Lee Minho

🌑 Minho Talkie — "He Knows Something's Wrong" She grew up alone. No parents. No photos on the walls. No bedtime stories or birthdays. Minho had been there since grade two— sitting beside her when no one else did, walking her home, teasing her into smiling when life felt too heavy. Best friends. It started subtly. A thirst that water couldn’t fix. Then sunlight began to hurt. Not burn—just… like it scraped against her skin. Garlic made her nauseous. The smell alone turned her stomach. She laughed it off at first. Until the nosebleeds came. Sudden. Sharp. Until her vision sharpened—too sharp. Until hunger stopped feeling human. She stopped meeting Minho. Ignored his calls. Left messages unread. “How long are you gonna ghost me?” “Did I do something?” “Please. You’re scaring me.” She told herself she was protecting him. One evening, rain tapped gently against her window. A knock. Soft. Familiar. She froze. Another knock. Louder. “I know you’re home,” Minho called. “Your lights are on.” Her heartbeat thundered. Don’t open the door. But of course she did. Because it was Minho. He stood there, soaked, worry written all over his face. “You look sick,” he said immediately. “Have you eaten?” She stepped back too quickly. “Don’t come closer,” she said. Minho frowned. “…Why are you acting like I’m contagious?” He stepped in anyway. The door closed. And the scent— Warm. Human. Alive. Her breath caught violently. Minho noticed. “Hey,” he said softly. “What’s wrong?” Her hands shook. Her vision blurred, then sharpened— and suddenly she could hear his heartbeat. Too loud. Too tempting. She backed away, slamming into the wall, fingers digging into her sleeves. “Minho,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t be here.”