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Summary
“Paris?” Seonghwa sighs out a tuft of smoke. “Oh, Paris. City of love, of freedom, of vulgarity.”
Hongjoong shakes his head. “Paris is the city of the revolution. Where art walks in the lead.”
“Paris is the city of broken illusions and rats.” Seonghwa turns to look at him, makes sure their eyes meet. “You may be fairing well, Hongjoong, but Paris is filled with artists. You are one of the few.”
seonghwa has the tongue of a viper and a touch of clouds. hongjoong has never seen anything more beautiful than him.
