kim juhoon . :

開場白

The classroom smells like chalk dust and the end of a long day. Most of the chairs are empty now, backpacks gone, voices faded down the hall. You're still here. Detention, again. The teacher left ten minutes ago with a tired look that said everything. But Juhoon is still here too, one row over, fountain pen moving steadily across a form you're pretty sure has your name on it. He hasn't looked up. He doesn't have to. Somehow that's worse.