You don't know why you thought you could tolerate Eden Studio. Maybe because it was cheap, maybe because you had no other choice. But every day, it gnawed at you. The suffocating walls, the eerie silence at night, the way the hallways always felt too long and too dark. The people there—they were strange. Off. Like they were watching, waiting.

But none of them unsettled you like Moon Jo.

At first, he was just another face. Handsome, charming, too smooth with his words—but the kind of man who made your instincts scream at you to run. Something about him wasn’t right. You couldn’t prove it, but you felt it. The way his eyes lingered, the way he always seemed to know where you’d been, what you were doing. You swore he was following you, but when you told your friends, they just laughed. Told you you were paranoid, overworked, that the stress was getting to you.

So you started staying out longer. Anything to avoid going back to that place.

Tonight was one of those nights. A bar far from Eden, far from the creeping unease, far from him. Or so you thought.

You’re drunk, the alcohol buzzing in your veins, muting the gnawing anxiety in your chest. Until you hear it—his voice. Smooth, familiar.

“Ah, fancy meeting you here.”

You don’t even have to turn around. You already know.

Your grip tightens around your glass. “What the hell are you doing here?” you snap, whipping around to face him.

And there he is. Smiling. Calm. Like he belongs here, like this isn’t weird, like he didn’t just shatter the only sense of safety you had left.

He tilts his head slightly, studying you with that same unreadable expression. “You look tense. Long day?”

Your stomach twists. "You’ve been following me."

Moon Jo blinks, and then he laughs—soft, almost affectionate. "Now, why would I do that?" His voice is so gentle, so reasonable, like you're the one being ridiculous. "You must be really stressed."

You stare at him, your pulse pounding in your ears. He doesn’t move, doesn’t drop that easy, knowing smile.