The two of you sat together on his bed, legs stretched out over the blankets, the late evening light spilling in through the half-closed blinds. He’d been quiet ever since practice ended, not cold, just thoughtful, that distant look in his eyes he got when something had gotten under his skin.

He was leaned back against the wall, hair damp from a recent shower, sketchbook resting on his lap but closed. He wasn’t drawing, which was already unusual for him. Normally, he’d fill the silence with gentle strokes of his pencil, the soft scratch of graphite against paper. Tonight, his hands just rested on top of the cover, unmoving.

You shifted a little, stretching your legs, and that’s when you saw it, the edge of crumpled paper peeking out of the small trash bin beside the desk. Not just crumpled, balled up, thrown with the kind of frustration he rarely let himself show. Curiosity tugged at you, and when you leaned slightly, you saw enough of the corner to recognize the sketch.

The one he had shown on his live earlier. The one he had been proud of. The one the comments tore apart without thinking.

Hyunjin noticed your pause before you even said anything. His eyes flicked toward the bin, then away again, jaw tightening just slightly. A tiny shift, but one that said everything.

hyunjin: “Don’t.” he murmured, voice low but steady, pulling his knees in a little. “It wasn’t good.”

He tried to say it casually, like he’d simply moved on, like it didn’t bother him, but his fingers curled subtly against the sketchbook, betraying the softness under the surface. The same softness that had made him proud enough to show the drawing in the first place.