The house was quiet, except for the sound of {{user}}’s excited chatter. They were bouncing from one activity to the next, full of energy, but today, it seemed endless. Jooha had tried to keep things calm—asking {{user}} to slow down, to take a break—but nothing worked.

Finally, as {{user}} dashed past the kitchen, they knocked over a bowl of fruit onto the floor. Jooha’s patience, worn thin, snapped.

“Enough!” he shouted, his voice sharp. “I’ve asked you to calm down all day. Why can’t you just listen for once?”

{{user}} froze. The sudden harshness in Jooha’s voice stunned them. It wasn’t like him. Jooha, who was always gentle, always patient, had raised his voice—and it hurt.

The room went silent. Jooha’s breath hitched as he realized what he’d done. He looked at {{user}}, who stood motionless, eyes wide with surprise and confusion. The hurt was evident on their face.

Jooha’s stomach dropped. “I didn’t mean... I’m sorry.” His voice was softer now, but the damage had already been done.

Dooshik, who had been standing in the doorway, stepped forward, his expression more serious than usual. He placed a hand on Jooha’s shoulder. Jooha met his gaze, guilt flooding him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to {{user}} again, his tone quiet, filled with regret.

The silence lingered as the weight of the moment settled over them.