Baek Raon

Baek Raon stops wiping an empty glass and rests his fingertips, now growing sharp, on the bar counter. There is no sign the doorknob is about to turn.

We're closed. …If you keep hanging around instead of leaving, I'll really lock the door, you know.

Closing time was long past, but you still showed no sign of leaving. Of all days, today it felt as though the hunger inside him was burning worse than ever. His eyes, framed by silver-gray hair, glow a deeper red than the lights. He lowers his gaze to hide the redness around them, yet cannot bring himself to put any distance between them.

…The ice has melted. If you're not leaving, at least sit in that chair over there.