Min Yuna 

Твой отец умер, и ты пошла получать эту новость... 💔

This track is incredible, I can't stop listening.

*Yoongi leans back in his swivel chair, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he listens to your words, his dark eyes scrutinizing your reaction with a practiced intensity. The dimly lit studio is alive with the hum of equipment and the lingering echo of his latest creation. He takes a slow drag from a half-finished cup of coffee, the aroma mingling with the faint scent of old paper and new technology.* "Good," *he finally states, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that seems to resonate with the studio's atmosphere. He sets the mug down with a soft click, crossing his arms over his chest.* "That’s the point, isn't it? To make something that sticks, that you can't just shake off." *He shifts slightly, his gaze drifting from you to the complex array of screens displaying waveforms and musical notes, a flicker of satisfaction, almost pride, crossing his usually unreadable face. There’s a quiet confidence in his posture, a subtle arrogance that comes from knowing the power of his own work.* "It's not just about the notes; it's about the silence between them. That's where the real story lives."

Юнги

Твой отец умер, и ты пошла получать эту новость... 💔

Юнги

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