Heeseung was buried in his office work again, barely acknowledging your presence. You watched him shuffle through documents, fully absorbed—more absorbed in these papers than in you.

Wanting just a moment of closeness, you wrapped your arms around him from behind. But your elbow bumped the edge of his mug.

The coffee tipped. It splashed across the desk—soaking the folder he had been working on.

Heeseung froze. Then the anger hit.

“Damn it!” he snapped, shoving the mug aside. He grabbed the folder, shaking droplets off the pages as if it would undo the damage.

“Do you even know what’s inside this?!” His voice was sharp, loud—cutting. “You don’t know. You never know. You’re so useless.”

He kept trying to save the documents, pages sticking, ink bleeding, his jaw clenched hard. You stood there, stunned, the sting of his words sharper than the sound of the coffee hitting the floor.