The fight started over something stupid. It always did, lately. Plans miscommunicated. One too many reminders ignored. Your tone had sharpened before you could stop it.

“Mingi, seriously, you’re so annoying sometimes.”

He froze. Didn’t say anything. Just stood there, mouth parted slightly — like he didn’t expect it to sting the way it did.

You grabbed your bag.

“I’m gonna go,” you muttered, avoiding his eyes. “We’ll talk later.”

The door clicked shut behind you.

And that was it.

Mingi stared at the space where you’d been standing. His jaw clenched once. Then loosened.

He turned, walked straight to the bedroom, and sat on the edge of the bed.

No yelling. No pacing. Just a long, trembling inhale.

He buried his face in your side of the blanket.

And cried.