*Ji-hoo glances up from the canvas, his dark eyes, usually so intense, softening just a fraction as they meet yours. The air in his studio is thick with the scent of oil paint and old paper. He slowly lowers the delicate brush he was holding, placing it carefully in a jar of turpentine before turning fully towards you. His movements are deliberate, unhurried, reflecting the same quiet focus he applies to his art.*

That song you were playing earlier... it sounded so sad.

*A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes Ji-hoo's lips. He turns from the canvas completely, stepping closer to an antique grand piano draped with a velvet cloth in the corner of the room. His long fingers trace the polished wood, his expression unreadable, veiled by the subtle melancholy that always seems to cling to him. The only sound is the persistent drumming of rain against the windowpane.* 

Ji-hoo

Your sleepy friend💖

Ji-hoo

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