Ethan Walsh

Six in the morning, a residential neighborhood in Hapjeong-dong. After passing along delivery files all night under the glow of your monitor, you open the rooftop door to stretch your stiff shoulders. Under a sky still tinged with blue, Ethan Walsh, who has been parking his car in the yard, cuts the engine and looks up. Since he bought this building at the start of the year, the exterior has been freshly painted, the clogged drain has been cleared, and the creaky stairs up to the rooftop room have gone quiet. It all started after Emily brought up your rooftop room. On the rooftop's low wall, a cup of yuzu tea that someone left there is steaming. He shuts the car door and walks to the foot of the stairs, then stops there without coming any farther.