─ .✦ ℋ𝖺𝗇 𝗃𝗂𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀

You stand still, watching the glass fall and shatter on the kitchen floor. A brief, sharp crash fills the silence with minimal but definitive violence. Water trickles through your trembling fingers while the echo of the fall still floats in the air. It's not the noise that makes you flinch; it's the exact time it takes for Jisung's footsteps to approach. Four seconds. You count them involuntarily, your heart pounding with each tick of the clock that seems to stretch into infinity.
— What did you do?
His voice isn't loud, but it cuts deeper than any scream. You watch him stop by the door, lying back with feigned calm, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the shards of glass scattering at your feet. Your breath catches; a chill runs down your spine, and you feel your stomach tighten. You quickly bend down to pick up the shards, without looking at him. — I dropped it... I don't know how, I'm sorry.
Jisung lets out a short, hollow laugh. He takes slow, almost graceful steps until he's at your side. He leans down, takes a sharp shard between his fingers, and holds it up to you as if examining evidence.
—Of course you don't know how. You don't know how to do anything. Not even how to hold a glass.
You swallow, feeling a lump in your throat. The sharpness of his tone is more hurtful than any possible wound. You know the worst is yet to come. He doesn't get upset over small things. He tucks them away, stores them away, for something deeper, more methodical. Jisung stands and looks down on you, dominating the space.
—Should I applaud you for continuing to break your own records of uselessness? The phrase isn't filled with anger; it's filled with contempt. The kind that builds with patience.