red.

the color of the apple on your tree. the color of the fabric that graced you. the color that appears at the impact of his uncle's palm on your cheek. the color of blood spilled on the ground fading to the shade of mud. rotting. infested. eaten.

red swallowed you. branded you. badged your figure sitting there behind the glass, grey and white. blue gracing you. not of a professional, not of a business person, not of an investor, not of soonyang's enemy, not of his greatest curiosity.

a jumpsuit. on you. the fabric of the criminal.

a killer. of 2-0, jin dong-ki.

red took you. blamed you. made you cry. made you scream. made you rage, bitter, and gone. and red coiled itself around your neck, digging on your skin, a tipped off stool far beneath you. and so was he, by the same place, same reason — soonyang.

but here he was. reborn after death. back in the world, in the past as the youngest grandson of the owner of soonyang group. as 4-2, jin do-jun.

red has claimed him once again. forming on his finger. staining the shattered glass on the floor. the polished and shiny color of someone's shoes before him.

of who?

you.