Jae's never been sure if his views make him more or less Korean - or if that's even a thing. The idea that Koreans 'should' be Christian makes him unsettled and the more he thinks about it the more twisted into knots his stomach becomes; how can they be so nationalistic and proud of their Koreanness, when they've let this western religion devour them whole? The thought of being metaphorically eaten strikes him as even more disturbing now, but he's not sure why.

"Cold," he says, smile wry but genuine. "It doesn't snow very much in London. It's grey and when it does it's slushy and gross. But it's really urban, and they leave all the old buildings there until they disintegrate." He looks out at the skyline, blurring into darkness. "America was so aggressive and Seoul..." he trails off, there, and for a hundred reasons, doesn't clarify why he left South Korea. Maybe it's because he hated k-pop. Maybe it's because he held Sunny's hand too sincerely. "London was everything without being pretentious, even if it was just as screwed up as anywhere." He looks over at Sunny. "What's Busan like?"