Lee Minho: Voices

Tw: Very brief mention of Self Harm

~ Lee Minho ~

The thing about love is that it never really stays. Not for people like me. Not for people who feel too much and too little at the same time. One second, I want to be surrounded by the members, clinging to them like a lifeline, and the next, I'm convinced they're better off without me. I hate it. I hate that I push them away just to beg for them to stay.

It's exhausting—living like this. Being in Stray Kids means I have seven people in my life who would do anything for me, but my brain doesn't work like theirs. I can't trust it. Some days, it tells me they love me more than anything, and other days, it whispers that they're just waiting for the right time to walk away.

I try not to listen, but the voice is persistent.

I can't tell what's real anymore. My therapist says it's part of the disorder—Borderline Personality Disorder, BPD. It makes my emotions shift like a tide I can't control, makes me terrified of abandonment even when no one is leaving. But knowing that doesn't make it easier. It doesn't stop the feeling that at any moment, the people I love will slip through my fingers, and it'll be my fault.

Because it's always my fault.

It was my fault when I made Jisung cry with just a couple of words.

It was my fault when Seungmin avoided me for a week straight.

It was my fault when I pulled away from Felix, even though I knew he needed me more than anyone.

It was my fault when Chan rushed me to the hospital because my arms were bleeding out.

It's pathetic, really.

The people I love become people I'm afraid of. Afraid of how they'll leave, afraid of how much I need them, afraid of how much I don't know how to give back.

—

The bright lights, the deafening cheers, the overwhelming energy of the crowd—it should have felt exhilarating. This was the reason I was here, right? The fans who sang along to every song, who screamed our names with passion, who made everything worth it.

I loved concerts.

But that moment, that one tiny moment, shattered the illusion.

I was in the pit, leaning over the railing, giving high-fives, exchanging smiles with fans. For a split second, I felt like I could be a part of something bigger. I felt like I belonged here, in this moment, with these people. This was where I was supposed to be.

And then I heard it.

I heard the voice, sharp and cutting through the noise of the crowd.

"Get out of the way, Minho! We wanna see Hyunjin and Felix!"

At first, I thought I misheard. I turned my head slightly, trying to see where the voice had come from, but the crowd was just a blur of faces. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it. Maybe it was just one fan, right? I mean, I couldn't please everyone.

But then I heard it again, a bit louder this time.

"Move, Minho! We came here for the others!"

And then—almost as if a wave had passed through the crowd—I heard more voices, one after another, echoing the same thing.

"Minho, move!"

"Why are you even here?"

"No one cares about you, get out of the way!"

The words stung. More than I expected. It wasn't like I was unaccustomed to criticism, but hearing it from the very people who were supposed to be supporting us—it hit differently. The pit felt smaller, the lights brighter, and the noise deafening. But not in the way it usually did. It felt suffocating. It felt like I was trapped.

I looked over at the others—Hyunjin and Felix, laughing, interacting with the fans, basking in the admiration and love they were getting. I should have been happy for them. But the thought, the image of the crowd's energy, all directed toward them and not me—it cut through me like a blade.

In that moment, I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe the crowd was right. Maybe I didn't matter. Maybe I was just in the way. Just a filler, standing in between the real stars, the ones who actually mattered.

I pushed myself further back, my feet feeling like lead as I distanced myself from the railing. The voices were still there, echoing in my mind, growing louder, like a chorus of judgment. No one cares about you. No one wants to see you.

The crowd had spoken, hadn't they? If they didn't care, if they were willing to brush me off so easily, then why should I expect anyone else to? Not my members. Not the people I loved.

I blinked hard, trying to push the tears back before they could show. But the lump in my throat kept growing, and I couldn't stop it. The weight of their words, real or not, was too heavy

Maybe they don't care about me. Maybe I'm just a bother to them too. Maybe I'm just here, taking up space.

I started backing away from the pit, trying to find a corner where I could breathe, where I could disappear. I didn't want to ruin the moment for anyone else. I didn't want to be the one who ruined the show.

I could hear the music thumping in the background, the cheers of fans who were still having the time of their lives, but none of it felt real anymore. None of it felt like it was for me.

And in that moment, I couldn't stop thinking about how they were all going to leave eventually—Hyunjin, Felix, all of them. How they were going to get tired of me, just like the fans had. Just like everyone else always did.

I didn't even realize how far I had backed up until I was standing backstage, away from the sound of the crowd, away from everything. It was quiet here—too quiet.

I hated it. I hated the way I felt like I was about to break into a million pieces, but I didn't want anyone to see it. I didn't want to be the weak one. Not here. Not in front of the fans. Not in front of my members. I was worried. Worried about what I'd say to them if they found me. Would I lash out? Or beg them to stay?

~ Bang Chan ~

The energy in the pit was always fun, the fans screaming, shouting, and waving their lightsticks. The crowd's energy had me smiling as I waved and pointed to different sections, making sure everyone felt like they were seen. I loved this moment—connecting with Stays, feeling the love. It was one of the best parts of being on stage.

But then, in the midst of it, I heard a voice call out from the pit, cutting through the sound of the crowd.

"Bang Chan-oppa, where did Minho go?"

I froze. It wasn't just the question that caught me off guard, but the way it felt so out of place. Minho had been right there with me just moments before, sharing that connection with the fans, doing what he always did. And now? Gone. My eyes quickly scanned the pit, and then the stage—nothing.

I felt the sudden worry settle in my chest. I tried to keep my cool, to not let the concern show, but it hit me faster than I expected.

I excused myself quickly from the pit, telling the fans I'd be right back, my heart racing as I made my way off the stage.

I walked backstage quickly, checking each corner, but it wasn't until I heard a familiar sound—soft, almost like a suppressed sob—that I finally stopped in front of a small room near the back of the stage.

I hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open.

Minho was there, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. His head was bowed, his hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as if trying to hold himself together. The sight hit me like a punch to the gut.

"Minho?" I called out softly, stepping inside. My voice was tentative, unsure. "What happened?"

He didn't look up at first, and when he finally did, his eyes were glossed over, distant. I could tell he was trying to hold it together, but it wasn't working.

"Don't... don't leave me," he muttered, his voice breaking slightly, "Please, Chan. Please don't leave me too."

Too?

"Minho, what happened? Talk to me," I asked, my voice soft but firm. I wasn't going to leave him alone like this. Not now, not ever.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he just stared at the ground, his fingers curling into fists. There was a long pause before he finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

"Stays said... they didn't come to see me. They told me to move so they could see Hyunjin and Felix. They said no one cared about me. And they're right, Chan." His voice cracked on the last words, and I could see how much the hurt was affecting him.

I crouched down in front of him, trying to meet his gaze, but he avoided it, staring at the floor, like he was ashamed of what he was feeling. I could feel the weight of his words—the desperation in his voice. I'd heard the fans too. I had heard what they said, and it wasn't at all what Minho was telling me.

"Minho," I began softly, my voice gentle, but firm. "That's not what they said."

His head snapped up then, his eyes wide with confusion, almost like he didn't trust what I was saying. "Chan..." he whispered, his voice shaking. "I heard them. I heard it. They said I wasn't wanted, that I should move, that they didn't care."

"No." I shook my head, taking a step closer. "That's not what happened."

I could feel the weight of his hurt, and it broke me to see him like this, but I wasn't going to let him spiral into believing that those voices in his head were the truth.

"I was there, Minho," I continued, my voice steady. "I was in the pit with them. I heard what they said. They were calling out to you, trying to get your attention, saying how much they loved you. They were saying hello, sharing their love for you. It wasn't what you're hearing in your head."

Minho blinked at me, his eyes filled with doubt, as if he couldn't understand how his mind could twist the situation so completely. He looked so lost, so vulnerable. I couldn't help but want to wrap him in my arms and take away all the pain, but I knew that wasn't what he needed right now. He needed to understand that the voice in his head wasn't the truth.

"Minho," I said, my voice lower now, filled with all the conviction I could muster. "You mean the world to them. To all of us. Don't ever think that they don't care about you, or that you're a burden. You're not. You're a part of Stray Kids because we love you. Because we need you."

I saw him flinch slightly at my words, the hurt still there, but I pushed forward, needing him to understand, to believe me.

"I know it's hard. I know that the thoughts in your head feel so real sometimes. But you can't let them control you. You can't let those voices drown out the truth."

I could tell he wanted to believe me, but it wasn't easy. It never was. His emotions were like a constant storm, always shifting, always changing. And sometimes, the storm felt too powerful for him to handle. But I wasn't going anywhere. Not now, not ever.

"Come back out with me," I said softly, standing up and offering him my hand. "The fans are waiting. They're cheering for you. They want to see you. And I need you out there too."

Minho stared at my hand for a long moment, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. But then, slowly, he reached up and took it. His grip was tight, like he was afraid I'd let go, but I didn't. I wouldn't.

I pulled him to his feet. "You're Lee fucking Minho."

—