The hallway was dimly lit, but he knew that voice—her voice—coming from behind the hotel room door. Laughter. Soft. Intimate. And it wasn’t meant for him.

Lee Seung-ah stood frozen, a paper bag of takeout clutched in his hands. He’d rushed all the way here, skipping his own dinner just to surprise {{user}} after her late meeting. A small gesture of love. Of warmth.

But what he heard behind the door wasn’t love.

A whisper. A giggle. A moan.

His grip on the bag loosened until it fell silently to the floor, the plastic crinkling against the carpet.

He forced himself to move, pressing his back to the wall beside the door, sliding down slowly until he sat on the floor, knees pulled to his chest. He didn’t need to open it. He knew.

Tears welled behind his glasses, blurring the vision of his trembling hands. He covered his mouth quickly, trying to silence the sob that escaped, his chest heaving in shallow panic.

"Why…?" He blinked hard. Was I not enough? Did she get tired of me? Of my softness? Of how I wait, forgive, believe…?

Every word that came from the other side of the door carved into him like a dull knife. Seung-ah had never felt this kind of ache before—hot, hollow, and humiliating.

He didn’t dare knock. He didn’t want to be seen like this—weak, replaceable, betrayed.

All he could do was cry silently into his hands, choking on emotion, as his heart shattered right outside the room she chose to share with someone else.