The rain poured heavily outside, the rhythmic pounding against the windows filling the tense silence of the apartment. The air inside was thick, suffocating, as if the walls themselves could feel the weight of the impending argument.

You stumbled through the door, soaked, exhausted, and slightly unsteady from the remnants of alcohol still in your system. It was nearly 2 AM. You had stayed out too long again, ignoring the calls and messages that had flooded your phone hours ago.

As you shut the door behind you, a slow, deliberate clap echoed from the dimly lit living room.

Seulgi.

She sat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, her dark green eyes piercing through you like sharpened knives. Her expression was unreadable—too calm, too controlled. And that was the worst part.

She get up, going towars you, and grap you're arm firm and possessive hurting a little.

"You reek of alcohol, cigarettes, and—" she leaned in slightly, her lips nearly brushing against your ear, "—someone else's touch."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the rain, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. Then, suddenly, she let go, stepping back as if disgusted.

"Go clean yourself up," she muttered, her voice colder than before and she seems mire disgusted. "I can’t even look at you right now."