the desk and riding the finger on his own.
“Like that?” Minho smirked and licked his lips.
“Keep going.”
Soon a second finger joined the first, then a third, which completely slipped past Jisung’s notice as he focused on pushing harder onto the fingers moving inside him and diving back into that mind-blowing pleasure. The stretch, the fullness drove him crazy, and the knowledge that something bigger was about to go in made him shudder hard and moan out loud, sticking his ass up even more in anticipation.
Too good. Good enough to see colored spots in front of his eyes. A wave of pleasure rolled through his whole body, his toes curled, he wanted more and more. Minho was soaking up the view in front of him and biting his lower lip hard, wanting to be the one who pushed Jisung over the edge.
“I think you’re stretched enough already,” patience was running out and his pulsing cock was begging for release.
“You're not wrong,” Jisung rasped and shuddered.
Minho’s fingers left the stretched entrance, making Jisung let out a desperate, protesting breath at the emptiness. But it cut off sharply when something wet and warm pressed against his ass. The cock slowly but relentlessly stretched the walls, making Jisung tremble from the pleasure and the long-awaited fullness.
When the head fully sank inside, all Jisung could do was exhale hard, holding back with everything he had so he wouldn’t just slam down onto the whole length of Minho’s cock in one sharp move. Minho was handling it fine on his own: slowly rolling his hips and hissing under his breath.
“Tight as fuck,” Minho whispered and rolled his eyes when the walls clenched harder around him. “Don’t squeeze,” he gave a sharp slap to the ass and laughed.
“Move faster, I’m gonna fall asleep,” Jisung whined and immediately cried out from the hard slap of hips against his ass.
Minho pushed in with confidence, feeling the guy’s body shake under him. He was barely holding on himself, but the second he sank into that warm, pleasure-filled depth, self-control left him completely. The thrusts got faster and louder.
“Lee Minho!” tore out of Jisung, and Minho had to lie across his back, covering his mouth with a hand.
“Quiet,” he smiled near his ear. “Want someone to walk in on us like this?” Jisung clenched, pulling another low moan from Minho’s lips. “Fuck, I can arrange that.”
“I’d love that,” Jisung shot back and exhaled when Minho pulled out of him. “What the hell?”
“I’m making your dream come true,” Minho turned the guy to face him, lifted him up and carried him to the window.
“What are you doing?!” Jisung flinched as he found himself on the windowsill. “Someone’s gonna fucking see us!”
“If you don’t shut your mouth they’ll hear us too. Perfect, right?” Minho pushed his tongue into his cheek and spread his legs, settling in comfortably.
Minho pushed in only halfway, then pulled back until he almost slipped out of the tight hole and sank Jisung onto himself again. The thrusts were rough and fast, bringing pleasure and a light dizziness. Crushing their mouths together, Minho gripped the slim waist and rolled his hips hard, muffling the too-loud Jisung. The office filled with the sound of skin slapping and the broken hums that sometimes escaped his mouth.
Minho didn’t give a single shit if anyone saw them from the street or the window across the way. Let them all see how soft and hungry for his cock Jisung could be. Let them know this was the only way Minho was still halfway conscious while the other guy was clearly losing his mind to the madness between them.
Jisung pressed closer, obediently rolling his hips to meet every thrust, sliding on the windowsill. His back was against the glass, fogging it up a little and leaving streaks the doctor would have to wipe later so no one asked questions. No matter how much he wanted to say a clear, loud 'no' and get off this windowsill — there were still plenty of other places in the office — he just couldn’t. His mind was gone. It didn’t matter anymore if anyone saw them or not.
“You taste so fucking good,” Minho rasped, kissing along his neck.
Jisung wrapped his legs around Minho’s waist, pressed tighter and whimpered, scratching at his solid back. The thrusts turned smooth, slamming all the way in, then starting over. Moans tore out of his mouth sharp, cutting through the air and echoing in the corners of the room. Rolling his eyes again, Jisung tipped his head back, letting Minho work over his neck properly, leaving red marks and wet trails on the skin.
“Fuck, Minho,” he breathed out roughly, brushing his lips over his. “Move. Please, move.”
Minho drove into the willing body, going too fast one second and painfully slow the next. No amount of begging or pleading could make him change it. All Jisung could do was moan from the pleasure and meet every thrust, praying to God this moment would never end.
It only made everything hotter that this was happening somewhere they could get caught any second if some curious bastard looked through the window or walked into the office. Minho had no idea if Jisung had locked the door or left the two of them completely exposed. Honestly, nothing would happen to him. So what if right now, almost in full view of everyone, he was pinning his own doctor. What would happen to Jisung was a different question, and Minho really didn’t want to know the answer.
“Lee Minho,” Jisung breathed out, pressing the back of his head against the window.
“Wrong,” came a powerful thrust that sent sparks flying and a scream:
“Kitty!”
“That’s better…”
A half-moan slipped out of the bitten lips when the hip movements started again and Jisung froze for a second. The cock hit his prostate dead-on and a loud cry tore from his mouth. A soft chuckle followed and a satisfied smirk lit up Minho’s face. The thrusts never stopped, so the next one made Jisung moan again and push back to meet it.
“Fuck… I want to ride your thighs,” Jisung whispered, shaking like an old car carburetor.
Minho stopped and buried his nose in the hollow above the collarbone, processing what he’d just heard. His hands greedily explored the body offered to him, sliding over the chest and stroking the cock that was leaking precum. Jisung jerked his hips up on pure instinct, driving the hard-on into the loose fist, and exhaled hard, clenching around Minho.
“Don’t squeeze like that,” he rasped and closed his eyes.
“Can’t help it,” Jisung whispered and pecked him on the nose. “If I come right now you’ll never get my ass again,” he threatened.
“Even in this position you’re still giving orders,” Minho smirked, and without pulling out he lifted him up and sank him all the way down on his cock, moaning into his ear.
“Sit back in the chair,” Jisung ordered and swallowed hard, clearly holding back the coming wave of orgasm.
“Yes, Mr. Han.”
Jisung shuddered and moaned, clenching again around the pulsing cock.
“Shut the fuck up, you’re driving me crazy,” he hissed and exhaled as he settled on the muscular thighs.
The second Minho sat in the chair and leaned back, Jisung started moving. Slow at first, then steadily picking up speed so the cock hit his prostate as often as possible.
Loud moans and whimpers filled the whole room, his body met every thrust, and Minho soaked up the view. He rolled his eyes and stroked Jisung’s thighs, getting closer to the edge.
The hands squeezing and stroking his thighs, sometimes roaming over his whole body, were driving Jisung insane. Little electric sparks settled in his fingertips, the powerful nonstop movement of his own ass pulled sweet spasms out of him. All of it was too good. The rough touches, the lips on Jisung’s neck and the sudden smacks on his ass spun his head until he saw colorful spots.
Where their bodies touched the skin started burning, and Minho realized clearer than ever that he felt something more for Jisung. Maybe the guy had been right and Minho really did like him. That two-faced side of him, the way he talked, the mystery and that little spark of crazy that lived in his eyes whenever he was near Minho. All of it made Jisung something special inside these hospital walls.
“Kitten,” Jisung rasped, bouncing hard up and down.
Their bodies, slick with sweat, pressed closer and closer. Even the air in the room felt heavier and hotter. After one especially sharp move Minho suddenly felt goosebumps break out over his skin and started trembling lightly.
There wasn’t enough oxygen. Every thought seemed to leave his head. Minho breathed hard and ragged, thrusting his hips up to meet him until his mind went hazy. Somewhere on the edge of his hearing he caught Jisung’s moan and pressed against his lips. Their tongues tangled, pushed against each other a little, and the kiss broke with a loud moan.
“Faster,” Jisung asked, pulling Minho’s head against his chest.
His heart hammered wildly against his ribs. At first Minho counted every beat without thinking, then lost track and just started thrusting his hips, trying to match the fast rhythm of the heart.
His hands squeezed the ass hard enough to leave bruises. Minho drove up into the body spread over him that took every thrust with pure hunger while Jisung rode him just as hard. Minho’s body convulsed with orgasm as he moaned sweet against the guy’s ear, coming hard inside him. In the end Jisung collapsed onto his shoulder, still moving and breathing soft little puffs, smearing the white fluid that was running down the inside of his thigh.
A loud cry of pleasure tore out and Jisung sprawled flat on top of him, no longer able to hold his own weight. His body burned. The pleading whimper cut off with another moan of pleasure. He came hard, painting Minho’s stomach, and moaned a few more times, burying his face somewhere in the wet neck.
His hips kept moving up and down. Same rhythm. A heavy tremor ran through his whole body, but Jisung didn’t stop. He was pushing himself toward another powerful release.
The heart in his chest pounded with impossible force. Minho rasped, feeling the darkness creep into his vision, a tortured sound scraping out of his throat from the strain. It felt like an eternity passed before Jisung came on his stomach a second time.
His mouth opened in a silent scream. He sucked in a breath, then suddenly froze, spine arching at an impossible angle as pure pleasure slammed through his entire body. Consciousness flickered. And somehow the office went quiet all of a sudden, if you ignored the heavy breathing.
“Minho,” Jisung sighed, pressing his whole body against him, still sitting on the cock. “So good…”
“Yeah,” he agreed and kissed the sweat-damp forehead. “Really good.”
The door handle rattled, shattering their quiet. Minho jerked in panic, holding Jisung in place. They stared at each other with wide eyes, not knowing what to do. Reality only now slammed into them like a sledgehammer, reminding them where they were and what they had just done.
“Everything okay in there?” the security guard asked, knocking on the door.
“Uh… y-yeah, everything’s fine,” Jisung stammered.
“Why’s the door locked?”
“We… ” Jisung shot a glance at Minho. “We’re using a special therapy method. Locked it so no one would bother us.”
“Alright. Lights out soon for everyone,” the guard reminded them and walked away.
Jisung exhaled in relief and smacked the laughing Minho on the shoulder. The guy raised an eyebrow, tilted his head and licked his lips dirty.
“Therapy method, huh? I like it,” he smiled. “This kind of treatment suits me just fine. When’s the next session?”
“Oh my God, shut up,” Jisung hissed and settled against his shoulder, trying to get his breathing back to normal as fast as possible.
“Not shutting up. I’m genuinely interested in this treatment,” Minho kept pushing until his cock got squeezed by the ass around it. “Ah, fuck, okay, I’m quiet!” he mumbled under Jisung’s soft laugh.
“That’s better. Stay quiet.”
💊💊💊
“What? What the fuck do you mean, ‘discharged’?” For a second, Minho completely forgot the meaning of the word. “Who said that?!” he snapped, glaring at Parkinson.
“Your attending physician,” she said, rolling her eyes and clicking her tongue. “Your vitals are stable. Five months in this facility was more than enough. From here on out, you’ll be handled by the outpatient clinic where your case is registered.”
“Like hell I am,” he hissed, storming out of the office.
“Lee Minho!” called out after him, but Minho didn’t even think of stopping.
The news hit him like a ton of bricks first thing in the morning. He had expected things to end eventually, of course, but he never thought it would happen this fast. Five months in this place had flown by in the blink of an eye. Maybe he shouldn't have spilled all his darkest secrets to Jisung so quickly, but he couldn't help himself. Their sessions were nothing like the ones the other patients had here. For every deep, detailed answer, Minho got something much bigger than just a kiss. And now, getting hit with the news of an upcoming discharge felt like a knife straight to the heart.
Because Jisung hadn’t told him a single word.
His eyes darted wildly from one unfamiliar face to another. Minho wasn’t looking for anyone, but the atmosphere felt entirely different now. If he found Jisung at this moment, he would probably pour out everything he was thinking, but he didn’t go looking for him. If only because this shocking news had awakened something inside him.
The beast.
Minho felt it with every fiber of his being, desperately playing the thoughts of his discharge like a broken record in his head, fueling the creature's rage even more. His skin burned as if something red-hot had touched it. That was when Minho realized he was ready to tear it all down. He would do anything to stay here, right next to Jisung. After all, if he were discharged, where would he go? Far away from this place, certainly. Far away from Jisung. Back to his old, dilapidated house, assuming they hadn't demolished the place already.
“Since you guys are so thrilled with my good behavior,” Minho rasped, locking his eyes on one of the second-floor guards — the same guy he’d wanted to beat the shit out of since his first week here — “then I guess I’ll show you some bad behavior. The kind that doesn’t deserve a discharge.”
Minho took a breath, trying to keep a straight face. His chest heaved and his heart clenched painfully, making him want to smash his fists against the wall just to drown it out and focus on a different kind of pain instead. Two guards stood motionless outside his former cage, which had been sitting empty all this time. Apparently, they hadn’t found anyone else quite as crazy within these walls yet.
“Hey. Parkinson’s calling you to her office,” Minho said, pointing at one of the guards.
“Why didn’t she just tell me herself?” the man asked with a scoff.
“I just came from her office. She told me to pass it along, so I did. Whether you listen to me or not is your business. Just don’t go saying I didn’t warn you later,” Minho offered a cocky smile and slowly strolled away, listening to the footsteps fading into the distance.
The guard actually bought it and hurried upstairs.
“What an idiot,” Minho smiled, turning back around, now left alone in the hallway with the remaining man.
“You lost?” the guard asked, noticing his strange pacing back and forth.
“Nah. Just timing the exact moment I get to finally kick your fucking ass.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” the guard said, a dark scowl crossing his face.
“Me? No. But the beast inside me? Hell yeah.”
The chains were ripped apart once more. His eyes darkened, turning blacker than the night itself. The guard, noticing the sudden shift in Minho’s mood, took a step back, frantically slapping his pockets in search of anything for self-defense, but Minho was faster.
He threw a hard punch straight to the nose, and when the guard clutched it with his hands and closed his eyes, Minho’s foot slammed right into his stomach. The man groaned, crashing down onto the floor, trying to scramble back up. Minho grabbed him by the hair and slammed the back of his head against the wall a few times, but out of nowhere, he got kicked in the legs and went down too. Processing the situation, he shot right back up and leaped onto the man who was already standing, sinking his teeth directly into his ear, biting it until the blood gushed and the guy shrieked in agony, right until Minho felt a chunk of cartilage left in his mouth.
He wondered if the man honestly thought he could handle him. Did anyone in this fucking hospital think they stood a chance? Minho had warned everyone from the very beginning. If the beast wanted to, he would rip everyone to shreds. It didn't matter how much larger the person across from him was — the beast would easily tear into their neck and, if needed, rip out their spine.
Blood splattered across his face, and Minho let out a chilling, childlike laugh. Delivering one last blow to ensure his opponent would not rise again, he sat on the floor, staring blankly ahead as he processed the chaos. No discharge for him now. He wouldn’t allow them to discard him. And the next one he intended to confront was Jisung.
“What the hell?!” a voice barked from behind.
Minho turned around, catching sight of the second guard and a furious Parkinson. He burst out laughing, only to catch a sudden punch right to his face, knocking him flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
Well, never mind. Turns out the next one to get hit in the face was him.
Minho completely tuned out Parkinson’s screaming and dynamic outbursts. She was cursing him out with everything she had, spitting that he wouldn't see anything but these four walls ever again. He just smirked like a cat and took his throne — settling onto the bed inside the cage. He was right back where he started, perfectly positioned to get a good look at the beaten guard missing an ear.
“Just like Van Gogh,” he commented, earning a vicious hiss in return.
The guard threatened to kill him next time, leaving nothing but a bloody stain. How cocky, Minho thought, but he kept his mouth shut. Both words and thoughts evaporated from his mind the second a breathless Jisung rushed down to the floor. A single look from him was all it took for the beast that had just awakened inside to curl into a soft ball and let out a pathetic whimper.
“Look! Just look at the monster you were planning to discharge!” the woman shrieked, pointing at the guard who was now surrounded by other medical staff.
Jisung glanced at him, then shifted his gaze to Minho behind the bars of the cage. Minho stood up from his spot and stepped closer. The urge to spit right in the doctor’s face was building, but first, he wanted to ask: what the fuck? What was this bullshit about a discharge, and why was he kept in the dark? Everything that just happened was entirely on Jisung, since he was the one who decided to sign off on the discharge without even asking for Minho’s opinion.
“I’m so sorry this happened. Something must have triggered his aggression,” Jisung breathed out, glancing over at Parkinson.
“He should be thrilled! I literally just told him he was being discharged!” she screamed, heading out of the ward along with everyone else. Right then, Jisung put two and two together. It was clear as day in his eyes.
“Minho—”
“Shut up,” he hissed, turning his back on him in bitter resentment. “You were trying to get rid of me! You motherfucker!” Unable to control himself, he kicked the desk, sending a bunch of books crashing to the floor.
“Minho,” Jisung called out, his voice turning a bit more demanding.
“Get away from me! You didn't say a word to me about being discharged. What the hell is going on?! Why am I finding out like this?!” Minho spun around and closed the short distance in an instant, his hands gripping the metal bars.
“Calm down and we’ll talk,” Jisung said quietly, sighing when he realized Minho was unlikely to calm down anytime soon.
“Fuck you! Did you decide to just get rid of me? After everything that happened between us?!”
Jisung looked around and, catching Minho by surprise, opened the metal cage and stepped inside. Before Minho could open his mouth, he was suddenly pinned against the wall. A pained groan escaped his lips.
“Shut up, you idiot. If anyone hears us, I’ll—”
“I don’t care! You decided to discharge me without saying a word!” Minho grabbed his lab coat and yanked him close.
“You're such a fool,” Jisung clicked his tongue, pulling Minho into a firm embrace despite the resistance.
After pushing back for a moment, Minho finally clung to him, burying his nose in the crook of his neck and closing his watering eyes. His hands gripped Jisung tighter, as if terrified that he might walk away. That he might disappear.
“I didn't tell you about it because nothing was set in stone yet,” he whispered, petting the fading pink hair. The dye had gradually started to wash out, revealing new shades underneath. “And if it had been confirmed, I would have definitely told you — that’s first of all. Second of all, what the fuck were you thinking, pulling a stunt like this? Life doesn't end with a discharge. Didn’t you want to get out of this place yourself?”
“No,” Minho muttered, nuzzling against his neck. “I don’t want to leave. What the hell am I supposed to do out there without you?”
Jisung let out a soft laugh and kissed Minho’s cheek, his hands keeping up the gentle strokes along his hair and back. Minho’s arms locked around him in a death grip, showing absolutely no intention of letting go.
“And why is that? We would have just…”
“I go out of my mind without you,” Minho confessed.
“And I go out of mine with you.”
Minho tilted his head up slightly, locking eyes with Jisung. He swallowed hard, dropping his gaze to the doctor's lips, burning with the urge to tear into them and lose himself in a kiss, just like they always did back in his office.
“Remember when I said I’d tell you a secret once you opened up to me about your childhood?” Minho offered a cautious nod. “Come on. I’ll show you.” Taking him by the hand, Jisung led him off the second floor, hurrying straight back to his office.
Minho locked the door behind them, watching intently as Jisung rummaged through his desk drawers. He dug out a piece of paper, unfolded it, skimmed over the lines, and slowly, almost hesitantly, handed it over. Minho didn't quite get why he was supposed to read something until his eyes fell on the medical file. It looked exactly like his own, except the name on it was different.
“You…”
“I have antisocial personality disorder with dissociative episodes too,” Jisung confessed with a shrug.
“What… wait… How?” Minho’s eyes widened, his brain struggling to process what he’d just heard.
“My parents used to work at this asylum. When I got diagnosed, they forged a clean medical record for me. Now I work here just to look a little less… unhinged compared to everyone else, let's put it that way.” Jisung took the file back, folded it in half a few times, and buried it at the bottom of the drawer beneath some paperwork. “That’s my secret.”
Minho looked down, scratched the back of his neck, and stared at Jisung as he stepped closer. Honestly, his behavior explained so much. Jisung’s moods were always shifting, making it impossible to guess his next move. It had made Minho think he was the one losing his mind. Turns out, they were both unstable.
“You know,” he sighed, “I figured something was off with you, because… nobody has ever been able to get through to me before. Only you.”
“Yeah,” Jisung nodded. “As soon as I heard about you, I asked to be assigned as your doctor. Because I know better than anyone how to… how to fake being perfectly sane.”
“Now I get why you’re so two-faced,” Minho scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So, what about the discharge?”
“You’re probably not getting discharged anytime soon now. Maybe in six months of good behavior,” Jisung said, sitting on the desk, and Minho immediately moved closer to him.
“Good.”
“No, it’s not good,” Jisung sighed, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You could have gotten out of here and started living a normal life.”
“I won’t have a normal life without you!” Minho growled fiercely. “I want to be with you. I don’t know how to call it, but it looks like… I love you, got it?!” Minho gripped his legs and dropped his head, breathing heavily. “As soon as I found out about the discharge, and not even from you, I thought you wanted to get rid of me.”
“Minho,” Jisung called out softly, tilting his head up by the chin. “You might be a total idiot, but I never wanted to get rid of you, because I like you too,” he whispered. “And only around you can I… can I actually be myself, you know?”Minho desperately needed to hear those words.
He pulled Jisung tighter against him and whispered:
“I know.”
“But seriously, let’s wait until your actual discharge next time, Kitty, alright?” Jisung smiled, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “You’ve got blood on your face, by the way.”
“I know,” Minho chuckled. “But why do I even need a discharge? I like it just fine in here.”
“We could live together,” Jisung said, and just the thought of it made Minho’s eyes light up. “You know, I’m getting pretty sick of blending into the hospital walls just to get laid.”
“Well, I like it,” Minho slid smoothly down onto his knees. “It’s the adrenaline.” He placed a hand over Jisung’s crotch and stroked him, making the doctor let out a quiet hiss. “Right now, everyone out there is throwing a massive fit, trying to figure out what the hell to do with me. Meanwhile, I’m busy doing much more interesting things.” Minho slipped his hand under the trousers and smirked.
“Don’t even think about it,” Jisung rasped.
“I’m not thinking. I’m doing.”
And really, who was going to stop him?
“Remind me again why I love you?”
“Because I’m your Kitty.”