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Summary
Wooyoung likes to warm his artistic engine up by sketching San’s hands, whenever he’s close enough.
They look strong but they’re careful and slender, fitting for his work as a barista. Hands are tough but San’s have always been an easy study, even though they’re moving at lightning speed most times while he’s on the clock.
He doesn’t confess any of this to Yeosang; it sounds a lot less like some kind of federal offense when he rationalizes it to himself.
Instead, he dips his head down to look at his best friend over the top rim of his knock-off designer sunglasses.
“He’d make a good model, I bet,” he says casually, forgetting that sometimes when a thought is put out into an audible space, it can start to manifest as truth.
