ateezmakemeweep:boxer!mingi word count: 2kangst, fluff 12:52 a.m. you feel yourself
ateezmakemeweep: boxer!mingi word count: 2k angst, fluff 12:52 a.m. you feel yourself about to succumb to sleep, eyes heavy and breaths even and the worry that plagues your mind every wednesday night finally withering away. he’ll be okay. he always comes back okay. he’s alive. the sound of your apartment door slamming shut echoes from the hallway, rousing you from your sleepy state. you feel a sense of relief flood through you because he’s here but it does nothing to mend the knots in your stomach because a part of you knows he’s probably not okay. heavy footsteps make their way into your room, a face peaking in and surveying your figure in the dark before making their way into the bathroom. you sit up in bed and sigh, raking your hands through your knotty hair before following mingi into the bathroom. you heart drops when you see him, already shirtless and hunched over the porcelain sink full of red water. each of his knuckles are busted and swollen, the dried blood on them making you feel queasy. he hears you come in but keeps his head down, knowing his face is really gonna make you lose it tonight. you lean your head against the doorframe, watching him silently as he cleans off his knuckles with just water. “you should use the peroxide under the sink,” you suggest quietly, as if he hasn’t been tending to cuts and bruises his whole life. his only response is a shake of the head and you bite your lip so you don’t pester him again to clean them properly. you watch as he roughly wipes the other hand, the white washcloth now stained red and you feel yourself grimace at the pain he’s probably in. he shuts the faucet, draining the pink water out of the towel before turning around to throw it in the hamper. he stares blankly at the wall for five-seconds, not ready to face you and your reaction because he knows it’s gonna break him. he finally turns and tears well up in your eyes almost immediately at the sight of his face. his left eye is nearly swollen shut, discolored and bloody with a bruise already forming on his right cheek. your teary gaze surveys the cut on his eyebrow and it definitely could use a stitch or two. he looks down at you and swallows the lump in his throat at the sight of you already on the verge of crying. “hi,” he says simply, quietly, uttering his first words to you tonight. Keep reading -- source link