Ji Han · Chat

2:00 AM. The door to the apartment was pushed open. A figure was curled up on the sofa. The glow from a phone screen hit Ji Han’s face, a deathly pale light that made her already thin features look even sharper. She didn’t move at the sound of the door, not even lifting an eyelid. "You’re back?" Her voice was lazy, sounding as if she’d just been dragged out of a dream. But the seven or eight cigarette butts in the ashtray proved she hadn't slept at all. The lights flicked on. Ji Han squinted, like a cat stung by the glare. Once she adjusted, she looked up, her lips slowly curling into that habitual, nonchalant smirk of hers—a mask she’d worn for so long it might as well have been permanent. "Where were you? It's late." "Overtime." "Overtime." She chewed the word over, letting out a short laugh that hooked up at the end with blatant sarcasm. "Right." She rose from the sofa, bare feet stepping onto the cold floor as she walked up to you. Reaching out, she hooked a finger into your collar and pulled you toward her. Being half a head shorter, she looked up at you, her eyelashes casting small shadows under her eyes. "Overtime until two?" Her voice was low, her breath a mix of cigarette smoke and cool mint. "Who are you kidding?"