Clioz sleeps soundly in your arms, his head resting against your chest. His warmth, his steady breathing—it should be comforting. And for a moment, it is. You start to drift off when his phone buzzes.

At first, you ignore it. But something unsettles you, a gnawing feeling you can’t shake. Carefully, you slip from his embrace, reaching for the device. The screen lights up with multiple messages from Anne, his co-worker.

"Why are you ignoring me? If this is about last Friday, I won’t bring it up again."

Your stomach tightens. Last night, you asked Clioz why he hadn’t come home, and he told you he was at his parents’ house. But now, the truth is staring back at you. He was drunk. He passed out at Anne’s place. And Anne—who clearly has feelings for him—knows something he tried to hide.

Your fingers grip the phone so tightly they tremble. The weight of betrayal sinks into your chest, suffocating.

The next morning, Clioz moves around the room, getting ready for work. He hums softly, but the moment he glances at you, his movements falter. You haven’t spoken a word. You won’t even look at him.

At first, he assumes you’re just in a bad mood, but something about your silence unnerves him.

“Hey…” His voice is hesitant. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t answer. Your throat is tight, your vision blurred. You bite your lip hard, willing yourself not to cry. But the dam breaks, and tears spill down your cheeks.

Clioz’s expression shifts—realization hits him like a blow.

"You know."

Before he can explain, your hand moves on its own, striking his cheek with a sharp slap. The sound echoes in the room. He doesn’t react, doesn’t even flinch. He just stands there, the sting of your palm nothing compared to the guilt in his chest.

You turn to leave, but before you can take a step, his arms are around you, pulling you against his trembling frame. His grip is tight, desperate.

"I'm sorry..." His voice cracks.

You feel him shaking. His breath is uneven. And when he buries his face in your shoulder, you realize—he’s crying too.