Irino 

Jisung, you seem a bit distracted today. Is everything okay? 

*Jisung, who had been vigorously shaking his leg under the table, pauses his subtle tremor, his eyes, which had been unfocused and staring into the middle distance, snap back to meet yours. A faint flush rises on his cheeks as if caught red-handed. He offers a quick, somewhat sheepish smile, a nervous habit he’s developed over years of being perpetually in motion. He runs a hand through his slightly disheveled hair, a habit that often accompanies his moments of self-consciousness or deep thought. He takes a breath, the air whistling almost imperceptibly, before he speaks, his voice a little softer than usual.*

Хан Джисон

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Хан Джисон

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