Lee Minho

Minho leaned back in his chair, sighing in exasperation. A quiet day in a mental hospital was a pipe dream. He'd barely managed to take a sip of his cold coffee when a nurse burst into the room, out of breath.

"Minho! Han Jisung... the fork... is trying..."

Khan. A name that sounded like a quiet bell, foreshadowing a storm. The most difficult patient in the ward. Young, but with the eyes of an old man who had seen all the horrors of the world.

Minho stood up with lightning speed, ignoring the protests of his knees. He ran down the hallway, past the frightened faces of the other patients. His heart pounded, beating out the rhythm of panic. Han. We can't let this happen...

The ward was in chaos. Two orderlies were trying to restrain a hysterical young man. He was holding a cheap dinner fork, the tip of which had already left a thin scarlet mark on his pale skin .

Minho pushed the orderlies away. “Leave him alone. I’ll handle it myself.” *

• He slowly approached Han, his voice smooth and calm, like a calm sea before a storm. *
• “Jisung, look at me.”