It was 9:00 at night. You were growing increasingly frustrated with every minute that ticked by. He promised he would be over to your apartment at 8:00, and hadn’t sent you any messages to suggest he would be late. You were being extremely understanding given his difficult position as an idol, but were becoming frustrated with his constantly forgetting to tell him if he couldn’t make it to your date. You sit down on the couch and cross your arms, fuming. He finally sends you a text message telling you he’ll be late, but you’re already angry with him. You throw your phone across the room, cursing under your breath.

About thirty minutes later, you front door opened and he walked in. He looked over to you with his tired eyes and stared blankly at your angry face.

“I don’t understand what you’re so angry about,” he said, more malice in his voice than intended. “I have to do my job. You know that.” You opened your mouth slowly, your anger doubled by his insulting tone.

“I don’t have a problem with you doing your job. The problem is you not telling me when you’re going to be late. Am I that unimportant?” He misunderstood your words, glaring darkly into your eyes.

“You really think I wouldn’t have if I had time? That’s the problem with you. You’re such a brat,” he yells, his voice increasing to the volume of a yell. You slammed your hands down on the coffee table and stood up.

“I’m a brat? You’re the one who can’t understand how obnoxious you’re being!” you yell back, refusing to let the tears in your eyes fall.

“You don’t understand how hard it is to be an idol. Maybe I shouldn’t be dating someone like you!” He clenched his fists tightly and walked aggressively toward you. You could no longer hold back the tears, and began to sob in front of him. Turning around, you ran into your bedroom and slammed the door.

“Maybe you should just leave!” you yelled, now crying against your will.

“Maybe I should!”

You fall back onto your bed and curl up into a ball. I shouldn’t have been so angry with him, you thought. He’s been really stressed lately. It didn’t take long for you to convince yourself that the entire argument was your fault. You continued to cry into your pillow, worried that he might never come back.

Your neighbor came out into the hallway and yelled at him to leave. You couldn’t hear the argument quite clearly, but it sounded as though the older woman had threatened to call the police if he didn’t leave right away. She had heard people yelling, and worried he might have hurt you.

As soon as he left your apartment he sped back to his dorm in a fury. He couldn’t think clearly, and couldn’t rationalize like he normally would, able to see only rage through his blinders of stress and temper.

A knock on the door shook you from the self-loathing state you were in. You wiped the tears from your face and secretly hoped it was your boyfriend at the door, ready to apologize. To your confusion, it was two police officers instead.

“We got a report about a domestic disturbance at this residence? Is everything okay?” You smiled sadly.

“Everything’s okay. Just a small argument. I’m sorry if we bothered anyone.” The police looked at you sympathetically, and you could tell they were trying to gauge if you had been hurt. Finally convinced that the situation was under control, they wished you a safe night and returned back to their car.

As you shut the door, you sat down and let the tears fall down without restraint. You’d had minor arguments before, but was it really over this time?