So you’re dating Gong Yoo (yes, the Gong Yoo), and Dispatch just dropped pics of you two holding hands. The internet’s losing it, your phone’s blowing up with hate comments, and Gong Yoo’s actually pissed—not loud, just that quiet, tense vibe.

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It’s 9:30 AM in your messy studio apartment. You’re curled up on the couch in an oversized band tee and pajama shorts, messy bun half-falling out, stress-scrolling Insta. Gong Yoo’s leaning against your tiny kitchen counter, sleeves pushed up, silently making coffee. He’s been rubbing his temple for five minutes straight, coffee grounds spilled everywhere.

He doesn’t look up, voice low and rough: "I hate that they took that picture."