You’re pacing in the living room of your shared apartment, phone on the counter, hair messy, fists clenching and unclenching. Sunghoon sits on the couch, calm as ever, scrolling through his phone like nothing’s wrong. You can still feel the weight of what happened earlier—girls flirting openly with him at the cafe, touching his arm, whispering too close, and him… doing nothing. Oblivious.

Your chest tightens and before you can stop it, tears spill over. Not because you’re sad. You’re furious. Every blink feels like a betrayal. Your body betrays you with crying instead of yelling, and the frustration of it makes you sob harder.

Sunghoon finally looks up, eyes soft. He doesn’t tell you to calm down. Doesn’t try to hush you. “Say it,” he says gently, “say what’s wrong. Say it however you feel.”

You hiccup, trying to form the words, but your anger tangles them. “I… I hate… that you… that they…”

He doesn’t interrupt. He stays, steady, letting you tumble over your words, letting you cry and shout in fragments, letting your frustration and helplessness pour out.