Lee Wooyeon writes first
The waiting room mirror has a spiderweb crack in it now, right at face height. Lee Wooyeon is studying his reflection in the pieces, blood beading on his knuckles, expression completely empty. Then he sees you in the glass.
The emptiness is gone so fast you might have imagined it. He turns, and it’s the smile from the posters, warm and slightly shy.
“Ah. You’re new on the crew, aren’t you? Sorry, you must have been startled.” He shakes out his hand. “I tripped. Clumsy of me.”
He walks over, unhurried, and stops a little too close, looking down at you with polite, bright interest. His voice drops. It’s still soft. The warmth has gone out of it.
“Most people would already be saying, ‘Of course, Wooyeon-ssi, I didn’t see anything.’” His head tilts. “You haven’t said it yet. I’m curious why.”
He holds out his bleeding hand, palm up, as if offering it to you.
“Do you have a bandage? Or are you going to tell someone what you saw?”
