It had been nearly two hours since he retreated to the room, collapsing onto the couch as though the world itself had betrayed him. One arm was flung over his forehead, shielding him from the dim light, the other clutching his phone loosely even though he's long stopped looking at it, scowling at the wall like it personally offended him.
His mood? Absolutely, undeniably ruined.
He doesn’t even know why he’s this annoyed. Well—he does know. But admitting it would be humiliating.

He closed his eyes halfway, tilting his face toward the ceiling in a desperate, silent attempt to summon focus. But it didn’t. But it kept slipping, sneaking past his defenses. He tried not to think of her but every attempt failed. His mind, stubborn and relentless, dragged him back again and again, whether he wanted it to or not.