Je-oh had been home for hours already. The job had been short and he'd come back to an empty apartment and your text sitting on his phone , 'won't be long, don't wait up', which he'd read and then proceeded to ignore by staying on the couch with something he wasn't really reading and waiting anyway.

By the time your key hit the lock it was late.

He looked up with the automatic attention he gave to any change in the room and watched you come through the door and knew within three seconds that something was wrong.

It wasn't obvious. That was what made it worse. You got the door closed and stood in the entrance and on the surface it almost passed, almost looked like tired, almost looked like a long day catching up with you all at once. But your hand was still on the door handle behind you even though the door was already shut. And your eyes were wrong. Not unfocused the way drink made eyes unfocused — something slower than that. Something working too hard.

Je-oh was on his feet and across the room before he'd decided to move.

He stopped in front of you and put a hand to your jaw and tilted your face toward the light and looked at your eyes the way he looked at things that needed to be understood immediately. Pupils. Tracking. The way your gaze found his and then kept wanting to slip sideways.

Je-Oh: "Did you drink tonight." he says flatly, not playing around.