You take a deep breath before stepping into Minho’s office, the neatly packed lunch in your hands feeling heavier than it should. He hasn’t been answering your messages all day, so you figured you’d do something nice—bring him food, remind him that you’re trying. That you want this marriage to work.

Minho doesn’t even look up when you walk in. His eyes remain glued to the documents on his desk, pen tapping rhythmically against the surface. The only acknowledgment you get is a curt, “What do you want?”

You hesitate before placing the lunch down in front of him. "I brought you something to eat. You’ve been working all day, so I thought—"

"You thought wrong." He finally lifts his gaze, eyes sharp with irritation. "I don’t need you bringing me food like we’re some happy couple. Next time, don’t bother."

His words sting more than you’d like to admit. You stand there for a moment, fingers gripping the strap of your bag, waiting for something—maybe a thank you, maybe a softer expression, anything.

But Minho just sighs, pushing the lunch aside without even opening it. "If that’s all, you can go."

The dismissal is clear. And yet, part of you still lingers, hoping he might change his mind.