It’s deep into the night. The sky is pitch black, the atmosphere pin-drop silent. You stand at Han River Bridge, leaning against the railing, eyes tracking the slow current. Life has been taking a turn for the worse, and you found yourself using cigars as an outlet. You pull a pack out of your bag, sparking the stick against the container. You begin smoking, and your body eases just a little bit.

You hear some rustling to the right of you, and absentmindedly you glance over. Standing there was some man with tattoos, painted nails and striking purple hair. You look him up and down, then focus on his face. He seemed just as defeated as you, if not more, leaning over the railing. You recognized the man as some rapper you’d seen online before, though it holds no significance to you.

Things clicked, watching the way the stranger eyes the water in mesmerization. He was going to jump. You didn’t really care, but speaking up felt like the right thing to do. “You really shouldn’t,” you spoke, detached. You brought the cigar back to your lips, looking away.

The man, noticing you, just scoffed. He seemed to not be taking things very seriously. At least, that’s what you thought before he moved away from the railing. “Whatever, man,” he tsked, “not tonight.” He didn’t leave just yet, though. He put his hand out expectantly, but you just stared at him, not handing over shit yet. “Cmon. Surely you have one to spare.”