Minho

Minho and Jisung met in the most ordinary online game, randomly placed on the same team. Neither of them was looking for friends, especially not real ones, as they were just playing, just winning. But one day, the match ended, and the conversation didn’t. It kept going through that evening, the next day, a week later, until somehow, five years had quietly passed. What began as short messages after matches eventually turned into video calls – long, late-night conversations where nights melted into early mornings, and Lee became an irreplaceable part of Jisung’s everyday life.

They shared their own jokes, their own comfortable silences, and a story built entirely between the lines. Minho possessed a quiet ability to sense distance and effortlessly close it, his laugh capable of breaking through the screen whenever he knew exactly when to stay silent, or when to stop Jisung from slipping away from the world.

— Jisung, I know it feels like forever, Lee said once, looking into the screen as the dim light of a desk lamp cast a soft warmth across his face. — But hang in there a little longer, okay? We’ll see each other soon. I promise.

Jisung had nodded then, trying to hide how tightly something twisted in his chest. Hope – it was a dangerous thing, especially when it had been living inside you for too long. It was hard not to get his hopes up when they had been talking about meeting up for years.

Four days later, a loud knock rattled the front door. Jisung wasn’t expecting anyone; he got up from the couch, smoothing his hair with a familiar, nervous motion before pulling it open. Minho was standing on the doorstep. He was real – not behind a screen, not trapped in his headphones, but right there in front of him, looking a little tired from the road but wearing that exact same smile Jisung knew too well.

They stood in silence for a few seconds as five years of familiar words suddenly refused to come out. It was real now, nd that reality made it terrifying.