Minho's day had been like every other lately: full of tightly managed schedules, endless rehearsals, and a gnawing sense of inadequacy. But tonight, when he finally settled into the quiet of his dorm room, his phone buzzed with notifications.
Curiosity got the better of him. Opening the app, he found a flood of comments about himself.
The words stung like a slap to the face:
"He's so cold. Why is he even in the group?""Minho's thighs are huge—does he even care about his appearance?""He's too much of a coward to show off his abs because of that ugly scar.""His jokes aren't funny, just mean. Poor Hyunjin must feel so disrespected.""Main dancer? Please. The others carry him."
Minho scrolled through them, his chest tightening with every cruel sentence. By the time he read "The group would be better off without him," his breath came in short, shallow bursts. He threw his phone onto the bed, burying his face in his hands.
The next day, during their concert, Minho felt the weight of those words bearing down on him. As the lights dimmed for their performance, his heart raced uncontrollably.
On stage, he stumbled over his choreography, his movements jerky and out of sync. He could feel the audience's eyes on him, judging. His breaths became uneven, his vision blurry.
A hand grabbed his wrist, steadying him. It was Jisung.
"Hyung, are you okay?" Jisung whispered, concern etched into his face.
Minho nodded weakly, forcing himself to keep going. But the moment the performance ended, he fled backstage, collapsing onto a chair.
"Minho, talk to me," Jisung said, crouching in front of him.
"I... I can't," Minho managed to choke out. "I can't do this anymore."
The fan meet was worse.
Minho noticed how some fans avoided his table altogether. Those who approached him either looked uncomfortable or offered backhanded comments:
"You should try being nicer to the members.""We'd like you more if you smiled more.""Your jokes aren't cute, you know. They're just mean."
Each word cut deeper than the last. Minho forced a smile, but by the end of the event, his façade had crumbled.
He retreated to a secluded corner, trembling as tears slid down his cheeks.
Jisung found him there, knees drawn to his chest, his face buried in his arms.
"Minho," Jisung said softly, kneeling beside him.
"Go away," Minho muttered, his voice muffled.
"No," Jisung said firmly. "Not until you tell me what's going on."
Minho lifted his head, his face tear-streaked. "They're right, Jisung. I'm useless. I'm mean. I'm ruining everything."
Jisung's heart broke at the sight of him. He reached out, gently brushing Minho's hair from his face. "Who told you that?"
"Everyone," Minho whispered, his voice cracking. "The fans. The comments. Maybe even the members. They think I don't belong here."
Jisung shook his head. "That's not true. None of that is true."
