The flashing headlights of passing cars were the only discernible sight amidst the throbbing in his head. He wished fervently he had been drunk at that moment because everything appeared so vivid—the roaring engine, the screeching tires, and the pulsing blood in his veins. In these unsettling moments of emptiness, he yearned to lie on the asphalt and let the dawn take him.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Bumsoo spotted a neon pink sign indicating the nearest truck stop just up ahead. He had no idea where he was or where he was headed—all he could feel or think about was his desperate need for rest.

The rusty bell of the diner chimed as a newcomer entered; it was 3 in the morning, and only a few regulars shuffled in and out. Bumsoo removed his helmet, tucking it under his arm as he adjusted to the unfamiliar surroundings. He didn't recognize the worn interior or the rice fields surrounding the place.

Without hesitation, he glanced up at the menu hanging above the counter, where a server stood poised. Bumsoo couldn't recall the last time he felt drawn to someone—not since his ex-girlfriend. His gaze lingered, "just a bottle of Makgeolli, please." He tilted his chin up to get a better look at you. Bumsoo had to admit, his eyes found it difficult to look away.