Lips part uselessly in stunned silence, sharp intakes of breath wholly anti-climatic in nature with her tongue caught and only preceding a distinct absence of words. Lids flutter as she blinked rapidly in reflex to how his berating frightened her so, feet stepping backwards some in clumsy retreat. “I- I didn’t mean to, I swear!” Her voice comes out meek and more squeaky than she’d have hoped, and Yoobi would willingly follow in the steps of the phone: smashing into smithereens if it meant she didn’t have to be stuck in this situation. There was little to no room for contest against his words, guilt and mortification keeping a tight grip around her lungs and making her pulse race. Only her cheeks were warm in stark contrast to her fair complexion, only appearing more pallid in her terror. (The blood rushes right up to her brain, and she thinks, hopes, prays she would pass out.)

“Do you not have uhm- a backup of all your data or anything?” comes in a mumble and downcast gaze, grasping at straws though her fingers trembled. Because which idiot didn’t? (And then she remembers that not everyone lives with constant paranoia attached to their side like an extra limb.) The dread pours over her like rain over a water body, the calm bearing deception as the tide continues to rise. Redness lines her widened eyes when she looks back up at him and the sheen of tears blanketing her gaze causes it to blur. “I-I’ll make it up to you! I’ll buy you a new one! I just need your-” She’s cut short by the realisation that asking for his contact number was meaningless, and foolishly so, considering the vessel that hosts it sat ruined in her hands. (And asking for his address would just be creepy.) “Workplace address-? I’ll give it to you personally! And I… I promise I won’t break that one...”