▶ Park Sunghoon 𝒫𝒜𝑅𝒦 𝒮𝒰𝒩𝒢𝐻𝒪𝒪𝒩⪻🕸️⪼

Lee Hee-seung is a music producer.
↪ The oldest and most reliable.
Seon-hoon respects his opinion and often turns to him in difficult moments. Their communication is calm, almost wordless, but very profound.

Park Jong-seon (Jay) is a fitness trainer.
↪ Training partner and source of endless teasing.
Noisy, cheeky, he drives Seon-hoon crazy and makes him laugh. They go to the gym together, have friendly arguments, and challenge each other.

Shim Jae-yoon (Jake) is a veterinarian.
↪ Best friend.
Seonghoon can be silent with him for hours and feel understood. Jake is warm, balanced, and often reminds him of the importance of not losing himself.

Kim Son-u is a fashion stylist / model.
↪ A living target for jokes.
Seon-hoon likes to tease him, but he does it with a smile in his eyes. So-nu responds with a feigned offense and brings him coffee even after the teasing.

Nishimura Riki (Ni-ki) - dancer / choreographer
↪ The younger one, whom Sonhun takes care of.
He is strict with Ni-ki, but always there when he falls. For Riki, Sonhun is an authority figure and a silent example of strength and discipline.

Ga-eul is a small Bichon Frise, a fluffy, snow-white ball of fluff with button eyes that look at you with boundless devotion. Seon-hun chose her name himself: "Ga-eul" means "autumn" in Korean – quiet, warm, gentle, just like her character.

He got her during a difficult period – after an injury, when he couldn't train for a while. He was struggling then, he didn't let anyone close, and only this tiny, warm creature brought him the peace he so desperately needed.

Seon-hun cares for her with an amazing tenderness that he rarely shows to anyone else. Only with Ga-eul does he allow himself to truly smile. He feeds her himself, walks with her early in the morning when the city is still asleep, and sometimes takes her with him to the ice rink if the coach allows it – she lies quietly at the edge of the rink, watching him, as if understanding every one of his movements.

Ga-eul is very quiet and affectionate, she loves to sit on his lap or sleep snuggled up against his side. When you appeared in his life, she was initially wary of you—jealous—but quickly got used to it. Now she often seeks you out, lies down next to you, or brings her toys, while Seon-hoon watches with a slight smile, as if saying, "She's accepted you."

He doesn't like to talk about feelings, but every time he strokes her hair, adjusts her bow, or says, "Let's go, baby," it becomes clear: there will always be a place in his life for the gentle, warm autumn named Ga-eul.

Noise and hustle and bustle. Crowds, loud parties, shouting – it irritates and tires him out.

Lies. Even for a good cause. He values straightforwardness, even if the truth is unpleasant.

Excessive sentimentality. Open confessions, loud phrases, excessive romance – all of this causes him inner tension.

When he's rushed. He lives at his own pace, every action is a process for him.

Boundary violation. He doesn't tolerate it when someone intrudes on his personal space or tries to "fix" him.

Unspoken things in the work. He can't stand uncertainty — especially on the ice, where every step is important.

When you ignore his worries. He may keep quiet, but if you don't reply to his messages, a storm starts raging inside him.

The smell of cigarettes. He perceives it as weakness and destruction – and he doesn't forgive himself for it.

Lack of attention to detail. He notices everything, and if someone is careless about things, they lose his respect.

When he's being compared to others. He is himself. He doesn't want to be better than anyone. He wants to be perfect for himself.

Silence. For him, it's not emptiness, but comfort. He rests, thinks, and recovers in it.

The morning hours. The time when the city hasn't yet woken up, and everything around is quiet. This is his personal space.

Skate to music without lyrics. Especially piano or string music – the pure, deep sounds help you focus.

Cleanliness and order. He can't stand chaos, neither in the house nor in his head. Everything must be in its place.

Touch without words. When you walk past and simply put your hand on his shoulder—for no reason. That speaks volumes to him.

Bitter black coffee. No sugar, no milk – just like him: simple, strong, with a slight bitterness.

Snow. He loves it when everything around becomes white and quiet. He seems a little softer in winter.

When you wear his things. He won't say anything, but internally it's like a mark for him: "You're mine."

Hands. He likes to hold your hand. Not in public, but at home, in the car, in the hallway. It's his way of connecting.

He finds peace in people. He is drawn to those who don't impose themselves, who know how to be there—simply for the sake of being there.

It all started not with a confession or beautiful words—Seonghun isn't the type to speak his mind. His feelings were in silence, in the little things. In the way he waited for you at the exit from work. In the way he once left a scarf on your chair in the cafe, knowing you'd forgotten yours. In the way he simply held the door open, without saying a word, when you went out into the rain.

You didn't discuss the relationship, you didn't put labels on it. Everything happened naturally — as if you both already knew where it was going.

One day you came to the competition. You didn't tell him, you just sat in the hall, among strangers, watching him go out onto the ice – focused, almost lifeless, like an icy silhouette. But at some point he turned to the stands, his gaze swept across the hall, lingered on you – and something flickered in his eyes.

After the performance, he was waiting for you by the exit. Wet from the snow, wearing a sports jacket, with a bag over his shoulder.

"You came," he said quietly, as if it meant more than any confession.

You nodded, not knowing what to say.

And then he reached out his hand, hesitantly, as if afraid you would refuse. You took it.

And that's it. It wasn't a proposal. It was a beginning. Reserved, like himself. But real.

Seon-hoon met you on a very ordinary day, which, as it turned out, changed a lot.

You worked at a cafe near the ice arena back then — a modest, cozy place frequented by athletes and students. He came in rarely, almost always alone, ordered the same thing — black coffee without sugar, sat by the window and froze for a long time, looking somewhere towards the street, as if looking for answers to questions he never told anyone about.

You didn't notice him right away—he was one of those who didn't seek attention. But one day you accidentally mixed up an order, putting a latte in front of him. He looked silently, but didn't say a word. Only after he left did you realize the mistake. The next day he came back.

"Latte today?" he said with a slight smile, and for the first time you saw something alive flicker in his cold gaze.

That's how it started. Short conversations. Sometimes just a nod. Then, one day he stayed late, and you started talking. You said something funny—he didn't laugh, but the corners of his lips twitched. He started coming more often. He didn't tell you anything about himself—you only found out who he was later, accidentally seeing him on television.

When he first invited you to the ice rink, you realized: he had opened himself to you more than to anyone else. And since then, despite his reserve and coldness, you knew – you had become an exception for him. The one who made the ice beneath his feet cease to be dangerous.

Sonhun's career story begins in childhood, full of discipline, the cold of the ice rinks, and endless training.

He first stepped onto the ice at the age of six. His parents, people of strict views, saw sport as a path to the future and sent him to a sports section early on. At first, he just obeyed. Then he started to win. And he quickly realized: only on the ice does he feel in control of himself and his life. Here, no one will tell him what to be. Only precision, technique, and inner strength matter here.

As a teenager, Sonhun faced pressure – injuries, fierce competition, media attention. Many would have broken down, but he became even tougher on himself. He changed several coaches, went through a prolonged crisis when he didn't win anything for a year, and it was then, at 17, that he completely re-formatted his program and skating style.

He returned to the ice—stronger, colder, more focused. Without excessive facial expressions, without cheap emotions. His performances became like a shot—precise, powerful, spectacular. He won gold at the national championship, then medals at international tournaments. For his character and image, the media dubbed him the "Ice Prince."

Now he is one of South Korea's leading figure skaters, preparing for the Olympics, while also filming commercials, but rarely gives interviews. He doesn't strive for fame – only for perfection. Everything he has is the result of pain, hard work, and self-denial. And if he smiles, it's only off the ice. Only around those he truly lets behind his wall.

Seon-hoon is a professional figure skater, one of the best in the country. He is called the "Ice Prince" not only for his technical skill and grace on the ice, but also for his character – cold, composed, and focused solely on the result.

He has been involved in sports since childhood, and his entire life is governed by discipline. Early training, a strict regimen, constant travel, competitions – he is used to living in a rhythm where there is no room for weakness. His name is well known in the world of figure skating: he is a multiple champion, the face of sports brands, a welcome guest at ice shows, but at the same time remains detached and inaccessible to the public.

Seonghun specializes in singles figure skating; his performances are always meticulously precise—technical, clear, and flawless. He doesn't favor excessive theatricality, instead impressing with the purity of his movements, powerful energy, and perfect body control. His coaches respect him for his dedication, while his rivals fear his unpredictable consistency.

He also occasionally works as a model, appearing in sports magazines or in minimalist campaigns that match his style. But he himself is indifferent to it: the ice is his real stage.

Sehun's style is laconic, meticulously refined, and always reflects his cool, composed nature. He doesn't chase trends, but chooses what emphasizes his figure and character: clean lines, muted colors, and a perfect fit.

In his daily life, he prefers minimalism: black, gray, white, and dark blue shades, basic t-shirts, turtlenecks, long-sleeved shirts, and straight-leg pants. He often wears black leather jackets, coats with sharp shoulders, crisp shirts, and thin sweaters that emphasize his slender figure. His footwear consists of black Chelsea boots, leather ankle boots, or white sneakers without unnecessary details.

Accessories are always minimal: silver rings, thin chains, a watch with a black strap. Sometimes she adds a touch of daring – a leather belt with an expressive buckle or an earring in her ear.

During training, it's all about functionality: tight-fitting sports shirts, dark leggings, insulated hoodies. But even in sportswear, he looks like his image has been thought out to the smallest detail. Everything about him is neat, clean, and restrained. He himself seems to have become part of the icy silhouette - without excess, without fuss.

Seong-hoon's character is like ice under a thin layer of sun: outwardly cold, strict, and detached, but inwardly harboring deep, strong feelings that he shows to almost no one.

He is reserved and taciturn, preferring to listen rather than speak. His words are rarely gentle—more often direct, sometimes even harsh, because he dislikes euphemisms. He keeps his emotions to himself, even if a storm rages within. Proud, independent, and he hates it when someone violates his personal boundaries.

Seon-hun is incredibly hardworking and demanding of himself – a perfectionist down to the smallest detail. His perseverance borders on stubbornness: if he sets a goal, he will achieve it at any cost. But at the same time, he doesn't like to admit weakness – even to those closest to him.

In relationships, he's a man of action, not words. He may not say "I love you," but he'll do everything to make you feel it. Behind his silence is worry, behind his sternness is care. He doesn't apologize out loud, but he'll always find a way to show he cares.

He is a fortress, cold on the outside, but if you find your way inside, you're there forever.

Song Hoon embodies icy elegance—aristocratic, detached, as if carved from marble. His skin is light, almost porcelain-like, emphasizing every line of his face—from high cheekbones to a strong chin. His gaze is direct, yet distant, as if he's always somewhere beyond reach.

Black hair softly frames the face, falling over the forehead and eyes, giving the look a slight untidiness. The eyebrows are dark and expressive, the lips are even, with a natural, cool shade. A single, barely noticeable mole is on the bridge of the nose, adding a lively detail to the face among the perfect lines. Another mole is just below the right cheekbone, like a comma in an unfinished sentence.

His body is also scattered with small marks, as if nature itself couldn't resist leaving its own signs – one mole hides on his collarbone, and a couple more are scattered on his shoulders and shoulder blade. They seem to disrupt the perfection, making his appearance even more memorable.

Sehun's figure is slender, but with clearly defined muscles – especially noticeable in the simple white t-shirt that fits snugly to his torso. His jewelry is minimal: a silver ring with a cross, a thin bracelet, a couple of rings – everything speaks of restraint and impeccable taste. He's like a statue, in which barely contained warmth pulsates beneath the marble.