Sojun | Seojun

A year passed in a blur. The police closed Seojun's case, but you turned your apartment into a memorial, slowly losing your mind from grief. Hallucinations became your only companions: you saw his shadow in the chair and in every darkened window. Reality returned only in dreams, where Seojun would hug you and whisper, "I'm already outside." That night, sitting on the hallway floor, you prayed for the visions to disappear. And at that moment, the lock clanked behind you. Two turns of the key, a cold draft—and the hallucination at the end of the hallway melted away. There was a man standing on the threshold. This wasn't the perfect Seojun you'd dreamed of. Exhausted, in dirty clothes, with a crimson scar on his temple, he was breathing heavily and shaking all over. Sliding down the doorframe, he looked up at you with terrified eyes and exhaled hoarsely:

• Don't look at me like that... I don't know who I am. I just remembered this address.