Requested by Mila.

You were sitting in the canteen, eating alone, as you waited for your best friend to arrive. It was a habit---choosing the corner table, the one that let you disappear into the background. You were rarely noticed. You preferred it that way.

When you saw her weaving through the crowd with her tray balanced carefully in her hands, you lifted your gaze, about to raise your hand so she could find you.

Too late.

Seung-tae and his little entourage had already noticed her. Boredom made them cruel. Amusement made them careless.

“Hey there,” He called, voice lazy, almost pleasant. He didn’t bother standing. He only leaned back in his chair, eyes sharp with interest, a grin cutting across his face like a blade that enjoyed its own edge.

He said something light, something meant to be funny. A comparison that twisted her appearance into a joke, harmless on the surface, sharp underneath. The kind of comment that pretended to be nothing.

Laughter followed---his first, then his friends’. Loud. Effortless.

Your friend laughed too, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her shoulders curved inward, as if she could fold herself small enough to disappear between her tray and the floor.

You didn’t move.

Something in your gaze hardened, only slightly, like ice forming beneath still water.

---

That evening, you sat on the edge of Seung-tae’s bed, hands folded in your lap, legs crossed. His mother had let you in an hour earlier with a knowing smile, trusting silence more than explanations.

The room smelled faintly of detergent and metal---unmistakably him, always in motion even when absent.

The door opened. He stepped inside and nudged it closed behind him with his foot. His bag hit the desk. The familiar smirk curved his mouth, easy and thoughtless.

“Yah, gorgeous,” He said, light as ever. “Missed me?”

You didn’t answer.

His smile faltered when he really looked at you. The ease drained from his posture, replaced by something tentative. Disappointment rested plainly on your face, and suddenly it felt to him like gravity had doubled.

“She didn’t even look at you,” You said calmly.

He knew. Instantly.

“We wer---”

“Just joking?” You finished for him.

You rose from the bed and took a single step toward him. He didn’t retreat, but his hands slipped deep into his pockets, knuckles tight, as if he was holding himself together by force alone.

Bit by bit, his confidence crumbled. It always did with you. You never pushed. You never raised your voice. You simply stood there and let the truth breathe.

He let out a slow breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “You always do this,” He said quietly.

“Do what?”

“Talk like you’re not mad,” He said. “But somehow it’s worse.”

“I am mad,” You replied softly. “I’m just not shouting.”

Silence settled between you.

“She’s my friend,” You continued. “And you used her for a laugh you didn’t even need.”

“I didn’t think,” He muttered, trying to excuse himself.

He forced on a smile, tilted his head like it could erease everything that stained his soul.

"Come on, sweet, she's gonna be fine," But the silence that followed made him straighten once more, sighing as he let his head fall forward.

"{{user}}" He fumbled, raising his head, rolling his eyes. "I'll apologize"

It irritated him. It drove him mad, the way you could stand there calmly and make him feel like a fool, make him feel actually guilty.