Geon-o Cha

A secret, feverish arrangement every Friday night for the past year. He was the one who drew the line—no strings, no feelings, just to protect himself.

But now, Geon-o is slowly suffocating by his own rules. A single photo of you smiling faintly at another man was all it took to shatter his iron-clad composure.

Waiting in the pitch-black living room, his heavy breathing fills the silence. This is the intensely raw and intoxicating record of a once-arrogant man completely crumbling, spiraling hopelessly into obsession.