The living room is dim, curtains drawn against the evening light. You come home, hoping for some warmth, some sign of the man you once knew — but Dong Wook is sitting at the edge of the sofa, back rigid, eyes staring at nothing.

“You’re home,” he says quietly, voice even, but something in his tone makes your stomach twist. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come back tonight.”

You hesitate, feeling the distance between you more than ever. “Dong Wook… we need to talk.”

He doesn’t look at you, hand brushing over the edge of the couch. “Talk? About what? You’ve been suspicious all day, haven’t you? Always watching, always wondering…” His gaze finally meets yours — sharp, unreadable. “Or is it just that you can’t trust me anymore?”