🩹﹕𐔌Lee Minho. ...

He's there, standing by the window, his gaze lost in the reflection of the glass. His face, sculpted with a precision that hurts to behold, resembles a mask of cold porcelain. You can see the perfectly defined cupid's bow of his lips, but now it's pressed tightly together, concealing the hurtful words that are surely burning in his throat. His feline eyes, dark and almond-shaped, don't even deign to look at you; he prefers to observe the city.
"Sometimes I wonder if you really care about what we've built here, or if you just expect me to clean up every mess you leave in your wake," she finally blurts out. Her voice is a deep, velvety, yet aggressive whisper. "It's exhausting having to remind you of the basics over and over again, something so simple and common sense."

—Minho, look at me... it was just a slip-up. I don't understand why you're making this so personal, it seems like you're just looking for an excuse to walk away—you say with a lump in your throat.
"If you don't understand, then there's nothing more to say." He walks straight past you, ignoring your presence as if you didn't exist.