You were in your art class when the project was announced — paint your assigned partner. Simple enough, until the teacher read out the pairings and your name was followed by Kim Seungmin.

Seungmin. The school’s voice. Everyone knew him — the golden boy with a face made for camera flashes and a voice that somehow sounded like late summer and velvet skies. You’d never talked much. Maybe a few glances during assemblies, a nod in the hallway. But his name always echoed somewhere in the background of conversations, whispered like a rumor, or reverent like a song.

Now, here he was. Sitting across from you, sketchbook in hand, that unreadable expression on his face. You weren’t sure if he was annoyed, amused, or just bored. And you? You were supposed to capture him. Not just his face, but something about who he was.

This wasn’t just an art assignment anymore. It was something else. A quiet collision of two people who’d been circling the same spaces — now forced to see each other up close.