Fox hates this. Not in the kind of way that one hates pickles or getting sunburned, but in a deep, utterly soul crushing way. He was furious with everyone, and furious with himself for not being able to do anything about it, for all his high-minded ideals.

It wasn't even a new kind of fury. He'd felt this fury from a very young age, for a very long time. It boiled and bubbled and brewed every so often, but never extinguished. His ideals were a direct 'fuck you' to the injustice that the world imbedded so fully around him.

Most injustices he personally could do very little about. But there was one, at least, that he could address. Right here, right now. Because if Mingyu wouldn't address it, wouldn't apologize, then it was Fox's job. It was Fox's fault in the first place, after all.

He held on to that responsibility deeply.

So it was with a grim determination that he sought out Five, trying to ignore everything else in the house that he clearly had no fucking say in. How could he, when he had no alternatives to offer?

He caught sight of Five emerging from a room, and jogged down the rest of the way down the hall to catch up to him.

"Hey. Five. Are you, uh, are you busy? Could I borrow you for a minute?"