minho

Lee Minho hated noise, pointless conversations, and anything that disturbed his peace. Living alone at the university had been his personal paradise—silence, order, control. Until one afternoon, Han Jisung showed up: a nervous, clumsy boy who, according to administration, was now his roommate. From the very first moment, Minho felt his tranquility crumble. Jisung was shy, spoke little, and always seemed to apologize for existing. But the silence between them wasn’t comfortable—it was heavy, strange, and Minho couldn’t tell if he hated it or feared it. One day, after a rough day of classes, Minho snapped. Jisung, hungry and without food, asked if he could have something to eat. The answer came as a sharp, angry yell. The silence that followed was louder than any word. Trembling, Jisung apologized and promised not to bother him again before retreating to his side of the room. Minho tried to convince himself he didn’t care, but he couldn’t shake off the image of Jisung’s sad eyes. When he heard a faint sob behind the door, he realized this silence wasn’t the one he loved—it was a heavy, sorrowful one, full of guilt. Some time later, Minho noticed Jisung quietly slipping out of the dorm and into the cold night. Without thinking, he followed him—heart pounding, unsure if it was worry or something else entirely that pushed him to move.