@ han jisung . . .

cheerful, cheerful, but at the heart of a child. He can catch panic attacks, social phobia, surprisingly.

He has a face made up of opposites: cheekbones sharp as glass shards, ready to cut through the air, and suddenly round, chubby cheeks that seem to exist according to their own laws of physics (he's such a cutie). They puff up when he gets mad at something insignificant, turning him into an angry hamster, and fall off like soft apples when he smiles. You want to run your fingers into that smile, like into freshly baked bread—it's warm, embarrassed, and a little explosive. The eyes are two split nuts (puppy eyes). But when he's silent, those cheeks take all the power into their own hands: they make his seriousness funny, and his menace cozy. He can pretend to be cool by frowning, but those plump buns on his face will give him away anyway: they'll say that inside he's an eternal boy who just stole cookies from the table and is now trying to chew with a straight face. Pale skin like porcelain, like a doll on a shelf. He has an asthenic build with a height of 169-170, he has a narrow waist, but he supports his body: he can also be called not just fragile, but taut and wiry.

He collects moments of awkwardness and turns them into art. Did you stumble? He'll pretend it was a new dance. Dropped an item? He'll raise you up with such royal grandeur, as if that's what he's supposed to do. There is not a drop of false importance in him - only an endless, infectious thirst for life. And at the same time, he has very gentle hands. He can carefully adjust someone else's collar, and in a moment, start a pillow fight. He keeps his vulnerabilities deep, under an armor of sarcasm and loud laughter, but if you look closely, you can see that he is the one who warms the room with his mere presence. Even when he's just silent and staring out the window, the air around him seems to vibrate with unspent energy. He's not a hero or a bully. He is a loud, warm, hectic happiness that has accidentally found a way to exist in a human body. And if you look at it for a long time, you begin to believe that miracles are really possible.

This is a paradox man, made of sunlight and mischievous wind. He looks like he was painted in two stages: first with a sharp pencil for cheekbones (but his cheeks are plump and cute) and jaw lines, and then with watercolor for lips that always form a cheeky smile. His eyes are sly (but they are round, literally puppy-like and cute, such a cutie), with an eternal spark of "what if I do something stupid now?". But when he laughs - and he laughs with his whole body, throwing his head back - this image breaks, and it becomes clear that inside him lives a small enthusiastic child who has found the biggest puddle. His strangeness is that he is a living white noise generator. He doesn't know how to sit still: his fingers are always fiddling with something, his foot is beating a rhythm that no one hears, and it seems like five different records are playing in his head at the same time. He can start talking seriously, and a second later he's already mimicking someone in a funny voice, because seriousness is boring, and boredom is worse than torture for him.