𝑴𝒊𝒏-𝒆 || Min Ho x Reader

✧˖° 2 | 05

Min Ho's POV
It wasn't love. At least, that's what I told myself. Over and over, like if I said it enough times, I'd believe it. The letter had been out of frustration— an accident; an instance where I decided to use words. Words that I never intended to be seen by anyone else's eyes. At least, not in the near future.

It had simply been a fleeting moment of doubt; an attempt to express the guilt clawing at my chest in words. Like Kitty said: when in doubt, write it out. Which hadn't worked all that well for her (but oh well).

__ was pacing in front of me, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "You know, I thought I could handle it. I really did." she ranted to herself. "I thought, 'it'll pass!' That's the thought of a naive child.  It's been weeks! And it's only getting worse."

I swallowed, finding it hard to speak all of a sudden. "It's just the haters. It doesn't change anything," I assured, though more to myself than her.

"It doesn't change anything?" She repeated, letting out a sharp breath. "No, Min Ho, every time I open my phone, there's another article or tagged post with another rumor or accusation—a professional gold digger, a manipulator, a disgrace—wow, can you believe I'm so many things? And here I thought I was an actor." I could see angry tears pooling in her eyes. "Why is this happening to me?"

The words 'it'll be okay' felt empty on my lips. 

"You shouldn't have to deal with this," I sighed, feeling that guilt gnaw away at more of my heart.

"No," she agreed bitterly. "I shouldn't."

She momentarily covered her face with her hands, before running her hands messily through her hair. I went to stand next to her, enveloping her in a hug. "I'm sorry," I said. "I should've been more careful."

But __ wasn't forgiving. She was pissed. "Do you know what they're saying now?" she snapped, pushing me away. "That my entire career is over, that I'll never be cast in the film industry, and that I'll be living on the streets! I'm never getting booked again!"

I flinched. Because of me.

Stella was right. I was ruining her.

"That's a little dramatic—" I began.

"I swear to god," she seethed, "if I ever find out who did this, I'm going to smack them, roundhouse kick them in the face, burn their retinas out of their skull, and then send them INTO THE STRATOSPHE—"

"OH-KAY!" I shouted, effectively cutting her off.  "Let's calm down for a second and think logically."

"That is logical," she retorted.

I stepped closer, reaching out instinctively for her warmth, but she took a step back, shaking her head and still absorbed in her own thoughts.

"I don't know what to do anymore," she stated, her anger slowly draining out to show how vulnerable she was. "I feel like I'm losing control over my life."

"No, everything's going to be—"

"—I'm just tired," she interrupted defeatedly. "I can't take it anymore. Do you know what this does to someone? I'm just a kid."

The words settled between us, suffocating me. 

I could make it all go away. I could take away everything tearing her apart. 

The thought hit me so hard I almost physically stepped back— the very idea of it made me feel like I was being eaten alive. 

Apparently, my expression showed my conflict, because she sighed, collapsing into one of the dorm chairs. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm stressing and putting this burden on you. I don't expect you to do anything."