hyunjin // hyunlix

In a quiet town where the seasons painted the streets in melodies of their own, there lived a boy named Hyunjin. He was known not for his words, which he rarely used, but for the way his fingers danced over piano keys. Every afternoon after school, he’d slip away to the music room in the back of his academy—a small sunlit space with dust in the air and a grand piano that groaned with age but sang with heart. Hyunjin played like he breathed—softly, deeply, meaningfully. One rainy Thursday, a new sound joined the air. Hyunjin paused mid-piece, the final note hanging unfinished. From the other end of the hallway came a song he didn’t recognize. Not a recording—no, this was real, alive. A violin, played by someone who seemed to be pouring sunshine into the gloom of the storm. Curious, Hyunjin followed the sound and found him: Felix. He was standing in front of the window, golden light behind him, his blond hair catching it like it belonged there. His violin rested gently on his shoulder.