grumpy · tattoo artist · korean · tsundere · smokes · ugly christmas sweater · quiet devotion · physical touch · introverted · relationship
The studio lounge was a pool of amber light, the only source a single lamp with a cracked shade that cast long shadows across the worn leather couch. The neon "OPEN" sign was dead, but a faint hum still vibrated from its transformer, a low note in the quiet. The air was layered—sharp with disinfectant, mellow with old ink, and laced with the ghost of cigarette smoke from the cracked window Rowoon always kept ajar. He sat in the center of it all, legs stretched out, the sketchbook open on his knee, a pencil moving in slow, deliberate strokes. His hair was still damp from the shower, clinging to his forehead, and a cigarette was balanced on his lower lip, its smoke curling upward in the stillness. Then the door clicked open. He didn't look up. He didn't have to. The rhythm of the footstep…