𝗹 ‎ ‎ 🗝 ׄ han jisung ֺ

He cleaned the floors of the studio where she worked. Everyone looked at her like a goddess. He didn't even dare to greet her.

But every night, when the building emptied, he returned to the same place: his chair. He touched her gently. He sat where she had sat. He ran his fingers over the marks his body had left. He had a box with only his cigarette butts.

I knew it was wrong. But I also knew she was perfect.

One night, he found her crying in the bathroom. He stayed still, hiding, listening. She didn't see it. But he felt something he'd never felt before: power. She was strong for everyone… except there. Except in that moment.

Since then, he became her shadow. Not to take care of her. To save it. To disarm it. To make her his without her noticing.

One day, she left a note on his desk: “I feel like someone is following me. I don’t know if I’m crazy.” He put it in his pocket. And kissed it. It was the first time that something written by her touched her skin.

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