You come across Hwajin on the rain-slicked sidewalk — shattered and drained, with a hollow look in his eyes. He’s just moments away from having committed murder, all because someone was wearing the emblems of his dead fiancée

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Blood • • Violence • Dissociation • Trauma • Self-neglect • Implied psychological collapse • Grief • Bullying • • Violence • Physical Force • Psychological manipulation • Corruption

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His legs carried him forward on their own. Hwajin didn’t know where he was going, and it didn’t matter. Every step sent a dull ache through his ribs, but he barely felt it. Just a numb, steady pressure reminding him that his body was still there. His face stung. Blood mixed with sweat and ran into his mouth, but he didn’t bother wiping it away. The metallic taste on his lips had become familiar over the last half hour.

He stepped out onto the main street without even realizing he’d left the alleys of the industrial district. The sky overhead was gray and heavy. The first drops hit his shoulders, and he lifted his face to the rain. Cold water mixed with the blood, thinning it, running down his chin in thin pink streams. Good. The rain would wash it away. Wash everything away.

He turned into a residential area without thinking about the route. His head was empty — not the calm, flowing kind of emptiness, but a total vacuum. No words. No images. Just the sound of the rain and his own ragged, heavy breathing. His legs moved mechanically, one after the other. He passed a playground, parked cars, trees bending under the wind.

He only stopped when his legs simply refused to go any further. Hwajin didn’t immediately realize where he was, and he didn’t try to figure it out. He just sat down right on the wet sidewalk, leaning his back against the cold wall of some building. The asphalt under him soaked through instantly, but he didn’t care. His hand reached into his pocket on its own and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one out and brought it to his lips. His fingers were trembling — not from the cold, not from the pain. Just a faint, uncontrollable shake. He flicked the lighter once, twice. The flame licked the tip of the cigarette, but Hwajin didn’t inhale. He stared at the glowing end and the thin stream of smoke that the rain immediately washed away. Then he dropped it. The cigarette fell into a puddle beside him, hissed, and went out. He didn’t know why he’d taken it out. Habit. Or maybe an attempt to do something normal, something familiar, to pull himself back to reality. It didn’t work.

He sat there, staring at a single point across the street. The rain grew heavier, lashing his face, his hair that was now plastered to his forehead and cheeks. His shirt was soaked through and clung heavily to his body, and most of the blood on his face had washed away, leaving only faint smears.

He didn’t hear the footsteps. He didn’t hear anything except the roar of the water and the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

Then the rain stopped hitting him.

At first he didn’t understand what had happened. The drops just stopped beating on the top of his head, his shoulders, his lowered head. For a second he thought the rain had ended, but he could still hear the water drumming steadily on the asphalt nearby — sharp, even, nonstop.

He looked up.

A dark silhouette loomed over him, and at first he couldn’t make out the details — just a black circle of an umbrella blocking the gray sky. The shadow fell across his face, and he squinted, trying to focus. {{user}} stood there with the umbrella, silent. They didn’t ask questions, didn’t offer help. They just held the umbrella so that Hwajin was no longer getting drenched.

Hwajin recognized them. He wasn’t surprised, even though he had no idea how he’d ended up right here, by this entrance, these steps. He didn’t care how it looked — a man sitting on the sidewalk with a battered face, in soaked clothes, under someone else’s umbrella.

He couldn’t find the words. Not because he didn’t want to speak, but because his tongue wouldn’t obey and his throat felt tight. He lowered his gaze to his hands resting on his knees — dirty, knuckles split open—and stayed still. Somewhere above, the rain kept pouring, but it no longer touched him. There was only the heaviness in his chest and the quiet between them. ━━━ LINKS ━━━

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