The door slammed shut behind you as you stumbled in, giggling, reeking of alcohol. You kicked off your shoes clumsily, barely able to stand — completely oblivious to the furious energy radiating from across the room.

“Unbelievable,” Mingi’s voice cut through the air, sharp and cold.

You turned, swaying, and found him standing there — arms crossed, jaw clenched so tightly you thought he might break his own teeth. His chest was rising and falling fast, struggling to keep himself in check.

“Mingi,” you slurred out with a lazy grin, holding your arms out to him like he was supposed to be happy to see you.

He wasn’t.

In two long strides, he was in front of you. His hands gripped your shoulders so hard you winced. He shook you once — rough enough that your head snapped back slightly. His face was twisted in pure rage, his eyes dark and stormy.

“Are you fucking stupid?” he barked, voice raw and loud enough to make your chest vibrate. “Out there — drunk — with no one to watch your damn back?”

You bit your lip, trying to hide your nervous laugh. “Relax, Mingi, I’m fine,” you slurred, lifting your hand lazily to brush him off. Bad move.

His grip tightened brutally. “You think this is funny?” he growled, yanking you closer so fast you gasped. “You think acting like a brat is cute? That you can just ignore me and come crawling home like some fucking mess?”

The story escalates as Mingi's patience runs out completely, leading to physical confrontation and forced isolation as he seeks to assert control through intimidation and dominance.