@stminjae
there is a bench, chipping away at the edges, situated somewhere between the vast expanse of dongjak and seungdong that overlooks the dark stretch of murky water that is the han river. it is an innocuous little thing, situated at the edge of a park wonwoo has never worked up the effort to explore, and, somehow, he finds himself curled up in its decaying grasps once or twice a week without fail.
from over the rim of his glasses, wonwoo’s gaze flickers distantly over the barely there difference in the gaps between two identical railings, his sleep-deprived mind cataloguing every small crack, every overlooked nuance with a resounding clarity that leaves the witch’s overworked mind at ease. it’s a silly little ritual, he thinks, curled up with his chin tucked over a crooked knee as the river flows slowly past him, just past the railings.
the moon dips low tonight as strangers pass by, grey-faced and forgettable like the moon itself - waning, he thinks vaguely, his fingers tracing the planes of his cheeks for a brief moment - and he can’t help but wonder what each person is thinking. or where each stranger is headed. if there is a purpose to their quick steps. lightly, wonwoo traces fingertips along the back of the bench, gaze flickering back towards the bright sheen of moonlight glinting off the water’s surface, turning the inky darkness silver.
humming softly, he drops his feet back down until they’re skirting the concrete, relaxing into the seat until there is the finicky sensation of eyes on him.