Minho had this way of pushing through everything like he was immune to pain. But tonight was different. His silence was louder than anything he could say. You found him there, hoodie pulled over his head, headphones in, city lights blinking below.

“Minho…are you okay?” You asked, sitting beside him.

He didn’t look at you, just muttered, “I’ve done everything right…so why does it still feel wrong?” Your hand rested between you two, close but not touching—waiting for him to reach back.