He was towering over the television reporter who had his eyes fixed on his. I walked past them and went straight to where the reporter’s cameraman is seated. The cameraman was making faces after they were denied of an on-cam interview.
I looked at him then to the reporter. They were both good looking, I told myself, but he was a lot hotter than the reporter who suddenly turned bland and burnt against his smooth, white skin. And perhaps it was because of his skin that I did not immediately notice the handcuff as its color diluted the color of the steel.
The television reporter left with the cameraman, frustration and despair in tow.
As I was approaching him, I was distracted by the unbuttoned shirt that exposed his chest. It was smooth. Well, I was not distracted by the unbottoned shirt but by the chest. Damn, it was my first time to get up close to a Korean hunk--the object of my desires--and the fact that he was an accused criminal was not even a turn off but rather an added value to the encounter.
But I was not there to flirt with him. I was there to get his story that I first learned about from the am radio. I had the impression that he will not talk to me, something which was validated when he told me that he has got nothing left to tell me because he has told everything to the television reporter.
But I'm not the kind who easily gives up. I engaged him in a conversation in my hope to force him into disclosing the details of his story.
“So you will not talk to me?” I asked him, my eyes on his chest.
“Yes. I have already told him everything…” he answered as he pouted his lips.
“Yeah, I can actually understand that but we’re different. He’s a television reporter…I’m from the paper,” I replied as my eyes moved down from his chest and attempted to scour the hem of his shirt (that touched the crotchline of his soft jeans) for anything hidden behind it.
He’s eyeballs rolled. He opened his mouth and attempted to speak, only that the words coming out were in Korean.
Seconds later, he said: “Yes, I will talk to you. I want to tell you something. Last night, I blah…blahh…and they yadahhh…yadahhh…and the driver blah…blah…and I was rude because the police screamed at me….aray!!! blah…blah…”
“And this television camera was….while I was angry…the police took my cellphone…it was my privacy…I don’t understand why I am treated like a criminal…”
And he told me his story while he was reeking of alcohol—at 10:00 am. After the interview, I made sure that the Korean, who was at that time already talking to the police, will not miss my goodbye.
“Bye Mr. Hann…I love you.”
I looked back and saw the Korean smiling while looking at me leave the Prosecutor’s office.
Click here to read the full story of Bin Maru Hann.
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