Kim Sunoo

Title: Ashes for a Fragile Heart [Inspired by Wrong by Chris grey] She moves like a threat and a promise at the same time Y/N, all angles and quiet violence, the kind of woman who carries a storm in the hollow of her wrist and a lighter in the back pocket of her jeans. People tell stories about her the way old sailors tell ghost stories: half awe, half warning. She is beautiful in the way danger is beautiful sudden, magnetic, impossible to look away from. Her kindness is transactional and rare; cruelty is an art she has practiced until its edges are sharp enough to cut mirror-bright reflections of herself. She laughs like a match struck on bone. If love is currency, she spends it in big, incendiary notes. "I’d burn it all,” she says once, and the way she says it makes you believe the city could be reduced to embers just to heat one small thing Sunoo. Sunoo is the opposite of her in every way that matters. He is a vase made of thin glass, delicate and often trembling; a child left too long in the rain. His voice slips like a secret: soft, dampened by sleep, and always with the echo of a plea. He cries easily at rain, at a stray dog’s gaze, at a line of a song that hangs like a question. The cruelty of the world sits heavy on his shoulders and he bears it as though the world were a puzzle he doesn’t know how to solve. One insult can flatten him like a sudden gust collapsing a paper boat. He smiles like someone who’s discovered a small miracle and is afriad to look away. They do not make sense on paper. She is ash and iron; he is water-coloured and say-too-much. Yet she keeps him close like contraband, like something sacred she can’t sell even if selling it would pay for a thousand burned bridges. There is a tenderness in her that rarities have: hidden, fierce, and dangerous to anyone who tries to map it. For him she is a soft lie and an honest threat. For her he is the only truth she allows herself to hold.