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The radio crackled as the familiar voice of dispatch filled the firetruck’s cabin.
“Station 118, beware we have a potential jumper, reported as a fourteen-year-old male, on the bridge leading to the 710 interchange. Caller states possible domestic violence involved. Be advised, police and paramedics are en route.”
Bobby’s eyes tightened as he exchanged glances with Eddie and Buck seated at the back. “Copy that, we’re on our way,” he responded over the radio, already calculating their approach. While Chimney and Hen were in the ambulance following the firetruck.
Minho sat silently, staring out the window as the city blurred past. His fingers clenched around the strap holding him steady. He’d been through calls like this before, but something about the situation gnawed at him—he didn’t know why, but it felt familiar. His stomach twisted in knots.
The police had already cleared and blocked the surrounding area while Athena was waiting, not too far from the boy, who only looked about fifteen years old. The firetruck stopped at the bridge, the crew quickly spilling out. Minho’s instincts kicked in as he moved with Buck and Eddie toward Athena, where they could see the teen standing dangerously close to the edge.
As they approached, Athena turned toward them, her expression grim, signaling the seriousness of the situation. His posture was stiff, his entire body trembling as he gripped the rail behind him.
Minho’s heart dropped when he heard the boy’s sobs.
“No, no, no . . .” The kid cried, his voice broken. “I can’t—I just can’t do it anymore . . .”
Minho’s eyes locked onto the boy, something about his posture and the despair in his eyes stirring an old, familiar ache deep inside him. His footsteps slowed as he took in the scene, the police officers keeping a safe distance, their radios crackling with updates.
Athena gave a brief nod toward the boy. “He hasn’t said much. Seems like a history of abuse, but he’s not responding to anyone, no matter what we say. He keeps repeating that he can’t do this anymore.”
Bobby nodded in affirmation. “Minho, Eddie, Buck, we need to take this slow,” Bobby’s voice was calm, his eyes scanning the scene for any indication of how they should proceed. “We don’t want to spook him.”
A negotiator from LAPD was already on site, quietly attempting to talk the boy down. But nothing seemed to be reaching him.
Minho’s eyes flicked to the boy’s thin frame, the way he flinched whenever the negotiator mentioned his father. The details came rushing back—domestic violence, a son in fear, and the years of torment they must have endured.
He swallowed hard, his jaw clenched as he felt that sharp sting of recognition. Memories he’d buried long ago began to surface—images of his own past, the pain of living in constant fear. He shook his head, trying to stay focused on the present.
“Let me try,” Minho said, stepping back towards the engine to grab a harness, without waiting for his captain’s approval. His gut told him this was the only way.
Bobby gave Minho a brief look of concern but nodded, trusting his firefighter’s instincts. “Take it slow, Lee,” he advised, his voice steady but tense.
Minho strapped the harness over his gear, Buck moving beside him to secure the rope. “You sure you’re up for this?” Buck asked, his tone filled with both caution and support. They’d seen the way Minho’s face was when they took these types of calls before, but something about this one was different. Buck could sense the tension radiating off his teammate.
Minho didn’t answer immediately, instead fixing his gaze on the boy. He nodded resolutely, more to himself than anyone else, and after making sure the harness was secure, he stepped towards the railing. Jumping over it and landing on the small platform, making the teen flinch at the sudden sound, he raised his hands to show he wasn’t a threat.
The police officer, who was trying to calm him down, slowly walked away, nodding in understanding when they met gazes.
Minho’s heart raced as he edged closer to the boy, who was perched dangerously on the ledge, his arms wrapped around the railing. The wind whipped around them, carrying the boy’s frantic breaths and shaky sobs.
“Hey . . .” Minho’s voice was soft, non-threatening, as he kept his distance, making sure not to startle the boy. “What’s your name?”
The teen glanced at Minho, his eyes wide with fear and confusion, but he didn’t answer.
“It’s okay . . . You don’t have to say anything. I’m Minho. I’m a firefighter with the 118,” he continued, his voice calm. “I know you’re scared, and I know it feels like there’s no way out . . . but I promise you, there is. It doesn’t have to end like this.”
The boy shook his head violently, taking another small step toward the edge. Minho’s heart leaped into his throat.
“You don’t understand,” the boy cried. “You don’t know how many times I had to endure it . . . The constant hitting and arguing. He won’t stop! My dad—he—they just—” His words crumbled into sobs.
“My parents . . .” His voice cracked but continued. “They always argued with each other to the point they threw stuff. Whenever my dad would hurt me, my mom tried to stop him, but would only get pushed away,” he paused for a moment. “This process would continue for years until my mom had enough and left us for a better life. That’s when the beating got worse . . .”
Minho’s throat tightened, memories rushing back unbidden, memories he’d fought to forget for so long. He knew his friends—everyone around them—could hear them, but he had to convince him to stop.
“I do understand,” Minho said softly, his voice wavering slightly. “I know what’s like to live in fear of someone who’s supposed to protect you, to always be there for you, someone who you’re supposed to look up to and feel safe around, to feel like you have no escape.”
The boy froze, his tear-filled eyes locking onto Minho’s. While everyone else’s body stiffed at those words.
“I’ve been where you are,” he continued. “I know how much it hurts, and I know it feels like this is the only way to make it stop . . . But I promise, it’s not. Some people care about you—people who will help you, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”
The boy’s breath hitched as he stared at Minho, his eyes wide with disbelief. It was as if, for the first time, someone truly understood what he was going through. His grip on the railing loosened, but he still teetered dangerously close to the edge.
“You . . . you don’t know,” the boy whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. “You couldn’t know.”
Minho swallowed hard, forcing the memories back down as they threatened to overwhelm him. This wasn’t about him—this was about the boy in front of him, the one teetering on the edge of a decision he could never take back.
“I do know,” he replied, his voice soft but firm. “My father . . . he wasn’t much different. He used to hurt me too. He blamed me for my mother leaving us. For years, I thought that was just life. That it would never get better.”
The boy’s eyes flickered with recognition, a small spark of understanding beginning to light in his gaze. Minho took a slow, careful step closer, still keeping his hands to show he wasn’t a threat.
“After my mother had left, I thought it would be better to just end it,” he continued but stopped himself, thinking whether or not to be honest.
Minho watched as the boy’s breath hitched, his tear-filled eyes still locked onto Minho’s.
“So how’d you escape?” The boy asked hesitantly.
“To be honest, I’ve tried to attempt twice at the age of thirteen and fourteen, but fortunately failed.” The boy blinked in shock, his wide eyes brimming with a mixture of confusion and understanding. He wasn’t the only one—Minho could feel the weight of his colleagues’ gazes behind him, no doubt startled by his admission. But kept his focus on the boy, knowing that this moment wasn’t about his past, but about helping the kid see a way forward. “Shit, I even thought about ending it a third time when I was sixteen, but I didn’t,” he continued, his voice cracking a bit.
“What made you stop from ending it?” The boy asked once again.
“Love,” Minho smiled softly at the kid, making the other look at him in curiosity. “You know I’ve never believed in love because of how my parents acted and how my mom fell out of love. I thought love was the one cruel thing someone could have in this world, but it turns out it wasn’t. You just have to find the right person.”
The boy’s teary eyes flickered with curiosity as Minho’s words sunk in. He hesitated, glancing at the edge before shifting his focus back to Minho. “Love? . .” He whispered, his voice barely audible. “How did it stop you?”
Minho took a deep breath, his gaze softening. “There was this boy who I met in seventh grade, his name was Jisung. He was always there for me and saw parts of me I tried to hide from everyone. I found him annoying at first because I thought he was just doing it out of pity,” he laughed at his words. “No matter how distanced I would be, he still stuck with me.”
“At the age of sixteen, I didn’t recognize at first because I was in denial but I developed feelings for him. Thanks to a friend—that I’ll never admit to him—I got the courage to ask him out.”
“And you know what? He said yes,” Minho continued, his voice filled with warmth as he took another small step toward the young boy.
“But unfortunately, about two months into our relationship when I thought everything was going well in my life. One day, my father had come home, stressed from work. His beating was worse that day,” the warmth immediately disappeared. “After he passed out, I called Jisung and told him I couldn’t take this life anymore. I didn’t give him a chance to talk before I hung up and went to a nearby bridge.”
“I stood on the edge for about half an hour in the cold as the sun was slowly setting because something was holding me back,” Minho paused, swallowing hard. “Then I heard police sirens behind me, I didn’t look until I heard Jisung’s voice yelling out for me.”
His voice wavered, recalling that life-altering moment. The memories flooded back—standing on that bridge, feeling like it was the end, only to hear the desperate, tear-chocked cries of the one person who had unknowingly saved him. He took another step closer to the boy, who was watching him intently now, clinging to every word as though they were his lifeline.
“I remember turning around and seeing him there, tears streaming down his face, begging me to come down while Jisung’s father had stayed back. He didn’t try to lecture me. He didn’t tell me everything would magically get better. He just . . . stood there, and he told me he loved me that he didn’t want to lose. That he believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.”
Minho’s eyes locked with the boy’s, a heavy silence lingering between them. “And in that moment, I realized that maybe—just maybe—there was something worth living for. That love could be the thing to keep me going, even when everything else felt hopeless.”
The boy swallowed hard, his grip loosening slightly on the railing. His eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and hesitant hope. “And you . . . you’re okay now?” He whispered, his voice trembling.
Minho nodded gently. “It wasn’t easy. It’s not something that you can get over after one day. It took time, and there are still hard days, but I’m here. I’ve found love, friendship, and a reason to keep going. And so can you.” He extended his hand slowly, palm open in a gesture of trust. “We’re here to help you in any way we can.”
Tears streamed down the boy’s face as he stared at Minho’s outstretched hand. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath as he hesitated, looking down at the deadly drop below, then back at the firefighter who laid his heart bare.
“I want the pain to go away,” the boy whispered.
“And it will,” Minho said softly, his hand still extended. “We’ll help you, You’re not alone.”
“I don’t have anywhere to go though . . .”
Minho glanced at his friends before he thought of something. “Hey, it’s okay. How about this? You can stay at my place with my boyfriend,” he reassured before the other could begin to panic.
The boy’s eyes widened at his offer, shock and disbelief flooding his expression. “Your place? With you and your boyfriend?” He whispered, almost as if he didn’t dare to believe it.
The older nodded, his expression softening further. “Yeah, with us. I know it sounds sudden, but you’ll be safe. We’ll figure everything out together. You don’t have to worry about anything right now. All that matters is you’re not alone, and you don’t have to face this on your own anymore.”
“Benjamin . . .” The younger stated as Minho gave a warm smile. “My name is Benjamin.”
Benjamin’s grip on the railing loosened completely now, and after a long moment of hesitation, he reached out slowly, his trembling hand moving towards Minho’s outstretched palm. Minho’s breath caught in his throat as their fingers bruised, and then the boy’s hand was firmly in his, clutching desperately as if Minho’s touch was the one thing anchoring him to the world.
“I don’t want to go back,” the boy whispered, his voice shaking with emotion.
“You won’t,” Minho promised, squeezing the Benjamin’s hand gently. “We’ll make sure you get the help you need, and keep you safe. I swear it.”
With a careful tug, Minho guided the boy off the ledge and over the railings, pulling him into his arms in a protective embrace. The boy collapsed against him, sobbing uncontrollably. Minho held him tight, his own heart aching with the weight of what they had both shared.
Behind them, the rest of the team let out a collective breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. They all exchanged glances filled with quiet admiration for Minho’s empathy and vulnerability. Athena stood nearby, her eyes soft with empathy.
“You’re safe now,” Minho whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he stroked Benjamin’s hair. “You don’t have to face it alone anymore.”
After a few moments, the paramedics arrived, Hen and Chimney moving in carefully to assess Benjamin’s condition. They guided the younger towards the back of the ambulance. The teenager’s breathing was ragged, his body trembling from both the cold and the overwhelming emotions coursing through him.
He hears Hen as her voice is soft and professional but full of compassion. “Hey there, Benjamin, I’m Hen. We’re just going to make sure you’re okay, alright? Is it okay if we take a look at you?”
Chimney laid a blanket across the boy’s back. Benjamin sniffled, nodding slightly, and wrapped the blanket around himself tighter. “I’m . . . I’m okay,” he whispered, though the tears still streamed down his face.
As Minho observed the teenager, he felt eyes watching him. His eyes caught Bobby’s, his captain’s face a mix of pride and concern. He knew what this moment had cost Minho emotionally, but there was a recognition in Bobby’s gaze—the weight of shared experience and the healing that could come from helping others through it.
“Minho,” Bobby said softly as he stepped closer. “You did well today.”
Minho nodded, but the words barely registered as his focus was on Benjamin. Though looked away to walk towards the engine, quickly removing the harness.
After placing it back, he heads towards Benjamin with Athena following behind him. He hears Chimney informing the younger, “Okay, it seems like your bruises have already healed, nothing serious and that’s good,” as he wraps things up.
Benjamin perks up at Minho and Athena, who stand in front of him. “Okay, Benjamin. This is Athena, who works for the LAPD, and she’s gonna bring you to the station,” he introduced. “My boyfriend is a detective at the same station, so you’re gonna probably be able to meet him. He very much resembles a quokka. But you’ll have to stop at the hospital first for a check-up. Just to make sure you’re okay, alright?”
Benjamin nodded, his body still trembling from the overwhelming situation. He glanced toward Minho, who was standing nearby, watching over him like a guardian. “Thank you,” he gave a small smile.
“I’m just glad you’re safe. I’ll be able to see you later, okay?” Minho’s voice was soft but firm.
The teen gave a small nod, still processing everything that had happened. As Chimney helped him into the ambulance as Chimney followed and closed the door, Minho felt Athena’s hand on his shoulder. He glances back at her, the weight of the encounter heavy between them.
“You did good,” Athena said quietly. “You reached him when no one else could.”
Minho gave her a small nod, his chest tight. “I just . . . I saw too much of myself in him. I couldn’t let him feel like there was no one out there for him.”
Athena’s gaze softened. “No one should ever have to go through this. Even you. I’m sorry you had to.”
He swallowed, the emotion he’d kept at bay now threatening to overwhelm him, but he didn’t respond, not knowing what to say next.
As he stood there, watching the ambulance drive off.
—
Jisung was walking down the hallway, toward his team’s office, with a folder tucked under his arm and holding a bag of takeout. Humming softly as he entered, he noticed two of his members, both focused on their work at their desks, with a few empty chairs signaling the rest of the team was out in the field.
“Good afternoon, guys,” Jisung greeted as he passed, getting nods in return from his friends. He sighed contentedly as he took his seat at his desk before putting on his glasses, logged into his computer, and flipped open the folder to begin his work while bringing out his food.
However, as he started to eat his noodles, the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention. He glanced up while slurping his noodles as two figures paused at the doorway—a woman and a teenage boy. He quickly swallowed his mouthful of noodles, placing his food down and wiping his face as he observed the duo.
The moment Jisung’s eyes landed on the woman, his face lit up in recognition. “Athena! How are you? It’s been a while,” he exclaimed, removing his glasses, hanging them on his shirt’s collar, and quickly moving forward to shake her hand.
Athena, a sergeant with the LAPD and someone Jisung respected greatly, smiled back, though her expression was a touch more serious than usual. “Good to see you, too, Jisung. I’m doing well, thank you. But it wouldn’t have been a while if you and Minho had come to last week’s barbecue,” she replied, making Jisung rub his nape sheepishly. As she shook his hand firmly before gesturing toward the teen beside her. “But I’m actually here because I need your help with something.”
Jisung’s gaze flickered to the young male standing quietly beside Athena. The boy’s expression was closed off, his eyes were staring at Jisung, but there was something familiar in his posture—something that tugged at Jisung’s memory. The teen’s face looked nervous.
He cleared his throat, shifting his attention back to Athena. “Of course! What do you need?”
“This is Benjamin,” Athena introduced, gesturing to the teen, moving out of the way so she was behind the younger. “He’s been through quite an ordeal and is going through a rough time with his father. So maybe you could help us with this case.”
Jisung’s heart sank at Athena’s words and felt a surge of empathy for Benjamin. “I’m really sorry to hear that, Benjamin,” he said softly, trying to connect with the boy’s gaze. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be.”
Benjamin shifted slightly, looking down at the floor as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “It’s just . . . a lot,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible, before meeting Jisung’s gaze again. He relaxed slightly when met with Jisung’s warm, welcoming smile and admired how charming he looked. “Hey, um, detective . . . Are you Minho’s boyfriend?”
Jisung’s brows raised a bit. “Yeah, I am. Why?” he replied.
“It’s just Minho told me about you,” Benjamin responded.
Athena crossed her arms, glancing briefly at Benjamin before addressing Jisung with a sigh. “The 118 had responded to a 9-1-1 call and . . . Benjamin was involved in it. Minho talked and helped him to safety.” Jisung’s eyes softened as he looked at the boy, understanding dawning on him.
Then Jisung quickly offers both of them a seat near his desk while he clears out everything into one neat pile. As Jisung was getting settled, Benjamin couldn’t help but observe him. “You’re very handsome for a detective,” Benjamin blurted out, quickly covering his mouth and becoming shy.
Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing, the attention all on both Benjamin and Jisung. While Athena, arms crossed, snorted at Benjamin’s comment and the other team members laughed.
Jisung blinked, a surprised laugh escaping him. “Wow, thank you! That’s quite the compliment,” he said, his voice warm as he leaned back in his chair. His cheeks tinted slightly as he smiled, trying to downplay his own amusement. “But I love my job, even when it’s stressful at times.”
Benjamin, realizing the attention he’d drawn, shrank back into his seat, his face flushing with embarrassment. “I—uh, I didn’t mean to—” He stammered, clearly mortified.
Jisung gave Benjamin a reassuring smile, his voice calm and kind. “Hey, no worries! I always get questions from the public about why I’m a detective and not like a model or something,” he chuckled, hoping to ease the boy’s embarrassment.
Athena, still amused, patted Benjamin on the shoulder, her tone light as she teased, “Well, Benjamin, you’re not wrong. Jisung here has been breaking hearts since he joined the department.”
Jisung’s blush deepened as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not like I mean it or anything!” Giving Athena a playful glare as she laughed before turning back to Benjamin. “So—hey is it okay if I just call you Ben?”
Benjamin perked up slightly at the question, clearly appreciative of the casual approach and a bit shocked. “Yeah, that’s fine,” he replied with a shy smile, glancing down at his hands before looking back up at Jisung.
Jisung returned the smile, leaning forward a bit. “Great, Ben. So Minho told you about me, huh?” He tried to keep the tone light, hoping to make Ben feel at ease. “What did he say about me?”
Ben chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he looked at Jisung with a bit more comfort. “He said you very much resemble a quokka.”
Jisung’s laughter burst out at Ben’s unexpected response, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. “A quokka? That’s Minho for you.” He shook his head, still smiling, clearly entertained by the affectionate yet slightly teasing description. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. They’re pretty cute, right?”
Ben smiled back. “Yeah, I guess it’s fitting and I’ve read somewhere that quokkas are the happiest animal on earth,” he replied with a small chuckle, warming up more as he observed Jisung’s easygoing manner.
Jisung’s smile softened, visibly touched by the comparison. “Well, that’s a high standard to live up to,” he chuckled and then realized something. “But hey, you must be hungry. Here have some food, there’s plenty.”
Ben’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected offer, glancing at the takeout container before looking back at Jisung, as if unsure if he should accept. “Oh . . . I don’t want to take you lunch,” he mumbled, though the hopeful look in his eyes gave him away.
Jisung waved off the hesitation with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got enough to share. Besides, it’s more enjoyable with company.”
His last comment made his colleagues look at him offended, “Are we not enough?” one of them said.
Jisung’s face broke into a grin as he turned to his colleagues, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, hey! I didn’t mean it like that! You guys are more than enough company,” he laughed, his eyes twinkling with humor. “In plus, you guys are doing work.”
The team members laughed along as Jisung pouted, playfully rolling their eyes but entertained by the banter. Athena smirked, patting Ben’s shoulder encouragingly. “Go on, Ben. It’s okay, Jisung’s fine with it.”
Ben glanced over at Athena, who gave him a nod of encouragement. Finally, he gave in, reaching out and carefully taking the container from Jisung. “Thanks, Detective,” he said softly, a small smile forming as he took his first bite.
—
It’s been about an hour since the 118 had returned to the firehouse after the call. The sun wasn’t that bright, casting long shadows through the windows as it was already late afternoon, but Minho hadn’t noticed. His mind was still trapped in the aftermath of the rescue.
The memory of the teen on the bridge, teetering between life and death, clung to him. Even though they had saved him, the boy’s story had hit Minho hard—too close to home. The boy’s father had been abusing him for years and his mother had left him to start over. It was a story Minho knew all too well.
He sat on the couch, pretending to watch the TV, but in reality, he was staring through it, lost in a loop of old memories he wished he could forget. Now and then, one of his friends would glance his way, but no one approached. They had learned that Minho needed time to process after a difficult call. Especially after learning about his past recently, they wanted to wait for Minho to tell them when he was ready.
The silence was broken by Chimney’s voice as he walked up the stairs to the kitchen. “Minho! Someone’s here for you downstairs!”
Minho barely reacted, his mind still distant as he stood up. He descended the stairs slowly, his body moving on autopilot. But halfway down, his feet froze. His breath hitched in his throat and his entire body went rigid.
Standing in the middle of the firehouse was a figure from his past—his mother. The woman who had walked out of his life and left him to face his father’s abuse alone. The one who left to start a new family. Who made him feel abandoned and unloved.
The room fell as everyone around him sensed the shift in the air. Bobby, Hen, Buck, and Eddie all looked on in confusion, their faces reflecting the tension in the room.
“What are you doing here?” Minho’s voice cut through the stillness, sharp and filled with an anger they had never heard from him before.
His mother shifted uncomfortably, opening her mouth to speak. “Minho . . . I—”
“What? Are you here to brag about your daughter and son? Or how you married a successful doctor?” His voice was laced with venom, clenching his fists.
His mother flinched at his words, visibly taken aback by the bitterness in his voice. Her eyes flickered with a mix of regret and discomfort and she glanced away, seemingly gathering her thoughts.
“I . . . I didn’t come to upset you or to brag,” she began, her voice small. “I know I hurt you, Minho. I wanted to come and . . . and try to make things right.”
“Make things right?” He scoffed, his voice barely above a whisper but seething with years of suppressed pain. “Do you have any idea what you left me with? What Father put me through? And now, what—you just show up, hoping to talk like none of that happened?”
Around them, the firehouse was deathly quiet. Bobby stopped what he was doing in the kitchen, glancing at Chimney and Hen, silently gesturing for Chimney to call Jisung. None of them knew the details, but they could sense that this was a moment long overdue for Minho.
—
Jisung, who had his glasses on, was on the computer and talking with Ben and Athena about his situation. He was interrupted by his phone ringing. He glanced down at his phone, surprised to see Chimney’s name on the screen. Looking at the time, he knew that they were still on shift, so he was confused.
Excusing himself with a gentle smile, he turned away from Ben and Athena, bringing the phone to his ear.
“Chim? Everything alright?” He asked, keeping his voice low so as not to disrupt the room.
“Hey, Jisung,” Chimney’s voice came through, sounding a mix of urgency and concern. “Listen, I know you’re busy, but can you come down to the firehouse? We have a situation with Minho and I think you should be here.”
Jisung’s heart raced at the mention of Minho. “What happened? Is he okay?” He asked, already getting ready to leave.
“It’s complicated,” Chimney replied, his tone serious. “There’s someone that asked for him and I think he could really have you here right now.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there,” Jisung said. He felt a pang of anxiety as he ended the call, knowing Minho was gonna break anytime soon. Especially after their 9-1-1 call with Ben.
He glanced back at Ben and Athena, who were now watching him with concerned expressions. “Uh, I’m so sorry but I have an emergency and I have to go,” He said quickly, fidgeting with his phone. “It’s about Minho. I’ll explain later.”
Athena raised an eyebrow but nodded, her expression shifting to one understanding. “Of course, Jisung. We can continue this later.”
Jisung quickly gathered his things, his mind racing with worry for Minho, as he rushed out of the police station.
—
His mother took a step closer, though she seemed almost afraid to get too near. “Minho, please. I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, but I had no choice. Your father . . . he made it impossible. I had to leave for my own sake. I was terrified.”
Minho’s fist tightened, knuckles white. He wanted to scream, to tell her that she did have a choice—to fight for him, to take him with her, to not leave him behind. But his throat felt choked with words that wouldn’t come out, emotions pressing too heavily against his chest.
“What about me?” He finally managed, his voice raw. “You don’t get to stay that. You left me there. I was a kid. You knew what he was like and you left me.”
Tears filled her eyes, but Minho didn’t soften. Instead, he turned away, each step he took feeling like it was dragging him deeper into memories he’d tried to leave behind.
“Please, Minho. Let me—” She said, her voice quivering.
“Explain? Save it,” Minho interrupted, his voice thick with restrained anger. “You think just showing up here erases what you did? You think one conversation is going to make me forget everything he put me through because you walked away.”
His mother’s eyes were filled with tears, but Minho remained stone-faced, staring down, unflinching. He couldn’t let her see how much this was ripping him apart inside.
“Minho . . .” Her voice was a desperate plea, but he shook his head, feeling the tension mount with every passing second.
“Why,” he said. “After over ten years, you decided to show up back in my life when you’re already living the perfect life. How’d you even find me?”
Minho’s voice was a harsh whisper, filled with betrayal and hurt, and it seemed to echo off the walls of the firehouse. His mother took another hesitant step forward, reaching the stairs. Her hands trembling as if she was unsure whether to reach out or keep her distance.
“I see you on the news and found you through some old friends,” she admitted, her voice shaky. “I never wanted to hurt you, Minho. I just—I was scared.”
“Scared?” Minho scoffed, his anger flaring again. “You think I wasn’t scared? I had to live with that monster, who I call a Father, every single day! You left me to deal with him alone!”
“Please understand,” she pleased, her tears spilling over now. “It was different for me. I didn’t know how to fight him. I thought if I could just get away, I could start over and—”
“Start over?” Minho interrupted, his voice rising. “You think you can just erase the past? Trust me, it’s not. I also spent years wondering why you didn’t love me enough to stay. Do you how that felt? How alone I was? I thought love was a cruel thing to have.”
His mother’s face crumpled, and for a brief moment, Minho almost felt sympathy. But it was quickly buried beneath layers of resentment and unresolved pain. He couldn’t let her in—not now, not after everything.
He never noticed the way his chest tightened and his breathing became quick. His heart pounded in his chest, the anger and hurt swirling into a tempest he struggled to contain. He didn’t want to feel sympathy; he wanted to lash out, to make her understand the depth of his pain. Her presence brought back memories he had fought so hard to suppress and he could feel the walls he’s built around those memories starting to crack.
His mother opened her mouth to speak, but he couldn’t hear her. His mind was spinning, his chest tightening as panic surged within him. The walls of the firehouse seemed to close in around him, his breathing becoming shallow and rapid. He couldn’t escape the memories flooding back—the yelling, the nights of terror, the pain.
Minho’s legs buckled and he gripped the railing for support as his vision blurred. The panic attack hit him full force, his body trembling, his heart racing out of control.
“Minho?” Buck’s concerned voice reached him, but Minho couldn’t respond. He was too far gone, trapped in the spiral of his own fear.
At the same time, Jisung had arrived, breathless and worried. As soon as he stepped into the firehouse, he spotted Minho sitting at the top of the stairs, his face pale and his breathing shallow. He was visibly trembling, his hands clutching his knees, and his heart dropped at the sight.
He noticed Minho’s mother standing there with a panicked expression. Quickly he moved towards her and placed a gentled hand on her shoulder, making her flinch slightly out of surprise. “Mrs. Jung, I think it’s best if you leave.”
Without another second thought, Jisung rushed to Minho’s side, kneeling beside him. He didn’t need to ask what had triggered this—he knew Minho’s history, the trauma that still lingered beneath the surface.
“Minho, I’m here. It’s me, Jisung, look at me,” he urged gently, his voice calm and steady.
Minho struggled to focus, his breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. Jisung reached out, placing a hand on Minho’s back, rubbing small circles to help ground him. “You’re safe here. I’m right next to you. Just breathe with me, okay?”
The warmth of Jisung’s hand anchored him slightly, but the memories clawed at him, relentless in their assault. “I—I can’t,” Minho gasped, his voice trembling as he fought against the waves of panic. “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. You’ve done it before,” Jisung insisted, his tone soothing yet firm. “Focus on my voice and follow my breathing,” with his free hand, he gently takes one of Minho’s hands and places it over his chest. “Inhale slowly through your nose . . . hold it . . . and now exhale through your mouth. Just like that.”
Minho tried to follow Jisung’s instructions, but each breath felt like a mountain to climb. He could hear the distant echoes of his past—the arguments, the chaos, the fear—but his boyfriend’s voice cut through the haze like a beacon.
“Good, Min. Keep going. You’re doing great.” Jisung could feel Minho’s body tremble beneath his touch, the tension still coiling tightly within him. “Just a little more. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you here.”
As Minho concentrated on the rhythm of his breathing, he could feel the edges of the panic slowly dulling. Jisung’s presence was a lifeline, a reminder that he wasn’t alone in this moment. The tremors in his hands began to subside as he focused on the other’s voice, each breath becoming a little steadier.
“You’re okay, Min,” the dark brown-haired male encouraged, not leaving his side, his voice unwavering. “Just a few more breaths. You’re strong and you can face this.”
The warm gentle touches from Jisung, the genuine concern in his voice, and the undeniable bond they shared began to seep through Minho’s walls. Bit by bit, the memories started to fade, and he clung to the reassurance that Jisung offered.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Minho managed to inhale deeply and release a shuddering breath. The panic dissipated, replaced by a profound exhaustion that weighed heavily on him. He leaned in Jisung’s arms, finding solace in his presence.
“There you go,” Jisung murmured, relief flooding his voice. “You did it. I’m so proud of you.”
That’s when Minho started to tear up and soft sounds of sniffling could be heard, quietly crying against his boyfriend’s chest. Jisung looked up and noticed that Minho’s mother had left quietly. Then he started caressing the raven’s head and gave a gentle kiss on the forehead.
—
Now, Minho was resting on the couch while Jisung was grabbing water for him. Then the bell blared through the firehouse, Minho tensed, instinctively moving to stand, but Bobby’s firm hand landed on his shoulder, keeping him rooted to the couch.
“Stay put, Minho,” Bobby said with a tone that left no room for argument. “You’ve been through enough for today. Rest.”
Reluctantly, Minho sank back, feeling the exhaustion settle deeper into his bones. He heard the others rushing out, heavy boots and equipment fading into the distance. Soon, the station was quiet, save for the faint talking of the TV.
As the sounds of the others faded and the firehouse grew still, Minho allowed himself to relax, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. The adrenaline had drained from his body, leaving him feeling as though every ounce of energy had been pulled away. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the steady rhythm of his breaths, just as Jisung had guided him earlier.
After a moment, he felt the weight of the couch dip beside him. Jisung had returned with a cold bottle of water, unscrewing the cap before gently pressing it into Minho’s hand.
“Here,” Jisung said softly. “Drink a little.”
Minho took the bottle, his fingers brushing against the other’s hand as he lifted it to his lips. The cool water soothed his dry throat, grounding him just a bit more. When he finished, he set the bottle aside, leaning his head back against the couch, his gaze drifting toward Jisung.
“Do you . . . want to talk about it?” Jisung asked softly, as if offering, not demanding.
Minho hesitated, glancing at Jisung, who was watching him with those patient, understanding eyes. “I don’t know where to start,” he finally admitted, voice still hoarse. “It’s just I thought if I locked away those bad memories and emotions . . . I—I could avoid them and not deal with it anymore . . . but that didn’t work.”
Jisung nodded, his gaze gentle as he listened. “It’s okay, Min. Sometimes, pushing things away feels like the easiest option. But it doesn’t make them disappear.” He shifted closer, his hand resting reassuringly on Minho’s knee. “You don’t have to dive into everything all at once. You can take it piece by piece—just say what’s on your mind, if you’re ready.”
Minho took a shaky breath, his eyes drifting toward his lap. “I just . . .” His voice wavered and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue. “I thought I could forget her, forget him—forget all of it. I wanted to move on, to pretend that none mattered. But seeing her . . . it just brought everything back and I felt that fear and anger like it was everything.”
Jisung squeezed his knee gently, staying quietly so Minho could keep going if he wanted.
“I don’t want to be stuck like this,” Minho admitted, voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t want to keep feeling like I have to bury everything. I’m tired, Sungie.”
Jisung felt his heart ache for Minho, understanding the weight of what he was carrying. “I’m here, Min, whenever you’re ready to let it out. And remember, you’re allowed to feel everything—anger, sadness, hurt. It doesn’t make you weak.”
Minho managed a small, tired smile, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
“Thank you,” he murmured, the words barely a whisper, but Jisung heard them clearly. There was a gratitude there, laced with vulnerability, and Jisung’s heart ached with a mixture of sadness and relief.
“I love you so much, Sungie. I wish I had the words to tell you how grateful and lucky I am to have you,” he continued. “I can’t imagine myself living without you. If you weren’t, I don’t think I would have been able to reach this far and be who I am today.”
Jisung’s gaze softened, his heart swelling at Minho’s words. He reached out, intertwining their fingers as he replied, “You don’t have to say anything, Min. I love you so much, too. Just being here with you is all I need.” His thumb traced a gentle circle on Minho’s hand, grounding him in the moment. “You’re stronger than you think and I’m just grateful I get to be by your side through all of this.”
Minho’s chest tightened, but this time, it wasn’t from fear or anger. It was a deep, warm feeling of being understood and seen, even after everything. He gave his boyfriend’s hand a soft squeeze, his gaze filled with unspoken affection and relief. In Jisung’s presence, the wounds of the past didn’t seem so overwhelming.
As the sun slowly set through the windows of the fire station, Minho felt something shift within him. It wasn’t complete healing, not yet—but he felt the faintest hope, like a spark in the darkness, knowing he had someone who loved enough to weather the storm by his side.
End.