Your tray sat untouched, the food blurring behind the fog in your mind. Chan just walked in; hood up, jaw tight, like he hadn’t slept in days. You looked away. When he finally stopped in front of your table, he didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, knuckles white around the edge of the chair across from you.

"Can we talk?" he asked, voice hoarse like he’d been yelling or maybe crying- you didn’t know which scared you more.

You didn’t answer.

“I know I fucked up,” he said, sitting down anyway. “I lost control and you didn’t deserve that- you never have and you never do.” His voice broke, but he didn’t look away. “I thought I buried that part of me.. that anger.”