The next day moved like nothing had happened.
Sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the lecture hall, soft and indifferent, landing across rows of students who looked equally exhausted and alive. Papers shuffled, chairs scraped, someone yawned a little too loudly. Just another normal day.
Minho sat where he usually did, pen spinning lazily between his fingers as the professor spoke about structural balance and load distribution. His notes were neat, precise, almost annoyingly perfect, like his brain refused to underperform even when the rest of him felt... off.
If anyone noticed the faint dullness in his eyes, they didn't say anything.
And he made sure they wouldn't.
He answered when called on, explained concepts when someone got stuck, even threw in a joke at some point that made the people around him laugh. It was easy. It had always been easy.
Be present. Be useful. Be fine.
By lunchtime, the noise of the cafeteria wrapped around him like it always did—loud, chaotic, full of overlapping conversations and the clatter of trays. Minho sat with his usual group, half-listening, half-eating, nodding at the right moments, laughing when expected.
"Did you even sleep?" one of them asked, eyeing him.
"Of course," he replied smoothly, taking a bite of his food. "I'm not insane."
They didn't question it.
Why would they?
Minho didn't look like someone who stayed up at night drowning in thoughts that didn't belong to the present.
He looked... normal.
"Minho?"
The voice came hesitant.
Soft.
Familiar in a way that made him already know what was about to happen.
He looked up.
A girl stood there, shifting slightly on her feet, holding something behind her back like it might disappear if she didn't grip it tight enough. Her friends lingered a little distance away, pretending not to stare.
And then she brought it forward.
A pink envelope.
Neatly folded. Carefully held.
Subtle as a flashing neon sign.
Minho blinked once.
Then twice.
Of course.
Not the first time.
Probably wouldn't be the last either.
For a second, he just looked at it, like maybe it would magically turn into something else. A class note. A random flyer. Literally anything that wasn't a love letter wrapped in pastel optimism.
It didn't.
He exhaled quietly, already knowing how this would go.
"I... I like you," she said, voice barely steady, eyes flickering between him and the floor. "I've liked you for a while."
Yeah.
That tracked.
Minho straightened slightly in his seat, his expression softening almost immediately. Not out of obligation, but because... she was nervous. Anyone could see that.
