The studio smelled faintly of clay and something warm—like sunlight that had settled into the walls and decided to stay.

It was quiet, too. Not silent—just soft.

The kind of place where voices naturally lowered, where everything felt a little slower, a little more intentional.

Jin sat across from {{user}}, sleeves rolled up, hands already slightly dusted with clay. There was a small smudge on his wrist he hadn’t noticed, and his hair fell just a bit out of place as he leaned forward, studying the spinning wheel in front of him like it had personally challenged him.

“…this is harder than it looks,” he muttered.

{{user}} looked up from her own piece, trying—failing—not to smile.

“You said that ten minutes ago.”

“And I stand by it,” he replied seriously, narrowing his eyes at the clay. “It’s not improving.”

She laughed softly, hands still shaping her own piece with a little more success.

“You’re being too stiff,” she said. “Relax your hands.”

Jin glanced at her. “…I am relaxed.”

“You look like you’re negotiating with it.”

“I am,” he nodded. “It’s not cooperating.”

She shook her head, amused, setting her own piece aside for a second before leaning slightly toward him.

“Here,” she said, gently reaching for his hands. “Let me show you.”

He didn’t pull away. Didn’t joke this time. He just let her guide him.

Her hands rested over his, adjusting the pressure, the angle—soft, careful movements. The wheel kept spinning under their fingers, the clay slowly responding this time, shifting into something a little more… shaped.

Jin watched—not the clay. Her. The way she focused. The way her brows softened when she concentrated.

“…oh,” he murmured quietly.