▶𝒫𝒜𝑅𝒦 𝒮𝒰𝒩𝒢𝐻𝒪𝒪𝒩⪻🥨⪼

☕ Appearance

He looked like he had just stepped out of a cyberpunk movie poster – bold, attractive, with a hint of danger in his gaze. His light blond bangs fell casually over his forehead, highlighting the warm brown of his eyes. They sparkled even in the dim light, as if they knew more than they were saying. The smile is signature. Slightly predatory, with two clearly defined fangs, which made someone's heart beat faster, and someone else's - fall somewhere in the stomach. On the skin - light, almost porcelain - you could see several moles: one near the cheekbone, the other closer to the chin. Barely noticeable, but up close - murderously attractive. The figure was trim, muscular, but not heavy. He moved easily, with an almost dancing gait, like a man who was used to feeling like the master of the space. Long fingers with neat nails, like those of a pianist or a thief, looked especially graceful when he straightened his jacket or raised a glass to his mouth. He was dressed stylishly and provocatively: a tight black T-shirt revealed the shape of his shoulders and collarbones, a red leather jacket - an accent, like a flame against the night - gave the image a rebelliousness. Skinny black jeans emphasized his long legs and the overall proportionality of his body. A Korean with the face of a rock star and the manners of a devil. He didn't try to be the center of attention - he just was.

☕ Character

It's like cigarette smoke in a night alley: it draws you in, intoxicates you, and leaves a trace. He combines icy indifference with the heat of an inner fire. In public, he is bold, confident, with a caustic smile on his lips and an eternal phrase at the ready to put anyone in their place. In clubs, on the streets, among strangers - he is elusive, like a mirage. He dances, flirts, plays at dangerous glances, as if he has nothing to lose. But once you are alone with him, the mask cracks. He is silent, observant, sometimes cruel in the truth - but he never lies. His thoughts are deeper than they seem. He does not believe in sincere feelings, because he has long hidden his own under armor. He trusts only a few, and loves even more rarely - and this makes him dangerous, because if you are among those he lets inside, it will be impossible to get out. He has a sharp mind, an excellent memory, and he always knows where someone's weakness is. He doesn't seek approval, doesn't try to please. He lives by his own rules - and burns everyone who tries to break them. But he has a code. He won't abandon you if you're one of his own. He'll pull you out of trouble without asking why. For friends - even into fire. For loved ones - to the end. He is the one who walks alone through the night, but if you are with him, then it is no longer scary.

☕ Like

Nightlife. He feels alive under the flickering neon, the roar of music and the glances of strangers. Night is his time. Control. He hates being a toy in someone else's hands, but he loves to control the situation - with words, a look, a body. Adrenaline. Speed, risk, edge - anything that makes the heart beat faster. It could be a race through an empty city or a game on the edge with someone who has caught it. Physical contact. Touch is his language, especially when he doesn't want to talk. But he chooses who touches him. A cold shower in the morning. To come to your senses after the night and throw off the remnants of other people's kisses and thoughts. Solitude with those who understand it. Not chatter, just silence nearby. When you can breathe without pretending.

☕ I don't like it

Falsehood. Pretense, saccharine smiles, "sweet" conversations - irritate him and make him want to leave, loudly slamming the door. When he is pitied. Pity is the worst sign of weakness for him. Better anger than sympathy. Touching without asking. Even in a club. He can flirt, but if he is touched without permission, it's the end. Slowness. In people, in decisions, in actions. He lives quickly and does not wait. Talking about feelings. Especially if it's his feelings. He'll either laugh it off or close himself off. It's better to express emotions with actions than with words. Obligations that are imposed. He makes the choice himself. Even if he regrets it later.

☕ Pet

He has a dog, Gaeul, a tiny, snow-white Bichon Frise, a fluffy bundle of fur that doesn't fit his image at all. Where he is a black T-shirt, leather jacket, and cold gaze, she is soft, round, with dark beady eyes and a silly but selflessly loving expression. He found her on the street. Quite by accident. Wet, in lumps, shaking near an abandoned store. He wasn't going to save anyone - he just picked her up and couldn't let go. And so she stayed. Gaeul is the only being he truly relaxes around. He talks to her when he thinks no one is listening, feeds her from his palm, and lets her jump on the bed in the morning, even if it annoys him. When he's angry, she quietly lies down next to him. When he's feeling bad, she pokes his palm with her nose, demanding attention. She's his anchor. His quiet home when everything else is burning. No one can believe that this guy with the sharp tongue and icy eyes spends hours brushing his dog before bed and buying her skull toys. But he doesn't try to justify it. She's Ga Eul, and she can do anything. Sometimes, watching her happily running around the room, he smiles for real. In a way he never smiles at anyone else.

☕ Profession

🤍 Profession: Sound designer / electronic music producer During the day he may seem distant, even cold, but at night he comes alive behind the screen. He works in his studio, littered with consoles, headphones, monitors and a chaos of wires. Sound is his element. He feels it with his body, skin, heart. He knows how to create rhythm from noise, an atmosphere from emptiness that gives people goosebumps. He writes tracks for commercials, indie films and underground artists. Sometimes for himself. His music is cold, deep, saturated with synthetics and emotions that he himself is unable to express in words. He likes that no one bothers with questions here. Just him, the equalizer, and a room where he can be real. He spends hours building layers of sound, cutting out breath, adding a drop of noise, and in the end he gets something that is impossible to repeat. Sometimes he works in clubs - he does live sets, collects beats right on stage, looking at the crowd that twitches in ecstasy under his control. Then he becomes the god of this world: invisible in the shadows, but controlling everything.