𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫? - 𝐓𝐌𝐑 𝐀𝐔, 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨

026 - first walk

My heart is pounding louder than my footsteps as I walk next to Minho. He invited me on a night walk to the beach, and I accepted. So here we are. The only sounds are the crunch of leaves under our feet and the occasional whisper of wind. The air is cool, almost refreshing after the warmth of the day, and I wrap my arms around myself, the chill seeping into my skin. Minho is quiet, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his gaze fixed ahead.

What's wrong?

"So," I say, my voice too loud in the silence. "What's going on with you?"

Minho tenses slightly, and he doesn't respond right away. His jaw clenches, and I can see the stiffness in his body as we walk.

I wait, biting my lip, hoping he'll open up.

Finally, he sighs. "Sorry," he mutters, still not looking at me. "I've just got a lot on my mind."

I frown, confused. "Like what? I don't want to be nosy, but you know that you can open up to me, right?"

He stops suddenly, and I almost trip, coming to an awkward halt beside him. Minho scratches the back of his neck—a usual gesture of his—still not meeting my eyes, and for the first time in a long time, I see uncertainty in him. Earlier he was so confident, so sure of himself. But right now, it's like he's shrinking into himself.

"Whitley, there's something I haven't told you," he says, his voice low, hesitant.

He used my full name. What is this about?

I take a step closer, trying to read his expression, but his face is shadowed in the dim light. "What is it?"

Minho exhales deeply, like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. "I used to have depression," he says quietly.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I'm speechless. Minho? The guy who's always smiling, always cracking jokes? The guy who everyone looks up to? I never would have thought... My heart aches for him, but I don't know what to say.

He starts walking again, slower this time, and I follow beside him. "It was a couple of years ago," he says, his eyes averted and fixed on the ground. "I guess it started when I was about fourteen. I didn't even realise it at first. I just thought I was tired all the time, or maybe stressed about school or something. But it kept getting worse. I stopped caring about how I felt each day, I stopped caring about staying healthy. I stopped caring about myself. And one day I was having a horrible day and I..."

"You only have to tell me if you want to," I remind him.

"I know." He nods, taking a deep breath before continuing. "One day I was having the worst day, and I took a blade." Finally, he meets my eye. "And I cut myself. Then, it became a natural routine for me. I became addicted to it."

I listen, nodding as my heart breaks with each and every word. I can't imagine Minho like that—isolated, lost in his own head. He's always been the life of the group, the one who keeps things light and fun. The thought of him suffering in silence, back when no one knew. It's awful to even imagine, let alone be the person suffering.

Then he says something that completely shatters my heart. "And I had a relapse."

Tears form in my eyes. "When?" I manage to choke out, though my voice is quiet.

He looks down, as if he's embarrassed. "Three days ago. When I found out you were stabbed and weren't waking up."

He glances up, and he looks at me with glassy eyes, as if he could break any moment.

"Oh, Minho." I pull him into a tight hug, and I feel his shoulder start to shake. I comfort him as tears teak from his eyes and wet my shirt, though I don't even care. All I care about is knowing if he's okay.

"I tried to hide how I was feeling," he explains, his sobs muffled into my clothes. "And when you woke up everything went away. Until I saw my wrist again tonight."

Please, no.

"And I did it again," he continues, voice breaking. "I felt bad about everything that happened. And I snuck into the kitchen. I grabbed a knife and started to make cuts."

I pull away softly. "Do you mind if I take a look?"

He nods, giving me permission, so I gently take his wrists in my hands. My heart tightens as I look at what he's done to himself. I don't blame him—how could I?—but it still breaks something inside me.

"Are you okay?" I ask, looking back up at him.

"Yeah," he says, though he forces a smile. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise," I tell him, slowly lowering his wrists back to his side. "It's not your fault. Have you talked to anyone about it?"

He shakes his head. "You're the first person I've told.

I swallow. "Alright. When we get back home would you like me to try and find you a therapist? Or a councillor that you can talk to?"

He hesitates before nodding.

"Okay." I give him the best smile I can. "Do you want to talk about this more, or do you want to talk about something else?"

"Something else please," he requests.

I nod. "Alright. But first, I want you to know that you aren't weak. At all. Okay?"

This time, he's the one to nod. "Okay."

I clear my throat softly, aiming to switch the conversation to something lighter. "So, Minho, any embarrassing stories I should know about?"

He blinks, clearly taken aback by the random question. "Embarrassing stories?" He lets out a soft laugh, relaxing a little. "I guess I've got a few from a couple years back."

I raise an eyebrow, getting intrigued. "Like what?"

Minho smiles, more genuine now. "Well, there was this time I tried to impress a girl at my school by attempting to skateboard. It did not go well."

I chuckle, grateful for the shift in mood. "Oh, I need more details."

He continues to tell me the story, and I'm glad he seems passionate about the memory, but I can't stop thinking about his earlier confession. He did that to himself?

Why do it if you're perfect?

He's perfect.

(A/N)
Sorry if it seems like I'm romatising it, I promise I'm not trying to
I'm trying to make this realistic, but as I'm reading it now I hate it
But it's needed for the plot so
yeah.
LMK how you're liking it so far!
- Ivy <3