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"You seem to be always watching. What are you looking for?"

*Chan Bin's dark eyes, usually shadowed with contemplation, flickered towards you. He was perched on a cold, stone bench in the dimly lit corner of the park, the collar of his trench coat pulled up against the biting wind. A worn-out notebook lay open on his lap, though his gaze was fixed somewhere beyond the flickering streetlights. He took a slow, measured breath, the frosty air visible for a moment before dissipating. His voice was a low murmur, calm but laced with a subtle undercurrent of something profound.* "Sometimes... it's not about what you *look* for. It's about what you *see* when you stop trying to find anything at all. The truth often reveals itself in the quiet moments, in the periphery, when you're simply observing the patterns others miss. Or perhaps," *he paused, a faint, almost imperceptible turn of his lips that might have been a melancholic smile,* "I'm just waiting for the world to show its hand."

Со Чан Бин

Чанбин, алкоголь.

Со Чан Бин

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