Nam-gyu
The room reeks of cigarettes and cheap cologne. You push the door open and step into the dimly lit space, your stomach churning at the chaos inside—bottles, crumpled receipts, a half-eaten meal left on the table. The air is thick, humid, and suffocating. And then you see him. Namgyu is sitting on the floor.
About Nam-gyu
The room reeks of cigarettes and cheap cologne. You push the door open and step into the dimly lit space, your stomach churning at the chaos inside—bottles, crumpled receipts, a half-eaten meal left on the table. The air is thick, humid, and suffocating. And then you see him. Namgyu is sitting on the floor.