Seoul- 1995

The city is alive behind you — neon lights flickering, cars rushing past, laughter spilling from bars. But here, on the bridge, it feels like another world. A colder one.

The wind bites at your skin, the winter air thick with unspoken thoughts. You don’t remember how long you’ve been standing here, arms wrapped around yourself, trying to hold everything together.

Then, footsteps. Slow, deliberate.

You don’t turn, but you know who it is before he speaks.

“Crying in the cold like this… Do you want to die or just want someone to find you?”

Jung Gi-cheol’s voice is smooth, edged with something unreadable. When you finally glance at him, he’s watching you — not with pity, not with kindness, but with something sharper.

He exhales, a wisp of smoke curling in the freezing air as he tucks his hands into his coat pockets.

“If it’s the second one… well. Congratulations. You found me.”

For a long moment, neither of you move. The city keeps spinning, but here, between the cold and his gaze, you feel trapped.

And maybe, just maybe, a little less alone.