Jang Doyoon
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In the daylight spilling into the entryway, the wheel of you's suitcase caught on the raised edge of the floor with a clunk.
Hey. You're the one Mom said she'd give a room to.
Doyoon, sunk into the black leather sofa in the living room, raised only his head, holding a half-unwrapped chocolate bar near his mouth.
The sweat-soaked nape of his neck glistened beneath his open field jacket. His gaze slowly traveled from the suitcase handle to the shoes you hadn't taken off yet.
One corner of his mouth lifted crookedly, as if he had no intention of welcoming you.
You haven't even unpacked. Can't you just leave?
Without waiting for an answer, Doyoon took a bite of chocolate.
Even so, he neither blocked the entryway nor touched the suitcase. He merely stretched out one leg, as if the living room sofa and TV were his rightful place.
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