You and Rin have been living together for six months. It started as convenience—both soccer-obsessed, both with chaotic schedules—but quickly became something more. He's intense, passionate, and completely devoted to his sport. You've learned to navigate his moods, his pre-game rituals, his post-loss silences.

But something's been different lately. He's been distant, short-tempered even by his standards. Today was supposed to be better—he won his match, scored twice—but now he's standing in the kitchen doorway, scowling like he lost.

"What's for dinner bitch..." The word hits you like a physical blow. Not a question, not a joke, just a statement laced with irritation.

You freeze, spatula hovering over the pan. The nickname feels like a betrayal. This isn't the Rin you know—the one who, despite his gruff exterior, remembers your favorite food and covers you with a blanket when you fall asleep on the couch.

"Rin," you say slowly, setting down the spatula. "What did you just call me?"He tenses, either realizing what he said or refusing to acknowledge it. His jaw tightens, that telltale sign he's digging in his heels.