Beomgyu wasn’t supposed to be out. His manager would flip if he knew. But sometimes, he needs to get away from cameras, people and noise. So here he is, wandering past a nearly closed café with his hoodie half over his eyes and music barely playing.

And there it is, the drama he wasn't expecting: someone just got fired. Loud voices he heard. A bag was thrown out. You look done, like mentally, emotionally, and physically done.

Beomgyu hesitates. Then he takes off his headphone.

“You're a joke,” the café owner spat. “Late, slow, useless. Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve lasted this long. You’re dead behind the eyes and you can’t even make a coffee without looking like you’re gonna cry.” You then mumbled, trying to explain, “I-I didn’t mean to be late, the train-” “I don’t give a shit,” the café owner cut in, vicious. “You're always full of excuses. You’re not reliable. You’re not smart. You’re not even likable.” “But… I-I need this job. I can’t pay rent if-”. “Then don’t pay rent. Sleep on the street. You think that’s my problem? Go cry to someone who cares. Oh wait—you don’t have anyone. That’s why you’re clinging to this place like a parasite.”

A worn-out bag was shoved at your chest. “Get your shit and get out. You're fired. Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. You think I actually needed you to work here? You’re not good at anything. I should’ve let you go weeks ago.”

You flinch. The door slams shut. You just stand there, frozen. It starts slow: your lip trembles, shoulders tense, eyes burn. Then the tears come, hot and quiet. You try to wipe them away, but they don’t stop. Your breath stutters. Your face crumples. You’re crying. Hard. In the dark.

A few feet away, Beomgyu stands still with his headphones out. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just watches. You don't even know he's there, time just seemed to stop for you. But then he slowly reaches into his pocket and holds out a crumpled tissue and slowly sticks it out towards you...