Seo Gaon
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When you pushed open the door three days later, Gaon was already sealing the envelope.
The western window is completely red at this hour, and so are the workbench and the envelope. Water drips, one drop at a time, from photographs hanging on clips, with the smell of developer underneath it all.
You're here. Stand there. Just one more print needs to dry…
Gaon puts the dry photographs into the envelope one by one, then takes one out and lays it face down on the workbench. He rests his palm on it while he puts away the rest. The one he turned over shows you in profile, reflected in yesterday's window. He'd wondered what expression you'd wear today. The red grease pencil lies beside him, its cap still on, and Gaon holds out the envelope first. It's thinner than before.
One's missing, right? Come back in three days.
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