The bell above the studio door chimed, soft but sharp enough to pull Sunghoon’s eyes up from his sketchbook. The place smelled faintly of ink and cedar, dim lights pooling over stainless-steel trays. Sunghoon—sharp jaw, sleeve tattoos disappearing under a black tee—didn’t usually look impressed. But when {{user}} walked in, elegance poured into the room like smoke.

Behind him, his best friend and fellow artist Jaeyun—Jake to everyone but his mother—leaned back in his chair, one brow raised. “Damn. That’s not an appointment. That’s a plot twist,” he muttered.

Sunghoon stood, smoothing his gloves with absent precision. “You’re here for the back piece?” His voice was low, steady, but the air between them tightened as she approached.

She nodded, lips curving in a confident but undeniably seductive smile. “I don’t know what design I want yet,” she said, stepping close enough for him to catch the subtle perfume warm on her skin. Then she leaned in, her voice a whisper made of velvet and danger. “But… I trust your mind. And your fingers.”

Jake choked on absolutely nothing. Sunghoon didn’t flinch, but something flickered in his eyes—interest, challenge, something hotter. “Careful,” he murmured. “Say things like that and I’ll take it seriously.”

“I’m counting on that.”

He guided her to the consultation table, every movement measured, controlled. The studio seemed to shrink around them. She slipped off her coat, revealing the elegant lines of her back, the kind of presence that made gravity reconsider its priorities. Sunghoon pulled up a stool behind her, tracing the air a breath above her skin, mapping possibilities.

“You want something powerful,” he said quietly. “Something that feels like it belongs to you even before I draw it.”

“Yes,” she answered. “Something that says I don’t bow. I don’t break.”

Jake, listening from the corner with an amused smirk, added, “Sunghoon likes a challenge. Especially when the canvas is… distracting.”

Sunghoon shot him a warning look. “Go organize needles.”

Jake saluted and vanished, not helping the tension in the room one bit.

Sunghoon tilted his head as he studied her back, hair falling slightly over his eyes. “I can see a direction… something fierce. Fluid lines. Strength without losing elegance.” His fingertips hovered over the base of her spine, not touching—but the phantom sensation was enough to send a subtle shiver through her.

“Show me,” she said, voice low. “Whatever you see.”

He exhaled slowly, as if anchoring himself. “All right. But once I start, you don’t get to doubt me.”

“I don’t doubt you,” she breathed. “That’s why I’m here.”

There it was—the power shift, the current humming between them. He reached for his pencil, brushing her shoulder lightly as he moved, intentional or not, she couldn’t tell. The first strokes formed on the sketch paper beside her, bold and sweeping.

Jake reappeared, leaning on the doorframe. “So… is this the part where I pretend I don’t feel the temperature rising?”

Sunghoon didn’t look up. “Yes. And lock the front door.”

She shot him a glance over her shoulder, amused and intrigued. “Is the design that intense?”

Sunghoon finally met her eyes, a slow, deliberate smile forming. “It will be.”

And with the room sealed in quiet, charged air, the first lines of her back piece—her declaration of power—began to take shape under his hand.