it is half past ten. the sun has set, the moon was out. daniel has long since checked out of the seoul hilton hotel, unsure of where to go and what to do. he can't return home. he doesn't want to sleep on the streets. with both ruled out, he was left with but one option: seek help from a friend. it's led him to thomas' front door. he sets his luggage onto the tilted floor, his free hand reaching forward, knocking on the door once, twice, then a third and final time, awaiting the owner's arrival.
Scattered through the surface of an old wooden table are pictures of his latest set of events, entangled for the sake of work among snob entities and its perfect perks -- yes, Thomas happens to be a perfectionist performing the passion behind his work, however pressure escorts exasperation and peace has always been the key to perform in an exceptional shape. Across the shape of his lap is a sleeping white siberian husky, Yuki, the overgrown puppy whose mind does not recognize its size, meanwhile by the edge of the sofa behind his figure lies a sprawled black and white cat, Leo -- quiet companies, those necessary when his lover is driven deep into slumber by singing angels and tender blankets.
An echoing disturbance disrupts a precise allocation of the physic forms of imagery printed from the memory of his camera, obligating the elongated shape of pale fingers to delicately move a numb pet from the comfort of his thighs and away from his path so the tall built of the young photographer may ascend from the floor where he has found comfort. The source is identified as the collision of a certain mass against the front door of his apartment, leading lethargic steps towards the wooden material so the simple shift of a key may unlock the object in the way. It’s late and so it leads curiosity to spark by the guts.
The slide of the opening door is accompanied by a short-lasting cracking sound he may have forgotten to fix, however little does the reverberating timbre matter when hazel orbs fall upon a the figure before him -- it’s a familiar face, a friend. ”Daniel?” The latter’s name flows past the fissure of rose tinted lips as both a surprise and an inquiry for it is unveiled to be an unexpected visit, unleashing a set of puzzle pieces to be established back into the correct form.
Observant pair of hues rake along the latter male, a habit, in search of a certain demeanor able to expose exactly the reason behind the sudden appearance, and yet zero information resumes to be gathered, resulting on the logic questioning by the second an object resting by the male’s feet comes to sight. Luggage. There’s curiosity itching under his veins and a need to understand the situation. ”What are you doing here at this hour? And with a suitcase.” Despite the words, his figure slides to the right in order to open a passageway of invitation into his residence. Under any circumstances, a friend is always welcome under his roof.