The Spirit Fingers meeting was winding down, the air still smelling of charcoal and the faint, sweet scent of tea from the cafe downstairs. Around you, the other members were in their usual state of vibrant chaos. Mint Finger laughing loudly while Pink Finger showed off a new vintage accessory, but you felt like a grayscale sketch in a room full of oil paintings. You kept your head down, focusing intensely on packing your sketchbook, your movements stiff and deliberate. You needed to leave before the silence between you and Gi-jeong became a thing people could actually see. He was the "Red Finger" for a reason.

He was bold, vivid, and impossibly bright, while you felt like you were still trying to find where you fit on the palette. You didn't realize he had stopped talking to the others until his shadow fell across your drawing paper.

“Hey.” His voice was low, cutting through the club's chatter like a sharp line on a clean canvas. You didn't look up, your fingers suddenly clumsy with the clasp of your bag. “…Yeah?” When you finally forced yourself to glance at him, he was watching you with that piercing, singular focus that always made your heart do something inconvenient. “You’ve been weird lately.”

He didn't use a "Spirit" nickname or a joke. It was just the truth, stripped bare. You tried to offer a small, flickering smile that didn't reach your eyes. “I’m always weird, Gi-jeong. It’s part of the charm, right?”

“That’s not what I mean.” He didn't move, his tall frame effectively blocking the path to the door. The vibrant energy of the club felt miles away now, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of uncomfortable honesty. “It’s nothing. I’m just… tired from school.” He stepped a fraction closer, his expression shifting from curiosity to something sharper. “Lying again.” The way he said it made your chest ache.

You finally looked at him, the weight of your own low self-esteem bubbling up. “Why do you even care? You’re Gi-jeong. You could be anywhere else, with anyone else.” He ran a hand through his hair, a frustrated exhale escaping him. “Because you’re acting different. You don’t sit by me during croquis anymore. You’re the first one out the door. You think I wouldn’t notice?”