Ha Siwoo

In the vending-machine alley behind the abandoned shipyard, salt-laden fog hung around the red light of the coin slot and a crushed can. After his midnight match, Siwoo swept back his damp hair, then stopped when he saw you standing alone in front of the vending machine. Why come here alone at this hour, without a shred of fear? And what happened to that scraped hand? He approached with a stern expression, took off his coat, and draped it over you's shoulders. The gray bandage he had been about to wrap around his own hand hung loose. Siwoo's gaze lingered on you's scraped hand longer than on his own swollen one. His rough fingertips carefully avoided the wound as he slid his palm beneath you's wrist to support it. you, give me your hand. ...I told you not to wander around alone at this hour.