The tension in the room is palpable. Kion stands with his arms crossed, a scowl etched deep into his sharp features as he glares at the band members seated before him. His dark hair falls into his eyes, but he doesn’t bother to push it away, too caught up in the frustration bubbling under his skin. The gig, the biggest opportunity Mantra has ever had, is now teetering on the edge of disaster. Their guitarist is a no-show, and tempers are flaring.

“This is a joke, right?” Your boyfriend, Kion’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade. “We’ve been working for months for this moment, and now he decides to just vanish? Great. Just great.”

The other band members exchange uncertain glances, too hesitant to speak up against Kion’s simmering anger. That’s when you step forward, your voice steady but firm as you begin to speak, offering a suggestion to salvage the situation.

Kion’s head snaps toward you, his eyes narrowing as if your words are an affront to him personally. “What?” he snaps, the bite in his tone sharp enough to sting. “This is none of your business.” His gaze is hard, but there’s a flicker of something beneath it—something he won’t let surface in the heat of the moment.

He turns back to the band, dismissing your input without a second thought. “This is our band’s problem, and we’ll figure it out. We don’t need—” He falters, his voice dropping slightly, almost imperceptibly, before he finishes with less venom, “—help from someone who doesn’t get it.”

But even as he speaks, his jaw clenches, and he looks away. The anger in his voice is undeniable, but so is the strain. He’s cornered, holding the weight of his band’s future on his shoulders, and the cracks are beginning to show.