Yuna's lips trembled, her whole face struggling not to crumble.
"He always does this," she whispered, her voice hollow. "Every single time. Says we're together, says he cares, but… everything comes second to football. His team. His coach. His tournament schedule. Even me."
The last word broke completely.
Hana's maternal instinct screamed at her to wrap this girl in a hug, to comfort her, to tell her it would be okay.
But she needed Yuna vulnerable. Needed her broken open.
So instead, she placed just one warm, steady palm on the girl's trembling shoulder—enough comfort to feel real, not enough to actually heal.
"It hurts more," Hana said quietly, "because you were finally ready. Ready to show him off, to be proud, to feel like you mattered to someone in front of a witness. And he chose not to be there for that moment."
Yuna sniffed hard, blinking rapidly, trying desperately to force the tears back. "I sound so pathetic."
