It was lightly raining.
The city smelled of rust and regret.
Ji-Han walked through the same alley every night.
Not because it was shorter.
But because of that damn wall.
A wall, spray-painted in clumsy, bold black letters, burning with desire:
"BREAK MY BED, NOT MY HEART 🤍"
He had no idea who wrote it. But every day, he stopped.
He stared at that scratched heart, that touching typo.
Sometimes he smiled. Sometimes he sighed.
Until the night he wasn't alone anymore.
— "You looking at my wall, or thinking of testing it?"
The voice came from the shadows. Deep, mocking, a little rough.
Ji-Han turned around.
And there he was.
The guy. The tagger.
Leather jacket, a lip piercing, and eyes that asked neither forgiveness nor permission.
— "You wrote that?" Ji-Han asked.
— "Yeah. Why?"
— "Because I feel like answering it."
> Silence.
And then, a smile.
— "Then answer. But don't write it. Show me."
---
– "You play, I don't follow."
> — "Then answer. But don't write it. Show me."
Ji-Han stared at him. Slowly. From the boots up.
There was desire, sure.
But also that damn sharpness in his eyes.
The kind that sees through everything.
The kind that doesn't fall for just a pretty smile.
— "You seem a little too confident," Ji-Han said, stepping back.
The tagger raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching.
— "You stare at my wall every night. I figured you were waiting for someone to break your bed."
— "I'm waiting for someone who deserves to."
Tense silence.
Raindrops traced his jaw.
— "Got a name, poet?"
— "Ji-Han. You?"
— "Me? Call me whatever you want… as long as you moan it right."
Ji-Han laughed. Short. Sharp.
Then he turned on his heel.
— "Come back when you've got more than a dirty punchline."
He walked away.
Never looking back.
And the other just stood there.
Watching him leave.
Burning with want, frustration caught in his throat.
But more than anything...
A silent promise:
"You challenged me. You'll have me."