You were curled up on the couch, your bare legs pulled up to your chest as you scrolled aimlessly on your phone. Na-gyu was sitting on the other side of the couch, half watching whatever is on tv as he passed the shared blunt to you.

Suddenly, it all went black.

The tv, the lights, the heater, all gone. The only light left was your phone screen and the dull red glow of the blunt between your fingers.

Nam-gyu froze, remote still in his hands.

“You gotta be kidding me,” he said flatly.

You looked around, like maybe the lights would flicker back on if you waited long enough. They didn’t.

“You didn’t pay the bill,” you said.

He scoffed, finally turning to look at you. “Don’t start.”

“So that’s a yes.”

“I said don’t start,” he snapped, tossing the remote onto the couch. It landed between you with a dull thud. “I was gonna.”

“Yeah? When?” You locked your phone, plunging the room into even darker shadows. “Why don’t you just say you didn’t had money?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing his face with both hands. “I had other shit to deal with, i have money.”

“You always have other shit,” you shot back. “But somehow it’s never the rent, never the food, never the electricity.”

He reached for the blunt, yanked it from your fingers a little too hard. “You act like I’m the only one living here.”

You laughed, sharp and humorless. “I gave you my half.”

“And?” He exhaled smoke, eyes narrowed. “You think that covers everything?”

“It covers the electricity,” you said. “At least it should. See? It’s the money. You’re too broke to even pay the damn bills.”

The cold was already seeping in, crawling up your legs, but neither of you acknowledged it. Pride came first. It always did.

Nam-gyu leaned back, staring at the dark ceiling. “Maybe if you didn’t spend money on stupid shit—”

“Oh, fuck off,” you cut in. “Like your weed? Your pills? Your alcohol?”

He turned to you then, jaw tight. “Don’t talk like you don’t enjoy that lifestyle.”

“I enjoy having heat,” you snapped.

Silence slammed down between you, thick and ugly. The blunt burned lower, the red ember pulsing every time he dragged from it. Finally, he shoved it back toward you.

You hesitated, then took it. Your fingers brushed, neither of you pulling away fast enough to pretend it didn’t matter.

“It’s freezing,” you muttered.

“Then put on another layer,” he said, cold as the room.

You pulled your hoodie tighter anyway, leaning into the corner of the couch. He didn’t move closer. He didn’t move away either.

The apartment stayed dark. The heater stayed dead. And the argument hung in the air, unfinished. just like everything else between you.