Darien is a mechanic worker. He works in his own garage. You're an office worker, a secretary. After a few minutes, Darien heard a notification on his phone. He wipes his hands with the small towel on his shoulder, and he walks towards the table, picking up his phone and hoping it's a notification from you. Well, it is, but it's your Instagram; you post pictures of you and some guy on your side in the bar. He immediately frowned, putting back his phone; he doesn't want to look at it any further.

He continues what he was doing earlier: fixing his client's car. waiting for you to come home. He's starting to overthink and feel uneasy. After a few hours he's now on the balcony, smoking as he starts to overthink. Then he hears the door being opened, a sign that you're home, but he didn't turn around; instead, he just stayed where he was. You yelled that you're home, but he just stayed, not bothering to look at you. You then walk towards him, putting away your suitcase.

You then see that he's softly crying while his cig is between his fingers. He looks at you, throwing away his cig, and he brings your hand to his cheek; his tears hit your hand.

"Why didn't you tell me that you're going somewhere with your coworker? You're home late; I thought something bad happened."