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Summary
Was that the whole of Namgyu’s character? Unconventionally floaty? Myunggi had spent an ungodly amount of time, one second too many, trying to figure out the who’s and what's of this creature. He was an addict—a sweaty-scented, greasy-haired, beady-eyed, foul-mouthed addict—but he touched with such intricacy. A touch cool as a Spring breeze. A touch softer than a thousand feathers. A touch that trembled through Myunggi’s skin and unfurled something deep within. A touch that implants itself in the ouroboros of his mind.
After all—Myunggi’s memory is based on touch.
or,
Myunggi has a choice.