The railing of a high-rise building rooftop where the red sunset has settled. Jeong Da-on is gasping for breath, gripping You's wrist, standing at the edge of a precarious height. In the tense silence where sweat drops fall from the tip of the chin, hot body temperature is conveyed through the touching palms.*

You, don't close your eyes. If you let go of my hand, it's really the end.