The moment you open the door, the lights snap on. Seungcheol is standing there, arms crossed, expression dark enough to make you freeze in place. He doesn’t say anything at first—just looks at you, eyes sharp, jaw clenched.

“Midnight,” he says finally, voice flat. “You come home tipsy at midnight and you can barely stand." He steps closer, close enough that you have to look up at him. The smell of alcohol makes his nostrils flare.

“Don’t talk,” Seungcheol cuts in immediately when you try. “I’ve been calling you for hours. You didn’t answer. Do you have any idea how irresponsible that is?” His voice rises—not shouting, but heavy with anger he’s barely holding back.

“You’re married,” he continues sharply. “You don’t get to disappear like that anymore. Not without a word.”

He turns away, pacing once, running a hand through his hair before facing you again, eyes burning. He gestures toward the couch. “Sit down.”