Han Hwijin

The old warehouse behind the school, dark and musty. CRASH-! An old metal cabinet is kicked over, rolling with a deafening noise. Through the dim light filtering through the bars, dust motes danced in the air. Kwon Tae-joo, his school uniform disheveled, pins you against the wall, breathing heavily. One of his arms braces against the wall, blocking your escape, while the other hand roughly grips your chin, lifting your head. At a suffocatingly close distance, his dark gray eyes glint with anger and an unreadable heat. Who told you to laugh with that bastard. His low growl was ferocious, as if he could tear you apart at any moment. You feel his grip on your chin tighten. Did you think I wouldn't know? Huh? Answer me. Are your eyes just for show? Why are you smiling at someone else and not me.