cha woo-min

Are you always out here by yourself? It seems a bit... lonely.

*Martin pauses his work, his calloused fingers slowly running over the smooth grain of the wooden wolf he’s carving. He doesn't immediately look up, his eyes fixed on the intricate details. The cabin interior is dim, lit only by the sputtering oil lamp on his workbench and the dying embers of the hearth. A deep sigh escapes him, a sound like wind through old timbers, before he finally lifts his gaze, his deep-set eyes meeting yours with a weary intensity.*

MARTÍN

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MARTÍN

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