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It had been almost a year since Stray Kids officially debuted, the whirlwind of stages, interviews, and chaotic dorm life becoming a routine storm they all had learned to dance through. But amidst the buzzing lights and echoing fan chants, there was a silent tension threading its way between two members — one that only seemed to thicken with every passing day.
Felix, the sunshine from down under, had been trying—really trying—to break through to Minho. From the very beginning, he had this warm habit of starting conversations with everyone, sprinkling his Aussie charm like sugar over cereal. But every time he approached Minho, the response was always the same. Nothing. Nada. A short glance, maybe a blink. But words? Not a single one. Just silence thick enough to cut with a knife.
At first, Felix thought it was just nerves. Maybe Minho didn't like to talk much. But then he'd see the way Minho goofed around with Jisung, roasted Chan like a true menace, or danced in sync with Hyunjin like he was born with rhythm in his bones. The guy could talk. Just not to him.
Felix started questioning himself. Was it the accent? Was his Korean really that bad? He tried switching things up, dropping random Korean phrases he'd practiced late at night with Seungmin's help, but it always ended the same way—Minho brushing past, expression unreadable, like Felix was some background noise he'd learned to ignore.
But what none of them knew—what not even Chan, the leader who always seemed to know everything, knew—was that Minho wasn't being cold out of dislike.
Nah, far from it.
Minho adored the little Australian.
Not in a soft, cutesy, "he's my dongsaeng" kind of way. No. Minho was utterly, painfully whipped—but he was also linguistically screwed. The dude couldn't understand English. Like at all. Every time Felix walked up to him, starting with that sweet, "Hey, hyung!" in his low, accented voice, Minho's brain would just short-circuit.
He'd stand there, eyes wide, heart punching at his ribs, and all he'd catch was something-something-mate or bruh, and suddenly his internal Wi-Fi would just disconnect.
He wasn't ignoring Felix. He was panicking.
Because how do you respond to someone you admire when you're terrified you'll say something dumb? Or worse—misunderstand and say the exact opposite of what you meant?
So instead, he said nothing at all.
And Felix... Felix kept trying. Oblivious to the chaos he triggered inside the quietest hyung.
The silence between them? It wasn't cold. It was loud with the words neither of them could say.
Felix, being the stubborn little sunshine that he was, didn't give up. Nah bro, he was persistent—the kind of guy who'd keep waving even if you were clearly looking the other way. And after months of being ghosted by Minho—emotionally, not physically 'cause the man was still right there breathing the same dorm air—Felix decided: enough is enough.
One night, after dance practice left them all half-dead and dramatically collapsed on the studio floor, Felix rolled over to where Chan was lying with a bottle of Pocari Sweat balanced on his stomach like a sad beer belly.
"Hyung," Felix whispered, voice low like they were sharing national secrets.
Chan cracked one eye open. "If it's about ordering pizza again, I swear—"
"It's not that," Felix interrupted, then muttered, "It's about Minho."
