Kei had stopped expecting surprises in his life. Then came a DM from someone who would unravel everything. He didn't know it yet.

His gallery itself was a destination for art connoisseurs, where sleek lines, ambient lighting, and carefully curated expensive pieces came together. The studio, in contrast, was a raw, unadorned space where Kei's creativity once flourished freely. When not forced into external engagements, Kei spent evenings there—just clay, glaze, and the quiet hum of the kiln. But lately, the work felt... hollow. He'd thrown the same shapes three times this month—different glazes, but the same curve, the same turn of the wheel.

That night, a bored Kei absently scrolled through his numerous social media notifications, half-hoping for something, anything, to break the monotony in his head. A blue checkmark randomly caught his eye. If he wasn't so bored, he wouldn't have even scrolled through his account, as his publicity team typically managed it without him. The message was from someone named @sungie_sings, and it read:

"Hey! I saw the reel of you making a teapot last week. It was amazing! Your teapot is so cool how it looks zen, so simple, clean but elegant. Like... if a melody was a teapot, this would be a soft and melancholic love song. Haha. Do you sell your work?"

Kei raised one eyebrow. Nobody had ever compared his work to a song. He re-read the message twice, then once more, just to make sure it wasn't spam. The phrase "melancholic love song" caught in his chest. Someone had named a feeling he hadn't even known he was expressing. It was as if this @sungie_sings had unexpectedly seen something in his craft that even Kei himself had forgotten.

SUNGJIN'S PERSPECTIVE

Sungjin had watched Kei from across a high-end brand's event two weeks ago.

Not the way fans watched him—hungry, full of adoration. His immortal soul was too old for that. It was something quieter. The way you notice the first snow of winter, knowing it's just weather, but still finding yourself watching.

Kei had been reserved. Sungjin could see it in the careful way he held himself, the polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Professional. Polished. But when someone made him laugh or got him talking about his craft, the mask slipped. Just for a moment. Just long enough for Sungjin to see the person underneath.

And something in Sungjin's newly constructed human heart had caught.

For two weeks, Kei kept lingering on his mind. Like a melody he couldn't quite place. And so he'd sent the message from his official account on impulse, not caring that Atlantis One publicists would be livid after they found out. Now, staring at his phone, he felt like a teenager again. If he'd ever actually been one.

When Kei replied, Sungjin's human heart skipped another beat. He couldn't resist opening the message to read immediately.

THE REPLY EXCHANGE

The accountholder's name, Lee Sungjin, did not ring a bell. A quick look at the profile revealed a polished feed of glossy posed photos, stage performances, and screaming fans. It was obvious he was some kind of celebrity in a K-pop boy band, but Kei's knowledge of the K-pop world was almost nonexistent. Why would Lee Sungjin, someone with such a huge fanbase and skyrocketing music career, care about pottery? Why message from his official account? Kei was so bored with his own life that he couldn't help being curious enough to reply.

"Hi there, thank you for the kind words. Yes, I sell my work, but only on custom orders. If not, you will have to wait for my next show."

The reply came within minutes, almost as if Sungjin had been waiting.

"Totally! The price is not an issue. I actually want to make a teapot for my bandmate's birthday. He is into art recently, and I thought something customized for him to display at our dormitory would be great. Also, do you do lessons? I've never touched clay before, but I'd love to try. Lol."

Kei hesitated before responding, his finger hovering over the screen. He really didn't need another commission at this point—he was busy enough already. He never did personal classes either—he hated such interactions. But somehow, he sensed that this could be interesting. Or maybe it was just the way someone had looked at his work and seen music in it. That felt... like something interesting was finally happening in his life.

"A handmade gift sounds thoughtful. If you're serious, we can look at scheduling something."

Sungjin stared at the response for a long moment, almost in disbelief. Then he smiled—small, private, like a secret he was keeping from himself.

No magical powers were used here, but it felt like something magical was beginning to happen.

THE FIRST MEETING

Kei had regretted his impulsive decision at least ten times even before Sungjin arrived. He stood in his studio, dressed in his usual practical and understated attire: a simple linen shirt with rolled-up sleeves, paired with clay-splattered jeans and old sneakers. The decision to interact with this boyish young man so high-profile seemed like a bad one now. His publicity team, ever cautious about his image, would surely disapprove of the potential implications. But deep down, Kei was curious. And it had been a while since anything had made him curious.

Sungjin stepped into the studio like sunshine rolled into a fair, boyish package. He was dressed down in a mask, baseball cap covering his blonde mullet, and wearing an oversized black hoodie. But even while hiding his identity, there was something about him that filled the space differently. It was as if there was light seeping out from him, illuminating the edges of things.

He paused just inside the doorway, taking in the contrast—the sleek gallery behind him and the intimate studio ahead. His eyes moved slowly across the space: shelves of tools and unglazed work, the clay-splattered pottery wheel, afternoon light falling through dust motes.

"Wow," Sungjin breathed. "It's like stepping into another world."

Kei looked up from the documents he was reading, and—

Oh.

The glossy photos hadn't prepared him for this. For the way Sungjin's presence felt both young and strangely steady and unhurried. For the way his eyes moved across the studio, slow and intentional.

Kei managed a small polite smile. "Welcome, Sungjin-ssi! Shall we get started? I'll show you how to throw clay on the wheel."

THE POTTERY LESSON

As Sungjin, in his work apron, fumbled with the clay, his cute laughter filled the studio. Every now and then, his hands would move deftly with unexpected grace, catching the clay's rhythm before Kei explained it. Kei was pleasantly surprised. The lesson reminded Kei of why he had fallen in love with this craft in the first place. Sungjin (can we be casual? please call me Sungie) was infectious in his enthusiasm, yet also focused and intent on his task.

"This is hard! How do you make it look so easy?" Sungie asked, his hands covered in clay.

"Try doing it for a decade," Kei replied, with a small smile. "Here…"

He moved behind Sungie without overthinking it. Placed his hands over Sungie's clay-covered ones. "Feel the center? You need to find the balance point."

The clay rose between their palms. Smooth. Inevitable.

Kei was suddenly aware of the warmth of Sungie's back, the catch in his breath, the way their hands fit together with only clay between them. The wheel spun. The studio fell quiet except for the wet sound of clay shaping, the hum of the wheel.

"Like this?" Sungie's voice came out softer than before, his head turned ever so slightly towards Kei.

"Exactly like that."

Kei didn't step away immediately. The clay needed steadying after all.

When he finally did move back, there was warmth in his face. He cleared his throat and wiped his hands. "But you're doing alright, better than most beginners."

"Liar," Sungie teased, grinning. But something flickered across his expression—thoughtful, almost fond. "I've tried doing art for ages and never shown any real talent. But this was the most fun experience I've ever had."

The phrasing was odd for a young man. "For ages." Like time moved differently for him. Kei filed it away.

A strand of wavy hair fell across Sungie's face. Without thinking, Kei reached out and tucked it behind his ear.

His fingers grazed Sungie's cheek—barely, just enough.

They both went still.

The moment held. Stretched. Kei's hand lingered half a second too long. Sungie's eyes widened, fixed on Kei's face with quiet intensity.

Kei broke eye contact first, pulling his hand back awkwardly. He quickly turned to the shelves as if looking for new tools. "Let's, uh, let's try adding the spout."

Sungie watched him retreat with a small smile. Patient. An immortal could wait.

THE PHILOSOPHICAL MOMENT

As they cleaned up, Sungjin glanced at Kei and said, "You know, I think I get it now. Art and music have their similarities." He paused, hands still in the water basin, watching the clay dissolve. "It's like... therapy for the soul, yet torture for the soul. A struggle and a joyful process at the same time."

Kei's lips curved into a faint smile. But he was watching Sungie now with new attention. There was something about the way he'd said that—like someone who'd lived through a lot. It was amusing hearing this youthful voice spouting such philosophical words. For the first time in a long while, he felt a flicker of enthusiasm. His reply was more understated. "Sounds like you really felt the process today."

"More than you know," Sungie said, meeting his eyes. And for just a second, Kei could have sworn he saw something older looking back.

Then Sungie smiled, bright and boyish, and the moment passed. But Kei tucked it away in his core memory.

THE GOODBYE

Before leaving, Sungie hesitated at the gallery entrance, his gaze lingering on Kei with honest affection. Like he didn't quite want to leave yet.

"Thanks for the session today, Hyung. I'm pretty sure Carl's teapot is going to be... unique. Haha."

"It'll have your touch," Kei said. The words came out softer than he'd intended. "That makes it extra special."

Sungie paused for a moment, a hopeful smile tugging at his lips. "Honestly, I'd love to come back. Maybe learn more too if you're up for it?"

The question felt like it meant more than what was being asked. But Kei couldn't say no. Not when Sungie smiled that puppy-like smile again, making him feel a lot less hollow than before.

"I'd like that," Kei heard himself say. "Same time next week?"

Sungie's whole face brightened. "I'll be here. I promise."

The door clicked shut. The gallery bell chimed once, then fell silent.

The studio settled back into quiet.

But Kei stood there for a long moment, looking at the wheel where they'd worked together. At the space Sungie had occupied.

The studio felt different somehow.

More alive.

Like something had shifted.

And for the first time in months, Kei found himself looking forward to something.

Next week couldn't come fast enough.