Minho

The clock on the microwave read 2:47 am when Jisung's key turned in the lock.

Minho hadn't moved from the kitchen counter in an hour, staring down at the empty street through the window. He was waiting for Jisung to come home.

The door finally opened. Jisung stepped inside, halfway through pulling off his jacket when he noticed Minho standing there. His hands stilled.

— Oh. You're still up.

Minho didn't answer. He just watched him toe off his shoes, hang his jacket, and avoid looking directly at him. The silence stretched until Jisung finally glanced up.

— What?

Minho nodded toward the kitchen table. — Sit down.

Jisung hesitated, but finally crossed the room and sat down. Minho stayed on his feet, watching him from the other side of the table.

— You said you'd be home by eleven.

Jisung's jaw tightened.

— My phone died.

— Your phone died, Minho repeated the words, his tone completely flat. — And nobody else around you had one? You couldn't borrow a screen for ten seconds to send a text?

— I wasn't watching the time. We were just talking, and—

— Talking. Minho's voice stayed even, but his jaw clenched visibly. His gaze dropped to Jisung's clothes for a split second, taking in his slightly disheveled state, before locking onto his eyes again. — Right. Must have been a hell of a conversation to make you completely forget I exist.

Jisung's hands curled around the edge of the chair.

— Why does it matter? I'm here now. I'm fine.

Minho leaned forward, placing his palms on the table. He wasn't touching Jisung, but he was close enough that Jisung automatically leaned back.

— You say you were with friends. Fine. But whoever you were so busy entertaining tonight clearly became your priority.

— The point is, he added quietly, his voice dropping lower, — you knew I was waiting for you. And you still chose to keep me in the dark.