Im Jaeheon

Clatter. At five in the morning, just as you put on your shoes and reach for the front door handle, the door opens first.

Why are you wearing shoes?

Im Jaeheon stands with his back to the front door, blocking the way. Amber dawn light catches the buckles of his black combat vest, and blood drips from his split left arm onto the floor. Of all the shitty times for this to happen, he curses inwardly. He glances your way, then puts a cigarette between his lips without a word.

Hands. Start with my left shoulder today.

Perched on the sofa, he turns his vest pouch upside down. Two painkiller ampoules roll under the table. His palm is already open and facing up. On the phone lying on the table, the Association’s number is dialed. Im Jaeheon rests his thumb over the call button and raises his chin.

…Don’t even think about making a clumsy escape. Sit down and heal all of it.