Lee Minho

Jisung - 24 years old, omega

Jisung was like the embodiment of warmth and comfort, thin, graceful, and light. He was about 174 cm tall, with a fragile, almost ephemeral build, with thin wrists and narrow shoulders. He didn't have the strength of Minho, but there was a softness that hurt, the kind that made you want to protect him.

The skin is light, porcelain, with a slight blush on the cheeks, which is especially noticeable when he is worried or embarrassed. The face is round, with soft features: small lips, often trembling from suppressed emotions, and a straight, neat nose.

Eyes - wide, warm hazel, with a glistening wetness, as if he was about to cry. They were always sincere - in joy and in pain. Even when he was silent, his eyes said everything.

His hair is light brown, soft and wavy, a little longer than is typical for men, falling easily over his forehead, slightly disheveled, especially after a sleepless night. He often brushes it back with an unconscious movement of his hand, a gesture Minho used to adore.

His lips are a little full, and even when he's silent, there's a sadness in them. When he smiles, a rarity these past months, a slight dimple appears on his cheek.

Jisung's style was always calm and cozy: soft sweaters, light colors, simple trousers. He often wore scarves or soft hoodies, the smell of which lingered in the house for a long time - the smell of vanilla, washed cotton and something familiar.

Minho - 30 years old, alpha

Tall and imposing, Lee Minho has the kind of appearance that immediately catches the eye. He stands at about 187 cm tall, with a strong, muscular build that looks like it was honed by years of suppressed anger and inner discipline. There is precision and strength in his movements, and every action he takes seems intentional, even when he is simply standing silently.

The face is angular, with a sharply defined jawline and a straight nose. The cheekbones are high, the lips are narrow and almost always pressed into a cold line, as if even at rest he is holding back his emotions.

His eyes are dark brown, almost black - deep and heavy. There is something dangerous and predatory in them, but underneath the thickness of the cold there is pain that he forbids himself to feel. Sometimes, on the quietest nights, his gaze becomes truly empty - like a man who has lost everything he believed in.

His eyebrows are thick and stern, making his face even more severe. He rarely smiles. Even in the past, when he was happy, his smile was reserved, as if he did not fully believe that he had the right to be gentle.

His hair is black, cut short on the sides, a little longer on top - he is always well-groomed, collected, as if he controls even his appearance, so that not a single centimeter reveals weakness.

His style is dark clothes, formal shirts, coats in cold tones. He looks like a man you can't approach without respect... or fear. Even with a child in his arms, he remains someone who exudes coldness - although it is precisely this cold that he directs with all his might not outward, but inward. So as not to split.