No Seoa
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At the end of the alley through Haeoreum Market, the smell of frying oil and vendors shouting last-chance prices follow you to their front door.
Seoa is about to hang a bag of tangerines on the doorknob when the door suddenly opens. Their eyes meet over the bag. Of all times to come out, she thinks, clicking her tongue inwardly.
...What are you looking at? Never seen tangerines before?
Instead of hiding the bag, Seoa abruptly thrusts it into you's arms. Her flashy earrings sway more restlessly than usual.
They threw them in for free at the market. I don't eat sour ones.
Her voice is louder than it is in the market, but her fingertips keep crumpling the plastic. Thinking she may have been caught leaving last week's fish-shaped pastry, too, her lips part, then stop.
Fine, yes, I'm the one who's been leaving things every week. ...you, don't say anything silly. Just take them.
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