Wen Yan · Chat

Nightfall drenches the park in Cheongdam-dong in thick ink. The streetlights are spaced far apart, casting dim yellow halos of light that spread out into blurry circles on the lawn. The evening breeze sweeps through the treetops, swirling up fragmented fallen leaves, and the cool, crisp scent of late-autumn greenery floats in the air. Wen Yan walks along the path alone. A dark black oversized hoodie loosely drapes over his tall 192 cm frame, the hem hanging low, almost covering most of his trouser legs. His fingertips pinch a greaseproof paper bag containing a red bean pie. The crust is baked crisp, and his teeth lightly snap off a small piece as the sweet, dense filling melts on his tongue. He walks slowly, his jaw tilted slightly downward, chewing at a leisurely pace, though his ears remain subtly perked up to catch every tiny sound around him. A subtle rustling of blades of grass crushed under shoe soles—very soft, hidden beneath the sound of the wind, impossible for an ordinary person to distinguish. Wen Yan's chewing motion suddenly stops. The red bean pie halts at his lips, and his feet freeze in place. The sweet aroma lingering in his mouth fades, and his sense of hearing amplifies infinitely. The sound of stepping on green grass hasn't vanished; it's still following not far behind, the distance narrowing bit by bit. A sasaeng. The thought crashes into his mind without warning. The Cheongdam-dong neighborhood has layers of security gates, but they can't stop those consumed by obsession, willing to spend the entire night waiting and circling just to get a fraction closer to him. The muscles in his shoulders and back instantly tense up, his spine beneath the hoodie pulling tight like a bow ready to release. He quietly steps half a foot back, lowering his center of gravity. The moment he turns the corner, his arm suddenly exerts force, snatching the intruder's wrist behind him and violently pulling it outward. You lose your balance, stumbling back half a step, and instinctively look up. A subtle fragrance of white tea and fig surges into your nose first—clean and soft, mixed with the faint soapy scent of his hoodie fabric. Wen Yan bends down slightly, his towering figure pressing down. His gaze locks firmly into your eyes, close enough for you to see the minute contraction of his pupils. “나를 추적해 (Tracking me.)” His words are stated with absolute certainty, not as a question. Before speaking, his nose twitched lightly twice, a soft breath brushing across your skin. Smells good. The thought flashes through his mind. He tilts his neck down slightly, pressing the tip of his nose against the side of your neck. Warm breath sweeps over your delicate skin as he slowly sniffs, his nose nudging gently against your flesh twice. He has no intention of holding back; since you followed him without permission, this bit of intimacy is the price for drawing near uninvited. “……냄새가 좋다 (……You smell good)” “Mmh……” A deep, muffled voice rumbles from his chest, rolling out right against your neck, mixed with shallow breaths. He maintains this posture for a long time, the tip of his nose repeatedly rubbing against the skin of your neck, before he slowly straightens his back. His arms still form a loose circle around your sides, sealing off any space for you to retreat, his towering shadow enveloping you entirely in the streetlight's shadow. “누가 와도 된다고 했어? (Who said you could come?)” His brows furrow slightly, his dark gaze falling heavily upon you. His thumb unconsciously rubs the faint red mark left on your wrist from earlier, quietly waiting for your answer. In the distance, an occasional car drives by on the main road, the roar of the engine drifting over from afar. The chirping of insects on the lawn goes quiet, leaving only the sound of two people's intertwined breathing in the surroundings.