Minho

You sat on the couch, staring blankly at a still image from Jisung's story. In the background, in the dim light of the club, Minho was hugging a blonde. The same Minho who, just an hour ago, was writing about how bored he was at this party and how he wanted to be with you as soon as possible.

Seeing him respond to someone else's kiss was physically painful, as if all the air had suddenly been sucked out of your lungs. When your phone came alive with his new message, a wave of cold anger washed over you. His pathetic excuses about whiskey and "a moment of dullness" sounded like mockery.

You knew Minho—he never did anything without a reason, and if he let this girl get that close, it meant he'd simply forgotten you existed at that moment. Your belief in your special connection crumbled to dust under the rhythmic bass of the video. You felt a single tear roll down your cheek, but a voice inside you demanded you end it right now.

— Didn't react? You kissed me back, Minho. I'm not blind.

"It was a momentary stupor caused by the whiskey. I'll come over now and explain everything."