It started as a normal day.
That was the worst part.
The morning air was cool but pleasant, the campus already alive with movement as students crossed paths, backpacks slung over shoulders, conversations overlapping in a familiar hum. Yuri walked beside Haru toward their first lecture, steps in sync out of habit more than intention. Haru was talking about something small—an assignment due next week, a professor who spoke too fast—but Yuri only half-listened.
His attention was fixed on the guy walking a few steps ahead of them.
Yeojun.
He was tall, easygoing, always smiling like the world didn't weigh much on him. He turned slightly as he walked, laughing at something Haru had just said, and waved back at him casually.
"See you in class," Yeojun said.
Haru smiled. "Yeah. Later."
Yuri's jaw tightened.
He didn't say anything. Not yet.
They took their seats in the lecture hall, Haru settling beside Yuri like always, pulling his notebook out and flipping to a fresh page. Yeojun sat a few rows away, close enough that Yuri could see him lean back, stretching, relaxed and unbothered.
The lecture started.
Yuri's leg bounced restlessly beneath the desk. He stared at the board, then at his notes, then back at Yeojun, irritation curling in his chest like something alive. He hated that he noticed every glance Yeojun threw Haru's way. Hated that Haru responded without thinking—smiling, nodding, whispering when Yeojun leaned closer to ask a question.
It shouldn't matter.
Haru was friendly. Always had been.
But Yuri couldn't shake the feeling that something was slipping through his fingers.
"Can you stop?" Haru whispered suddenly, elbowing him lightly.
Yuri blinked. "Stop what?"
"You're bouncing the table," Haru murmured. "I can't write."
Yuri forced his leg still. "Sorry."
A few minutes passed in tense silence. Haru focused on the lecture, pen moving steadily, but Yuri's irritation only simmered hotter. When Yeojun turned around again, whispering something to Haru that made him laugh softly, Yuri leaned closer.
"What's so funny?" Yuri asked under his breath.
Haru frowned. "Nothing. He was just clarifying something."
"You didn't look confused," Yuri replied.
Haru glanced at him, surprised. "Why are you being weird?"
Yuri scoffed quietly. "I'm not being weird."
"Yes, you are," Haru said, keeping his voice low. "You've been like this all morning."
Yuri leaned back in his chair, arms crossing. "Maybe I just don't like the way he talks to you."
Haru's pen stopped moving.
"…What?" he whispered.
"I'm just saying," Yuri continued, words coming out sharper than intended, "he's always around you. Always joking. Always—"
"Always what?" Haru interrupted, voice tight now.
The professor cleared his throat loudly at the front of the room, shooting them a warning look. Haru turned forward again, jaw set, refusing to look at Yuri.
Yuri sat back, heart pounding, realizing too late that he'd crossed a line.
The rest of the lecture passed in silence.
They didn't talk when class ended.
They didn't walk together between buildings like they usually did. Haru walked a step ahead, shoulders tense, while Yuri followed, replaying the argument in his head over and over, anger slowly giving way to something heavier.
By the time they reached their dorm, the silence between them felt unbearable.
Haru dropped his bag onto his bed harder than necessary. "What was that back there?"
Yuri closed the door behind them. "What do you mean?"
"You embarrassed me," Haru said, turning to face him. "In class."
"I didn't say anything out loud."
"You didn't have to," Haru snapped. "Your tone was enough."
Yuri frowned. "I was just saying I didn't like how close he was being."
"That's not your call," Haru said immediately.
Yuri stiffened. "I'm your boyfriend."
"And I'm not your property," Haru shot back.
The words landed harder than either of them expected.
Yuri took a sharp breath. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to," Haru replied, voice rising. "You don't get to decide who I talk to just because you're uncomfortable."
Yuri's frustration flared. "I'm allowed to be uncomfortable."
"With what?" Haru demanded. "With me having friends?"
"With him," Yuri said. "Specifically him."
Haru laughed once, disbelieving. "You don't even know him."
"I know enough," Yuri said. "I see the way he looks at you."
Haru's eyes widened. "You're projecting."
"No, I'm being realistic."
"Realistic?" Haru repeated, incredulous. "You're being jealous."
Yuri didn't deny it.
That silence said everything.
Haru's hands curled into fists at his sides. "I have never given you a reason not to trust me."
"I know that," Yuri said, voice softer now. "This isn't about you."
"Then stop making it about me," Haru yelled.
The argument escalated quickly after that—voices rising, words tumbling over each other, neither of them listening anymore, just reacting. Yuri brought up how close Yeojun had been lately. Haru brought up how controlling Yuri sounded. Old frustrations bubbled up, things neither of them had realized they were still holding onto.
At some point, Haru reached for the small flower vase on Yuri's desk—something Yuri had bought weeks ago on a whim, bright and cheerful in a room that was usually too neat.
"I'm so tired of feeling like I have to reassure you all the time!" Haru shouted, tears spilling over now. "I'm tired of proving myself!"
He hurled the vase against the wall.
It shattered on impact.
Glass exploded across the floor, flowers falling uselessly among the shards. The sound echoed through the room, sharp and final.
Haru froze.
So did Yuri.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Haru stared at the broken pieces, chest heaving, tears streaming freely now. Yuri looked at the mess, then back at Haru, shock and regret twisting painfully in his gut.
Haru laughed shakily. "Look at me," he said, voice breaking. "I don't even recognize myself."
Yuri stepped forward instinctively. "Haru—"
"Don't," Haru sobbed. "Just—don't."
He wiped his face angrily, shoulders shaking. "I love you. I really do. But I can't do this if you don't trust me."
Yuri opened his mouth, desperate to say something—anything—that could fix this.
But Haru was already grabbing his jacket.
"I need space," Haru said, voice hoarse. "I can't breathe in here right now."
Then he stormed out, the door slamming behind him so hard the walls rattled.
The room fell silent.
Yuri stood alone, staring at the broken vase on the floor. The flowers lay scattered, petals crushed, water soaking into the carpet.
He sank slowly onto the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands tangled in his hair.
Jealousy had done this.
All that fear—of losing Haru, of not being enough, of someone else stepping too close—had pushed him into hurting the one person he'd been trying to protect.
Yuri swallowed hard, chest aching.
Was any of it worth it?
He looked at the door, half-hoping Haru would come back, half-knowing he needed the space he'd asked for.
For the first time that day, Yuri let the question settle fully in his mind—heavy and unavoidable.
Had his jealousy done him any good at all?
And sitting alone in the wreckage of what they'd just broken, he already knew the answer.