#flarecured

One day after track he’s at his locker. Usually, Thomas and Newt stay for his practices. Come with him  to his locker, make googly eyes at each other while he packs his bag for the night. But the hall is quiet, it’s too fucking quiet, so he punches a locker. Hard. And it hurts. He swears - what a colourful vocabulary, god - and then there’s a gasp. He whirls around there’s a pixie of a girl standing there. It’s funny, really, because she’s tiny but based on the way she carries herself you’d think she’s seven feet tall.

Her name is Brenda. Minho’s been interested (read: totally crushing on, bordering on in love with) for years now. She’s quick-witted, daring, and smart as hell. and she hasn’t once given Minho the time of day. Sass drips off of her, a smirk and an eye roll a staple in reply to Minho’s many (failed) advances. Each rejection gives him something new to love about her.

And she was right there. Minho shakes out his fist, pain shooting from his knuckles all the way up his arm. His eyes shoot from her to the ground, embarrassed. But there was something in her eyes Minho had never seen before, at least not on her. Concern. Worry. Sadness? He wasn’t sure. He touches his knuckles gingerly and winces, turning back to his locker. Her footsteps approach slowly, then her voice, carrying none of the usual assertiveness.

“Are you okay?”

Minho turns back to her then, not sure if she was joking. It was the most compassion he’d ever heard her speak with in his entire life. She stares at his hand, already red and swelling. She speaks up again. “Can I see?”

Minho hesitates then extends his hand towards her. He winces when she touches it, a soft sorry falling from her lips in response almost automatically. She turns his hand over, slowly uncurling each of his fingers, one by one. Another word, a whisper, jumps off her tongue as her gaze moves to Minho’s face.

“Why-” she stops her question short when Minho’s entire body tenses. “Oh.”

Minho nearly rips his hand from her grip. “Sorry.” he mutters, shoving books into his bag. Brenda just stands there and Minho slams his locker shut, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. He starts toward the end of the hall, brushing right past Brenda.

“Min-”

He spins on his heel. “Why do you care?”

“What?” Brenda’s obviously taken aback, eyebrows knitted together and lips turned down.

“Why do you care, huh? You didn’t even know him.”

Her face drops. She lets out a tiny sigh and swallows. “I know. I-” she paused. “I know.”

Minho nods, biting his lip. He feels his eyes starting to burn with tears and closes them, hard. When he opens them, dry, Brenda’s right there, holding his hand. Or, more accurately, examining it. Minho starts to pull away “Come on, just-”

“Stop.” Brenda says, the authority in her voice more than familiar. Minho stops. “Just let me look at it.”

Minho takes a deep breath and puts down his bag. It hurts. Brenda is studying his hand carefully, her soft, tiny fingers pulling at it gently, testing the joints. Despite her violent tendencies, her touch is light and painless. A pleasant surprise. Minho speaks. “You know, you really don’t have to-”

“It’s probably fine,” she says, talking over Minho with the same careless smirk he’s gotten so accustomed to. Something flutters in his chest. “Don’t think it’s broken. Probably just bruised. If anything it’s a minor sprain. You’ll be fine.” she says, the last three words seeming to carry more weight. She looks at minho, right in the eyes. Her gaze is surprisingly kind.

“Thanks.” he manages to get out, not used to any kind of, well, warmth from Brenda. It’s usually all fast-paced back and forth, ending with a sharp insult directed at Minho himself and a laugh from Thomas or Newt. But now she stares at him through her dark eyelashes, looking almost shy. It’s so strange that Minho almost thinks that he’s starting to hallucinate, too. Then brenda rolls her eyes and any coyness left in her expression vanishes instantly.

“C’mon, get your shit.” she says, and Minho smiles. Brenda takes a step back, half-laughing and - biting her lip? God, Minho thinks, she is so fucking hot. He reaches down for his backpack, securing both straps over his shoulders. He falls into step with brenda, the two of them walking down the hall in comfortable silence.

“Make sure to put ice on that when you get home.” Brenda says once they’re almost to the big set of glass doors. “And don’t go punching anything else.” she adds dryly. Minho can hear the smirk in her voice.

“No promises.” he says, winking down at Brenda. She makes a face like she’s going to throw up. “But, you know, I could give you hourly updates, if you wanted. Let you know how it’s going, if I have to go to the emergency room or anything like that.”

“Oh, could you?” her voice is dripping with sarcasm.

Minho stretches his arms up in the air, inhaling deeply. “Yeah, sure. If you gave me your number, I could text you…” he trails off, grinning down at Brenda.

She just rolls her eyes.

But then, one second later, she turns and presses a kiss to Minho’s cheek, lips like lightning - explosive, electric - there one second and gone the next.