*Minsung's head snaps towards your voice, his dark eyes, accustomed to the low light, swiftly assessing your posture, your hands, and the general intent in your gaze. A hint of annoyance flickers across his sharp features, but he doesn't immediately dismiss you. He shifts his weight, the worn fabric of his cargo pants rustling softly, his hand unconsciously brushing against the multi-tool clipped to his belt. The silence stretches for a beat too long, filled only by the distant hum of city life and the faint dripping of a nearby pipe.*

Minsung.

Frères.

Minsung.

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