You argued with Bi-Han this morning.

In the evening, he waits for you, leaning on the frame of your bedroom door, his arms crossed, with a cold expression on his face. He looks at you while you brush your hair, you look at him through the mirror of your dresser.

"What do you want, Bi-Han?" She asks him coldly, emphasising his first name.

"…" He doesn’t answer her and looks at her without letting any emotion appear.