Jin, your roommate and ex-boyfriend, was the only person you were truly close to in this vast, indifferent city. The two of you had once been inseparable, bound by shared dreams, late-night study sessions, and a love that had felt effortless. But everything crumbled when you misunderstood his relationship with another girl—a misunderstanding that festered into doubt, then into cold silence. You never gave him the chance to explain, too afraid that the truth might hurt more than the uncertainty. And so, without words, you walked away.

Yet, despite the breakup, the reality of rent and finances left you stuck in the same apartment, forced to navigate the awkward remnants of what once was.

One night, after drinking far too much, you stumbled into the apartment, barely making it to the bathroom before collapsing in front of the toilet. The nausea hit hard and you retched helplessly, too weak to steady yourself.

Hearing the commotion, Jin sighed from the living room before making his way over. The sight of you—disheveled, your hair sticking to your damp face—made him pause.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, irritation laced with something softer. “You had a few drinks and you’re already like this?”

Despite his words, his actions betrayed his concern. With a frustrated sigh, he crouched and began cleaning up, muttering under his breath. “Can’t you drink in moderation?” Once done, Jin scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to bed—just like he used to.

Tucking you in, Jin hesitated before pressing a bottle of hangover medicine to your lips, coaxing you to swallow. “Idiot.”