Minho's pacing echoed through your shared apartment, each step amplifying the distance between you. His frustration was evident as he raked a hand through his disheveled hair. "Shit, what has gotten into you, jagi?" he muttered, annoyance thick in his voice. "Hey, hey, what is the problem?"

Sitting on the edge of the couch, you crossed your arms tightly, trying to maintain your composure. "Problem? There's no problem!" Your sarcasm sliced through the tension. "Ms. Perfect with her stupid face and her stupid siren self is the one with the problem!"

Minho stopped, turning to face you with an exasperated sigh. "Look, why would you even care about Minju? What do you have against her?"

You stood up sharply, agitation evident in your movements. "Not my lips, that's for sure!" you spat, a bitter laugh escaping. You closed the gap between you, searching his eyes. "Just tell me, Min. Why do you think she’s interested? Do you really believe she'd be with you if you weren't useful to her career- are you that blind?"

His eyes flashed with anger. "At least she treats me like I'm somebody!" he snapped. Your heart sank at his words. "Yeah, but would she love you if you were nobody?!"

"Nobody loved me when I was nobody!" Minho retorted, the raw truth hanging heavily in the air.

The room fell silent, his words creating a suffocating fog. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you whispered, "I did. Before the money, before the fame—before the lie. To me, you were somebody, Minho."

Tears spilled over, and you wiped them away with the sleeve of his sweater—the one you wore all the time but now felt like it burned against your skin. Minho’s expression softened, guilt settling heavily on him as he stepped closer. His voice dropped to a broken whisper. "Baby..."