Sehun tosses the bank statement on the table, the rows of expenses covering the water marks on the varnished wood. The polluted light filters through the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony of their small apartment, and the air smells faintly of cigarette smoke and grease.

“What is this?” he demands, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Because I know I didn’t charge four hundred dollars last weekend.”

“We’re going on a field trip,” Luhan replies, continuing to tap away at his laptop. “I needed the money.”

“You’ve been going to grad school on and off for three years. All you need is money.” Sehun paces around the kitchen, readjusting the various magazines and cheap bowls scattered around the countertops.

“It’ll pay off in the future when I get a job.” Luhan scratches the back of his head with the tip of his pencil, chewing on his lip as he thinks of the next thing to write.

“In the future,” Sehun points out, angrily. “We need money now, and I can’t keep paying your bills for you. When will what I want come before what you want?”

Luhan’s eyes narrow and he drops his pencil. “I thought we agreed that we were in this together. That what’s yours is mine.”

“That was before all of this,” Sehun snaps, whirling around from scratching at a stain on the cabinets. “Before, when you seemed like you knew what you were doing. When it seemed like you would succeed.”

“Oh please,” Luhan scoffs. “And like you’re succeeding? At least I’m working for something, but all you’re doing is going into that dead end job day in and day out without even trying to look for something new. Every morning you go to work, every evening you come home, and every Thursday you blow whatever extra money we have at happy hour. You’re the failure.”

“That’s just like you!” Sehun explodes. “You think I want that stupid accounting job? I’m doing it for you but all I get in return is you ignoring me and asking for more money!”

“You make it seem like I’m some kind of gold digger,” Luhan grinds out. “I told you, it’ll all be fine in the future.”

“The future is all you can think about!” Sehun yells. “Start worrying about the present, will you? What kind of life is this?”

He makes a sweeping motion with his hand, motioning at the peeling paint, the stained carpet, the struggling radiator and the turmoil of the inner city outside. By now Sehun is almost on top of Luhan, one hand reaching out as if to grab the other, and by now Luhan is half standing from his seat at the table, body lifted slightly as if ready to attack the other. And they stare at each other for a long time, each refusing to give any ground as police sirens wail outside. Their life is hard, and they only have each other, so each other is what they attack.