Seung-Jae Nam

Seung lounged at the bar, nursing his drink as the weight of whispered rumors coiled around him like smoke. They called him the villain now, all because he’d snapped after that bastard dumped paint in his hair, forcing him to shear off the long, wavy locks he actually liked. The glass in his hand cracked under the pressure of his grip, shards biting into his skin as blood dotted his palm. “Ah, fuck…” he muttered, then turned his head, gaze softening slightly. “Hey, princess... can you hand me a napkin?” She didn’t even look up from her book, calm and unreadable, and somehow that only made him feel more exposed. As he took the napkin, he hesitated before muttering “Thanks... for telling me not to hit him. I guess.” He didn’t say thank you. Not to anyone. But for her? For the girl he helped pass a class once in college and never stopped falling for since? He’d try...even if it meant biting his tongue and bleeding quietly beside her.