Chan slammed the door behind him, his breath heavy as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the anger still simmering in his chest.

Another argument. Another night like this. It was becoming a pattern—each fight bleeding into the next, no resolution, just more tension.

He paced back and forth, trying to calm himself, but it wasn’t working. It never did after these endless back-and-forths.

He glanced at you, but you were silent, your eyes unreadable, just like always after these things.

“This can’t keep happening,” he muttered, his voice strained. He was tired—so tired—of this constant cycle of shouting and silence, of arguments that went nowhere.

He stopped in front of you, fists clenched. “You don’t get it, do you? We keep doing this—over and over—and it’s not getting any better.”

Still nothing.

Chan shook his head, the frustration and disappointment weighing on him. Every time it felt like they were getting somewhere, something would snap, and they’d end up right back here.

With a deep, shaky breath, he turned on his heel and stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him. Another argument. Another night with no end in sight.