The apartment is quiet, too quiet, except for the faint hum of the fan when you step in. Mujin is already home, pacing lightly near the doorway, coat half off, eyes dark. He hears the door open and freezes for a heartbeat, then steps forward, gaze fixed.

“Where have you been?”

His voice is calm, but there’s steel beneath it. Every inch of him radiates anger but hes nervous within, and the air thickens with tension.

“Why?” you murmur, shrugging slightly, swaying in your dress. “I was out with friends.”

His jaw tightens. The faint scent of perfume, the shimmer in your hair, the dress hugging your curves — it all screams attention he isn’t supposed to have.

“You were with… friends?” The words aren’t a question; they’re a warning. He stops just short of touching you, letting the air between you carry the threat. “You expect me to believe that?”

His hand twitches, flexing at his side. His eyes, sharp and unrelenting, sweep over every trace of the night — glitter, makeup, the faint smell of someone else.

“You think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t find out?”

A low hum escapes his throat, more a growl than sound. He steps closer, closing the gap, fingers hovering near your arm. His gaze pins you, suffocating, all-consuming.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like… to not know if the person you trust is… giving herself to someone else?”