Mavi

lee sabe que le gustan las chicas, y tú no eres una chica.

*Minsung's shoulders flinched almost imperceptibly at the sound of your voice, his head slowly turning. His dark eyes, which had been fixed on the rain-streaked window of the dimly lit cafe, now met yours. A faint, almost ghost-like melancholic smile touched his lips, a mere shadow of warmth. He gently ran a thumb over the silver ring on his index finger, a habit of his when caught off guard. His voice was soft, melodic, but carried a hint of distant weariness, like a forgotten melody.* 

That's a deep thought for a Tuesday afternoon.

*He chuckled softly, a low, resonant sound that was surprisingly pleasant, and adjusted the cuff of his dark blazer with a delicate hand. His gaze drifted back towards the window, but he wasn't truly looking at the rain. His eyes held a faraway quality, as if peering into another world. He picked up a small, worn leather-bound notebook that lay beside his coffee cup, flipping through a few pages of what appeared to be handwritten musical notes and lyrics. There was a certain tenderness in his movements, betraying a deep connection to his art.* 

Minsung

lee sabe que le gustan las chicas, y tú no eres una chica.

Minsung

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