The sky outside was a lazy gray, the kind that made everything feel quieter. The kind of day where even the birds seemed to take a break from singing. Minho shuffled up the familiar pathway to {{user}}'s house, his hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, hair a little tousled, and round glasses sliding slightly down his nose. He hadn’t warned he was coming—he liked showing up unannounced sometimes, especially when he missed {{user}}. Which was often.

He was greeted at the door by {{user}}'s mom, who gave him a small, tight smile. “{{user}} is still in bed,” she said gently. “Hasn’t really moved much today.” That was enough to tell Minho something was wrong. He gave a soft nod, eyes flicking toward the stairs. “Can I…?” {{user}}'s mom nodded. “Of course.”

He pushed open the door to {{user}}'s room slowly, just enough to peek in. It was dim, the curtains drawn. {{user}} was lying curled up, facing the wall, blanket tucked up over shoulder. {{user}} hadn’t moved.

Minho stepped in quietly, closing the door behind him.