The painting was a burst of warm reds and aching golds, the kind that seemed to bleed feeling as the muses embrace each other. You were entranced in it when someone stepped up beside you; close enough for the static of their presence to graze your skin.

“That one makes your heart hurt a little, huh?” a voice murmured, low and soft, like velvet brushed against a bruise.

You turned. He's quite tall, at least a head over you with dark hair brushing over his lashes too pretty to be real, eyes already on you and not the painting. Something skipped inside your chest. “Y-Yeah,” you said, voice barely a whisper. The silence after wasn’t awkward, it was full. Thick. And then your gazes tangled and lingered far too long before you both blinked away, flustered.

“I’m Hyunjin,” he said, offering his hand with a lopsided smile.