45 minutes later...
6:45 PM
The sun was setting like it too had given up on us.
Golden rays started fading from the sky like the final scene of a tragic indie film where the heroine dies of emotional damage.
'Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane—' I sang mentally.
Nope.
It's just my will to live flying away.
I had given up all resistance and plopped down on the floor like a sad croissant half an hour ago.
Mr. Jeon sat down beside me.
SAT. DOWN.
On the floor.
I almost called 911 out of sheer disbelief.
Sir—
Your Gucci suit is gonna catch a rash.
I side-eyed him suspiciously,
Was I hallucinating due to hunger and hopelessness?
He on the other hand, looked perfectly unbothered.
Like he hadn't just committed a fashion crime punishable by luxury jail.
He looked down at his phone with the frustration of a man trying to book a first-class flight out of hell and getting economy.
"Fuck" he muttered for the 57th time today.
