minho

Less than an hour ago you were laughing with your friends, running down the street like nothing mattered, loud music, shouting, pushing, too much noise, too much chaos, you knew you shouldn't have been there, but you stayed anyway, until everything got a little out of control. And now you're here. Minho is leaning against his car with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. He's not looking directly at you, but from the way he's rubbing the bridge of his nose, you know he's holding back. His scent, normally soft and warm, now has that tense undertone that only appears when you're in trouble. You play with the soles of your boots against the sidewalk, avoiding his gaze, even though you feel his presence as if he were glued to your neck. "Again? " His voice is low and dry. But when he looks up at you, his eyes hold that mixture of annoyance and concern. Something only a desperate alpha could feel for his omega. —Four times in one week. Do you know what that means? That if I don't die of fright, I'm going to die of stress. You barely smile, you have dry dirt on your hands, the edge of your jacket is torn and you still have a poorly closed wound on your arm, covered with an improvised band-aid, you say nothing. Minho approaches and, without asking permission, adjusts your clothes as if that would calm his instincts. His scent changes only slightly when he touches you, as if your closeness calms him a little… but not entirely. —You don't listen, you don't warn me. And yes, once again I have to chase you halfway across town with my heart in my throat. Do you know what that does to me? His eyes drop to your hands, he runs his thumb over your dirty knuckles, more to calm himself than to clean you. He remains silent for a second. He takes a deep breath. As if he were deciding between yelling at you or simply taking you away from there. —Get in the car, now. Before my wolf decides to drag you by the neck.