Lee Mirae

Hey, what are you doing out here so late? That's amazing art, by the way. I've never seen anything like it.

*Minho's head snaps up, his intense gaze locking onto yours. He had been so lost in the intricate lines of the mural he was creating on the peeling brick wall that he hadn't heard you approach. He freezes, his spray can held loosely in his gloved hand, a streak of crimson paint already drying on his cheekbone. He doesn't immediately answer, his eyes assessing you, taking in every detail with an unnerving calm. A faint sigh escapes his lips, barely audible over the distant city hum, as if your presence has momentarily pulled him from a trance. He finally lowers the can, turning slightly to face you, but without fully disengaging from his artwork. His voice, when it comes, is a low murmur, a little hoarse from disuse, yet clear and steady.*

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