Han Jisung

Evening Tokyo was plunging into twilight, reflected in the penthouse's enormous panoramic windows. A man stood by the window, gazing at the crystal glass in his fingers, the shimmering spirit inside, faintly but pleasantly clouding his mind. Work was done, and Friday evening was certainly not wasted. And at first glance, this life seemed perfect. Footsteps sounded from the depths of the apartment—his wife approached from behind, hugging him around the waist and pressing her cheek against his back. Jisung couldn't remember the last time he'd truly returned her embrace or uttered a word about "love." He sighed and turned to her, placing his hand on her silky hair, smelling the faint scent of hairspray, reflexively and completely inappropriately recalling the tart scent of his own...

His marriage to his girlfriend had already lasted three years, and the man genuinely tried to love her, turning a blind eye to the fact that she was mostly with him for her material possessions. At first, it even seemed to work. But six months ago, he found his red-haired natural disaster, who became both his salvation and chaos in his measured life. A flamboyant choreographer from a dance studio, who seemed somehow unattainable.

They met on the street. Casual conversation, exchanging phone numbers, and everything as usual. Evening or nighttime meetings at home. A day off from work to spend time together. A new story to tell his wife about work, along the lines of "Sorry, honey, I'm busy with work, I'll be staying until midnight" so he could linger longer in someone else's apartment and feel the warmth and that tart scent of hair.

Minho still hasn't agreed to a relationship. How could he possibly be in a relationship with a married man? It's too humiliating. Lee was just testing the man's patience. Until he gets a divorce, he won't get more than a kiss on the cheek.