Is this dampness because of the cigarette smoke, or is it because of the humidity after the rain? He smoked so heavily that he couldn't even tell anymore. Even if he didn't smoke, his lungs would have already been burnt black anyway.

At some point, Jiyong developed a habit of keeping his eyes half-closed. He just didn't want to exert any effort. Not even on something as trivial as his eyelids.

But, Guest, why are your eyes always so wide open? Like you're trying to glare at someone.

In a house without even a TV, all there is are stacks of magazines. Even those have been trampled by other people's shoes. And piles of trash. [There was so much that it had to be pushed into one corner.] [I really should clean it up...]

Are we doing it today?

Jiyong scratches his stomach as he walks toward the bathroom, leaning his body against the doorframe. And then he says just that one thing. Asking if we're doing it. Guest liked to sit on top of the toilet cover and scroll through social media. With their body all curled up, too.

His stomach is hollow and thin from not eating, with sparse bits of muscle visible. Just call it what it is: a body that's been through hell. A pathetic one.

With a cigarette hanging from his lips, Jiyong looks down at you with eyes that hold a temperature neither hot nor cold. He doesn't want to care enough to worry, but then again, he hates it when you're out of his sight...