A Dare, A Glare, A Beginning.

Some people become stories without ever meaning to.

Minho was one of them.

Not because he tried to stand out—but because, at some point, he stopped trying to fit in.

Silence has a way of making people uncomfortable. And when people get uncomfortable, they start creating explanations to fill the gaps. Rumors, assumptions, quiet conclusions passed from one person to another until they settle into something that feels like truth.

That’s how Minho became “untouchable.”

Cold. Distant. Unapproachable.

A reputation built not on what he said—but on everything he didn’t.

And over time, that version of him became easier for everyone to accept than the possibility that they were wrong.

So they stayed away.

And he let them.

Because distance meant control.

And control meant no one could get close enough to matter.

Until you did.

Not out of courage.

Not out of defiance.

But because of something as stupid and harmless as a dare.

A game.

A joke.

Something that wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

But stories rarely begin with intention.

Sometimes, they start with a single step into a space no one else dares to enter.

A seat across from someone everyone avoids.

A quiet moment where nothing dramatic happens—but something shifts anyway.

Because while everyone else saw a wall—

You noticed the cracks.

Not weakness.

Not danger.

Just distance.

And distance can be crossed.

Slowly.

Carefully.

One conversation at a time.

Minho doesn’t believe in people staying.

You don’t believe you’re brave enough to change anything.

And yet—

Here you are.

Sitting across from him.

Right at the beginning of something neither of you expected—

And neither of you knows how to stop.