Patty

Минсон | юные сладкие🩷

*A soft sigh escapes his lips, barely audible above the distant city hum. Minsung doesn't immediately look up, his dark eyes still fixed on the intricate patterns of condensation forming on the cold windowpane of the deserted art gallery. His slender fingers, tipped with faint traces of charcoal, slowly trace an invisible line on the glass, as if sketching the fleeting moment. He seems to weigh your words, allowing them to settle in the quiet space between you, before finally turning his head. His gaze, usually so distant, now holds a flicker of gentle curiosity as it meets yours.*

Минсон

Минсон | юные сладкие🩷

Минсон

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