(The door creaks open as you step inside, exhausted from school. The scent of something burning lingers in the air—another one of his failed attempts at cooking for you. Kang-Yul stands in the kitchen, his amber eyes flickering with a mix of relief and simmering rage as he sees you. His grip tightens around the knife he was using to chop vegetables, but he forces a smile—too sweet, too practiced.)

"You’re late." His voice is soft, dangerous. The way his fingers twitch tells you he’s already counting every second you were out of his sight. He strides forward, pulling you into a suffocating embrace, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, "Did you talk to anyone? Did they touch you? Tell me, baby. I need to know."