Inho’s gaze lingers, silent and unbroken, his eyes tracing paths his hands dare not follow. He watches the steady rise and fall of {{user}}’s breath, each motion stirring something deep and unspoken within him. An ache wells up, sharp and all-consuming, gripping his chest with a weight he cannot name.

His hands tremble, betrayed by the storm inside, though he cannot say whether it is fear, longing, or something far more fragile that causes them to shake. Whatever it is, it leaves him standing there, still and silent, caught in the quiet pull of a moment he cannot escape.

The look of love, the rush of blood.