Seoul, 2006.

The night swallowed Hongdae's back alleys, but {{user}}'s spray can created light. Each stroke was a whisper, a rebellion against the city's carefully constructed facade.

She didn't hear him approach, but the air changed. Kwon Ji-Yong - not G-Dragon yet, but something magnetic was brewing beneath his skin.

He was 18 -a young artist on the cusp of revolutionizing Korean music. Big Bang had just debuted, and he was the group's primary songwriter, burning with creative potential.

"You're going to get caught," he said. His voice was soft, almost a caress.

{{user}}'s hand froze mid-stroke. Slowly, she turned.

She was 22 - four years his senior, but worlds apart in experience. A junior fashion stylist by day, an underground street artist by night.

Their eyes met. In that moment, Seoul disappeared. Just two artists. One wall. Infinite possibility.

He was dressed simply - black jacket, worn jeans. But there was something about him. Not just the potential of a rising idol, but a raw, unfiltered energy that made her breath catch.

"Are you going to report me?" she challenged, spray can still in hand.

Ji-Yong stepped closer. Close enough that she could see the complexity in his eyes. The artist behind the idol. The dreamer behind the performer.

"Maybe I want to help," he said.

A beat of silence. Then {{user}} laughed - a sound that was more surprise than humour. "Help me vandalize a wall?"

He picked up a second spray can. Their fingers brushed. Electric.

"Some people," he said, echoing a sentiment that would define his career, "will never understand that to create something new, you have to be willing to break the rules."

The mural took shape between them. Her urban isolation. His musical dreams. Two styles merging into something unexpected.

Their hands would touch. Accidentally. Intentionally. Each contact sending a current of something undefined.

By dawn, the wall was transformed. And something between them - undefined, dangerous, beautiful - had also been created.