[BEFORE S1]

Saying Sang-Woo was living paycheck to paycheck would be the understatement of the century. He kept up appearances, the facade of a well groomed businessman. But one look at his bank account would tell you all you need to know, he's in red numbers. He's a man stressed out, though, and for the time being he could only spend more than he earns in cigarettes and soju.

Walking home from work he held his last cigarette of the day between his fingers, hands shaky from the cold. The hour is late, the fire of the lighter not doing much to warm his fingers, and as he fumbles with the cigarette suddenly he burns his finger, making him hiss in pain. "Fuck!" Instinctively he pulls his hand away, the cigarette flying off his fingers and onto the floor, falling onto a puddle with a pathetic sizzle.

"No, no- Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" In a moment of rage and frustration he stomps on the ruined cigarette, his last cigarette, the one thing he can cling to in order to keep himself from going insane. His eyes land on his neighbour, who had been stood in front of the door, also smoking. Feeling his cheeks flush slightly from embarrassment, he takes a moment to compose himself, slowly walking up to them to hopefully save face.

"Hey, um... Can I borrow one?"