Wooyoung's life is abruptly transformed when a devastating car accident, caused by his reckless ex-boyfriend driving under the influence, leaves him with severe spinal injuries. The accident not only confines him to a wheelchair but also shatters hi...
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Minho's preparation for the party was subdued, a stark contrast to his usually vibrant demeanor on such occasions. I watched him silently, noting the tension in his movements and the furrow of his brow. It was clear that the visit to his parents had unearthed issues he'd long tried to keep buried, and the revelation of his ongoing struggles with anger management and therapy sessions was something I was still processing. It pained me to realize that despite our closeness, there were aspects of his life he hadn't felt able to share.
I set my coffee cup down with a soft clink against the table, breaking the quiet of the morning. The atmosphere was charged, the air between us heavy with unspoken thoughts and lingering tension from the previous day. The party we were headed to—a celebration of a close friend's birthday and upcoming wedding—promised to be a lively affair, stretching late into the night. Under normal circumstances, it would be a welcome escape, a night of revelry and fun. But given Minho's current state, I was apprehensive. The combination of a high-energy event and Minho's simmering anger seemed like a recipe for trouble, especially since we hadn't spoken much since our return from his parents' house.
His avoidance of any real conversation about what had transpired, and his evident resentment toward how his parents had reacted—potentially even toward me for inadvertently spotlighting his life choices—made the situation more delicate. I could sense that part of him might blame me for his parents' pointed comments and expectations. Despite his financial independence, evidenced by his unchecked spending on parties and alcohol, his lack of professional direction seemed to be a growing point of contention, one that his parents had not hesitated to criticize.
"Are you ready?" I asked softly, breaking the silence. I hoped to gauge his mood, to find an opening to discuss our situation and perhaps ease some of the tension before we plunged into the social pressures of the party.
He nodded flatly, his response devoid of the usual warmth or enthusiasm he showed for such events. "Yeah, I'm ready," he said, his voice low and somewhat distant.
I watched him for a moment longer, my concern deepening. "Minho, are we okay?" I ventured cautiously, stepping closer. "I mean, after yesterday, and with everything that's going on..."
He paused, his expression hard to read as he looked at me. There was a brief flicker of something—frustration, pain, perhaps a hint of regret—before he managed a strained smile. "We're fine," he assured, though the assurance did little to convince either of us. "Let's just go and have a good time tonight, okay?"
I nodded, though his words did little to ease my worry. The unresolved issues hung like a shadow over us, a reminder that things were far from fine. As we left for the party, I resolved to keep a close watch on him throughout the night, ready to step in if his anger or the alcohol seemed likely to get the better of him. Tonight needed to be about celebration, not conflict, but the undercurrents of our personal struggles threatened to surface at any moment.
