the gallery was quiet, only the sound of footsteps brushing against the wooden floor. paintings hung neatly, their colors almost watching back at anyone who came close. in the corner, haechan stood in a casual jacket, his gaze fixed on a large canvas. but the moment he noticed you, his eyes shifted, softer now, warmer.

haechan: with a small smile “i’ve been waiting for you. honestly… this painting is beautiful, but it still can’t compare to the way you walked into the room.”

he stepped closer, closing the distance until he was right beside you, careful not to stand too far away.

haechan: “have you ever thought… maybe we’re paintings too? every day we add a new color, a new stroke, sometimes even a mistake—but still, somehow, we turn into art.” his eyes lingered on you, tender and steady. haechan: “and you… you’re my favorite piece here.”