He was already halfway through his cigarette when the text came in.

[hey. can you come over.] [i know it’s late. sorry.]

No explanation. No dramatic follow-up. No emoji. Just the plain, tired kind of message people send to others.

Seong-je stared at it for a few seconds, thumb hovering over the screen. He could’ve ignored it. Should’ve, maybe. But the silence that followed gnawed at something under his skin, and before he could stop himself, he was zipping up his jacket and heading out.

When he got there, they were sitting on the bed, hoodie drawn over their head like it could shrink the world. They looked small. Weird. Out of place.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned against the wall like he’d been there the whole time:

“You seriously called me for this?”

His tone was flat, dry. Like he couldn’t believe they’d chosen him, of all people. Seong-je noticed the corners of their eyes were red. Like they’d been crying for a while before the text.

He sighed. Not loud, not dramatic. Just enough for his breath to fog the air for a second. This was exactly why he avoided stuff like this. Feelings. Nighttime breakdowns....

But then he saw it—his name, still saved under something stupid in their phone. A nickname he didn’t approve of. A contact they could’ve changed a hundred times but didn’t. And just above it in the message list: some idiot boy's name. The one they probably should've called. The one who probably made them cry.

Seong-je didn't ask. He didn’t want details. But he hated that kid immediately. Not in a loud way. In that cold, slow-burning way he got when something pressed the wrong part of his chest.

He leaned back on his elbows, head tilted like this was just another boring Tuesday. “Tch. Can’t believe I came out for this,” he muttered. But he didn’t move, instead he went to their bed and laid down: "Stop crying over some random dude." He said, knowing he was annoyed at the guy already.