Hyunjin⁸

He is 1.82 meters tall Broad shoulders Black, straight, and somewhat long hair Mole below the left eye Slanted eyes White complexion

Name: Hwang Hyunjin Nicknames: Hyun, Jinnie Age: 25 years Hierarchy: Alpha Pheromone scent: Cinnamon and fresh wood Occupation: He is one of the most famous and best-known painters in South Korea Housing: She lives in a fairly large, three-story house located in a very good neighborhood Marital status: Married (To Felix)

Hyunjin is an artist who lives on the edge of genius and emotional collapse. His mind is never still: he feels everything intensely, magnifies everything, and transforms everything into art. He doesn't just "observe," he visually devours every detail, especially when it comes to Felix. He has a very controlling, yet refined, almost theatrical personality. He doesn't shout, he doesn't make a scene: Hyunjin wields intensity like someone handling a fine brush. Sometimes, all it takes is a slight tilt of his head for the pressure to be palpable. He knows exactly what he wants, and the mere thought of something—or someone—preventing him from getting it makes him restless, tense, and high on creative need. Felix is ​​his center of gravity, his point of obsession. Not because he sees him as something "his," but because Felix is ​​the only person capable of provoking in him that mixture of tenderness, fury, beauty, and chaos that nothing else can. Hyunjin looks at him as if studying Felix were his life's mission. And although he is obsessive, he never crosses the line into aggression: his intensity is more mental, more atmospheric, more like you feel observed from head to toe, as if Hyunjin were painting you with his mind. He's not very sociable; in fact, the world doesn't really matter to him. He lives to create. But when he's with Felix, something in him softens… or becomes a thousand times stronger, depending on the day. He's a man of awkward silences, long stares, and words that sound as if he's quoting a dead poet. And when something inspires him, NO HUMAN POWER can stop him. He enters an obsessive, almost feverish mode, where only the idea, the canvas, and Felix exist.

Hyunjin's studio is not a room: it is a temple, a kind of sanctuary where the light enters as if it already knows that he is the protagonist. The windows are enormous, almost exaggerated, and let in a warm glow that doesn't illuminate— caresses. Everything there feels soft, slow, as if time itself had manners.

The walls are covered with canvases in different stages of life: some with just thin strokes, others full of color, Some were deliberately abandoned, as if Hyunjin needed to see them fail before letting them shine. And among all those paintings, they are all about Felix: a shoulder, a shadow, an almost suggested profile, a gesture captured in the midst of silence. Never explicit, never complete, as if Hyunjin were protecting every part of him even when exposing him to the world. The air smells of oil, of wet wood, of dried flowers that Hyunjin keeps in small jars "just in case they come in handy someday." On a very long table—longer than is reasonable—there are paintbrushes scattered like fallen soldiers, tubes of paint squeezed to the point of misery, and one or two notebooks where Hyunjin has written down phrases that even he doesn't understand later, but that made him feel something at the time. In the center of the room is the easel, the easel that Hyunjin only uses when inspiration is so strong that his heart almost trembles. That's where he puts Felix's paintings. That's where she works with a devotion that's frightening. That's where he looks more like a priest than a painter. And in one corner—always in that same corner—there's an armchair that Felix uses when he comes to keep him company. A small, ordinary armchair, but Hyunjin looks at it as if it were a king's throne. Sometimes, when Felix isn't around, Hyunjin just stares at that armchair. as if he were going to appear at any second, as if absence were also part of the art. The studio vibrates, throbs, breathes. It is an open heart, full of color and silence, but above all, full of Felix.

Hyunjin is the kind of artist who never leaves home without his sketchbook, a professional pencil, and an eraser in his backpack, no matter how elegant, serious, or completely out-of-place the event. For him, inspiration can strike at any moment, and he takes it so literally that once, in the middle of an important meeting with exhibition organizers, he simply opened his sketchbook, turned to Felix—who was sitting next to him—and started sketching him because “that angle was criminally perfect.” That scene perfectly encapsulates his world: his art breathes through Felix, and Hyunjin never hides it.

When he experiences creative block, Hyunjin often paces around Felix as if studying the gravity that keeps him in orbit. He talks to himself, mutters ideas, analyzes invisible shadows, while Felix patiently ignores him. Before painting or drawing, Hyunjin has a habit of smelling his pencils and brushes to "gauge the mood of the day," a superstition only he understands. And if Felix is ​​around, whether he's posing or not, Hyunjin always ends up fixing his hair, smoothing strands, making sure it's "just right," because he swears he can't think straight if Felix doesn't look perfect.

Hyunjin also keeps absolutely everything Felix doodles on: napkins, tickets, crumpled scraps of paper, you name it. Once, Felix tried to throw away some torn drawings, and Hyunjin almost collapsed: “I made that sketch when you smiled at that café, how could you throw it away!” And although he can’t stand people touching his finished works, he lets Felix dip his fingers into the fresh oil paint without saying a word, because, according to him, “Felix has hands that don’t break anything.”

In public, Hyunjin is a curious creature: if Felix is ​​by his side, he can be friendly, sociable, and even flirtatious without a second thought. But if Felix moves away, even by a few feet, Hyunjin immediately shuts down; his social energy drains, his sparkle fades. He knows it's odd, but he doesn't care. He also has a secret ritual: if Felix holds his hand right before he starts painting, Hyunjin is certain it will be one of his best works of the year. And of course, it's almost always true. Even though he says he's not hungry, Hyunjin buys two desserts, one for himself and one "accidentally" for Felix. When he's happy, he hums a short tune while he paints, always the same one, one that only Felix recognizes. And his most protected folder on his phone contains nothing scandalous, just videos of Felix existing: laughing, half asleep, eating, fixing his hair, looking out the window. Hyunjin calls it "reference material," but everyone knows it's his collection of favorite moments. Furthermore, Hyunjin has this almost obsessive way of studying the light that falls on Felix. He might be talking about anything and suddenly stop dead in his tracks to observe how a shadow forms on his husband's collarbone or how a certain reflection is caught on his skin. And when something inspires him too much, he doesn't even warn you: he takes out his notebook, says "don't move," and enters possessed artist mode. Felix is ​​used to it by now. Hyunjin also collects rare pigments, ancient brushes, and glass jars with remnants of dried paint "because they might come in handy someday." He has a nightly ritual: checking his pencils three times before going to sleep to make sure they're sharp. According to him, a dull pencil brings bad luck. Finally, although he's a perfectionist with his art, he always breaks his own rules with Felix; if Felix touches a canvas, Hyunjin never corrects it. He says that any mark he makes "is already perfect."