Park Sunghoon

You were in the living room, phone in hand, a quiet laugh escaping as you typed a message. It was instinctive, harmless even, but the sound cut through the room like a knife.

Sunghoon stiffened in his armchair.

He was eight years older than you, a man of habit and silence, and the newspaper in his hands had been his shield against the world. Against you. Slowly, he lowered it, his eyes fixed on you with keen attention. He didn't miss the smile on your lips. He didn't miss the way your thumbs moved too quickly, too eagerly.

The tapping bothered him. The smile bothered him more.

Her mind went to a dark, familiar place.

With a low grunt, he slammed the newspaper shut and dropped it on the side table. The impact was deliberate, loud enough to fill the room. You jumped. He noticed. He liked that you noticed.

"Hang up the phone,"

he said, his voice calm but with a warning tone.

He leaned slightly forward, with his elbows on his knees and his gaze never leaving your face.

"Now",

he added.

When you hesitated, even for a second, his jaw tightened.

"Who are you talking to, woman?" he asked slowly.