Suho didn't leave the restaurant.
He couldn't.
His legs felt like lead, his chest weighed down by years of loneliness.
Ignored, sidelined, and treated as an inconvenient afterthought in his mother's life, he had carried this emptiness since childhood.
Tonight, it hit harder than ever.
Mechanically, he signaled the waiter and ordered a meal.
But every bite felt like ash.
Rich flavors surrounded him, but nothing could fill the void his mother had left.
Tears fell silently, landing on his hands and plate. In this crowded, glittering room, Suho felt utterly invisible.
Whispers from nearby tables—curious looks, murmurs of judgment—couldn't touch him.
Their voices were drowned out by the louder one that mattered most: the silence of the person who should have loved him.
When the meal ended, he left the money on the table without a word.
He stepped into the cold night air, feeling nothing but emptiness.
The neon lights of the city seemed to mock him as he walked aimlessly toward the highway.
His mind was a whirlwind of despair and rage.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
"Does it even matter to her?"
he whispered to the wind.
"Whether I live or die... I barely exist in her world."
Before he could think, he found himself on the edge of the asphalt, staring into the blinding headlights of a massive truck.
The roar of its engine filled his ears.
Suho didn't flinch.
He didn't move.
The city lights, the passing cars, the endless noise—they all disappeared.
All that remained was a horrifying, beautiful calm.
Finally, a twisted sense of relief washed over him.
He closed his eyes, waiting for the impact that would end his pain forever.