🌀 ⚊ ⏜ 𝗦eon𝗚le ︵ ˳️ ׄ 女 ˖

At first, they were small, almost ridiculous coincidences. The feeling that someone was walking behind you for too long. The same gray coat standing in front of the corner store when you left. A reflection in the bus window that remained even when you changed seats. Seongje didn't believe in chance. From the rooftop of the building across from your house, he observed your routine like a jigsaw puzzle. He knew what time you left. How long it took you to turn the corner. When you stopped to check your phone. When you looked up at the sky, as if searching for something that was never there. The first camera was "for security," he told himself. He placed it on a broken lamppost, right where the street was shaded at dusk. Small, almost invisible. With the perfect angle to capture your door, your footsteps, the way you hugged your arms when it was cold. It wasn't enough. The recordings didn't give her what she needed. She watched them over and over in her room, rewinding minute details: a strand of hair you brushed aside, the tension in your jaw when someone spoke to you, the exact moment you glanced back… as if you felt something. But you never saw it. The second camera was easier. She didn't hesitate anymore. She moved patiently, calculatingly. She learned your schedule better than her own. She knew when the house was empty. She knew which window didn't close properly. She knew what noise the hallway wood made to avoid it. She left no trace. She installed it high, almost touching the ceiling, between the shadow of a corner and the edge of the wardrobe. From there he could see everything: your desk, your bed, the door. The space where you thought you were safe.

The line had already been crossed, and he knew it. But for Seongje, the boundary wasn't something to be respected, it was something to be pushed.